Category Archives: Travel diary

Cooking class

by ladina

Have you ever wondered how a delicious paneer tikka masala or a malai kofta were concocted? Probably not, because you do not even know the names of those dishes — just like me, before I came to India — and could not imagine whatever they might be. Well, over the last few weeks, we tasted as many different Indian dishes as we could. And, eventually, we started to know food-related Hindi words such as chana (chickpeas), jeera (cumin), paneer (Indian cottage cheese) or masala (a mix of Indian spices) and learned to distinguish different types of bread like roti, puri and naan.

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Train journeys

by ladina

“Chai! Chai!” an early morning tea-seller yelled as he walked through the coaches of the train, carrying a huge tin pot of hot tea and small plastic glasses. I turned around on my bunk, drew the sheet up to my nose and tried to get some more sleep. So far, I had slept surprisingly well during my first night in an Indian train: the steady rattling of the rails worked like a lullaby for me; the berth, though not very large, was comfortable. Unfortunately, about four more chai vendors kept me from dozing back to sleep, praising their tea in loud voices. With a sigh, I turned around again and tried to glimpse through the train window: the breaking dawn transformed the sky into a symphony of red and violet. Soon the sun would be out — and this meant that we would reach Agra shortly. The train was supposed to arrive at 6 o’clock and, as opposed to buses, it is likely to keep its timetable. I hence waked José, and we started to open the padlocks from our backpacks, put the few things we had needed for the night back into them, and shoulder their usual weight. Not too soon for, shortly after, the train slowed down and, together with all our belongings, dropped us at Agra Fort.

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MBC / ABC

by jose

I trudged, step after step after step, as I had for the last four days. Even though we had left the backpack at the Machhapuchhre Basecamp, leaving me with my sole camera bag, and even though the seemingly neverending stairs had been replaced by a simple upward trail, every slowly negotiated step felt as if I were running for dear life. We were at four thousand meters.

There is something deeply serene in the exhaustion brought by physical exercise, something that every sportsperson has probably experienced. The need to draw air, to breathe as much as possible, surpasses every other at some point — even if you might have to manage it while deflecting a blow, or simply not show it. And you are left concentrating on making your body work, with no other thought in mind. Step after step after step.

The time takes another meaning. Instead of being carried by the rhythm of your problems, worries, desires, tasks, you turn to the delicious breeze cooling off your sweat, the chirping of the birds, the comforting regularity of your shoes hitting the stone. It could be seconds or hours before you look around you again, and it does not matter one bit. There is nothing else than you being a part of the world, no more and no less than anything, rightfully existing and breathing, and there is nothing else than the simple beauty of it all.

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Von Chomrong nach Bamboo

by ladina

Um 6 Uhr früh klingelt der Wecker und reisst uns aus dem wohligen Schlaf: Ein neuer Wandertag steht bevor. Die kühle Morgenluft und die noch vom Vortag verschwitzten Trekking-Kleider laden nicht gerade zum Aufstehen und Anziehen ein. Doch da müssen wir jeden Morgen durch, und so schälen wir uns, wenn auch mit einigen Seufzern — denn der Schlafsack ist doch sehr warm und kuschelig — aus dem Bett.

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Kawah Ijen

by jose

‘Sometimes I think a man could wander across the disc[world] all his life and not see everything there is to see,’ said Twoflower. ‘And now it seems there are lots of other worlds as well. When I think I might die without seeing a hundredth of all there is to see it makes me feel,’ he paused, then added, ‘well, humble, I suppose. And very angry, of course.’

Terry Pratchett, Close to the Edge

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Mountain air

by ladina

After staying in dirty, noisy and overcrowded cities for more than two weeks, sweating unceasingly and depressing between grey, lifeless concrete buildings, we definitely needed a change. A decision was quickly made: we would go east, to where a handful of volcanos dominate the relief of Java. Positively excited — for as most of you might know, I adore those peculiar mountains — we left Yogyakarta by night bus and found ourselves in a completely different surrounding by the next morning. The volcano itself was only one of the positive surprises which made the destination more than worthwhile.

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Arrival in Yogyakarta

by jose

The rising sun was painting the sky in hues seldom heard of: shy purple, hesitating blue, grays melting into whites as the stream of dreamy clouds passed by. I closed my eyes, at peace.

I opened them again what seemed but an instant later. New colors had appeared behind the windscreen: different tints of orange were struggling to see which one would become yellow first. The time read 6.14. The lady had said we would arrive at 6, but then, we had left an hour and a half late, so…

The bus stopped, once more. I lazily let my eyes wander to the side to watch the passengers recover their luggage from the hold. There was actually only one passenger. It was hard to focus, but I did nonetheless.

It was Aldi.

And he was frantically making me sign to get off the bus.

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Bus journeys

by ladina

You might have been wondering how the daily life of a traveller looks like? Though we would love it to be so, it is not all about admiring amazing landscapes, eating delicious food, lying on the beach and gaping before ancient monuments — it also involves sleeping in creepy places, sweating in the heat of the merciless sun and being shaken for hours on bumpy bus rides. About the last, I want to tell you a bit more, for we often spend fairly long hours in those buses. After all, they are the cheapest and most common option to get from one place to another. I do not know how many times we already made our way to the bus station, had to ask at least five locals which one was our vehicle and if it really went where we wanted to go, then waited for the bus to come, holding our backpacks before storing them in the luggage rack — only keeping our valuables, the guitar and a pullover (for the air-con) with us — and, finally, got into the bus. During those journeys, I always learn a lot about the country, how its system works (or does not work) and how its people behave. Let me take you on rides through different nations we have visited!

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