Tag Archives: friends
Koh Phangan, Thailand
“Do you have fresh coconut?” I ask the waiter from the restaurant in Haad Yao, the beach where we just arrived.
“Yes,” he answers and points upwards to the coconut tree above our heads. He counts “One, two, three, four, five, six…” fresh coconuts and laughs. Then he fetches a long stick and starts hitting the coconuts; Salome and Fernando have to get up lest they be struck by the falling green hard ball. A few minutes later, the waiter serves us the delicious coconut water and as we suck happily on our straws, feeling the sun on our skin, watching over the white sand with the deep blue ocean beyond and hearing the waves, all four of us agree: we just arrived in paradise.
Koh Tao, Thailand
We met up with Salome and Fernando, two old friends of Ladina’s, in Bangkok, the capital of the kingdom of Thailand. And after an evening of plotting and scheming, we all decided to head straight to the heavenly tropical islands of the South. So we made a run to the train station, dodged the touts trying to enlist us in an travel agency package, bought tickets in a sleeper train to Chumphon, came back under heavy rain in the evening, discovered inside the carriage that our tickets had been issued for two days hence, ran to the controllers, argued at the counter, changed our tickets for seats in a later train, sat down in the station hall to play Yatzy, and finally, boarded our train bound south.
Queenstown, Otago, New Zealand
I have to say, that never have I been so amazed by the nature and wilderness of a city before entering Queenstown.
Let us be clear though: Queenstown is a rich, expensive town, a bit touristy on some sides, and clearly not as wild as a farmers’ village. However, the nature around it is arguably the most beautiful I have ever seen in the vicinity of such a town, which without a doubt makes it a really incredible place to live in.
Like Ben’s parents, my hosts at that time and friends now, do.
Christchurch, Canterbury, New Zealand
A gigantic washing machine.
That is what got through my mind when I got down from the couch to the floor, just to ensure I would have maximum stability, while looking apprehensively at the shaking ceiling and the clinking photography frame on the wall. “I am sitting on a freaking gigantic washing machine.” No, there was not any table near me and anyway, I was too incredulous to move much more.
It turned out I was lucky. Again. I was CouchSurfing at the right place, in the Riccarton suburb.
In the city center, two kilometers east from me, people were dieing.
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia
If Sydney is undoubtedly the most iconic city of Australia (who could not recognize its Opera House?), Melbourne is, to me, its most culturally vibrant metropolis.
In between skyscrapers from the CBD (Central Business District), it is thus not rare to find tiny alleyways bustling with activity around cafés and pubs. The laneway culture and underground life are definite highlights of the place, with incredibly beautiful and striking street art, a talented music scene, year-round festivals, or relaxing loungy bars and pumped-up nightclubs. For those who prefer the artsy venues, Melbourne’s museums are world-class in classical as well as contemporary art, and the surprising but definitely inspired modern architecture of the buildings might convert even the most ardent defender of the old monuments.
The alternative or bohemian lifestyle has, on its side, conquered several districts of the city – they are probably the most interesting urban places I have had to visit in the whole continent. It is not difficult to find sheesha bars in the same street as op shops, organic grocery stores or trendy clothes boutiques. If you get a bit tired while walking there, do not forget to stop at one of the friendly pubs to try the delicious coffee or mocha before going on your visit.
But before discovering all these jewels from Melbourne, I have to admit my first impression from the place was quite bad. One reason for this: the Australian backpacker business.
Marlo & Orbost, Victoria, Australia
In the midst of countless unexpected complications (bad schedules, stuff to do, personal problems, journey delays), one thing from my stay in Marlo remained: I saw Bailey again, after our amazing trip in the Middle-East, and before going on around the world.
To be honest, I would have never heard of Marlo, a small village of 340 inhabitants – they call that a town in Australia – lost on the South Coast of Victoria, if not for her. We had agreed on meeting again when we parted in Cairo airport, almost six months ago now (God time flies) – and despite the lack of communication means, despite the vague schedule of my hitch-hiking, we did.
And thus I ended up there – where the Snowy meets the sea.
Agra, Uttar Pradesh, India
Everyone told me ‘You have to go to the Taj Mahal – it is the most beautiful building on Earth… It is perfection. You won’t believe it. You have to go.’ But I was like, you know, okay, I’ll give it a look while I’m in India.
And then I saw it… Like you saw it! And I couldn’t believe how beautiful it is. I still cannot believe it. It is perfection.
(Saskia, traveler)
I had seen pictures of the Taj Mahal too. I knew what it looked like. I knew it was a major monument of India. But nothing, no, nothing in this world could have prepared me to what I felt in front of it. No description, no picture, no poem or prose, no story can replace the direct, brutal and intense experience of seeing the Taj Mahal with your own eyes.
That was the third time my mind was blown away in India. When I saw the Taj Mahal. Every time I saw it, actually. Every time I found a new spot, a new point of view, a new angle, a new detail, outside, from a field, on the other side of the Yamuna river, from a rooftop restaurant, from the Agra Fort, or, even more, inside the Taj grounds, a few dozens of meters away or close enough to touch its milky-white marble walls.
And the monument in the first picture is not the Taj Mahal, no – actually it is just here to decorate and give balance to the Taj Mahal complex, even though it would be a major monument if it were standing alone in another city – but do not worry, you will have plenty of it in the following, to saturation. Even though no photograph will ever give you the same, powerful and timeless feeling that grasps anyone who sees it for real. No one will take your breath away every single time you look at it, as it does in reality. No one will make you fall on your knees, overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotions pulsing from the tomb.
Mumbai, Maharashtra, India
The ultimately free man is the Wise man, but he’s lonely.
(Tristan Raoult)
Now that I think about it, India was my first real lone backpacking experience. Not that I was alone, no; I met a lot of people, friendly or unfriendly, travelers or locals, backpackers or foreign students, in hostels, restaurants, streets, buses or even train stations. But I was always traveling alone. My itinerary was only mine, and when I had to part from new friends, I did.
Maybe it was because of the short length of my stay (only three weeks; I will have to come back, and this time for a few months, eh) which forced me to rush to my destinations at all costs – missing my flight from Delhi was not an option, and staying for too long in one place neither – and made impossible for me to follow other travelers. I did my best to visit the most of India I physically and mentally could, having unfortunately to rest at some places because of my weak human condition.
And yes, I felt free. Not free like we, the Donkeys, were back on the highway in Jordan. I felt free because every morning, when I woke up, I could decide what I would do, where I would go, how to do it, without talking to anyone, without having to explain it to anybody, taking my own decisions based upon my own criteria. I could go to uncomfortable, dirty or even scary places without involving anyone else. I could try the risky Indian street food without being a burden to other people if I would get sick. I could bear a heavy travel schedule (sometimes only one or two nights per location, when I was not sleeping in a bus or train) without making people suffer from its fast pace. To put in a nutshell, when I had hard times, I faced them alone, without making anyone suffer around me.
But yes, sometimes, I also did feel lonely. Because no one was here to share the wonders, joys and beauties of the places I saw, no one was here to share my excitation about moving, traveling, discovering this incredible country. No one was there to watch my back, too; it is not a big news that lone travelers are easier preys for thieves, muggers, swindlers, con artists or even just touts.
If being lonely is the price of being free, I guess at least it also made me stronger.
Sharm-el-Sheikh, Egypt
By simply looking at this picture, an overwhelming flow of memories assaults my mind. From the battle to cross the border in Taba, bargain transportations to Sharm, rest in a sketchy hostel for one night, and finally find this place, the mighty Shark’s Bay, thanks to the Lonely Planet (I love this book), to the epic days and nights we spent here with Ragab, Haram, then Julia, Karim, David, and in the end Lars, everything comes back in my head, as if I was living these happy days once more.
And again, finding such a haven was unexpected. We only knew that we would go to Sharm-el-Sheikh, this touristic destination on the coast, to join Karim and maybe other friends from Cairo. So we headed South from Jerusalem, doing everything we could to get to that “city” – in fact only consisting in an immense network of resorts and hotels so dense it created a town; and after our road trip in Jordan and Israel, we all wanted to chill out, but had no idea of where to go in Sharm.
By some kind of miracle, our guidebook had the answer to all our difficulties. Thank you, Lonely Planet, for transforming a harsh trip into an unforgettable time of my life.