This Issue

Our Man in Hanoi
       On marriage and Gurkhas
This Month In Review:
        Warning: Singaporean shopping can lead to imprisonment
Travel Feature: My India
Asia Trivia: It's all Indian
What's New at Asia Hotel Bookings

I. Our Man in Hanoi 

has come to a conclusion that he is sure many wiser, more experienced men have reached before; If you’re going to get married, then don’t do it in Vietnam….. ‘In triplicate please sir’ – ‘Yes and you’ll have to get that translated of course’ – ‘We only open Tuesday and Thursday from 2:00 till 4:00…but not this Thursday,’ and ‘You’ll need to see a doctor to show you are sane…but of course you don’t actually have to go, a photo will do’

These are just some of the comments  we’ve heard in the last fortnight or so as we fight our way through the bureaucratic jungle that is the justice department of Hanoi.     It seems we’re just not jungle people are to our shame, after over a year in the country, we lack the most useful jungle tool of all, a decent command of the language. On the plus side though, all the officials we’ve dealt with have been very civil and  suppose you can’t really expect a country that has only been accepting foreign visitors for a relatively short period of time to be adept at joining then in holy matrimony. In fact you can almost see embarrassment on their faces at the multiple red stamping, photocopying etc that is required. I’m sure we’ll manage to hack and wriggle our way through eventually, but some of the requirements would be almost laughable were they not so time frustratingly time-consuming. Take for example The Certificate of Non Impediment. This is a integral part of the marriage process and involves me having to post notice, on a board in the British Embassy, my intention to marry. So as to prevent bigamy I suppose. Now really, if I did already have a wife, what are the chances of her, in the next 21 days, wandering down Hai Bai Chung Street in Hanoi, Vietnam, happening across a nondescript three storey building, by some chance whim entering said building, taking the lift to the third floor where the embassy is, again on a whim entering, perusing their by no means prominently displayed notice board, and……. YOU B*****d!? (Sharon if you are reading this, it’s just an example and I’m really in Spain, ok?)

If I were already married, and my poor ill-treated wife did go to The British Embassy in Hanoi she would, unfortunately, see none of the Gurkha soldiers that I have so come to associate with renewing my passport etc. Whenever I see one of those guys I’m overcome with awe such are the legends and mystique that surround them. What I’d really like to do is sit down round a campfire and over a shot of army issued rum, ideally served in a tin mess-cup, have a real good chin wag. But I’m a bit shy and while there are plenty of campfires in Hanoi, I don’t suppose these elite wariors are allowed to drink on the job. So I’ll just have to make do with some of the many anecdotes told about them. Maybe the one about how rapidly morale in the Argentinean army plummeted during the Falklands war when word got out that a boat-load of the little Nepalese guys with the big kukris were on there way (kukris by the way are the long knives they carry, and like the swords of samurai, once drawn they always have to draw blood.)  Or my personal favorite related in Tim Bowden’s excellent biography of the Tasmanian combat cameraman, Neil Davis, entitled One Crowded Hour. I quote from one of Neil’s letters that make up the majority of this biography

The Gurkhas were not trained as paratroopers, but were asked if they would be prepared to jump from a Hercules C130 transport aircraft into combat against the Indonesians if the need arose. The Gurkhas had the right to turn down this request because they had not been trained for this combat role.

Now the Gurkhas usually agreed to anything, but on this occasion they provisionally rejected the plan. But they next day, one of their NGOs sought out the British officer who had made the request and said they had discussed the matter further and would be prepared to jump under certain conditions.
‘What are they?’ asked the British officer.

The Gurkhas told him they would jump if the land was marshy or reasonably soft with no rocky outcrops, because they were inexperienced in falling.

The British officer considered this, and said that the dropping area would almost certainly be over jungle, and there would not be any rocky outcrops, so that seemed alright. Was there anything else?
Yes, said the Gurkhas. They wanted the plane to fly as slowly as possible and no more than one hundred feet high. The British pointed out that the planes always did fly  as slowly as possible when dropping troops, but to jump from one hundred feet was impossible, because the parachutes would not open in time from that height.

‘Oh,’ said the Gurkhas, ‘that’s alright then. We’ll jump with parachutes anywhere. You didn’t mention parachutes before!’

If any one has any more good anecdotes relating to these fine men then please send them in and let me share them with our readers

Getting back to my impending marriage, I can at least count myself lucky that I didn’t get up early last Saturday morning after a stag night I can’t remember and board a 9 hour bus to a Northern province bordering China, there to wed my true love. This bus did a head on with a truck coming the other way and left a good friend with a broken leg, plaster completely encasing one leg and doctor’s orders not to move for ten days. To really rub it in he was the only one injured on the entire bus….no one else got even a scratch. Luckily it’s a clean break and should cause no long term problems but, well liked as he is, I’ve yet to see anyone who knows him say, “Oh that’s terrible” without just a little grin on their faces. 
Anyway, I’ve got several sheafs of paper to fill out in triplicate along with passport photos to get and The justice department to visit early tomorrow morning (if tomorrow’s a Tuesday or a Wednesday) so if you’ll excuse me…..

II. This Month in Review

Sad Traveler Held For Shopping Violation
When Briton, Lauren Phillips decided to leave Singapore, she should, in retrospect,  have opted not to pack a model of a B-52 airplane in her luggage. Eagle eyed customs officials noted the toy missiles and mistook them for live bullets. Lauren was then detained for TEN hours. Two questions spring to my mind. Firstly, you’re in one of the world’s premier shopping destinations. Why such a sad souvenir? Even a beer mat would have been better. And secondly, shame on you Singaporean customs officials. Why did it take you ten hours to determine that they weren’t actually bullets? Are you stupid or just damn lazy? (Yeah I know that’s three questions.) News, but not attitude, comes from xinhuanet.co

Sumatran Floods Kill At Least 66
The Tourist area of Bohorok near Medan where many go to visit the orangutang sanctuary suffered flash floods earlier in the month. Initial reports indicated 66 dead and many more missing. It seems we can’t blame mother nature this time, only ourselves, as the deforestation on the island contributes periodically to landslides and flooding. As well as people and animals, the flood swept away a number of houses and hotels.

1.2 Billion USD Investment In Vietnam
Singapore has put over a billion pounds into Vietnamese tourism. This accounts for over 30% of the total foreign direct investment and will be used mainly for building projects. Also of note is the fact that Singapore is the first country to open its Tourism representative office in Ho Chi Minh City. I think Singapore is playing its cards very smartly as it really does seem that tourism in Vietnam is going to increase exponentially. The country has almost everything your average traveler could wish for and then some. News comes from travel yahoo.  

Concorde Makes Final Flight
Concorde is no more. It touched down in Heathrow Airport on October the 24th for the last time. The last fare-paying flight was made some time ago and so her (her? for a plane?) last trip was one carrying celebrities and competition winners. Thousands crowded round Heathrow in an attempt to see the unique plane touch down. Thousands of people with waaaay too much time on their hands in my opinion.

III. Feature Destination : India

This weeks featured destination follows a distinctly different format than previous pieces. Rather than a structured article, I’ve decided to write in (what I’m sure it’s a pale imitation) the style of Jack Kerouac, that is an unedited stream of thought with no constraints of form or style. I have to admit I’ve cheated a little and done some editing but for the most part what you’ll read is as hastily and as freely written as possible. If I get some positive feed-back I’ll deliver more of the same. If not then back to the tried and trusted layout. The country I’ve chosen to write about is one very dear to my heart and to which I have traveled many times: India. It’s a huge country and I’ve picked  just a few of the better known spots around the country (In later issues, I’ll touch on some of the lesser known areas). I hope you get a real feeling for these places-at least through my eyes.

Part 1
Delhi
An explosion of color as I hit the center of Delhi-rickshaw driven from the airport, which was at the dead of night knowing nothing/nowhere---a bed for the night and no more save balmy air and the anticipation of what is to come. It comes, the next morning Dray sends the boy out for tea—cha---a novelty, both boy and tea---stewed, sweet and milky---an acquired taste I loved from my first sip—and so into the streets with only a new found friend / Kashmiri merchants selling house boat holidays in war torn Kashmir (I really wanted to go so convincing were they and one day I will) and a nagging gnawing worry of a possibly pregnant girlfriend in England. (She wasn’t)  Nothing else that is except for the noise; bells, language [unknown to me] ;cows (everywhere!), colors---pink is India’s blue, dirt---Where’s the bin? You’re standing in it- and music…. everywhere- Bollywood’s greatest hits--- one followed me around the country on my first visit meaning  that 4 months later I could hum the tune and sing an approximation of some of the words. I can still remember the tune. And so was Delhi and so ended Delhi (for the moment), at least my Delhi.

Part 2
Everest 
Everest-huge cold white and most of all silent—I couldn’t touch it, only see it from afar but that was enough – The highlight of my trip?, high above the clouds I’ll never see it that way again-that is the cloudy wet day where she peeked out for precious few seconds every hour or so-the rest of our time was concerned with trying to keep warm and interested . It’s surely the job of any writer to simply put into words his thoughts but for Everest, I can find few and they are woefully inadequate-only the silence, the stillness and the immense feeling of how small I was-how big it was. I thought the Pyramids at Giza were big….and they were but…(I hope you understood that).. It took us  three days (I think) to trek out from Darjeeling and while not walking, most of the time we stayed shivering under a mountain of damp duvets- dal bat three times a day everyday-boiled eggs and bread a special treat- as we trudged up surprisingly – for me—barren hills—in part, like Dali drawings – dead twisted gnarled trees taking on surreal images – contorted old men. The trip down though was lush – greenery everywhere- as surprising to me as the  barrenness of the ascent had been and the first port of call a guesthouse with Millet beer [Chang] that extended my stay an extra day –that and fighting of the cold I’d acquired from jeeping up so many thousand feet to Darjeeling -the plains below were hot and I knew better than the driver who told me it might get cold-he shrugged and I shivered and with shaking hands spilt hot tea over myself at one of our pit stops.  

Part 3
Varanasi 
Ghats leaning down to the sacred river--- sacred with dead bodies/ sewage/ laundry and dolphins?, turtles?....something was swirling the water when we rowed out- temples and white-washed buildings overlooking this most revered waterway---pilgrims bathing in the early morn and old men wandering around waiting to die---to die in Varanasi is to wipe your slate clean or better yet to move up a level on, what must be for most the eternal search for nirvana . Constant chanting from the temples along with music blaring from concert sized speakers- even then not big enough to stop the highs and the lows becoming distorted- this the background to endless coffees on the hard-stoned ghats over looking the river-nothing better to do and I really don’t think there was anything better at the moment in the entire world. All this along with the room with a view--- of course the river but seen through bars. Away from the river a labyrinth of winding paths in what was the only real souk style Market I saw to rival those of the middle east. Here one must be constantly on guard for charging cows- more often than not provoked by grinning urchins happy in their playground—narrow lanes and fat cows-lucky I’m slim and quick on my feet. Cow muck everywhere yet every store/house spotless and the Indians as clean and dry as a whistle-white, pink and green  – and me so dirty and ragged in my stupid trousers. So easy [thankfully?] to get lost in the tiny lanes. One wrong? turn and you’re in a tiny garden surrounded by four story houses each sporting fine greenery cascading from balconies, another and you’re in the wrong place- everyone looks at you differently and usually laughs—white monkeys, I was more red.

III. Asia Trivia

As India was our featured destination then Indian trivia it is…

• The world’s largest monolithic statue can be found in India, in the small town of Sravanabelagola ( I wrote the name down on a piece of paper to show the bus drivers as there was no way I was going to get my tongue round that!)
   
• The Indian railway network is the largest in the world, and believe me, a lot more reliable than England’s poxy little one. Never once heard them complain about the wrong kind of snow!
   
• Smoking the wrong kind of herb can land you in a lot of trouble in India. The kind of trouble that may, if you are a man, land you a girls name and a lot of unwanted attention during lights out. That is except in a few holy towns where for religious purposes marijuana and opium are completely legit and openly smoked for religious purposes.
   
• One of the most popular gods in India is Ganesh, the god with the body of a man and the head of an elephant. If you ever wondered how he got that particular animal’s head then here’s the story; Shiva(one of the big three gods) and his beautiful wife Parvati were lazing around happily one day in bed when Shiva was sent out on some menial chore (women huh?). So he grabbed his snakes and trident and headed off. By chance he met up with a couple of his pals on the way home got chatting and the next thing you know it’s a 1000 years later. I know its happened to us all! Man is she going to be pissed at me! He hurried back home (probably trying to think of one of those stupid excuses that girlfriends or wives see through so easily) but when he arrived at their house he found his gorgeous wife hand in hand with another man. Overcome with fury he grabbed…something I’m not sure what but it may have been an axe and loped of the young mans head. Parvati was not pleased. If you haven’t guessed already, then Shiva had left her pregnant and the young man was his son. Full of remorse Shiva gathered up the now headless man and ran of in search of a new one, head not son. No dawdling this time. The first animal he came across was an elephant and (personally I’d have looked around a bit more) bingo he put the elephant’s head on his son’s body. And there you have it, the story of how Ganesh got his elephant head, or at least one version. I’ve heard different versions but this was the one I liked best.
   
• If you want to become a Hindu, you can’t. You are either born to it or not.
   
• Gandhi’s first name, Mahatma was given to him later in life and means, “Big soul.” He ate meat only once in his life, goat meat- when he was in his early teens, and was plagued with nightmares featuring the bleating of the animals for several weeks following. And perhaps most amazing, most crazy of all, during his time in England, he hated English food. Imagine that!
   
•  The Himalaya which run to the east and north of India were formed (and are still being formed) over millions of years when the sub-continent(I’d like to say crashed here as it seems appropriate but it really isn’t) moved very slowly into the main land mass of what is now called Asia, pushing up land much as you might form wrinkles in a mat if you pushed it against a wall- a bit bigger though.
   
• The opulent house boats on Dal lake in Kashmir came about during the Raj era when the local leader refused the British the right to build on his land. Ingeniously the British (or more likely a Indian clerk) came upon the idea of building the splendid boats which you can still stay on now. Although things seem to be calming down a bit in Kashmir at the moment and tourism in the area is increasing, because of low demand a stay in on of these floating palaces is incredibly cheap,  I mean really cheap. Disgustingly so almost.
   
• For a country with pretty tight censorship on pornographic material some of the carvings on Temples in Orissa, and I’m sure elsewhere, are remarkably explicit and there are lots of them. If you went with your Mum or Dad you’d probably blush. Some of surely isn’t possible…I just couldn’t bend that way.
   
• A couple of years ago, Tony Blair declared that England’s National dish was chicken tikka massala.

VI. What's New at Asia Hotel Bookings

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