Category Archives: Museums

Blisters and Balboa

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My feet were aching this morning. After all that trudging around Tasmania with neither a blister nor a whinge, my feet were punished by the wet weather and destroyed footware yesterday. In fairness, I spent an hour walking around the town centre looking for an open shoeshop, but due to the storm damage there wasn’t a single one open. OK, that’s a partial truth. I found one, but much as I have the legs for them, a pair of high heels just wasn’t what I needed.

Fortunately, most stores had reopened today so I first located a McD’s for breakfast and then a Big W in the mall for a pair of shoes. I changed footwear in the mallway and dropped my knacky old SIN$18 trainers into the trash. Much better!

After checking out of the hostel and storing my bags in a secure locker ($6) I plotted out my day. Some information was gathered from local bus companies and I decided to walk around the Canberra Museum and Gallery. Unfortunately the main permanent gallery was closed due to flooding, but I saw an art exhibition (yawn) and an interesting display detailing the recovery of artifacts from a fire in a university building 20 years ago. Archaeological techniques applied to a modern-day setting to try and figure out what was left in the rubble after bush fires destroyed a storage warehouse.

One thing I’d like to point out about the museum is the loo. Each cubicle had a sign on the door relating to the artwork painted on the inside. Very novel.

I managed to get a sew-on patch for Canberra (I wanted an ACT one, but they’re nigh on impossible to find) and sent some postcards. I have one state to visit – South Australia – and I’ll have been round the whole country.

Next up was lunch with Rach and her husband, more of my online friends, in Mooseheads. Less than ten bucks for a huge chicken burger and chips. Thank you for the beer, folks! As ever, they were the shining example of Aussie hospitality. I’ll be returning to Canberra next week and now have both a room for the night and a lift up to Newcastle! Seriously, folks – thank you so much!

I had a couple of hours left before my bus, which was nowhere near long enough for the Parliament Buildings, Botanical Gardens or Museum so I went to see a film instead. There’s an $8 cinema in the town centre and it was showing Rocky Balboa at just the right time so I popped in. Hard to believe I’ve been alive for all six Rocky films and this is the first one I’ve ever actually seen all the way through. It was OK, though. Not a classic, but enjoyable enough. I think I’d have appreciated it more if I’d seen the older ones.

Then just collecting my bags, back to the bus station and onto the coach for the 3-ish hour jaunt to Sydney during which I snoozed like a baby.

Being a cheapskate I opted to walk from Central to Kings Cross where my hostel was located. What an eye-opener. With the Mardi Gras on Saturday, Sydney is buzzing with people. All the clubs I walked past were heaving, and the sex shows and shops all had staff on the door trying to convince people to go in. Thankfully with two rucksacks, they didn’t seem to want to target me!

It took almost an hour to check in at the hostel – it seemed someone had failed to put any details of any of the bookings onto the system. The couple in front of me had a booking, but no room alloted to them so they ended up in a dorm rather than a private room. I got my chosen 10-share and met four very nice German people. The one in the room when I arrived was a girl (Anita, I think – again I apologise for being rubbish with names) who had just arrived, flat broke, from seeing her boyfriend back off to Germany from Bangkok. She was hungry, penniless and I’m a soft touch. So against her protests I dragged her to McD’s. If she hadn’t come with me I’d have brought something back for her!

While we were there we were nattering about our travels and those of friends, and a guy at the table overheard us talking and joined in the conversation. He was African – from Sierra Leon – and wondered if we’d been there. I think Hans may have, but don’t quote me. It made for great chatting, so thank you Moses! It’s always good to talk to new people from new places with new viewpoints.

The rest of the evening – till 2:30am – was spent on the roof and in the lounge at the hostel just gassing about where we’d all been and were all going. A very pleasant evening after a lot of plodding and footache.

Welcome to Canberra

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I hate early mornings. I was up till after 1am sorting this blog out and copying pictures to Taketo’s laptop as his camera had died earlier in the day. My flight was at 6am, so I had to catch the 4:45am shuttle bus. Argh.

Just to add to the fun, I couldn’t get to sleep as I was too wound up about maybe missing the bus. When I did nod off, the guy opposite not only snored but shouted in his sleep! Something about “kill all the English ones” (I swear). This didn’t help me get back to sleep…

I was out of bed before my alarm went off, grabbed all my stuff and ate two oranges for breakfast. I then hitched all my bags, spotted another tear on one of my rucksacks (I need a bag repair shop toot sweet) and waddled to the cathedral, arriving at the same time as the coach.

The journey to Canberra may have been uneventful or we may have been held up. I don’t know. I slept through both short flights and staggered off the second at 8:45am feeling like someone had been using my eyeballs to mix cement. One thing I do remember is that I’ve now had three Virgin Blue flights in a row with no jokes fromthe flight crew. Not good enough!

Unbeknownst to me, Canberra underwent the most severe storms in ten years last night. Hailstones the size of marbles still lay on the streets when I arrived, despite the temperatures pushing thirty degrees by lunchtime. Many shops in the town centre were closed due to flood damage, as are several rooms in the YHA Central which meant they couldn’t check me in when I arrived. Not their fault!

I whiled away the day between the War Museum and wandering around the Parliamentary area. The War Museum is superb – right up there with the Imperial War Museum in London. Anzac Parade, the road which leads to the museum, has numerous memorials along it dedicated to various conflicts and forces. The Vietnam memorial in particular is a stunning piece of work. Water flows, a large blown-up black and white image dominates and phrases from radio conversations are imprinted on one wall like fragments of history. You can almost hear them being shouted in your ear.

The Lonely Planet I have describes the State Library as “massively symmetrical” which is simply just bad English. However, it’s both massive and symmetrical. That is, it’s like a huge, boring 1970’s concrete block. A shame as so many other buildings in Canberra are really nice.

The oddest one has to be the museum which looks like it was put together from plastic Meccanno and then melted.

I grabbed a decent lunch from an Irish pub a few blocks from work – $9.90 for a pint of Coke and a large chicken schnitzel and chips. Just what I needed.

The YHA checked me in fine when I returned, and I’m sharing a dorm with six people so far (more keep arriving). I’ll pop my earplugs in tonight, just in case!

I’m off for dinner now – beans on toast sounds good – and then hopefully meeting Kat (yet another online friend) for a beer or three.

Winding things up in Perth

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Plans are now afoot for the next stage of the Oz tour, and I’ve made contact with a huge bunch of people to bump into in the next few weeks. Much as I like Perth, I’m really looking forward to moving on to see them all!

Tasmania’s pretty much planned out as it’s 99% organised tour. I should be meeting at least one; hopefully two online chummies in Canberra as well as seeing the sites; Sydney will play host for one evening before I head to Wollongong to stay with Dion’s parents (I met her in Sri Lanka).

After this, I’ll kill a little time around the NSW area with trips round the Blue Mountains, to Bondi Beach and up to Newcastle (just to get some pics of the roadsigns!) before returning to Sydney on March 12th to finally see Weird Al Yankovic in concert. I’ve been a fan for years, but he’s never played the UK to the best of my knowledge. I’m way back in row “S” but at least I can say I’ve seen him at last! With any luck I’ll also see Anni from home who’s visiting another friend over here.

Next up will be Brisbane once more. As well as the usual bunch of misfits up there, my aunt Babs is visiting from the UK. It’ll be great to see another one of the clan!

So. Perth. I really wish I’d “scored” here, preferably multiple times. OK, so this isn’t exactly abnormal thinking for me, but I really wanted to use the title Perth Girls Are Easy for a post and now I can’t. Ah well.

Of all the major cities I’ve been to in Oz, Perth seems to have settled best with me. It’s just the right size, the weather’s just about right and the people are as great as they are anywhere else. On the downside, it’s blooming miles from anywhere else which makes trips expensive. Also, it’s a fast-developing city so land and house prices are pretty high.

Yesterday I spent an hour or so wandering through the Museum of Western Australia (entry fee a paltry $2 donation) which is a very pleasant place indeed. I concentrated most on the natural history as ever, and they’ve got some great displays. Clean, brightly-lit, well-presented – it all looks very new indeed.

I spent most of the evening sat in the staff room of a KFC outside the city with Mel, who I met at the karaoke. She’s manageress there and had the world’s worst hangover. In return for delivering energy drinks I got free fried chicken. Whoop!

There’s still a bit to do here – the zoo and the public park being just two – so I think I may be back. And not forgetting the people – I’ve made some friends here as well, which wasn’t hard. If I can’t get a room in the Witch’s Hat then Jacqui has kindly offered me use of a spare bed in their house – thanks!

So, byebye to Perth for a while. Next stop, Launceston (via Melbourne airport and a 4-hour layover – great).

The Dhaka rally

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TV is evil. TV made me stay up to watch The Simpsons until after 2am. As such, I wasn’t as well-rested as I’d hoped by 8am when we had to get up. A rapid wash and pack were done before we dropped our bags in reception to be looked after.

A work colleague of Mahmud’s arrived shortly after 9:00 to show us around the city on a whistle-stop tour. First stop, however, was for breakfast. My stomach was much better but still not 100% so I only pinched a quarter of Hans’ spicy chicken pizza to settle myself before we hopped onto a rickshaw and were pedalled towards the Sadarghat (port). You can get three adults on a rickshaw fairly easily. I would recommend, though, that one of them doesn’t have a digestive disorder at the time.

Rickshaws aren’t the most comfortable way to travel but they’re fairly swift, convenient and incredibly environmentally friendly. Their only by-product is carbon dioxide from the guy pedalling and the stench of fear from the passenger. Compared to the deafening honking in most of India where cars, buses and autorickshaws compete for space in a “who’s horn is the loudest” competition, Dakha in places sounds more like a minature campanologists’ convention. *dring dring* *tinkle* *crunch* Oh, yes. Rickshaws don’t stop gracefully. It’s standard procedure to just thump into the one in front to ensure you’re as closely packed as possible.

We also encountered a silly money problem when trying to pay the rickshaw driver. The fare was 20 Taka. The smallest note we had was 100 and, of course, he didn’t have change. This is a really common issue in many countries, so as a rule try and get a bunch of small change as soon as you can. I’ve added this to the tips page. Fortunately, Mahmud’s friend paid (we ran a tally for the day and paid him back later) and we walked down to the riverside.

A small flotilla of equally small boats awaited us. Each manned by a single sailor with a single oar, these boats are used to ferry people and goods from side to side, or from larger ships to the portside. We boarded our chosen vessel, panicked, wobbled, sat, prayed, wobbled some more and let the oarsman take us out into the water. We were taken a fair distance up and downstream on the Buriganga watching river life take place. Huge boats moved up and down virtually submerged in the weight of their cargo, vessels akin to paddle steamers without the paddles battled to get to the dockside, families and random businessmen passed by. Workers shaped things or sat and played cards, women on the riverside laid plastic bags out to dry (I assume for recycling) and so on.

Something I’ve not encountered before but which Hans has is to be the centre of attention in another country. Simply, nobody travels to Bangladesh as a tourist much as they didn’t to Vietnam seven years ago when Hans was there. As such, a white guy and a (historic) Korean sat on a small boat makes for something to gawp at for the locals. We had a lot of people waving at us and smiling for photos so it became a challenge to get any non-posed shots unless we snuck up on them from the side.

The time passed pleasantly enough as we talked to our guide about his family, Bangladesh, cricket and football. After an hour or so, we returned to the water’s edge and paid the ferryman. It was slightly less than two pieces of silver – only 110Tk.

We had been dropped off a little further downstream than where we’d boarded. Our guide walked us through a busy dockside warehouse to the Ahsan Manzil or Pink Palace. This is a late 19th century palace now partially open as a museum. Entrance is a ludicrously small 2Tk (There are 140Tk to the pound!) though there is not a huge amount to see inside. One thing to note with Bangladesh is that, unlike India, it seems that foreigners pay the same as locals for the tourist attractions. Let’s see how long this lasts if more people start visiting!

Our next mode of transport was a horse and carriage. We sat for ages as it seems these vehicles only set off when they’re fully laden. Eventually, we set off. Then stopped. Moved a few yards. And stopped again. The traffic in Dhaka isn’t the best in the world, even though most of it is quite small and maneuverable! The carriage only took us partway to where we wanted to go, so again we did the 3-men-in-a-rickshaw trick and set off towards the university campus.

Dhaka University is famed for it’s Business Administration course (our guide had recently passed this) and has some interesting statues on the grounds.

Round the back of the university is the National Museum with the inviting entrance fee of 5Tk. Our guide had o get back to the office, so left us there with instructions on how to return to our hotel. I will try to get his name before I post this, but we’re both hugely grateful for his time regardless.

The museum is smaller than the Indian equivalent we visited in Calcutta, but is conversely of a slightly better quality – or at least is less dusty! Exhibits include Bangladeshi weaponry, art, animals, agricultural products and a section devoted to the Liberation War of 1971. In fact, there’s a whole separate museum dedicated to this event, but sadly we didn’t have time to visit that as well. This exhibit was the highlight for me, with some very harrowing items on display – including the bloodstained shirt of one freedom fighter who died wearing it.

One thing that hits home about how young Bangladesh is as a country is that the first ever Bangladeshi flag – handmade – is on display in the museum. The country is only two years older than I am! The bad thing is the flag seems to have aged better than me.

Hans and I ended up being exhibits ourselves, or so it felt. I swear more people were staring at the foreigners than were looking at the displays. I should have had a shower and put on my Sunday best.

Stomachs were beginning to gurgle (well, mine continued to gurgle – I made full use of the facilities at the museum while we were there) so we located ourselves a rickshaw and were pedalled speedily back to the hotel. Our rickshaw-wallah was a very honest man. We gave him 100Tk and he handed us back a fifty. Then another ten, when he realised we weren’t going to let him away with it. He was reaching for more notes, when we decided to let him keep the rest. The fare should have been 20Tk, but some people deserve a break.

The hotel helped us sort lunch as the restaurant next door only had a menu in Bangla. I stuck with some simple rice and veg while Hans wolfed down pretty much everything else on the table. Oh, I can’t wait to get my appetite back.

Our last task of the afternoon was to locate a cybercafe. This proved to be a not insignificant quest, but with the help of the hotel management, a keen rickshaw-wallah, several members of the public who happened to speak English and some luck we found one about 15 minutes’ pedalling away. A good connection as well, and they had USB ports. A shame I forgot to copy my blog posts to my USB key before we left the hotel. Gah. Still, I got some money stuff done online and cleared some emails which was the whole point. All for 30Tk per hour. Bargain.

On the rickshaw ride back, we spotted our first riot police of our visit. They were busy reading newspapers and looking bored. I told you all it was fine here since the caretaker government took over!

Bags shouldered, we decided to get two rickshaws to the dock. Hans did try hailing a taxi, but he gave the univeral facial expression for “Hell, no” when we mentioned Sadarghat. Given the traffic we encountered on the way there was bad enough for a three-wheeler, I can’t say I blame him for turning the fare down.

Once we were dropped off, the fun began. The fare to Sadarghat should be 20Tk per rickshaw. Hans had a 50Tk note and was indicating it was for the two drivers to share. Heads were shaken. “Hundred, hundred” they indicated. One hundred each. It was our turn to go “Hell, no!”.

We gathered quite a crowd as the “discussion” progressed. One young boy who spoke English kept trying to raise the price, obviously hoping for a kickback from the drivers if he got them an inflated price. Another local in a blue shirt stood our ground and argued that the going rate was much less and that the foreigner was being generous with 25Tk each.

Eventually Hans shouted “You are bad Muslims! You want 50Tk? Or you want nothing?”

“Eighty!”

Bad move. Money back in wallet, back turned, Hans stormed off.

It’s funny how as soon as the possibility of losing all the cash you’ve already worked for raises its head that you think maybe taking the correct fare isn’t such a bad idea after all. In fairness, there was never any real vitriol. Anyone watching could see the smiles on faces as the haggling went on. Sorry to say, but the Bangladeshis just haven’t got the hang of ripping off tourists yet!

We were at the dock again to catch our mode of transport for the next 24 hours – the rocket boat “Ostrich”. This vessel is to take us all the way to Mangla and we have a first class cabin in which to while away the journey. As we were sat in our comfy little dorm waiting for departure, Mahmud barged in! He had wanted to make sure we were OK, had enjoyed our morning and even brought some delicious savoury biscuits for us to munch on until dinner. I think he made it off the boat before we set sail – he certainly ran fast enough when he realised the engine had started…

The Ostrich is nice enough and the staff are incredibly helpful. Dinner was an option of English or Bengali food – I went for the former and Hans the latter. Both were really good. The beds are comfy and there’s electricity in the room (if you unplug the fan!) so I can get on with laptop work while Hans does his amazing snoozing trick. I swear, he’d sleep twenty hours a day and eat for the other four if he could.

Waving bye-bye to Calcutta

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Or Kolkata, depending on which name you want to give it.

We didn’t do a lot yesterday, mainly just swapping hotels and walking about. The food is good here – a couple of great cafes round the corner – and we got chatting to a nice bunch of people from Oz and Ireland before encoutering the largest gaggle of Americans I’ve seen in one place since I visited Texas. They were all in India to work for a non-profit organisation helping people to fund themselves. Good stuff.

In the evening, we channel-surfed for about four hours seeing as we had a telly. Eventually, we settled on Headbanger’s Ball n VH-1 which whiled away some time as we remenisced over some good old early 90’s heavy metal.

Today we wandered around the museum, which wasn’t too bad for 150Rp (plus 50Rp camera fee we didn’t pay). It’s got an enormous collection of fossils, bones, rocks and the like and really seems more of an impressive reference place than a browsing one.

Afterwards we headed on the underground for the Kali Temple (Kali Ghat) a few kilometres away. The morning ceremony involves the ritual sacrifice of a goat and we missed that. Funnily enough, I’m relieved… Although many people were still praying in the area where it takes place and blood was still very much evident.

We didn’t bother going into the temple as the queue was really rather long and we were getting peckish by then. Not for mutton, though.

Lunch was back where we’d had dinner the night before. I settled on a pizza as we’re travelling by train tonight and I guarantee dinner will be chicken fried rice!

Next stop is Varanasi. We should arrive sometime early tomorrow morning, hopefully refreshed after a comfy train ride. Back in the real world, however…