The ice cream tale

This story was told to me by Pete, a guy from London who is trying to open a hostel/guest house on the east coast of Spain. I wrote this story down in my travel journal, but my journal was stolen on the night train from Aurungabad to Mumbai. I will attempt, once again, to faithfully record 'the Ice cream tale'. By putting it online, it should make the story a little harder to lose. In order to capture the story effectively, I will retell it in the first person.

My girlfriend and I were traveling in central India and decided that we really wanted to visit one of the Tiger Reserves for which India is famous. We had the Lonely Planet and another older guide book that was written in the author's very best Indian English and outlined quite a few Tiger Reserves that were not mentioned in the Lonely Planet or any of the other guide books. Seeing as we were looking for the 'authentic' Indian travel experience, we selected one of the Tiger Reserves from the older guidebook and set out towards our destination.

We caught a train to the end of the main line, where we caught a another train along a rickety rural line to reach one of the isolated rural towns nearer our destination. Stepping off the train into the town, the people in the street stopped and stared at us. Evidently, white people had not been seen in this town for decades, if ever. Gradually a large crowd of Indians formed around us, everyone trying to get a look at the strange white people. The crowd of Indians continued to grow and eventually the town ground to a complete halt, all of the shops in the town closed. We continued to stand there, and the crowd continued to grow. Suddenly, out of nowhere a man grabbed me by the shoulder and as I spun around the man said, "my good sir, if you stand here much longer there is a real risk that you could be trampled to death. I know a place where you can get away from the crowds, come with me!" The man grabbed my hand, I grabbed my girlfriend, and he forged a path through the teeming crowd of people towards his brother's shop. We stepped into his brother's shop and the man closed the door behind us and pulled the blinds on the windows so that the crowd, which had followed us and was swarming outside the shop could not see in. After a quarter of an hour the crowd of locals was still outside the front of the shop. The man's brother said, "I think you will have to use the back exit." We walked out the back exit and towards the bus. When the crowd of people outside the shop realised that we were no longer in the shop they came around the back of the shop and started to follow us towards the bus. At this point, we ran for it and jumped on the bus. I now know what it feels like to be a monkey in the zoo.

But the story gets better.

Glad to be rid of the crowds, we put down our bags and relaxed into one of the seats on the bus. The bus started on its way, and we got into a conversation with the man sitting directly in front of us. This man was very self important and in the course of the first five minutes of our conversation he was careful to have us know that he was the head policeman of the village in which we would be staying. During the course our conversation with Mr. Big, the man behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked if he could read my newspaper. I had bought the Times of India before leaving from the main station, and I handed it to the man behind us. As our conversation progressed, Mr. Big also informed us that he was the owner of the local radio station in the village. Through the occasional glance my girlfriend and I agreed that Mr. Big was a man who should be taken with a grain of salt.

A short time later, the man sitting behind me handed back the newspaper. On the cover of the newspaper he had written "Do not stay at 'such and such' guest house!" This was very strange and I showed my girlfriend. I turned around, but the man sitting behind me looked out of the window and refused to make eye contact. It was clear that he did not want to talk and given the nature of the message, I decided not to say anything about it.

Mr. Big continued to talk, and we feigned interest in the conversation. He told us that there were only three cars in the village. One was the police car, which he could use whenever he liked. One was the ranger's car, which he could use whenever he liked. The other belonged to some private person. "Tomorrow morning", he said, "I will pick you up in the ranger's car and personally take you on a tour of the Tiger Reserve."

When we got off the bus Mr. Big said to us, "oh, my friend has a guest house. You can stay with him, I will pick you up from there in the morning." When we arrived at his friends guest house, we immediately realised that it was the guest house that the man on the bus had warned us not to stay in. We did not know the reason for the warning, but we definitely could not stay in that guest house. We went inside to have a look and I signalled to my girlfriend that she should throw a fit and refuse to stay there, she complied. She started complaining loudly that the guesthouse was dirty, and that she refused to stay there. I played good cop, saying "oh, it's not so bad." Finally, we left the guesthouse and checked into the guesthouse down the street.

It was mid-afternoon and Mr. Big had invited us to visit his radio station, so after putting down our things we paid a visit to the village radio station. Mr. Big greeted us at the radio station and seemed proud to show us around his personal little radio empire. Much to our horror, he treated the staff of the radio station like slaves. Whenever his staff would make a mistake, annoy him, or for want of something better to do, he would strike them over the head. This man was clearly unbalanced. "This is the only radio station in the whole area" he announced to the universe.

But the story gets better...

That evening we left our guest house and went in search of the village restaurant. Eventually, we found the place and on entering I was immediately noticed the man from the bus who had written the message on the newspaper. We sat at a table directly across from him, and although I could tell that he had seen us, he refused to look in our direction or pay us any attention. He was making a significant efforts not to notice us and we decided that it was not a good idea to confront him in the restaurant.

After some time, our informer got up to leave the restaurant. We paid our bill and followed him out into the street. We caught him up and I asked, "who are you? What did you mean by the message you gave us?" We followed him as he led us into the shadows of a side alley, he did not want to be seen talking to us. "I am the park ranger. Do not go into the park tomorrow. You must leave this village." This was a shocking revelation. The man said nothing more and began to walk away from us. "Wait! What do you mean? Why are you warning us? What are you warning us about?" The man stopped, hesitated, and turned once again to face us. "I have risked enough already just by talking to you. The man who offered to take you into the park tomorrow is a dangerous man, and if you go with him tomorrow morning there may be an accident. You must leave this village tonight! Good-bye." At that, the Ranger turned and walked out into the street, jumped on a scooter and drove away from us into the night.

My girlfriend was hysterical, moaning, whaling and crying. She completely lost it which , given the circumstances, was completely understandable, but not very helpful. It was up to me to pull us through. I was feeling just as scared as she was, but I said to her ,"don't worry, everything will be okay." We were terrified.

Back at our guest house, we dared not sleep. My girlfriend pushed a small tables and our packs against the door and I guarded the door all night with a big stick I had picked up along the road, lest someone should try to break into our room during the night. We could not take any chances.

At the crack of dawn, we took our packs and went to the house of the man who owned the only private car in the village. I banged on the door. No answer. I banged on the door again, no answer. I knew there were people inside the house because I could hear movement. Eventually, after fifteen minutes of loud and insistent knocking, a man came to the door. "What do you want?", he asked in an extremely indignant tone, "we are trying to sleep". "We want you to drive us to the main town!", I pleaded with him. He refused, "I will not drive you to the town for any reason". He knew that we had been planning to go into the park that day, and by this stage it was fairly clear to us that nobody in this village wanted to upset the boss. I offered to pay him money, but he said that he would not drive us under any circumstances. At this point I opened up my wallet and started peeling out £10 notes. The man stood there, looking at the £10, and refused to take the money. I peeled out another note, £20 on offer and still no effect. I ended up paying £40 to be driven to town. To put it in perspective, at that time £40 was enough to live comfortably travelling in India for two weeks.

But the story gets better...

We piled our bags into his four wheel drive and the man set off towards the town. We had a sudden realisation that Mr. Big was head of police and controlled the radio for the entire area. He could make a call to the police in the surrounding areas and have us brought back to the village on some false charges. We were not our of the woods yet.

Finally, we made it back to the main town. We were greeted by the same swarming crowds of people who had welcomed us into the town on our way to the village. We made our way directly to the station, because we did not feel safe and wanted to be on a train and out of that area for good.

Standing on the platform of the station there were hundreds of Indians crowding around us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a policeman making a bee line straight for us, there was nowhere we could run because we were boxed in by crowds. As he approached he waggled his head and asked us if we would like him to control the crowd. Phew! He hadn't been sent by Mr. Big. The policeman turned around and proceeded to wave his cane in the air and shout orders for the thronging crowd move back. To our surprise the crowd obeyed immediately and he cleared the area around us of people.

"You had better get on the train to avoid the crowds", the policeman suggested. We stepped up onto the train and the policeman followed. The policeman followed. As soon as we boarded the train the crowd again surged forwards to the edge of the platform. He seemed very pleased with himself and said, "I will keep back the crowds." This was way too strange.

After all that we had been through, the scene of us standing there at the open doors of the carriage, with a crowd of Indians below us was just too amusing. My girlfriend said that she would take a photo of me with the thronging crowds below and I would take one of her, so that we could have some sort of photo to remember this amazing ordeal.

My girlfriend lined up the camera and just as I was smiling for the photo to be taken I felt an almighty whack across the back of my neck and I dropped to the floor. The policeman had hit me. I curled up in the foetal position, covering my face, fully expecting the policeman to starting flogging me within an inch of my life. Before I knew what was happening, I heard the policeman say "oh, my good sir, I am so very sorry!". I looked up and saw my girlfriend pissing her pants with laughter. I certainly couldn't see the joke. My girlfriend explained that, just as she was about to take the photo one of the Indians in the crowd put a hand behind my head to make bunny ears, just as the policeman had attempted to whack the hand it pulled away.

"My good sir, I am so very sorry!", said the policeman, "allow me to compensate you." I was still a little stunned, "oh, not don't be silly, you don't need to do that." The policeman replied in the most serious tone of voice, "My good sir, I will buy you an ice cream!" "An ice cream?", this was unexpected. "Oh, sir, but I insist!" And with that, the policeman disappeared into the crowd. This was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. He returned minutes later with three ice cream cones. It looked like the kind of ice cream sold by shonky street vendors that we would never ordinarily buy. But, not wanting to reject his gift, the three of us stood there at the open door of the train and ate our ice cream.

Keeping it together

The previous half dozen posts were on my Xanga blog, seeing as I no longer use Xanga and that I did n't want to lose all of these posts (just as I lost my journal on the train to Mumbai late last night), I have reposted them here.

Virgin travel post

Okay, this is my virgin entry. I have been travelling around the UK, Ireland and Spain for about 4 weeks now. To see some of my photos from London and the surrounding area, click the 'London photos' link below.

London photos

London was an amazing experience. It is much like Szdnez on serious dose of roids. The buildings are impressive, the people are fashionable, the women are beautiful, and the public transport arrives on time. I am tzping this in Hamburg, just arrived here to start a German language course. Unfortunatelz, the 'y' and 'z' kezs on this kezboard have been swapped. It is probablz a measure to increase German tzping efficiencz. Ah, German effiencz, just don' mention the war...

The Dali exhibition in London was outstanding. Thez had a series of Dali movies running on loop and a collection of his most famous paintings. This guy brings a whole new meaning to the word 'insane'. Basically everything reminds him of sex, including lobsters, telephones, horses, rhinoceros horns, zou get the picture.



From London we caught the overnight bus up to Edinburgh. If you meet any bonnie wee lassies when you're up Scotland way, the phrase "it's a braw bricht moonlicht nicht the nicht" (meaning 'its a brilliant bright moonlit night tonight') should come in handy. If you can say, "It's a braw bricht moonlicht nicht", then yer a'richt, ye ken. If someone's giving you the wee willies, tell them to "get tae, your pure bokin" (meaning 'go away you are horrible'). And, to bid farewell to a dear friend you say, "lang may yer lum reek" (meaning 'long may you have smoke coming out of your chimney').

From Scotland we flew into Dublin. It might be one and the world's most expensive cities, but it doesn't have incredibly much to show for it. The biggest attraction is the Guinness brewery, which is awesome by the way. I know what you're all dying to know and the answer is yes, the Guinness does taste better in Ireland. As for the coffee in Ireland, the Irish must have been listening to too much of the Beastie Boyz, because they like their whisky with coffee and cream.

From Ireland, Paul and I flew down to down to Bilbao in the north of Spain, which is home to the world famous Guggenheim. When I think of contemporary art, I think blank canvass with a blob of blue paint in one corner entitled 'contemplation'. However, much to my surprise, the Guggenheim was actually really really good.

From Bilbao we ventured to the coastal town of San Sebastian. The sand on La Concha beach is just as good as any of the beaches I have seen in Sydney or Goa. However, because the beach is in a bay there were no waves. It was like one gigantic swimming pool, there were lane markers and out towards the centre of the bay there was a platform with a slippery dip. There must have been about 2000 people on the beach the day we were there, and like good Europeans most of them clung to the shoreline, either walking along the beach or paddling in the water at waist height. Paul and I swam straight out to the platform in the middle of the bay. There was a little dingy rowing up and down the bay making sure than no one had drowned in the perfectly still water.

After meeting up with the lovely Miss Bridget in Pamplona, we headed out on a three day pilgrimage to Lourdes. I have never wanted to go on a pilgrimage before, but in retrospect I'd have to rank it as one of my most memorable experiences. There were 1000s of old and sick people there hoping to obtain a miracle from the holy Lourdes water. Unfortunately, yours truly did not get any miracles, I am still clinically insane. It was a similar experience to visiting much of India. Being literallysurrounded by people who are knocking on death's door makes you appreciate the little things. Croissant, baggett, chocolat, fromage, vin rouge, I was deeply touched.

century architect Antoni From the holy land we ventured to Barcelona, or Barthelona as the locals say it, the land of filth and depravity. Much hailed as the happening touristy party town on the shores of the Mediterranean, Barcelona attracts people from all walks of life, many of whom appear to have crawled out from under the nearest rock. During the day I saw tricksters taking money from innocent tourists, and walking down the main drag (Las Ramblas), I was constantly having to dodge ladies of the night who would try and call out to me and grab me as I walked past. But apart from these aspects of Barcelona, it is, in its own way, a very beautiful city. Casa Mila, better known as La Pedrera, is the most famous secular building designed by the early 20thGaudi. The Ciutat Vella and L'Eixample areas of Barcelona are approximately a million times cheaper for food than the touristy Barri Gotic area. To get there, when you're walking from the harbour up Las Ramblas, turn left instead of right. Also beware the Sangria. I was under the impression it only contained red wine and fruit juice. However, after drinking half a litre of the stuff over dinner, let's just say my initial assumption was well and truly wrong. I suppose there are worse ways to write off an entire morning.

From Barcelona we bussed it to Nice. Nice is lovely. I was there two and a half years ago in the winter the weather was as beautiful this time as it was the last. For those of you with an interest in food, I recommend going to a bakery and ordering the Niçois specialty called fougass (probably spelt wrong). You wont need to eat for the rest of the day.

Anyone who has read this far should be awarded the Victoria Cross, or some similar medal indicating your courage in the face of boredom.

August 7, 2007

I love my job - the lost Dr Suess poem

I love my job, I love the pay.
I love it more and more each day.
I love my boss; he/she is the best.
I love his boss and all the rest.

I love my office and its location.
I hate to have to go on vacation.
I love my furniture, drab and gray,
And the paper that piles up every day.

I love my chair in my padded cell.
There's nothing else I love so well.
I love to work among my peers.
I love their leers and jeers and sneers.

I love my computer and its software;
I hug it often though it don't care.
I love each program and every file,
I try to understand once in a while.

I'm happy to be here, I am, I am;
I'm the happiest slave of my Uncle Sam.
I love this work; I love these chores.
I love the meetings with deadly bores.

I love my job-I'll say it again.
I even love these friendly men,
These men who've come to visit today
In lovely white coats to take me away.

Oct 16, 2006

Walk a mile in their shoes

Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in his shoes. Then
when you do criticize that person, you'll be a mile away and
have his shoes.

September 29, 2006

A Verbal Trap

September 29, 2006

A barrister told me the other day that a favourite ploy is to say to a witness, "I don't want any hesitation in your answer, answer this question, yes or no, "Have you stopped beating your wife?""

If the witness replies "no" then it means they are still beating their wife, and if the witness replies "yes" then it means that they did at some point beat their wife.

Spence - Family Motto

September 4, 2006

Constantia et dillengentia. - By perseverance and diligence.

"Crocodile Hunter" Irwin dies

September 4, 2006

By Paul Tait

SYDNEY (Reuters) - Steve Irwin, the quirky Australian naturalist who won worldwide acclaim, was killed by a stingray barb through the chest on Monday while diving off Australia's northeast coast, emergency officials and witnesses said.

"Steve was hit by a stingray in the chest," said local diving operator Steve Edmondson, whose Poseidon boats were out on the Great Barrier Reef when the accident occurred.

"He probably died from a cardiac arrest from the injury," he said.

Police and ambulance officials later confirmed Irwin had died and said his family had been advised.

Irwin, 44, was killed while filming an underwater documentary off Port Douglas.

Irwin had been diving off his boat "Croc One" near Batt Reef northeast of Port Douglas. A helicopter had taken paramedics to nearby Low Isles where Irwin was taken for medical treatment but he was dead before they arrived, police said.

Irwin won a global following for his dare-devil antics but also triggered outrage in 2004 by holding his then one-month-old baby while feeding a snapping crocodile at his Australian zoo.

He made almost 50 of his "Crocodile Hunter" documentaries which appeared on cable TV channel Animal Planet and won a worldwide audience.

The series ended after he was criticized for the incident with his young son and for disturbing whales, seals and penguins while filming in Antarctica.

Khaki-clad Irwin became famous for his seemingly death-defying methods with wild animals, including crocodiles and snakes.

He made a cameo appearance alongside Eddie Murphy in the 2001 Hollywood film Dr Dolittle 2 and appeared on U.S. television shows such as "The Tonight Show With Jay Leno" and on children's television alongside The Wiggles.

Irwin was married with two children, Bindi Sue and Bob Clarence. His American-born wife Terri was his business partner and frequent on-screen collaborator.

Hear Hear

August 14, 2006

This term means "a shout of support or agreement." And is not to be confused with "here, here". Which is a term often heard on the soccer field when a player wants the ball to be passed in his/her direction. The term originated in the British parliament in the 18th century as a contraction of 'hear him, hear him'. It is still often heard there although sometimes used ironically these days.

Le Weekend

August 27, 2006

I went out on Saturday night with some of my Economics mates, Lewis and Nam. We started at the James Squire Brewhouse in Darling Harbour. The Highway Man and the Amber Ale were a particular highlight. After wetting our wistle at the Brewhouse we walked over to the Chinta Ria Restaurant which is a nice chinese restauant above the Wallaby Bar. The restaurant is apparently run by the same people who run the Buddhist monestary in Wollongong, although the fact they serve such tasty meat dishes makes me question that. The massive statue of Buddha in the middle of the room is an interesting touch, giving the restaurant a traditional oriental feel without being incredibly tacky.

The stream of consciousness email

The stream on consciousness email is a dangerous email at the best of times. However when attempted at 3am in the morning after a couple of beers it is most certainly a recipe for disaster. Imagine the situation where you have an irrational emotional gripe with a good friend, perhaps formerly good friend, and proceed to write an email that starts out as a simple innocuous reply . Almost without warning, the email turns into a presumptuous, rude and obnoxious personal attack and hurtful thoughts that should never have been allowed to form, are typed and sent. You didn't set out with the intention to be incredibly hurtful, but you write with all the reckless indifference of someone who no longer cares about the expected consequences of their actions.

Receiving a reply to my email entitled 'Wrath' I promptly archived the email with the intention of reading it as soon as I should be brave, stupid or drunk enough to endure the verbal lashing that will surely ensue. Or perhaps to be read in several years time when I stumble across it accidentally. Which ever happens sooner. It is difficult to write an apology email when you can't bring yourself to read the reply.

It could be worse. I do have many other friends. But I did like this one in particular.

Athens - first impressions

I arrived in Athens on the afternoon of January fourth. I was surprised to learn that, even more so than Hamburg, English is a second language in Athens. Most street signs have the Greek and then the English translation directly below it. I asked Markella if this had been an innovation for the Olympics in 2004, however apparently this has been pretty standard for a long time. Getting off the airport shuttle bus at Syntagma Square I was greeted by Athens, in all it's haphazard glory. Amazing classical style buildings stand next to hostels, or ugly apartment/office blocks, or amazingly beautiful little churches, or some ancient ruins, or a local flea market.

Walking to my hostel that first afternoon I became aquainted with the local stray dogs. These dogs are not the malnourished mongrel dogs that cover the streets and gutters of India like rats, but healthy looking well groomed stray dogs that are very protective of their turf. One stray dog I saw was sitting on the main road outside of the Parliament building. Oncoming cars would have to move out of the way in order to avoid this dog and, if the cars came too close, the dog would bark disapprovingly at the cars as they passed by.

I stayed in the Student's Inn the first night because Markella was busy. The rooms and bathrooms can generously be described as spartan, however this was made up for by the healthy supply of free internet. The restaurant next door turned out to be quite exceptionally good. You never expect much from a place that has a continuous stream of suckers from the hostel next door, but Athens is not your ordinary city. The owners of the restaurant were the main waiters and there were two musicians singing and playing traditional Greek songs on the guitar. The owners and the musicians were so relaxed and happy to be there that it almost seemed that they were in on some great secret to which the patrons were blissfully unaware. The musicians played in a relaxed and easy manner, and the owners served the customers in such a way that I felt as though I was in their home, and they were treating me to some rare and wonderful Greek hospitality.

My first day in Greece was pretty eventful. Woke up at around 10am, which was a nice change from the nazi 7am starts that I was made to endure with my dear insomniac friend Nick, and his super keen girlfriend. Went to the Benaki museum which was an amazing walk through the Greek artifacts from different periods of the long and illustrious Greek history. Better yet, because I am a student (or at least still have my student card), the 6 euro fee was waved. I also went to the museum of Cycladic Art. This museum cost 2.50 euro, half the museum was closed for renovations, and after having just been in the Benaki museum I was, how shall we say, a little underwhelmed. I also managed to visit the Roman Agora, which I believe is where the Romans had their market place in ancient times. After all of this I met Markella and we went back to her place. The frozen pizza we had for dinner was pretty good. Well, the first one ended up on the floor but the second one was good.

Today, January 6th, a powerful earthquake measuring 6.5 on the Richter Scale hit the Peloponnese region of southern Greece. According to the US Geological Survey, the quake went off at 7.14am, 124km wouth-west of Athens. I am pleased to say that I slept soundly through the whole thing. It was a Greek Orthodox holiday today commemorating the John the Baptist baptising Jesus in the river. The church/chapel we went to was tiny, and there were way too many people to fit inside the church at any one time. There was no mass as such, but there was a blessing of holy water by means of a ritual where the priest throws a silver/gold cross into the Mediterranean and some people dive in to retrieve the cross. The water is thereby blessed, and the person to retrieve the cross obtains a blessing that lasts the entire year.