Travel
...................................Travel Photography
Project Photography went backpacking in South East Asia and India between January 1999 and January 2000 and in Southern India 2001 - 2002. Images from recent trip to London and Paris have also been added. A more detailed narrative of the travels is provided after the links below.
....................................First trip to The Subcontinent - six months.
Calcutta July and JanuaryDaman regionBhuj, Amjer, Manvi
PushkaMurud Alibad and BombayJodphur Jaipur and JaisameerUdaipurVaranassiGoa including milleneum 2000Delhi, Rishakesh and AgraHere and there, trains etcNepal...... Garbage sifting in Nepal
.....................................Europe March and April, 2003.
A trip to the London Book Fair in March saw me spend five weeks in London, and a few days in Paris. Highlights included being in London when war broke out with Iraq. The protests at Westminster Square on Wednesday March 19 were tumultuous, the protest at Hyde Park the following Saturday were the largest anti war protest ever during time of war and were inspiring to see. Everywhere I went, the antiwar sentiment was strong.
However, there's more to life to celebrate that to protest about - like the Australian victory over the Indian in the World Cup Cricket. Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel? Who gives a fig - anyone prepared to set their head on fire over a
cricketing triumph gets my vote… As Australia butchered India, The Walkabout went bananas. One bloke got so excited he decided to turn himself into a candle… Note his mate's inept attempt to put him out with a pint that missed that the mark, and onlookers had to help out with their drinks…
LondonParisAnti war protests in LondonWorld Cup at The WalkaboutMan with the flaming head
Second trip to India, 10 2001 to 2 2002, three months, with a stronger emphasis on the social side of travelling.
Bombay - GoaHampiHyderabadMysoreMaderaiCricket - BangalorePalolemChennai
Night Photography - technical details below.
Me getting attacked by an enraged Muslim mob. Special...
Full Moon Party at the Banyan Tree Goa.
...................................First trip to South East Asia
Saigon traffic and a vaguely photographic tale...
The following is a basic narrative of the journeys, with links to the relevant images.
.................................. Second trip to India
This trip kicked off in Bombay, November 15 with two nights in the pyrotechnical madness of Diwali. From here, down South to Goa where I managed to get sucked into the lifestyle for a bit longer than planned, before I finally got my hands on a decent motorbike and got out of there. First days ride got as far as Belagam, the next day Hubli. Arrived at the most laid back place in India, Hampi on the third days riding, and once found the place pretty hard to leave, and consequently spent eleven days there instead of 'a few'. Got involved in organizing a scorching Full Moon party with Sagiv (Israel) and Miles (London). Strange days.
Finally broke the shackles of Hampi, escaping to Hyderabad. After almost being killed by an enraged Muslim mob, which decided I looked 'American', it was time to leave. The fact I ended up on the front page of every newspaper in the state saw my profile raised considerably, making walking the streets a strange affair.
Escaped under cover of darkness on the road to Bangalore. Kept on riding to Mysore, checked into the Green Hotel, and settled in for a week or so. A beautiful place with splendid dawn light. Celebrated a candle lit Hanukkah with seventeen Israeli's singing weird songs in Hebrew.
An ill informed decision saw me split for Ooty, a mountain station. Apparently you go to mountain stations in summer when its too hot on the plains. However, if you go to a mountain station in Winter, its about 20 degrees below. Rode up in a T shirt, almost froze to death, eventually having my first crash on the savage hairpin bends on the ascent. Got a room with a heater; split the next morning. Managed almost four hundred kilometers in a day, and for what?
Cochin is the most overrated place in India. Left the next day, riding off into the mountains again on the way to Madurai. Spent a night in a place that didn't appear to have a name.
I awoke at sunrise, and went for a strange spin on my bike - this obscure little town appeared very tense. Buying a coffee, the anger amid the Indians was so palatable, I walk into a shop with a television to see why everyone was so uptight. It was December 14, Islamic militants had attacked the Indian Parliament, twelve people had been killed. Some of the Indians were so angry they point at the screen, and attempt to tell me what has happened, translating Hindi, into who knows what. No one speaks English, yet everyone wants to put me in the picture.
I nod, scowl, and split,arriving at Madurai the next afternoon after an amazing mountain ride. Madurai was a splendid town, spent five days there; the highlight was being attacked by an elephant. Finally head off to keep a date with cricket - the second test, between India and England in Bangalore.
Spend a day riding in the rain, arriving at Salem round seven. Leave the next morning, with the interminable drizzle unrelenting.
Truck drivers keep try to kill motorcyclists. Apparently it's something to do with the rain. Eventually end up riding in a pack, six terrified Indian bike riders and me hoping for strength in numbers as the trucks continued to terrorize us.
Arrived in Bangalore, spend three days watching cricket and the barmy army. Strange days, with even stranger nights. Thanks Matt…
Left for Goa after seeing Tandulkar crack 92. Got trapped in the biggest military convoy I've ever seen. Covered over four hundred kilometer's alternately weaving through, and dodging army trucks on the road to Hubli.. The soldiers do not smile.
Make Goa the next day. It is December 23, and the place is in full swing. The Full Moon Party at Banyan Tree December 30 was tumultuous.
A week planned in Goa becomes almost three, before we eventually flee for the tranquility of Panolim, the most beautiful beach in India. Numerous day trips in the region, numerous police hassles, and we're back in Goa. Escape plans are foiled again when a dopey Canadian bitch on a 500 Enfield manages to smash into my bike with Mish and Danielle on the back. My bike is bust, my leg is broken…
Taken to hospital on the back of another Enfield, a trip I'd rather forget. Met the coolest Indian alive, one Doctor Henriques.
More respite in Goa. Eventually leave for Madras on 17th January by bus and train. Loiter around Madras for three days; aside from a great fruit and vegetable market, it was a pretty drab city with the most horrible beach in the world.
Images from here and there, out of trains and busses or from the bike.
Fly back to Australia, via Singapore January 18.
Night Photography The following images were either shot via moonlight, or, on Ilford Delta 3200 film.
Moonlight images (400ASAF 5.6 15 minutes) were shot in Goa and Hampi. B n W 3200 was shot in Madurai, and Bombay, on the first night of Diwali, when the Indians tend to go a bit loopy. Our Singapore Airlines Boeing A380 was almost shot down by fireworks as we came in to land at Bombay. On the streets of Bombay, taking these images was actually quite dangerous. Blowing Westerners to bits is not a penchant reserved solely for the al-Qaeda.
....................................First trip to India
Six months in India kicked of in the most amazing city in the world, Calcutta. Truly a bizarre and confronting place. The Paragon Guest House, on Sudder Street provided a base for twelve days of subcontinental weirdness. The Paragon was also full of the coolest travelers I've ever met. Calcutta highlight; being getting arrested in The Howrah Train Station, for taking photographs.
Split from Calcutta with Cal and Scott on the train to Siliguri on Friday night. In Darjeeling, over breakfast on Tuesday we read in the paper that India had managed the most disastrous train accident yet recorded, with over 400 people killed when the same train we were on three days earlier, ran into a freight train from Delhi.
My Nikon finally dies, so Nepal beckons. Head off alone to Nepal, and within five minutes have teamed up with Miyako, a spirited and lovable girl from Yokahama Japan.
Nepal is a vast difference from India; we take a week to get to Kathmandu, seeing some extreme union unrest, as the entire countries truck and bus drivers appeared to have gone on strike. No camera - no photos…
Kathmandu was amazing. A week becomes two as we loiter about, before finally arranging a white water rafting saga. In monsoon. The river is flowing faster than the water out of a firehose. In our boat, there are three; Miyako, Camahl (from Poland) and out guide, Sila. Tumultuous.
Return to Kathmandu three days later. My wanderings see me end up at the Katmandu garbage dump where women sift through the rubbish for a living. Depressing...
My beloved Miyako heads South. I have a crack at traveling alone, and am thwarted, via meeting the beautiful Jennsy Academsy from London. Jump on a local bus, and disappear into the Nepalese country side with her. Highlight being looking out of our Guesthouse room ( called The Guesthouse at the End of the Universe) window at sunrise to see eight of the ten highest mountains in the world in the dawn light, naturally including Mount Everest. A few days later we spent an eerie night wandering Bhactapur amid 'the festival of the dead'.
Return from this sojourn a week later split for Pokra. Survive a mob attack upon arrival, and spend a week there blasting about in the Himalayas on a motorbike. Much billiards and drinking ensures.
Set off back to India with Jennsy. Brutal bus rides to Varanassi. Monsoon sees Varanassi looking not much like the postcards. All the ghats are under water, so they burn bodies pretty much where ever they like. The river was so high our Guesthouse foyer flooded.
The river is so high the cows prowl the laneways, goring the unwary. There is nothing holy about these surly horn wielding swine.
Split for Delhi, and discover the wonders of Paharganj. Trust no body.
Delhi is cool.
Jennsy heads home to further the expansion of her vast mind. I head South on the long trek to Bombay. Jaipur is a beautiful culture heavy snake pit of rickshaw treachery. A motorkike is the only way to thwart these skulldugerous swine.
I rent an ancient motorbike, at a competitive rate, only to discover the only gear it has, is 4th. The vendor assures me the bike will be fine. I nod, smile, and return the bike two days later, with a destroyed clutch. Again, I nod, and smile. He explodes…
'You pay, you pay…'
Nod, smile, flee…
Four days of Jaipur, and onwards to Ahemdebad, a place of much religious grief at the moment. An interesting town, where even in 99 tension was evident. Apparently every one who is white is a Christian or a Jew…
Onwards to Bombay to pick up my friend Kimb from Philly, America. Bit a hasty retreat to Guagarat via the wrong train. Get thrown off wrong train at one in the morning. Welcome to India Kimb. Debarcles ensure...
Ahembabad again. The pollution is one step beyond. Head to Bhuj, an amazing, beautiful town in southern Guagarat, near the Pakistan border. A five day stay becomes two weeks; we celebrate Diwali, where thousands dance non stop from 11 pm till near dawn. Eventually even we get out and dance. I am ordered off the floor, Kimb is allowed to continue. There is not a drop of alcohol or anything else at the dances. We see few other Westeners in this town. Around a month after we leave, Bhuj is leveled by an earthquake that devastated the region.
Back to Ahemdebad, and further North to Delhi where I continue my camera gear disasters. A few days in Delhi is too much for Kimb. We both flee for Rishakesh, home of spiritual enlightenment, soul searching spiritually vacuous backpackers and Sadu's than range from inspiring to loathsome. Five days of hippy talk is enough, I return to Delhi, and in a rush of blood, jump on a day trip to see the Taj Mahal and the assorted wonders of Agra. Despite the grief, and horror of missing our bus back to Delhi, and the combat style beggars a trip worthwhile.
A weird night trying to survive the Indian New Years Eve in Delhi, where all Westeners are fair game for whatever an Indian can throw at you that explodes. We hang out in The Rama Guest House in Paharganj, where the Israeli's try to act cool as fireworks explode above us. The Indians know we are all up here and consequently try and lob fireworks in our midst. It's easy to see who's been in the army by the way the Israeli's jump as the firework explodes. All the chillums in the world don't seem to do much good.
As the fireworks and explosives eventually abate we head South to Jaipur. Motorbike ride madness, we are run off the road by a deranged camel, before moving onwards to Pushka via Amjer. Pushkar was the most laid back, beautiful, ancient town, to see it transform as the camel fair approaches is a sight to behold. Despite all the terrifying tales of accommodation difficulties, we pay less than an Australian dollar each for our room at the Hanuman Guest House, throughout the camel fair. Push our personal limits of gluttony at the buffet restaurants, take photographs of the camel bedlam, finally splitting for Jaisameer on the last day of the Camel Fair.
Kimb is relentlessly groped by an Indian man on the bus ride out of Pushka.. I am two feet away. In an innovative fondling technique, whenever I turned round to slap him, he would feign being asleep. Revolutionary.
Then as I lost interest, he would continue his deft handiwork. Only to black out again as I spun round to wallop him. Truly a pioneer gropesmith… Check him out, he's the intermittently comatose bloke on the right of Kimb. Naturally she is over the moon with him..
Arrive in Jaisameer and meet Marie, an Irish maniac who became a fearless adversary against the scams. Numerous running battles with Indians in Jaisameer saw us leave with hate in our hearts. Onwards to Jodphur, the Blue city. Kimb and I soldier on amid the hassle that is Rajistan State, finally being roped into an Indian wedding, where we were most honoured guests. We watch, awestruck, as a bride views her husband for the first time. Eat heavily and flee, as the questions regarding our marital status become more pertinent.
Next Uidipur, while Kimb splits for Mount Abu. Again, noble aspirations of solo travel are dashed when I meet another fearless female; Liat from Israel. Rendezvous with Marie, and we have a fearless travel posse. We secure a motorbike, them meet more like-minded adventuress. Hire motorbikes, and eight of us take to the Uidapur countryside.
In the evening, we discover beer and rum.
Liat and I are roped into another wedding; this one entailed a 65 Kilometer bus ride to the bride's village. Many amazing photographs ensure, as Liat is stripped of Western garb and dressed in a Sari and is transformed into an Indian. Liat and I finally part as I head for obscure fishing villages, and she, Varanassi.
Finally I discover solo traveling. Despite the heartfelt concerns of the bus driver, I disembark from the Uidapur to Bombay bus at a town called Vapi at three in the morning. Swill chai with weird Indian truck drivers and oddballs untill sunrise, then get on a bus to Daman, a fishing village with competitively priced beer. Spent three days photographing the fishing fleet chaos and declining lunch and dinner invitations with the wondrously friendly Indians. From here, I made my way down the coast through numerous fishing villages with a different name, depending on who you spoke to. You could not meet sweeter people on the planet. Not so many Westeners make it to these parts apparently. I never saw any.
Eventually make my way to Bombay, and the unavoidable Salvation Army guesthouse. Manage to stay single long enough to flee South towards Goa on a boat. A four hour ride saw me get as far as a mudflat near a town called Alibad. From here, I loitered down the Western coast, again, never seeing another Westerner. Fishing villages divided by fifteen rupea rickshaw rides. A week of this ongoing marine theme was enough. Head inlands seeking the train line to Goa, where every backpacker I had met in the last five months swore they would be. End up on the most ridiculously jam packed train there has ever been. It is December 23, and all of India is heading South. You could not have fitted any more people on that train with a forklift and a crowbar. This journey was so bad, it was tremendous.
Arive Margao at sunrise, and bid fond farewell to my eight thousand new found friends, and made my way to Panajim. Got a motorbike, and ended up at Sonu guest House- Dairy, on Chaporo Road Vagator. Settled into the Goa lifestyle.
Milleneum 1999 - 2000 spent in the roaring vortex of Primrose, Nine Bar, Disco Valley, Hilltop and onwards. Surprisingly, I even manage to operate my camera with relative ease, and take a photograph of the Disco Valley sunrise New Years Day that appears on the splash page of this site, next to the fisheye image. No photograph however, could capture the mad bedlam of the Millennium 48 hour saga...
Two days later, I flee Goa for Bombay, on my way back to Calcutta. After two days on a train, I'm back in the City of Joy.
Miscellaneous images shot on the road, and out the windows of busses, trains and the like…
Another ten days of wandering the Calcutta streets and I was on a plane to Thailand.
.........................First trip to South East Asia
I arrived in Thailand in March 1999, survived the brutal waterfights of Sonkram in Chang Mai, the depravity of a Full Moon party on Ko Phan Gnan as well as the anatomical wonders of Pat Pong. From there, I hooked up with Veronique (Quebec) and headed up into Laos during monsoon. An amazing country with the most beautiful people, mercifully spared much of the Western influence that pervades much of South East Asia. Possibly the most amazing month of my life.
From Laos, Veronique and I crossed into Vietnam at Lau Bau, heading East to Hue. Over the next month we made our way down the coast to Saigon via Hoi Ann and Na Trang, where I fell in with a bunch of hard drinking war vets before finally ending up in the vortex of Saigon.The Vietnamese strike me as the toughest, proudest, most dynamic race I've encountered. I love them.
Veronique split for China; she was becoming increasingly disturbed with my Saigon traffic obsession. This obsession entailed spending days on end perched upon traffic islands in the middle of six road intersections almost getting killed while trying to get the definitive 'traffic shot'.
My visa expired, so I headed West for Cambodia. In an ill advised move, I hitched a ride on a motorbike to the Vietnam - Cambodia border and crossed into Cambodia alone. The crossing was a difficult affair, full of intense soldiers with guns and an array of aggressive con men with a yen for my US dollars. My negotiation attempts to arrange a ride to Phenon Penn came to nothing when an ex Khmer rouge psycho eventually got me in his military vehicle and proceeded to terrorize me for the next 24 hours. The highlight being when a soldier told me I was to be shot. Tremendous.
Arrived at Phenon Penn a day later and US $ 55 lighter of pocket… This pretty much set the tone of my trip in Cambodia. Stayed at the Cloud 9 Guest House and met some dynamic poser backpackers… Saw some sights, and some truly bizarre bars and clubs with Nicole, my Austrian mate, as well as the most horrendous museum in the world - S21, documenting, in grim photographic detail, the handiwork of the Khmer Rouge. A ride from here to The Killing Fields will ensure you will probably never feel quite the same about the human race again. Eventually jumped in a truck heading to Siam Reap, to see the wonders of Ankor Wat. Which was amazing. The first thing I did in Siam Reap was to hire a motorbike, and the next, to get violently ill, and spend the next six days delirious dribbling sick person in a Guest House with only Cambodians to chuckle at me. Eventually Michelle from San Francisco heard about me, and wove her magic nursing me back to health. Spent one more day at Ankor what, then headed off for Thailand. On the worst road in the world, a muddy monsoonal nightmare of pot holes, mud pits, and broken bridges over rancid rivers. Arrived back in Thailand, and the luxury of Khao San Road.
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I traveled with two Nikons, three lenses, and a Fuji medium format camera, on the first trip, and only Nikons on the second trip to India. Over fifteen months of fairly obsessive photography I shot 180 rolls of film, almost all black and white.
This averages out at around fifteen shots a day, or, a roll of film ever two and a bit days. Most of the film was bulk rolled, meaning each shot cost around 9 cents. So this sort of travel photography is relatively inexpensive.
.....................View travel neg index - All negs, including some processing information, from all tripsadded.Indian soj
