Georgetown, Malaysia

Leaving Ton Sai I grabbed a boat with the lady from the Ting Tong coffee house, who's coffee machine had broken from our overuse (she was getting a repair in Au Nang). I got a tuk-tuk to Krabi and hopped on a bus to Trang to catch a train into Malaysia. I woke up on the bus WAY later than my expected arrival time in Trang. I got up and explained to the conductor and in a second the bus has stopped and I was on the side of the road. The bus ditched me at the side of the road. I crossed, stuck my thumb out and started walking. Within 5 minutes a little car stopped containing a man, a woman and two kids (who eyed this big ugly beardy man with much suspicion). The father was most interested in practising English so we spoke of countries and football most of the way until a police checkpoint meant he had to swap driving positions with his wife, as he had no licence. At Trang we exchanged email addresses (as you do) and they waved me off. I then found out that there's no train from Trang to Penang. My research was slightly wrong. I booked a coach for the next morning. I decided to have a look around a busy food market but soon wished I hadn't when extreme tiredness kicked in, and people looking, smiling and trying to talk to me went from being entertaining to a paranoid nightmare. I went straight back to the hotel and slept.

Next morning an 8am bus took me to Hatyai where I changed to a minibus at midday. The border was painless, although an eyebrow was raised and a chin scratched at why I had a 30 day visa stamp, but he realised it could not possibly be my error and set me loose into Malaysia. The three-lane, left-hand drive, raised motorway with metal barriers, hard tree-lined shoulder, European/Asian expensive cars and light rain dramatically reminded me of England. The only thing that brought me back to reality were the three Indonesian kids singing twinkle twinkle little star to me.

Someone recommended Penang to me. I had no idea what to expect when I got there; I had no hostel booked; I didn't even know the currency. The bus dropped me off and I found an ATM. I took out 500 Ringgits as it seemed like a good amount! I then found wi-fi and checked where I was and where I could find a dormitory. I was fortunately very close to  the old area of Georgetown. I strolled up Love Lane in ridiculous heat, noticeably hotter than Thailand. I had a good feeling about a hostel called "Red Inn" and I was greeted by a beaming receptionist called Lyn. When I was there the whole place was being run by three staff: 1 day reception, 1 night reception and 1 cleaner / breakfast cook. The Chinese owner didn't give any recognition of their hard work. He had CCTV and could monitor the staff from his cell phone, occasionally calling if something wasn't right or he thought the staff should push beer and snacks to the guests!

The lovely Lyn, pushing beer!

There's tons to do in Georgetown anyway, but with a week of music, arts, performance, street shows and food stalls under the banner of  the Georgetown festival, coupled with all of the great people I met, I ended up staying for two solid weeks. The food, oh the food! I'm dribbling at the thought. I don't even know where to begin with it. Georgetown food is so good, and varied, that you can actually get a (slightly confusing) food map. Me and my good Russian friend followed this map to come extent,  slurping delicious Chinese noodles, scoffing chicken tandoori's, munching Malaysian Laksa and topping with spicy samosa when peckish.

Fire!

At the Ros Mutiara tandoori restaurant the garlic naan tandoori set is second to NONE!

Urban sketchers were in town

Family photo at the Myanmar temple

Between the scorching sunshine it rained... a lot

The beautiful houses of Bangkok street and the Thai temple

The Manganiyar seduction at the local theatre - amazing!

Circle of Sound

Prizes if you can name them all

The most famous street-art in Georgetown

My birthday this year was particularly worldly with attendees from Russia, The Philippines, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Switzerland, China and Japan. On the menu was some Chinese rice with some Malaysian satay, washed down with some chilled (Lyn insisted it should be chilled), imported French red which was reserved for this occasion, even though I had to pay for it. A drunk street artist from Singapore very kindly gave me a great little picture he'd painted on his phone and printed. From the Chinese wholesaler behind the hostel came some rum and brandy, which, for soaking-up purposes, forced a 3am rainy raid on a burger trolley called "Old Trafford". Keeping with the tradition of football related meat outlets there wasn't really any meat in the burger, and what meat there was looked highly suspicious, but with more alcohol than blood in the pipes it was a damn fine burger!

Rice, satay and chilled red wine

Antique bicycle

Beautiful lantern

What? LAP SAP?

Postcard artist - maybe there's one winging its way to you? ;)

Breakfast: Omelette, toast and the internet

Pushkar, India

The day train heading west from Jaipur to Pushkar takes you into dryer and dustier landscapes. Camels appear in the fields and the heat noticeably rises. We get a side seat by the window and in the berth opposite are possibly the friendliest family i've met so far - photographs and smiles are exchanged for most of the journey!

Surrounded by a swarm of determined tuk-tuk drivers we leave the train station and walk up the road in the sweltering heat to the bus station. On the way there are some bulls munching a tiny patch of rare green grass in what looks like a school field. The gate is slightly open so we go to take some pictures, when a bull raises its head in what looks like a gurn and rapidly starts moving towards us. I try and close the gate but didn't get there in time so turn and run. Greta is already running to the amusement of the locals! After a minute I stop and look around - the bull has stopped in the road, traffic flowing around it, doing the head thing again - strange!

The bus is so busy. We sweatily push our way on with rucksacks and get to the back. Standing room only for this 40 minute journey up the hill. At the top, thankfully, everyone gets off the bus and we're in a super-dusty bus stand / market area. There are the usual crowds of people, cows and dogs but now also the odd working camel walking past. We set off in search of a guest house.  

We end up staying at the Mayur guest house for 200 rupees a night. Lovely little place with spacious rooms, en-suite, and cute little courtyard out front and run by a lovely family, who's house (and private temple) is attached. This could be one of my favourite guest houses so far. 

Pushkar is a holy city so there's no meat (not even eggs) or alcohol allowed (although some places do sell it under the counter). The lake is the centre surrounded by Ghats (steps) where people can get to the water, and the town is built up all around this and surrounded by dusty hills. It's very pretty, and spiritually "touristic" with modern and classic hippies roaming the main street in Ali Babar trousers - you can get espresso's and pizza here no problems! 

One day we saw a dog arched over, limping, slightly drooling from the mouth and blood coming from its rear, it looked at us with such a heartbreaking face as the locals dash around it like it doesn't even exist. Not wanting to touch it we try and find a vet: someone that can maybe put the dog out of its misery. This is not possible. Even if there was a vet we're told that culture wouldn't allow them to kill something - nature has to take its course. The next day we see the dog again and it's still alive but lying in the road, eyes closed, in the full heat of the sun. it's so frustrating to see this and not being able to do anything. The next day the dog is dead, and has been covered up by someone, who will then move it. It was only later that day that I found a leaflet for a UK animal charity working in India called TOLFA - who care for sick and injured animals.

We're here over Indian new year and there's a festival or procession happening every morning, noon and night! There's just too many to list and I forget which is which as this was over a week ago and they all melt into one colourful array. People dressed as Shiva sit on thrones in the town square watching fire breathers, and spinners. Free food is offered to thousands of people celebrating on the streets. Holy water is collected from the lake and taken through the streets on ornate carts with trumpeters and drummers alerting of its presence. Holy men bless people as they are transported through the streets on carts while extremely random sounding (LOUD) organ recordings play. One ghat is decorated and huge collections of musicians sing and play while people (and occasional cows) flock to the water. I've never seen anything quite like it.

Over breakfast one morning I got talking to a Spanish American lady with an identical twin and a huge interest in photography. They live in Pushkar for months at a time and know some interesting people. We go to an "invitation only" antique shop buried off the side of a temple - you would never find it unless taken. The shop is tiny but tall. Shelves full of Indian antiques and rarities pile high to the ceiling, years of dust cementing things together preventing collapse. Tobacco tins, paintings, cameras, cards, syringes, jars and instruments - more things than anyone could ever look at! The old smiling Indian owner enters the room and offers chai and smokes with a gruff voice then sits cross-legged. We chat for a while, I buy a cool old Indian tobacco tin from the 50's for a gift and we say goodbye. It was quite surreal, like being on a film set.

There are various temples around Pushkar, and some out on the surrounding hills. All reachable within 1 hour and with some great views back down to the town.

Loaded with items from the fabulous falafel shop me and Greta head to the overnight sleeper bus pick up area on our way deeper into the desert.