awkward spiral sentences

My time in Paris has been an interesting one so far. Just before Alex left i got a case of anxiety and sort of felt a bit angry and not good about life in general. After he left it sort of got worse. I think it was largely to do with me feeling a bit scared and isolated in a place where i can't speak the language and i am on my own most of the time and i can't afford to do much to change the situation as it presents itself. And so i had a momentary Tokyo flashback. Tokyo was a very lonely time for me.

I was finding it very difficult to leave Mo's flat. And it is a lovely flat in the Beaubourg district, right in the guts of Paris. But i don't like feeling like i can't do things so i had to suck it all up and put on my sexy pants (and if i was gay i'd have a riot in this part of town) and go out and buy some groceries and a phone card. And you know what? I did it and i didn't die and no body laughed at me at... and i didn' die mum. But it was bloody hard getting up and out of that appartment. And so i made contact with a few of my other friends here and then went out for dinner on Friday night with Fred (who i met in Dharamsala and is a joy to be around) and i felt better for a while but the next day it was like starting all over again and i got angsty because i didn' know what to do with myself and it is a bit difficult to go for walks because my new shoes have given me some very big and painful blisters that keep bleeding when i walk on them. But i was going crazy and i was gonna start eating cleaning products so i went to the first bar that looked like it was full of locals and i sat at the counter and before long i was having a chat in english with a very friendly guy called Larry and he introduced me to the staff and then they gave me some drinks for free which is apparently out of character in Paris. And then i felt fine and went off to a party at my friend Didi's place. There were some people who were happy to speak English there and so that was very good for me. We drank a lot of rum and vodka. The next day i went out with confidence and felt pretty good about being in this heady, romantic city where everytime i look up i get a rush of endorphins. So i cooked for my beautiful, stressed out and very busy host last night and it was a grand meal and we listened to records and laughed about things we have done and people we met.

Today i don't know what i'm gonna do, but i have a recommendation for a good lunch and coffee so i will go there and just enjoy walking around in Paris... which is my new favourite city in the whole world except maybe Melbourne but i can go there anytime. It is so beautiful here, and the croissants and baguette make bakers in Melbourne look silly. I havent found good coffee here yet... Mo says i wont. That is a shame. Good coffee would taste very good here.

I could spell out some more falmboyance about my decadence in the magnificent city of Barcelona: where i got lost in tiny lanes like spilt bowls of spaghetti and saw more Picasso and then Gaudi stole my breath and made still my pounding heart in the rib cage of his La Sagrada Familia. We stayed in a youth hostel and i will never ever do that ever again not in a million and one years if you paid me lots of money and got some tea from china no way. There are some distrssingly ugly people in this human race of ours... and they all have money and travel with Dad's credit card. Perhaps it is the Dad... yes... lets be angry with the Dad. Bad Dad.

Before that we had some intense and border line distrssing moments while trekking in the Spanish Pÿrenees where it is not the walking season yet and if anything had gone wrong on those mountain passes, waist depth in snow and crossing unseen rivers, we would have been in serious trouble. We slept in an abandoned refugio one night which was home to rodents who like the smell of our rubbish bag. But we woke in the most beautiful valley i have ever seen, surrounded by mountains and ten waterfalls sparkling in the sunlight. It was ecstasy to know that it was only the two of us and our four eyes that beheld that wonder at that time. Sorry everyone... it was not as awe inspiring as the incredible size of the Himayala... but it was prettier.

And so i am in Paris for another two weeks and then something dramatic will happen: I have a return flight booked to bring me back to India where i will hopefully have no trouble with immigration as i will only be in the country for a few hours before i get on my flight back to Melbourne on the 30th of June. It is all booked and it is ready and waiting and i oscillate between terror and exhilaration at the thought of returning to Melbourne town and seeing all you beautiful people (if you are there) again. But when someone suggests work at an English pub (as horrible as they are) i can't help but to feel tempted... just a whole heap. Either way, i think i would like to go to Iran in February. It didn't happen this time... but February is a good month. Maybe i'll stop over in India for a bit... why not?

So maybe i will write another blog before i get home and maybe i will not. I would like to transcribe a few more stories onto screens before i stop sending you all emails. I know some pretty good ones.

Siesta Festa

Hola amigos,

It has been a busy time. Writing has been near impossible. It still feels so. I am not starting this well. It feels a bit forced and the words cramp in my wrists. Alas. Let me put some places on the page.

We are now in the northern coastal town of San Sebastian, which features quite favorably in Ernst Hemingway´s Fiesta: the sun also rises. It is a very beautiful place, full of old architectural and artistic artefacts, laced with a thirsty drinking culture that flickers one eye around noon and does not dip its beak into the crooked wing until sometime after dawn. It is the sort of romantic and giddy place, heaving with hedonistic consummerism and decorated with top end class, that makes a backpacker feel filthy. There is no way i could stay in a place like this (Spain in general) were it not for the incredible generosity of my brother. And so an homage is due and i consider it paid.

Before we came to this crispy slice of Spanish jamon, we were in the not so sexy city of Madrid - home to the biggeest art gallery in the world and some very typical youth hostels. A very good friend observed recently the importance of trying a few different types of travel, so as we can know what we like and what we don´t: i do not like youth hostels. Not in Europe, and not in Australia either. The gel streaked collar up skiny jeans northern hemisphere kids with their have hair dryer will travel attitude bring with them a rather tedious demand for bad music and bad nightlife. It is no wonder the locals seem a bit aloof around us english speakers. I have not met many people in Spain, which is a little frustrating sometimes. Though it is good to get to know one´s brother again. And what did you like about Madrid benjamin??? We did have a pretty incredible day going to the Sophia Rapheal and the Prado museums - home to some of the most jaw dropping rumble in your guts neck cracking art in the world. Picasso blew me away while Goya blew me apart. Dali is also very cool and very busy. His peers provided some interesting work tambien. And then we had a unique cultural experience. Something that cannot be done in Melbourne. We went to see a bullfight.

And i was on the edge of my seat from the moment that terrific animal stormed out of the gate. The magnificent size and power of the creature, the flow and curve of its thunderous form. And the matador. There is a physical language, a poetic theatricality inherent to the dance of the bullfight. I was horrified, compelled, twisted up inside and exhausted by the spectacle. As per my standards, i was barracking for the bull. The tragedy of watching the slow wearing down and eventual execution of such a beautiful animal made me tremble. It has been an effort to not judge the event, or to delve too deeply into snarling reproach of the human festish for violence and barbarism. I still don´t know how to talk about the bullfight - when i was reading Fiesta the following day, Hemmingway writes about a matador and a series of bullfights: the image of the bull collapsing to its knees, its tongue protruding and blood streaked hide glistening in the sun, made it impossible to read. I stopped, closed my eyes, and shook.

The trip to San Sebastian was a beautiful demonstration of the chaos of decision making. We checked out and walked to a car rental agency. Alex had a bad feeling, so we jumped on the metro and headed to the bus station. There were no buses for several hours to Santander (we were going to go trekking in the north west of the country) so i said we should go to San Sebastian. At that we both smiled and the dread went away and i bought the tickets while Alex got the lunch. The arrival here was a bit anxious as the bok says you should make advance reservations. We had not and were unsure if we would get a room on a Friday night at the beginning of the summer season. The third place turned out to be an excellent accident. We are both happy, but having difficulty settling after travelling so quickly for the past two weeks. Who´d believe we were in Morocco last Saturday? Sipping tea in Kerouac´s old hotel... now we walk on the shores of Fiesta. A literary adventure of sorts, i spose.

I shant dare to discuss what happens next. I don´t bloody well want too. The thought of moving is too seductive and i might just dash again... which is a stupid thing to do. Movement gets addictive, making a sit down unbearable. Lets just exhale a minute... and inhale.

No buses today.

a quick laughing

This is just a quick message to go public on my re-entry to Europe. After about a week in Morocco (which i thought was beautiful and my brother thought was hideous) we are back in Spain - Granada. I would like to write more now but the keyboard i am sitting before is useless. As i bang away (most keys require repeated flogs) every other terminal is being used. So i will try again tomorrow or the next day. But if you like to listen to strange field recordings, i have some new ones up on http://www.soundtransit.nl/ The one from Essaouira is particularly mesmerising.

Peace out.

a necessary down time

This is the worst part of travelling: the waiting.

After returning from the mountains for the second time, it seemed like a good idea to take it easy in Pokhara for a few days. After forking out for two Annapurna permits (at about $35 each), a tandem paragliding flight (!!!) and the relative high cost of living in Nepal (compared to most places in India), i had well and truly exhausted my budget. Its not like i've been particularly strict with my expenditure, but with my entry to Europe looming, it made sense to just keep quiet, read a book or two and let my aching muscles recover. But rarely has anything been that straightforward - it is never the ideal, but the unaccounted for that dominates the moment of execution.

My digestive system was playing up again so i went to see a real (expensive) doctor. I was aptly diagnosed with dysentary - a charming bacterial experience i probably signed up for somewhere in north India. So quiet days and boring food were the doctor's order - accompanied by a bag of assorted pharmaceuticals. No alcohol - which is fine - but annoying when you're bored.

And i am bored. As unbelievable as it may seem. Indeed, it was a relief to be leaving Pokhara after having very little to do for four days. At least when you're on a bus you're going somewhere. I'd found myself watching movies and trashy cop dramas on television - most uncharacteristic behaviour. This culminated with and probably exacerbated a period of despair - most likely an after effect of trekking in extreme and demanding landscapes. I had descended from the mountains to discover a self performing the lethargic gestures of disorientation and anxious recoil common to one who has lost his way. In the life of dreams and the life of waking, alienation has been the tune. The steps i know too well. But before... before i was on a path that assaulted the mind with the densely woven visions of a kaleidoscopic hurricane. The thickness of forests. The scattering of stones. The pulse thudding in my ears. Onwards we stormed - Craig and i. Each morning we entertained delusions of a slower day - "we should take our time - enjoy each delightful cascade, each breath whispering between the bamboo." But once the feet began to move, the rising pace consumed us with its irresistible ecstasy. More than once we broke into a canter - i no longer saw the path, but felt each collision of foot on stone, over branch, every suspended moment - whirling with the joy of movement.

And when we arrived at our destination, the reward was in the cummulative exhaustion of four days climbing splashed across an incredible ampitheatre. The intoxication of achievement mingled with the deprivation of oxygen. The snow laden might of those terrible sentinels seemed unreal. We were such tiny animals in that most sublime of other worlds.

To make the trek back down was obvious and a natural progression. We stayed a night at base camp so as to witness the dawn a second time (we made the final ascent at 5am the previous morning) - and luck would have a blizzard coat the realm in a thick layer of delicious powdery white. I had never seen such a snowscape before. The descent was optimistic - the magic of such extraordinary places lies also in their talent for infusing the imagined outside. And so we wandered down. Slowly at first, then more quickly on the second (and final) day. Exhausted and aching, we arrived in Birethanti - the final village before exiting the Annapurna conservation region. We departed the following morning in much the same fashion as our arrival - perched upon the roof of a local bus.

Now despite the sense of wonder, i was feeling pretty rough the past few days of the trek. My guts had started playing up and i was being assaulted with intense head and body aches. On the final night i had a fever and was tormented with lucid dreamings. It was a relief when the doctor said "dysentary". Naming the beast made it manageable. And now that that is managed - at least tackled and restrained - there is only the sense of longing, of being lost. When the bus was heaving and wretching its awkward way from Pokhara a stir rose within - as each passenger became aware that the clarity of the morning had permitted the first view of the Himalayan mountains from the Pokhara valley - a rare occasion at this time of year.

For me, it was as if a long lost friend had unexpectedly shown up to say a final emotional farewell. After sitting in my room with a dark expression for some days - i shook with sadness at the sight of those mountains - Macchapucchare striking against the sky like a monolithic idol. I knew then that my adventure in the mountains was over. It is, i suppose, in these moments that we feel the ephemerality of all things; that we might glimpse the tragedy of time's unsympathetic advance.

And now i am in Kathmandu and it is 5.20pm and tomorrow i shall fly to Delhi and then wait for 15 hours before my flight to Portugal. And this is the worst bit - the waiting. Not knowing what new challenges await - left alone to finger the debris of my recent memories. But perhaps there is something necessary in this - a necessary down time. And if i had to choose between a life of logical progression from one meagre contentment to another, or to take the intoxicating climbs with the horrendous falls - i know which burning altar i should have no choice but to fling my wretched form upon in a moment of total embrace.

Still.

I hate the waiting.

illiterate hypoxia

(Annapurna Base camp - 4130m - dawn)

(On the way back down)

(Macchapucchere -my favourite mountain - reflected in an icey pool)

(Annapurna Base Camp at 6am)
(Annapurna I - over 8000 meters)

(Recognise this guy?)

(Macchapucchere at 5am)

(Annapurna South embodied in a pool)

(Rhododendrons on the way to Annapurna)
(The above images are from the second trek - Annapurna Sanctuary - 7 days)

It was impossible to write yesterday. The cumulative exhaustion of two treks - each with their own specific trials and rewards - made its demands quite clear. Sit... no, lie down. Eat steak. Listen to the rain. Was the steak thing a bit crude? I have developed a genuine affection for cows while travelling in India and Nepal. Okay. So we did very little after the bus dropped us off in Pokhara. And now i am still aching - a little bit relief - a little bit with longing. The final sequence of Bladerunner keeps appearing in my mind. Roy's tears in the rain.

Now. What to write? Perhaps it is not yet the right time. I seem to find less and less energy for it these days. Perhaps because i no longer need it like i did earlier on. I cannot deny that i have written most during times of difficulty in my life. The pages of my journal know the loneliness of their recent obsolescence. Or, adopting a more forgiving tone, perhaps, as Hemmingway notes, when we travel we inevitably blunt the tool with which we write. He says a bit more about it, then goes on to state that he believes it best to let that tool go dull, so that when we return to the place of writing we might have something interesting to say. I hope that is what is happening. It would be terrible to know Estragon's melancholy for words.

In this instance, anyway, I guess i'll let the images bear the weight. I am too bloody exhausted anyway. As mountains stake their claim on those who would stare into their gaping jaws, so does writing make its terrible demands upon the author. I shall try to write more later. Please enjoy the pictures. And if you get a chance - check out http://www.soundtransit.nl/ for some of the audio recordings i made along the way. A couple are from the Annapurna Base Camp - an awe inspiring cathedral of natural beauty. I should add, however, that trying to decide which images to upload and which ones to keep on the card was like trying to decide which one of your children you're gonna let have dinner when there are simply too many starving mouths. I feel like the father of 400 unruly, beautiful kids - who wants thousands more.

My love to you all,

Ben

(The following images were recorded during the first trek - the Pilgrim's Trail- 9 days)

(Muktinath)
(Bart and Carol at the border of Upper Mustang - a lost kingdom - access forbidden without a veryexpensive government permit)


(Tukche around 6am)

(Prayer flags near Muktinath - 3700m)


(What? Three guys going for a swim. Nothing wrong with that.)

Surface for air

I am returned after a ten day trek in the Nepal Himalaya - Richard, Bart, Carol, Arnya and I completed the Pilgrim's walk which constitutes one half of the Anapurna Circuit - reveared as one of the most spectacular treks in the Himalaya. The details of our experiences, the hallucinatory whirl of visions, the wrekage of our corporeality - these things - i dare not utter here. I am too shaken by the sudden rip of vehicles, the unwelcome bleating of horns - Pokhara is a hive of buzzing bees. I must return to those hills. I am not yet ready for this. This world of confused voices muttering inaudible desperate to be heard. And so tomorrow i shall begin an ascent to the Anapurna Sanctuary - it should take no more than another ten days. Maybe then i'll be able to cope with the fury of civilisation again. Maybe then you'll get your precious photos.

In the valley of the mountain gods

Yes my art farmers - i am posting again. But this time i shall stop short of self indulgent self flagellating self stuff. This time i give you some pictures. And not in the usual theme of this forum - these be people pictures. And i have my sense of ecstasy back - i am in Kathmandu, Nepal. And already the different energy, the different people, the different sites and smells; my strength returns. The blood fills the capillaries and the extremes thud with a new rhythm. My selfishness pounds joyfully - less woefully. The next blog will have pictures from my trek in the valley of the mountain gods. This blog has pictures from the last one we conquered:

Trevor and I

Richard and Trevor

Us: Kevin Me Jas and Trev

But seriously... who conquers a mountain?