Ex Oriente Lux

I have quit my job and I'm traveling the world. Current mission: overland to Kathmandu.

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Day 60: Delhi

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Day 58-59: Hampi

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Day 56-57: Hampi Away from big cities, in rural areas, my presence attracted attention and curious looks. Indians are, in general, curious about foreigners in their country. Braver ones asked if they could take a photo with me, while the more shy ones would try to take a photo without me noticing it. Sometimes they would just stare and not take their eyes off me. For the majority of them I was the tallest man they have ever seen in their life (for the record, I am slightly above 190 cm). When our eyes would meet, if I would wobble my head from side to side and smile, in return I would get the most honest and most beautiful smiles that made me feel like the most welcome traveler in the world. Braver locals who speak some English, often would approach me and try to engage a conversation. Topics and questions that in the western culture are found inappropriate or even rude, are the first ones to be discusses with complete stranger in India. Indians like to make a “profile” of a person and after they know about the background, family status, education, and cast of the person they have meet, they will adapt their behavior. I had dozens of this kind of encounters and conversations. All of them would look alike. I was asked the same questions over and over again, and in every part of India, my answers would cause identical shock and disbelief.   - What is your country? - Croatia. - How old are you? - 28. - Are you married? - No. - Why?! – First curious gawp would appear on my conversation partner. - Guess I’m still looking for the right one. - That old and not yet married. You must be lonely. Why are you here? - I travel. - Alone?! - Yes. - Crazy! Why would you do that? – I would be struck with the second gasp of disbelief and wondering. Then comes the series of questions about profession, income, religion, family… - Where are your mother and father? - Back home. - And brothers and sisters? - I have none. - No?! - Yes. - So who is taking care of your parents while you are away?! - They themselves. – Third and final critical gaze of disapproval would hit me. What kind of foolish, evil son leaves his parents like this, and goes wandering around the world spending money, nobody in India could understand.

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Day 55-56: Hampi - Virupapur Gadde

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Day 52-54: Panjin - Hampi - Virupapur Gadde Hampi, nowadays village with 2500 inhabitants in Karnataka state, 5 centuries ago had 500 000 inhabitants and was the capital of the last great Hindu Empire of Vijayanagar. Ruins of Hampi are surrounded by surreal landscape that leaves you speechless the moment you see it. Gigantic stones and boulders forming unearthly formations, endless green rice fields, banana plantations and palm trees… Hummus Trail is unofficial backpacking route followed by Israelis, and Hampi is part of it. Never in my life had I seen and meet so many Israelis as in Hampi. Most of the time on the street I would see more Israeli than Indian faces. Restaurants were serving Hummus and Falafel, signs and advertisements on guesthouses and restaurants were written in Hebrew, there was even Chabad house in the middle of the village. Every Israeli citizen who turns 18 has to complete the military service, women two, and men three years. After the discharge from the army, they receive certain amount of money from the state, some of them work for few months, save, and then they enjoy few months of careless nomadic life. What started as a way to free yourself from the military routine and oppression, war memories and experiences, eventually became part of the mainstream, part of the society. Even the type of the people that would never embark on this kind of journey themselves, do it. Because all their peers do it, because it is a thing to do after the military service. I think that is the main reason why most of them hang out with other Israelis. Typical Israeli backpackers travel in group and stick together all the time. It’s hard to engage conversation with them and they are not particularly interested in other travelers. Of course not all of them travel this way. Some of them even avoid “Hummus Trail”. “That’s not why I travel. If I had wanted to hang out with Israelis I would have just stayed at home.” – said my new Israeli friend.

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Day 46-51: Arambol

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Day 41-45: Arambol This Hippie playground is lying on beautiful few kilometers long sandy beach. Reiki, yoga, meditation, Osho meditation, transcendental meditation, dancing, astrology, acupuncture, chiropractic, homeopathy, massage, tai chi, crystals… you name it, and it’s there. Every evening beach is occupied by jogglers, yogis, hippies, musicians, acrobats, dancers, palm readers, fortune tellers, self-proclaimed gurus. Story of Arambol, like of many other Goan places, begins in the 60’s and 70’s with the arrival of the western over landers and hippies. Many of them would stay here for months, some of them never left, and I can totally understand why. Time stands still in Arambol. When I was leaving this place I had no idea if I spent 5, 7 or 10 days there. Ever present hippie vibe takes you over, without you even being aware of it. You forget about the time, money, past. I spent 11 days in Arambol. More than in any other place during my travels. Time slowed down and all days blended into one. Veggie food, yoga, sea, waves, beach, books, starry nights with chillum, San Miguel, music, interesting people, conversations…   - Guys, that’s it. I have enough of this lethargy. I’m leaving tomorrow. I would say this every evening. Next day I would not move a centimeter away from the beach. But more and more I missed uncertainty and adventure, so finally I left. And I’m glad I did. Few days more spent there and there was a high probability I would grow dreadlocks, put on the white dress and never leave.

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Day 38-40: Anjuna Anjuna, like whole Goa some people would say, turned into a Russian colony. Hundreds and hundreds of Russian package tourists are wandering around. If you are caucasian, street stall sellers will constantly try to speak Russian to you. Even menus in some restaurants will be in Russian. Charas is bad quality and waaay overpriced. Everything smells like a big tourist scam. If you are looking for the trance scene. There is a cool stuff going on. But you need to spend some time there, meet the people, and eventually information about the parties will reach you by word of mouth. Big parties organized in beach clubs are full of funny dressed, ecstasy dancing Russians. Entrance is free, if you are white. If you are Indian, its 500 rupees. Not a small amount of money in India. To make experience even more awkward, Indian man, desperate to meet foreign women, are massively paying the entrance. But once they are in the club, they form small groups and dance with each other.

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Day 36-37: Mumbai – Madgao – Benaulim Overnight 12 h train journey to Goa. Sleeper class train. Three tiers of plain bunks on the each side of the berth. Six people, in theory. In practice, dozens more.  No doors, no bedding, no privacy, basic toilet (hole in the floor).  Could I get the cleaner train with 4 bed bunks and AC. I could. But what is the point then? It is the journey and experience that matters in this case, not just transfer from point A to point B. Like all the other passengers I locked my luggage with chains and padlocks. As we all got comfortable in our bunks, fellow passenger asks me: - Do you have some food? - Yeah sure. Are you hungry? - No man. As soon as we fall asleep rats will come out looking for food in our luggage. You better take the food out of your backpack and put it somewhere high. - Serious? - Serious. I took the snacks out and hanged them up on the upper bed bunk. But I could not fall asleep before I see the nomadic Indian train rats. So from my upper bunk every now and then I would look at the floor. Indeed, shortly after we were all lying in our bunks, rats started to move around. After spotting first one my heart was at peace and I could fall asleep.  

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Day 33-35: Dubai - Mumbai - Sir, you cannot board the airplane. - Why not? - Because you only have one way ticket. - So what? - You are not allowed to enter India with a one way ticket. - Miss, I had this conversation already with Indian consul in Croatia, but as you can see in my passport, he gave me multiple entry visa for India. - Sorry, but I cannot allow you to board the airplane. - Please don’t get me wrong, but isn’t the consul one who decides who can enter the country? Maybe you could call the consul and ask him why he granted me the visa. - No. - My plane is departuring in 1 h.   - Sir, you can buy some ticket out of India and then refund it. - But this makes no sense. - Yes. - How much is the cheapest refundable ticket? - Delhi to Kathmandu, 1300 $. - You don’t allow me the board the plane even though I have the visa and the flight ticket, and now I should believe you that you will refund me 1300 $ ticket. - Yes. I took my laptop and bought the cheapest ticket form Delhi that I could find. It had to be nonrefundable to be cheap. And I never used it. But now with the useless ticket I was allowed to board the plane. Lesson learned. From that day on, I started to create my own flight tickets. I would then use them to apply for visas or to fly with one way tickets. I would simply invent and make my own ticket in Word, and of course lazy bureaucrats in embassies and borders would never suspect anything.

You can read hundreds of books about India, watch dozens of documentaries, spend hours and hours on google, reading blogs, looking at photos but the moment you step on the Indian soil you will realize you know nothing. Nothing you see, read or do can prepare you for this human anthill and blend of noise, smell, colors, and people. Thick, sweet, warm smell. Smell that you can find in every city in India. Smell that comes from shit and piss scattered around, cows wandering the streets, perfume shops, human sweat, incense sticks from the temples, curry from the countless restaurants, traffic… And there are colors! Blue, yellow, green, red, purple spilled all over the city. Spilled over sarees, dresses, shirts, pants. Spilled over the streets, fruit markets, walls, temples. There is only one way to survive this. Become a part of it. Blend yourself with the chaos. Absorb the smell, absorb the noise and join the crazy dance. Once you do it, every moment spent there becomes a precious experience. Drunken man is trying to fight you - just go away. Rats are crossing you path - when did you ever had a chance to examine a rat from this distance? Cow is blocking your way – pet it a little bit. Man spat paan on the flour and you felt it all over your legs, oh well, you will wash them. Kids are grabbing your hands, pulling your clothes, asking for rupees – talk with them, play with them. People are staring at you – wave your head, smile back. They say either you love India or you hate it. It was love at a first sight.  

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Day 32: Lehrplan: LEBEN, Klassenraum: WELT   Crossing the Persian Gulf gave me the opportunity to meet and spend a day with the most interesting family in the world. Christian and Audrey were living in Germany with their kids Lucas (8) and Emilie (4).They had good jobs and were earning good money, however these jobs and this kind of life was preventing them to spend more time together as a family. As they were not ready to spend the rest of their lives like that, they decided to make a change. They rented their house, bought old UPS truck and adapted it to their needs. Their mobile house provides them all the comforts and facilities they would have in a “real” house.  Overland to India, overland through Africa, with the last four years traveling the world was a new lifestyle for the Ivan family, and the whole world is their home now. And what about the expenses? Same as all the other nomadic lifestyles – it is cheaper to travel than to stay at home. You don’t need to win a lottery to do it, you just need some courage to leave your comfort zone and do some planning. Life expenses while you traveling are usually lower then when you are staying at home.

Now you must be asking yourself where kids go to school. They don’t. Lucas has spent two months in the school, but the conventional education system and traditional way of teaching were not really working for him. He could not fit in, so his parents decided to do homeschooling. At the end of the each year Lucas passed the exams to get the government certificates. They are not simply following prescribed curriculum and doing homeschooling but they are combining homeschooling and unschooling – or road schooling as Lucas father would call it. Does this work? Lucas and Emilie are the smartest kids I have met in my life. Intellectually they are far more advanced than their peers and opposite from what you may expect, and are not missing any social skills at all. They are learning through experiences, games, curiosity, friendships, travels… I was shocked to hear how Lucas speaks English, German, Romanian and French absolutely fluently, and in the few months he had spent traveling through Iran he learned enough Farsi to have conversations with Iranians.

Our schooling system creates obeying idiots that need to fit in the frames and do not ask “Why is this this way? Why do I need to do this?”. Society worships obedience, and from our earliest age, schools taught us to follow the authority and to follow our parents, priests and teachers. Instead of obeying, believing, repeating, memorizing, and copying Lucas and Emilie are learning through natural life experiences. In practice they are doubting, questioning, observing, being skeptical, being curious, learning about other cultures and meeting different people. These kids will never become soldiers, followers, believers, because the believer never learns. They will never believe in something just because they were told to believe in it. They will never have faith, they will not believe in something without understanding it, without proof. They are skeptical, they ask questions, they seek answers. Their respect, you need to earn. They will never follow stupid, meaningless orders for years, because they will need to understand why they need to do it. These kids will become individuals, they will not follow and bow down to stupid superstitious things in the name of state, politics, church, religion… Yes, they will be dangerous to politicians and state, they will be dangerous to priests and religions but they are the ones that can make this world a better place. We need more kids like this.

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Day 31: Queshm - Bandar Abbas - Sharjah - Dubai The security situation in Pakistan was getting worse and worse just in the time when I was supposed to travel through it. Kidnappings of foreigners in the south of the country, dozens of dead in the bomb attacks, violent protests in Islamabad. Armed militants attacked the school in Peshawar, killing 140 children and a suicide bomber killed 60 people at the Wagah border crossing with India, just few weeks before I was supposed to enter the country. Past few months there were numerous incidents in Baluchistan regions, exactly on the route I needed to take. The Pakistani embassy slowed down the visa issuing process and it would take weeks before you would even get the answer if your visa application is approved or not. I had no Pakistani visa in my passport and to try to get it in Iran, it would take too much time and the result would be uncertain.  Also, I was discouraged by the recent events and stories I had heard from the other travelers so I needed to look for the alternative. Flying directly from Iran to India would be too simple and easy. Sailing from Iran to India sounds amazing, but it’s impossible because of the bureaucratic regulations, as the Indian government requests some kind of special permission to enter the country from the sea.  Crossing the Persian Gulf with the boat and finding some cheap flight in UAE seemed like an interesting option with a good dose of adventure. Anja, who I have met on the way from Yazd to Esfahan liked my idea and decided to join me. I can think of thousands of better ways to die then to leave my bones in the Pakistani desert. However, looking back now, with a few months’ time distance and several thousand kilometers under my feet, I regret a little bit that I didn’t put some effort in acquiring a Pakistani visa. I’m sure that this country has its share of welcoming and hospitable people and a lot to offer. 

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Day 30: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade When you travel, road connects you with amazing people. On the Quehsm Island I have meet some of the most inspiring people in my life: Fernando and Veronika. Fernando survived the terrible accident that made him unable to work and with permanent injuries of the spine and neck. Instead of spending the rest of his life in despair, he modified the bicycle to suit his needs, and with Veronika they have set off for the bike journey around the world. You can follow their adventures at: http://viajarenmtb.es/ http://trackmytour.com/4zhmw#703994

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Day 29: Queshm Island

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Day 28: Queshm - If I cannot dance I don’t want to be part of your revolution

Tom’s plan was to spend a month working in the restaurant (he is quite the good cook) in the Queshm Island in the Persian Gulf, Iranians favorite holiday destination. My plan was to not have a plan at all, so I ended up in the kitchen with Tom. Restaurant was 10 m from the sea, next to the beautiful sand beach. Every evening Iranians would gather attracted by the restaurants idyllic location and live music. Now, live music it is not something you can easily find in Iran. According to the current Ayatollah - “Music and the values of the Islamic republic do not fit together.” But can you imagine a country without music? My new friend Reza asked me. Musicians need special government approval to perform their music, and venues that want to have live music need to go through bureaucratic grind to get all the necessary permissions. Every evening band was playing Bandari – simple, rhythmic, melodic dance music traditional for Iran’s south. It’s the type of music that unsettles your soul and makes you move, dance. But dancing is also not socially acceptable and in the spirit of the Islamic revolution, so people would be “dancing” in their chairs, moving their hands, feet and head. It was obvious how much they enjoyed the music, I had the feeling that any moment somebody might lose control, jump from the chair and start dancing in front of the band. Evenings I would help with the dishes in the restaurant kitchen, mornings I would paint the fence, and the rest of the time I was getting know the island or hanging out with Tom and Reza, who was also working in the restaurant. Good times.

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Day 27: Shiraz

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Day 25: Persepolis