Kolkata to Cuttack (round trip)

While we were stuck in Kolkata, unable to fly to Bangkok due to the airport siege and just before terrorists struck in Mumbai, making that area a wholly undesirable place to be, we had made (very loose) plans with a guy we met on our Everest trek that we would meet in Cuttack as England we playing against India in a cricket test match or something that I wasn't much interested in.

Here's Cuttack:

So we booked our beds/seats aboard our sleeper train to Cuttack, leaving at 9 in the evening and arriving in Cuttack some hours after that.

Mike was very ill, so while we waited for our train, he lay on the ground in the railway station, only for railway police to think he was on drugs and shout at him.

We got on our train, here's me on a sleeper train:

and went to sleep, until we arrived in Cuttack, which turned out to be around 3-4 and a most convenient time.

Hotels in India and most of Southern Aisa close in the evening and, unlike Western hotels that have night staff, they pull the shutters down and literally shut up shop.

They have a security guard who is sleeping, as he had worked all day and doesn't expect to be rudely awaken by anyone.

Arriving at the train station, we still managed to find a tuk-tuk driver, who said he'd take us around the town and see if any hotels had any rooms.

We turned up at the first hotel, woke up the night security guard, he immediately and grumpily informed us that they had no room.

The next hotel's security guard revealed the same, as well as the third, forth and fifth.

I forget how many hotels we visited and how many times we drove around Cuttack.

By the umpteenth time we arrived at a hotel, the security guard seemed a teeny bit more encouraging, he asked one of us to go inside and talk. This was a good sign.

Mike went inside to talk while I stayed in the tuk-tuk with my zombiefied eyes.

Mike came out about five minutes later and said they had no room, and we'd just been longed out for a while.

The tuk-tuk driver took us back to the station and told us to wait until 9 to check, as the receptionists might be willing to take new customers.
Mike took offence to the price quoted by the driver, and we thrashed out a price, I was willing to pay what he said because I was beyond tired and not in the mood for a fight, whereas Mike was going a bit mental about it all.

We went in and sat at the deserted railway station and read and lay down until 9am.

We came out of the front entrance and found many taxi and tuk-tuk drivers willing to take our custom.

About thirty Indian men all crowding around, shouting at us to get in their cab. The tuk-tuk driver that had taken us before explained that there was no room, and therefore no point, which was the opposite of what he had said when he told us to wait.

So, deflated, we went back into the train station. I sat down and Mike went off to find out when the train back to Kolkata was, he came back as a train pulled into the station and told me that was our train.

We hastened aboard and found ourselves in the economy class, which not wanting to sound snooty, was pretty rough. No air-conditioning, uncomfortable seats, but at least we had a sleeper seat so we could lie down. I slept with my bag as my pillow as I didn't trust many of the people passing through.

I nodded off for a bit and was awoke by an Indian transvestite begging me for money.

Indian men tend not to make the most convincing transvestites:

See..

We managed to arrive back in Kolkata about 18-20 hours after we had left it with nothing but extreme tiredness, immense disappointment and our first, and only, experience with Indian transvestites.

Here was the journey...how depressing

Leaving Las Vegas

After the night (and most of the next morning) on the madness in Las Vegas,

Marie woke me up to tell me we were supposed to check out at 11, and it was quarter to 11

but she rang the front desk, and they said we could put it off till 12, which was handy.

We were all still a bit drunk. So we checked out, and walked around a bit to sober up, so we were fit to drive.

We decided at about 3pm we we'd be messing about for long enough, and hauled our semi-drunk selves into the car, and made for good old Los Angeles.

On the way back, Mike was driving, and to be fair he wasn't being a liberal driver.

We passed a truck, and Mike said 'oh shit, that was a police car', and jumped onto the break

I looked into the rear-view mirror to find the Police truck turning around, then driving after our car for a bit, then the lights went on.

Shit

er...

Shit

I was shaking like Muhammed Ali sitting on a washing machine with an unbalanced load.

We stopped and the cop got out and did that 'TV style swagger' over to the drivers' door, and said the old 'license and registration'

The registration was in the glove box, but Mike's license was in his backpack in the boot.

so my says "er...my license is in the boot"

The cop, had no idea that cars actually have boots, he thought they had trunks. So he started shouting about boots and whatnot.

So Mike had to get it out of the 'trunk' and the cop did some quizzing.

He told us, that as we were in the country for a short amount of time, it would have taken too long to process a ticket, and as a result, he could throw Mike in jail. Fortunately for us he was a nice cop, and not a dick, but it would have probably taken too much paperwork.

So he let us go and told us to stop being all silly.

It's a good job there were no breathalising, or things could have taken a turn for the worse...much worse

So, we're trundling along the Nevada Desert Road, and Mike casually mentions that we've been driving on the 'no fuel' light for the last few miles.

We pulled over I ran in and asked where the nearest 'gas' station was, and he told us it was 12miles back the way we came. Trundling back the twelve miles with each mile meaning a mile I didn't have to walk through the Nevada desert in the scorching sun.

We (only just) made it back to the 'gas' station, and filled up

and bowled back into Los Angeles for the second time.

It wasn't any better than the first time.

San Diego

Rolling into San Diego in the evening, we found our hostel, and they directed us to a car-park, which we didn't find.

Although, we found a man walking down the road playing a trumpet, then we found our car-park.

Then we did hostel stuff, and sat in the hostel drinking, as good backpackers/students/cheapskates do in order to make their drinking as cheap as possible.

Then we went out to a bar, that had no-one in it but us.

Which wasn't much cop.

The next day we went to Hooters, and looked at scantily-clad girls, and ate below-adequate chicken, then hung out in the well known Balboa Park, which is almost underneath the airport, which meant that we could take some neat photos, like this one:

So, that was all nice and good

LA2

So, after all those adventures, we managed to make it back to Los Angeles. Whereupon we rolled back into the lovely picturesque scene of crackheads and possible knife crime.

Anyway, all three of us checked into the Hollywood Hostel, and Marie was all tired, and went to bed, bless her.

and Me and Mike went for a walk for some lovely fast food.

Walking down Sunset Strip after dark, we eventually found a 'Jack in the Box' and went in. There was a cop car in the parking lot, and a bunch of nutters inside.

The cop car didn't make it feel any more happier, and our food went from 'eat-in', to 'take out' in a very short amount of time.

I was really pissed off cos Hollywood is such a dump.

But we went back to the hostel and played Mario Kart and went to bed a little happier with myself.

The next morning we walked down Hollywood Boulevard, and found a bunch of tacky tourist selling shop (not selling tourists, but tourist tat), then we walked back down the Hollywood strip, while people photographed my robust calf-muscles

and then jumped back into our car, and drove on over to LAX airport (which gives me the reason to use this photo again)

and met our good friend Lydia...and her many spotted suitcases (afterall, she is one of them women)

So we got in our car, and I didn't want to hang around Los Angeles, but thought it would be nice if Lydia got to see a bit of the city, so we drove up and down the strip; then outside Mann's Chinese Theatre, a man dressed in full scream attire scared the shit out of Marie.

We also saw signs to 'the museum of tolerance' and decided that if you're going to do anything in LA, it had better be the museum of tolerance. The signs led us a merry dance, and after not too long, our tolerance had grown short of finding the museum of tolerance, so we didn't.

Instead we drove up into the hills, and took photos of the Hollywood sign that sits upon the Hollywood Hills...like this:

Then we jumped back into our car, and headed for San Diego...

Flashback: Tubing

Today I went for a job interview, and in reception while I was waiting, Kids by MGMT came on, and reminded me of tubing in Laos

Then I wished I was Tubing in Laos, and not in a stupid job interview

FLASHBACK:

The town of Vang Veing is a very small one, still very undeveloped in the country of Laos, which, to be fair is generally undeveloped, in general.

But any backpacker to roll through Vang Vieng will know it's BIG reputation, and will wax lyrical about it all day long, even me, and I don't really know what was lyrical means, it just sounds a bit fancy when put in blogs.

Tubing occurs in a few places around the world, but none quite like in VV,

The town is awash with eager westerners (and a buttload of aussies too) all getting their tractor inner tubes and jumping into tuk-tuks and heading off for the journey off to the first stop.

At the first stop we grabbed our tubes and threw them down and headed to the bar. The 'Bar' a shack made of plywood and a straw roof served a few cocktails and the celebrated drink of Lao:- Beerlao.

Once, while talking to a local Lao man, he told me that the order of priority goes: God, Lao, everything else. It is to Lao people, what kebabs are to the drunk

So a few bottles of Beerlao later, we jumped into our inner tubes and floated down the Nam Song

see:

Then, after mere moments of floating down the river, we were hauled into the next 'bar', which consisted of decking and another small shack that had all manner of spirits, and the obligatory endless bottles of Beerlao.

A few Beerlao, and some chit-chat about life, travels and the greatness of alcohol later, we saw some people go on the rope-swing.

The starting platform was about 10m up in the air, and the people would swing down in front of the decking platform, where they would drop into the water in front of us.

A couple of the people we did it with got on the scene. They clambered back onto the bar and told of the merits of it, and said they were going again, recommending that everyone take part.

I like a bit of a thrill, so thought I'd try my hand, from the moment I agreed, I knew it was a bad idea and was extremely unconfident with it all.

I thought I might as well do it, but as I stood above the water seeing all the far off people, I was still deeply unhappy with it.

But did it anyway.

I, in my infinite wisdom, decided to let go at the apex of the swing, rather than the people who'd swing to, and whilst coming back on the fro, drop straight down into the water.

So my body continued to go forwards, the momentum was continuing to move my legs upwards, but revolting gravity was pulling my body towards the water.

I landed in the water the left side of my lower back, and instantly knew I wish I hadn't

it felt like someone had thrown me through a glass window, and began to look like someone had set me on fire.

See...

Yep, it was rather sore

But soldier on I did, afterall, drinking can't be ruined with injuries.

Further floating, next bar, there was a bangin' sound system busting out the hits, MGMT - Kids, Paper Planes by MIA, and some classics like Ebenezer Goode, and that 'land down under' song for all the Australians.

and then came the permanent markers, and of course the age old equation goes

people + drink + permanent markers = drunk people getting written on.

and drunk people did get written on.

Some really clever girl chose to write this, on my back:

Of course, my arms, not wanting to take part in the photo, completely removed themselves from the rest of my body and hid, off-camera.

So plenty more floating, plenty more drinking, a bit of dancing, and I made sure to fall over another 7 times, prompting it to be my most unlucky day,

but to be fair, if I had a less lucky day where I had as much fun, I wouldn't be complaining.

At the last bar, the sun was going down, and the temperature was dropping fast, a massive fire was lit, and we all danced around it like heathens.

Then it was time to grab our tubes and grab a tuk-tuk back to the shop before 6pm in order to get our deposits back

I'm really lucky I found (and stole) pair of sunglasses for this photos, cos my eyes were in no fit state to focus on anything

Tubing: the best bar crawl float I have ever had

Michael Jackson & Me

Now, the world is mourning Michael Jackson, which is cool, y'know cos he could do that walk thing, where he moved backwards in an overly-extravagant fashion; and apparently Billie Jean is not his lover,

and Jarvis Cocker mooned at the Brits when he had kids all standing around him or something.

On the news, it said Missy Elliot said something that didn't involved getting her 'hair did' or 'gadunk a-dunk-dunk' or the fact that she's either fat, or was fat or is fat again or other Missy Elliot related fatness.

But this blog is about me, as it is titled 'theman, theymth, themeehan' - not 'theman, themyth, themeehan & that Jackson fella with the funny face'

But y'know, he's all dead, and everyone loves him...so here it goes

Back in Airlie Beach, Australia, whenever I got to a computer, I used to listen to this song again and again,

and that was around the time Cyclone Hamish was potentially hammering the shit out of where we were, but it didn't.

So it was much ado about nothing, but we did have some good post-apocalyptic style cyclone parties

where we all got drunk, and er, that's all we needed to do.

Vegas by day, Vegas by Night

After our day of fun Grand Canyon and Hoover Dam-centric times; we decided to move out of crack-tastic Fremont, and into the big smoke of the Las Vegas strip!

So, we checked on the internet, and found ourselves a lovely suite in or favourite casino on the strip...

Caesars Palace

Here is a photo of Caesars Palace:

So we grabbed our bags and checked in, and amidst all the rich American tourists standing around with their fine suitcase sets, were three, rather grubby looking youths carrying backpacks.

but Fuck them, we deserved it more than any of them.

So, we landed in our room, and investigated. Mike decided upon which things he could loot from the hotel room (which was everything), and I went to the toilet.

and found a TV screen in our bathroom, which was fancy.

We left there, and went for a stroll around the locale.

We made our way to the pool area, and on our way, noticed a woman looking at a menu. On our way past, we heard the woman saying "I grew up in Denver", and as there was no-one else around; it seemed as if the woman was telling the menu her life story...only in Vegas, and numerous mental institutions.

we found the pool area, and explored, some people took photos:

I'm sure if I was aware this photo was being taken, or if it was all a lovely pose, but I doubt it.

So I went and bought a new pair of trainers, and Mike went to the pool to laze with the rest of the fat, white, tourists (not saying Mike is fat and/or white...erm...)

Then I had an afternoon nap, that raged wildly out of control and ended up being four hours.

But it meant I woke up, about 8pm, or in Vegas - early morning.

We went and met a guy who we'd met at the hostel called Ben, he had also upgraded to Luxor (which has the most powerful light in the world, and can be seen from space).

So we had some drinks in different casinos

Luxor

MGM Grand

Monte Carlo

Planet Hollywood

Hooters (which wasn't much good)

and a couple of others I forget.

But anyways, we ended up in the Irish-themed casino O'Sheas, where we indulged in playing beer pong, which was a right laugh.

and then Mike played beer pong with some crack-whores, while I ate a subway,

they weren't crack-whores, but they looked a little gaunt.

Then we went to the catchily-named 'Fred's Casino', for thier 2am-6am happy hour.

After a while, I bailed, and went back to Caesars Palace, and was about to go to bed, when I realized I was in Las Vegas, so went back out.

I found myself heading into 'The Mirage' as the sun was rising over the Las Vegas Strip.

I had to step over the lead of a cleaner buffing the floor, and went over to the Blackjack tables.

I played for a while with a bunch of old American rich men (who, didn't give me any money - cheek!)

Then I left there, and was walking back through Caesars Palace about 6am, when I wandered over to the Roulette tables, and met some blokes from London, so we chatted, and stuff.

Then I went to bed

Marie woke me up at 11 to tell me that we were suppose to check out in about a half hour.

So we drunkenly gathered all our bits together, as usual. and headed for check out