I Don't Wanna Be Your Dog

After 11 days on the road, I'm heading to Koh Kong today. Back to the Kingdom after all. Well, everybody knows. That's how it goes. I long intensely for the pure freedom and brutal honesty of Cambodia. It's one of the only places left where dollars are the only documents required, where life is simple, the weather is great and people are friendly.

I had hoped to find some of that freedom out on the road but I was terribly mistaken. Rules and regulations are everywhere these days. There's no escape. Getting a room in a guesthouse in India takes more paperwork than getting married in Cambodia. Smoking and drinking are hideous crimes in too many places. Trying to bring a simple lighter into Delhi airport caused a whole scene. I really don't want to deal with all this nonsense anymore.

And then there's the backpacking/ traveling crowd. All this pressure, all this machismo. All this "you really should go there, visit that, don't miss out on…" or stories like "I only payed a buck, ate dog shit with the locals and sleep only in the dirtiest dorms" I'm getting tired and stressed just by listening to their stories. They are just another pack of dodos. They might cover more distance but dodos nevertheless; just running around in a different kind of rat race.
Not me.
Not anymore.
My own dog and whatnot.
Up to border!

In My Place

The plan worked out in the end. Maybe a little faster than expected but that's alright. I learned a thing or two. I think I found some answers. Now I'm back on Boogie Street. Nine days in India taught me that this is were I want to be.

Walking out of Bangkok airport in the hot evening and taking a metered taxi to Khao San Road was a bliss. The rest of the journey had been quiet hard. I left Pushkar on Monday night. I was suffering from loose bowel movements but with a flight booked and payed there was no way to delay my escape. One motorbike, two taxis, an Indian night bus and a crappy flight took me into Bangkok. That's all that matters now. Sitting in my comfortable room in the Sawasdee Inn, I feel no need to go into details about how it's to travel for about twenty-four hours while struggling with diarrhea. It was pretty hardcore, let's leave it at that…

Last night I dropped my bag in my room, took a long, hot shower, swallowed an Immodium, put on my flip-flops and hit a Khao San street-side bar. Soon I was drinking and chatting with two young Amercians. Somehow meeting people's a piece of cake in South-East Asia. I'm relaxed and somewhat confident here. Talking is easy. I've got plenty to say. Unfortunately, nine days of vegetables and tea left me in pretty bad shape. After my second bottle of Chang I was done. The Americans went to see a ping-pong show. I stumbled back to my room. Happy, bubbly drunk in Bangkok; life can be as easy as you want it to be. I drifted off in a long, deep sleep; dreaming about a talking cow.
Dance, she said.
Dance, I will.

Now I'll stock up on t-shirts and other stuff I don't really need (unlike any other part of the world, I truly love shopping here). Then I'll gently, slowly travel a bit further down south-east until I reach my final destination by the end of the week...

It's great to be back. No return ticket or other obligations anymore. No desire to visit other countries. This time I'm here for the long run. I'm ready to stretch out my humble savings as long as possible. Whatever happens, happens. I'm committed, I'm going all the way. There are no plans or intentions to leave. From here on out I would like to call this part of the world "home".

It's Not You, It's Me

Of course, I'm fully aware that India is a great and wonderful country. My opinion is of no importance at all. I put one word after another for entertainment purposes only.

I'm 30 years old, I have 1.6 friends, my hairline is reclining, I have the social skills of a (non-holy) cow and the personality of an empty can. It's no surprise that I struggle to stay on my feet in this place.

I've looked at the map and I asked around. The only way out of Pushkar is straight into another mega-city. People keep telling me

"Agra is a terrible place but if you've never visited the Taj Mahal you really should go."

or

"Varanassi is crowded, smelly and full of touts. My laptop got stolen and my friend got mugged but since you're in India, you have go."

I find it hard to agree.
Just like a dog chasing its own tail there's only one place I really want to go…

My sincere apologies if I've offended or disappointed anyone. I'm not one of the cool dudes. I just like to tell my little story even though it often makes me look like an ass…

Racist Ravings Of A Formerly Gentle Dude

The first light of morning is coming through the curtains when the deafening noise of the amplified prayers finally stops. Last night, around sunset, the neighbors pushed big speakers into the street. Then they blared loud prayers all night long. The sound is bouncing of the walls of my room. Earplugs jammed in, my head under a pillow I feel like a tortured prisoner in Guantanamo Bay. This was my first night in Pushkar.

It's is supposed to be a quiet, mystic town at a lake. A 'hippie hang-out' as Lonely Planet describes it. No idea what kind of dope they got hold of but, please, get me some. All I see are touts, honking motorbikes, loud prayers and a filthy pool surrounded by cemented steps. Just another swarm, as far as I can see. Only in India they can fuck up a beautiful, natural surrounding this bad. This could be a tranquil oasis in the desert if no one had thought to put the adjective 'holy' in front of 'lake'.

This country takes religion way too serious. No room for humor whatsoever. Can't eat meat here, take of your shoes there, no smoking in this area, no alcohol in that town, etc. A million rules and regulations regarding religion but no respect for other people. They take better care of their cows then of their personal hygiene. India's rude and unfriendly. Never a 'thank you' or 'please'. Always ready to push and invade my personal space.

But, hey, I'm just a shy, little man in a nation of over a billion; so what do I know? One week in India has clearly turned me from an open-minded, peaceful, leftie kind of guy into an angry, raving racist. I'm no longer communicating, beyond the strict necessities, with anyone with a brown skin tone and/or facial hair. When they keep pushing I won't hesitate to deliver an F-bomb infused tirade.

They say India will change you in ways you never thought possible.
I have to agree.

Homesick

The Sarai Rohilla train station in Delhi is swarming with people. It's ten past eight in the morning. I clench a train ticket to Jaipur in my fist but got no clue what to do. Someone points me in the direction of platform 1, by far the busiest of the overcrowded station. I sigh and join the flock.
As soon as the train rolls in, the crowd starts pushing in all directions. I can't figure out witch carriage I should enter. People keep pushing. My heart's pounding, my hands are trembling. I tend to get anxious in groups of more than two. This is not going well. Panic is rising. I want to evaporate. Fuck this country! I could be sitting on a beach but instead I'm swallowed up by a sea of people. Panic is taking over. In my mind I'm screaming and crying but my body is simply moving around according the pressure of the swarm. Maybe I should just let this train go by and return to Paharganj. Flights to Bangkok are cheap from here. But foolish stubbornness forces me to get a hold of myself. I start showing my ticket to the masses. The responses are mixed. Some point me to the front end of the train, others to the back. A lot of people just give me blank stares. More by luck than anything else I finally find the right carriage. Of course, by this time the whole damned thing is completely filled with people, bags, crying kids, suitcases and more people. I squeeze through the crowd only to find out that my numbered seat is taken by about 3.5 Indians. Waving and pointing witch my ticket results in getting a few centimeters of space on the bench. With my big backpack crammed between my legs and holding my small bag in my arms I will remain immobile for the next 5 hours. I'm dying inside. It doesn't take long before the swarm starts smelling. Too many phones play music at max volume, a few people watch loud movies on battered laptops. I can barely breath. It's a slow, painful and extremely unpleasant journey. I hang on by dreaming about the beach. Tired, hungry and dizzy I get of the train in Jaipur. As soon as my feet hit the platform I get swallowed by another swarm. Rickshaw drivers besiege me from all sides. The edge is near. I want out. But I got absolutely nowhere to go. Jaipur is a big city in the middle of the desert. The noise, smell and lack of personal space hit me hard. I pick a random rickshaw driver and repeat the name of my guesthouse of choice until he shuts his mouth and starts driving. I end up in Atithi Guesthouse. It looks fancy but it's overpriced. The lack of a grill in front of my second floor window will keep me worried every second I stay in this stinky, crowded town. Paranoia and anxiety hold me in a tight grip.
But hey, on the bright side, I survived my first (and last?) Indian train ride and found myself a room. After a shower I do an attempt to enjoy a relaxing sunset on the rooftop terrace but the evening cold is too much to handle. So I return to my room, get under the blankets and hide away from this awful place 'til morning.

The next day I decide to be strong and check out the sights. After all, this is supposed to be an awesome place according Lonely Planet. But as soon as I leave the guesthouse the swarm swallows me again. A small army of rickshaw drivers surrounds me, negotiating a price, getting driven to shops where I don't want to be and tumbling from the city swarm in the tourist swarm and back again. I truly, deeply despise this place. As soon as the morning cold disappears, the suns starts burning. Fuck this fucking desert! I do visit the highlights of the area but I couldn't care less. While India is torturing my senses I'm dreaming about palm trees, sunny beaches and driving a motorbike down an abandoned road near the sea…

Fuck it, I've always denied being an adventurer or a traveller. My life in Brussels wasn't working out so I came looking for a better place, a spot in the sun where I could shine. Or, more accurately, where the sun could shine on me. Whatever, this place ain't it. I don't think I'll last here much longer. Everyone told me India was dirty, noisy and busy. They were right. Everyone also told me you'll get scammed, robbed and sick in India…

I've got a little pride left that forces me to travel on for now. Although I must admit that a cold Chang beer and a hotdog on Khao San Road, the morning bus to Trat, crossing the border at Koh Kong and just go back once and for all sounds like a fucking awesome plan. I've spend so much time and effort trying to stay away. Maybe I should just accept that I already found my home in the sun a long time ago...

A New Arrival

On the flight out of Brussels I was finally able to relax. It feels like I've been in a state of blind panic for weeks. Leaving has simplified everything. Now there's only the long road ahead...

Arriving in Delhi was a lot less daunting than I had feared it to be. I took a taxi to Paharganj, the backpacker area, and found a room in the pleasant Ajay Guest House (clean place, good food and a sunny rooftop terrace for only 800 rupees). First I considered relaxing for a while but there was just too much adrenaline pumping through my veins. Finally in Delhi, finally on the trail! No time to waste, I must do something! So I jumped in an auto-rickshaw and started visiting numerous tourist attractions. Snapping pictures, running in and out of temples and observing the mad Delhi traffic from the back of an auto-rickshaw. At night, back in my room, I kept uploading pics on Flickr until I was unable to keep my eyes open any longer. Just like a kid in a candy store...

Of course, almost no sleep and running around like a mad man has it's price. On the second day the jet-lag, the noise and the crowds got to me. Tired and confused in a strange city of over 20 million people. But I refused to give in. Stubbornly I continued my Delhi tourist trip.
Ghandi Smriti, where Mahatma Ghandi got killed, was interesting (at least, for a Ghandi-fanboy like me) but the rest of the day was lost in exhaustion, fumes and noise. I dragged myself to a few more tourist spots but my heart was not in it any longer. Dreaming of palm trees and beaches I stumbled across a few more historical sights. Late afternoon, when it started to drizzle, I called it a day and took a rickshaw back to the guesthouse. When I paid the driver, he said:
"Whatever's fine, sir. I don't care about the money. I like you, you are my friend"
That's how I knew I had paid this sleazy bastard way too much…
Oh well, there's always an amount of learning money to pay in any new place. Everything's dirt cheap here anyway. At least I didn't fall for the "Hello, how are you? Please, follow me for a free map of Delhi"- line. Or, even worse, for any offers to buy dope. So far I've been an exemplary boy scout. I've been to busy to even think about getting drunk. My mother should be proud.

This is my third day in Delhi. That's about all I can handle. I do love the food, I love the chai (Indian milk-tea) and I'm excited to be in the East. But this city's just too much for me; too many people, too much traffic, too much noise. This morning I booked a train ticket out of here. Spending the rest of the day relaxing on the roof terrace; only getting down in the busy street to buy food, a Murakami novel and a brand-new haircut. Delhi is preferably enjoyed up on the fifth floor, in the sunshine, with a good book and a lassi fruit shake.
Anyway, tomorrow I'm out of here. It's time to explore more of this huge, weird country I'm in.
It feels like I'm on a roll...

Out Of The Loop

The day job is done. For almost seven years it was an easy way to make an honest living. I've hated it at times of course, had some fun now and then and was ever grateful for the paychecks, benefits and paid holidays. It was easy, safe and boring work. No alarms and no surprises. A steady live slowly driving me insane. Today I reassured my supervisors that I will be back next year. Sure, I'll be back (but only if all else fails).

My final departure turned out just like my work presence; uneventful and largely unnoticed. A few colleagues took the time for a handshake and goodbyes. Then I got in my car and drove away. I strangled the brain dead dodo on my way home. I'm out. I'm free.

Fuck, yeah! I'm out! I'm free! Out of the rat race! Away with the way of the dodo! I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more

No more underachieving and hiding from life in front of the TV. I'll be gone in 5 days… Real gone. Heading to India, at last. It's been over a decade since this idea first crossed my mind. I was eating felafel, late at night on the beach front boulevard in Tel Aviv, together with an Italian girl. I was madly in love with her. We had spend a few weeks drifting through the Middle East together. The next day she would fly back to Rome and I was to return to Brussels. Plans were made to meet again soon for a big journey through India…

Her Facebook profile tells me that she's married with children now. Me, I'm still dreaming about India. Still yearning for the road, still looking for beauty, searching for wisdom and hoping to find my place in the sun.

I don't need a wife or kids or a cosy family. I feel like I've already won. I've got the balls to walk away from this golden cage, dust off an old dream and get going. That's all I ever wanted. That's all I need.