Travel Blog

Take it slow...

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Fri, 16 May 2008 03:25:00 +0000

Whoa, tiger. Take those skates off. Put those brakes on.
Slow down!
Whistle-stop tours don't get you anywhere but worn out and ticked off. There's something to be said for radically simplifying your itinerary. Base yourself in just one or two places - hang out, find a favourite place to buy fruit and have coffee, get to know the locals, live a little.
The movement is growing - more and more people are seeing the sense of getting off the carousel, listening to the senses again, savouring, taking time. Find a rental instead of a hotel, get off planes and cut down your carbon footprint, or just take a good, long quaff of the roses.
What's your travelling speed?

Locals picking up relief in Myanmar

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Thu, 15 May 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Cyclone Nargis, which tore across southern Myanmar's delta region last week and left (per a UN estimate) one million in need of aid, could hardly have found a nation less prepared to deal with such a disaster. Even before the storm, groups like Refugees International, were calling the situation a 'humanitarian crisis.' Of the world's poorest 50 nations, Myanmar is last in terms of per-person aid - about US$3 compared to an average of US$58.

The political obstacle courses that followed have been heart-breaking to see. While bodies floated in rivers and flooded fields, the Myanmar generals denied visas from aid groups (a week later only 34 of 100 UN applicants had been approved, according to a New York Times article), the frustrated UN briefly discontinued support, and the first Red Cross boat carrying aid into the wrecked delta area sank. The first US planes carrying supplies - made available the day after the storm (far quicker time than during the Katrina fiasco, it must be said) - were only allowed to land in Yangon a week later, after a previously scheduled referendum vote took place on Saturday. Apparently absent from the discussions as potential mediators were Asean or China, both of whom have favourable relationships with the government.

Fortunately many makeshift 'DIY' groups of Yangon locals didn't wait for outside help. A local friend in Yangon emailed me a few days after the cyclone, saying 'I and everyone in Yangon are not yet recovered from the shock. We were very scared.' Yet the same day, he had formed in informal group with his co-workers to get basics like rice and clean water to those who need it, quick. 'We formed a small team and help the poor area in town as much as we can, but 90% of the infrastructure is down. Roads are still blocked with big trees and lamp-posts and wire cables and big signboards.'

He's not alone in the efforts. He says he's seen other spontaneously assembled groups helping, including local NGOs and religious groups. Each day they're able to reach farther into the delta, distributing what they can: 'clean water, glucose powder and tables, biscuits, t-shirts, local sarongs and blankets, plastic sheets.'

He explains, 'We've gradually reached more remote areas as far as Latputta by boat, and Bogale, another seriously hit area.' (This is the same village that, according to a New York Times article Tuesday, that the military wouldn't allow Doctors Without Borders' officials there to hand out supplies or visit the hospital.)

Many aid organisations are accepting donations, including Medicins Sans Frontier and Australian Aid International.

- Robert Reid (author Myanmar Lonely Planet guide)

Bombs rock Jaipur

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Tue, 13 May 2008 23:12:00 +0000

At least 63 people have been killed and more than 150 wounded after a series of eight bomb blasts tore through the historic old town of the Indian city of Jaipur, capital of Rajasthan state, at around 7.15pm local time Tuesday night. The bombs went off near several heavily touristed sites, including the Hawa Mahal (Palace of the Winds) and Johri Market.

Officials have imposed a citywide curfew in response to the bombings.

Known as the 'pink city' for its ochre-pink forts, palaces and city walls, Jaipur is an extremely popular tourist stop about 260km from Delhi.

See what travellers are saying on the India branch of the Thorn Tree forum or head to the BBC for the latest news and to view the devastation in pictures.

Doggie on Board

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Tue, 13 May 2008 08:08:00 +0000

Some pets are so worldly they have their own pet passport. Others are lucky to just get a ride around town on the back of their owner's bike. Here Lonely Planet dog-lovers give us the low down on taking your canine companion for a ride:

Convert a little kid tote into a doggy tote
Dog bike trailers
A milk crate with a wire cage over the top, sitting on a small trailer thingy
Milk crate + chicken wire + broom handle + skateboard = pet transport system
Get a sturdy back basket and a car harness from the pet shop. Attach the 'seatbelt' bit to the bottom of the bike basket. Put a blanket down and strap her in - it works really well because the harness means they can sit/stand up but can't move far enough to get over the edge of the basket.

Got any other ways to get around town with the pooch?

A Commercial Dilemma in Sapa, Vietnam

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Sun, 11 May 2008 10:55:00 +0000

The overnight train from Hanoi to the Vietnam-China border town of Lao Cai gets in at 4:30am. It's a befuddling time, and it's easy to lose your bearings - especially if you're heading to Sapa. Stay firm, bargain hard, and insist on your destination, though, and you'll end up at the hill station (albeit after more than an hour in a bumpy, crowded minivan).

It's worth it. Sapa is magical: cool, misty and magnificent. The first day we arrived was so foggy that we couldn't see across the street. That didn't stop us from doing a day walk to nearby Cat Cat village, which rewarded us with close-up views of waterfalls and drastically improved lung capacities.

But it wasn't until the next day that we could see what we had been missing: endless, sweeping valley views. Paddies terraced across the hillsides, right down to the rivers. Heavily forested mountains, their tops always invisible. We were looking forward to our 10km walk through the villages dotting the valley floor.

That's when it got interesting. The Sapa region is home to several minority groups, most noticeably the Black Hmong, the Red Dzao and the Dzai groups. All three have their own distinct, mutually incomprehensible languages (Vietnamese is the language of commerce). Most members of these groups live a subsistence lifestyle, growing crops and occasionally selling the surplus for agricultural supplies and equipment.

As we walked, several Black Hmong women gathered around us, peppering us with questions and telling us stories of their lives. Their command of English, French and Chinese was admirable. They talked with us all the way along the mountainside. And when we crossed from their village to the next, the solicitations began. "Buy from me?" several asked, displaying beautifully crafted blankets, dubiously put-together bracelets, and cheap trinkets. We smiled and declined politely, but they persisted. "We walk all the way with you, we talk with you, and now you don't buy from us?"

We felt torn. We really didn't want anything. Our packs were full enough for our liking, and we had resolved to buy nothing we didn't need on this trip. We hadn't asked the women to walk with us, and we felt vaguely upset that their friendliness may only have been a commercial front (and yes, we knew that was a possibility from the beginning).

But some of the goods they were selling were of high quality. The prices were reasonable. They weren't begging or asking for handouts - they were supplementing their meager incomes with a potential windfall from tourism. And they had definitely enhanced our experience of the valley. Would it be so bad to exchange some money for their handicrafts, despite the fact that we didn't want them?

What would you have done?

- Vivek Wagle

In-flight food - devil on a tray?

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Fri, 09 May 2008 04:14:00 +0000

In this age of food snobbery, airline food is looked down upon as the toothless, penniless guttersnipe of the gourmet world. Many travellers abhor it, although there are a number (me included) who actually dig the stuff - the anticipation, the surprise/shock/horror, the little containers, the comedy bread bun that is impossible to bite. I had my first crab stick on a flight to Hawaii as a fourteen-year-old and it felt like the height of glamour.

If you have an in-flight food fascination, airlinemeals.net covers all bases, even taking you behind the scenes of airline catering or showing you what the crew eats. Travellers the world over send in photos of their meals. Get depressed by a miserly vegan breakfast! Long for the campy delights TWA were serving up in the 50s! Mourn the loss of a post-dinner Baileys on Swiss Air!

So what's been your worst in-flight meal?

Update on Myanmar Cyclone

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Thu, 08 May 2008 00:14:00 +0000

The United Nations says that up to 1.5 million people may have been affected by Cyclone Nargis, which devastated the Irrawaddy Delta region of Myanmar (Burma) on Saturday. Burmese state media say 22,980 people were killed, but there are fears the figure could rise to 100,000. The regions of Irrawaddy, Yangon, Bago, Karen and Mon have been declared disaster zones.

The Thorn Tree community are sharing news, information, updates, personal accounts and reports. For the latest, click here.

Many aid organisations are accepting donations, including Medicins Sans Frontier and Australian Aid International.

From inside Myanmar, BBC reporter Paul Danahar describes the misery and fear in the delta region.

What lies beneath

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Wed, 07 May 2008 05:35:00 +0000

Every city has spaces that confront us with events of the past. Buildings, squares and monuments bear witness to people's struggles and their scars record significant episodes in history. They're the silent players in the city narrative.

It's easy to miss these often subtle references to the past. Take Barcelona's Plaza Sant Felip Neri. At first glance, it's a tranquil, unassuming square. With its shade and fountain, it's a romantic spot offering respite from the relentless buzz of La Rambla. Go in closer, though, and you'll get a glimpse of the stories preserved in its walls. The facade of the plaza's baroque church is pockmarked from the shrapnel of a bomb dropped during the Spanish Civil War. Forty-two people taking refuge inside were killed in the blast, most of them children. The plaza was also the site of civil-war executions. In some way, it serves as an unofficial memorial to the war's victims.

Tell us about the scarred places you've come across, places that tell you something of a city's history.

- Eli Arduca

Blog and the city

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Mon, 05 May 2008 23:08:00 +0000

If you're planning a trip to New York and have a desire to uncover the city's best street art or are off to Berlin to shop for spring, check out Gridskipper, an award-winning travel blog that combs the web for the latest happenings in the coolest cities around the globe. The self-confessed urban fanatics behind the venture publish daily posts covering a vast range of themes under the broad umbrella of 'urban lifestyle'.

Some great recent posts include: indie pop/rock summer concerts in Paris, an overview of London's best design shops and a guide to drinking in Berlin's Friedrichshain.

It's by far and away one of my favourite travel blogs. What's yours?

First Light at Angkor Wat

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Mon, 05 May 2008 10:54:00 +0000

The sun doesn't rise until 6:30, but our tuk-tuk driver insists that we have to meet before 5am. We exchange doubtful glances. However, everyone in Siem Reap has been honest and friendly, so we agree.

The next morning, we stumble downstairs from our hotel (the Ancient Angkor Guesthouse - a surprisingly awesome-value find) and he's not there. But his brother is, and he's been waiting since 4:30.

Bleary-eyed, we're not ready for the long, dusty road. We're not the only ones: during the 7km ride from town, we're passed by scores of taxis and other tuk-tuks. And our guy was right about the early start, as lashings of color start to streak through the sky. We arrive at Angkor Wat and dutifully join the shuffle of tourists walking the long causeway. There are hundreds of people around.

We look up, and the reflections of water-lilies shimmer on the moat surrounding the temple complex. Through the morning haze, the central tower looms in the distance. The chanting of monks wafts over on the breeze.

We enter through the outer walls, and everyone stops. The crowd fans out onto the grassy fields and huddles up on the steps of the ancient library, west of the towers. They all have their cameras out, ready to catch the first, magical moment of the sun peeking out from behind the tower.

But it's a cloudy day. The colors have already disappeared from the sky, and all is grey. We exchange glances and move on. The crowd is now behind us, and we enter the stone corridors of the inner temple. Our footsteps ring out in the dark hallways. We can barely make out the delicate bas-relief carvings on the wall, but we can take our time. No one is around to hurry us on. We're in a ghost of a place.

We pass through the temple center and come out the other side. There is only forest here, with a dirt trail heading east. We come out the building as the towers begin to light up. Fifty paces onward, and we turn to face the structure with the sun at our backs. We share the sunrise with only the giant naga sculptures and the chirping cicadas.

- Vivek Wagle, site editor

Page-turning Festivals

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Mon, 05 May 2008 07:18:00 +0000

Last weekend I made the trek to the goldfields of Victoria (in the southeast corner of Australia) to visit the post-gold rush burg of Clunes, which declared itself a 'booktown' in 2007. Bibliophiles flocked to the town to fossick through the mix of secondhand and new bookstores set up for the weekend-long event.

Some booktowns open year-round, like the grand-daddy of them all, Hay-on-Wye, which made headlines in 1977 when bookseller Richard Booth declared the Welsh town an independent kingdom and himself King Richard. Naturally he made his horse prime minister. Today Hay-on-Wye hosts an influential book festival and a simultaneous event for kids called Hay Fever.

There's booktowns around the world, including in Italy and Finland, but my favourite is Scotland's oddly named Wig town. It sounds more like a centre for fake hairdressing.

What kind of town would you like to go to? Beertown? Coffeetown? Funky Town?

- George Dunford

I think you're in my seat

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Fri, 02 May 2008 05:20:00 +0000

Is there any bigger pain in the arse than flying long haul on your own and getting the crummy middle seat? The Jan Brady of plane seats. There's no window to lean against, no aisle to stretch your legs into - you're forced to sit upright like a goody two-shoes at the front of the class. So, what are the tricks to getting a good seat? First up, you can look at SeatGuru, which has a layout of planes, rates the seating and tells you which ones have power-port access or immovable arm rests. Doing the early internet check-in can also help you snag the seat you want (window seat, near the exit, close to the john). Of course, none of this will guarantee you don't get sat in front of the hyperactive two-year-old who kicks your seat during an entire movie - the day you can check that box will be a day for aviation progress indeed.

What's your preferred spot on a plane?

But I won't do that...

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Thu, 01 May 2008 04:51:00 +0000

I like to consider myself the kind of traveller that's open to new experiences. I take my shoes off in temples, I never once asked for a fork in Japan and I make sure I wear t-shirts ripped and off-the-shoulder on kibbutz. I'm a paragon of the 'tread lightly' school of travel, honest. But everybody's got a limit and it's just a matter of time before it finds them.

I met mine in a yurt in a summer meadow in Kyrgyzstan, in the form of kymys: smoked, fermented mare's milk. Fabled to be the beverage of champions, the milk is also a dietary staple and pride and joy of Kyrgyz nomads. The mares are milked every hour, and over several days the milk is fermented and stirred in a smoke filled barrel. The result is a fizzy, smoky, vaguely alcoholic milk drink.

With an audience of a Kyrgyz nomadic family, my Russian speaking host and translator as well as the neighbours from the yurt over the stream, I smiled politely and tried desperately to calm my gag reflex as I placed the bowl back down. It's not an easy thing to do, but sometimes learning your limits is a crucial part of the travel experience.

Where have you had to draw the line?

- Jenni Kauppi

Penance in Southeast Asia

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 11:43:00 +0000

It was going to be a fairly typical travel-blog entry: a horrific series of bum-busting bus rides and sloooow boats, complete with mosquitos and leg paralysis and drunk Scottish backpackers.

That was before we went to the Killing Fields.

For an American, exploring Saigon can be confronting. The War Remnants Museum, just north of the buzzing backpacker area, is graphic and brutal. One feels hot in the languorous sunshine; then one sees the tiny prison where hundreds of women were stuffed for months without fresh air. One flinches at the pain from a cramped boat ride; then one views the pictures of torture and the maiming resulting from chemical warfare - wounds that carry over into a new generation of Vietnamese.

But terrible as this place is, it cannot prepare a traveller for the Killing Fields of Cheuong Ek, Cambodia. About 15km outside Phnom Penh, this is where Pol Pot set up his death camp. Millions of innocents were slaughtered here, sometimes several thousand a day. A stupa filled with the skulls of the slain looms over the entrance. One tries to imagine faces on the bones staring back, seeing the features of men, women and children. There is a tree nearby against which Khmer Rouge guards smashed children until they were broken corpses.

Back in the capital, the Tuol Slang Genocide Museum continues the horror. It was a school once, and in the breezy open air one can almost hear the children running about at playtime. Enter the classrooms, though, and the voices of the ghosts change to wails and moans. The Khmer Rouge cadre brought people here to be questioned, tortured, and massacred. Out of the tens of thousands of prisoners who entered the compound, seven survived. The faces of the dead stare out from photographs - mugshots and torture photos taken days, or hours, before and after their deaths.

Why, I wonder, do we go to these places? Is it some macabre instinct we have - the same draw that leads one down the path of dark tourism? I'm not so sure: I haven't wanted to visit the torture dungeons of Europe since I got out of my teens, for example. I prefer to think that we have to live through these experiences to remember. Sometimes I wish that these spots had been razed, and eradicated from human memory. But then we would learn nothing.

Part of me imagines that I'm comforting myself by insisting that it's not some vile voyeuristic urge that draws travellers to places such as the Killing Fields or the Nazi death camps in Germany and Poland. But I think back to the description written next to the old death shed in the Killing Fields: "These men had human bodies, but they had the hearts of demons."

The horror is that it's not true. These were people like you and me. I cannot forget.

- Vivek Wagle, Site Editor

Celebrating Aoi Matsuri in Kyoto

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 02:45:00 +0000

Visiting Kyoto in May? Well don't miss the annual Aoi Matsuri (hollyhock festival), a grand procession of Heian-era costume garbed folk from the Imperial Palace to the Shimo-gamo and Kami-gamo shrines.

If you're lucky enough to be in the city at this time you can even catch a rare glimpse of the local maiko and geisha when they perform the Kamogawa Odori, or Kamo river dances.

Performed at Ponto-cho's Kaburen-jo theatre since 1872, the dances combine traditional dance, kabuki-like theatre, singing and the playing of traditional instruments and are the closest you will get to these famed figures without a tonne of yen and a teahouse introduction!

The Aoi Matsuri takes place every year on May 15 at 10.30am and follows a course through the streets of Kyoto from the Imperial Palace to the Shimo-gamo Shrine and then the Kami-gamo Shrine.

The Kamogawa Odori are performed from May 1 - 24 every year and tickets are between 3000 to 5000 yen. Call Ponto-cho Kaburen-jo Theatre on 075-221-2025 for details.

- Emma Henderson

Where's the world's best ice cream?

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 06:48:00 +0000

I still hanker for the Hungarian version of the Magnum ice cream that had sour cherry folded through the vanilla, and the guys at Gridskipper have recently been rhapsodising about the classic hot fudge sundae at LA's Twohey's Restaurant. An old friend who travelled in Poland during the late eighties reckoned there was nothing to top their luscious, lavish cones, although I'd back the creamy gianduia I had in a quiet, sunny backstreet of Venice to give them a run for their money.

What makes great ice cream great? Is it fudge-covered peanut butter-filled pretzels in vanilla malt ice cream rippled with fudge and peanut butter US-style abandon or the subtle, one-note pleasure of a bitter lemon gelato? And where's the best ice cream you've ever had?

Thanks for the Memories

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 01:48:00 +0000

Memories; they're as precious as truffles, as fragile as meringues. Hearing your favourite tune being used to sell coffee, or that your first true love is now married to a bastard can take away a little part of your soul. The memory banks of a traveller can be just as easily looted. We have all felt the pain; the ramen shop is now a Starbucks, the flawless beach is covered in sewage, or the soaring mountain view is stuffed by the carpark and bungee tower. If they call it progress or whatever, that's not the point, something significant has been changed for good. Don't get me wrong, I am not afraid of change. But knowing that some place special has changed forever, can make you want to never go back.

For me, the time I spent in Laos 15 years ago remains very special. I stayed with my sister in an old Russian hospital in Vientiane, sipped Beer Lao while the sun set and generally took it easy in the most laidback country in Asia. Things have moved on in the 'Land of a Million Elephants', and much needed tourist dollars are rolling into a desperately poor country, but when I see what's happened in towns like Luang Prabang I'm not sure I want to go back.

Where can't you go back to, because it just ain't the same?

In-flight reading: Airport trash vs. War & Peace

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 05:57:00 +0000

So, your big trip is finally here. Yay! Your passport's in order, you've managed to reduce your vital hand-luggage necessities to 100ml of liquid in a plastic bag, and your credit card's topped up and ready to bolster a foreign economy - it's lift-off time. Now you just have to endure that hellishly long flight to the other side of the world.

If, like many travellers, you can't sleep on planes no matter how many pills you pop, you have a real issue. Who wants to touch down looking and feeling like an extra from Night of the Living Dead? Well, sorry - can't help you there, but look on the bright side: this is your chance to catch up on all that long-overdue reading you never get time for in the hubbub of your daily existence. So ditch that predictable in-flight entertainment, keep your eyedrops close, and get booked!

Which raises the question: what's your preferred reading matter on a long-haul flight? Do you like to study up on your phrasebook, or get under your destination's skin with a novel that's set there? Does light-weight, easy-to-read fluff make the hours fly faster than a dense literary masterpiece? And do people really read those airport blockbusters?

My scientifically unproven theory is that the compressed cabin atmosphere and enforced upright position make it difficult to concentrate on anything too challenging. A brief survey among friends and colleagues seems to back this up, revealing long-haul reading choices ranging from celebrity biographies to police procedurals, Marie Claire magazine to, ahem, The Toyboy Diaries.

Not a War & Peace in sight.

Budget long-haul flights: are they worth it?

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 01:44:00 +0000

The explosion of chip-cheap flights has changed the way we travel. Suddenly, a weekender in Riga is as affordable as a trip to the countryside. On short hops, the lack of frills doesn't matter much - but what about longer haul? Airlines like Singapore's Tiger Air offer alluringly low fares, and most of us would be willing to forfeit leg room and first-release movies for those kind of prices, but travellers are beginning to swap horror stories - delayed or cancelled flights, hidden costs for food and baggage, crap customer service. Are budget flights worth the hassle?

Reunited - a Kodak love story

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 01:38:00 +0000

At home I'm pretty organised, but when I'm travelling it's like I become some bizarro dimwit version of myself who has had half her brain sucked out at 30,000 feet and I seem incapable of doing the most basic things like getting out of a cab with all my belongings.

So if you do ditz out and lose your camera while you're travelling, check out this website dedicated to reuniting found cameras and orphan photos with their rightful (if slightly embarrassed because they post some of the pictures) owners. And if you find a camera, you can email in a couple of shots off the memory card to post.

There's even been a hilarious internet furore associated with a lost camera being found and some kid with diabetes getting attached to it and the kid's parents refusing to give it back. Smellin' kinda hoaxy?

P.S Charlie's blog has got a good tip about adding a text file to your memory card with your contact deets on it so it can be returned to you if you lose it.

World's Greatest Pub/Bar Crawls?

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 06:07:00 +0000

It's an English tradition that the Americans and Australians have perfected: the pub crawl. The ultimate test of endurance, perseverance and social aptitude/ineptitude, the pub crawl can elevate one to legendary status or render one a social pariah for years.

For a great pub crawl, you need a few ingredients:

a city with pubs in profound proximity
a forgiving transport environment (you don't want cars bearing down on you as you stumble towards your goal)
good weather (try crawling on ice - not fun!)
an established drinking culture (you don't want to be the boorish outsider who's annoying the locals)

With all these criteria in mind, we reckon that there are a few incredible cities in the world for a crawl. To us, the obvious ones are New York, Buenos Aires, Madrid, Manchester, Brussels, Munich, Moscow, Prague, Cape Town, Hong Kong and Melbourne.

But we know this is just scraping the surface. Some pub-crawling gems remain nearly undiscovered by the non-local populace - take, for example, Maryborough in Queensland, Australia, which set the record for the world's biggest pub crawl. And then there are the offbeat crawls that you'd never think of (a vending-machine crawl in Tokyo? Brilliant!).

So what do you think - are there any pub-crawling gems that the world needs to know about?

Marathon des Sables: Our man comes 70th

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 22:09:00 +0000

And so dawned the last day of the 23rd Marathon des Sables, a 17.5 km 'sprint' into the small oasis town of Tazzarine and a long-awaited return to civilization. Spiked by an imperceptible homing instinct and fuelled by inordinate amounts of adrenalin, the pace was breathlessly electric as we emerged like escaped hostages out of the desert and ran in small groups through Tazzarine's dusty streets lined for the occasion with throngs of cheering spectators.

I had long dreamt about the cocktail of conflicting emotions that I would feel as I crossed the finish line. But, as the magic moment approached and I dug deep into my for a last reserves of energy for a final push, all I could muster was a dry gasp of disbelief. All around chaos reigned. Behind me a Spanish runner crumpled in exhaustion to the ground and began to weep, up front about half a dozen strangers reached out and enthusiastically shook my hand, while poised at the end of the finishing funnel the ebullient race organiser, Patrick Bauer, grabbed me in an obligatory French bear hug and heartily congratulated me on my feat (brave man - I hadn't showered in over a week)

And it was only then - for the first time in 7 days - that I was able to turn around and glance back at what I had long thought to be the impossible road; 152 miles of raw and uncompromising desert wilderness; ten nervous months of dreaming, plotting, training and planning.

Seen today through the prism of our euphoric post-race celebrations, the Marathon des Sables is far more than just a run across the desert; it is an uncensored journey into the inner workings of the human soul. Tested to your physical and mental limits and pushed daily to the brink of exhaustion you need spade loads of heart, passion, courage and determination just to survive it. But for those that finish, the rewards are immeasurable. The heady joys of life lived at a higher intensity, the sweet satisfaction of a hard won victory, the strange camaraderie borne out of short-term friendships that are forged like unbreakable bonds in the desert dust.

Would I do it again? Absolutely not. But after coming in an extremely pleasing 70th out of 801 starters on my 42nd birthday, the memory of this extraordinary event will stay with me long after the sore shins and bleeding blisters have subsided.

- Brendan Sainsbury

Marathon des Sables: Blood, sweat and opera

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 00:11:00 +0000

Lonely Planet author Brendan Sainsbury is on the last leg of the daunting Marathon des Sables, a 150 mile (240 km) ultra marathon across the Sahara:

"Day 6 and the Marathon des Sables suddenly became a race. As the temperature hit 46 degrees Celsius, the first 100 runners recklessly bolted from the start line as if the previous 5 days of madness had been nothing but a warm up. Perhaps the desert has toughened us all up. We certainly look tougher - and a lot rougher too. Seven days unshaven, unshowered and without proper food and we've started to resemble slightly malnourished desert soldiers from an old WWII movie.

Today's stage was a standard 26 mile marathon, but rather than wilting under the Moroccan sun I seemed to discover a new energy. Was it adrenalin, nerves, or the final numbing of my body's pain receptors? It's hard to say. Maybe it was the thought of the finish line tomorrow after 245km of blood, sweat and tears. Or maybe it was the promise of tonight's special treat: the race organisers have flown out the Paris Opera to perform for us live in the middle of our disheveled desert camp. A surreal ending to a truly surreal race."

The Olympic Controversy

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 03:15:00 +0000

The Chinese government's recent crackdown on violent protests in Tibet has had global effects. In India, ex-politicians are calling for a boycott on all Chinese goods, while Reporters Without Borders is demanding that every nation shun the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games.

Meanwhile, Beijing has criticised the efforts of the Dalai Lama to quell the anti-China actions.

Will these developments affect your travel considerations? Are you considering - or reconsidering - a trip to the Summer Olympics or Tibet? More philosophically, should politics be a factor in deciding what parts of the world you want to visit?

Marathon des Sables: The peaks and troughs

noreply@blogger.com (Lonely Planet) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 21:17:00 +0000

Lonely Planet author Brendan Sainsbury reports from the Sahara on his progress in the daunting Marathon des Sables, a 150 mile (240 km) ultra marathon.

"Day 4 is what the Marathon des Sables is all about, the 75km 'long' stage that crosses precipitous mountains, undulating sand dunes and dried-up lakes, and makes training for the French Foreign Legion look like a relaxing vacation.

I had no idea to prepare for such an undertaking so I just set off running, climbing, and sometimes staggering, while all the time refusing to either stop or look behind me. There were many peaks and troughs during this long dark day (and night) of the soul, but I rallied in the last 8km came in 72nd just as night was falling.

At the finish, I have never felt so exhausted and struggled to make it back to my tent laden down with my rucksack and mandatory 4 litres of water. Dinner was freeze dried chicken noodles made with cold water and my bed a thin, yet surprisingly comfortable, Moroccan carpet. By 9.30pm I had fallen into a deep slumber dreaming about cheeseburgers and trying to blot out the prospect of Friday's 42km marathon."