tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12593370658371306622012-02-16T12:19:02.847ZPatch and Taras start in St. Petersburg and head East on the Transiberian Railway. Da svydanje!Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.comBlogger611100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-20159237947084535502007-09-11T04:43:00.000+01:002007-09-11T04:57:28.682+01:00

After the marathon stint on a bus during our trip to Dalat, I had resolved, whilst re-aligning my spine, against getting the bus back. We thought we would fly instead. Now, this may seem like an unnecessary decadence and not in the spirit of dreadlocked, poorly-washed 'independent' travellers, but it cost 14 quid and took 30 minutes to get to Saigon, as opposed to the 6 hrs of jolts and bumps

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-15922666543514729902007-09-11T04:24:00.000+01:002007-09-11T04:40:58.631+01:00

Deciding that the best way to see the sublime foothills surround Dalat's lofty position would be by motorbike, Taz and I rented one each and set off looking for adventure (and whatever comes our way).As an aside, there is a group of English -Speaking bikers who call themselves the 'Easy Riders', parading around the town all day with cumbersome lead wings and toothless grins.The first place of

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-45869574154214997862007-09-06T12:49:00.000+01:002007-09-06T12:57:41.758+01:00

After a sleepless night we arrived in Nha Trang, Vietnam's answer to Skegness, Blackpool and Great Yarmouth all roled into one braying mess of a town. We got on the first bus to Dalat, which took a good 6 hours to get there, with only one scheduled toilet stop. I had been reading Thompson's 'The Rum Diary'. If you read Hunter S. Thompson on a bus, you will get angry and try to kill everyone on

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-39154557213536827292007-09-06T12:38:00.000+01:002007-09-06T12:49:03.931+01:00

Taz's bowel movements have taken a sharp turn for the worse, so he elected this morning to take it easy on the beach. I swallowed a deep gulp of anxiety and rented a motorbike which would, hopefully take Claire and I to My Son, a series of temples likened to a scaled down version of Cambodia's Angkor Wat, around 45km from Hoi An. The ride was remarkable uneventful; I immediately dropped my

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-40174621048371551722007-09-06T12:25:00.000+01:002007-09-06T12:38:36.468+01:00

Hoi An is a sleepy seaside town that has clearly been overrun by wave after wave of tourists, struggling to keep its traditional cultural integrity along the way. Walking down the boulevard by the river, one is just as likely to see Vietnamese women selling corn as they are to watch a herd of fat American Midwestern cows, sweating and being coerced down the street.We actually had the first lie-in

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-52918588748147280972007-09-03T04:34:00.000+01:002007-09-03T04:51:29.248+01:00

As a post script to yesterday's entry (In which I have to confess I cheated and pre-empted our evening's movements) here is a slight editorial footnote that has a large bearing on today's entry.We went to a vegetarian restaurant with set meals for 25,000 dong (about 80p) and got talking to the affable and incorrigible owner, Thom. We let slip that we were going to Hoi An by bus the next day, to

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-44938208542535317002007-09-01T13:11:00.000+01:002007-09-01T13:21:52.411+01:00

Another exciting thing that makes Hue worth a visit is the daily trips to the DMZ, a former No man's land separating the Socialist North from the Republican south. On the bus, we were greeted by our guide who had been a child growing up in a country torn apart by war. Our first stop was the Ben Hai River that acted as a rudimentary border during the country's separation. It was eerily quite, even

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-77240600829821580772007-09-01T12:59:00.000+01:002007-09-01T13:11:56.057+01:00

Rolling into Hue with the dawn, we checked into our hotel and decided to hit the Citadel and Imperial Palace before it got too hot. Unfortunately, it was 33degrees at 8:45 in the morning. The Citadel, which used to house the entire Vietmanese capital is 10km in perimeter and has walls that are 5m thick in places. Inside this huge enclosure is the Imperial Palace, one time playground of the

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-90368355330592020832007-09-01T12:47:00.002+01:002007-09-01T12:59:21.603+01:00

Our last day in Hanoi was put to use by Claire and I as we got up absurdly early, taking a siclo (Vietnamese rickshaw) to Lenin Park in the hope of catching some Hanoians at there most relaxed; it is here in dawn light that the gather to perform Tai-Chi en masse. Of course, we got there too late but enjoyed an idyllic walk around the park's ground and lake, before taking a suicidal motorbike taxi

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-36481968635456402452007-09-01T12:47:00.001+01:002007-09-01T13:11:11.550+01:00

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-67490107968267794342007-09-01T12:37:00.001+01:002007-09-01T12:47:04.715+01:00

Arising early to see the town, we went on a pseudo-organised walk around the Old Quarter, starting at the Huc bridge and ending at the Cathedral. Progress was leisurely, not least owing to Taz's penchant for telling every fruit, cigarette and nick-knack seller his life story, although in fairness their was enough sights, sounds (usually motorbike horns) and smells to keep one occupied for hours.

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-87275993629875669342007-09-01T12:28:00.000+01:002007-09-01T12:36:40.042+01:00

Leaving Cat Ba early for the boat back to Halong City, we stopped for a brief pause at a floating village. This quite amazing settlement displayed ingenuity that would turn most Venetians greener than their cloth, with floating shops, schools, a dentist surgery and even a floating basketball court to be enjoyed by the inhabitants. I brought fresh Custard Apple and Dragonfruit for 25p before being

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-79868232642302343742007-09-01T12:13:00.000+01:002007-09-01T12:27:20.888+01:00

We picked up anchor early and sailed a short hop over to Cat Ba Island, the largest in Halong. Checking into our hotel just before an almighty storm cracked its cheeks, I decided I had packed implausibly lightly and went off in search for some t-shirts and a new watch (my Mao timepiece not having worked since fifteen minutes after it was purchased). Away from the numerous Internet cafes and

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-19236820216307018212007-09-01T12:12:00.000+01:002007-09-01T12:47:09.844+01:00

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-85683092712808412222007-09-01T11:57:00.000+01:002007-09-01T12:12:44.337+01:00

Halong Bay, meaning 'where the dragon dived into the sea', is Vietnam's version of Thailand's North West Islands and the undoubted natural highlight of a stay in North Vietnam.We booked on a tour, and were to stay two nights there, one, rather excitingly, on a wooden sailboat. Even before we reached the shoreline by bus, we could see in the distance some of the 3000 craggy erections of igneous

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-59062060687394278502007-08-30T06:19:00.000+01:002007-08-30T06:40:07.513+01:00

We decided upon a taxi to whisk us the 27km to Beijing Capital International Airport. Whilst this was more expensive than the bus, it was air-conditioned and I didn't want to take any chances - I had been waiting too long to see Ali, Anant and Claire. No disrespect to Taz (he would say the same about me), but after 5 weeks in each others pockets, our patience was decidedly frayed and in danger of

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-31254281635062487512007-08-30T05:56:00.000+01:002007-08-30T06:19:31.208+01:00

Our last day in the Chinese capital was, somewhat disappointingly, one of those days wherein you spend hours doing a few menial but necessary tasks. The day withers away like scorched grass, and you are left with the feeling that, even though there are many days to come and doubtless many incredible situations for us to encounter up ahead, you have committed the heinous crime of killing time.That

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-40983221319840090062007-08-24T07:23:00.000+01:002007-08-24T07:39:46.846+01:00

What we have been waiting for since we got to this country (I have, in fact waited most of my adult life to see this relic) was most definitely worth it. We took a bus, commandeered by a maniacal and obese driver who resembled Buddha on speed, to cover the 110km from Beijing to the start of our hike along the Great Wall at Jinshaling. I have read many reports on the bus-driving in China, all of

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-40825814903008401802007-08-24T07:15:00.000+01:002007-08-24T07:23:08.839+01:00

Quite a slow day, and I can't really remember what we did with it. Oh, yeah, tried exhaustively to find a place that might possibly show an England Select XI vs. Germany's Fifth Team. We finally managed to find a place that was willing to stay open until the three A.M. kick-off. By 1 in the morning Taz and were knackered and couldn't be bothered to watch the inevitable defeat. This turned out to

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-17398221740836448672007-08-22T06:23:00.000+01:002007-08-24T06:54:09.627+01:00

"There are nine million bicycles in Beijing,That's a fact, its a thing"Not my words folks, but those of the true poet of our time, Katie Melua. Today, Taz and I accounted for two of said bicycles, and were rewarded with one of the most enjoyable and enlightening days of the trip so far.Our trip to the Great Wall has been postponed until Thursday, so Taz and I once again got on our bikes and went

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-33204027870218322752007-08-22T06:05:00.000+01:002007-08-22T06:23:43.546+01:00

We rolled into the Chinese capital after the most comfortable train ride yet. Not only was the carriage brand new, we are treated along the way to commentary from an English-speaking computer imploring us to, amongst other things, "relax and feel your soul's energy reintegrate". I Zen like end to this decidedly frantic trip.Greeted by Tracy, yet another Chinese person how seems not to have the

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-29301012256950635552007-08-22T05:37:00.000+01:002007-08-22T06:02:50.696+01:00

Ho-Hot is so insignificant, it does not even make an appearance in the Lonely Planet. However, China's 'insignificant' differs somewhat from that which we expect in Britain. It is home to some 1.7 million souls, and is the capital of the Autonomous Region of Inner Mongolia. That a city clearly so vibrant and bustling would slip through the net of a comprehensive guidebook only goes to show one

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-40866198427362996902007-08-22T03:17:00.000+01:002007-08-22T05:37:09.885+01:00

Just my bloody luck. Not only is this train only outdated by the Flying Scotsman, it appears that in our carriage, the woman underneath my bunk is dying of TB. At least this is what it sounds like. As she coughs up round after round of sepulchral mucus, I shiver in my blanket. Absurdly, she insists on keeping the window OPEN to aid her homunculur evacuation. Not only is it therefore colder than

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-66125097788156359452007-08-19T02:39:00.000+01:002007-08-19T02:57:12.897+01:00

One of those days, where you never really wake up, largely owing to the fact that you never really got to sleep. After what Bill Hicks would call my 'heroic dose' of Mongolian beer, I wound up this morning with no water with which I may satiate my burning throat and fluffy mouth. (My body clock's definitely set an hour early by the way, it was 6:45 again this morning; it must have been yearning

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-3106736796752495992007-08-17T06:52:00.000+01:002007-08-17T07:04:53.924+01:00

A very early start and back on the bus for the long, arduous plod back to UB. For the first 30km, the father of the nomad family accompanied us (he was off to market), and I was delighted when he responded to my textbook delivery of 'Sain baina uu?' with a maniacal grin. We exchanged cigarettes and then he was off to continue his life, as were we to ours. Very different, yet, I felt, essentially

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-49604323820331455952007-08-17T06:39:00.000+01:002007-08-17T07:11:40.673+01:00

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-16285152576518163252007-08-17T06:37:00.000+01:002007-08-17T06:52:29.410+01:00

I was up for sunrise this morning, which allowed for some impressive views across the plains - totally worth the fuzzy head.Back to our initial Ger camp, we were embarked upon the activity which I had been eagerly anticipating since our arrival in the countryside - the visit to a nomadic family. We walked down to their Ger (amazingly having been repositioned nearer the tourist camp in order to

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-13875639909634862222007-08-17T06:25:00.000+01:002007-08-17T06:33:06.593+01:00

We travelled a further 100km west to Khar-Karhoum, former capital of Mongolia, and another Ger camp. Whilst today it is home to little more than 3000 inhabitants, largely employed at the local brewery, Khar-Karhoum was at one time the cultural, economic and legislative capital of the world. The centre this time of Mongolian Buddhism was spectacular, particularly so because of its survival of a

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-32345306403879489022007-08-17T06:21:00.000+01:002007-08-17T06:25:20.445+01:00

An eight hour bus ride across dirt roads is not what might be termed useful for one suffering from a bad back. The horrific journey over, we arrived at our first ger camp, Hoyor Zagat ('two reindeer's'). With not too much to do, I took a walk up a nearby mountain. Nothing could have prepared me for the view. Lunar scrub land fringed by ethereal mountains, long languid plains stretching to the

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-24530555177265795652007-08-17T06:07:00.000+01:002007-08-17T06:20:50.111+01:00

By no stretch of the imagination could UB (as the ex-pats call it) be described as pretty. Decrepit soviet high rises and concrete square adorn even to largest street, 'Peace Avenue'. It's one of those cities that seems to be still being built whilst falling down. It is, however, not of Russians, and the difference is palpable. You see smiles on the streets, waitresses who are actually eager to

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-84123897961418140082007-08-17T05:54:00.000+01:002007-08-17T06:07:15.145+01:00

Oh the delights of the early morning departure. I slept soundly, but for not nearly long enough, and we were all to soon saying goodbye to Russia. After three weeks there, I think we were all ready for a not-too-tearful goodbye. What I will miss about Russia:VodkaPelmeni (Russian dumplings)Brusque carriage attendantsSt Petersburg architecture.What I will not miss about Russia:Russians.I'm sorry,

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-89934231427518524932007-08-17T05:45:00.000+01:002007-08-22T06:05:26.571+01:00

Greeted by the affable and gentle mannered Tiggi, we were whisked at dawn to our hotel, the doorbell of which played a dulcet Christmas jingle. Didn't have time for a rest, breakfast at eight and then off on an overcrowded anti-diluvian minibus, driven at breakneck speed to the Ivolginsk Datsan, then centre of Buddhism in Russia. There, we were able to catch a glimpse of the Bodhi tree,

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-37601375452086897822007-08-17T05:28:00.000+01:002007-08-17T05:45:31.682+01:00

Leaving Lake Baikal was quite melancholic; the glassy waters were a tranquil and welcome distraction from the turbulent progress of life on a train. That said, two days in the sleepy and rather backward village of Listvyanka was more than enough - we had done everything on offer and I was starting to get slightly suspicious of all the locals with three fingers and webbed feet.Back in Irkutsk: its

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-16551160833142035962007-08-09T06:59:00.001+01:002007-08-09T07:20:27.779+01:00

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-75871984343056325812007-08-09T06:57:00.000+01:002007-08-09T07:07:36.050+01:00

Upon waking, we were greeted by the prospect of a glorious day; the clouds had cleared and the valley was now being saturated in ambrosial sunshine. Tim woke us up actually, checking that I wasn't backing out on our agreement made the previous evening. I assured Tim that,in the extremely unlikely event of the sun shining the following day, I would accompany him in an early morning dip in the Lake

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-74449596203686369492007-08-09T06:42:00.000+01:002007-08-09T06:56:52.224+01:00

I had an absolutely torrid night's sleep. I don't know if it was the extraordinarily bumpy section of track, or the anxiety of having to wake up at dawn and not miss our stop, but I couldn't rest my weary head for love nor money. The situation was likely exacerbated by the pregnant lady on the bunk below, visiting the toilet about 27 times during the night, and having the courtesy to slam the

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-10814360855402758192007-08-09T06:41:00.000+01:002007-08-09T06:59:08.851+01:00

Some photos from the longest stint for the Trans-Siberian. Please ignore the bald guy. He is not my friend.

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-77523397826050152872007-08-09T06:34:00.000+01:002007-08-09T06:41:34.183+01:00

We spent the day playing durak (a kind of Russian game of Hearts,) drinking coffee and generally recovering from the night before. The train, after 36 hours of non-stop travelling, can really get monotonous. You begin to look forward to the most mundane things - rolling a cigarette, getting of for a walk at the next stop, eating a pot noodle. I swear that every time I eat a pot noodle I don't

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-67317937976984056632007-08-09T06:13:00.000+01:002007-08-09T06:34:12.314+01:00

We were rudely awoken by the two Mongolian inhabitants of our compartment, who seemed to be apoplectic for some reason. Taz tried to assuage their incoherence and managed to ascertain that we were somewhere that we shouldn't have been. Indeed, a reconnaissance mission outside the stationary carriage revealed that we were in fact on a solitary carriage, abandoned in the middle of the tracks at

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-88890062403595587592007-08-04T11:18:00.000+01:002007-08-04T11:32:05.804+01:00

Today after Taz's alarm clock antics, we were somewhat rushed to make the tour we had organised for the Cathedral of the Tsars, commemorating the murder of the last one, Nicholas II in 1918. Hurriedly boarding the minibus, it soon became clear that Russian manners are only matched by the state of its roads. They were appalling, with even motorways containing huge pot-holes that actually needed

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-32874458168953118962007-08-04T11:17:00.000+01:002007-08-04T11:18:24.689+01:00

As the new day dawned on the train, I was rudely awoken by our carriage attendent hoovering the floor under my bed. That the door to our carriage was locked, did not seem to register in her over-exuberant mind.During the night, we had gone past Kazan and were now a mere 10 hours from Yekaterinburg. The landscape, which I have heard is astounding once you reach Siberia, was typically uninspiring

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-34186900723815118912007-08-04T10:37:00.000+01:002007-08-04T11:06:33.797+01:00

The train journey started off in typically lethargic fashion, and it was only as we slided out Kazansky station through Moscow's Eastern suburbs that you get a sense of just how big Europe's largest city is. We pottered along at what seemed a little faster than walking speed, until we got into our first stop, a station with a glassware factory tacked on the end. There, there were street sellers

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-30752221129105475262007-08-02T09:07:00.000+01:002007-08-02T09:12:01.393+01:00

Not much to report about yesterday, I pretty much spend the day feeling sorry for myself. I know that everybody would say this, but I'm feeling ill, and its not a hangover. I think it may hark back to the boiled water we drank in the morning, owing to the lack of mineral water. Either way, I feel awful, and am not relishing spending the next 34 hours on the train.I won't have access to email

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-10361595699773440362007-08-01T16:25:00.000+01:002007-08-01T16:53:56.192+01:00

I thump of pain comes surging up my spine and into the back of my head, its penetrative force leaves no nerve-tissue untouched. A hangover has me in its talons, and its wiry, patent claws are crushing my skull like a dropped egg. I feel like Boris Yeltsin's liver.But if we rewind several hours, I'll introduce you to the group that are going on the long train to Beijing with me and Taras:There's

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-71956694988850098122007-07-31T18:01:00.000+01:002007-07-31T18:13:29.814+01:00

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-57251927900186475312007-07-31T11:01:00.000+01:002007-07-31T11:20:15.526+01:00

Well I still haven't found a place that will let me upload my photos - the hostel we have moved to (grandly named Godzillas) has the worst Internet connection I have ever seen, although by all accounts it is usually good, today being a bad day in accordance with my luck. As soon as I can get some photos up I will.There's not much to report really. Erm, its Taz's birthday today, so after meeting

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-55168256509921485852007-07-30T14:33:00.001+01:002007-07-30T14:58:47.003+01:00

Moscow is a city with some 13 million souls, in additional to the estimated 7 million who reside their illegally. This makes for a diverse, sprawling city centre, as well as some rather testing traffic conditions during a Monday morning commute. Such a gridlocked situation is exacerbated when Putin decides its time to go to work and has the main Moscow ring-road shut off during his journey.

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-83449149539944346262007-07-30T14:15:00.000+01:002007-07-30T14:27:08.289+01:00

Note from the Editor: It appears I may have been mistaken in one of my earlier posts. It was in fact Taz, and not I that located the only post office in St Petersburg. I apologise for any readers who may have taken offence to this.The night train to Moscow passed without event, (save an encounter with a rather brusque carriage attendant) and we were pulling gently into Moscow. We alighted the 

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-2111186000587507142007-07-28T16:59:00.000+01:002007-07-28T17:25:38.445+01:00

Our last day in St Petersburg ended with a bang, in a very literal sense. Still nursing thoroughly installed hangovers, we hauled ourselves out of bed and scudded across town with Katje, who had drunkenly informed us the night before that we were going shooting today. What she didn't tell us was that the range was inside a Russian Military base. After some negotiations with the guards, we were

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-82824893439358905062007-07-28T16:54:00.000+01:002007-07-28T16:59:14.453+01:00

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-30262014059025029202007-07-28T10:09:00.000+01:002007-07-30T14:04:12.522+01:00

Ow ow ow. Katje took Taz and myself out to 'Metro Bar' last night. We arrived in style, at roughly three times the speed limit with a driver, fag in one hand, phone in the other, and beer nestled between his knees. The club itself looked like an outlet store, and had three smaller clubs and 5 bars within it. We meandered for a little while, marvelling at all the Russian men with biceps like an

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-37079410236060454232007-07-27T18:42:00.000+01:002007-07-27T19:07:59.261+01:00

Last night, we watched "Terminator" and drank Vodka every time Arnie killed someone. The brutality conveyed on screen was matched by a ruthless onslaught on our livers; the throbbing fuzz of a morning made me wish that the Governor of California was more of a pacifist. We ate breakfast in a bank which we mistook for a cafe and then met up with my friends Ash and Wendy, who are on a Baltic cruise

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-5913128733476899642007-07-26T21:58:00.000+01:002007-07-26T22:15:07.619+01:00

The following photos:1. I test out the route that triggers the extra water jets.2. Taz finds the sensor for the extra water, and proceeds to press it every time a small child ventures across.3. Taz walks back, oblivious to the impending taste of own medicine.

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-25602867362002506732007-07-26T21:14:00.000+01:002007-07-26T21:55:08.490+01:00

We've been in St Petersburg now for five days, and decided it was time for a change. I dunno about Taz, but I'm getting slightly itchy feet here. I'm really anxious to get moving, I don't want to get into too much of a routine, especially since so much of our itinerary involves movement. So today, we moved. To Peterhof to be precise. Its about 30km West of St Petersburg and was intended as the

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-11184421694677268752007-07-25T21:47:00.000+01:002007-07-25T21:50:50.950+01:00

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-14478458503935927642007-07-25T21:23:00.000+01:002007-07-30T14:05:00.491+01:00

From the top:Renoir's "Girl with a Whip"Matisse's "Dance"Gauguin's "Pastoral Tahitians"Monet's " Lady in the Garden"Monet's "Poppy Field"Cezanne's "Lady in Blue"Today, as you may have already guessed, we went to the Hermitage, which I learnt has over 3 millions works in its collection. The building itself is incomprehensibly grandiose; everything is gold leaf pillars and crystal chandeliers. I

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-71011042392624657732007-07-24T19:14:00.001+01:002007-07-24T19:32:57.130+01:00

Since we spent far too much money yesterday (largely on not getting arrested,) Taz and I decided upon a quiet one today. We've walked pretty much all around St Petersburg and have taking in many of the most Touristy sights, including the Admiralty, The Winter Palace, St. Peter's fortress and St. Isaacs. There is still loads to see; we plan tomorrow to take a look in the Hermitage, the second

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-300471044339189692007-07-24T08:35:00.000+01:002007-07-30T14:07:41.303+01:00

We went out last night, without the map upon which we marked everywhere we wanted to see and visit. Fear not, I thought as we met Katje on the Kazanskiy bridge, we have a reliable guide for the city centre and any taxi driver will surely know how to get to where we are staying, if one out of Taz and myself can just remember the address. We had dinner at a swish Japanese restaurant; although it

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-91424225237937265822007-07-23T14:05:00.000+01:002007-07-23T14:33:54.548+01:00

Me and Taz on the Canal.Taz and a Bear Taz with Katje (left) and an as yet unidentified lady Taz and assorted Russian delicacies, including saltfish, Vodka and Cow Tongue. My foot. Babushka dolls at a St Petersburg Market. They originated in China apparently St Isaac's Basillica. Smug git.

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-3733373053792380962007-07-23T13:54:00.000+01:002007-07-30T14:09:27.076+01:00

Taz made me a cup of tea this morning, which I thought was a lovely gesture - a genuine signal of proactive camaraderie that I hoped would set our friendship dynamic off on a good foot, hopefully to endure for our entire trip. In my cup was loose-leaf twigs and water, which Taz had enfused without the use of any type of straining device. When I questioned Taras on this, he replied "I've got to be

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1259337065837130662.post-74304884412328032132007-07-22T18:45:00.000+01:002007-07-25T21:53:52.199+01:00

I am writing this from a high rise block of flats in North-west St Petersburg which, in itself is a minor miracle. Taras, the eternal optimist, decided by himself that we would arrive at Heathrow precisely 20 minutes before our flight was about to leave. Of course we made the flight, but we very nearly didn't; a scenario in which I'm fairly sure my patience with dear Mr. Gout would have expired

Patrick Galeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00726786357084394850noreply@blogger.com0