Michael D.Heath-Caldwell M.Arch.

Diary of Joe Palmer

Saturday 1st January 1972 - Karamursel, Turkey

Well it surely is hard to believe '72 is here. Last night the 8 of us had a quiet party to celebrate. At these times I can't help but think back over previous New Year celebrations and my situation at these times. It makes my life form an interesting pattern, especially considering my changing attitudes  towards life over the years and possibly very particularly 1971, the most part of which being spent overseas. 

Thinking back on 1971 situations good and bad my life sure has been a mess lately. Right now its hard to reconcile the benefits but perhaps when I'm in Australia things will fall into perspective. All I know now is that I have this great need to be a better person when I fit back into normal routine - it sure makes me see a lot of things I never realised were there before.

We caught the bus to the Base where I had a hot shower and we had steaks for 85 cents plus milkshakes and butterscotch nut sundaes. Our American friends are being wonderful to us giving us cookies and sweets and supplying us with booze. 

We seem to be passing most of the time reading "Playboy" magazines. 

Great news - we phoned Istanbul from the base and it seems the money will be here on Monday - two weeks sure can be a long time.

Monday 3 January 1972 - Istanbul.

We struggled from beds or off the floor about midday yesterday, caught a dolmus (a taxi which goes only when filled up - dolmus is the Turkish word for "to cram.") to the base where we listened to a great stereo and our U.S. friends brought back sandwiches and hamburgers and supplied us with beer from the fridge. 

They sure are wonderful fellows and I can sure sympathize with them being stuck there after my short experience of working for the U.S. Air Force in Germany.

Back at the house we sat around talking and smoking until sleepiness overtook me.

 
Today we caught a bus to Yalova and after goulash and rice (50cents) a quick 2 hour ferry trip to Istanbul where it was drizzling and muddy. No money. Ken, Norman and Max who stayed in Istanbul while we were at Karamursel, are going to Baghdad tonight. 

Mary, Liz, Rose, Ken C., and self plan to head towards Damascus by bus tomorrow if possible. 

Tuesday 4 January 1972 - Istanbul.

I'm writing this in the Iraq embassy - I've been waiting 2 hours now for my visa but have been having a pleasant chat with a Japanese fellow travelling also to Iraq. He seems to be quite a traveller, he has two good cameras in typical Japanese fashion plus a hat coated with badges and ornaments from different countries. He has 4 others in his house in Tokyo. He works for a newspaper with a circulation of 7 million!

On the wall is a map of Israel with Arabic writing plus a cartoon showing Mrs Meyer of Israel dressed as an ugly pirate being plucked out of a treasure chest - it makes the problems between the Arab states and Israel into some kind of farce!

9pm - Just returned from having  a Turkish bath - its a great experience and no doubt the best part of being in Istanbul. First you sit on marble hot slabs in a steamy room, then after about 10 minutes you lay down while a masseur rubs and thumps everything from toes to fingers. 

After about 10 -15 minutes of this you roll off the slab and sit beside a basin with hot water running into it - the masseur has a rough glove and rubs you down again rolling off lumps of black grime - ugh!

Then the hair gets a scrub and the body rubbed with a lather of soap - more pans of hot water doused all over and thats it - costs about Aus$1.30 and I've never felt so clean in my life. White marble pillars and domes give the place real atmosphere. 

Today Mary, Rosemary, and Ken caught a bus for the Turkey - Syria border. I stayed here with Liz as her father called while she was out so she sent a telegram to Sydney and is waiting here in the hotel lobby for him to reply - you cannot make a collect call to Australia from Istanbul (cost Aus$12 or $13 for 3 minutes). A telegram costs about 80 cents per word. 

Tonight we (Liz and self) may sleep in the bus to save money - I feel so relaxed after the Turkish bath I'm sure sleeping will be no trouble. Tomorrow Liz  and self will catch a bus to try and meet up with Mary, Rose and Ken in Aleppo, Syria.

Wednesday 5 January 1971 - Istanbul.

At last we are leaving here on the 17th day. Liz and I are at the moment on board a boat crossing the Bosphorus - as usual a very crowded waterway. The Turks around us with their usual solemn looks all well dressed in old darkish clothes - mostly sipping black tea - they drink more tea here than anywhere else I've seen including England.

Its just about dark and we intend catching the 5.15 bus towards Syria. From what we hear Liz and I will have to pretend to be married in Syria as Iraq and the moslems won't trouble us - but here's hoping we meet up with Mary, Ken and Rose in Aleppo. 

Today I hustled through the covered bazaar for the last time and bought a puzzle ring for about 30 cents. I had a small meal of meat and rice at my usual café for about 35 cents. Liz hasn't been feeling so well so I hope she recovers soon as I am sure this undertaking is bigger than either of us realise just yet.

Thursday 6 January 1972 - Turkey

The early morning sun is steaming over arid plains and bare hills often covered in light snow with tufts of yellow grass peeping through. Last night there was a typically frantic scene at the bus station as people harassed us for cheap seats on their buses - we knew where to go however and paid 60 lire (about Aus$4) while drivers and porters were grabbing at bags and shouting at each other. 

We could see piles of deep snow by the road during the night but the bus has a heater and with my sleeping bag and thermos flask we had no worries. 

We just passed some squat brown huts built of stone seemingly in the middle of no-where. Some of the Turks on the bus seem friendly to us. 

11am. Just stopped to eat in a clean café set in the midst of rocky hills covered in dark green pines. Two very nice young Turks paid for our meal and even gave LIz a ring - we can't communicate by language but its easy to see they are good types - as usual it seems that once you get into the country areas the people are more open and friendly. 

Just now we're passing through green fields of new grass with snow-capped mountains edging a blue sky. Occasional herds of long haired black goats and a few wild donkeys. Some trees here look like gum trees.

11.45am. Just passed through Adana - almost impossible to describe - such a primitive hive of activity - fascinating looking people rushing everywhere - women with huge piles of sticks on their backs, brightly coloured buggies drawn by lean horses - herds of sheep and goats over the streets, children with trays of bread rings balanced on their heads.

1.pm. One of our Turkish friends just got off the bus - he had invited us to stay at his place tonight but we must push on and meet the others in Aleppo. We have been stopped twice by police with guns so guess they're looking for someone as they examine our passports - I noticed a man with a rifle trained at each vehicle as it arrived, no doubt in anticipation of the wanted person making a run for it.

Just pulling in to Iskanderun which is the end of our first bus ride - its 1.30pm, the journey taking 20 hours from Istanbul.
10pm - There was no bus from Iskandrun to the border so we took a dolmus (taxi) costing about Aus$2 each and about one hour to the border. There we met a friendly Iraq doctor and a German fellow so we all shared a dolmus to the Syrian border and from there to Aleppo. 

We booked in at a clean hotel (about 70 cents per night) and I rushed down to the Post Office being guided by some friendly Syrians but no sign of Ken, Mary or Rose. There I met a Syrian student who was able to describe Rose so we went looking but couldn't find them - at least we know they should be here somewhere.

After this I returned to the hotel and after tea we (the doctor, the German chap, Liz and self) walked around Aleppo's busy streets with people staring at us all the time. There are more cinemas here than I've ever seen before - dubbed American, Egyptian, French, Italian and Indian films. 

We had a meal of liver and kidney pieces grilled in a heap of red hot coals which you could dip in salt and pepper and wrap up in a kind of pancake shaped bread (sprinkle with lemon). Our waiter was a boy of 11 years who would spend from 7.am to 12 in school, have about an hour's break and then to work in the café till closing time - he worked hard too, wiping tables, washing glasses, supplying food for the chef (aged about 16) and never smiling even when we laughed and joked with him - we had all the Arabs around us smiling. 
As was the case in Istanbul, you don't see women in the streets at night so Liz is a real attraction.

Today, also, two incidents that jolted home to me the fact that I will have to be firmer on standing up for my rights. The first was when we were arguing with the taxi driver about the price from Iskendrum to the border - we had ascertained from the bus people that the price was 30 lire each and when the driver asked for 40 each we refused and beat him down to 30 lire - however, he stopped down the street for 2 more passengers and at the same time enlisted the aid of a man who could speak better English to beat the price up - this man jabbered on about the price to the border being 35 lire but Liz for some strange reason agreed with him while I said 30 lire - however, with both him and Liz going I said OK, 35 lire - after we left town I explained that we were paying more than we originally said and then she realised - perhaps she just wanted to get to the border and didn't care about the money.

A similar incident at the border when we were told a transit visa was cheaper but would only be valid for 3 days. Not knowing our situation at all our Iraq doctor friend tried to persuade us to take the transit visa but I said that 3 days was just not enough for Syria but in this case again LIz argued against me and like a fool, even knowing it was not the best to do I gave in to them for the sake of peace and quiet.

It didn't take me long after we left the border to persuade Liz to realise the foolishness of only having a 3 day visa for a country this size, and knowing that we have to find Mary, Rose, and Ken - she realised then but it's a little late now. 
In both of the before mentioned cases it beats me why I just couldn't put my pot down and say - look I don't care what you think, somebody here has to make a decision right or wrong, so if you don't like my decision you may as well go your own way here and now!!?? - - Sorry for raving on like this, reader, but I feel I just have to take out my frustrations on something so it may as well be this diary!

We travelled non-stop for24 hours so perhaps some sleep wouldn't go astray either. Even so, I sure hope we meet up with the others as I honestly couldn't take being saddled with Liz all the way, there are so many things that irritate me but I must try harder to be more tolerant with people and maybe then they won't get me down.

Saturday 8 January 1972 - Aleppo, Syria,

Our first day in Syria being yesterday was a holiday (Friday) so there was not much activity in the bazaar but with the aid of our Iraq friend were able to talk to some of the locals. The city has a white/grey appearance except where the dust and dirt of age has taken over. 

Never before have we been stared at so much by the locals - most women in black cloaks and veils and men in typical arab headgear - most people friendly, especially the uni students wanting to practice their English.

Later in the day we met up with Ken, Mary and Rose in a street. We walked around the base of the citadel built on a hill of steep cliffs - it is no wonder it has never been taken by invading forces.

Today was more interesting, especially the bazaar packed with jabbering people, bicycles and donkeys loaded with heavy packs - you really have to be careful not to be trampled under-foot.

Sunday, 9 January 1972 - Aleppo, Syria.

Last night was a difficult night for me - the worst diarrhea yet - I could not even hold my bowels in my sleep so have had some washing to do today. Spent the day in bed exhausted and dosed up on pills and medicine. 

We were due to leave for Damascus today, so when Mary, Liz and Ken decided to stay on till tomorrow I objected, especially as Rose was desparate to move on as she wants to be home by a certain date next month. 

We've been noticing Rose having a lot of personality problems lately and today she left the hotel with her bags, crying and said she was going to Damascus herself - she neglected even to pay her hotel bill. She had been threatening to go on ahead for some time as we have been moving too slow for her. 

Not only have we advised her that it would be foolish to go on alone in these countries but we've even got the Syrians to try and persuade her of the foolishness of such an action. Apparently Ken and Mary tried unsuccessfully to stop her getting on the bus so were able to contact the police in the next sizeable town to get her off. 

Ken and Mary took a taxi to the town about 70 kilos away (50 miles). At the police station they had to sign for being responsible for her during her stay in Syria. Ken and Mary tried to persuade her to get on a plane at Damascus when we arrive so that she can fly on home but she won't hear of it so we hope to find a group of travellers somewhere who are moving faster so she can travel with them safely.

Mary, who has had experience with neurotics before advised us not to go near her while she stayed with her - however, we peeped in the door just to say goodnight to them but had no reply from Rose who is just staring with her finger in her mouth - we sure are having our problems.

Wednesday 10 January 1972 - Damascus. Syria.

Since my last entry 3 days ago things have sorted themselves out again. On the Monday morning I talked to Rose for a while and hope I smoothed things out for a while at least. 

Later we caught a bus costing Aus$1 and taking 6 frantic hours to Damascus, mostly travelling in darkness, but beforehand passed by conical shaped huts in villages and red-orange coloured ground devoid of crops - it makes you wonder what supports these people during this time of year.

Yesterday and today in Damascus was wonderfully warm and blue skies - we have had good weather in Syria. Damascus is bordered with barren earth mountains half covered with grey houses. Its sometimes necessary to look past the filth to these beautiful hills, especially when brushed with evening shadows. 

I bought a sheepskin coat in Aleppo for Aus$4 and a mosaic cigarette case here in Damascus for Aus$1. We saw glass blowing in a primitive factory - very skillful trade. In fact primitive is the word to describe most activities here - baking pancake shaped bread in old cluttered blacksmiths shops, meat hanging up in the streets, barrels of oranges everywhere and most of all fascinating people rushing everywhere. 

I've noticed an incredible number of deformed people here and not only the beggars - people with one eye, one leg, limping, deformed hand, in fact at times with all the activities of this scene all around you tend to feel overwhelmed by the unhealthy nature of it all.

After my experience in Aleppo, I'm not drinking any more water and this is helping I'm sure. One of our Arab student friends has come down with us from Aleppo and looking around. We visited the most beautiful mosque in Damascus - we were allowed 10 minutes to look around. It had a gold mosaic facade on one entrance that was really lovely. 

Today we spent time at the post office and bank after a breakfast of fried eggs and tea with milk which is I can tell you a real delicacy for me at the moment. The tea here is strong (tea brewed in the pot) with tons of sugar added whether you want it or not. The coffee is thick black and unpalatable for my taste. 

I had become used to the tea as you get it this way in Turkey so I've been drinking it without milk for a month but it was great to taste the milk again. 

We took a bus costing 20 cents to Maloula about 40 miles away. At first the bare mountains were a pleasant background to rural scenery but before long passed through military installations, guns poking out of the ground, soldiers everywhere, tanks, fortifications. It was frightening - it makes you realise how hot the situation is here - our student friends believe the situation between the Arab states and Israel must blow up within a year. After all, we are only about 50 miles from the Israel border here.

Yesterday we heard of border trouble and today of a tank being blown up in a minefield - it seems to be common place here.

We arrived a Maloula on dusk, a town set in a valley under rocky outcrops. Unfortunately we were misinformed about buses and had to get a taxi back costing luckily a dollar each for the return 40 miles. 

Rose has given me a combined cholera - typhoid vaccination last night and it's been difficult moving my arm today but don't feel sick as yet. Tomorrow we catch the bus for Bagdad.

Friday 14 January 1972 - Bagdad.

I hate having my passport taken from me by strangers! We are in a comfortable youth hostel surrounded with palm trees after a 23 hour bus trip from Damascus. We had our passports taken by the driver before leaving Damascus and given back on the bus only to be removed for examination a total of 5 times during the journey - however not to complain as we have arrived with them and safe and well. 

There was a 2½ hour wait at the border while everything which included what looked like the total belongings of some people had to be removed from all over the bus and thoroughly examined. A frantic scene - those poor women with babies. 

We left Damascus (and glad to be leaving) about 1.30pm and soon passed into flat desert without any vegetation. A well concealed air-base only noticed when a plane seemingly landed in the desert. A camel train loaded with sticks. Luckily our seats were fairly comfortable but a terrible toilet in the back (a hole) plus children crying, a floor filthy dirty with people cambering in and out - a thousand orange peels littering the floor. 

The bus stopped in Bagdad in the centre of a mud-heap - slipping and dodging the pools of water we argued with persistent taxi drivers and got a ride for $1 to the hostel -  of course when we set out the price went up to double but we were persistent - you have to be in these countries.

Sunday 16 January 1972 - Baghdad

The last 2 days in Baghdad have been warm and sunny. The youth hostel here is set in open grounds with date palms and it is relaxing to be sitting on the patio in the sunshine. It rains a lot but luckily in the night time mostly. Baghdad is a pleasant surprise after Damascus. The city has a more open aspect with wide pavements plus a few impressive monuments and fountains. 

There is a $10 fine for jay-walking which makes the city far more ordered and western. In fact most city-people wear western clothes and generally look a better class of person. 
Occasionally you will be stopped and asked where you come from with the usual reply "Welcome to Baghdad." The city is a lot cleaner than previous towns in Syria too - a few oil wells sure make a difference to a country. 

The exchange rate for travellers cheques plus commission charged on each cheque is very bad here. The official rate should be one English pound equals one Iraq dinar, however we have tried everywhere and the banks here will give only 4 dinars for 5 pounds. I am losing 1 pound in every 5 I change!! 

Western food here is available but shockingly expensive - I almost bought a can of baked beans for $1. The local food is good but we have to be careful money-wise. Bagdad is not cheap. 

Yesterday we caught a bus 60 miles to Babylon. We walked about a mile from the main road and came across a lot of excavations and date palms - this principally is Babylon or what is left of it. There is a small museum with some 4,000 year old pottery etc. If it hadn't been for the sign saying the ruins before our eyes  were the hanging gardens we would never have guessed. 

There were some brick walls remaining depicting animals with lions feet in front and eagle rear plus some ancient writings on some bricks - part of the original paved road into the city plus one of the two original lions of Babylon carved from solid granite. 

Everywhere you walked over piles of excavated bricks and stone. At one part men were digging out some old ruin - it made me glad I never went in for archeology - its just not me thats for sure! 

We became lost when we returned to Baghdad in darkness and walked for miles on empty stomachs but after two meals in two restaurants we felt a lot better. 

Today I have decided to relax here before we push on any further - I've learnt it doesn't pay to overdo things.

Monday 17 January 1972 - Kanaqin.

Liz and I sit in a dingy dirty hotel room just inside the Iraq border with Iran. I boiled some eggs at the youth hostel and after many directions and 2 buses found the main bus stop with buses going to the border - some friendly Iraqians helped us with our bags on the way.

As usual a man grabbed my bag and before I knew what was going on had slung it into his taxi - after arguments I retrieved my bag and headed for the cheaper mini-buses.

We waited about half an hour whilet he bus filled up - just when it was full Rose appeared and they wouldn't let her in as it was full. This may be hard for the reader to understand but Liz and myself did not get out of the bus to wait with her for the next one. 

The last we saw of her was her sitting on her bags crying in the middle of a mud heap. It was such a pathetic sight that I felt sure I could never forgive myself if anything happened to her. 

Although I haven't made much reference to it we have been having trouble with Rose constantly - really she is a most impossible person to live with and believe me I consider myself fairly tolerant. I have had so many talks with her trying to help her sort things out but when we start to get somewhere she asks me to go or tells me she needs some sleep.

She has had so many attacks of pain and then after sympathy tells us she was fooling us - I just don't know what to believe - all I know is that she is a terrible trial the way she is. 

As we left her at the bus stop I couldn't help but think back to when she left us in Syria - she was quite prepared to "go it alone" then. I don't think she believed that I would actually leave her but I really can't run my life to suit her as she tends to depress me with her attitudes.

We travelled through lifeless country for 100 approx. miles with the occasional clump of date palms and mud huts - a slippery narrow but sealed road - an overturned Toyota.
Sitting in the hotel with weird people wandering around. Liz and I really felt worried for Rose's safety so after locking Liz in I went down into the muddy street and waited for the next mini-bus, hopefully with Rose on it. 

In the mean-time I ordered some shish kabob grilled over flaming coals fanned by of all things a fan and was, of course, surrounded by jabbering Arabs. Two free teas later plus the usual offered cigarette I spotted Rose and got her into a room with us. 

Not long before an American from Bagdad youth hostel walked in so we are (i.e. Liz, and self) going to eat with him. Rose is in a bad way again and says she is too scared to go to the toilet by herself - she is lying in her bed and just proudly informed us that she has taken "600 miligrams" - of what we don't know - she is so pathetic really.

Wednesday 19 January 1972 - Tehran, Iran..

We returned to the hotel to walk Rose up and down the floor - she was in a strange mood and kept trying to hit me and had a go at pulling my hair out - Liz slapped her to try and bring some sense to her - we couldn't keep her quiet from abusing us and some hours later got to sleep. 

At six we struggled down into the slushy street with the American (David) and found a car to take us to the border for Aus$1 (about 6 miles). At the border we were greeted by a man in pyjamas after the driver had to open the border barrier himself. No sign of any transport across no-man's land to the Iran frontier just visible 2 miles away. 

We started sliding through the clayey mud with the weight of our bags. At least it was a good chance to observe the surrounding country - it looks like one huge construction site - mounds of reddish clay about 30-50ft high rounded and conical.

We managed to find some patches of grass along the way - the first half mile was O.K. for me but after that I had to stop every 50 yards. Amazingly it took only a little over 1 hour to reach Iran passport and customs but the last 100 or so yards were terrible. I had LIz's case as well as my own plus the airline bag - no cars came through during our crossing - it's not surprising as the border is closed for Iranis and Arabs because of the Iran seizure of the Persian Gulf Islands. 

We were lucky we had obtained visas in Istanbul. About the only people allowed to cross between Iran and Iraq at the moment are pilgrims heading for Mecca for the Moslem 'Christmas.' 

We caught a taxi, about 20 cents each, to the first town and were literally shoved into a waiting bus and after cruising around town with the driver shouting for more passengers, headed for the next big town about 3 hours away through mountains capped in snow and soon snow blanketing everything.

The usual stops by army police who would check inside the bus. A lot of troops (as there were on the Iraq side as well) and a convoy of 8 tanks heading down the road towards us. 

In Hamedan (I think) we had to wait about 4 hours for the 6pm bus to Tehran so we walked up and down the main street looking at shops and food in particular. Hard to get anything to eat at that time of day. 

Rose put on another scene crying most of the time, begging me not to desert her and clutching onto my arm abusing me one minute and saying how sorry she was the next.

She had been so strange over the past few days in particular, I was determined that travelling with us would be disaster and tried to convince her to fly to Delhi and then on to New Zealand but there was nothing I could say that was any good.

She has this terrible fear that every man who looks at her wants to rape her and after actually leaving us by herself in Syria now is terrified to go to the toilet by herself?!!

A terrible 12 hour bus ride to Tehran - difficult to sleep in cramped seating that didn't recline plus a radio they insisted on playing from time to time - I think the Persian music is even worse than the Arabic - it really sounds like a person crying out in pain! 

At six in the morning we sheltered in a bus waiting room till daylight and went walking for a hotel. We settled on the 'Fars' close by. After a clea up we found the post office and collected welcome mail and after a meal of chicken and rice (70c) caught a bus and eventually found the tourist office. 
From there to the main bank where Liz was able to collect the $150 sent by her father from Australia and Rose was able to change some ordinary cheques into travellers cheques. 

Tehran is such a sprawling city - you travel for miles on a bus and there seems no change in the city - no mud on the streets and pavements which is a pleasant change for us and shops with beautiful clothes and shoes. 
Tehran seems out of place in the east - it is a western type modern city with bright lights and fancy shops but seems to lack life - perhaps the cold doesn't help either - its a bit of a shock experiencing snow falling after the warmth of Baghdad. 

Two students started talking to us and invited us to their place for tea and nuts while they played some records for us. They wanted to take us to a dance but we declined, very tired and walked a fair distance back to the hotel where we have a kerosene heater making life very comfortable for us tonight.

Rose is really pulling out all stops now, has been on absolutely best behaviour all day - I hope she does try because I would feel bad about her travelling through Afghanistan alone.

Thursday 20 January 1972 - Tehran, Iran.

After a welcome sleep we caught the bus to the Afghanistan Embassy and filled in 3 visa application forms. We walked past modern shops, then bus 103 to the post office where Liz was to make a phone call to her parents to tell them she had received the money they sent O.K. but it costs $15 for 3 minutes so a $9 telegram instead.

A meal of steak and rice for 60 cents (good) in a restaurant near the hotel that we have been using for every meal - Teheran has an amazing shortage of restaurants and generally places to buy any kind of food - in fact with all our walking around I haven't noticed any other restaurants (crazy!) but tons of pastry shops but we haven't had much success with our pastry buying. The cream is more like tasteless pudding but the biscuits are nice.

For some reason my appetite has increased amazingly over the last few days,  my bowels are better than they have been for a month so I must be on the mend.

We all still have coughs and wake up each morning talking to each other by barking. Having a cold for a month, I bought some vitamin C. tablets plus more drops and cough drops in an effort to improve. 

We all need to be rested and in better health before heading through Afghanistan and Pakistan, Indian areas. 

Saturday 22 January 1972 - Tehran, Iran.

Yesterday, Friday, being a holiday, was a quiet, cold day in Tehran. We walked quite a way to the train station to find out about trains to Mashed in eastern Iran. We walked in a poorer part of town towards the bazaar - a group of women washing in the street around a tap - a man being shaved by an unshaved barber on the footpath.

The bazaar was deserted as we had feared so walked by a blue mosaic mosque with the usual few old men praying in corners of the courtyard. We returned tot he hotel and I fell on the bed exhausted and depressed. 

Liz and Rose went out to buy something and came back with a cigar and tablets - they are considerate. During their walk they had been accosted several times - its not safe for a western woman here. 

What seemed a very nice chap we had met in a restaurant had offered to take us all to a dance last night but I was still in bed at the time so Liz and Rose went with him - they returned at 2.am after a terrible night - it was a great disco but he tried to get them to pay for everything (taxis, food, drinks etc) and danced with them in a disgusting way. They got away and tried to get a taxi - they got one just in time to avoid being hit by him and then on the way back the driver and his fellow passenger attempted to get the girls to sleep with them.

I hope they don't attempt to go anywhere at night without me any more. Even during the day if they are not holding on to my arm they are pinched or assaulted in some way. I'll turn around to see a man talking to one of them and some are really hard to shake off. 

Today it was beautiful to see the snow blanketing everything - it sure covers a multitude of sins making even old buildings romantic. We dashed with Liz and Rose sliding along (I was glad of my deep tread Spanish shoes) and hanging onto me, to the bank for more money and then to the Afghanistan Embassy to pick up our visas. 

The buses were few and far between because of the weather and taxis were impossible to get so we hitched a ride part of the way and going back to the hotel stopped a mail van heading towards the post office and paid him about 10 cents each to cart us (me in the back) to the post office. 
It was a real rush but by the time we reached the hotel realised it was too late to catch the train so booked in for another night. 

After resting awhile we trudged up Ferdowsi Avenue to see the Iranian crown jewels. After paying Aus$1 entry fee we walked into a vault about 100 feet square and were absolutely dazzled by without doubt the finest and richest collection of jewels in the whole world - it is said to be greater than those of England, Turkey and Russia combined. 

I have never seen such a wealth of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires in such a variety of settings - tiaras, necklaces, crowns, even a globe of the world about 3ft wide encrusted in jewels and a huge throne ablaze with precious stones - must be worth billions. 

Monday 24 January 1972 - Mashed, Iran.

Here we are in one of the coldest places in Iran - 2 days ago the temperature here was -16° F. It's freezing here now as we sit around a kero heater in our bedroom. We piled into a mini-van with me in the back yesterday in Tehran with snow still falling and waited in a long queue at the station. 

An official called Liz out of the queue, took her back to the ticket office and gave us 3 seats - otherwise we would not have been able to get on the train. We left at 12.30pm and arrived Mashed which is the end of the railway to the east from London at 8.am this morning -  a 19½ hour trip. 

We travelled 3rd class for about Aus$4 each on wooden seats in a surprisingly comfortable and warm train. I sat on my sleeping bag and later spread it out in the isle with the other Iranies and after becoming used to people jumping over me, gained a few hours sleep.

From what we could see, nothing but driving snow and wastes all the way. Somewhere in the middle of the night we pulled into a modern looking station where I was amazed to see rows of taps over troughs. When the train stopped practically everyone rushed out into the freezing cold rolling up sleeves and taking off shoes all in the snow to wash before a few quick prayers in the mosque while the train waited 20 minutes.

In the meantime an Iran friend and I pulled Liz and Rose up and down the platform to the stares of the locals. We stepped out all rugged up into a surprisingly modern station at Mashed and were guided by bus then taxi to a hotel where we left our bags and checked out the buses to the border where our worst fears were realised - no buses. 

We returned and found a cheaper hotel (50 cents) and spent the rest of the day trying to ward off people trying to sell us turquoise and Persian carpets (both local industries). 

A beautiful golden domed mosque but were not allowed past the gate. It really is a fairy-land of snow here and with the sun appearing this afternoon there is hope that the buses will be running tomorrow. 

We've just returned from shish kabob and fried eggs - an icy walk (or run) to the restaurant and back - I'm sure its not 16° below as before but it's cold enough for me - our heater ran out of fuel earlier and rather than paying another 15 cents for more fuel tried to do without but about an hour later gave in, shivering even in bed.

The windows of our room are iced up inside and out but we're fairly comfortable and gaining straight backs again on rigid beds.

Tuesday 25 January - Islam, Quala.

Who would believe the scene here as I write in a dingy room on the Afghanistan border - Afghanis rushing around getting chi (tea) plus rice and potatoes (nothing else to eat). A comfortable bus ride to the town on the Iran side of the border through wastelands of snow. 

A transfer to a mini-bus to the Iran border where I stepped into a bog of ice and mud making feet a little colder than normal - some friendly Japanese fellows on the bus. At the border a German fellow approached us and asked me if I'd drive one of his vans 10 miles to the Afphan border. 

Strangely enough, I didn't hesitate to agree although he could have found someone else. It was dark and nothing but desert all around so without asking questions jumped in with Rose and drove it to the Afghan border while Liz stayed with the bus and luggage.

The usual chaos here finding a hotel room in what could best be described as a shack out the back - no toilets or water so a 50 yard trek needed through the snow to gain relief. A wood stove in our simple room of 3 beds costing 20 Afghanis while the room costs 40 Afghanis each - we must ask for more wood as they haven't been over-generous.

Wednesday 26 January 1972 - Herat, Afghanistan.

We spent the rest of the last night with other young tourists in their room - they had bunked down on the floor much cheaper but had the irate hotel scruffy looking manager rushing in and out saying "Give me money," his favourite words accusing people of not paying for chi or wood etc. 
We had paid 20 Afghanis (about 25 cents) for wood and had just about burnt it out so absolutely insisted on more wood - we sat down in the corridor and threatened not to move until he gave us more wood - it worked. 

We've found you have to be so persistent here to get anything. In the meantime the lights were dimming up and down until they went out altogether and we used lanterns.

After a hassle getting through customs and police next morning with the most untrustworthy looking border people I've ever encountered we piled into a mini-bus with wooden seats and headed off at a top speed of about 20 miles per hour having to practically stop every mile or so to slide through corridors of snow or cross muddy steams. 

A really lifeless country stretching to nothingness towards Russia in the north and mountains in the south. A ragged Afphani wandering along these wastes to where heaven knows - maybe to the cluster of mud huts we would see from time to time. What do these people live on? Perhaps the flocks of sheep or goats near these lonely dwellings. A few camels dotting the landscape making the scenery a little more bearable. 

We stopped for chi and food at what could best be described as the worst eating place yet - entering the dark and dirty room of two dusty tables we were greeted by the smell of urine and outside a man drawing water from a well and another washing in a puddle. 

As I walked round the back to find a toilet there were 4 men squatting around quite out in the open emptying their bowels. I didn't realise this at first until I saw one using his hand in the characteristic manner here (and in every country since Turkey) and then the jug of water he had with him. Come to think of it I haven't seen toilet paper in over a month - its just as well we carry it with us.

Some mountains looked even beautiful as they were surrounded by a blanket of mist, however, visibility was reduced when we entered the mist further on. Arrival at Herat was not a pleasant experience as we seemed to be entering a grotto of mud hills and huts along a slushy pot-holed road lined by a few rubbishy pine trees. 

We dragged off our luggage to be greeted by the usual "Change money," cheap hotel, etc etc. We soon found it best to walk on the road as the footpaths are a quagmire of mud and filth - plenty of dung around as transport is mainly by horse-drawn vehicles. 

Rosemarie suddenly realised she'd left a bag on the bus which had taken off down the road - she and I ran off, found the bus and miraculously, the bag still on it -in all this depressing poverty it was uplifting to find honesty. 

The banks we find are closed for 3 days as this is the Afghani "Christmas." I was able to change only $3 U.S. dollar on the black market but they won't take travellers cheques here. We booked on a bus to Kabul, the capital, right away in the hope of better services there but they are not leaving tonight so after more arguing we have a free hotel room plus wood for the fire - it looks like a cold night but it could never be as bad as Mashed.

Friday 28 January, 1971 - Kabul, Afghanistan.

Too tired to write last night after an exhausting bus ride from Herat to Kandahar  over a bumpy road taking all day 13 hours. The bus broke down several times and at one stage near dusk most of the Afghanis left the bus and lay down in the desert nearby to pray - we weren't sure if it was the usual time or if it was for the bus to start. 

By the end of the day we had become used to the locals piling in and out with their cloth sacks of possessions. No water at the hotel in Kandahar and the only food to be found at that time being cold rice. I went straight to bed rubbing life back into cold feet. 

I thought yesterday's bus was bad until today's. We were hauled from sleep about 7.am and trudged down the muddy street into the worst bus I've ever ridden in ever. Like yesterday's bus, rock hard seats and suspension with some panes of glass missing or broken giving a cool ride to say the least as we travelled through snow the whole day. 

Soon after leaving Kandahar we broke down so I had to get out to help push start the beast. It soon started snowing but as the bus has no windscreen wipers a man opened a window over the driver and proceeded to scrape the snow away with an implement en route - in the meantime we were being blasted by freezing winds and whirling snow - eventually someone shoved a piece of clothing in the space while he took turns with another to manually operate a windscreen wiper.

It wasn't long before there was a loud bang and the bus began to lurch around on the slippery road - the driver calmly brought the vehicle to a halt and one of the rear tyres (which was worn to the canvas) was replaced.
It's hard to describe the atmosphere of travelling on an Afghan bus - firstly the seats are rock hard and so narrow that it is necessary to sit sideways, sometimes as you'd be half on the floor if you didn't. 

Secondly the bus is airy as I have described earlier and filthy dirty added to by the spitting all over the place by the Afghanis - a habit which is really beginning to get me down. To add to this there was a terribly under-privileged looking old woman and child on the seat behind us today who didn't leave the bus all day - the result was a sea of wee running over the floor - it may be hard to believe but these are really primitive people here. 

Last night an old man who had earlier been kindly offering us eggs to eat was grabbing at Rose's legs or whatever he could in the dark - the amount of people they can cram in these buses is incredible - no time for manners, just push and stamp on you in order to squash in with the usual menagerie of sacks and junk - one man today brought in a live fowl and invited Liz to nurse and pat it. 
She was lucky not to get a donation with thanks from the thing. 

My feet, which are constantly cold these days began to pain increasingly as we forged on - they were like ice to the touch almost up to the knees and I had to keep getting up to exercise my legs and to try and force my toes to move - painfully, but necessary. 

Most times today there was no horizon - just snow blending into a ceiling of white mist. Practically no traffic - as night fell I hoped and prayed the bus would keep going - the least we would get would be frostbite staying out there waiting for help probably 'till the next day.

Yesterday while the bus was broken down I walked to the side of the road for a wee but had all the Afphanis looking and laughing - when they go they assume a sitting, almost praying position so it must be unusual to see a man standing up and open about it - they get a laugh out of the most childish things.

And to think I used to believe they were praying when in actual fact they were using the toilet. 

Rose today pointed out a poor devil who had syphilis (V.D.) - I get shudders coming unavoidably into contact with all these obvious diseases. I surely hope we get out of all this without contracting anything. 

Liz was one of the first out of the bus tonight in Kabul just in time to see my suitcase dropped from the top of the bus - we felt furious and made sure the rest came down O.K. but what could I say - they really have no respect for anything here. Luckily only a coner is bent in as it landed in the mud. 
We trooped off being hassled by people wanting to carry suitcases and trying to literally drag us to their hotels. Liz hit one who tried to grab Rose's case and tried to get one who was bothering me but he cleared  out in time. 

We left our bags with the Japanese boys who have been with us more or less since the border while Rose and I checked out some hotels - we settled on a clean one (The Metropol) at Aus$2 per night for 3 of us which is expensive for this part of the world, but we're promised free heaters and hot water laid on. 

However, when we arrived back with our friends and luggage there was an argument with the manager whom unknowingly he had not spoken to previously and we threatened to walk out so we have our room at the original price but no free heater plus Liz has just had a shower about half an hour ago and there seems to be quite a delay in the water heating up for the next shower.

We really thought it would be great here but it further goes to show that you can't trust these people anywhere. 
Anyhow, we've had a good feed here and hopefully after a hot shower, a good rest will do no harm.

Saturday 29 January 1972 - Kabul, Afghanistan

We are used to muddy cities and Kabul is no exception - better to walk on the street to avoid the quagmire of most pavements. No skycrapers in this capital city - simply a mixture of western type hotels and black run down looking shops crammed with Afghan coats - the rage at the moment. 

Today I must have looked and tried on hundreds - its amazing how expert you can become at depicting flaws in these coats after a time. I'll look at more tomorrow but must buy one. They are such good value in this poor country - however, I bargained for hand stitched slippers (Aus$2) and jacket (Aus$3).

Today we found that flights to India have just re-commenced after stopping for two months so perhaps the delays encountered during our journey from London were for a purpose after all.

We hope to fly to New Delhi the day after tomorrow - it costs about Aus$60 but well worth it from what we hear of the dreadful things happening in Pakistan. One American girl said she saw people shot for not supplying identification which I find hard to believe but realise that things are far from wonderful in Pakistan. 

The border between Pakistan and India is definitely closed so if we want to head further east there seems to be no alternative but to fly out from here. We have seen war scenes posted outside the newspaper office here in Kabul and judging from the bodies and destruction I will endeavour to avoid these problem areas at all costs. 

Luckily I have enough money to fly out of any situation as long as there are planes flying - not like some Europeans stranded here and have been for months waiting to get into India and subsisting on what? There are so many bedraggled looking young people stranded here mostly in dirty or tatty clothes. 

Believe me it is such a shattering experience when you are approached by a westerner like yourself begging for money - it had such a depressing effect on me today when a young fellow asked me if I'd give him 10 Afghani (about 10 cents). He said that it wasn't much to me but it would mean a lot to him.  I really don't know how I have become so hard hearted because I gave him nothing except a cup of tea. I felt like buying him a meal which would have cost a lot more but he looked well feed so I walked away. 

Maybe I'm just so tired of being asked for money all the time. Liz tells me she was asked for 2 Afghani (3 or 4 cents) by an English fellow also - it just seems so desperate when people reach such a low standard of existence. 

We had previously been given the name of a German fellow who would help us get an International Student Card - quite illegal but handy for reductions on trains etc - no good anymore for air-fare reductions - the major airlines have become wise. 

I eventually tracked him down in a dingy room crowded with other hippies smoking hash. I paid Aus$1.50 for a card while the hash was passed around. They were far from clean but so was the room. I was shown a small plastic packet with two small wafers inside - L.S.D. and enough for two 'trips.'  I was told it was from the U.S. and about how wonderful it was costing only 75 cent each trip.

How could these people live like this in this place? I felt so glad to think I was getting out of this hopeless situation and only wish these people would do something about the mess that their lives must be. 

I felt like saying this to the fellow who asked me for money today but was too scared knowing that people in desperate situations are likely to do anything if upset. Let alone wretched Afghanis, there are so many Europeans who should and need to get help here but somehow I feel that it's no value worrying about them as most seem to be content or resolved to the situation. Perhaps they enjoy living in a hopeless situation. I'm just glad to be getting out.

After an uncomfortable night last night I demanded (politely of course) another mattress plus we now have the free heater originally promised. It really is worth the few extra shillings to live in a clean hotel with the basics - water, heat and a comfortable bed. 

Monday 31 January 1972 - Kabul Airport, Afghanistan.

I'm writing this in the Ariana Airlines plane waiting to take off from Kabul Airport to New Delhi. I have just suffered the most thorough search ever - everything was taken from my pockets and bag, shoes inspected, camera opened, papers looked through, hands pushed into all parts of my body, questions galore, they even made me open a completely sealed tin of sardines - it really was a shattering experience even knowing that I don't and certainly wouldn't be carrying any narcotics. 

Yesterday I made no entry in this diary as I was exhausted after looking at hundreds of Afghan coats in many shops - because I was mainly interested in getting one for one of my sisters I had poor Rose trying them all on - I finally settled on one but had a desperate struggle haggling about the price - they weren't sure of the exchange rate of Sterling and we wanted to pay them in pound notes. 

(We have just taken off)

so we left very disappointed. Today I got up at 7.am and waited for him to open after borrowing an extra dollar from our Japanese friend SAP.  He accepted the extra dollar O.K. and I felt the happiest person in the world to be getting what I think is such a good coat for Aus$14. 

Outside the shop I grabbed a taxi, picked up Rose, Liz and Sap at the hotel and dashed to the airport and after the usual or even worse hassel with customs, police, medical, and of course the search we gladly bordered our jet to get away to India and what we hope will be a better and at least warmer chapter in our journey.

Tuesday 1 February 1972 - New Delhi, India.

One and a half days in India and I love it already. We stepped out of our 727 yesterday into sunshine and warm air - friendly and civilized people everywhere in immigration and customs all speaking beautiful English - in fact most Indians here seem to speak English among themselves. 

We took the free bus into the city and after inquiring at American Express found what must be the cheapest accommodation in New Delhi - Mrs Thelma Colago's Guest House at 7 rupees (75 cents) per night - its clean and we can lock up our room of 4 beds - a cold shower but who cares in this wonderful climate. 

We've done nothing specific today except stroll around New Delhi's wide tree lined streets - we changed money and stacked up on literature from the tourist office. No mail for me at the post office. 

Liz and Rose caught a mini-type taxi when we lost our way back to the centre of town - these mini-taxis are basically a motor bike converted with a bit of leather and metal to accommodate 2 persons. 

There is a greater British influence here than I could ever have imagined - all signs and advertising is English and everyone seems to speak it although it's not the national language. The Indians here are always so polite and helpful. We've been eating cheaply and well but the service is very slow, the girls getting a little impatient - in fact the Indians seem to be a much more placid race than those of the previous asian countries.

The only ones that annoy are the beggars and street sellers but even these are tolerable after previous experiences. 

I bought a small peacock feather fan for 25 cents. The food is cheap too and the curry so far not too hot just as long as you have a coke or cup of tea handy - the tea here is the best since England - they even serve milk to have with it as well - its just so British here it's wonderful - they don't like Americans after their attitude during the recent war with Pakistan so I put on my best British accent and try to be as British as possible.

Its nice too being able to converse politely with the locals and be understood rather than using sign language and having to demand things. 

We met a student who thinks western women are decadent after visiting the U.S. I guess compared with Indian women they are decadent if Indian girls are as virtuous as he describes - it makes me wonder what they think when they see groups of boys and girls like us travelling together. 

I've seen so many beautiful Indian women today and they really know how to dress well in those colourful saris - perhaps its also because you  can see goodness and honesty in their faces - its no wonder they are faithful wives.

 
Almost forgot to mention that Rose and I went to the cinema last night to see a western - it was terrible but before it, was a documentary about discrimination against a certain sect in India and how all these old-fashioned discrimination barriers should be removed if Inida is going to pull together to make a better and modern society. 

After its conclusion everybody clapped which goes to show how keen the people are to improve themselves.

Wednesday 2 February 1972 - New Delhi, India

Rose and I caught a scooter-taxi to the Thai Embassy - a fair ride past magnificent government buildings built by the British architects and further past large and impressive embassies in spacious tree lined grounds. We found a visa unnecessary provided we stay less than 6 days in Thailand.

When we walked outside we were greeted by a palmist who told our fortunes for about Aus$2 in about 20 minutes - quite a profit for this part of the world, however, we didn't mind being 'taken' as we have been looking forward to meeting a palmist somewhere. I am to have two wives, an improvement in my profession in 4 months and inherit a property in a few years. 

He said I had one eye like a snake and one eye like a tiger, likely to flare up momentarily but calm down quickly - of course he said plenty of nice things about us which naturally he says to everybody. 

We walked back past the embassies and government buildings. We had a good chinese meal for Aus$1 each and located the Nepalese embassy where we hope to pick up a visa next Saturday. Their King died a few days ago so the embassy is closed for a few days. 

There is a raging black market here and one is constantly approached to change money at varying rates - today it was 25 rupees to the pound sterling while the bank remains around 18 to the pound. At this difference everybody uses the black market although it is illegal to do so - apparently when you leave the country you must show receipts for money changed so guess I'll have to change some more in the bank sometime.

The British influence here is marvellous - so many comfortable old mansions in spacious grounds, many no doubt, now occupied by wealthy Indians. Just looking around New Delhi one can conceive the huge amount of money Britain must have poured into this country - it makes me wish it was still part of the Commonwealth. 

At night many of the roadside stalls are occupied by sleeping people and not much remains open after dark. There doesn't seem to be many tourists here and the weather is beautiful - perhaps the war scared them off. 

Liz rang her parents for more money and Rose changed a New Zealand cheque into travellers cheques - my finances seem to be going well - I've learnt how to handle money a lot better in the past 8 months, I'm sure. Hunger has been striking again so I've been buying cakes and biscuits plus fruit - pawpaw and bananas are cheap now.

Friday 4 February 1972 - Agra, India

Writing now on the train returning from Agra to Delhi. Yesterday was a bit of a flat day for me - after a succession of poor nights sleep I woke up feeling weak and terrible so went with Rose to the doctor who said I was physically OK and gave me some vitamin syrup and tranquillisers. 

Returning to the guest house and feeling short tempered I had an argument with Liz and got into bed while Liz, Rose and Sap went to see Old Delhi. They returned that night but I had been only able to get about an hours sleep and spent the rest of the time more or less in a daze. 

Rose had come back with some barbituate sleeping pills not normally obtainable without a prescription so I took these but no effect so more of the ordinary sleeping pills I've been taking. I went for a walk with Rose and had coffee and returned getting to sleep easily. 

This morning I dragged myself out with the others at 6.am and walked to the train station - I really felt woeful and felt I couldn't make it, let alone enjoy the day. I longed to turn back but was in such a daze that I wasn't sure what was happening. 

We had breakfast on the train which I can hardly remember. I felt nauseated and had a desperate need to go to the toilet - after this I felt a little better but more or less collapsed on Rose's lap and slept for 1½ hours after which I felt much better.

Today was truly worth all the pain and effort of its beginning for I saw some of the most magnificent and pure architecture that I'm sure one could ever see. 

By bus we went first to Fatepur Sikri, an almost perfectly preserved city about 400 years old but lived in for only 16 years through lack of water. Hindu influence in the deep red stone. 

The Diwan-I-Khas looked like a temple but inside in the centre was an ornate pillar which spread out at the top into 4 directions like the branches of a tree. It is believed that the Emperor sat in the middle while the representatives of each faith sat on the end of each branch showing his open mind on matters of religion - the central column embossed with figures from each faith showing one supreme truth. 

 In the huge courtyard of the mosque there is a small but beautiful while marble mausoleum with intricately designed marble screens and a canopy inlaid with mother-of-pearl. 

We drove off to have lunch - we were late and missed the bus so hired a rickshaw and caught up to the party at the Red Fort, a massive construction holding many beautiful marble buildings and mosques. An octagonal tower with columns inlaid with semi-precious stones overlooking the Taj Mahal and the river where the Emperor in his last days was able to look towards the tomb of his wife from whom he had been separated for 36 years. 

So much lovely architecture to describe except or a pit at least 100 feet deep where many were thrown. 

From the fort to the incomparable Taj Mahal - purity and simplicity could only begin to describe its beauty - the epitome of true love I'm sure. It took 20,000 labourers, masons and jewellers 12 years to complete the central mausoleum using a 2 mile long ramp to the dome.

 
Although the Empress was buried in a vault beneath the floor of the mausoleum an exact replica of her tomb was placed above so that she would not be disturbed below. She is buried directly beneath the dome while her husband is placed rather awkwardly beside her in a slightly larger tomb, both covered in flower designs of semi-precious stones. 
The intricate marble screen surrounding the tombs is not the original - it was once gold inlaid with precious stones but was removed for fear of vandalism and theft. 

Sunday 6 February 1972 - New Delhi, India

The cistern in the toilet has been irritating me in our guest house because of it not flushing properly so I set to work and used bits of an old aluminium frame of a broken pack in an effort to get it working. I had one of the Indians working here looking on in amazement as I bashed away with bits of wood or anything I could find. The others returned from breakfast and feel a little disgusted to see me still mucking around in the toilet but I felt I was doing something constructive. Nevertheless it has had to have several adjustments but seems to be going OK now. 

After seeing so many unflushable toilets it seemed such a sin to have a cistern not working properly. 

We walked to the Nepal Embassy and filled in visa forms which we hope to collect visas tomorrow. Rosemarie is running out of time being due home on the 20th so spent the time rushing around airline agencies etc while I looked at Indian goods and selected a suede bag for Aus$3 and an unbelievably fine silk scarf embroidered with gold thread for Aus$14.

Rose and I talked to two Australians over coffee milk shakes making me feel a little more inspired about returning home - just talking to an Australian fresh from the country makes me realise how much life has to offer for Australians. 

At night we took a taxi scooter to Old Delhi and the Red Fort where there was a well done sound and light display tracing the history of India from Moghul times to the present day. I had no idea India had such a glorious past - they made it clear how much they detested British rule. 

Today back to Old Delhi in daylight to see some of the most amazing and decrepit sights possible - diseased and thin people lying on the steps of the mosque - men catching pigeons and putting them in baskets and selling them (for food or pets?) Scooters, bikes, rickshaws, everywhere people in ragged clothes, cluttered run down shops, beggars, rotten fruit, junk jewellery, food stirred in pots and nobody minding me taking pictures of anything - so different to the middle east where I was terrified to take such scenes.

A look at Mahatma Ghandi's simple tomb and nearby a museum showing the life and times of this amazing man - it left me feeling rather weak realising what a great and yet so humble man he really was - believing absolute truth was God and that all faiths should work together as their goals were similar - his policy of passive resistance against amazing odds and persecution especially by the British was truly wonderful. His love for his country and its under-privileged citizens even surpassed his love for his wife and family. 


 I'm sure the Indian people look on him now as a kind of saviour. Even before the King of England he would wear the simple loin cloth used when visiting primitive or diseased Indian villages. He surely showed that right triumphs over wrong and that rightful desires can only be obtained through peaceful (but determined) means even if it necessitates losing one's life in the process. 

I'm sure many of his dreams of a united India must have been shattered when Pakistan came into being. He must have detested seeing the British living here in splendour while his people starved - on his visits to London he always stayed in the worst areas of the East End, in fact whenever he went he seemed to prefer the most difficult path available - an inspiration to his people and to the world. Einstein wrote on Ghandi's 75th birthday that the world could see many more centuries before a man such as Ghandi walked on this earth again. 

Tuesday 8 February 19723- Benares (Varanasi), India.

Another two-day entry. Yesterday morning we picked up Kathmandu (Nepa) visas from the embassy near India Gate and pleasantly searched through the government approved "Cottage Industries" shop in Janpath Street going mad buying beautiful "souvenirs" or preferably "presents" from India. 

A gold bracelet studded with turquoise and small pearls (9ct) for Aus$23, a gold embroidered silk wrap for Aus$10, a soft suede shoulder bag for Aus$3, a white marble dish inlaid with turquoise and coloured stones similar to some pillars in the Red Fort at Agra for Aus$7, a sterling silver brooch earrings and ring for Aus$2 (all black-market prices). 

It would have cost almost half as again if I had changed my money through the bank so with the small amount I have changed in the bank I hope to get through customs without problems because when you enter the country you are given a piece of paper on which the authorised bank makes an entry each time you change money - you must show this form on leaving the country. 

No wonder there is a raging black-market. I've changed Aus$12 in banks so here's hoping no problems at the border. 

After my frantic buying spree Rose and self grabbed a taxi for the station after saying good-bye to Liz and Sap - I couldn't let Rose travel on Indian train by herself and besides I had seen enough of Delhi after a week though I could have stayed as it strangely appealed to me. 

Liz should be OK with friend Sap until her money comes anytime but if left on her own I strongly insisted she should fly direct to Kathmandu where I could meet her. 

After just catching the 4.10.pm train (we almost hopped on the train to Bombay) we had a dreadful time trying to get a seat as we hadn't booked  and apparently it was necessary on this train. Some Indians were helpful in giving us room to sit on the wooden seats (3rd class) but after some hours we were taken off the train and had to walk up some unknown platform in darkness and scramble into a carriage at the other end of the train - this was far worse - rubbish and water on the floor, light so dim impossible to read and people everywhere.

I somehow made a kind of bed for Rose by putting the bags on the end of the seat while the other occupant half sat up. I slept on the floor - perhaps slept is the wrong word but miraculously I was not trodden on and my sleeping bag kept me warm with the plastic ground sheet between bag and floor. 

Our destination was Benares or Varanesi as it is now called but we were hustled out at some junction station and warded off taxi drivers wanting to take us to Benares which I found out about a train which would take us there soon leaving at 5.30.am.

We located the goods train on platform 4 with a black carriage bang on the rear - it was empty and no lights would work but after some asking around were fairly satisfied the train would be going in the right direction. 

I realise now why women should never travel on these trains alone - it was eerie sitting in that dirty black carriage with bars over the windows and bricks to keep the doors shut while two suspicious men (but who wouldn't look suspicious) slipped in an sat down in our box car. 

I was reading in a guide book that the bars are to keep unwanted characters from jumping on the trains - it said to make sure windows and door catches are fastened. We really couldn't say we've had any trouble but now I can really believe how easily bad things could happen. 

The sun was up by the time we moved on slowly for the 20 mile trip to Benares passing flat fields, mud and pools of water with the occasional Indian sitting only near the railway lines emptying his bowels.

 
Leaving Benares Station we were attacked by myriads of rickshaw drivers and in fact this has been the story of the whole day. We are paying twice as much for our hotel here as Mrs Calacoe's Guest House in Delhi but we can get buckets of hot water which we sure need as we haven't been able to wash for over a week. 

I know we are being over-charged but didn't want to hassle over prices this morning. I guess our foam rubber mattresses are worth the money alone plus our own clean toilets (choice of western style or squat type eastern style).

 
A so-called guide introduced himself to us and although we know he was up to something followed him through winding narrow old streets choked with bikes and rickshaws plus the usual interesting and varied populace - bits and pieces of temples mainly hidden behind broken down old buildings or billboards surrounding the famous Vishwanath Golden Temple - it kind of takes away any of the charm I expected to find in these old temples.

We were led into a silk shop on the pretense of being taken to the tourist bureau - we went along with it all for the fun and were shown dozens of gold embroidered silks (more like cotton) and far more expensive than the beautiful silk in Delhi. 

We refused it all and dashed out when his back was turned to catch a rickshaw and after arduous dodging of similar vehicles and false directions found ourselves at the Tourist Bungalow. 

However, they were unable to help us and after a chinese meal of sweet and sour doubtful chicken we walked back over the railway, booked our seats for tomorrow's train out and headed for the tourist bureau still constantly harassed by rickshaw drivers on every side wanting us for tours etc and never giving up. 

We were offered 23 rupees to the pound on the black market (25½ in Delhi) so refused and as by this time the banks were shut (shut at 2pm) we visited the luxurious Clarks Hotel where we were able to change money legally. 

Greeted by the usual (and same) crowd of rickshaw loafers as we exited from Clarks, we turned into the Protestant Church grounds where an Indian unlocked the church door while we said a restful and badly needed at this stage prayer and looked around the church to find a plaque reading that the church was attended by Queen Elizabeth and the Duke in 1961. It is reputed to be one of the earliest English churches in India after Calcutta. 

After keeping as far off the road as possible and ignoring the repeated cries of the rickshaw drivers they all eventually left us while the hot red sun set across the railway tracks behind a cow pulling a tremendous weight behind the poor beast.

We relaxed in the security of our hotel after a meal in the attached restaurant of egg, curry and tandoori. Some of the Japanese boys we met in Afghanistan are staying in this hotel - it truly is amazing how many times travellers cross paths. 

Now I have to tell the man we are leaving tomorrow and can he take care of our bags and a needed rest before hopefully rising at 5.30.am for our boat trip down the Ganges at sunrise - the main purpose of a visit to Benares - holy city of India (the day was actually a shambles from beginning to end!).

Friday 11 February 1972 - Near Kathmandu.

As I write we are surrounded by small laughing Nepalese children - they are all sitting side by side in a semi-circle around us. We have been admiring a view over a wide valley with some peaks of the Himalayas in the background. The reason for this is that we are waiting for our taxi (which is a near new Russian build type of Land Rover) to start. 

It has broken down about 15 miles from Kathmandu and we have been waiting here about an hour while help has come and gone but I think we might be out of petrol. 

It is 3 days since I last wrote - our second day in Benares started at 5.30am when we boarded a small raft with a handful of other tourists for a cruise down the Ganges at sunrise - no doubt the best time and way to see Benares as the sun rose over the water and out of the darkness appeared holy men sitting cross-legged praying to the rising sun, people plunging into the comparatively warm water and even drinking the greenish-grey liquid, rubbing their stomachs in satisfaction. 

Our guide explained that despite the dead cow and dogs floating there the dead bodies dipped into it, the water contained plenty of sulphur and did them no harm!?A maze of temples and ghats - ones for washing, ones for cleaning (swimming) and ones of course for burning. 

Leaving our raft we visited various temples including the Golden Temple with a ton of gold on its roof and "Monkey" Temple with pestering monkeys clambering over its idols and rafters. Also other temples but I didn't find them appealing in any way, especially when shown the central idol of the Hindu worship - a phallic symbol garlanded with flowers. 

In the afternoon we returned through the usual crowded alleys to see a close up of the burning ghat. I must say that it was the most grotesque ceremony I have ever seen with no regard for the human body at all. I won't describe the scene there but sufficient to say that I would discourage anyone, especially my family and friends from seeing such a brutal and antiquated ritual. 

We met up with Liz and Sap arrived OK from Delhi and were surely glad to board the train that night. Another scene I won't forget about Benares was to see women and children in rags scavenging with the pigs in a rubbish heap. 

Plenty of mosquitoes so am glad to be taking malaria tablets just in case. That night never had such a struggle to get on a train in my life - a surge of people pushing and treading on each other to get a berth for the night's journey.

Rose was very upset for a time and this made me upset and upset with her - however, after getting our respective berths we felt better but I was woken at 5.am by the conductor who was leaving the train - he suggested that I watch our luggage as the train would be stopping a lot. It did and with people in and out I was glad that I managed to stay awake. 

We travelled through flat and boring country until midday, changed trains after waiting about 3 hours. I've never ridden such a crowded train. We eventually managed to sit on our bags with miserable people all around - they reminded me greatly of the Australian aborigine with a cloth covering scaly brown skin and frail old bones.

Fortunately most of the children seem well fed but the old ones seem to have given up or don't care any longer - as usual many beggars, they don't bother us now. Also a girl no more than 11 or 12 years old feeding her baby - she had conjunctivitis and could hardly see I'm sure. When you leave Delhi you surely see the real India.

Our first train was an hour late so we missed our connections after that - we made the last one on dusk at Sagauli Junction and arrived at Raxaul the border about 2 hours later. We crossed over by rickshaw with myriads of pilgrims - it seems we have struck another religious festival and all on their way to Kathmandu. 

The first town on the Nepal border no room anywhere so we slept on a lobby floor for about 15 cents - by that time it was about midnight so after we had 5 hours sleep had to search for a bus - it was hideous as the small town was crowded with people cramming to get on all the buses, trucks or whatever available. 

Eventually we paid about Aus$4 each for the ride to Kathmandu in the back of the Russian landrover. 
The road rises 6,000 feet in 100 miles and there are about 2,000 bends. We have been feeling sick most of the way with the bumpy road and bends every 50 or so yards. At last we could see the wide stretch of the snow-capped Himalayas stretching across the horizon.

We have been travelling down since then through paddy-fields and simple people. We are still waiting for help and it is getting so dark I can hardly see to write at all so must stop while we wait for help.

11.30.pm. We had been travelling with some 3 Indian pilgrims plus 3 hippies. When darkness came we tried stopping anything that came along which was usually the buses or trucks loaded with pilgrims. If they did stop, they would invariably say there was no room and drive off again. I'm sure most could have squeezed some of us on. 
Eventually the Indians climbed into a truck and about ½ an hour later a bus came and had room for 3 so the hippies hopped on that. 

Rosemarie and I were getting desperate as it gets cold in the mountains at night. Two Toyotas appeared and although it was difficult to squeeze us and our bags in as they were loaded with pilgrims already, they fitted Rose in one and me in the other. 

Twenty miles and a bumpy pot-holed road later we were in Kathmandu - one of the drivers of the Toyotas spoke English - he is the manager of Toyota sales here and seems a genuine fellow.

When we arrived we thanked him profusely but he explained that he felt he had to fit us in somehow as he knew there was practically no traffic behind him (if any).

He grabbed a taxi for us and we could tell he was warning the driver not to over-charge. As I've said before, it's the unexpected help from understanding people that helps so much when travelling, or for that matter in just plain getting from day to day. 

The Toyota man had told the taxi driver to take us here where we have settled in comfortably into the Oriental Lodge Hotel at about 50 cents per night. 

Since having a cheese omelette I'm ready for bed and a decent sleep for the first time in days. The water, I believe, here is not the best, the fellow in the next room doesn't even clean his teeth in it - somehow I feel my system is toughened to this by now and haven't had much bowel trouble since Syria through not drinking the water, I'm sure. 
One day in Benares wasn't too good but things have settled down again it seems - perhaps Kathmandu will be a really good test for them. 

My mosquito bites are raised and itching on my hands and arm which usually does not happen - but there should be no worries if they are the malaria type as I am taking the malaria tablets.

Tuesday 15 February 1972 - Kathmandu, Nepal

I have been in Kathmandu 4 days since my last entry. I have been over-exercising my bowels slightly but the mosquito bites cleared up. 

The first 2 days I was very tired having to lie down in the afternoon. It rained on one of them so it was no real loss. 
Kathmandu is not as dirty as we had expected to find - yes, there are muddy streets and broken down houses but also wide spaces and mountain views. It reminds me of an overgrown country town. The people here are simple and friendly - full of smiles, especially the children who are always playing varied games in the streets - from cards to hopscotch to just plain rolling wheels around with a stick. 

Generally the people look well fed even though obviously on the verge of poverty - such a contrast to India where skin and bone is common. Perhaps it's because the people here have more drive - they seem to be working at something where so many Indians seemed content to sit around and let life happen.

Signs of communist China's influence in everything from clothing to utensils. The "Little Red Book" plus a photo of Mao Tse Tung was thrust into my hand at a Chinese propaganda book-store - being worth about 5 cents. I bought it for fun but can't imagine following his principles!

Being 6,000 feet above sea level the air is clean and crisp. As I lay in bed a few nights ago I could hear every shrill note of a mouth organ player walking down the street. 

I'm beginning to feel relaxed in this healthy climate. A highlight of my days here was an early morning flight along the Himalayas. A breath-taking experience particularly when Mt.Everest appeared from behind drifts of cloud. 

We also went on a bus tour to a lookout but the weather was poor so was disappointing. We farewelled Rosemarie on the plane to Bangkok yesterday and today Liz, Sap and self hired bikes and rode a few miles out to a Buddhist temple on a hill overlooking Kathmandu valley. 

A priest squatted on the ground fascinated me doing more things with paints, flowers, water, incence and powder than could be believed - also chanting incantations and tossing rice at shrines of Buddha which the local monkeys eagerly fed on. 

This afternoon picked up reservations for LIz and self for the last chapter of our long journey - Bangkok - Singapore - Sydney. I rode a few miles out the other side of Kathmandu to a Hindu temple but couldn't go in, not being a Hindu. 

I rode back on dusk ringing my bell like everyone else at the straying pedestrians. While on my bike riding adventures today I saw a bull being sacrificed - they completely tied up the poor beast with head tied back and proceeded to slice away at its throat - the crowd of kids gathered around soon took flight when the blood began to pour out - the executioner proudly marched off with the head. 

An Indian watching with me said he thought it was brutal. I should have told him my thoughts on Benares. This reminds me of another incident imprinted on my mind - travelling from the Indian border to Kathmandu, at one stage our ill-fated jeep slowed down enough for it to be chased by small peasant children holding magnificent red bouquets of rhododendrons in their small hands. They ran after us a few moments calling out to us but dropped back as the jeep pulled away. The struggled look on their faces I'll never forget - for those few moments they really did try hard.

We have been eating well in a restaurant owned by an American woman working for the Peace Corps. Hashish is sold openly and legally here. This is not the first time I've tried it but the first time I've actually bought some. It has the same effect as alcohol without the full-heady drunken feeling and it doesn't take long to feel relaxed and "happy." For that reason it's good but I don't like smoking anyway so it has no real fascination for me.

Saturday 19 February 1972 - Bangkok, Thailand.

We've just had 3 hot days in Bangkok. Had a wonderfully relaxing trip on the plane from Kathmandu. I had 4 meals as LIz was feeling sick - we stopped over at Calcutta but were warned not to take any pictures. 

The "South East" Hotel was recommended by some Americans in Kathmandu and it is luxurious after the style of place we have been used to - swimming pool (I've been in in every day), air-conditioning, etc for U.S.$3 each.

Bangkok is a huge sprawling city - hot and noisy and very Americanised but it is a pleasure just to be in civilization. Plenty of buses but a sweaty ½ hour ride to the city area from here although it's really "city" all the way. 

The people here are the healthiest yet, no diseases obvious - men look fit and the girls are beautiful! We saw Thai classical dancing while eating a scrumptious Thai meal one evening for Aus$6 - really worth it and yesterday afternoon for the same price went for boat rides on the klongs (canals), firstly in a motor-driven canoe and then a barge where we had drinks, fruit etc.

We stopped off at a typical Thai farm house complete with family, water buffalo, ducks, etc. Down canals so narrow we were scraping the water-lillies on the banks lined with palms and banana trees. I felt for a while like I was truly in paradise - like being on a tropical island - what a life that would be.  I could even put up with the heat and that's no mean statement for we're put up with humidity and near century temperatures after Nepal where it gets to freezing point at night.

Liz not feeling the best, I looked over the Royal Palace ground and surrounding gilted and gaudy temples - graceful but I prefer simpler architecture. Also the monstrous Reclining Buddha nearby with its gold leaf peeling off. 
Today we ambled round the collection of junk known as the weekend market but there were myriad types of pets - everything from monkeys to bats! And the children with kites were colourful.

We spent the afternoon in shops. Tropical fruit is cheap and good and I love it but Bangkok is expensive - it's cost me almost Aus$40 in 3 days but at this stage I'm not counting cash fortunately.

Wednesday 23 February 1972 - Singapore.

Almost at the close of both trip and book as I fly home tomorrow after 3 days in Singapore - mostly spent shopping - it's not as hot as Bangkok but more sticky but I don't mind it. It's cleaner here than Bangkok - in fact cleaner than most any city I've seen. 

It rains every day in a quick downpour, then gone. Threatening clouds most of the day but we haven't been caught yet. Most of the population here is under 25 and those we've spoken to have a lot of drive - good types of kids too - mainly Chinese here but a percentage of Malays and Indians also - quite a difference to Bangkok where everyone looked similar but I think the people here have more character. 

The Chinese food here is the best! We went to 2 cultural shows - one Malayan showing a mock wedding, dancing, self-defence etc. Also a man Indian come Chinese one showing a snake charmer and pretty Chinese dancing. 

We saw the disappointing Tiger Balm Gardens but some lovely orchids in the Botanical Gardens. There are some reminders of the colonial era with the hotels - we had a drink in the gaudy old "Raffles." Huge areas of 25 storey flats going up to meet the housing and population problem. 

Tourism is becoming a major industry but most come for the shopping. I bought an Omega watch Aus$100, a Uher tape-recorder Aus$200, an Oroton bag Aus$30 plus a dozen records for Aus$3 each. 

If I had the room I could have kept on buying. It's all so cheap. Picking up some money Mum had sent from my account sure helps too! I rang Mum tonight - she sounds tired - I hope all is OK - it sure will be wonderful to be home again.



--

--