Thailand coming soon~
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Calcutta on Clint's blog
Clint just made a post on his blog about Calcutta if interested: clintdoeseurope.blogspot.com
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Chapter 7: Train to Calcutta
Hey guys, sorry for the long delay. But here we are and boy do we have a story for you! So, after finally leaving Bombay we took a 38 hour sleeper-train. It was so incredibly dirty that words just can’t describe. Clint walked up and down the train; no westerners were to be found. Our situation is hard to describe but picture 9 bunks per compartment, 3 on each side and 3 on the opposite side of the corridor; all Indians, most of them constantly staring at you. I mean, we made friends but as Johan remembers quite distinctly- reading his book and seeing eyes staring up from around the pages.
It was long, so long, and so dirty. Did we say dirty? Every second guy walking down the aisle was screaming things to sell at all hours of the day: tea, food, candy, toys, jewelry. It was a bazaar on the train... hard to sleep with your back and neck constantly aching. There was even a guy, who we noticed would go off and brush his teeth in the mornings with a stick (toothpaste included). Fascinating, eh? And we were only riding 2nd class (no AC). Just consider: some people didn’t even have seats…
So, up ‘til now we can chalk it all up to unique, eye-opening experiences. But, as usual we do have a story to tell: So, at one point we were walking down the aisle and 6 police armed with rifles stopped us, grabbed Clint by the throat and hurled him into the bathroom. Johan was forced-in shortly after. One cop (the fat kid that was always picked-on in school) stepped in and locked the bathroom behind (remember, these are tiny-ass train bathrooms). He demanded 1,000 Ghandis or else. He held his fist up to our faces, and made the sign for jail and was threatening us with violence. We kept our cool. Clint turned to Johan (who started to protest) and said “Jo, what can we do here?” We realized that we were fucked. There was only one option: pay up or go to Indian Jail, or be beat up by soldiers with guns, in whichever order…
Not a happy story, but one we felt we must tell. As we walked away from that shit situation, we observed the soldiers all clapping hands and laughing in celebration. We are still angry, but getting over it. Email us if you want to inquire further~
It was long, so long, and so dirty. Did we say dirty? Every second guy walking down the aisle was screaming things to sell at all hours of the day: tea, food, candy, toys, jewelry. It was a bazaar on the train... hard to sleep with your back and neck constantly aching. There was even a guy, who we noticed would go off and brush his teeth in the mornings with a stick (toothpaste included). Fascinating, eh? And we were only riding 2nd class (no AC). Just consider: some people didn’t even have seats…
So, up ‘til now we can chalk it all up to unique, eye-opening experiences. But, as usual we do have a story to tell: So, at one point we were walking down the aisle and 6 police armed with rifles stopped us, grabbed Clint by the throat and hurled him into the bathroom. Johan was forced-in shortly after. One cop (the fat kid that was always picked-on in school) stepped in and locked the bathroom behind (remember, these are tiny-ass train bathrooms). He demanded 1,000 Ghandis or else. He held his fist up to our faces, and made the sign for jail and was threatening us with violence. We kept our cool. Clint turned to Johan (who started to protest) and said “Jo, what can we do here?” We realized that we were fucked. There was only one option: pay up or go to Indian Jail, or be beat up by soldiers with guns, in whichever order…
Not a happy story, but one we felt we must tell. As we walked away from that shit situation, we observed the soldiers all clapping hands and laughing in celebration. We are still angry, but getting over it. Email us if you want to inquire further~
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Chapter 5: Bombay (Mumbai)
Bombay, we’ve heard a lot about this place (Slumdog, Shantaram). Expecting to be hustled, spending more money than we would have to, but also great partying, good shopping and being happy travelers! Btw, all the Indians call it Bombay, not Mumbai so this is how it is referred and thus is what we call it (the same goes for Calcutta vs. Kolkata).
A city of 18 million, Bombay is the biggest city in India and not nearly as peaceful as Goa, let alone Hampi. It’s a crazy, crazy city full of everything you can imagine- one that you could love just as easily as you could hate, and that includes the people too. In retrospect, both of us agree that after Bombay, we can say that we have seen (and experienced) POVERTY; not the pretty; but the ugly. But we’ll get into that…
For starters, upon arrival the least we would’ve expected was to meet the Frenchies from back in Hampi. But, ‘lo and behold- the first people we see getting out of our cab? Clint spots Hawk right away, and visa versa. There he is, drinking a beer in the famous, age-old Café Leopold (since the 1800’s). Now, we were tired as fuck, coming from a long-ass bus ride and all we could do is embrace our old partners-in-crime from Hampi, and join them for yet another beer. Words can’t convey the expression on Hawks face, or probably that of our own as we saw each other. What a happy reunion! <3
The Frenchies brought us to their hotel, and we quickly learned that this wasn’t Hampi- man, we went from 100 Ghandis (50 each) per night to a 1,000 (and that’s good for Bombay!). Fuck! As we’ve said, not a cheap city (and we were worried about money).
Okay, so within the first 20 minutes we were approached by Bollywood scouts to serve as extras in (supposedly) THE BIGGEST BOLLYWOOD MOVIE OF ALL TIME (bullshit?). The movie is a biography called ‘My name is Khan’ starring &^!#$%% Sharut Khan)}, known as ‘The King of Bollywood.’ We agree to be paid the amount of 500 Ghandis each and be fed for a day whilst serving as ‘Caucasian Muslim Terrorist’ extras! Which, btw two other American’s were offended by the idea and left upon arrival after learning of this (strong Christians?). We didn’t care. What we did care about was sitting around for 10 hours and never being used in a scene and (though offered to return again the next day, which we didn’t). We never saw Mr. ‘King of Bollywood’ though some did. All we heard was the occasional ‘SILENCE PLEASE!!!’ when taping. It was interesting, but wholly un-fulfilling. And thus would conclude our short span of fame. Glad we didn’t call our managers (mothers). Nevertheless, it was interesting to be on an actual movie-set and see that movie-making is not so-pretty as it seems. We’ll never be B(H)ollywood stars! ‘nuff said!
After ‘The Bollywood incident,’ we visited Elephant Island, which wasn’t much but some ruins (that pale in-comparison to Hampi) and crazy monkeys. Where are the elephants? It was fun, though over-priced.
Sorry, this blog entry feels like it’s running a little long but our Bombay experience was pretty hefty. So, a moment on Indians (from an outsider’s perspective) and our own experience confronting poverty- obviously, it ain’t pretty. But, it’s a two-way street. We both agree that in the tourist areas: they see the worst of us whilst we see the worst of them. We are approached by beggars at every step, but we can’t fix the problem any more than we can represent any great solution. But, we can say that we were interested in taking a tour of the slums, and, inadvertently one morning entered them on our own. So, we did our own tour of the slums of the shores of Bombay. Our Indian experience was suddenly very different from what we’d known thus far. No one paid any attention to us but, rather, resented our presence. They didn’t want anything to do with us, didn’t even acknowledge us, which was completely contradictory from any of the Indians we’d known thus far. We were the aliens; the invaders, the unwanted. It must be stressed: they didn’t want anything- and for us, that in its own way was refreshing compared to being assaulted every step along the streets of Colaba.
Lastly, we met a guy on the day of our supposed departure, who told us that we couldn’t book our train because it was a holiday (which was probably bullshit). He was well-spoken, intelligent and pretty street-savvy. Needless to say, he talked us into taking his own guided-tour of Bombay, which we abandoned halfway through. We did see some sites, got some good pictures, but weren’t impressed enough to continue with the other half the next day- where his attitude suddenly changed. He became an asshole and we learned a valuable lesson. No more sweet-talkin’!
Okay, enough. Too much on Bombay, read more on Clint’s umbilical cord (clintdoeseurope.blogspot.com) and look for the next chapter, simply-based on our train to Calcutta. Coming soon, ‘til then… we just can’t be bothered. Fuck off~
Actually, btw- how come none of you motherfuckers ever comment on our shit?! We go out of our way to tell our tale, hit you up on Facebook, put this shit down on record (it takes a lot of time and effort), and yet we’re gettin’ no feedback? Not even in Swedish… Kom igen för fan, det är inte så svårt...! Wtf? Create an ID if you must, otherwise, shame on you…
A city of 18 million, Bombay is the biggest city in India and not nearly as peaceful as Goa, let alone Hampi. It’s a crazy, crazy city full of everything you can imagine- one that you could love just as easily as you could hate, and that includes the people too. In retrospect, both of us agree that after Bombay, we can say that we have seen (and experienced) POVERTY; not the pretty; but the ugly. But we’ll get into that…
For starters, upon arrival the least we would’ve expected was to meet the Frenchies from back in Hampi. But, ‘lo and behold- the first people we see getting out of our cab? Clint spots Hawk right away, and visa versa. There he is, drinking a beer in the famous, age-old Café Leopold (since the 1800’s). Now, we were tired as fuck, coming from a long-ass bus ride and all we could do is embrace our old partners-in-crime from Hampi, and join them for yet another beer. Words can’t convey the expression on Hawks face, or probably that of our own as we saw each other. What a happy reunion! <3
The Frenchies brought us to their hotel, and we quickly learned that this wasn’t Hampi- man, we went from 100 Ghandis (50 each) per night to a 1,000 (and that’s good for Bombay!). Fuck! As we’ve said, not a cheap city (and we were worried about money).
Okay, so within the first 20 minutes we were approached by Bollywood scouts to serve as extras in (supposedly) THE BIGGEST BOLLYWOOD MOVIE OF ALL TIME (bullshit?). The movie is a biography called ‘My name is Khan’ starring &^!#$%% Sharut Khan)}, known as ‘The King of Bollywood.’ We agree to be paid the amount of 500 Ghandis each and be fed for a day whilst serving as ‘Caucasian Muslim Terrorist’ extras! Which, btw two other American’s were offended by the idea and left upon arrival after learning of this (strong Christians?). We didn’t care. What we did care about was sitting around for 10 hours and never being used in a scene and (though offered to return again the next day, which we didn’t). We never saw Mr. ‘King of Bollywood’ though some did. All we heard was the occasional ‘SILENCE PLEASE!!!’ when taping. It was interesting, but wholly un-fulfilling. And thus would conclude our short span of fame. Glad we didn’t call our managers (mothers). Nevertheless, it was interesting to be on an actual movie-set and see that movie-making is not so-pretty as it seems. We’ll never be B(H)ollywood stars! ‘nuff said!
After ‘The Bollywood incident,’ we visited Elephant Island, which wasn’t much but some ruins (that pale in-comparison to Hampi) and crazy monkeys. Where are the elephants? It was fun, though over-priced.
Sorry, this blog entry feels like it’s running a little long but our Bombay experience was pretty hefty. So, a moment on Indians (from an outsider’s perspective) and our own experience confronting poverty- obviously, it ain’t pretty. But, it’s a two-way street. We both agree that in the tourist areas: they see the worst of us whilst we see the worst of them. We are approached by beggars at every step, but we can’t fix the problem any more than we can represent any great solution. But, we can say that we were interested in taking a tour of the slums, and, inadvertently one morning entered them on our own. So, we did our own tour of the slums of the shores of Bombay. Our Indian experience was suddenly very different from what we’d known thus far. No one paid any attention to us but, rather, resented our presence. They didn’t want anything to do with us, didn’t even acknowledge us, which was completely contradictory from any of the Indians we’d known thus far. We were the aliens; the invaders, the unwanted. It must be stressed: they didn’t want anything- and for us, that in its own way was refreshing compared to being assaulted every step along the streets of Colaba.
Lastly, we met a guy on the day of our supposed departure, who told us that we couldn’t book our train because it was a holiday (which was probably bullshit). He was well-spoken, intelligent and pretty street-savvy. Needless to say, he talked us into taking his own guided-tour of Bombay, which we abandoned halfway through. We did see some sites, got some good pictures, but weren’t impressed enough to continue with the other half the next day- where his attitude suddenly changed. He became an asshole and we learned a valuable lesson. No more sweet-talkin’!
Okay, enough. Too much on Bombay, read more on Clint’s umbilical cord (clintdoeseurope.blogspot.com) and look for the next chapter, simply-based on our train to Calcutta. Coming soon, ‘til then… we just can’t be bothered. Fuck off~
Actually, btw- how come none of you motherfuckers ever comment on our shit?! We go out of our way to tell our tale, hit you up on Facebook, put this shit down on record (it takes a lot of time and effort), and yet we’re gettin’ no feedback? Not even in Swedish… Kom igen för fan, det är inte så svårt...! Wtf? Create an ID if you must, otherwise, shame on you…
Literally, the first 5 minutes of our arrival- Frenchies!
Wecome to Bombay, bitch!
All Frenchies and one Canadian.
This is how Clint looks like when he gets sick. Notice Jo's expression, 
which kinda says 'Dammit, Clint's stomach cancer is back... "FUCK!!"
Our resident, French alcoholic... his name is Hawk (without the 'H'), so 'awk.
Elephant Island. We only wanted to put this in to point out that this monkey literally stole our water bottle, unscrewed the cap and finished our water. Clint later battled (not really, for fear of rabies) with our colorful bag against a large, growling male. Luckily, he didn't take it. Don't know what we'd have done otherwise...
Clint getting out some agression against the French!
Hee Hee, Haw haw!! That's Cleo or Chloe!
Johan and Clint, eating heart of mutton!
The motherfucker: Terrence!
The Terrence tour gave us this view~
Yeah Clint ain't so buff, but his governor is!!
Bombay doing Laundry. We forget the statistics, but they are gnarly. It is astoundingly accurate in term of getting the clothes back to you. Granted, they beat the shit out of the material through the washing-process, but hey- cheap as fuck.
For the Bollywood movie, Johan was actually given a costume (which he never got to use), so here he is waiting to be called on. Our strongest memory of Bollywood is the security guys yelling "SILENCE PLEASE!"Monday, April 6, 2009
Chapter 4: Hampi
We laughed, we cried, Clint almost died. The beginning of our Hampi sojourn had a nice mix of exploration of ruins, King Louis, and an elephant to bop you on the head. From there things progressed in stages. We liked to meet people and if the vibe was right we kind of merged into their clique. Our time in Hampi can therefore be divided into three stages:
At stage one, we were hanging with a kiwi and an American girl turned Aussie. We were all-pro tourism, visiting ruins and temples, swimming up the river (failed!), trying of Vegetarian food and exotic beverages like Lassi’s (which are a sort of milkshake).
Stage two was more of a French revolution, hanging with the Frenchies! We moved across the cursed river where it’s cheaper and less friendly. Upon arrival, Clint contracted stomach cancer and resigned to bed for at least 4 days, whilst Johan didn’t do shit really except avoid Clint and his foul temperament. The Frenchies were odd but friendly, throw in a little cliff diving and anti American quips which Clint dished right-back and they loved us. There was a Canadian too, who understood French but never spoke it back, very strange but hey- he’s Canadian.
Stage three involves a Dutch girl and a Swede. Clint may have lost the cold war, but America ravaged the Netherlands in all but 5 minutes (hey, it was a long time coming!). Finally, the draught is over…
Alcohol is prohibited in Hampi, which makes it quite peaceful but at times boring. But, there’s a bit of a bootlegging industry going on, particularly across the river. We did drink a little, but not too much as it gets expensive quick. The Indians have got a quite a racket going, for sure.
Lastly, Hampi is very, very cheap. For example, our room costs 100 Ghandis a night, which is about 1 ½ euros total. Food is also dirt cheap. We ate like kings most of the time (when Clint wasn’t doing the opposite). And yet we spent quite a bit more than intended. We are unsure as to how exactly this happened, but it has us worried, particularly in regards to the future of our Soup. Money is definitely becoming an issue and we need to watch ourselves. We’ve already decided to cut Pune from our list of ingredients, which coincidentally, was next on the list. So, now we are off to Mumbai. Stay tuned, malakes!
At stage one, we were hanging with a kiwi and an American girl turned Aussie. We were all-pro tourism, visiting ruins and temples, swimming up the river (failed!), trying of Vegetarian food and exotic beverages like Lassi’s (which are a sort of milkshake).
Stage two was more of a French revolution, hanging with the Frenchies! We moved across the cursed river where it’s cheaper and less friendly. Upon arrival, Clint contracted stomach cancer and resigned to bed for at least 4 days, whilst Johan didn’t do shit really except avoid Clint and his foul temperament. The Frenchies were odd but friendly, throw in a little cliff diving and anti American quips which Clint dished right-back and they loved us. There was a Canadian too, who understood French but never spoke it back, very strange but hey- he’s Canadian.
Stage three involves a Dutch girl and a Swede. Clint may have lost the cold war, but America ravaged the Netherlands in all but 5 minutes (hey, it was a long time coming!). Finally, the draught is over…
Alcohol is prohibited in Hampi, which makes it quite peaceful but at times boring. But, there’s a bit of a bootlegging industry going on, particularly across the river. We did drink a little, but not too much as it gets expensive quick. The Indians have got a quite a racket going, for sure.
Lastly, Hampi is very, very cheap. For example, our room costs 100 Ghandis a night, which is about 1 ½ euros total. Food is also dirt cheap. We ate like kings most of the time (when Clint wasn’t doing the opposite). And yet we spent quite a bit more than intended. We are unsure as to how exactly this happened, but it has us worried, particularly in regards to the future of our Soup. Money is definitely becoming an issue and we need to watch ourselves. We’ve already decided to cut Pune from our list of ingredients, which coincidentally, was next on the list. So, now we are off to Mumbai. Stay tuned, malakes!
No Swimming.
Why not?
Frenchies!
Don't crap in the river, it makes Clint sick!
Welcome to Hampi, bitch!
Don't fuck with my bananas, man!
Holy cow?
All the pretty colors. Don't sneeze please.
Stage One Crew
Back o' the line, bitch!
An elephant saved my soul for a mere 5 rupees. What a bargain. Mom aren't you proud?
Cross the river? 10 Ghandis...Clint Being Chased By Cow
Here is a video of Clint being chased by a cow. He has bananas which were for the elephant in the elephant temple we were about to go into, but the cow is quite wise to his maneuvers, even the 360 turns or no...
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