A camera is one of the most common and distinctive single characteristics of a tourist. Everyone knows the hordes of the Japanese tourists swarming all over the world photographing every silliest detail they can find. But most 'western' tourists also have for decades taken for granted that they can travel to another country and take photos of children, animals, beggars, homes, old people, religious sites, people at their work and so on. Many times without asking a permission. I know I have. Then I travelled to India.
It began already in Mumbai. On the very touristy island of Elephanta some Indian people wanted to have themselves photographed with my six-year-old son. Well, he's blonde haired and pale skinned, so I guess he can look quite exotic in Indian eyes. A man touched his hair, then kissed his own fingers and took them on his heart. A lucky touch? One would think a huge city like Mumbai sees its share of caucasian tourists so regularly that it wouldn't be so big a deal, but then these people were most probably tourists in Mumbai themselves. Little did we know that it was just a small taste of what was to come.
We flew to the island of Diu, which is a former Portuguese colony just below the state of Gujarat. It has an old fort, some beautiful beaches, resorts, churches, temples and other sights, but compared to e.g. some parts of Goa, it's very small-scale, relaxed and laid-back. Foreign travel agencies don't bring people here. Tourists have to find this place themselves. On the other hand, Diu is to a great extent a holiday island to the Gujarati people. The big Indian state of Gujarat is a dry one - the local hero, no one less than Mahatma Gandhi himself, didn't have a taste for booze, so alcohol is banned for the rest of the people too. It's legal in Diu, however, so a drunk Gujarati is not a rare sight on the island, especially during big holidays like Diwali, Christmas or New Year.
Local people on Diu probably see caucasian tourists enough so that they're not that impressed, but the (often tipsy and uninhibited) Gujarati tourists often don't hesitate to show their astonishment of seeing exotic-looking palefaces. - Hello! Where are you from? Your name? Nationality? Profession? One photo? One only! they'd typically ask. Then, when the photographing permission is granted, they take turns to pose with the unusual westerners. Most of them are very friendly and clearly earnest. We got sincere invitations to visit people's homes only three hours drive! away from Diu. I still have a piece of paper on which a guy wrote three different phone numbers of his so that I could call him, the reason I really don't know. He didn't even speak English.
Then there's the awkwardness of this type of behaviour. No matter if you're absorbed in your book or otherwise look like you'd like to be alone: One photo only! If you're a woman in a bikini on a beach, you can be sure the mobile phone cameras will lick your body from head to toes. Without a male companion the thin line of harassment can get stepped over very easily. One kiss please! Just one kiss!
In the end, the photographing and the curiousness towards western looking people is, of course, just a retaliation for all the photos the western people have taken over the years. It's a matter of taking something and giving something. On Diu we rarely denied the photographing, and posed for most photographs when asked. More annoying was to notice being shot on video or photos on the beach without having asked permission. Then again, I've done that too. It's just a payback.
I'm positive it's possible to
travel across Russia without having a single drop of vodka, but I have
to admit did have a drop or two. We bought a bottle of locally made
product from a shop next to Moscow station to be consumed by taking a
shot once or twice every day. Strictly for medicinal pruposes, you know. I have never been any
particular fan of vodka, even though I'm supposed to live on the Vodka Belt, but normally I won't turn down a shot if offered.
Salmiak vodka and some Chinese buildings at the background.
Travellers
on the Trans Siberian railway are often advised to be prepared of
getting a share of local passengers' provisions. It's also advisable to
offer your food or drinks to other people travelling with you. So I
grabbed a bottle of Salmiakki Koskenkorva, a popular vodka-based Finnish
liqueur spiced with salty liquorice with me to be shared during the
trip. Since I travelled the first half of the Trans Siberian trip in the
first class compartment, there wasn't too many opportunities to share
anything. After Irkutsk there was an American father & son in the
same compartment with us, but since the boy was clearly under-aged, I
decided better not to offer any alcohol around. Food-based supplies were shared, of course!
After 9000+ kilometres and half a litre of vodka.
When we left Ulan
Bator we got new train and new mates to share the train car compartment. Whether it was a pure coincidence, or some sneaky antics of the Mongolian railway authorities, they were Finns! Several thousands of kilometres through two continents, and here we sat, four Finns: us, father and son and our new travelling companions, mother and daughter.
It didn't take too long to dig up the salmiak vodka and raise a toast
to being a Finn on a Trans Siberian train. During the next 24 hours we had toasted the whole bottle empty, not much before the train pulled to the railway station in Beijing.
If you watch carefully, you might spot our wine bottle
on the other side of the window.
I mentioned wine in the topic, didn't I? Yeah, we had some on the rail. In Moscow, when we purchased the medicinal vodka bottle at the shop near the station, we also bought a bottle of wine. To go with the meals, you know. There was a good assortment of wines to choose from in the shop, many brands being familiar from Finnish alcohol selling establishments already. It was good wine, I have to admit. However, it remained the only bottle of wine we ended up having during the trip. Beer seemed to be the most suitable (alcoholic) drink for the hot hot hot summer of 2010 on the Trans Siberian railway.
Monarchs and other rulers usually want to make themselves remembered, one way or another. Pyramids, anyone? I'm particularly fond of the way the Habsburg dynasty (the Austrian emperor line, the House of Habsburg-Lorraine) has immortalised themselves by even harnessing the Viennese urban planning into action. When a member of the Habsburg family dies, he or she becomes embalmed, almost like the ancient upper-class Egyptians. The body is prepared for the sarcophagus, for the post-funeral display, whereas the heart and the rest of the entrails are preserved in separate metal urns - silver for the heart and copper for intestines and other organs. And like in a proper canonising process, people are encouraged to visit the crypts where the different body parts are laid to rest.
The Habsburg royalty are entombed in the very centre of Vienna, of course, but every family member is ingeniously separated in three different places, so there will be more burial sites for the royal subjects to visit. The hearts can be found in the Herzgruft (Heart Crypt) in the Augustinian Church. The guts are displayed in the Herzogsgruft (Ducal Crypt), situated in the catacombs of Stephansdom (St. Stephen's Cathedral), the most ostentatious landmark in Vienna. The embalmed bodies of the royalty lay in their sarcophagi in Kaisergruft (Imperial Crypt) below the Capuchin church. The guide showing the Ducal crypt told that despite the double sealing of the urns one of them started leaking some time ago, filling the catacombs with horrible deathly smell of rotting innards.
In the Imperial Crypt you can witness the ornament race on the sarcophagi. The oldest are simple metal coffins, but by walking deeper in the crypt the decorations of the newer caskets grow in spectacular proportions. The further you go the more ornaments, crowned Death's heads, veiled semi-nude women and cherubs there are on the sarcophagi. The winner is undoubtedly the stupendous double tomb of Empress Maria Theresa and her husband, Francis I Stephen, which can also be seen in the video below. Pay attention to the weird knight(?) on the side that looks like a wooden pole is wearing an armour. Towards the end of the crypt the newest tombs like the are again more discreet, like in the vault of beloved couple Emperor Franz Joseph and Empress Sissi and their son Rudolf.
In the end of the video below the alarm goes off when I'm shooting the death's head ornament from close distance. I'm not sure if it was me setting it off...
If you are really afraid of roller coasters, but still would like to take a ride, you should head to Duisburg, Germany, where you can take a walk on one. It's actually a sculpture that was built about a year ago on a hilltop of landscaped mining waste, just next to the river Rhein. It's called Tiger & Turtle - A Magic mountain, because a roller coaster is normally fast like tiger, but this one you can walk as slowly as a turtle. It's accessible for free at all times of the day, and it's even illuminated after dusk.
This is exactly what is cool in the ostensibly miserable and ugly Ruhr area: You can find a number of industrial landmarks, disused factories etc. which have been innovatively converted into new uses. Some day I'll go back there to take a scuba dive session in a gasometer. In Ruhr area that is possible too. Meanwhile take a look at the head camera video I filmed at the Tiger & Turtle landmark. Can you walk the loop?
