Welcome to the new-look Global Travel Writers blog! As we have done since the launch of our first website in 1997, we aim to bring you stories that try to make some sense of the crazy world we live in.
With seven billion people, you might say that Planet Earth is overtouristed. Surely there are other planets in the universe worthy of an extended visit. Why do so many people choose instead to be born here?
But at a local level, “overtourism” has become a real problem. The travel industry newsletter Skift has published volumes on the problems facing popular destinations like Venice, Bali and Reykjavik. According to Skift, international tourist numbers doubled between 2000 and 2016 – now reaching more than 1.2 billion a year.
But numbers of tourists and the quality of the tourism experience appear to be inversely related – both for visitors and for long-suffering locals who are forced to endure the boorish behaviour of an invasion of visitors from darkest England, dumbest America and dorkest Australia, to name possibly the most obvious offenders.
Possible solutions hinge on three considerations: rights, respect and responsibility.
- Rights: Is it time to reconsider a person’s right to hold a passport and/or visa? Should visitors to another country be required to demonstrate at least a basic knowledge of the language of the country they plan to visit, together with an appreciation of its culture? Without this preparation, travel becomes a mere ride in a hermetically sealed bubble. Why not just stay at home and watch YouTube instead?
- Respect: Deference towards the people of a country you are visiting would appear to be the natural instinct of a new arrival. Even domesticated animals usually behave reasonably towards people. But unfortunately, humanity doesn’t appear to be a pre-requisite for many of today’s tourists. A possible solution? The Dili model of the early 1970’s, when “hippy”tourists in what was then Portuguese Timor were caged in a beachfront shed, allowed to roam freely during the day but locked up at night.
- Responsibility: Ultimately, the only person to blame for any adverse effects from overtourism is the tourist. Solutions might include avoiding the top gawk-sites and instead visiting places chosen at random, where serendipitous adventures and mutually beneficial encounters are sure to happen. The alternative and current model – mindless bucket-list voyeurism and pre-scripted boredom – seems guaranteed to both arouse the resentment of locals and provide little impetus for tourists to raise their game.
However, a leading Australian travel writer says: “I don’t think it’s just the tourist to blame. Travel corporations, hotel chains, airlines, all tempt us with low fares/rates and plunder the places they profit from. Tourists are just bargaining chips in their games.”
Fair comment! Is it now time, then, to ask whether the tourist industry’s “games” have become toxic to both tourists and the touristed?
With a lifelong interest in Tibet and its diaspora, I had opted for the epic road trip to Tawang, best known for its eminent three-hundred-year-old monastery.
Arriving in Guwahati, we three foreign travellers met our guide, Tadar Robin, then drove on into the night to cross into Arunachal Pradesh at Bhalukpong, a small town beside the rushing Kameng River. Even here, our chalet-like hotel displayed a distinct Tibetan cultural influence.
Next day began the two-day ascent into the Himalayan foothills. We climbed from sub-tropical rainforest towards an icy 4200-metre pass, the Se La. Army encampments and convoys of lumbering camouflage-green trucks were our constant companions.
Only after the 1962 border conflict with China did the Indian authorities begin building roads into these valleys. I tried to imagine the high drama as Communist Chinese soldiers scrambled down these mountainsides that year: within my lifetime. India was caught off guard and will never forget it.
After six months the Chinese backed off and, these days, the relationship is cordial enough. Nonetheless, China nurses an historic claim to the Tawang district and the border passes remain heavily guarded and off-limits to foreigners.
As we entered Tawang, the hilly streets downtown were garlanded with strings of multicoloured prayer flags in preparation to welcome another, more distinguished, visitor; the Seventeenth Karmapa Lama is a distinguished Tibetan reincarnation.
American commentator Peter Lee writes, “Tawang… is indisputably Tibetan in culture, religion and history and, indeed, is one of the great monastery towns of Tibetan Buddhism and birthplace of the sixth Dalai Lama. It also straddles an important trade route as a gateway between the Tibetan plateau and the Indian plains….”
Founded in 1681, the Tawang Gompa is India’s largest Buddhist monastery and sprawls across a ridge above the town at an altitude of 3,000 metres (10,000 feet). The imposing three-storey Dukhang or assembly hall houses a nine-metre golden Buddha, and the monastic library conserves an extensive collection of ancient books and manuscripts.
In 1959 the youthful Fourteenth Dalai Lama fled his beleaguered homeland and would spend his first night under Indian protection here. Early this year he made another return visit, triggering predictable protests from Beijing.
Philip Game sets forth on a tortuous road into India’s remote north east, from the banks of the Brahmaputra up into the Himalayan foothills and the very edge of Tibet.
My opportunity to venture into north eastern India, once largely off limits, came at short notice. An invitation to explore Meghalaya, Manipur or Mizoram, Nagaland or Tripura; or even Arunachal Pradesh, said to be India’s wildest and least explored state? Yes, who could resist? But which way?
India’s Seven Sisters, the seven states of the north east, group themselves around the enclave that is independent Bangladesh. Assam, the most populous and the most prosperous state, cradles the sprawling floodplains of the Brahmaputra, with some tracts of verdant hill country that include the great tea plantations. The other six states rub their mountainous spines against the borders of Bhutan, Chinese-occupied Tibet and Myanmar (Burma).
This is not the India of great cities, of regal hotels and sumptuous shopping. Think vibrant tribal cultures and abundant wildlife, including those elusive big cats: tiger and leopard, clouded leopard and snow leopard. Smaller cats, simian species and other mammals roam these highlands and forests. Endemic bird species number in the hundreds. After Assam, Nagaland, which shares a border with Myanmar, is perhaps the best-known of the Seven, thanks to its annual Hornbill Festival. The others are simply names to conjure with.
Arunachal Pradesh is one such. The ‘Land of Dawn-Lit Mountains’ rises abruptly beyond the Brahmaputra as a mass of hills clothed with subtropical forests. These hills eventually top off as snow-capped Himalayan peaks . Twenty-six major tribes share the former North East Frontier Agency, speaking more different languages than in any other Indian state. Some still practise animist beliefs whilst others follow the major religions.
C’mon, they need your answer… I opted for the epic road trip to Tawang in the Himalayan foothills, best known for its eminent three-hundred-year-old monastery.
To be continued…
Ever caught a whiff of a wild dog pining to be released from its chain? In that case, you’ll be approximately familiar with the smell of Munster cheese. This unpasteurised “gem” is hand-crafted in farm cottages dotted throughout the Munster Valley of Eastern France, and testifies to the “terror” of the terroir around these parts.
But Munster is no monster!
What is now the city of Munster just recently celebrated its 800th birthday. Munster is now home to the world-renowned Munster Jazz Festival (next to be held from January 8-15, 2018), which brings some of the world’s top jazz talent to this picturesque city. The creator of the festival, vibraphonist Michel Hausser, has played with such top talent as Lionel Hampton and Stephane Grapelli, and Australia’s own trumpet legend James Morrison has twice played in the Festival.
Right in town Bellevue Apartments, founded by veteran hoteliers Suzanne and André Haumesser, are perfect as a base for exploring Alsace and the surrounding areas.
Each with two bedrooms, TV, kitchen, living area and panoramic views over Munster, the apartments are great for families. The first floor apartment is particularly plush, with gourmet kitchen, balconies and fine antique furniture.
Maison Bellevue apartments are now managed by the Haumessers’ daughter Gabrielle, who in delightful style presents the weekly Forever French program on Sydney’s Eastside Radio (89.7 Mhz FM, at 8 pm Wednesdays):
Whatever you do in France, don’t miss Munster. You may even get addicted to Munster cheese – but don’t count on it!
It’s not a large country. With an area of just 30,000 km (about half the size of Tasmania) and a roller-coaster terrain with mountains rearing up to 4,000 metres above sea level, Armenia is a bonsai nation whose people seem to have been hewn from the landscape itself.
Rugged, down-to-earth and open-hearted – these are the most endearing traits of Armenian people. They are constantly giving of themselves and expecting nothing in return, and if by chance you ARE able to offer something in return – even something as simple as a smile – then they appear to be genuinely delighted.
When you come to a country that has suffered and endured so much for so long (including Mongol and Persian invasions as well as the “Armenian Genocide” of 1915), you realise that contentment comes from small things, such as beautiful sunny weather, stunning natural scenery, bountiful nature and, it has to be added, plenty of home-made mulberry vodka.
Despite its small size, Armenia is divided into eleven provinces, each with its own dialect, climate and lifestyle. When it’s 40 degrees in the capital Yerevan, there are still snowdrifts on the high mountains of Syunik province. And while much of the country is devoid of tree cover, the river valleys are lush and fertile, yielding an astonishing range of produce – from the ubiquitous grape-vine to apricots, pomegranates (a national symbol), walnuts and organic vegetables.
And the honey! With a landscape carpeted in wildflowers throughout spring and summer, Armenia produces what has been described as the world’s best honey. “This is such a poor country that we didn’t have any pesticides to destroy the bees”, says beekeeper Mushé. “I have over 50 hives, and have never seen any decline in bee numbers.”
I set out to explore this intriguing country, starting in the northwest “art deco” city of Gyumri. Along the road to Gyumri the land seems and feels pre-ancient, strewn with limestone and tufa outcrops that seem to proclaim their right to rise above the earth and become part of the built environment. Indeed, throughout Armenia it is rare to find a building that is NOT constructed of stone – from salmon-coloured volcanic tufa to slate, limestone, basalt and porphyry.
A stroll through Gyumri, which was hit by a catastrophic earthquake in 1988 in which up to 50,000 people died in a space of just eight minutes, reveals the extent of the earthquake damage as well as the extraordinary rebuilding effort now underway.
One building that mercifully survived the quake is the 1898 Aleksandropol Brewery (after the city’s name during Tsarist times), a German-established plant that produces arguably the country’s best beer, Aleksandropol Lager. There’s even a pipeline under the road from the brewery to the funky Poloz Mukuch Restaurant, opposite.
Gyumri is also home to many other crafts, including intricate hand-crafted ironwork. One of the local blacksmiths, Aram Seksinian of the Irangyuni Forge, slaves away in 35 degree heat over a hot anvil, producing the ornamental wrought-iron scrollwork that will later decorate restaurants, galleries and private homes throughout the country.
One establishment using Gyumri ironwork is the 85 year old Voskevaz winery, in the Aragatsotn region northwest of the capital Yerevan, recently remodelled by artist Gago Ognassian. The vineyards, at an altitude of 1600 metres, produce a trademark wine using the millennia-old Areni Noir grape variety. It’s a stunning wine, with incredible depth enhanced by ageing in Armenian oak from one of the country’s few forested regions, the south-eastern Dilijan province.
At the nearby Agarak archaeological site, with over four square km of rock tombs dating back 3,000 years, archaeologist Boris Gasparyan points out the use of wine in the burial ceremony. To the ancient Urartians, wine served as “a covenant between gods and humans”. Wine vats have been dug out the rocks, with in many cases a horse-shoe shaped altar above the vat.
Even older are the wine vats in Areni 1 cave, in Khor Virap province. Seeds from the Areni noir grape variety – the same as that used at Voskevaz winery – were discovered in the cave in 2007, and have been dated to 4,200 BC, making this the world’s oldest winery. The excavations are a huge undertaking, and are expected to reveal many more finds.
The visitor to Armenia will realise before very long that this is a country with a profound intellectual heritage. With around 99% literacy and a unique 36-letter alphabet, the country punches way above its weight in the fields of education, science and technology. Chess is an integral part of the school curriculum. Sacred geometry and astronomy reached high points at the ancient temple of Garni and at Carahunge (or Karahunj), which is much older than Stonehenge and which allowed the ancient Armenians to measure the seasons and predict solar and lunar eclipses a whole millennium before the Egyptians were able to do the same.
Armenia’s famous monasteries and churches (the country claims to be the world’s first to have adopted Christianity as a state religion) are often built atop the ruins of ancient temples. The acoustics of many of these churches are totally gobsmacking, the sound reverberating within the walls and throughout your whole body as though the sound is coming from all directions at once.
There are those who say that the church has deliberately suppressed Armenia’s ancient past, But whether they are correct or not, it’s hard not to be moved by the music of the Armenian Apostolic Church. I’m privileged to visit the country’s principal cathedral at Echmiadzin, on the day of the Blessing of the Grapes – the most important event on the calendar after Christmas and Easter. Rival choirs on either side of the conical-domed church pierce the skies with their ethereal, age-old chants – and it’s not difficult to imagine that some of their harmonies have penetrated the very wine-producing essence of the grapes.
The province of Jermuk is one of Armenia’s greatest assets. During the days of Soviet rule, Jermuk was known as the best mineral springs resort in the whole of the USSR. With the collapse of the Soviet Union, Jermuk languished – unknown and unvisited, But now, with the opening of the new Hyatt Place Jermuk hotel, the resort with its internationally-renowned underground sources of medicinal waters is staging a big comeback.
The high plateau of Syunik province, in the very south of Armenia, is home to one of Armenia’s richest assets. Going off-offroad, we venture up to 3,400 metres above sea-level, onto flower-studded grasslands that yield both medicinal herbs and natural dyes for the country’s famous carpets. In just one 2.5 square kilometre area, German archaeologists have recently uncovered over 10,000 petroglyphs (rock carvings) dating back some 7,000 years, when hunter-gatherers lived on the plateau. The plateau stretches 30 x 240 km – so there is more than just a little work still to be done.
Finally, I arrive back in the Armenian capital Yerevan, a surprisingly cosmopolitan city, with a Canberra-like grid superimposed upon an ancient settlement (The city will be celebrating its 2,800th anniversary in 2018). People stroll the garden-filled squares at all hours, soaking up the sunshine and the heady range of civic attractions – from wine bars and jazz cafes to open-air music festivals.
No doubt about it – Armenia is a feast not just for the senses, but for the heart too.
Thomas E King, an esteemed member of Global Travel Writers, sadly passed away in 2015. He has left a vast collection of travel books, journals, maps and associated literature. Now, thanks to the efforts of award-winning travel writer Louise Southerden, Tom’s collection has found a new home in a cafe that has deveoted a whole room to the collection. Louise will also be giving travel writing workshops at the cafe:
The Thomas E King Memorial Travel Book Room is located in Lucy Williams’ totally laidback Williams Street Kitchen and Bar, in Lennox Head NSW. You’re invited – provided that you promise not to spill your coffee on the books!
Never pass up a discount bookstore, because you just never know what you might find. Not long ago I picked up a copy of Off the Map, an intriguing little paperback by British geographer Alastair Bonnett, who invites us on a tour of the world’s most ambiguous and ephemeral places.
Such places can be floating or newly-emerged islands, or even man-made; they can be unrecognised, self-declared territories and wannabe sovereign nations; or loosely-defined border zones. They can be dangerous or nightmarish places whose existence is officially suppressed – think Wittenoon, Western Australia, or Chernobyl in the Ukraine – or they might equally be the magical retreats you shared with your childhood companions, places that adults never knew.
Bonnett’s mention of childhood retreats transported me straight back to the bush-clad hills behind our suburban home in 1950s Hobart, Tasmania. Sunnyside Road ended in a cul-de-sac surrounded by native bushland, which to us kids (no ‘virtual’ amusements, remember!) represented a maze of paths and byways, of semi-secret
hiding places. It’s all vanished now.
Ephemeral places also include those niches seized by the dispossessed, be they refugees, asylum-seekers or simply the homeless.
There’s nothing nostalgic about many other places Off the Map. Bonnett also remarks on Nagorno-Karabakh, an Armenian enclave within the territory of Azerbaijan.
Taking advantage of age-old ethnic rivalries, Putin’s Russia has carved out at least four more pseudo-republics in eastern Europe, two (Abkhazia and South Ossetia) from Georgian territory. These separatist enclaves are recognised by no other major nation and co-exist uneasily with their neighbours. After hearing a hair-raising story about an injured and penniless Dutchman who had been stranded in Abkhazia, I abandoned the idea of attempting to cross from Georgia. South Ossetia is, apparently, little more than a single valley.
Greece hosts the ancient monastic enclave of Mt Athos, where women have been banned for centuries. But productivity, not piety, drives an oestrogen-free island in the Arabian (or Persian) Gulf. Many oil and gas industry workers shuttle back and forth from Das Island, 160 km offshore from Abu Dhabi. This desolate landfall has become a vital production hub, covered with pipelines and pumping stations.
In the 1980s, at least, life on Das was not as bleak as this suggests. The all-male community, 3000-strong, enjoyed a choice of catering ranging from mess halls to silver service restaurants, and superlative sporting and library facilities.
Then there are the border zones… who doesn’t get a buzz, an adrenaline rush, from crossing a foreign frontier? So often, two cultures come face to face here, perhaps clashing, perhaps blending, perhaps mingling like oil and water, as the communities either side of the line draw life and purpose from each other.
In many parts of Asia and the Middle East, border fences and signposts are a recent innovation. Tribal nomads often enjoy freedom of movement denied to the traveller on wheels, whilst townspeople flow back and forth on market days. In Arabia’s barren wilderness, only the oases were traditionally attached to one realm or another. The independent Sultanate of Oman is intertwined with the sheikhdoms of the United Arab Emirates, and many landlocked enclaves were crossed without formality until recent years.
Some borders still have to be observed from a safe distance. The border between North and South Korea remains a ceasefire line; four kilometres wide and 248 kilometres long, the Demilitarized Zone is sealed against human intrusion and, ironically, has become a flourishing habitat for wildlife.
From the late Sixties onward the great Asian overland road became a groove in the map, a well-worn route east from Istanbul into the wilds of Anatolia, on across the Shah’s Iran and anarchic Afghanistan, through the Khyber Pass into Pakistan and then India before reaching journey’s end at Kathmandu, where peace, love and hashish beckoned.
It didn’t just begin with the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. Right back in the post-war years, the early 1950s, a few intrepid would-be overlanders made tracks towards the Khyber Pass: Australia’s own Peter Pinney, a life-long wanderer – and larrikin – was one such.
Another, Eric Newby, famously tossed in his job in London’s rag trade to attempt a ‘A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush’, and thereby made his name as a travel writer.
Two whose travels have remained virtually unknown in the English-speaking world were a pair of Swiss adventurers from Geneva who in 1953 struck out across the Balkans in a rattletrap two-seater Fiat car. Recently I stumbled across Nicolas Bouvier’s memoir The Way of the World, masterfully translated from the original French.
It’s a story told with consistent good humour and cultural understanding, a window into a vanished epoch; a time when two penniless travellers could settle into a remote but diverse community for months at a time, eking out a living by giving language lessons, by freelance writing or selling paintings. Islamic fanaticism was not yet centre stage, if perhaps already waiting in the wings.
The 24-year-old Bouvier and his artist friend Thierry Vernet lived by their wits in an artists’ squat in Belgrade, then in provincial Macedonia. After hauling their little car across Turkey, the pair crossed into Iran, where heavy winter snowfalls forced a six-month layover in the ancient city of Tabriz.
An epic crossing of the deserts of eastern Iran at last brought the pair and their disintegrating chariot to the Pakistani garrison town of Quetta, gateway to fabled Afghanistan.
Their encounters here include such gems as Terence, the limp-wristed former British colonel now running a seedy bar.
The 1992 English-language edition of The Way of the World comes with an enthusiastic forward by the great (and now late) traveller and adventurer Patrick Leigh Fermor. That enough is recommendation enough to look out for a copy.
Postscript: In 1957 six British students in two Land Rovers set forth on the grandly-titled Oxford & Cambridge Far Eastern Expedition. Buoyed by generous corporate sponsorship, this became the first – and for many years the last – expedition to succeed in crossing Burma and continuing down the Malay Peninsula to Singapore. Their story is told in Tim Slessor’s First Overland.
This post was contributed by Philip Game.
We’re staying right in the heart of Berlin, on the 19th floor of a refurbished apartment complex on Leipziger Strasse in the Mitte or Central district.
Two U-Bahn (Underground) stations lie within a few minutes’ walk. Strangely though, the 2-stop journey to the gleaming new glass-and-steel Hauptbahnhof (central station) requires a tortuous transfer at the gloomy old Friedrichstrasse station. Why so disjointed?
And whatever happened to Unter den Linden, that once-grand boulevard running east from the Brandenburg Gate? It was a mess when we came last year, and much of it still is.
Such questions do have answers. Today’s Berlin makes better sense as you come to appreciate the city’s tortured history and the apparent determination to reunite East and West. Unter den Linden remains a construction site while work continues to restore the missing links in the U-Bahn (underground train) network.
Berlin’s idiosyncratic personality is said to date back to the Cold War days, when young West Germans made their way to West Berlin to enjoy free tuition and exemption from military service. West Berliners lived day-to-day alongside a hostile presence, the Wall and the regime behind it.
Today, the Berlin Wall has all but vanished, although token stretches remain as canvasses for street artists too young to remember life in a divided city (including the East Side Gallery and the Mauerpark, or Wall Park, in the gritty Prenzlauer Berg district).
If you weren’t born yesterday, and remember when the Iron Curtain collapsed 25 years ago, do visit Berlin whilst you can still witness vestiges of the old, alongside the new.
These guys at the Cisarua Refugee Learning Centre, in the green hills above Bogor in West Java, Indonesia, are learning how to play Aussie Rules football. Unless Australia changes its hard-hearted attitude towards refugees, this could well be the nearest they ever get to becoming what used to be called “New Australians”. How is it that Australia has become a world leader in institutionalised cruelty towards refugees and asylum seekers?