Friday 21 December 2018

The Real Experience

The Guardian has a piece today on what to buy the super rich for Christmas. It turns out the answer is a luxury experience: a special trip to Antarctica, behind-the-scenes at Jimmy Choo's.

Well, I might put some money aside for a trip to Antarctica. But it won't be full-on luxury. And in fact, Antarctica will have to compete pretty hard with something I got for free: a walk along the shores of Iceland's Jokulsarlon, at midnight, completely alone, listening to the calls of wild geese and the crack and suck of breaking ice-calves in the lagoon. I'd pitched my coffin of a tent behind the little cafe, and after the tourists left, I had the place entirely to myself in the dim, strange light of the not-quite-night.

Which leads me on to where you get the real experience. I know I've rushed some countries. I was about to say I'd rushed Laos, really only seen it as a tourist, and only seen Luang Prabang and Vientiane - I had a motorcycle crash that put me out of action, and it was back to Bangkok for dental work and effective painkillers (not available in Laos, but hearty thanks to the villager who put me on the back of a truck and took to me hospital, and the excellent health team in Phonsavan who stitched me up). And yet just by dint of taking these cities gently and slowly, and walking everywhere,

  • I chatted to the young curator at the photo museum who showed me with great delight a photo of himself as a monk, taken a few years before;
  • I got invited to dance at a wedding in the suburb over the river;
  • I sat and watched a man make a cage for his rooster - he didn't speak English, but it didn't matter - and had a cup of tea with him afterwards;
  • I met pilots from all the different Asean countries who were visiting Pha That Luang after a two day conference;
  • and I was invited to share lunch in one of the temples on Buddha's birthday.
All of which things happened to me, just because I was taking things slowly, keeping my eyes open, and keeping my mind open, too. 

I've had a tour of Pago railway station in Myanmar by the second station-master; two days later I met Burma's sole Rastafarian and we gave an impromtpu performance of 'Get up, stand up' on the platform. 

Sometimes the guide books tell you to avoid great local festivals - it's difficult to get a hotel, there are crowds, it's not for tourists. I was about to take that kind of advice and jump on the bus at Palitana when I changed my mind, and stayed for the great mela,  walking 18 km with a few thousand Jains, cheered with cries of  'Jai Adinath!' and supplies of water and cool towels when things started to get tough. At Pachmarhi, I climbed Chauragarh with the pilgrims at Shivatri Mela and made friends with a brass band from Hyderabad, and ended up jamming with them back at their camp (I had no instrument, but I can carry a tune).

None of these experiences were really planned. None of them involved the mediation of a tour group of facilitator. And they sure as heck weren't super-luxury.

Sometimes you have to get up before sunrise. Sometimes you have to stay up late. Sometimes you have to put in some physical effort.

You might need to know how to read a map. You might need to put up with some discomfort, or with spartan living conditions. You might need to travel light.  You have to put up with buses that refuse to take you, or let you on and then sit there for two hours, or trains that are six hours late; and sometimes you crash in what looks like a great hotel, only to find that the temple or mosque next door starts broadcasting at four in the morning.

But the big luxury you need? It's not being super rich. It's affording the time. Whether, like me, you're lucky enough to be able to take six months off, or whether you have two weeks but apply them to getting to know one place, rather than whistle-stop-touring ten.

So if I had a super-rich friend, I'd give them one luxury. Three weeks of travelling light, and travelling rough, and just seeing what happens. The ultimate luxury.