501 Places

It's always exciting to explore a new city

‘How do you eat yours?’ So asks the successful ad campaign for Cadbury’s (or should that be Kraft’s?) Creme Eggs. The point being that faced with eating the same egg shaped piece of chocolate, people will adopt a disturbing diversity of approaches to the task.

And surely the same observation applies to visiting a new city. You arrive at your accommodation and drop your bags. The day is still young and it’s time to explore. What is your strategy? Here are just a few of the most obvious approaches. Maybe you fit into one of these. Or maybe there’s a big group I’ve missed out entirely?

1. The military general. The map is pulled out in the hotel and double checked. A series of points have been carefully marked out, and a line drawn to join the dots. You know exactly where you’ll go and what you want to see, and you will follow this route come hell or high water. You have even chosen a place where you will eat, and know the time at which you will reach this spot. Reservations booked of course.

2. The bar hopper. You have the names of the favourite hang-outs as listed in your guidebook, and you immediately head for these watering holes. You’ll step out for some fresh air and visit the nearby sights if you have time, but if the craic is good then what’s the point? It’s the people who make a place memorable and you’re surrounded by a great crowd already, so why leave?

3. The tourist in denial. You have read the many stories warning you not to look like a tourist. So you have your map, but you never look at it in public, only letting it see the light of day when safely locked in a toilet cubicle. You won’t ask for directions in case people pick up that you’re not from round these parts and cart you away to be slayed as a human sacrifice. So you go from memory, having studied the map in detail before you left, and rely on frequent trips to the bathroom to recheck your coordinates.

4. The fearless wanderer. Not for you the predictability of a map or a guidebook. You’re straight into the heart of the action, and the smells and sights will guide you on your way. You don’t care if you won’t see the must-see sights. Within an hour you’ll be deeply engrossed in a conversation with local people, sharing photos of your family and being invited to eat the insides of a goat that will be slaughtered in your honour at a mountain cabin.

5. The useless planner. You want to be organised, and you’ve spent ages reading the guide books and studying the maps. You set off with a strong idea of what you want to see and how you are going to get there. And then it all goes wrong. You get distracted by a food stall that serves something you can’t resist, and then you get lost and end up somewhere you shouldn’t be. When you get out your map you realise you’re miles from where you thought you were, and you end up looking at glum suburbs and getting back to your lodgings exhausted and having seen little of what you’d planned.

I suspect we can identify a little of ourselves in many of these styles. For myself I would have to confess to fitting mostly into the last category. I don’t know why I bother planning. Last year we arrived in Damascus and as we were staying less than a mile from the Old City I decided to leave the guide book in the hotel and just make our way there and explore the narrow lanes and the souk. We spent over an hour wandering a series of narrow lanes, thinking that it really wasn’t that nice and wondering why there were no tourists. It eventually clicked that we were in the wrong part of the city altogether! Thankfully we had three more days to find the real Old City…

View from Tadapani guest house

The latest guest post on 501 Places is written by Kathryn Bullock, a travel industry entrepreneur who has just returned from a solo trip to Nepal. Kathryn shares with us a glimpse of her 6 day Himalayan trek and gives some valuable insights into her experiences of visiting Nepal as a solo female traveller.

Following his successful jaunt around Laos on trail bikes last year, my partner Dave proudly announced he was back off to Thailand this February. He would travel with his biking buddy for a jaunt around the hill tribe villages on a trail bike. I prefer more active holidays so I decided it was time to book a ticket to the country I’d wanted to go to for years: the stunning Himalayan kingdom of Nepal.

Nepali family at lakeside village

As it was too late to persuade a friend to join me I thought, why not just book it anyway? It’s been all of 24 years since my last solo adventure around Indonesia so I was well out of practice. I loved every minute of it! I had read that as a woman if you want to meet people you just need to sit at a bar and not sit at a table. So I tried this at a little bar in Kathmandu and I met some really friendly locals.

Bandipur child

The city is overwhelming and I was a bit concerned about getting lost the first night. It’s such a labyrinth of small lanes which all look the same and are jammed with signposts of every shape and colour. I did some reading ahead of time and booked the first two nights in Kathmandu at the charming Hotel Courtyard which was blissfully quiet. I left the rest to chance. The freedom this gave me was liberating. I stepped into a small travel agency and had my ticket to Pokhara booked and paid for within minutes for the next morning. I enjoyed the first glimpse of the Himalayas in their full glory peaking above the smoggy clouds over the Kathmandu valley as I gazed out from our tiny Guna air plane.

Dal and I at Poon Hill

On reaching Pokhara I explored the trail on the ridge between Serangkot Hill and Nau Danda, watching the paragliders in full flight. February is the best month for thermals in this dreamy place. I hired a bike to explore the lakeside villages and was invited into a friendly farmer’s home for tea and a chat, whilst we enjoyed the last of the sun’s rays on his terrace, watching the world go by.

The 6 day trek around the Ghorepani and Chomrung circuit was a real highlight. My expert guide Dal is a seasoned trekker and recounted enchanting stories of seeing snow leopard in the Mustang Valley and other amazing trekking adventures through snow drifts. The views from the guest houses in the early morning sun were breathtaking and everyone must have heard a series of excited exclamations as I stood on the balcony each morning taking in the views. You have to earn this treat as you climb the very steep staircases for what seem hours on end – but they really are worth it! A tip is to make sure you take at least one walking pole or ideally two, as they do help especially up to Poon Hill (3200m) on the ice for the very special Annapurna panorama at sunrise.

View from Poon Hill at sunrise

On returning to Kathmandu I decided on the slower route back and stopped off at the charming medieval village of Bandipur which is nestled in the hills. I loved the peace and quiet of the place. I imagined that I was living there in medieval times as it was so dark and quiet at night with the power cut and traffic banned in the village centre. I also stopped off at the original Nepali capital of Gorka and climbed another 1500 stairs to appreciate the views from the Hindu temple above the town, and saw the women preparing the goat sacrifice for the gods.

Main Street Bandipur

On coming back to Kathmandu I stopped in at the very friendly Everest Irish pub in Thamel to see a great Nepali blues band I had seen on arrival. I encouraged some new Dutch trekking friends to come with me and we had an amazing night of blues magic. The band had been thrown in prison and beaten up for playing just 10 minutes after a noise curfew at 10pm last year and  have the scars to prove the brutality of the local police.

I learnt a lot from my new Nepali friends about life in this country and I’ve already bought my maps to plan my next trek. I would book another trip in a heartbeat. The only challenge now is to knuckle down to some work to pay for it and stop day dreaming about my trip.

For all the pictures on the places described above and more in Nepal, please visit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kb_adventures

Kathryn Bullock is a frequent traveller and an ecommerce expert and entrepreneur who has worked in the travel industry for the past 25 years. She is now working on a new business venture in social media for travel and is a regular blogger for business owners at:  www.enterprisebritain.com and her blogs can be found at http://anothereb.blogspot.com/

Outside the laundry shop, Phnom Penh

I don’t know what it is about travelling, but we seem to be particularly aware of the extreme levels of service when we are away from home. We all have stories of the appallingly bad; whether it is imcompetence, incomprehension or service given with added undiluted hostility. Occasionally though we also experience the very highest standards of service, and often it’s found in the places where we least expect it.

One such case for us was in the suburb of Phnom Penh where we staying over Christmas. We were overdue for a laundry day, and needless to say the hotel we were staying in was not an option (it would have come to around $50; exactly what we paid for a night’s stay). Walking through the neighbourhood we didn’t find any of the $1/1kg laundry signs that were so prevalent in the tourist hot-spots of Laos. But we did find a place that looked as though they might wash our clothes (a general store with a clothes line hanging limply from a streetside pole along the side of the shop). I tried to ask the family seated around a table in the shop whether they do laundry but none of them understood a word and after many smiles and blank faces we walked away.

Undeterred, I returned later with a rucksack full of dirty clothes. It must have been around 5kg worth, and the main man greeted us and tipped out our laundry, carefully separating it into neat piles and all the while tapping numbers into his calculator. I feared the worst while he added the items and he seemed to add on many extra fugures before showing me the final figure: $4.81. I nodded with a poker face and he signalled I should come back at 8 o’clock the next morning.

And here’s where he excelled. When we walked past the shop that evening, we saw our washing hanging in the street. We went up and found that it was completely dry, so asked him if we could take it there and then. He was not happy for us to take it as he signalled that it wasn’t finished. After much persuasion he allowed Sam to take a couple of items she needed and he hung on to the rest. When I collected the remaining clothes in the morning, every item was neatly pressed and carefully folded. He was full of gratitude and the family later waved and smiled warmly at us when we passed the shop again during our stay.

Why have I shared this very ordinary story? For me he personified what it means to excel in delivering customer service. He could teach many businesses much bigger than his own about the essence of customer service. The pride he took in doing the job to the highest standards was striking. He could have easily let us take our clothes away and spare himself the extra task of ironing. We would have been happy customers at that point. But it wasn’t enough for him to leave it at that. He insisted on finishing the job properly, whether we appreciated it or not. How many of us will go the extra mile when our own pride in the quality of our work is the only reward?

I view tipping with a sense of distate, and see it as a sad legacy of a class system that should have died out decades ago. In a nutshell I don’t see why service staff aren’t paid a decent salary so they don’t have to beg to customers in order to make up for their employer’s shortfall. I’ve written on the subject already and won’t repeat my previous rants but I did recently find an example of a tipping policy that seemed to be novel, unobtrusive and above all else, highly successful.

Those who have spent any significant time in Laos recently may have found their way to Joma Bakery. It’s 100% geared to the falang market, and the prices will exclude not only the average Lao person but also many a hardcore backpacker. They do however offer a fresh cool interior, and their AC cafe is a welcome relief from the heat of the day in Luang Prabang or Vientiane. Their cheescakes and shakes are fabulous, and I have no doubt that if they produced the same stuff in London or New York they’d be constantly packed with regular customers.

Joma have a focus on their community involvement in Laos and Vietnam, and the posters in the cafe display their involvement with local villages (like Starbucks but it appears a bit more real). There is a Tips jar next to the till, and each time we visited the cafe in Luang Prabang it was fairly full of cash. We heard that this was not always the case, and had changed dramatically as a result of a suggestion by the local manager.

Tips had typically totalled around $15 a month; not much between 6-7 staff, even in Laos where average salaries are little more than $30 a month. The manager suggested to the staff that they start a policy where 50% of tips are donated to the local community projects. You might think that this would be resisted, given the difference that even a couple of dollars can make in a month. But the staff embraced the idea, and the policy was implemented. A sign was placed on the Tips jar, and the effect was immediate.

People came in, enjoyed the service (it was excellent) and wanted to tip. Knowing that their money would not only help the local baristas but also the local communities in the area, the tips rolled in and in the first month they collected $300: a great contribution to the community and a ten-fold increase in their tips.

No pressure, no suggestions, just a ‘tip what you like, if you like’ jar on the counter. As a result people tipped willingly, and not through fear of a likely confrontation. A small step, and such a big difference to the staff and others who benefitted from their initiative.

Akha women, northern Thailand - notice the Coca-Cola T-shirt?

In SE Asia, and no doubt elsewhere in the world, there is a growing trend for tourists to visit ‘tribal villages’. These are marketed as communities of people living in accordance with their ancient traditions. By inference, we are encouraged to believe that the state provides protection for these minority groups and that we, as tourists, can come face to face with a different culture while helping them financially by our visit.

We visited a number of ethnic villages during our time in Thailand and Laos. Most were normal working villages, but the most uncomfortable by far was a hilltribe village tourist centre just outside Chiang Rai. We hadn’t been so keen to go, but our driver had already taken us to the brilliant Wat Rong Khun and we had hiked up to a waterfall in the nearby hills. With a couple of hours to kill before our bus to the Lao border, we agreed to her plan of going to see the tribal village centre.

Our reaction was purely personal, but for us it was a place we didn’t want to hang around. Made up of four tribal communities, each one separated by no more than 100 metres along a footpath, this complex housed people from these ethnic groups who would normally have a large swathe of land on which to subsist. Here, penned in like animals in a zoo, they waited for passing tourists to wander up to their station. They would then perform a dance or offer scarves and trinkets for sale, in the hope of raising a few baht. Others may have found the same experience to be a positive one, but I couldn’t wait to get out and just felt wrong for even being part of something that made me feel instinctively uncomfortable.

Lao village

I have since read numerous articles, including this excellent piece by Tony at Contemporary Nomad about the compulsory resettlement of tribal communities in Thailand, and the overall policy in neighbouring countries of forceably integrating these communities into mainstream society. This is clearly a hugely complex subject and not one which I would pretend to understand. In our particular visit, did these people benefit from being in their enclosure and capturing a few crumbs from the passing farang? Financially they probably do benefit (although I wonder how much of the 300 baht entrance fee reaches them, and how much makes its way into ‘other places’). Is this the life they would lead if given the choice? I somehow doubt it.

We did visit other villages along the Mekong in Laos that left us with a more positive feeling. Sure, I learned that financial arrangements were made between the river boat company and the village elders – call it a landing fee. That’s perfectly ok. When we wandered into the villages we were mobbed by curious children and greeted with reserved smiles by the adults. Those encounters were far more pleasant, although even here there is evidence to suggest a dark side to the recent history of resettlement of ethnic groups along the river by the Lao government.

What do we do as tourists in these situations? Do we visit the tribal cultures in these environments hoping that a little or our money does make it into their hands, or we keep away, stopping the demand for such circuses, but subjecting these people to the alternative, whatever that is? Who benefits in the long run? Not the questions that the tourism chiefs would want visitors to leave with, but if ecotourism is to evolve maybe we will gain easier access to the answers.