Books: Video Night in Kathmandu

I bought my copy of 'Video Night in Kathmandu' some time back, maybe it was five years ago, I honestly can't remember. This was after I'd given up looking for it, having spent months scouring all the bookshops in Kuala Lumpur and failing to find it anywhere.

Then about a year after I stopped searching, I saw the book in a store right here in KL. I'd heard of what a good writer Pico Iyer was, so I bought it and started reading immediately. 

I'm thoroughly ashamed to say that I didn't complete 'Video Night'. I read the first two essays on Bali and Tibet but never went beyond that. It was strange, but when I read the book then, I didn't like it (sorry). 

I found Pico Iyer a bit too analytical, too labourious, too heavy. He annoyed me. I knew he was brilliant, but I didn't like him. I remember thinking: Why does he have to go so deep into Bali? It's a beautiful island; why does he have to over-analyse so much? 

I eventually stopped reading. All these years, his book stayed on my shelf - unfinished, reminding me how unsophisticated and uncultured I was. How I was unable to appreciate good writing.

Then all of a sudden Pico Iyer kept popping up everywhere- in Boston.com, The Los Angeles Times, The New York Times and I'm sure in a whole lot of other places I didn't know about. These articles were such good reads - well-written and full of insight, wisdom and clever stuff, and I thought, Wait, hang on. Hang on a sec.

I need to start reading him again. 

And so I did. A few days ago, I re-read 'The Underground Overland Invasion', his piece on Tibet and fell in love with it. Properly, this time. 

And yes, he really is brilliant. Pico Iyer writes beautifully. You just need to wait a little for me to tell you just how beautiful. 

Books: The Great Railway Bazaar

I've written about books here and here, but I thought I should go back a little and have a look at those which first inspired me to travel. In short, books which told me to wake up, get off my behind and see the world around me.

Every self-respecting traveller has heard of Paul Theroux and his classic, 'The Great Railway Bazaar' (1975), the book which kick-started a new style of travelling- one that encouraged you to take your time and not be too obsessed about having a final destination or how to get there. Theroux made train travel extremely sexy, in fact, he pretty much made it the only way to travel if you wanted to be taken seriously as a true traveller.

In this book, Theroux takes us through an epic train journey which begins in London's Victoria Station, snakes through Europe and Asia and ends on the Trans-Siberian Railway to Moscow.

Just to give you a rough idea of his route, I'll say that again: He takes a train from London, England to Paris (France), then gets on the famed Orient Express to Venice (Italy)-Belgrade (former Yugoslavia)- Istanbul (Turkey). He then proceeds to Tehran (Iran) to Meshed, then takes a bus and plane to Kabul (Afghanistan). He then jumps on the rails again to Peshawar (Pakistan) on to Amritsar (India)-Delhi-Mumbai-Madras (now Chennai), then hops on a boat to Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) to Galle-Colombo. He goes back to Madras-Calcutta-then on to Rangoon (Burma, now Myanmar) to Maymyo. His next leg is from Vientiane (Laos)-Bangkok (Thailand)-Butterworth (Malaysia)-Kuala Lumpur-Singapore, after which he takes a ship to Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City, in Vietnam)-Hue-Da Nang. This is followed by a ship to Japan bound for Tokyo, after which he moves on to Hakodate-Sapporo-Kyoto, then from Osaka to Yokohama. From Yokohoma, he takes another ship to Nakhoda (Russia), then a train to Khabarovsk from where he rides on the Trans-Siberian to Moscow.

It's impossible to not be inspired, not just by the nature of the journey, but also by the book itself. Paul Theroux is a great traveller in that he's observant and pays attention to the things and people around him, but his ability to put his experiences down on paper and in the process take us there with him, makes him a great travel writer. Not everyone likes him; some find him judgmental and harsh in his observations, but I didn't get that here.

Theroux describes the places he sees in great detail, but what stands out in 'The Great Railway Bazaar' are the people he meets along the way. This was one book which made me realise that travel is not always about the places you go to or even the journey- instead, on most occasions it's about the people you meet. Theroux says it himself on the second page: "I sought trains; I found passengers".

The good news is that while writing this I found my old copy of the 'The Great Railway Bazaar'. I think it's time to give it another read.

Chat-up lines in 15 languages

Yes, there really is a way for you to learn chat-up lines and other "raunchy phrases" in more than 15 languages:

This is a really funny book which I bought for the heck of it (Really). The book is divided into chapters depending on the circumstances and what you're trying to say -'Basic Chat-Up Lines', 'Date', 'Foreplay' and 'The Morning After', for example.

The old-fashioned yet comes-across-as-sincere-and-friendly, "Do you come here often?", for instance, is 'Tu viens ici souvent?' in French, 'Vieni spesso qui?' in Italian and 'Kommer du hit ofta?' in Swedish.

If you think that's just too lame for you, try 'Ist es hier warm, oder bist du nur heiß?'  if you happen to be in Germany ("Is it hot in here, or is it just you?").

Under 'Advanced Chat-Up Lines', there's the smooth "Apart from being sexy, what do you do for a living?" which translates as 'Oltre ad assere sexy, che lavoro fai?' (Italian), 'Wat doe je voor de kost, behalve sexy zijn?' (Dutch) and 'Aparte de a ser sexy, ¿a que te dedicas?' (Spanish). If you try this, remember to raise one eyebrow and stare intently into your subject for full effect.

The cringe-worthy yet hilarious "Come to me, lady, and me slay you with my sword of love," is 'Allez ma belle, laisse-moi te transpercer avec mon epay d'amour'. I took French and I can tell you that 'transpercer' also means 'to pierce' or skewer. Ouch. Doesn't sound like fun.

Equivalents have also been thoughtfully provided in German: 'Komm zu mir, edles Fräulein, und lass dich von meinem Schwert der Liebe erlegen' and Czech: 'Pojd' ke mně, má dámo, a dovol mi, abych tě st'al svým mečem lásky'.

The all-important "Will you untie me now, please?" is translated as 'Elli di plis ddatod fi nawr?' in Welsh and 'Quer desata-me agora?' in Portuguese.

Other laugh-out-loud moments: "Now keep the rhythm by singing 'Dancing Queen'"- 'Ahora, para no perder el ritmo, canta 'Dancing Queen'' (Spanish) and 'Og hold sa rytmen ved at synge 'Dancing Queen' '(Danish), "I'll post the handcuff keys when I get home"- 'Ti invio per posta le chiavi delle manette appena torno a casa' (Italian) and "Quick, my wife/husband! Into the cupboard!" - 'Fort! Min hustru/mann! In i garderaben!' (Swedish).  

Try and get your hands on this one- whether it's simply for a good laugh or if you really intend to have sex in every city. Also available on Kindle.

Istanbul: Memories of A City

I found Orhan Pamuk's 'Istanbul: Memories of a City' at a bookshop on my last day in Istanbul. This is a joke, I thought, as I turned the book over in my hands. A cruel joke. I'm leaving tomorrow, and I find this today.

When you fall hopelessly in love with a city and rely on your intuition and two feet to get around, you will remember every step you take, months after you leave.

I can still recall the route I took every day to get to town. Straight out of the hotel, turn left and stop and chat with the guys at the Rumist Cafe. Turn right at the grocer's with the apricots and pomegranates which I kept telling myself to buy, but never did. Go past the ceramics shopkeeper who always said hello to me every single day.Walk up that slope where the cobblestones begin until I see that shop with 'Urartu Carpets' in the window, which is when I would look to my left because that would be where I'll catch my first glimpse of the Blue  Mosque, glimmering in the morning light.

I see these images in my head right now and I'm not sure whether it's my brain that's remembering, or my feet.

But there's more to my story than being able to recall how I got around. In his book, Pamuk, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2006, confesses that he's never left Istanbul since the day he was born. “I’ve never left Istanbul, never left the houses, streets, and neighbourhoods of my childhood,” he says.

He writes of growing up in a large apartment block where his entire extended family lived, of walks along the Bosphorus and long drives with his family into the countryside. 

He also talks about an emotional state called hüzün, a combination of melancholy, nostalgia, loss and sadness. Hüzün has spiritual roots - Pamuk states that for the Sufis, hüzün is the spiritual anguish one feels from not being close enough to God- but he posits that everyone in Istanbul suffers from a melancholy which stems from the city's decline. 

Pamuk sees Istanbul as a shadow of its former self, a city which has fallen into decay after the defeat of the Ottoman Empire but especially so after Turkey became a republic. Istanbul, he says, used to be "the centre of the world, the brightest star in Europe," something which Istanbullus (the city's residents) are constantly reminded of. 

It's from being besieged by these reminders- seeing old Ottoman villas by the Bosphorus, defaced centuries-old fountains with missing gold taps and clock towers in ruins - that this melancholy, this hüzün creeps in. 'We used to be such a great city. What has happened to us?' a modern-day Istanbullu might ask himself in despair.

This book is essentially a story of a man who loves Istanbul and what it represents but it's only right at the end when you realise why he does- it was because of Istanbul that Pamuk became a writer. And his love for the city draws you in- when he mentions street names, landmarks or little things like bread, olives and goat's cheese for breakfast, people who have been to Istanbul begin to remember and find themselves yearning to return.

One thing though- reading in depth about a place after you've left it can have serious side effects. Now that I've been to Istanbul and left, I think I understand what hüzün feels like. 

Ditch that guidebook, grab something else!

Guidebooks like Lonely Planet, Frommer's and The Rough Guide are usually the first books you grab when you start planning a trip. And why not? When they come complete with suggested itineraries and packing lists, they clearly help you focus on what's important. What I like to do after I've more or less gotten an idea of what to do where, however, is to get rid of those guidebooks and look for other reading material.

If you're hoping to come away from your trips with a more all-rounded experience, have a look at travel literature or books related to the language, culture or history of the place you're going to. If you're going to India, for instance, have a look at Age of Kali and City of Djinns by Scottish writer William Dalrymple. Both are extremely well-written, with insights in the politics, history and social order of India.

In Age of Kali, Dalrymple writes about his travels around the subcontinent while City of Djinns focuses on Delhi. I love both, but Djinns stands out as being absolutely stunning, a work of art which peels away every possible layer of Delhi. When you read it, you'll see how the ending brings you right back to Delhi's origins, and therefore, the beginning. If the cover of a book is just as important as what's inside, look for the copies published by Flamingo like I did, which are illustrated by the writer's wife Olivia.

If you're visiting the US for the first time and interested in how American English developed- and trust me, there's a lot to be interested in here- I cannot recommend anything more than Bill Bryson's Made in America.....heck, just read it anyway, whether or not you're going to the US. Students of English literature will probably turn their noses up and say that it's not 'original English', but this a culture which gave us words like 'gas guzzler', 'G-string' (which had Native American origins), 'black market' and 'going haywire'. Hey, even the phrase 'keeping a stiff upper lip', is an Americanism.

Going to Tibet or China? Grab a copy of Ma Jian's Red Dust, which is banned in the author's own home country. It's impossible not to sympathise with Ma, who buys a one-way train ticket from Beijing after his marriage falls apart and spends the next three years walking and hitch-hiking his way through Tibet in search of himself. The result is essentially a travel memoir, but one which is highly political and painfully honest, yet disturbing and sad at the same time (he would determine his state of health from the colour and stream of his pee). Red Dust is beautifully written and also winner of the Thomas Cook Travel Book Award 2002.