Unlonely Planet

Unlonely Planet - Billy Curry has not seen much of the world and decides to change his four-week annual leave holiday to an around-the-world adventure. He starts with kayaking and trekking through the Himalayas then later gains an unexpected role in a Bollywood film in Bombay. The much-anticipated European summer finally arrives and Billy is a guest on a royal prince’s super yacht, runs with the bulls in Spain, and narrowly escapes the Mob in Italy. The nine-month experience is filled with many mishaps, adventures, tragedies, romance and fun-filled episodes.

Unlonely Planet

Billy Curry

Copyright © William R Curry 2012. Smashwords edition

Acknowledgements

To those that have helped me I sincerely thank you.

For the friends who provided feedback, ideas and corrections; Pete, Jodie, Uncle Mike, Deb, Rooster, Lou, Bec, Hamish, Emma Pidgon, Suzie, Mark, Vishal, Ash, Felicity, Fratsy, Thorpie, Bubs, Kirbs, Scannas, Scottie, Gez, Lisa, Pete C, Cuz and Jane. To Soz and Olly for the website. To the writing coaches, Jungle, Cuz, Kate, Joe, Perry and Alicia Williams. Julie Stanford for being a great team member. Shannon for superb cover. Rocky for your advice. Mick Moore the consultant from SA. To Kelly Smith who’s patience and support I much admire and finally to Margaret and Tik for being there.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

I have many fantastic pictures to share so I have created a website to view them.

Here is the site. http://www.unlonelyplanetthebook.com

Author note: Each anecdote is true. Some names have been changed. It’s probably for the best. Enjoy. Bc

*****

Unlonely Planet

Chapter 1 - Keeping my mind in neutral

5 pm Sunday, August 15, Ios, Greece

Twenty-four-year-old brunette, Anna, was sitting on my right as she leaned in towards me. On my left was a similar-aged attractive blonde, Tami. Both girls from Canada were in bikinis. Tami moved forward towards me with her lips leading the way. I just sat still. She completely missed me and the two girls began to kiss, slowly, just in front of my face. I had a silent chuckle to myself as this kiss had a major relevance to the unusual and memorable morning conversation. I didn’t know what to think. This was just strange. But at the same time, it was quite interesting. Their lips were sealed; both had eyes closed. It was a long and playful kiss.

The girls gradually moved back and started to giggle, like two young schoolgirls. No words were said. I was just left there in the middle, wondering. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. This type of thing doesn’t happen to me. All I had been looking forward to was going back to the room to relax.

Anna reached out with one arm, peeled away Tami’s left bikini cup, and started to caress her firm, medium-sized, tanned breast. I was left sitting there, stunned. Again I couldn’t help but quietly laugh.

As I laughed, the hot, empty bus continued on the windy, gravel road. I was sitting in the middle of the back seat. It had been a long afternoon. No one said a word. Everyone was tired from being in the sun all day and the girls had been drinking most of the afternoon.

The brakes on the old bus screamed. We had arrived at our stop, as the hot summer sun was fading over the barren, western hills. A small walk from the bus along a deserted, concrete footpath took us to our shared apartment that sat high on a hill, in the centre of a small village, on the island of Ios.

While I looked below at the inviting, deep-blue water, Tami unlocked the front door. Anna hurriedly followed her in. They moved directly to the bathroom, dropping their day bags just inside the room. I wandered in by myself. They closed the bathroom door. I could hear the shower running behind the wooden door.

The water was falling fast and I was left solo in the large, dark room. I was numb. What could I say? What could I do? Again I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t exactly know what was going on. I was alone with a new crowd of thoughts. This is great. Just great. I placed my day bag on my single bed at the far end of the simple apartment and just stood there in silence, imagining what the two girls were up to. They were probably starting to get unchanged. Too many unexpected events had unfolded throughout that afternoon. Too much had happened in too little time. The developments of the previous two days were spinning around in my mind like a carousel. I had never been in this situation before. I had to stop thinking about it. There was no point doing so. I just attempted to keep my mind in neutral as best I could.

The bathroom door opened a little.

Hey, Billy! Would you like to come in? yelled out one of the girls.

I had suspicions as to what was going on behind the door. I knew that it would have been dangerous to go in, as I was treading on thin ice. Sarah was going to be up from the beach shortly. I didn’t know whether to play my lucky hand. Or do the right thing and not go in. How did I get here again? How did I end up in this spot of bother?

Chapter 2 – Looking for more

11pm Lifesaving Club Christmas Party, Christmas Eve, Before Greece.

Scott Marsden was visiting his old hometown of Melbourne. It had been about two years since I had last seen him. He still carried the wanky American accent he had developed after living in the US for five years. We shared stories of what we had been up to, over several beers.

So why don’t you come to New York? Scottie suggested. You could stay with Cynthia and me. We have a nice couch. I’ll only charge you twenty dollars a night.

A bargain. I was more curious as to whether he was serious about charging me or not. And whether he meant AUD or greenback. I would never charge a close friend to stay with me. I wasn’t sure if he was messing with me, or whether he needed the extra money. It was this unimportant thought that consumed my mind.

Well thanks, Scottie. I’ve never planned on going to the States, but if I make it there I’d love to stay with you. We’ll see.

America was not on my list of priorities as a destination for travel. My first choice had to be Europe.

Four weeks later

My position as a sales executive at a physiotherapy supply company began to bore me. I spent most of the day in a car visiting numerous physiotherapists. Midway through the previous year I started a Masters in marketing to feed my professional development, which my job was struggling to provide. Initially the job was challenging and exciting. However after 12 months it had turned routine and I’m the type of person who becomes bored easily. I had intentions to take a four-week holiday to Europe. It would be my second visit. The first time was with the Australian Junior Sprint Kayak team. We were competing at the World Junior Championships in the Czech Republic, which was hardly a holiday. I was now starting to consider the words that Scottie and I had shared.

At 28 years old, I had not seen much of the world, partly due to a decade of vigorous domestic sporting commitments and tertiary study. I had trained intensively for seven years - eleven months of each year as a professional athlete on an amateur’s salary. Supporting myself with several part-time jobs would allow me to train twice daily with the Victorian Institute of Sport. My ultimate goal to represent my country at Olympic level was never realised, yet the sport of sprint canoeing had taught me life lessons and instilled qualities that I now realise are of greater value; qualities such as commitment, integrity and toughness. My first attempt at an education degree suffered as a result of my sporting obsession. Lectures were skipped as a part of fitting into every session prescribed by the coach. At the end of my kayaking career I started a business degree via correspondence and finished it at Monash University. The whole time I had the feeling of being left out in the travel department of my life, having not seen nor experienced what a few close friends had experienced in their late teens or early 20s. Thirty was just around the corner and the opportunity to travel properly was slowly becoming an impossible reality. If I were to go, it would have to be now or never.

I didn’t want to look back and say, Well, I wonder what it would have been like to see the world as a young lad - to have a new sense of freedom and to become worldly with knowledge and experiences. Given that I had no liabilities - no wife or children and no other financial obligations, the situation and timing were just right for me to travel. I decided that my short European vacation would now become an around-the-world adventure. Look out world. Here I come.

One of the best things about travel is the anticipation - the excitement that surrounds a trip away. You can’t help but visualise the holiday ahead. I imagined the destinations, the streets, the people and the possible recreational activities. This fascination occupied my thoughts weeks and days before departure. Does the majority of the pre-departure excitement come from looking forward to the event? Or is it from fleeing the mundane back home? I know I really look forward to trips, even if it’s a short trip to Sydney. There is a mystique about flying, going away, and the anticipation of future events that lay ahead. I guess it’s the element of something new. All I knew was that it was a topic that needed further personal research, and I was the man for the job.

Chapter 3 – Where to go?

February

How much extra is it to buy a flight from Bangkok to Nepal? I asked.

That would be another $600, replied the sales consultant at the Chadstone travel agent.

Mmm - I’m going to be better off flying with Star Alliance as they fly into Kathmandu and it will cost me nothing extra.

OK. I’ll get an around-the-world ticket with Star Alliance, please.

And which countries did you wish to travel to, sir?

That’s a bloody good question.

I knew I wanted to travel around the world, to see it and to see how others live their lives. I also wanted to participate in some local festivals. But where do you start? How can you work out what will be good, or decide where to go if you haven’t been there? It’s like a lucky dip when deciding where to go. You’re running blind. It’s hard to choose without having first tried a sample, and the number of countries in the world could be seen as too much choice. My perception of various countries was filtered by what I had seen on television and my own imagination and fascination.

The must do’s on my list were Sweden, London and I had an instinctive wish to run with the bulls in Spain. Everything else was extra and undecided. I had previously had a Swedish sports coach who happened to be a three-time Olympic gold medalist. She had brought out other athletes from Sweden to train and I was amazed at how friendly, happy and full of life they were. I suspect it wasn’t simply the fact that they were in Australia. There must have been something in their water and I wanted to try it for myself. London is a common spot for Aussies to hang out. I had some friends there and I could try my hand at some temporary work. The bulls on the other hand…well, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. It had to be some kind of truly exciting festival.

I had roughly worked out my date of departure based on researching some of the world’s festivals, when the temperature dropped in Melbourne. I knew it was time to resign from my job. A good friend of mine, Pete Wilson, a paddling friend from the surf club, was scheduled to leave Melbourne at same time, in early April. He was heading out on a small kayaking expedition in the mountains of Nepal with some of his friends. They were going to have a crack at some extreme rapids and he invited me along. This sounded like a good idea for my first stop.

I didn’t know where the hell Nepal was, let alone knew what went on there. What I did know was that starting out travelling with another person would be of great value. Especially someone with whom I really got on well, one whom I could trust and a mate who was in search of an equally good time.

Chapter 4 – NEPAL – Nameste

10.30 am Wednesday, April 14

I collected my new, blue, Caribee backpack from baggage services. I could hardly believe that the journey had begun. The feeling was foreign. A delay in processing the 60-day visa ensured that I was alone with the exception of one older guard who sat on a wooden chair, looking half asleep. To my left was a poorly signed exit. Another guard stood at its doorway. He looked almost as interested as the other. I walked through the exit passage, made a right hand turn to be confronted by eight, thin police officers, all with dark complexions, wearing dark navy uniforms and each holding long, thin, wooden sticks. It appeared to be their weapon of choice. Which seemed more amusing than scary. They were here for their security presence only. I walked beyond the walls of the airport and entered a new world. Nepal - my first stop.

The first thing I noticed outside, apart from the blinding bright sun, was the noise of the crowd that had gathered at the exit of the terminal. There were scores of Nepalese people gathered behind white plastic barricades. As individuals they yelled, shouted and waved their arms. Others would whistle continuously or in multiple short bursts. The collection of noises sounded like a combination of an excited sporting audience watching the cricket at the MCG, and the scene at the Vic Market where fruit sellers would sing out some unrecognisable phrase, something about the price of bananas. It soon became obvious that they were taxi or accommodation representatives. They continued calling out in my direction with Hellos. My eyes quickly surveyed the energetic group of short, dark people in front of me - much like a rock singer on stage looking out to the audience. I saw someone standing out, a tall Caucasian man who wore a white singlet. He was the white sheep amongst the black flock. I walked towards the crowd who were now half hostile. The closer I stood to them the more determined they were to yell at me. This noise hardly bothered me. I was busy concentrating on keeping my eyes on the white sheep as he was almost swallowed by the bustling, frantic crowd. The young Caucasian pushed his way towards the front of the eager Nepalese noisemakers.

G’day, Bill, the young guy said.

Pete, I replied.

Welcome to Nepal, he said with a big smile.

Pete Wilson, from Melbourne, aged 22, has a great, sincere smile. It comes with his model looks. Standing six-foot-two, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a natural athletic build, his physique is suited to the catwalk. His young, wrinkle-free face is hard to miss. However, Pete’s hardly the type to waste his time on parading. He’s lured to his obsession with trekking, camping and mostly getting his hands dirty in the outdoors, although his urban tastes are limited to two things - modern music and fast cars.

After negotiating the excited crowd I’m reunited with Pete behind the swarm of scalpers and scoundrels. Next to Pete was an unfamiliar, tall, skinny, curly, blonde- haired male who couldn’t have been older than twenty-two.

Bill, this is Tom Grigg from Tasmania.

Hi, Tom, I replied.

Let’s go, guys. The taxi is waiting, Pete suggested even before Tom had a chance to reply.

We arrived at the rooms that Pete and Tom had organised. They were off a backstreet located in Greater Thamel, the happening centre of Nepal’s capital, Kathmandu. The two, twin-bedded rooms were very simple. Both had yellow concrete walls, a ceiling fan, clean white sheets, well-worn brown carpet and a large window, facing west. We all left the rooms for some lunch and headed out towards the noisy main street. The streets were narrow, dirty and saturated with restaurants and shops that sold outdoor equipment, cameras, custom-made t-shirts, general clothing and jewellery. There were scores of people on the footpath who approached us and attempted to sell either one or two of the following items: Tiger Balm, oranges, trekking tours, rafting tours, large hunting knifes, sculpted elephants, hash, chai tea and various strange-looking, small, local musical instruments, as well as craft items. Loud and continuous noise came from car horns, bells on bikes and from yelling street vendors. It seemed like this was the daily festival, if not a ritual.

One definite thing that stood out, that also seemed like a daily activity, was a sight I was not used to seeing. Sure I hadn’t seen this much excitement on the street before, but this was really different. The two other first-timer visitors to Nepal, Pete and Tom, also confirmed this behaviour as being particularly unfamiliar.

Adult men were holding hands. Everywhere. Looking down the street I could see middle-aged men hand in hand or with arms around each other. The practice seemed common. These men didn’t seem homosexual either. They were dressed conservatively and spoke quietly. I found this a little confusing. I couldn’t help wanting to find out what the story was and why this was so common.

It was during lunch that we decided to visit Patan, Durbar Square - rumoured to be the home of Nepalese fine art and architecture. The taxi ride to Patan was a blast; well, more like a scene out of James Bond. There were virtually no road rules and it seemed that every car and motorbike had an invisible force field surrounding it, explaining why there was no evidence of recent crashes in this organised chaos. After dodging other cars, motorbikes, bicycles, pedestrians, runaway chickens and wandering cows all on the roads, we arrived at Patan.

We stepped from the small taxi and spontaneously a young, neatly dressed Nepalese gentleman directly approached us and asked if we were interested in hiring a local tour guide. Sam was his English name, and he sold us the idea that he would provide a comprehensive commentary of the history, facts and mystery of Patan. We unanimously agreed to hire his services. The three of us began to lead the way and started to walk to the obvious entry, near the older, wooden temples only metres away.

Stop, please follow me, announced Sam, the guide.

He began to lead us in the opposite direction.

OK. What’s going on here? Is he about to take us on a wild goose chase?

Tom, Pete and I all looked at each other in surprise. I shrugged my shoulders and we began to follow.

We walked fifty metres to a small street where several young, local children were playing with a well-used rubber ball.

Nameste (Hello), the children said to the guide.

We wandered through shadowed, narrow laneways, ascended some clay stairs, and suddenly found ourselves on a flat rooftop that overlooked the sacred village. We had a postcard view of the many, large, wooden temples and the street life below just as the sun was beginning to fall. Pete and I quickly grabbed our new cameras and began shooting.

Our digital cameras were capturing the images of the old temples made of dark brown timber and red clay bricks, the colour that Uluru appears during the day. There seemed to be fifty various sized and shaped temples in the old area that would occupy two football ovals. Some were 40 m high, while others were only two storeys high but were long and wide. Each temple had great design detail and would have taken years to make. Many of them had three levels of roofing. They were pyramid-shaped and stacked upon each other in order of height, with the largest on the bottom. The peak of each layer intersected the next level above it, with the smallest complete pyramid being at the top. There were old men sitting on the front steps of most of the temples. Were these people the Nepalese unemployed? I didn’t bother to ask. What our educated and informed guide, Sam, did tell us was that there were many stories behind the architecture and the purpose of each building. Each tale was related to one of the Hindi gods.

Being baptised a Catholic I knew of only one god. This may seem narrow-minded compared to the Nepalese, as they have many gods, some good and some bad. There are some bizarre stories surrounding them too, like the Ganesh god, for example. Ganesh is a god who appears in the physical form of a seated human male with an elephant’s head. The story goes that a very powerful man left his wife at home while he was away on a short business trip. This powerful man had a great passion for his wife. Having returned home one evening he could hear voices from the bedroom. In a fury of aggression this man snuck into the dark bedroom and quickly removed the head of the assumed gigolo. This assumed gigolo was none other than his own son who had gone in for a cuddle with his mum. Having realised the horror of what he had done, the father had a great idea. He decided to replace his son’s head with the closest living head nearby (besides his wife’s). He went to the nearest animal, which just happened to be an elephant. He was obviously having a bad day. He quickly attached the elephant’s head to the body of his only son and the Ganesh god was born.

On the theme of multiplicity, one standout temple was the Kama Sutra temple. This temple contained a plethora of wooden carvings of various people and animals in very mind-boggling positions. The theory states that in order to increase the population size, the gods requested that people attempt all fifty recommended sexual positions in order to reach a pinnacle state of nirvana. What remains of this tale is a 30 m tall temple with around twenty wooden carved scenes on all four sides of the temple. We were astonished at some of the never-imagined positions and techniques. You could call it a whole new level of sex education. With our history and sex lesson complete, we tipped Sam and returned to the hotel by taxi at sunset.

Waiting for us on the first level balcony of the hotel was the fourth and final member of the all-Australian group. The dark, curly-haired male was seated at a small, round plastic table, his head buried in a book.

Bill, this is Thorpie, Pete introduced me.

Pete had already told me on the taxi ride about the Tasmanian named James Thorpe. This was Thorpie’s third time in Nepal. He was a highly skilled and experienced white-water kayak, raft and trekking guide. My first impressions were that he looked very much like Johnny Knoxville from the American comedy movie Jackass. The medium-framed, twenty-three-year-old even wore the same sunglasses, aviators, that Johnny Knoxville would be constantly found in.

G’day, Billy. So how do you like Nepal? inquisitively asked Thorpie.

In that moment I had met our unannounced leader. I could feel Thorpie had an aura of confidence and casualness. He seemed to have wisdom beyond his years. You could tell by his genuine smile he was happy to be in Nepal.

That night we dined at Thorpie’s favourite restaurant, a three-storey establishment in the middle of Thamel - the thriving hub of Nepal. The four of us sat at a table on the rooftop. The sky was dark and warm. We were surrounded by continuous noise in the form of car horns, policemen’s whistles, mixed with faint Italian-sounding music. The narrow, single-lane roads below were packed with too many cars, rickshaws and pedestrians, which ensured that this street melody would be played over and over. During the course of dinner I found out that Thorpie had previously worked in Nepal as a kayak guide. During his last trip he had established a professional network of local kayakers and outdoor guides. It seemed that Thorpie was well connected here and knew some of the local language, traditions and tricks.

Thorpie answered our many questions, including why so many of the local men held hands. He confirmed this behaviour was widespread among boys, young male adults, and even older men. Apparently it was a sign of close friendship. This seemed to make sense, although it’s something that would be frowned upon back home. He assured us that it had nothing to do with being gay. This prompted a few questions of my own.

Why do we make such a big deal about things that seem so unusual to us Westerners? I’m sure that I held hands with guys during primary school or when I was a young child. When did things change? When were my thoughts corrupted along with the rest of mainstream society? We finished the meal with four large bottles of beer and general discussions of kayaking, Nepal, Tasmania and the upcoming expeditions. We paid for the meal and proceeded to the reputable Fire Club for a late night drink.

The Fire Club was apparently the largest nightspot in Kathmandu. We all climbed the dark, concrete staircase that led from the main street, and entered the club through two, dark, wooden doors. Upon arriving, the first obvious landmark was a