Tender Is The Snout

Delving further into the recesses of the memory of my last trip to Thailand, smack in the middle of monsoon season and as a bleary eyed Student (with a capital S, possibly also in italics) the aromas were definitely something that stuck with me. but things my English borne young snout had not yet encountered. These included pungent meaty snacks being prepared on the street, the kind of sticky decay that only seems to inhabit the crease between pavements and roads and the odd baby elephant lumbering down the Khao San road. I remember all of these smells heightened tenfold by the dense, warm air that wound its way around everything and into the aforementioned tender, young snout. This may not sound particularly pleasant but to a nose used to smelling everything (and usually only things like bus tickets and salt and vinegar snacks) through English winter damp or crispy summertime it really was a nasal awakening.

I was cheered by a chance to continue this sensory journey into the aromatic beyond with a brand new trip to the wonderful land of Thai with my Smirnoffers. This time things were different yet again. The smells were different, the heavy grip of a pre monsoon atmosphere was swapped for something a lot clearer and altogether cleaner. The nose was still happy though. Happy was the nose.


Also happy were eyes, brain and feet. They decided to flee the hotel upon arrival and head straight to Khao San for cheap noodles and to dive headfirst into the backpacker nightlife. Thai Backpacker nightlife is a bit like being a student again but at some kind of International Uni...where soap is scarce... Anyway original it really is not. Lots of theme bars called things like Jonny McIrishs Paddy Murphy bar and warm beer. Hmmmm not so useful for my eternal hunt for new and surprising nightlife but fun nonethless and definitely worth a whirl or two.




Having put the brain into gear I decided to tail Kung, our Thai member to Culture Club - a more glamorous looking joint offering the finest in Thai Drum n Bass. Boasting an impressive attitude to air conditioning and colourful lighting, Culture Club attracts International DJs but saves space for local Thai talent to entertain its roomy dancefloor. The feet particularly loved this place and decided to follow Kung around a few more places before ending up in the rather brilliant GOD club.



In my search for originality thus far I have managed to avoid dancing on a runway with a gang of half naked men wearing leather thongs and chains. How tragic I hear you say. I agreed and dutifully did my bit for the cause. Aside from the near naked writhing GOD also offers some great original drinks including the bright red Rockapolitan.
Once the lights had gone up in GOD and the sweaty masses prodded out onto the street the nose led me once again to wonderful roadside Thai cuisine and later the feet back to my plush double bed.

Thailand, me, myself and my various extremities salute you. Glad to be back. Next stop: The Islands...

India 2

India 2


So, after realising there was nothing he could do to save his brother from the electric chair, Michael Schofield did the only thing he could- rob a bank and get INSIDE the prison to try and break him out.

Wandering the halls of the ‘Sand and Sea’ hotel in Mumbai I began to empathise with this feeling. Although I doubt in Prison Break they pipe in a trumpeted version of ‘Strangers In The Night’ to every last orifice of the building. I could still understand the escapist urges though. However, instead of a wrongful conviction for murdering the vice president’s brother, it was a hurt foot keeping me inside. This did not stop me surveying the gaps in the security of my air-conditioned cell however.

To keep myself vicariously entertained I extracted information on the nightlife in Mumbai from my fellow Smirnoffers. who told me all about Mumbai and the nightlife to be had.

Turns out, Blue Frog is the place to be. A trendy little joint opened recently by a group of artists, musicians and their investment banker mate, Blue Frog is a restaurant, nightclub, studio and sound stage. During the week the finest in Indian talent graces their stage and at weekends international hip-hop, reggae and jazz acts are invited to perform. Cast your eye over the menu before ordering though. Through my Venetian blinds I witnessed many a Smirnoff Ten member trudging up our driveway with empty pockets after ordering a few vodka tonics.

Another place worth trying is Toto’s Garage hidden behind some bushes in downtown Mumbai. The former garage (who would have known) serves up a friendly blend of theme bar style décor contrasted with incredibly camp cocktails and impromptu dance-a-thons both on and behind the bar. I actually made it to this one bound in bandages and did a quick hop around the place grasping a neon blue martini glass garnished with cherries and sugar.

Passage To India

Having enthusiastically completed a module on Colonialist literature as a bushy tailed student, I saw myself as a kindred spirit with India. Together, I imagined, India and I would roam jungles, breathe in fragrant spices, roll naked in thick, silky sheets, glance at the moon through olivey mosquito nets surrounding four poster beds and enjoy all manner of adventures.



As with all fantasies based entirely in an idealistic interpretation of ‘A Passage to India’ and ‘The Moonstone’ (of which, I’m sure, there are many) I came down to earth with a bump (well more of a skid and a bump actually…onto tarmac…but more about that later).

Much to my dismay, India has changed since literature set in the 1940’s. There are McDonalds, clubs with world renowned DJ’s and more traffic than Russia and Shanghai put together. However, after a tour around Mumbai with an exuberant guide I learned that underneath this there is a strong traditional culture where lovers give each other henna tattoos (but no one else mind you) and wives send their husbands home cooked lunch to work every day. Religion is also really important and despite copies of ‘Men are from Mars, Women Are From Venus’ being thrust through car windows in traffic jams for 200 rupees, most Indians prefer to look to Lord Ganesh for relationship wisdom.

Cheered by this I ventured further afield into Goa in search of the technicolour visions of India still swimming in my head from English textbooks.



I certainly got closer to dense jungles and dusty tracks leading to certain adventure. I also, however, got closer to tarmac. Whilst taking in the colourful stalls and insane amounts of cows (they’re sacred in India and omnipresent) at 30pmh I failed to take in a small Chinese man pootling around in the road and after a hasty swerve became the owner of a fully inoperational right foot.

From henceforth my Indian Dream became less about the excitable discovery of a mysterious land and more about the boxset of Prison Break Season 1.

In Prison Break, Season 1 there is a definite lack of long, balmy nights sipping fresh cocktails and wearing khakis. There’s an awful lot of scheming, dashing around by moonlight and squirreling sharp objects up sleeves. It was the latter that kept me entertained in India from my hotel bed. Foot suspended on pillows.

Stay tuned for more Prison Break, Season 1!

Beleza Pura

Travelling the world for a living allows for a lot of WOW moments. Not the kind of WOW, but real, wind in hair, eyes wide, standing alone atop a mountain moments of WOW. Or as they say very often in Brazil (mostly when in full ‘wooing’ mode) ‘Beleza Pura.’

There is nowhere easier to have such moments than in a tropical paradise. Come on. I’m only human. Cliched or nay, paradise is WOW.



It was with this in mind that we moored on the island of Morre De Sao Paulo, Brazil’s antidote to Carnival. This is paradise of colossal proportions, which the post Carnival masses flock to on packed out ferries, catamarans and anything seaworthy which can get them there pronto. With its potent blend of white sand, clear sea and ranges of untouched space, Morre has all of the amenities a Brazilian needs to keep at the top of their ‘more aesthetically pleasing than thou’ game, including vast beaches for tanning and jogging, fresh fruit everywhere and an indigenous mud which converts scaly, Carnival parched skin into smooth loveliness.

There are no cars. Roads are made of sand and patrolled by the latest in donkey technology. Life is deliciously slow. Nightlife starts at around 12pm when everyone has had chance to let their coconuts go down and drag themselves out of the various beach huts and sandy coves that line the island. The opposite of the all day party that is Carnival, it most certainly is.

There are no cars. Roads are made of sand and patrolled by the latest in donkey technology. Life is deliciously slow. Nightlife starts at around 12pm when everyone has had chance to let their coconuts go down and drag themselves out of the various beach huts and sandy coves that line the island. The opposite of the all day party that is Carnival, it most certainly is.

Caipiroskas are the tipple of choice for the chilled masses but rather than bars, fruit toting smiley locals set up mobile stalls in every corner culminating in a in the centre of ‘Beach 2,’ (the busiest one) where beachfolk flock to kick the sand out of their sandals in front of giant speakers.

The nightlife also finds it way deep into the jungle where on Wednesdays an old theatre holds the most popular dance night as well as into the mountains where mellow parties overlook the pinky sunset from cotton hammocks.

This mix of beaches, parties and chilled hammocky lounging, of course, has all the makings of many moments of WOW. Whether it’s as arriving and seeing the crumbling arches which herald the island or when horseriding along an empty beach or even enjoying a particularly sweet coconut, Morre is WOW, WOW, WOW with the largest and most exuberant capital letters that this font can offer.

And may I add, for good measure, a further WOW.

Carnival!

You make me feel like dancing, I want to dance the night away…

There is NOTHING better than Carnival. I am certain of it. I don’t mean just parties. My NOTHING also stretches to rollercoasters, duvets, sunsets and all of life’s great pleasures. NOTHING is better than Carnival. Not even the craziest parties held at the peak of Mount Crazy at Fun’O’Clock could rival Carnival in Salvador.

At this time of year, Brazilians kiss more than English people shake hands and with about as much conviction. Kissing at Carnival really is just like saying a merry hello and everyone is saying hello to everyone! I mean, come on, they have to do 40 days of no kissing after this, so now is not the time to be coy.

Indiscriminate smooching aside, Carnival also throws some serious music into the mix. Hot favourites in Salvador are Samba and Samba-Reggae. I found that there are 3 different ways to enjoy this musical medley.

THE WAY: PART ONE

First up is to join one of the ‘blocos.’ The blocos are roped off areas manned by hundreds of sentries, which move slowly around a ‘trio.’ The trio is the nucleus of the action, a huge lorry cum float loaded up with a booming sound system and a band playing on top. After paying to join a particular bloco (not dissimilar to buying a mobile gig ticket) you are given an ‘abada’ (a costume, usually a t-shirt) which is your golden ticket to being inside the ropes. In my humble opinion, this is where the most fun is. Parading alongside the music, through the streets with thousands of like-minded people, all dressed in ripped up abadas is one of the high points of my whole English life.

HINTS AND TIPS:

The abadas are valuable. Not everyone at Carnival can afford to be inside the ropes. There are tales of people trying to remove t-shirts from your dancing form (although I didn’t experience this). Keep away from the edges of the rope! The people manning the rope are there for your protection but are only paid 10BRL a day, so don’t think of them as your personal bodyguard.

THE WAY: PART TWO

Welcome to the high life. So to speak. Another way to enjoy Carnival is from the ‘Camarotes.’ Camarotes are like fancy nightclubs with terraces overlooking the action and are filled with lovely food, free gifts and perks such as hairdressers and masseuses. They do not come cheap but once inside (with another ‘abada’ of course) everything is free and you can watch the Carnival go past from a higher vantage point. There are shed loads of Camarotes but our favourites were ‘Espresso 2222’ and ‘Nana Banana.’

HINTS AND TIPS

Do some research into Camarotes before you choose one as they are all highly individual. Espresso 2222 is a glamorous affair for the rich and famous, Nana Banana has its own beach and some such as Salvador 2008 are a much larger scale party zone.

THE WAY: PART THREE

Consider this the danger option but as with most danger, here fun lies. Option three is to head out into the streets solo and become a ‘pipoca’ (meaning ‘popcorn’- how nice!). Pipocas are folk without abadas for the blocos or cash to splash on camarotes. If you understood that sentence then you’ve been reading carefully. Very well done. I digress. Being a pipoca means freedom to roam the streets watching any trio and jumping alongside them, as well as mixing it up with Brazilian street vendors and traders. However, during an event, which sees over 2 million people pour into Salvador this does not come without risk. Do not take a single valuable into the crowds with you. Not even hats.

Alongside this fiesta of street fun ye can also find find ‘barracas,’ mini tents with music that sell drinks (mostly caipirinhas) and create tens of thousands of mini parties, which crop up around the city.


HINS AND TIPS

When heading into the mix remember it is only safe inside the ropes and you aren’t there so be aware of any shady looking characters and avoid any signs of aggression (I did see a few scuffles going on from the camarote one night). I went into the mix a few times and found everyone to be really friendly but this is not always the case.

If you need to carry money then stuff it into a bra or buy one of those geeky tourist money holders that strap around your chest. Consider your pockets as glowing with neon ‘entrance’ signs. Leave nothing in them. Even lipgloss will go.

***

No matter which way you choose to enjoy Carnival (or as I found, try them all!) it’s a place you will find yourself dancing with strangers, dancing in the streets and dancing on bars and by dancing I mean having the time of your life. The music is great, the people are wild and the atmosphere is amazing.

If this all sounds like more fun than a bag of chipmunks wearing taffeta then you’re right. I am already having withdrawal symptoms and writing this has made me feel outrageously sad that I have to wait another year for Carnival!

In fact must stop writing about this. Extremely depressed. Having flashbacks of Fat Boy Slim gliding past our camarote. No Carnival for one whole year. Can almost taste the caipirinhas. No more Carnival. Is it dark in here or is it just me….

S.Prentice signing out.

China Shanghai Event Blog

There are times in life that you find yourself in a forest. Not a metaphorical one. I’m not depressed. I mean an actual forest. Imagine trees and darkness, bird sounds, the whole foresty works.

It’s not THAT often that the forest is indoors. Not very often at all in fact. You don’t really come across members of indie bands in forests either. Or freshly prepared fruity drinks. Or a wishing tree filled with pleas to ‘be able to fly’ or ‘ be a fairy.’

However I do tend to find that recently anything can happen, hence I found myself sat in this very forest on a frosty Shanghai night, huddled in a furry parka and sipping vodka on ice.

I had not stumbled across this winter wonderland via a wardrobe or one-way ticket back to Moscow. I was in fact at the second Smirnoff Global Experience event at the Shanghai Sculpture Centre, a vast space guarded outside by twisty pieces of metal and gigantic steel cars.

After working my way through said Birch Tree forest I fell straight into a crowd of happy revellers all heading towards the giant Smirnoff stage with the steely intent of a budget zombie film. Their enthusiasm became clear when I saw Tom Middleton, Sasha and Hard-Fi limbering up for a night of original performances including drum battles and performances with local artists.

I had to tear myself away to film the different features including a ‘Tini’ bar with four different martinis to test, a DIY drinks bar with over 1300 different combinations of drinks to choose from and a Smirnoff Ice blizzard complete with fresh snowfall on request.

Covered in a thin film of snow and still wearing my jacket I managed to get to the front of the crowd to support English indie band Hard-Fi who were facing stiff competition from the Shanxi drummers, a local Chinese speciality. The drummers were playing along to Hard Fi’s hit ‘Hard to Beat. When I interviewed the band earlier in the day their drummer confessed to fearing being outdone but he somehow managed to be heard over the intense Shanxi beat fest. The combination of the huge Chinese drums and Hard Fi’s guitar strummery really worked and even Monsieur Hip Hop, Ben Robinson was to be found shaking his butt like you never did see at the front of the crowd.

After Tom Middleton came back on to play out the night to the baying crowd we slipped off to see Sasha at the after party at The Wall - a trendy underground den complete with hanging chairs and secret rooms.

This was the final straw for my overexcited little brain and I had to take myself off to bed dreaming of basil martinis and magical forests and of course…the next Smirnoff event.

China 1- Arrival in China

‘Turning Shanghainese, I think I’m turning Shanghainese.’

What do the following things have in common?

Danish pastries
China
Vodka with Ginger Beer

The answer is this. They had never really occurred to me.

If my inclination to explore things were measured in piles of marshmallows, the things in the above list wouldn’t have amassed enough to sprinkle on a hot chocolate. Not because they’re not great. I just hadn’t gotten around to considering them… YET! Once these things came to me (rather than I to them) the marshmallow count started reaching colossal levels. Mountains of marshmallows. A veritable sugar avalanche.

So to speak.

In layman’s terms I had no idea I would love China until I tried it. Same goes for sticky pastry and gingery vodka, but I digress.

Since jetting into Shanghai (after a long, drooly sleep aboard a plane of course) and having a good sniff around, I love the place!

Wandering amongst the thatchy rooves, leafy gardens and shoals of koi carp in the old town, I fell in love.

Also, this sounds so obvious but China really LOOKS different to anything I have ever seen. The streets are crowded with colourful stalls selling ‘Smelly Tofu’ (their name not mine), Chairman Mao memorabilia and ranges of exotic medicines (‘Breast Nuts’ being my personal favourite, although the science behind them seemed a little shakey).

Just being in Shanghai is exciting! Everything is big, colourful and bright. Even the rivers are lined with neon lighting. I mean neon rivers! Rivers of Neon! I feel like I’m on a particularly well-lit film set.

We are leaving my new best city friend for a few days to see another Chinese city, Cheng Du, but like a lovesick frog d’amour I shall return for more ramblings VERY soon.