tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86122582024-03-21T08:19:56.463+03:00SmithsmythsTravel essaysPiers Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931251795670775804noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8612258.post-63027808787911465922009-10-02T21:05:00.230+03:002010-07-26T21:31:26.177+03:00Blue Heaven — Indochine 2008/09A hundred years in this life span on earthtalent and destiny are apt to feud.You must go through a play of ebb and flowand watch such things as make you sick at heart.Is it so strange that losses balance gains? Blue Heaven's wont to strike arose from spite." —The Tale of KieuI'd changed my ideas about the region after Piers Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931251795670775804noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8612258.post-60844408863439478362008-05-10T12:36:00.095+03:002008-06-04T08:21:08.006+03:00Visible Cities—‘A vile and ridiculous meditation’ Sunday TimesTranslated from the English by Rrose MuttEsmerelda does not necessarily believe everything I say when I describe the cities I have visited on my expeditions, but she does continue listening to me with greater attention and curiosity than she shows anyone else I know of, and with rather less derision than I am used to. I have observed her presenting Piers Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931251795670775804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8612258.post-3195941876697446312007-10-11T12:39:00.000+03:002007-10-11T16:34:48.874+03:00Abominable Snowmen — Tibet, August 2007The Kodari checkpoint was a rallying-point for grubby kids and money-changers. We descended into a thicket of reaching hands. We had to be quick when the driver handed our bags down. Behind us, the monsoon was heavier, darker. It seemed to be hastening towards us. Our Nepali guide introduced us to his brother who would take us across the bridge. The brother stepped forward, turning on a smile of Piers Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931251795670775804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8612258.post-1162564593855571612006-11-03T17:28:00.001+03:002009-10-24T16:49:02.602+03:00Road to Kathmandu — Nepal, September, 2006Burning tyres block the main roads. Marchers stream out of Jyatha Street. Police and soldiers with bamboo riot-sticks and automatic rifles jump on and off trucks along Durbar Marg. A cow with shit-bespattered haunches wanders through the stalled and chafing traffic. Just off Durbar Square, the Living Goddess looks out of her casement, blessing the watchers below with her cunning kohl-framed Piers Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931251795670775804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8612258.post-1140184813796765252006-02-17T16:33:00.000+03:002006-10-08T13:24:08.810+03:00The Slash Country — Burma/Myanmar 1986/200627th May, 1986. Strand hotel, Rangoon, Burma. Cadaverous receptionist in shabby black suit. Flinches when I ask for a room. Rickety lift with steel lattice door and clanking pulleys. Clammy room decorated with geckos. Creaking propeller fan. Sagging mosquito net, heat-yellowed scotch tape at the joins. Toilet bowl comes with blood-red stains and broken flush. The lining of the curtains hangs downPiers Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931251795670775804noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8612258.post-1137223641358302442006-01-14T10:15:00.001+03:002009-10-23T20:15:39.259+03:00Monkeying about with Burgess in BruneiSultan Omar Ali Saifuddin School (SOAS) was three or four mildew-streaked buildings overlooking a concourse teeming with leering girls in figure-hugging blue skirts and scowling boys in songkoks and blurry charcoal moustaches. We lined up in front, smacking imaginary swagger-sticks into our palms. The children fell into regimental rows. The Brunei Darussalam state anthem blared from the speakers.Piers Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931251795670775804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8612258.post-1097160125633915272005-10-05T20:59:00.000+03:002005-10-05T21:44:20.203+03:00Not Yet, Not There — E. M. Forster in IndiaForster visited India twice during British rule, once in 1912-13 and once in 1922, the second visit lasting for 9 months. On each occasion, he went to the Indian state of Dewas Senior, the second time as private secretary to the maharajah, Saptasamasra Senapati Pratinidhi Shri Tikuji Rao Powar Bapusamis—or Tikuji for short. I visited India once, in August, 2004, staying for seven days. My Piers Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931251795670775804noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8612258.post-1113029387028746822005-04-09T09:25:00.008+03:002010-03-22T08:27:04.385+03:00Little England — with Nabokov in CambridgeI do not know if anyone will ever go to Cambridge in search of the imprints which the teat-cleats on my soccer-boots have left in the black mud before a gaping goal or follow the shadow of my cap across the quadrangle to my tutor’s stairs; but I know that I thought of Milton, and Marvell, and Marlowe, with more than a tourist’s thrill as I passed beside the reverend walls.— Vladimir Nabokov, Piers Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931251795670775804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8612258.post-1101491528024229912005-01-23T12:43:00.001+03:002009-11-14T16:22:23.917+03:00Wild Men of Borneo — Upper Baram, Sarawak 1990/91 These Dyaks have a distinct notion of a future state, which is often mentioned in their conversation. There are different stages before reaching it—some agreeable, and others the contrary—and their final abode, or as it appears dissolution, is a state of dew. Charles Brooke, 1866On its way to Kudat, inPiers Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931251795670775804noreply@blogger.com0