World Wondering

Danielle Corner: Agra Fort

2012-03-05T12:00:00.001Z

During January, my girlfriend Danielle joined me for a couple of weeks in India. As part of this, she got to see four candidate Wonders: the Lotus Temple, Akshardham, the Taj Mahal, and Agra Fort. Under only a little duress, she wrote a little about each, and answered a few questions. In this third of four "Danielle Corners", she writes about Agra Fort.

Note: As a lawyer, Danielle is occasionally partial to a bit of "legalese". Also, she erroneously calls me "Niall" for some reason...

Agra Fort

I regard this as a really nice ex-palace/ex-military Fort, albeit it is still utilised for the latter purpose on a restricted basis even today. Of course I understand that the scattered presence of army personnel was not for tourist show, unlike the Beefeaters in London, nonetheless they did give an added authentic feel to the place as did the families of Monkeys that have made the place their home for generations. I felt a bit sorry for the Fort, and to prematurely indicate my views on its sister building in Agra, the Taj Mahal, nothing can compete with it. Perhaps, if the Fort was moved brick by brick to another city or physically dropped somewhere else, it might be more aesthetically pleasing to the travelling eye. However, the fact the Taj Mahal builder [Emperor Shah Jahan who ordered its construction] was imprisoned in the Agra Fort - which on a sunny day, very closely overlooks the Taj Mahal - and forced to admire the building that he created from afar, reinforces the romanticism of the place. Okay, I'm one of those people that will just have to say in advance that I love the Taj Mahal and know that I'm neglecting to mention what I'm supposed to be writing about because I can't help it, the Taj is just so beautiful.

In brief, I really liked the Agra Fort and it wasn't as crowded as other places, so I would say it was a chilled out experience in Agra - words that you would not normally associate with the city. It is a Must See visit in Agra. You'd be forgiven, however, for missing the Sound and Lights show here - especially, for English speakers such as myself, the Hindi showing.

And again, could have been doing with a coffee shop. My only real criticism.

Had you heard of Agra Fort before travelling (and before hearing about it from me)?

No.

What were your expectations?

Not very high. I thought it would just be another military castle/building, and we have millions in Scotland. I didn't think it would be anything special.

What was your first impression?

It was much better than I expected. The scale of it was actually quite big compared to how it looked from the front entrance. The fact that its so unknown considering the history and relationship to the Taj Mahal.

What did you like most about Agra Fort?

The history and connection with the Taj Mahal. And the fact that the building is still so well maintained.

What didn't you like about Agra Fort?

The sound and light show. [That's a bit unfair given we saw the Hindi showing...] The fact that it had no coffee shop.

Would you regard Agra Fort as a World Wonder?

No, but it's a beautiful building with a lot of history. However, I just think each country has its own equivalent.

Danielle Corner: Akshardham

2012-03-04T18:02:00.000Z

During January, my girlfriend Danielle joined me for a couple of weeks in India. As part of this, she got to see four candidate Wonders: the Lotus Temple, Akshardham, the Taj Mahal, and Agra Fort. Under only a little duress, she wrote a little about each, and answered a few questions. In this second of four "Danielle Corners", she writes about Akshardham in Delhi.

Note: As a lawyer, Danielle is occasionally partial to a bit of "legalese". Also, she erroneously calls me "Niall" for some reason...

Akshardham

(photo pending)

The Second Wonder on the India hit list, the first that I would deem grand, beautiful and complicated enough to merit Wonder status. And a Wonder at the entrance of which I had my first taste of the local (non-alcoholic) brew: Masala tea. After a bit of surprisingly organised queuing, and after dress alteration (in my Defence, albeit conservatively dressed in an on-the-knee and demure dress with scarf, I was denied entry in accordance with the rules, as ladies wear had to be below the knee. I did try to stretch my dress and gain a few extra inches but it was all in vain until the Dress police felt pity for a stupid tourist, stripping me of my scarf, adding it to the bottom of my dress in a very unsexy David Beckham Sarong Get-Up which met the guidelines - however a sore sight for all eyes) I was finally deemed untarty enough to be permitted entry.

The place itself was absolutely beautiful, really detailed with a calm feeling despite the swarms of people there. Rumour has it that each stone was all hand-crafted however always the sceptic, I had to be evil and investigate whether the ornate décor was perfect and hence machine-assisted or whether a few imperfections were visible to the contact-lensed eye. After intense scrutiny, my own amateur conclusion was indeed that the books and internet had not been telling porky pies, that the rows and rows of stones although of identical initial appearance had the teeniest of imperfections that would point the finger to proper hard, hand-crafted graft.

I'll leave the history to Niall and move on to the important part, the coffee situation. Whilst there was a canteen, school dinner-esque place for mini-munches or larger portions, the place lacked a proper coffee shop or even coffee stand which would have given scenic views of the Wondrous grounds for coffee addicts.

Then it was on to the night time Akshardam entertainment - the light display which was appreciated just as much by the adults as the children attendees. A very nice, first class, atmospheric and sunset backdropped way to end the evening.

Had you heard of Akshardham before travelling?

No. Well from you, but it doesn't really count, does it?

What were your expectations?

High. [Why?] I thought it would be really pretty, spiritual, and tranquil.

What was your first impression?

It was a potential World Wonder compared to the Lotus Temple.

What did you like most about Akshardham?

The detail.

What didn't you like about Akshardham?

The fact that the floors were freezing. [Danielle had bare feet and it was winter in Delhi - not a good combination]

Would you regard Akshardham as a World Wonder?

Well, not in the Seven World Wonders. I think it could be a world wonder for someone of that religion, it would mean more to them.

Danielle Corner: The Lotus Temple

2012-03-03T11:03:00.000Z

During January, my girlfriend Danielle joined me for a couple of weeks in India. As part of this, she got to see four candidate Wonders: the Lotus Temple, Akshardham, the Taj Mahal, and Agra Fort. Under only a little duress, she wrote a little about each, and answered a few questions. In this first of four "Danielle Corners", she writes about the Lotus Temple in Delhi.

Note: As a lawyer, Danielle is occasionally partial to a bit of "legalese". Also, she erroneously calls me "Niall" for some reason...

Before she gets into the full scrutiny that makes up Wonder-analysis, she has a few general words to say on Delhi itself.

Delhi Points

1. Carry toilet roll at all time.

2. [In winter] Bring a pair of socks for the temples where shoe removal can be compulsory. The stones can get a bit chilly.

3. This may be common sense but invest in some conservative clothing. Traditional Indian dress wear with short sleeves would be recommended.

4 Photo friends - We are something of a novelty to some Indian people for a reason that may in my own ignorance escapes me so you will make lots of photo friends.

[For the unaware, photo friends - or "Random Photo Friends" to give the full term - is a name Burness and I have given to random people - invariably Asian - who approach us and ask to take a photo with us. Neither of us have figured out fully why they want a photo with a random Westerner, but we always oblige, and have started a league table on which nation wants the most photos with us. Indonesia was in the lead with 15 until India surged ahead with 29. Danielle's presence definitely attracted a few more photo friends.]

The Lotus temple

My first visit to a what was described as a potential World Wonder and all I can say is that it will not be making my top ten. I was fortunate enough to have two visits to this sight, in line with Niall's as yet undiagnosed OCD, and it wasn't much better the second time. With the fullest of respect to the architects, I can only guess that it took some amount of planning and skill, and in an engineer/architect's view may be Wondrous, but in my own Lay opinion, it was simply a pretty and mathematically symmetrical building that was, as its name suggests, a temple that cleverly looked like a lotus flower. It reminded me of the Glasgow S.E.C.C. Armadillo and on exterior looks alone, resembled a convention centre. I certainly wouldn't describe it as a Wonder and was doing a bit of "Niall Bashing", chastising him for even shortlisting this building as one to see. However, at that juncture, I didn't have the benefit of viewing from above, and post visit I had the opportunity of looking at aerial photographs which show it off much more favourably.

Enough of the Lotus.........

Had you heard of the Lotus Temple before travelling?

Yes, from you. [But otherwise?] No.

What were your expectations?

Quite high. [Why?] Because it looked nice in the pictures.

What was your first impression?

It was really small. You couldn't see the ponds from a distance, it wasn't angled well enough. It looked like a convention centre. Very calm and cool inside however.

What did you like most about the Lotus Temple?

The fact that it was sunny outside...

What didn't you like about the Lotus Temple?

There wasn't much to see, it was a bit of a let down.

Would you regard the Lotus Temple as a World Wonder?

No.

Days 171 to 178: The Temple Of Heaven and The Summer Palace (and Pilkington)

2012-02-29T13:22:00.003Z

Due to Burness's illness and current period of convalescence, we are bound to Beijing for the foreseeable future while he receives treatment and returns to the happy fellow we all know and love. In travels with deadlines, such as these, delays can be costly, but fortunately China is the one place that there was always a bit of slack and time to play with. And fortunately, there are many worse places to be trapped than Beijing.

Beijing has a wealth of history and attractions. As well as two of my Wonders, - the Forbidden City and many famous sections of the Great Wall (within an hour or two from Beijing) - it has lots of what might be termed "Unofficial Wonders". This is the name I give to the notable landmarks I visit along the way, that aren't part of my Wonder list, but nonetheless impress either with their sheer presence, or simply their iconic status within the city or nation. Some were considered for my list but didn't make it, and some I'd not even heard of before visiting, but they all stand out from the common construction in some way.

I intend - probably when home in May - to give a fuller entry detailing the various Unofficial Wonders I've seen; for now, here are two to add to the list: the Temple of Heaven, and the Summer Palace.

I knew very little about the Temple of Heaven before arriving in Beijing, but soon realised it was one of Beijing's most prominent attractions. The image is everywhere, in the metro, on TV, in posters. It's not difficult to see why - it looks very distinctive. It also has a focus. Unlike the Forbidden City, which is a huge gathering of differently-sized but otherwise visually-alike rectangular buildings, the Temple of Heaven has the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests - and it's round.

The Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests is an astonishing looking building. It's quite, quite beautiful, and looks unlike anything I've seen to date. It entirely eclipses the rest of the temple complex (three main parts, although there are other buildings in the park it resides in) to the point where the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests is generally just called the Temple of Heaven. It was built at the command of the same guy who built the Forbidden City, Emperor Yongle, from around 1406 to 1420, when he made Beijing the capital. Sat on a marble pedestal, and 38 metres tall, it is entirely made of wood. As with buildings made of wood, however, fire can be a bit of a problem, and the current version we see now dates from the late 19th Century, after lightning struck the precursor and burnt it to the ground.

It was put on the UNESCO list in 1998, and like many old buildings doesn't really do much any more except sit there and be admired. It's no longer a temple - and never was, to be honest. The name is a bit of a misnomer - "altar" is a better translation. It was where the emperor would make prayers - for good harvests, as you might imagine. With the fall of the empire, the function has been removed but the temple opened to the public to appreciate, although it is a great shame that, like the Forbidden City, the interior is still out of bounds. It's not a large interior but looks very attractive from what I could see, while pushed against a metal rail with a bunch of Chinese.I'm sure a system could be put in place to regulate people in and out, because the appreciation just isn't the same looking in. It would be like visiting a cathedral and just peering through the door.

The best way to approach is from the south, first passing through the other parts of the complex, the Circular Mound Altar and the Imperial Vault of Heaven, both of which line up in a straight line leading to the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests. It's a grand approach, with a great final reveal, and I'd love to tell you that this was how I arrived, but it's not. I entered by the park's east exit, just next to a metro station, and simply headed straight to the famous part, only then realising there was a bit more to it all. Let it be regarded as my sacrifice for you, dear reader, for when you one day visit.

The temple complex is part of a larger park, that was both attractive - even in the dry and barren winter - and filled with life. From the moment I arrived there were middle-aged women gathered, dancing together to a semi-modern beat, and deeper in were many groups doing exercises, some to music. Sometimes I'd see large clumps of people gathered round a performer, whether musical or entertainment, and the whole park felt vibrant and happy. It was this that made all the difference to visiting the Temple of Heaven - it made a "dead" building seem less "dead and buried" and more "dead great". Or something like that.

It was a similar experience at the Summer Palace, located about an hour's metro ride from the city centre. This dates from 1750, and was just another one of the emperor's many palaces. It all takes place around a lake - the dominant feature - and is essentially a bunch of pretty buildings scattered scenically about, with some charming bridges too. I'm glad it's not on my Wonder list because it would involve lots of description, and also the spread makes it difficult to justify as a single Wonder. But because it's unofficial, I don't need to do anything except put a bunch of photos up.

So, the Summer Palace was made for a lovely stroll. I wouldn't bother with the 50 RMB (£5) through ticket, primarily because I think the individual cost of entry plus the three attractions would equal the same, and unless you love looking at old pottery and stuff (the Wenchang Gallery) or want to stroll down a pretty but tacky fake street with vendors shouting for your attention (Suzhou Street), the only thing worth paying the entry fee for is the attractive Tower of Buddhist Incense which gives a great view over the lake. On a warmer day, like the Temple of Heaven, you could easily spend a day in leisure, looking at the sights, sitting with a coffee, and watching the world go by. On such a day where the entire lake is frozen, and people slide across it en masse as a means of shortcut, it is a little cold just to sit back and hang around.

As far as sights go, these have been the highlights of the last week. Neither were seen with Burness, whose only sight was the Union Hospital, although generally he has been trying to keep his eyes closed (it's less painful that way). Poor Burness. He has had one excursion, to the Lama Temple, and even managed to crack a joke about it being strange that they set up a temple for a South American animal. Because he's sick, I didn't lambast him too much for this. Anyway, the temple was perfectly pleasant, but having seen a lot of Buddhist temples over the last few months, not to mention Buddha statues, and a lot of Chinese-style buildings in the last few weeks, it didn't terribly excite me.

I've also been to the vast National Museum, which was so vast I only saw a fraction of it, and earlier today saw the National Centre for the Performing Arts.

As you can see, this is a pretty distinctive looking building, and so it needs a much better name than the very unwieldy National Centre for the Performing Arts. Wikipedia claims that it has the nickname "The Bird's Egg", which kind of makes sense, but I haven't heard it called that during my many, many conversations about architectural nicknames with the locals, so I'm just going to call it "The Pilkington" in honour of fellow adventurer, Karl Pilkington, whose podcasts myself and Burness have been listening to these travels.

I must admit, from a distance, when on Jinghshan Park's hill with the overview of the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square, I thought The Pilkington was ghastly. Not its inherent design, just its position. As a slick piece of modern architecture, all glass, steel and curves, it seemed horribly out of place in its historic surrounds. But close up, it's much better. Firstly, unless standing on a hill or right in front of it, The Pilkington isn't too prominent - I bet most visitors to the Forbidden City never see it. And secondly, it's pretty cool.

Like a gleaming blob of future, it sits surrounded by a circular pool of water, with no apparent entry point. In fact, to get in you need to go underneath, from stairway by the main road, which takes you below the pool of water, which can be seen through a glass ceiling. Very future. The interior of the main building contains several theatres and lots of open space, and is very pleasant in a highly manicured way. The architect behind it, I say with a low voice, is the same person behind my least favourite airport in the world, Charles de Gaulles. Although I'll concede the Charles de Gaulles airport has a certain dressed-up warehouse-chic, it is a depressing and hopelessly impractical set of buildings, with barely a toilet between them, that I have spent far too much of my life. The Pilkington is a far better building, and with a lot more toilets, although the whiff of the airport does hang in the air. Better than the toilets, I guess.

These have been the buildings and landmarks that have occupied my days, although not Burness's sadly. The news for him isn't really getting better. Two weeks from now seems to be a best case scenario, which puts these travels at some jeopardy if true. It's manageable still, but it could be quite a rushed trip in the rest of China after several weeks doing very little in Beijing. But we'll see (which is more than he's doing, unfortunately, in his right eye at least).

Days 164 to 170: The Good And Bad Of North Korea

2012-02-27T04:47:00.001Z

It is cold in North Korea. Or at least is was from the 14th to the 20th of February, when I paid a short visit to the Land of the Kims. As many of you will know, in the mid-2000s I spent a couple of years living in South Korea, and ever since then I'd harboured a desire to visit the northern half of the peninsula. However, North Korea is not exactly known for its warm embrace of the outside world, and does not admit the casual tourist. Unless I wanted to get involved in politics or business, the only way for someone like me to visit was by tour group. Hence why before setting off on the Asian leg of these travels back in September, I bit the not-inexpensive bullet and signed up for one. It happened to be for the recently-deceased Kim Jong-Il's 70th birthday...

The tour agency I signed up with were Koryo Group, not the only agency that offer North Korea tours, but by far the most acknowledged, having been in operation for two decades and having pioneered travel there. From start to finish, Koryo were nothing short of excellent, combining the perfect marriage of friendliness and professionalism that every business in every field should strive towards. In a military autocracy such as North Korea, there is every reason to feel a little uptight, but Hannah and Nick were hilariously irreverent and honest about what was really going on, although never at all disrespectful to the nation. Our visit to North Korea was very tightly controlled - Koryo made it seem less claustrophobic.

I'll be honest - I had a great time. My week in Pyongyang, and a couple of other locations in North Korea, was one of the most interesting weeks I've ever had, not to mention relentless. I would love to have spent longer there - hell, I'd love to live there for six months. Never in my life have I experienced anything like North Korea, or the DPRK (Democratic People's Republic of Korea) as they'd prefer we call it. It is a time capsule from another era, from a time when Soviet Russia threatened to engulf the free world, and when propaganda meant the same thing as news. North Korea is a cripplingly stifled place. It is not a happy place. The people are not free and the streets have a distinctly subdued air. But it is not quite the place the Western media would have you believe. The people were friendly, the streets are clean and the country unpolluted, Pyongyang is a surprisingly attractive and architecturally interesting city, and I had a lot more freedom there than I had anticipated - even if my so-called freedom was carefully stage-managed.

Each day was so packed with activities and food-for-thought that to attempt a chronological account would be like lining up noodles according to length before eating - i.e. time consuming and unappetising. Better the noodles are mixed and shoved into your mouth hot. So instead, my approach will be focus on the good and bad of the trip, based around my (often awful) photos.

Good: Monuments

Say what you like about Pyongyang, but it doesn't shirk from having a whole load of big monuments liberally sprinkled about (this may be the only time I use the word "liberal" in connection with North Korea). Though they may not all be to everyone's taste, I found them fascinating. North Korea, you may not be surprised to hear, goes very much in for big Soviet-style monuments, mostly honouring the workers, the heroes, or anyone involved in pro-revolutionary activities. They aren't usually subtle, or necessarily pretty, but they are pretty damn effective. Pyongyang is a very intriguing and original city landscape as a result.

Of most note... well, there's the large arch - The Arch of Triumph - famously like Paris's Arc de Triumphe, but a little larger. The tower with the flame on top is called the Juche Tower, named after President Kim Il Sung's revolutionary philosophy of self-reliance (propped up by China), and like all the world's best towers can be climbed, offering a terrific view of the city. Sadly missing from this collection is the huge statue of Kim Il Sung - it wasn't available for viewing due to work being done on-site for his 100th birthday in April (he died 20 years ago but his birthday is still celebrated).

Good: The Ryugyong Hotel.

Let it not be understated, I love this building. A colossal and steep 105-storey pyramid of retro-futuristic glass and steel, it dominates Pyongyang, which seems to pivot around it. Construction started twenty-five years ago, but funds ran out and for over almost two decades the unfinished hotel sat in the centre of Pyongyang as a very visible reminder of the nation's problems. Rumours of structural instability abound. But work has restarted, and it should be complete soon - in theory in time for the big 100th birthday celebrations. Like much of the buildings and monuments in Pyongyang, subtlety might not be its strong point, but it looks like nothing else I've seen before and is a massive icon of the city. I will refuse to visit North Korea again unless I can stay there.

Bad: Burness's Eye

Upon arriving in Pyongyang, Burness started complaining about an eye-ache. No crazy Korean conspiracy theories here - it had begun in Beijing - but from being an annoyance on the first couple of days it quickly became debilitating. He entirely bypassed one day of sightseeing, and for most of the others just stayed on the bus, eyes closed, in a lot of pain. He twice went to the UN compound to see a doctor, both times receiving a misdiagnosis (in fairness, due to the condition, the doctor couldn't have known from the early symptoms). By the end of the week, the condition had spread from his eye and half his face started blistering, as though he'd been set on fire. It was really quite gruesome, and extremely unpleasant for him. It entirely ruined his North Korea trip.

Only upon returning to Beijing and seeing a specialist, who diagnosed it as "Crazy Virus" (my words), has he received the correct drugs, and has been resting and recovering, and is getting far better.

Good: The Hotel I Stayed In

The Yanggakdo Hotel was very comfortable and with a whole bunch of facilities: post office, bowling, table tennis, bars, restaurants including a 46th floor revolving restaurant, karaoke, souvenir shops, grocery shops, and a tailors. This, plus the fact it was on a river island in Pyongyang, was clearly supposed to be a gentle reminder that it was best to stay within the hotel grounds, and not stray into the actual city. The entirely frozen river meant the island aspect of our luxury prison wasn't too effective, however.

Every evening was spent at the tea room. This was, in fact, a bar.

But Bad: The Mysterious Surveillance

Not content with having us prisoners of the hotel, rumours abounded of mysterious surveillance being conducted. During the day that, due to illness, Burness remained at the hotel while the rest of us went on the tour, he reported his movements being closely watched - despite staying in his room the entire time. Several times he was phoned by the guide appointed to make sure he was ok, and several times the cleaner entered the room each time asking if he wanted laundry done. On the one time she came in and Burness was in the bath, he very soon after got a phonecall from the guide asking "Where are you? Where have you been?" "I was having a bath..."

I heard reports also that a Dutch or German (I forget now) guy in our group was told to speak in English when making an international call, but one of the biggest talking points about the possible surveillance was focussed on the mysterious "Fifth Floor." The lift missed out the number 5. In Korean and Chinese superstition, often the fourth floor is missed out as the number four sounds similar to the word for death, but never the fifth floor. The popular rumours were that it was the surveillance level, packed with screens from secret cameras and shady agents, but nobody was able to access it to find out. One source, more in the know, first claimed the floor simply didn't exist, but in an unguarded moment also said that they'd simply never been there, before quickly covering their tracks - "I've never been there because it doesn't exist of course!"

Some people took the conspiracy mania a little too far, claiming the archaic radios in our room were actually a (somewhat blatant and massive) recording device - "I heard it crackling for no reason" - but I would generally agree that there was some kind of behind-the-scenes action going on.

Bad: The Karaoke

North Koreans, just like South Koreans, love their karaoke. Even the full force of Communism, sadly, has not been able to quell this.

Good: The Beer

North Korea might be lagging behind South Korea in most things that regarded as desirable (quality of life, wealth, health, sexy pop videos) but it does one thing much better: beer. Seriously, North Korean beer is good. In my two years in South Korea, the beer was relentlessly terrible, a crime of formaldehyde that wreaked ghastly hangover disasters. North Korea's good beer is due to a microbrewery, with the hotel having draft pints from it. We went to the Pyongyang bar that makes it, as well as simply enjoying plenty of bottled beer at other bars and restaurants in the city, and the beer was unfailingly good.

Good: The People

I think there's probably a popular image of North Korean people being droids. If only they were, they could cope with the awful, inhuman system imposed upon them. The North Korean people, despite sixty years of insanity, are still just like the South Korean people: they are Korean; they are people. It's fair to say that most are a little more guarded - for good reason - and it's also fair to say that anybody we were exposed to were good citizens, unlikely to be spreading dissent anywhere near us. Nonetheless, the majority of people we met weren't actors, they were just nice people. Passing by on the bus, we got loads of smiles and waves.

Like the South, North Koreans retain a fierce pride for being Korean - it's not just being part of a pariah state that gives them an "us against the world" feeling, it's just part of the Korean national mindset. During the week, I heard the exactly the same stuff I did during my time in the South - the "5000 years" of Korean history, the weird pride at having four seasons, the aforementioned predilection for karaoke, and of course the ingrained hierarchy based on age.

I'm lucky enough that I speak some Korean, which turned out to be a big boost over the week. It meant I was able to have a few conversations with locals that, had I only spoken English, would not have been possible. The best was with a waitress at a lunchtime bar we were at, who was very interested in talking, and exercised the correct amount of patience needed when trying to converse with me in Korean. It broke the ice a few times over the week, as most North Koreans speak little English, and in many cases were quite relieved when we could communicate in Korean, even if it was just ordering the drinks,

One unexpected difference however was in how the North Koreans spoke to each other. The Korean language takes different forms depending on the relationship and ages of the speaker and listener, varying from casual informal, polite informal, formal, and very polite formal (to give a rough picture). In South Korea, most people will talk in the polite informal way, even strangers. But in North Korea, I mostly heard the formal way spoken. This is the same way you would address an audience or show respect, and I almost never heard it in casual conversation in South Korea. But in the North even between people who clearly knew each other it was used. From this, I can only make the uncontroversial guess that life and society in the Communist North is far more formal and disciplined than in the Capitalist South.

Weird: The City

Pyongyang is a weird city. I liked it, but it was weird. It is certainly the quietest city I've ever been in. Traffic is very low. Vehicles exist, but they roll on unhurriedly. People fill the streets - everywhere, people are walking, presumably to work or home, or to pay respects yet again to a Kim. But they don't seem to make much noise. This was underlined during an evening walk during which, at one point, half our group was on the other side of the road. One of us called to them to cross via the underpass, and their voice calling across the road seemed to fill the air with an unholy noise. One person calling shouldn't have this effect in a big city.

The only time this differed a little was during a street walk which ended up in Kim Il Sung square. In the square, children were rollerskating, and making the usual noises of excitement. The square was still quite peaceful, but the atmosphere was, for once, a happy one. Our group was captivated, simply by the normality.

Added to the very subdued air of Pyongyang was the total lack of advertising. No signs for Coke here - is this the only country in the world not to have Coca-Cola? The shops weren't adorned with big signs and logos; instead they simply had the words (in Korean) "clothes shop", "restaurant," "department store", or whatever. In place of advertising was propaganda - large letters spelt out rhetoric praising the Kims or their philosophies, and their pictures were round every corner. This was ubiquitous.

Pyongyang is extremely clean, litter-free, and unpolluted, and really the antithesis to the usual big city. It is very calm. I'd have loved to have been able to walk freely. I guess the Pyongyang citizens feel the same way. Because though the streets felt calm, they also felt controlled. But perhaps the freezing weather had something to do with this - in summer, the atmosphere may different.

Good: My Group and Guide

I had a terrific group and a terrific guide, that made the whole North Korea experience a pleasure. My group were mostly European, with a number of British, as well as a couple of Americans and Australians. Everybody got on well together, helped by a mutual appreciation of North Korean beer, and we were able to share our gobsmacked wonder at what was going on, as well as discussing what we thought was happening behind the scenes, and sharing a disgust at the opulence of the ruling dynasty compared to the obvious poverty of the nation.

Our guide was the sweetest girl in all Korea. She started off the week a little nervous, but by the end I think everyone in our group had fully fallen in love with her. On the last day, she sang for us in the bus. As a guide, she knew all the facts and figures, all the correct rhetoric, and a kept a relaxed rule over the fifteen of us. As a person, she opened up as the week went on, and broke my heart. Her life is ruled and dictated by the regime. She can never travel, she can never go wild, she can never really express herself. She can't have a day of crazy shopping or take a year off to work in a bar. Her life belongs to the state. She's not free, and although she never said so, she knows it. Through her work she meets lots of foreign tourists, and she sees that we're happy, we're wealthy, and that we've travelled extensively around the world. We're not the imperialist enemy. At the end of the week, as we waved goodbye to her on the train, she had tears in her eyes.

Good: The Metro

A lot has been written about the Pyongyang Metro in the media. Most seemed to focus on the claim that it was all a sham. Tourists went from one stop to another and all the locals present were just actors.

Well: nonsense. I went about six stops, saw three stations, and the quaint carriages were absolutely packed with people. Again, with all the "normal" activities that were included on the tour, it was carefully stage-managed to show us the nice stations, but I'm happy to report that Pyongyang has a functioning - and charming - metro system.

Probably. A couple of girls in a different group thought otherwise, and I had a fairly long discussion with them about it. They seemed to think that because the metro was heated and because the people there were well-dressed (I hadn't observed this point) that the whole thing was a set up A thousand people told to be there to fool fifteen tourists. If this was the case, well, congratulations North Korea, I'm one tourist you've fooled. Because although I can believe that the metro may only operate at peak hours, I don't believe it's a pretend operation.

The very fact that the metro system is one of the highlights of the tour does raise a few questions of its own though. Where else in the world would a special subway ride be regarded as a key attraction? And where else would they have a gigantic (and unheated) museum ostensibly about the construction of the metro, but actually an astonishing assault of propaganda extolling the virtues of the two Kims, who seemed to daily inspire the workers and virtually single-handedly build the entire system?

Bad: The Lack of Freedom

I spent a lot of time on one of these.

Tourists have no freedom in North Korea. We did everything in a group, and spent a lot of time being driven from place to place. Sometimes we walked down the street, but it was a controlled walk. Everything we did was planned in advance at approved locations (we did visit a bar unannounced, but it took them fifteen minutes to "get ready" before we could enter). Were there people watching us? It's difficult to say - it's easy to become paranoid. What are the authorities afraid of? What do they think we're going to do? I don't think even they know now.

In fact though, our experience was a pretty authentic one - North Korean people have no freedom either. They can't visit different parts of their own country without approval. The difference is, my freedom was restricted for a week, theirs for their whole life.

Bad: The Rice

The food overall was pretty good in North Korea, but for some weird reason the rice was almost always brought at the very end of the meal. Why was this? Rice should be there from the start, to be eaten with the meal. North Korea - sort this out.

Bad (but interesting): The Propaganda

Propaganda is everywhere: on buildings, in bowling alleys, in schools, in museums. It ranges from praising the workers to praising the Kims (a lot) or to showing the US Imperialists getting murdered by the powers of socialism. That last one, unfortunately, I don't have a picture of, but visit the same school we did, and wade through the astonishing amount of propaganda posters adorning the walls, and you'll find it. From birth, the people are assaulted with propaganda. It's pretty much all they have - the music, the art, the books, the news, the museum, the history, all of it is garbage propaganda. Having grown up with books like 1984 and having read a lot about Maoist China, the North Korean propaganda is almost comically unsubtle, almost like a satire of itself. In one week, the only place I visited - of many - that didn't have some kind of pro-regime agenda was the burial mounds of some ancient king.

Incidentially, every time the Kims visited somewhere, it was faithfully and lovingly recorded. Kim Jong Il visited the film studios 594 times, we were proudly told. I'm not sure if I heard anything else reaching double figures.

Bad: The Kims

These pictures are just the tip of the iceberg. Like the propaganda, they are everywhere, and Kim Jong Il's rapidly spreading since his death (none, apparently, were on display during his lifetime).

I don't think anyone in our group left with anything less than a resentment of the two Kims, President Kim Il Sung and General Kim Jong Il. Kim Il Sung, dead for twenty years and kind of the architect of the nation (the Koreans don't mention the Soviet or Chinese backing essential for his survival) has become somewhat of a mythical and remote figure. No doubt he had considerable leadership skills, and was watching closely Chairman Mao's methods for developing the personality cult as he developed his own. Ultimately, he responsible for the state of North Korea now, and while the people may look to him as a father figure he is only so in the sense that Josef Fritzl was a father to his seven children he kept in the dungeon.

Kim Jong Il on the other hand... He's an amazing example of how even the most unappealing and uncharismatic of jowly bawbags can be dressed up as a hero by the regime of the personality cult. Did you know he only ever addressed the public once, and for only one short slogan? He was useless, frankly, hence why during his twenty years in which he pushed the military as the focus of the nation, North Korea has slumped into desperate poverty, with the suspected starvation of millions. That's ok - they blame the Imperialist US.

Possibly the moment that lost the Kims any little regard they might have had was our visit to the International Friendship Exhibition. These are essentially two buildings about 150 kilometres from Pyongyang that act as massive display cases for all the gifts Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il have received from abroad. Yes, everything they've ever received goes on show, in two colossal and lavish palaces. I couldn't take photos there, unfortunately, but the gifts were astonishing, ranging from train carriages from Stalin to bears' heads to African thrones to a whole range of tacky souvenir-giftshop items from minor Communist organisations in the UK. The latter was the most hilarious - these were the kind of things you'd pick up at the airport. I also particularly appreciated the gift from Nicaragua - a stuffed crocodile holding a wooden tray of cups. The gifts themselves weren't the point, it was the astonishing opulence of these purpose built palaces to house them.

Kim Jong Il died just a few months ago, and his son Kim Jong Un is taking over. I can't pretend the TV images I've seen of him inspire much confidence. But the wheels of the propaganda machine are slicked and in motion - he's appearing at all the rallies, and during the synchronised swimming show I saw, the swimmers at the end all in unison started chanting his name. In the newspaper, he's started opening factories, with a smile. I suppose the only hope I can offer is that he can't be as bad as his father...

Bad: The Temperature

Wow, North Korea was cold. Always in the minus temperatures, the freezing conditions were an apt metaphor for the nation - frozen, rigid, still. The huge river that ran through Pyongyang was completely frozen - it was a surreal sight to see people walking across it, sometimes gathering round holes cut in the ice where I guess they were fishing.

Added to the cold was the lack of heating in North Korea. Most places we went to were unheated, sometimes they were even colder than it was outside. One hotel restaurant we visited was so cold that we had to keep our hats and coats on, and the food had to be eaten within a minute or it would be stone cold. An entertaining military circus performance was so cold that the people were just clapping to keep warm. The museums were always cold. Our hotel had some heating, but not very much (it was always a good idea to sit next to the electric heater in the bar, but the rooms weren't too bad).

The bus was heated, fortunately, and the hotel had lovely hot shower water. The wrapped-up people walking for God knows how long along the side of the road had none of that.

Interesting: The Subtext

Everything we saw had layers of meaning. Whether it was the underlying propaganda, or simply the real meaning behind a facade, there was always a subtext. There was the story the North Korean government were trying to portray, and there was the real story we could see underneath.

This school performance, for one. Excellently performed, with clearly lots of rehearsing and musical talent. I'm sure that is the one sentence I'm supposed to have taken from it. But there are more. It had just followed the tour of the propaganda-filled school. The songs they were singing were clearly all pro-revolutionary ones. The girl who announced the show at the beginning had precisely the crazy, emotional warble to her voice that all the North Korean presenters did, as though they were both bursting with pride and about to burst into tears. There was a robotic quality to the children, as if clockwork toys. And there was the fact that the hall we were in was freezing cold.

Bad: The Heartbreak

One thing resounded throughout the tour - the sadness. North Korea is like a jilted lover that has never got over the breakup. Over and over, we heard about the war, we heard about the split, we heard about the reasons for the split and the desire to get back together, and we heard about all the guilty people. One thing we never heard - any self-criticism or self-awareness. Like the jilted lover, North Korea seems unable to move on, and unable to (at least publically or officially) recognise that just some of the problems over the last sixty years might have been caused by its own actions.

It's desperately sad. The North Koreans call it their national tragedy. I suppose it is, as the Korean war and subsequent changes to the nation have left it a shell of what it could have been. The North Koreans can't let it go - "The US Imperialists broke our country up!" all their history cries. And repeatedly the desire for reunification was expressed, although with no suggestion that they might have to change or concede very much.

None of this I heard during my two years in the South. It was barely a conversation topic. The war was something that had happened a long time ago and they had moved on. Sure, reunification would be nice, but it didn't seem likely, or at all practical. The South looks to the future, not the past.

That's the national heartbreak, and it resounds throughout the people, who know their desperate situation even if they're kept ignorant of the full history behind it. The people yearn for reunification, as that's how they are able to express their yearning for a better life. Everything will be better if the lovers can make up and be one again...

Good: Dog

Sorry Rover.

Although I've written quite a lot here, it is still just a snapshot of the country, and a snapshot of the week's packed tour. It was a fascinating experience that ultimately no amount of words can do justice to. North Korea is a weird, weird place and I'm extremely glad I was able to visit such a country. Now I only hope that it can swiftly change and be more normal. Kim Jong Un, it's over to you.

Day 172: Burness Scares Children

2012-02-22T12:56:00.016Z

At just after 8am today, Burness and I arrived back from a week in North Korea.

Taken from one perspective, it was a very interesting and enjoyable trip.

But from another side, it was a sometimes painful look at an oppressed and unhappy nation.

As you can see, Burness didn't fare so well.

Our week in North Korea was a genuinely fascinating experience that I am still processing. The week was relentless in its sightseeing pace and I saw enough in a week to usually last me a month or more. Throughout it all was the subtext - beneath the surface of everything we saw was another story, usually one of brainwashing propaganda about either the Great Leader, Kim Il Sung, or his son, the Dear Leader, Kim Jong Il. I was extremely lucky to be placed in a terrific group of about fourteen people that helped give various perspectives on what we saw, and that enjoyed a few drinks every night. Luckier even was our North Korean guide, an achingly sweet girl that made the sometimes relentless sightseeing and propaganda a pleasure.

So: surreal, exhilarating, heartbreaking. North Korea is without any question the most different place I have ever been. It is a dystopian society stuck in a Soviet time capsule. Yet it isn't quite the place painted by much Western journalism. When I have processed it a little more, and have some time, I will make a very humble effort to make sense of and write up about an incredible week.

As for Burness, the impact of North Korea is written all over his face...

23. Wonder: The Forbidden City

2012-02-22T03:07:00.000Z

(For the Forbidden City preview, please click here.)

Of all my Wonders, Beijing's Forbidden City has one of the greatest names. It is a name dripping with intrigue and mystery, a locked city of the unknown. The name alone grabs your attention, demands your interest. Give someone a box but tell them they're not allowed to open it, and immediately they want to open it, even if there's nothing inside. That is what the Forbidden City's name does - it makes you want to see inside. The name derives from the old Chinese name, which translates literally as the "Purple Forbidden City"; purple refers to the Pole Star, said to be the home of the Celestial Emperor, and the Chinese word for city is the same as wall, so a fuller name could be "The Forbidden Walled City of the Pole Star". But whatever you called it, for most of its existence, you weren't allowed in.

Fortunately for those unable to sit next to an unopened box, the Forbidden City is now open to the public seven days a week, for the very reasonable price of 40 RMB (£4). So not at all forbidden. And not a city either. In fact, the modern Chinese name is far more accurate: Palace Museum. Doesn't sound so intriguing of all a sudden, does it? After being the home for twenty-four emperors from the Ming and Qing dynasty, beginning with its completion in 1420 and finally ending with the eviction of the last emperor of China in 1924, the Forbidden City's gates are open to peasant public and foreign devils alike to stick their beady eyes and big noses into the personal quarters of the many Sons of Heaven.

And so that is what Burness and I did on during a couple of cold February mornings in Beijing. Our hostel being just a stroll from the east wall and moat of the palace, we had the luxury of a short walk by the side of this candidate Wonder before reaching the public entrance. I say short, but the north-to-south length of the Forbidden City is almost a kilometre, with the east-to-west distance being about three-quarters of that, so a full walk round the perimeter would take almost an hour. We weren't doing the full circuit, but including reaching the conventional entrance via the Gate of Heavenly Peace that faces Tiananmen Square, it was a good twenty minutes of walking.

Along the outside of the Forbidden City, there isn't much to see. With walls around eight metres high, and the moat a considerable fifty-two metres wide, the curved and tiled roofs of the palace just peak into sight. Any time before the 20th Century, unless either very privileged or castrated, this would have been about as much as I'd have been allowed to see - a wall and a moat, with watch-towers at the corners. During the winter months, the wide moat is frozen solid, as it was during our strolls, thus lessening somewhat its defensive value. Not that it ever mattered. In the history of the Forbidden City, the enemy never invaded using ice-skates and sledges - they always walked in right through the gates.

And likewise did we. The Gate of Heavenly Peace first, adorned with Chairman Mao's benevolent face, the death of millions apparently forgiven - or forgotten. In fact this, and Duan Gate that follows, are not technically part of the Forbidden City, hence they are free to walk around, no 40 RMB charge yet (to climb the Gate of Heavenly Peace costs a very reasonable 15 RMB). They are part of the larger Imperial City, an area pre-dating the Forbidden City although the gates themselves are from the same era. The real entrance to the Forbidden City begins at the 35-metre tall Meridian Gate, the tallest structure in the Forbidden City with no building permitted to exceed it, and dominating the Beijing skyline until the 20th Century. It is here you get your 40 RMB entry ticket, perhaps opt to go for the audio guide, and take your first steps into the forbidden...

A quick word on the audio guide. Like the audio guide at the Badaling section of the Great Wall, the guide was triggered apparently by GPS. This meant that, as you walked around the site, the lady's voice would begin an explanation of the surroundings at the appropriate point. Great - in theory. You see, the system for both was inclined to be a little temperamental. This wasn't a big deal at the Wall, as you could manually put in the correct number, or pause the guide. But at the Forbidden City, there was no such option. You could adjust the volume, and that was it. All there was otherwise was a map and a bunch of blinking diodes.

The lack of a pause button, coupled with the system only going through the spiel for each location once only, meant that as soon as the lady spoke, I had to stop and listen. No pausing for thought, no rewinding to hear again: once she started, there was no stopping her. Worse though, half the time she just refused to speak. According to the map, I'd be in the right location, and sometimes she'd be speaking to Burness, but I'd get nothing, as though I'd offended her. The only way to trigger her was to walk around in circles in the area, hoping the GPS system or whatever was used would snap in. Ultimately, this meant I only managed to extinguish half the diodes, although as many were in parts of the Forbidden City closed to the public, I had little hope of completing the set. However, after two hours and barely half way there, this wasn't something I was too upset about. Because - and please don't tell the lady, as she was a little stern - it was really all a little boring...

Any suggestion of boredom was still a little ahead, however, as we passed through the Meridian Gate into a forecourt with an attractive, iced-over canal running through it before the Gate of Supreme Harmony.

And then the Hall of Supreme Harmony.

By now you may have seen a pattern emerge. And this is not a pattern that changes as you wander around the hundreds of buildings in the Forbidden City. Yes, you'd better like traditional Chinese architecture, because the Forbidden City has a whole big load of it, and it hammers away at your senses as you wander about the 720,000 square metres (178 acres, or the size of 32 Sydney Opera Houses, or almost twice that of Tiananmen Square, if you like). The size and grandeur varies considerably, but the style does not. Depending on your view, the Forbidden City is a cohesive masterpiece of traditional architecture or an endless and unsubtle series of the same type of building over and over. My own view? It depends whether you ask me as I stand before the Hall of Supreme Harmony, or after hours of walking around lots of smaller versions of it.

Because the Hall of Supreme Harmony does exactly as it was intended to do - it impresses. The Forbidden City was designed as a display of power, and this is aptly conveyed. Unlike Western architecture, which often focuses on height for impact, classical Chinese has an emphasis on breadth, using a large curved roof to increase the visual impact of the width. The Hall of Supreme Harmony epitomises this, with a colossal roof that spans the supporting building, and sat atop a high marble platform, it has grandeur in spades. It is the largest wooden building in China and one of the largest in the world (an ancient Japanese temple called Todai-ji is typically given the accolade of the largest, although Seville's remarkable Metropol Parasol, finished last year, also claims the title), although being wooden has its drawbacks - since construction in 1406 it has burnt down seven times, and the current incarnation dates from 1697. Set in the Outer Court of the Forbidden City, it was where the emperor would hold public court, to discuss - or dictate - affairs of state with officials. This was the case during the Ming dynasty, when holding court wasn't too frequent, but by the Qing dynasty it was moved into the Inner Court for convenience and the Hall of Supreme Harmony was instead used for ceremonial functions, such as coronations or weddings.

The Hall of Supreme Harmony is part of a trio of harmoniously-titled buildings that constitute the visual core of the Forbidden City, along with the smaller Hall of Central Harmony and the similarly large Hall of Preserving Harmony. In the Outer Court, all three buildings are on the same marble platform as the Hall of Supreme Harmony, elevated from the rest of the palace, and have an expanse of space around them. It is these buildings, framed by the huge sprawl of the Forbidden City, that have the most impact. They feel big, grand, important, and have a bit of the big-boy swagger that the world's most confident monuments have.

It's a real shame, however, that appreciation is restricted to the outside. Unless you enjoy pushing in with three hundred Chinese to lean against a railing and peer inside a gloomy doorway, the interior of the buildings aren't easy to appreciate. I can understand that it's not desirable to have thousands of tourists traipsing through these precious buildings, but a system of controlled entry would surely be possible. Because the interior of all three halls looked fabulous, what little I could see. But the "forbidden" part of the Forbidden City still has some meaning, it seems.

The "museum" part of the modern Chinese name, the Palace Museum, kicks in for much of the rest of the walk around the Forbidden City. Lots and lots of smaller buildings, lots and lots of displays of old artefacts and artwork. With all the buildings beginning to look alike, and my confused automatic guide not making much sense, it is here where interest waned. Connoisseurs, no doubt, will have much to get excited about with the abundance of pottery and jade around. Normal people, I suspect, will not. Only a fraction of the vast amount of treasures once owned by the emperors remains, much of it being stolen either by crafty eunuchs or as the spoils of war, and the National Palace Museum in Taiwan has a huge amount, taken from the mainland in 1947 after the Nationalists had lost to the Communists. Should this be returned? Probably, although I can understand why the little tiger would be reluctant to relinquish anything to the big dragon next door, which would swallow them whole given the chance.

Little bites might be the best way to digest the Forbidden City, as due to its sheer size, it's quite possible to wander for a couple of hours and still not see half of it. And given that probably only about half the huge complex is open to the public, that's even less of the overall palace visited. Fatigue sets in, and in a state of fatigue is never the way to explore a Wonder. So unless you never tire of traditional Chinese architecture, take the Forbidden City in a few digestible chunks, and don't exhaust yourself with a comprehensive exploration.

As with other complexes I've visited, such as Agra Fort and the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, there's so many different buildings and sections that to list and describe each one just becomes an exercise in list-making. The most notable would be the Palace of Heavenly Purity, the sleeping quarters for thirteen Ming emperors - to the layman, it looks rather like the three Halls. Then there's plenty of smaller buildings with grand names like the Hall of Mental Cultivation, the Hall of Earthly Tranquility, and the Hall of Literary Glory (which is now a bookshop). They look like smaller versions of the main halls. But at the very back of the Forbidden City, deep in the Inner Court, inside the Imperial Garden, is a slight break with the architectural norm - the Hill of Accumulated Elegance.

Built from rocks taken from a lake, the emperor and empress would climb to small pavilion on top each month and admire the view across the Inner Court. Sadly, like much of the increasingly aptly named Forbidden City, access to the stairway up is now prohibited.

There are loads of other buildings around, many of minor significance. The palace complex was invaded a number of times throughout the years, and throughout history many of the Forbidden City's buildings have been vacant and ruined, like a decrepit shopping mall. These days, loads of them have been converted into souvenir shops or cheap restaurants, although fairly discreetly done. This brings to mind the controversy over the Starbucks that operated a short while back, from 2000 to 2007. It eventually closed due to public pressure - "How dare they have a Starbucks inside an important historical edifice?!" - but I wonder how on earth you can criticise a small Starbucks shop when you have stuff like this:

The Forbidden City flying tour. Stand against a blue screen and fly over the Forbidden City...

As I've said, like complexes such as Agra Fort and co, the Forbidden City has lots of different buildings, but unlike them the Forbidden City is very much a cohesive unit. As well as being to a strict stylistic form, the layout of the buildings is very ordered, in symmetrical groups of three, and with all kinds of other symbolism related to Chinese traditions. The effect of the symmetry is appealing, but the similarity of the buildings does get somewhat monotonously overwhelming on a long visit. And like these other sprawling complexes, and despite the teeming swarms of Chinese tour groups, the unavoidable sense of it being just a shadow of its former self prevails. The Forbidden City is just a relic of greatness, an echo of its one-time mighty prestige. The feeling is inescapable. The palace is dead. Suddenly the name "Palace Museum" becomes appropriate because this is a Wonder, like many, that has become a museum to itself. And short of reinstating the emperor - which I don't think is currently on the Central Committee's agenda - that's the way the Forbidden City is destined to continue.

After a tumultuous first half of the 20th Century, and despite a few early Communist party plans to build a road right through it, the Forbidden City has been a protected Chinese landmark since 1969 and on UNESCO's World Heritage list since 1987. Currently it's undergoing an extensive renovation, due to be completed by its 600th anniversary in 2020, and the parts that have already been restored look fabulous with fresh, bright colours. That at least differentiates it from some of the other "museum Wonder" - it is enjoying a thorough makeover.

As you might have gathered, I have mixed feelings about the Forbidden City. I suspect for the Chinese, brought up learning about it, breathing in the imperial history, and seeing it brought to life in TV dramas, it means a lot more. To the outsider, even with a knowledge of the history and meaning, the buildings just don't say that much to me. Possibly a less dull audio guide might have helped; make the experience a little more light-hearted, bring in a few more personal tales, and maybe the Forbidden City would seem a little more alive. That's not to say the Forbidden City is unimpressive, far from it. It is the world's largest surviving palace complex and is an incredible achievement. There is considerable impact upon walking through the Gate of Supreme Harmony to behold the expanse of courtyard and the swaggering Hall of Supreme Harmony sat on its platform. The "Harmony" trio are all impressive. And then, exit through Shenwu Gate at the north, and take a walk up the hill on Jingshan Park immediately opposite. From here you can view the entire palace and appreciate its size, its symmetry, and the sheer force of repetition of all the traditional roofs. It makes a lot of sense from a distance. But for a casual visitor, the size becomes its undoing, and there are only a certain number of similar-looking buildings one can take. Don't try and experience everything the Forbidden City has to offer. Just enjoy the highlights and get out before the appeal wanes.

Criteria then.

Size: In terms of buildings and area, massive: almost a thousand, in 178 acre site, surrounded by a 52-metre wide moat. Individually, the buildings aren't gigantic, being 35 metres at the tallest, or 63 metres at the widest. The Supreme Hall of Supreme Harmony has an imposing presence, however.

Engineering: Built quickly, to existing forms. None of these are miracles of construction, although the speed the complex was built is impressive.

Artistry: The subtleties are lost on laymen such as I, with all the symbolism and numerological meaning needing to be explained. Nonetheless, the symmetry is appealing, as is the decor, especially the freshly-painted renovations. The repetition of style is both impressive and wearing.

Age/Gravitas: Originally, almost 600 years old, but being made of wood and susceptible to fire has seen numerous fires, so what we see now is a still-old 300 years or so.

Fame/Iconicity: One of China's most famous landmarks, with an image probably eclipsed by the evocative name in terms of global recognition.

Context: It sits within the heart of Beijing, adjacent to Tiananmen Square and within the old Imperial City. But really, with its walls shutting outsiders out, the Forbidden City is independent of context - put it anywhere in the world and it would have the same impact (albeit it would seem somewhat odd in somewhere like the Sahara).

Back Story: The terrific history of the Ming and Qing empires are set here, leading up to the creation of modern China. The Forbidden City is central to all of China over the last six hundred years. I just wish that could be brought more to life when visiting there.

Originality: Not very. It is bigger than other palaces, but the architectural style is traditional. Overall, it is the epitome of that style, but after the fiftieth curving tiled roof of the day, you'll be wishing for some kind of variation.

Overall, the Forbidden City is more about the history than the structure, and that is why it is celebrated. It was the seat of power of one of the world's great civilisations, and for the majority of its history closed off to outsiders. But these days the gates have been opened, the commoners let in, and the mystique has faded. It still retains an impressive air, and clings onto its pride, but we now know its secrets. Like all my "complex-style" Wonders, it suffers from being spread out rather than having a single focus, although its dedication to a single architectural style does make it cohesive. Ultimately, I have to admit just not getting excited about the Forbidden City. The Hall of Supreme Harmony and its surroundings are impressive, and the overall size of the palace is likewise, but it doesn't really pack any "wow" punches. It was built, more-or-less, to a template, albeit bigger, and much of it rebuilt numerous times due to fire, and seems to have been readily constructed with ease each time. It's a grand structure, no doubt, but not a truly awesome one. And so, unfortunately, considering its reputation, the Forbidden City underachieves somewhat, falling safely into mid-table a smidgeon above the smaller but more visually interesting Temple of the Emerald Buddha, but a little below the dinky but divine Golden Temple.

17. Wonder: Kailash Temple in Ellora

2012-02-14T10:24:00.001Z

(For the Kailash Temple in Ellora preview, please click here.)

You'll be a bit disappointed the first time you see Kailash Temple. It's not an instant hit. Although fairly large, it doesn't stop you in your tracks; although with some exterior decoration, it looks a lot plainer and primitive than guidebook descriptions will have you believe. Entirely excavated from the cliff-face, the effort over a hundred years was considerable and this you don't doubt as you look for the first time upon it, but the sense of awe hoped for in a Wonder is not initially there. On our first visit, Burness just looked at me and said "Not a Wonder", and suggested that the additional expense and time tacked onto our travels for a late addition to my list wasn't really worth it. I found it hard to disagree. Kailash Temple (also called Kailasanathar, Kailasanatha, Kailasa Temple, or Kailasha Temple) just didn't look that impressive. Blocky, crude, and just a little boring. These aren't words associated with Wonders.

But like all the best Wonders, Kailash Temple in Ellora has hidden depth. In this case, quite literally.

Get past the plain facade and you have something else entirely. Plain face, fascinating interior, Kailash Temple is a secretive beauty, waiting to reveal itself. As our local guide, the very scholarly Ali, said when not on wild tangents about European history or Greek architecture, the exterior seems unfinished compared to the elaborate interior. Why was this, he mused. Perhaps after a hundred years of construction, the money just ran out. Perhaps disease or invasion stopped work. Abandoned before it was ever finished? We just don't know, as records from the era are scarce, but he also came up with another theory that, to my ears, sounds the most likely. Perhaps the exterior is plain by design. It was deliberately left unfinished-looking, so not to attract looters. The architectural evidence somewhat supports this - rock-cut temples such as Kailash are created by excavating the rock from the top down. Only after they are finished are they plastered and painted: Kailash was once plastered and painted. Therefore it would appear that unless there were later plans for an elaborate facade, Kailash was always intended to be about the inner beauty.

Kailash Temple is just one of 34 caves gathered together alone a two kilometre stretch of basalt rock cliff-faces called the Ellora Caves. In fact, as Ali reminded us, they aren't really caves at all, at least not natural ones. Possibly there may have been some kind of natural alcove or dent in the rock face before mankind in the 1st millennium got stuck in, but what we see now is entirely the endeavour of man. These are not caves adapted for worship, they are man-made caves, or more accurately, temples and shrines cut from the rock. They were carved from anywhere between the 5th and 13th centuries; again, this is something nobody really knows with any precision. Some inscriptions in just a few caves suggest rough dates for scholars based upon their style, but generally it's all guesswork. Barely any of the caves can be dated even to the century. In the end, the dates attributed are usually done by the sculptural style; just as you can give a rough date to Western styles of art whether Realism, Cubism, or Pop Art, ancient sculpture can be roughly dated by style by people with a far greater understanding than me. Thus Kailash Temple can be dated from the mid-8th Century for the main temple to the 8th or 9th Centuries for the outer galleries. By this estimate, the initial construction of Kailash temple would match with the reign of the king of the ruling Rashtrakuta dynasty, Krishna I, and this is further confirmed by copper plate inscription describing his commissioning of the temple. These shreds of evidence match up nicely, but are far from conclusive - as with much of uncertain history, the truth may be entirely different. Would you base a history of, say, Mount Rushmore only on how it looks and a single document written decades later?

Nonetheless, we must work with the scraps that we have. What is certainly more clear is Kailash Temple's function, as a Hindu place of worship, more particularly one dedicated to the Hindu god, Shiva. Ellora's cave features three different religions: the oldest being Buddhist, then Hindu, and finally by around the 11th Century there are a handful of caves belonging to the smaller Jain religion. The evidence here is pretty much uncontested - the caves are all abundantly decorated with figures and motifs from the respective religions. This area of India was pretty relaxed regarding faith, so it seems, back then, and religions co-existed and merged, with Hinduism gradually succeeding Buddhism and then Jainists getting a late look-in. In the manner of the other Hindu temples I've seen on these travels, ranging from Prambanan to Angkor Wat to the modern Akshardham, the decoration is extensive and ornate, and although faded by over a thousand years, still enough to impress.

And impress it does. Because once through the main entrance of the unassuming facade, it feels like you've entered a different realm. Over the course of three days, I wandered into Kailash Temple several times, and the impact never waned. Suddenly you are surrounded by walls, three of them being a sheer rock face, and the other being the rock-cut facade. The cliff the temple was cut from was not a sheer vertical face, rather it was a gradually steepening hill - escarpment is the word - and thus the rock face to the rear is substantially higher than the facade, approaching forty metres. It is suddenly apparent that you are inside the cliff. All this was once solid rock, all this was excavated by sheer human endeavour.

This is probably one of the big wonder moments about Kailash. Really, there isn't much mystery about how it was built - or excavated, more accurately. Following the methods developed from over a thousand years of man-made caves, it was simply the product of a bunch of men and their chisels. Finding a nice spot, they began at the centre-top and worked their way down in a pyramid-like manner (some say from the back to the front), every day chipping way. There was no rough forming of the entire temple then going back to give the details, full detail was carved as they went. Somewhere between 150 and 300 men would have worked on it at one time - or so modern estimates go - and it likely took over a hundred years. Just a bunch of men slowly chipping away. Simple, yes, but no less awesome, because this is the single largest monolithic structure on earth. A straightforward recipe of man, chisel and time, with that vital and indefinable ingredient of genius add, to create a wholly amazing space.

That Kailash was once all just a huge chunk of rock is something that never really leaves your mind as you meander the temple area. The cliff faces loom above, and the chisel marks scraping down them are still clear. At the base of the three rock faces are galleries, carved horizontally into the face and supported by pillars, which are also just part of the original carved-away rock. Steps lead up to these, one in two storeys, and they make for a good wander round the dim outer edge of the excavated space, admiring the Shiva carvings on one side and the temple that the entire excavation pivots around on the other.

To be honest, if the temple didn't exist, the space that would be more prosaically known as Cave 16 would still be an impressive piece of excavation, with galleries cut into the base and sheer rock faces stretching up. But the temple is what makes the Wonder here, and set deep within the rock it is amazing to behold. The form itself isn't original, based on traditional Hindu designs, comprised of four basic units: the high entrance gate, the shrine of the Nandi the bull, a prayer hall, and the inner sanctum in which the Shiva linga resides (a linga is basically just a stumpy stone penis). Our guide, Ali, told us that it would have been based on a model of an existing temple, naming older rock-cut temples in the east coast town of Mamallapuram (also called Mahabalipuram) as the guide. I think this is conjecture, but it's clear that Kailash is not original in its exact design. But like many of the great buildings around the world - the Pyramids is a particularly notable example - it takes an existing template and makes it much, much grander.

Happily, unlike many ancient monuments, Kailash is still open for exploration. Its steps can be climbed, and the upstairs accessed. Even better, with shoes off and inside the dark central shrine, where Shiva's linga lingers, there are two doors. Both lead to a rear upstairs terrace that few people ever seem to walk. Ellora, and especially Kailash temple, are extremely popular with Indian school groups, which arrive by the busload and attack in swarms. Some are disciplined, some are on the rampage: all are noisy. Fortunately, Ellora's many caves are spread out enough that it is easy to dodge them and even Kailash is large enough to soak them up, but fully escaping them on this rear terrace is a pleasure. The upper level sculpture can be appreciated up close, and on one occasion the power of the ancient imagery lifted me not just spiritually but quite literally too...

Another great way to appreciate Kailash is to climb the hill it is cut into. Here, Burness and I agreed that Kailash Temple is highly unusual for being the only Wonder we've seen to date that can be viewed from above. Short of strapping on a jetpack, seeing great monuments from above and up close isn't terribly easy, but by virtue of being inside a hillside, a wholly different perspective is possible. There are future Wonders that this will be likewise possible - the Leshan Big Buddha, Petra, and the Ethiopian Rock-Cut Churches spring to mind - but this was our first to date. As well as again being free from the crowds, it is fascinating to look down at Kailash, seeing the massive gouge out of the escarpment that has been made. Don't get too close to the edge, mind.

Started in the mid-8th Century and probably taking around a hundred years to complete, as Ali had said earlier, there's no definite answer to what led to the decline, or possible early abandonment, of Kailash Temple and Ellora. There is a Hindu tradition that a broken statue is no longer of use, so if Kailash was looted and the statues broken then it would have fallen out of favour. The statues these days are certainly on the broken side, although in decent condition overall, although time and not war might be responsible for this. Nonetheless, Kailash Temple was never entirely lost or forgotten. It was remained a place of worship, given a 12th Century repainting, the small remainder of which by the entrance of the prayer hall is of very high quality. It was again repainted, at slightly lower quality, in the 18th Century by a Shiva-devotee queen of the Holkar dynasty.

Miraculously, despite being just 30 kilometres away from Aurangabad, once the capital of the Mughal emperor under the Islamic fundamentalist emperor Auragzeb, Kailash and Ellora survived the destruction Aurangzeb wreaked on many Hindu structures. However, by the 19th Century it was no longer used for worship, and suffering again the ravages of time - and early British tourism, which saw some early graffiti and "souvenir" collecting. Some early attempts as preservation were also attempted around then, though. As proper tourist site, it kicked off in the 1960s, and its preservation for some time was more-or-less secured when UNESCO listed it as a Heritage Site in 1983. A general restoration is ongoing today, conducted by the Archaeological Survey of India, with the steps particularly being more freshly cut through necessity.

A quick word on the other caves of Ellora. Obviously, Kailash is the most grand of all, but there are a number of other very impressive ones. The interlinking Jainist caves, a short distance from the main stretch, are detailed and attractive, with Cave 32 being regarded as a mini-Kailash. My favourite, or a close second to Kailash at least, was Cave 10, also called Visvarkarma. A Buddhist hall predating Kailash, it is certainly too small to be considered a Wonder but it almost had the impact of one. At the back is a large seated Buddha, facing all who enter, and on the ceiling, there are stone beams carved to mimic wooden beams, which seemed to me to be like the ribs of a whale. There was something alien about the room, as though a small stone cathedral built on a different planet, and with the light filtering through the entrance and an upper balcony door, it was superbly atmospheric and peaceful. Except when 150 schoolchildren barged in.

To be honest, if Kailash Temple was a construction rather than an excavation, and simply a temple plonked in the middle of a town or city, it would still be impressive but not outstanding. However, it is not a construction, it is the epitome of a millennium of rock-cut architecture in India that was never again surpassed, or even attempted. After Kailash, the focus went onto the less taxing approach of building temples rather than removing hillsides to create them. Nestled in rock, sheer faces around it, it looks incredible. As part of a two-kilometre line of caves, spanning three religions and hundreds of years, it is part of an amazing complex to visit. It almost passed me by, had it not been for a chance meeting on a train in Vietnam with two English fellows, Steve and Luke, who enthused about it. I too, after a brief initial disappointment, am enthusiastic. It is a great site, worth a couple of days of wander, and worth viewing at different times of day, as being a west-facing hillside it looks quite different in morning and evening lights. It has what exactly what a Wonder needs: wonder. Standing at the base, looking up at a 40-metre face and an area once entirely rock, you wonder how on earth a bunch of men with chisels could create this. It just seems so... improbable. And improbability is at the core of many of the world's best structures.

Some criteria then.

Size: It's not-infrequently mentioned that Kailash is twice the area of Greece's Parthenon and 50% taller. But compared to other large Hindu temples - Prambanan, Angkor Wat, Akshardham - it's a bit dinkier. Nevertheless, standing at the top of the excavated rock looking down, or at the bottom looking up, the overall scale of the hillside excavation is large.

Engineering: It blows the mind. Men, chisels, and time collaborating to chip away a rock face, top down, over a hundred years, to create a fully-formed two-tier temple with a large interior, and elaborately carved. No room for error, no second chance. The epitome of Indian rock-cut architecture over a thousand years. Wow.

Artistry: Although with a (deliberately?) unassuming facade, as with other great Hindu temples the rest of it is filled with elaborate and high quality sculpture, albeit rather worn these days. When originally painted, it would have looked fabulous.

Age/Gravitas: Around 1200 years old, it's firmly in the "old" league.

Fame/Iconicity: Within India it's rated fairly highly, but doesn't have a high profile. It's not at all well-known worldwide.

Context: Part of a complex of 34 rock-cut shrines stretching two kilometres, even if you're tired of Kailash there are plenty of other interesting caves to look at.

Back Story: Sadly little known, and based largely on supposition. Maybe built on the order of a king, but little of its history is known today.

Originality: The form is derived from other Hindu temples, and so is built from a rough template, although on a much more grand scale.

Kailash Temple "is surely one of the great wonders of the world." So claimed Benoy K. Behl for the magazine Frontline for Indian national newspaper, The Hindu. But perhaps to claim it as one of the actual Seven is a bit of a stretch. Kailash Temple is fantastic, but it is not world-beating fantastic. I suppose what it ultimately comes down to is size. At its tallest, the rock-cut temple itself is just a little over 29 metres - this is big, sure, but it is not massive. If it was twice as large, then maybe we'd have a contender. Outstanding beauty or fame would maybe make up for that, but it doesn't reach these heights either. So Kailash Temple never threatens to break into the Seven, but is still an enthralling place to visit. A temple cut away from the rock, it is an improbable site, and part of a great series of caves. Despite a poor first impression, it reveals itself brilliantly as a place very much worth the time and effort to see. I've not visited anywhere quite like it. And it inspires awe. All this adds up to a candidate Wonder being placed near the top bunch of sights I've seen so far, a good bit ahead of its fellow Hindu (-esque) temple, Akshardham, and just sneaking in a little behind Borobudur.

Days 160 to 163: Arrival Into Beijing

2012-02-13T19:45:00.000Z

And so, enter China.

As Burness and I arrived in Beijing, we agreed: this is the big unknown. After over a month getting familiar with India, and the months before in the smaller unknowns of various south-east Asian countries, China was set to be a change of pace and a step into the unknown. Of course, it gets plenty of media attention these days, we'd spoken to a number of people who had been there recently, and for a few years I've taken a strong interest in its mid-20th Century history under Chairman Mao, but none of these gave us much of an idea of how it would feel to walk in its cities. Would Beijing be a chaotic mess? Would English be widely spoken? Would its alleged Wonders be world-beaters or the hyped hysteria of a billion-plus people? And would Burness be able to moderate his drinking during eight hours of flying?

The answer to these first few questions will make themselves known, but the last one was a strong "no". Upon arriving at Beijing Capital International Airport at 1pm, after an early morning flight from Colombo, which stopped over at Bangkok, Burness had found himself quite drunk after a sleepless overnight flight filled with Black and White Russians (i.e. the drink: Kahlua was served on board, he explained, thus giving him no other option). As he slurred his words, stinking of booze as we stood by the baggage carousel, I realised he had become a liability, and would have jettisoned him had I not just won a bet - winning two pints - for him not being up to date with his blog by the time we'd arrived in China. So entering into the unknown with my drunken associate, we hopped aboard the very affordable airport express, figured out the subway system, and found ourselves on the cold streets of Beijing.

Let it not be understated that this is February, and Beijing in February is very much experiencing winter. After months of warm temperatures, China is the first cold country we've visited, and it was quickly clear that Danielle's timely visit during India, bringing me a £10 jacket she'd bought in Primark, was the only thing saving me from being in a T-shirt in freezing conditions. Added to the cold was an unexpected stillness. Sure, Beijing is hardly a sleeping city, but the chaos of people and traffic were not immediately apparent, and to be honest, in our four days there, it never truly emerged. Beijing is not Bangkok, it is not Jakarta, it is not New Delhi. The streets are wide, the driving relatively orderly, the cars in good order, and the bustle was what the West might regard as civilisation. I'd expected Beijing to be fairly wealthy and efficient, but this exceeded it. Burness had expected something like a Chinese version of Delhi, and was in a mild state of shock.

We serendipitously found ourselves in the Jade Youth Hostel very near the Forbidden City. A hotel converted into a youth hostel, we'd actually been trying to find a Lonely Planet selection but unintentionally stumbled upon the Jade Youth Hostel instead. At 50 RMB (£5) a night for a four-bed dorm that only ever had the two of us in it, it was a bargain, especially with the spotless rooms, comfortable beds, and 6 RMB beer sold. Despite a slight lack of atmosphere, the sheer comfort makes it one of the best hostels I've ever stayed in, especially given its proximity to the Forbidden City, Wonder number 23 for me.

And so, after checking in and checking on Burness's sobriety (slowly improving) we went for a meander by my next Wonder. And I can confirm that, yes, it's pretty big. After a good 20 minutes or so, we made it to Tiananmen Square, reputedly the world's largest square. It's pretty big, but not quite the jaw-dropping expanse of open space I'd expected. Apart from a few statues and a flag, there's not much except concrete and a load of people.

And there were a whole load of people there when we wandered by. Access inside was blocked by police too. What was this? Had our travels coincided with another famous display of Chinese rebellion? No, the crowds were just tourists, mostly Chinese, there to watch the sunset ceremony of the flag-lowering. A bunch of soldiers march out the Gate of Heavenly Peace facing the square and lower the Chinese flag. Lovely.

Even more lovely was the popularity Burness and I suddenly attained by duos of lovelies. Lovely Chinese girls, upon seeing us stride handsomely by, engaged us in conversation. Their English pretty good, first one pair and then another, began making friendly conversation, which eventually led to an invite to join them for a coffee. This was despite my not-indistinct lack of interest and Burness's sobering-up surliness. The second pair I eventually had to fairly abruptly walk away from despite their pleads - yes, pleads - to join them for coffee. "What harm could it do?" Burness said to me, a little agitated by this flagrantly squandered opportunity. "Read the Lonely Planet," I told him, and upon getting back to the hostel showed him a small boxed section detailing a scam in which alleged students of English entice men into tea or coffeeshops that end up having absolutely extortionate bills. I'd heard about the scam independently about a year ago, and after months of travelling and developing a wise cynicism, was fairly sure that if two sets of pretty girls, in very quick succession, had immediately latched onto us next to a major tourist attraction, then we might safely be suspicious. Burness looked displeased, suggesting that they were just being friendly and had just been instantly attracted to our rugged good looks. Even he, surely, was not convinced by this argument. I suggested to Burness that if he wanted to recapture this unique opportunity, he need only return to Tiananmen Square the following day for the flag-lowering, and he could see how much this friendly coffee and chat really cost, but so far he has declined to do so ("No, I will not be your wingman.").

The following day, our first full one in Beijing, we returned to Tiananmen Square, now free of English students desperate for our company. Facing the huge square is the Gate of Heavenly Peace, the large portal leading to the Forbidden City, first built 600 years ago but the current incarnation from a mid-20th Century reconstruction, which we entered, to begin our first glimpse of the Forbidden City.

We made our return visit two days later, and a full review of this candidate Wonder will follow. In between was another Wonder, one of the big ones - the Great Wall of China. Being so large, the Great Wall has several trips scheduled to several different sections of the Wall, but for our debut we selected the most touristy part, about an hour north of Beijing, called Badaling. Again, full details will be forthcoming on my eventual review, but I will say that we were both seriously impressed. Badaling might be the tacky part, that in summer is packed solid with tourists, but I found the tackiness oddly appealing, and when on the Wall itself it didn't really matter. Plus, being freezing cold and winter, as soon as we moved away from the entrance to the Wall, the crowds quickly thinned. At one point, we were the only people there. Alone, at the most visited section of one of the world's premier tourist attractions!

Foodwise, Beijing has been a mixed bag, with mixed being the key word. Every meal we've had has been different. Beijing has a whole load of different foods and styles, with many of them being entirely different to what we're used to, despite having travelled throughout much of Asia. Added to this is the distinct lack of written or spoken English. The very first restaurant we tried had a menu only in Chinese, with staff speaking only Chinese. We'd barely had a minute to gather our thoughts when the owner chucked us out! He gestured wildly for us to get out and we stubbornly pretended to not understand what he was getting at until another guest explained to us, in decent English, that he was busy and didn't want foreigners in his restaurant. Don't worry, I petrol bombed his restuarant later that evening. But it has taught us to at least go for restaurants that look as though they have pictures, and this has done us well since. We still have little idea what we're ordering, and have frequently got the quantities extravagantly wrong (don't worry, always on the excessive side - we haven't gone hungry), but have at least managed to point at a picture and receive food. And it has, overall, been good, and occasionally excellent. But because I'm not a food blogger and have no idea how to write about food, I'm not going to describe any.

And that is our first few days in Beijing. Some cold weather, some good food, the Forbidden City and the Great Wall, and a decent hotel underpinning it all. But, for now, it's a wave goodbye to Beijing. We'll be returning soon enough, in around a week, but suddenly an even greater mystery awaits: North Korea. China, the Big Unknown? Never. North Korea, with its doors virtually closed to the outside world, is surely one of the most mysterious nations in the world. And so for a week, a tour awaits, the only way someone like me is able to visit as a tourist. Goodbye to the cold streets of Beijing, hello to the Cold War relic of the streets of Pyongyang...

China to North Korea

2012-02-13T13:27:00.001Z

I arrived in China a few days ago, and have visited two more Wonders - the Forbidden City and a part of the Great Wall (many to follow) - and a write-up on these days and Wonders is pending. However, it will have to wait a week. Tomorrow I'm going to North Korea for a week and will be almost entirely out of contact. I say almost - the hotel, surprisingly, has BBC World, so if you urgently need to get a message to me, do it by means of major news story. See you in a week (probably).

13. Wonder: Agra Fort

2012-02-13T11:11:00.000Z

(For the Agra Fort preview, please click here.)

These days, Agra Fort's fame lies with the Taj Mahal. It is the "B" attraction for Agra, being visited by the tour groups either as precursor or prelude to Agra's main attraction. Even the lasting image of Agra Fort that most leave with is related to the Taj Mahal. That is of the imprisonment of Shah Jahan, the Mughal emperor who built the Taj Mahal in tribute to his beloved late wife. A few years after the completion of the now world famous tomb, he fell ill. One of his sons, Aurangzeb, seized the moment. His father weakened, Aurangzeb and his forces went into battle with and effected the death of two of his own brothers, before entering into a showdown with his elder brother and heir apparent Dara Shikoh. Aurangzeb was a hardline Muslim of the kind that you'd usually want to sidestep at parties, known for being brutal and intolerant of anything beyond his extremist views. Music, dance, and, naturally, alcohol, were banned under him. Dara, on the other hand, was intelligent and religiously tolerant, in the way of his predecessors, and much better at parties. In a pivotal battle between the two, Aurangzeb defeated Dara, and history - not to mention the party scene across India - was made for the worse. Dara was marched in chains and executed in Delhi; Shah Jahan, recovering from his illness, was imprisoned in Agra Fort for the next eight years until his death while Aurangzeb began a brutal reign that deftly undid all the good work of the previous five generation of Mughal emperors. The popular tale goes that Shah Jahan spent his final years in imprisonment, his sons dead and his empire crumbling, gazing into the distance at the Taj Mahal, gleaming in the sun along the banks of the Yamuna river, remembering happier days and his much-missed wife.

This would have taken place in the Mussaman Burj - or "Octagonal Tower" - just one of many components of the sprawling Agra Fort. It's certainly true that Shah Jahan was imprisoned there until his death, although is conjecture that he gazed misty-eyed upon his wife's tomb; in fact, it seems he was rather busy sleeping with as many women as possible, and his death (and the illness that led to his overthrow) thought to have been caused by an aphrodisiac overdose. But given that the Taj Mahal is in clear sight from Agra Fort, and still quite transfixing from that distance, it seems likely that Shah Jahan had a few moments, from time to time, to reflect and rue his fate.

This is probably the most popular legacy of the Agra Fort these days, but in truth is just one of many for a building with far more historical significance than the more famous Taj Mahal. The Taj Mahal is a snapshot of time, a single monument dedicated to the wife of an emperor, though of course sublimely executed. Agra Fort was the centre of the Mughal empire at its most commanding, when it stretched across most of India, seeing its rise and fall, and acting as home for generations of emperors and their court. And its time is not up yet - even today, much of the complex is closed to the public as the Indian military still use large portions of it.

The fort we see today dates from 1565 and the third Mughal emperor, Akbar the Great. Akbar the Great is an interesting fellow, who as his name suggests, enjoyed a very powerful and influential reign. In the wake of his father's death (he fell down stairs while carrying books), he transformed the fortunes of the Mughal empire, turning it into a powerhouse in Indian history. Enlightened, he brought together the areas he conquered by being religiously tolerant, he underwent a massive program of construction, and he encouraged the arts and sciences. In fact, his encouragement of the sciences, though well intended, did stray into the "irregular" territory. He wanted to test the claim that Arabic was the true and natural born language of mankind, and that without the polluting influences of other languages, a child would naturally acquire the tongue. This was a claim he thought unlikely. So to put it to the test, he took twenty newborn children and had them raised in isolation, with only mute nurses to take care of them. He was, unsurprisingly, proved correct.

Among his many building works, Agra Fort is among the most notable. Agra had been made capital of the empire by his grandfather, the Mughal founder, Babur, and an old, knackered, fortress stood there. Akbar wanted something better, so clearing the area of the crappy old fort, 3-4000 workers spent eight years constructing the walls and interior buildings. With the 94 acres - only a little smaller than the world's smallest nation, the Vatican City - of interior having changed buildings and layout over the years, it is the walls that are the enduring legacy of Akbar's time, and the enduring image of the Fort for the visitor. Most notably, the Amar Singh gate and surrounding walls which are the entry point for modern day visitors. The name, although dating from Akbar's time, is in fact British, and relates to a stone horse they built near the gateway, relating to the daring escape of an official's son, Rao Amar Singh, in 1644. He was imprisoned and executed - by being cut to pieces - for assassination of another official, but the British in the 19th Century spread the story that he had escape alive with his horse, which had jumped over the walls and moat, before being converted into a stone sculpture. The story gained popular attention and the name stuck.

It is this gateway facade that Danielle and I found ourselves before a few hours after having arrived in Agra, and we both found ourselves quite impressed. We had just spent a couple of hours enjoying breakfast on the rooftop restaurant of our hotel, the Shanti Lodge, gazing in awe at the Taj Mahal. Instead of heading straight there, we decided to eke out the sense of anticipation by paying a visit to Agra Fort, the other Wonder candidate on my list. Expecting it to be more brute than beauty, we were pleasantly surprised to find a building, though of considerable bulk and strength, also with a sense of finesse. Like a fat-lipped boxer with the soft touch of a lady. Or something like that.

Amar Singh gate in itself isn't anything too special, it is the higher walls and turret behind it that give it grandeur, all in red sandstone. The red sandstone give Agra Fort its other name, the Red Fort, causing occasional confusion with the other, Shah Jahan-built, Red Fort in Delhi. The 2.5 kilometres of wall, around 21 metres high, that make the main defence of the fort are all in red sandstone, as are many of the buildings inside. As a rough rule, the red sandstone buildings are of Akbar's time, with the white marble ones being built during Shah Jahan's reign. Akbar's legacy remaining in the Agra Fort is power, Shah Jahan's - who dismantled much of Akbar's buildings to construct his own - is elegance and fine detail.

Although Akbar surely couldn't have intended it, his walls and layers of gates still act as a good control, these days for the flow of tourists. Paying at Amar Singh gate, going through a gentle pat-down at security, then dallying for a moment in the small quadrangle beyond, Danielle and I had our tickets checked at the second gate, imaginatively called the Second Amar Singh Gate, and were now allowed in. Not with bags, however - these have to left at a rather basic cloakroom, with a rather uncommunicative attendant (perhaps he was raised by Akbar's mute nurse). But through Gate 2, up a rising and approach, and there we were, inside the impregnable Agra Fort.

Inside Agra Fort, according to one Mughal court historian, whose veracity I would personally question, there were once 500 buildings. If so, it must have been a pretty congested place, or the buildings particularly tiny, although it would have fulfilled Akbar's desire for a "city within a city", a concept shared by just places as Moscow's Kremlin and Beijing's Forbidden City. These days, only 27 remain, allowing a bit of breathing space. The British get some flak for dismantling a load during the 19th Century, claiming they were just removing rubble - this is where the myth comes from of the Taj Mahal being scheduled for destruction so that the British could sell the marble. In fact, the marble was from some Agra Fort rubble, and didn't make very much money on the market - one contemporary writer claims that if it had done better then the Taj Mahal would be next, thus beginning the myth. But it wasn't just the British, Shah Jahan himself dismantled a whole load of his grandfather's buildings to make way for his white marble constructions. These are what constitute the bulk of the tourist experience these days, a number of very attractive marble buildings, some possibly done by the same unknown architect of the Taj Mahal.

And so, Danielle and I spent a few very pleasant hours wandering around Agra Fort, which wasn't at all crowded, and spacious enough to avoid any tour groups that might be lingering. Danielle made the observation that a little coffeeshop might be a good idea, mostly just because she fancied a coffee and if she had her own way there'd be a coffeeshop inside every Wonder, but it was actually a pretty valid observation. There isn't anywhere in Agra Fort to eat or drink, but there's plenty of open space: a few tables and chairs and a small coffee stall would be an excellent idea. It would be done discreetly, and a temporary structure, but the effect would be to allow you to sit for a while, drink some coffee, relax, have a chat, and enjoy the surroundings. It would enhance the appreciation of the fort itself. Proceeds could go into ongoing maintenance of the site. Doesn't that seem to make sense?

Making less sense was a man we met near the rear of the Akbari Mahal. Intimating that he wanted to take a photo of us, I handed him our camera and he proceeded to give us directions for how to stand. This included me standing, looking down, and Danielle, a little forward of me, crouching with her hands out. He took the photo, we thanked him nervously, and scuttled away before any further madness ensued, only later checking the picture bringing his plan into focus.

On a sunny and gently warm day, Agra Fort made for an amiable stroll, admiring the architecture and imagining the scenes of court life that were once played out, and the decisions made that spelt the fate of millions. It's a shame that most of the world's great buildings have, in effect, now died, and just become museum pieces for tourists to meander and admire; there is something very appealing about ancient buildings that retain their function. Although Agra Fort still retains a military function, it is no longer a home for emperors and their court, and no longer the scene of such mentalism such as the emperor, before an audience, testing out new cutlasses on dead sheep, and having daily animal processions, which could include elephants and rhinos. The oldest and now pretty derelict building of the compound, the Akbari Mahal, would once have contained the harem, full of his wives, concubines, and children, with the only other male visitors permitted being eunuchs. One of my favourites, the Diwan-I-Am ("The Hall of Public Audience"), a Shah Jahan edifice for conducting public ceremonies, celebrations, and parties basically, would once have been a grand heart of the fort; it is still an attractive marble building, covered in multi-foiled arches (kind of like small arches within the larger, main, arch) and decorative Taj-like motifs, but seems rather quiet and ghost-like. This is the running theme of Agra Fort, a lot of beautiful buildings that seem rather sad and neglected. In its heyday, and in its proper context, Agra Fort would have been magnificent. But the noise, colours, smell, and crowds of people have gone forever. Now it is a collection of pretty buildings removed of their purpose. And without a purpose, some of their glory has faded.

In fact, an excellent audio tour is available, that brings to life some of the wonder. And here I have to admit to screwing up. The first time I visited, I forgot to bring a pen and paper, so thought I'd wait until my second visit to record notes of interest. But then the Taj Mahal intervened. Poor Agra Fort, once the big daddy, now the poor cousin in Agra, likely overshadowed in its own city for the rest of time. Even the highlight of Agra Fort is standing upon the Diwan-I-Khas ("Hall of Private Audience") and admiring the view of the Taj Mahal's domes and minarets in the distance. On my second visit, we all arrived far too late to enjoy the full tour. Typical of our time in Agra, we had been on the rooftop of the Shanti Lodge, enjoying what was our last close-up view of my new favourite Wonder. By the time we arrived at Agra Fort, there was enough time to get in only about half of what is a comprehensive and extremely well-put together audio tour. I would very strongly recommend the tour, for without it Agra Fort is just a collection of buildings surrounded by a wall - the tour breathes a bit of life into them, and let's the fascinating history shine. For the history of Agra Fort is certainly the heart of this Wonder.

Although I would say, if you want to enjoy the history via the daily Sound and Light show, make sure you go to one in the correct language. Watching a series of lights while listening to a booming voice in Hindi didn't do much for our appreciation (in fairness, the English one was on too late for us to catch our train).

For me, the walls are the main focus of Agra Fort, as they really make it the fort it is. They are the unifying structure. The buildings inside are the details, and pack in the history, but for an aesthetic point of view, the sense of power and unity is conveyed by the walls. Strong, tall, powerful, they are the boxer's glove to the fine lady's caress that are, by and large, Shah Jahan's charming constructions. But really, in the end, I have to borrow Danielle's observation that although architecturally excellent, Agra Fort is the kind of thing you can see in many countries: a big, historically-important fort or castle. For me, it's a bit more special than that, but it's also probably fair to say that if not for the Taj Mahal on its doorstep, I would have likely not made the effort to come to Agra just to see the fort.

Some criteria then.

Size: It takes up a large area, at 94 acres, but none of the individual buildings that comprise it are of the monumental size I'd expect of a Wonder. Still, from the outside, the gates and walls command a strong presence.

Engineering: A lot of hard labour over the course of eight years constructed the initial version, with various deletions and additions made since. Well-built, but not pushing any technical boundaries.

Artistry: From the outside, powerful, from the inside more delicate. Agra Fort is pleasing to look at, with many beautiful touches - unsurprising given the Mughal emperors' dedication to the arts and architecture.

Age/Durability: It's a pretty solid-seeming building, and forts more than most other buildings see the ravages of time and war. At almost 400 years, the walls of Agra Fort have survived well, albeit with the buildings inside having seen some changes.

Fame/Iconicity: Destined to be forever overshadowed by Agra's other great Wonder, the Taj Mahal, and its fame these days is mostly dependent upon it.

Context: Though slightly elevated, Agra Fort is really just plonked in the middle of the messy, charmless city of Agra. However, inside the walls, the city is forgotten, and the fort is a pleasant place to be.

Back Story: Agra Fort is the setting for one of history's great empires, packed full of glory, intrigue, and war.

Originality: Though with many nice touches, Agra Fort is, basically, just a fort.

If I have to be honest, I don't think I did Agra Fort full justice. As well as screwing up the audio tour, I failed by not taking the time even to take a simple walk around the outside. Sorry, Agra Fort. Blame the Taj. Nonetheless, although next time I visit (and there will be a next time, if only because I want to see the Taj Mahal again) I will devote more time to it, I feel I've got a pretty good handle of Agra Fort. And that is, great history, fascinating building, but not really in the category of true Wonders. As I suspected, there isn't really enough focus in a large area without any dominant building. The primary focus is the Amar Singh gate and rampart backdrop, which although pretty grand isn't as visually spectacular or original as most on my list I've already seen. I love the history, and love Agra Fort because of the history, but the construction itself doesn't take my breath away. And so, Agra Fort falls near the bottom of my list so far, still safely within the "worth-seeing" category but not really in the "must-see" list, a little above Ayutthaya Historical Park but not as impressive as the Marina Bay Sands.

14. Wonder: The Lotus Temple

2012-02-11T07:24:00.004Z

(For the Lotus Temple preview, please click here.)

Perhaps the Lotus Temple makes more sense in summer. Delhi's temperature reaching well into the 40s, the air exhausting with humidity and the streets congested with humanity, traffic fumes and a cacophony of horns, the city is like a hyperactive dog that can't stop barking, running around and biting your leg. The Lotus Temple must be a sanctuary from all of that. Amidst 26 acres of gardens (around 2/3 the size of the Taj Mahal complex), it is a single flower nestled in the centre, the silent and cool interior a world away from the chaos outside. Delhi is not a peaceful city; the Lotus Temple is all about peace. If the hustle-bustle, argy-bargy, and 24-hour-non-stop of Delhi is getting too much for you, the Lotus Temple is a perfect haven of harmony, where you can switch off and ponder the heavens in blessed silence. Or, simply, just sit there and enjoy the silence.

The Lotus Temple, or the Baha'i House of Worship to call it by its correct name, has been standing in the Bahapur village suburb of Delhi since its completion in 1986. Calling it a village suburb wrongly insinuates a kind of rural charm; in reality this is just part of the ongoing sprawl of noisy Delhi. Getting there inevitably involves an auto-rickshaw or taxi pushing its way through Delhi's traffic. On a bright January afternoon, Danielle and I opted for an auto-rickshaw, and after over forty-five minutes of horns, near-death experiences, and Delhi smells it was a delightful relief to see the distinctive petals of the Lotus Temple appear into view. Entry is free, with a rudimentary security check, and suddenly we were at the beginning of a path leading up to the Lotus Temple, a final stairway leading to the main structure elevated above the flat land around it.

This was about as good as it got, alas. From a distance, the Lotus Temple looks pretty good. It's certainly original, any similarity to the Sydney Opera House is very superficial (it's white and has curved bits; they differ otherwise). And it looks great in photos. All pictures I'd previously seen were taken from the start of this path, or from an aerial view. Against a bright blue sky and using a good camera, the Lotus Temple looks resplendent. Even better, from above, the nine blue pools in view, the nine-sided symmetry and clean design of the temple is evident. The Lotus Temple, and all Baha'i Houses of Worship, are characterised by being nine-sided, with the Lotus Temple having nine entrances beneath its lotus petals, and nine pools symmetrically arranged outside. Nine is the highest digit and so for the Baha'i faith represents comprehensiveness, oneness, and unity. Looks great if you happen to be in a helicopter. And in fact, on paper, the Lotus Temple should be great too. At 34 metres tall - around 40 metres if you include the podium its on - and a 70-metre diameter, it's sufficiently large. It is innovative, the structure built with 27 marble-clad petals to form nine sides in clusters of three. And it has won various architectural awards, being (rather lazily) compared to the Taj Mahal on more than one occasion.

Unfortunately, the Lotus Temple is also pretty boring.

Danielle put it best, after some pondering upon reaching it close up. "It reminds me of a conference centre," she said. There's no reason a conference centre shouldn't be beautiful, but the usual association is with, well, conferences, and they usually don't inspire fist-pumping adrenalin rushes. Everything is very clean, orderly, a little stiff, and really not much fun at all.

The Lotus Temple is, according to the on-site literature, the latest of seven temples built across the world, representing the Baha'i faith but open to all religions for worship. The Baha'i faith is a small but very globally spread-out one, originating in mid-19th Century Iran with a "radiant youth" known as "The Bab" ("The Gate" in Arabic). He claimed he was setting the scene for a new major spiritual leader to appear, and seemed to attract plenty of followers, but also plenty of negative attention and was executed in 1850. After his death, his word continued to spread, largely due to the efforts of a fellow called Baha'u'llah ("The Glory of God") who spread the word, until suddenly revealing that he was the Promised One. He was succeeded by his son, 'Abdu'l-Baha ("Servant of God") whom he authorised as the only interpreter of his teachings, and 'Abdu'l-Baha continued the word-spreading and bewildering apostrophes, taking the Baha'i faith to the West. The Bahai's scriptures are an accumulative effort of these three people. The message espoused is basically of peace and oneness, tying in all religions of the world and bringing universal equality, while having love and understanding with an unknowable god. While mystical deities don't really do it for me, there can't be much argument with their basic principles.

The problem is that, based on visiting the Lotus Temple at least, it all seems so serious. Baha'i followers don't drink - fair enough - and only seem to manage wise, knowing smiles. I can't shake from my head the image of a sci-fi future in which everything is bathed in soft white light, the people wear flowing white robes and move slowly, and everything is very ethereal in a nothing-happens kind of way. This isn't at all reflected in my own sampling of Baha'i people. I've met three Baha'i people in my life, an American, a Korean, and, just recently, a Malaysian a hostel in Kuala Lumpur. All of them were friendly, fun, and not at all dull. They didn't drink and being Baha'i was obviously a part of their life, but there was no preaching, no seriousness, and no floaty sci-fi future mannerisms. I can't see any connection between them and the writer of the po-faced comment at the end of the paper pamphlet handed out on-site: "This pamphlet contains Holy Writing, please preserve its sanctity." I mean, really?

So there is a whiff of conference centre and po-facedness about the Lotus Temple. This isn't dissipated by entering it, but inside does redeem the experience a little. Joining a queue just outside the single public entrance, two Baha'i volunteers arrange the gathering into rows of people before launching into a spiel, first in Hindi and then in English. The gist of this is a brief surmise of Baha'i beliefs and that the Lotus Temple is for open for worshippers of all faiths to pray, in silence. In you go, to a cavernous single-hall interior, making you realise that the Lotus Temple is kind of like a giant concrete tent. The nine-sided symmetry is abandoned here, as the seats all face in a single direction. It would be difficult to describe the interior as attractive, but there is a starkness to it that is striking.

The most striking thing, however, is the absolute silence. A couple of volunteers man the space, threatening to hush you down for insubordination, but the inherent silence of the arena is enough for self-regulation of everyone, even excitable Indians. As well as the silence, the coolness is immediately apparent. It is very peaceful, with just the very distant sound of Delhi horns audible, and during the swelter of a north Indian summer, the cool and calm would be of welcome contrast. Delhi's intensity is not so great during January, so the impact is less. Like a cathedral, the space and peace allows for moments of reflection: believers can close their eyes and make prayers or meditate, people like myself can think about stuff like boobs and money.

I applaud the openness of the Baha'i faith and the Lotus Temple in extending to all religions, but wonder why this can't apply to the temple experience. As well as being aesthetically disappointing, the Lotus Temple is not much of an experience. It could be so much better. Surrounding it are acres of gardens. Their condition during our visit was decent, though not immaculate, but in a less dry season I would imagine it would be a lot more attractive. However - they were closed off! Acres of garden that would be ideal for sitting in, relaxing, taking in the unique view of the Lotus Temple, and enhancing enjoyment of the experience. The large crowds that visit would also be more spread out. I could understand even if it was a "Don't Walk On The Grass" policy, but all the pathways are barriered off. What a pity. It means that a visit to the Lotus Temple is very restricted: follow the crowds up the main path, deposit your shoes in a cloakroom, listen to a spiel and enter the temple for some silence, then exit the temple, get your shoes, and walk back down the main pathway with the crowds.

The only real freedom of movement allowed is by the pools outside, where you can sit on the steps. You can't even walk around the Lotus Temple - only the approach facade is explorable. One way in, one way out... so much for nine entrances. In fact, me and Danielle somewhat messed up the system. After sitting for a while inside, we took the wrong door out. I'd been following the lead of another couple, who instead of exiting through the open door, took one that was closed. Outside, it was immediately clear that this was the wrong exit, and all routes were roped-off. Unfortunately, just behind us was a large bunch of Indians, who began filling up this roped-off area, expressing varying degrees of confusion. Myself and Danielle quickly ducked back into the temple, and exited via the correct door, leaving the confused mass to sort itself out, likely to the horror of the Baha'i volunteers.

Delhi is a city packed with fantastic religious and historical monuments, that my very limited time there did not permit me to see. I would have loved to have seen the Red Fort, the Rashtrapati Bhavan (formerly the Viceroy's House), the precursor to the Taj Mahal - Humayun'sTomb, and the Qutb Minar for a start. Because of time and my Wonders quest, I only saw Akshardham and the Lotus Temple, twice. I certainly do not regret Akshardham, but it's difficult to justify the Lotus Temple. Except to say - look at the photos. And go to Delhi and look at the tours available. It's ubiquitous. In all the hotel and travel agents it is second only to the Taj Mahal in terms of exposure. Its picture is everywhere, and it looks distinctive and great. Attracting several millions visitors every year, it's clearly a big draw. But unless you're looking for a bit of peace and quiet on a hot summer's day, I can't really recommend it.

Some criteria.

Size: Roughly 40 metres tall by 70 metres in diameter, it's big enough, but not vast. However, it's just a hollow shell with only a single space inside, seating 1300 people, which makes it seem smaller.

Engineering: Built in six years of concrete, clad in white marble, at the impressively thrifty price of $20 million (£30 million in today's money), by 800 engineers, technicians and artisans, many of them volunteers. Well designed.

Artistry: Clean and stark, and very original, it unfortunately looks pretty cheap and plain close up.

Age/Durability: Just over 25 years old now, it seems like a modern construction - especially close up - without the gravitas of timelessness.

Fame/Iconicity: It has a pretty high profile in Delhi, and is probably the most famous building in the Baha'i faith (perhaps tying with the Shrine of Bab in Haifa). However, there isn't much awareness outside of these circles.

Context: A haven of peace amidst the hubbub of Delhi, its cool and calm make a welcome contrast, especially set amidst large and attractive gardens.

Back Story: A full understanding of the background inevitably involves understanding of the history of the Baha'i faith, but the temple itself is a bit more straightforward: the land was bought in 1953 with a devotee's life savings, and the temple finally constructed, seemingly without major problems, between 1980 and 1986.

Originality: The Lotus Temple's strong point. I've not seen anything quite like this before.

In a whole world of buildings, the Lotus Temple stands out for being striking, original, and very photogenic. Alas, in the world of Wonders, it doesn't really rate. It's a shame, as based on pictures it promised so much, as well as comparisons to the Taj Mahal and its architectural awards. But the only thing that really matters is impact upon visiting, and the Lotus Temple has little. It's not a bad building, but it's simply not a Wonder, and has neither the depth or charm to even qualify as a legitimate candidate. I feel a little bad slating it, as it should never have made the list, like a three-legged dog being entered into a greyhound race. But like old Rover posing with his furry pegleg, the Lotus Temple and its photos flattered to deceive, and it's been entered into the contest regardless. And, alas, it has turned out to be the first major disappointment, and a clear bottom of the list so far.

Days 157 to 159: Sigiriya and Three Days In Sri Lanka

2012-02-09T17:53:00.000Z

A few months back, Burness and I were planning the best route from southern India to Beijing. The land between India and China border is closed, and any land border in the vicinity (Pakistan or Nepal) worked out as more trouble than it was worth. By air, therefore, was the obvious solution. I spent many hours poring over flight website favourites www.kayak.co.uk and www.skyscanner.net and came up with a surprising, but very pleasing answer. For a little over £200, we could go from Mumbai to Beijing, with a stopover in Sri Lanka. We opted for a couple of days there. All of a sudden, we'd gained ourselves some bonus time in Sri Lanka at no extra cost.

This in itself was pleasing. I've heard plenty of good things about Sri Lanka, mostly focussing on its abundance of natural beauty, but of more direct interest to me, a fair amount on its history and legacy of ancient buildings and ruins. Of most relevance to my current quest for Wonders was the ruins known as Sigiriya ("Lion Rock"). During my pre-travel trawlings to find candidate Wonders to add to my list, Sigiriya cropped up on more occasion. Set atop a gigantic rock formation looking like a single massive boulder are the ruins of either a monastery or palace (depending on who you wish to believe). The setting is spectacular - the rock has sheer faces and there is wonder in spades at how on earth they got the substantial amounts of building materials to the top. It is a fascinating and visually arresting sight. But ultimately, I didn't add it to my list for two reasons: I felt the ruins were simply too ruined, being little left besides the foundations; and the sense of magnificence came from the natural setting rather than the man-made efforts. Was I to be proved right? Well, perhaps. Maybe. Kind of.

The catch with our cheap flight to Beijing, via Sri Lanka's capital Colombo, was the 3.20am to 5.40am flying time, somewhat on the side of anti-social. Burness and I had managed a few hours of pre-flight sleep in Mumbai, but by the time we'd made our way to Colombo train station and waited a few hours for the next available train to the scenic city of Kandy, we were a little fatigued. And by the time we'd walked around, checked out various hotels before settling on a guesthouse a fair way up a hill, all in pretty humid conditions, we were in dire need of some sleep. This we got, and by late afternoon we were much more refreshed and ready to venture round Kandy. We were pretty disappointed.

We'd opted to stay in Kandy because of some good reviews online and decent Lonely Planet write-up, but my research had been paper-thin and the Lonely Planet dated from 2006. A city of around 100,000, descriptions all mentioned it being scenic and filled with history, with highlights being the lake it was all centred around and the holy Buddhist site, the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic, by its side. It also would serve as an excellent base for a day-trip to Sigiriya, only a few hours away. What I hadn't reckoned on, based upon our first wander than afternoon, was that circumnavigating the lake would be a busy road filled with noisy buses and auto-rickshaws successfully destroying the potential peace, and that anywhere near the temple would be touts trying to make your acquaintance and sell you marijuana. Drug possession, as an airport notice had reminded us, has a death sentence in Sri Lanka, and so with the multitude of police in the area, we didn't enquire as to the price as it certainly wouldn't be worth the ultimate cost.

Also affecting our initial impressions was the fact that it was a Full Moon Day and a national Buddhist holiday. This meant lots of chanting but also a ban of selling booze. Naturally, Burness with his astonishing instincts, almost immediately located somewhere that sold beer in discreet teapots, but we had to drink it at the venue and couldn't take any back to our room.

Day 2 of our three in Sri Lanka was Sigiriya day. Up early, we meandered down to Kandy's utterly mental bus station. A mass of tin can buses and auto-rickshaws weaving between them, there appears to be no timetable or office in existence, but on this morning serendipity was on our side and virtually the first bus we encountered was the only daily direct bus to Sigiriya. It was 7.28am; the bus left at 7.30am. I wouldn't describe the journey as comfortable but my rear end numbness had not reached extreme levels by the time we arrived, somewhere before 11am. After an early lunch and some hassle from an annoying family of stray dogs (the lady running the restaurant chucked a broom at them which worked a treat) we began the approach.

There is no doubt that Sigiriya makes an excellent first impression. The giant rock is an unmistakeable feature against the flat surroundings, looking improbable and out of place. Indeed, there is no sign of the ruins at all until much closer, reinforcing that the wonder of this landmark is all about the natural rather than the man-made. Only upon reaching a large pool of water followed by another one do you realise that you have in fact just encountered the inner and outer moats, still functioning 1500 years on. I'm not sure how much restoration had been done, but the inner moat especially looks in great shape, still retaining its defensive function many years on - these days to keep the tourists from getting in for free.

And at the astonishing £20 entry free, I wouldn't blame them. Bloody hell, this would be steep by Western standards, by Asian ones it is outrageous, and the only real let-down of Sigiriya. The cost is significantly less for Sri Lankans, but is twice that of any other site I've been to in Asia, including Angkor and the Taj Mahal. The elaborate ticket might come with a mini-DVD - woohoo - but for that price I'd at least expect a map, a short explanatory history, a bottle of water and a biscuit, and a small jetpack.

Price aside, Sigiriya impresses from the moment the moat is crossed and the site entered. All the time with the giant rock looming ahead, the gardens are pleasant to walk among. Not being a chosen Wonder of mine, I'd not done anything in the way of research into this, so anything I might say upon the site's history is a regurgitation of what I read there and from the 2006 Lonely Planet. And that would be that it used to be a king's palace with great gardens and water features. Perhaps. That would be the impression very much got from visiting the site, but according to the Lonely Planet, this is entirely based on local legend. Actual evidence points to it being a monastery, albeit a large and important one. The lack of concrete evidence is supported by what remains - mere brick foundations giving an indication of floorplan and little else. Without a massive rock next door, these would be of archaeological interest only.

It's as we grew closer to the rock that things became more interesting, from the man-made perspective. Although a world smaller, there are a lot of fairly large rocks scattered around - I'm taking bus-size or thereabouts. And the brick foundations are built around these, obviously at one time incorporating the natural features into the construction. Suddenly the image of an ancient complex becomes more real, with large rocks built into the sides of buildings, and well-manicured lawns and ponds in patterns around them. Ruins now, but surely of considerable wonder then.

The ascent followed. Stone steps (surely heavily restored) lead to a metal spiral stairway, and into a niche midway up the rock, into which ancient cave paintings of semi-naked buxom ladies are adorned. Burness was particularly excited about this. Local legend - again I defer to the Lonely Planet - has it that these were paintings of the king's maidens, whereas real evidence suggest these are Buddhist monk paintings of divine feminine beings. Personally, given the very buxom nature of these ladies, I think they are more symptomatic of a bunch of celibate men hanging around on a big rock for too long. "Brother, I'm just going down to the secret cave to study these divine beings for a while. Please, I ask you for half an hour for my private meditations."

Sigiriya's best is saved for last, or nearly last. A little bit after the naked lady cave, upon a descent and further ascent, this time to a small plateau to one side of the rock, midway up, is a gigantic pair of lion's paws, carved into stone. They are huge, and are either side of the stairway that leads to the top of the rock. Impressive in their own right, I read that they were once part of a much larger sculpture, into which the stairway ran, emerging from the lion's mouth. Sadly, none of this remains any longer, and strangely the Sigiriya museum doesn't mention it all, but if it ever existed it would have been a remarkable sight.

Finally, the real reason to visit Sigiriya - the top. Not having done any reading prior, I wasn't even sure if it was possible to get to the top or if there was any construction on it. Well, you can and there is. Exercising patience behind a slow queue of fatties and oldies, Burness and I reached the top of Sigiriya and admired the excellent forest and jungle views all around. Lots of flat, lush land, with various mountains and large rocks punctuating it. And on the rock itself, the ancient ruins of what was either a palace or a monastery, now levelled to mere foundations but once very obviously a sight to behold.

In the end, I feel my decision not to add Sigiriya to my list was a justified one - it is too ruined to be a Wonder these days. In its time it very certainly would have been up there, but brick foundations are too little to really be amazed by. But at the same time, Sigiriya, based upon my single visit without research (thus in contrast to my usual approach) is better than a lot I've seen so far. Upper mid-table? I'm not sure. The obvious comparison for me is the as-yet-unvisited Macchu Pichu. Like Sigiriya, these are ruins in a spectacular setting. Remove either of the surroundings, and the wonder is removed. Our focus is not so much on the architectural splendour of the man-made edifices, rather their position in the world. But context is important, surroundings can define a monument. As with Sigiriya, on top of a giant rock; as with Machu Picchu, on top of a mountain. Taken from this perspective, perhaps Sigiriya does have some claim to at least having been a candidate. It may be ruins, it may have seen better days, but its mere ruined existence is enough to inspire awe, to inspire a degree of wonder - how did they do that?

In the end, I feel I paid Sigiriya the ultimate accolade I can afford to a Wonder - I purchased a small miniature model of it, a charming stone thing for £7. Although its inclusion wouldn't have threatened the high flyers of my current Wonders list, it definitely deserves an honorary position an an Unofficial Wonder, along with some of the other Angkor temples and Prambanan in Indonesia. A must-see if you happen to be flying from India to China.

Following our visit, Burness and I made our way back to Kandy on another arse-numbing bus journey, with a few beers later counter-numbing the pain. We managed a decent sleep, having killed several mosquitoes filled with our blood from the night before, and this time using the mosquito net. This brings us on to today. I write on the train from Kandy to Colombo, after a morning getting a little more to grips with Kandy. Weather has a significant impact upon impression, and the previous two days' weather was overcast and rainy. Today in Kandy was glorious sunshine. Suddenly Kandy sparkled, the lake shone, and the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic beamed by its side. Naturally, we had to pay a visit. Our conclusion - inessential. Unless you're particularly keen on Buddhist shrines, it's not very interesting. At least it's £6 rather than £20 to get into, and has a free audio tour, but it's simply not interesting to the casual tourist. If you're a Buddhist scholar or patriotic Sri Lankan (you get in for much cheaper) or an aficionado of incredibly dull audio tours then you'll love it. If you have genetic or cultural make-up more similar to myself, you'll not. The highlight of the whole experience was Burness having to wear a sarong, as his short trousers were inappropriate.

Nonetheless, the appeal of Kandy grew today, and with plenty of sights in the vicinity it would be a good holiday location, as confirmed by the large numbers of tourists around. And if the city planners could find a way to reroute the ton of traffic that rings the lake then we might even have somewhere that could be called charming.

Anyway, hello and goodbye to Sri Lanka, just a brief taster but a sweet little one at that, as soon I'll be flying to Beijing. Where after months of their blight, I can enjoy a mosquito-free existence, as well as the joy of a bitterly cold northern China in winter. Let's hope my £10 jacket from Primark, as delivered to me by Danielle, is up to the task.

12. Wonder: The Taj Mahal

2012-02-09T07:24:00.000Z

(For the Taj Mahal preview, please click here.)

"A teardrop on the cheek of time." Indian poet, Rabindranath Tagore.

"I cannot tell you what I think for I know not how to criticise such a building, but I can tell you what I feel. I would die tomorrow to have such another put over me.” Lady Sleeman, wife of Sir W. H. Sleeman, soldier and administrator in British India.

“The builder could not have been of this earth. For it is evident the design was given him by heaven.” Verse composed by Shah Jahan and inscribed on the Taj Mahal.

"Wow." Myself, Burness, and Danielle.

Well, well, well, the Taj Mahal. A monument that needs little introduction, although I feel that Tagore, Lady Sleeman, and Shah Jahan do it some justice (myself, Burness, and Danielle promise to work on our poetic prose). A monument built for love, a symbol of India, and one of the most recognisable buildings in the world, the Taj Mahal comes with more than a little hype. And hype is a dangerous thing. High expectations led to me being a little disappointed with Angkor Wat and the Pyramids (although both substantially improved the second time round). Would the Taj Mahal suffer a similar fate?

Quite simply, no.

Burness, Danielle and I rolled into the city of Agra at 8am on a brightening Saturday morning. Despite having heard the worst about Agra's touts, we suffered very little pestering off the train and a pre-paid auto-rickshaw took us to our hotel of choice, even if our driver tried to give us the hard sell for his day tour of the city, looking very hurt when we politely declined. Our hotel was called the Shanti Lodge, picked by Burness from the Lonely Planet for its rooftop cafe, and quite simply Burness pulled a blinder. The Shanti Lodge itself is a basic, functional, slightly grubby multi-level lodgings that in almost any other city in any other location would slip into obscure anonymity. But in Agra, in its precise location, it just happens to have one of the best views on earth.

"Have a tea or coffee on the rooftop," the harried and distracted receptionist told us, while our rooms were prepared. Another hotel worker led us up the narrow stairs to the open-top restaurant; we took a seat, and collectively gasped. As we sat on a scruffy rooftop on plastic chairs by a plastic table with a tatty menu before us, we had a clear and uninterrupted view of the Taj Mahal. It was right there, a couple of hundred metres away only, its soft white against the growing blue of the morning.

Can there be many better views in the world? I doubt it, and for the duration of our morning tea I was transfixed. The Taj Mahal is hyped and expectation is very high - my expectations were exceeded.

Later that afternoon, Danielle and I went for a somewhat romantic visit to this monument of love, and I posed the question: what makes the Taj Mahal so beautiful? There is no question that it is a bewitching building to gaze at, but why? The Mughal emperor Shah Jahan built it as a mausoleum to his late wife, Mumtaz Mahal, and pulled out all the stops, no expense spared. The Mughal empire was known for its very refined taste in art and architecture, as well as lavish expenditure, and the Taj Mahal was preceded by a number of other buildings and mausoleums that show clear influences in style. One of these is even in Agra, the Tomb of I'Timad-Ud-Daulah, a tomb for a trusted advisor to Shah Jahan's grandfather, Akbar the Great, and the grandfather to Mumtaz Mahal. It's nicknamed the "Baby Taj" by the Agra touts, and it's not hard to see why.

So the Taj Mahal is not a wholly original design plucked from the ether, rather it is a much refined and combined set of ideas. Although a Muslim empire, the Mughals under Shah Jahan were pretty relaxed and enlightened religiously, and so the Taj Mahal is a synthesis of Hindu and Muslim architectural styles. It has a quadrilateral symmetry that is very pleasing to the eye - it was always designed to be viewed from all angles; although we're very familiar with the picture postcard front, it looks pretty much the same whether viewed from the rear, across on the other side of the Yamuna river, or from the side whether close-up or a few kilometres away at Agra Fort. The contrast between right angles and curves as well as large and small is also appealing. The Taj Mahal is composed of a large central block, with a large portal on each of its four sides; four smaller portals flank each large portal with additional portals at each corner. Each portal has a smaller doorway at the centre. The huge dome, perhaps the Taj Mahal's defining feature, and at around 12000 tons an engineering Wonder of its own, is echoed by four smaller domes at each corner. And then we have the four tapering minaret towers on each corner, each crowned with another small dome. The towers, incidentally, were built to very slightly incline away from the main building, so in the event of a disaster and their collapse, they would fall away from rather than into the tomb.

To the west of the Taj Mahal is a red sandstone mosque, with a mirror image on the east. The eastern building faces the opposite way to Mecca and is thus no good for prayer. It's simply there for symmetry. In fact, symmetry and decoration are what the Taj Mahal are all about. The four minaret towers are purely decorative as there is no call to prayer around a tomb. Shah Jahan built for beauty and not for function.

I could go on and on about symmetry and contrast but I'll spare you, but if I may I would add one more thing, and that's poise. The Taj Mahal is set upon a large marble-faced platform, and it makes all the difference. It becomes a stage that elevates the Taj Mahal, setting it above its surroundings and above the mosques on two sides. It shows the Taj Mahal off. Most of the aesthetic focus is on the dome, the portals, or the towers, but the platform is easily as crucial: just try and imagine the Taj Mahal without it, and ground level. It would be significantly less grand.

So, an architectural marriage of art and engineering, a perfect and harmonious symmetry and contrast. All of this adds up to the aesthetic appeal of the Taj Mahal. And so I mused to Danielle, as we sat on a bench and admired Shah Jahan's tribute to his late wife. But I suspect she had stopped really listening, just gazing at the Taj Mahal backed by the blue sky. And rightly so. For sometimes it does little use to analyse, and it's better just to admire. The Taj Mahal is beautiful. It is perfect. It is flawless. It needs no explanation.

In fact, there are a few little errors in the interior, but they were deliberately made. In Islam, attempts to repeat God's perfection shouldn't be made, so subtle mistakes were made with interior details. You'll be hard pushed to find them though, I certainly couldn't. The only other irregularity was made by Shah Jahan himself, or by his tomb at least. Entering the main portal, below the main dome, is the cenotaph of Mumtaz Mahal, at the centre surrounded by a screen. This is a false tomb, with the real thing being in a lower room not open to the public. When built, it would have continued the perfect symmetry of the Taj Mahal; it was Shah Jahan's death that screwed it up. With Mumtaz's cenotaph right in the centre, Shah Jahan's had to be placed off-centre, thus asymmetrically. This notable imperfection has given rise to speculation that Shah Jahan planned to build his own elaborate mausoleum, notably a black marble mirror-image Taj Mahal on the other side of the Yamuna river, but there is no evidence for this and it seems a mere rumour first started by the fanciful writings of a visiting jeweller, Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, in 1665. The centre and off-centre arrangement is not unprecedented in Mughal tombs. Perhaps Shah Jahan had intended his own mausoleum, but as he spent his last years imprisoned in the Agra Fort and a world of grief and concubine orgies, we will never know.

Being celebrated as the most beautiful building in the world, it is no surprise that much speculation has been made as to who the architect behind the masterpiece was. Quite simply, we don't know. The chronicles, which were then more interested in wars than construction, don't mention an architect. They do, however, mention two administrators, called Mir Abd-ul-Karin and Mukranat Khan. But what exactly is an administrator? It's sometimes suggested, with more than a tinge of Western arrogance, that the architect may have been a European, but this is not the case; rather it is a myth propagated by a 17th Century Portuguese friar named Father Sebastien Manrique, visiting during construction (although claiming not to have met the architect in question). As well as there being no European architectural features, no other European visitors during the construction mention a European architect, which they surely would have done. However, European books, rather than craftsmen, may have been referred to. Other claims are that the designs came to a Sufi mystic in a dream, and stronger ones that Shah Jahan, if not the actual architect, had a very strong role in the design. But the most likely name, in my opinion, is that of a man called Ustad Ahmad Lahouri. He was behind other projects of Shah Jahan's, such as the Red Fort in Delhi, and after his death his son credited him with the design. There is a stylistic consistency. But as with most of history, we can guess but never know. Time swallows absolute truths. We can probably conclude as very unlikely, though, that Shah Jahan had the architect's hands cut off after completion, so he could never build again; forms of this rumour seem to crop up time and time again, from St Basil's in Moscow to Ananda Temple in Bagan, and ultimately is a flattering myth to have (I note that London's Millennium Dome or the Scottish Parliament Building in Edinburgh has no such myth).

Time has been kind to the Taj Mahal, and it has not suffered the ravages of war, natural disaster, or willful desecration. Nonetheless, by the late 19th Century, it was suffering from a long period of neglect. Shah Jahan's son and jailer, Aurangazeb, ran the Mughal empire into the ground, and soon after his death the empire collapsed. The Taj Mahal was plundered, of its silver gates and the many jewels embedded into the monument. Although the empire survived in name, under rule by first the Persians and later the British, there was not much interest in the upkeep of a mausoleum to a long-dead emperor's wife. The gardens grew wild to point of unrecognisability - the gardens we see now are British creations from about a hundred years ago. Likely the Mughal gardens were as, if not more, immaculate, and would have contained a lot more fruit trees. By the 19th Century, the Taj Mahal was used for open air balls by the English, with brass bands and dancing - the contemporary equivalent of a rave. Not that the locals treated it with any more reverence, with it being recorded that the mausoleum was used for fairs. The minarets even became popular suicide spots. Enter the Imperial Viceroy of India, Lord Curzon. He has cropped us before, as the guy who kickstarted the preservation of and archaeological interest in Bagan in Burma, and he did the same with the Taj Mahal and the nearby Agra Fort. In 1900, he was responsible for renovations to the Taj Mahal, with around £40,000 spent (around £3 million in today's money), the first and last time extensive works have been required. Gardens were redesigned, the building was cleaned and fixed: the Taj Mahal was beautiful again.

During the Second World War, scaffolding was put up to protect from German or Japanese raids, but this never eventuated, and since 1983 when it was World Heritage listed it has been UNESCO who has been the Taj's defender. The greatest threat to the building is pollution. Agra is a dirty city, with many factories, power stations and a whole ton of traffic. UNESCO have seen the closure of 250 nearby factories - not without controversy and the loss of 100,000 jobs - and a protective zone around the complex bans large vehicles. UNESCO are still requesting a larger protective zone. At night, the Taj Mahal is no longer lit up, so as not to attract insects and their corrosive excreta. But it's not just the accidental impact of pollution that threatens, there is much in the way of wilful attempts to damage. Terrorism is an ongoing threat, with more than one Al-Qaida plot to blow it up, though these are usually cheap hoaxes. Corruption too threatens. The single-named Mayawati is the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, containing Agra, who likes to erect statues of herself in expensive public parks. In 2002 she approved what was effectively a $40 million shopping mall - with the ironic name of the "Taj Heritage Corridor" - just a few hundred metres from the Taj Mahal and between it and Agra Fort. It was all kept very quiet, and the ASI (The Archaeological Survey of India, responsible for protection of India's historic sites) not told, but when they and UNESCO eventually found out, they had the Indian government quickly intervene to stop it. Still, 200 million Rupees (£25,000) of work had already gone ahead, with foundations sunk into the river bed, diverting flow of water, with a risk to the Taj Mahal foundations. Mayawati is still on the go, and backing such projects as a giant London Eye in the vicinity.

For the casual visitor, the biggest threat, or annoyance really, are what could be termed pests, well-meaning or not. The touts are certainly the biggest pest, and make entry to the Taj Mahal a quite unpleasant experience sometimes. Danielle and I first visited in early afternoon, and found ourselves being quite insistently harassed by touts by the entrance. The process of buying a ticket is not a difficult one, and I am pretty used to dealing with touts by now, but the relentless hassling under the pretense of helping us was exhausting. No, we're not going to visit your shop, you little turd. It meant that by the time we'd entered the Taj Mahal, and were free of the touts, we'd been put into an instant bad mood. Everyone I've spoken to has complained about Agra's touts and hassle, and given that the Taj Mahal is one of the most famous landmarks in the world and an Indian icon, this is pretty embarrassing for India.

The well-meaning pests were not so bad - random photo friends. Random photo friends is the term Burness and I have applied the the Asian phenomenon of Westerners being asked to pose for photos by the locals. It happens across Asia, most often at tourist spots, and I don't usually mind at all. The request are friendly, and although the concept is odd, it appears that having a Westerner in a photo is appealing for many Asians. But God, at the Taj Mahal, it was overload. At several points, Danielle and I had to move away because we couldn't get any peace - one time, during what should have been a private moment admiring the Taj Mahal, we had a baby literally shoved into our hands for a series of photos. The baby, I have to say, was not at all impressed.

But let not any of that take away from the Taj Mahal itself. Go in the morning if you want to avoid the crowds and the random photo friends, and the touts only hassle you outside the complex. None of it matters anyway once you're there. Find a quiet bench and just gaze upon it. This is a building to fall in love with and fall in love to. Whether its perfect symmetry from a distance, or the elegant decoration close up, I have not a bad word to say about the building itself. It is a wonderful monument.

Some criteria.

Size: 65 metres high, and 55 metres wide at either side, the Taj Mahal is suitably big - neither over-sized or too petite. Its 95 metre squared platform gives it additional grandeur.

Engineering: The huge dome was a feat in itself; otherwise the four still-standing minarets are testament to the quality of work. Earlier Mughal tombs set precedents in style and technique.

Artistry: All I could ever say would just mean this: perfectly beautiful.

Age/Durability: In good condition 350 years on, it has been called timeless by many commentators. UNESCO, ASI and public affection should save it from local threats.

Fame/Iconicity: The most famous building in India and one of the most famous buildings in the world.

Context: Despite the crowds, the size of the gardens mean there is usually a peaceful spot to sit and appreciate it. Being on a platform, and having the Yamuna river behind and a good bit below the main monument means that wherever you stand, (usually) blue skies make the backdrop. The only let-down is the city of Agra.

Back Story: Shah Jahan's tribute to his beloved late wife, the Taj Mahal has become synonymous with love, and also with Shah Jahan's lavish reign and decline as Mughal emperor.

Originality: Other Mughal tombs set precedents in style and are clear influences, but the Taj Mahal did it bigger and better.

The French physician Francois Bernier, who was present during the construction of the Taj Mahal said, “This monument deserves much more to be numbered among the wonders of the world than the pyramids of Egypt,” which were “unshapen masses and heaps of stone.” Although I would disagree with his views on the Pyramids, it's hard to disagree with his overall sentiments. One of the primary reasons I'm on these Wonder travels is to more definitely decide what, in my view, the actual Wonders of the World are. The "New7Wonders Foundation" named the Taj Mahal as one of theirs, and although I strongly dispute their methods and motives, I cannot disagree with their outcome. The Taj Mahal is without question the finest man-made structure I have ever seen in my life, and is a country mile clear of Angkor Wat, the next best thing I've seen on these travels. I will be gobsmacked if the Taj Mahal does not make my final Seven, and would venture that I doubt anything will better it. The Taj Mahal was built for love, and I love the Taj Mahal.

Days 136 to 152: Goa and Kerala

2012-02-06T10:53:00.001Z

Goa and Kerala. To do the seventeen days there any amount of justice would need many more words than I can manage now; I was barely on the computer during my time there, and together with four different Wonders to write-up, have found myself with somewhat of a backlog. Instead, I will summarise these couple of weeks as best possible.

Goa

Goa is all about the beaches and I'm really not a fan of beaches. There's sun, it's hot, you sit around - so what? I'd rather visit a temple and pretend to be cultured, or watch football, or sit in my room and moan. However, I must admit I ended up rather enjoying Goa, or Palolem to be precise.

The reason we were there wasn't just to satisfy Danielle's furious craving for sun and beaches, it was because Danielle's friends, Chala and Peter, were getting married. Danielle had been invited and I was the "plus one", and it all very well tied in with my travels. It also meant lots of free booze. I think we may quickly be getting to the bottom of why I enjoyed Palolem so much.

Of the five days we spent in Palolem, two were dominated by the wedding, although the others usually involved a drink or two in the evening with some of the wedding party. A few days before the wedding itself was the pre-wedding beach party. A private beach (except for some stray Russians) was hired, and we all lay about indolently, drinking free mojitos or beer, and eating tasty little snacks. At darkness fell, an eccentrically-grinning man, mostly-naked, danced with fire, and then we all went home.

The wedding took place on a hill very scenically overlooking the nearby Patnem beach, and was a non-religious ceremony conducted by a Peter's Catholic priest uncle carefully choosing his words. About sixty people were in attendance, a pretty decent number given the halfway-round-the-world distance, and afterwards most were very keen to enjoy the free booze at the reception. I include myself among them. Better still, because the free booze was included with the hotel reception package, we were encouraged to drink as much as possible before the 11pm cut-off time when it would start costing money. At 10.55pm, Danielle brought me four beers.

Of course, the wedding wasn't just about the free booze, it was a very enjoyable day of socialising with Irish people, drinking shots of tequila with a bare-chested Slovakian maniac, elaborate dancing with Danielle, and discussing how lovely the wedding dress was with various ladies (actually, given my ongoing heterosexuality, I may have taken a passive role in these conversations and simply agreed and smiled). Either I've been very lucky with all the weddings I've been to in my life, or I'm simply someone who really enjoys weddings, but I'm happy to include this as another hugely enjoyable wedding I've attended. By 4am though, largely due to the tequila shots - which were in 60ml measures - I was worse-for-the-wear, and Danielle reports that I looked at her with a sad fatigue and pleaded "I want to go home now."

Aside from the wedding focus of Palolem, our days were spent idling. Drinks, food, sitting on sun loungers reading. It was a pretty lazy existence. We met a Norwegian lady in her 50s, who was a sex therapist and travelling the world following a messy divorce, and seemed to be having an epiphany. One day, we walked to some rocks and back. Another time we swam in the sea. Once we considered getting a boat to see some dolphins, but this never quite eventuated. Grudgingly, I admitted I was quite enjoying the beach this time. After the frantic pace of northern India, it was quite pleasant. But don't tell anyone I said that.

Kerala

Oh my. This was initially the inverse of Goa: very packed and eventful. Burness and I have a friend, Vizzy, who is from Kerala, although spent many years in Aberdeen, hence how we know him. Along with a few other people - Calum, Pauline, Dave, and later, Gill, all of whom I didn't previously know - we all gathered to visit Vizzy and let him act as guide and host. This timing was very coincidental, but very fortunate, as it was a good group who got on well, and most importantly liked drinking as much as possible.

I can only summarise this briefly, as each day could warrant a whole bunch of words, so here goes:

Day 1: Danielle and I arrived by train. Burness, tired and hungover, met us at the station. We met the group at Vizzy's home, then went on a driving lesson. Driving in India is a little more intense than Scotland, I can confirm.

Day 2: Backwater day. We took a small boat around the canal-like backwaters of Kerala, which the Lonely Planet rate as the second-best thing to do in India (after visiting the Taj Mahal). The jungle-canal-open water scenery was beautiful. We drank a lot. In the evening, we went to a friend of Vizzy's who happens to stay in a very large house, and drank some more. Then we visited a Hindu temple ceremony, followed an elephant round a temple, and felt a bit guilty we were so drunk.

Day 3: Exhausting day. Tired and hungover, we had a five or six hour roundtrip to see some people make coarse rugs. Great. Then we saw a long wooden boat - a snakeboat - and then rode an elephant. The elephant was definitely a highlight, although for anyone who has never seen an elephant's mouth I dare you to look at a Google image. Warning: surely Not Safe For Work. In the evening, we got drunk again at Vizzy's friend's house, and being Burns' Night, Burness attempted a Burns' address to the haggis (in this case, a curry) before the dinner table. He was so wasted he couldn't speak: it was the worst address I have ever witnessed.

Day 4: The day without chicken biryani. We took a train to Kochi, mostly to enjoy one of the reputedly best chicken biryanis in the world. By the time the girls had shopped, we'd walked to the ferry port, just missed the ferry, and waited for the next one, we were very hungry and dismayed to learn that the chicken biryani was sold out. Fortunately, there was some kind of mutton thing - what kind, I don't know, I was so hungry it immediately was stuffed into my mouth. By now we were in Fort Cochi, a very charming old part of the city, and did a short auto-rickshaw tour involving a synagogue, a place with lots of ginger, and a charming old cathedral.

Days 5 and 6: These were Danielle's last couple of days, so we just had some relaxing days by the beach. Danielle got a massage of a form many would interpret as ritual humiliation. We drank some wine, had romantic walks along the sand, discovered India sells Tennent's Lager, were the second ever customers to a new restaurant, and had a very relaxing time.

The rest of the days: I said goodbye to Danielle as she returned home, and caught up with the others, after a day of travelling. The next few days were spent in something approximating a mountain retreat, drinking and relaxing, and playing cards. We had sometime daytime activities - walking up a river and a jungle trek (i.e. a two-hour forest walk), but otherwise spent in sedentary bliss. Some people did yoga and tai-chi - I certainly did not.

(the last four photos courtesy of Pauline)

And that, in a 1200-word nutshell, is Goa and Kerala. Summarised, not justified, but you get an idea. To quickly finish, after Kerala, Burness and I flew to Mumbai, then a took a train to Aurangabad, just an hour away from my final Indian Wonder: Kailasa Temple in Ellora. I write this following that, on the way back to Mumbai, where we are to catch a flight to Sri Lanka in the early hours of tomorrow morning. Phew.

15. Wonder: Akshardham

2012-02-06T10:12:00.001Z

(For the Akshardham preview, please click here.)

Aged 11, my preoccupations included computer games, comic strips, and a growing curiosity about girls' breasts. They didn't include the guidance and elevation of mankind. Therefore, had I been a pre-teen in northern India in 1792, it's unlikely I would have been kicking around with a fellow pre-teen ultimately to be known as Bhagwan Swaminarayan but then named just Ghanshyam. This precocious youth had been winning theological debates and having scholars acknowledge his divine glory, and in lieu of an 18th Century version of the Littlewoods catalogue bra section to divert him, young Ghanshyam changed his name to Neelkanth Varni (Neelkanth literally means "blue neck" and relates to the Hindu god Shiva drinking the world's poison to redeem it, Varni just means "holy man") and began a seven-year-long 12,000 kilometre trek across India. So while my teenage years were spent immersed in Football Manager and examining awkward new spots, Ghanshyam aka Neelkanth Varni aka Bhagwan Swaminarayan was on a spiritual adventure that ultimately led to the establishment of a new religion.

This new religion is given the common and somewhat unfortunate acronym of BAPS - I'm sure many a young lad has been disappointed when visiting www.baps.org. BAPS stands for Bochasanwasi Shri Akshar Purushottam Swaminarayan Sanstha - I'll stick with the acronym, thanks - and purports to be a "global socio-spiritual organisation committed to the moral and spiritual uplift of mankind" and is based upon the teachings of child wanderer-turned-spiritual leader, Bhagwan Swaminarayan. ("Bhagwan" kind of means "Lord" and "Swaminarayan" is a mantra that when chanted is supposed to being the follower closer to god and redeemed of material desires). After his spiritual journey, Bhagwan amassed a number of followers, and began spreading the word about some new lessons for life, including not killing animals, opposing the Hindu caste system, and welfare for women. In conservative, traditional India, this was very enlightened thinking. Upon his death in 1830, a guru was appointed to continue his work, much in the way that the pope is the figurehead of Catholicism. At present, we're on the fifth guru. In 1907, the third guru formally established BAPS, and the 20th Century was all about spreading the word beyond India. In 2005, after just five years of work, the temple of Akshardham, the focal point of this new religion, was built.

Perhaps to call BAPS a religion is misleading, for nowhere in their literature to they call it such, preferring words like philosophy, code of conduct, and organisation. Hinduism is barely mentioned, and then only in the passing, though it is inferred throughout. But when you have god, believers, written teachings and codes, and temples, it doesn't seem too much of a stretch to call that a religion. Besides, isn't that just another word for "socio-spiritual organisation"?

But let's not play semantics. In simple terms, as I see it, BAPS is a modern and more focussed offshoot of Hinduism based on the teachings of the peace-and-equality preaching spiritual leader, Bhagwan Swaminarayan. Hinduism has a lot of gods and a lot of stuff going on and is somewhat of a sprawling confusion for the uninitiated, and so BAPS brings it into focus with a figurehead and clear message. And the large and ornate temple of Swaminarayan Akshardham, situated near the banks of the Yamuna river in New Delhi, represents this figurehead's eternal abode, as well as being a patriotic showcase of all that is glorious and mighty about India.

So it was here that I visited on my first morning in Delhi, shrouded in fog, and decidedly chilly. Conveniently, Akshardham is placed on an eponymous stop on Delhi's crowded-but-decent metro line, and can be seen very easily from the station. Well, except on days shrouded in fog, that is. I followed a metro sign for the temple which led me outside the station, to a crowd of rickshaw drivers baying for my blood, or 10 Rupees at any rate, but sensing the proximity of the temple based on their cheap opening price I asked a non-rickshaw driver the directions. Round the corner, and less than five minutes later, I was in the outer compound of Akshardham.

Akshardham does its very best to skim off any early favour you feel for it with its rigid security. Bags, cameras, phones, and even USB sticks are not allowed in the premises, so have to be given to a free cloakroom before entry. The lack of camera means that all the photos here are lifted from the internet (entirely without permission) and the above photo of myself was taken by an official Akshardham photographer and a large copy in a booklet sold to me for 150 Rupees (about £2). After depositing most of your possessions, a metal detector and a pretty thorough pat-down, including a very subtle "cupping", has to be undergone. Delhi has a lot of security checks but Akshardham was the most thorough I've experienced. On my second visit, Danielle was wearing a skirt that went down to her knees - this was deemed too short and there were no sarongs or back-up clothes for her. She would have been turned back, but fortunately she had a scarf that, when wrapped around her, went a centimetre lower than her skirt, thus just covering her knees. This was seemingly permissible and she was allowed to pass. Nonetheless, she was quietly indignant when various Indian women walked about freely with billowing sarongs that did nothing to cover their flabby bellies - "Why is that allowed when the sight of my knees aren't?" she complained. She wasn't the only one to feel hard done by - while taking notes, I was approached by a security guard explaining that this was forbidden. Note-taking? Taking an interest in the temple? Forbidden? The security guard indicated that the 5 Rupee leaflet was the only thing I should have, and I could see there was no point in arguing, so simply became more covert in my note-taking.

So some pedantic security doesn't do much to help Akshardham's case, but all that is forgiven after you've ventured through the visitors' centre, turn the corner, and look at the central monument to the complex, and in the tradition of all the very best Wonders, go "wow".

Akshardham Monument is an incredible structure. The whole complex is built from pink sandstone and is attractively carved but the Monument itself really is a masterpiece. Whatever criticisms might be levied at the overall complex - and they usually seem to focus on a slight whiff of tackiness (an excellent New York Times article describes it as having "The Disney Touch") or commercialism - there can be no doubt that the Monument is a beautiful and impressive structure very much in line with some of the better Wonders I've seen. It's big first of all, 43 metres high, 96 metres wide and 109 metres long, as though Angkor Wat had been shrunk in the wash, and sits on a platform. It looks good from all directions, but the approach is the very best, as a wide walkway and some steps means the Monument looms ahead and above. Again, I make comparisons with Angkor Wat (another Hindu temple, as it happens). Although the approach to Angkor Wat is longer, both are designed to instil a suitable amount of awe as the building grows closer with each step. It is effective. Akshardham is an attractive building from a distance, with a commanding presence, but its true star quality is in the details. Akshardham is all about the details.

Close-up, Akshardham truly is one of the most exquisite buildings I have ever seen in my life. Everywhere, all over, it is hand-carved - 20,000 figure sculptures are the quoted statistic, but this doesn't include the masses of decorative detail. The platform the Monument rests on, for a start, is surrounded by elephants, seemingly emerging in full three-dimensions from the stone. There are 148 of these elephants, all different and all startling in their detail. And then the Monument. The exterior wall of the Monument is known as the mandovar and is a huge mass of stone - no steel was used in construction, Akshardham is entirely stone, conforming to traditional techniques - with so many patterns, motifs, figures, and features that the eye simply doesn't know where to begin or end. There's too much to describe and I think I'd implode if I even tried; walking around the mandovar is a visual overload. My eyes darted from feature to feature, not really able to take it in unless I stopped and focussed. I'll at least mention what seemed to me the highlights: the handsome pillars, supporting the three entry porches, ornately carved; and the series of small, square decorative motifs, arranged grid-like, an acting as small windows to the interior. But really, all of it - wow.

And then inside. Let's get the slight misstep, at least to my eye, out of the way first. Upon entering is a large golden statue of Bhagwan Swaminarayan surrounded by his gurus. The sanctum that holds this scene is awash with bling, gold, gems, and marble, and is done to a very fine detail but is somewhat ostentatious. It's a little too much. A harsher critic than myself might call it gaudy. I understand that this is meant to be the focus of the whole complex, and an effort has been made to exceed even the magnificence of the mandovar, but in trying to exceed it has become excessive.

But I forgive everything for the ceilings. Oh, the ceilings! Nothing - not words, not photos, not even cats tied to fireworks exploding into the sky spelling words of praise - can do justice to how splendid the ceilings are. I fear Akshardham makes me fall into a world where only the words "magnificent", "ornate" and "detailed" exist, and all these and more apply to Akshardham Monument's ceilings, but they utterly captivated me. "Every ceiling mesmerizes, demonstrating the awesome power and dexterity of the human mind and hand", claims the promotional literature, and I can only agree.

As well as a slightly gaudy central focus, and superb ceilings, the interior of the Monument also contains stories of Bhagwan Swaminarayan's life, as well as some of his relics - samples of his hair, nails, his footprint, and sandals are on offer. Descriptions of the gurus that succeeded him are on some of the walls. The interior is spacious and cool, based around the central sanctum, and enjoyable to meander around. The space reminds of a cathedral, as do some of the statues and inscriptions, although the lack of seating and overall layout is far more in line with the feel of a temple. Oddly, there isn't the sense of reverence associated with holy buildings: maybe Akshardham is still too new, or maybe the people there are largely just tourists rather than devotees. Filled with a hundred people silent in prayer rather than a hundred chattering to each other might give the space a more reverential feel.

In one sense, visiting Akshardham is a little like stepping back in time. It is like seeing Angkor Wat or some other now-ancient but glorious temple in its heyday. Most of the world's spectacular and renowned temples are pretty old, and as a result, pretty ruined. The details are faded, the carvings often faded, broken, vandalised, or simply vanished. But with Akshardham they are new, fresh, and vivid.

But in another sense, Akshardham is a very modern reflection: the giftshop, the food hall, the stringent security. I have no real complaint with these, as they all add something to the experience, whether it's simply not being hungry, or being able to appreciate the surroundings without the sound of mobile phones everywhere. I imagine many of the ancient temples, had they been built in this age, might have done the same. In addition to these, although I unfortunately didn't have the time to visit them, is an exhibition centre with three halls, with sound and light shows, animatronic models, cinema screens, and a boat ride, all dedicated to promoting Indian culture and history, as well as the BAPS back story. Akshardham may be built with traditional materials in a traditional style, but it is preaching a message using very modern methods.

It is this that has drawn the sly criticisms, for either being a bit tacky or commercial. I can see their point. Temples are usually associated with a kind of hushed reverence, not a food court and boat ride. But why not? If there's a message to get across, get it across the best way. As for the commercial aspect, well, the complex is entirely free to enter, the cloakrooms free to use, and only the exhibition centre and fountain show costing money, at a pretty nominal fee. Sure, there's a gift shop, but this is little different from the numerous stalls that usually line the path of religious monuments. You'll see the same kind of thing in major cathedrals around the world. `

Nonetheless, one of the key features of a Wonder is the sense of gravitas it commands, and it can be argued quite easily that gift shops and food courts detract from this sense of gravitas. It seems unfair, as commercialism is a large part of many Wonders these days, but usually the commercial aspects are recent additions onto ancient monuments (the Pyramids didn't originally have a Pizza Hut overlooking them and the temples of Angkor didn't originally come with single day, three-day, or one-week laminated passes). With Akshardham, the commercial aspects are built-in, giving it the theme park feel. The over-riding impression of visiting Akshardham should be the splendour of the central monument, but instead there is a lingering sense of the superficial. Religious monuments usually command a sense of spirituality, even for a cynical atheist such as myself. Whether the grand Istiglal Mosque in Jakarta reputedly capable of holding 120,000 people, or the humble St. James Church in central Sydney, a sense of peace and inner reflection is usually felt. Akshardham doesn't have this. As I've said, maybe it doesn't have enough followers, the majority of visitors being Indian tourists who meander around in groups and chatter. Or the problem is simply its newness - give it a thousand years to age and crumble and it will acquire a more heavyweight feel.

For all that, there is no question that the decoration of the Monument as well as the surrounding complex is simply awesome. Akshardham is still pretty unknown outside of Delhi, but it deserves a larger profile. "Wow" moments don't come that often and Akshardham offers several - a wow at first sight of the Monument, a sustained wow while walking around the astonishing mandovar, and a series of breathless wows at the world-class domed ceilings. I can ask no more of any Wonder on my list to make me stand with mouth agape. Akshardham may be flawed, but it still took my breath away.

Criteria then.

Size: The overall complex is on a 30 acre site and so there's plenty to walk around and explore. But the focus is on Akshardham Monument, and although this isn't in a super-giant category, it's still large and imposing at 43 metres high and around 100 metres wide.

Engineering: Built entirely in stone and marble, without the use of steel, in the space of five years. It may not have pushed the boundaries of technology, but it took a lot of hard work.

Artistry: Simply exquisite.

Age/Durability: Only six years old, Akshardham still feels very young, despite its traditional architecture. It seems very new and still to find its feet. But built entirely of stone and marble, it would appear built to last, although with its mass of fine details inevitably fading with time (some superficial damage is already apparent).

Fame/Iconicity: Not really known about outside of India. Guidebooks to India don't even give it much of a mention, and there are loads of other sights in Delhi alone that feature more prominently in visitors' itineraries.

Context: Its position in a drab, flat part of Delhi does nothing to enhance Akshardham, but once inside the complex the Monument is well-positioned.

Back Story: The centrepiece of a new religion, or at least a religious-esque organisation, Akshardham's back story ties in with the story of BAPS. The temple complex itself was built efficiently in five years, following a (self-fulfilling) prophecy in 1968 from the fourth guru that a temple would be built on the shores of the Yamuna River.

Originality: Although done in traditional Indian styles, Akshardham is not a copy, it becomes more than the sum of its parts. It takes traditional features and styles to compose the details and create something unique.

The July 2011 edition of the Readers' Digest featured a Seven Wonders for the 21st Century, i.e. built since 2000. Akshardham was listed fifth. Perhaps this is the beginning of some recognition for a so-far obscure gem. Because for all its shortcomings, Akshardham is a joy to behold. It is architecturally incredible. If it was discovered in the jungle (sans gift shop, boat rides, etc), lost for hundreds of years, it would be acclaimed as a masterpiece of art and engineering, and day-trippers would flock to take photos. Because it is brand new and in a suburb of Delhi, with the slight scent of theme park trailing it, it gets less acclaim. But don't be misled by its youthful flaws, Akshardham is magnificent, and one of my surprise hits of the tour itself. A true World Wonder? Maybe not, but it rises above most of what I've seen so far. So while lacking the gravitas and mystery of Borobudur, which I would place it well below, it has the edge on another modern masterpiece, the Petronas Towers. This obscure and unacclaimed temple punches well above its weight and deserves far greater recognition.

Days 131 to 136: Four Wonders In North India

2012-01-17T15:26:00.000Z

It's been a pretty busy week in north India - Delhi and Agra specifically - since returning from Varanasi. For a start, my girlfriend, Danielle, arrived in Delhi for a two-and-a-half week holiday in India. To my relief, and maybe even slight surprise, she really took to Delhi, though perhaps less so Agra. The chaos and mess and touts and noise didn't faze her too much, as long as she had a hot shower. Fortunately, she has had this on three out of five days so far (let's not focus on the cold shower and the lack of any shower for now...).

My train back from Varanasi, last week ended up arriving at 8pm, a mere 13 hours later than scheduled. This screwed up my sight-seeing plans for the day, which included a comprehensive look at my two Wonders in Delhi - Akshardham Temple and the Baha'i House of Worship, more commonly called the Lotus Temple. Instead, I had time to eat and check my email, then go back to my cheap-but-dirty hotel, crush a cockroach underfoot, and get some sleep. The following day I intended to have a wander around Connaught Circle, an area of Delhi with some interesting markets and handicraft emporiums, but this was a little sabotaged by Delhi citizen's. My mission was to find models of Akshardham and the Lotus Temple, to add to my collection, and I knew these would be difficult to get. Usually I would brush off the "friendly stranger", but on that morning I thought they would lead to me a useful shop, especially if I specified very early on what I was looking for. I was wrong. Two friendly strangers took me way out of the way to a shop that had neither item, and wasted my entire morning.

It's probably fair to say that India is its own worst enemy at time, as the touts are about as time-wasting and annoying as the massive train delays and the dense city traffic. Plus load of sights are closed on Mondays for reason I've not yet discerned, which sabotaged a whole day of sight-seeing we had planned for Delhi. If you can shrug off the hassle and fumes - which Danielle and I could - Delhi is packed with amazing stuff. The weather is cool-to-cold this time of year, which has substantially helped, and as I write, which is on the aeroplane from Delhi to Goa, our only regret is that we didn't have more time in Delhi. After arriving almost two weeks ago prepared for the worst, I instead found a massively interesting city that I barely scratched the surface of. I would happily have spent another week, visiting fascinating landmarks, pushing through thick markets, dodging touts, whizzing about in auto-rickshaws (Danielle was a big fan, thinking they were "cute", although was less appreciative when we spent 90 minutes in one in the freezing cold), and eating great food in rooftop restaurants without alcohol licences, therefore hiding the beer bottle under the table.

In the end, the only sights I managed to see were my two Wonders, and the plethora of other world-class sights will have to wait another day. Humayun's Tomb, the Red Fort, and Rashtrapi Bhavan were all at one-time seriously considered for my list, and there are a lot more out there. And there will be another day. Because although Delhi is exhausting, Danielle agrees with me that it needs another, better visit. And not just for the buildings, but for the experience. Grit your teeth, grin a little, and march down the streets as though you mean it, because Delhi is great fun, hard work, and a whole big bag of joy and hell mixed together and shaken about.

So I met Danielle from the airport on the 12th, after not a little hassle. It turns out that to enter "Arrivals" at Indira Gandhi Terminal 3, you need a Visitor's Pass. Fine, but they won't let you in with a bag. I tried to leave mine at left luggage but they won't accept a bag with a laptop. It was a somewhat exasperating situation that was only resolved by paying 100 Rupees to a guy selling Pepsi from a stand to take care of my bag while I went into the airport. Lesson learnt - don't take your laptop if you intend waiting for someone in Delhi airport.

Our first night was spent in extravagant luxury at the Hilton, a far cry from cockroach crushing at a hotel with no shower from the night before. Our next day we met up with Burness, who had taken a detour while I'd returned to Delhi and had visited the Buddhist holy city of Bodh Gaya where the Dalai Lama was also visiting. This was our only decent day of sight-seeing we managed in Delhi, seeing both the Lotus Temple and Akshardham, both of which will be covered more fully in upcoming reviews. By the time we'd seen these, and Danielle and I had relocated to a hotel nearer the train station (the Hilton was great, but in the middle of nowhere) we had time only for a late evening meal and a few hours sleep till our 6.15am train the following morning.

Agra filled the next couple of days, and I think our opinion pretty much mirrors that of everyone else in the world: great sights, shame about the city. I like the bustle and mess of north India, but Agra wasn't much fun. Too much bustle, too little fun. A bit too aggressive, the touts a little too annoying. Every rickshaw driver we got tried to give us "the sell", whether it be a day's tour with him or a little excursion to his friend's shop. It's like being on a beautiful beach on a beautiful day, but getting pestered and bitten by mosquitoes.

The two Wonders in Agra are Agra Fort and the Taj Mahal, the latter of these being one of the most famous buildings in the world and therefore with a lot to live up to in terms of expectation. Fortunately, once past the touts on the outside, the inside is much less hassle-free, except for the multitude of Indian tourists who want to take their photo with you - being a white person is a little like being a minor celebrity it would seem. There are now numerous households in India with a photo of their baby being held or sitting next to Danielle.

My reviews on both these Wonders will follow too, plus a surprise or two. We spent one night in Agra and the majority of two days, with our time mostly spent either at the Wonders or at our hotel. Burness pulled a blinder and selected a hotel with an excellent rooftop restaurant with an amazing view of the Taj Mahal, so that was a pleasure to sit at and enjoy the view. The only other activities we squeezed in was some hunting for an Agra Fort souvenir (there are countless millions of Taj Mahal replicas, but Agra Fort is utterly neglected) and a visit to what the touts called the "Baby Taj", presumably because "The Tomb Of I'Timad-ud-Dualah" doesn't sound so alluring. It was really pretty, and much less packed than the "mother Taj", although Danielle had her lipstick appropriated by an irritating little girl.

Back to Delhi then, and I suffered a morning of the only "Delhi belly" that has affected any of us since we've arrived. Considering the tales I'd heard, this is pretty good going. Last night we found a place selling reasonably priced cocktails - finding a bar in Delhi is difficult enough - and enjoyed a mixed bag of cocktails: Pina Colada pretty good, Cosmopolitan pretty bad (orange juice and salt?). And now, to Goa, where a friend of Danielle's gets married, I complain about beaches, and I'll begin the mammoth task of writing up four reviews on prospective World Wonders.

Days 125 to 129: Amritsar and Varanasi

2012-01-11T05:23:00.000Z

I am just returning from a trip back in time.

The last couple of days were spent in the Hindu holy city of Varanasi, only the motorbikes and sporadic electricity differentiating it from the medieval era. India might not generally be at the cutting edge of modern, but Varanasi with its tiny, winding lanes with wandering cows, with its shambolic and eminently charming squalor and downright dirt, with its howling monkeys jumping from building to building, with its ramshackle collection of buildings piled on top of each other and looming over the lazy and utterly filthy River Ganges, with its pilgrims bathing and surely poisoning themselves in the same river, with its thousands of temples packed in and one of them literally sinking in the sand by the riverside, and finally, with its burning human bodies on open wood-fires a mere minute from our hotel, yes Varanasi is like medieval gone mad and has no inclination of modernising any time soon.

I'll get back to Varanasi in a bit, but first the Sikh holy city of Amritsar, where we were for the couple of days prior. Amritsar didn't have the intense feeling of having journeyed back into the middle ages - there were far too many noisy vehicles beeping their horns for that - but it was as battered and dirty as I'd imagined Indian cities to be. Burness tells me it's nothing special for an Indian city, but I rather liked it. Being Sikh, there's plenty of turbanned men kicking around, many with wonderfully wise beards. There's something about an old man with a turban and a long, wispy beard that makes him look wise. They all look like excellent grandfathers.

Our purpose for visiting Amritsar was for the Golden Temple of course, as covered in my review, but although the Golden Temple was by far the dominant focus - not just for us, but for anyone visiting Amritsar - the city has another little trick up its sleeve. Amritsar is very near the Pakistan border, around 30 kilometres, and every day at 4.30pm there is a border ceremony between the two nations. Hang around anywhere outside the Golden Temple after lunch and there are numerous people offering shared taxis, and we picked up one for just over £1 each, return trip.

It was just as absurd as I'd hoped. Both sides effectively have a stadium - or permanent terraced stands, at least - set up on their side of the dividing line. Arriving at the border, as foreigners we were ushered into a special section of the stands, which actually gave us the best view, Behind us was a stadium full of patriotic Indians, as well as a number of soldiers with guns. One particularly patriotic Indian, with burning fervour and more than a little insanity in his eyes, was allowed into our foreigner section, which only had a handful of foreigners, where he waved a massive flag for the duration of the ceremony.

The terracing on both sides centred around a road, running across the border. Gates from each country sliced the road in two, and were quickly opened at the beginning of the ceremony as a plush-looking bus crossed from India to Pakistan, to great cheers again. Gates close again. Mentalism begins.

The hour-long ceremony that followed, performed by the military, was a crazed mixture of aggression, ministry-of-funny-walks, crowd hysteria, good humour, and wild partying. At the beginning, women and children were on the road, tearing up the dancefloor. The soldiers took over, and in pairs or sometimes solo, performed amazing high-stepping marches to the border gate, with furiously severe expressions on their face. Upon reaching the gate, they would stamp forcefully, which as it was a very wet day resulted in them sending a puddle over themselves. All this was being done, almost in unison, by the Pakistani side.

The crowd were loving this, and got more wound up by a guy in a white tracksuit, something like a compere, who would shout out stuff into a microphone and across booming speakers (the Pakistani side, as you might imagine, were doing exactly the same thing). Quite often, both sides would pick their best man, who would shout what sounded like "GGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLL" into the microphone, holding the sound as long as possible. It sounded just like a Brazilian football commentator after a goal has been scored. I don't know what it meant, or why it had to be yelled for as long as possible, but the crowd loved it (the Indian guys in our shared taxi also loved it, and were trying it on the journey back).

All this was as choreographed as it sounds, and they surely must practice with the Pakistanis, because on several occasions there was interaction. Once, when both gates were simultaneously opened, after a bit of stamping, an Indian guy and a Pakistani guy shook hands firmly. Later, the flags were raised in unison. Rivals they may be, but the sort of rivals who practice their dance moves together.

The atmosphere was all very light-hearted and comedy-aggression, and very much like a football match, with both sets of supporters enjoying themselves and trying to goad each other. While I've no doubt much hatred exists between the countries, it wasn't on display here. It was just a bit...silly. And a fun day out for the family.

It was a 22-hour train to Varanasi the following evening, which remarkably was entirely on schedule. I might write a little more about the train system in Indian another time, but know this - I love it. I love the massive "Train At A Glance" timetable book, which I waste hours retreating into a world of times and numbers, working out journey permutations. I love the ticket system, with the waiting lists and the special last minute tickets - "Taktal" - which were the only reason we got the fully-booked Varanasi train. And the trains are good, if late (I waited five hours for the train I'm on now, returning to Delhi, in a cold, crowded station. It's due to arrive eight hours behind schedule). Sleepers are cheap and comfortable - you feel like a human being at the end of the journey.

Varanasi then. The reason we went wasn't for any Wonders, but because Burness had been here six years ago and was enchanted with the place. "It's the most Indian of cities," he said. The city of the Hindu god Shiva, for whom 90% of the temples there are set up to worship, it is one of India's holiest cities and attracts a never-ending crowd of pilgrims, who go there to wash in the Ganges or cremate the body of a loved one.

It's this latter feature that I think lingers in the mind the most. Varanasi is full of "ghats", or steps down to the Ganges, and there are a couple of these which are "burning ghats". Burning ghats are essentially areas for burning bodies, just by the steps. A body, wrapped in a shroud, is taken and dipped in the Ganges, then placed on an unlit wood fire. More wood is piled on, and after a small ceremony, a fire lit. Alongside sometimes several others, and in full public, the body burns. Although the male members of the family will be present (the women do not appear, by tradition, and because - as our guide, J. P., on our final morning explained - they cry too much), there are dedicated workers who tend to the fires and the burning. The wood is precisely weighed for the fires. The worker has no compunction about breaking off parts of the charred skeleton to get stray arms or legs back into the fire.

I've never seen anything like it. Bodies burning in public. Feet sticking out of a fire before being back into the middle. A man's face, in a freshly-lit fire, come free of its shroud and turned to face me, his eye red, maybe poked with something, and oozing. The smell of burning bodies in the air. Skeletal remains roasting.

It sounds utterly grotesque, and in one sense you'd be right. But the mood by the burning ghats isn't sombre. It's all very straightforward, without any sense of the fear of death. The presence of tourists is perfectly permitted, although photography is obviously banned. Belief is pretty ingrained here, and the burning body is less a person gone forever, more just a person moved on elsewhere. For those of us in the West, death is a bit of a fearful unknown. It's not here. The only time I saw a relative with something approaching grief on his face was at a smaller burning ghat. A man with lines of grief etched on his face came down to the river. On his shoulder he was carrying what looked like a small cloth bag. He laid the cloth bag down, and we realised this was the body of a very young child. We were watching other things when Burness suddenly said to me, "Come on, let's go," and I realised the cloth had been unwrapped and the dead infant was lying there before us. We left - there are some things you don't need to see.

The burning ghats are the most stand-out feature, to put it one way, of Varanasi, but as my opening to this entry suggested. it has quite a lot of features going for it. Pushing past cows in narrow streets for one. It becomes normal quite soon. Having a shrieking monkey charge at me on my small balcony is another - that only happened once and I don't think it will ever seem normal. Getting asked if you want to go on a boat-ride quickly becomes background noise, although we did opt for one in the end, courtesy of our hotel.

Our hotel was a pleasant surprise. We were in suggestible mood at the train station and allowed ourselves to directed there. Called the Mishra Hotel, very near the river, it looked nothing special at first, but soon revealed itself. It had a pretty good rooftop restaurant with great views over the city by the river, had a speedy internet room, but best of all was the shower. Oh, the shower! North India is cold right now, below 10C and at night having a peek at freezing, and our accommodation in Delhi didn't even have a shower and out hotel in Amritsar had the merest of lukewarm water. But the Mishra Hotel had a battered old shower that looked as though it would be an abject failure, but instead delivered wonderfully. Piping hot water, loads of it, at high pressure. It was a sheer joy, and worth the £5 a night room rate alone.

Our first evening, a gift courtesy due to our on-time train, was spent wandering by the riverfront. At 6.30 in the evening, there is a daily ceremony, called the Puja, which involves lots of bells being rung and some men doing slow movements, usually with fire involved, and sometimes flowers. This was the only part of Varanasi I felt nodded its head to the tourist. I'm sure I'm wrong and it goes on in just the same way regardless, but the tourists and tour groups were out in force. It seemed especially popular with Koreans.

On our first full day, we just had a wander around, and experienced all of the above. We arranged a little more for our second day, and were up at 5.30am to get a slow boat ride down the Ganges, watching the morning bathers and the sun attempt to be seen through the thick fog. It failed. Our boatman was a cheeky young 16-year-old local, with an obsession for watching foreign girls in bikinis sunbathe in Goa. He's never done this before, but it was very clearly a firm ambition of his.

We took a walking tour after that, with someone for whom being 16-years-old was but a distant memory. His name was J.P. and he'd been doing the tour for forty years. He was a mine of information. Especially about Hinduism. Hinduism has baffled me to date and I can't really get a hold of it, but his careful explanations were clear. While expert status may elude me for a while, I now think I get it, or at least a little. I now understand why one of the gods, Ganesh, has an elephant-head - he's Shiva's son, and Shiva cut his head off for barring entry to Ganesh's mother, so Ganesh cut an elephant's head off and stuck it on his own. Elephants are considered lucky, so Ganesh is now the god people turn to if they want a little luck.

Speaking of elephants, we saw this man on our strolls too.

That's the Elephant Baba, a revered Hindu holy man, as featured on "An Idiot Abroad" with Karl Pilkington. That's a photo stolen from the internet - we didn't really feel right going up to him and taking a photo (although I think for a donation he'd have been perfectly).

The Elephant Baba leads me on to the subject of sadhus, and I realise now that I could go on forever, writing about and describing the many facets of Varanasi. The city lends itself to a lot of description and I expect there's a lot more out there on the internet, by bloggers and professional travel writers who've spent longer there and have more erudite words to say on it. It's to Delhi and Agra now, where a whole host of Wonders await - Akshardham, the Lotus Temple, Agra Fort, and a small, unknown one called the Taj Mahal. And too, the arrival of my girlfriend, who will join me for the next couple of weeks for Wonder-hunting and the wedding of a friend.

16. Wonder: The Golden Temple

2012-01-08T16:15:00.001Z

(For the Golden Temple preview, please click here.)

Up a narrow flight of stairs at the main entrance to the Golden Temple complex is the Sikh Museum. The Golden Temple being Sikhism's most holy place, it's perfectly normal and expected that a museum to the religion should be on-site; what isn't so expected is the sheer violence contained within the museum. Sikhism has a violent history, ostensibly in acts of atrocity committed against it, and the museum - the vast majority of which are framed paintings with captions - does not shy away from this. The opening notice states: "The portraits of male and female members of Khalsa who laid down lives in cause of Dharma, got their skulls sawn off, got mutilated on spiked wheels, got their bodies sawn, made sacrifice in service of shrines, did not betray their truth... with sacred hair unshorn until their last breath." Yikes.

The picture-based museum then turns into a series of either portraits of revered figures or historical paintings, many with a pretty gruesome focus. A martyr gets hung upside-down and his skin peeled off - we see his peaceful expression as his legs are stripped bare. Another martyr is boiled alive, again looking serene. Two calm-looking sons of the tenth guru are bricked up alive, never repenting their beliefs. And the one that actually shocked me - and I usually have a pretty strong stomach for these sorts of things - was the imprisonment by Mughal Islamic mentalists of thousands of Sikh women in Lahore in 1745, in which the Sikh babies were hacked up, and pieces of the babies draped and spread over their mothers. This is all history as seen through a Sikh lens, and the latter I can only find Sikh sources for, but it's pretty evident that there's been a far amount of gruesomeness over the years. All throughout the museum are tales of violence, pictorially represented, even going as far as to include portrait-style photos of the dead faces of about thirty men killed in a 1982 road accident, for some reason making them martyrs.

Oddly, very little mention is given to "Operation Blue Star", a highly controversial military assault on the Golden Temple compound in 1984 by the Indian army. Imagine an army going in all guns blazing to the Vatican, or into Mecca, that's the kind of deal we're talking about. It was supposed to be to flush out some Sikh separatists, and in the end it did get their target, but at a cost. Hundreds, possibly into the thousands, of innocent Sikh pilgrims were killed in the crossfire, huge damage was done to the Golden Temple and the surrounding complex, and four months later the Indian Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi, was assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards. This then led to reprisals against the Sikh community, killing thousands. A deeply unpleasant modern event in Sikh history, which perhaps for tact, is mostly glossed over in the museum (a painting of the destroyed administrative Akal Takhat building is the most prominent reminder).

So the museum above the main entrance to the Golden Temple is a pretty grim introduction to the world of Sikhism, the world's fifth largest religion in terms of followers (derived from Sanskrit, the word "Sikh" simply means "follower" in fact). For hundreds of years, the followers suffered repeated attacks from neighbouring states and religious groups, with the Golden Temple itself destroyed entirely on a number of occasions. Its first incarnation was from 1591, but it has been destroyed and rebuilt many times since, and what we see now dates from 1831, which was when the gold was added.

And what we see now is anything but grim.

Visiting the Golden Temple is an absolute pleasure. Whatever the religion's combative start to its existence - and there's no question that they had to be fighters to have survived to this day - the experience of visiting their central shrine is a wholly relaxed, friendly, and welcoming one. On my first visit, a morning trip while Burness slept soundly through a delayed and crushing New Year hangover, people greeted me, shook my hand, and simply asked where I was from. Never in an overwhelming manner, just friendly and welcoming, and simply interested in who I was, a foreigner visiting their shrine. In all the literature I've seen about it, accessibility for everyone to the Golden Temple is stressed, no matter your beliefs or background, and this was very much the case. Indeed, the four entrances on the temple itself as well as to the complex are to symbolise the openness of Sikhism. Visiting the holiest shrine of a different religion, which has its various customs and taboos, could be an intimidating experience - this was anything but.

The Golden Temple itself is the shiny golden thing in the middle of the square pond, to put it in pretty basic terms, and is called the Harmandir Sahib ("The Temple of God"), but the surrounding complex is integral to its appreciation and understanding. It's not just the Golden Temple that is sacred, but the complex too, hence why before entering one of the four entrances, socks and shoes must be taken off, feet washed (or at least wettened), and your head covered. Rules for head covering apparently allow for beanie hats but not for baseball caps, and although I didn't see any I imagine top hats would be perfectly permissible, but the general form is turbans or bandanas. The latter are provided free of charge at each entrance, but I purchased my own - a bright orange one, as standard - from a guy in the street for 10 Rupees (about 13p). I must admit to growing rather attached to it.

The distance from the shoe-depository to the main entrance is about fifty metres, which doesn't seem much, but on a wet January day in the Sikh city of Amritsar felt much longer. Amritsar, a city of around a million, is a mixture of the shabby and the charming, with most people probably being more struck by the shabby (I, personally, was rather charmed). Upon leaving my shoes at the depository, there was a walk across a patch of road still filled with motorbikes, rickshaws, and lots and lots of mud and water. Plus, this is north India in January, and the temperatures are single figures. Therefore almost each visit we made (only on the last did we more sensibly take a different, less punishing, entrance) it was a relief to reach the entrance, gaze upon the Golden Temple through the gateway, and paddle our cold, dirty feet in the warm pool of cleansing water. With clean feet we could now wander around the Golden Temple complex.

The Golden Temple complex has a pretty straightforward layout, and can be described as a series of concentric squares, or squarish rectangles to be more precise. At the centre is the Golden Temple, the dinky golden heart of it all. In terms of physical size, the Golden Temple is not big - around the size of a parish church perhaps. Getting reliable dimensions is a tricky one for the temple itself, but the official literature says the temple itself is 40.5 feet square on a platform of 67 feet square, which for consistency with previous entries I'll translate into 12.3 metres square on a platform of 20.4 metres square. "Metres square" is very different from "square metres", and 12.3 metres square means that is is 12.3 metres on each side, rather than the tiny 12.3 square metres which would be tiny, 4 metres by 3.1 metres for example. 12.3 metres square would equal 151 square metres - I think you can see the difference. This bamboozling of numbers can be summed up by saying that these dimensions all sound pretty sensible really , with the one small problem - the Golden Temple and its platform aren't square, they are definitely rectangular. So who knows?

Still, the suggested dimensions give an impression that the Golden Temple is quite little, the smallest of my Wonders so far. It and its platform are in the centre of the square-shaped complex, surrounded by a pool of water and connected by a 62-metre causeway to the surrounding marble walkway. The pool of water is called the Amrit-Sarovar (giving its name to the city) and means "The Pool of Nectar". It is said to have healing properties, dating back to the fifth guru, Guru Arjan Dev. He had a magic bag of ash, which when mixed with iron turned to silver, and mixed with copper turned to gold. However, mix it with water and it could cure leprosy. Instead of using it to get rich, he chucked the whole bag into the pool, explaining that health is more important than wealth. Besides, he'd just built a golden temple anyway (it was under his stewardship that the first incarnation was made). In the summer, I expect there are loads of Sikhs bathing in the pool; on a very overcast and chilly day in January, only a few hardly souls were immersing themselves.

The squarish pool is something like 150 metres on each side, with a marble promenade running along each of the four sides. It takes a leisurely ten minutes to walk around. This is where the bulk of the visitors spend their time, mostly in groups, strolling around the pool and temple. Arriving through the main entrance, this is what I did, following the crowds and going clockwise. My first impression is still the lasting one - it was a relaxing and oddly moving feeling. For the visiting Sikh, I can definitely imagine it being a spiritual experience; for the visiting atheist such as myself, it was still tangibly emotional. On loudspeakers, at a distinct but not distracting volume, religious music and devotional singing sounds around the complex, played by musicians within the Golden Temple. It's more or less continuous and quickly becomes background sound, but it was pretty good to be honest. "Not a bad beat", I might say, now that my middle-age is closer than my teenage years. People mill around, taking photos, some bathing, and it's a lovely feeling, in lovely surroundings.

Ringing the marble promenade are covered walkways which are effectively the walls of the temple complex, that hold everything in, although in reality they are buildings with mixed functions, such as shrines, cloakrooms, donation counters, the Sikh museum, and others. White marble-faced, they are four, occasionally five, storeys high, with the second and third level offering balconies that ring the complex, although sadly inaccessible to the public. All across them are simple plaques, written back into the white marble, donated by Sikh individuals or groups, in honour of a person or people. Decoration otherwise is simple and geometric, not too far removed from Islamic architectural styles.

These series of squares - the temple, its platform, the pool, the promenade, and the wall of buildings - make up the core of the Golden Temple compound, but there are a few other buildings that are integral also. One is the Akal Takhat, or the "Throne of the Immortal" in Punjabi. The only building aside from the Golden Temple to display gold (on its dome) it is the administrative authority behind Sikhism as compared to the spiritual heart that is the Golden Temple. On the other side of the complex is the accommodation. The Golden Temple offers free accommodation for all visitors, Sikh or not. My only small regret is that I never tried it. It's not exactly luxury - massive open halls crammed full of people sleeping - and when Burness and I arrived way past midnight, our train hours delayed, we just didn't fancy it. Burness especially, still deeply suffering from a New Year of excess and some long and delayed flights, upon walking into the special "foreigner room", lit up brightly and over-heated, with about five double beds pushed together, and a handful of people sprawled across them, just said "no." We stayed in a proper hotel instead - far more comfortable and allowing Burness to manage some recovery, but with a little less of the (uncomfortable, sleepless) authentic experience of the Golden Temple.

What we did manage was the free food, or "langar". Possibly this was the highlight of the whole experience. During our two days in Amritsar, we didn't pay for any food. A central philosophy of Sikhism - one of its very distinguishing features from the Hinduism's caste system - is that all men are equal and there should be no discrimination. Hence the leveller of all sleeping in the same quarters. Hence the leveller of all eating together. Cannily also, from the early days the gurus recognised that religious instruction sounds hollow to the hungry man. Just beyond the wall of buildings, but still part of the complex, is the giant food hall. Entirely staffed by volunteers, it offers free food, 24 hours a day. It can feed over ten thousand people a day, probably much more during busy times. When I'd first heard about this, I imagined epic queues of people waiting in line for hours, just to get a dollop of rice in a bowl. The reality was far more efficient - and tasty. Walk in, and you are given a metal tray (split into four sections), a metal bowl and a spoon. A person directs you, and you end up in a large open hall lined with people sitting on long lines of rug. Take your seat, and wait. A variety of people are walking about, dishing out daal, curry, rice, chapatis, and water. Want more? It keeps coming round. The whole process, from arriving to leaving and handing your dirty tray to the first in a huge chain of dishwashers, takes around ten minutes.

It is fair to say, very fair to say, that the Golden Temple is a wonderful experience. I was in Amritsar for two days, and visited the complex five times. On the first day, the weather was simply atrocious; as well as being cold, the rain was chucking it down. The upside of this was that the crowds were low, especially in the morning, when I was able to walk along the causeway to the Golden Temple on its island, and only inside the small interior, where the musicians play their music and devotees pray, were the crowds thicker. Compare that to the following afternoon, when the sun finally beat the clouds, some blue sky emerged, and there was a little warmth to the day. The causeway was filled with people all the way to the promenade.

A wonderful experience then, but is the Golden Temple a Wonder? As I've said, it's the smallest I've yet seen. By itself, in isolation, without the pool or the surrounding complex, it would be unspectacular. Nice, but unspectacular. It's a pretty building, and pleasingly ungaudy despite the shining gold, and the twenty-or-so layers of gold-plating - put on in the late 1990s and supposed to last for 500 years - are attractively decorated. But at the same time, it's no architectural marvel. There's no "how did they do that?" associated with it. Strip away its religious and historical significance, and strip away its surroundings, and alone it wouldn't take your breath away. It's too small, too straightforward.

But that's the thing - the Golden Temple doesn't exist in isolation. Its religious and historical significance are integral. And even if you were entirely unaware of these and just rocked up in Amritsar one day and ended up at the temple, you would be impressed. Because like a small man in a gold suit surrounded by buxom beauties, what the Golden Temple lacks in physical size, it makes for in sheer presence. On an island, surrounded by a sacred pool, then surrounded by a marble-white promenade and marble-white buildings, but gleaming gold itself, the Golden Temple has impact. It exists in perfect harmony with its surroundings: they enhance it, it enhances them. And then there's the simple aura, created by the people and the significance of the surroundings, not to mention the music playing. It's a special experience.

I said in an earlier entry, that appreciation of a Wonder should be separated from personal experience. With the Golden Temple it's pretty difficult - the two are so intertwined. I can see that if the complex was empty and silent, the impact would be less. And if you were to take any building in the world and make it the centre of a religion, with thousands worshipping there every day, it would become more special. The Golden Temple isn't just any old building, it is the beautiful heart and soul of a temple complex, a city, and a religion. It is very special. And in some senses, for example as the centrepiece of the world's fifth biggest religion, it is a Wonder, a religious Wonder. But taken objectively? I'm not so sure. Let's apply some criteria to it.

Size: Small, although the complex it is part of is larger, and it has a large presence within that.

Engineering: Nothing special. Made from nice materials - marble, copper, gold, with precious jewel inlay - but always within a short space of time, and without any unknown or amazing use of engineering ingenuity.

Artistry: Bright and shining gold, it is attractive and not tacky, and decorated nicely. But at the same time, it isn't outstanding architecturally.

Age/Durability: The current incarnation is 150 years old, but it goes back to around 400 years ago, having being destroyed and quickly rebuilt a number of times. It will exist as long as the Sikh religion exists.

Fame/Iconicity: The very heart of the Sikh religion, it is very well known in India. Outside of Sikhism and India, it is much less so.

Context: The golden centrepiece within a sacred pool inside a white marble complex, all built in concentric squares, it is magnificently framed.

Back Story: It goes back almost to the beginning of Sikhism, is central to the story of a number of the Sikh gurus, has been destroyed and rebuilt in numerous wars and attacks, and is fundamentally tied in with the story of Sikhism.

Originality: The overall complex design is pretty original, although the decoration seems to have borrowed from Islamic designs. I can't say I've seen much like this before.

In terms of impression made, the Golden Temple is up there, and if I was travelling the world and assessing various different tourist experiences, it would rate very highly. But I'm not, I am assessing potential World Wonders, and I'm trying to separate that from the experiences. It was in discussion with Burness that helped me decide where I stand on this one, and the impact made on me despite the powerful human experience. Take another icon, in this case let's take the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, the spiritual heart of the Buddhist Thai nation. Built around the same time as the Golden Temple, it has great significance and isn't huge or imposing, but has a well-judged and tasteful aesthetic appeal. However, the Temple of the Emerald Buddha is packed daily with processions of photo-taking tour groups; the Golden Temple is packed with genuine worshippers which give it a real emotional punch. Burness said he would want to visit the Golden Temple again any day, not so the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. The Golden Temple is definitely the better experience.

But - remove all the people and remove that sense of experience. Strip the Wonder bare, what do we have? And we have that despite the Golden Temple's small size and structural simplicity, the pleasing position in its pool and the square symmetry of the compound nudge it above the asymmetric cluster of buildings that comprise the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. And that's where I'd position it - a little above the Emerald Buddha, but with a larger gap chasing behind the Petronas Towers. A great experience, but only a decent building that doesn't seriously contend as a Wonder of the World.

Days 123 & 124: Delhi Restart

2012-01-05T16:47:00.000Z

It's back to travelling. And where better to restart than Delhi?

Delhi is a location that I'd heard a lot about before heading off on these travels. Most of it was fairly disparaging - hassle, noise, chaos, touts, rip-offs, astonishing diarrhoea - and none of it I doubt. But appended to most of the tales was that despite the fact Delhi was awful, it was also quite fun, albeit perhaps with a little after-the-event distance. It was an experience, above all, and despite the problems, Delhi was a worthwhile experience.

My own Delhi experience began, perhaps not atypically, with being shown a room entirely different to the one I'd booked, in my case a double-room without bathroom instead of a three-bed ensuite room. The hotel had picked me up at the airport, no problem, but not managed much else. After loads of waiting without any clear idea of what was going on, I just opted to go for the crappy double room, as I'd better things to do than sit for hours while they sorted it out. Plus, I was only staying one night anyway. There was also a small problem with my travel partner, the unerringly alcoholic Burness. Due to bad weather in Britain, he had missed his flight to India. He'd managed to get the next one, but it wouldn't be due to arrive until around 3am. This meant I wasn't able to arrange train tickets (his passport was needed), and was also the reason I was kind of tied to the hotel.

So I had an afternoon at leisure, in the terrifying chaos of Delhi. And it wasn't really that bad. I was staying near the main New Delhi train station, meaning there were loads of touts around, but I'm so used to touts that they barely register now. They're a pain when you actually want something, such as a taxi or directions, as the help they give is very much to their own agenda, but if you're just taking a stroll they're no more than a pest. The only difficulty I had was my first visit to the train station, trying to locate the tourist booking office, which I knew to be on the first floor. Easier said than done in a large series of buildings with loads of people trying to point you in the wrong direction. In the end I found it by going the exact opposite direction they told me to.

That evening I simply had a surprisingly boneless curry with massive chunks of chicken on a pleasant restaurant balcony, managing to entirely avoid crippling diarrhoea afterwards. I took a stroll round the busy streets of the main bazaar, packed with motorbikes and cows and travellers and touts and tiny, single-minded shops bursting into the street with their wares. I found a shop selling beautiful chess pieces - a big weakness of mine - and resisted buying, but may return. I tried to find some beer but it was oddly not present anywhere; one shop said they could arrange a rickshaw to fetch some for a small price, and I've later learned that alcohol is limited to sales in special shops.

After an early start, and a fairly demanding day, I was tired, so crashed out by about 9ish, waiting for Burness to appear hours later and share my (fortunately very large) double bed. He was in fairly bright form upon arriving, but slipped into a deep slumber and by the time it was 9am all his New Year excess and prolonged travelling had caught up with him. Barely coherent with exhaustion, we agreed it would be better to leave him resting while I went about my day.

Which was to arrange tickets to Amritsar - successfully - and then pop to one of my two Wonders in Delhi - the modern Hindu temple of Akshardham. I've to visit this again, as this time was really just a recon mission, to get a first impression of the place, but the first impression... wow. Akshardham is seriously impressive. It's big, it's ornate, and it looks you imagine all these ancient ruins to have looked like when first built. I can pay it no higher compliment than to say that Angkor Wat was in my mind as I wandered round the site.

I took a photo but you may struggle to see it.

Yes, Delhi was very, very foggy. This picture was taken from the neighbouring metro station, as cameras, phones and pretty much anything isn't allowed in to the temple grounds.

I was back at the hotel by 2pm, and Burness still looked like grim death, but he struggled up, and we headed to the train station, waving goodbye to Delhi and on our way to Amritsar and the Golden Temple.

Day 123: Off To India And Beyond

2012-01-04T08:36:00.001Z

Well, that's me off to India.

The next month may see me getting a little behind, hopefully not with the actual updating but likely with the actual reports of the Wonders. The Wonder reviews take a little time and effort to write, and I don't know where I'm going to find the time. In the space of ten days, I'll be seeing Akshardam Temple, the Lotus Temple, the Golden Temple, the Taj Mahal, and Agra Fort, with quite a bit of travelling too. Additional to that, my girlfriend will be joining me for a couple of weeks. Understandably, she has never expressed tremendous delight at disappearing off and travelling for many months, and so during this short visit she might not appreciate me spending my free time writing. Her friend also gets married in Goa. In short, there will be a lot to write about and not much time to write it. However, at the end of the month, I can foresee a slight relaxation of the schedule.

Next after India is a couple of days in Sri Lanka (a bonus, due to the way flights worked out), then a couple of months in China. Happily, China should allow further relaxation and flexibility in our schedules, as we have plenty of time to see all the Wonders, with a fair bit left over. This should include an exciting bonus trip to a very special place in Shenzen, that for now I will keep as a surprise (I should note that Burness is markedly less excited than I am about this). Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan then follow, and the flights have already been booked.

This just leaves one thing: North Korea. And here we enter into the unknown. We had booked a week's tour for February 14th to witness the celebrations of Kim Jong-Il's 70th birthday. As you might have noticed on the news, events have led to this being somewhat unlikely to occur. Therefore, will our tour go ahead? Will it be rescheduled? Will we able to go to North Korea at all. No-one knows as yet. I sincerely hope so, as I would love to be able to go.

All that's ahead, as I recommence travelling-proper after a couple of weeks of lazy indolence in Kuala Lumpur. It's been a perfectly fine and perfectly uninteresting couple of weeks, by choice, in which I've got all my writing and planning up to date, and effectively taken a short break from these travels. Although I did manage to get to go up the Petronas Towers, unfulfilled during my prior visit here.

So, bye for now, Kuala Lumpur; Delhi, I'm on my way (please be kind...).

Extra Photos: Part 2

2012-01-03T03:53:00.003Z

Some more bonus photos from the last four months. This time, from my camera, before it broke.

Kickapoo and other drinks

Asia is great for strange drinks - I love walking into a corner shop and finding something I have absolutely no idea about, or what's in it. In the case above, it was in Singapore, in a small and basic outdoor restaurant. I'll buy any drink called "Kickapoo" on sight (in fact, I recently bought a whole bottle of it in Kuala Lumpur) and it turned out to be alright - a citric kind of drink. The other one was much weirder though. Called something like Bandung Rose, it was a vivid, terrifying opaque pink, and tasted like a combination of parma violets, strawberry milk, and petals.

Borobudur

The tour guide made me do this, honest. Like pretending to prop up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, this seems to be a tradition at Borobudur, for the guide at least. Still, after being forced to wear a skirt for hours, I'd already sunk quite low.

Instructions

Taken in Bali airport. You can never be too careful.

Dayabumi

This is the Menara Dayabumi, or the Dayabumi Tower. It's a building in Kuala Lumpur, within ready sight of the Chinatown area where I spent much of my time. I became a huge fan of it. It's just a business tower, but unlike most commercial skyscrapers it has a unique look and definite Islamic stamp across it. I don't know how practical the star-patterned decorations are for allowing light in, but I think all skyscrapers should be built with this same sense of style and originality.

Buddha's Living Moustache

I was in a temple in Bagan, looking at yet another Buddha, when I noticed it had a little moustache. This is not in the textbook for Buddha statue design. I looked a little closer - and a small gecko had cutely nestled itself just above Buddha's upper lip. Quite suits him, I think.

The Sleeping Suite (skip if you want to avoid shocking near-nudity)

Burness has acquired a rather bad habit of taking photos of me sleeping. Not just regular sleeping, but when I've passed out. In the first half of the travels, we'd often listen to a Ricky Gervais/Karl Pilkington podcast, from one of the many I'd downloaded. Sometimes, because I was tired, I 'd fall asleep. Burness then found it funny to take photos of this, unbeknown to me at the time. This included abusing me with his foot. In all these photos I am genuinely fast asleep, despite having the radio podcast on quite loud next to me. I'm sure I took a photo of Burness in revenge, but for the life of me I can't find it. As it likely involved him half-naked, I'm sure this is for the best.

The Cost Of A Wonder

2012-01-02T14:00:00.005Z

What does a Wonder cost? Not in terms of construction or maintenance, but for me and you to visit? Some, as you would imagine, cost more than others. Very often it depends on exactly what you want to do there. In this post, I will outline how much visiting each Wonder has cost me, with it being kept in mind that I have tried to experience each Wonder fully, with cost not being a deterrent. The cost of buying the model Wonder is not included and transport is only included when the Wonder requires an extra effort of transportation to visit. I will also add what I think the minimum cost to visit the Wonder would be, if all you wanted to do was have a look around.

It should also be noted that many of these figures are not exact, with some relying upon memory and others being loosely converted into pounds from the original currency.

1. The Sydney Opera House.

Evgeny Kissin Piano Recital: £59
Couple of beers during half time break: £9
Crap Tour (booked online with 15% discount): £20
Total: £88.

Minimum cost to visit: Free. You don't need to do the rubbish tour, you can walk around the outside of the building, a little bit of the inside, for free.

2. The Marina Bay Sands

My share of a twin room for one night: £91
A few beers by the infinity pool: £20
Avalon nightclub entry: £40
Two beers at Avalonh: £20
Casino losses: £25
ArtScience Museum entry: £12
Access To Cantilever Deck (as a non-guest): £10
Total: £218

Minimum cost to visit: Free. You can walk about the base and admire it, though it looks better from a distance anyway. If you want, you can walk about the extensive foyer for nothing; only a visit to the cantilever deck costs and probably isn't essential (though the view is nice).

3. Borobudur

Entry for foreigner: £10
My half of a two hour tour: £5
Sunrise access: £12.50
My share of a twin room at Manohara Hotel (with unlimited access to Borobudur): £26.50
Total cost: £54

Minimum cost to visit: £10 entry for foreigner (£1 if you're Indonesian). You can't really see it from outside the grounds so need to pay to get access.

4. Petronas Towers.

My share of twin room at the Traders Hotel: £54
Beers at the Traders Hotel SkyLounge: £8
SkyBridge and Observation Deck Tour: £10

Total Cost: £72

Minimum cost to visit: Free. You just need to go to the park outside and look at it.

5. Shwedagon Pagoda.

Entry fee (twice): £6.50
Tour: £3
Total: £9.50

Minimum cost to visit: £3. Although you can see it without accessing the site, you really need to go in, costing $5, or about £3.

6. Ananda Temple/Bagan

One-time entry to overall site: £6.50
My share of ahrse and cart for the day: £7
Bicycle hire for two days: £2
Total cost: £15.50

Minimum cost to visit: £7.50. Upon entering Bagan, whether by boat or bus, the $10 (£6.50) entry fee is mandatory, though this effectively lasts as long as you stay around. Seeing it on foot is impossible, so bike hire of a day is another £1 (though one day is not enough). Minimum cost therefore, £7.50.

7. Bodhi Tataung Standing Buddha

My share of a tuk-tuk to the site, twice (there's no other way to get there): £8
Total cost: £8

Minimum cost: £8 or less. By yourself, £8 for a tuk-tuk ride, though you may be able to haggle down if you try hard. Access to the site is entirely free.

8. Angkor Wat (I'm only taking into account the costs incurred for Angkor Wat itself, not the day we explored further afield temples).

Seven day pass: £39
My share of a guide for a day: £8
My share of a tuk-tuk for the sunset: £1.50
My share of a tuk-tuk for the day's tour: £5
Bicycle hire for two days: £2
Total cost: £55.50

Minimum cost: £20.50. It's $30 (£19.50) for a day's pass, and another £1 for bicycle hire (there's no way you're going to get there on foot), so £20.50.

9. Banaue Rice Terraces.

My share of guide for three day trek: £40
Total cost: £40.

Minimum cost: Free. Just turn up in Banaue and you can walk around to your heart's content.

10. Ayutthaya Historic Park.

Two audio tours: £4
Bike hire for a day: £1.
Total cost: £5.

Minimum cost: Free, at least during the time I was there. I think it usually costs a small amount, maybe up to £2, to access some of the temples, but due to the aftermath of the flooding access was free for my visits. Bicycle hire isn't essential, just convenient.

11. The Temple of the Emerald Buddha.

Entry fee (twice): £16
My share of a 45 minute tour: £5
Total cost: £21

Minimum cost: £8. You can't really see it from outside the walls of the Grand Palace, so the entrance fee is necessary.

So, my total cost of visiting all the Wonders so far: £587.50.
Minimum cost of visiting all these Wonders: £57. You see, it's possible to travel on a budget. If you don't eat, sleep, and can teleport everywhere.

Extra Photos: Part 1

2012-01-02T02:10:00.015Z

When I travelled a decade ago, the world was a very different place. Televisions used aerials, Arabs accepted their oppression, and Justin Beiber was still sperm. Also, cameras almost always still used film. I travelled with a small, crappy camera and small supply of film. As a result, I had to be frugal with the photos I took, saving them for the most special of occasions. Alas, take me, a cheap camera, and only one chance at a photo, and you get stuff like this:

There's a lot of stuff like this in my 2001 travel collection. Therefore, although sometimes you may catch me in a rant about the greater charm of yesteryear, with film and cameras and personality, there can be no doubt that the modern digital "charmless" camera is far superior in the hands of someone inept like myself. During four months of travel in 2001 I took something like two hundred photos; in a similar amount of time in 2011, I have taken well over two thousand. There's no one-shot deal any more, I can take multiple pictures of the same thing until I'm thoroughly sure the moment has passed.

Obviously, I've included many photos as I've been going along, but there are plenty that didn't make the cut, not due to quality, but more due to relevance. Nonetheless, they are relevant to the overall travels, or are simply nice-looking photos. This first bunch were all taken from Burness's camera - my camera broke in Cambodia so since then we've been using his. Here they are, in a rough chronology.

Handsome Men

Well, here's a nice one. This one was taken in the astonishingly expensive Avalon nightclub in Singapore - entry plus two beers cost almost threes time my daily budget. Burness only convinced me to go by saying it would be an integral part of the Marina Bay Sands experience. That I'm not sure of, but it was a good night, helped by the cheap vodka we plied ourselves with prior to going. As you can see, we're uncharacteristically well-dressed - Burness had to borrow my shirt - due to a perceived dress code at the door (it turned out T-shirts and jeans would have been fine). All other photos of the night are much less flattering. Oh, ok, here's one:

Burness Style

As you will know, I'm someone at the cutting edge of style and fashion. Which is why it pains me sometimes to have someone around me who is less fashion-aware. Above is Burness at Prambanan, Indonesia. He had bought the cap that day, for £1, and still talks about it today (although wears it notably less so). One of Burness's reasons for travelling is to recapture the sense of youth and enthusiasm that three decades of bitter life have hammered out of him. Wearing a blue-and-yellow cap will not, I fear, put him in closer touch with his youth.

Mount Merapi

Our night climb of Mount Merapi, in central Java, Indonesia, was a tough one. Not just due to the cold, or the darkness, or the very steep climb, but because of the sandy soil underfoot that made grip difficult and slips frequent. After about four hours of climbing, we reached a summit (not the summit, mind) and it was very windy. So we sheltered in a cave, getting the merest hint of a sleep, and then woke to a beautiful sunrise. Not just any old beautiful sunrise, but unquestionably the most beautiful I've ever seen, with Burness too fully agreeing. The first photo can only give a suggestion as to the beauty, as to give a better idea you would need to blow it up a hundred times and have it all around you. The sunrise went on for ages, held back by a distant mountain, otherwise surrounded by horizontally flat land, that concealed the sun, while the colours danced, whirred, magically revealed, confounded, sparkled, hoorayed, and whatever else beautiful sunrise colours do.

Due to time and wind, our guide wouldn't allow us to scramble up the dangerous slope to Merapi's volcanic crater, but we climbed a nearby summit, and admired the view.

Beng Melea in Angkor

We saw a lot of temples at Angkor, and in the end I couldn't write about them all. The most significant one I passed over was Beng Melea. This colossal pile of ruins was a couple of hours away from Siem Reap and therefore far less explored than the main circuit of temples. Built by the same guy as Angkor Wat (Suryavarnam II) and approximately the same size, it is now an immense pile of bricks. Will they one day reconstruct it? I don't know, but the raw material is there, so it's possible. It would probably the the biggest jigsaw puzzle ever. For an hour or two, with a guide that I think was mandatory (it's hard to tell, there may just have been a bunch of opportunistic locals hanging around wearing the same colour of shirt), we clambered around and explored the ruins. Local children could be heard playing, in perhaps the best playground on earth.

Eating

This was taken in Luang Prabang, in Laos. There was a restaurant that could only be accessed by getting in a small, long, narrow boat and being taken there (a seasonal bridge was being constructed, but it wasn't yet finished at the time). There we ate some Lao food, called... um... oh, something. It's a metal bowl/grill thing put over fire, and a bunch of water, stock, vegetables, and meat placed inside. It was very tasty, hence why three of our five nights in Luang Prabang we ate it.

Ho Chi Minh Rooftop Bar at the Sheraton

Burness persuaded me to go to the Sheraton for our one afternoon and evening in Ho Chi Minh City, and try some Happy Hour cocktails. They were still very expensive. Nonetheless, I very much enjoyed my "Grasshopper" and did my best to look thoroughly sophisticated doing so. (I should mention that virtually the entire clientele were backpackers, there because it's mentioned in the Lonely Planet, which is where Burness got it from. Oh, spirit of adventure!)

Terror Trekking

This picture only gives a hint, but the first day of our trek in and around the Banaue Rice Terraces had some hairy moments. There is a path, but there are also a lot of landslides, and sometimes the walk became very precipitous. There were times when a slight slip, and on very loose soil, could have had very unfortunate consequences. This picture isn't the steepest example, but it gives the idea that the trek wasn't always a stroll.

Wat Chai Wattanaram

And finally, for the Burness portfolio, is this, Wat Chai Wattanaram in Ayutthaya. It's on the other side of the island, and not part of the Historic Park, which is a shame as it's probably the best looking temple. This photo was the only picture we managed of the temple, just before the battery ran out, and was taken during our little boat trip which passed by at sunset.

Day 120: A Kuala Lumpur New Year and A Trip To The Top

2012-01-01T14:41:00.000Z

HNY from KL.

It's been ten days now in Kuala Lumpur of "holiday" from travelling, and ten days with very little to report. I've been manifestly, well, not anti-social, but just non-social. And not inactive, just... well, ok, I've been pretty inactive in terms of physical effort. This seasonal break was intended as a period to write, and write I've done. Write, and plan for what's to come.

Of course, I've not been entirely holed up in my windowless hostel room, bashing away on buttons and musing on my mission, I've taken little excursions into the city. Some of these have been in the Bukit Bintang area of Kuala Lumpur, a flash and busy section of the city, with shopping centres and bustling crowds. Most evenings I've been around the Jalon Alor street, initially eating slightly over-priced Chinese food but since moving on to ultra-cheap Indian-Malaysian cuisine. But overall, a lot of my time has been in the KLCC area, especially at the Petronas Towers.

The Petronas Towers, already reviewed and assessed in terms of a Wonder, have impressed me no end. On the train from Bangkok, I found myself anticipating my first sighting of them. I've seen them in some form every day, whether by visiting them or simply seeing them peek over buildings in the distance. They are not buildings to tire of, they have grown in my affections. Particularly when I catch glimpses of them, do I feel a fondness. Waiting at the (outdoors) Pasar Seni subway station, despite having been there a number of times before, the other day I realised the two peaks could be seen quite clearly from one side of the station. Walking to Jalon Alor at night, they appear in the distance from behind nearby buildings luminescent and striking. They are unmissable beacons and elevate Kuala Lumpur.

For Hogmanay, I naturally gravitated there. I began wandering through Bukit Bintang, which was alarmingly full of people, many with the odd fashion of wearing neon devil horns and blowing klaxons. Usually dominated by cars and roads, it was funny seeing it converted into a place exclusively for people, and a refreshing change - Kuala Lumpur is a chore for pedestrians. And then for the turn of the New Year itself, I made sure I was in close sight of the Petronas Towers, moving away from the packed mass of humanity that compressed itself into the space near the towers, and found myself some open space in the large park it overlooks. Disappointingly, come midnight, the towers didn't do anything. There was an impressive fireworks display on the other side of the park, but the towers stoically remained unchanged. No fireworks, no colour changes, no team of fairylight-clad acrobats abseiling down the sides.

No matter. I treated myself today. Last visit, a few months ago, to Kuala Lumpur, I was greatly disappointed to find that the tower tour was closed due to maintenance. Now it has reopened. Even better, instead of the mere SkyBridge visit that for years was the only permitted way to climb the towers, an observation deck has now opened on the 84th floor (of a total of 88). The SkyBridge visit used to be free, but the combined trip now costs £10, which is highly reasonable although I think it's a shame that Malaysians have to pay this too. Malaysia's not a poor country, but neither is it yet rich, and I think residents of a country should be allowed to visit their national icon either for free or for a very subsidised amount.

The SkyBridge visit was as I remember it, from a visit in 2007. It's nice, it's pretty high up but not crazy, but it's a bit weird to be at that height and realise you're on a kind of bridge. From certain angles, you could see the spindly-looking bridge supports.

But it's the 84th floor where the £10 becomes £10 well-spent. It's very smoothly done, with lots of slick Petronas and government videos and quotes extolling their ambitions for a better, cleaner, happier future with rosy-faced children and wholesome attitudes. But nobody pays attention to these. When at the top of a high building, everybody looks down. And at around 400 metres up, there's quite a lot of down.

What grabbed me though wasn't down - it was across. Prior to this, the highest building I'd been up was the Empire State Building, and it's the highest thing in its vicinity (actually, the first time I was there, the World Trade Centre still stood, but they were a little distant). Stand at the top of the Empire State Building and you're at the top of the world. Standing at the top of a Petronas Tower and there's another Petronas Tower. Right next to you.

With the sheer height I was at, and my brain not comprehending seeing the Petronas Tower pinnacle so close up, I felt dizzy for a second. I've spent a couple of weeks looking up at these things, suddenly I was level. Of course, there's a whole city and beyond to look at, and I had the fortune of a pretty clear day, but the massive bulk of the 452 metre Petronas Tower twin with the sheer spire (which looked more elegant than expected close-up) was the focus of my attention.

Another little quirk I liked was the layout of the observation deck. Being near the top of the tower and where the tower has tapered considerably, the whole floor more-or-less was open as the deck. The floorplan of the Petronas Towers is done to Islamic traditions, but with a twist. The Islamic part are the two interlocking squares, which effectively give an eight-pointed star. But as a floorplan, this is quite wasteful of space, so between each point of the star a rounded bulge has been added. The effect, when viewed from the outside goes "square-circle-square-circle" etc. And that's the effect from the inside too, except from inside I was able to directly appreciate the extra floorspace given by the bulges. For the record, I prefer the bulges to the squares. But who doesn't?

And that was it, taking just under an hour, and leaving me satisfied that I have properly "done" the Petronas Towers. A good start to 2012 and another four months with nineteen Wonders ahead. Happy New Year.

Preview: The Leshan Giant Buddha

2011-12-31T08:07:00.002Z

Meet Dafo.

Dafo is a statue of Buddha, one of hundreds of thousands... hell, hundreds of millions, in Asia. That's no exaggeration. In Burma, there is a temple, Thambuddhei Paya, with over a half a million statues of Buddha inside, and there are numerous locations across the continent with the "Thousand Buddha" appellation (I'll be visiting a Thousand Buddha Caves in China); across Asia, Buddha is very well represented. In my list of Wonders, he appears prominently (that is, as pretty much the chief focus) no less than five times, and his statue and image is well represented in another nine. He gets around. So what makes Dafo so special?

Well, I suppose you could say that Dafo is the grand old man of the Buddha statue world. His name, Da Fo, literally just means "Big Buddha" in Chinese, and that pretty much sums him up. Leshan is a small city in central-southern China, and Dafo is the Leshan Giant Buddha. He's 71 metres tall, but that's just sitting down; should he choose to stand, he would likely reach over a hundred metres. However, as he's been sitting comfortably in the same position for over 1200 years, it seems as though he's settled. Besides, he has nothing to prove - for over a thousand years since his construction, he was the tallest statue in the world and by quite a considerable margin; even his closest rival, the largest of the now Taliban-destroyed Bamiyan statues, only came in at 55 metres, and he was standing up. Even today, Dafo still comes in at number 15 on the tallest statue list, and is still the largest rock-carved statue around.

Perhaps its his grandfatherly status in a world otherwise of very modern tall statues that makes me feel a little affection towards this massive chunk of stone. Cut from a cliff face but still seemingly nestled cosily into the cliff, and seated by the riverside, seen from a distance he looks like an old man sitting back and watching the world go by. Although massive and impressive, unlike the modern giant statues which stand proud and dominate their surroundings, Dafo seems much more unassuming. He's not showing off, he's just taking it easy. On his face is the hint of a smile. From photos, at least, Dafo seems a very likeable statue.

The reason for Dafo being given a seated position isn't just to rest his weary old feet, it's because the type of Buddha he represents is the Maitreya Buddha. Maitreya is the name of the future Buddha, the next Buddha to come to earth and show us the way to enlightenment, after his predecessor did so in around 2500 BC. But it might be quite a wait until Maitreya arrives - according to some texts, he will only be born at a low point of human existence, at a time when the teachings of the earlier Buddha are all but forgotten, and in an age where humans will live to eighty thousand years old. Crikey. Until that time, he's just hanging about in a different world, kind of like a version of heaven. Hence why Maitreya - and Dafo - are seated, they are just biding their time, waiting until mankind is desperate and the world is ready for him. Don't worry, in this heavenly world, a hundred years passes like a day, so things aren't dragging on too much.

I suspect also that carving Dafo into a seat may also have been a little easier for the sculptors back in 713 AD when they started. A standing statue of unprecedented height might have been a bit unstable, so it was best to say it was of Maitreya and have him sitting down. But that's my own idle speculation as nothing in the way of the builder's thoughts on the matter are recorded. As with pretty much all of Chinese history (and, in large part, most ancient history), the architect and craftsmen aren't known about, it's just the commissioner that is remembered. In this case, it was a monk, called Haitong. Haitong was concerned about the turbulent waters at that particular spot in the river. It was the spot where three rivers - the Minjiang, Dadu and Qingyi - met, and was a real problem for the trading vessels that passed by frequently. Leshan was at that time at a crossroads and was a major trading centre, with the rivers bringing prosperity. And Haitong was determined to make life a bit safer for all concerned.

So he came up with the idea of building the giant statue of Maitreya Buddha by the danger spot of the river as he believed Buddha would then protect the boats and the travellers. For the rest of his days, he fund-raised to first begin the construction and then keep it going. The story goes that he even gouged out his own eyes as a show of piety and dedication to the cause. An official tried to claim the money that Haitong had been raising for his project and Haitong told him, "It is easier to pluck out your eyes than get wealthy following Buddha", a quote which is now an inscription at the base of the statue. The official challenged Haitong on this, and Haitong gouged his own eyes out to prove a point (some versions have him just gouging one eye out). It appeared to work and appeared to inspire the workers, who presumably figured out that Haitong was not someone to mess with.

Sadly, Haitong didn't live to see the finished statue, and not just due to his lack of eyes. He died several years after construction started, and everything ground to a halt. It took a decade until it kickstarted again, due to the efforts of a local governor, but this was short-lived, and it wasn't for another forty years until another governor got things going again. Dafo was eventually finished in 803 AD, ninety years after being started. And though he wasn't around to see it, Haitong's plan worked. Due to the massive amount of rock that had fallen into the river after having been cut away from the cliffs, the river current changed, and the waters became much safer for vessels to pass through. The giant Buddha indeed gave his protection.

Much time and much wear-and-tear have happened in the twelve centuries since. A thirteen-storey wooden shelter built to protect Dafo from the elements was destroyed during late 13th Century wars, and hundreds of years of erosion and water damage have faded Dafo. He even has bullet holes. More recently, pollution and acid rain blackened his nose and speckled black his face, as if Dafo had contracted some kind of skin disease. Happily. he has had a $30 million facelift. Since being put on the UNESCO Heritage List in 1996, more attention has been paid to him, and in 2002 and 2003 a major maintenance job was performed, cleaning him, filling in the cracks that had formed, installing improved drainage, and protecting against future wind and water damage. Dafo is a new man again.

All photos of the Leshan Giant Buddha look pretty impressive, and it can be approached either from the top of the cliff, or by taking a boat and sailing by. It shares space on my Wonders list with Abu Simbel and the Moai of Easter Island as my only ancient statues, but is considerably bigger than both of these, so it could be something quite special.

I'll be visiting the Leshan Giant Buddha in March, and will give a fuller account, plus my own impression, then.

Preview: Kailasanathar Temple in Ellora

2011-12-30T07:40:00.002Z

"Its excellence is beyond the power of description."

So says the late Indian historian, Pandit Bisheshwar Nath, about Ellora's Kailasanathar Temple, in his book, "The History of the Rashtrakutas", and perhaps if I followed his example then I could save myself a lot of writing. Not just about the caves of Ellora, but about all my Wonders: "Beyond the power of description again, sorry guys," and I can focus my energies on finding some cheap beer. A picture tells a thousand words anyway - I'll just take five photos and let them do the talking.

Of course, I know that Mr Nath was using a figure of speech rather than just stating a plain fact, and his book wasn't about Ellora and its caves, it was about the people who built them, the Rashtrakuta Dynasty. Rashtrakuta is a bit of an unwieldy-looking name, but break it up and it becomes a little more manageable. In Sanskrit, "rashtra" means "region" or "area", and "kuta" means something approximating "chieftan". These regional chieftans operated between the 6th and 10th Centuries AD, and as a powerful empire from the mid-8th Century. The word "regional" misleads; at their peak, the Rashtrakuta Empire dominated what we know as India now, stretching from just above the southern tip all the way up almost to Nepal. In 973 AD, they came to an end when a rival power invaded their capital and overthrew them.

Like most powerful empires from the past, and partly through necessity, the Rashtrakutas enjoyed their fair share of warring and conquering - indeed this was a generous source of income for them. However, they also had some culture to them. Art and education were seen as important, and they left a significant architectural legacy behind. No better can this be seen in the caves of Ellora, which can be found 30 kilometres from the central Indian city of Aurangabad (named, incidentally, after the Mughal emperor Aurangazeb, the son of Shah Jahan - the builder of the Taj Mahal). This series of 34 caves is seen as the epitome of a thousand years of Indian rock-cut cave-carving tradition, with the magnificent, "beyond the power of description" Kailasanathar Temple not just being the very finest example, but going a whole improbable step further to become something that boggles the mind.

Dimensions, first of all. Kailasanathar, or "Cave 16", is 84.1 metres long, 47 metres wide, and 36.6 metres at its highest. Doesn't mean that much, does it? Well, how about it being twice the area of Athens' Parthenon, and 50% taller? This is pretty big. But here's the killer fact: Kailasanathar is a rock-cut temple, therefore this is not a building. This is an excavation. Kailasanathar was not built, it was removed. The temple we see now used to just be a rock cliff. And 1200 years ago, for the hundred-year period between 760 and 860 AD, the cliff was chipped away from top to bottom to form this fantastically elaborate structure. Nothing had been added, the entire structure has been carved top-down from the cliff, including the temple interior, with between 200,000 and 400,000 tons (sources vary) of stone removed. It's the largest monolithic - that is, made from a single piece of stone - structure in the world.

The name Kailasanathar simply means "Lord of Mount Kailash" and refers to it being the supreme Hindi god's, Shiva's, temple. Indeed, it's not the only temple in India to be given the name, although it's certainly the most celebrated. The temple is designed to resemble the sacred (and real - it's in the Himalayas, 6638 metres tall) Mount Kailash, home of Shiva, and in its time was covered with white plaster so as to give the impression of snow. It was also painted, though as with the plaster not much of this remains today. What fortunately does survive, even if it has been worn over the years, are the detailed sculptures that decorate the temple. These are exquisite works of craftsmanship, made all the more impressive by knowing that there was no second chance; these were being carved from the cliff itself and one screw up would be a disaster, much in the way that any mistake sculpting Mount Rushmore couldn't be remedied. My favourite decorative feature, from the photos I've seen, has to be the elephants carved into the base of a temple "building", giving the illusion that the elephants are supporting the structure itself.

A copper plate inscription referring to Kailasanathar states that the architect stood before the temple in amazement and said "Was it indeed I who built this?" It says also that the gods who passed by couldn't believe it was work of mortals. There isn't much in the way of written history of Ellora and the Rashtrakuta dynasty, most of it being derived from archaeological studies, inscriptions, contemporary literature, and accounts from Arab traders, but it's probably fair to say that they were pretty impressed with it. It wasn't a slow burner that took a while to capture people's attention, even the architect was saying, in his own way, "I've pulled a blinder." And Kailasanathar and the whole Ellora Cave complex has never gone away. This isn't something that has been lost in the mists of time then rediscovered, as its precursor, the nearby Ajanta Caves, were. Since its construction, it has been continuously known about. The Rashtrakuta Empire was religiously tolerant, and the 34 caves are a chronological mixture of Buddhist, Hindu, and Jaina, with Buddhist worship still going on today.

The only surprise is how Ellora isn't more world famous. Petra in Jordan is a similar type of deal, being buildings/structures carved into the rock, only slightly taller than Kailasanathar and not nearly with as much depth: Petra is effectively decorative features carved into the cliff, with just small bare interiors, albeit there are numerous such large structures whereas most of Ellora's caves are smaller, with Kailanathar being by the far the most dominant. Petra is often regarded as a World Wonder, appears in Indiana Jones films, and is globally recognised. Ellora... well, I hadn't heard of it until a chance meeting with two Englishmen on a Vietnamese train. Why is this? Perhaps I'll find out when I visit it, if it's rubbish. Or perhaps it just hasn't got a very good publicity machine: set the next Indiana Jones film there (Indiana Jones and the Ogre of Truth is my suggestion - Spielberg, my services as scriptwriter are available for a fee) and see if the world starts to take notice.

I'm looking forward to visit Kailasanathar Temple, and all of the Ellora Caves, as it's a late and somewhat surprise addition. I'm not sure how it passed me by during my couple of years of list-making, but then it seems to have passed the world by also. Fortunately, although it has meant some late changes to my itinerary, it is just workable, even it means a fair bit of time in trains to get there. It has also meant that it now makes logistical sense to fly out of India (going to China) via Mumbai, and the cheapest flight strangely enough happens to pass through Sri Lanka. Thus, as an expected bonus, we will now have a couple days in Sri Lanka. So Ellora has already justified its addition to my list.

I'll be visiting Kailasanathar Temple in early February, and will give a more detailed account of it, plus my own impressions, then. Careful if you Google, or especially Amazon, for "Ellora Caves" - it is the name of a publisher of erotic novels: I've already bought three hundred under the mistaken belief I was purchasing historical accounts.

New Additions To The List: Part 2

2011-12-29T08:25:00.002Z

I was worried about this. About a year ago, my list of candidate Wonders was around about 75 or so. This number steadily started trickling up as I mentioned my quest to others, and by the time I'd started my blog, in May, the number had reached 92. By July, the number was 98. And now... well, there's a few more to be added. With the blog established and the travels begun, new suggestions come my way not uncommonly. Especially with meeting other people when travelling, and discussing my quest, there are always different buildings and locations suggested, some of which I'd earlier dismissed and aren't applicable to what I'm after (natural Wonders, for example), but many which definitely seem looking into. Some people I've met have been pretty well-travelled, or are familiar with parts of the world I'm not, so have made some pretty interesting suggestions. Inevitably, this has led to my list growing and growing...

And so here, without further ado, are some of the suggestions made, and whether or not I've decided to add them to the list.

1. Leshan Giant Buddha, Leshan, China. ACCEPTED.

Prior to my travels, I had come across the giant stone statue a number of times, but it had never quite grabbed me enough to include it on the list. It took another statue - the Bodhi Tataung Standing Buddha - to do that for me. As part of its interior display, it had pictures of other tall statues, including the Leshan Giant Buddha, and seeing it compared to the others, it struck me: yes, this had to be on my list. It is over 1200 years old, carved from the cliff face, and 71 metres tall in his seated position. It was the biggest statue in the world for over a millennium. I'm impressed.

2. Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris, France. ACCEPTED.

It's over 750 years old, a supreme example of Gothic architecture, an icon in the centre of Paris, and is known across the world. I was being churlish not to include this before (mainly based on a brief visit two years ago, in which I didn't even go inside and just had a quick look around). My resistance was worn down, oddly enough, at an Angkor temple information board, when it was included on a timeline with the likes of Borobudur and Chichen Itza, and after some urging during drinks on a boat in Ha Long Bay.
(Thanks to Jamie, Heather, and Burness for their insistence.)

3. Beijing National Stadium (the Bird's Nest), Beijing, China. REJECTED (but I'll go anyway).

This is a fascinating piece of modern architecture, designed in part by dissident artist Ai Weiwei, which is becoming an increasing icon of Beijing (some travel agent posters I've seen for Beijing feature this rather than the Forbidden City or the Great Wall). It takes a great photo at night, when lit up, as most modern architecture does. But in the end, I feel it's a great piece of architecture rather than a world-class monument, and don't see it having a durable appeal once its appeal has worn out. A toss of the coin as to whether it's still there in fifty years time (if it is, I'll haul my 83-year-old bones over there for a fresh assessment).
(Thanks to Jamie for suggesting.)

4. Gobekli Tepe, southern Turkey. ACCEPTED.

There's one main reason this is being included: it is about 12,000 years old. 12,000! That's something like 7500 years old than the Pyramids! Of course, if Gobekli Tepe was just some bunch of flints and ashes then that wouldn't be quite as impressive, but this is an actual monument, with carvings, built by hunter-gatherers thousands of years before human civilisation really begun. There are something like twenty stone rings of between 10 and 30 metres diameter, although only four have been excavated to date - this is a long-term archaeology project. Thinking about this one blows my mind. I don't know if it will be a Wonder - most of its still buried underground after all - but I have to visit it.
(Thanks to Jamie for suggesting.)

5. Kailasanathar Temple, Ellora, India. ACCEPTED.

I'm not sure how this one passed me by, to be honest. This is an ornate Hindu temple, over a thousand years old, bigger than the Parthenon, and entirely carved from the cliff. That's right, this huge structure wasn't built, it was literally excavated top-down from the rock. It's the most celebrated example from the Ellora cave network in central India, and looks absolutely incredible. I've amended my India itinerary accordingly to accommodate it.
(Thanks to Steve and Like for suggesting.)

6. Ajanta Caves, India. REJECTED (but I may get the chance to visit it anyway).

This is a similar deal to the Ellora caves above, and actually pre-dates it by some centuries, but suffers by not having any single stand-out feature, as Kailasanathar Temple is to Ellora. Nonetheless, it is supposed to be part of a spectacular area, and is in the vicinity of Ellora, so hopefully I'll get the chance to visit.
(Thanks to Steve and Luke for suggesting.)

7. Ciutat de les Arts i les Ciencies (City of Arts and Sciences), Valencia, Spain. ACCEPTED.

This complex of six modern buildings, built between 1996 and 2005, is an architectural marvel in Valencia. As the name would hint at, they are a mix of museums, cinemas, aquariums, exhibition centres, sporting arenas, and art centres. All very nice, but what grabs the eye is the sheer cutting-edge futuristic appeal of the buildings, all swooping curves and dramatic angles. A number of commentators online have suggested it to be some kind of Wonder, and it looks unquestionably worth a look.
(Thanks to Michael for suggesting.)

8. Cathedral-Mosque of Cordoba, Cordoba, Spain. REJECTED (but I may give it a visit).

Originally dating from over 1200 years ago, this huge building in the centre of Cordoba has a fascinating history, and has changed from cathedral-to-mosque-to-cathedral over its many years. As such, it has been added to and altered much in that time. Most photos and focus seems to be the interior, which is supposed to be something special, and therein lies the problem. The exterior, by most accounts, isn't anything special, and I feel a Wonder should be more than just an interior.

9. Edinburgh Castle, Edinburgh, Scotland. ACCEPTED.

Like the school's sport coach who is particularly hard on his son so as to not show favouritism, I perhaps judged Edinburgh Castle too harshly. I'd thought about including it earlier, but because I lived in Edinburgh for the last couple of years I ended up dismissing it because I don't think it's so impressive close up and didn't want to include something Scottish as a token gesture. But by making that call, I then forgot about its fantastic vantage point in the middle of Edinburgh and its great beauty sitting pretty up on the rock, and its hugely iconic status for Edinburgh and Scotland. It is certainly a worthy contender, and will be a refreshing easy Wonder candidate to visit.
(Thanks to Burness for haranguing some sense into me.)

10. The Forth Bridge, Scotland. REJECTED (until otherwise convinced).

There's no doubt the Forth Bridge is a striking piece of red-painted steel, and an engineering marvel of its time, but in this case I think inclusion into my World Wonders list would be a little bit of Scottish bias. A Scottish Wonder, no doubt, but not a World Wonder. But I could be maybe, after a few drinks and some convincing arguments, be persuaded.
(Thanks to Burness for badgering me about it.)

So, what was I on? 98. And that's six new additions, making a total of 104 Wonders. Ah, but I've decided to remove a couple.

Sistine Chapel, Vatican City.

It's more of an interior and a large piece of art than a Wonder; from the outside it's entirely anonymous and can only be accessed through other buildings. I'll visit it anyway, and if I think the interior makes up from the lack of a proper exterior, I'll let you know.

Bay Bridge, San Francisco, USA.

It's big and long, but that's really about it - and there are bigger and longer bridges in the world. I'm not really sure how it ended up on my list; when Burness saw it there, having been in San Francisco just a month earlier, he was astonished, and told me that in no way was it a Wonder. I couldn't justify it to him, and so it's off my list. I'll still give it a look when I'm in the city though.

Which leaves a grand total of 102 Wonders on my list. The century has been broken, but at least with a non-contrived sounding number (saying I'd be visiting 99, 100, or 101 Wonders sounded awfully contrived). 102. Gosh. And after four months of travel and 135000 words/300 pages written, I have only visited 11 so far. Oh dear.

As ever, new suggestions always welcome. No, to hell with that; if you know of a nice building, keep it to yourself this time.