Don't Tell Mum: Hair-raising Messages Home from Gap-year Travellers

by Hoggart, Simon

  safe another term of approval.

  skank utterly disgusting, and probably stinking as well.

  wicked all-purpose term of approval. ‘The beach party was wicked.’

  So, here they are, the flower of our youth. All of them know that in a few weeks or months they are going to be dividing their lives between the university library and the students, union bar. Three or four years later they will probably be firmly lodged in the world of work. In the meantime they plan to stock up on fun, on experience and on life – more than they will ever be able to remember. And if they discover themselves too, well, that’s an unexpected bonus.

  The Call of the Weird

  The whole and entire point of a gap year is to have bizarre experiences of the type you could never have at home, will almost certainly never have again, and in the majority of cases, would never want to have again. This is from a girl in India.

  I have been in a Bollywood film!!! They’re desperate for extras at the moment, no Westerners anywhere, so the minute you step out of the door in the morning you’re bombarded with agents, it’s like being famous! So we agreed with this blokey to do a film that would involve being put up in a 5-star hotel for 2 nights in a place outside Mumbai … sounds too good to be true, actually lots of people we’ve met have done similar things, so we thought we would give it a shot. Except it was too good to be true. He picked us up in the evening and drove us to this random area in the suburbs to get a luxury bus. Along the way we learned that it wasn’t a film, but a real marriage where we had to meet and greet the guests, not as attractive to us as a film, especially when he said we had to particularly greet the young men. Then the luxury Volvo coach with air-con, TV and reclining seats turned out to be a dodgy minivan parked down a back alley. Decided there was no chance we’d be getting on that bus, jumped into the nearest taxi with the guy running after us telling the taxi driver not to drive off.

  But they were undeterred in their quest for stardom. Soon afterwards they found work as extras with twenty other Westerners.

  They produced these clubbing clothes for us to wear, sequins, leather hotpants, see-thru dresses, we all laughed in disbelief until we realized they were serious. Sadly I forgot my camera so won’t be able to show you how I looked in my red sequined dress! Anyway, basically we spent half a day rolling with sweat, doing a stupid dance move to these even stupider dancers. Oh yeah, and I got told off by the chief choreographer, quite proud of that, a little claim to fame. All that for 500 rupees, that’s about £6, quite a good wage in India …

  A poignant email from a young woman in Pakistan.

  Darling Mummy and Daddy, it’s Saturday and I’m sitting outside the post office. Every hour or so a marriage procession will pass underneath, whereby the woman is carried, in all her splendour, on a portable chair beneath an umbrella. The band hoots and clangs and is leading the procession of villagers. At first it seemed wonderful, but if you look at the young bride’s face underneath her veil she is invariably crying and exuding the dreadful expression of one who is aware she is about to enter an agonizing contract. It’s harrowing. Since leaving England, I have grown to admire and respect the amazing different cultures we have briefly sampled. Arranged marriages, however, seem incomprehensible. Despite this, last night I met a very happy couple who have been married for 29 years, following an arranged marriage. I guess it’s lucky I’m not a Muslim.

  This from a young man in India.

  Two weeks ago we went to a circumcision party in the village, a serious blast and a half. The poor guy had a marquee put up to celebrate the loss of his most tender parts. We were treated like royalty, and majorly spiced out on the whole chilli I was made to eat. They all watch you eating … weird. Last week I went to the village cricket match and was made to be the commentator on the loudspeaker for ten minutes. I was put in the royal box and everything. Still no chicks around, wondering whether to strut my stuff in the village. Hmmm, apparently we’ll get lynched if we try any moves. But I’m having more fun than all of you. Toodle-pip, Gav

  This adventurous young man visited Iran and found himself living the news.

  Tehran passed by in a flash. I took an exceptionally uncomfortable overnight train to Esfahan. I was woken by the dawn prayer stop so walked up and down the carriages. A friendly man pointed out Iran’s nuclear facility that is causing such chagrin in the West. It was surrounded by a line of sandbagged anti-aircraft guns manned by two un-uniformed men, two per gun. The man who showed me this asked me what I thought of it, and we had a long and convivial, if guarded on my part, discussion. It seems to have become an issue of face. Whether by accident or design he and his friends have a perception that Iran is the only country in the world without nuclear capabilities.

  Esfahan is a tourist city without any tourists. It has a long and glorious history, with ornate mosques, gardens, palaces and museums. It has restaurants that look like they come out of Disneyland, and seemingly more gift and souvenir shops than anywhere I have been. I went to a beautiful medieval mosque one afternoon. It had had six visitors that day … one day I went to use the computers in the slick new library and decided to make use of the lavatories in the basement. My Farsi isn’t up to much, so I went to a bathroom and, seeing it was empty, presumed it would be all right to make use of it. Imagine my horror as I squatted away in a cubicle and heard the chatter of some women. In Iran, one of the most sensitive countries on this issue, I was making use of the ladies’ loo. Chances are, if you get caught doing something like that, you get your hands chopped off. And Iranian ladies are just like ladies in Europe or America. Once they get chatting there’s no stopping them. So I was trapped for half an hour, praying that nobody would knock on the door of my cubicle.

  Politics rarely intrudes into the lives of our gappers, but when it does it can be embarrassing. Imagine that your child was in Nepal and they reported back that everything was just fine – except they had been seized by a group of revolutionary guerrillas.

  We first encountered the Maoists about a month into the placement. Somewhere along the line what actually happened got a bit distorted. To say we were held hostage would be overshooting the mark, although technically it’s true. We all went to get the 11 a.m. bus into Ghorabi, and as we approached the place where the bus sits and waits we were surrounded by six men, none older than us, brandishing 1960s’ Kalashnikov rifles. They told us to sit down (we did) and that we were not allowed to leave until the rally, which we had inadvertently stumbled upon, was finished.

  It was scary, they were painfully young and they had guns which they chose to point at us. So for four hours we sat and listened and watched while these Maoists preached their message to the masses. After the initial fear wore off, it simply became a bit boring. We couldn’t understand what was being said, and it lasted a long time. When it was finished we walked home, and that was that.

  For some people, Australia is already as familiar as their homes. This young man went to Melbourne.

  Hi guys, I have been here for a few days. Last night I saw Karl Kennedy, Izzy and Stuart from Neighbours in a pub. So I have a few good photos of me sharing a laugh with Dr K and friends. A few sad people started singing the theme tune, and someone told Karl to get back together with Susan. I don’t think they realized he was actually an actor. Staying in some nasty hostel, and we are sharing a dorm with some strange Vietnamese guy who stares. Having a cool time.

  It’s quite amazing where you might brush shoulders with the stars. These two British girls go to a tiny township in New Zealand, and decide to go for a drink in the only place open, an almost empty pub. They fall into conversation with the barman.

  He asked if we were here to see the band – we saw a stage set up in the next room and three ageing African-American fellas stood by the door in sparkly jackets. We figured they must be the doormen, and when they asked if we were coming in we shrugged and said we would see what the band were like first. At that moment the band were announced: The Drifters! (As in ‘Under
the Boardwalk’ and ‘Sweets For My Sweet’ and other classics.) Out walked the ‘doormen’ on to the stage. They were the Drifters! It’s odd – like a little bit of the 1960s has been sliced out and superimposed on to this 21st century small-town yokels’ bar. As the Drifters shoop-shoop and do their funky thing, 6 or 7 locals dance badly and throw in the occasional whoop.

  The band (it is highly unlikely that they included any of the original Drifters, as led by soul legend Ben E. King) invite the two ladies to spend the evening with them.

  It was a hell of a bizarre night. We ended up back at their place watching videos at 5 in the morning. (We politely declined the offer of a 5-way spar – we’re not that rock and roll.)

  Next day they are invited to a champagne breakfast with Wayne, Raymond and the other guy in the group.

  We finally staggered away about 4 in the afternoon. When the check-out man in the local corner shop asked us if we’d been at the Drifters’ gig last night, the woman behind us said, ‘No, these girls partied WITH the Drifters last night.’ Small towns! It was time to leave.

  Not all encounters with pop musicians are so agreeable. This excitement occurred in Miraflores, Argentina.

  Casually strolling down a street we stumbled across a hundred screaming teenagers running after a car with blackened windows. After a quick enquiry we learned that it was an ‘important’ Argentinian boy band, so naturally, wanting to get in on the action, I made the hasty decision to climb up on Jerry’s shoulders (for those of you who have the good fortune of being unacquainted with the dear old chap, I should mention here that he stands a formidable 6’5” tall). All was well and I could see as little as I could to begin with, when Jerry decided (slightly before I did) that it was time to get down. He moved forward. I moved back. You get the picture. The main attraction suddenly became me spaffing it from a great height on to the rather unforgiving tarmac. This apparently was enough to cheer up the majority of Miraflores for the rest of the day. (Something else I have noticed about South America is their love of the inappropriate. On our last long-haul bus we were subjected to a badly dubbed video of Hannibal, and while Anthony Hopkins was sawing through Ray Liotta’s head and making Julianne Moore eat his brain, I noticed that 40% of the passengers were under the age of 8.)

  Or this from rural Africa, an example of the wonderful way in which gappers’ lives move from one surreal event to another in almost no time at all.

  Trying to save a buffalo. Think we’ll get the vet in to tranc him. My horizons are certainly expanding. Going for dinner with some Germans tonight, a Baroness von Something and her third husband, who was thrown out of Argentina for slitting someone’s throat. Or so I’m told.

  Gappers learn about exciting new leisure activities, like this young woman in Peru.

  I headed to the Cusco bus station, clutching a load of luggage worthy of Joan Collins and aiming to go to Arica that night. However, got distracted and watched poor sods attempting to sandboard on the dunes. Sandboarding, I have come to believe, is the most pointless sport ever invented. The guys swagger up the hill with the board slung very uncomfortably over their shoulders, like milkmaids, they then stick the board on their feet, slide two yards, fall over, and watch in dismay as the board slides all the way down to the bottom, where the whole process starts again.

  In China, they also make their own fun, as this young man working as a volunteer schoolteacher records.

  This weekend we had some ex-gap guys from Beijing and their friend from Vietnam. They arrived on Friday and I’d say the trouble started around the moment they unpacked their bags. They had been to a rather dodgy toy shop and managed to buy some of the sickest BB guns I’ve ever seen. They took us to the same shop and my Chinese friend asked, ‘Do you sell any guns?’ ‘No, no, no, we don’t have any.’ ‘Come on, we know you have.’ Long pause. Bloke goes to storeroom, comes back with a bloody great box of guns and ammo, every type of airgun imaginable, shotguns, rifles, Uzis, it was so cool. We all bought one, and a huge sack of ammo. The Vietnam guy was hardcore, he bought a massive assault rifle and a laser sight as well as two handguns, ‘just for spares’. At night we have the place to ourselves, so the stage was set for the ultimate BB battle. We even bought protective goggles because these guns could dent metal and break glass. The place was dark and with the goggles on you couldn’t see shit. Our team, led by me, was moving slowly with stealth. I know the building inside out, and we took up an ambush point behind some classroom window. I was confident, then I look down and see the burning red dot of Guan Ming’s laser sights … ssshhhputt! … the bastard opens fire, and soon we’re on the run, his rifle is about 4 times as powerful as our puny handguns, and we forget that his people are famous for their guerrilla warfare skills. The shoot-outs were vicious, sometimes the bullets were breaking the skin. I got nailed in the face a few times, and one git even cracked my sunglasses. It was wicked, one of my favourite weekends yet, though next morning we were stuck with the problem of over 500 bullets to clear up. Better go and hide the guns, love, Rory

  Gappers are no respecters of anything, least of all nature. This young man is in Bolivia.

  Climbed the volcano, which was amazing, massive crater at the top, giving out smoke that hurt like hell when you breathe it in, had some great photos on the top of Jed having a piss, etc.

  This girl says she is ‘living the dream’ in Sri Lanka, and it’s easy to see why.

  We headed to a town called Unawatuna, awesome time. Won’t bore you with the details, but I’ll tell you this – had another rave, this time with a break-dancing midget, really freaky. He started break-dancing behind me and kept hitting my leg, so I started kicking his leg, as I thought he was some sleazy Lankan guy. Whoops! Have never laughed so much. If anyone wants anyone killed I can get my new best friend’s dad to do it. I don’t know what he’s called, it’s too hard to pronounce, so I call him Bob. He’s 21 and ran towards the tsunami instead of away, apparently he wanted to see it more closely, and then he surfed. He’s awesome. His dad is head of the Sri Lankan mafia, so a good friend to have, I think.

  This young woman had a somewhat gentler time in Sri Lanka.

  I need to get down to the shops before everything closes down in anticipation of New Year’s in a few days. Yes, my April birthday is on New Year’s Day! I’m looking forward to it as two other volunteers who celebrated theirs here got presents from the nuns! One got a plastic paperweight with pictures of Jack and Rose from Titanic on the side, and mini-boats floating around inside. The other got a holographic picture of a house with plastic instead of a glass front, and set in a metal frame. I cannot begin to imagine what I’ll get.

  A gap year wouldn’t be a gap year without a few moments of pure terror. This young woman had a wonderful, and also deeply frightening time in Peru.

  We left Lima and within hours were wading through rivers of pure shite in order to get to the sea front in Pisco (where the shite itself was also heading), camped in wilderness in the most barren and dramatic setting I am ever likely to be in, flown in a four-seater plane over the Nazca lines while wondering why I was the only one who seemed slightly concerned by the way our pilot preferred to point out his favourite sand drawings using both his hands – that and the fact that the fuel gauge halfway into our trip read just below zero.

  We camped on a beautiful beach and had a barbecue before a horribly tense bus journey against the clock because we had to cross into Arequipa before that night’s blockade restarted! All was well, and apart from swerving around a few awkward middle-of-the-road fires and concrete breezeblocks, we arrived at the most fantastic hotel with en-suite bathrooms, high ceilings, balconies, sheets and bedside lights being the star attractions, and slept like logs on Night Nurse, stirring from sweet slumber only once when the earthquake struck. Panic not, mother, after the initial confusion I fell back to sleep straight away and woke up in the best of health, regardless of gaping cracks in the walls and pavements!

  An exciting bus journey awaits us, where
going on past experience we may entertain ourselves with impromptu mass karaoke and pub quizzes over PA system, including questions such as ‘What is the average number of seeds on a sesame bun?’ and ‘What is the official word for a pubic wig?’ More news to follow, hope you are well, don’t do anything foolish.

  There is something extraordinarily resilient about our gap-year students. This young woman is in Ecuador.

  I am nursing a particularly bad hangover, or ‘chuchaqui’ as they are called here, after a big night out yesterday where the whole group dressed up as either pimps or prostitutes and went to a restaurant where the cocktails were 99 cents each! Madness. I survived my weekend in the jungle. We took the bus from Quito to Nanegal, I had a man’s crotch in my face for the entire journey, not pleasant. We then got in the back of a truck and drove as far up the mountain as we could, then started a long, very steep uphill trek to the place where we were staying, which was amazing. After arriving on Friday night, by Saturday afternoon the boys realized they were in need of fags, so they trekked all the way back down the mountain to the nearest shop, which is a 6-hour trek! They bought 7 packs of fags and a lot of booze, so the cloud forest was witness to quest madness.

  On the Sunday we set off bright and early to the waterfall where we all got our kit off and swam in the freezing cold river, from then on we were wet through for the entire trip. As the heavens opened monsoon-style as we tried to get down to the bus, we needed a man with a machete to help us get through the jungle as there was a lot of debris on the path. We managed to get down eventually and then set off for Quito where we watched The OC on cable TV, such a contrast.

  Tonight is 2 for 1 pizza night at Domino’s, so I’ll be staying in to recover from my one-too-many mojitos last night.

  Doing something foolish is one of the principal reasons for taking a gap year. This chap, touring New Zealand, decides to go to the Hokitika Wild Foods festival. He winds up in a pub where he meets an English guy called Alex.