The Istanbul pudding shop

And apparently it is still around, at Sultanahmet opposite the Byzantine Hippodrome, though "with wi-fi and draft Tuborg beer" nowadays. Pity. Though i am sure i would still drop by for a sweet rice pudding once i am in Istanbul - to me it is very much part of the legend, the magic of the 70s where it was the first stop on the long road overland to paradise in Kathmandu, or the spirituality of India and the great mother Ganga. Like Freak street in Nepal, and the durbar square's "hippie temple", where the freaks used to sit, smoke hash and strum on their guitars.

As opposed to Thamel, today's sterile and packaged version of a backpacker's hangout. Like Thanon Khao San. I suppose these names will be synonymous with our generation, with cheap airfares and ATMs and travel insurance. That said, i still like to think that there is, as i have always maintained, a certain charm to these backpacker's ghettos - you just feel the possibility, the hope that every young, fresh backpacker has on his/her faces, the mixture of trepidation and fear at something unexpected, something new; a totally foreign, at once weird, and wonderful experience of checking into a Khao San road fleapit, negotiating over a 60 rupee room in the Taj Ganj sprawl...

"All adventures start on Khao San road..." is another quote i cooked up, and am waiting for the chance to use as a possible first line in my kickass novel to rival Garland's Thailand classic the Beach. While this is probably not going to happen, it reminds of the magic that looking through my guidebook, when i first started to travel, brings. The rush. Finding places on the map, plotting journeys, drawing imaginary lines across cities, towns, countries... The things you could do. Everything.