Where at least part of the book (perhaps two pages) was written. The cafe outside Woody’s Guesthouse, Tiger Leaping Gorge.
Hello folks! I’m pleased to note that A Eurasian Diary has reached now reached a truly magical milestone, having sat in the Amazon e-book shop for precisely 3,720 hours (aww). What other figures can I throw at you, thanks to the weird and wonderful world of web wanalytics?
- 79 kissable people (and 0 unkissable people) have now downloaded A Eurasian Diary since it launched, which averages out to one book punted every two days. But averages lie, of course. In reality, there have been long, quiet spells where the book idles in ignominious nothingness, then, suddenly, blam! There’s this passionate flurry of, like, three downloads in an hour. Proof positive that praying works.
- Last month, the book was chuffed to be counted among Amazon.co.uk’s Top 20 most popular travel books about Central Asia. Of course, only 20 have ever been written. Still, #16, woo hoo!
- The British have gobbled up the most copies so far, followed by Canadians. The fact my family is split between these two fine countries is sheer coincidence! The coincidence literally couldn’t be sheerer.
- One book has been sold in India. That amounts to reaching 1/1.237 billionth of ALL INDIA.
- A Eurasian Diary clocks in at 75,721 words. Interestingly, if you search 75,721 in Google Maps, you come to a bizarrely griddled-looking bit of desert in western Saudi Arabia!
I’m running out of fun figures here, folks. But, if you too would like to become just another statistic, please dive in head first! Brits and Canucks are most welcome, as usual, but there’s also room for another billion Indians 🙂
This coming Sunday, however wet, dreary and miserable the weather might seem, a warm light will suddenly ignite in the sky. A chorus of cherubic angels will lend harmony to the scene – doves and bunnies shall assemble with wolves, a double rainbow shall streak across the horizon, and volcanoes will spontaneously erupt chocolate mousse.
What event could possibly herald such wonders? A Eurasian Diary is gonna be launched – that is what!
The posters are ready, the typos are cleared away, and I think I understand the difference between .htm, .doc, and .png files well enough to finally send this infant tale soaring into the big bad world of Virtual Reading. Once it’s live, you’ll get the link to my Amazon page, and the necessary, details right here on the blog (so don’t go unsubscribin’!).
Exciting times indeed. Thanks for being a part of it out there – see you Sunday!
The great thing about being a bit of a luddite is I get quite excited about new discoveries long after everyone else thinks they’re perfectly ordinary. My newfangled bread-toasting machine is the best thing since, well, you know!
Besides discovering toasters, I’ve also just discovered SoundCloud – and I’m getting stuck in by posting some lovely musical sounds I picked up during my Eurasian travels.
And here’s one of them!
One of my favourite memories from the trip was happening upon a big Uyghur milonga that takes place each afternoon in Renmin Park, in central Urumqi. Three or four dozen patrons assemble in a concrete plaza in the middle of the park, set up big speakers playing the best of the Uyghur pop universe, and set about dancing and twirling till the sun goes down. Partners flow in and out of the circle as the music plays – amongst the dancers, you see Chinese profiles and Uyghurs profiles alike; the young join the old; there was even an off-duty soldier taking the time to boogie with the best of them.
This song was one of the ones played on the day I happened to show up. One year later, I still get this catchy ditty stuck in my head from time to time – something I must admit I don’t mind in the slightest. And I love the fact I can infect your own beautiful brains with some musical earworms from the trip as well…. 🙂
A small teahouse hangs over the banks of the Ak-Buura River in Osh, Southern Kyrgyzstan. These fine gents were gathered here on a typically brisk November morning, sipping hot black tea, and all decked out in their white felt Kyrgyz caps – except, of course, for Michael Jackson in the background, as his friends liked to refer to him.