CouchSurfing is brilliant

Couchsurfing is a website which makes you realise the internet is brilliant.

A non-profit organisation effectively self-administered by volunteer members, CouchSurfing is a free-to-join website where users agree to put up other travellers visiting their city.

In short this is what happens: You email someone who lives in a city you intend visiting. You ask if you can stay with them. They say yes or no.

No money changes hands. This is feel-good factor surfing.

The same process can also happen in reverse. If you stay with someone they are usually very nice to you. They might cook you a meal, they might show you round their area. If you’re a nice guest you will probably take them a gift of appreciation.

With an average age of 25, the one million plus users (1,152,463 users on Sunday May 31) are perceived to be backpackers, but the sight accommodates are far wider ranger of people. Literally.

I have surfed in mid-America, Prague and India. I also met some CouchSurfers in Warsaw for a drink. Always had a brilliant time. Being driven across the Punjab at 100mph was almost as memorable as the out-of-control naked party held in my honour on the outskirts of Kansas City.

Sadly, the concept is open to abuse. Spam emails and bad experiences are kept to a minimum thanks to a fairly robust screening process for members and a vigilant administration team.

But talking to an Australian couple travelling across India I was made aware how the nature of the sight was being abused. While staying with a CouchSurfer in New Delhi, they were shown round the city by their host. However, after visiting various bars, restaurants and shops, the Indian host appeared to get paid by the owners of the various establishments.

The power of the tourist pound in India is very strong. An India taxi driver can earn as much from one tourist as he could from 20 fares carrying locals. White tourists are targeted as soon as they get off trains or step out of the airport. I can testify to this.

But the cynical manipulation of the travelling CouchSurfer goes against everything the website strives to achieve. Obviously, tackling this problem won’t be easy. Certainly the travellers would have to report the host, and they would be reluctant to do that if he was otherwise charming.

I myself stayed with a CouchSurfer named Hemant and his family for three days in Ludhiana and had no such issues with him. He could not have done more for me and my sick girlfriend Anna, reinforcing the generosity that CocuSurfing has worked so hard to generate around the world.

Shortly after my visit to India I hosted a Slovakian man named Joe and his Hungarian girlfriend. They bought me a bottle of whiskey. Don’t drink the stuff, but the offer was very much appreciated.

I’ve surfed a few times. I’ve hosted twice now. Great experience. I feel I've contributed. As CouchSurfing gets bigger I hope it manages to retain its personal touch.

Paris has more CouchSurfers than any other city – 20,602 - followed by London (17,856), Berlin (14691), Montreal (13,650) and Vienna (9,607). Just over 30per cent of CouchSurfers (353,330) had couches available at the time of checking. Over 230 countries are represented, and 59,199 cities have at least one CouchSurfer. The least spoken language by CouchSurfers is Lojban (four members).

Beggars belief

I visited India for ten days. I went to a lovely wedding, explored Ludhiana, walked round the Golden Temple at Amritsar and visited Chandigarh. To top it all off I spent two nights in the fabulous Himalayan mountain town of Nainital.

It was quite and amazing experience. So why do I keep questioning if I should be enjoying myself in this exceptional multi-cultural country?

The answer is poverty. Deprivation is not exclusive to India but this country holds a sizeable chunk of the worlds homeless, hungry and humiliated.

India has a fat-growing economy built on industry, particularly manufacturing. But still it harbours huge misery and desperation.

You see it immediately from the train when you leave New Delhi Station heading north. Amongst the litter-strewn wage ground between the track and slums squat dozens of human beings in what acts as their open-air toilets. They shit on the ground.

The stench of the slums, even from 50 metres away in Agra is unbearable. So unbearable I didn’t dare go near.

And the beggars at every street junction and corner, who traipse up and down the trains (first-class excluded) or, like these two girls pictured (above), who relentlessly smile into carriages in the desperate hope of a few rupees.

I gave them a (large) packet of crisps and some biscuits. Does that justify taking the photograph?

Possibly not. But at least writing about it and showing this photo is better than ignoring it. Do I sound like Bono?

Road to hell (yes, it's in India)

I remember Alan Whicker. I’ve seen Clive James. I watch Michael Palin. I knew what to expect in India. So I reckoned anyway. Nothing can prepare you for the stress of the roads.

It’s not so much the hustle and bustle and bump of traffic in the congested cities, it’s the torturous journies between towns that leave your brain battered and bruised.

Imagine travelling from Manchester to Newcastle or London to Leeds on a country road which regularly descends into a dirt track and which is littered with cows, horses and carts, huge trucks, motorcycles, rickshaws and cars all travelling on both sides of the road, often four abreast at 90mph, while oncoming traffic whizzes towards you.

For someone who prides himself on not getting stressed-out this was too stressful to bear.

Ludhiana to Chandigarh. Three hours each way. Nightmare. The booting and braking of my friend Hemant on dusty tracks left me scared of Ford Fusion’s for life. I decided to shut my eyes for almost the entire journey back to Ludhiana.

Ludhiana to Amritsar. Four hours each way. Absolutely horrendous. The Ayrton Senna-style drive to Amritsar was bad enough- we were late for the India/Pakistan border closing ceremony at Wagah. But coming back in the dark was emotionally devastating. Parts of this journey on the famous Grand Trunk Road were on dual carriageways. Unfortunately, dual carriageways do not stop some trucks from driving the wrong way down them. And then there was the Holy Cow! moment when Hemant blackspotted his Fusion’s tyres when Daisy the cow meandered into our 80mph path on a typically unlit piece of carriageway.

Ludhiana to Corbett National park. Fifteen hours in a mini bus. Along some of the bumpiest roads ever misconstructed. This was a nightmare from start to finish. So traumatised I was by this that my final journey, intended to be from Nainital to Delhi in this very same minibus was dumped in favour of the train. A decision I did not live to regret.

India has a huge amount to offer. Temples, mountains, culture by the bucketloads and enough diahorrea to keep everyone busy. But the roads, the speed and the fearless head-on driving give this monumental country it’s own unique selling point.

Caviar, computers and photography

Digital photography is as much as computers as cameras. The problem is that there is a mind-boggling assortment of components to choose from and some have appalling performance and reliability records.

And, almost without exception, there are no easy guides to help photographers choose the best photo-editing software, hard drives, monitors, laptops or portable storage devices.

I make my purchases after mind-numbing internet searches. Often the best-rated pieces are impossible to get hold of in the UK. But, after several exhaustive searches, reviewing reviews and comparing Top 10 lists, sometimes I feel like I know which is the best component to buy.

Internal hard drives

Loads of contradictory information here. I bought the Western Digital Caviar 1000gb (1 terabyte if you're clever)*. Seems to be the most reliable drives around.

Samsung (Spinpoint T Series HD501LJ) and several Hitachi Deskstar's get good reviews. The 7K750 is the highest rated of the lot by pcworld.com but it appears to be unavailable in the UK.

But Western Digital Cavier's perform well in some reviews and very well in others, so that's the one I plumped for.

From my limited knowledge I would have gone for a Seagate drive. They have always had a good reputation. But pcworld do not give them much respect and some message board postings state that the reliability has nosedived since the company acquired rival Maxtor (who again have a poor reputation).

One of my most popular postings on this blog has been a rather long guide to publishing a book through lulu.com. I had such stupifying problems when I first tried to upload my first book that I wrote the blog guide for future reference. This blog is written for the same reasons.

PC protection:

For those of you, like me, too stupid to have bought a Mac, PC protection is essential.
The top-rated free PC protection software I have found. Zone Alarm firewall and Avira anti-virus. Both come recommended by British Consumer Association magazine Which? (though Avira is not a Best Buy). AVG Anti-Virus Free Edition is also very highly-rated by Which?.

And finally, you can use internal hard drives as plug-in data storage machines with the USB/eSATA Cradle from http://www.storagedepot.co.uk/. Costs about £30 after postage, but is it is a much cheaper and faster solution than using caddy's.

* The Western Digital WD10EADS Caviar Green 1tb SATAII 32Mb Cache 3.5 Inch Green Power OEM Internal Hard Drive cost me £89.99 from Amazon.co.uk.

Road to hell (yes, it's in India)

I remember Alan Whicker. I’ve seen Clive James. I watch Michael Palin. I knew what to expect in India. So I reckoned anyway. Nothing can prepare you for the stress of the roads.

It’s not so much the hustle and bustle and bump of traffic in the congested cities, it’s the torturous journies between towns that leave your brain battered and bruised.

Imagine travelling from Manchester to Newcastle or London to Leeds on a country road which regularly descends into a dirt track and which is littered with cows, horses and carts, huge trucks, motorcycles, rickshaws and cars all travelling on both sides of the road, often four abreast at 90mph, while oncoming traffic whizzes towards you.

For someone who prides himself on not getting stressed-out this was too stressful to bear.

Ludhiana to Chandigarh. Three hours each way. Nightmare. The booting and braking of my friend Hemant on dusty tracks left me scared of Ford Fusion’s for life. I decided to shut my eyes for almost the entire journey back to Ludhiana.

Ludhiana to Amritsar. Four hours each way. Absolutely horrendous. The Ayrton Senna-style drive to Amritsar was bad enough- we were late for the India/Pakistan border closing ceremony at Wagah. But coming back in the dark was emotionally devastating. Parts of this journey on the famous Grand Trunk Road were on dual carriageways. Unfortunately, dual carriageways do not stop some trucks from driving the wrong way down them. And then there was the Holy Cow! moment when Hemant blackspotted his Fusion’s tyres when Daisy the cow meandered into our 80mph path on a typically unlit piece of carriageway.

Ludhiana to Corbett National park. Fifteen hours in a mini bus. Along some of the bumpiest roads ever misconstructed. This was a nightmare from start to finish. So traumatised I was by this that my final journey, intended to be from Nainital to Delhi in this very same minibus was dumped in favour of the train. A decision I did not live to regret.

India has a huge amount to offer. Temples, mountains, culture by the bucketloads and enough diahorrea to keep everyone busy. But the roads, the speed and the fearless head-on driving give this monumental country it’s own unique selling point.

Taj Mahal, Agra, India

Mother and son having a rest at the back of the Taj Mahal on Sunday morning May 3, 2009.

Alamy Calamity

Alamy, the 15million plus image stock library, is a big supplier to the UK press. Or rather, it was.

Some newspapers have reduced the number of Alamy shots they use by 70 per cent according to Alamy's CEO James West.

UK newspapers are haemorrhaging readers and staff. Advertising revenues have fallen dramatically. Print sales are falling fast. Online versions of newspapers are yet to make money.

It's only going to get worse.

And the photographer is about to feel the pinch (like he hasn't been feeling it already).

Unlike most photo agencies, Alamy does not run a contract system. So they have been the first to be excluded by cash-strapped picture desks who have been told to only use photos from fixed-fee subscription agencies like Reuters.

Their solution is to work on a new subscription service priced below what a particular newspaper paid Alamy in total over the previous 12 months. But the new subscription service will offer unlimited picture downloads.

Simply, that means revenue due to the photographer is likely to be severely dented.

Alamy CEO states that some picture prices will be just below those of 2008 but others 'might fall by up to 50% or perhaps even more.'

If you see any photographers out there actually making a profit, give them an award.

I congratulate myself on becoming a master of not one but two dying industries.

NOTE: See the Alamy blog for more information

End of an era, end of Woolworths

Saturday, December 27 will go down in history as the day Woolworths died. Riddled with bad debt and apparently no direction, the Pick 'N Mix delight has ceased to be.

Since news of the store's demise circulated it has been the busiest shop on the high street as shoppers swooped like vultures in search of that extra special discount.

For a documentary photographer, stores like Woolwoorths attract your camera like an electro-magnet. This Preston store was 98 years old and the second Woolworths in the country. Once a huge part of people's lives, getting an image of Woolworths is irresistible.

The reality was a little less romantic. At my local store in Preston, Lancashire, there were stories of staff being abused and punched because discounts were not big enough. I saw customers queuing with basket-loads of discounted merchandise to the checkout, demanding further discounts, then dumping the stuff when staff said no.

By the final day of business, much of the store had been cordoned off and what remained looked more like a bad bring and buy sale than the thriving shop this place once was.

I hold my hands up and say these photographs were taken without having sought prior permission. I just felt the desire to document an institution was greater than being told 'no pictures' after going through all the corporate red tape.

I saw a reporter and photographer from the Lancashire Evening Post outside the store. The photographer had been denied permission to take pictures. I'm glad I got mine.

I remember the one on Northumberland Street in Newcastle when I was a kid before it closed down. The one that remained, in the downmarket part of town, was much bigger at one time.

In later years I used to single out Quality Street coffee creams in the Pick 'N Mix until Nestle stopped making my favourite favoured chocolates. Perhaps that's when it all started going wrong for Woolies.

Raily stupid

PHOTO: How British trains used to be - a lot better than they are now.

In the last few weeks I have been to Holland and Israel. Fantastic places, remarkable people.

But this is not a look-at-me-and-where-I've-been-aren't-I-special blog. This is about trains.

The Netherlands. You arrive at Schiphol Airport, the most impressive I've been to yet, go down a gleaming escalator and wait a few minutes for a shiny, clean huge double-decker train to pull silently into the station. And you're off.

Train travel in Flatlands is efficient, quiet and almost surgically clean. I was impressed. I'm told that sometimes Dutch trains aren't perfect, they do run late. Sometimes. They are a shining example of how to run a train network. I went from Schiphol to Deventer to Amsterdam to Den Haag without fuss or fear or wallet damage.

Getting from Israel's Ben Gurion Airport train station to Tel Aviv and from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem was a little less convenient. Less frequent trains combined with my Hebrew reading skills meant it took me two hours to take the short journey into Tel Aviv. This included 50 minutes waiting on the platform, followed by a 10 minute journey in the wrong direction, followed by another 50 minute wait on a station platform somewhere else.

But I can't blame Israeli railways for my stupidity.

The trains themselves were either huge, spacious single-deckers or even huger double-deckers much like those in the Netherlands. Israeli's train stations were so clean you could sit on the floor. The trains were a little dusty on the outside but, be fair, this is the Middle East.

And so we come to this proud land. Great Britain. Inventors of the steam train, pioneers of the railway. Keepers of the developed world's worst rail network. Have you ever got on a train from Manchester Airport? It's a shitty little 'cross-country' thing with about as much charm as a Glaswegian family on holiday in Benidorm.

Ugly and dirty (the train, not the Glaswegians) and if you're really unlucky you get the two-carriage version which is fitted-out with the kind of seating you get on a 1980s bus.

Forget the fact that British trains are inexcusably expensive and notoriously unreliable. They are just awful, out-dated and embarrassing.

Even in Ukraine, a former Soviet nation which the British like to think is still a little bit backwards, their rail and underground system (in Kiev) is super efficient and mega cheap - a staggering five pence a journey, actually.

When I travel the 300 miles from my home to London I go by car. British Rail is too expensive and, crucially, too unreliable. And when you consider how congested the British motorways are and how expensive petrol and diesel is in this country, that's saying something.

This country is carpeted with railway tracks but British Rail has for too many years been a shambles, both as a nationalised outfit and a private business. The Dutch can do it, the Israeli's can do it. My god, most of the rest of the world can do it. Why can't we get it right?

NOTE: In December 2008 diesel cost £0.99 a LITRE at the cheapest pumps in this country, down from a record high of £1.30 - again at the cheapest pumps.

NOTE 2: The photo is of the Lakeside and Haverthwaite Railway near Lake Windermere. If you want to catch a train (and a delightful ferry for that matter) visit furnessrailwaytrust.org.uk

Photographing people

Taking photographs of people can be tough. If you want good results you need to get in peoples faces. It takes a bit of courage, a bit of cheek, a bit of balls.

The problem is that a lot of people don't like being photographed, especially in their ordinary, everyday lives. This can be a problem if you like photographing people in their ordinary, everyday lives.

Mathematically, there is direct inverse proportion between how ordinary a situation is and the likelihood of someone saying 'no' to a picture request. So, if you're at a music festival you will find people smiling deliriously at you as you snap away. If you are down the high street on a wet Wednesday afternoon people will growl at you because you are obviously a weirdo.

Sadly, you can't persuade the steadfastly unwilling that a photograph of them dripping wet in their C&A raincoat is just what you're after.

But there are certain things you can do to give yourself a fighting chance of photographing Britain in its everyday unexcitedness.

Make eye contact, smile and wear a luminous workmen's jacket can all make things a little bit easier for you.

And there's also these two quotes from experienced photographers.

In a recent Photography Monthly article, Garry Cook said: "Think like a professional - be like a professional. If you are holding a camera, you are a photographer (at that moment anyway). So don't shuffle around apologetically."

And in an interview in the The Times Travel supplement , Martin Parr said: "Behave as if you've every right to be there."

Proof, as if it was needed, that great minds think alike.

NOTE: These photographs were taken on the streets of Bethlehem.