Bali

Landing in Bali for the first time is a somewhat alarming experience. Peering out the window you can the see the ocean beneath getting ever closer. Fishing boats pop up at your window complete with exasperated fishermen making rude gestures for flying too close whilst white surf churns outside surprisingly close. The spray almost seems to fleck the pane of glass, behind which you are testing the seat belt and looking for the oxygen mask. It is with considerable relief that suddenly the tarmac runway appears below, the sea still swirling on either side. And then with a slight bump you are down and the sea vanishes swiftly behind.

Throughout our travels every country has had it’s own quirks and surprises, idiosyncrasies and peculiarities. One thing though has been entirely consistent: the unfriendliness of the clerks as you enter a new country. Of course the type of unfriendliness varies, In India it was sullen insolence, in Cambodia they tried to extort bribes and instil fear and in Thailand it was just unadulterated boredom. Universally it seems that the officials do not go so far as to convey hostility; rather they just make you very aware that they are doing you a massive favour by letting them do their jobs. Arrival in Bali was no exception. They were of the intolerably bored and slightly rude variety. Not so rude as to merit a complaint, but hovering just to the side of that line. The official snatched the US$25.00 visa fee without so much as looking up, stamped our passports with exaggerated efficiency and then hollered “Next” before his stamp had even returned to it’s rubber pad. Thus served we made our way through customs and out of the airport. Along the way we were assailed by a long line of money changers waving energetically from their booths, (all of them quoting exactly the same rate) and then, on exiting the airport, the process was repeated by a horde of marauding taxi drivers, each with “a lean and hungry look” to quote that fellow Shakespeare.

We found ourselves in Bali after planning to meet James and Jens there for a ten day break. Being in Malaysia, Bali was cheap to fly to and promised good diving and a host of other activities to keep boredom at bay. Alas Bali is a big place and fate was conspiring against us that evening. Our phone charger had given up the ghost, followed shortly thereafter by our phone and our rather haphazard planning meant that we knew our friends were in Bali, but not exactly where. Furthermore it was 11 o’clock in the evening, all the hotels in the area were full on account of Eide and things generally were looking rather glum. After an hour of everything going pear shaped (and yes, I had a tantrum of the whining and stamping variety, sorry Nipun) Nipun saved the day by locating an internet café where an email awaited confirming the whereabouts of James and Jens who had booked accommodation for us nearby to boot. The evening thereafter consisted of much (too much?) merriment and chatter into the early hours, followed by a swim in the ocean the following morning to set us right again. And then back in a taxi to Ubud.

Ubud is generally accepted as the art Mecca of Indonesia. It is vibrant, filled with galleries and local crafts and has the atmosphere of a town that celebrates it’s cultural heritage. You cannot swing the proverbial cat without fear of braining the poor wretch on a sculpture or traditional dancer. It must be the only place on earth where it is kinda uncool to own an art gallery. Good eateries and bars abound, but somehow the town retains a sense of dignity as opposed to feeling horribly over commercial. Furthermore the geographical area in which Ubud lies is magnificently beautiful. Verdant rice paddies blend into the undulating hills around the town, a multitude of stream and rivers dissect the town and there is a sense of pride in the way the building are maintained and presented. Once we found accommodation it offered very good value, less than £6.00 per night for bungalow with a balcony, breakfast included. We set about arranging the next few days activities, in the form of white water rafting that afternoon, followed by a 2 AM start the following day to climb the still active volcano Mt. Battur. The rafting was excellent, not so much for the rapids (it was more like floating down a briskly flowing stream on a rubber dinghy) but for the scenery alone. The trip takes you through winding green valleys, cultivated where the gradient allows, rice paddies and waterfalls. Behind you and in the distance volcanic mountains turn blue in the distance, their peaks pushing through crisp white clouds. The rafting takes a couple of hours and finishes with a brief rush of adrenaline when the raft goes over a three metre weir, catching at first and then dropping like a stone amidst whoops and nervous giggles. And then there is the inevitable climb out of the valley, legs shake and conversation slows. The climb is, however, a morning stroll compared to what was in store the following day.

It is hard to have a sense of humour when your alarm goes off at 1.30 am and it is not a mistake. Our taxi driver seemed to share this opinion and when he arrived at two o’clock to pick up us up he was a silent somnambulist, nodding at us briefly before settling stonily into the drivers seat. Jens had failed to sleep, Nipun and I had managed a few hours whilst James in stark contrast was positively pukka. He had snuck off to have a massage the previous day and slept like a king. We made a brief detour for coffee and banana pancakes before meeting the impressively large crowd of other climbers. There must have been about 100 people, all congregated at the foot of Mt Battur for the 2 AM start. As we all wound up the hill the experience was something akin to a pilgrimage, the darkness of the night glinting with a hundred small torches all winding spiralling up the circuitous and treacherous foot path. There were regular breaks to catch our breath, and then amber cigarettes glowed alongside the head torches below and above. Finally we reached the designated view point. It was cold, windy and the coffee was overpriced. Gradually a layer of very soft light crept between the land and the sky and slowly forced the day open in shifting shades of orange and blue. Despite the early rise and the climb at such a God forsaken hour it was definitely worth it. We followed this with a hike around the volcano before heading back down and going for lunch at ten o’clock in the morning.

The next day we left Ubud after what was an action packed few days. We had done more exercise than I did last year, eaten delicious food and sampled the local whisky (Arak). Between Jens and I, we sampled a considerable amount of local whisky. I can thoroughly recommend it, mixed with lime juice and brown sugar, then shaken and served on crushed ice. Happily the whisky is cheap and hangovers are small. Everyone, as they say, is a Winner. Or at least that is what it feels like at the time.

Our next destination took us via taxi and speed boat to the island of Nusa Lembongan, famed for it’s diving and surfing and lack of an ATM machine. Ok, not so famed for the last bit but we learnt the hard way. There was a brief panic as the dive schools all seemed to be fully booked and warned us people sleeping on the beach due to a shortage of accommodation, but things looked up for us and we found both before the end of the day. The island is in many ways a breath of fresh air, having failed to become a purely commercial enterprise geared purely towards tourists just yet. The locals (and mischievous children) are welcoming and there is a tranquil air to the place. The last few years have seen rapid development (the island is dubbed Little Australia because so many Aussies have opened up businesses and bought land, indeed land prices are quoted AUS Dollar) but the locals have taken this in their stride. It had bought them some economic empowerment and 24 hour electricity, but speaking to one local dive shop owner he admitted that there were concerns that too much was being ceded to foreign investment.

The next day we spent diving which was fantastic, the second dive being a drift dive in currents of water that propel you along the reefs with the fish and the coral all passing you by. It is an amazing experience, other than the occasional wiggle of your flippers you expend hardly any energy and cover a fairly large area during the dive. We spent a few more days on the island, scuba diving with Manta Rays by day and eating sea food by night. It was a very relaxed break and when it was time to say goodbye to the island I felt that I would be back sometime in the not too distant future. The diving was great, my ears were perfect this time around and Nipun’s diving is getting really good. I’d like to think that we will make it back to Nusa Lembongan at some stage, certainly not this trip but in the not too distant future.

For the trip back to the mainland we caught the public ferry that leaves at 7.30 each morning. The ferry is crammed with backpackers and a couple of locals alike, and in fear of rough seas and the inevitable casualties to motion sickness I decided to join Nipun at the front of the boat. This proved to be somewhat foolhardy. The sea was indeed rough, and the front of the boat lacks very little protection. We got drenched, which would have been a blast if I did not have £4000 of camera equipment with me. As it was I managed to get the rain cover over the bag and spent the rest of the journey acting as a human shield to my bag, which thankfully survived but has left me paranoid about the effects of salt water on cameras. Time for a service me thinks.

We spent our last night back on Bali at Jimbaran Beach. The area is very close to the airport so this made sense (well done Nipun) and is home to a fishing village. That evening we ate sea food on the beach with the surf rolling three metres away from our table. We ate lobster, fresh fish, calamari and prawns. James was nursing a very belligerent tummy bug, so we ate his too. And then drank his share of the beer. Thanks, erm I mean sorry, James! Nipun and I checked our email and discovered that our flight left the next day as opposed to two days time like we thought. And seemingly just like that we were back in the airport, hunting down my journal that I had lost ten days prior (I found it thankfully) and then stepping on to our plane. We arrived back in Kuala Lumpur at eleven o’clock that night with no booked accommodation and when we found some had to share it with ten foot bedbugs…. But that is another adventure for another day. To James and Jens, thanks for making the effort to come out, it was great to see you.

More photos here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7635129@N06/3998645796/

South Thailand and Malaysia

Having planned to do as much of our trip overland as possible there always remained the uneasy question of Southern Thailand. As you get into the deep South of the country it ceases to be the land of smiles and is more like the land of random bombings, shootings of school teachers who are not Islamic and general anarchy as the insurgence continues. Happily we found a route that managed to circumnavigate the affected areas by heading through Koh Sok and into Krabi, down to Satun and then taking a ferry into Malaysia. Local buses and boats, happy days.

With Koh Tao behind us our next stop was Khao Sok National Park, two hours inland from Surat Thani. Khao Sok is famous for its verdant scenery and stunning lime stone karsts that are dotted around the inland. The national park is situated in the highlands, is refreshingly cool and is punctuated by rivers, mountains and lakes. There are over 150 species of birds and the dense jungle is home to tigers, leopards, gibbons and gaurs. It is the type of place that when you wake up in the middle of the night, you hear more sounds than you would during the day. The night vibrates with the noises of insects and animals and breathes with life. The karsts are enveloped with cloud above and winding rivers below, the white crags of the karsts dominating the landscape like slabs of alabaster.

The one factor that was slightly against us in Khao Sok was the weather. It rained a great deal, so much so that the owner of our guest house was heard to express concerns of the river flooding it’s banks. Antediluvian rain. Day and night. Then night and day. As we were on the aforementioned banks this was a bit of a concern, but happily the rain dissipated on our second day and left us free to take a tour of Cheow Lan Lake, about an hour from our guest house. The lake is beautiful and accommodation is available in simple huts built upon rafts. Alas we did not stay here but the setting is stunning and would be a must if we did the trip again.

It was during our time in Khao Sok we were lucky enough to befriend David and Yolanda from Holland, who became our erstwhile travel companions for the next five days. We met them shortly before they fed the cutest puppy in the world a mouthful of electricity. Or more accurately one evening during which the guesthouse owner's puppy decided to nibble on an extension cord we were all using. There was a yelp, a howl and a slightly grumpy pup that was then seen heading for the comfort of his basket. The next day he was back on form, his razor sharp milk teeth incising anything in sight. David and Yolanda were fantastic company, and at the end of our trip together we had swapped numerous book recomendations, music and movies. On the subject of music, David was (until recently) the bassist for Dutch band Alamo Race Track. They're famous... They've played Lowlands. See them here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=678ecSBvSdc

From Khao Sok we then travelled together across the peninsular to the fishing village of Krabi. Being the Low season Krabi was almost like a ghost town, the guest houses were half empty and the promenade along the river front was patrolled by boat drivers touting for business. “Where you go today? Motor Boat? Mangrove forest? Island? Beaches?” They were friendly enough, in contrast the manager at our guest house was a nightmare. Every time we so much as walked through the restaurant or peeped into reception he was trying to flog us a trip. When we told him that we would be getting a local bus further South as opposed to his mini van his petulance increased ten fold. He was the type of character that made you want to slip a packet of anti depressants into his coffee, if not to cheer him up then just to make him go to sleep.

Krabi is beautiful and again is marked by the same limestone karts that dominate the landscape in Khao Sok. The town has a sleepy appeal with some unusual sculptures that include a set of large apes clutching onto the traffic lights at Soi 10. These semi simians represent the 40 million year old remains of the Siamopithecus Oceanus that were found nearby. Or to put it simply, some of the earliest remains that suggest the ape to human evolutionary process. There are many that think that the theory of evolution is daft. I am one of them. Surely we would have known better than to move out of the trees in the first place. And as Douglas Adams remarked, there are those who even question why we would have even left the oceans.

The four of chartered a boat (called “Free Dom,” almost like there is a girl called Dominique who has just split up with a tyrannical boyfriend) that took us through the mangrove swamps and then on the island of Ao Nang. As you head down the river towards the swamps you pass through Khao Kanab Nam, twin limestone karts that rise out the water, one hundred metres in height and so readily identifiable that they have become the symbol of Krabi. In an inspired moment I took a photo of them from the boat, and then laughed my socks off when I saw that The Rough Guide to Thailand has an almost identical picture on the first page of their book. The mangrove swamps are fascinating, with their roots bared by the tide like a poor set of teeth sticking out of failing gums. The banks of the swamp are home to millions of Fiddler crabs; as you work your way deeper into the swamps the atmosphere becomes positively eerie and the jokes about running out of fuel seem to lack much humour.

After three days in Krabi it was time to move further South, carefully avoiding the areas around Songkhla, Hat Yai and Pattani where the insurgents are bombing, shooting and killing on a daily basis. We took a local bus further South to Trang, and then after a couple of hours wait we connected to another bus to Satun. In all we travelled for a full day, but it was fun and with good company. Local buses are often a lot more interesting than a stultifying ride in a minivan and this journey was very true of that. We spent a night in the no frills local hotel at the bottom end of town and visited the nightmarket in the evening. The market consisted of mostly second hand clothing and vendors who, refreshingly, left us completely alone. Satun was a really interesting town and the Muslim influence was very apparent. Many women wore burquas, we saw several men with prayer caps and in the evening the chanting from the mosque cut through the night. We only spent one night in Satun before making our way through to the ferry terminal at nine o’clock the next morning. Form here we cleared immigration in record time and boarded the ferry that took us to Langkawi Island in Malaysia. After a few hours in Langkawi we boarded a second ferry that took us to the quaint World Heritage site of Georgetown.

One of the first things that any visitor to Georgetown will pick up on is how ethnically diverse it is. There is a Little India that sells very fine food and boasts a variety of luminous colours to the sound of blaring Bollywood music. Then next door there are mosques and around the corner are the Chinese temples. Architecturally it is wonderful, there are so many styles of buildings on every street, from grand old colonial houses to stylised mosques and flamboyant temples. There is an abundance of colour of noise and life. The harbour lends a commercial feel to the town, whilst in the distance the modern glass and steel office buildings of Buttherworth contrast sharply to the beatific air of Georgetown. It was in Georgetown that we finally bade farewell to Yolanda and David, before boarding the overnight train through to Kuala Lumpur. Thus far we have only spent a day in KL, which is magnificent. We fly back there is a few days time from Bali, where we are diving with our friends James and Jens. This is such a hard life!

50/50 - Crossing the Halfway Mark

There are times when I feel I should have called this blog High Maintenance as opposed to High Mileage. Again it seems an age since I last wrote so here goes. Current location is the top bunk of a sleeper train between Butterworth (Malaysia) and Kuala Lumpur. In true Malay style the train left at exactly the right time and now winds away smoothly into the night. Overhead the fluorescent lights wrap around the smooth curves of the ceiling and the sound of the wheels on the tracks punctuates the otherwise silent carriage. Unlike Thailand there are no men hawking beer in the aisles or ladies selling pungent foods. And unlike India no one has yet appeared shrieking “Cha, cha cha Chaiiiii! Coff, Coff, Coff, Coffeeee!” In some ways this train feels slightly more clinical, but it is clean, comfortable and trains are such a great way to travel. I would say the best, but for me boats win by far. Sorry Paul Theroux. More practically though, and to the point, the battery life on the laptop promises about another 45 minutes which is handy really, because then I will close my eyes and wipe the sleep from them seven hours later when we arrive in KL at 5.30 AM.

We’re now six months into our trip and still talking, oops Freudian slip, I mean going. It feels good to still be travelling and whilst the initial excitement may have been sanded down a little, it still feels exhilarating to be exploring this beautiful part of the world. And to continue the metaphor, where the edges have been sanded down I think we have become more savvy in the way we deal with each adventure and each challenge. We have had some wonderful times. And of course there have been times when we’ve found ourselves humming “Grounds for Divorce” a little too loudly. “Is your wife sick of the sight of you yet?” read one email from a photography friend Danny. And a few days later “Has your wife strangulated you yet?” in an online conversation with another friend. To be fair travelling twenty four seven together, living in a room the size of a size three shoe box and breathing the same air 23.3 hours of the day can be trying at times. But it is all part of the adventure, and at the end of the day when the stamping of feet and vociferous discussions are done, we look out for each other and support each other. In the time since the last upload we have left Bangkok behind and continued our trip through to Koh Tao via the overnight train to Chumpon. Swerving the usual travel agencies we booked our tickets directly from Hua Lampong Station in Bangkok where Nipun managed to find a deal by booking the second class sleeper train with fan as opposed to AC. For anyone doing a similar trip the ticket counter in the station offers the ferry tickets as well which we were unaware of and happily they sell them at the correct price.

The sleeper train was much as I remember it from ten years ago. In summary, at around ten o’clock, after a couple of over priced, cold Changs, you fold yourself into your bed and hope to high heaven that someone wakes you up at 4.30 the next morning when you pull into your station. The Thai staff are great, and sure enough at the allotted hour they come through the carriages with a spreadsheet and bang on your bunk to get you off the train. Of course the travellers, red eyed and slightly crazed with anxiety have hardly slept, all of us thinking we are going to end up in Surat Thani at the far end of the line. The station at Chumpon is different from what I remember, though at time of the day memory is certainly an unreliable companion. Having said that Chumpon station seemed cleaner, bigger and more modern. And this time around there was a coffee shop open to help restore some semblance of vitality to the day.

The next stage of the journey isthe ferry from Chumpon Harbour, which is still emerging sleepily from the clutches of night. This goes across to the island which takes about four hours, and both occasions this has been a fabulous trip, the new morning sun being warm and ocean rolling around us frantically. Not so good if you get seasick, but touch wood, we don‘t. Finally, after a fifteen hour journey, you arrive in Koh Tao. My initial thoughts on arriving there was how much it had changed in the last ten years. Winding back the clock to 2002 the beaches were less developed, the bungalows and bars were constructed from poles and straw and far less prolific. Having said that though, Koh Tao is still magnificently beautiful. We initially stayed on the West Beach near the harbour and the sunsets over the ocean lack none of the grandeur of ten years back. During the day we snorkeled and looked at the coral and shoals of clown fish, and then two days later we moved to South Beach. The reason that the vast majority of people visit Koh Tao is to dive and to PADI training. We decided to do a taster dive and then, after pontificating and prevaricating for hours we tossed coin and the outcome dictated that we would do an Open Water Diving Course. The next three days were spent by and large submerged. On the first day we met a psycho Thai (a minority as far as I can tell) who wanted to beat up our dive instructor for (unknowingly) landing on a private beach for the shallow water training. I suggested later that we all should have wrestled him to the ground and tickled him into submission. At the time it was not so funny though and it took the intervention of a Japanese regular to the island to defuse the situation. Days two and three were spent removing regulators under water and learning to clear flooded masks before the final exam which was easy - it was a testament to team work with all of us copying each others answers. We left Koh Tao on the night boat to Surat Thani which is infinitely more comfortable than it was in the past. These days you have a dormitory style cabin with mattresses, sheets and pillows. When I did the trip last the boat looked like it might sink and when I did manage to sleep it was with an oxygen tank as a pillow and a bottle of Absolut vodka as a sleeping pill. Still, some of the charm has been lost, I will remember the first trip a lot longer than the latter.

As we cross the halfway line of our journey I feel increasingly despondent about it ending. It is almost like the end of our trip will represent a departure from our everyday life, that returning to our lives in England will be an almost alien experience. Each day here holds an adventure, looking up from the computer now (in Bali, ten days after I started writing this) the sea below is shades of turquoise and blue and the wind that blows shoreward cools the thirty something degree heat. I find myself gazing up and trying to imprint every minute and every landscape into my memory. And then being immensely happy and grateful that I am here in the first place.

Ko Chang

It seems obscene to say this but we have just been on holiday. Sorry, maybe that should read "Holiday from our Holiday." The excuse for this was the arrival of my good friend Julian from London. Julian and I have known each other since I could sit on a chair and dangle my legs. I know this because there is an old school photograph in circulation that clearly shows this. But moving along, Julian and another friend Brad joined Nipun and I in Bangkok for a few days, Brad went back to work and the rest of us... Well, we went to the beach.

Ko Chang is about five hours from Bangkok by minivan, then about another half an hour on the ferry. It is rich with palm trees, has long stretches of sand and turquoise water that is warm but still refreshing. It also has sand flies, horrible little blighters that attack your back and leave it feeling like you have come off a motorbike and have lumps of gravel in your skin. But that it is another story, and one that can be taken in your stride. Most importantly Ko Chang has little bungalows on the beach, basic but passably clean and somewhere to sleep if nothing else.

As this is my second post today (self inflicted through prior indolence) I am taking the cheeky option out, the one that says it is worth thousand words and that can be seen below. We leave Bangkok in a few hours for the last time. I love this city and can't wait to come back, who knows when (miss you already).

A couple of cheeky memories from the island before memory fails us though. When Jules went for a massage he earned himself the name of Pompoi. This translates as cuddly, especially around the mid-section. The fishing trip wiped the smile off my face though, whilst Nipun and Julian hauled in the fish I caught sunburn. And some things are better forgotten, included in these was the bus journey back to Bangkok where the AC unit poured barrels of water into the bus, sloshing about on the seat next to Jules and drenching all our luggage. Click the images to see them larger, the colours seemed to have been badly unsaturated on upload.

Sunset, KP Huts, Ko Chang

Dawn, Ko Chang. The sun's rays slices through the palm trees and illuminates the back edges of them. Such a beautiful time of the day, especially for sand flies.

Digging for shrimps. Tried to take this without getting caught, hence missed the top edges of the spades. Doh, one to reshoot one day.

Dusk

Bangkok, Ayuttuyah and Floating Markets

I guess you could have called this radio silence. All the usual excuses apply, but in fact I feel I have just been a bit lazy about writing. Ooops. In this time about a month has got away from me, the good news though is that we have been somewhat sedentary in this time and have based ourselves out of Bangkok, City of (Fallen) Angels. I have been to Bangkok a few times before and each time I return I fall in love with it a bit more. We set up base in Lumpini, near the Muay Thai Boxing stadium and just around he corner from the shop sign that proclaims “LUCK.” I have not yet managed to establish whether or not this refers to the Good or Bad variety, or whether or not it relates the type that is about to run out. The infamous Malaysia Hotel is around the corner, rumoured to be a veritable den of inequity and just down the road is the ironically named Family Guest House. I say ironically because it oozes sleaze, of the camp and cross dressing variety. And that is fine in its own way, consenting adults etc, though the cap does not fit the name in this instance.

On the plus side we have the Ibis Hotel one hundred metres away, clean, modern and with an all you can eat buffet lunch for 200 Baht per head (about GBP 4.00 for a personal best of three side plates of starters, three full plates of mains and one large bowl of desert and fruit). The term Buffet really means “Challenge” where we come from and typically leaves me feeling full for the rest of the day. I am pretty sure they are going to bar us soon. A ten minute walk up the road finds you in the massive Suan Luam Night Bazaar and across the road is the Metro Station. A little further down the road is the BTS (the Sky Train) and bus routes abound. Nipun mastered the buses quickly and whereas the size of Bangkok used to seem intimidating it is all beginning to make a lot more sense now. One of the things I love about Bangkok is that you can travel by Bus, Boat, Metro, Sky Train. And most of the time it works. The traffic can be a problem, but then there are air conditioned trains that are comfortable and not usually overcrowded. It is unusual not to be able to get a seat, certainly where the metro is concerned. Finally we have Lumpini Park just up the road. The park is huge and is landscaped with lakes and gardens. It is a tranquil retreat right in the middle of town. Silom to one side, Central to the top and then this oasis of water and green grass. People run in the park, do aerobics and there is a weight lifting gym, out in the open air. In the mornings and evenings it is packed with joggers who pause to do sit ups, chins and dips at various intervals. Of course you have those people like myself who have just come to watch the day fade into evening and sit on the benches. Young couples smooch on the grass and families take picnics down to the lake side. It has a sense of community and has become one of my favourite places in Bangkok. Once you are exhausted by watching weight lifters and joggers you can take an exit from the park that leads you more or less directly onto Silom Road where the Pat Pong Night market is and, should you be tempted, restaurants, pubs, clubs, shows and go go bars. It is all there. And then one metro stop later we are back at home.

Our time in the last month has not been exclusively dedicated to Bangkok. In the interim we have also travelled to Ayutthaya (The former capital of Thailand), Damnoen Saduak (to see the very commercial floating markets) and Ko Chang for an island break from our break. To get to Ayuttayah we caught a train from Hua Lampong. The train was a local train, populated exclusively by Thai’s and crammed. Vendors selling beer, cokes and food negotiated the aisles hawking their goods from coach to coach. The journey itself was about two hours long and cost about 15 Baht. In other words a two hour journey cost us about 25 pence. And it was no worse than British Rail, in fact the trains actually left on time and you could beer to boot. The train on the way back was delayed by about half an hour, but you could still by beer so it wins on that account! More seriously though it is quite enjoyable travelling on the local buses and trains and gives us a far better feel for the country than a plush AC minivan full of backpackers.

On arrival in Ayuttayah we are alarmed to find that our guest house was fully booked and that the other ones in the area seemed to be flee ridden, windowless rooms. After some investigation by Nipun we managed to find a place above a photography studio which worked well as I had left my camera battery charger in BKK and they were more than happy to help out. The town of Ayuttayah was in actuality quite grim I felt. The old ruins were spectacular but the town itself felt too hot, too dusty and too dirty. There is a fantastic night market that sells mostly food and this I liked. That is, I liked it until I went down the pier below it at 6 AM the next morning to take photos of the river and smelt the place by day. It reeked of sulphurous urine and faeces and the air seemed sticky with filth. I got the pictures I wanted and fled for the shower. But the food was good and later that night we took the camera out with a single flash to shoot some locals and my appetite got the better of me. Before I knew we were tucking into fried rice, thick with chilli and goodness. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Sometimes. Of course the star attraction of Ayuttayah are ancient the temple complexes which are scattered around the town. You can’t pop down to a 7/11 without practically tripping over an old, crumbling temple. And they are beautiful. I did some night shots at a few of them, (thinking I would have to bribe the night watchman with my favourite Thai term - dee sam ram koon, dee sam rap pomme (“Good for you, good for me”)) but this was not the case as the temples remain open until about 9pm. And then we were back to Bangkok again, sweltering in 35 degree heat and crammed into the local train drinking Leo beer and watching Thailand fly past the window.

Our next little excursion was the town of Damnoen Saduak, home to Thailand’s most famous (and thereby commercial) floating market. Rather than jump on the tourist bandwagon and take a day trip we went to the Eastern Bus Terminal and caught the local service out of town so that we could stay a couple of nights and see the markets properly. The trip took about two hours and my first impressions of place were pretty bad. I thought the place was full of yokels and raving crack pots. As we walked along the canal an old lady on a boat harangued us for not buying her fruit; happily we could walk faster than she could row but she put in a good effort. A few steps later a young man, possibly not quite right mentally, shouted his helloes to us far too loudly from far too close and then paces later a septuagenarian tried to grope my wife. All this in ten minutes. I remonstrated with the dirty old man who then started pointing his figure threateningly at me and yapping like a rabid chi Wawa. Around about then I wondered what the local police force would have to say about pushing the aged into a deep canal with a foot to his rear. Happily as went further down the canals things improved. An eloquent and wonderfully amiable Thai lady invited us to sit with her on her verandah and for the next hour regaled us with tales about the town and how it had changed over the last decade. It was difficult to leave her. Although she had limited schooling her English was superb and she also knew Italian and some Dutch. As for the floating markets, they were horribly commercial and populated by more foreigners than locals. It was still fun to see but I wish we had made the time to go to Amphawa nearby which is more authentic though only open on official market days.

The Easy Way Out

Writing takes ages. Here are some images instead!

1 - Hue. Each evening at dusk the sky is filled with vibrantly colored kites, transported here mostly by men on bicycles.

2 - Silk Worm Factory Workers, Dalat

3 - Downtime. My heart goes out to the cyclo riders. Each day, regardless of the heat they are out on the street plying their trade. And lets face it, in some circumstances sleeping on the job is a necessity!

4 - Hoi An. Market Lady

5 - Nha Trang Nun

6 - Hilltribe Woman, Sapa

7 - Halong Bay

8 - Nha Trang Opera House

9 - Hanoi at Sunset

10 - Part of the Imperial Complex Hue

Vietnam in a nutshell

It is time to stop procrastinating and time to draw a line beneath Vietnam. The time we had there flew past and indeed we were on the move every three days or thereabouts. Three days is not a long time to explore a city, it’s sites and in manycases it’s beaches. It certainly doesnot leave a huge amount of time for writing. So, the low down.

Vietnam was a hugely enjoyable country to travel. In spite of all the horror stories we heard from fellow travellers (muggings, theft, aggressive denizens and psycho bus drivers) we found the country to be mostly safe and the people to be mostly friendly. Douglas Adams might have dubbed it “mostly harmless,“ but there was more to it than that. It was the most diverse and exciting part of our trip thus far. There were a couple of cretins along the way, but that applies to most places around the world in my experience. The biggest cretin I have met so far was undoubtedly in Cambodia and he was “A Rhodesian.” When I explained to him that time moves on and twenty nine years has passed in the interim he became petulant. He prided himself on being a “Colonial,” having been born in Wales (of Indian lineage) and lived in colonies of the British Empire for much of his life. The irony is that under Rhodesian rule he would have been a class two citizen of the country, and as a mixed race citizen would have faced blatant discrimination and segregation. Despite having lived in Rhodesia as it was then, he was incredibly ignorant about the country. “I still drank in all the sports clubs” he boasted. Well, whoopy doo mister. Social Darwinism found its nest in his heart, AIDS was the result of a black government and it went to pot in 1980 apparently. The conversation ebbed and flowed (we were in a large group of people thankfully) but as the local wine flowed he became more surly and aggressive. By the end of the evening, I felt there two options left open to me with the way the evening was going. These were (a) to punch him before he punched me and then end up in the beautiful but squalid Kampot jail for the night or (b) call a spade a spade and head off to bed. I chose the latter which was probably wise in retrospect. So in all my time travelling it seems that the biggest plonker I have met hails, in part, from my very own country.

We spent longer in Saigon than anywhere else in Vietnam, not because we particularly like big cities but rather because there is a lot to see and do. The museums were interesting and it is here that so much of Vietnam’s history took place. We visited the War Museum, the Cu Chi tunnels, the Re-Unification Palace and spent time just exploring the city. We learnt to cross a road in Saigon. Trust me, it takes a while to get used to throwing yourself in front of four lanes of speeding scooters. From Saigon we caught up North to the coastal town that is Mui Ne. It was a Friday afternoon and the traffic out of Saigon was incredibly heavy. Saigon sprawls for mile upon mile and it must have been a couple of hours before we had made it out of the city. Our four hour trip to the coast became a six hour one of brake lights and horns. But it was worth it. Mui Ne is known for it’s waves and it was great to dip into an ocean where there some surf. The current pulls to the left very strongly and we would start at one part of the beach and end up at another. But as the beach with it’s wide sand stretches along for ten kilometres this is not so much of a problem.

It was not just for the beaches that we went to Mui Ne but also the sand dunes that are a few kilometers inland. The dunes are red in one area and white in another and cover a fairly expansive area. We started off at 4.45am with an irritable jeep driver who was not big

on small talk. Then again at that time of the day who can blame him? We did the white dunes first, watching the sun rise from atop the dunes. It was a beautiful dawn and after some time there we moved onto the red dunes. Where there had only been a handful of people at the white dunes the red dunes teamed with people. Local Vietnamese families covered every dune in sight, using hired sleds to shoot down the dunes. Vendors sold food from baskets hanging from their shoulders on bamboo poles. Laughing children, smiling women, men with their jeans rolled up around their ankles and sweat on their foreheads. It was a convivial and friendly atmosphere. One of the great things about Vietnam was seeing local Vietnamese people enjoying the outdoors as opposed to tourist dominated hotspots where the only locals were hawking goods. The trip ended with a visit to the local fishing village where our eyes bulged at the amount of food that was being hauled from the ocean, whilst wicker basket-like boats bobbed about on the waves. The stench of salt water and fish was ferocious and on every side were blankets of fish, crabs, weighing scales and women with heavy poles and baskets slung over their shoulders. Finally we went to the “Fairy Spring,” a shallow creek that runs through a dazzling red clay valley of sand dunes. Wading through the cooling waters was a good end to a very busy, long and hot morning.

Dalat

After the blistering hot beaches of Mui Ne it seemed wise to head up into the mountains of Dalat. At an altitude of about 1500 metres above sea level Dalat is four precipitous hours from Saigon, heading almost directly North, away from the coast and up into the interior of the country. The winding drive is breathtaking and the sinu

ous route had a few people reaching for their little blue plastic bags. One of the first things that stuck me about being in Dalat was the weather. It was like being back in the UK. The sun, impossible to escape for nearly five months now, was nowhere to be seen. It was grey, wet, cold. Not raining, not dry. Just persistent damp.

And it was refreshing for a change! It felt great to put a fleece on and zip it up. This weather has many implications on the area. The French used to use it as a retreat from the heat, and as such there is an old French Street and the very quaint train station. More recently, Dalat is rumoured to be Vietnam’s number one honey moon spot. It is also where a whole host of Western Vegetables are grown in Vietnam and the fresh produce is diverse and cheap. Flower farms are scattered through the hills as are silk worm factories and a host of other industries including Dalat wine. The wine is not bad either. The best way to see Dalat is to get a couple of motorbike riders (the self styled Easy Riders) who will take you through the region and beyond if money and time are no object. After much debating (can we afford it? Sounds expensive?) we took a day trip and it was without a doubt one of the best things we did in Vietnam

. If I could do the trip again I think I would allow a three or four day Easy Rider trip through Vietnam. Our concerns about the ability of our guides to speak English was quashed when one of the first things he said was “Lovely Jubbly.“ Our day trip started off in Dalat town, firstly looking at the Linh Quang Pagoda and then heading out into the lush countryside. The great thing about being on a motorbike is that you can stop anywhere. We looked at the waterfalls in the area, the silk farms and the local hooch distillery. Sadly the local hooch was not available for sampling. We ended up back in town, overlooking an aerial mast fashioned to replicate the Eiffel Tower and near the train station where the token carriages were painted with a red, white and blue motif.

The next leg of the trip took us from the hills of Dalat along a wildly meandering road back down to sea level and the beaches of Nha Trang. Along the way you find yourself in a Catch 22 like scenario. The scenery is remarkably beautiful, but the road meanders so hideously that if

you look anywhere but straight ahead nausea becomes your new best friend. Immediately around me I could see four people paling rapidly and discreetly disgorging

into plastic bags. Finally the gradient decreases and with the hills behind you, the beaches of Nha Trang stretch away in front. After walking into town and finding accommodation we made our way down to the promenade and were befriended by a Vietnamese couple after pulling faces at their young child. It was the kind of “Oh how cute” faces that struck up the conversation, but whilst in Vietnam we met some really friendly locals which was great. It is nice to be genuinely befriended as opposed to sold to continually, it is one of the things that I notice now. The principle draw of Nha Trang are the miles of glistening beaches, but there is plenty more to do as well. The town itself bustles with life and there is plenty to see if you tear yourself away from the beaches. For us this was not too hard, it was bucketing down with rain most of the time we were there. Among the sights was the gallery of the Vietnamese photographer Long Thanh, a fishing harbour where the fishing boats (similar to those in Mui Ne) look like giant wicker baskets and Long Son Pagoda. Above the Pagoda, set atop a hill, is a giant Buddha, the base of which features bust reliefs of the seven monks who died by self emolliation protesting the South Vietnamese government of Ngo Dinh Diem. Whilst my big toe did not make it into the ocean on account of the weather, Nha Trang was still worthwhile.

Heading North by sleeper bus our next pit stop, eight hours up country, was rustic Hoi An. Hoi An is famed for its tailors.

Figuring that if the locals are good with scissors then this would be a good place for a haircut is a fatal mistake. I can testify to this, they cut cloth better than hair. Promise. But Hoi An is all charm. It is graceful and at night the evening comes alive with lanterns and street markets where the food fantastic and the restaurants advertise “Fresh Beer.” The beer is cheap, the food good and the town’s vibe is vibrant and yet laid back. The market at dawn is worth the 5am wake up call and a Vietnamese coffee a couple of hours later braces you for the rest of the day. As if Hoi An did not have enough to see and do with i

t’s ubiquitous art galleries, tailors and riverside walks the Marble Mountains are a bus ride away and a good way to spend the day. Carved out of - you’ve got it -marble, the mountain features numerous pagodas, temples and caves that house more temples. Edentate women with red mouths from chewing beet peddle incense sticks, rewarding the lucky by showing them some of the more clandestine sights of the complex. Hoi An is another place that I would like to make it back to, particularly in the wet season when the whole town becomes flooded and the streets are best mooched by boat.

By now the clock was seriously ticking for us and in spite of having wanted to spend time in Danang, we ended up taking the

bus straight through to Hue, the old imperial capital of Vietnam. Hue is home to the Forbidden City and is bisected by the Perfume River. The town itself ranges from the beautiful promenade to the sprawling mass of motorbikes and narrow streets. It is a rewarding place to spend some time though. It was thirty eight degrees when we were there which was a bit too hot to do much, but I still managed to spend a day roaming the Imperial Citadel. I ate three over priced ice creams and drank who knows how many litres of water. And shot 4 gig of photographs. It is beautiful and so rich in culture. As the sun sets the area in front of the citadel comes alive with kite fliers and colour, whilst in the background, blustered from the 37 metre high flagpole (the highest in Vietnam) a giant Vietnamese flag billows out in the warmth of the last light of the day. We ate Japanese food at a charitable restaurant supporting street kids called JASS, only to find out that the name had been copied by a nefarious business mind set on capitalising on JASS’s good name. We ate at a different JASS the next evening, so hopefully one of them was the real deal.

Hue was soon behind us and we found ourselves on board a sleeper bus with real-ish beds. The comfort was short lived, we were at the back of the bus above the engine. I woke up half way through the night with my back feeling like I had passed out with the electric blanket still on, whilst above the air conditioning unit chucked out huge volumes of freezing air. It is quite a bizarre sensation to feel like your back is in a wok and your front in an icebox. At a roadstop along the way I got out with a couple of other travellers from the back section to chew the fat. We watched some locals eating one of the Vietnamese delicacies, a semi-incubated egg that has been boiled. Once the shell is off the egg is traced by a network of veins and arteries. It should be the best of two worlds really, I love eggs and eat silly amounts of chicken. But put the two together like that and erm, I’m gonna pass this one thanks.

We arrived in Hanoi at six the next morning, I promptly got lost whilst looking for accommodation and found an unimpressed Nipun two hours later, dutifully watching our bags and patiently waiting for me.

The alleys for which the city is famous, do kind of look the same on the first day in town. Hanoi sprawls and motorbike drivers patrol each and every street trying to get you to take a ride across town with them. Vendors try and trick you into picking up their bamboo poles with fruit laden baskets for a photo opportunity, and then charge you for the privilege. Cyclo riders bombard you and ask you to take a trip through the old Latin quarter with them. It is a busy city, and one that can leave you feeling harassed pretty quickly. We were already pretty exhausted by the time we made it this far North and so it was not too long before we had booked our onward travel into the mountains of Sapa. And if the rain was bad in Nha Trang, then in Sapa it was a deluge. For three days spent there, it rained for over two and half. But having said this Sapa was stunning. We did manage to get out for a couple of hours on motorbikes and the country side was magnificent. Terraced rice fields stretched away beneath mountains and verdant fields stretched away as far as you could see. Which was not that far because of the fog. But you get the picture. Less appealing than even the rain were the local hawkers who tried to sell anyone and everyone no end of trinkets. “No” does not mean no in Sapa, it means “Challenge.” The Hill Tribe ladies and girls are really sweet at first, but make for very aggressive and determined sales ladies.

But then such is the beauty of Sapa that I would return there immediately with no qualms. My only disappointment is that the weather conspired against us with hellfire and brimstome. And then before we knew it we were back in Hanoi, headed for the airport and soon to be in Bangkok.