Anywhere but the UK

Gallery: Russia

paul — Thu, 9 Aug 2007 12:00:00 GMT

Hong Kong

paul — Sun, 22 Jul 2007 22:00:00 GMT

How British will Hong Kong be, was a question I mused over as I made my way down from Shanghai and the first signs were encouraging. Despite the usual bullshit involved in crossing an international frontier the immigration officers actually smiled, as they asked for my passport in their Home Counties tinged accents. This was surely a good omen. During my time in Beijing CCTV9 (Chinese state TV) had subjected me to endless loops of happy cadres marching the truimphantal music celebrating the 10^th annviersary of Hong Kongs return to the ‘motherland’. It turns out that all of this was, probably, beautifully choreographed Chinese propaganda. I haven’t, yet, seen anyone waving the flag or any signs of real Chinese influence, apart from shitloads of Chinese people! There are even people protesting, and actually seeming to give a shit, about human rights abuses, so in that respect not really like home.

So Hong Kong; it’s kind of like being back home. Well the nearest I’ve been to it in four and a half months: some of the money here still has the queen’s head on it. Added to this there is the culture shock of having throne toilets back, instead of squats, and toilet paper. It’s too much all in one go I’m not sure how I’m going to cope when I get back home!

The city itself is crowded; very, very crowded, 6,352/km²crowded. There was me thinking that the UK was crowded with a mere 242/km², this place is hardcore! How do you cram so many people into such a small area, I thought before arriving? After I measured my ‘ensuite’ room; 3.5m x 1.6m, weighing in at exactly 6.3m² of floor space, I discovered their secret. I think the term windowless cell is probably a fairer description, but for only $80/night I can’t complain, at least it’s private, which in a city with this many people is a nice luxury!

Despite the population density, and this is what really surprised me, it is still possible to get away from people. I have to admit my ignorance here, before arriving in Hong Kong I had never really paid the geography much attention. Surprising really considering the fact that I am normally a complete geek about such matters, but sadly it’s true. I believed Hong Kong to be, simply, a dense city spread over a tiny amount of continental China and a tiny island of the coast. I was, therefore, surprised to find out that the territory comprises a number of off shore islands, one of which is bigger than Hong Kong itself, along with the rather vast 794km² of New Territories. And this is its charm. It is possible to one minute be standing in Kowloon overlooking Victoria Harbour, one of the busiest shipping lanes on the planet, to then, only half an hour later, find yourself in a bustling little seaside town complete with sandy beach and rugged coastline. So this is where I have spent half of my time, away from the big city and out exploring the ‘countryside’?

The city itself isn’t bad either, electronics are cheaper than at home and on top of this the flats in which I am staying is possibly one of the most multicultural places I’ve been to. There are people from all over Africa and the Indian subcontinent rubbing shoulders with pasty white, sometimes lobster hued, tourists along with more Chinese people than you could shake a stick at. This means a number of things: firstly loads of hassle from Indian tailors and Moroccan hashish dealers, but secondly, and this is another thing that makes me feel at home: great curries. Not only great curries, but also affordable great curries, which is pretty impressive in a town where most meals seem to cost at least $80 or £5.50. Maybe that doesn’t seem so great now it’s written down, but what the hell.

Gallery: Hong Kong

paul — Thu, 19 Jul 2007 12:00:00 GMT

Going Nowhere Fast

paul — Thu, 12 Jul 2007 14:00:00 GMT

After a brief visit to Xi'an we were preparing to get back on the road. The plan was to head to Shanghai, however, we made the fatal mistake of leaving the train booking to the last minute. The next available train wouldn't be leaving for three days: it looked like we were stuck in Xi'an. After some furious leafing through our guidebook we decided that instead of hanging around we would head south to Yichang. The plan was to go visit the Three Gorges Dam and then head onto Shanghai.

Booking the ticket ourselves was straightforward enough, despite all the Chinese people jumping the queue. The next day at 8AM we would be heading off for our second train ride in four days seeing us arriving in Yichang at 11PM!

7AM and we were up and heading straight to the rail station to join the queuing, or not, masses. Rail stations in China are strange places which resemble airports. To enter the station it is neccesary to fight your way through throngs of people to get your bags X-rayed before you are even allowed into the station. After this little performance an attendant usually grabs your ticket and points you to the waiting hall which often resembles a refugee camp. Once in the hall it's then just a case of waiting around for the train to be called before being allowed onto the platform to board. In short it's a bloody hassle. And the waiting halls are like ovens!

With this digression aside we boarded and spent the next fourteen hours on the lowliest of Chinese trains. It seemed we were straying too far from the well trodded tourist routes where the carriages are imaculate and the beds clean. This was a real Chinese train; no air con, plenty of people smoking and hawking their guts up, all the while eating the parts of a chicken which at home are normally reserved for Bernard Matthews nuggets. It was tiring and upon arriving in Yichang we took the first room that was availabe and slept.

The next morning came and we made a beeline for the ticketing office. After queuing for half an hour we were at the front requesting tickets for Shanghai the following day. 'No' along with some wild gesticulating was the answer, the next available berth was an unreserved standing in five days time. Suprisingly we passed on that one and enquired about Hong Kong. Again blank. Next we proceeded to choose places at random, simply wishing to not have to stay in Yichang for the next five days. After around ten minutes of this, grumblings of discontent from the queue and our increasingly evident exasperation the ticketing clerk said: 'Shanghai today at 2PM'. So that was it, we were off to Shanghai and had taken an expensive detour to not see the Three Gorges Dam.

The remaining few hours were spent wandering through Yichang where we managed to see some great sights: the inside of an internet cafe and a McDonalds. This is travelling!

Gallery: Beijing

paul — Wed, 11 Jul 2007 17:30:00 GMT

Gallery: Xi'an to Shanghai

paul — Wed, 11 Jul 2007 17:30:00 GMT

Communication Breakdown

paul — Thu, 5 Jul 2007 16:00:00 GMT

After forty five hours on the Hanoi - Beijing express, which wasn't much of an express considering we had to change trains and disembark in Nanning for two hours, arrived in Beijing. I was glad to be getting off having spent the previous night in the company of eight Vietnamese fellas who insisted on sharing a large bottle of liquor of dubious quality. The conversation, suprisingly, had been pretty poor considering my chasm of knowledge of the Vietnamese language. I did, however, manage to decipher from their passports, looking at maps and pointing that they were heading to work in Moscow. At least I think that's what they were trying to say.

Stepping down from the train onto Beijing Xi Zhan railway station platorm #9 it looked much like any other. It was only upon leaving the platform that I realised the station resembled an airport more than a railway station： this place was huge! Leaving the station and making our way to our hotel only confirmed that it wasn't just the station, it was the entire city that was huge. The main arterial roads here comprise four or five lanes going in each direction, often with an additional cycle lane。 In short they're big and they take an age to cross. Not only are the roads big, but so are the buildings. In New York the buildings are tall, but they don't tend to take up huge areas of real estate. In contrast buildings in Beijing seem to pride themselves on consuming vast areas of real estate, all the while happily putting up a good forty to fifty stories on top.

If the scale of this city was the first thing to strike me then the pollution was the second： the air here is filthy！ Looking across Tianamen Square on late Monday morning I was unable to make out the huge gateway to the Forbidden City due to the smoggy haze blanketing the square. After walking around for five or six hours it feels as though you need a twenty minute shower just to get all of the dust and crap of your skin and out of your hair. God knows how they're going to manage to stage beach volleyball in Tianamen Square in just over a years time. I couldn‘t imagine doing any sort of physical activity, besides walking, in that environment！

So that brings me to language. All I had heard from people since telling them I was planning to go to China was: 'You're going to struggle there, no-one speaks English.' This isn't strictly true. Whether it be a street vendor hawking a copy of Chairman Maos 'Red Book' on Tianamen Square or the drinks vendor at the Great Wall many people have enough English phrases in their armoury to aid in　lightening the burden of your wallet. The real problem isn't that most people don't speak English it's that they can't speak English when you want them to. It's not all bad, however, just today I met an guy who must have been in his mid sixties who spoke English with a posh home counties accent. He managed to tell me a bit about his life and his trip to England in the 70s to see part of Concorde being built in Bristol before wishing me a 'safe onward journey'

Anwyay as I was saying before our biggest problem has been in restaurants. Until last night, frustratingly, we had been reduced to eating some of the crappiest food the capital had to offer. This, a result of our　Indo-European language heritage which seems to make speaking a tonal language near bloody impossible. For the first couple of days I was picking words out of the phrasebook and in the process no doubt massacring the Chinese language. Failing that I simply waited for something that looked nice to appear on a neighbouring table and then pointed at it. Last night, however, things seemed to click. I managed to order a plate of fried rice and chicken with cashew nuts and recieved a plate of fried rice and chicken with cashew nuts. Perhaps I might just get the knack of this language yet.

Some photo's will, hopefully, follow. Every internet cafe so far hasn't had a accesible USB port.

Vietnam

paul — Wed, 27 Jun 2007 20:00:00 GMT

Arriving in Vietnam I immediately noticed that the grass was greener on the Vietnamese side of the border. Well actually it wasn’t greener as the Cambodian side of the border was actually a barren wasteland. I hoped that Vietnam would live up to this neatly manicured welcome.

Saigon, as it seems the majority of locals call the city, is a bustling metropolis of over 8 million and probably twice as many motorcycles. They are everywhere on the roads and, as I was later to discover, the pavement when the roads become too busy, or one motorist becomes frustrated. At first they create a real problem with crossing the roads, that is until you realise that the best way to proceed is to simple walk out and they will successfully negotiate you. The drivers here seem to have a great deal of experience at avoiding obstacles. In my three days in the city I saw no fewer than three motorcycle accidents which required some sharp thinking from Saigon’s road users.

Besides dodging motorcycles I managed to visit a number of sites made famous by the Vietnam War, the most impressive of which were the Cu Chi Tunnels. Here the Viet Cong would hide between 3-10m underground while ensnaring large numbers of ‘imperialist US aggressors’ and their ‘puppet soldier’ allies. The Vietnamese tour guide was so proud of this he kept pointing out that the Iraqis today are copying what the Viet Cong did forty years ago. With sightseeing in Saigon wrapped up we headed north on our $16 bus ticket. This would eventually see us to Hanoi, but first came a stop in Hoi An.

uses in this country, and any tours in general for that matter, always follow the same pattern. Invariably you are made to get out of bed way earlier than you need to as the bus spends the next hour driving around the town while it goes round the houses picking up everyone who is taking the bus. Then once the bus is full a small group will start to raise hell because the air conditioning isn’t working. What do you expect for $16? Finally, as these buses are invariably night buses, the same small group gob off or generally make a racket, but later, not too subtly, complain when one of the few Vietnamese people on the bus makes a noise while they are trying to sleep. I mean how dare they?

This all becomes very frustrating. God knows how some of them are out here as they seem to enjoy being shrouded in a protective bubble which safely transports them from one backpacker ghetto to the next without having to really come into contact with the country. Anyway rant over, but suffice to say I’m getting a little peeved with some of the fuckwits traveling around on mummy and daddies buck! Or maybe it is my lack of sleep from last nights twelve hour overnighter up to Hanoi.

Anyway, digression over: we arrived in Hoi An and spent three days doing very little besides purchasing some tailor made clothes. Why not? It was only $6 for a shirt, even if I didn’t understand half of the questions fired at me over while I stood there being measured. A casual shirt please, that’s all I ask. The questions, however, kept on coming and since they required a simple yes or no I made decided upon a vague movement of the head leaving the tailor to interpret it they though best. It all worked out fine and I am now the proud owner of four tailor made shirts, a pair of jeans and a pair of cords, all for the princely sum of $28!

After some shopping and a one especially long night on the beers with a group of lads we had met in Laos we were off again. This time the destination was Hue, a place which really didn’t speak to me. Maybe this was because I was knackered from the recent spate of late nights, or maybe, and this is probably more likely, it was because it was so hot that I couldn’t really be arsed to let it. Who knows? Maybe I’ll find out if I ever pass this way again.

Well I’m in Hanoi now feeling shattered, again the result of an overnight bus journey. However, what I’ve seen of the city so far I have liked. Even better is the fact that I am soon to be the proud owner of a train ticket which will transport me over 2000km to Beijing. This is good as I think I’ve had my fill of south-east Asia and I’m looking forward to a land where apparently few people speak English. It’ll be challenging if nothing else.

Gallery: Vietnam

paul — Tue, 26 Jun 2007 14:00:00 GMT

Gallery: Cambodia

paul — Sat, 16 Jun 2007 19:00:00 GMT

Just Another Temple?

paul — Sat, 16 Jun 2007 07:00:00 GMT

Since the inception of this trip I had wanted to travel overland as much as possible and really see the countries through which I was traveling while trying to do my bit for the environment. Clearly the second half of that statement is bollocks as I would never have set off in the first place if I was really that concerned. I digress. Upon arriving in Vientiane I had the nagging thought that flying out to reach Siem Reap was the only feasible option for onward travel.

With time, for the first time, becoming an issue in our planning, this the result of having spent two unplanned weeks lazing around in Laos it felt as though we were in a state of inertia, flying, therefore seemed a sensible option to kick start our trip again. The other option was a two day overland journey to Siem Reap through Thailand. This would have involved at least one train ride and bus ride in Thailand coupled with much haggling and slow uncomfortable travel once in Cambodia. We therefore decided to fly. The only downside to this plan was that the scheduled flights only flew at 6am on Sundays, Wednesday and Friday, it was midday on Sunday. we would have to spend another three nights in Vientiane having covered the majority of the sights! So much for kick starting the trip again, somewhat begrudgingly I parted 1.75million kip and booked passage on Laos Airlines flight QV512.

The flight itself was smooth. This despite the dubious safety record of Laos Airlines (they don't keep records of accidents) and the fact that the pilot abandoned the cockpit for a smoking break with the guy carrying out our refueling at a stopover in southern Laos. Other than this interesting turn of events little more happened. We were speedily processed at Cambodian immigration and before long playing games with a taxi driver who wanted to take us to the 'best' hotel in town, which surprisingly was owned by his friend. Upon finally getting our own way we settled on a fan cooled cell in a dusty part of town at the cost of $2.50, like in Laos the US dollar is strong here, in fact the cash machines dispense it in favour of the Camdodian Riel! With the room sorted I showered and having been awake since 4am passed out for a brief sleep. When I came to some three hours later I felt as though I was a part of the furnishings. With the relative humidity almost touching 90% and fan in the room having conked out sometime in my slumber I had fused with the bed. Dripping in sweat I peeled myself from the mattress, took my second shower of the day and headed out of the cell for some lunch, or breakfast.

The Angkor temple complex, for many people the sole reason to visit Cambodia, allows visitors to enter the complex 'free' for a sunset on the condition that a ticket in purchased for the following day. Knowing that neither of us would have the energy to cope with the current oppressive weather for a whole day Mark and I decided that we would take advantage of this and witness and skip it the following day, in favour a seeing sunrise and hopefully many of the other temples during the 'cooler' hours of the morning. For some spending only a day at this complex amounts to 'sacrilege' (Lonely Planet, 2006). The more pragmatic among us view spending almost a week or more touring temples as insanity, it turns out that the more pragmatic among us are wrong. Well maybe not wrong, but I would have enjoyed at least a second day.

Words don't really do these things justice, besides I don't really have a flowery enough vocabulary and find using superlatives combined with phrases such as 'it moved my soul and spirit' to describe an inanimate object carved out of stone somewhat cringe worthy, suffice to say these things are f@#king mega! After getting over the heat and the second early rise in as many days it was like being a kid again. For eight and a half hours I climbed up and down near vertical flights of stairs to view the surrounding temples and jungle, wandered through darkened passages to see immense carvings and clambered over enormous roots and trees of the jungle which had engulfed and were in the process of devouring the temple of Ta Prohm. All the while I handed out money like confetti to the poor kids that swarm around the ruins selling soft drinks and water to, sometimes extremely ignorant, tourists.

With our sightseeing at the Angkor complex over by 2:30 due to the exhausting effect of the heat we had an interesting chat with our tuk-tuk driver. It turned out that he was studying night classes in English and the history of the Angkor complex in the hope that one day he could be a tour guide at the Angkor complex. This seemed highly unlikely as he informed us that it costs almost $2000 to gain this license, an absurd amount in a country where, I have been told, the average civil servants annual wage is $240. Maybe this had something to do with the Petroleum Corporation which administers the complex and charges $20/day for admission a paltry 10% of which goes into the upkeep of the site. Where the remainder of this money goes is anyone’s guess. No doubt furnishing the lives of the criminal government that appears happy to consign a large number of Cambodians to a state of near destitution. And for this reason I was glad that I was leaving and bound for the capital Phnom Penh.

Gallery: Vientiane

paul — Tue, 12 Jun 2007 12:00:00 GMT

Shangri Laos

paul — Sun, 10 Jun 2007 17:00:00 GMT

It is almost two weeks now since I crossed the Laos Thai border in the far north and began my journey south, through the valley of the Mekong. In this time I have discovered what a fantasticly lazy place Laos is. The people here are great, the scenery is amazing and best of all the pace of life is as slow as Virgin Rail.

Going to a restaurant is a perfect example of the Laos ethos and an experience unlike that at home. It can take almost five minutes from sitting down, in a completely empty restaurant, to getting any attention from the staff. Then if you happen to be lucky enough to be served it will take a minimum of another half hour to receive any food as they actually prepare the food from scratch here, regardless of whether you are paying $2 or $20! If you are really lucky then you will see the waiter walk out of the restaurant, go to the garden and return a minute later with the fresh ingredients for your dinner. The other main difference here is that the Laos don’t seem willing to whore themselves out, as in Thailand, to chase the tourist dollar. When places close in Laos they close and that is their time, it's pretty refreshing.

Then there are the money games. At any one time in Laos you can be using three currencies and, as I noticed last night, in parts of Vientiane four currencies. The Thai Baht and US dollar are ubiquitous and in many cases preferred to the Laos Kip. This can cause problems as almost everyone will give different rates of Kip for Baht and Dollars. Therefore whenever it comes down to paying you indulge in the game of bartering over the value of a single Dollar or Baht or, as in my case last night, a Chinese Yuan!

The cities and towns here are, again, different to the rest of south-east Asia. After disembarking our slow boat at Luang Prabang, where we idly passed four nights, we have headed south; first to Vang Vieng, a sleepy chilled out town nestled within striking karstic scenery and adjacent to a former ‘secret’ US airbase and then onto Vientiane, the sleepy capital city of the Peoples Democratic Republic.

In Luang Prabang there was a real French influence, a hangover from the colonial era. The architecture was an interesting mix of French and Laos, but the French had also had an impact in other ways. Numerous bakeries selling fantastic fresh coffee, cakes and sandwiches dotted the streets and there was cheese available! On top of this it was possible to ride around the entire town in an afternoon on a bicycle. A truly novel experience!

Vang Vieng was, again, different; the town thrives on attracting backpackers. Here I floated down the Nam Song River whilst sitting in an inflated inner tube of a tractor tyre. This experience was interspersed with drinking and jumping of swings and zip lines into the water below. On other afternoons I hired a push bicycle for $1 and rode off onto the dirt tracks, called roads, and into the countryside to explore various caves, waterfalls and pools away from the crowds. All the while I managed to meet the local youngsters who spoke little English, but were willing to try and teach me Laos over a game of draughts played using upturned Coca-cola bottle caps.

Then yesterday I arrived in Vientiane and things have stalled, it is the weekend and nothing is open, the city seems to really embody the Laos spirit. Waking up I wandered to the bakery this morning, a five minute walk, and passed two other people, two of whom were tourists. Quite amazing for a capital city!

Well I'm leaving soon and I'm a little sad as this truly is a great place. I never had any intention of visiting this country and did so on a whim clearly I should follow my instincts more often. I can't wait to come back!

Slow Boating The Mekong

paul — Sun, 3 Jun 2007 16:30:00 GMT

It was time for a detour. For most of the last three months we had been following a fairly rigid plan which we had predetermined before leaving home. A change and some adventure was in order, to this end we booked onto the slow boat to Luang Prabang in Laos. Having spoken with many other travelers we had been informed that this former bastion of Communism was a paradise, similar in many ways to Thailand before it became tourism central.

Our journey began early with a scam. We were overcharged by $18 for the Laos visa by a sleazy tourism agent in Chiang Mai who appeared to be halfway through his sex change into a lady-boy. Mark and I, both realising this was a scam became rather irate. Unfortunately we had already paid this bastard to take us to the border so we didn’t want to ruffle his feathers too much and quietly resigned ourselves to the rip off.

A fairly uneventful bus journey brought us to Chiang Khong in northeastern Thailand to a Guesthouse staring down the town of Huay Xai in Laos over the Mekong River. This, relatively, narrow strip of water was all that condemned 5.8 million people to surviving on a mere $440 a year while living to an average age of 54, 13 years less than their Thai counterparts.

The journey the following morning began early. Numerous transfers were involved, firstly to the immigration office on the back of a pick up truck and then secondly across the Mekong on a boat which looked about ready to capsize! Throughout this we were getting reacquainted with the three Irish lads we had met in Kuala Lumpur. Since we had last spoken to them they had spent a month of solid drinking in Chiang Mai and had arrived late last night for the crossing to Laos.

Upon reaching Laos things seemed much the same, but different. The language was similar to northern Thai and the people were, like the Thais, welcoming and friendly. The first hint that we were in a one party, communist, partially police state came when upon leaving the immigration office our passports were seized for a ‘police check’. However, thirty minutes later they were returned and we were crammed like cattle into our tiny berths on the slow boat to Luang Prabang.

The term slow boat was no exaggeration. For six and a half hours the boat chugged its way down the Mekong. All the time negotiating jagged bedrock which jutted up at acute angles and, given the chance, would have torn the boat into tiny pieces should the helmsman have decided to have a momentary lapse in concentration. For an hour or more we passed nothing but mountains and trees. The only sign of habitation being occasional small huts with attached slashed and burnt clearings where a sole farmer was now raising a crop of rice. If I ignored the speakers, brought on board by some young English lads, churning out the latest Arctic Monkeys album I could have sworn I had been transported back in time!

Seven hours later and we arrived in Pak Beng the halfway point of our journey. Quickly, everyone disembarked fanning out to find the nearest available guesthouse before showering and heading back out for an Indian meal at a restaurant near the waterfront. Following the meal Mark and I shared some beers and guitar with the Irish lads, a couple of French fellas and a Japanese guy, who spoke as much English as I do Japanese. Promptly at 10pm the power was cut and the candles were lit we carried on for another hour until 11 when Mark and I headed back to our hotel.

An early rise the next morning saw us capture the ‘comfortable’ seats on the boat and we felt pretty smug. That is until we were promptly evicted and informed that these seats had been reserved for government officials and were ushered to the best seats in the house. In the Engine Room!

The boatmen arranged us some couch like chairs which covered three bums, but the remaining four of us were condemned, or so we thought, to sitting on the backpacks. All this time more backpacks were being passed back to us and it felt as though we should be drawing a wage for our efforts. So many bags came through that Mikey, one of the Irish lads, had been trapped in the rear of the boat and couldn’t be seen for the wall of bags. Something needed to be done. Within minutes of the engine starting we had rearranged to bags to make possibly the most comfortable seats/beds on the boat!

This time the first half of the journey passed like a dream. I was able to sleep for a good two hours of the journey and awoke to find that another five or more people had been drawn to the back of the boat. No doubt drawn to the smoky aromas which were gently wafting into the front part of the boat courtesy of Pier and Hoke, our French and Japanese friends of the night before.

The remaining six hours were a great craic. Beers were passed around and the guitars came out. There was a bit of a sing-along and all the while we drifted past ever more spectacular scenery. Upon reaching Luang Prabang at around 5pm it seemed sad to break up the party, but it will no doubt continue over the next couple of days. Even if pubs do close at 11:30 in Laos!

Gallery: Mekong and Luang Prabang

paul — Sun, 3 Jun 2007 16:00:00 GMT

Same Same But Different

paul — Mon, 28 May 2007 16:00:00 GMT

I had enrolled myself on a three day trek through the forested hills in the Chiang Dao area of northern Thailand. Over the course of the next three days I would have the pleasure of trekking over 20km in 35 degree heat with small breaks to swim, eat and visit caves.

The journey began nicely with a visit to an elephant camp where I had the pleasure or displeasure of riding on the back of an Indian elephant for an hour. This would no doubt have been a very enjoyable experience, if my elephant hadn’t decided that she was sick to death of bloody tourists showing up and expecting to be carried up steep muddy hillsides under her steam. This poor animal had no desire to be walking through the late morning sun with me on its back and was constantly stopping to pick fruit and veer of the designated route. The Mahout (elephant keeper) responded to this by firing fruit at its backside. ‘Nice one’ I thought ‘now’s the time to discipline the elephant when I’m sitting on its back with only a few ropes and crappy steel bars holding me in place!'

Fortunately nothing happened and the group was off into the hills under the guidance of Bowie, our tour guide. Bowie was not his real name of course, but the Thai tour guides choose names from western culture to make it easier for dumb arse foreigners to pronounce. I’m not sure how good a choice of name Bowie was as all throughout the trek two members of our tour group decided that every evening they would try to sing ‘The Man Who Sold the World’ and ended up sounding like a choir comprising an un-tuned foghorn and a strangled cat!

The trek started gently through rolling paddy fields and twisted up a dusty road until we reached a paddock where the real climb began. With us we had two fast and hard living middle aged Australians named John and Pat, Pat also being British expat, another Australian named Patrick and a French couple named Steven and Isabelle. Twenty minutes into the ascent Pat and John were beginning to show the strain of climbing in 35 degree as they poured with sweat and lagged near the back of the group. It was around this time when Bowie said his favored phrase. Responding to an inquiry from John regarding the gradient of the next section of the climb Bowie replied ‘same same, but different’, loosely translated as ‘steep, like the last bit, but instead of 30 degrees it’s nearer 45!

This pattern of ever more arduous sections of climbing continued for the best part of the day until we reached some fantastic limestone caves, whereupon everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief, the exception being Pat and John who stumbled into the cave and promptly collapsed into the nearest corner. Emerging from the caves twenty minutes later the sky had darkened and the rain began to fall. The air had cooled significantly, but the rain had made our descent treacherous as the path, comprised of slippy mud, skirted sheer drops of over 20m. I slipped a couple of times, fortunately not on the aforementioned sections, and when I reached the camp for the night I looked as though I had been wrestling in mud!

The camp itself was beautiful, bamboo huts perched on the edge of a valley overlooking a waterfall, which was chocolate brown as a result of the rain. The rain had also had the unfortunate effect of contaminating our washing water supply with loads of silt. Patrick, the younger Australian, had gone to have a shower only to make himself dirtier. In response to this he decided he would try and filter the water with his socks in order to properly clean himself. This was possibly the most comical thing I had ever seen and was made even funnier by the fact that both Steven, the French guy, and Patrick lived up to their national stereotypes. As Patrick was drinking and preaching about Australia while he waited for the water to settle Steven came along and up used a large amount of this ‘filtered’ water to try and clean his socks!

The next day was ‘same same, but different’ as we once again climbed steep hills and worked our way to a waterfall where we had the chance to bath and get a massage from the waterfall itself. It was at this point that the French departed, as they were only on a two day trek. As we bid them bon voyage Isabelle cackled with glee when Bowie once again, responding to Pats pitiful inquiry, informed us that the second half of the day would be ‘same same, but different’

And so it was for the remainder of the trek until Sunday morning when we walked downhill for over an hour whereupon we reached the river and white water rafting. Unfortunately there hadn’t been enough rain and the rafting turned out to be more of a gentle paddle down river, which ended with us all jumping into the river to cool off as we floated downstream to the truck which would take us back to Chiang Mai.

Gallery: Chiang Mai

paul — Mon, 28 May 2007 14:00:00 GMT

The City of Angels

paul — Sat, 19 May 2007 18:00:00 GMT

So Bangkok or Krung Thep as the Thai's call it. This translation however misses out fourteen other words which make up its full Thai name, yet intact it still doesn't give much of a description of what is to be found there! Roughly translated Krung Thep means the City of Angels, I'm not sure where this came from as the city is smoggy, congested and once again, although much more subdued than in India, full of rip off merchants!

After lazing around on the southern beaches and putting up with almost constant rainstorms I was happy to be heading back to the urban life. Arriving on the back of a twelve hour bus journey I was delighted to be awoken at 6:30 in the morning as this journey had been possibly the most uncomfortable of my time away. From the moment we had stepped aboard the omens had not been good. As foreigners, or farang as the Thai calls us, we had been given the prime seats next to the toilet and the wonderful aromas which wafted up the stairwell all through the night. On top of this the bus attendant seemed hellbent on putting us through hell. Within minutes of the sun setting the lights on the bus were suspended and loud music was pumped through the cabin. Quite what the logic behind this was I do not know. It seemed that the tour company were putting us through some sort of sensory deprivation. It seemed to work, within minutes all of the Thai passengers had closed their eyes and reclined their seats, irking me further. Perhaps this is how the Thais have learned to deal with long distant travel. I did, however, find humourous solace in an American passenger who did not stop complaining for the entire journey and when unable to read stormed off to the toilet and the sole onboard light to complete the remainder of his book. At least I wasn't as pissed off as this tortured soul.

Anyway, I digress. Having been in Bangkok for four nights already I still don't feel as though I have seen much of the city, this place seems to suck in time and give little in return. After the aforementioned bus journey I spent much of the first day in a stupor wandering around the Khao San Rd before taking a taxi to watch Thai boxing only to sit in the infamous Bangkok gridlock for almost and hour. Frustrated we jumped out and hitched a taxi back the way we had came in order to wake up for the next days excursion out of town. This exursion, where we risen at 6:30am, visited four different places in one day and managed to sit and touch a tiger, only exacerbated matters to the point where drinking three beers that evening felt like an all day session!

Events, however, returned to normality following an un-interuppted twelve hour rest period the following day. After completing a full day of sightseeing around the Grand Palace and Wat Pho, home of the 'reclining' Buddha along with some electronics shopping we managed to squeeze in a extended drinking session well into the wee hours. So far extended into the wee hours in fact, that the touts, who hang around outside our hotel thought I was off on another excursion when I returned to the hotel at the crack of dawn.

Well that pretty much covers my experience in Bangkok. We leave tomorrow afternoon bound for Chiang Mai and have seen no sex shows, or for that matter much prostitution. There have however been plenty of offers from persistent Tuk Tuk drivers, always accompanied with the customary cheeky grin as they pull out their crumpled little porno flyers as an aid to enticing tourists. Anyway enough of that only the FA Cup final to watch and I'm through with Bangkok although I would definetely return, despite the pollution, congestion and irritating local businessmen.

Gallery: Bangkok

paul — Thu, 17 May 2007 19:00:00 GMT

The Land of Smiles

paul — Fri, 11 May 2007 13:00:00 GMT

Before leaving Malaysia I had read that Thailand was the land of smiles and this is certainly true. Everyone smiles here. Even the immigration officer, who had kept me in line for over an hour and a half, smiled as he meticulously checked through my passport before issuing me with a thirty day tourist visa. Having spent almost eight hours on a freezing cold bus attempting to sleep Mark was not in the mood. For some reason all of the bus drivers here are air conditioning zealots, they don’t seem to have grasped that it is designed to keep the air at a comfortable, rather than a polar temperature! All the time we stood in line his lack of sleep became more acute and he cursed the fact that we hadn’t flown, which amused me and consequently I was smiling as we entered the country.

My smile soon faded away upon reaching our destination. I woke up to find myself surrounded by a bunch of sweaty Thai guys jabbering offers of buses and accommodation in my face. This is not a good thing as I am not particularly great company when I wake up. Losing my temper I waved them away and stormed off the bus into the tropical heat. Clearly I shouldn’t have been so smug at the border!

So I am in Thailand and it is raining! I had anticipated this later in the journey, but not yet it isn’t supposed to be rainy season yet! There have been two clear days in which I have spent much time in bed making up for the aforementioned bus journey and staying up late to watch Chelsea lose the Premiership. Fortunately this is over now and I won’t lose anymore nights sleep, except to drink!

After spending three days (one dry two wet) on the Andaman coast and upon the arrival of Marks mate Pez we headed to Ko Phi Phi by ferry. The journey began well with bright sunshine and lots of sun-cream, but within an hour we were heading into a rainstorm, which set the tone for the rest of the day.

Arriving at the island we were assailed with offers of accommodation from all sides. After forty five minutes of trying to decide I mentioned that the Lonely Planet had recommended going to a beach further down the island which you could only reach by boat and that maybe we should try there. The idea should have been left there. Instead, we decided I would go down and check it out while Mark and Pez waited in the main town to hear from me. To achieve this I would use Marks phone to text back what I found, if it was no good I would come back. Sounds simple, but at this point I should point out that I have never used it before, that I am a bit of a luddite when it comes to phones beyond nice, simple Nokias and am still unable to use predictive text.

I set off on my journey and no sooner than the boat had left the quayside did the sky began to darken and the sea become choppy. Upon reaching the beach the rain was beginning to fall in sheets and I was presented with the challenge of reaching the shore which was still a good fifteen metres distant! The boat had pulled up alongside five other boats and I was expected to boat hop to reach the shore.

Well the rain was really falling now, so quickly I set off; large rucksack on my back and my second bag, containing passport, camera, money and mp3 player, in another hand. I negotiated the first two boats successfully, wobbled a bit at the third before slipping on the forth and bouncing my knee of the side of the fifth whilst almost falling into the sea as I was unable to balance properly a la the bloody rucksack. Steadying myself I managed to negotiate the fourth and fifth, but was left with the tricky prospect of jumping to shore. All through this the boatman sat back and watched my plight with great amusment. Now I see why they call this the 'Land of Smiles', the locals get to watch the endless comedy of watching tourists make tits of themselves, and who can blame them!

Finally I made it to the shore, but not before falling into the sea in the process. Quickly I hurried to some cover and worked my way up the beach past numerous hotels and guesthouses, which were all full, until finally I reached the end of the beach where there we vacancies. I whipped the phone out and was immediately presented with the problem of predictive texting. I fucking hate this function, I myself have managed to nail down texting to the methodical spelling of words and can still do it as quickly as the predictive text function and therefore don't see the point of it! Well anyway I relayed what I had found to the guys: 'One rom for 3 1200 1 nite w con tmw Cost 1400 for 1 and get 2 fan 4 600. Seems ok'. Somehow they were able to comprehend this garbled message which had taken me ten minutes to write and immediately fired back a load of questions at me. At this point I gave up and simply replied 'pls get here'!

Eventually they arrived and we settled into an afternoon and evening of unabating wind and rain. We certainly didn't encounter much of the tropical paradise of which The Lonely Planet had spoken. Either way I decided that after the shit I had put up with today a swim in the sea was in order, and it was great. Never have I been in the sea and it felt warmer than the surrounding air. Every time I lifted my shoulders out of the water I shuddered in the cold and quickly dived back under into the clear blue waters of the Andaman Sea and was relieved that I wasn't trying to negotiate boat hopping, predictive texting or accomodation hunting. Now I was smiling again!