Travels Around The Far East

Iits' so easy to get blase on an extended trip like this. Another beach; another temple; another gleaming UNESCO protected old town; another sunset; another sunrise; another bone crunching 4 your journey down a dirt track bumpy enough to masquerade as the surface of the moon.

As far as boat trips are concerned, if you add them all together I feel that I have circumnavigated half way around the world. I have witnessed the fascinating hustle and bustle of Mekong life on its waterways. I have weaved around the limestone islands in the stunning Holong bay. I have also been up the beautiful Nam Ou river form Luang Prabang to Nong Khiaw in Lao.

Towards the end of my trip I found myself still being wowed by a boat trip. On 6th December I decided to make the trip to Angkor Watt in style by taking a 7 hour boat journey from Battambang to Siem Reap on the Tonle Sap river. The water levels were low as the boat crashed trough the marshes. Semi submerged tree branches seemed to reach out and grab passengers, perhaps asking for a tip. On this journey we passed through fishing boats, floating villages, schools, riverside communities and tremendous bird life.

The boat trip was a hard act to follow although Angkor did not disappoint. Some of these clusters of (mainly Hindu) temples date back to the 9th century. All are accessible from Siem Reap although transport is required. I bought a 3 day pass. In order to vary the experience I decided to tour around on a auto rickshaw for the first day, bicycle for the second day and motorbike taxi for the first day. Had I bought a 7 day pass then day 4 would have been elephant back, day 5 pogo stick, 6 space hopper and on day 7 I would have used astral projection to take me to the most remote of temples.

Angkor Wat is undoubtedly the 'A list' highlight. Even with the masses of tourists, witnessing sunset at Ankor Wat was magical. The other temples however still have their own unique characteristics, like faces on the Bayan temples and the intricate carvings on some of the smaller temples. As if to add to their mystical nature, many of the temples are so old that they have been strangled by tree routes (eg Ta Promh). To add to the atmosphere often land mine victim buskers play sweet traditional music whilst you wander around. Another highlight of the area is Kbal Spean where carvings are submerged in the River of a Thousand Lingas.

Siem Reap itself is a great place to stay (I patronised the charms of the distinctly non Hilton 'Wats Up' guest house). It is brimming with restaurants bars and fish massages. A fish massage is not a giant Haddock cracking your bones. It is when you practically stick your feet in a fish tank and let the fish eat away your dead flesh. I gave it a go and instantly the fish were gasping for breath.

On my last day at Siem Reap I got pally with my moto driver and was invited to dinner at his house. I met his pregnant wife and 3 year old son and saw where the other half live. Their hospitality was overwhelming even though their so call house was the size of a garden shed.

Teap is pronounced quite usefully as 'Tip' and he was my aformentioned moto driver. He took me to the airport the next day. When I jumped on the flight to Kuala Lumpur part of me was left. I had developed a huge fondness for Cambodia, its people and Indochina as a whole.

Kuala Lumpur, my final stop was a huge contrast to what had come before. It was a giant melting pot that played like a link between East and West or Asia's greatest hits. How about a bit of How about a bit of Chinatown, little India, colonial district with all the grandiose buildings and cricket field in the centre of town? I was staying in an Arabic district. I was never far away from the waft of the wonderful food from restaurants, cafes and ethnic food.

Arriving at 21st century Asia was however like having emerged from a 9 week coma. I initially cowered from the bright lights like a rabbit startled by a car headlights. Initially I mourned the laid back small town feel of almost everywhere in Indochina. I quickly started to like Kuala Lumpur on its own merits though.

In the numerous huge western style shopping Malls I was rudely reminded that Christmas was around the corner. And very christmassy it was for a country where Christianity is a minority religion. The decorations were extravagant and in one mall a female Malaysian singer was belting out cliched Christmas songs about snow and reindeers. She was oblivious to the 30 degree humidity outside.

Of course the Petronas tour dominates the skyline. Gleaming modern stupas worshiping the god of consumerism.
All in all a great place, One thing I like about it is that it is a city with lungs. There are wonderful parks that provide opportunities to glimpse the towers from different. One park is effectively a city jungle complete with monkeys swinging around. Another park was shared with the biggest walk in aviary in the world.

It was on the penultimate day of my trip that I sat on one of the endless steps leading up to the impressive Batu caves. These huge caves are perpetually busy with Hindu worshipers visiting the cave temple. I sat admiring the Kuala Lumpur skyline and was flicking through the pictures on my camera. Suspecting that a cold grey Manchester was only 2 days away I tried to will myself to the time that some of the older pictures were taken. I tried to transport myself to the mountains of Sapa or the streets of Georgetown, Penang. It didn't work even though I had been sipping a can of Kickapoo Joy Juice. This was a popular Malaysian fizzy drink, and I hoped, a space time vortex lubricant. As a last resort I searched in vain for a discarded Tardis and eventually came to the conclusion that I could not play with time.

Alas the end of my trip, a journey of a lifetime. At least I still have the photos, the memories and the dodgy souvenirs and also the ability to dream of my next trip.

Plenty of room in the ash tray. Move on down the rear axel. Can you move down the boot please?. Sir there is still a lot of space in the glove compartment. Just hold on to the exhaust - it is very comfortable".

Oh the joys of shared taxis! There is often a speed/comfort dilema. Do I take a comfortable coach wth a seat to myself for the 150km East bound journey from Kampot to Phnom Phen? But this takes 5 hours Or do I take the taxi that takes the route over a bridge (designed only for smaller vehicles) that dramatically halves the journey? A no brainer for me because I find road travel pretty boring. It does not evesdrop through the landscape from the interesting angles that a train can. The taxi ride however proved to be a must for any trainee contortionist. All was going well. We set off at 8 am. Just myself and 2 local chaps. I was paying $7 which I know was the considerably higher foreigners rate. That was however justified since I was taking up considerably more space than my small 'framed fellow passengers. Then we picked up a local lady. Then, to my horror, 3 more people squeezed into the front passanger seat, albeit one of them was a toddler of 3 years old. So that's 8 people in an ordinary saloon, including the driver.

If that journey was like being crushed like an orange juice extractor, a couple of days prior to this I was clearly in a cocktail shaker of a ride. Kampot is on a picturesque location by the river. Certainly it is tatty round the edges although it is being earmarked for development. There is not much to do in the town although it is is a good base. One day I took a motor bike taxi around some local sites including a decent beach called Kep. On another day I decided to take an excursion to Boker national park. This is where the king used to take a ride on an elephant. Our party were spared the royal luxary though. After a cramped but brief journey in a mini bus and a 3 hour steap jungle trek (whilst walking I saw a millepede the size of a small snake), there then followed 1 hour winding journey on the back of a truck. The road conditions were so horrendous that it felt like being pushed up an endless flight of stairs on a shopping trolly. It was all worth it though despite all my internal organs being completely rearanged on the journey.

We arrived on the top of Boker hill and the view was amazing. In the 1920s the French set up a hill station complete with church, school, shops post office and Casino. The French however abondoned this little village when the Cambodians were fighting for independece in the 1940s. In The 70's it was abandoned again for the Khemer Rouge to take over. It was caught in the cross fire in the war with the invading Vietnames in the late 70s. The numerous bullet holes are a testament to that. It is now all overgrown, deralict and very very spooky. From the carcus of the Casino there is a huge drop into the jungle below. This is where too many riels (Cambodian currency) were gambled away and people jumped to their death to escape their dept burden. allegedly it is haunted. You can imagine the Scooby mobile turning up, with the usual unmasking of the park warden, to which he would protest "I would have done it if it wasn't for those pesky kids" . By the way is Fred gay, does Dafney put it around a little and is Thelma (that's the one ith the glasses) happy after the sex change? Let's not mention Shaggy and Scoobies relationship.

After being seriously shaken and stirred by the preceding few days I arrived again in Phenom Phen. At this point I decided to slow the pace down. The following afternoon I found a tranquil spot by a lilly pond under the shade of a tree. The capital could just about be glimpsed over a number of fields. I sat in contemplation the birds sang their song. For it was around this spot in Cheoung Ek where 17000 detainees held in the S-21 prison were brutally brought here and beaten to death. Also known as the killing Fields. Big holes in the ground mark where the mass graves were.

Yesterday morning with the horrific museum images still in my mind I took the bus to Battembang, the 2nd biggest city. Like Kampot, it is located by the river. And if Kampot is full of faded battered colonial charm then Battembong has even more " run over by a herd of elephants and then squashed in an olive press" , 10 on the GBH scale charm. The town is like a giant unmade bed but I kind of like it.

I will leave this town tomorrow, bed unmade, to take the boat up the Tonle Sap river to Siem Reap for the penultimate leg of my journey. I think I am going to miss the excitement of moving on and arriving at a new destination. In my usually basic but clean hotel the first thing I read are the obligitary police enforced notices. "No explosives. No deadly weapons. No illegal drugs. No poisonous substances. No Prostitution".

I am going to sign off now. In a few hours time I will be retirng to my room to embark on the usual poisonous drug fueled, gun toting orgy which will probably end in a bang.

Mr Bean is not just a sporadically amusing rubber faced buffoon in a near silent BBC comedy with global appeal. You know, the consistently irritating creation that lags far behind the genius of Rowan Atkinson's other Creation - Blackadder. This Mr Bean is a 60 year old Vietnamese travel guide who on a daily basis takes tourist around the notorious Cu Chi Tunnel network (near Saigon) that helped the Viet Cong defeat the Americans.

An entertaining and witty guy, the laughter lines however hide an arduous life. In the late 60's his sympathies were clearly with the Communists in the North. This was until one day when the troops came and murdered his 20 year old fiance in Saigon. Raging with anger and grief he left the country and went to live in America. His father was a US citizen living in Saigon of Filipino origin. He eventually joined the US army and came back to Saigon 2 years later to fight with them. In 1973 the war was over and 2 years later North and South were reunified. The communist victors forced their people into 5 years of internal oppression. It was during this time that Mr Bean's sympathies were discovered and he was sent to a reeducation camp for 5 brutal job. His job was in mine clearance.

1980 saw his release in the year that effectively ended more or less 120 years of internal and external conflict in Vietnam. So he went to his family home to find that it had been occupied by the military and was hence turned away. He tried to find his family but nobody gave any solid answers, only that they had fled. Without even 2 dongs to rub together he had to start earning money from scratch, including dealing with bootleg goods.

In the 90s, with the advent of the Internet he was able to locate his family and fortunately all his immediate family had survived. Some were living in the US. Mr Bean's story could make a movie and indeed he counts as his friends the film director Oliver Stone who directed a Vietnam Trilogy. Mr Bean's story captivated the audience on the 90 minute bus journey to the tunnels. He was full of criticism for America's (let us not beat around the George Bush) genocide in Vietnam and for the harsh treatment of the communist oppressors. This is the first time anyone has spoken for so long and so openly about his life.

Learning about Mr B's experiences on route to the tunnels gave the actual visit some added resonance. What followed brought it home further. It is always an option on the tour for foreigners to experience living in what was 5km of underground tunnels. There is a short stretch that has been cleared of snakes (one hopes) and has been widened to fit Westerners. It was however still a claustrophobia inducing mere 120 metres that I crawled through. It was hot, dusty and often pitch black. It quite honestly felt like a kilometre and I could not wait to get out. I did however have to contend with this German guy in front of me who wanted to take photos every few metres. I must admit I was hoping for one stray snake to do its job. Still it could be worse. He could have been flatulent and obese.

My only battles recently have been the losing battle with traffic in Ho Chi Minh (Saigon). I therefore decided to escape on a 5 day tour of the Mekong Delta, all the way to Phenom Penh in Cambodia. This was mainly by boat. This entailed exploring the main channels together with the smaller tributaries via rowing boat and small motor boat. I also got to tour around the little hamlets on a bicycle. This was truly like experiencing another world. People, lived, worked, breathed in the river and on a cold night, probably played scrabble on their boats. We passed a number of floating markets, boats selling a diversity of products: Papayas, melons, wood, chickens, chairs, double glazing, annuity bonds etc. Myself, a German girl and a guy from (would you believe it) Cheadle Hulme took a home-stay together on a Mekong island. They seemed decent ordinary people. In fact I met up with Tom from Cheadle Hulme only last night. You always meet eccentrics though. For example there is John from Canada, a 60 year old aging hippy whose answer to anything was to take his harmonica out and play. This was to the bemusement of the border control people in Cambodia.

So a couple of instrument free days followed for me in in Phenom Penh. This included the contrast of visiting the royal palce and a former school that was turned into a torture chamber during Pol Potts regime. Pretty heavy going but there is something quite likable about the city and it is more appealing than Ho Chi Minh. Despite the obligatory traffic hell, the place is littered with pagodas,l temples and parks. It is a modern city but seems to have one eye on the past. The begging is a bit intense though and the litter seems to pile high.

I felt that I needed some light relief hence I am now in Shihanoukville, the premier beach destination. Golden sand, beach bars, boat trips to a tropical island called Bamboo Island. I stayed on a beach called Serendipity. I seem to remember that the word is to do with fate resulting in good things happening. It did not quite happen with me and indeed a couple of nights ago it was looking ominous. I was drinking a couple of nights ago with a couple of guys who turned out to be gentlemen from the criminal fraternity. After a few beers - and after I had found this out I made my excuses and left. I will tell you the story when I get home.

To be continued.

PS: I cant seem to get the letter that comes betưeen v and X so I am úsing Ư instead

I is now a week since the hairdresser misinterpreted "can you cut it quite short?" to mean "can you please shave it of completely so that my scalp becomes a bright red lollipop under the sun". An easy mistake to make. My scalp though há progressed from totally bald, to Bhuddist Monk stubble, to convict to military cut. I quite like it now .

On 9th November (follicular massacre day) I took an overnight bus to the Seaside town of Nha Trang. Quite a built up but thankfully none of the tackiness that comes with many of the European Anglosised resorts. Golden fine sandy beaches snake round the coastline, interrupted by some fascinating rock formations. Unfortunately there is a lot of litter on the beach at the moment caused by the recent Typoon. To seek cleaner beaches I toôk a 4 island boat tour. Unfortunately the sophistication police were not at hand that day. The Vietnamese unfurtunately suffer from the verbal disease that spread initially from Japan 20 odd years ago. Thêre is yet no known cure from kảreoke othẻr than removal òf the vocal cords. Every other bar or hotel boasts about thêse talent dodging contests. Thêre is no répite even at sea!

Our on board tour guide, despite not being able to sing a note, did have an amazing repotoir of international sóngs. He ưent ảround the boat asking for people to join him in a rendition of their native song. To my astonishment he new populảr Korean, Japenêse and Israli songs. He did however stretch the definition of a national song. Somehow Yellow Submarine became Canadian. I was waiting for him to ask me and I was prepared to come up with a fake nationality - from Lichtenstein or San Marino, Suriname or Andora. Fortunately he didn't even ask me. If he had he probably would have known a 19th cẻntury Sea Shanty from land Locked Andora.

One travel fad came out of Vietnam about 15 years ago. This is the Easy Rider tour. This is based on what I consider to be a very over rated cult film ưith Jack Nicholson and Peter Fonda basically going on a road trip getting stoned. This is a clean and sobẻr version. This is where you travel pillion style and the driver/guide takes you on an often off the beaten path tour of the coutnry. This can be a one day trip or evern I have heard a 21 day trip. I decided to go for a 2 day trip. I chose a guide who spoke very good English and who worked for a reputable company. He came up with a suggested itinery that included a one night stay by a lake in in the Central Highlands. This is an area that I dub the lake district of Vietnam.

So I was taken around winding coutry roads and major roads. We stopped at Coffee plantations, tea plantations, small sillk factories (from silk worm to finished garment in one location), small clay brick making factories, shrimp farms, fishing villages specialising in cuttle fish. We flew by some stunning scenery. Some of the hills were curiously as bald as my head. This it was explained was the effects of agent orange - over 35 years on whole patches of forrest devoured of vegitation. I was even introduced to one of the only divorced women in rural Vietnam. Despite being hemôrrhoid inducing bum it was a good experience and Son (my guide) was very informative and good company. We sank a few beers together on the first night.

Son dropped me off in Dalat. At an elevation of about 1500 metres it is one of the coldest spots in Vietnam. All that meáns is that you don''t need a fan or AC - just a thin blanket. In the evening though a thin sweater will do for me although the locals are often dressed in arctic attire. In Dalat I did a bit of sight seeing , went on a cable car ride and did a one day walk. The scenery is very European with the many pine forrests. Tigers had however inhabited thêse hills á recently as 50 years ago although conflict had killed them off. Thêre are also stories that the locals killed them as they posed a threat. Apparently King Cobras were however still part òf the wildlife population according to one of the trekking guides who told me that he encountered one during a waterfall walk.

Conflict had also largely destroyed the local railưay line. There ís though a short 8km run still functioning as a tourist attraction. This only runs if there are enoough customers. Myself and 2 retired Australians endered up chartering a single carraige old diesel train for about 15 quid between us. Now that is something that you get to do much.

Last night I took an overnight bus to sprawling, noisy Saigon. I have crossed about half a dozen roads today and the stress of it takes it out of you. I bumped into this English chap Hastings who I had first met in Holong bay. We are going to hit china town tonight to recover from traffic trauma. The day after next I will embark effectively on a 5 day trip (mainly by boat) to Cambodia.

Over and out.

We flew by some stunning scenery.

"Where you go"? "I can help you". "You looking for chip hotel?" "I take you to Boom Boom girls - very good price". "You want Marijuana?"

Whereas before I seemed to be greeted with a mere "Hello taxi". Now every motorbike taxi driver in Vietnam seems to think I am up for prostitution and / or drugs. I have developed a way of curtailing this questioning however. They always ask about my intended destination first. I simply state somewhere very far away. I am now in Hoi An in the middle of the country. So if I say either Hanoi or Saigon which are both at least 500 km away. If I am feeling a little inventive I will say that I am popping in to Holland for some wacky backy on route to a whore house in Texas. What will the fare be?. Or sometimes my retort to "where you go?" is " to a far and distant galaxy many light years from here". "OK $30 - very chip price"

After 4 days of walking around the mountains of Sapa - relaxing on a boat was surely the tonic. I took another organised trip to Halong bay. This is the Vietnam that I have dreamed of and it certainly lived up to its expectations. This is about 150 kilometers East of Hanoi on the Gulf of Talking. Natures works of art: mighty harst island formations seem to rise impossibly out of the sea. An awesome sight to behold. As well as the hundreds of traditional 'junk' style cruise boats, fishing boats weave around these islands, stopping off in little floating villages for refueling or to sell their catch. We spent one night on the boat and one night on an island. Sunset on the boat was magical. Just after that I jumped into the enticingly warm water for a swim. The following day started with a 45 minute kayaking session around the bay. Bliss. When on dry land a short but steep jungle trek to a up a rickety metal lookout tower for the best views of the bay. My attention was however distracted by hundreds of giant menacing hornet creatures straight out of Jurassic park. They seemed to patrol the look out tour. Our guide for that trip was a thin wiry bloke of about 50 who could not speak English. He could however make monkey noises and swing from the vines with one hand though. There was not attempt to educate us on the rich nature surrounding us. He was more concerned about mischievously throwing. sticky flower buds at us whilst running around like a naughty school kids. Jungle man, as he will be known is the most eccentric man (or half man) I have met this holiday.

After my return from Halong Bay I spent another night in Hanoi, visiting another couple of museums and just looking around. One of them was the Ethnographic museum. I spent all morning looking around the recreation of village life representing different ethnic Vietnamese communities. At least it was not as stooped in propaganda as some of the museums of the single party Socialist Republic of Vietnam. Like the womens museum that had on display the glorious dedication of women soldiers in their fighting of the imperialist enemy. Another museum that I can't quite remember kept referring to the American soldiers as puppets.

Politics is something that people do not talk much about. One individual who will remain nameless (just in case someone is reading this) spoke of the disappearance of his countrymen who opposed the regime. Although certainly not a paid up member of the single party state fan club, I was curious to see the Vietmese president who was on a visit in Hanoi. In preparation for the occasion an break dancers dancers and (rather strangely) circus acts where preparing to entertain the guy. (Maybe a lion tamer of juggling act would cheer up Gordon Brown). It was fascinating watching the build up for this, with all the press gathering, and rehearsals. I observed as a suspicious parked car was turned away. Then that was it. All the uninvited spectators were abruptly whistled off the street. Anyway - it was his loss.

One thing that can't be doubted though are the scars that dig deep into modern Vietnam. It is a very young country and it appears that the majority of the population are not old enough to remember the war. Of those that could shed some light there seem to be an absence of over 55's. It is almost like a generation has disappeared. Even those born in 1971 are affected like a guide on a recent tour. He informed me that his father had died 6 months before he was born. Another bombing victim. In Laos the story is similar. One chap told me that his grandfather had stepped on a mine and that was the end of him.

Cant discuss politics any more. Big brother and all that. After a one day return to Hanoi for a night it was off to Hue for a couple of nights after a 12 hour sleeper bus journey. I was told 12 hours but it became 15. Not bad though. Quite comfortable for anyone my height or shorter though. Hue was the political capital up to 1945. Theres a citadel to visit and a number of grand tombs built to honour a number of emporas along the Song Huong (Perfume River).

After that I intended to take a train to the 3rd biggest city Denang. I got to the station and either the train was full or had broken down. Anyway I decided not to wait for the comfortable tourist bus but instead was crammed in on the local coffin. Clearly only designed for tiny Vietnamese people. The ticket collector joked that I should pay double the fare because I am double the size. It turned out to be an enjoyable journey. I was the only foreigner in a bus packed with about 40 people. I had a could chat with some of the locals and shared there strange snacky things. Fishy tasty things in banana leaves.

I took a motorbike taxi via the marble hills (Bhudist temples in caves) to Hue. Certainly one of my favourite places so far. I think I must have stepped into a time warp and walked into 17th century Vietnam. A living museum. It is all narrow streets, with some immaculate ( UNESCO preserved) houses and shops. Complimenting nicely with this is the crumbling charm of the yet to be restored buildings. This used to be a trading port for the Chinese, Japanese and Europeans. You can see all the influences.

Yesterday was a visit to Myson - ancient remains of a 4th century Cham civilisation. 40 degrees - too hot to appreciate. Today the beach. Tonight an overnight bus further south to Nha Trang (more beaches). I got a hair cut today. Unfortunately the lady did not understand very short and she proceeded to practically shave it all off. It gets rid of grey hair though but so does the guillotine . I guess I will be wearing my baseball hat for some time now.