The domestic terminal turned out to be rather useless in terms of enquiring about available airport hotels; there were no airport representatives and the only hotel booking agent insisted on showing us the 'foreign' prices in US dollars which were at least double the 'local' prices and without any added extras.  It soon became apparent that we would have better luck at the international terminal.  Upon sensing our plans to change location, the freelance taxi drivers – who had been snapping at our heels, touting for business as soon as we set foot outside customs – crowded in even closer, shouting and pleading for the 'rights' to our journey.  Why on earth they would think we would take a rip-off taxi when there was a free domestic-international shuttle bus was quite beyond us.  Despite announcing our intention to take the shuttle, the taxi drivers remained in denial about its existance and continued attempting to block our path all the way to the bus stop.  We managed to catch the shuttle bus, which, despite being an airport shuttle bus, was of course completely ill-suited for transporting anyone with a bag larger than a child's backpack. 

Arriving at the international terminal we soon realised we had simply swapped one set of annoying, aggressive, taxi touts for another, and worse, this being the international terminal, their prices and expectations had gone up.  Our search for a hotel didn't fare much better either.  Jakarta, the bustling business, economic, and political capital of Indonesia – one of the world's most populous countries – it seems, has only one airport hotel, and its cheapest room was a whopping 4 times our usual accommodation budget.  Again, there were no hotel representatives (apart from the Sheraton, whose 6-times-our-budget cheapest rooms were growing more appealing with every taxi driver who appeared).  By this time we were beginning to feel overwhelmed, the taxi drivers were continually standing inbetween us and joining in our conversations with tourist information and hotel agency staff. 

We snapped. 

Suddenly the idea of spending 16 hours in transit in Singapore airport sounded like heaven compared to spending one more minute in Indonesia.  We headed straight to the Singapore Airlines desk to enquire about changing our flight to the next available plane and nearly kissed the official in charge when she managed to get us 2 seats on a flight leaving in an hour.  All of a sudden we had checked in our bags (all the way to the Philippines) and were running through customs and immigration to reach our gate in time. 

Perhaps we are being a little hard on Indonesia, certainly its touts were not as annoying as in India; we did find it an amazing and fascinating country, and we both agree we would love to return to explore the islands further.  Surprisingly, by this stage in out trip, we have become less, rather than more, tollerant of the scams, touts, lies, rip-offs and tricks that so often plague western backpackers in developing countries.  Unfortunately, whilst we have met incredibly interesting and generous people in every country we have been to, seen beautiful countryside and admired truly inspiring sights, there always seems to be a 'but' in the form of aggressive drivers and touts.

And so we ended up in our beloved Singapore Airport, an airconditioned pocket of escape in between countries.  We were tempted to spend our entire time in transit making use the the free internet, cinema, and other amenities, but sensibly decided some sleep would be wise.  We exited the airport for the night and took a comfortable room in a nearby hotel, which amazingly, cost roughly the same as some of the cheapest 'foreign price' hotels we were offered in Jakarta.  The following day we finally made it to our next country: the Philippines.

We landed in Manila and soon settled into a comfortable 'pensionne' (guesthouse) in the city centre.  Upon arrival in the Philippines we were immediately hit by the Spanish influence left over from colonial days.  The filipino language is littered with Spanish words, the food has a very Spanish/Mexican taste, and even the music and architecture hinted of a Spanish past.  For a few days we kept experiencing moments of confusion when we would wonder whether we had landed in Mexico instead. 

A Filipino 'jeepney' – the main form of transport throughout the islands.

Our time in Manila was spent recuperating from our journey and catching up on admin tasks.  Despite the close proximity of some pretty impressive shopping malls and restaurants, the beach was calling.  We re-packed our bags and headed to the tourist capital of the Philippines – Cebu.

We checked into our flight at 4am, along with many other bleary-eyed passengers and 4 or 5 rather chirpy cockrels (presumably being transported for a cock-fighting match, the number one sport in the Philippines).  Eric swore he could hear the birds crowing as we landed in Cebu City at 6am.  A taxi ride, 4 hour bus ride, and boat ride finally brought us to the small island of Malapascua , off the northern coast of Cebu.

The perfect beaches of Malapascua.

The tiny island of Malapascua is ringed with beautiful white-sandy beaches dotted with towering palm trees and wooden bungalows.  The surrounding clear waters provide endless diving and snorkelling posibilities for enthusiasts.  Most divers visit the deep waters of Malapascua to find the very distinguishable thresher sharks – who swim up to a 25-meter plateau to be serviced at a 'cleaning station'.

We secured ourselves a spacious beach front bungalow and soon found ourselves splashing around in the refreshing sea.

Our first afternoon in this paradise setting was perfect.  Anticipating a sunny week filled with snorkelling, diving and lounging on the beach, we got an early night's rest.  Unfortunately, despite having a powerful modern fan blowing air throughout the room during the sticky airless night and a large mosquito net  over our beds keeping the countless mosquitos away, we could not sleep.  We were already exhausted from our trip from Manila to Malapascua, so the added sleep deprevation made us feel worse.  This seemingly perfect environment was flawed after all.  Nevertheless, we decided to give Malapascua another chance and we spent a very enjoyable day on the beach: snorkelling, snoozing in the hammocks and investigating diving options to see the thresher sharks.  However, the following morning after another restless night, our decision was made, we were leaving the island to head back to the mainland in search of another beach….and some sleep!!!

Local fishing boats are used to ferry people and supplies to and from the island; we sadly boarded one, departing from Malapascua much earlier than expected.

The bus back to Cebu City was a long, dusty, bumpy ride.  The bus was a local non-ac one, meaning it had no glass in the windows and sought to cool its passengers by driving as fast as possible thereby creating a strong through-breeze throughout the bus.  We arrived in Cebu City tired, dirty and with stinging dry sore throats from breathing the dusty air for 5 hours.  We managed to find what looked like a clean, respectable hotel and gratefully crawled into bed.  Unfortunately, the hotel staff had failed to inform us of the 'hotel improvements' currently being carried out (we later saw some small 'discreet' notices).  At 7am we were awoken from our much needed slumber by the revirberating sound of a hand drill, occasionally accompanied by a very enthusiastic worker and his sledge hammer.  We were beginning to feel like we were trapped in a comedy sketch which portrays a helpless victim and his quest for one decent nights sleep!!

We packed up our bags and headed to the bus station to try our luck in the southern part of Cebu Island.  Our destination was the popular tourist spot of Moalboal – which has long been a magnet for divers exploring the reefs of the Philippines.  Because it was the beginning of the low season, we easily secured a great deal on a large, air conditioned, bungalow in a resort with a pool (our first since Myanmar).  We had a tasty lunch and retired to our room for some blissful, undisturbed, sleep.

The view of the warm, crystal clear waters as seen from our resort restaurant.

Our resort in Moalboal turned out to be the perfect place to relax and enjoy a 'holiday' at the end of a year of heavy travel.  Laying poolside under the cooling shade of the trees, we indulged ourselves in the tranquility and privacy of the resort.

However, after a few days, we got bored of relaxing and so signed up for an Advanced Scuba Diving course.  The intensive 2-day course involved reading textbooks, answering questions and completing 5 technical dives.  The reef life we witnessed was phenonmenal; we bumped into (almost literally) 3-4 turtles on each dive, and saw our first poisonous sea snake!  Having completed our Advanced Diving Certification, we managed to fit in one last fun dive before it was time to head back to Cebu City.

A small glimpse of the beatiful reefs in Moalboal.

On our final dive we came across the wreck of a WW2 aeroplane.

Our time in Cebu City was brief.  We failed to visit any cultural or historical sites, deciding instead to spend prescious time in shopping malls where we treated ourselves to some new items of clothing (ie jeans!!).

Our stay in Cebu City coincided with the beginning of the Football (soccer)World Cup.  To our horror, we realised we were in the one Asian country which does not follow football.  Whilst the Filipinos are avid sports fans, their passion lies almost solely in American Basketball.  Almost every person we met could talk knowledgably about specific aspects of the LA Lakers recent playoff breakdown, but remained clueless about football (Manchester who??).  It turned out there were only 3 places in the entire city where we would be able to watch the opening matches….and that's how we bizarrely came to be sitting in our scruffy, dirty, traveller's clothes, in the middle of the Marriott Hotel lobby bar, sipping gin and tonics at 3am in the morning.

We left Cebu and headed for the bright lights of Hong Kong – our final Asian destination.

Our tour of Indonesia began with an 8 hour train ride to Yogyakarta – central Java's main hub.  Whilst Jakarta is the archipelago's financial and political center, Yogyakarta is often seen as the cultural capital. 

Waiting on the platform for the train in Jakarta, we watched in amazement as morning commuter trains whizzed by with people hanging out of open doorways.  As the train pulled into the platform, station porters would run alongside and leap through the open doors to tout for business before the train had come to a complete stop.  It's safe to say the term 'health and safety' does not exist in the Indonesian transport system.  When our train arrived there was a gentle scramble for seats; the carriage was a little dirty and shoddy, but the seats were large and comfortable and the journey turned out to be fairly painless.

Yogyakarta
Central Java

After checking into a hotel, we made our way to a local restaurant for a traditional Indonesian meal of sate ayam (or chicken satay).  We washed down our meal with a bottle of Bir Bintang, the local beer – not bad, but we fear nothing will compare to the smooth refreshing taste of Beer Lao.  Yogyakarta is definitely more chilled and backpacker friendly than Jakarta; the streets are filled with people hanging around trying to sell batik and the roads crammed with rickshaw drivers – who also all seem to have friends owning the city's cheapest art and batik shops.

The following morning, we took a twenty minutes stroll through town to the Kraton – the sultan's palace; easier said than done, as we constantly had to dismiss the unrelenting offers and shouts by the touts, drivers and salesmen along the way.  The sultan's palace is still used by the present day sultan, so we could only access a small part.  Our tour guide walked us around the reception hall and surrounding buildings taking us through the history and meanings of various carvings and paintings.  There were large bird cages lining the pathways each one housing a cockerel – this we were told was the palace alarm clock system – no joke!! 

The Sultan's alarm clock stands ever ready…no batteries necessary.

Deciding we could no longer avoid the inevitable, we let our guide talk us into visiting a 'government' batik shop. 

At the shop we were shown the batik design process – the application of beeswax and layers of colored dye.  Despite the 'no pressure to buy', we did of course walk away with a small sample. 

Leaving the batik shop, we went to a traditional puppet museum to get a short glimpse of how Indonesian shadow puppets are made.

The puppets are carved out of thick buffalo skin and erected on to buffalo horn sticks and then painted.

We continued our exploration of the old city wandering a maze of narrow alleyways, crammed with hastily built houses and vibrant with daily life.  We passed rather quickly through a bird market, with the increasing threat of bird flu not many tourists linger in these markets anymore. 

The birds on sale were mostly pigeons, though there were a few parrots, sparrows and owls.  The merchants also sold bird food in the form of live crickets, cockroaches and mounds of maggots and ants. 

The next day began at 4:30 in the morning, when we caught a tour bus to the temples of Borobudur and Prambanan.  We stopped en route to take photos of Mount Merapi – usually only visible in the early hours before being hidden by the almost daily overcast skies.

Currently the world's most active volcano, Mt. Merapi has been making world-wide headlines with its imminent eruption.

Our first stop was Borobudur – a Buddhist temple built in the early 9th century; this colossal structure is considered to be one of the great South East Asian monuments.  The temple was shrouded in clouds when we arrived, creating quite a serene and spiritual atmosphere.  The temple is a 4-sided, 6-tiered squat pyramid covered with Buddha figures, stupas, and lion/dog stone carvings.  We spent a few hours admiring the temple structure and the views from the temples top when the clouds cleared. 

Because of the temple's large size and position on top of a hill, it was hard to capture in its entirety.

The carvings remain in excellent condition.

Buddhas and beasts protect the temple.

The top tier is ringed with stupas, each containing a depiction of Buddha.  It is considered lucky if you are able to reach through the diamond gaps to touch the statue inside.

Also at the top were a group of students taking a practice english exam.  They cornered us in groups of 3 or 4 politely inquiring if they could ask us a few questions and of course take the inevitable photos.  After the first two to three encounters, we resigned ourselves to our fate…

If only we could charge for each photo….

After Borobudur, we visited Prambanan – the most grand Hindu complex in Java.  The largest and most intricate of these temples is the Shiva temple, which stands flanked by 5 or 6 other chapels and a field of ruins.  Most of the larger statues inside the temples seemed to have disappeared or been heavily damaged but the outsides remain in impressive condition with quite ornate carvings.

From afar Prambanan resembles one of the great Angkor Wat temples of Cambodia.

Not all the temples of Prambanan have survived into the 21st century.

Soon after it was built Prambanan was deserted for reasons unknown before being rediscovered in the 20th century.

The carvings that line the outer walls of the temples tell the stories of Hindu gods.

Our sightseeing complete, we returned to the city to pack and prepare for our journey to Mt. Bromo the following morning.  Despite our grumblings in our blog about the annoying touts and taxi drivers, we have also met a host of genuinely friendly and helpful people in Yogyakarta and Indonesia in general.  We hope the people and city of Yogyakarta make a swift recovery from the recent devastating earthquake.

Mount Bromo
East Java

A 10 and a half hour bus ride took us from Yogyakarta to the small village of Cemoro Lawang which sits on the lip of the Tengger crater. The crater is home to Mount Bromo, an active volcano, which is one of three mountains which sit in the center of the caldera.  The next morning at 3am, we got up and stumbled down to some waiting jeeps which would take us on a bumpy twisty journey to the top of Mt. Penanjakan for an amazing sunrise view across the caldera.   

We stood at the viewpoint watching the rising sun paint golden colors of red, yellow and pink across the sky.

Mt. Bromo and the taller Mt. Semeru (the highest mountain in Java) were puffing smoke into the air which highlighted the grays and pinks in the dawn light.

After about an hour we drove down from the viewpoint on Mt. Penanjakan and across the sea of sand to Mt. Bromo itself.  Mt. Bromo is a large grayish-white crater of ash and sulphur.  A set of some 260 steps has been built up the side of the volcano to make climbing up to its ridge easier; having said that, it was still quite an exhausting hike given your lungs are gasping for air and receiving nothing but mouthfuls of eggy-smelling ash. 

Looking down from the ridge, you can see a giant crack from which flows an almost constant plume of sulphuric and ash smoke.

Eric takes a running leap inches from the steep edge of Bromo's crater.

Nikki tries to jump from Mount Bromo to Mount Batok. 

The Tengger caldra spans 10km wide with 200m high walls circling the flat 'sea of lava sand'.  Looking out over the caldera, thin wisps of clouds hung low in the air adding an eerie aspect to the desolate terrain.

In the afternoon we hiked around the lip of the caldra, and, of course, admired the views.

Malang
East Java

After spending another day enjoying the sights and cooling fresh air of the highlands, we took the local bus to Malang.  With a couple of days to spare before our flight to Sulawesi, we chilled out in this old colonial town.  Local travel agents tried to sell us tours of the local area, which included 'highlights' such as a swimming pool, a tofu factory and a dairy farm – complete with cow-milking (however, the tour operator could not guarantee we would actually be able to see the cow being milked; but there would definitely be a cow present).  At $30 each, we declined their offers.  Instead we used our time in Malang to write postcards, catch up on emails and play billiards. 

Malang was a mix of colonial period houses and hectic city streets.

After a transit night in Surabaya, we took a flight up to Manado, the capital of North Sulawesi.

North Sulawesi

Manado

Determined to avoid Bali, we decided to spend some time in North Sulawesi instead and see for ourselves its world renowned dive sites.  Situated on the Celebes sea, Manado is a compact yet bustling city where mikrolets rule the streets.  These doorless blue vans are a cross between a taxi and a bus, and for a set fee they will pick you up and drop you off along the city's main roads. 

Known locally as mikrolets, these buzzing cars outnumber all other vehicles 10 to 1. 

Manado will be permanently associated in our minds with fish and national flags.  Our hotel was located just minutes from the docks, and from its large rooftop restaurant we watched a near constant stream of boats sail into and out of the port. 

The hotel restaurant overlooked the main street and the dive and fishing boats moored in Manado's docks.

In the immediate areas located around our hotel was a large dried fish market where merchants seemed to sell a dried version of almost any fish, from tiny sardines, to green parrot fish and giant barracuda. 

Throughout Indonesia, it seems that nearly every male we have come across has been a football (soccer) fanatic.  Upon hearing that we are from London, they joyfully announce which English Premiership team they support and whom their favorite player is.  Eric has often been drawn into long debates about the winners and losers of the latest season and predictions for next year.  World Cup fever has certainly taken hold in Manado; throughout the city it is possible to see the national flag of almost every team participating in the tournament.  It seems the locals adopt a country to support just like they pick between Man U and Chelsea, identifying with their favorite player or choosing whichever team is the 'enemy' of the neighbour's favorite side.  Indeed it seems the locals would be upset if the Indonesian national team ever qualified for a major tournament, as this would mean they would have to forgo the enjoyment of supporting rival teams and their favorite international players.

One of many of Manado's flag vendors displays his wares outside the local cinema; the American flag remained suspiciously absent.

Bunaken

From Manado we hitched a ride on a local supply boat to the island of Bunaken.  Bunaken is a tiny island off the coast of North Sulawesi and is fringed with beautiful coral reefs making it a great place for snorkelling and diving.  After docking at Bunaken Village, we walked along Pangalisang Beach where we found a spacious bungalow for our stay on the island.  The beach was hardly a beach, but rather a coastline of mangrove trees and sea grass; when we arrived the tide was out, preventing us from having an afternoon snorkel and instead forcing us to spend our time snoozing in a shady hammock.

Eric tests out the hammock.

The sun sets over the mangrove beach in front of our bungalow.

During our stay on the island we did 4 dives, all on 'wall' reefs down to 30 metres.  True to its reputation, the reefs of Bunaken were teeming with a huge variety of colorful sea life.  We were treated with glimpses of sea turtles, sting rays, moray eels, tiny brightly coloured nudibranchs, anemone crabs, box fish, bat fish, flute fish and many more.  Best of all was the discovery of some minute pigmy seahorses which were bright yellow and clinging to strands of soft coral with their tiny curly tails.

Two rare 'le flipflop' fish are spotted swimming out of the blue.

Spot the spotted box fish.

The reefs were always teeming with life.

Two angel fish swim amongst the coral.

Evenings were spent at the 'Blue Parrot Cafe', listening to local guys play guitars and strum on a box bass (a homemade instrument made out of a packing crate).  We sampled the local plum wine (it tasted a bit like English Christmas Pudding), but sensibly stuck with beer.  Tangkoko

After 4 days on the island, we opted for a change of scenery, so we took a boat back to the mainland and headed to Tangkoko National Park.  From the docks we took a mikrolet to the bus station; we shared the 6-seater vehicle with 4 other people, our bags, their bags, their boxes and a set of bamboo hats.  Upon exiting the station, we immediately had to deal with a dozen touts and hawkers who were simultaneously trying to jam us onto already full buses and sell us snacks and drinks for the journey.  We decided to forgo the buses that were leaving straight away and got on an empty one, agreeing that having our choice of seats was worth the wait for other passengers (buses only leave when full).  Our backpacks were strapped to the roof of the bus as every inch of space inside the vehicle was reserved for customers – the aisle was lined with additional seating in the form of plastic chairs and even the driver shares his seat with a passenger.  Five minutes before the bus departed the station we pondered the fact that our bags would get wet if it rained, 10 minutes after we left the heavens opened.  The bus journey was only an hour long; we spent the time snoozing, staring out the window, and watching cockroaches climb up and down the carpeted walls of the bus. 

After arriving at Tangkoko Bus Terminal, we took a mikrolet to the town centre where we would be able to find a car to take us to the small village outside the park entrance.  We stopped outside a hardware store and negotiated a ride on a pick-up truck – the only form of  transportation up to the village.  The back of the pick-up was loaded with various supplies, from rolls of corregated iron, to fuel containers, to boxes of laundry detergent, to bags of vegetables and racks of eggs.  Once sufficient (ie too many) people had turned up it was time for us to depart.  The lucky two who had turned up first got to sit in the cab with the driver, the rest of us had to perch on planks of wood balanced across the back of the truck to form crude bench seats.  As if the winding, hilly, up-and-down roads weren't dangerous enough, the driver decided to enter into a race with another pick-up truck which had left at the same time.  We sat nervously smiling and desperately bracing ourselves whilst the rest of the passengers seemed either too busy gossiping to care or shouted at the driver, egging him on to go faster.  Somehow we made it to a guesthouse on the outskirts of the national park in one piece.

Nikki tries to control her shaking legs as she climbs down from the back of the pickup after a very nerve-racking one hour drive through the hills.

Tangkoko National Park is home to the world's smallest monkeys, the tarsius, as well as a huge variety of tropical birds.  After lunch and a short time spent recovering from our journey, we went on a 3 hour dusk trek into the park in search of the tarsius.  We walked for about 45 minutes and soon became incredibly hot and sweaty despite the setting sun.  The tarsius are nocturnal animals which live in groups inside hollow or cavernous trees.  Our guide, Semuel, skillfully located a family just after sunset.   

The tarsius grow to about 8cm high with bushy tails 20cm long; their tiny size and huge round eyes and ears make them incredibly cute.

A tarsius clings to the tree trunk; they were a little shy but we were able to stand quite close to them and some helpfully posed for our photographs.

We watched as they emerged from their sleep and sat on or clung to branches outside their home, where they waited for the growing sound of crickets, the signal for their night time hunting to begin.

Once the tarsius had departed for dinner, we walked back through the jungle in the darkness.  On the way back we stopped to see a tarantula.  The spider, which was as big as a man's hand, was sitting on a tree trunk at shoulder height.  Our guide insisted we stand a mere 3 feet away from it, physically pulling us closer to the tree trunk.  Our objections that we had “perfectly adequate zoom lens on our camera” fell on deaf ears.

We took a few pictures before the use of our flash finally spooked the tarantula.  It's a very scary moment when a giant tarantula, only three feet away, suddenly moves just as your guide turns off the only flashlight so you have absolutely no idea where it has run to.

…thankfully the tarantula had only retreated back into its hole in the tree trunk.

We returned drenched in sweat, but very happy with our evening's expedition.  After a fitful night's sleep in which we were kept awake by a huge thunderstorm, we departed at 5am for an early morning jungle trek.  The trees were still dripping heavily from the storm the night before, giving the illusion that it was still raining.  Our clothes were soon drenched from the damp air and wet leaves, and would stay that way for the remainder of the trek. 

Exhausted, soaked, disheveled, trousers tucked into socks and shirts tucked into trousers….what a sexy pair!!

One of the main hazards of walking through the jungle in the early morning is all the spider webs stretched out across the trails.  As our guide was walking in front he bore the brunt of them and could be seen flailing his arms around his head, wiping cobwebs from his face and hair.  On two occassions he was momentarily blinded when he got a web directly in the eye.  Unfortunately, our guide, like most Indonesians, was rather short so he didn't always clear the path completely.  Walking behind him we too occasionally walked face first into a spider's web. 

Spiders hung over the trails and giant moths clung to leaves.

We were primarily on the look out for the Sulawesi Crested Black Macaque – a black monkey.  Along the way we saw quite a few Red Knobbed Horn Bill's (Toucans) flying noisily above the jungle, and some Dwarf Kingfishers.  Our guide showed us an amazing tree that was a tangle of tree trunks and roots, and completely hollow inside. 

The tangle of roots formed a natural ladder making it possible to climb up inside the 300 year old tree.

After trekking for over 4 and a half hours, we still hadn't found any black monkeys, it was time to call it a day.  We found it ironic that we had found the world's smallest monkey so easily, but had been outsmarted by their average-sized cousins! 

Having completed our exploration of the park, we headed back to Manado, travelling the exact reverse of the journey that had brought us to Tangkoko.  It was now time for us to leave Indonesia and head to the Philippines.

From Tioman Island, we ferried back to the mainland and eventually
boarded a delayed bus to the Malaysia-Singapore border town of Johor
Bahru.  The border crossing into Singapore was possibly the most
efficient and easiest of our trip so far.  A local express bus
took us from Malaysia via two immigration posts directly to the main
downtown bus terminal in Singapore.  After a quick stop at a
mid-range hotel to convert our remaining Ringgit into Singapore
Dollars, we began our hunt for some budget accommodation. 
Sleeping cheap in Singapore is comparable to slumming it in Beverly
Hills…highly improbable, nearly impossible.   

We headed to Chinatown in search of cheap hotels, only to find that the
area bore no resemblance at all to the 'real' China; immaculately clean
streets lined with trendy PR companies and over-priced boutique
hotels.  Even the local 7-11 was fitted with wood paneling and
marble floors.  Tired and hungry, we settled for the cheapest room
we could find and resolved to continue our search the following
morning.  The next day we moved to a much more budget friendly
room in the heart of Little India.  We had swapped our comfortable
hotel suite for a windowless room directly above an Australian-run pub!

Our accommodation was above the 'Prince of Wales' pub in the heart of
Little India, it came complete with friendly dog and live house bands
every evening.

With our accommodation for the duration of our stay in Singapore
finally sorted out, we began our exploration of the city and headed to
the famous Orchard Road.  A wide boulevard lined with giant
shopping malls and super trendy shops, Orchard Road is a place to
observe the Singaporeans practicing their national pastime:
shopping.

We also stopped by the world famous Raffles Hotel, named after Singapore's founder, and home to the Singapore Sling.

Singapore is a city renowned, and often criticized, for
being too clean, too clinical and lacking any character; however, after
spending the last ten months backpacking through Asia, we found it's
cleanliness, modernity, civility and almost universal air conditioning
a complete and utter luxury.  

Singapore's trademark – the merlion – guards the harborfront of the city's financial district.

Sunday cricketers brave the humidity to play a game in front of the City Hall.

Our days in Singapore were a blur of
shopping malls and fruit smoothies; nevertheless, we did seek out some
places of historical and cultural interest (there are some in Singapore
if you look hard enough).  Our favorite being the Prisoner-of-War
Changi Prison Museum.  The museum gave an excellent overview of
the Japanese occupation of Singapore during World War II and what
civilians and armed forces endured during their imprisonment.  We
spent three hours wandering the exhibits and reading some quite
harrowing accounts.  As we left we lit a candle of remembrance in
the POW replica chapel.   

We also paid a visit to
Sentosa Island – a small island at the foot of Singapore.  With
it's manicured parks, beaches, educational rides and attractions, and
resort type facilities, it offers an excellent escape from the concrete
jungle.  We went to Sentosa to blend in with Singapore's numerous
white-collared executives and play some golf… mini golf in our
case.  

Eric lines his putt up for a birdie, whilst Nikki gets a hole in one.

Our overall impressions of Singapore were very
favorable; with it's cleanliness (did we mention it was clean??),
accessibility and friendliness.  Singapore is certainly unlike any
other Asian city; even it's citizens differ greatly from their Asian
neighbors: they apologize when accidentally bumping into you in the
street and can often be seen forming orderly queues. 

Amazingly
the best thing about Singapore was still to come. As we left to catch
our flight to Jakarta, we entered Singapore Airport – truly the best
airport in the world!!!  Free internet, free movies at the cinema,
rooftop swimming pools, etc… we seriously considered delaying our
flight out.  Much to our delight, we realized we would be back
again to the airport when in transit en route from Indonesia to the
Philippines.  

Jakarta

If Singapore is Asia's cleanest city, Jakarta is doing well in its bid to become Asia's most polluted city.

Having arrived in Jakarta, the capital of Indonesia, one of our first
tasks was to obtain some local currency.  When we found an ATM
machine we attempted to take out 3.6 million (how often can you say
that!), however it would only allow us to withdraw 1.5 million at one
time.  With hindsight, this was probably a good thing as we would
have struggled to put 3.6 million worth of 50,000 Rupiah notes in our
pockets.  We then took a taxi from the airport to downtown Jakarta and
headed to Jaksa Road, the hub of all things backpacker… i.e. cheap
hotels.

After dumping our stuff in an 'adequate' hostel, we went on a short
exploratory walk around the neighborhood.  There were a few
noteworthy shops and restaurants in the surrounding area but to reach them we had to negotiate
busy streets lined with heavy traffic, hawker stalls, open sewers,
scavenging cats, scuttling rats, rogue motorcyclists, and the usual
groups of Asian men hanging around doing nothing but staring.  We
certainly were not in Singapore anymore!

The following day we strolled out to explore the city – strolling is
probably the wrong word, it was more like stumbled.  The pavements
were uneven and covered with litter, foul smelling puddles, and other
delights.  A constant stream of traffic was doing a grand job of
ensuring there was no fresh air; after 5 minutes our throats began to
itch and ache from the fumes.  We walked to the Monas – a tall
column topped with a golden flame, it is Indonesia's national monument
to independence.  We took the elevator up to the viewing platform
where we enjoyed an amazingly cooling breeze.  The views, however, were
blurred by a pollution haze, but we were able to make out many high
rises and even the harbor and sea in the distance.  We became a
tourist attraction ourselves when a local guy asked us to pose for a
photograph with his family.  It was to be the first of many such
requests during our trip through Indonesia.

The Monas (left) was one of the many monuments scattered around the capital.

Mosques as well as skyscrapers dominate the city skyline as viewed from the top of Monas.

We visited the National Independence Museum at the base of the
monument; viewing the 50 or so dioramas – scenes from Indonesia's
history – the artwork was quite impressive, the adherence to time lines
and historical accuracy was not.  After returning to wandering the
streets, and getting very hot and sweaty, we dived into the nearest
air-conditioned restaurant for lunch, a McDonald's; unfortunately,
whilst McDonald's has reached the shores of Indonesia it seems the
ability to cook the burgers properly has not.  Visiting the
restroom after
lunch we looked in the mirror for the first time in over 24 hours (our
hostel room has no mirrors) and discovered that we had been feasted
upon by mosquito's as our faces, necks and torsos were covered in bites
(we had each assumed that the other was suffering from a few sweat
spots
and politely not commented).  It was time to return to our hostel,
upgrade to a room with an air conditioner and erect the mosquito net!

As part of our sight seeing of Jakarta, we visited Taman Mini, the
'little Indonesia' park, which has cultural displays and model houses
from all corners of Indonesia.  The displays are build around a
country 'map' lake which offers the novelty of boating around all the
islands of Indonesia in under 20 minutes.  In the lake are grass
islands made in the shape of the major islands of Indonesia; if you
squint hard enough they do bear a vague resemblance, some even come
complete with molehill-style volcanoes.  

Examples of the traditional houses of central Sulawesi and East Kalimantan

We wandered around learning about the different tribal houses and
customs, and gathering useful information about some of the areas we
would be traveling to over the next few weeks.  We again became a
tourist attraction having to pose for some photographs and endure some
staring and giggling.  We tried out a gamalang set (traditional
Indonesian musical instruments) but didn't really stop to watch any of
the traditional dancing or cultural shows, as stopping meant having
half the audience turn around to watch us instead. 

Whilst admiring displays such as this gamalang set we were often asked to pose for photographs with the local tourists.

We took a taxi back from Taman Mini to the center of the city and
stopped at one of Jakarta's new swanky shopping malls.  Affluent
citizens can now shop at the likes of Gucci, Prada, and Tiffany's -
though we were hard pressed to think of anywhere in the city one could
wear such expensive designer gear.  All vehicles pulling up at
shopping malls and large hotels in the capital undergo bomb checks, and
we ourselves frequently had to pass through metal detectors and bag
checks, even to get into fast food restaurants.  These checks
serve as very visual reminder of the civil unrest the Indonesian
government tries so hard to conceal from the outside world.

Having exhausted Jakarta's main tourist attractions, it was time for us
to move on.  During our time in the city we had rarely encountered
other foreign tourists; it seems they all bypass the
streets of the capital and head straight for the over crowded beaches
of Bali.  Much to the surprise of locals and touts alike we had
decided not to go to Bali but instead to explore more of Java.

Our first stop in Malaysia was the northwestern island of Penang, where our plane from Laos landed amidst a spectacular lightening storm just before midnight.  Upon arrival, we were soon whisked away by taxi to the island’s capital, Georgetown.  The town was originally named after king George III; as Penang was once an important British colonial trading post in the early to mid 1900s. 

The Georgetown city hall and clock tower reflect the colonial history of the town.

Malaysia is officially a Muslim state, the first of our trip.  When we initially arrived we found the Muslim presence very visible as many of the women wear headscarves and the men don white skullcaps; however, the Islamic influence is not oppressive and mixes well with Malaysia’s increasingly western culture.  

We booked a room at a centrally located hotel just minutes away from the bustling streets of Chinatown and a few streets down from Little India.  The ethnic and cultural diversity that seemed to blend together in the everyday life of the local population was fascinating.  Indians, Chinese, Malaysians, Thais, Indonesians etc… all mixing and living together with no visible prejudices.  A very impressive sight!

Unfortunately, one of our own stereotypes was exposed during our hunt for outgoing bus tickets.  The bus ticketing business in Georgetown is primarily run by the Chinese and Indians.  Although we initially paid a visit to both Chinese and Indian vendors, our problematic bus ticket experiences in India were still very fresh on our minds, so we couldn’t quite cope with going back down that route.  Without too much thought, we headed to the Chinese vendor to purchase our tickets.  Upon hearing our request, the Chinese salesman picked up the phone and called the Indian travel agent next door to confirm seat availability on the bus.  The Indians owned the bus… and yes, we felt very embarrassed!!  Perhaps we should take a leaf out of the Malaysian example and leave our prejudices at home.  Later that evening, we boarded the 9-hour overnight bus to the Perhentian Islands. 

The Perhentian Islands
Northeast Malaysia

After a surprisingly comfortable bus ride (the best bus journey we’ve had on our trip so far – the seats reclined until practically horizontal!!!), we arrived at the Kuala Besut jetty, where an hour-long speed boat dropped us off at Long Beach on the Perhentian Kecil Island.  The Perhentian Islands have made a strong case for being Malaysia’s most idyllic islands, with crystal clear waters, stretches of long white sandy beaches and acres of untouched lush green rain forests. 

The view from our beach towels…apologies to those of you viewing this from your windowless offices.

The scramble for accommodation began as soon as we landed on the beach.  The island is covered with thick unpenetrated rainforests, with the only signs of man, ie guesthouses and restaurants, were clustered around the shore, sandwiched between the trees and the sand.  We secured ourselves a simple hillside bungalow, dumped our bags and went for a long cooling swim in the sea. 

Our hillside bungalow came complete with 2 'pet' lizards who kept us entertained in the evenings with their nightly moth hunting antics.

We spent most of our time on the island snorkeling and resting in the shade, making the most of the island’s cooling sea breeze.  We did manage to explore some parts of the rainforests by embarking on a small jungle trek across the breadth of the island.  Sweltering heat, swarms of mosquitoes and giant spiders deterred us from wandering too far away from the beach.  Even so, we did mange to see some wildlife, which included giant monitor lizards  (2 to 3 meters in length!!), and large sea eagles, which stood over half a meter high as they perched on the beach. 

Eric relaxes on the beach after a busy morning snorkelling. 

Our visit to the Perhentian islands also brought with it the first and long anticipated opportunity to go scuba diving on our trip.  Our first dive was a five-minute speedboat trip up the coast to the dive site, D’Lagoon.  We spent an hour diving down to 12 meters and exploring the reef and admiring the plenty of colorful corals and fish – which included Nemos (also known as clownfish), angelfish, batfish and a huge porcupine fish with giant bulging eyes.  The highlight was most definitely our stop at a ‘cleaning station’, where we saw tiny shrimp (less than a cm long and almost completely transparent) emerge from the coral and swim on to our fingers to clean our cuticles… amazing!!! 

Our second dive took us down to 18 meters to explore a reef formed on huge boulders and rock that seemed to have tumbled into the sea.  We swam up, around, down, under and through the gaps.  Fish highlights included large angelfish, bright yellow boxfish (literally the shape of a 3-d box – quite a bizarre shape for a fish), a well-camouflaged scorpion fish and more large porcupine fish.

The island also gave us the opportunity to get plenty of snorkelling done.  The 'house' reefs weren't the best, but they were teaming with plenty of fish.

Eric tries to blend in with the locals…. 

Don't you hate it when you try to take a photo of someone and a school of fish keep getting in the way?

In the evenings we feasted on beachside seafood BBQs, before falling asleep to the almost nightly thundering tropical rains and enjoying the cooling drop in temperature they brought with them. 

After a week on the island, we packed up our stuff, took a speedboat back to the mainland and boarded a mini bus which took us to our next destination, Taman Negara National Park.

Taman Negara
Central Malaysia 

Taman Negara gave us the opportunity to visit one of the most pristine primary rainforests in the world.  This area of the jungle is claimed to be the oldest in the world, and has been in existence for the last 130 million years – having been untouched by ice ages, volcanic activity and other geological events. 

We stayed just outside the park in the small village of Kuala Tahan.  The following morning we crossed the river and started our 3-hour trek through the rain forest.  There was no need for a guide as the trail was well-marked, and large and dangerous animals usually stayed clear of the tourist-trod areas.  We headed towards a treetop canopy walkway and encountered our first dangerous creature along the way – an extremely poisonous Red Headed Krait.  We stood and watched the snake slither away into a carpet of dead and rotting leaves before continuing on our way, a little more cautiously this time!

Eric: “Well it's big, but it's not quite a redwood”.

A few km’s later, we reached the canopy walkway and were soon exploring the 400m long creaky set of ropes and planks suspended 25 meters high amongst the treetops of the forest.

Eric gingerly makes his way along the canopy walkway….

…with Nikki bounding on ahead.

Our wildlife sightings were mainly centered around the resort at the entrance to the park where we saw a highly poisonous Pope’s Pit Viper and some playful monkeys.

After lunch we went for another 2 hour walk through the jungle, but saw little of interest other than some giant ants and monitor lizards.  The heat and humidity quickly took its toll and upon returning from our day in the jungle we were in much need of a good shower to wash away the grime and sweat.  Unfortunately the shower head in our bathroom was situated immediately above the toilet meaning we had to lean over the toilet bowl in order to wash….’a good shower’ is certainly not the correct description, but it worked nonetheless.

Kuala Lumpur
Southwest Malaysia

The following day we headed to the capital of Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur ('KL' as the locals call it).  We found a hotel in the heart of KL’s vibrant Chinatown district where the streets were lined with hawker stalls selling fake watches sunglasses, bags, t-shirts, etc; all of which seemed to attract every Aussie tourist in town.  KL is a very modern Asian city with clean streets, skyscraper shopping malls and an efficient monorail transport system.  Within this small city, the Muslim influence still prevails; mosques are found between tall concrete buildings and the Islamic star and crescent adorn many building facades.  The crown jewels of the city’s skyline are the famous Petronas Towers – the world’s highest twin towers.  We climbed (took the elevator) to the sky bridge, which links the two towers via the 41st floor, to admire the great views it provides out across the city.

The view from the bottom of the towers.

The view from the skybridge.

We spent the next couple of days strolling through the city streets and also paid a visit to South East Asia’s biggest shopping mall.  Our visit to KL was brief as we planned to travel back to the east coast of Malaysia to Tioman Island where more diving was on the cards.

Tioman Island
Southeast Malaysia

An overnight bus and a short ferry ride brought us to the shores of Tioman.  The island gained its fame in the 1950’s when it was the setting of the mythical Bali Hai in the film ‘South Pacific’.  Since then it has been proclaimed as one of the world’s most beautiful islands…and also a duty free zone….both of which have helped keep the tourists flocking in. 

Despite the size of the jetty, the beach wasn't overrun with tourists, making it a great island escape.

We rented an ‘A frame’ bungalow on Salang beach.  Our accommodation came with a few dozen mosquitoes, an ant’s nest, 5 or 6 jumping spiders, and a sprinkling of mice droppings; but after 10 months of travelling none of this bothered us and we had soon rearranged the beds, put up the mosquito net and made it livable. 

Our 'A' frame was set in a picturesque garden….. even the monkeys liked to visit to search the nearby bushes for grubs.

The setting on the island was similar to the Perhentians, a carpet of thick rainforest fringed by thin strips of white sandy beach.  Tioman (in our humble opinion) lacked the more isolated charm of the Perhentians, but more than made up for this with its excellent snorkeling.  Along with the abundance of underwater life the island could also rival the jungles of Taman Negara, with its population of monitor lizards, squirrels, monkeys and the usual contingent of alarmingly large insects. 

Large monitor lizards feast on left-over scraps of fish from the local kitchens.

Whilst in Tioman we did two more dives.  Our first dive took us down to a deep 28 meters where the visibility was excellent.  We did some narrow swim-throughs coming across large batfish and giant star puffer fish.  On our second dive we brought along a small disposable underwater camera; unfortunately our underwater photography skills leave much to be desired but luckily we did manage to get a few good shots.  On the dive we encountered some large cuttlefish flapping their ‘skirts’ and dancing around, rapidly changing color in a courtship ritual; we watched, fascinated, for a few minutes then quietly left them to it.  We also saw some blue spotted rays and menacing moray eels.

Eric floats over a field of 'potato' coral.

Nikki swims through a school of fish (the vague yellow stripes behind her).

Nikki takes a closer look at a moray eel hidden in the coral.

Eric exits a very narrow swim-through.

One of our few successful photos of life on the reef.

Colourful fish seek protection under overhanging red coral.

Little 'Nemo's' hide amongst the stinging tentacles of sea anemones.

In Tioman, we rediscovered the much-undervalued board game ‘Ludo’, to which we have now become addicted.  In the evenings we could be found in the local restaurants frantically rolling the die and accusing each other of cheating, much to the amusement of the waiters (and wonderment of the 6 year olds sitting at the next table).  Lightening storms continued to be a nightly event.  We were often woken up by loud crashing noises and the shaking of our hut as rain dislodged coconuts from the surrounding trees and they fell heavily onto (but not through) our roof.

Time flies when you spend your days snorkeling and diving, so five days and a few dozen mosquito bites later we left the island and headed south by bus to Singapore.

After recuperating in Chiang Mai at Eric's aunt and uncle's house (thanks again Bill, Millicent, Danny and JT for your hospitality), we traveled north towards the Laos border.  We took the local bus from Chiang Mai to Chiang Rai for a short 3-hour journey.  Chiang Rai is considered an alternative to Chiang Mai as a trekking departure point in Northern Thailand; however, due to lost time, we could only pause in town for one night before heading to the Laos border the following day. 

The surprisingly comfortable local bus that took us from Chiang Rai to the border.

The Mekong River forms a natural border between Laos and Thailand.  On the Thai side, the tiny sleepy border town of Chiang Khong sits along the river bank, where very lax immigration officials (who are known to charge overtime fees if you happen to cross the border during their lunch hour) issue outgoing stamps.  To cross the Mekong into Laos, we piled into a small motorized long boat for the short hop across the river to the Laos town of Huay Xai.  This small border town consisted of one main dirt road lined with guesthouses and restaurants and was swarming with backpackers both on their way into and out of Laos.  We settled into a very clean family-run guesthouse and began planning our route across the country. 

Crossing the Mekong river, our bags sharing space in front with local goods.

From Huay Xai we decided to head down to the town of Luang Prabang, renowned for its relaxed colonial feel and for being a hub for day trips and activities in the surrounding area. We were faced with the choice of taking an (often) crowded 'slow boat' which would take 2 days, 8 hours per day, to sail down the Mekong to Luang Prabang; or to take a speedboat which would take only one day – 6 hours.  Having heard from other travelers of the bum-numbing abilities of the slow boat, we opted for speed. 
It was only after we had booked our tickets that we happened to read the following description in our guidebook:

“Serious accidents, sometimes including fatalities, involving these speedboats seem to occur on an almost weekly basis.  Usually they involve a boat striking a hidden rock or tree limb, although occasionally contact with a standing wave is sufficient for one of the light crafts…. the accident risk for this type of boat outweighs the potential savings in time they may represent over slower boat alternatives.”

Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained….

We took a jumbo (truck-like tuk-tuk) to the speedboat dock the following morning.  The dock turned out to be a sandy river bank with a floating deck area on which to board the tiny speedboats. The speedboats were actually longboats with big loud exposed car engines fixed to the rear.  The boat was divided up horizontally with 5 planks of wood creating makeshift seating areas.  Sitting in the raft involved perching on a long flat cushion with your back pushed hard against a dividing plank, your knees crunched up in front of you, backpack between your legs and your arms flattened and immobilized by your side…. at least the journey was only supposed to last 6 hours!!!

We were all issued life jackets and crash helmets which we immediately and nervously put on (this was easier said than done since we were already squished into the boat).  In the event of an accident it is highly unlikely the life jackets would have provided much aid; blocks of polystyrene were protruding out of some whilst others lacked any straps with which to fasten them up.  As it turned out the jackets were of some use, they provided vital padding between the hard planks and the small of our backs.  Likewise the helmets, with their cracked visors, lack of straps and being grossly oversized, did little to improve safety; however, they did help muffle the sound of the noisy engine.

Huddled in our speedboat we nervously began our trip down the Mekong.

The speedboat ride was exciting and complete agony at the same time.  It was a great experience speeding down the Mekong River at break-neck speeds (literally), but we were terribly cramped in the tiny wooden boat.  Unable to move our legs, shift our weight, or stretch our backs… pain relief came only when our brains chose to switch their focus from the stabbing back pains to the fact our knees seemed to be on fire.  Despite the lack of comfort and the instances where the driver seemed to miss protruding rocks by mere inches, it was an amazing ride.  Most of the scenery was a blur, tree-lined hilly banks became sandy and rocky as they met the river, the occasional huge exposed crag and even more rarely a glimpse of a settlement or village. Most of the people we saw were fishing, washing or panning for gold in murky waters.  Indeed when we stopped briefly at one sand bank you could see golden grains glistening amongst the sand.

We finally arrived in Luang Prabang in the late afternoon and soon found a great guesthouse where we crashed and relaxed for a few hours.  Later that evening we met our fellow 'speedboat survivors' for dinner where we re-lived our collective terror at the day’s events over some Beer Lao – the very drinkable local brew.

The atmospheric town of Luang Probang is nestled between the Mekong and the Nam Khan rivers on a narrow peninsula surrounded by mountains.  The town exudes a lazy and relaxed way of life in which it is very easy to get caught up as you stroll down the wide, tree-lined streets and sample the cakes and croissants of the French-influenced bakeries housed in old colonial buildings.  Which is exactly what we did!!!

Monks, shading themselves under umbrellas, pass the bakeries of Luang Prabang.
Freshly made rice cakes bake in the hot sun in the quiet residential streets.

Wandering along the main street, we also visited the former Royal Palace.  Built at the turn of the 20th century, it was a mix of Lao and French colonial style with lots of white-washed walls, dark wood furniture and large airy rooms.  The main reception room was decorated with intricate and colorful glass mosaic scenes, a theme reflected in the decoration of the temple in the palace grounds.

A colorful mosaic five-headed snake protects the royal temple.

Each evening at dusk, dozens of local vendors flock to the sidewalks of the main street and set up displays of their wares – bedspreads, scarves, clothes, jewelry, lampshades, etc… – creating a colorful tourist night market.  This night market is truly unique in Asia as none of the vendors shout to attract attention or badger tourists to buy things, in fact it is so quiet you can still hear the crickets.  The market was full of very 'buyable' things, all at extremely cheap prices; unfortunately, limited space in our bags and a tight budget prevented us (Nikki) from buying much… Nikki has vowed to return on another trip along with an empty suitcase!

From Luang Probang, we took a day trip to the nearby waterfall of Kuang Si.  We traveled there by jumbo taxi along extremely hot and dusty roads through the villages surrounding Luang Probang. 

The waterfall was a majestic, multi-tiered cascade of fresh clear water tumbling over limestone rocks into a series of turquoise-colored pools.

We took the opportunity to cool off from the overbearing heat of the midday sun by taking a long refreshing swim in one of the lower pools.

From Luang Prabang we also took an overnight trip to the fishing village of Nong Khiaw, traveling up the Nam Ou river by slow boat.  What was advertised as a five hour cruise soon became a 9 hour odyssey.  Our wooden boat seated 10 tourists on small child-size wooden chairs under a  rickety wooden  hood.  The boat ride went fairly smoothly for the first few hours which we spent admiring  the views, reading, and chatting amongst ourselves.  Then the mishaps began.

At this time of year, as the peak of the dry season is fast approaching, the river becomes very shallow which soon caused problems for our vessel.  After a couple of near misses, the driver succeeded in grounding the boat and enthusiastically made all of us passengers get out to push the boat along the rocky riverbed.  It took about 10 minutes until we were suitably afloat again to continue on our way.  This mishap was hardly an ordeal as it was  nice to get out and stretch our legs and even to wade in the cool river water.

Our small boat scraped its way over the rocky riverbed before finally grounding itself, forcing its passengers to bail out and help with the pushing.

After about an hour we ran aground again, this time breaking the boats' propeller forcing us to stop at a nearby sandbank for urgent repairs.  Propeller fixed we were back on our way and making good time cruising alongside another tourist boat headed for the same village.  The acrid smell of burning plastic was the first sign of the next mishap, followed by black smoke billowing out of the bow of the other boat.  Its' engine had caught fire and the passengers and driver were completely oblivious.  We hailed them and got them to stop, then, with the fire under control, towed them to a sandbank.  Whilst the two drivers and crew spent the next half an hour patching up the engine we were left to paddle in the river and swap travel 'war' stories with fellow travelers, this boat trip being swiftly added to everyone's list. 

Waiting for the propeller to be fixed….and then, a few hours later, the engine.

The Nam Ou river varied slightly from the Mekong, its' banks were greener and sloped up at a greater angle into the surrounding mountains.  As we made our way up the river we saw more and more limestone cliffs jutting out over the water, many with alluring caves on their faces.

We passed quite a few fishermen and children swimming and wading in the river.  Many seemed to be hunting for fish and crabs using home made spears and old fashioned diving masks.

On arriving in Nong Khiaw we marched up a steep sandy bank to the village which consisted of about 3 dirt streets and spread across the river via a large bridge.  For a little while we became the enemies of our fellow boat passengers as we all competed and scrambled to secure the best accommodation in the fading light.  We ended up at a guesthouse on the banks of the river, staying in a small bamboo hut.  That evening we brushed our teeth by torchlight under the stars and the leaves of banana trees, then fell asleep under a glow-in-the-dark mosquito net listening to the noise of various animals and insects scratching around and calling out to one another in the bushes.

Our small bamboo hut nestled amongst the trees, looking out over the river.

After returning to Luang Prabang for a couple of days we ventured on to Vang Vieng.  The 6 hour bus journey was a nauseating route up, down, and around mountains.  There was little to see along the way as the yearly practice of 'slash and burn' by the farmers was in full swing making everything grey and hazy.  In Vang Vieng we checked into a very relaxing bamboo bungalow set amongst lush green gardens alongside the river….a great spot for g&t's and sunsets. 

The view from the front porch of our bungalow.

Vang Vieng is a town circled by mountains and limestone cliffs famed for harboring numerous caves and natural springs.  The town itself does little to reflect the surrounding natural beauty, and is instead scarred by dirt roads in a constant state of being dug up and rows of hastily constructed bars and restaurants. The town is renowned amongst backpackers for its 'TV street', a road lined with restaurants which screen TV shows such as 'Friends' and 'The Simpsons' all day long. 

The cushioned seats and TV's of the local restaurants entice in travel-weary backpackers on the town's main road.

Refusing to be tempted (for now) by the very welcoming TV bars, we rented some bicycles from our guesthouse and rode a kilometer outside of town to the famous Tham Chang cave.  The cave was formed by a natural spring running down inside a mountain and opening up to form a deliciously cool, clear pool at its base.  

We splashed around in the pool for about an hour, swimming up inside the cave some 20 meters before it became too dark and spooky to explore further.

The following day we took part in what is quickly becoming a rite of passage for any backpacker traveling through Laos: tubing.  Tubing involves floating down the river whilst sitting in the inflated inner tube of a truck tyre.  An essential part of the Laos tubing experience is to stop at one of the many riverside bars to sip on a nice cool Beer Lao and watch fellow tubers float by or jump off/swing from high makeshift wooden platforms falling with a huge splash into the river.

Tubing down the river looking for the next Beer Lao stop.

On the river, a gentle current pushed us along, in fact, at times it was so gentle we had to paddle with our arms in order to get any sort of momentum.  It was very pleasant floating down amongst the jungle and surrounding mountains chatting away with other tubers.  After the first hour we decided to stop for the 'mandatory' Beer Lao and allowed ourselves to get pulled into the riverbank via a long bamboo pole by a waiting barman touting for business.  Eric took part in one of the riverside kamikaze swing jumps, which he successfully splashed down in one of the deepest parts of the river, much to Nikki's relief.  It took us 4 hours to cover the 4 km route back down to our guesthouse bungalow.

Another cave on our agenda was the Tham Nam Water cave 15 kilometers outside of Vang Vieng.  We hired 2 mountain bikes (in fairly good condition if you don't count the inability to change gear 50% of the time as a flaw) for the day and rode the hilly route out to the cave, avoiding the cows, chickens, turkeys, and dogs, which had wandered out from nearby villages, along the way.  Parking our bikes by the river, we made our way through dried up paddy fields to the cave entrance.  The cave has been formed by a tributary of the Nam Song river which flows down inside a mountain before breaking out under a foot high overhanging rock to flow the rest of the way through open fields to the river.  Outside the cave entrance we hired 2 tubes and headlights and dragged ourselves into the dark cave using a guide rope.  

Eric leads the way to the cave which was visible only by it's narrow opening above the river.

Inside the cave it was pitch black…particularly for Nikki as her torch flickered and died within a minute of entering the cave. We followed a guide rope deeper into to the cave admiring the overhead stalactites and trying not to think about bats, spiders and other nasty creatures.  The guide rope we were following stopped about 100 meters into the cave, it was possible to abandon the tubes and continue on foot at this point; but with only one (flickering) torch between us we decided not to venture any further.

We dragged ourselves into the dark depths of the cave.

Growing tired of always having dinner with 'Friends' we decide it was time to leave Vang Vieng and took the bus to Vientiane – the capital of Laos.  Vientiane, it seems, has little to boast about when it comes to budget accommodation (not too bad, but the worst we've had in Laos) but more than makes up for this with its food.  Vientiane probably boasts the most French restaurants in the whole of Asia…and of a very good standard too. 

A Lao street vendor selling local delicacies competes with one of the capital's french wine cellars.

Indeed the French colonial influence remains in the city not only through cuisine;  the royal palace has a decidedly French country-mansion feel to it, as does the Patuxai which bears more than a passing resemblance to the Arc de Triomphe in Paris.  The city streets and wide, fairly clean, and often tree lined, making it possibly one of the nicest, and certainly most relaxed, capitals in Asia.  We spent a couple of days wandering the streets and taking in the city, visiting the occasional temple, stupa, and Parisian bakery along the way. 

The main boulevard in Vientiane leads to the Patuxai.

The city's oldest stupa is surrounded by colonial houses.

One of our main ports of call was the Beer Lao factory.  We visited the factory with a couple of Canadian friends (whom we first met in Myanmar) Mark and Katie, and were treated to a quick tour of the factory followed by a nice cold free beer (always the best part!!).  Beer Lao follows tourists everywhere in Laos, though this doesn't prove to be a problem as it actually a great beer and one of the few 'local brews' of our trip that we are happy not to have to turn down.

The factory produces 54,000 bottles of beer an hour.

Eric proudly endorses one of Laos most popular products.

Although we could easily spend a few more weeks exploring the rest of this beautiful country, the heat of the dry season is becoming oppressive so it's time for us to head south to Malaysia and it's beaches.   

There is a noticable lack of tourists in Yangon and therefore of tourists traps such as souvenir shops and western style restaurants.  We spent our first day in Yangon wandering the city, exploring streets and side roads lined with old colonial-style buildings and unimaginative square apartment blocks.  The roads are busy with traffic, but are unnervingly quiet due to a city-wide ban on horns – an amazing feat in an Asian country!!  Streets are crammed with pavement food and merchandise stalls as well as teahouses which spread their low tables and plastic stools the full width of the sidewalk.  The streets aren't clean and are littered with hazards, such as open drains and uneven paving stones, but they are not unpleasant to explore.  Some of the buildings are painted vivid colours – blues, greens and oranges – but are still in need of repair.  Local transport seemed to consist of rusty, windowless busses, and open pick-up trucks, both are which are crammed to capacity. 

People spill out of the packed buses as they pass the colourful buildings of the capital.

Pavement teahouses prove a popular and cheap option for the citizens of Yangon. 

Most of the men and women wear 'longyi' skirts of various colours and some smear powdered bark on their cheeks called 'thanakha' – a sort of cosmetic to beautify the skin and protect against the sun.  We came across very few beggars, indeed the only people to approach us were young novice monks holding out their alms bowls and asking for money or shampoo….exactly what does a bald-shaven monk need shampoo for..?  It wasn't clear whether the lack of beggars was due to a strong police state, an anti-begging culture, or simply that tourism in Yangon has not developed to the point where locals realise western tourists are a soft touch.  Our roaming around Yangon took us to a huge semi-outdoor market filled mostly with merchandise for locals – clothes, shoes, hair products, toiletries, etc.

Walking the streets of Yangon means constantly navigating the hundreds of food stalls which fight for space on the pavements and roads.
Anything and everything seems to be available… from fruit to dried pigeon.

We ended the day at the Botataung Pagoda situated along the banks of the Yangon river.  The pagoda was rebuilt after being bombed in WW2 and is one of the few 'hollow' pagodas in existance.  Once inside the pagodas' hollow stupa dome you walk through a series of triangular rooms covered from floor to ceiling in glass and mirror mosaic.  The central circular room of the structure is a shrine dedicated to some holy buddhist relics – namely three hair strands and 2 'body parts' ('the size of mustard seeds') which once belonged to buddha himself.  We didn't actually see the hairs or body parts as they were encased in tiny gold caskets placed inside bigger golden cases, but we were assured they were there, and more importantly, that they were the real deal! The Pagoda was surrounded by 10 small temples, each housing a different kind of depiction of buddha – sitting, standing, lying, big, small, gold, bronze etc.. These temples had an almost carnival feel; all the buddhas were decorated with halos of flashing colourful lights which wouldn't have looked out of place in Las Vegas.  Some buddhas were set inside glass cases, reminicent of mechanical fortune-telling manequins often seen at fun fairs which spit out a card with your fortune printed on it in return for a few coins.  Donations were made not by posting money into collection boxes but by 'playing' carnival-style games.  For example: throwing folded notes onto a revolving table; successfully throwing your note into one of the various sized pots ensured buddha listened to your prayers…..managing to get your note through the tiny doorway of the miniture replica pagoda at the centre of the display presumably ensured you would not be reincarnated as a dung beetle.
That night we had dinner in a near-deserted rooftop restaurant overlooking downtown Yangon.  We had the strange sensation of feeling like we were in pre-war Vietnam…there were traces of the deveolped world – old colonial buildings, bland apartment blocks etc but there were few western trappings.

The Botataung Pagoda lights up the city.

The following day we visited the Taj Mahal of Yangon – the Shwedagon Paya – via the Yangon zoo (the visit to the latter was unintended…we got slightly lost along the way).  The paya was definitely worthy of a visit and consisted  of a large complex of individual temples centred around the main pagoda, a huge gold dome glimmering in the midday sun.  Each of the temples were unique in design, shape and size and contained an even greater variety of buddhas.  We befriended a local man who was happy to practice his english and share some of his knowledge of the Paya with us.   In the Buddhist religion, the day you are born on signifies your ruling animal and planet and by praying to statues of these you can ensure good health and protection.  Eric, born on Sunday, was the garuda and the sun.  Nikki, born on Monday, was the tiger and the moon.  Sunday is the most powerful day to be born on, with Monday following a close second; predictably, Eric was quick to rib Nikki about his 'natural' superiority. (Nikki: yeah but at the end of the day the garuda is an ugly mythical bird and I am a sleek tiger).  The golden pagoda was surrounded with small statues of these birth animals and planets and we were shown how to pray to them by pouring cups of water over the figures.  We were also shown a giant gold buddha footprint filled with holy water, and a gold buddha sent back to Mayanmar after it was illegally 'liberated' by the British.  Legend says that Queen Victoria herself ordered it's return as the Buddha cursed her with headaches.

The Shwedagon Paya helps give Myanmar its reputation as 'The Golden Land'.

A few of the many temples that surround the pagoda. 

Whilst in Yangon we met an Australian charity volunteer who was in Myanmar for 2 weeks visiting orphanages and handing over donations.  Tourists (who are able to bring in significant amounts of US dollars undeclared) are often used to transfer funds to charities as this is the only way of ensuring donations are recieved – especially, in this case, since the government denies the existance of any orphans in Myanmar.  He explained to us why the government likes to keep the official exchange rate so low, essentially so it can claim to generously match any donations or investment made by foreign organisations.  The official government exchange rate is set at about 6 Kyat to 1 US Dollar, the black market (a more realistic calculation) is set at about 1,100 Kyat to 1 US Dollar.  He also warned us against being drawn into conversations about the government with local people.  Not only can these conversations be harmful to locals, some foreigners have been tricked into discussing politics and then informed on and placed under house arrest before being escorted out of the country. 

Bago

An early morning bus took us from Yangon to Bago, a 1 and a half hour drive from the capital.  In Bago we hired two trishaw drivers to take us around its famous temples for a day.  A trishaw is essentially a bicycle with a sidecar and turned out to be a fairly smooth way (roads permitting) for traversing the town. 

Riding off in our trishaws!!

Our first stop was Kha Khat Wain Kyaung, the second largest monastery in Myanmar.  The Monastery turned out to be a high school level boarding school for novice monks who attend for 8 months of the year.  They study mostly buddhist texts and translation which culminates in a big exam at the end of the year.  If they do well they may be offered a place at another monastery, even one abroad, so for many it is a way to break out of the poverty of life in the villages and a way to obtain some form of education.  We arrived just before lunchtime and watched meals being prepared and tables being set.  We also visited a dormitory and sat talking for 20 minutes with 2 novices (aged 17 and 22) via our trishaw driver/guide/translator.  What, you may ask yourself, is foremost on the mind of a monk?   Spiritual enlightenment? Universal truth?  …..no, football.  Namely, Manchester United and the English Premiership. Strictly speaking these young monks are not allowed to watch tv, nor maintain hobbies that distract them from Buddhist enlightenment; however, it seems boys and sport can never truly be parted.  At the sound of the lunch gong it was time to eat and we watched at least 3 or 4 hundred monks line up for their dinner.  Monks only eat twice a day, so ensuring a good place in the queue was vitally important.  Each monk brings with him his alms bowl into which a large serving of rice is scooped from one of 4 huge tin vats.  The monks sit 4 or 5 around low circular tables sharing vegetable and pork curry and green tea.  We watched for a short while but felt a bit uncomfortable observing a room full of monks eating lunch so we left them to it.

The monks line up for lunch as curry is divided up into bowls in the kitchen.
Each monk recieves a generous helping of rice before heading into the dining area.

Throughout the day we ended up visiting 7 or 8 different temples or payas, including 2 huge reclining buddhas, tall glittering gold stupas, and towering seated Buddhas.  We also stopped by a Snake Monastery, home to a six foot boa constrictor said to be the reincarnation of the monasteries former head monk.  Reincarnation or not, it was an extremely large snake and it definitely got our respect. 

Bago's centrepiece glimmers above the town streets.

Local artists add the finishing touches to a new giant size reclining buddha.

Sitting buddhas tower over the faithful coming to say their prayers. 

The following morning we had a much needed lie-in; much needed, because of a poor night's sleep the night before due to a very hot and muggy night (no fan or ac because of no electricity) and the constant sound of car horns and trucks thundering down the road.  Just after lunchtime we went to the bus stop to catch our bus to Kalaw.  The bus stop wasn't really a bus stop but a kerbside teashop which looked out onto the main road; to catch a bus you simply stared up the road trying to decipher the writing on the front of each passing bus amidst the clouds of dust, getting the bus to stop involved wandering out into the oncoming traffic to flag down the vehicle as trucks, motorcycles and tractors rumbled past.  Luckily for us, one of our trishaw drivers from the day before was keeping us company and was able to identify and stop the right bus for us. 

Kalaw

The bus was packed but in pretty good condition, we were ushered into our seats, and our backpacks were bundled into the back on top of sacks and boxes which were spilling into the aisle – a health and safety hazard in any western country, the norm in Myanmar.  The seats were actually fairly comfortable with adequate leg room, a good sign given that this would be our home for the next 15 hours.  A small tv at the front of the bus showed the latest in Myanmar entertainment which seemed to be a mixture of a (very) low budget film and a comedy variety show wich included Burmese rap (never fear Snoop Dogg, your career is safe).  After 3 or 4 journey breaks and many torturous  hours of attempted dozing we finally arrived in Kalaw, just before 6am on a chilly morning.  Kalaw was a very nice little town and a cross between those we had visited in Mongolia and Tibet.  Tourists travel through but it remains largely untouched by the industry and locals continue going about their daily lives.  We stopped in Kalaw to organise a 3 day trek through the mountains to Inle Lake and soon obtained a guide through Sam's Trekking (we don't normally mention any names in our blog, but Sam deserves a huge plug for the excellent, honest and unobtrusive trekking service he runs).

Kalaw to Inle Lake Trek

The following day we began our trek; we were accompanied by Tunti, our guide, and, Tin, our very own chef!  Having a chef initially sounded like an unnecessary luxury but he actually performed a very vital role: he carried all our food provisions and walked ahead to prepare meals and drinks for our arrival.  In this way our visits were not too intrusive on the local villagers we would be staying with, nor a drain on their food resources – as hosts they would have felt obliged to prepare and offer us their best food irrespective of stores or good/bad harvests. 

Group photo! Eric, Nikki, Tin (chef) and Tunti (guide).

We meandered through the Myanmar countryside, mostly following yellowish-red dusty trails.  The pace was fairly easy going with a gradual uphill climb.  The scenery varied from patchworks of farmland with crops including wheat, rice, potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, garlic, and flowers, to small areas of forests, or clumps of cultivated papaya, banana, crad apple and avacado trees.  We also passed hedgerows, bamboo, dusty grasslands and small pine forests.  It was sunny all day but thankfully we were treated to a refreshing breeze that helped keep us cool.  The area between Kalaw and Inle Lake is home to a multitude of different tribes, all of which retain their own distinct language and traditions; our trek was to take us through a small number of villages giving us a cross section of the wonderful different ways of life that exist in the area.  

Tunti leads the way.

Pastel patchwork fields and pine forests provided fantastic scenery.

Our first stop was a tea break in a small village 2 hours outside Kalaw, which consisted of about 40 houses, mostly made from bamboo and other wood, though some had brick foundations.  The houses are split level with the lower level being used as a storage area and stable for cows, water buffalo and chickens.  The upper level houses the kitchen, living area, and bedroom(s), though often these are combined into one room for all three functions.  We had our tea at the home of an elderly lady, her daughter and 2 grandchilden.  The one-room house was quite dark with a wispy fire in the centre providing a steady supply of green tea.  We sat on woven mats sipping tea, smiling a lot, and conversing with our host via our guide.  The house was amazingly basic with no running water or electricity, the few shelves and storage areas seemed half empty.  Supplies we take for granted, such as sugar were set aside for special occassions -  which was the case for our visit so we were offered small fudge-like lumps to chew on.

The humble abode where we stopped for our first tea break.

Village children play in the family ox cart. 

After about half an hour we left to continue our walk over mountain ridges to the next village.  It is hard to say what the villages think of our fleeting visits.  Tunti (our guide) told us that it had taken a long time for his trekking company boss and him to explain to the villagers who the tourists were and why we wished to visit without trying to sell anything.  The villages we would be passing through were fairly remote and only saw 1 or 2 foreigners every 3 months or so.  Apart from tourists the only other people to visit were neighbouring villagers, travelling merchants, and a local government representative every other year. 

The next village we stopped in was our lunch break.  The household we ate in seemed wealthier than the first, the house itself was sturdier, bigger, and had a clear division of rooms.  Our chef had already laid out a small squat table for us and soon appeared with bowls of steaming noodle soup and fresh vegetables.  The lady of the household was appalled at the lack of rice on our dishes and so insisted on contributing to our meal from her own stock.  After lunch and a brief rest we headed off again, following winding dusty paths up and along the hillside through fields of wheat being harvested by villagers.  We were now in the area of the Pa-o tribes who can trace their ancestory back to chinese roots.  Their dress is very unique and a representation of the sacred dragon, part of their chinese heritage.  They wear layers of black to to symbolise the scales of the dragon, and bright orange (or pink) headresses to symbolize the dragon's firey breath.

Along the way we passed a sizeable monastery home to 26 novice monks all aged between 7 and 13.  Here we stopped under a shady tree and were given some sweet sticky rice to try (a delicacy served only once a year following the first full moon – which happened to be the day before).  Whilst we were enjoying our break the nearby village school finished for the day and we watched streams of children flow out the the gates, shouting, screaming and running down the path.  We were soon surrounded by novice monks (who attended the school).  We decided this would be a good opportunity to get rid of a dominoes set we had with us but rarely used.  After a brief explanation of how to play our guide coerced a few 'volunteers' into a demonstration game. The novices were very shy and cautious at first but after 3 or 4 games they soon had the hang of it, their confidence and competitiveness growing massively with each game.  After about 20 minutes of supervising we left them to it.  We had succeeded in donating the game and converting innocent monks, previously on the path to enlightenment, into sly,  competitive, gambling addicts (oops).

Eric teaches the novices the basic rules of dominoes.

Continuing on we made it to 'the Chief's house', our dinner and accommodation stop for the night.  The Chief (of the third village we visited) was sitting, tending to his small village shop when we arrived.  The shop was more of a tiny shed lined with minimally stocked shelves of washing powder, sugar, salt and cigarettes.  We mumbled our 'hello's' – completely messing up the pronounciation much to the Chief's amusement – and smiled a lot, which seemed to work as he accepted us into his house for the night.  We were left to rest and relax in the shade and admire a large spread of chilli's that had been laid out to dry in the sun.  We took the opportunity to go for a wander through the village before dinner.  As we set off our guide anxiously shouted after us “Don't touch the buffaloes!!!”  …hmm..ok..??,,,Obviously he had sensed our secret intention to go buffalo tipping…??  Presumably some poor, unsuspecting, tourist had met with an untimely accident whilst greeting buffalos during an evening stroll.  Assuring him we would steer clear of the animals we wandered down the road.  We recieved lots of stares but many more smiles and a few greetings.  Most of the children were happy to wave and say hello, though strangely they all shouted “bye bye!”, this was not a hint to leave the village but simply the only english term they knew.  We soon gave up shouting “hello” and ended up replying with an equally friendly “bye bye”…thus completely failing to further the local populations' grasp of english.

Our first nights' village and accommodation.

That evening we were guests of honour at dinner.  We ate at a small circular table laid out with an assortment of delicious dishes: rice, pumpkin and ginger soup, runner-bean salad, fried mustard leaves, potato and aubergine curry, and home-made sesame snaps for dessert.  We ate with the Chief and Tunti; the Chief's wife, son and other family members had to wait until we had finished before tucking into their share.  After dinner it is customary for people to sit around the kitchen fire, chatting and drinking tea; any house with an open door is understood to be an invite to come inside for a drink and gossip by the fire.  The younger generation venture out to help 'weave bamboo roof sections' which seems to be code for 'meet boys'; traditionally young men would woo their future wife by serenading her with a musical instrument or song, this practice still exists today, but instruments have been replaced by cassette players blasting the latest Myanmar pop songs – much to the disapproval of the older generation.  Most of the people in the village wore traditional orange  headresses, but many had forgone the traditional cloth in favour of towels (literally bath or hand towels).  If you are ever approached by a man with a towel wrapped around his head claiming to be a chief, be sure to ask if he comes from a small Myanmar tribe before you write him off as a complete looney.

Dinner with the chief was followed by late night chats around the fire.

That night we were buried under several layers of heavy blankets that kept us warm whilst we slept; only occasionally being woken up by the shaking of the house caused by the cows below – who would take turns scratching themselves agains the support beams.  The following morning after a hearty breakfast of sticky rice, fried potatoes and fried onions, we bid our 'Chief' goodbye and headed out of the village to begin the day's trek.  We passed fields being plowed and huge green expanses of garlic as we climbed up, around, and over the hills and mountains.  It soon became very hot and the land remained  very dusty and sandy – it's amazing to think that the dry season hadn't started yet. 

Farmers plough the dry dusty fields.

We stopped at a monastary for lunch.  The monastary was quite sizable and home to one monk and 67 novices – all under his command.  Myanmar boys all become novices at some point in their childhood (usually attending from age 10), but the ones at this monastary had forgone school in favour of buddhist teachings.  Most will return home to their families and farm life after 2 or 3 years.  We had lunch inside the main school/prayer hall – a huge wooden room which also acts as the boys dormitory.  Our lunch coincided with the study hour after the boy's lunch.  The hall was full of chanting (shouting) as the boys tried to memorize passages and chants.  The afternoon hike was fairly hot and dusty as we traversed rocky mountainsides.  We were forced to frequently stopped for water breaks under big leafy trees.  We arrived in our village for the night just before sunset and, after a brief stop at a monastary, we visisted the local shop .  This shop was far better stocked than the last one we had seen, largely due to the villages proximity to Inle Lake and other markets.  We unashamedly indulged in a cool coca-cola – a sweet relief from green tea!  In conversing with our guide, we tried to ascertain how much money the average villager makes but this is very hard to do as so much of their livelihood is dependant on a barter system rather than selling goods for cash.  We did managed to work out the a water buffalo is worth about $300 and a cow about $200, these must certainly be the villagers most prized possessions.  After our break, we headed to the village Chief's house where we would stay the night.  The Chief was roughly of the same demenor as the last one and similarly proudly wore a towel on his head – a yellow one this time.  We sat and had some tea with him before going for a wander around the vilage, saying the customary 'bye-bye' rather than 'hello' to all the children we passed along the way. 

A local child was unimpressed with Nikki's attempt to help out, whilst Eric faired better with the girls.

We stopped by the Chief's sister-in-law's house where we were treated to some tea and biscuits, along with a very interesting converation.  When we arrived, she was busy boiling potatoes for dinner to be made into mash (mash because she didn't have any teeth left).  She makes her mash with lots of chilli; Nikki explained to her that we eat lots of mash potatoes in England, though definitely not with chilli.  She laughed at us, thinking us foreigners were crazy and then replied that the chilli is the best part of the mash!!!!   The old lady also lived with her son-in-law and his three daughters – the wife having died a year ago.  We asked our guide if the son-in-law would remarry.  Tunti said it was possible and allowed but highly unlikely as the man already had 3 daughters.  Basically meaning that there were already women around to look after the house, and , since the oldest daughter had already dropped out of school to help out, there was no need to get a new wife/woman to look after the children and household. 

Village homes.

After making our way back the the Chief's house, we had another delicious meal and then sat chatting by the fire with the Chief.  We had a fitfull nights sleep that night, mostly due to the mice who were squeeking and scurrying around the room and along the beams over our heads.  We woke up in morning to find mice dropping surrounding our pillows!!  After breakfast we packed up our stuff and posed for a goodbye photo with the Chief before heading back out on the trail.

Posing for a photo with 'yellow towel' chief.

We followed the ox cart trails as villagers looked on from tilling the fields.

It was another very hot day for the final 15 kilometers to Inle Lake.  The walk took us just under 5 hours, pausing only briefly under large trees for water breaks and some shade.  We reached the lake at about noon; walking along narrow canals and waterways, watching farmers tend to water-logged fields of aubergines and rice.  Our final stop was a village on the south-west edge of Inle lake, it was here where we rendezvous-ed with our boat (and boatman).  Our boat was a long canoe complete with motor and comfortable wooden chairs lined one behind the other.  We were soon zooming down the canals, admiring the waterside houses and fields.  The trip across the lake took us about 1.5 hours; halfway across we began to see other 'white people' (or 'white Indians' as we are called by the Burmese).  We soon pulled up to the docks of the main town on the lake; after a final, very hot, 15 minute walk down the road, we finally arrived at our guesthouse.  The rest of the afternoon comprised of long refreshing showers and a trip down to the local pizzeria (there was going to be no rice for dinner tonight!!!!).

Inle Lake

We spend the following day exploring Myanmar's largest lake.  Just after sunrise, we set off to meet our boatman from yesterday for a day's excurions around the lake.  Although the lake has become increasingly touristy over the past few years, you can still experience and wtiness the everyday life and traditions of the locals and villages surrounding the lake. 

The infamous Inle Lake fishermen who 'row' with their legs and feet.

We toured the waterways of the villages stopping several times at the village shops and small 'factories' (ie, wood-carving, silk weaving, stone-cutting, etc…..) that lined the canals. 

The houses of the villages around the lake are built on stilts of wooden beams driven into the bottom of the lake.

The Giraffe women – they have extended necks as a result of large solid rings being fixed around their necks from the age of 13.  Traditionally, it was done to protect the women from tigers – who were known to kill their prey by biting the neck; apparently, the men can run fast enough so don't need the same protection.  Nowadays, it's done for beauty and is a dying tradition.

Men tend to their floating gardens as women head back with supplies from the market.

Surrounding the villages were floating gardens – which consisted of crops of tomatoes, califlower, flowers, etc. grown on clumps of soil floating on the lake.  On slightly more firmer land were rows and rows of banana trees, rice and other crops.  Amongst these we spied huge water buffaloes with long thick horns – definitely not to be messed with!!  Part of our day trip around the lake included a stop at a beautiful golden pogoda and the infamous 'cat jumping' monastary; where bored monks have trained the cats to jump through a hoops on demand!!  Due to their increased fame, the cats (and monks) have to put up with hoards of tourists demanding to see the trick.

Monks need hobbies too. 

Eric tentively tries to help out with the buffalo bathing.

Overall it was a nice relaxing day of speeding around the lake in our motorised canoe – it also gave our legs a much-needed rest!!

The next day, we hired a couple of bicycles from our guesthouse and mapped out a route around the lake to some nearby hotsprings and villages.  These bikes were very similar to those we rode in Nepal – no gears, no suspension, and a very hard seat!  We followed a partially paved and bumpy road along marshy waterways where locals were farming, harvesting, washing, tending to buffalloes etc… all around us.  An hour later, we arrived at the Hot Springs, which unfortunately were completely tourist-ified into concrete baths for which you had to pay $1 each just to look at.  Finding the tourist trap unappealing, we carried on down the road towards a the village, where we bumped into some other backpackers (a Canadian couple and a Californian girl) also on a days' bicycle excurision.  We all stopped for lunch at a roadside shack restaurant and spent a long time swapping 'war' stories over fried rice.  After lunch we wondered back into the main town and headed back to our guesthouse.  The following day we were to leave our lakeside residence and head to Myanmar's second largest city, Mandalay. 

Mandalay

A 10-hour overnight bus ride took us from Inle Lake to Mandalay.  We dozed on and off for the 10-hour trip and arrived just before 4 in the morning in Mandalay.  We then jumped into the back of a local 'taxi' pick-up truck which drove us to our hotel in the town center.  We spent the rest of the morning snoozing in our fairly clean hotel room – which had 24-hour electricity, hot water and satellite television (a true luxury for budget travellers in Myanmar!!!).  In the early afternoon we headed around the corner for some local cuisine and spent the rest of the day people watching, from a curbside ice cream parlour a little way down from our hotel.  Unfortunately, Mandalay is a very dusty and hot city which soon drives you back indoors; it is very different to Yangon, less modern, incredibly rundown and very dirty. 

Our first evening in the city, we went to see the 'Moustache Brothers' – the infamous comic trio who perform a slightly government derogatory act despite such performances being illegal.  The eldest borther has already endured 7 years in prison doing hard labour for telling one politically incorrect joke – a one liner where he likened the government to a thief…. 7-years in jail!!!!  The trio now get away with their present day performances by relying on the tourists to keep them safe.  Basically as long as we keep coming, keep photographing them, and writing about them, the government can't make them 'disappear'.  Their show was a mixture of traditional Burmese entertainment – dancing, puppet characters and a little singing; as well as some comic monologue.  Brother 'Number 2' did most of the talking – having a better grasp of english; occasionally he would spell out words or point to sign boards when he wasn't sure if his pronunciation was up to scratch.  He told us a bit about how everyone needed a second or third job in Myanmar as most primary jobs did not pay well enough to support a family; along these lines he described how a policeman's second job was extorting fines out of motorists.  Apparently you can tell how much money you will need to bribe the cop by how many times he sounds his horn (or whistle) when he stops you .  How very helpful!!

Brother number 3 performs slapstick whilst brother number 2 recites his opening monologue.

Eric poses with the trio whilst they mock the governments' attempt to silence them. 

The following day, we did some sightseeing around town, highlighted by a walk up 'Mandalay Hill' to watch the sunset over the city.  Climbing the hill consists of walking up a series of stairs which are broken up by various Buddhas and pogodas of different sizes.  The hill seems to be the place where school children and monks hang out to corner tourists so they can practice their english.  We were joined halfway up by some 15 year old school boys; then at the top of the hill, we were approached by 3 or 4 monks attending an abbott training monastery nearby.  One of the monks spoke near-perfect english and we spent nearly an hour talking to him and his friends; continuing once the sun had set, in a little teashop at the bottom of the hill over drinks.  During our converstation we touched upon the whole government situation in Myanmar and we explained that our guidebook advised us not to discuss the subject with locals as we may get ourselves, but more importantly the locals, in seriuos trouble.  He asked if we were allowed to discuss such things about Myanmar outside the country – to which we replied yes and that there was plenty of information on the subject – books, newspapers, etc.  This conversation occured at the top of the hill; later, when we were making our way to the teashop, he said that a suspisciuos Burmese man had been staring and listening  into this part of the converstaion.  How frustrationg to even have to worry about such things (to have to second guess whether strangers are informers or just being nosey)!!!!  Our experience in Myanmar has certainly made both of us far more aware of our freedom of speech and perhaps a little guilty that it is a right we often fail to appreciate fully.  The monk also hinted at the 'governments' forced labour which drags people away from their villages for periods of time.  What a shame we can't talk openly about these things with the Burmese, no matter how much you try as a tourist, you can only skim the surface.

The next day we hired a local 'blue' taxi to nearby attractions.  A blue taxi is a small pick-up truck with wooden planks in the back which fold down into benches.  Our first stop was at a pogoda – home to a 'very' golden buddha statue.  The buddhist pilgrims have pasted so much gold leaf on the statue, that it is now 15 cm thick in gold.  We then drove to the village of Amarapura – home to the worlds longest teakwood bridge – 1.2km long!!!  Presumably the locals think us foreigners are very strange for visiting a bunch of planks of wood. 

One of Myanmar's famous landmarks – the 1.2km teak bridge. 

Perhaps the best encounter of the day was with a local trishaw driver who we hired to take us back to our hotel after dinner.  He was incredibly overjoyed that we had agreed to get a ride from him.  He explained how he had had no customers all day (this was 9pm) and was 'so so happy' to finally pick up a fare.  His emotional relief and large smile radiated from his face the whole trip back.  The cost of the ride was less than one dollar.

The following day we planned the next leg of our trip in Myanmar: the journey to Bagan.  Luckily, we were to avoid the overnight bus by taking the ferry down the river from Mandalay to Bagan.  The ferry left at 6 in the morning from the main jetty in Mandalay and would take 10.5 hours to reach our destination.  The boat was a simple Chinese passenger ferry with airplane type seats in the lower level and two deck areas on the upper two levels.  We stationed ourselves on the upper deck and enjoyed the fresh air and the beautiful passing scenery.  The boat stopped a couple of times – very briefly.  A long wooden plank was thrown out for passengers to wobble either on or off.  There were a few locals at these stops trying to sell things – bannanas, samosas, cookies and blankets.  The women selling them usually waded waist deep in the water balancing their goods on their heads and were often accompanied by a few children shouting for pens or shampoo.   

The sun rises over pagodas as we cruise down river. 

 
The vendors throw bunches of bananas up to passengers.

The journey itself was uneventful, we spent the entire time on the deck, reading and snoozing.  We finally arrived in Bagan at 4:30 in the afternoon.   

Bagan

Bagan is perhaps Myanmar's most famous historical site and primary tourist attraction.  The 42 sq. km area was once home to 4500 temples dating from the 11th Century; today over 2000 survive (earthquakes, wars and neglect put pay to the rest) making it one of the most extrordinary sites of ancient civilization remains in the world. 

The temples of Bagan sit amongst dry grassland and palm trees.

Some temples have crumbled into disrepair whilst others remain standing tall in the distance. 

Bagan is also known for its unbearably hot afternoons; so accordingly, we opted to pay a little extra for a hotel WITH A POOL!!!  In the coming days, this proved to be a very wise decision.  Our daily schedule over the course of our 3-day visit to Bagan was to involve exploring and taking in as much of the surroundings as possible.  We rented some bicycles from our hotel for the duration of our stay – as expected the bikes were typical 'asian' style: no gears, no suspension  and brakes that barely worked.  Nevertheless, our hotel's proximity to the main temples and a fairly decently paved road made the daily excursions very enjoyable.  There are 3 or 4 main roads which service the area and to reach the actual temples themselves, you have to turn off onto dirt roads or ox-cart trails. 

We cycled along the dusty trails between the temples.

Most of the temples have a small collection of locals touting souvenirs; and very occassionally a couple of children begging.  Interestingly, they speak to us in English, but beg in French asking for 'bonbon' or stylo' as well as the ever amusing 'shampoo'.  The majority of the package tourists in Myanmar seem to come from mainland Europe: particularly, France and Germany… presumably the French have been the most giving. 

The temples of Bagan are not as impressive as those of Angkor Wat in Cambodia (which we visited the year before); inside they tend to have plain white-washed walls, or crumbling plaster with faint detail of what was once a great mural.  On the outside they have very little carving, most of the plaster facade and glazed tiles have crumbled away leaving exposed bricks.  Inside many have huge Buddhas either covered in gold, lacqeur or paint; some of impressive size.  However, despite these aspects, there is an amazing beauty to the temples of Bagan – it lies in their sheer number; they spread across the dry, arid landscape as far as the eye can see.  They vary in size and a little in shape – though most are square tiers that build up to bell-like stupas crowning the top. 

Bagan's golden stupa shines brightly amongst it's red brick neighbours. 

The gold leaf may have eroded but the temples retain a rich spiritual air.

Decorative carvings and plaster remained on a few of the temples.

Some temples housed their original painted buddhas and murals; many were still actively used for worship by monks and believers.

From afar they are an amazing array of red (exposed brick), white (white-washed plsater) and gold (gold leaf covered) ancient temples that hint of civilisation of old.  The most enjoyable are definitely those which you can climb – via narrow stone staircases squeezed into corner towers or steep steps lining the outside.  From up top the numerous temples fade into the horizon – a spectacular sight we can't quite capture in a photo. 

Only by climbing to the top of a tall temple could we appreciate the magnitude of Bagan as we saw the pointed spires stretching out for miles. 

One evening we climbed to the top of the highest temple to watch the sunset over the river; illuminating the thousands of temples dotted across the horizon as the sun dropped behind the circling hills. 

As the sun sets Bagan's temples become silhouettes against the sky. 

With regular dips in our refreshing hotel pool and pleasant bike rides throughout the day, we thoroughly enjoyed our time in Bagan.  We were now coming to the end of our trip in Myanmar.  After three full days of sightseeing in Bagan, we boarded another overnight bus (15 hours!!) back to the capital, Yangon.  We spent one day in Yangon to catch up on some last minute shopping and then caught a flight back to Thailand to continue our trip across southeast Asia. 

The contrast to our 'usual' shopping experience in India has been immense.  We have been able to restock our toiletries, medical kit and other necessities with ease; instead of enduring the usual process of entering a small wooden shack or garage-like structure, questioning the owner in very broken english as to what merchandise he has, brushing dust and ants off products to try to determine just how far past the sell-by date they might be, then haggling with the shopkeeper in an attempt to reduce the x4 markup he has placed on everything.

Bangkok has also provided another luxury…cinema!!! There are usually 3 or 4 english-speaking films on each week, which are shown in comfortable modern movie theatres.  The tickets are as much as a tenth of the price of watching a movie in London and the seats are more comfortable than most of the beds we have slept in on our whole trip.  The Thai national anthem is played before the start of each movie and everyone in the theatre patriotically stands for the duration of the tune.  The first time it was played we were very confused as to why everyone suddenly stood up for what appeared to be another advert, but after 4 trips to the movies we know exactly when to stand and happily hum along with the anthem as pictures of Thailand and the King scroll down the screen.

Our time in Bangkok hasn't been completely devoted to leisure and 'luxury', we also applied for our Myanmar (Burma) and Laos visas.  The Mayanmar visa involved a very boring 6 hour wait, most of this was spent in a semi air-conditioned room sitting in bright orange plastic chairs watching latecomers pleading in vain to be allocated a queue ticket number and being told to come back the next day.  Our Laos visa was one of the easiest we have ever had to get – a mere 1 hour wait with the visa being issued within 15 minutes of application….after such an impressive service it's such a shame they spelt Nikki's name wrong and we had to hang around to discuss the implications with the visa officer…fingers crossed it will still work as promised.  We also spent a day running around the city visiting Thai and United Airlines sorting out our RTW tickets that will eventually take us back to Eric's home in LA in late June.

Tomorrow we will be flying into Myanmar, where we hope to spend the next month exploring the countryside and temples, and experiencing the Burmese way of life.  Unfortunately Myanmar is ruled by an oppressive totaliterian military regieme which continues to be criticised for its treatment of its citizens and repeated infringements and denials of basic human rights.  One implication of this for us is that internet access is severely restricted and rumoured to cost over USD1 for 10 minutes of extremely slow connection.  It is highly unlikely that we will be able to access our email or update this blog.  Obviously this is a minor inconvenience compared to the repression suffered by the Myanmar people.  During our stay we will endevour to only use the services offered by private individuals and not those run by government agencies.  We hope that our tourism will support the local people and not the “abominable military junta”.

We will be flying into Rangoon (Yangon), the capital of Mynamar; from there we will spend 4 weeks circling north to Mandalay and back down again. 

We have never been so relieved to reach our destination.  We had both had an extremely hot and sleepless night, even when we had managed to fall in a sweat-drenched sleep we were soon rudely awakened by other passengers getting and off the train, lights being turned on, and vendors walking up and down the aisle.  Shouts of ‘chai’ (tea) and the unrelenting stares from the vendors awaiting a response haunted our dreams.  Once we arrived at our hotel, we both took gloriously refreshing showers.  These became a frequent ritual, as we averaged about 4 a day during our stay in Kochi.  Showers were the only way to combat the oppressive heat and humidity and rid ourselves of the dust that clung to our sweaty skin.  Kochi is a fairly modern city (by Indian standards) but is very noisy, polluted and uninspiring to walk around.  Amazingly, it was the first city we have visited in India that doesn’t have cows freely roaming the streets – we think they might actually eat them here!

The highlight of our visit to Kochi was our day at Cochin Fort.  The ‘fort’ is actually a reasonably big neighbourhood located on a small island, accessible by frequent local ferries.  The fort has a very colonial feel with wide tree-lined streets and European style houses.  Cochin fort is famous for, amongst other things, its Chinese fishing nets – these giant nets are suspended from large wooden pivots and lowered into the water 2 or 3 times a day.  Each net is owned by 5 or 6 people who collectively share the maintenance and bounty of the nets.  The nets are certainly successful as we enjoyed a large red snapper fish for lunch.

The Chinese fishing nets line the shore of Fort Cochin island.

A neighbourhood cat hungrily guards 'his' fish.

Fort Cochin is also home to the first church built in India – St. Francis.  The simple colonial style building was well preserved and proved to be an excellent shady place to escape the sun. 

We left Kochi on the 6am public bus heading for the hill station of Munnar.  Being a government bus, our transportation this time was far more basic: it was open-seating, in low-backed bench-like seats similar to those on an American school bus.  There was no glass in the windows making it a blissfully breezy ride; horizontal bars prevented passengers from climbing in and out (a favourite method for those desperate for a seat), but also prevented any emergency exit in the case of an accident.

Who needs windows….or a lick of paint….. or safety features….??

The 4-hour journey cost us about 75 cents each and was a pleasant climb up through the ‘Western Ghats’ region.  As we gained altitude, we left the heat of Kochi behind and entered the cooling fresh air favoured by colonialist tea plantation owners for centuries.  Munnar is surrounded by the spectacular views of hill upon hill of lush green tea plantations – a truly fantastic sight!! 

Mile upon mile of hills were carpeted in a blanket of green tea bushes.

Unfortunately, the small town of Munnar is a dump.  Centred around a smelly, polluted river, it exists purely as a transportation hub and squalid residence of local tea pickers.  Our accommodation (complete with cockroaches) successful carried on the theme of the dismal town.
Due to the lack of efficient public transport, the easiest way for us to explore the area was by taking the government tour bus.  The tour took us up winding roads through picturesque tea plantations to the ‘Top Station’ stopping at various viewpoints along the way.  Unfortunately, the Top Station was shrouded in cloud, so we were denied its famous views across the valley.  After lunch, we drove to a nearby National Park home to the regions famous ‘extremely friendly’ wild mountain goats.  The park, despite its setting amongst rolling hills was a disappointment.  We arrived at the park 15 minutes after it officially closed, but were ushered inside and told the closing time had been extended by 2 hours.  No doubt the park officials had been swayed by the fact that half of our tour were westerners and therefore would pay 15 times more than the Indian entrance fee (entrance fees to tourist sites across India are heavily biased against foreigners).  Movement inside the park was highly monitored and severely restricted.  We were only allowed to walk along a tarmac road for half a kilometre and then made to turn back; if we tried to venture off the road, park guards were quick to blow their whistles and demand a return to the man-made surface.  After a mere 15 minutes, we were told we had to leave the park as our time was up and were escorted out by guards weilding large sticks and blowing whistles.  Frustrated that we were not allowed to trek the promising craggy hills inside the park, to venture into the grassland to search for the wild goats (if they did indeed exist) or even linger to admire the views, we decided to complain and demand compensation from the government tour agency running the excursion.  Back at the main office, the tour guide both denied and lied about what had happened, his attitude was hardly surprising given the example set to him by his boss.  The agency manager first tried to ignore us, then claimed any compensation would come out of his own pocket before finally blaming his employee; essentially labelling the man as 'useless' right in front of him.  Amazingly, we walked out of the office with a tour refund and promptly celebrated with a slice of cake from a local bakery.  Despite our poor experience in Munnar, we would still recommend a visit to the area – the countryside was beautiful… just stay outside the town, and avoid any tours at all cost!!!!!

The countryside surrounding Munnar remains worthy of a visit despite our experiences in the town.

We decided to leave Munnar the following day and take the 6am bus to Kottayam.  In the process of identifying the correct bus, we came across a common problem for westerners in India – comprehending the meaning of the head-bobble.  The 'head-bobble' or ‘head-wiggle’ seems to be a uniquely Indian trait and involves the swaying of the head from side to side as if the head were perched on a spring rather than a neck.  A head-bobble can mean ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘maybe’ or ‘I don’t know’ but the fine difference (if indeed there is one) between each specific meaning is undetectable by foreigners.  Throughout our travels in India our questions and queries have often been answered with a head-bobble.  On this occasion it proved even more frustrating as we tried to decide whether or not to jump on a bus as it drew out of the station….the situation went as follows:

Eric and Nikki scan the parking lot of the bus station, it is 10 minutes past the scheduled departure time of their bus and there appears to be only one vehicle in the vicinity.
As they approach the lone bus and try to determine it's destination, a nearby rickshaw driver asks them where it is they wish to go.

Eric asks, pointing to the bus, “Is this the bus to Kottayam?”

The rickshaw driver head-bobbles and adamantly replies, “No.”

At this point the bus conductor looks out of the open doorway of the bus (presumably checking for last minute passengers).

Eric asks the bus conductor, “Is this the bus to Kottayam?”

The bus conductor looks blankly at him and head-bobbles.

A passerby, spotting our confusion, stops to ask which destination it is that we are trying to reach.

Eric replies, “We are trying to find the bus to Kottayam.”

The passerby converses with the bus conductor who begins to head-bobble back at him.  After a brief 3-way conversation, the passerby, the bus conductor and the rickshaw driver turn their attention back to us and head-bobble.

Nikki asks Eric, “So is this the bus to Kottayam?”

Eric, rapidly losing the will to live, replies, “I have no freakin' idea!”

Eric and Nikki, still seeing no other bus in sight, jump on as it pulls away…and yes, it was the bus to Kottayam.

The bus driver liked his speed and hard breaking, so we made it to Kottayam in under 5 hours – not bad going.  Bidding the bus conductor goodbye (he head-bobbled in reply), we grabbed a rickshaw and headed straight to the ferry terminal.

 The single deck, wooden ferry, complete with noisy engine, would take us on a 3-hour ride through the Keralan backwaters to Alleppey.  The backwaters are a swamp-like network of canals and lakes lined with palm trees, rice fields, and small villages.  Our first trip through the area was very impressive and certainly quite unique; neither of us has seen a similar landscape before. 

The backwaters were an amazing blend of vegetation, water and animal life.

We sailed through narrow canals, locks and waterways passing small breezeblock and wooden houses.  The residences were busy with daily life; men and women washing or doing laundry in the waters, fishermen and laborers transporting goods in long dug-out canoes, and children running along the narrow paths beside the canals, shouting and waving at passing boats. 

Amongst the palm trees, small villages would emerge bordered by large fields of rice.

The ferry was part of the local transportation service; we stopped many times at little jetties to offload and pick up passengers.  As we neared Alleppey we saw more and more bamboo-adored 'houseboats', the luxurious mode of transport chosen by many tourists to lazily cruise the backwaters for a day or 2. 

Weeds and algae would often get caught around the propeller forcing one of the crew to dive under the boat to cut away the blockage.    The locals waiting on small jetties were used to the delays this caused to the service.

Once in Alleppey we found a great homestay located in an old colonial house and run by a friendly couple, their puppy, 3 kittens and a cat.  Whilst in Alleppey we decided to take a local bus to a 'secret beach’ that our homestay family had told us about.  We caught a public bus with no problems, though Eric entered via the wrong door.  We failed to realise until we were on the bus that there were distinctly segregated male and female sections and even male and female doors at opposite ends of the bus.  Both exits were manned by doormen, one armed with a bell, the other with a whistle, who monitored the flow of people on and off the bus.  The bus was very busy so we were forced to stand in the aisle; at 5'6″ Nikki was clearly the tallest woman on the bus, 2-3 inches above the rest of the women…and half the men.

The beach was a glorious stretch of white sand and palm trees as far as the eye could see in both directions. 

The 'secret beach' it seems is still very much a secret as we saw only 5 or 6 other people whilst we were there.  The sea was incredibly refreshing and felt like swimming in warm velvet; we spent the afternoon swimming, reading under the shade of a palm tree, and nibbling on our picnic lunch of samosas and cupcakes.

Leaving Alleppey we took an 8-hour ferry to Kollam.  It was a slightly overcast day, which meant it was cool and breezy as we took our second trip through the backwaters.  The scenery again didn’t disappoint and also included long rows of Chinese fishing nets constructed near a flooded sea inlet.   

Fishermen cruise the backwaters in their dug-out canoe.

Our stay in Kollam was little more than a stepping-stone to our next destination: Varkala Beach.  The bus to Varkala left promptly the following morning and was of similar style to the one that we had taken to Munnar.  The bus ride took just over 2 hours and was fairly entertaining.  First onboard we had the fishermen’s wives, with their big tin bowls of fresh fish and shrimp which they were transporting to sell at various markets.  They took quite an interest in us, chatting and laughing, asking questions with their basic knowledge of English.  They took great pride in showing us their wares which we ‘oohh-ed’ and ‘aahh-ed’ at much to their delight.  The bus also served as a mail delivery van, picking up sacks of mail from the depot.  These were deposited under different seats depending on their destination, and then unceremoniously thrown out the door at the correct stop.  Later the bus transported the ‘vegetable women’ to market with their huge branches of bananas and sacks of vegetables.  All too soon we reached our stop, this was one bus ride we could have happily endured all day.

Life at Varkala Beach exists along a 3-foot wide path snaking along the top of red cliffs. This stretch is home to a multitude of guesthouses, restaurants and shops.

Heading north along the path takes you out of the main thoroughfare towards the black beach and a series of further smaller beaches.  Here the number of tourists is diluted somewhat by the presence of local fishermen who crouch in the shade of their boats mending their nets and exchanging tales. 

Small stretches of sand are sandwiched between rocks and palm trees to the east and the vast Indian Ocean to the west. 

To the south along the path is the main beach, a curved stretch of sand surrounded by a crescent of red cliffs.

Lifeguards, that is to say 2 lifeguards, 2 or 3 ‘wannabe’ lifeguards, their mates, and occasionally 1 or 2 tourist police, oversaw swimming at the main beach.  This rabble were to be found sitting chatting under a beach umbrella or standing in a group at the waters edge.  The main role of the lifeguards was to enforce the swimming zone and keep away local gawkers, dressed in what appeared to be security guard uniforms it didn't really look like they ever intended to venture into the water.  They fulfilled their role with vigor and displayed great glee at any opportunity to blow their whistles and gesticulate wildly at any infringement.  Unfortunately they did this so often and with such confusion that swimmers often could not figure out what it was they were objecting to or what direction they are trying to give!

Eric meets the David Hasselhoff of Varkala Beach.

Swimming in the sea we often spotted schools of small fish, and when they swam near the surface, so did the dozen or so eagles which circled above.  On 2 or 3 occasions we watched the eagles swoop down and scoop up their prey from a mere 10 feet away from where we were swimming.  Sometimes there were so many fish we could see them clearly suspended in each wave as it peaked and curved to break, as if the fish were preserved in a sheet of glass.  As we ducked under the breaking wave we were occasionally slapped in the face by fish caught in the motion of the water…a very weird experience!  The fish also gave rise to an interesting social observation.  One afternoon as the sun began to set a school of fish swam too close to the shore and beached themselves in the incoming tide.  People and eagles crowded to the shoreline to scoop up the fish – an amazing sight in itself.  But whereas the tourists were eager to save the fish and throw them back into the sea, the locals were hastily placing them in their bags or pockets to take home for dinner.

At dusk the restaurants would display much larger fish from the daily catch, hoping to entice customers to occupy one of their candle-lit tables for dinner.  Amongst our favorite was the tandoori tikka Blue Marlin and grilled Barracuda.

We celebrated Eric’s 28th birthday at a cliff top restaurant dinning on barracuda and sipping cocktails as the sun set over the Indian Ocean.  Because many of the restaurants did not have alcohol licenses we were often served beer in china tea pots and ceramic mugs…a simple but effective way of foiling police spot checks.

After 2 months in India it is time for us to leave.  An overnight train took us from Varkala to Chennai (Madras).  Tomorrow we board the red-eye flight to Bangkok to begin our tour of South East Asia.

A 27-hour marathon journey brought us down to Goa for Christmas and New Year.  It started with an 18-hour overnight train ride from Jaipur to Mumbai (Bombay), where we arrived at 7:30 in the morning.  We jumped into a typical Indian 1950s style taxi, which took us to Mumbai airport.  This being India, the taxi dropped us off at the wrong terminal whilst swearing blindly it was the correct one.  A ‘free’ terminal-to-terminal shuttle bus soon rectified the situation though the driver still tried to extort a fee from us despite the gratuity service.  After a 5 hour wait at the airport, we boarded a small 30-seat propeller plane which flew us the short one and a half hour hop to Goa.  From the Goan airport it was a further one and a half hour taxi drive down to Palolem beach.  It took us thirty minutes to decide on a place to stay, after such a long journey, we were in no mood to extend our deliberations beyond the basic checklist: electricity, bed, fan and ability to hang mosquito net.  Having dumped our bags, there was just enough time to jump into the sea as the sun began to set and the fisherman cast out their nets for the evening haul.  At last we had escaped the mayhem of Northern India and arrived safely to the calming, easy pace of Goan beaches.

Platform vendors sell their goods through the window bars during one of the train stops. 

The sun rises over Palolem Beach.

Life on the Goan coastline is in stark contrast to that in Northern India, particularly Rajasthan, where we had spent the last 3 weeks.  The local people are far more laid back in their approach to daily life; the pace notably slowed and along with it was a grateful reduction in the number of hawkers, scams and the touting that we were previously subject to.  There is a visible presence of western, particularly Portuguese, influence evident in the style of houses, churches, dress and cuisine.  Typical Indian vegetarian dishes remain on the menu but were accompanied by meat and western choices; and of course, plenty of fresh fish.  However, the real test lay in the cow population… they remained present, roaming both the beaches and the market place, but their numbers were smaller and the respect shown to the beast was much diminished. 

A local cow claims his sun bathing spot.

Palolem beach is a beautiful crescent-shaped curve of white sandy beach lined with towering palm trees on one side and the gentle lapping of the Arabian sea on the other. 

The sea draws back at low tide leaving us plenty of room to play  frisbee.

Local fishermens' boats park up on the beach.

Accommodation on this stretch of beach is limited to temporary structures meaning that most come in the form of small coco-huts (ie little wooden shacks with plywood walls and coconut palm tree leaf roofs) which spare the beach from being overrun with ugly concrete hotels. We spent the first week not in a cottage/hut but stayed in a safari style tent which turned out to be pleasantly airy.  The following week we upgraded to a detatched cottage for the New Year (complete with TV….praise be to whoever it was who made HBO available in India .

Our 'safari' tent.
 
Our daily routine for pretty much the next 2 weeks was rigorous! It began with breakfast taken at a beachside restaurant watching locals and tourists slowly emerge under the climbing sun. A morning stroll along the beach saw us claim our sun loungers for the day ('free' in return for buying lunch at the affiliated restaurant). Then the daily exercises began: a game of frisbee along the shore, followed by a cooling swim in the sea – repeated at least twice. Next was the agonising decision as to what to have for lunch, which was followed by an afternoon of snoozing, reading, and more frisbee and swimming. Evenings were torturous: Which restaurant to eat at? To sit under the palm leaf canope or at a candle lit table on the beach? Which fish to have? The shark, the red snapper, the tuna, the coconut fish? What to do after dinner..walk along the beach and watch the nightly fireworks or move on to a bar?
 
Christmas was a low-key affair; we exchanged a few token presents and splashed out on an extra big fish for dinner along with a few cocktails. New Year was celebrated on the beach. We spent the evening in one of the many beachside bars watching hundreds of fireworks being set off along the coast line. Safety regulations are rather lax in India and as a result many rockets misfired and went astray. On this occassion we were happy to cocoon ourselves in the middle of a crowd away from any immediate danger.

Our beach resort created a small nativity scene for the festive period.
 
After travelling on a budget for 6 months, the holiday season was a great excuse to indulge in some luxuries…and alcohol!! This was our 'holiday' from travelling and we thoroughly enjoyed it!

A successful monkey devours his chipati on the train tracks.

In the end, the train did arrive…. almost 6 hours late!!! 
 
Our train journey to Jaipur was fairly uneventful except for the appearance of a hijras. 

Hijras: India's most visible nonheterosexual group is the hijras; they are transverstites and eunuchs who dress in women's clothing.  Some are gay and some are hermophrodites; since it is traditionally unacceptable to live openly as a gay man in India, hijras get around this by becoming, in effect, a sort of third sex.

So, a man dressed (badly) as a woman came through the carriage, talking loudly to people and clapping.  An Indian man (who was sitting next to us) was clearly disturbed by 'her' and reluctantly gave her money to make her go away.  He later told us that the hijras work in organized groups extorting money from people.  It seems to be based on a superstition (no donation means being subject to a curse) but has become increasingly intermingled with a threat of violence.  They 'work' mainly as uninvited guests at important events: births, marriages, etc… and often get large amounts of money.
 
Jaipur
Population: 2.32 million
Region: Rajasthan
Famous for: the capital of Rajasthan; the ‘Pink City’.
 
We arrived in Jaipur during the late afternoon, and took the opportunity whilst at the train station to purchase our train tickets for our journey throughout Rajasthan.  As the Christmas holiday season approaches, train tickets get snatched up in a hurry by the increasing number of holiday tourists.  After a couple of hours of queuing, we managed to purchase the majority of the tickets we were looking for.      
 
We then found a great rooftop room in a nearby hotel.  After a full days traveling, we gladly opted for an early night.  The following day, we made the most of our time in Jaipur by going on a full-day tour of the city and its sights.  We were carted around the city by bus, stopping at various temples, palaces and forts in and around the 'pink city'.

The pink buildings of Jaipur.

 Our first stop was the Birla Lakshmi Narayan Temple, a splendid example of modern marble carving – it was so white, that the sun's rays reflecting off its walls were nearly blinding.  Our main stop was the City Palace, a mix of Rajasthani and Mughal architecture; the palace remains the residence of the current Maharaja today.  We had a quick tour of the costume and armory museums and admired the colorful pink facades of the complex. 

The immaculate walls of the Palace complex.

On the left - the world's largest sundial.  On the right – pigeons compete for a place to roost on the Maharaja's chandeliers.

The highlight of the day was our visit to the Jantar Maatar observatory, home to the world's largest sundial (accurate to 2 seconds!!).  Our guide explained the function of each of the large ‘sculptures’, which turned out to be impressive and working instruments for studying the Zodiac, the sun and calculating eclipses.

The Jal Mahal – the 'Water Palace' on the outskirts of Jaipur.

We toured the palaces of the Jaigarh Fort.

The following day, we caught up on laundry and emails.  We also bumped into some friends we met in Nepal; so we enjoyed a long leisurely dinner talking with them in the hotel roof terrace restaurant.  That night we boarded the overnight train to Udaipur.  The night train turned out to be the cleanest and quietest of our India trip so for…. and even better, it departed on time!!! 
 
Udaipur
Population: 390,000
Region: Rajasthan
Famous for: India’s most ‘romantic city’; setting for the James Bond movie, ‘Octopussy’.

Udaipur is billed as one of India' most romantic cities; nestled around a man-made lake and surrounded by purple-colored hills, the elegant havelis and palaces overlooking the lake make for a truly serene setting.  In the middle of the lake are two 'floating palaces' made purely of marble; one has now been turned into a 5-star luxury hotel (out of our budget range unfortunately).  We soon checked into a charming haveli (Indian mansion/town house), complete with beautiful stained-glass windows and terraces overlooking the lake.  We spent the afternoon taking in the sights and relaxing in some of the towns many rooftop restaurants. 

The Venice of India.

Udaipur's modern claim to fame is that it was the main location for the filming of the James Bond film 'Octopussy'.  In honor of this, nearly half the restaurants show the movie in length each night at dinner.  We had a great evening watching the film and recognizing the landmarks – certainly the easiest way to 'sight-see' a new place!
 
For the next two days, we took a break from our 'backpacker' existence and indulged ourselves – all under the great excuse of 'Nikki's birthday'!!  We aimed to spend the day in the 'James Bond' solid marble pool in the grounds of a nearby palace, but unfortunately, it was closed due to a rather raucous wedding the day before.  Instead, we had to make do with a rooftop pool (in another hotel) surrounded by gorgeous cushioned alcoves and a panoramic view of the city.
 

The 'James Bond' pool is located in a stunning lakeside palace.  The pool was closed but we still paused for a drink in the opulent surroundings.

The following day, we dug out the smartest clothes we had and took a private speedboat to the Lake Palace Hotel for a romantic birthday lunch.  Nikki was surprised with a birthday cake, though this was not the highlight of our meal…. we were instead really ecstatic about the fact that the restaurant served real cheddar cheese and 'safe, clean' raw fruits and vegetables!!!!

We were driven to the floating palace where we dined on cake and …er…cheese.

The sun sets in Udaipur.

We were sad to leave Udaipur, it had proved to be a relaxing break from all the hectic and polluted Indian cities we had visited in the weeks before.  We took a 6.5 hour comfortable bus ride through the desert scrub to the city of Jodhpur.
 
Jodhpur
Population: 847,000
Region: Rajasthan
Famous for: the ‘Blue City’.
 
Jodhpur is situated on the fringes of the Thar Desert, known as the 'blue city' because of the blue-wash walls of the old town houses; Jodhpur is an impressive sprawl below the mighty Meherangarh Fort.  We stayed in a wonderful family-run, red-sandstone haveli guesthouse directly underneath the fort, where we were treated to some great home-cooked meals and a friendly atmosphere.

The 'blue' city lives up to its name.

The Meherangarh Fort looms over the blue city.

We spent the next day exploring the Megerangarh Fort.  The entrance fee included an excellent audio guide which taught us all about the artifacts, architecture and legends.  The fort remains in good condition and as well as having an impressive palace, it has amazing views out across the city.  The city itself spreads out as far as the eye can see; short blue and terracotta-colored buildings crowd between a maze of interconnecting twisting alleyways barely as wide as a small car.

The fort was the location of many battles between the kings of Rajasthan.

We toured the forts palaces perched high above the city.

Did we mention the city was blue?
 
The following day, we explored a pillared marble memorial on the outskirts of the city before braving the maze of streets and investigating the local bazaars and traditional spice markets.  We thoroughly enjoyed Jodhpur, which proved to be far less touristy than most Rajasthani cities.  However, our visit to Jodhpur put back the progress of  Nikki's 'cow therapy' by several months (Nikki has an unexplained fear of cows); the cows of Jodhpur seemed particularly aggressive and tried to head butt anyone in sight (mostly tourists)…. even Eric was forced to take cover on a couple of occassions!!
 
Soon it was time to move on from Jodhpur; our alarms went off at an ungodly pre-dawn hour, giving us enough time to untangle the web of strings that held up our mosquito net.  We made it to the train station with little problem (apart from more irate cows).  Our train was delayed (of course), but only by 40 minutes – pretty good by Indian standards!
 
Jaisalmer
Population: 58,000
Region: Rajasthan
Famous for: the ‘Golden City’. 

A throng of touts greeted us at the Jaisalmer train station; luckily, we had arranged (for the first time in our trip) for someone to pick us up… so we easily bypassed the pests!!  Our guesthouse was located inside the city fort and we were given the magnificent 'traditional room' – complete with authentic mud floors, original shutters and a cushioned alcove looking out over the fort and the city. 

The view from our traditional window alcove.

The sand colored fort casts a shadow over the city.

 Jaisalmer is known as the 'Golden City', due to the yellow glow of its angular sandstone buildings basking in the desert sun,  The city’s houses cluster around the mighty fort which stands like a giant sandcastle in the middle of the Thar desert.
 
After a much-needed lunch we headed into the city to visit two famous havelis.  Havelis are extravagant mansions, standing 3 or 4 stories high around a central courtyard.  The Sing-ki-haveli and the Patwa-ki-haveli had great examples of intricately carved lattice stonework, topped with magnificent views of the fort.
 

Golden balconies overlook the markets below.

The sun illuminates the golden city.

We wandered around the streets taking in the local life before heading back to our guesthouse for dinner.  The rest of our time in Jaisalmer was spent wandering the streets of the fort and city and indulging in a little souvenir buying.

Colourful rugs and cloths are draped in the city's streets.

Haveli's tower over narrow alleys.

With our tour of Rajasthan complete, it's time for us to head south in search of sun and sand.