Leeds to Laos and beyond - travels round the world 2007-8

a bon voyage ...

2008-11-09T15:06:00.009Z

Exactly 24 hours after leaving Marrakech we made it to Madrid.

It doesn't actually take so much travel time, but train connections and an hours time difference working against us and we had a few extra hours to kill taking a leisurely breakfast in Tarifa.

After spending an obligatory couple of hours each day on "cultural duties" we would commence lunch and wine sampling at around 2pm. Even so we only managed to visit a miniscule proportion of the bars in Madrid - reputedly the most in any city worldwide - a staggering 6 for every 100 people.

I don't know if the sherry bars (imagine a glass of Tio Pepe served straight from the barrel) will ever be my cup of tea, but in every other respect I found the Madrileno lifestyle most agreeable - it reminded me of our month in Buenos Aires.

With the trip almost complete we boarded the Trenhotel to Paris and spent the evening dining a la carte in the restaurant watching the world pass by. The bumpy line meant the primary entertainment was watching the waitress attempting to pour wine, beer, water and coffee with increasingly comical results.

When I ordered my fourth refill of coffee Mel spotted what was going on and put an end to what she described as a "cruel sport".

After two weeks off almost seamless transport connections we found ourselves in Paris at Gare du Nord to the news of major dispruption to Eurostar due to an accident and power failure just North of Paris. I guess it serves us right for being so cocky after dodging September's tunnel fire by a week.

Our trip was at serious risk of ending with a day (or longer) of total frustration, and we were on the verge of trying to book a flight home when the first trains started rolling into the station and things started looking up.

We managed to get reassigned to an earlier train leaving just 2 hours after our intended departure (work that out if you can), but it wasn't until we boarded that we realised we'd been upgraded to first class.

The delay and slower journey time sufficiently balanced by complimentary champagne, wine and food, we were even more delighted when everyone on the train was given a free return journey on Eurostar by way of compensation for the problems.

We spent the journey sat across from a middle-aged, stereotypically French couple who were chattering away, clearly excited at the prospect of their weekend in London.

"hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw, Kate Moss, hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw, Feesh and Chips, hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw, Welsh Rarebit"

No matter where you travel it can be just as interesting to hear what people from other cultures find fascinating about your own ...

funky cold medina ...

2008-11-05T19:16:00.008Z

As we stepped of the boat I remembered a long standing promise from 15 years ago.

"If you're ever in Tangier, let me know and I will get my family to kill a sheep for you"

Now I'm as partial to a bit of roast lamb as the next man, but I doubt I could eat a whole one in the 2 hours before our train was due to leave.

I hadn't kept in contact with my old work pal Ali, and however much I suspected the bright lights of Rotherham may not have kept him from making a return to his previous business giving camel rides to tourists on the beach here, there wasn't going to be time to engage in a full scale man-hunt.

Our first class sleeper berths were basic but (an abominable toilet aside) comfy and we soon dozed off to the gentle rocking motion of the train. I awoke an hour before arrival as we were still rolling through the rock strewn desert with nothing more than the occasional settlement breaking the monotony. Then, out of nowhere the bright green oasis that is the Palmerie of Marrakech came into view, set against the backdrop of the snow-capped Atlas mountains.

The city of Marrakech splits into two parts, the relatively modern "new town" complete with sparkling marble floored train station and high street brands. Then the terracotta walls of the old town, looking like something from a film (doubtless plenty have used it as a location).

It's only once inside the walled city you appreciate the enormity of its network of bustling souks and medinas - although boosted by a thriving tourist economy this is still very evidently a way of life for most of the local population.

Most of the thoroughfares are off limits to cars, so after a taxi ride to the nearest road we hired a local guide with a pushcart to help us find the Riad (traditional house set around a courtyard) that would be our base for the next four days. The vast network of derbs (alleyways) that fill the city walls was just like a gigantic maze for grown ups and had us constantly lost over the duration of our stay.

The epicenter of the old town is the huge main square where snake charmers and musicians gather to entertain the crowds. Around dusk the food vendors arrive to set up their stalls and begin selling traditional Moroccan delicacies like Tagines, Kebabs and Couscous and, in reference to their French colonial past, a whole row of stalls selling steaming bowls of fresh snails.

Competition from the stallholders was fairly brisk, and at times we would find our way blocked by several hawkers armed with laminated menus trying to win our business. Each stall had a number, so after managing to bypass their advances they would invariably call out something like "remember me, number 23!" as you disappeared into the night. As we deftly sidestepped one vendor his unique call stopped us in our tracks "remember me, Sainsbury's - taste the difference!".

Well, you can't blame him for trying.

The cold and rain we had outrun on our dash South had caught us up again, so we spent our final day visiting a traditional spa in a Villa out in the Palmerie. I had only made the trip to join Mel for lunch, however when I discovered that the traditional Hammam involved being "washed like a baby" by two young girls in swimsuits I could hardly refuse.

Now I should point out that any thoughts you may be having that this was some sort of vaguely erotic experience are severely misplaced. What they had failed to mention is that in between each bathing came exfoliation with what could be best be described as rough mittens of a texture like a Brillo pad.

It left me feeling less "washed like a baby" than "scrubbed like a saucepan", but at least my skin was glowing as we boarded the return sleeper to Marrakech ...

the trains in spain ...

2008-11-01T16:05:00.009Z

It seems Spain is available in 2 temperatures.

Too hot or too cold.

Despite the outside temperature of 5-10 Celsius we spent the 5 hour journey to Madrid sweating in the 30 degree heat of the train carriage.

Other than a sentimental longing for summertime I can think of no explanation why this should be the case.

It was refreshing to emerge into the chilly night air wearing a t-shirt, much to the amusement of the taxi driver who took us to our hotel. He was wearing a winter jacket and scarf and kept saying "mucho frio?" as he shook his head at my attire.

Normally at this point with an English speaking person from a foreign land (say for instance London) I would launch into an explanation about this being normal attire for a winter night out in Leeds. A tale which invariably ends with the statement "...and you should see what they wear in Newcastle".

This being Spain the only thing I could think of saying by way of explanation was "Loco Ingles" while pointing at my own chest.

In the end I decided against reinforcing the stereotype.

Our initial delight at being upgraded to a suite in our hotel was short-lived, as was my enthusiasm for the cold. It was bloody freezing. I can honestly say I haven't had such a cold sleepless night since camping out in the snows of Mongolia.

Predictably the opportunity to thaw-out came early the next morning as we boarded our train to find the thermostat turned up to the max. I think Renfe should start running hotels.

2 hours into the second leg of our coast to coast journey we finally broke free of the rain cloud which had dominated our trip so far and emerged into clear blue skies and gorgeous rolling countryside of southern Spain.

Algeciras will not be remembered as a highpoint of the trip.

As the main haulage route from Europe to Africa it seems to cater primarily to migrant workers, lorry drivers and drug smugglers rather than tourists. Not so much a destination as a transit point with all the aesthetic charms of Grimsby.

In the end our quickest route out was a short bus journey down the coast to the far more visually pleasing fishing port of Tarifa, where we boarded a fast boat to Tangier hoping to arrive in time to make our connection with the overnight train to Marrakech ...

the rain in spain ...

2008-10-31T17:12:00.005Z

As we left London early on Sunday morning I had a spring in my step.

It was raining, which meant a strong possibility of an exciting ferry crossing from Plymouth to Santander. This particular route has something of a reputation for bumpy crossings - not everyone's cup of tea I know, but a trip I'd been hoping to take for some time.

In the end the storm in a teacup didn't materialise and we had quite a smooth journey, arriving in Santander the following lunchtime. Sadly with the rain still in tow, but I guess that's what you get for holidaying in Europe in late October.

From Santander we decided to pass on the shorter and cheaper bus journey to Bilbao in favour of the local FEVE train. The train was no speeding bullet, taking almost 3 hours to complete the 100km journey, but it did give us chance to admire the spectacular mountain pine clad mountain valleys of Northern Spain.

Not the most efficient means of transportation, but definitely to be recommended - if not for the scenery then for the spectalcularly bushy beards of the station masters in each village en-route.

In Bilbao the rain continued relentlessly for the duration of our two days, but even so we couldn't help liking the place. Not only was a glass of Rioja only EU1.50, but it was served up with the uniquely Basque version of Tapas - Pintxos - from such treats as deep fried Morcilla (black pudding) balls coated in chopped nuts, to the slightly healthier goats cheese, jamon iberico and apricot jam (and yes, that is all one dish).

Of course what really brings tourists to Bilbao is the Frank Gehry designed Guggenheim museum - the titanium cladding made the fish-inspired structure shimmer in midst of that morning's thunderstorm. We left rather more impressed by the building than the art within it, but what a building it is.

I suppose we could complain about our luck with the weather, but then who wants to see a fish out of water anyway?

tv moments ...

2008-10-12T16:00:00.000Z

Almost 6 months down the line since we got back and so many people have asked with concerned looks "how does it feel not travelling?".

It's a fair question. After taking the adventure of a lifetime just how do you adjust to the humdrum of every day life? I think I have found the solution.

Just keep travelling.

We have assumed a strange double-life where on increasingly dark Monday mornings we set out for the 200 mile commute and start of the working week in London. I doubt whether this is something we would be doing now if it wasn't for our year out - so the legacy of the trip lives on.

I had to check my diary to work out the most number of nights I have spent in one place since getting back.

6.

Definitely still travelling.

One thing that's definitely changed since we got back is how we watch television. More than ever I now realise just how uniquely negative the UK media can be. We just don't get as much out of watching travel programmes these days, with a few notable exceptions they seem to be more about selling sanitised package holidays than real travel.

A couple of months ago we chanced upon a repeat of The Long Way Round to find Ewan and Charlie wandering around a Ger camp we stayed at in Mongolia, then last week in his new series By Any Means, Charlie Boorman was staying at the same hotel as us in Yangshuo, China.

The world is definitely a small place. I'm half expecting to run into the pair of them on our next trip.

Speaking of which, just how do we follow up the "big trip" without it turning into an anticlimax?

It's not that we've turned into environmental extremists (although I'm sure Mel would given half a chance), but these days flying just doesn't seem like the attractive option it once did.

3 hour check-ins, being herded around like cattle, treated with disdain by overworked airport staff, and surely I can't alone in thinking the increasingly lengthy list of items you need to remove for scanning is more about perception than genuine security?

We've decided to stick close to the ground for our next few trips.

Our first mission a few weeks ago to Paris on Eurostar was a resounding success - a 10 minute stroll from our new pad in London and little more than 2 hours later we arrived in the centre of Paris.

If we had decided to fly I think we would still have been waiting in the lounge in Heathrow.

So on the return journey we started thinking bigger. Just how far could we get on the 2 week holiday we'd promised ourselves before the Christmas? 24 hours later and a quick session on the legendary Man in Seat 61 and we had set our next target.

Morocco.

Or more specifically, the Medina's of Marrakech. Leaving in 2 weeks time.

I'm not going to reveal our route just yet, but for those of you whose interest in our travels isn't been completely exhausted I'll be posting installments on our progress right here.

Back to the box and one of the best things we've seen since returning came from an unlikely source. Better even than the highly recommened Amazon with Bruce Parry (quickly discounted as a realistic option for our 2 week trip) was an old episode of Top Gear.

You can see below just what had us glued to the screen ...

Conclusive proof if ever it were needed that the 1500cc 1987 Toyota Liteace is indeed King of Campervans ...

the final word from dubai ...

2008-05-19T09:25:00.012Z

As I arrived at my pal's apartment in Dubai I discovered this rather interesting leaflet sticking out of his door (just click on the picture if you can't read the text).

Not only did the use of English rival some of the very best Chinglish we experienced during our visit to China last year - but the offer of a male "house boy" maid sounded suspiciously ambiguous at best.

Closer inspection revealed Line 8, and confirmed my suspicions, "By experience and skilled maid. Male and Female." Not or, and. Male and Female. Now I was just left with one question. Why the hell was this organisation targeting Chris?

I've only been away for a year, but some things have definitely changed.

Dubai is all about construction, yet despite it's reputation nothing really prepares you for the scale of the building projects. It's absolutely everywhere. Every road is lined with cones, layouts change on a daily basis to provide access to building sites and even after 15 years of focused development the number of skyscrapers under current construction far outweigh what's already there.

I was joking about visiting airconditioned greenhouses in my last post - I certainly wasn't expecting this.

The airconditioned bus stop.

It sounds pretty extravagant, but with the temperature already pushing 40 degrees in late spring they might not be very environmentally friendly, but one would be welcome all the same if I found myself waiting for a bus. It's the economics of energy in the Middle East that make this kind of thing possible, in fact there's only one statistic I need to share with UK consumers to make the point - £8 for a tank of petrol. I just paid £63 for my last fill up.

The highlight of the trip was taking a self-drive dune buggy safari into the desert. After two hours bouncing up and down near vertical dunes in the scorching heat we were covered in sweat and even more sand, but grinning from ear to ear. It was fantastic fun, of a type that would surely only have been improved without the hangovers.

On the way back to the airport I did notice an exciting feature on Chris' car which instantly transported me back to our time in New Zealand last year.

SC Mode? Surely it was too good to be true, a BMW Z4 that turns into a vintage Toyota Liteace Super Casual?

I know which we'd rather have.

Thanks for reading - I hope you've enjoyed reading about our adventures half as much as we've appreciated all your comments and emails along the way.

At the outset a year sounds like such a long time - it isn't. There are so many interesting places out there, even a lifetime of travelling wouldn't do more than scratch the surface of everything our planet has to offer. If we've learnt anything during our time away it's that life is short - planning for the future is one thing, but not at the expense of today.

It's back to work tomorrow - which could rate as an even bigger culture shock than our first night camping with the nomadic herdsmen of Mongolia.

Yes, that's right, I'm going to work in London.

london calling ...

2008-05-18T00:57:00.001Z

Checking into our hotel felt oddly like returning home - I guess that's what happens when you've been on the road for so long.

We'd only been home for a few days, but it was a relief to leave the chaos of unpacking our belongings behind and head down to the capital for a few days. The main reason for the trip was to kick off the job hunting in earnest, but it also gave us the chance to catch up with a few friends and we even managed to squeeze in a cultural attraction.

The Tate Modern is well worth a visit - not only is it cunningly housed in the shell of an old power station on the banks of the Thames, but the art is pretty good too - or at least most of it is. Wandering around a room with paintings by Rothko and Pollock I spotted a sign for a multimedia installation and decided to check it out.

Inside the white room films were being projected onto all four walls. The main one was of a guy stumbling around in a bathtub wearing nothing - and I do mean nothing - except for a boxing helmet and gloves. The action alternated between him punching himself repeatedly in his well-padded head, and smearing the contents of a bottle of ketchup over his loins.

It's put me right off tomato sauce I can tell you ...

The job hunting went better than expected. Mel is about to embark on a round of second interviews this coming week - and I've got a new job working at EMAP in London from the beginning of June. It's been a really busy couple of weeks - I guess we're lucky that we haven't had a chance to sit around and mope about the end of our trip.

Before real life resumes there's just enough time to pack my bag for one more trip - this time checking out some air-conditioned greenhouses in the desert.

the finish post ...

2008-05-06T08:42:00.006Z

They say all good things must come to an end.

I just wish they didn't have to.

The excesses of Vegas and L.A. had left us in desperate need of sleep as we arrived at JFK late at night we made our way to our lodgings at the Pod Hotel - only in New York can they turn lack of space into a selling point.

We resurfaced late the following morning to the realisation we had just 24 hours before our flight back to the UK. We needed to prioritise.

Sushi, shopping and cerveza.

And here it is - entry 150 in the league - a pint of Brooklyn Lager. Travelling around the world is hardly carbon friendly, but at least I can take pleasure in my unique brand of offsetting; consuming as much locally produced beer as possible.

The coming home experience started at JFK's British Airways terminal where all the announcements are delivered in the finest home counties accent. For some reason we found this incredibly amusing after a whole year out of the country - I rather suspect BA's staff are encouraged to "ham up" the Englishness for American tourists.

Getting home is very strange - everything costs more than anywhere else we've been in the past 12 months - Leeds more expensive than Tokyo? You'd better beleive it. I think it's going to take a while to get used to the UK way of doing things in shops and call centres - I've begun to think of it as service with a grunt. OK, so it's not true of everyone, but in my recent experience BT are doing enough bad work to make up for all the good examples out there - still no home phone or broadband after first contacting them in mid-March.

Of course there are some great things too - curry, fish & chips and of course going to see Leeds win at home - next stop the play offs. I've already got my ticket.

It's been great to start catching up with friends over the last few days - and we're really looking forward to seeing the rest of you over the coming weeks. I'll be keeping the blog running for the next few weeks as I visit a few more interesting destinations.

After all, it's not as though you can phone me ...

last orders in la-la land ...

2008-04-29T21:05:00.009Z

I've not been sure what to write about our weekend in LA.

We had a really nice time meeting up with our friends Sean, John & Laura, but I didn't take any photos, and how interesting is hearing about other peoples dinner (tea if you're from Yorkshire) and shopping trips? Not very I suspect.

I know you're only interested in the drinking.

After dinner on our last evening we headed to one of Pasadena's bars for a quick drink. I don't know if it's the same for you, but whenever that is the pretext for an evening out it inevitably ends up being anything but quick. This is always bad news, but especially when you have to leave for the airport at 5.30am.

We met lots of interesting locals during the evening. The ones I'll remember most are the couple who walked up and by way of an introduction asked me if I used to play the trumpet as a child. No, only the fool I told them.

We got talking and it turned out they were on a date the format of which they had decided would be a treasure hunt - finding people who had played various instruments in childhood was one of the questions.

As the conversation turned to pets we found out the guy had a female cat called Zeus. In retrospect this was obviously a setup and when Mel made the comment we were all thinking - "surely that's a boys name?" the girl let out massive "YYYY-ES!!" and punched the air as she crossed one more off her list.

Later, and after receiving a complimentary pint of Guiness in return for helping the barman to sign You'll Never Walk Alone (a transaction I still don't fully understand) I looked up just in time to see the girl from earlier giving her boyfriend a piggyback through the bar.

I checked my watch and confirmed it was indeed that time of night. 3am.

Otherwise known as stupid o'clock ...

Of course you really just want to know how this affects the league ...

After sampling Woodie Gold, Sierra Nevada Summerfest and Beech Wood Red I got a bit of a scare as the bar menu described Blue Moon (sampled in late 2007) as a Canadian Beer. A spot of internet research has revealed that despite being owned by a Canadian company, Blue Moon is very much a US brewed beer, so the current total stands at 149.

I hope I'll be able to find at least one more in New York ..

getting our kicks on route 66 ...

2008-04-27T05:36:00.001Z

After 3 nights in Vegas I'd had my fill, so I was glad to set out into the desert for one final road trip.

After the relative excitement of driving across the top of the Hoover Dam, the highway running through the Arizona desert was dull, dull, dull. A whole hour without the slightest curve or kink made me very glad indeed of cruise control - never again will I think of motorway driving in the UK as boring.

We spent the night at the old Route 66 town of Williams just 60 miles south of Grand Canyon National Park, which nowadays has reinvented itself as a tourist gateway, with restored 1950's diners.

A we drove out to the canyon the following morning we nearly hit a roadrunner crossing the highway - having now had the opportunity to observe both a Coyote and a Roadrunner, I feel qualified to raise a few issues with the classic cartoon.

Running out front of cars is just plain stupid. However, the Coyote we saw displayed his wiley characteristics perfectly as he stalked a small herd of deer - wandering off casually behind a building after being sighted, only to reappear moments later from a completely different direction. In real life I just don't think there would be any contest, much less the need to spend a small fortune at ACME.

But the biggest question is why? Roadruners are tinier than the cartoon makes out. In fact I reckon you'd probably get more meat on your average housesparrow. I can't see that in real life a Coyote would even bother.

The Grand Canyon was well worth the journey, and if anything possibly more impressive than I had expected. After taking in several viewpoints, the return journey gave us the opportunity to take the more scenic route for a couple of hours along the 66. It was just a small taster of the classic road trip from Los Angeles to Chicago, but I think the full route would make an excellent holiday - and current exchange rates I doubt there'll ever be a better time to do it.

We'd had a great day, but as we took lunch in a classic 1950's Soda fountain (think lemonade, with vanilla ice-cream and fresh cherries) I couldn't help thinking Mel had let all this talk of cartoons go to her head ...

Finding new beers to sample is becoming increasingly difficult but as we stayed just outside Vegas I got to sample of couple of hitherto unseen beers from Utah at a local wine bar.

My eye was especially drawn to the Polygamy Porter and after ordering a bottle I was even more amused by the strapline on the bottle - Why only have one?

bringing down the house ...

2008-04-24T00:34:00.002Z

I'd never really thought Vegas would be my sort of place.

Checking out flights from Denver to California I discovered that rather than flying direct it was cheaper to stop over in Vegas, stay in a 4-star hotel for 3 nights and hire a convertible sports car for 2 days.

So of course that's what we did.

Nothing I saw in the first 24 hours altered my preconceptions, and on the second afternoon I found myself having to escape to the hotel pool to avoid the pulsating neon and crowds of loud margharita swilling tourists wandering the strip.

The first evening we'd restricted ourselves to a few dollars in the 1 cent slot machines (at one stage reaching the dizzying heights of a $5 profit), but no trip to Sin City would be complete without at least trying our hand at some slightly more serious gambling.

Our budget is by no means "hardcore backpacker", but neither is it endless. After blowing $50 in just 20 minutes playing roulette we thought we figured we wouldn't be spending much of our time playing the $10 minimum bet table games.

Since reading Bringing Down the House earlier in the trip (watch out for the film, it's a great story) I'd been keen to at least try playing blackjack, so we decided to commit just another $40 to a few quick hands - our main objective being to spin things out long enough to land a free round of drinks.

So we were quite suprised when 3 hours later we were still playing and had managed to increase our stake five-fold to $200 - and almost as good we'd had at least a dozen free drinks each.

Compared to the MIT students in the book we might only have brought down the equivalent of a small garden shed, but despite my expectations we had a great time here.

I found another 4 beers here from the aptly named Sin City Brewing Company, taking the current total to 144 as we enter the last week of the trip.

the denver dozen ...

2008-04-20T19:08:00.007Z

Any concerns I might have had about the magnitude of my self imposed target of 150 beers for the league are now a thing of the past.

This weekend I was introduced to Total Beverage, a super-sized liquor warehouse where they have 6 whole chillers full of pick 'n' mix beer (top). With 9 varieties of microbrewed beer on each shelf (no repeats) I calculated a staggering 324 different bottled microbrews to choose from.

At this late stage in our trip staying in Denver for a month to sample them all was out of the question so I had to be content with just four before we heaed out for the evening with our friends Cathy and Leon took us for a fantastic seafood meal at their local branch of Bonefish Grill.

If there was a downside it was only minor, just one new beer on the menu, the "low alcohol" Michelob Ultra. Hitting the magic 150 is one thing, but not if you have to compromise your principles.

After dinner it all came right with a visit to the nearby Rock Bottom microbrewery where it didn't take long for me to decide from a long menu of choices - their 8 beer sampler (below), served on laminated tasting notes.

A move as natural as it was good.

A big thanks to Cathy and Leon for all their hospitality during our weekend in Denver - we had a great time and the beer league wouldn't be in such great shape without you.

With 140 beers now sampled, the target for the rest of the trip has come into sharp focus - a beer a day for the next 10 days ...

the joy of six ...

2008-04-19T01:03:00.001Z

I've just found a very useful facility in the liqour store near our cabin in the rockies - a whole shelf of beer from which you are encouraged to "pick'n'mix" your own six pack.

Better still, I managed to fill my hopper with 6 beers I hadn't tried yet.

Being from small breweries they all have interesting names like Mothership Wit, Tommyknocker Maple Nut Brown Ale, Road Dog and my personal favourite - Moose Drool. Add another couple sampled on the way up here and we have 8 more beers for the league, bringing the total upto 128.

With just two weeks left to go I've decided to set myself a challenging target - 150 before I return to the UK.

So it's lucky that we're going to Denver next. Apparently they have more microbreweries than anywhere else in the US - although even I won't be able to sample all the output in just 36 hours.

But I will try ...

snowed in ...

2008-04-18T01:11:00.007Z

First stop over the border into Colorado was the old mining town of Silverton.

Located in a secluded valley over 9,000 feet high in the mountains and surrounded by snow-capped peaks, winter was still in evidence here with snow reaching the upper storeys of some buildings as we explored the historic town.

It was here that we discovered that it is not only Bolivia where you can get a high altitude hangover. Of course it wasn't really our fault - the only place open after 7pm was the local tavern.

In fact, the following morning's hangover was so bad I had to continually fight the urge to stop and bury my head in the snow drifts for relief. But despite the headaches our drive through the stunning Red Canyon was fantastic with superb far reaching views and 12-foot long icicles hanging by the side of the road.

It wasn't until lunchtime the following day that we reached Rocky Mountains National Park in the north of Colorado.

After stocking up on supplies at the local store we found a cabin for the evening just as a snowstorm was beginning to hit. By 6pm there was already 3 inches of snow on the ground and the temperature had fallen to -4C, but it takes more than that to stop us making full use of the hot tub - the contrast in temperatures was invigorating.

Especially the walk to and from the cabin in flip-flops.

We're having such a good time here that we've abandoned our plans to visit Boulder in favour of another two nights in the cabin.

Driving around the National Park by day offers some unbeatable views, but we've discovered that the wildlife around our cabin is just as plentiful as in the protected area. Every day we've seen scores of ground squirrels and deer, and even a coyote hanging around this morning.

truth or consequences ...

2008-04-17T01:49:00.000Z

If we hadn't already known Texas is the "bible belt" of the US, we'd have worked it out pretty quickly arriving in El Paso.

As I went in search of the indoor pool I stumbled across an audience of several hundred in one of the hotels atriums. Some kind of religious conference was in full swing, with loud clapping and cheering at every other sentence.

In the process of collecting our hire car we discovered there are two kinds of clientelle at the airport here, groups of teenagers wearing a uniform of bible camp t-shirts, or military types from the nearby Fort Bliss sporting crew cuts and combats.

It struck me just how easily religion and the machinery of war sit side by side here - yet somehow we never seem to hear much about the dangers of Christian fundamentalism in the media.

Driving into New Mexico our first stop was the unusually named town of Truth or Consequences, who intially won their name on a radio show - you can read more about that here. After spending the night in a refurbished 1950's motel we hit the hot springs, enjoying a private pool along the banks of the Rio Grande overlooking turtleback mountain.

Food in Mexico tends to be quite different from the Mexican food we enjoy at home, which is probably more accurately described as Tex-Mex (i.e the americanised version) and to my taste at least far nicer.

Here of course they prefer to use the term New Mexican.

Continuing the drive north we stopped at a diner in Albuquerque for lunch where I had the nicest burrito I'm ever likely to taste (stuffed with chilli con carne and refried beans, topped with loads of cheese, guacamole and sour cream) - hardly diet food, but then again we are on holiday - which has been the universal excuse for pretty much everything over the last 50 weeks.

Our final stop in New Mexico was the town of Santa Fe in the high desert, characterised by it's trademark adobe buildings. To be honest, it all seemed a bit manufactured - even the town carpark (below) got the same treatment ...

friends reunited ...

2008-04-13T15:09:00.002Z

There is a temptation to think of everywhere in Central and South America as being fairly close together. Not so.

The final leg of our journey began by taking the 10 hour flight from Buenos Aires to Mexico City, which is actually the same distance as travelling from the north coast of Ireland to Botswana.

I know this because Mel's Dad, Robert, worked it out for us.

Using the trusted method of measuring out the distance on his map between forefinger and thumb, then making an arc out from Ballycastle to identify destinations of the same distance from his home. Hardly scientific, but pretty accurate all the same I reckon.

Leaving the capital we headed up to Los Mochis for the classic Copper Canyon Train to Chihuahua (above). The ride of 16 hours took us through stunning scenery, clinging to the edge of steep canyons and traversing single guage bridges over numerous lakes, rivers and valleys.

However, the fantastic train ride was quickly forgotten though as we discovered the state of our hotel in Chihuahua - the worst part being that our arrival in the middle of the night didn't really give us the option of taking our business elsewhere.

I'll spare you the goriest of the details, but Mel was forced into wearing flip flops due to a sudden onset of carpet-phobia and our shower curtain rail was partially constructed using a bar of soap. You get the idea.

Classic rail journeys are one thing, but perhaps even better our brief return to Mexico gave us the chance to catch up with a few old amigos.

Victoria, Montejo, Tecate and of course, Modelo Especial (below).

Still reigning numero uno in the beer league.

Those of you paying really close attention will have noticed this is in fact an export bottle of Modelo.

I forgot while actually in Mexico, but it wasn't to hard to pick up a six-pack as we crossed the border into the Texas.

More on that next time ...

one last tango ...

2008-04-09T14:58:00.009Z

Suddenly we found ourselves with just a few short days to cram in everything we had promised to do during our month in Buenos Aires.

Perhaps the biggest highlight of our final weekend was taking in a Tango Show in Bar Sur, an atmospheric bar situated on a cobbled backstreet in our neighbourhood of San Telmo with just a dozen tiny tables pushed back against the walls to make space for the musicians and dancers.

Our evenings entertainment was a 2 hour repetoire of tango standards on piano, violin, guitar and accordion - accompanied by the occasional ageing crooner it matched the historic surroundings of the bar (and of course a bottle of bubbly).

Of course the highlight of the show were the professional dancers, with the characteristic between-the-legs kicks of the ladies in 4-inch heels seeming to pass perilously close to the male dancers unmentionables. The show was made all the more impressive for the extreme lack of floorspace and it required inch-perfect coordination to avoid accidents of all types.

One more Boca Juniors game, a final steak and we were ready to close the door for the last time on our apartment in San Telmo.

I can only think of one last word to adequately describe our time here.

Awesome.

I also had a final opportunity to raid the Argentine beer cellar for last minute additions to the league and came up with another five, one in particular the simply outstanding Palermo at 90%.

I only ever saw it in our local supermarket, but due to mistaking the label for a wheat beer I didn't try it until the final few days. Just goes to show that appearances can be deceiving!

Recycled in Buenos Aires ...

2008-04-05T19:04:00.000Z

The financial crisis in 2002 left a lot of Argentines out of work, but like every cloud it had a silver lining.

Or in this case, green.

Granted it's little to compensate for the huge-dirty-great-black cloud that is financial collapse, but I doubt whether the cities recycling has ever been in better shape.

As businesses and housholds put their rubbish out every evening, thousands of unofficial recyclers descend on the city centre to sift through the days waste before the refuse collection lorries make their rounds. Cardboard seems to be the major prize on offer here - so much so that they even have a special name for the people that collect it.

Meet the Cartoneros.

Even in the so-called developed world it's fairly common to see the poor and homeless collecting aluminium cans for recycling (in Cambodia we even had kids following us, waiting to collect cans we were mid-way through drinking), but what really impresses here is the collective effort.

Households actually take the trouble to separate out the rubbish that has value (cans, carboard etc.) to make it easier for the recyclers to deal with. I'm not sure which is the biggest motivator, green tendencies, human empathy or just attempts to keep the street clean - either way the effect is great recycling.

I may not have joined the ranks of the Cartoneros, but you'll be pleased to know I'm doing my bit too. Not only do we pre-sort the rubbish from our apartment, but I've been recycling tremendous quantities of glass bottles almost every day over the past month. Beer bottles of course.

The deposit of $1.50 (pesos) on a litre bottle is over half the cost of the actual beer ($2.70) - thus ensuring almost every bottle in the city gets returned to the brewery for refilling. Our local supermarket even reuses the plastic bag you bring the empties back with for the full ones.

I think the current bag has made about 25 trips now ...

My guide to using the Guia T has just been published over on Day 12, where my blog is also featured this month ...

getting stuffed on the empanada trail ...

2008-04-01T15:35:00.007Z

We'll be leaving Argentina in a few days time, but I couldn't move on without giving a mention to the humble empanada.

A bit like an extra-tasty miniature cornish pasty, they are available with a wide variety of fillings and are sold absolutely everywhere, from bakeries to top-end restaurants as starters. To put it quite simply the Argentines are empanada crazy, and after several weeks here a little of the madness has rubbed off on us too.

So when our friend Sherri emailed from Melbourne with a link to this interesting article by Dan whose secret restaurant we visited the evening beforehand, we started to wonder, would be possible to visit each of the empanada vendors in a single day?

And what if you had to take public transport aided by a copy of the Guia T?

The gauntlet was laid down.

First came the planning. Aside from a couple of "hot spots" with outlets a few blocks apart the locations were spread throughout the city so it was important to try and minimise travel time and connections. I won't go into detail but let's just say it involved four hours, various improvised diagrams and quite a bit of swearing before I finally managed to map out a circuit in preparation for the following morning.

On the back of arriving home at 4am the previous evening, we didn't get started until 11.40am, and we set off for the 15 minute walk to the bakery of La Familia. Thankfully empanadas are great hangover food and served in Santiago de Estero style here they didn't dissapoint - still warm from the oven, the crisp light pastry was filled with a tasty mix of mince, onion and chopped egg. It was our first food of the day and we had to curb our natural instincts to order a second, remembering we had a further 9 stores to visit.

From here we jumped on the subway to the city centre and the small restaurant of Los Chilenos where we sat down and ordered a coffee and empanada apiece. Our waiter returned from the kitchen with devastating news. No empanadas due to lack of beef. It appears we are caught in the midst of a seige situation as farmers blockades attempt to starve the capital into submission. You can read more here.

We quickly moved on.

Just a few blocks away we found El Federal, specialising in Patagonian cuisine. Panic buying is a feature of all good sieges so here we decided to go for their tempting gustation platter (above) of 6 empanadas with beef, lamb, cheese and humita (sweetcorn & cheese) fillings. We found the pastry a touch greasy but the fillings were to die for, the best one being melt-in-the-mouth patagonian lamb.

Taking our first bus of the day to Barrio Norte we arrived at La Cocina - a cafeteria/takeway joint with walls covered in fading rock and reggae posters. We were back in pastry heaven with their Catamarca style empanadas, which we sampled in ricotta and ham, and chicken varieties. Even though we were beginning to feel a little bit sick we thought the fillings were pretty good too.

It was almost a relief when we found the nearby La Querencia closed as it gave us 30 minutes of digestion time while we took another bus out to the suburb of Palermo Viejo. Not only were both the restaurants here closed but Mel had started saying things like "I'm going to be sick" and "I'll get you back for this". It didn't bode well.

Other than a brief interlude where we unexpectedly found ourselves wandering through the middle of a film set as we walked through Palermo Viejo it had been a wasted journey. So when we arrived at our next destination in Belgrano to find it too was very much closed, it prompted Mel to unleash the threat of the ultimate weapon.

Handbag shopping.

We were on the next bus home.

Mel has an irrational fear of sweetcorn, an intolerance of peppers and quite frankly "wasn't in the mood" for the final one (not on Dan's list) I had with my coffee just before we caught the bus home, but here's how they stack up.

Marks for pastry and filling are out of 10, overall out of 20, averaged where applicable.

Pastry/Filling/Overall

La Familia

Carne 14
Mel 8/5
Mark 8/7

El Federal

Queso 10.5
Mel 5/6
Mark 5/5

Carne 12
Mark 5/7

Humita 11
Mark 5/6

Lamb 13
Mel 5/8
Mark 5/8

La Cocina

Ricotta/ham 14
Mel 7/7
Mark 7/7

Chicken 13.5
Mel 7/6
Mark 7/7

Pompeii

Rquefort 12
Mark 6/6

Moving on to stuffing of a different kind, I'm pleased to report that the eagle creek pack system is continuing to perform excellently. Although I didn't need to main bag for our recent trip to Uruguay I still used one of the cubes to good effect in my hand luggage.

If I'd started worrying that I was maybe taking things a bit too far by reducing my round-the-world luggage to a mere 12kg, then I needn't have. After checking out Crazy Eric's website I am reassured that I am a sane and well-adjusted individual. Just like he claims to be ...

the size of a cow ...

2008-03-29T17:06:00.001Z

Remember when the e-commerce revolution promised us the convenience and service of on-line shopping?

It's a shame no-one told the ferry company that runs between Buenos Aires and Uruguay.

After an hour of trying to order the tickets on-line I resorted to the call centre - quite possibly the single most frustrating experience of my life.

The next 18 hours involved regular phone calls during which I would correct the previous operators spelling mistakes, before returning to my vigil at the internet cafe as I waited for the e-tickets to arrive in my inbox.

Forty minutes before we were due to sail they finally decided to let me collect them at the port and I discovered the most recent translation of my surname. Fretweoo.

After I had painstakingly provided examples for each letter (e.g. "L is for Limbo") I can't understand how there can be any ambiguity left, but in the interests of my sanity I've decided to let it go.

Suprisingly the e-tickets still haven't arrived.

Our first stop in Uruguay was the old Portuguese smuggling port of Colonia del Sacramento (above) where we spent th afternoon exploring the cobbled streets and plazas of the old town to the sound of parrots squawking loudly from the orange trees.

It was impossible not to relax in a surroundings like this and the frustrations of the morning were soon forgotten.

In the evening we set to work at one of the pavement cafes, sampling the local beers and wines, accompanied by nibbles in the form of a Picada - basically a wooden platter with a shovel-sized heap of crips, nuts, olives, ham, cheese and salami.

After a while we noticed the music in the bar was strangely familiar - familiar, yet somehow not quite right. On closer attention we discovered the female vocalist was singing the back catalogue of Guns and Roses to the sound of a casio keyboard and panpipes. If you can imagine The Cardigans covering Metallica's greatest hits you've probably got the general idea. It was so rubbish you couldn't help laughing.

The next morning we hopped on a bus for the drive around the coastline to Montevideo. The buildings in the capital seemed to either be superb colonial era buildings (albeit in varying states of disrepair) or the kind of 1960's concrete buildings that make Coventry such an appealing tourist destination. Throw in the odd horse and cart moving through the city centre traffic and you complete the picture of a eclectic city - modern on the surface but with it's rural roots showing through.

Beef is big business in Uruguay and we couldn't pass up the opportunity to visit one of the cities biggest tourist attractions, Mercado del Puerto - an enormous glass roofed building where just about every stall is home to it's own woodfired parilla, or barbeque. Just pull up a stool at the counter and choose from the extensive chalkboard menu of cow parts.

I think my steak deserved to be reclassified as a Sunday roast.

In a small concession to healthy eating I decided to avoid the chips and go for one of the foil wrapped potatoes I could see cooking in the embers of the fire.

Not having yet learnt the word in Spanish for jacket I started scanning the menu and was suprised to find them described as Papas a la Plomo or in other words, Potatoes in Lead.

Mmm, how tempting.

Perhaps this is what the staff at Buquebus have been eating?

Uruguay offered us 3 new beers for the league - the best being Patricia Rubio at 81%. It will also be the last brand new country we visit on our travels, so the league is now somewhere near approaching a completed work.

I was especially pleased to hear that one of my readers has been putting the league to good effect, trying out a bottle of the highly rated MAC Spring Tide on a trip to New Zealand. Best of luck working through the rest of the NZ list Paul ...

back to winning ways ...

2008-03-24T21:04:00.002Z

Puerto Madero
Originally uploaded by leedstolaosandbeyond

This weekend your Buenos Aires football correspondent was back at the Bombonera for Boca Juniors vs. Colon.

Boca dominated from the off, scoring twice in the first half (thankfully in the right net this time) and from there the victory never looked in doubt. Despite the consolation of grabbing a goal in the last minute of extra time Colon were, somewhat ironically, crap.

It just goes to show that perseverance pays off.

Seems that also goes for following the Leeds United results, also back to winning ways this weekend with a vital 2-0 win over Walsall. About time too. Perhaps my hopes of attending the play-off final in May aren't such a distant dream after all.

Those of you (or should I say both of you?) whose interest in difficult-to-use Argentinian publications has been ignited by my previous post on the Guia-T should head over to Mel's blog where the current subjects of discussion are Easter eggs and the local TV guide.

In other sporting news the holiday weekend closure of our gym has forced my new exercise regime outdoors for a run around the docklands of Puerto Madero (above).

Other than very sore legs I managed to acquire a spot of sunburn.

Which proves conclusively that I'm not yet running faster than the speed of light ...

on the buses ...

2008-03-20T15:48:00.005Z

It can be tricky to get a true sense of orientation in Buenos Aires.

The microcentre of chain stores with the docklands of Puerto Madero lying to the east is easy enough, but it's once you start moving outwards that the problems begin.

With a few notable exceptions, the cities architecture varies little as you move between different barrios (neighbourhoods) and distances can be substantial as you traverse the gigantic grid system that accomadates 13 million inhabitants.

Taxi's are pretty good value here and the fare may only have just reached the dizzying heights of a five pounds as you reach your destination, yet you suddenly realise that you've just spent yet another 40 minutes gazing out of the window as the cab twists and turns through the maze of one-way streets. It can be a pretty disorientating experience.

It was becoming clear that if we wanted to really get to know the city in our month here we would need to start working a bit harder. It was time to take to the buses, and so we went in search of information.

Enter the Guia T - the bible of bus travel in Buenos Aires.

Figure 1

Figure 2

Figure 3

Sitting down to study our new purchase I was still utterly confused after half an hour had passed. None of the 30+ street maps in the booklet had routes marked on them, and there were no timetables to be seen anywhere.

Sure enough, the directory of bus routes in the rear of guide would allow you to trace the route of any given bus from map to map, but this didn't seem much use without some way of knowing whether it's the correct bus to start with. With over 250 bus routes to plot it was going to take me a couple of days just to find the right bus. I was completely stuck.

In other latin american cities collectivo's are hail-and-ride minibuses that operate fixed routes and we'd used them on several ocassions previously. Armed with that piece of knowledge I had disregarded as irrelevant the grid of collectivo numbers on the left hand side of each map page.

As Mel cleverly pointed out, the missing piece of the puzzle is that buses are called collectivos here, and all of a sudden things started making sense.

Well almost.

It is still possibly the most confusing bus timetable on the planet.

Here's my easy-to-use, step-by-step guide to using the Guia T.

Step 1

Look up the street of your destination in the index (fig. 1) to find the map number and grid reference. This may span several maps.

Step 2

Find the correct cuadre (block) using the building number (e.g 360 Avendia Sante Fe).

The street number is marked periodically on the map pages (fig. 2), and most blocks cover exactly 100 (e.g. 500-600). You may have to track a long street over a number of pages to find the right block but you should easily locate your destination.

Step 3

Finding which bus routes pass nearby is now fairly straightforward. Your block will lie within a grid reference on the map (e.g. A3) and by looking at the corresponding grid on the left hand side of the map page (fig. 2) you can identify all the buses which pass through each gird reference.

Bear in mind that buses in adjacent grid references (which are several cuadres wide) may pass much closer to your actual destination, particularly if your destination is close to the perimeter.

Considering a 3-square block of 9 grid references is therefore good practice and should generate you a list of 10-50 potential buses serving your destination.

Step 4

Repeat steps 1-3 for your current location and compare results.

This should leave you with a short list of buses which travel from approximately your location, to your destination.

If there are no "matches" then you could consider changing buses.

A more effective strategy would be to catch a cab if you don't have time for the week of planning this would surely involve.

Step 5

In order to know where to get on and off the bus (essential information I feel) you now need to plot the route, using the street-by-street route in the bus index at the rear of the guide (fig. 3).

You don't need to do this in it's entirety, just for a few streets around your location and destination so you can (a) find the bus stop, and (b) have an idea of how you'll arrive at your desintation.

If you have more than one bus on your short list then repeat this exercise for each one - it could help avoid an unnecesary long walk at either end.

Beware the law of diminishing returns. Once you have located a bus within a short walk (say 5 cuadres) of either end you are unlikely to find a bus which saves more time than the effort required to locate it.

Advanced planners will select routes using major avenues as much faster routes for covering the same distance.

Step 6

Go catch your bus!

Walk to the street nearest your current location and walk along it in the direction of the bus route to find the bus stop with the corresponding number on it. The Guia T doesn't provide any times, but we've never had to wait for longer than 3-4 minutes for one to turn up.

You will need to tell your destination (using a cross street or a plaza) to the driver who will assign a price (usually 0.90 or 1.00 Peso) and you then drop coins of the same or higher value into the ticket machine behind him. Most will give change, but its important to know that you cannot travel without having coins.

Also most bus drivers seem to only speak and comprehend local slang and the Porteño pronunciations of Spanish, so take the Guia T and revert to pointing out your destination in the event your language skills fail you.

To alight just ring the bell a caudre or two before your intended intersection and you should end up somewhere close by.

If you think this all sounds a bit complex, you'd be right. It is. But after a short while you end up getting to know the routes that pass close to your lodgings well enough to know which to catch for other parts of the city. It does start getting easier. Not easy, just easier.

I'm convinced from a publishing viewpoint they could develop a much easier format, and of course we still laugh about having to start planning our evening out straight after breakfast. Mel joked the other afternoon that "It's probably written by taxi drivers" with the implication that it helps them drum up trade.

And just for a moment I almost beleived it.

the draw specialist ...

2008-03-17T17:21:00.010Z

We arrived back in Buenos Aires just over a week ago to begin the gradual process of rehabilitating ourselves back to something approaching normal life, by taking up a months rental on the apartment we stayed at during early January.

Porteño's (as the locals are called) like their evenings late. Mostly people don't sit down to eat until 10 or 11pm, and the cities nightclubs don't even open until 2am - much less get busy.

How do they do it you might well ask? Well, we've been wondering too and after asking around the answer seems to lie in extended lunch breaks akin to the Spanish siesta and taking "disco naps" in between finishing work and heading out for the evening.

Accordingly our days here have taken on a similar pattern (or at least without the work) of late nights enjoying world class steaks and wines at seriously bargain prices, the occasional cultural activity in the afternoon, but generally focusing our attention on enjoying the excellent nearby cafes (above) and the relative novelty of domesticity.

Other than joining the local gym to help counteract the adverse effects of this lifestyle (most notably the rapid onset of Argie Belly) we seem to have fallen into a remarkably similar pattern to our first week here, with one exception.

This time the football season is in full swing.

First Sunday in town and I joined a football tour for the local derby match between Boca Juniors and Independiente at the legendary Bombonera Stadium (above), along with 65,000 passionate supporters who provided every bit as much entertainment as the on-pitch action.

It was my third game of the trip and after the games in Japan and Vietnam both ended in draws I might reasonably hoped for more of a result from this game. Despite Boca scoring twice without reply, the fact that first was in their own net after a failed clearance meant I had to settle for the usual result after what was otherwise a highly entertaining high tempo game.

With football tours costing 150-250 Pesos for a 20-30 Peso ticket with return transport, I was keen to try going to a game without all the tourist "packaging". The following Sunday, armed with nothing more than a copy of the local bus timetable, a smattering of basic spanish and a chap called Brian from Chicago I headed for yet another local derby, this time between River Plate and Racing.

With Brian and I both effectively falling into the category of "big lads" we were trying not to be too nervous about the fact that River is the current home of football hooliganism in Buenos Aires. Strength in numbers and all that.

It all started off fairly smoothly. Within minutes of stepping off the bus we managed to score some black market tickets for the populares (terraces) for a fraction of the cost of a tour and proceeded towards the stadium with the rest of the fans. It wasn't until then that I started spotting some notable differences to the Boca game.

Just getting into the ground we had to pass through four separate security check points, receiving a gentle pat down at each. Along the way we saw some of the locals being dragged off for rather more vigorous searches, some even being required to blow into a breathalyser to domonstrate their sobriety. Once inside the stadium and climbing the staircase to the upper stadium tier we found the concourse lined with about 200 police in full riot gear with shields.

We quickly found somewhere to sit, a nice shady spot right under the video screen behind the goal mouth with a great arial view of the pitch.

It wasn't until a couple of minutes before kick off as we stood wedged shoulder-to-shoulder with local supporters that the banners started unfurling and we realised we were right at the back of the "Borrachos" or translated to English "Drunkards" - River's ultra hardcore supporters.

It was a little like being in the front few rows of a rock concert, and almost immediately I started to regret my choice of footwear. Flip flops. With no easy way of getting to a calmer area we just did our best to join in as they sang an endless repetoire of songs about taking marjuana, cocaine and famous fights with the police and supporters of other clubs.

It was a pretty unique experience that you definitely don't get on a tour, but in all honesty it wasn't too easy to keep our attention on the game so at half time we moved to an area of equally passionate, but slightly less physical support to watch out the second half.

The final score?

A seemingly innevitable 0-0 draw.

taking it all with a pinch of salt ...

2008-03-13T18:24:00.004Z

Is it just me, or does anyone else think Mel seems to have shrunk whilst we've been travelling?

Our final destination in Bolivia was the high altitude (3700m) "Salaar de Uyuni" salt flats, where we hooked up with our pal Kate and a few others for a 3 day trip.

The huge unspoilt scenery reminded a little of our trip around Mongolia, but with toilets. Over three days our trip took in everything from steaming fumeroles and geysers, to lakes packed with flamingoes, red lagoons, green lagoons and active volcanoes.

The best day by far though was the first as we headed out onto the salt flat itself. All 1000 square km of it. Trying to take photos, the reflected light was so blinding you almost couldn't see the resulting image on the LCD screen of your digital camera, but it was worth the effort as the unique perspectives allowed for some interesting photographs (see above).

At this time of year the rains cause large areas of Salaar de Uyuni to flood. So I wasn't really expecting it when our driver drove straight our Land Cruiser straight into the foot-deep brine as we progressed to the central area of the flats.

Not that I didn't think the vehicle could cope, just that with salt being a catalyst for rust it's hardly going to do much for the resale value of a piece of machinery that most likely costs more than the average house in Bolivia.

Our next stop was the incredibly unlikely sight of Incahausi Island. A huge rock formation jutting out of endless miles of salt and covered with giant cactus plants.

Despite being well aware of where I was, something about the endless white background was causing my brain to scream "an island of cacti..? in the snow..? you must be kidding!".

After climbing to the top the vistas became even more surreal as we enjoyed unninterupted 360 degree views for tens of kilometers to the mountains surrounding the flats, which, because of the intense light looked as though they were floating on mirages.

Returning to our vehicle we sat down to lunch at picnic benches and table crafted out of pure rock salt. It was all of about a minute into our meal before the obvious joke made it's first appearance of many - "has anyone seen the salt?" I enquired.

And who says my jokes are bad?

After leaving the salt flat we drove to a small village where we had the pleasure of staying in a small guesthouse constructed almost entirely of salt (we were noticing a theme developing). It was a real novelty staying here, but I don't really think it will catch on for comfort purposes.

Quite apart from anything else, I just can't imagine hoovering a floor like this.

You meet some real characters while travelling. Often eccentric and frequently seeking a little direction in life, but in our experience almost universally pleasant people to share a conversation and a beer with.

Not on this trip though.

We started to get the idea that one of our companions was a little odd over dinner that evening as he explained at length that since leaving the US military and spending the last four years travelling, he makes it a rule never to eat with tourists - preferring instead to eat in "places where no one else wants to". The undertone being that food poisoning is for wimps, not tough army guys like him.

Clearly we were not sufficiently impressed by this, so for his next trick he went fishing around in the communal soup pot for the chicken foot we had discovered a few minutes earlier (presumably added for flavouring) and started gnawing at it like a wild animal.

Here was a man who knows how to attract the ladies I thought - and in fact he did attract a few sideways glances from our Bolivian ladies doing the cooking for us.

I think most people would have given up at this point. Yet half an hour later when a selection of tea bags, mugs and a thermos of hot water arrived at our table he decided finish with one final act.

Taking one herbal and one ordinary tea bag he ripped them open and emptied the contents in his mug before adding hot water.

This did attract our attention.

He went on to explain that he had discovered he preferred it this way one time when he "got a bit too agressive" stirring his tea and the bag split, and he seemed utterly convinced that he was "getting more of the goodness this way".

There is a word for people like this, but it's not one I'll be using on my blog.

The following morning provided one of the high points of the trip. As we sat down to breakfast his girlfriend (who rather ironically is deaf) informed us he wouldn't be joining us, due to having spent most of the night making visits to the toilet.

We tried really hard not to laugh.

I'll let you decide how succesful we were.

world's most dangerous ...

2008-03-10T16:58:00.006Z

With Mel over the border in Peru for a few days I decided to make my own little excursion into the rainforested lowlands of the Yungas region to see a very different side to Bolivia.

This was one trip where it would be every bit as much about the journey as the destination. My chosen mode of transport for the 64km to Coroico? By mountain bike down the worlds most dangerous road of course. You can read more about the terrifying Yungas road here.

After enjoying two rather sleepless nights in anticipation of the day I'd resorted to an extended session at the English Pub in La Paz on the pretense of "ensuring sleep". As a coping strategy it was rubbish.

I awoke at 4am in a cold sweat convinced of two things, firstly that adrenaline is a far more powerful drug than alcohol, and secondly that a high altitude hangover is terrible preparation for riding a bike within inches of the edge of 600m+ high cliffs.

We started by taking a minibus to the top of the snowy mountain pass high above La Paz at almost 5000m where we would start our ride, and spent the next half hour getting to know our bikes and kitting ourselves out with all weather gear.

Despite the fact that we were in Bolivia where people drive on the right hand side of the road, our safety briefing revealed a shocking piece of information. We would in fact be required to ride on the "scenic" left hand side of the road. Otherwise known as the side next to the huge drop.

It seems that where steep, unpaved, single track roads with precipitous drops are concerned the road rules are conveniently reversed. Logic being that left hand drive vehicles are safer driving close to the edge as the driver can look out the window to see how close his wheels are to the edge.

Whilst I couldn't dispute the logic, the fact that the road has consistently claimed 2-300 lives per annum didn't really fill me with confidence either. I could at least take a little comfort from the fact that I wasn't a bus, the mode of transport reputedly responsible for the majority of deaths.

In actual fact biking death road is quite a bit safer these days, since most of the traffic uses the quicker and considerably safer new road which opened in 2006 at a cost of $5m per km. That is unless it's blocked by landslides. Which being wet season it had been the previous day.

Today's outlook? Rain. A lot of rain.

In the end the torrential downpour that accompanied our descent turned out to be a blessing as far as my fear of heights was concerned. Not only did the cloud obscure the full extent of the exposure, but the new road remained open, leaving us to enjoy a very wet, but largely traffic free day as we hurtled down the 64km of downhill through landslides, waterfalls, streams and several hundred litres of mud, most of which seemed to have made it into my shoes by the time we reached the bottom.

Here's a short video one of us riding through a waterfall as we approach the most photogenic corner on the route. Just for the record I'm in 7th place, wearing a silver helmet - but as you'll see, it could be anyone.

Rather than return to La Paz with the group in the afternoon I'd arranged to stay in Coroico at the incredible La Senda Verde wildlife rescue centre. When the resident monkey population weren't unexpectedly jumping on my head from the treetops, they were engaged in a rather amusing running battle with the catering staff in their attempts to steal food.

The main protagonist always seemed to be Sambito the Spider Monkey (below) who had acquired an almost Che Guevara-like reputation around camp for his daring guerilla-style attacks on the kitchen.

Of course it wasn't just the staff who suffered at his hands.

On my first evening he jumped from behind onto my shoulder as I drank from a beer glass, with the inevitable consequence that I spilled the contents on the floor. He then proceeded to greedily lick up the evidence.

I'm convinced he planned it.

Then, as I sat waiting for my taxi to the bus station for the trip back to La Paz he struck again. As he jumped onto my lap I mistook his actions for genuine affection, that is until I felt the telltale warming sensation seeping through my jeans.

Through their barely stifled laughter the staff informed me he has a little difficulty controlling his emotions.

Lucky for him I have better control of mine ...

Homer erotic ...

2008-03-07T20:53:00.007Z

I'm not awarding any prizes for most amusing use of Simpsons imagery on this trip.

But if I was, Belissimas "nightclub" in La Paz would have a strong claim on first place.

For the first time in what seems like weeks I've finally reached a decent internet connection (i.e. one which doesn't take an hour to load up 3 photo's), so next week I'll be able to bring you up to date on the rest of our exploits in Bolivia.

For now I've updated the beer league - best in Bolivia by a mile is Paceña's Pico de Oro, which translates to Little Piece of Gold - in a very respectable 13th place. It lives up to it's name in price as well as taste at 10 Bolivianos (or 65p) a 330ml bottle in the local bar - the same price as a pint of anything else here.

seeing things in La Paz ...

2008-03-02T23:14:00.002Z

After just an evening here in the world's highest capital city of La Paz, Mel has headed off to Peru for a few days.

I've decided to use the time to just hang out here for a few days while I plan my own little excursion to see a bit more of Bolivia. More on that later.

In between watching football and researching new beers in the bar, I've found some fairly unique sights in Laz Paz - from the slightly gruesome dried Llama Feoti (above) readily available from any number of stores to a surprising number of people urinating in the street in broad daylight.

Mostly they don't even bother finding a wall and just do it in the gutter facing the pedestrians walking along the street. Bolivia is a fairly poor country so I guess a significant number of people just can't justify spending the 50 centavos (3p) required to use a public loo. I can't really blame them, I just wish they were a little less open about it.

Perhaps one of the most memorable sights though are the two Zebra's (below) who can be seen directing traffic every afternoon at one of the city's busiest road junctions. Initially I presumed it was some form of advertising stunt, but there isn't a trace of branding to be seen.

I can only guess that someone at the council got the wrong end of the stick when they decided a Zebra Crossing was needed ...

the two-and-a-half mile high club ...

2008-02-24T20:37:00.004Z

It's been a while since the last update, so I'll let you know what we've been up to.

Our next stop was the worlds highest city of Potosi, a mere 4060m above sea level - the lack of oxygen had us gasping for breath just walking to the taxi rank at the bus station with our luggage.

In the days when much of South America belonged to Spain, Potosi's silver mine reputedly bankrolled their empire for almost two hundred years. Although much of the silver reserves are now exhausted the cities economy still thrives on mining, exploiting the areas rich mineral deposits.

Our main reason for coming here was to take a trip down a working mine. It promised medieval conditions - dust, intolerable heat, toxic gases, back breaking tunnels and climbing down crude stone shafts running with water in the pitch black. Not only that, but the opportunity to blow something up with dynamite sounded very cool indeed.

Talking over breakfast with some of the residents of our hostel about our intended trip we started hearing ominous phrases like "horrible", "couldn't breathe" and "glad to get out of there". It brought us swiftly to the conclusion that it probably wasn't going to a fun day out, so we decided to pass on it.

So, although Potosi is a pleasant enough city, we were left without much else to detain us so we decided to skip town a day earlier than planned to head for La Paz.

Our visit wasn't completely without reward though. Just before we left I noticed a surprising sight in the main plaza.

Looks like my old employer has started an exciting new venture in Bolivia ...

on the trail of butch and sundance ...

2008-02-17T20:18:00.008Z

5.15am on Monday morning and I found myself queuing in the freezing cold, dying for the toilet, stood on a bridge in no-mans-land, waiting for the Bolivian immigration office to open.

As I idly checked the UK time I realised that people back home would be just arriving at their warm desks to a fresh cup of coffee, ready for a chat about their weekend exploits. And getting paid for it. I was having one of those "why the hell are we doing this?" moments.

No sooner than the immigration office opened and the mood lightened as I read the incredibly ardous list of immigration requirements for US citizens. Bolivia might be South America's poorest country, but I found it heartening to see that at least they seem to be making some kind of statement about their pretty despicable treatment at the hands of US foreign policy.

They didn't even appear to check the photo page in our passports before stamping us in.

It makes me wonder how destroying the agricultural livelihood of some of the poorest people in South America can possibly be a justifiable solution to the problem of US citizens wanting to shove increasing amounts of white powder up their hooters. Decide for yourself, but if you want to read more then you could do worse than starting here.

The bus station in Villazon on the Bolivian side of the border couldn't have been more different from their more prosperous neighbours to the South as I was greeted by a toilet experience that reminded me so much of the opening scenes to Trainspotting. True our tickets for the 3 hour journey to Tupiza may have only cost 95p each, but one look at the queuing buses outside the station told us that we may well end up paying in other ways.

The ride along unsealed roads to Tupiza was dusty and uncomfortable beyond belief - as we progressed the rear axle complained in unnatural tones that seemed to increase in volume with every bump in the road. Still, it didn't appear to bother the traditionally attired lady absently breastfeeding in the seat next to me, so why should it bother us? And where else in the world will you find a bus conductor who sings you as song before departure?

Welcome to Bolivia.

Ask anyone to conjour up an image of the wild west and I bet you'd come up with something close to the area around Tupiza. Villages of mud-brick houses set amid spectacular canyons, locals on horseback and a cactus every couple of yards. It was no suprise to learn that this is where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid finally ended their days as their luck ran out after one final payroll robbery nearby.

The 3000m altitude of the altiplano left us gasping for breath on arrival as we spent 2 nights aclimitising here before moving on to greater heights. It left us time for an excellent day discovering the local area on horseback, 4WD but most significantly mountain bikes.

The day concluded with us driving to 3700m and stunning views of Camino El Sillar (above) before letting gravity take over as we biked the return course involving 17km of precipitous hairpin bends (below).

One of our group put it perfectly when he said "This is like a mountain bikers wet dream".

Personally I managed to avoid getting quite that excited as we spent an hour hurtling back to town - in fact the actual sensation was rather closer to pain than pleasure as it felt at times that the vibrations were trying to shake the very flesh from my bones.

The main challenge in our descent lay in the continual application of brakes to moderate our speed just enough to keep us on the road and at the same time the vibrations from the unsealed surface below the pain threshold. By the time we'd reached the bottom I found my hands had cramped into permanent claws, but with an equally permanent grin on my face. It was great fun.

Tupiza was great interlude and we were dissapointed to leave so soon, but like the legendary Bolivian powders time marches on. At least we hoped to have found a more comfortable bus for the 8 hour journey to our next destination ...

Once again apologies to my US readers ...

One of the curiosities of altitude is it's effect on beer drinking. It is most definitely not recommended during the aclimitisation process, and even afterwards the altitude is rumoured to magnify the effects of any alcohol significantly. Thus I have been abstaining.

OK, not quite. I have managed to sampled one local brew - purely for scientific research of course. It was pretty average, but after the equivalent of 3 pints although a little merrier than usual I am pleased to report no serious adverse effects. Other that is than the other effect of altitude on beer - a seriously frothy head taking up about 90% of the glass when first poured!

winos of mendoza ...

2008-02-17T17:23:00.003Z

I wouldn't have thought it possible to drink more than we had over the previous 3 weeks of our overlanding trip. How wrong I was.

Arriving in Argentina's wine producing capital of Mendoza with aspirations of taking it easy just wasn't going to happen. With our pals Vanessa & (that lying b*****d) Rhys heading the same direction we spent most of our time taking tours to sample the local produce. Here we are above on the "wines & bikes tour" - not two things which usually mix well - but we managed to only drop the bottle once.

Isn't it funny how it sometimes takes a photograpah for you to tune in to lifes little details? In almost four weeks of travelling with Vanessa I'd never noticed her Minnie Mouse ears before. I've also managed to find an unexpected Killer Whale in one of my photos from the Navimag - I really must start paying more attention ...

volcanoes and vertigo ...

2008-02-14T16:18:00.000Z

I was still slightly wary after last years experience on Mt. Fuji in Japan, so I found myself in two minds when the opportunity to climb another active volcano presented itself.

Here is Mt. Villarrica in all it's 2840m high glory.

Of course I couldn't resist the challenge.

As you can see, the upper reaches are (just like Fuji) covered in snow and ice, so this time I set off fully kitted out with crampons, ice axe and a bag containing a thick Kevlar suit and a strange looking red plastic disk with a saucepan looking handle. More on those items later.

Physically the 950m climb of the upper section to the cone was a relative cinch compared to our recent efforts on the W Trek, but the addition of vertigo inducing exposure and steep icy slopes made it an altogher different sort of challenge as we inched our way to the top over four hours, kicking steps in the snow and ice as we went.

As if that wasn't exciting enough the occasional piece of volcanic rock would come tumbling down the slop at high speed to much blowing of whistles and frenzied cries of "rocka, rocka, rocka !!". So I'd learnt another word in Spanish too.

By the time we reached the crater rim my rented boots had rendered me virtually lame, so I was especially grateful that our guides for the day had come up with a more innovative way of getting back to the car park than simply retracing our steps.

Dressed in the Kevlar suits that we had carried to the top, we retreated to the top of the snow line and tucking the red plastic disk under our bums we launched ourselves down the side of the volcano, using our ice-axes to moderate our speed. Or at least that was the plan.

As some proved more succesful at moderating their speed than others, what actually happened was collisions, wipe outs and general hilarity - but thankfully no serious bodily injuries. It was the longest (and best) sledge ride of my life as we skimmed down the side of the volcano for over an hour to reach our starting point.

The day didn't just provide the opportunity to settle the score after failing to conquer Fuji last year, but the hired equipment also provided the perfect opportunity to settle another more recent "score" with our driver Rhys; Leon Trotsky style.

Not really. We needed him to drive the truck to Santiago later in the week.

As if my poor head for heights hadn't been challenged enough that week I somehow found myself booked onto a trip which took us ziplining high up in the forest canopy. I'll never learn.

The fear kicked in at around 3 metres, as we started climbing to the top of an enormous tree. The state of the ladders and platforms (no barriers) held together by little more than a few rusty nails was more terrifying for me than any of the ziplines. In fact I was actually relieved when the time came to "clip on" and let gravity take over.

I've made a mental note not to sign up for any more vertigo inducing activities soon. And yes, I am as terrified as I look.

The last day of the tour saw us finally reach Santiago after 3 weeks, and we had one final party-to-end-all-parties before heading our separate ways.

Heights, you just can't get away from them can you? After deciding to head back into Argentina for a few days in the wine mecca of Mendoza we set out for the border crossing.

At the top of a 3000m pass high in the Andes. Just my luck.

life on the ocean wave ...

2008-02-04T20:58:00.000Z

The Navimag is a very strange boat indeed; it's almost as though it can't decide whether it is a cargo ship or a ferry. I couldn't either.

Once the 200 or so passengers had boarded the upper decks in various categories of berths; A, AA or C (why no B?), the next 5 hours were spent loading shipping containers and cargo of all descriptions before sailing at 5am the next morning as we were safely tucked up in our bunks.

Anyone travelling in Cabin 101 (most definitely C category, but suprisingly comfy) will appreciate the irony of that last comment. Just before 3am that first night and before we were even moving, I somehow managed to pitch headfirst out of my top bunk and land my head on the lower rung of the ladder opposite. I have a rather fetching 2-inch long scab across the top of my head to prove it.

Our four night journey took us the length of the Chilean Fijords amid untamed islands that in the first 48 hours of our journey yielded just one settlement, our only official "stop" of the journey as we transferred a handful of passengers into a motor launch that came to meet us.

When we weren't sharpening our card skills in the bar (with its refreshing BYO drinks policy) there were opportunities on deck to spot dolphins, whales, glaciers and volcanoes. And lots of fog, about 24 hours worth in total I reckon.

On the final evening the crew provided us with the opportunity to enjoy Famous Patagonian Bingo in the bar. Not heard of it? Basically it's like normal Bingo, but instead of "winners" receiving a prize you are required to make an idiot of yourself dancing in front of the whole bar. We abstained.

The prospect of getting packed ready and breakfasted for an 8am disembarkation had most of us scurrying to our bunks for a relatively early finish, although after a relatively quiet spell our old pal Enda was up to his usual tricks. Last sighted in the bar at 4.30am. Or 1pm this afternoon. Redecorating the baños at a service station as we made a brief stop en-route to our next destination of Pucon. Some things never change.

As I prepared my luggage this morning I heard that most unexpected of maritme sounds, the distinct sound of cows mooing, accompanied by a faint whiff of silage permeating through our cabin. Closer inspection from the outside deck revealed a herd of cows poking their noses out from the deck below.

At least I know what C class stands for now.

Cattle.

I bet the Editor of Conde Naste doesn't have to put up with this sort of thing.

I've just updated the beer league with the latest from Chile.

Quantity rather than quality seems to be order of the day. In fact if I wasn't doing just that then I'd be tempted to say "nothing to write home about".

taking the paine ...

2008-01-31T21:25:00.000Z

We've spent the last few days back in Chile in Torres del Paine National Park.

Armed with tents, stoves and enough food to sink a small cargo ship, I joined part of our group in heading out into the wilderness to attempt the parks classic W Trail. Having twice completed the leg of the "W" which provides the classic view of the towers only to find them in cloud, our driver Rhys had been keen from day one to recruit us for the challenge.

It was a slow start with my legs incredibly stiff from a 24km trek from El Chalten just two days before, but after four hours we reached the summit of the first leg to enjoy excellent cloud-free views of the Torres (above) where we celebrated with a rum coke. Purely for medicinal purposes of course.

It was all downhill from there. Or at least that was the plan.

After the four hour return hike we collected about 150kg of camping equipment from the base of the trail for the promised "flat" walk to the campsite at the beginning of the second leg. In fact Rhys had promised it was so flat that it would take us just 3-4 hours to complete, rather than the recommended six on the official map.

Ten minutes in as we began staggering up a steep rocky incline the gravity of our predicament revealed itself and it wasn't long before the trek descended into something closer to an army training exercise than a scenic hike. Four and a half hours and an icy cold river crossing later, sheer exhaustion forced us to make camp several kilometers short of our intended destination. I don't think dehydrated meals have ever tasted so good.

Had it not been for an entertaining encounter with a Pygmy Owl en-route I probably wouldn't even have made it that far.

The trek ended with the majority of us missing the second leg of the "W" to complete a rather more leisurely "U" over the following two days. An altogether more enjoyable experience that concluded with us enjoying panoramic views of the Grey Glacier. I think I'm done with glaciers now.

Despite the rather testing nature of the first day we all managed to have a great time - although I suspect I will continue to find it hard to mention Rhys' name without the temptation to add the prefix "That lying b*****d".

After carrying enough weight to sink a small cargo ship for 3 days, it's now time to board one as we spend the next 4 days sailing Northward through the Chilean fijords ...

keeping Enda up ...

2008-01-25T22:27:00.001Z

On the roof of Kinda outside El Chalten
Originally uploaded by leedstolaosandbeyond

Here we are on the roof of our truck "Kinda" just outside El Chalten in Patagonia with Mt. Fitzroy in the background.

Since the last post, aside from driving (which there has been an awful lot of) we visited the stunning Perito Moreno Glacier with it's 60m high, 5km wide face spilling into Lake Argentina.

It was absolutely mesmerising just to watch chunks of ice calving off the front into the water, varying in size from "small", about the size of a portable TV, to "large", about the size of a HGV - all to the sound of thunderous cracks.

We've just spent the afternoon riding (and not falling off) horses here in El Chalten - due to a slight miscommunication with our horse guide aboput my experience level I have been full on galloping for the first time today - a bit scary, but brilliant fun.

And I'm sure it gets even better if you know what you're supposed to be doing.

As always the human element provides the greatest fun - the party atmosphere is continuing unabated. It is virtually guaranteed that a contingent of our group with be in a bar at 5am every morning, along with the ever-present Enda - a man whose inability to say no to "just one more ..." is becoming legendary.

Despite averaging just 2 hours sleep over the previous two nights, we managed to persaude him to stay in the bar until 5.15am this morning - even though he had booked a 28km guided glacier walk starting at 7am. What a trooper.

Of course it remains to be seen what state he will return in this evening, and whether we will be able to persaude him to take part in the Australia Day party our driver has planned for this evening.

If we can just keep him awake something tells me he'll be there ...

things that go bump in the night ...

2008-01-21T22:54:00.001Z

Ghost town, Chilean Patagonia
Originally uploaded by leedstolaosandbeyond

So, this is where we slept last night.

After our first driving day (a mere 12 hours) in the truck we arrived at a "ghost town" just over the border into Chile, camping for the night in and around these deserted buildings just off the shoreline highway.

As we pitched camp a Chilean guy pulled over in his car and helpfully informed us that he remembered eating at the restaurant here - before Pinochet decided the have the whole town shot. Such a jolly location.

It wasn't so much the location that aided our sleep last night, more likely the consecutive 3am drinking sessions of the previous evenings as we have been "getting to know" the ten people we're travelling with. Two days in and they all seem like a good bunch, hopefully we'll be able to maintain the general spirit of bonhomie as we hit more challenging conditions over the coming three weeks.

Tomorrow we have another lovely land border crossing back into Argentina. If it's anything like the last one, the trickiest bit will be where our driver swears blind the 10 cartons of cigarettes he has in the cab are "for the whole group". Despite the fact that none of us smoke.

After a visit to the duty free shopping area in Punta Arenas this afternoon, we have a similar strategy in mind for 2 cases of Orangeboom, two bottles of Malbec and a litre of Stoli ...

More news when I can.

the end of the world ...

2008-01-17T21:07:00.000Z

Not quite the travel mishap that so nearly was, but rather Ushuaia, the worlds most southerly city.

After making our plans to join an overland expedition from the tip of South America, we spent the week beforehand watching stories like this one making headline news on Argentinian TV.

Scenes of angry mobs of stranded travellers chanting protests (they like a good demonstration here) and shots of departure boards with 90% of flights cancelled or delayed, well, let's just say it didn't fill us with confidence that we'd actually make it here on time. In the end our airport experience wasn't very pleasant, but we at least made it away just 3 hours after the scheduled departure time. In the general scheme of things I guess we were the lucky ones.

Set against a backdrop of stunning mountains, during the summer time Ushuaia is the gateway port for boat trips to the Antarctic Peninsula (which is what first brought me here 3 years ago). The rest of the year its primary function is as the administrative centre for the region of Tierra del Fuego, and as a containship port for goods headed to this remote part of the world.

After hunting out some extra gear in readiness for cold weather camping (why are we doing this?) we were left with a couple of days to relax before meeting up the rest of our fellow travellers. It gave us enough time to sample the local speciality of King Crab (fresh from a starring role in Discovery Channel's "Deadliest Catch") and also for some suprisingly challenging horse trekking in the surrounding mountains. It had all been going so smoothly up to that point.

I'm not sure which was the scariest moment - fording the fast flowing river on horseback with water up to my ankles, or when I turned around half way down a steep rocky ravine to see the riderless horse trotting along behind me and no sign of Mel.

Initially I felt rather guilty for not having noticed, but as she put it herself afterwards, she doesn't tend to make a lot of noise when she falls off a horse - and it's true, she didn't last time either.

I would have preferred to have fallen off myself, at least then I wouldn't have had to scare myself silly reading up on the potential symtoms of concussion on the internet as I kept the patient under observation.

Then of course there is the nagging concern that having not yet taken a tumble myself, it can only be a matter of time. Thankfully there seems to be no lasting damage beyond a broken fingernail and a sore back and neck.

So we may not be going to see Antarctica on this occasion, but the bruise on Mel's bum looks as though it could easily develop into a similar shape and size ...

As we're on "expedition" for the next 3 weeks I'm not too sure whether I'll have the opportunity to update the blog - let's see what happens. Back soon ...

grave tales from Buenos Aries ...

2008-01-10T16:16:00.000Z

I first visited Buenos Aries as part of the trip that took me to Antarctica.

Having discovered then that two days was not nearly long enough to fully appreciate this city of 13 million people I've been looking forward to coming back ever since.

After deciding to take a little longer here than the usual couple of nights we rented a swanky loft apartment in San Telmo for the week. With the cafes, bars and restaurants of the famous Plaza Dorrego just 2 blocks away we have found ourselves slipping into the cities late night cafe culture with consumate ease.

In all honesty we haven't really done anything touristy all week, except for making the obligatory visit to Recoleta Cemetary and the grave of Eva "Evita" Peron - complete with "guard cat".

The grave itself is actually one of the more modest in the cemetary and I found it more interesting exploring the labyrinth of lavishly gothic creations, where, if you take a peek through the window you can sometimes see generations of coffins stacked in racks descending downwards. Creepy stuff indeed.

Of course if you head out to the cemetary its a good idea to prepare yourself for a sombre afternoon, but I still found myself a little disturbed by the ajar coffin lid I discovered lurking behind one of a series of square doors in huge marble "wall of death".

Sleep well tonight folks. I recommend leaving the light on.

Of course I'm not saying the people here are vain, but the apparent need for immortalisation in ostentatious marble mauseleums seems to coincide neatly with some of the other information in our guidebook. Consider the fact that Argentines make more use of more psychoanalysis and cosmetic surgery than other nation on the planet and it starts to build an interesting picture of the national pscyhe.

As if further proof were needed, our taxi driver from the airport was the double of Pierluigi Collina. I guess I shouldn't really find this suprising as the other Argentine obsession is football - I mean, where else would make use of your local plastic surgeon to imitate the worlds most famous football referee?

Its a heady mix that makes hanging around this amazing city of 13 million people a pretty entertaining pastime. However none of this information prepared me adequately for what I saw out of the window of our local cafe as we sat down for a late lunch yesterday afternoon.

As I looked up I saw a hunchbacked old lady in a black hooded cape, lurching along the pavement at suprising speed. As she looked up she had an enormous grin and an unsettling glare in her eyes which had other pedestrians scattering to give her a wide berth. I had one of those moments where I instantly just knew something was very wrong and felt a chill run down my spine.

The moment of realisation came a few seconds later as I spotted the Adam's apple of a man in drag. Quite what he was trying to acheive I can't say, but he looked like he was having incredibly good fun scaring the life out of the passers by - from the looks on their faces they were every bit as disturbed as I had been.

Even after a week there is a lot I still can't explain about Buenos Aries, it just seems to get under your skin - so we've decided to return for an even longer stay in March. For now though it's time to pack up, buy sleeping bags and insect repellent as we fly south to meet up with the rest of our expedition crew for another trip into the wilderness ...

The other thing I can't fathom is the ATM system here.

After the initial shock of only being permitted a US$100 maximum withdrawal sent me scurrying to my emergency money in order to pay the rent, I have since learned that you just need to insert your card again for another series of transactions until you reach your own banks daily limit. Pointless? I think so.

Thankfully there is solace to be found in the national brew of Quilmes - thanks to the 2002 meltdown of the Argentine economy it's just 45p a litre - almost as cheap as China and in such a great location. Who could ask for anything more?

beetlemania and last orders from mexico ...

2008-01-05T23:53:00.000Z

Once we'd completed our recovery from New Year we continued the journey back to Mexico City with a 12 hour overnight bus journey to the city of Oaxaca.

One thing I noticed straightaway in Mexico is the number of "old" VW Beetles still on the road - in fact production of the original shape continued here well into the 1990's, long after they ceased to be available in Europe.

The overall impression is one of streets full of restored classic cars driving around with excellent paintwork.

Just walking down the street in Oaxaca I almost managed to fill the viewfinder (above) at a road junction near our hotel with just VW beetles - including a solitary example of the new-shape. I didn't see too many of those, so it would seem they aren't a big hit here either.

Perhaps it's a worrying trend, but every one of my recent blog posts seems to contain some element beer related information. But why change a winning formula now?

It was here in Oaxaca that I tried my first Mexican beer cocktail - the Michelada.

Here's how you make one.

1. dip the rim of a tumbler in lime juice

2. dip in chilli powder - margherita-style

3. add a cocktail of lime, salt, chilli and worcester sauce to bottom of glass

4. add ice cubes

5. pour a fresh bottle of cerveza into your glass

6. Enjoy. Or at least try to.

This is probably where I should add the disclaimer not to try this at home - my experiment was conducted under the close supervision of a trained professional. Bartender.

In fairness I must say it wasn't quite as bad as you're probably imagining, but after I'd finished the glass it continued delivering a warming sensation which I had to extinguish with a further ice-cold beer. This time unadulterated.

We took yet another bus ride to finally arrive back in Mexico City where we spent the night before flying onward to our next destination. It provided just enough time for us to enjoy a few last Modelo Especial's before flagging down one of the capital's iconic VW Beetle taxi's for the ride home (see below).

In most countries the lack of rear doors in a taxi would be a problem. Here they just remove the passenger seat and attach a piece of string to the door so the driver can pull it shut by remote control. For once the legroom was brilliant.

Vorsprung durch Technic eh?

seeing in new year with the zapatista's ...

2008-01-05T01:47:00.000Z

On New Years Eve we left the sweltering heat of Palenque for the 5 hours bus ride to San Cristobal de la Casas in the highlands of Chiapas.

Famous for being the city captured by Zapatista rebels in Mexico's failed 1994 revolution, San Cristobal is a perfectly preserved example of colonial architecture and boasts a vibrant bar and restaurant scene. A fine location for seeing in 2008.

Back in Guadalajara we had learnt a useful lesson - if you start drinking early enough then most bars in Mexico will provide you with complimentary tapas style snacks, thus removing the need to go out for dinner.

So it was that at 4pm we found ourselves settling in at the wine bar which would be our home for the next few hours, and as the evening progressed we found ourselves in the company of two recent graduates from Leeds University and a French girl who had recently been studying in Coleraine in Northern Ireland.

It was almost like a taste of home.

At midnight we enjoyed fireworks in the cities main plaza before I escorted a rather excitable Melanie (above) back to our guest house where following a ten minute struggle lining our key up with the lock on the front door we were eventually rewarded with sleep.

And a two-day hangover.

Happy New Year.

I did it Maya way ...

2008-01-04T21:53:00.000Z

My Christmas break from the blog seems to have coincided with our busiest week so far, so let me whip through it for you in a rather longer post than usual;

The day after Boxing Day we set out on the five day overland route back into Mexico that would take us through the jungle of Northern Guatemala, providing opportunities visit some of the best Mayan ruins in the region.

After an impossibly overcrowded water-taxi ride to Belize City I was treated to a display of taxi-touting of unbridled enthusiasm. Whilst waiting outside the water taxi terminal for Mel to return from the post office our conversations went a little like this;

Taxi driver :"Need a taxi brother?"
Me: "No thanks, I'm just waiting for someone"
Taxi driver: "He's not coming"
Me: "Eh?"
Taxi driver: "He's gone on a trip"
Me: "Who do you think I'm waiting for?"
Taxi driver: "Erm ..."

You've got to admire them for trying.

Eventually we did take a cab to the bus station where we hopped on a similarly overcrowded bright yellow ex-US School Bus for the three hour ride to the border town of San Ignacio. Our fellow passengers included an elderly quaker couple in traditional plain dress and a retired Scottish chap who set out on a six-month trip and is still travelling. Five years later.

San Ignacio was really just a place to break the trip before heading over the border into Guatemala, but it did provide the opportunity to the watch the local sport of swimming in the river with your horse, and for a visit the Mayan ruins at Cahel Pech (above) on the Belizean side of the border.

Early the following morning and we followed our "travel agent" (I use the term loosely as his premises consisted of nothing more than a wooden hut with a pedestal fan and some plastic patio furniture) to meet the minibus that would take us over the border. Guatemalan immigration formalities aren't exactly the worlds strictest - we waited outside in the van while our driver went to get our passports stamped for us.

Guatemala's failing justice system has in recent years sent the country sprialling into chaos with gang violence, lynch mobs and armed holdups commonplace. It all made for a fairly nervous drive in from the border, our only reassurance coming from increasingly frequent encounters with pickups full of soldiers armed with assualt rifles as we neared town.

Flores sits on a small island in the middle of a lake and can only be reached by a causeway from the nearby town of Santa Elena. It's a pictureseque town of cobbled streets where the restaurants compete for business with decks on the lakeside where you can enjoy a cold beer as you watch the sun go down.

We devoted the following day to visiting the ruins of Tikal (below) deep in the rainforest. Impressive for both it's architecture and abundance of wildlife, we spotted Toucans and a monkey during our visit. Howler Monkeys were often heard in the forest canopy, although I was left wondering just how many were genuine after we discovered a group of local children producing suprisingly effective impersonations on one of the jungle trails.

For all it's reputation we didn't have a spot of bother during our stay in Guatemala, but we got regular reminders of the potential for trouble by the security guards armed with pump action shotguns pacing up and down in strategic locations throughout town. Let's hope things improve sometime soon.

We fully expected the crossing back into Mexico to be the most remote of our trip so far and it didn't dissapoint. The unpaved road to the border stretched for three very bumpy hours along a narrow strip of cultivation deep in the jungle. After a visit to the immigration office to get stamped out of Guatemala we were taken to the river in a nearby village and loaded onto narrow motor launches for a 20 minute ride through no-mans land up the river through deep jungle to reach the small town on the Mexican side.

A further two hour minibus ride and we reached impressive Mayan ruins at Palenque (top) where we explored the complex in sweltering tropical heat - probably losing a few litres of fluid in the process as we scampered up and down the staircases. Then when the sun went down, we set to work replacing what we'd lost with an equal quantity of Modelo Especial.

As the exhuastion of our 4am start began kicking in, we began to contemplate the prospect of yet another bus ride at 9.30am the next morning ...

Guatemala may not be great at administering a democracy, but they do know a thing or two about brewing beer.

All three beers I sampled during our short visit we're better than average, with the most popular Gallo being a cut above. Its the country's number one beer and they seem to sponsor absoutely everything - you can see all my photos from Guatemala by clicking on the flickr badge - including Flores' Gallo sponsored Christmas tree.

our totally tropical christmas ...

2008-01-01T18:22:00.000Z

As soon as we arrived at the Mexico-Belize border we could tell we'd reached the Carribean.

Rather than the usual stony give-nothing-away expression perfected by immigration officials the world over, we were greeted by a huge grin and a Creole accented "Alright guy´s, ow long you stayin' in Belize then?" and with little more than an absent glance at our passports we were stamped in.

It was like an instant dose of relaxation after a fairly tense morning involving a myriad of transport connections, of which the failure of any one would almost certainly have resulted in the minor disaster of us missing the last boat of the day to our Christmas getaway of San Pedro on Ambergris Caye - famed for being the "La Isla Bonita" of the Madonna song.

No sooner had we stepped of the boat than Mel cried out "Look - it´s SC!" and pointed to the Toyota waiting at the jetty - it was the spitting image of our much loved van from New Zealand. We felt instantly at home. In fact we would soon discover that 95% of the vehicles on Ambergris fall into one of two categories - the Toyota Liteace vans that form the islands taxi fleet, or the electric golf carts that are available to rent everywhere.

Of course we couldn't resist the temptation to take one for a spin round town on Boxing Day (above) - but in the main on the rare occasions when we felt inclined to leave our sun loungers beside the pool we generally favoured the leisurely stroll into town.

It would be hard to say whether our transport decision was born out of our desire to avoid looking like lazy American tourists, save ourselves the (seemingly excessive) $65 daily rental fee or simply out of dedication to researching new candidates for the beer league.

One thing is for certain though - when you throw in a ride in a classic Toyota Liteace van at the end of the evening it all makes for a pretty compelling package ...

In fact during our time on Ambergris I was only able to add a couple of new entrants to the league - Belikin and Lighthouse Lager. Both perfectly drinkable albeit nothing special.

I've posted a few photos from San Pedro - just click through on the flickr badge on the right hand side. I´ve also added a new Youtube badge for anyone who wants to see the videos that haven't made the blog - including my attempt at simulated skydiving in New Zealand if anyone fancies a laugh at my expense.

wheelchairs, religion and the gospel according to eagle creek ...

2007-12-28T19:32:00.000Z

The wheelchair access policy (above) at Morelia Cathedral more than hinted at a strong local belief in the healing powers of worship.

At this time of year many people turn their thoughts to matters of religious contemplation, but about the closest I get to evangelism is singing the praises of my Eagle Creek Pack Cubes to anyone who'll listen - over the past eight months they have proved themselves the single most useful item of my travel kit.

Anyone who's lived out of a rucksack will be familiar with the hassle of unpacking every time fresh clothes are needed, keeping laundry separate in plastic bags and of course the potential chaos of a bag search at the airport. Using the cubes with their clever floating panel which separates clean clothes and laundry, your clothes stay flat and folded at all times. It all makes for the easiest and quickest packing and unpacking imaginable

After carrying my rather large 65 litre pack around all year one of my objectives in LA was to reduce the size of my luggage - by swapping a couple of items for more packable alternatives I'd hoped to take my pack size down by 10 litres or so. So, you can only imagine than my delight at discovering the Eagle Creek ORV Gear Bag - a work of unparalleled genius, specifically designed around the Pack Cube system.

Not only have I been able to reduce my pack size by almost a third to a mere 47 litres, but my new bag is so well designed that I also added a super-warm down jacket in anticipation of some cold Andean nights over the coming months. Here it is all packed up alongside with a bottle of Sam Adams (purely for scale of course).

After testing it out on the road for the past three weeks, my enthusiasm for the Eagle Creek pack system has galvanised into a near religious fervour. As we head into the New Year and the final months of our journey I have ambitious plans spread the gospel far and wide ...

And no, I'm not on commission.

At least not yet anyway.

Our last few days in Mexico uncovered another strong contender for the Beer League - Noche Buena.

Only available at Christmas it is the final batch of the year before the brewery closes down for it's annual cleaning of the tanks. At 5.9% the translation of it's name into English couldn't be more appropriate - simply, Good Night

Finally I've decided the New Year deserves a new colour scheme - do let me know what you think ...

lingo for gringos ...

2007-12-19T19:26:00.000Z

We arrived in the beautiful city of Morelia late on Sunday evening fully expecting the worst from the student apartment we'd arranged for the week.

Our expectations of a cramped single room studio, furnished with little more than a stained mattress on the floor couldn't have been further from the truth. Instead we unexpectedly found ourselves with a recently renovated apartment in a beautiful historic building, complete with a stylish fitted kitchen, flat screen TV, queen sized bed, and even our own private courtyard. A definite candidate for nicest lodgings of the trip, and a total bargain at a tenner a night.

In order to maximise our time at the Baden Powell Institute (above) we've opted for separate one-on-one tuition for the week, with Mel taking the academic approach (conjugating verbs, lots of homework) whilst I'm taking the conversational learning, no homework approach. Some things never change. Our days now consist of back to back 50 minute lessons with a conveyor belt of frustrated tutors as we flail around with various aspects of the Spanish language.

It seems I spoke far too soon on the merits of Mexican food. Just a couple of hours after publishing my last post I found myself "talking on the great white telephone" in our bathroom with great enthusiasm - an act I would repeat with alarming regularity over the next few hours.

An expression they use in Mexico when foreigners get food poisoning is "la venganza de Montezuma" which translates to "Montezumas Revenge", or in other words payback for invading their lands. Descendants of European colonial types take note, I have settled your ancestral debt in full.

The timing was pretty lousy as not only did I have to skip school the following day (again, some things never change) but we were also expecting our first house guests, Ed & Fi, who are travelling around the world without flying (read Ed's blog here). While my amigos enjoyed chilled bottles of Tecate served with fresh lime, I found myself reduced to the pitiful state of sipping the otherwise excellent Fresca (a little like lemonade) as my stomach accompanied their conversation by simulating the sounds of a distant thunderstorm.

In the run up to Christmas we've been subjected to everything from Hawaiian versions of all the traditional carols (on Ukelele and slack key guitar) to the rampant consumerism of Rodeo Drive in Beverley Hills. But as far as taking things seriously go, our amigos the Mexicans just can't be beaten - as this life-size nativity scene outside Guadalajara Cathedral should confirm.

I'll be taking a brief break from the blog over the Christmas period, but I'll be back in the New Year to let you know what we got up to. For those of you not already pickled to the eyeballs in festive mirth may I take this opportunity to wish you all a Feliz Navidad!

Or Merry Christmas.

swimming with lions and dining with donkeys ...

2007-12-14T21:44:00.000Z

It seems like we've been so busy over the last week - three new cities explore, as well as trying (spectacularly unsuccessfully) to form some sort of plan for our next few months in Latin America.

Crossing the border into Mexico was a rather unusual experience. One that involved us watching a hispanic soap opera at maximum volume, on a portable TV with the cleaning lady, while we waited for the immigation official to return from the sandwich shop.

As the worlds most visited border town, Tijuana is the place where Americans come for cheap drugs (prescription and otherwise), while the Mexicans line up by the riverbank at night to play their own version of British Bulldogs with the US border patrols.

I didn't feel the need to take any photos in Tijuana. The only spectacle truly of note was the opportunity to have your photo taken with a Zebra for a couple of US dollars. Closer inspection revealed that some enterprising local had taken a few tins of spray paint to a regular a Donkey to create this tourist attraction. Not exactly RSPCA approved.

Not really having a plan didn't stop us jumping on a plane the very next morning to the laid back city of La Paz (we'd heard it is nice - so why not?) in Southern Baja California.

At the risk of appearing a little obsessed after my last post, beside an inexplicable statue on the Malecon (above) the absolute highlight of La Paz was a boat trip to a Sea Lion colony where we had the opportunity to swim alongside them - a much more authentic experience than the zoo, and one I´ll always remember. As much for the palpable sense of relief at not being bitten by one as anything else.

After La Paz we took a flight to Mexico's second city Guadalajara for the weekend. Incredible old stone colonial era architecture sits alongside some genuinely gritty neighbourhoods providing the starkest of contrasts. Most notably the town of Tequila lies just outside Guadalajara and while we didn't have time to make it out that far, it would have been incredibly rude to pass up the opportunity to sample a few glasses on home territory.

Let's just say I now recall all too well why I don't drink Tequila at home anymore.

I have to say that our first week in Mexico has been hard work covering so much ground, but absolutely brilliant. After spending the last couple of months in the English speaking world it's great to immerse ourselves in a completely different culture again. The food here is quite different to Mexcian food at home, offering a greater diversity of flavours and at prices that are very complimentary to our ever diminishing budget. Even the restaurant signs are a continual source of amusement as they play on the dual meaning of the word Burro (Donkey/Burrito).

One week into struggling along with my very rudimentary grasp of some basic Spanish phrases and we've decided it's time to go "back to school" as we catch the bus to our next destination, the city of Morelia for some intensive tuition.

Somehow my Tequila hangover isn't filling me with enthusiasm for our entry examination for the Baden-Powell Institute at 8.30am tomorrow morning ...

The other notable thing about Mexico is the remarkable ease with which they seem to have stormed my beer league, including a brand new No.1!

After a long reign at the top, Japan's Yebisu has finally yielded to Modelo Especial, and there are several other very respectably placed Mexican beers.

Of course it still remains to be seen what we´ll be drinking this Christmas so keep posted ...

santa's secret ...

2007-12-09T23:02:00.000Z

After LA we began our journey south with a weekend in San Diego.

We couldn't really pass up the chance to see their world famous zoo, which provided the opportunity to see gorillas and lots of other unusual animals close up. While the hairy apes are definitely the most impressive exhibit, the prize for most entertaining must surely go to the Sea Lion show. Here's a brief video from the performance.

Being our fifth animal park of the trip we found ourselves in the position of having recently seen most of the animals - so I think we'll probably skip the next one. It is possible to have too much of a good thing.

In the evening we turned to entertainment of a different kind as we said farewell to our host and chauffeur for the week Sean with a great Saturday night out in San Diego's party central, the gaslamp district.

There's plenty to keep the tourist entertained here, but you won't find our most enduring memory listed in your guidebook.

Usually when a hotel advertises itself as unique I take it with a pinch of salt, but somehow our B&B in San Diego managed to live up to the hype with a toilet seat of true distinction.

I'm almost ashamed I ever doubted.

Santa really is watching you kids. Wherever you are this Christmas.

getting to grips with cockney rhyming beer slang ...

2007-12-06T07:56:00.000Z

The moment we walked through the door of Sean's apartment in LA he swung his refrigerator door open to reveal his preparation for our visit. On view was an extensive selection of American beers, and with a grin he said "Right then, let's get some of these on that beer league of yours ..."

There are almost as many varieties of beer here as there are choices of fast food outlet. The tricky part is finding the good ones in a sea of mediocrity. Although, with a bar down the road boasting an incredible 133 beers on tap I feel I will be happy conducting my research here for a while.

Of course just because there are lots of beers available, doesn't necessarily make them easy to get hold of. Not only do you regularly have to present ID in bars (even if you're an octogenarian), but somehow an English accent can be very difficult for bar staff to understand.

First, when asking for a pen (to log the different beers - I learnt early on how easy it can be to forget most of a solid evening's research) we managed to recieve a pint of Old Speckled Hen. In another bar a straightforward request for a beer called Great White led to a suspiciously long delay before our waiter returned with cocktails called a Greyhound (vodka and grapefruit juice apparently).

We have decided to name this phenomenon cockney ryhming beer slang.

We've been spending our days in LA checking out sights like the Getty, Venice Beach and the Hollywood sign - all things you'll have seen a hundred times before on TV (so don't need to hear about here).

Sitting down to our first beer of the evening after a long day marching around the Getty Centre (above) we noticed the piano. Yet strangely none of us felt inclined to risk asking for the pianist ...

The moustache has finally gone - and thankfully no tell-tale white patch (due in no small part to 3 days of constant rain before we left Kaua'i). Last minute sponsors please see the post below this for details of how to add your support for the Prostate Cancer Charity.

this is the sound of island radio ...

2007-11-30T20:13:00.000Z

Over the past months we've been regularly seeking recommendations from Americans we've met of places to go and stay for our week in Hawaii. In all our conversations, one piece of advice has been universal. Leave Honolulu immediately.

So it was that within two hours of landing we found ourselves on a small plane bound for the least touristed of all the major Hawaiian islands, Kaua'i.

Despite it's diminutive size, we found plenty to do in our eight days here, from the soft sandy beaches perfect for surfing and snorkeling to the rugged interior with it's spectacular scenery and hiking around Waimea Canyon - dubbed the grand canyon of the Pacific.

Kaua'i is a superbly laid-back island with a genuinely unique character. Since the decline of the sugar cane plantations and their regular burning of the fields, the islands feral chicken population has been steadily increasing. Then in 1992 when the island was flattened by a hurricane the prized fighting cocks of the local Phillipino community were released into the wild - having testosterone charged roosters (or at least the avian equivalent) rampaging over the island numbers has sent numbers spiraling out of control.

When they're not dashing out into the road bringing the local vehicle of choice, the monster truck, to a screeching halt, they seem to delight in crowing at all hours of the day and night. It gets even more confusing when this is also the ring tone on your cellphone, our joke of the week is simply "can you get that ...". Repeat several times daily.

One aspect of island life you won't read about in the guide books is the local radio station, Island Radio, playing a mix of reggae and local pop. The lyrics of the local pop songs are so literal that I've often found myself listening to songs assuming them to be adverts before realising they are in fact genuine tracks by local artists. A local version of the 12 days of Christmas is easily confused with a supermarket advert (8 tins of tuna, 7 pounds of pork) until it reaches items like 5 hunting dogs, 4 remote controls and of course an Irie Island Reggae CD.

After our initial chuckles we've grown rather fond of it - it's so refreshing for music to provide such an honest reflection of everyday life.

One track though stands apart in it's continued ability ability to have us laughing like lunatics as we drive around the island, we call it the toilet paper song and I think you'll enjoy it too.

After the first verse (imagine a reggae pop style) which describes stocking up on essentials in readiness for an approaching hurricane, the chorus kicks in as the singer reflects;

Your love, is like a good toilet paper ...
It never falls apart when the going gets tough ...

This is only surpassed by the "rap" in the middle of the song;

If you ever why that I say what i say,
The good toilet paper keep me clean every day.

It stay by my side, it never go away,
It never running out, that I hope and I pray.

Your lovin' is so fresh and so clean and so strong,
And like a roll of Charmin your lovin' lasts long.

Absolute genius.

Finally today is the last day of Movember and my new moustache is complete. A big thanks to all my sponsors who have raised a total of 125 pounds so far.

The Prostate Cancer Charity is a great cause and there's still time for those who'd like to donate - just click here and use my unique reference of 160527.

time travel and the longest friday ...

2007-11-22T23:27:00.000Z

It could have been the scene from Superman where he flies around the world to turn back time, or perhaps it was tuning in to the latest episode of Dr. Who every Saturday teatime with an almost religious fervour - but I had developed an interest in the possibility of time travel from a very early age.

As we prepared to leave New Zealand the time had finally come to realise my long-held ambitions, at around midnight that evening we would be flying across the international date line right back into Friday morning. To further confuse matters we would also be crossing the equator and swapping spring for winter, plus it was going to be warmer.

I'll give you a few moments to digest that lot.

Our schedule would first take us to Nadi in Fiji where we would change planes for our final destination of Hawaii. Changing planes isn't a great recipe for a relaxing overnight flight, but just after boarding we realised it could be very good news indeed for the beer league.

The surly attitude of the airport staff at Nadi airport hardly filled us with entusiasm for a return visit, but a quick visit to the restaurant confirmed the precence of 3 local beers which I would have the opportunity to sample before our flight left just before midnight. It yielded the very reasonable Fiji Bitter and Fiji Gold, plus the absolutely horrible Fiji Export Bitter which tasted like a cross between old socks and Ouzo. I couldn't help thinking that between the airport staff and brewing industry something is going very wrong with attempts to develop promote Fiji to a world audience as a tourist destination.

After being singled out for an additional security search as we boarded the plane which included the farce of being waved over by an obviously faulty metal detector wand (I know this as my belt buckle always sets the ones that work off), we took off on time and just 30 minutes into the flight were informed over the tannoy to adjust our watches. One hour forward, one day backwards.

We arrived in Honalulu airport at 7am. It was a full 10 hours before our departure that evening from New Zealand ... and not a Dalek in sight.

In just five more days my moustache will be fully matured, so I'll post a more extensive photo gallery at the end of the month.

Despite my altered appearance I made it through US immigration with no more difficulty than being required recite the ingredients of the bag of bombay mix I had declared on the customs form, having had my request to be allowed retreive it from my luggage and actually refer to the packaging refused.

Given the various recipes for bombay mix we quickly reached an impasse after I vaguely admitted that I didn't actually know the precise ingredients of the packet in question. Matters only became more confused by my repeated reference to the only ingredient I could be sure of - in the confusion of time travel I had completely forgotten that chickpeas are called garbanzo beans here in the US. Thankfully the immigration official seemed to tire of the game pretty quickly and I was allowed to proceed after giving solemn assurances it didn't contain any pork or beef. Or chickens.

My most immediate concern now is whether or not I will find a tell-tale white patch when I finally shave off the mo' next weekend ...

the full monty ...

2007-11-21T00:19:00.000Z

As we rolled into Auckland we unleashed an exercise in vehicle selling of military precision.

With only four days to sell our van we decided to hit the market hard with a keen price and set out with the objective of placing a copy of our advert to the noticeboard of every backpacker lodge in the city.

We took our first call 30 minutes after pinning the first advert to a noticeboard and just 30 minutes after that the sale was all but agreed. It just remained for Super Casual to pass a nailbiting independent inspection the next morning, and the transaction was completed.

For those of you with an interest in figures, here's the running cost data for our trip of 5347km.

insurance -$180
camping gear -$344
maintenance -$ 10

fuel -$645

profit on sale +$100
total -$1079

It all works out at an incredible $0.20/km or just 11.9 pence per mile in UK terms - surely these must qualify as world class running costs for a camper van?

The early sale of our van left us with time on our hands to relax and enjoy our last few days in New Zealand updating our wardrobes and hanging out in the cafe's and bars (but mainly bars) of Auckland's fashionable Ponsonby district.

We've discovered lots of uniquely Kiwi expressions to describe a great result like this, from the slightly over-used awesome, to sweet as and even occasionally the rather unusual monty.

After delivering six weeks of trouble-free motoring for less than the cost of a single round NZ bus ticket and saving us an estimated $500 in accommodation, we think SC is quite simply - the full monty

As well as seeing SC drive off into the sunset we also say goodbye to New Zealand today, as once again the time has come for us to move on. It's been an amazing time, and even after 6 weeks we leave behind plenty of things for next time ...

Before we depart there's time for one last moustache update - here I am this morning on day 23

I've added the last couple of beers to the league and all the photos are now online for those of you who wish to look them over (don't worry, we're saving some for a slide show when we return).

The next update will be from somewhere completely different ...

earth, wind (water) and fire ...

2007-11-20T02:54:00.000Z

Approaching the city limits of Rotorua we began to look at each other suspiciously.

As the smell of rotten eggs intensified it didn't take too long to realise that it had more to do with the hydrogen sulphide emitted by thermal activity than our breakfast that morning. It may have been the thermal activity and associated Spa's that first attracted tourists to this part of the North Island, but we found more to detain us here than anywhere else in New Zealand.

It's interesting that what terrifies one person another can take quite in their stride. As Mel decided to fulfil her ambition for jumping out of an aeroplane (something I would require sedation to even consider) I took to the Wairoa River for some full on white-water rafting, the very thought of which terrifies Mel to an equal extent.

When the local hydro-electric company dammed the river a number of years ago the rafting operators managed to secure an agreement that sees water released for a few short hours only twenty-six times a year. I could see why they battled so hard to keep rafting here, as we spent 2 hours tackling the Grade 4-5 rapids every hundred metres or so along our route.

It was only after we had recovered from partially capsizing in the toughest rapid of the day that our raft guide informed us about the 8 people had previously died in the same spot. I guess that should have provided a sober moment, but we we're having so much fun it just seemed to add to the general euphoria.

While the white water definitely rules for adrenaline, by far the most amusing activity in Rotorua (if not the planet) is Zorbing.

Imagine rolling down a hill along a zig-zag course in an enormous beach ball along with half a gallon of lukewarm water - the video below of the straight course should provide you with a good idea.

It may be completely pointless and ridiculous, but I'd challenge anyone not to laugh all the way down. Simply hilarious fun.

Of course as I left the finish area having had my photo taken, the photographer only had one thing to say to me ...

"Hey, nice 'tashe mate".

This is getting more embarassing by the day.

Here's a photo of me on Day 18 of Movember posing with a bottle of MAC Spring Tide, new in at No. 2 in the beer league.

I'm delighted to say that thanks to your support the sponsorship amount is now well into 3 figures and rising almost as fast as my embarassment. If you haven't sponsored me yet and would like to, you can find all the details a couple of posts below.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to state absolutely categorically that my moustache is NOT GINGER. You know who you are.

the grape escape ...

2007-11-18T22:35:00.000Z

With only a couple of weeks to make our way up to Auckland, we moved sharply up the east coast to the Art Deco city of Napier.

In contrast to the overcast weather we had in Wellington, here we were treated to two days of glorious sunshine. Perfect for wine growing, and even better for taking a chaufeurred tour of some of the areas vineyards to sample over thirty varieties of locally produced wine.

Hawkes Bay seems to produce a far better white wine than my preferred tipple of red - certainly they were not a patch on the Pinot Noirs of the South Island. But quite honestly after the equivalent of a couple of bottles apiece, who cares anymore? It was a great day out, which we topped off with some excellent Thai food in one of Napiers many fine restaurants.

Of course all good things come to an end, and after a couple of days wining and dining in comparative style it was time to make our grape escape and pack up our backpacks for a couple of days of going bush in the wilderness of Waikaremoana Lake in Te Urawera National Park.

Just to get to the start of our trek we had to negotiate 25km of dirt track in the van, before chartering a boat to drop us at the other side of the lake. It all contributed to a genuine feeling of being in the middle of nowhere, which is exactly where we still were after walking for eight hours laden with 15kg packs when we stopped to spend the evening in one of the huts provided by the Department of Conservation (DOC).

Our trek alternated between the side of the lake, and inland routes through pristine forests dripping with vines. The area is one of the few left on the North Island where the original native bush has been left completely untouched, and it still provides suitable habitat for the highly endangered Kiwi, whose numbers are being restored thanks to extensive pest control programmes for introduced predators such as stoats.

As our pre-arranged boat collected us the next day for the 40 minute ride back accross the lake to collect our van, we could easily imagine how it had been a great place for New Zealands latest suspected domestic terrorists to hang out. Thankfully the only thing criminal we encountered was the price of our water taxi ...

Thanks for all your fantastic support sponsoring my new moustache - the sponsorship total is almost into three figures. I've even had people I don't know complimenting me on it. If you still haven't donated you can find details below in the previous posts (just scroll down).

Things at the top end of the beer league have been looking a little crowded of late, so I've taken the opportunity to review and "recalibrate" to give a more accurate representation of merit. Basically you should find anything in the top 15 or so highly drinkable.

pimp my face up ...

2007-11-14T22:34:00.000Z

It probably goes without saying, but I feel a bit of a plonker walking around like this.

I suppose at least I should be grateful I'm in a country where outlandish facial hair is regarded as the height of good taste. Almost as much as in Belgium.

All the cities we've visited in New Zealand seem to have their own unique character and the capital Wellington is no exception. Life here really does revolve around the numerous bars and cafe's, so much so that the city actually gets busier at 6pm and parking spaces far more difficult to come by.

It's been really nice just to relax for a couple of days and we didn't do much other than paying a visit to the impressive "Te Papa " National Museum which covers all aspects of the nations natural and cultural history. One of the more interesting exhibits is a room in which you can experience a simulated earthquake.

Of course my new facial hair has not gone unnoticed by the local females.

Mind you, I don't think Mel has too much to fear from the shop assistant who attempted to flirt with me as I was buying a new pair of shorts. After asking where I was from, she said "Oh nice! .. we have UK shoe sizes here". Eventually she broke my stunned silence that followed by saying "Hmm, that's not very interesting is it?". I didn't like to say.

Full credit to her though, she carried on trying with insightful followup questions like "So what does UK stand for then?" and of course the ubiquitous "So, is Leeds near London then?". After I'd put her straight she attempted to explain her ignorance by giggling and saying "Well, I was never any good at history".

Confused, I ventured "Do you mean geography?", to which she replied "Geography? God no, I was terrible at that ...".

I still don't think she had the slightest idea what I was talking about.

conquering the worlds steepest ...

2007-11-12T05:44:00.000Z

After a spot of jet-boating in Glenorchy (the main location for Lord of the Rings filming) we headed back to the Southeast coast and New Zealand's fourth largest city*, Dunedin.

Originally founded by Scottish presbyterian settlers its name is the Gaelic word for its twin town of Edinburgh. There's plenty of evidence of it's Scots roots, from the architecture and street names to the wide range of shops selling tartan and kilts. It even snowed for 10 minutes to prove it's credentials.

In Dunedin, our little van Super Casual proved his worth on Baldwin Street - the worlds steepest according to the Guinness Book of records (1998 edition). And just in case there are any doubters out there, here's the video.

I'm still not sure if the people in the background are laughing at us, but it must have been impressive because we received a certificate signed by the Mayor of Dunedin to honour the achievement.

Despite this I wasn't convinced the locals were taking it nearly seriously enough. In fact the staff in the corner shop seemed rather more interested in our $2 than they were in validating our video evidence ...

* population c.115,000

pimp or magnum - vote now !

2007-11-10T22:48:00.000Z

There's still time to vote for your favourite mo' - just add a comment below to state your preference ...

Voting closes midnight on Monday 12th GMT, and don't forget if you donate using my unique code of 160527 then your vote will count for double.

I'll be posting a photo of the winning style "shaved in" soon after, so don't forget to come back and see it in all it's glory.

New Zealand has yielded an embarrasment of riches for the beer league and I've just completed a major update. The only NZ beer I'd heard of beforehand is Steinlager who kindly sponsored a sheep shearing competition I won a few years back, but that's a whole other story ...

how many Americans does it take to light a gas ring ...?

2007-11-09T05:43:00.000Z

Our trip to Fiordland was adventurous from the outset, starting with the drive there.

We reached the gateway town of Te Anau only to find that the only road into Milford Sound was closed. We had to hang around until 11am the next morning for the avalanche risk to be downgraded to moderate and the pass reopened. It was all very reassuring.

As we came out the other side of the lengthy tunnel that marked the summit of the pass the rain was absolutely torrential and we could only just see the mountains towering hundreds of meters above us through the mist. When they did come into view they were covered in streams of white water cascade down the rock faces, as though someone had poured an enormous bottle of milk over the top of them.

Fortunately we saw Milford's brighter side the next day as we set out on our kayak trip on a glorious sunny day. The high rainfall here (as much as 200mm in a day is not uncommon) means you can actually drink directly from the sea; the fresh water can't mix quickly enough with saltwater, so it sits on top in a murky tea-coloured layer up to 12 meters thick. Kayaking was a great way to see the spectacular scenery of the fiord, although the increasingly windy conditions after lunch meant the return journey was quite exciting as we battled to paddle through meter high waves.

I didn't hold out high hopes of seeing much on my scuba diving trip the next day, but I needn't have worried - it was fantastic. After descending through the top layer with almost zero visibility, we reached a thin layer where the fresh and salt water is still in the process of mixing together (from inside my mask it looked a little like a computer generated special effect), and once through that, the visibility magically improved to 10-15 meters. It was my first cold water dive, and so everything was different - fields of kelp swaying in the current, black coral (actually white), enormous lobsters and a huge octopus.

Back at the lodge in the evening I entered the communal kitchen to cook dinner to discover the faint aroma of gas, and a middle aged American lady turning one of the gas rings on and off repeatedly. As she turned to me and asked how it worked, I had to try my very hardest not to sound patronising as I replied "I think you need to light it ..." and pointed to the cigarette lighter on the counter top.

Returning from the van with some more food I was amazed to see she had been joined by another lady and they were taking it in turns to switch the gas on and off while the other tried to light the gas ring using the lighter. As a strategy it reminded me of operation troop surge in Iraq. And it was equally successful. After a couple of minutes it all got too painful to watch and I had to go and help them out, unsurprisingly it lit first time.

Perhaps this is just another example of people to beginning to lose their traditional skills in our technologically advanced society. It made me glad I'd read Bushcraft:an Inspirational Guide to Survival in the Wilderness before leaving the UK.

Something told me Ray Mears would have been proud of me that evening ...

End the seven day itch ... VOTE NOW !!

It's all getting horribly scratchy in the neck area, and I must say I'm now really looking forward to getting the razor out once you guy's have voted. Thanks for all your sponsorship so far - and for those of you who haven't yet you can do so by visiting the donations page. Don't forget to use my unique code of 160527 when making your donation. You can find out more about Movember and their charitable work by clicking here.

I've now received a number of suggestions and I've whittled it down to a shortlist of two, the Magnum or the Pimp. I'll be taking votes until midnight UK time on Monday, just add a comment below. As an extra incentive to make a donation, votes from readers who have sponsored me will count double.

Apologies to my readers in the US for the content of this post, in particular Cathy and Sean. I just couldn't resist capitalising on the gilt-edged opportunity, although something tells me I could get my just reward in a couple of weeks time as I try and clear US immigration sporting my new 'tache. Although I suppose I should be grateful no-one suggested a Bin-Laden ...

the ice-man cometh ...

2007-11-08T22:30:00.000Z

After 2 days driving down the deserted west coast we arrived at the town of Franz Josef, jumping off point for New Zealands most famous glacier. With Mel still feigning a sore knee in order to liberate the funds from our trip budget for a scenic helicopter trip (I'm in big trouble now), it was left to me to spend the day walking up it.

After spending the first hour of the day getting kitted out with boots, crampons, and full waterproofs our group finally took to the ice. From the bottom the glacier had looked quite small, but with no man-made points of reference to give a true sense of scale we quickly discovered that looks can be deceiving. Two hours of treacherously slippy clambering up and down ice-steps later and we reached the first plateau. Despite having climbed several hundred feet we could see we were merely a fraction of the way up.

We spent the afternoon exploring this area of the glacier on a route that had us ascending and descending vertigo-inducing crevasses using safety ropes, and squeezing between impossibly tight gaps. It was a truly mindblowing day, to spend time on and actually inside the glacier is to really begin to understand it. Although due to a set of leaky boots I must say that a notable downside was my feet spending most of the day in danger of succumbing to frostbite.

Despite Mel assuring me it's not in the slightest bit funny, I had been entertaining vague notions of some sort of spoof post involving the nearby Fox Glacier and a non-existent "Glacier Mint" factory. But as always the truth is more interesting than fiction. As we sat down to fuel up on our packed lunches a Kea stopped by - unique to New Zealand it is the worlds only alpine parrot.

At about a foot tall it is reputed to be the worlds most intelligent bird, with the brain of a 3 year old child (or a 25 year old Australian as our guide helpfully pointed out ... I'm saying nothing). For a moment it seemed to be homing in on my cheese and pickle sandwiches, but recent experiences had left me wary and I made sure of keeping a good distance. Better luck next time my feathered friend ...

All this talk of alpine parrots has left me "pining for the fiords", so our next stop will be Milford Sound. Before that though some even more exciting news ...

I have decided to take part in Movember an annual moustache growing competion in aid of The Prostate Cancer Charity.

If you truly value seeing me make a plonker of myself (and I'm sure you do) then please take the time to visit the donations page and sponsor me for any small amount, my unique code is 160527.

Ever fancied yourself as a moustache designer? Well now is your big chance - as you can see from my photograph taken on Day 4 - I have yet to commit to a design. So consider my face your blank canvas and suggest which style you like to see by adding a comment (and preferably a link to a picture). I'll post a shortlist for you all to vote upon before I take my first shave and I promise to go with whichever gets the most votes.

There will of course be regular moustache updates as the drama unfolds ...

a clever kiwi kayak trip ...

2007-11-04T03:03:00.000Z

It was time to give our legs a rest and exercise our upper limbs with a sea kayak trip along the coast of Abel Tasman National Park.

Unlike the "I'm going to die in a freak boating accident" experience of kayaking at Halong Bay in Vietnam, this was actually a fairly relaxed affair as we paddled gently up the coast on a gloriously sunny day. Along the way we saw all sorts of wildlife, most notably a fur seal swimming alongside us.

In New Zealand they really do have this sort of trip perfected. Rather than paddle back for 6 hours against a strong headwind, they send a water taxi (basically a 12 seater speedboat) to pick you up from the beach. On our way back we stopped briefly to observe a little blue penguin splashing around in the sea, before making our way back to port.

To our surprise it wasn't a jetty that awaited us, but a partially submerged tractor. We sailed right onto it's attached trailer before being hauled onto dry land.

Rather than getting us to disembark for a more conventional form of transport back to the kayak centre, the tractor just carried on 2km along the seafront with us still sat in our boat gazing out at the bemused pedestrians.

It all made for quite a memorable day. And not a rogue seagull in sight.

Twice Bitten ...

2007-11-01T22:11:00.000Z

For our next tramping mission we decided on the rather more ambitious Queen Charlotte Track, one of New Zealand's Great Walks.

The unique lure of the QCT is the availability of water-taxi bag transfers, quality lodgings and gourmet food along the route; all factors which were crucial in my ability to sell the idea to Mel. Even so, the prospect of walking 71km over the coming days left us more than a little apprehensive.

The initial 71km commitment had seemed within the bounds of our capabilities, however once we'd chosen our accommodation and factored in detours the distance had soared to a whopping 85km. A couple of kilometers off the trail didn't sound so far when we were making the bookings, but you can just imagine how it felt after having already put in 20km that day ...

As we set off from Picton by water taxi to Ship Cove the rain was pouring down, and I'll confess we were a little daunted by the prospect of what the next five days might have in store for us. The beginning of the trail was a steep 2 hour climb, and as we finished the first (and shortest) day of just 10km in a state of exhaustion our doubts started to build.

Fortunately the weather improved considerably after the first day, and the continual presence of stunning views over the turquoise blue inlets did much to keep us going. Our morale was of course assisted greatly by the opportunities to soak away our aches and pains each evening - firstly in the hot-tub, then afterwards in the bar.

Once we had conquered the killer third day (24km of gradient over 8 hours) we had the smell of victory in our nostrils, and despite increasingly painful limbs we eventually made it to the finish line on day five thoroughly exhausted, but still smiling (just).

One of my enduring memories from the trail will be the ever present Weka's - a close relative of the rather more endangered and nocturnal Kiwi. These inquisitive birds could often be seen wandering along the side of the track, usually making an appearance near the benches used by walkers for rest-stops, no doubt lured by the possibility of food scraps.

As I crouched to take a photo of one on the first day, the little blighter shot forward and bit me on my shutter finger. If you look closely at the resulting photo I think you'll agree that you can see the look of intent in it's eyes. Remarkably on that very same morning I'd also been attacked by a duck at our campsite in Picton, taking a vicious pecking to the back of my legs as I unloaded our backpacks from the rear door of the van.

Over a few chilled beverages on the second evening chatting with the owners of our guest house I recounted the story of my Weka bite to their knowing smiles, apparently just two weeks previously at the same spot another tourist had their mobile phone stolen by one.

Suddenly it all clicked into place as I came to the realisation that this could only be the work of one man, my arch-nemesis Pigeon.

Clearly he's directing systematic poultry attacks against me using his favoured method of communication, the mobile phone. Something tells me we haven't heard the last of our feathered friend ...

Mel is now sporting a rather fetching compression bandage on her right knee and is walking in the style of Herr Flick from 'Allo 'Allo. It could be a few days until our next trek ...

having a whale of a time ...

2007-10-30T06:35:00.000Z

It was back to the coast for a quick visit to New Zealand's whale watching capital, Kaikoura.

We decided on a 30-minute flight around the bay in a light aircraft, although not being too keen on heights I'm not entirely sure why. We only managed to sight a solitary whale, but thanks to the gusty conditions the flight itself was quite exciting enough for me.

I have now decided that bungee jumping and sky-diving are most definitely off my agenda for the trip.

In Maori "kai koura" means "eats crayfish", the seafood speciality of the area. We found huge freshly cooked crayfish far easier to find than whales - sitting right in a cool box at a roadside fish sellers, just waiting to be liberated for our evening meal ...

Heaven and Hell in Hanmer ...

2007-10-27T04:20:00.000Z

When Mel suggested we try some tramping I was simply elated.

Not only did the thought of sitting on a park bench shouting abuse at random strangers sound really exciting, but cheap sherry is one of my favourite drinks of all time.

It seems that I was getting confused. In New Zealand tramping is what most other people refer to as hiking, walking or trekking. Call it what you will, now the painful memories of Mt. Fuji are behind us, we picked the 1324m Mt. Isobel for our first mission in the Southern Hemisphere.

It was also our first chance to test out Super-Casual in both a driving and a sleeping capacity. Aside from a general slowing down whenever a slight gradient is encountered in 5th gear, I think the little van will get us around quite nicely. As for the sleeping, the night before our trek it belted it down with rain and we nearly froze to death, by 3am we were both wearing woolly hats.

As we reached the trailhead we could see that during the previous night the weather had added little white hats to the mountain range - we hoped it wouldn't be another of those days. The GPS cheerfully informed me our elevation was 532m, and a quick spot of maths revealed we'd be climbing 800m up and then down again over the next 5 hours. I'm so glad we didn't pick a difficult trek.

The uphill was relentless and I abandoned a very tired Melanie just below 1000m for a solo attempt on the summit. The two hikers we met coming down earlier had warned us it was a but windy up on the ridge - as understatements go, this was like saying Robert Mugabe is a bit bonkers. The windspeed was well in excess of 60mph and increasing as I approached the summit, but at least I'd made it this time.

Thankfully after enduring hell, there was time for a little bit of heaven. Hanmer is famous for it's hot thermal springs and we took full advantage, soaking our aching limbs as we gazed up at the snow-capped mountains.

It just remained for us to remember to fill our new hot water bottle before we left for another night in the van ...

Getting Super-Casual in Christchurch ...

2007-10-21T04:16:00.000Z

As we walked out of the aiport to our shuttle bus it was a cold, wet and windy night - and as we drove into the city we were immediately struck by how the shops and houses had an ever so slightly English air to them.

We'd arrived on New Zealand's South Island with very little plan for the coming weeks - in fact after spending so long living in a campervan we weren't looking beyond the immediate luxury of sleeping in a proper bed.

After weighing up the transport options for touring the country we decided to buy our own vehicle. There's a thriving backpacker market for vehicles that can double up as a bed for the night - from station wagons (estate cars) through to van's with makeshift beds in the back. We set to work trawling the small ads for something that would suit our needs, as well as providing a good resale opportunity - and who knows, we might even be able to turn a small profit ...

Introducing our new wheels - a 1989 Toyota Lite-Ace purchased for the princely sum of $2,700NZ (about 1000 English). Four good tyres, a sweet running engine, converted for a variety of seating and sleeping configurations plus a long WOF (MOT) mean this should be a sound choice for resale up in Auckland in 6 weeks time - but in the end it was the Super-Casual badging that reminded us so much of Malaysian bus names that really sold it.

We didn't see too much of the tourist sights in Christchurch, but dealing with the practicalities of vehicle ownership and kitting ourselves out for the road gave us a different insight into everyday life in New Zealand.

One of the continuing features of the roads in Australia and New Zealand is the presence of customised campervans (see example below), and we've seen some real classics over the last few weeks.

If anyone has any suggestions for customising Super-Casual then just add your comment below ...

We hoping a few factors will help us in our quest for succesful van trading - firstly prices are higher on the North Island, secondly we'll be selling in a rising market as we approach high season. In much the same way as the prices of convertibles rise come early summer in the UK so do clapped-out vans over here ...

Melbourne or bust ...

2007-10-19T05:41:00.000Z

The final 2 nights of our journey took us through the forests and lakes of New South Wales and Victoria, staying at firstly one of the nicest and then one of the wierdest caravan parks of the roadtrip.

Durras was jam-packed with Kangaroo's who made themsleves right at home lazing around our campsite. We had one final wood fired BBQ here (no chopping reuired this time) before moving on the next morning to what was described on the roadside signage as an adventure caravan park. The campsite was almost deserted and looked like the place time forgot, but after a 4km drive up an unsealed road and being rather low on fuel we decided to go for it.

The woman who checked us in drew our attention to the small print on the back of the form, informing us that all the water on the site was drawn from an underground spring. That being the case she said "most people drink bottled - although I don't know why, I ain't never been sick off it". Something in her manner suggested some illnesses exist only in the mind.

As I returned to the van from a late evening visit to the toliet block I heard the thunder of paws rapidly closing in on me through the pitch black darkness. I ran as fast as I could back to the van, just closing the door before the guard dog arrived barking and foaming at the mouth. I must admit, it wasn't exactly the kind of adventure I'd had in mind ...

4,983 kilometers and 20 nights since leaving Cairns we arrived in Melbourne where we had just enough time left to register suprise at the relocation of my hometown of Doncaster nearby.

Still, I suppose everbody needs good Neighbours.

All the photos from our roadtrip are now live on flickr (click through on the right) - and the beer league now looks like the swimming entry list for next years Olympics.

If you're still reading after the very bad joke at the end of this post, our next news should be from New Zealand.

G'day Possums ...

2007-10-17T04:37:00.000Z

We took a much needed break from the tarmac and took a leisurely three days in Sydney catching up with old friends from back home.

The beer league never had it so good. In just one afternoon I managed to sample an additional eight beers - they all had odd names such as Leather Jacket (below) which is apparently named after a fish(?)

Sleeping in a van not being terribly compatible with downtown Sydney - we found ourselves staying in Lane Cove National Park in the northern suburbs. As we returned to camp on our first evening we found ourselves face to face with one of these on the approach road. I'm not sure who was more surprised, Mel or the Possum.

Over the next few days we got to know the local population quite well - being rather tame from feeding on the scraps of campers over the years they make predictable appearances every dinner time.

We saw a few more Possums too ...

The book I'm reading at the moment is absolutely hilarious - but it's causing me a few embarassing moments in public places when I suddenly snort with laughter. I'd still recommend it. Starting my own cult could be an interesting career change when I finally return home ... anyone interested?

spit or swallow?

2007-10-15T04:17:00.000Z

Our final drive to Sydney took us through the Hunter Valley wine region and the chance to stop at a local winery to sample their wares.

Having been designated (by Mel) as the driver on this leg of the journey - I was faced with the dilemma of whether to spit or swallow?

In the end, to avoid any potentially serious misunderstandings I decided that the best strategy for keeping under the limit would be to simply sip & tip ...

surf school and spunk rats ...

2007-10-12T04:17:00.000Z

After Nimbin we headed back to the coast for something slightly more normal - the surfing mecca of Byron Bay.

While Mel went off to a Yoga class for a good stretch, I took my first surfing lesson. Let's just say I won't be entering competitions anytime soon (or probably ever), but it was great fun and suprisingly intense exercise. I ached all over the following morning.

From all the messages I received after my Cairns post, I know how much you'll all be dying to see photos of me in a wetsuit. Unfortunately Mel wasn't on hand for photos on this occassion ...

The following evening we overnighted at a little place called Seal Rocks - not only did they have Pelicans on the beach, but probably one of the most unusual signposts we've seen so far.

Signposts in Australia tend to be pretty direct. One of the best (sadly un-photographed) was a roadsign on the subject of drink driving, the text read quite simply;

Only just over the limit?

You bloody idiot.

Given the number of bookstores in Australia you'd think they'd make rather more of the English language. Or perhaps it's just a reflection of all the time they spend on the dunny given the portion sizes here?

Now if anyone can tell me exactly what a spunk rat is - just add a comment ...

Nuts of Nimbin ...

2007-10-07T04:17:00.000Z

As we reached the edge of Nimbin we encountered our first local resident.

He had a great big bushy beard and appeared to be shouting at himself while standing on a bridge. This is a completely normal event in Nimbin, and it's probably no coincidence that it's only town in Australia where marajuana use is openly tolerated.

A walk along Nimbin's high street shows just what a peculiar place it is. Just 200 yards from the police station the local cafes seem to exist in a permanent haze of curiously sweet smelling smoke.

The town seems to exist largely on the revenue generated by day-trippers from Byron Bay. As we sat in a cafe drinking coffee before recommencing our journey we witnessed the first of the day trippers arrive, and the highly organised drug peddling operation swung into action. I lost count of the number of deals I saw in progress down alleys - subtle it was not.

The notices in local shops revealed much about the local culture, from secondhand refrigerators for sale because they are too powerful for solar panels, peotry recitals and presentations on the dangers of flouride. Nimbin has it all.

It was this notice in the window of the general store that brought the greatest chuckle though - there are lots of nuts in Nimbin - after spending the night here we didn't need to see any more ...

Pigeon's revenge ...

2007-10-05T04:01:00.000Z

"Who the hell is that !?!" was our immediate response when we saw this unfamiliar face staring back at us from our mobile phone as we checked out some photo's last week.

It took a few minutes of head-scratching before we were able to place him - it was Pigeon from the hostel at Xian, China. We hadn't taken a photo of him, so we worked out he must have got one of his pals to take it on the day we left our phone behind. The little tinker.

It just goes to show what can happen when you make fun of people on the internet. As the sign in the bathroom at HQ Hostel said; "Project positive vibes and they will come back to you".

I wonder what he'll do this time?

After a shoddy performance in Malaysia on the Beer League, you'll be pleased to hear I've been working extra hard for you in Australia. I've added 5 new beers today - the pick of the crop (or should that be hop) being Toohey's New.

The "all day beers" as we like to call them (e.g. VB Gold) are nestling toward the bottom of the table - at a mere 3.5% ABV. You lose serious points for that in a league like this.

a chip off the old block ...

2007-10-03T02:19:00.000Z

Heading inland from the Bruce we decided to make an overnight stop at the former gold mining settlement of Mount Morgan, just South of Rockport.

Climbing switchback roads to reach the pine-clad plateau at the summit, we found a town of traditional wooden buildings and eerily deserted streets. After driving around for some time, we finally found an equally empty looking caravan site so we parked up in for the night and I went to check in at reception.

"Oh yeaah!" said the busy-bearded woodsman type on reception as I enquired whether they had a BBQ. After I'd payed our camp fees, he looked at me doubtfully and asked "Have you got an axe?", confused I replied "Um, no ..." but he told me not to worry, I could borrow his.

I stared blankly for few seconds before the penny finally dropped; I would be on wood chopping detail if we wanted to eat that night.

Chopping firewood is most definitely about technique rather than brute strength, as I found when my first few swings of the axe missed the wood entirely and buried the axe-head deep in the chopping block. You get the hang of it after a while though.

We had a great (if ever so slightly sinister) evening in Mount Morgan, but I'll never forget what he said when he brough the axe over "Make sure you bring it back to the office when you're done - we don't want anyone getting hold of it and going crazy" with a wild gleam in his eye.

My thoughts entirely.

headin' south ...

2007-09-29T00:49:00.000Z

After the rather inauspicious start to our Australasian leg of our trip we started the long trip South. By heading North.

Our logic being that you haven't really done the East Coast unless you start where the tarmac runs out - so we made the 150km trip north to Cape Tribulation* where we had a pleasant afternoon exploring the beaches and rainforest of Daintree National Park.

We awoke early next morning in our beachfront caravan park gently poaching in the morning sun as we listened to the waves lapping against the shore. The soaring temperature in the van helped us make an early start and we returned to Cairns in time to make the day trip to the outer barrier reef.

While I had an excellent dive, including a close encounter with a shark, let's just say it may take a couple more attempts for Mel to earn her scuba flippers ...

Over the next few days we took in Mission Beach, Airlie Beach, The Whitsunday Islands and Eungella National Park where we were lucky enough to catch (not literally) a Duck-Billed Platypus in the wild.

But most of all we spent lots of time getting to know our new friend Bruce. Or Bruce Highway to give him his full title, the East Coast route that will take on our 4500km trip South.

Already living in a campervan seems to be having a strange effect on us. Perhaps it's the heat, but we've started noticing other caravans and campers with a worryingly heightened level of interest. Finding ourselves discussing the relative merits of features like overhead sleeping areas and chemical toilets can only be a worrying development ...

I've added a few photos from Singapore to flickr - just click here

* Cape Tribulation was where Captain James Cook (the famous Yorkshire-born explorer) ran aground on the barrier reef, hence the name.

Naked in Cairns ...

2007-09-27T05:49:00.000Z

I've always laughed heartily when hearing stories of people getting locked out of hotel rooms naked. Not so funny now I can tell you.

I don't know which I'll remember most, the sinking feeling hearing the door click lock shut behind me to the sight of no porcelain, or my increasingly frantic knocking on the door as I tried to get Mel to wake up and rescue me from the public corridor.

Personally, I blame Quantas for the most uncomfortable flight imaginable from Singapore, it's sole purpose seemed to be denial of sleep. On the upside, my naked adventure seemed to have passed unnoticed by the other residents. It's an experience I'll be making very sure I don't repeat in the future (if I can ever get a good nights sleep in a hotel again).

After luxuriating in Asia (well sort of), our budget now dictates we live in the back of a van. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

We'll be spending the next 3 weeks on the ultimate roadtrip - driving a camper from Cairns to Melbourne. I look forward to telling you all about how we get on ...

beware of the swing flapper ...

2007-09-25T08:25:00.000Z

When you arrive at immigration in most countries you get a nice welcome sign, and often it let's you know something about the place you're about to enter. For example, when entering Thailand it's "Welcome to the Land of Smile".

As we crossed the causeway linking Johor Bahru in Malaysia to Singapore, we were greeted with "Beware of the Swing Flapper". It was the only sign in sight, but very prominently referred to a piece of glass that swings back and forth to ensure only 1 person at a time can approach the immigration officer. You get the idea.

It's the only place in all our travels I've seen anything quite like it, so being uniquely Singaporean they obviously had to invent their own name for it. Sadly I can't provide a photo for this unique innovation as apparently customs get a bit touchy about that sort of thing these days.

We spent a very pleasant 2 days in Singapore, our final destination in Asia. Thanks to facebook I got chance to catch up with Jacqui, an old friend from school who lives out there - it was great to catch up - at least until all the alcohol caught up with us the next morning.

We spent the rest of our time in Singapore taking in the excellent Night Safari, before signing out of Asia after four and a half months with a Singapore Sling in the Long Bar at Raffles Hotel.

Now at least they made a better job of naming their cocktails ...

If you're on facebook and I'm not linked to you already then look me up! - for now at least I'm the only Mark Fretwell with a furry hood.

Finally I can add Tiger to the beer league ... we've been drinking it in just about every country since Mongolia and now I've drunk it in it's country of origin it finally qualifies for the league - 3rd place - well done!!

Going wild in Borneo ...

2007-09-23T04:24:00.000Z

Time to go feral again.

We were headed for Kuching, the capital of Malaysian Borneo to look for wildife in the jungle.

Our two day trip to Bako National Park started out as it meant to go on. After taking the incredibly cheap (but even bumpier) local bus to Bako, we transferred to a small motor launch. Setting off we looked back at the jetty and saw the signpost asking us to "beware of crocodiles" quite clearly. Yikes.

After 20 minutes heading down the river estuary and into the South China Sea, we reached our destination. Well almost. The tide was out, so our launch couldn't get any closer than 50m from the shoreline. As we waded to shore I reflected that now would probably be a good time to beware of the crocodiles ...

Trekking in the jungle was hot, hot, hot. In fact so was sitting in the room, eating in the park canteen or even taking a cold shower. But the amazing wildlife we saw really made up for any discomfort we experienced. We saw snakes, a bearded pig and loads of macaques - one of the highlights being able to track troops of the bizzare looking proboscis monkey's through the jungle and mangrove's along the coastline.

They generally kept their distance from us, but as we headed back to camp we came across a juvenile proboscis (above) scampering along the man-made walkway through the mangroves. We followed him and after a while he got quite used to our presence, enabling us to get within a couple of metres as he munched on mangrove leaves for half an hour.

If we'd doubted the crocodile threat beforehand, we didn't after seeing this one on the boat journey back just a few hundred metres down the coast from our drop-off point the day beforehand.

Our last day in Borneo we headed out to Semmenggoh Wildlife Centre hoping to catch Borneo's most famous forest dweller - the Orang Utan. Due to some inclement weather only one turned up for feeding (apparently they like a lie in now and again too) - fortunately for us it was the largest in the reserve.

This was our last stop in Malaysia ... 2 weeks wasn't nearly long enough to experience everything this country has to offer. Still, we'll be happy enough to come back here another time ...

Malaysia is the only country so far where I won't be adding a local beer to the league table - they just didn't sell one in any of the bars we visited (it most certainly wasn't for lack of trying) - so I guess I'll just have to try extra hard in our next country. You can see all the photos from Malaysia by clicking through on the flickr graphic on the sidebar.

On the trail of Jim Thompson ...

2007-09-19T07:34:00.000Z

When our VIP bus to the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia was an hour late, we shuddered at the thought we may have another thai-style bus journey on our hands ...

Thankfully this wasn't the case and we found coach travel in Malaysia to be a suprisingly comfortable affair - business class width seats, and carpet covering every concievable surface. Except for the floor. Naturally. Even the bus names had an air of charm to them, some of the logo's I spotted while we waited at the bus station included Mega Luxurious and Super Nice. It's kind of difficult to imagine where you go next from there - The Dogs Bollocks? I suspect not.

After climbing up endless hairpin bends we arrived in Tanah Rata - and for the first time in months it was cold. Not like proper UK cold, but in the evening it dipped to 10 degrees celcius - which after months of baking heat was enough to make us shiver. We liked it a lot.

Those of you who've been following my blog in the past few weeks may recall that this is where the legendary Jim Thompson went missing on the 26th March 1967 - so we couldn't miss the opportunity to hike his favourite trail. It took us on a 3 hour jungle adventure zig-zagging up and down the mountains behind Tanah Rata.

We didn't find him. Hardly suprising really, as the Malaysian Army and teams of local trackers didn't find a trace of him 40 years ago, in the largest manhunt the area has ever seen.

The day before our trek we'd taken a day trip where we visited the local tea plantations for a fine cuppa and made a visit to the otherworldly Mossy Forest - a place where you can walk on metre thick moss ledges high up the tree canopy. In the afternoon we visited an indigenous Orang Asli village, where, among other things we tried out blowpipes and nose flutes. It would be pretty hard to decide which we were worst at.

Our guide had just spent a few days escorting an Australian writer around the highlands, compiling background material for a new book on the life of Jim Thompson. He revealed that the last person to see him alive (now a middle aged tour guide) had last seen him taking photos outisde some tennis courts. Just 3 hours later the army helicopters we're circling overhead as the search got underway.

When you take into account Jim's history as a CIA spy in the second world war, the rapid search response for someone who at that stage was just a couple of hours late for his dinner seems to open up a whole host of conspiracy theories around his dissapearance.

But I guess we'll just have to wait for the book to find out more ...

twin towers and tremendous cheese ...

2007-09-17T07:24:00.000Z

We arrived in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to the aftermath of the 50th anniversary celebrations of their Merdeka (or independence to me and you).

Of course it had only been a warm up for the main event of the week - Mel's birthday. They'd left the bunting out for us.

So for the first time in a long while we treated ourselves to some 4-star luxury with a 21st floor room in the Renaissance Hotel, complete with picture postcard view of the Petronas Towers.

KL is a very unique place indeed. It's a mix of 3 distinct ethnic groups - Malay, Chinese and Indians - so during an average walk down the street you'll see the locals wearing either burhka's, sari's or miniskirts - it all seems a bit incongruous at first, but you get used to it.

We visited the Petronas Towers skydeck for fantastic views of the city. It's free to get in - the only cost being the 7-minute Petronas promotional video you have to watch before taking the elavator up there. Like all good corporate video's they decided to shoot it in 3D (?) - but unless you're into 3D petrol pumps it's a fairly tedious experience.

The real highlight was the birthday meal at Carcosa Sri Negara - the former mansion of the British General to Malaysia - a superb colonial building now converted into a luxury hotel that caters to the likes of HRH Elizabeth II and Prince Phillip.

A recurring theme amongst our conversations with other Europeans in Asia is how much we all miss decent cheese and wine. Just for once, in the award-winning French restaurant that evening we were able to take advantage of the very best in both.

After all, if it's good enough for the Queen ...

Andaman sunset ...

2007-09-15T07:57:00.000Z

After spending most of the previous 3 weeks covering old ground in the Gulf of Thailand, we thought it was about time for somewhere different before leaving the land of smile.

So we headed over to the Andaman coast for a few short days, enjoying an out-of-season deal in Krabi at the resort of Ao Nang. Despite visiting during west coast's monsoon, we had clear skies and brilliant sunshine for the first 2 days. It was only when we arranged a speedboat day-trip to the islands Ko Phi Phi that the weather turned ...

The choppy seas made for a rather exciting boat ride, bouncing along off the top of the waves. So much so that by the time we made our first stop, already 2 of the 10 passengers we're throwing up into plastic bags - although speaking personally I quite enjoyed the ride. By the time we reached the beach (location for the film of the Alex Garland book) the storm really took hold - and the only way of keeping warm was to get into the increasingly violent surf as we waited for our boat to pick us up.

Mel will remember the day as the one when she overcame a lifelong fear of fish and tried snorkelling for the first time. After a slightly shaky start (running squealing from the water after seeing a small fish) on Bamboo Island in the morning, she persevered and in the end really enjoyed it (I think). As with eating grasshoppers, I know Robert and Jane back in Ireland won't believe it without clear evidence - so here it is.

Remarkably Mel is now even considering trying scuba diving. I think it must be the lure of the rather fashionable gear ...

You can see all the photos from Thailand and Myanmar (Burma) by clicking here ...

10 days later ...

2007-09-12T07:56:00.000Z

I arrived on the island of Ko Pha Ngan, more in need of the Betty Ford Clinic than another beach party.

In short my timing was perfect. I'd arrived 24 hours before one of the island's legendary full moon parties where around 10,000 people party until dawn.

I met up with Mel who was already ensconsed at the rather laid-back Cookies Bungalows on the quiet West side of the island. It had everything we needed - a private beach, and decent food with ice cold beer on a wooden deck facing out to sea.

Come the night of the full moon we decided against the overpriced taxi's, broken glass and thumping bass of Haad Rin beach, and instead spent the evening alone on the deck, sipping cold beer and listening to the waves lapping against the rocks below. It was the perfect antidote to the previous 10 days ...

For those who didn't quite get my recent post about Mel and me splitting up - thanks for all your messages of concern. I can assure you the split was only temporary and purely geographic in nature ...

My video from Mongolia - World's Biggest Ger - has just been nominated as one of the top 10 travel videos from Asia on the internet by weshow.com - when I checked this morning it was in 6th place - you can see the video and add your votes by clicking here

getting down with the fishies ...

2007-09-09T11:18:00.000Z

Finding the others on Ko Tao proved rather more difficult than expected.

Since my last visit 8 years ago, the main beach of Sai Ree has gone from 3km of unspoilt coastline to a fully developed resort with 7-11's and ATM's. Although in the end it wasn't the increase in size that stopped us finding them - it was the fact they weren't there.

We found them the following evening in Chaalok Bay to the South of the island to discover the mobile phone we'd been calling had suffered seawater damage, during what is probably best described as an apres-pub night-snorkelling expedition, that also added additional cuts and bruises to the growing list of injuries. We set off back to Sai Ree armed with the number of the remaining mobile, promising to call the next morning once accomodation had been arranged for the whole group.

I don't think the question of whether that one was lost or stolen was ever conclusively answered, but either way it had achieved missing in action status by the time we called the next day. So it wasn't until 48 hours after our arrival on the island that the full group assembled, having collectively incurred more injury, loss and travel disruption in 4 days, than in the whole of the previous three and a half months.

We spent the remainder of the week taking advantage of the excellent scuba-diving and of course frequenting the equally impressive bars along the palm fringed beach.

Arguably the most exciting land-based incident happended one evening during a tropical storm when a giant centipede (2cm wide by 25cm long) ran across our bar table, seemingly flushed out of it's usual home in the wall by the rainwater. On seeing it, one of the staff quickly ran out from behind the bar and cut it in half, only afterwards pausing to explain how poisonous its bite would have been.

On reflection the timing was fortunate, just moments before the barman's cleaver-wielding arrival, two of our group (who shall remain nameless) had been trying to poke it with their fingers - narrowly avoiding an additional entry on an already impressive injury list ...

Guy's - it was a pleasure to see you and a real change from the kind of travelling I'd been doing ... although please don't take offence when I say I definitely couldn't cope with it for 52 weeks running! Travellers planning a SE Asia journey take note; it may take Thailand's reserves of Tiger beer and English breakfast ingredients some time to recover ...

A big thanks to Jim and his disposable camera for the photo's on this post ... after Angkor Wat I found myself giving my shutter finger a well-earned rest on Ko Tao. I hope I''ll soon be in a position to reciprocate with some fresh Jim Thompson information you may find of interest ...

Finally, if anyone's interested I'm currently having a rant about responsible travel over on day12.com, you can catch the full article by clicking here. If you've an interest in travel you'll find the rest of their site well worth exploring too.

from bungle to bungalow ...

2007-09-05T07:54:00.000Z

As a Leeds United supporter, the omen of boarding a coach emblazoned with the Manchester United logo should have been enough to let me know it would be a tough trip ahead.

Somewhere along the line I'd forgotten just how frustrating long distance bus travel in Thailand can be. For the uninitiated, the usual components of these journeys are ...

Rendezvous at the travel agent you booked the tickets with. So far so good.
Take a longish walk in searing heat, hauling your baggage to the meeting point for the bus.
Or so you thought. You will then be moved to the real meeting point for the bus.
Repeat point 3 for 30-45 minutes. You will normally arrive back at the original meeting point (see 2).
You finally embark your coach, which can be anything from an ageing bone-shaker to a luxury aircon coach. Which you get will bear no relationship to what is described on your ticket.
You then proceed happily along toward your destination ...
Or so you thought. Usually you will be dropped off at a cafe somewhere on the outskirts of an unspecified town, to be picked up again anywhere between 15 minutes and 3 hours later for another bus to your final destination.
Dependent on how lucky you are - repeat point 7 using as many different vehicles as possible for 3-4 hours. All without moving outside a 1km radius of the first drop-off point.
At some point one of the vehicles will break the 1km radius and take you to your final destination - technically in the town you requested, but way beyond any reasonable walking distance to where you actually want to be.
Take one of the conveniently poised overpriced cabs to your end destination. Alternatively make noises about going to find a cheaper one, and enjoy an instant 25-50% discount.

At no point will you receive any meaningful information on the number and timing of forthcoming transfers. In order to maximise frustration, experience at night.

Our trip south from Bangkok included all these elements. So much so in fact that our group fractured part way through the journey, with two people electing to jump ship at the port of Chumphon to head straight for the island of Ko Tao. Chris and I doggedly continued our intended route to Ranong, in a predominantly muslim area characterised by houses on stilts lined up along riverbanks.

We elected for a much shorter than planned hop over the river into Myanmar (aka Burma), where we found the town of Kaw Thuong (above) to be ... well, exactly the same as Ranong. Except that is for the hordes of hawkers trying to sell cheap Viagra, whisky & cigarettes on the dock. Not having a requirement for any of the aforementioned items, we spent our time talking to a one-armed man about Premier League football - almost more popular in Thailand and Burma than it is back home.

So a mere 22 hours after leaving Bangok, and having visited an extra country) we arrived on the beautiful tropical island of Ko Tao where we checked into some bungalows on the beach where we'd arranged to meet the others (no intended reference to Lost).

A consequence of cutting the Burma visit short was our arrival on the island a day earlier than planned, giving us the opportunity to surprise the other two. All we had to do first was find them ...

There's only one Jim Thompson ...

2007-09-03T06:58:00.000Z

As we arrived in Bangkok Mel and I came reached a decision. We decided to split up.

Maybe it was over 3 months of being in each others company 24 hours a day. Most likely it was the arrival of some of my pals from back home - hell bent on partying away their 2 weeks annual leave. Mel rather sensibly opted to head south to Ko Pha Ngan where we plan on meeting up again in a couple of weeks time.

The break started in worrying, albeit not unexpected, fashion. Within the first 24 hours one of our number had a drunken fall that would leave him with back pain for the rest of the trip, while another managed to incurr the kind of sunburn you normally only see on lobsters after a few minutes in the pot.

About the only cultural thing we managed to do in Bangkok was visit the house of the American silk trader Jim Thompson - now a museum dedicated to good causes after his mysterious disappearance in the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia.

It was an interesting visit, however as the Chang Beer* took hold that evening in the bars along Khao San Road, the legendary figure we recounted to Chris who'd just arrived on a later flight from Dubai may have been just slightly exaggerated.

Just like our casualty list, the Jim Thompson legend continued to grow over the next 11 days as we too headed southward ...

* Never, ever drink Chang was the resolution I made last time I was in Thailand. It tastes fine, but at 6.4% it's just one step too close to Special Brew for my liking - it's one of those drinks that causes you to forget who you are, then makes you pay for the privilege all the next day. In Bangkok, faced with a bar selling only Chang Beer (and an immovable group of Chang novices) I was forced to break my resolution - but I haven't changed my mind ...

Negotiation - Cambodian style ...

2007-08-26T08:20:00.000Z

As with so many of the major sights we've visited there is no lack of opportunity to buy things from stalls outside the temples in the Angkor Wat area.

It can all get incredibly wearing - it would be all too easy to react with intense irritation when being given the hard-sell over a coconut you don't want for what seems like the hundredth time that day. You just have to keep reminding yourself that people are simply trying to make a few dollars a week to enable them to feed their families - it's the kind of hand to mouth existence that I can only begin to imagine. Just a smile as you decline normally gets a one in return and the good humour of the Cambodian people immediately becomes apparent.

As we left one of the temples late in the afternoon a young girl of around 7 or 8 started walking allongside us, and the usual routine started. "You want drink? Coconut? Postcard? Book?". After replying "No thank-you" to every item on the seemingly endless list a brand new tactic presented itself. Gradually bringing into view a meat cleaver she was carrying by her side, she just smiled sweetly and said "are you suuure?". We were in stitches (of laughter).

I don't think I'll be importing that particular negotiation technique into the UK when I return next year - in any event, I couldn't carry it off nearly as well as she did ...

Dirty monkey ...

2007-08-25T04:33:00.000Z

Our visit to the temples of Angkor Wat was every bit as amazing as we'd anticipated - even if the dining habits of the resident temple monkeys left something to be desired ...

In all honesty I thought we'd already seen enough temples already to last us a lifetime, but even so we managed to spend 2 long hard days clambering up and down the most impressive ancient architecture you could hope to find anywhere. You can see some of the many, many photos I took by clicking here.

We based ourselves in Siem Reap, which innevitably had many of the hallmarks of a tourist trap (hawkers, strips of restaurants & bars) but still gave us an interesting insight into life in Cambodia.

Again it was automotive matters that stood out, the road rules being much the same as in Vietnam, but with a couple of interesting additions;

Firstly, the petrol station forecourt sliproad. Upon encountering one of the rare "Esso style" forecourts on a corner you wish to turn at, it is standard practice to cut the corner through the station. In fact I didn't see a single vehicle use the alternative road route.

Of course this is made far easier by the second notable difference - almost no-one uses forecourt petrol stations to buy fuel. The norm in Cambodia is to pull up at one of the many stalls selling whisky bottles full of pee-coloured liquid, and tip it into your moped filling tank. I'd guess there must be some sort of price advantage ...

After just a few short days we left Cambodia to head for a rendezvous with some pals from the UK in Bangkok. Like idiots we decided to save some money and take the bus. I think I'll just show you the photo I took from the bus window and let your imaginations do the rest ...

I've added a few new beers to the list - 2 from Cambodia - Angkor the official national brew and the rather nicer Anchor. It all made for rather confusing bar orders after a few had been consumed ...

the secret's in the soup ...

2007-08-21T05:01:00.000Z

Sometimes it's the little things you really enjoy when travelling.

Like the traditional Vietnamese breakfast called "Pho Ha-noi" that they served up at our hotel in Hanoi - basically noodle soup with beef, served with red hot chillies and freshly squeezed lime.

When we got to Laos I was pleased to find that it's also the traditional breakfast here - but much better and just 50p for a massive bowl complete with a big plate of herbs, chillies and limes.

I was just coming to the end of the bowl when I discovered an added bonus - an authentic relic from the secret war. A US military issue spoon.

Now I'm no expert on warfare - but surely if it's supposed to be a secret war you really ought to remember to take your spoons home. Although I guess I should be grateful - the other thing they left behind were landmines, and you really don't want to find one of those in your soup ...

Kill or cure?

2007-08-18T06:13:00.000Z

Views from your hotel room balcony are hardly ever this good, especially not for under 20 quid a night.

It didn't take long for us to realise that Luang Prabang is almost too good to be true in many other respects too. The old town consists almost entirely of old French colonial architecture and sits on a peninsula barely 400 yards wide, at the confluence of the Nam Khan and Mekong rivers.

As the old royal capital of Laos, it's jam packed with stunning buddist temples and stupas at every turn - and the French influenced food is absolutely amazing. We felt at home immediately and with plenty of things to do locally we decided to hang around for a couple of weeks.

After the first 4 days exploring town we headed off to a luxury jungle retreat. The bungalow we stayed in was pure decadence, complete with polished teak veranda big enough for a football game and huge bathroom plus outdoor shower. If it hadn't been for getting food poisoning from the otherwise very pleasant restaurant it would have been a perfect 3 days.

As it turned out I spent 2 days with suffering from stomach cramps that felt like being disemboweled (plus a good deal of other unpleasantness I won't go into). The beginning of relief only came when we made it back to town and Mel came back from the pharmacy with antibacterial medication and a sachet drink that tasted a bit like liquid clay. Then my neck started siezing up and I was so dizzy I could hardly leave the hotel room for another 2 days.

After more visits to the pharmacy and some internet research we discovered that the new symptoms we're listed under serious side-effects of the medication I was taking. All told it was a good 5 or 6 days before I returned to somewhere like normal (for me anyhow).

In the end I was just glad it happened where it did and we had the time to deal with it. We still had plenty of time to do loads of great things like riding (and feeding) elephants, white water kyaking (kind of scary), taking a slow boat up the Mekong or visiting the picture postcard perfect Khang Si waterfall.

Not forgeting time for a deep research into Beerlao for the beer league. It's absolutely perfect for lubricating a stiff neck ...

Lao Jungle and Luang Prabang photos are online now.

Lao or Laos ...?

2007-08-14T07:00:00.000Z

We arrived in Luang Prabang, Peoples Democratic Repulic of Laos, early one August evening to possibly the most laid back international airport in the world.

As Laos suffers rather badly from people never having heard of it, this post provides a very brief history as best I understand it.

Laos is a former French colony in SE Asia which was captured by the Japanese during the second world war. It was briefly returned to the French after WW2 before regaining it's pre-colonial independence in the early 1950's.

The country is sandwiched inbetween China (North), Vietnam (East), Thailand & Burma (West) and Cambodia (South) with the ethnic majority Lao people (80%) being the same stock as the hill tribes of NE Thailand. It's also home to a number of minorities such as the Hmong who in the main still live a tribal existence unchanged for hundreds of years.

About the same time as the Vietnam War (or American War if your perspective is Vietnamese) there was a communist uprising in Laos. I was headed by the Pathet Lao who were supported in turn by North Vietnam and an unlimited supply of Chinese and Soviet military hardware. Fearing the supposed domino effect of communism taking hold throughout Asia, the US supported Laos in a so-called secret war against the communists for over a decade.

Throughout the Vietnam War the North Vietnamese continued to use the Ho Chi-Minh Trail (in Southern Laos) to allow it's troops to bypass the demilitarised zone (DMZ) seperating South Vietnam to wage geurrilla warfare on US forces, despite continued ariel bambardment of the trail. It's in part due to this fact that a small nation who have never declared war on anyone became one of the worlds most bombed in history.

After the US pulled out of SE Asia, both Vietnam and Laos became communist states (Laos a rather more peaceful one) - and both countries still retain a single party system, despite the fact they adopt a capitalist approach.

Today's Laos is still one of the worlds poorest countries, with an average annual salary of just $300 USD per capita. It also suffers terribly from the UXO (unexploded ordinance) that litters the countryside and claims 1500 lives per annum.

So those are the facts; however the first question most people have is "Do you say Lao or Laos?". Confusingly, I'd heard both in equal measure before we left the UK.

It turns out the country was always called simply Lao before the arrival of the French. The s being added by them to fit in with French language rules i.e. you don't pronounce the last letter. This means that the only change was designed simply to keep it the same. Which is not really a great help.

So I still don't have an answer (the only local I asked just shrugged), but on balance I'll be sticking with Lao for the next couple of weeks, as we find out what Luang Prabang has to offer the weary traveller ...

Junkies ...

2007-08-09T06:58:00.000Z

With our time in Vietnam fairly limited we decided escape the craziness of Hanoi by splashing out on a luxury 3-day junk trip in Halong Bay. The bay itself is an extension of the same sort of scenery found to the northwest in Yangshuo - loads of limestone karsts, just sticking out of water this time - it made for a spectacular backdrop to all the wooden junks sailing past.

The weather in Halong at this time of year is supposed to be mainly cloudy, with frequest storms. It was absolutely scorching with blue skies the whole time during our trip - which meant we could make the most of the activities laid on, sea-kyaking through tunnels into remote lagoons, visiting caves and trekking through jungle on Cat-Ba island.

Given the heat, by far the best activity was jumping off the side of the boat into the sea to cool off - an opportunity we took whenever it presented itself. It's probably some measure of just how relentlessly hot it was that even Mel was perfectly willing to jump into the harbour at Cat-Ba, despite it being visibly full of fish - her pet phobia.

Evenings were spent together with all the other junks in something approximating a circle of covered wagons - we discovered this was due to what was described as a small piracy problem. Well, shiver me timbers and splice the mainbrace - we made sure our cabin door was firmly locked at night.

One of the places we visited was "Suprise Cave" - a huge cavern inside one of the karsts. As well as being a stop-off for most tours of the bay, it's where the 1800 people who live in floating fishing villages here take refuge during the worst storms. Our guide delighted in showing us the multiple rock formations such as "the turtle" which was quite impressive - unfortunately others required rather more imagination on the part of the viewer, such as "two bears loving each other" which was really just lumps of rock. Getting into the spirit of things, I started making up my own and to my suprise found a really great one of Sir Trevor McDonald ...

Back in Hanoi for one last night and we got one final taste of what Hanoi does best - lunatic driving ... the cab driver who took us to the airport the next morning was undoubtedly the most insane I've ever experienced in my life. At one point I'm sure I heard him muttering "die" under his breath as he intentionally swered in front of a scooter, whose only crime had been a momentary delay in pulling into the slow lane to let us past.

I can only begin to imagine how he would have reacted to the genuine insult he surely deserved ... all I knew is that we we're very releived to arrive in one piece at the curiously deserted Hanoi International Airport. Perhaps they'd heard he was coming ...

You can see all the photos from Halong here.

Bum for lunch anyone ...?

2007-08-09T04:30:00.000Z

We saw this interesting little item back in Pingyao, China.

If it hadn't been for the rather more appealing Spongecake with Lard we might have been tempted ...

Hanoi's unique highway code ...

2007-08-06T07:20:00.000Z

In our original plan for mid-July we'd have been heading through Tibet into Nepal to begin trekking the 21-day Annapurna Circuit ...

For a whole heap of reasons (Mel's trauma on Mt. Fuji featuring highly) we'd decided to visit Nepal on a future trip, rather than during the summer monsoon. With the benefit of hindsight this was inspired decision making - 750,000 people have just been displaced in Nepal's worst flooding in living memory. Needless to say, this might have disprupted our plans a little ...

So, enter Vietnam. No gradual change in culture here as you cross the land border - everything is completely different. Buildings, clothes, even down to the style of motorcyle riding. Here in the countryside it's always "bandit style" with just your eyes visible above a full-face bandana - slightly unnerving until you get used to the fact that each overtaking maneouver isn't the opening move in a hijack.

Then we arrived in Hanoi, surely one of the very best examples of chaotic SE Asia you'll find. It's almost impossible to imagine the number of mopeds here - apparently the official figure is around 2m - in a city of around 3.5m people. The really impressive thing is how they seem to move around the city in swarms - and when one swarm meets another, they somehow just manage to pass right through one another. It must be seen to be beleived.

There are a few new skills you need to learn in order to get about here - all of which go against the natural instincts acquired living in a western society.

Ignore all calls of "motorbike", "moto", "cyclo", "lychee" or "hat" - these are all things you will be offered several times a minute. Therefore any eye contact, never mind a simple "no thank-you" to each offer will just result in a doubling of your journey time.
Using the "imaginary" pavement. In theory there is a real one, but in practice that's where people park their mopeds. The imaginary one is the first 75cm of clear road. The mopeds screaming past at 30-40 mph will avoid you - but only if you beleive in it's existence.
Use of the "imaginary" zebra crossing. It doesn't really matter if you find a real one, even with a green man, they work exactly the same as the imaginary ones as the traffic doesn't stop anyway. Just face the oncoming traffic, beleive in the imaginary crossing and confidently walk across at a constant pace - the traffic will just move around you. If you lose confidence and stop or change your pace the traffic will somehow lose it's ability to avoid you.

Once these skills were mastered, we found Hanoi's Old Quarter a very pleasant place to spend a few days - incredibly cheap shopping, great food with the added novetly of vegetables (a little scarce in Chinese restaurant dishes), and our cultural activity of the week, the very wierd Vietnamese Water Puppet Theater.

Once again we proved that luck can be a better servant than informed planning - our visit to Hanoi conincided with the Quarter Final of the Asia Cup, the game between Australia and Japan being billed as the game of the tournament.

Armed with a ticket procured on the black market I headed out to the brand new "My Dinh" National Stadium in the scorching late afternoon heat. The journey in itself was almost as memorable as the game - my taxi had no less than 7 different horns, all of which the driver seemed intent on wearing out in order to cut a path through the sea of scooters during the 40 minute journey.

The game itself was pretty entertaining and at 1-1 following extra time it went to penalties. I think the writing was on the wall when a rather unfit looking Harry Kewell missed the opening penalty for Australia, and so Japan made it through to the semi-finals.

Back in town we went for one last meal of "roll-your-own" rice paper spring rolls filled with caramel beef and fresh herbs, all washed down with 640ml bottles of ice-cold Tiger Beer for just $1 ... rather predicatably, we think Hanoi rocks!

You can see the photos from Hanoi here

Beware of the dog ...

2007-08-02T06:46:00.000Z

"No problem. I haven't had hotpot for quite a while ..."

Innocent enough words in their own right. But when overheard as a response to a request for dog-sitting a small labrador puppy, they brought the realisation we'd entered dog eating country.

Of course in this instance the young lady at the cafe in Yangshuo was only joking, but we knew we'd have to order our meals increasingly carefully as we headed toward the border and into Vietnam.

Last stop in China was a quick 36 hours in Nanning to arrange our Vietnam visas. With its palm lined boulevards, Nanning rather put me in mind of the Florida I know from watching Miami Vice as a youngster. Except for one notable difference - a whole street dedicated to cuisine of the canine variety. We steered well clear.

Then just as we we're getting ready to leave for Hanoi, I receive this rather concerning email from the hotel we'd booked;

Hi again,

I just checked your website - really nice job! Since you're interested in "special" foods, I'll be sure to get some recommendations ready for you while you're here. Dog is off the menu, I take it? I suppose cat will be too? Still, there's always crocodile, scorpion, or even duck embryos. Vietnam, as you probably already now, does have many "special" foods, so I hope you'll get the chance to try them all.

Best of luck planning your trip!
Ginger

I am officially getting worried.

Over the moon in Yangshuo ...

2007-07-27T06:22:00.000Z

After a madcap 8-day dash through China we arrived in Yangshuo, Guangxi Province where we planned to stay put for a few days and relax a little ...

The view (right) from the top of Moon Hill will do more to describe the amazing scenery of this region than I could ever hope to put into words. The huge limestone karsts jutting out from the otherwise flat landscape cover hundreds of square kilometers ... simply otherworldly. You can check out all the photos here.

As beautiful as the surrounding landscape is, Yangshuo itself came as something of an initial dissapointment. Somehow what was once a sleepy backpacker hangout has become the Benidorm of SW China - complete with the Chinese version of Europop booming out from every bar along the main street to lure in the growing numbers of domestic tourists.

Thankfully though it's still very much Chinese and over the course of a few days its charms grew on us - full of quirky and entertaining locals, plus traditional massages that would teach Robert Mugabe's hit squad a thing or two about torture techniques.

We spent the week here mountain biking, trekking, bamboo rafting and taking boat trips up and down the river. But thanks to the 37 degree heat every day, we mostly spent our time evenings enjoying ice-cold Tsing Tao beer in Lulu's airconditioned bar.

I have only one piece of advice if you ever come here. Never, ever play the drinking dice game with Lulu ...

If enough people are interested I'll post the rules (or what I could recall the following morning) here for you - just add a comment to let me know.

Hunting (the) Giant Panda ...

2007-07-26T06:08:00.000Z

We'd picked a good time to visit Chengdu as one of the Panda's had twins the week beforehand.

This is always something of a national event in China - but we had no idea until we arrived. The baby Panda we saw was in an incubator, meaning no photogrpahy was allowed - however if you imagine a slightly balding mole you'll have the general idea.

You have to arrive early in the morning to catch the Panda's awake. Once they've had their morning feed of freshly cut bamboo, they just sleep the rest of the day. Just after his feed this chap had a sudden burst of energy and seemed to delight in entertaining the watching crowd.

Chengdu was probably the nicest of the cities we visited in China, with it's palm lined streets and the tackiest building of the trip so far ...

Catch all the photos by clicking here.

Going potty in Xian ...

2007-07-24T06:07:00.000Z

Predicatable I know, but it was the best title I could think of ...

Maybe if it hadn't rained non-stop for the 3 days we were there ... we'd have found the time to scale Xian's city walls. Impressive as they are, what's contained within is just another example of China's rush to build high-rise apartment blocks, and glitzy shopping malls no-one seems to be able to afford to shop in.

Slightly different accomadation experience here - we stayed in a "hostel" we'd pre-booked over the internet from Pingyao. It actually turned out to be more like a homestay with Todd and his girlfriend Mei on the 5th floor of a brand new apartment block. Not exactly what we'd had in mind, but they made us very welcome. Good job too, as the rain kept us confined to barracks - almost to the point of cabin fever.

Of course we couldn't come to Xian without making the obligatory trip out to see the Terracotta Warriors - every bit as impressive as they promised. If anyone is coming here - there is absolutely no need to take a 30 quid tour to get there, we just took the local bus from the train station for 40p to make the 1 hour journey.

On the way out a perfect example of Chinglish ... well, I sort of know what they mean ...

Mel has covered the Chinglish phenomenon more comprehensively on her blog here.

Lastly - in China almost everyone has an "English" name they use with foreigners for ease of pronunciation. In Xian we had the pleasure of meeting a Chinese guy from Hainan (off their South coast) who'd picked the name Pigeon. We didn't really like to say so, but surely if you have the opportunity to choose a name for yourself ...

Pocari Sweat ..

2007-07-21T04:45:00.000Z

So, first there was Cak-Bum.

Now I can bring you the delightful Pocari Sweat - straight from Japan.

The reference to sweat is absolutely intended - it's an isotonic drink designed to replace what you lose during exercise. Having tasted it I'm convinced they chose the right name.

I can't imagine something called Pocari Sweat would sell well back home, but the Japanese must love it as they sell it from vending machines on virtually every street corner.

Now my photos have re-emerged from behind the bamboo firewall, here's another uniqely Japanese item. Melon Kit-kat.

Mel bought these as emergency rations for our ill-fated trip to Mount Fuji. At least if we had been attacked by a bear, they might have been just enough to repel the attack ...

Baby Pingyao?

2007-07-20T06:00:00.000Z

We took the sleeper train to the Ming dynasty walled city of Pingyao - so remarkably preserved you don't really even need to imagine what it would have been like hundreds of years ago.

Temples and impressive buildings aside (for photo's click here) there wasn't a whole heap else to do in Pingyao - architecture aside, the most interesting aspect of this stop was getting our train tickets out of there ...

Although China is moving toward capitalism at relentless pace, the railways remain state owned and highly planned. The impact of this for travel is that tickets (particularly "soft sleeper") can be very hard to come by indeed. Tickets only go on sale 3 days in advance, by which time many have already been pre-allocated to party officials, state enterprises and people with connections in high places. The remaining tickets are allocated somewhat arbitrarily to various stations en-route - with Pingyao having no of allocation whatsoever.

Enter the national pastime of getting round arbitrary rules. We soon discovered that guesthouses along the way are the best people to get the tickets you need - by emailing ahead to get round the 3-day rule. In this case it meant them calling someone at a station 90 minutes before Pingyao to buy a sleeper ticket from there.

On the day of travel the helper catches the train at the earlier station, exchanging the ticket for the bunk token. The guesthouse provides a photocopy of the ticket, which you swap with the helper on the platform as they alight .. presumably to catch a bus home. Ridiculously inefficient, but it works.

As I finish writing this from our hotel in Vietnam, at last I've stepped from behind the bamboo firewall and been able to get at my photos - the remaining Japan photos from Tokyo, Hemeji Castle and of course, Mount Fuji are all live now (including some rather better ones of the mountain than my blind guess for the post!)

While we stayed in Pingyao our friends Anna & Dave had a baby boy - so a big congratulations to the Vickers family. Although we still haven't heard whether or not they decided to go with our suggested name of Pingyao - come on guy's, you know it would be great ...

Climbing the Great Wall ...

2007-07-18T04:52:00.000Z

We took a day trip to a section of wall about 3 hours drive North of Beijing to escape the worst of the crowds, allowing the opportunity for me to climb the 10km section of wall between Jinshanling and Simitai.

The day brought some light drizzle and mist, which, combined with the increased elavation it made for a thankfully cooler (but still 29 degrees) day for the climb. The weather definitely didn't do anything for the photo's, but it certainly made the experience more atmospheric.

We may have escaped most of the tourists, but this had a downside as we subjected to the most organised and persistent display of hawking (books, t-shirts, postcards) that I've experienced anywhere. The ratio of hawkers was about 1:1, which necessitated the golden bullet approach - they each targeted a single person constantly for about 2-3km (1 hour) up and down steep sections of the wall.

Despite the cooler weather it was so humid I must still have lost of couple of litres of fluid on the climb - still there was nothing too technically difficult, but the gradient was fairly relentless, and it required use of hands in quite a few places where the wall had partially collapsed.

Not only is the wall a great feat of engineering, but it's in some of the most rugged terrain that just getting to it would surely have put most potential invaders off.

Ironically the history books say it was so easy to bribe the guards stationed there, that the walls only real success was as a transport route. I for one wouldn't have managed nearly so well had I been portering 50 kilo's of rice ...

The hawkers aside, this was a really great way to see the wall - and an absolute breeze compared to our recent experience on Mt. Fuji ... You can see all the photos from the day here.

Well, it's just not cricket ...

2007-07-15T06:01:00.000Z

In fact it's Grasshopper. Or rather 3 of them.

It all started with a superb meal in one of Beijing's Peking Duck restaurants. Then somehow, after a few late afternoon beers, we found ourselves at the famous night market daring each other to eat the more exotic skewers. After some negotiation we decided that my challenge was scorpions, and Mel would eat grasshoppers.

The technique is quite simple. Close your eyes. Imagine a nice salty beer snack. Pop the critter in your mouth whole. Then chew. Oh, and make sure you don't get a leg or tail stuck up your nose in the process. Actually they were suprisingly inoffensive.

We tried lots of new food during our week in Beijing - from the pretty tame water lilies, to the rather more exotic chicken heart skewers and duck tongue soup (finished with whole duck tongues).

Even after surviving these experiences, the sight of a small girl walking down the street eating a deep fried starfish 10 inches in diameter still managed to turn the stomach a little - and we definitely draw the line at dog ...

I just had to take a photo of this ...

2007-07-13T05:56:00.000Z

I found this whilst cycling past a bar in Beijing one morning - a clear & direct advertising message if ever I saw one !

Have a good weekend - whatever you're drinking.

Taking the heat in the Hutong ...

2007-07-11T09:27:00.000Z

Welcome to the China - where (unlike the rest of Asia) a massage really does appear to be a massage - yet a good proportion of barber shops seem to be engaging openly in prostitution.

Contemplating a whole new meaning to the expression "cut & blow", but with little personal risk of inadvertedly being drawn into the sex trade, I set off in the 40 degree heat to inspect our new locale for our week in Beijing, the historic Banchang Hutong.

Hutongs are areas of low rise traditional housing, originally established during times of Mongol rule. Each Hutong, or street, is lined with entrances to a maze of alleyways and courtyards containing individual residences. Even today many of these houses have no running water or sanitation, relying instead on a network of public toilet/shower blocks found every 100 metres or so.

In the area around our hotel (thankfully with running water) I found a heady mix of old and new Beijing - locals playing cards and board games in the street, hole in the wall skewer BBQ's - mixed in with a new wave of cool bars and eateries catering to the afterwork crowd and tourists in equal measure.

While they enjoy their rightful place in China's line-up of tourist attractions - the Hutongs are in rapid decline, making way for the faceless tower blocks which accompany Beijing's rush to modernise - before the city becomes the focus of the worlds attention during next years Olympic Games.

With it's rickshaw tours of historic buildings and new ecomony of cool bars and restaurants, perhaps Banchang will stand a better chance of survival than most. One thing's for sure, even for those that escape the bulldozer - things are changing fast.

We found the best way of getting around Beijing was to escape the traffic jams by doing as the locals do. Taking to 2 wheels we explored the city by bike, hitting some of the city's must see sights like the Forbidden City and Tianammen Square. You can catch all the photos by clicking here.

Most remarkable of all was some of the food - but I think I'll leave that for another post ...

Ryokan rules ...

2007-07-06T04:51:00.000Z

For the Zen temple capital of Japan, Kyoto looked suprisingly like any other high-rise city upon arrival at it's super-modern train station.

It was only as our taxi ferried us into a nearby district of traditional 2/3 storey houses that we started to appreciate Kyoto's unique charms.

We'd chosen a Ryokan (traditional guesthouse) for this part of our stay in Japan - and they have some unusual differences to western hotels, most notably;

Room size is chosen based a quantity of tatami mats. Like the base of the futon beds you can buy in the UK, these are a standard size and define the size of the raised floor of your room.

You always take your shoes off at the door, where you call out to the owner who swaps them for a charming pair of Ryokan slippers. I never found a pair that fitted my western size 10's.

Slippers are just for getting from reception to your room. You're not allowed to wear them past the room entrance, just bare or stocking feet on the mats.

When you go to the toilets (usually shared) you swap to Bathroom slippers in order not to cross contaminate different floor areas. Have I mentioned the Japanese are sticklers for order yet?

Probably the biggest difference though is that there's no bed in your room. Come bedtime, you move the table & get a mattress, sheets and quilt from a cupboard to make your own bed on the floor.

It's good manners to have at least 1 meal a day in your Ryokan. Evening meal in your room, breakfasts in a big tatami mat room. You always sit on the floor to eat (on top of your legs), and every meal consists almost solely of fish and soy delicacies.

Bathing is in large communal rooms (sex separated) as consists of a shower, followed by a few minutes reclining in the sento - what we'd know of as a hot tub. Absolute bliss after a day pounding the pavements in 30 degree heat.

Apparently there's loads more to a Ryokan stay if you're Japanese - this is just the minimum to get by as a Westerner without causing offence!

The Ryokan's we stayed in were all scrupulously clean, welcoming & just as stylish as everything else over here. They are also fantastic value and a great way to appreciate Japanese culture - a highly recommended part of any stay.

Our second suprise on arriving in Kyoto was unexpectedly running into Ed in our guesthouse foyer as we checked in. Although we were slightly disabled from the previous evenings "bear baiting" we still managed to join him in a local Karaoke bar, where the owner fairly insisted we must sample his Japanese whisky and smoked Octopus well into the night as we celebrated our return from Mount Fuji ...

We awoke the next morning to discover our legs in consdierably worse state, in fact hardly working at all. No stranger to the effects of half marathons, 3 peaks challenges etc - I was quite unprepared for just what 1.5km of continuous descent can do to your legs ... 400 yards to the local laundrette and internet cafe ws as far as we made it that day. We looked like bloody idiots hobbling around.

Thankfully in Japan even the humble laundrette can throw up a few suprises ... why bother putting detergent in the machine? Hell it's supposed to be automatic, it'll take care of that itself. And it won't keep you waiting around either - just 30 minutes for a 7kg load, was suprisingly quick. And it went by the name of Jabu Jabu Land.

As with most other things, the Japanese just seem to find novel but straightforward ways of doing it better. Like taxi doors that open at the flick of a switch from the driver. And don't get me started on the toilets again.

With just a week in Kyoto and tens of UNESCO World Heritage listed sights to see, we picked our sightseeing carefully to avoid getting templed-out. The notable highlights were the magnificent Golden Pavillion (above), Toji Temples 5-storey pagoda & the Philosophers Walk - perfect for a spot of contemplation.

We finished our week in Kyoto with a visit to our local Yakitori bar - these local eateries are easily spotted by the red lanterns hanging outside, and serve up BBQ skewers of everything from chicken to pig intestine. This one also served up the somewhat ironically named "light alcohol" - a potent homemade alco-pop, and ice-cold bottles of my favourite Yebisu.

We may have barely scratched the surface of Kyoto's temple circuit - but that even acheived our very own state of Zen ... and all for less than 2 quid a pint ...

I was a bit more organised on the Kyoto photos, so they should all be available to view now. In the event this isn't a nice snap of a golden looking pavillion - can someone email me - cheers. Mel's finally finished our official trip map too - you can get at it here, or as a link on the sidebar.