Our Travels

Journey's End

2009-04-29T22:03:00.000-07:00

Day 100: Khao Yai National Park (T) – Bangkok (T). After 100 days and 16,000 unbelievable and unforgettable miles the little service bus from Pak Chong crossed the Bangkok City Limits. We had arrived. And whilst our voyage had only ever been about the journey and never about the destination, Karen and I did afford ourselves the luxury of a couple of cocktails down the Khaosan Road by way of celebration. After all, for Karen and me at least, this did represent an incredible achievement.

After a few days exploring the Thai capital and sampling the culture of this, one of the most vibrant cities in South East Asia, we would be boarding a plane to Mumbai and then onwards to London Heathrow where Steve and Alison would be (hopefully!) waiting to take us back to our home in the small Cambridgeshire village of Steeple Morden. In a cramped, metal tube; seven miles high, we will retrace our steps in less than half the distance and one two-hundredth of the time – but where's the fun in that?

And after what has been the most amazing of experiences, if I could be so presumptuous, so arrogant as to offer anybody any advice at all it would be 'Go live your dreams'. It doesn't matter whether those dreams are to travel half way around the planet or to get home from work a little earlier to see the kids before bedtime; go do it now. As Karen and I learnt, when you really put your mind to it it's a lot easier than you think, and believe us; you won't regret it.

But what of Karen and me? What have we learnt from our adventures? Well, in truth, we could easily fill another 112 page blog trying to answer that question! We have learnt so much about ourselves, about each other and about this world and the people that make it such a wonderful place. But for now, by way of closure to our story, let us just leave you with these three observations:

Firstly, we are amazed how resilient the human body really is! For the best part of four months it doesn't seem to have mattered how much we cut, scraped, grazed, bruised, twisted, burnt, punctured, poisoned or intoxicated our bodies they always made a remarkable recovery (thankfully!)

Secondly, we have both rediscovered the phenomenal potency of a simple smile. It didn't matter how threatening or hostile the situation had become, how difficult things seemed to be getting or how dire our verbal communication were – a smile seemed to have the power to make everyone want to work it out: The world's global language.

And finally, the most important thing that Karen and I have both learnt from our amazing experiences is that the overwhelming majority of people are just like us. Meeting someone for the first time, whether they be a hill tribesman from a remote part of Northern Vietnam or the person who has just moved in along the the street, it can be quite easy to see people as different, strange or just plain weird!. But what we have discovered is that if you really spend the time to get to know that person and if you really try to see things from their perspective, then more often than not we found that they have the same basic hopes, fears, and aspirations that we all do. All we needed was patience and a little time.

Take a little time!

Total Mileage: 16,105: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 12; Number of Transport Modes Used: 39 (Bamboo Raft, Bicycle, Bus, Car Ferry, Chairlift, Chinese Junk, Commuter Train, Cyclo, Dog Sled, Funicular Railway, Golf Buggy, Hire Car, Horse, Jamboh, Kayak, Mini Bus, Monorail, Moped, Metro, Moto, Moto Bus, Motor Tricycle, Motorcycle, Passenger Ship, Passenger Ferry, Pick Up Truck, Sail Boat, Sawngthaew, Side-car, Skidoo, Sleeper Bus, Sleeper Train, Speedboat, Swimming, Taxi, Tram, Trolley Bus, TukTuk & Walking.), Maximum Temperature Encountered: +38C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Thank you for reading!

Safari

2009-04-28T20:54:00.000-07:00

Day 99: Khao Yai National Park (T). “I suppose this is why they call it the monsoon forest”, I joked to Karen as we stood in the middle of the jungle dripping wet from the torrential rains and up to our ankles in thick red mud and creepy leeches. As this was out last day in Khao Yai we were determined to see as much of the park as possible and so with the help of a couple of local guides we did just that. From dawn until dusk; we trekked it, swam it, drove it and climbed it.

And how are exertions were rewarded. Of all of the national parks that we had visited on our travels, the bio-diversity and the abundance of wild-life was by far the greatest here. With the thick cover of the jungle and the coming onslaught of the summer rains, I wasn't expecting to see too much on our 'safari'. But thanks to our excellent guides, it wasn't long before our wild-life tick list was looking quite impressive: Gibbons, baboons, giant squirrels, deer, elk, eagles, hornbills, monarch birds, scorpions...The list went on and on.

Oh yes, and then of course there were leeches. After Cat Tien and the Cardamon Mountains, you would have thought that Karen and I would have been used to them by now – but this time they beat us, hands down. Diligently, we donned our long trousers, thick walking boots and protective 'leech socks' but despite all of these precautions I still managed to get one of the little blighter's up each trouser leg. The result? Two blood gorged leeches as thick as your thumb and two gaping holes in my legs that wouldn't stop bleeding for over an hour!

As the afternoon came around, the sun finally put in an appearance just as we were arriving at Heaw Suwat waterfall – the one Leonardo di Caprio jumped off in the film 'The Beach'. “Do you see the similarity?”, I shouted from the top of the falls. Humouring me, Karen nodded and continued swimming in the cool, crystal waters amid the myriad of colourful butterflies.

Batty

2009-04-27T21:49:00.000-07:00

Day 98: Khao Yai National Park (T). Ever since I was a small boy growing up in Scarborough, I have always had this strange fascination with bats. I don't know why exactly. Maybe it's the memory of those long, warm summer evenings that we just don't seem to get any more. Maybe it's the sound of those high pitch calls that my forty something hearing no longer seems capable of detecting. Or perhaps it was the chilling tales of vampires and the opening credits of Scooby-Doo! What ever it was, the fascination remained into adulthood.

Back home in Steeple Morden, Karen and I often sit outside on our patio with a glass or two of wine watching the aerial majesty of these beautiful creatures. We've even ventured as far as Wimpole Hall, where on a good night, you can see several hundred bats dive bombing the lake in search of food. So when we were told there was a place near-by where we could see several million bats we just had to take a look.

Taking the dirt tracks to the northern edge of Khao Yai National Park in preparation for sunset, it wasn't long before we were bogged down in thick red mud brought on by the summer monsoons. Dumping the 4x4, we walked the last mile or so to the bat cave– our boots feeling like lead weights with the accumulated mud. Ahead of us, high up on the limestone crag, we could see the entrance to the cave - made even more prominent by the presence of half a dozen circling raptors looking for an easy meal.

As the light started to fade we waited and watched. And then, at precisely 6.30pm, with just the vestiges of light remaining, the first bat emerged from the cave and made for the rich feeding grounds of the monsoon forest. For the next hour, the sky was awash with millions of wrinkle lipped bats from this one gargantuan colony, swarming through air in a writhing, snake-like procession until each and every one had departed in search of food. With 1,000 bats per second passing over our heads, their beating wings were so loud they even drowned out the incessant noise of the jungle cicadas. Eventually though the display came to and end and as we wiped the accumulated bat poo from our faces we suddenly realised it was pitch black. Now where did we park that Land-Rover?

Day 98: Total Mileage to Date: 15,926: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 12; Number of Transport Modes Used: 37, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +38C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Monkey Business

2009-04-26T18:32:00.000-07:00

Day 97: Nong Khai (T) – Khao Yai National Park (T). Since crossing the Thai border two days previously, Karen and I had been travelling south-westerly in an attempt to reach the tranquillity of Khao Yai National Park: Up there on a podium with the worlds greatest parks, Khao Yai covers almost 900 square miles of central Thailand, rises to some 4,000 ft and covering five vegetation zones including the largest intact monsoon forest in mainland Asia leading to its highly acclaimed Unesco World Heritage accolade.

The beautiful Khaoyai Garden Lodge was to be our home for the next three days, set in a spacious botanical environment right next to the parks southern entrance, it provided the perfect base for Karen and me to explore the park and grab a bit of rest and relaxation. Vibrant flowers, colourful butterflies, magnificent birds and a swimming pool complete with a 10 foot waterfall completed the picture of this tropical wilderness.

And wilderness it was – a fact that I seemed to forget; leading to a rather worrying altercation with a baboon. Completely my own fault, I inadvertently managed to position myself between a cute little baby and its mother. Seeing me as a potential threat, Mrs Baboon charged; snarling and shrieking angrily. As it watched me running down the road, flailing my arms in the air and screaming like a girl, the monkey soon simmered down and returned to its peaceful foraging - obviously realising that despite my size, I wasn't that much of a threat after all!

Picture Perfect

2009-04-25T21:06:00.000-07:00

Day 96: Nong Khai (T) – Nakhon Ratchasima (T). Low pressure centred around southern China had finally started to move northwards, bringing with it a deluge of biblical proportion and much needed relief against the intense heat of previous days that had seen the mercury soar to over a hundred degree Fahrenheit.

The blistering heat and humidity that we had suffered over the past few days was not only uncomfortable for Karen and me. The extreme temperatures had put paid to our second memory card making us incredibly thankful that we had continued to back up our digital media. With the best part of 3,000 photographic images so far – these were easily the most valuable thing that we possessed and to loose them now would be nothing short of a disaster. (Note to our friends and family: You have precisely one week to come up with some good excuses in response to our “Would you like to pop 'round and have a quick look at the photo's?” invitations!)

The seven hour bus journey down from the Mekong to Nakhon Ratchasima was a pretty uneventful affair. Our destination: A nondescript town in the centre of Isan. Well off the beaten track where Thai life, largely untouched by the country's booming tourist industry, had been allowed to continue in its own uncompromising way – precisely the kind of place that Karen and I had grown to love!

But even here the successful marriage of East and West was evident: An excellent restaurant just down the road from out hotel, offered the best in delicious Thai cuisine – yam plaa, kuaytiam and spicy tom yam promising tastes of the exotic. Teenage girls in mini-skirts, the menu bound in a folder from Tesco and “Barbie Girl” blaring from the sound system providing pointers to the familiar.

Home Straight

2009-04-24T20:17:00.000-07:00

Day 95: Vientiane (LAO) – Nong Khai (T). Built and funded by the Australian Government; opened in 1994 - the Thai-Lao Friendship bridge was the first bridge across the lower Mekong and provided the route for Karen and my final border crossing. On one of our shortest travelling days to date, the short hop from one side of the river to the other saw us entering Thailand; our twelfth and last country.

With the continuing political unrest in Thailand, this border had been seized by red-shirted protesters of the UDD just a few days previously and so it was touch and go whether we would be allowed to make the crossing south. But today, everything seemed peaceful enough; there was no sign of any protesters and we were waved through efficiently, courteously and without incident. In fact, so relaxed were the proceedings that the Lao officials even forgot to collect their customary 'beer money' bribes from us!

But despite the fact we had only travelled a few miles across a thin stretch of water, already Thailand felt very different to the rest of Indochina. Arriving in the North-eastern region of Isan, an area where few Thai's venture let alone any tourists, the contrasts were noticeable to Karen and me. Thailand was considerably more developed, more affluent and more connected than our destinations of the past seven weeks. A comfortable balance between East and West, foreign and familiar. Described as 'the worlds most accessibly exotic location', this would be the ideal place to gently prepare us for our impending return to the UK. But that was still over a week away – until then we had the chance to embark on one final journey of discovery on our road to Bangkok.

Good roads and working services weren't the only differences here. Stepping out into the road in Nong Khai, I soon discover that the traffic drives on the left hand side of the road in Thailand – a transition cleverly managed by a set of traffic lights on the Friendship Bridge and completely unnoticed by me. Fortunately though, the quick thinking of the local drivers meant the incident ended in my embarrassment rather than an unwelcome trip to hospital. Lesson number 6,843!

Stress Relief

2009-04-23T19:07:00.001-07:00

Day 94: Vientiane (LAO). Vientiane had come a long way sine Paul Theroux described it in his 1975 book The Great Railway Bazaar as a place in which “the brothels are cleaner than the hotels, marijuana is cheaper than pipe tobacco and opium is easier to find than a cold glass of beer”. Today, the brothels have all have been closed down, the marijuana stands removed and a cold Beerlao is now the nightly drug of choice.

Change is happening fast in the Laotian capital, but unlike other Asian cities I certainly wouldn't use words like 'hustle' and 'bustle' to describe it. This had to be one of the most relaxed capitals on earth and Karen and I soon fell in love with it's unique charm. A fascinating place of contrasts; playing out the struggle between it communist past and inevitably more capitalist future. Where the National Museum glorified the victory over capitalist foreign imperialists whilst another slick restaurant was opening across the street in an area becoming known as one of the best-value dining cities on the planet.

And as with everywhere in Laos, you just have to take things 'nice and easy'. Fortunately, the main tourist sites were relatively close together and so mooching between Pha That Luang, Wat Si Saket and Haw Pha Kaeo was simple enough and when things got too hectic we could always chill out by the river with a couple of cold beers.

As the the afternoon shadows beginning to lengthen we arrived at Wat Sok Pa Luang, a beautiful little temple in a shaded, almost semi rural location. Here, the resident lay people offered us a traditional herbal sauna and an expert massage on the verandah of their little wooden stilt house. For the best part of 2 hours we were pampered, pummelled, pounded and caressed. Later on as we sipped our herbal tea and reflected on the most tranquil and relaxing of experiences, Karen remarked that the masseurs had covered a bit more territory than she was expecting. Unfortunately for me, I had suffered no similar surprise!

Indulgence

2009-04-22T14:21:00.000-07:00

Day 93: Pakse (LAO) – Vientiane (LAO). There was no denying it the last week had been some of the most difficult travelling we had encountered on our entire trip. Incredibly exciting, remarkably rewarding – but difficult none the less. And so, as we made our way from the Bolaven Plateau towards the nations capital, we thought we would introduce just a touch of luxury in to our journey.

Lets not get too carried away here, we weren't talking of five star hotels and chauffeured limousines– just a few little things to ensure we didn't arrive back in the UK as physical wrecks. For instance, on the 450 mile journey northwards we spent an extra $10 and opted for the 10 hour air conditioned sleeper bus rather than the 24 hour local bus described as being for people 'with loads of time, no money and a totally masochistic streak'!

Arriving in Vientiane we spent a few extra dollars and found a hotel with running hot water and working air conditioning! Something we had not encountered since Siem Reap, 10 days previously.

And then of course there was the food! After a week of living off bowls full of sticky rice, the cosmopolitan feel of this intriguing capital city gave us access to delicious western food. Like burgers. With cheese slices. And bacon. And mayonnaise. And chips. So good it almost felt sinful!

Beetle Juice

2009-04-21T16:08:00.000-07:00

Day 92: Tat Lo (LAO) – Pakse (LAO). “It's back to the pain / pleasure thing again”, I said to Karen as we walked the last few hundred yards back to our simple lodgings. “It was hard work getting here but today we got the rewards!” I was referring to our mornings trekking that had taken us deep in to the forests of the Bolaven Plateau, passing waterfalls and traditional villages to give us the feel of the 'real' Laos.

We had been lucky enough to hook up with Mr Chane, an excellent English speaking Lao guide who had lived in these forests all of his life and knew the land and the people intimately. Which was a good thing: During the Vietnam War Laos became the most heavily bombed country per head of population in the history of warfare and even today the unexploded ordnance on this strategically important plateau still claim the lives of countless innocent people.

The scenery in this isolated part of the world was unbelievably breathtaking, but as always, it was the people that provided us with the truly unforgeable memories. Representing the Katu ethic minority, the villagers of Ngai have a strong culture religiously embracing the practices of animal sacrifice to pay homage to the forest spirits.

With rudimentary agriculture and the cultivation of small crops of peanuts, chillies and coffee beans the tribes people were just about able to sustain their often quite large families (which, from talking to one villager, can often contain 10 – 12 offspring). Quite clearly life is very tough for these enchanting people and they represented amongst the poorest we had met during our 15,000 mile journey – bringing home to me the disparity of the worlds wealth: Back home in England, I wouldn't regard ourselves as 'rich' by any stretch of the imagination, but here I was in Southern Laos, carrying more 'loose change' in my money belt that most of these people earned in a year of incredibly hard graft.

But despite the obvious conditions of poverty, the inspiring thing that Karen and I took away was how happy these people appeared to be. Smiles and laughter. Friendship and interdependence. As soon as we arrived we were warmly welcome into the community to the extent that our hosts insisted we share a 'bamboo pipe' with them. Even the little girl whose job it was to collect the dung beetles from the huge pile of buffalo pooh that littered the village was smiling and giggling with us. Her mother was going to fry them up with some red ant soup. At which point, we decided not to stay for dinner!

Elephant Day

2009-04-20T17:48:00.000-07:00

Day 91: Tat Lo (LAO). Reading from the appropriate section of the Laos Lonely Planet, I recited to Karen: “Notable as much for its remoteness as any traditional tourism draws. Tat Lo is not on the way to anywhere and the roads around here remain some of the worst in Laos, but it is these qualities and the lure of tough travel that have begun to attract a few hardy visitors looking to get well-and-truly off the beaten track”. “Hmm. Maybe we should have read that passage before we got on the bus out here!”, Karen replied light-heartedly.

As usual, the worlds most comprehensive travel guide was pretty close to the mark. This was by far the most remote, the most unchanged and the rawest place we had visited so far on our travels and consequently, despite its natural beauty, there was very little in the way of tourist infrastructure here. And that combined with the abject poverty of the region and the naturally laid-back attitude of the Lao people meant that Karen and I were finding life very difficult. Difficult to travel, difficult to communicate and very difficult to find a place to stay!

With only a hand full of guest houses in town our choices were further limited by the fact that most of them were closed: Some in celebration of the Khmer New Year (which, despite officially finishing a week ago, seemed to have by-passed the Lao who were still busy partying twenty-four hours a day) and the highly regarded Tadlo lodge was closed to allow their staff the opportunity to give praise to the elephants!

And what a party those elephant were getting: A band of monks with shaved heads and clad in orange gowns led the festivities which involved prayers, dancing and the consumption of copious amounts of Lao-Lao (incredibly strong rice whisky). And the honoured guests themselves? Well, they were content to watch proceedings from a far, munch on the abundant supply of forest vegetation and have a good scratch against the bark of a shady tree.

Day 91: Total Mileage to Date: 15,099: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 11; Number of Transport Modes Used: 35, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +35C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Hanging Around

2009-04-19T19:22:00.000-07:00

Day 90: Don Khon (LAO) – Tat Lo (LAO). Travelling through Indochina had been relatively easy for Karen and me. Never concerned with the formalities of timetables or service routes, we just turned up with a map, pointed to our required destination and we could always find somebody who knew somebody with a moto, tuk-tuk or minibus that could help us on our way – the only thing up for grabs was the price.

But paradoxically, arriving in Laos; the laid back capital of the world – things had suddenly become more difficult for the pair of us. Gone was the enthusiastic entrepreneurialism of the local communities– it didn't matter how many kips or dollars we waved; it was all just too much effort for the Lao. And so Karen and I were back to studying routes and timetables and hanging around pick up points in optimistic anticipation. Not that the buses ran to any published timetables, preferring instead to adhere to the much more relaxed 'whenever' of Lao time.

As always though, taking the local transport option on our 150 mile trip to the Bolaven Plateau town of Tat Lo, proved to be a fascinating insight into local culture whilst providing an endless source of entertainment! With 5 modes of transport necessary to complete the 10 hour journey we journeyed part of the way using a Sawngthaew; Laos' most common form of public transport. Essentially, a converted truck with two wooden benches down each side, these vehicles are capable of transporting about 50 people in bum numbing comfort for as long as they can before breaking down. There's even space on top for a few motorcycles, chickens and pigs (or more people, perhaps?).

At Pakse, we transferred on to one of the oldest and most battered buses we had ever seen. Packed to the rafters and sporting a spiders web of gaffer tape holding together bits of glass that once probably formed the basis of a windscreen. With switchgear long since broken, the driver was forced to fuse bits of wire together whenever he wanted to operate vital equipment like the horn or the indicators. And thoughtfully positioned fans, taking away the edge of the tropical heat that ground to a halt whenever we ascended any hills. Still, Karen and I weren't complaining. This bus had cushioned seats and after our Sawngthaew experience; that was just what we needed to nurse our bruised posteriors!

No Problem

2009-04-18T16:31:00.000-07:00

Day 89: Don Khon (LAO). Following the Mekong through three countries, the area of Si Phan Don sees the widest point of this mighty river's 3,000 mile journey from the Tibertan Plateau to the South China Sea. In places the river here reaches over nine miles across, dotted with countless islands and islets – hence it's name, literally meaning: 4,000 Islands.

And this place was without a doubt the most laid back of any of the countries we had visited so far. Laos' national psyche is to take it easy. 'Too much work is bad for your brain', is a commonly held notion amongst it's people. Indeed because of this, education isn't highly valued here with the locals feeling sorry for 'people who think too much'! And as we sat and watched the slow pace of live unfold from the wooden verandah of our little river front bungalow, drinking a few bottles of the mind blowing Beerlao, who were we to argue with such sentiments!

So chilled out was life here on Don Khon that it felt as if the entire island could have gently drifted downriver into Cambodia and barely anybody would have rolled out of their hammocks to take a look. With no motor vehicles, no hawkers and no hard sell, this part of Laos was markedly different from the other parts of Indochina that Karen and I had travelled through. During their colonial years the French eloquently captured these cultural differences: “The Vietnamese plant rice, the Cambodians watch it grow and the Lao just listen!”

At the point when our pulse rate was about to drop into single figures,we decided to embark on Don Khon's extreme sport of 'cycling slowly around the village'! Finding a charismatic couple prepared to hire us a couple of bicycles; the old man puffed on a reefer-sized rollie as he adjusted the seat, checked the tyres, waved us on our way and whispered, “Baw pen nyang.” No problem!

Justice! (well almost)

2009-04-17T18:40:00.000-07:00

Day 88: Stung Treng (K) – Don Khon (LAO). By train, by ship, by speedboat and by golf-buggy! Those were the ways that we had transversed our ten border crossings so far. But for Karen and me the one that was missing, the one that we really wanted to do was to walk from country to country.

Arriving in the remote northern Cambodian town of Stung Treng we were inundated with offers to get us effortlessly across the border and into Laos - but this time, as our penultimate border crossing, we wanted to do it our way. Taking breakfast at the excellent Riverside Café, it wasn't long before one of the local Khmer offered us a ride to the border crossing point at Dom Kralor which we gratefully accepted. Travelling the 30 miles from Stung Treng, the remoteness of this part of the world was brought vividly home to us, not seeing a single person for the duration of our journey.

With a notorious reputation for corruption, we had been told that the only way for foreigners to secure safe egress from Cambodia and ingress into Laos at the distant outpost was by paying 'back-handers' to the greedy officials – the going rate: $1 per person per official.

Dropping us us 50 yards from the Cambodian checkpoint, our ride turned around and headed back to Stung Treng, leaving us in the baking sun in the middle-of-nowhere. Slowly, we walked along the centre of the tarmac road until we reached the barrier and the little sentry box, representing the Cambodian border. Sure enough; our hosts requested the usual bribe “For the official stamping out fee”, they said. “OK”, Karen replied very calmly, “Please can we have an official receipt then”. At which point the extremely disgruntled official simply waved us both through without adding to the enormous collection of dollar bills in the large plastic bag in front of him.

“Brilliant!”, I thought, “We've beaten the system. Justice for the people!”. As the guard lifted the barrier we both walked smugly along the 100 yards of no man's land until we reached the officials at the Laos control point. Thinking we were on a roll, I thought I'd try and match Karen's audacity. “Government receipt”, I insisted as he alluded to the $2 'fee'. After a short silence, the elderly official started laughing loudly and then, with a toothless grin said, “This ain't for no government. This is for us...”, he confessed, gesturing towards his colleagues with my passport clutched firmly in his hand, “...to enjoy the New Year celebrations”. You had to hand it to the guy: That level of arrogance, that level of brazen honesty; has got to be worth two dollars of anyone's money!

Hello!

2009-04-16T16:16:00.000-07:00

Day 87: Kratie (K) – Stung Treng (K). “It's like a remixed version of the Lionel Richie song”, I joked to Karen as the river bank echoed to the calls of “Hello” coming from the little stilt houses as we cycled along the shoreline of Koh Trong Island.

Lying about half a mile off Kratie in the middle of the Mekong River, Koh Trong is about 6 miles around, making the perfect destination for a morning's bike ride. Catching the early morning ferry, we loaded the bikes along with everything else that people seemed to be taking across to the island: Motorcycles (what else?), provisions, petrol, livestock and people – the familiar sight of travelling in Cambodia! The low river levels on the Mekong at this time of year prevented the ferry from making port at the Island side, so everybody (and everything!) had to wade through the knee high muddy water to cover the the last 100 yards of the journey.

After transversing the sandbank we were soon back on tera-firma, cycling through small hamlets and lush rice paddies tended by farmers with buffalo and wooden ploughs in tow. Along the southern edge of the island; the inhabitants of a small floating village were busy preparing their boats for a mornings fishing. But despite the photogenic scenery, the most memorable and overwhelming aspect of the day was the warmth of welcome offered by the local people. Every household interested to know more about us, waving and bidding their “Hello's”, delighted that the barang (foreigners) had chosen to come to see their remote part of rural Cambodia. In truth; the pleasure was all ours.

Flipper

2009-04-15T16:58:00.000-07:00

Day 86: Kratie (K). The continuing celebrations of Chaul Chnam Khmer (Khmer New Year) had the normally quiet riverside town of Kratie filled to overflowing. In fact, so many Khmer had descended on this peaceful little town that Karen and I had found it very difficult to get a bed for the night: Settling as we must, for the for the very last room in a dingy guest house opposite the ferry terminal, for the exorbitantly inflated price of $10 a night.

We however, had not been attracted to Kratie because of the quality of its hotels. We had come to get a glimpse of the incredibly rare irrawaddy dolphin, a native of the upper Mekong. Capable of living in both fresh and salt water, these dark grey cetaceans grow to about 10 feet long and are recognisable by their bulging foreheads and small dorsal fins. They are now an endangered species throughout Asia with shrinking numbers inhabiting this mighty river in Cambodia and Laos and isolated pockets in Burma and Bangladesh. Indeed such is the dolphin's plight that experts now believe there are as few as 75 of these magnificent mammals left in this remote stretch of the Mekong.

Jumping on board a couple of moto's we joined the melee of local traffic on the road north to Kampi. In traffic this congested, cars and bikes constantly brushed against my arms and legs as I clung on for dear life to the grab rail of our aged motorcycle. But our hair-raising journey was well worth it: Reaching our destination we transferred to a long-tail boat and were instantly rewarded by the sight of half a dozen dolphins playing in the deep water pools upstream of the Kampi rapids. Seemingly as curious of us as we were of them they continually criss-crossed in front of our boat, taking deep gulps of air before diving to the depths of the riverbed in their quest for food. Fifty or so photographs of an empty river later, one of the animals was kind enough to pose just long enough for us to get one decent shot. Remarkable.

Another Year Older?

2009-04-14T19:21:00.000-07:00

Day 85: Siem Reap (K) – Kratie (K). At preciously 1.36am the night sky was illuminated with hundreds as firecrackers as Cambodia marked the coming of the Khmer New Year. Like Christmas, Birthdays and the New Year all rolled into one this is the biggest event in the country's calendar. And at that precise moment all 15 million Cambodians officially became one year older, regardless of their 'actual' birth date.

Cambodia had been a constant source of pleasant surprises for Karen and me with the result that everywhere we had visited we had stayed a little longer than originally planned. Whilst that in itself didn't present a problem to us, it meant that if we wanted to make it across into Laos we needed to leave Siem Reap to it's New Year festivities and start the long trek North Easterly to the remote border crossing point at Dom Kralor.

Arriving at the bus station, we were still bleary eyed from the night before. Unsure of where we would end the day and how we were going to get there we boarded the first bus heading towards the gateway town of Kompong Cham where we hoped to get passage into rural east Cambodia.

We were not disappointed. Arriving at the little market town we were soon mobbed by a crowd of local people keen to sell us spaces on their minibuses to Mekong town of Kratie. Being New Years Day, prices were incredibly expensive (relatively) and so we spent the next half an hour bargaining hard until we finally settled on the price of $5 a seat. “Good price for you. Good price for me”, the minibus driver declared.

Taking the back roads, the next three hours proved to be a bumpy, dusty ride across unsealed roads through lazy villages and rich agricultural lands. As we had come to expect, the minibus was packed to the rafters – even more so as the local Khmer people were on the move celebrating the festivities with their families. Twenty or so people, a motorbike on the roof, bags of rice in the cabin, one flat tyre, a starter motor that necessitated the use of a lump hammer... – you get the picture.

An interesting addition to this journey though was the transport of eight 10 gallon plastic billy cans of gasoline. Too heavy to go on the roof, the driver stacked them on the floor of the cabin in the space where our feet would normally go. So there we sat with our feet on the fuel, our knees around our ears intoxicated by the fumes emanating from the leaking containers. Which in itself, we could probably handle. What was disturbing though was the fact that despite our explosive cargo our driver insisted on chain smoking an enormous roll-up for the journey's duration. How we didn't end up in outer space I'll never know!

It Never Rains...

2009-04-13T15:10:00.001-07:00

Day 84: Siem Reap (K). Throughout our journey the most common question that we had been asked when we recounted our travel stories was “What was the highlight of your trip?”. The answer to which was always simple: “The people that we met along the way”. Whether that be the nomads in the depths of outer Mongolia, the rice farmers in the northern Vietnamese mountains or the like-minded back-packers that we met in the hostels along our route.

Like David for instance, the proprietor of the Babel Guest House in Siem Reap: A crazy opera loving Italian with a passion for the Azzurri, for travelling and for motorcycles (especially if they were red and came from Bologna!). And as soon as we saw him wearing his Valentino Rossi shirt we knew we had to get together to watch the opening round of the MotoGP season – even though that meant setting our alarms for a 2am wake up!

So there we sat; outside on the terrace clutching huge mugs of coffee to keep us awake, huddled around the little TV watching the satellite images beaming from Qatar. The two minute bell sounded: Stoner on pole, totally focussed on the task in hand, Rossi next to him, knowing as well as anybody the importance of drawing first blood at this marvellous circuit.

But wait. What's that we see? Surely it's not rain? In the desert? In April? But it was! As unprecedented as it may have been, a tropical monsoon similar to the one we had encountered in the Cardamon Mountains had descended on Losail and to our (and everybody else's) disappointment, the officials had no choice but to cancel the race.

It was now four o'clock in the morning and we were wide, wide awake. In the sky, the first glimmer of dawn was starting to break through the clouds heralding the signs for another beautiful day. So, in order to make the most from the situation we jumped on board the nearest Tuk-Tuk and headed out to Angkor Wat to witness the new day in the most romantic way possible.

Well, it would have been romantic if I could have got Rolf Harris's 'Sun Arise' out of my head. Still, I think my singing was enough to flummox the bus loads of Japanese Tourists, who seemed to thing this was some kind of pagan ritual! Never the less, a truly memorable and magnificent experience!

Day 84: Total Mileage to Date: 14,481: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 10; Number of Transport Modes Used: 34, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +35C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Ready, Steady, Cook

2009-04-12T18:33:00.000-07:00

Day 83: Siem Reap (K). Constantly impressed by the high quality of delicious food that we had tasted on our travels through Cambodia, but frustrated by the fact we couldn't actually get our 'hands dirty' and cook some of these Khmer specialities, we were delighted when the Sala Bai Restaurant School offered to teach us the art of Cambodian Cooking.

Flicking through the recipe books , Karen decided on Fresh Shrimp Spring Rolls followed by Amok (a local fish dish made with coconut milk and served in a banana leaf) and I went for Banana Flower Salad and Tom Yam (a delicious spicy seafood soup). With the difficult decisions out of the way, our tutor, Navin duly escorted us to the local market to buy the fresh ingredients for our culinary creations.

It wasn't long though before, Navin realised that she had her work cut out with me as a student: Stopping by the fish counter I questioned her, “Where did these prawns come from?”, which, after giving me one of those 'you Westerner's really are quite stupid aren't you?' looks, she replied, “Er...The sea?”.

Back in the kitchen we we soon chopping, grinding and blending: Lemon grass, garlic, kaffir, paprika, chillies, turmeric, fish sauce – transforming our shopping trip into authentic tasting Cambodian cuisine.

An excellent teacher throughout, Navin patiently guided us through the techniques of Asian cookery, demonstrating every step. Following the market incident, I think she had me down as a bit of a 'no hoper' and so I received extra special attention. My attempt at assembling the the Spring Rolls probably reinforced her views – Navin's and Karen's rolls looking visually appealing – smooth, symmetrical and round; mine looking more like a badly rolled spliff than a tasty appetiser!

Still, regardless of my sometimes dubious presentation, I have to admit the fruits of our labour were absolutely delicious: Perfectly spiced, beautifully fragranced and cooked to perfection. Bon appetite!

Tomb Raiders

2009-04-11T20:11:00.000-07:00

Day 82: Siem Reap (K). “You had me fooled!”, I joked to Karen as she did her best Lara Croft impression at the spot where Angelina Jolie famously picked that jasmine flower before falling through the earth in the 2001 film adaptation of the video game series.

Visiting two of Siem Reap's big hitters: we marvelled at Angkor Wat; the largest and most breathtaking of the monuments at Angkor – widely believed to be the largest religious structure on earth and Ta Prohm; the most atmospheric ruin, completely consumed by the jungle and looking very much the same way today as it did when European explorers first stumbled upon it in the mid 19th Century.

Walking across Angkor Wat's sandstone causeway spanning the 600 foot wide moat, through the outer walls and emerging on the inner causeway was a spine-tickling moment for Karen and me. Covering almost 500 acres, the scale of this site is mind-blowing and enabled the Khmer to give full expression to religious symbolism; representing as it did, a microcosm of the Hindu universe: The central tower being Mount Meru (the home of the gods), surrounded by smaller peaks (the mountain ranges), bounded by the continents (the courtyards) and the oceans (the extensive moat). At close quarters, the detail inside the temple was exquisite with over half a mile of bas-reliefs and over 3,000 carved apsaras (heavenly nymphs). Never completely finished, inscriptions tell us that the construction of Angkor Wat involved over 300,000 craftsmen and 6,000 elephants over an initial 37 year period. “Imagine trying to pin down a tradesman to do your loft conversation at the same time they were building this lot!”, I joked to Karen.

Back to Skool!

2009-04-10T16:41:00.000-07:00

Day 81: Siem Reap (K). So far Karen and I had taken a lot from Cambodia. We had taken enormous pleasure getting to know it's people, we had taken incredible memories from its natural beauty and we had taken great courage from the way the country was rebuilding itself from it's turbulent past. And after all that taking, the very least we could do was to try to repay a small part of that debt by giving something in return.

Cambodia has a massive need for outside help. However, partly due to the country's rampant corruption and partly due to the seemingly overprotective (and sometimes ineffective) NGO's, as a tourist it can be very difficult to get involved - no matter how willing you may be. Fortunately though for Karen and me, we had heard of the sterling work being undertaken by Pean Pol at the Rainbow Orphanage about twenty miles west of Siem Reap and we had been kindly invited to help out with the children's schooling.

We have nothing but admiration for Pean who opened the orphanage with his limited funds back in 2005 providing hope for children that otherwise would have ended up in abject poverty (or worse). Today, the orphanage cares for 34 resident children. In addition, 60 or so children from impoverished families in the neighbouring villages also benefit from the education provided by the volunteer team whose commitment makes this place possible. Very few families in this region earn more than $1 a day and almost 90% of orphan children receive no eduction at all but Pean and his team are working night and day to change that, at least for the lucky few he has rescued from the streets. And this was eduction that the kids could really use. Apart from English and Mathematics, Pean has purchased a good deal of land in the surrounding area to teach the children about farming and the environment.

When we arrived at the orphanage, we were expecting to feel sad and sickened by what we had seen. But do you know what, that wasn't how we felt: We actually left feeling inspired. In Western terms, these kids have absolutely nothing: No computers, no I-pods, no Nike trainers. Nothing. But as far as they are were concerned they already had everything they needed: There was always rice on the table (and latterly, because of Pean's farming programme, fresh vegetables too), they were part of a loving community and they were receiving a good education which maybe, just maybe, would allow them to break out of the poverty in which they they live today.

And they were amongst the happiest kids we had ever met. Throughout the day as Karen and I helped them with their English studies, told them the story of our trip from Steeple Morden and joined in their recreational activities – not once did we see a miserable face. Not once did we see a child throw a tantrum or sulk in the corner. Not once did any of the children fight or pick on any of their classmates. They all got involved, all helped each other out and never stopped laughing and smiling.

And that's why I came away completely inspired. If these kids can be so happy, so positive, so content, what right do I have to ever get upset when things aren't going my way? What right do I have to ever think that life had dealt me a bad hand? What right do I have to think “if only...?”

As usual with these things, Karen and I had gone to the orphanage with the intention of giving a little back to Cambodia, but these kids were so fantastic, so inspiring that I'm sure we ended up getting more from the children than they did from us! The most incredible day ever.

Metropolis

2009-04-09T19:06:00.000-07:00

Day 80: Siem Reap (K). Being extremely naïve about Siem Reap's main attraction; Karen and I originally only planned to spend a day looking around the Temples of Angkor. Then, as we got closer to Cambodia's Holy of Holies, people started telling just how vast this site really was so we changed our plans to a three day stay. On arriving here though, we were both completely blown away by the sheer scale of this fusion of creative ambition and spiritual devotion and so in true theme park style we opted for the 'seven day go anywhere pass'!

Staring in amazement at the small map provided to us by the ticket office, I counted no less than 83 temples covering an area some 250 square miles in size, making this one of the the largest historic metropolis's on earth. Absolutely staggering! Spanning more than 600 years from AD 802 to 1432, this incredible period of history saw the construction of the temples and the Khmer empire consolidate its position as one of the great powers of South-east Asia.

Starting off at 8am at Banteay Samre and watching the sun go down over Pre Rup we managed to visit 8 temples during our first very packed day. (Only 75 more to go!) During our visit to the immense central sanctuary of Preah Khan, a monk blessed us; anointing our foreheads with Holy Water promising good luck for our future travels. Ten minutes later Karen almost knocked herself out by bashing the same forehead in to a very low stone lintel. Maybe next time we should bathe in the Holy Water to give us the required amount of good luck!!

Highway Code

2009-04-08T21:14:00.000-07:00

Day 79: Krong Koh Kong (K) – Siem Reap (K). “When I first moved to Cambodia, I couldn't work out whether the traffic was supposed to drive on the right or the left hand side of the road. So I thought I would ask the local Khmer drivers. I did - and they weren't sure either!”

Smiling to myself, I remembered the story first told to us by a German ex-pat called Tomas that we met down in Koh Kong who had moved over to Cambodia in the late 1990's. Ten years may have passed since Tomas made his observations on the state of Cambodian driving, but as we made the arduous twelve hour bus trip from Koh Kong to Siem Reap, it felt that very little had changed in that time! Dare devil overtakes, abysmal road surfaces, unwary motorcycle rides, their bikes laden to collapse and suicidal livestock all adding to the days excitement!

Finally though, at about 8pm, we arrived in the northern city of Siem Reap: Back in the 1960's this place was the place to be in South-east Asia and saw a steady stream of the rich and famous. After three decades of slumber it's well and truly back on the map and one of the most up and coming tourist destinations on the planet with its old French shop-houses, shady tree lined boulevards and a slow-flowing river.

But not as sleepy as you'd think. Arriving here we found the town in scandal following the conviction of a long-term serial killer, reputed to have murdered 90 people and then sold the gruesome remains as dog food down at the local market. Indeed, so gripped was everybody by this story, we were even offered tickets to go and visit this animal in prison. Understandably, Karen and I decided to opt out of this, the town's latest tourist attraction!

Happy New Year

2009-04-07T17:21:00.000-07:00

Day 78: Krong Koh Kong (K). Walking through the streets of Krong Koh Kong, Karen and I couldn't help but notice the sense of excitement and anticipation in the air as the local community continued with its preparation for the Khmer New Year celebrations in a few days time.

As the fairy lights were being carefully draped over the Buddhist shrines I thought back to our own excellent New Years celebrations round at Steve & Clare's, ending up (as always!) in the Waggon & Horses until some ridiculous time of the morning. That was just days before we departing on our travels. Right now though, I guessed Steeple Morden would be busying itself in preparation for the Easter holidays falling as they did, on the same weekend as the start of the 'Chaul Chnam Khmer'. Which made me realise just how long we had been away from home.

Over those months, it's strange the things that Karen and I have craved. I mean there's the obvious things like friends, family, Huffkin & Chuddleigh – but we always knew we were going to miss them. No, I'm talking about the more subtle things: Karen for instance is desperately missing cooking and I'm missing cutting the lawns and pottering around in the garden. Then there's the village pub and riding our motorbikes; walking down the street and bumping into somebody we know; idle chit-chat; going outside without being ravished by mosquito's, football, watching a good film, basic sanitation, baths, the lousy weather – the list goes on and on. Then of course there's the food: Karen is desperate for some cheese on toast and a nice fresh yoghurt, whereas I would die for a nice savoury pie - steak & kidney would be good, and then a generous slice of malteser cake all washed down with a and a pint or two of Old Speckled Hen!

So on the 3rd May, it looks like we'll be riding our bikes across to the Waggon & Horses, eating Sandra out of house and home and talking to everyone we know about how bad the weather is. Look out Steeple Morden!

Robinson Crusoe

2009-04-06T19:16:00.000-07:00

Day 77: Koh Kong Conservation Area (K) – Krong Koh Kong (K). Looking back over my shoulder I could see the coconut palms and lush vegetation shading the white sandy beach, the clear turquoise waters breaking gently on the shoreline and two sets of footprints: Karen's and mine. Robinson Crusoe and Man Friday?

Cambodia's largest island lies about 15 miles south of Krong Koh Kong, towering over seas so crystal clear we could make out individual grains of sand in 10 feet of water. As a military installation, the island is uninhabited and is strictly off bounds to tourists but in this land where money talks; it didn't take us long to find a sea captain willing to take us through the magnificent mangroves of the Peam Krasop Wildlife Sanctuary and out into the open ocean to one of the islands seven pristine beaches.

Spotted by the Military Police, our boat was soon boarded just a few hundred feet from land, but after a relatively jovial conversation with our captain and payment of a fist full of cold beers, the officials were happy to turn a blind eye to our activities. (It did make us think however, if the going bribe rate for access to an island is a six pack of beers, what would you get if you offered the officials a meal for two with a free bottle of wine at Nando's? The keys to the city of Phnom Penh, perhaps?!)

Wading from the boat through the warm waters to this tropical paradise we could see sand crabs scampering obliviously up and down the beach and colourful shells dotting the shoreline; the sort we had only ever seen before in souvenir shops. Karen, sporting a floral design sarong was creating a similar fascination for the local insect population, as clouds of intrigued flies, wasps and bees followed her every movement along the beach. “You look like Linus from Peanuts”, I said with a snigger. Choosing to ignore my attempt at humour, she batted another bug into oblivion and made her way to the tranquillity and safety of the sea.

Day 77: Total Mileage to Date: 13,979: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 10; Number of Transport Modes Used: 34, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +35C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Mountain Cascades

2009-04-05T17:49:00.000-07:00

Day 76: Koh Kong Conservation Area (K). “Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!”, Karen exclaimed. “I feel like the woman from the Herbal Essences advert”, she added with a great deal of relief as she cooled off beneath the cascading waters.

The previous days storms had raged well into the night, but with a new day came a new calm which we hoped would allow us to trek deep into the jungle to the peace and tranquillity of the Tatai Waterfall. Engaging the services of Mr Lei, a Khmer park ranger from Bokor, we were soon scrambling up steep cliffs and hacking through dense foliage in an attempt to follow an overgrown and little used path westwards towards the ocean.

The heat and humidity of the jungle was stifling. I was sweating so much my clothes seemed as wet as they were the previous day when we got caught in the summer monsoon! And with the humidity, came our old friend the leeches. This time though we were without the luxury of protective leggings and so we had to endure their little fangs sinking in to our tasty white flesh. “Remove them gently”, Janet had advised us before we left the Lodge, “They're all Gods creatures after all”. Now, well away from the safety and security of our accommodation, Karen and I were dealing with them in our way. Karen would bash them to death with her boots, Mr Lei would fry them alive using his zippo lighter and I would inflict pain using any one of the twenty-eight implements on my Swiss Army knife!

But all of these minor inconveniences were soon forgotten as we emerged from the darkness of the jungle to witness a thundering set of rapids plunging over a forty foot rock shelf. Relaxing in the refreshing mountain waters Karen and I rejoiced at the solitude and beauty of this place. Mr Lei nursed his leech bitten ankles and refilled his trusty lighter!

Equilibrium

2009-04-04T16:26:00.000-07:00

Day 75: Koh Kong Conservation Area (K). Hindsight can be a wonderful thing. Amongst it lessons it teaches the value of keeping your mouth shut until you have all of the facts at your disposal. Arriving at Rainbow Lodge in the Cardamon mountains, I had attempted to describe the perfection of this environment – 'a utopia without downside' I had written. Today though, in a remote part of the jungle at the mercy of Mother Nature, Karen and I had discovered one of the downsides. Oh, for the gift of hindsight!

Things had started off well enough; hiring a boat to take us upstream from Rainbow Lodge we arrived at the Koh Por rapids in a lovely jungle gorge where we both cooled off in the warm crystal waters of the Tatai river. Even the advent of a passing rain shower didn't deter us – after all we were already wet already!

But as we set off on our one hour return boat trip, things took a decided turn for the worse. The sky turned from pale blue to jet black, the gentle breeze built into a gale force wind and the light rain intensified into a tropical monsoon. Against the driving rain, Karen and I clung on for dear life – soaked through to the skin and freezing cold thanks to the wind-chill. The little long-tailed boat chugged its way downstream as fast as it possibly could, but with the mounting waves and deluge of rain we were taking on board so much water that I actually thought we were going to sink! And then the storm kicked in - So near that the flash of lightning and the crash of thunder were completely simultaneous. So powerful that the sound of the thunder was actually causing shock waves along the river. The noise; deafeningly loud. The lightning; blindingly close. And there we were - on a sinking boat, travelling down an enormous river, clutching metal umbrellas in an attempt to shield ourselves from the worst of the rain, with the most powerful electric storm we had ever encountered going on right above our heads. “Sitting ducks!”, I thought.

When Karen and first talked of our travelling aspirations the best part of a year ago, I remember saying that I “Wanted to encounter situations that made me wish we hadn't embarked on our journey”. Well for half an hour today, this was one of those situations: Colder, more scared and more uncomfortable than I had been at any stage previously on our trip.

When we finally (miraculously!) made in back to Rainbow Lodge, I couldn't help thinking nature had perhaps overcompensated a little on the Pleasure & Pain Equilibrium. But then Janet greeted us with steaming mugs of hot chocolate and home-made peanut brittle and the balance was once again harmoniously restored.

Pleasure & Pain

2009-04-03T17:51:00.000-07:00

Day 74: Sihanoukville (K) – Koh Kong Conservation Area (K). The laws of nature promote balance in everything they govern. Hot & cold, darkness & light, ying & yang. And usually it's the same with pleasure & pain: Take chocolate for instance: Eating chocolate is pleasurable, but to enjoy it you must also endure the pain of the calories. Similar thing with beer – makes you feel good but can give you a hangover. And that's what we expecting from Rainbow Lodge: One of Cambodia first eco tourism sites situated on the banks of the remote Tatai River, built using local labour and materials. Its electricity is generated by solar panels and its water is provided from rainfall. The ingredients for its food are purchased at a fair price from local farmers and all of its waste is recycled. To get all of this goodness, there had to be some pain. Would it be the cost? The standard of accommodation or the quality of the food? Try as we may, Karen and I couldn't find any down side. Was this utopia?

Leaving Sihanoukville, we took the bus northwards towards Koh Kong and jumped off at Tatai bridge in the heart of the Koh Kong Conservation area in the Cardamon Mountains; an area of breathtaking beauty and astonishing bio-diversity. These remote peaks and river valleys are home to over 60 globally threatened animal species including tigers, elephants, Siamese crocodiles, pangolins, tortoises and turtles. With no other way of access into this, the second largest virgin rainforest in South-east Asia, we took a boat up-river taking us in to the heart of the jungle – our home for the next few days.

Apart from its admirable environmental credentials, Rainbow Lodge is a fabulous place to stay. Conceived and built by Janet; a single British lady, originally from Watford with a taste for hard work and adventure, who despite having a successful legal career back in the UK, gave up everything to come and work in this jungle wilderness. Each of the seven bungalows are individually themed around the colours of the rainbow and finished with natural ethnic furnishings. Extras came by way of rechargeable mosquito bats (essential), families of termites on the patio (entertaining), tree frogs and spiders in the bathroom (unwelcome)!

Sleeping Dogs

2009-04-02T21:32:00.000-07:00

Day 73: Sihanoukville (K). Following the turbulence of the overnight tropical storms, Thursday in Sihanoukville dawned with an eerie calm. The strong winds abated, the sea as calm as a millpond; the torrential rains and lightning bolts superseded by a cloudless blue sky – the white beaches dazzling in the early morning sunshine. Still half asleep, Karen and I peered out of our bungalow window at the beautiful sight before us and instantaneously agreed on our plans for the day: We were going to do absolutely nothing!

As Serendipity Beach prepared for another day in the sun, I watched the local beach traders returning light bulbs removed the previous night for safe keeping. Smiling to myself, I realised that with the astronomical cost of electricity in Cambodia, the energy saving light bulbs that they treasured so dearly were more valuable to them that their own stock – which they left unguarded during the night. Turfing the sleeping strays off of a couple of sun loungers (much to the annoyance of the dogs!) Karen and I settled in for the day; to do a little sun bathing, a little people watching and a little snoozing!

Although to be honest, sleeping was never easy with the constant stream of beach hawkers: Fruit, water, lobsters, bracelets, sunglasses – you name it, they had it. Most amusing of all though was the transvestite beautician who, having failed to sell his services to Karen, was determined to wax my back and chest hair. Time for a strategic dip in the sea, I thought!

Serendipity

2009-04-01T21:31:00.000-07:00

Day 72: Kampot (K) – Sihanoukville (K). “Serendipity: Noun. When interesting or valuable discoveries are made by accident”, I recited from the dictionary. Karen, smiled and nodded her agreement as we sunk our toes in to the warm white sands and gazed out over the deep blue seas of the Gulf of Thailand.

A few weeks ago, visiting Nha Trang, Vietnam's premier coastal resort we had felt out of place against the back drop of five star hotels and cultural abstinence. Now, having reached the coast again, we were in a different county on the opposing side of the peninsular of Indochina and our experience was as different as Blackpool is to Blakeney Point.

For Karen and me, Serendipity Beach was much closer to what we wanted from a beach experience: Paradise in its rawest state. Beautiful beaches, warm crystal waters, but without the trappings of tourism. For on this beach, there were no high rises on the landward horizon; just palm trees. No gourmet restaurants serving international cuisine; just shacks selling local produce. No 'beautiful people'; just travellers and locals. No private beaches and protectionism; just freedom for the locals, trying like everybody else, to make an honest living.

With little in the way of accommodation here, we found a simple 'no frills' bungalow on the waters edge for about £7 each a night. Options for food and drink however were more varied, with two dozen or so bamboo huts scattered along the 2 miles of beach offering competitive deals on local beer and fresh seafood. 'Happy Hour 4pm – 9pm', one bar advertised on a hand written sign. '5pm – 11pm', promoted another. 'Happy Hour – all day, every day' said a third. “Happy hour?”, I thought.

With the sun setting behind the horizon, we made our choice of eatery and sat down at a makeshift table with the water lapping against our bare feet. Choosing half a dozen of the largest prawns from a plastic bucket the owner made a fire from some wood cut from an overhanging tree. With the light fading fast we could just make out the sea in which our supper had come from, the boats in which it had been caught and the fire on which it was being cooked. How fresh is that?. And as we tucked in heartily to the bounty of the ocean, Mother Nature decided to put on a display of her power with three or four independent storms lighting up the night sky for miles around. Dinner and a Show – now that's entertainment!

In 10 years time, I'm sure this place will go the same way as places like Nha Trang, and depending on your point of view, that will either be a good thing or a bad thing for towns like Sihanoukville and Cambodia as a whole. But one thing is for sure – if simplistic rawness is your thing then you need to get to see this place now. With two or three bulldozers already parked up at the entrance to town – soon it will be too late.

Top Deck

2009-03-31T20:01:00.000-07:00

Day 71: Phnom Penh (K) – Kampot (K). Fascinating though Phnom Penh had been over the past few days, Karen and I knew that if we were to experience the 'real' Cambodia we had to get out there – out into the rural heartland of this charming country.

Initially though, this was easier said than done as successive Tuk Tuk drivers kept insisting that we should join one of the air conditioned 'tourist' buses leaving from the central market when what we really wanted to do was to travel using 'local' transport. Three Tuk Tuk's and one hour passed before we were able to articulate our requirements sufficiently well and get the driver to drop us off at the southern end of the Monireth Boulevard where we hoped to flag down a passing mini-bus on the way to Kampot.

As was the case in Vietnam, the frequency of these local mini-buses was such that we didn't have to wait too long before the first one arrived and immediately Karen and I knew that this journey was going to be every bit as interesting as the ones we took in Cambodia's neighbouring country.

As the vehicle drew to a standstill, half a dozen people were already perched on top of the metal roof, but Karen and I opted for the (relatively) more expensive seats inside the mini-bus. Equipped with enough seats to carry 11 passengers, there were already 22 people on board (including two sharing the drivers seat) and the 6 up top making a total passenger count of 28. With no room for our ruck-sacks the driver carefully tied these to an aged motorbike, which in turn he strapped to the back door of the mini-bus. To complete the picture: Several sacks of obligatory rice were stowed under every seat, a lady in all her finery was on her way to a wedding and every now and then an animal in a basket near the front of the bus would squeal it's discomfort. This had to be seen to be believed!

Travelling down National Highway 3, the 100 miles from the capital to the relaxed yet run down provincial town in the far south of the country took around 5 hours. In some places, the single track road was in remarkably good condition but in others, it was no more than a badly pot-holed dirt track, transformed now in to a mud bath by the onslaught of the first rains of summer. Passing through the small towns and shanty villages, occasionally we would stumble on a police checkpoint, but a few hundred Cambodian riels covertly pressed into the palms of the waiting officials was enough to allow us on peacefully our way. No corruption here then!

History Lesson

2009-03-30T16:33:00.000-07:00

Day 70: Phnom Penh (K). “We learn from history, but we do not learn from history”. At some stage in everybody's lives we have all had a teacher who has been inspirational – whether that was a schoolteacher, a family member or a life coach, we always remember their words and advice. For me it was Mr Hodgeson, my modern history teacher back in the early 1980's, whose thoughtful simplification of complex matters captured my attention and stayed with me for thirty years. However, never had his words seemed so poignant as they did today.

Towards the very beginning of our adventure, 12,000 miles ago back in eastern Europe we had visited the grim remains of Auschwitz. The site is now a museum dedicated to the thousands that died there in mankind's darkest hour - a reminder to humanity that we should never again repeat those terrible atrocities. But tragically, like my wise old teacher advised me, as a society we didn't learn and 35 years after the Nazi's, Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge perpetrated the same unspeakable genocide on the Cambodian people to form the next tear stained chapter of our history books.

Walking around the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek in total silence both Karen and I were completely overcome by the emotion that this place generated. As with Auschwitz, it was totally incomprehensible how anybody, no matter how evil or depraved could commit such heinous crimes against his or her fellow citizens. For here in this now peaceful place just a few miles from the city centre, 17,000 innocent men, woman, children and infants were brutally murdered after enduring years of torture at the infamous S-21 concentration camp. Many were bludgeoned to death to avoid wasting the Khmer Rouge's precious bullets.

In 1980, after the world uncovered the truth behind Pot's tyrannical regime, the remains of almost 9,000 people, many of whom were bound and blindfolded were exhumed from these mass graves and their bones were laid to rest behind clear glass panels of the Memorial Stupa, erected in 1988. 43 of the 129 communal graves remain untouched and we can only hope and pray that their occupants eventually find an eternal peace.

The comparative recency of these events added to the intensity of our emotions and the feelings of helplessness that we were suffering - a point summed up excellently by Karen “Whilst all of this was going on, I was a little girl playing with my friends. Totally oblivious to the horror that was occurring on the other side of the world”.

Can you imagine what mankind could have achieved if all of the energy we have expended over the years pursuing evil had been channelled into making this world a better place?

God help us all.

Day 70: Total Mileage to Date: 13,625: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 10; Number of Transport Modes Used: 34, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +35C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Silver Lining

2009-03-29T17:58:00.000-07:00

Day 69: Phnom Penh (K). Shielding ourselves from the burning sun, Karen and I jumped on-board the nearest Tuk Tuk to take us down Sisowath Quay through the chaotic city traffic on our discovery of Phnom Penh, a capital whose very the name conjured up images of the exotic: The glimmering spires of the Royal Palace, the fluttering saffron of the monk's robes and the luscious location on the banks of the Mekong. This was one of Asia's gems.

Being the official residence of King Sihamoni, part of the Palace complex is closed to visitors, but those areas that remains open simply numb the senses by their sheer majesty. The 200 foot tower of the Throne Hall dominates the Phnom Penh skyline, but it is the opulence of the Silver Pagoda that really captured our imagination: Named in honour of the floor, which is covered in 5,000 silver tiles each weighing one kilogram, adding up to a whopping 5 tonnes of gleaming silver!

Leading up to the pagoda, a staircase of solid Italian marble. Inside, an emerald Buddha made from Baccarat crystal stood behind a gold Buddha encrusted with almost ten thousand diamonds, the largest of which weighed in at a massive 25 carats! To the left and right of the gold Buddha stood two further Buddha's, one cast from solid bronze and the other from solid silver. The list went on and on – a truly amazing sight.

At Wat Phnom, we took time out to catch our breath and watch the world go by with the street circus unfolding before our eyes: Beggars, women selling drinks & lotus peas, old men offering elephant rides, children selling post-cards and the local troop of baboons stealing what ever they could get their hands on! Most entrepreneurial of all though were the old women with caged birds charging $1 to free one of the little creatures. We observed as a few tourists took pity and shelled out their hard earned cash. The birds (obviously trained) took to the air and circled around the tree covered knoll for ten minutes only to return to the comfort and safety of their comfortable cages. Fantastic – a completely sustainable business!

Hot Air

2009-03-28T16:40:00.000-07:00

Day 68: Chau Doc (VN) – Phnom Penh (K). The best part about travelling and living simply is how excited you can get over the simplest of things. Arriving at the Phnom Penh in the Kingdom of Cambodia, Karen and I though we would splash out a bit and and check in to a real 'posh' hotel. Raiding our piggy bank we managed to coble together the $20 a night needed to stay at the Paragon hotel right by the riverside (no joke – this was positively expensive by Vietnamese standards!)

But it was worth every penny (cent?), as not only did we get a shower cubicle in our en suite bathroom but the public toilets downstairs actually had a working electric hand-dryer. Something that neither Karen nor I had set eyes on since Moscow. It was brilliant! Every now and then we would pop to the toilet to wash our hands just to feel the warm air gently caress our skin. In fact, it was so good that on one occasion I actually went into the toilet and switched it on without even washing my hands. Ah, life on the edge!!

Journeying across the border into Cambodia had been a magnificent experience. Chartering a speedboat to hurtle us the 80 miles or so up the Mekong River from Chau Doc to the Kingdom's capital at speeds in excess of 30 knots sure was a memorable way to enter our tenth country on the 'Road to Bangkok'. Even the border crossing itself was a breeze. The boat weighed anchor at the river checkpoints for both the Vietnamese and Cambodian officials. Both sets of border controls; impeccably courteous and ultra efficient (even though the Cambodian immigration did have to use thirteen rubber stamps to complete the proceedings!)

And from our initial impression of Cambodia; we could see this was going to be a very interesting country. Even though we had travelled less that 100 miles up stream from Vietnam, we could already see the subtle changes of our new environment. The people looked a little different, the markets smelled a little different and the food tasted a little different. Deep fried tarantula, anyone?

Cat & Mouse

2009-03-27T19:24:00.000-07:00

Day 67: An Binh (VN) – Chau Doc (VN). Arriving in the little Mekong port of Chau Doc, Karen and I were totally exhausted. Whilst some of our tiredness could be attributed to our lack of sleep from the previous night the main factor was the sheer effort of travelling in these remote areas having left the luxury of the rail network and sealed roads long behind us.

Looking back to our earlier travelling on the Trans Siberian Express, we were clocking up as many as 900 miles in a single day. But our latest journey across the Mekong Delta from Ho Chi Minh City, a distance of just over 200 miles, had taken us two solid days of travelling to accomplish and had necessitated the use of: 1 service bus; 6 motor bikes; 2 passenger ferries; 3 mini buses; 2 junk boats, 1 rowing boat and a 5 mile hike. No wonder we were shattered!

Passing Phoenix Island, we learned of it's most famous resident - the 'Coconut Monk'', so named because of his single food diet. However, besides the monks obvious eccentricities lay a serious side; promoting reunification of the northern and southern Vietnamese people through peaceful means, infuriating successive South Vietnamese governments and leading to his imprisonment on several occasions. Such were his beliefs that he used to cage cats and mice together to prove his theory that arch adversaries can learn to get along together. “He obviously never met our cats”, Karen joked. “Putting Huffkin & Chudleigh in a cage with a load of mice would not be a good model for world peace!”

Charades

2009-03-26T23:13:00.000-07:00

Day 66: Ho Chi Minh City (VN) – An Binh (VN). “I think we'll audition for the Morden Players when we get back home!”, Karen quipped, referring to the village amateur dramatic society back in Steeple Morden and our new found acting and improvisation skills.

Leaving behind the chaos of Ho Chi Minh City we headed south, deep into the Mekong Delta: a watery landscape of green rice paddies and sleepy villages, everywhere criss-crossed by the brown canals and rivulets fed by the mighty Mekong River. The further we travelled – the more remote our environment. By nightfall Karen and I had reached the tiny island of An Binh were we were fortunate enough to find a room with Tam Tien and his family. During the Vietnam War (or American War as they call it here), both Tam and his wife had been freedom fighters for the Viet Cong, but with the coming of peace they took to fruit farming and settled in the delta to raise their family of three sisters and one brother.

And now as the evening took hold and with dinner out of the way, we sat out on the terrace with Guyen, one of Tam's daughters trying to understand a little more about each other; even though our Vietnamese was confined to 'hello', 'thank you' and 'two beers please', and Guyen's English, whilst certainly more advanced that our Vietnamese, was still fairly rudimentary.

We filled the table with every prop imaginable to help our fragmented conversations: a map of Vietnam, photographs of our life back in Steeple Morden, digital images of our travels so far, a bowl of fruit and here and there; pages torn from a notebook containing symbolic scribblings of anything that we felt would assist with our communication.

But even with all of this, it was our two hour marathon of 'charades' that made the evening so entertaining (Karen does a wicked cow, indecently!). Amongst other things we learnt about our hosts we discovered that Guyen was 36 years old and was looking for a tall, dark, strong, handsome husband with lots of money and between the age of 40 and 45 (not too particular then!)

As we retired for the night we were reminded of just how rural our host's farm was. Between the insatiable appetite of the Mekong mosquito's, the swarm of cockroaches that got in to our room courtesy of an ill fitting bedroom door and the rat pack that spent most of the night scratching at our door, neither Karen nor I got very much sleep at all that night!

S...S...Saigon. Saigon!

2009-03-25T22:23:00.000-07:00

Day 65: Ho Chi Minh City (VN). Back in 1985, as an undergraduate at Manchester Polytechnic, I was a bit of an arrogant little herbert. Committed to pretty much every environmental and left wing issue of the day – you name it I had the badge stuck to my rainbow braces – Ban the Bomb, Save the Whale, Free Mandela, I even had one for the Tufty Club! And so when Paul Hardcastle released his anti-war song, '19', it was right up my street. Thinking back though, as I listened to the jukebox in the student union bar 24 years ago, I never dreamt that I would one day visit the city encapsulated in the lyrics of that number one hit.

And in those 24 years, things have changed here beyond recognition. For a start, the city is now called Ho Chi Minh (although in reality everyone, with the exception of government officials, still refer to the place as Saigon!). It has an electric, near palpable energy - Vietnam's largest metropolis and undisputed capital of commerce.

Arriving here in the blistering heat (35C and 60% humidity), the first thing we noticed (apart from the heat!) was the incredible amount of traffic - eclipsing even Hanoi! In addition to the usual cars, buses and trucks, in excess of three million motorcycles fly around these streets. Trying to cross one junction, Karen and I counted over 300 bikes, 20 abreast, waiting to give it full throttle as the lights changed to green. Scary stuff!

Trying as best we could to shelter from the blast furnace that was Saigon in the springtime we had a relaxing day successfully mixing cultural activities (Reunification Palace, Notre Dame Cathedral & War Remnants Museum) with not so cultural activities (Beef-Burgers, Onion Rings & Peanut Butter Smoothies!)

As the sun set behind the tall skyscrapers of the financial district the advent of night did nothing to alleviate the scorching temperatures. Already hot and sweaty we dined on Pho – Vietnam's favourite street food consisting of hot chicken and noodle soup with added chillies and spices. Steaming!

Free Market Communism

2009-03-24T16:28:00.000-07:00

Day 64: Cat Tien National Park (VN) – Ho Chi Minh City (VN). I must admit, I don't quite get communism. I mean, I understand the principles well enough, but I just don't see how it works in practice. Take the buses in Vietnam for instance: In paradox to the country's ideology, the bus service operates in a seemingly unregulated free market, with each bus competing against each other. Whilst this provides a great deal for passengers, sometimes, from our western perspective, it can also cause pandemonium!

The beauty of Cat Tien was such that we could have easily spent another three or four days there. But unfortunately, our Vietnamese visas were due to expire in less than a week and with a substantial distance still to cover before we reached the Cambodian border, we needed to continue with our journey.

Jumping aboard a couple of moto's at the Park entrance we soon reached Highway 20 where Karen and I hoped to flag a bus down to take us to our next destination. We were not disappointed. Within 10 minutes three buses had stopped and offered us a ride, their attendants nearly coming to blows with each other to secure our business. And whilst we watched their animated arguments in the middle of the road from the relative safety of the pavement, the price of our passage just kept falling: 250,000... 200,000... 150,000 dong – and that was without us even uttering a single word!

Having made our choice of transport, Karen and I loaded our backpacks on to the little mini-bus at the rear of the three-some and watched as the other two buses sped away. Fearing that the competition would have the pick of potential customers at the next town, the red mist descended for our driver. Setting off in hot pursuit - at speeds well in excess of 100kmh - he finally caught up with his adversaries and then, in a moment of apparent madness, overtook the leading mini-bus at the exact moment it was already overtaking a truck – and to make matters worse this entire triple decker manoeuvre was conducted on a blind bend with oncoming traffic. Completely insane!

Reaching La Nga we trawled the back streets of town looking for prospective passengers to join our merry band. Spotting a young Vietnamese lady by the side of the road, our attendant used all of his charm and wit to entice her on to our bus, but with little success. Undeterred, and keen to add to his passenger list, the attendant decided the best way forward was to man-handle her on the bus 'hijack style'. I'm sure to this day that she only popped out for a packet of fags – the next thing she knew she was on the way to Ho Chi Minh City. Poor woman!

Blood Suckers

2009-03-23T18:53:00.000-07:00

Day 63: Cat Tien National Park (VN). If you're anything like me, it doesn't matter how long you go away for, be it a weekend or a month I always forget to take something. Usually it's leaving my glasses on the kitchen table or forgetting to pack my handkerchief. But today, in Cat Tien National Park I realised that we didn't have any leech socks. What were we going to do?

The truth of the matter was, before arriving here, I didn't even know what leech socks were, but as we set off on our 10km hike to Crocodile Lake the Ranger insisted we wear some (fortunately for us, we managed to rent a pair at the park office). And this wasn't some kind of namby-panbyism. Two miles into our hike through the dense, moist jungle both both Karen and I had a number of the little suckers trying to bite through our boots and protective leggings to get the our tasty warm blood!

For me, with my irrational fear of spiders and stinging insects this really was life on the edge! The jungle was teaming with every form of life you could possibly imagine. Under every stone, a palm sized arachnid. Wasps the size of dragonflies and malaria infested mosquito's at every turn -all desperately wanting us both for lunch.

But you know, I wouldn't have missed this for the world. Even reaching the lake, watching pied kingfishers and ospreys hunt for food, I was actively looking forward to the walk back through the jungle: To feel the heat and the humidity. To smell the smells. To hear the reverberating jungle chorus. To witness nature's true glory.

Chatting to the Ranger by the lake, we received an interesting lesson on perception. Whilst discussing the incessant noise of the cicada's (huge locust like bugs), the Ranger had told us how good they were to eat. “Do you cook them first?”, Karen enquired with interest. The Ranger looked at us with total disgust, “Absolutely! No one would eat raw cicada's!”. Proving that whether something feels acceptable or not depends on your perception of what 'normality' is in the first place!

Day 63: Total Mileage to Date: 13,202: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 9; Number of Transport Modes Used: 32, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +31C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Spring Clean

2009-03-22T21:53:00.000-07:00

Day 62: Da Lat (VN) – Cat Tien National Park (VN). Maybe it was the cooler climate of the Central Highlands, maybe it was the solitude of the Lang Bian mountains, or maybe it was the coming of spring. I don't know. But whatever it was, something clicked with Karen and me in Da Lat that made us look back on our scribblings of nearly a year ago to see how our trip was shaping up.

Taking out the crumpled piece of paper we eagerly read through the notes we both made in the Waggon & Horses all those months ago. “Have a story to tell: I think we'll do that”, Karen said, “Challenging: Definitely; Culturally diverse: Absolutely; Live & travel like locals: I think we'll achieve that”, she continued. “Outside our comfort zone and Simple existence. Hmm, maybe we need to think a bit more about those two.” She was right. Whilst our trip through Asia, had been an unforgettable experience, the low cost of living had made it just too easy for us to opt for soft options: An air conditioned bus here, a pre-booked hotel there.

With six weeks remaining before we reached Bangkok, now was to time to push ourselves just that little bit further. That meant exchanging the travel guide for a good map; packing our sandals and dusting off our hiking boots.

We had read of the beauty of the Cat Tien National Park but has dismissed it as being just too remote. But now, with our new found energy, we were determined to get there whatever it was going to take.

“Cat Tien?”, Karen pointed to the huge expanse of green on our map. The lady at the bus station shook her head, but in typical Vietnamese fashion we soon had a crowd around us trying to help. A middle aged lady in a long dress and conical hat pointed us in the direction of a small mini-bus ready to depart. It didn't go to the Park but the driver could drop us off along his route which would put us within 25km of the entrance.

We gladly accepted the offer and were hurried on to the bus: In itself, an experience: Apart from people, the seats were occupied by animals, bird cages, sacks of rice and one lady even brought her motorbike aboard at Bao Doc and parked it in the aisle! Five hours later, the driver dropped us off at little town of Tan Phu. Unsure of how were going to cover the next part of our journey, we soon found ourselves at the centre of a huddle of inquisitive locals wanting to know where we were from and where we were going.

Two of the locals offered to take us to the park on the back of their mopeds, which after the customary price haggling, we agreed to do for the princely sum of 120,000 dong (about £2.50 each). Loaded with full backpacks, Karen and I clung on for dear life as our maniac drivers raced each along the twisty jungle roads at speeds approaching 80kmh, desperately trying to get their knee down, until we reached the Dong Nai river and the end of the road. From here we managed to get a raft to take us across the swollen river to the entrance of Vietnam's most beautiful wilderness area, home to the Javan Rhinoceros – one of the rarest mammals on the planet.

“I think my rider thought he was Valentino Rossi”, I joked to Karen as we approached the Ranger Station to enquire about accommodation in the Park. I don't think she heard me though – my voice was completely drown out by the deafening sound of cicada's in the surrounding trees. You know, today really felt like travelling.

Solitude

2009-03-21T20:36:00.000-07:00

Day 61: Da Lat (VN). Thoroughly exhausted by a combination of the altitude, the heat and humidity, Karen and I took a well earned rest 200 meters from the summit of Lang Bian. Neither of us said a word. Dappled sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of the rain forest high above us. The jungles echoed to the chattering of a thousand species. The intense heat enveloped us. It was just us and the jungle. Magical!

Fantastic though our experiences in Asia had been, we had found it extremely difficult to find our own space. It didn't matter how hard we tried to 'get away from it all', there always seemed to be somebody around the next corner trying to sell us a bamboo raft, a slice of pineapple or some fake Ray-Ban's! Today though, in 30 degree heat, on our 10 mile hike to the top of a 2,169 meter volcano, we finally found the piece and solitude we had been searching for.

Such was our elation that even the death of our camera (thank goodness for backups!) and the disintegration of Karen's boots (thank goodness for gaffer tape!) couldn't detract from our day.

Despite our sense of achievement, trying to make conversion over an early dinner proved to be extremely difficult for both of us. The heat and the exertion of the day had completely floored us - all it took was a single beer and we were both nodding off over our beef and vegetable noodles. By 8.30, as Da Lat started to shape up for an energy filled Saturday night, we were tucked up in bed counting zeds. Party Animals!

Rolling Stones

2009-03-20T19:57:00.000-07:00

Day 60: Nha Trang (VN) – Da Lat (VN). For some, Nha Trang would have been paradise. Coconut palms fringed a golden sandy beach, lapped by warm azure waters and bamboo huts provided shade for an afternoon cocktail or two. Some may have questioned why we didn't just end our travelling right there and then and drink pina colada's on the beach for the next seven weeks.

But beautiful though this place was - Nha Trang wasn't for us. Here, the tourists outnumbered the locals, cocktails came before culture and 5 star hotels and gourmet restaurants prevailed over the simpler hostels and street food that we were used to. Nha Trang had very little to offer us in our quest for knowledge – knowledge about Vietnam, it's people and knowledge about ourselves.

So like the proverbial rolling stone we were on the move again. “Let's leave the coast, an travel inland”, Karen suggested in an attempt to get away from the touristy feel we had adopted since our arrival in Hoi An a few days previously. A quick look at the map pointed us in direction of the Central Highlands and the Troung Son Mountain range. At an elevation of 1,475 meters lay Da Lat, affectionately know as the City of the Eternal Spring due to its cooler climate and lush green vegetation. Hours later, we were winding our way through tricky mountain passes on our way to our next horizon.

Limbo

2009-03-19T17:01:00.000-07:00

Day 59: Qui Nhon (VN) – Nha Trang (VN). Whilst lazing about on a sun lounger under a bamboo shade on a white sandy beach may seem like a great way to spend an afternoon, for Karen and me it was just a way to catch up on some much needed sleep.

Boarding the packed overnight sleeper bus in Hoi An, we got the last two remaining seats. 12 hours later, we realised why these should be the last tickets to sell! Sleeper buses in Vietnam are a great concept: About 30 fully reclining chairs arranged as single file bunks along both sides of the bus. At the back; a row of ten 'beds' were split over two levels and it was here, on the bottom tier,, that Karen and I tried our best to make ourselves comfortable for our long journey southwards.

Shoulder to shoulder in cramped conditions, the five of us lay there, the restricted headroom making it impossible for any of us to sit up. The lack of lighting and the gloom created by the bulkhead created an atmosphere of darkness and the inappropriate air conditioning made it hot and sweaty. For the first time in my life, I felt I could really empathise with those tinned sardines!

Most interestingly of all though was the procedure for getting into and out of our seats. Restricted by the close proximity of our fellow travellers and the inability to sit upright, we were left with no choice but to perform a strange animated limbo dance every time we wanted to move. Great entertainment!

As the first light of day started to cast long shadows along Nha Trang's 5 mile stretch of pristine beach, the bus made its final stop and our night of discomfort was over. Undecided whether to spend our day sightseeing or lounging about drinking cocktails – the margarita's won by two clear votes to none.

Suits You, Sir!

2009-03-18T16:47:00.000-07:00

Day 58: Hoi An (VN) – Qui Nhon (VN). You know, I have always fancied the idea of owning my own tailor made suit, but somehow never seemed able to justify the indulgence. But with Hoi An being Vietnam's Saville Row at Camden Market prices, it was going to be now or never.

Awash with boutiques offering bespoke tailoring services using the finest materials and the highest quality workmanship, Hoi An's trader's can make anything for anybody in a fraction of the time.

Wandering into Indochine Silk with the sun beginning to set behind the old Japanese Bridge, Karen and I were presented with over 1,000 fabrics to choose from and as many styles for our apparel as the catalogues on the large wooden table and our own imagination and creativity could muster. Two or three attentive staff crowded around us taking every conceivable measurement you could think of and within an hour, they were ready to start work on their overnight marathon in preparation for our first fitting at 11am the next day.

For the equivalent of about £90 we were the Belles of the Ball (if only we had a ball to go to!). For Karen; a little hand made chiffon and silk number ($35) and a hand made flared cotton summer skirt ($18). For me a hand made suit in cashmere and wool, lined with local silk ($62); a hand made cotton shirt ($12); a hand made silk tie with matching cuff links ($3).

End to end; a truly memorable experience, although I was a little disappointed not to be asked that archetypal tailors question “On which side do you dress, sir”. Perhaps my large frame had made the answer to that question patently obvious to my female attendants, I pondered to Karen. “You wish!”; the response I received.

Helpless Addicts

2009-03-17T21:38:00.000-07:00

Day 57: Hoi An (VN). “The only regrets you have in life are the things you don't do”, said Karen reciting our own life mantra. It was that philosophy that brought us on our travels in the first place but here we were, sat on a beach in tropical Vietnam, having gorged ourselves on fresh seafood, contemplating the possibilities for our next trip. The 'Road to Bangkok' was supposed to have been a one off; the fulfilment of our long-time travelling ambition. But just like the prawns, once we had acquired the taste, we just wanted more and more. We were helplessly addicted.

Wandering around the Hoi An was like walking through a living museum. A thriving sea port in the 17th Century, the town took its influence from the fusion of Japanese, Chinese, Indian and European cultures provided by the assembly of international merchants that prospered here so successfully. This, combined with the underlying French architecture, made the place feel much more like a sleepy Mediterranean fishing village than any other Vietnamese (or for that matter Asian) town that we had previously visited.

Down on the wharf, a constant stream of small boats came and went; unloading their bounty of fresh seafood from these plentiful waters. As fast as the catch could be brought ashore it was whisked away to serve the many beach bars and restaurants along this stunning coast. And Karen and I were not far behind! Seeking out some of the largest, freshest, tastiest, (and cheapest!) prawns we had ever tasted. Yummm!

'R & R'

2009-03-16T19:05:00.000-07:00

Day 56: Hue (VN) – Hoi An (VN). “My God, this country's beautiful”, I exclaimed as we drove south from Hue towards the sleepy town of Hoi An. On previous travels, Karen and I have been fortunate enough to experience some of the most beautiful coastal drives on the planet: Big Sur, Kalbarri, the Cape & Kerry to name but a few. But after today, there was a new contender on the block: Vietnam's Highway number 1; a scenic , if at times hair raising, trip through some of the most stunning coastal and mountainous region in the country.

Notching up transport mode number 30, the local sleeper bus provided us with an elevated position to view the scenery: On our right hand side, still lagoons, buffalo herders, tiny villages and striking mountain ranges rising up into the afternoon mist, on our left; rugged coastline, golden beaches and the blue expanse of the South China Sea.

Relishing the opportunity to get sand between our toes, we took a stroll along the deserted My Khe beech to the south of the Danang. During the Vietnam war this 20 mile stretch of golden sands became known as 'China Beach' – an Edenic respite from the hell of combat where thousands of American G. I.'s spent their leave. Years later, millions of television viewers tuned in to the acclaimed 1980s television drama with the same name depicting the famed U.S. Army R. and R. base.

Today, their were no G. I.'s and there were no army bases. It was just Karen and me, a lady selling sea-shells, the sand and the sea. This was our Rest and Relaxation.

Day 56: Total Mileage to Date: 12,512: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 9; Number of Transport Modes Used: 30, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +26C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Prima Donna

2009-03-15T19:03:00.000-07:00

Day 55: Ninh Binh (VN) – Hue (VN). “Bit like a 19th century Maria Carey, then?”, I suggested to Karen, trying to relate to the Prima Donna antics of Emperor Tu Duc. Apparently, it is said that he insisted on 50 dishes to be prepared by 50 cooks and served by 50 servants at every meal. On top of that his tea had to be made from the dew that accumulated on leaves overnight. Not too demanding then!

Travelling by noisy and rather dirty overnight sleeper train from Hanoi (we used our 'anti bed bug sleeper sacks' for the first time tonight!), we had arrived at Hue; the intellectual, cultural and spiritual heart of Vietnam. Serving as the political capital under the 13 emperors of the Nguyen dynasty, its crumbling citadel had achieved Unesco World Heritage status and formed the scene of our afternoon's wanderings.

At the heart of the citadel, the Forbidden Purple City (Tu Cam Thanh) formed the private residence of the emperor, where apart from the man himself, this are was off-limits to all but concubines and eunuchs. Fortunately for Karen and me, things had changed some-what and we were both welcomed with open arms.

Ravished not only by time but from the violence that ensued in the Vietnam war, Tu Cam Thanh is in a state of severe decay. Walking around these peaceful streets and witnessing all of these smiling faces, it was hard to believe that in 1972 these streets saw some of the worst fighting of the war. With the Viet Cong entrenched inside the old citadel, the emperors palace was bombarded by American mortar fire as the city echoed to the rat-a-tat-tat of sub-machine exchanges.

Birthday Girl

2009-03-14T17:44:00.000-07:00

Day 54: Hanoi (VN) – Ninh Binh (VN). Even when you're on a tight budget, you need to let your hair down out and give yourself a treat every now and then. And with Karen entering the last year of her thirties – what better excuse did we need? So today we forgot about trying to find a meal for under $5, we put on our glad rags on (jeans and trainers anyway) and went in search of the finest cuisine Hanoi could over. And thanks in part to the Lonely Planet (what else!) we found it, in the shape of the 'Wild Lotus' restaurant

And this wasn't just a good restaurant just by Hanoi standards, this was a fine restaurant even by west-end standards and with a comprehensive wine list including a 1995 Chateau Margeux Grand Cru at £1,000 a bottle (yes, that was British pounds and not Vietnamese dong!), this was the Le Manoir Aux Quat'Saisons of Vietnam. Indeed, such was the exclusivity of this lovely restaurant we were the only diners – but that didn't stop us enjoying our 10 course meal (washed down with bottles of beer because we couldn't afford any of the wine on the menu). The whole affair costing a cool million (this time however, I am talking Vietnamese dong rather than British pounds!)

Apart from the obvious quality of the food, the other noticeable difference between this and some of the other restaurants we had frequented in the Vietnamese capital was the apparent absence of rats. Vietnam as a whole has a big problem with rodent infestation which Khanh had detailed to us during our motorcycling tour. His view on the problem stemmed from the countries decision to round up all of the cats and sell them to China for food. Huffkin and Chudleigh – aren't you so pleased you live in your nice warm house in the UK and not in South East Asia?

Chicken Tonight

2009-03-13T18:12:00.000-07:00

Day 53: Phu Yen (VN) – Hanoi (VN). Ahead of us; the evening sun was low in the sky sending long shadows along the dusty road following a hard but extremely exhilarating day in the saddle. We were less than 5 miles from base-camp and I was already dreaming of a cool beer to soothe my parched throat. Back in the UK, they say this is statistically the most likely time to have an accident; when you lower your guard after a days ride out. Motorcycling takes complete concentration and if you don't give it 100% you are in the lap of the gods. Today the Gods were not on my side. Today, I had my first motorcycling accident in over five years of riding. Today, in Vietnam.

Entering Mai Chau, a group of children came to the roadside to wave their hello's and I was only too happy to reciprocate. To my left a lone buffalo walked along the side of the road and ahead of me to my right, a couple of chickens scratched around in the dirt. Ordinarily, my focus would have been with the animals but that evening, to my detriment the children took the best share of my attention. As I drew along side the birds, something in their minuscule brains must have clicked, and they both decided that it would be a cracking idea to play 'chicken' with the bike. Despite my best avoidance techniques, I couldn't stop quickly enough and with an explosion of feathers I struck the first rooster . As the bike continued over the bird, it's animated 'cock-a-doodle-doing' was soon silenced.

Whilst this may have signalled a permanent end to the chicken's problems, it was only the start of mine. With the front wheel now in in the air and the bike unsteady from the action of my sudden breaking, I couldn't prevent it falling away to the right. Hitting the road we slid for about 20 meters of so leaving a path of broken glass and bits of dashboard to mark our progress. My helmet crashing into the hard road surface marked the victory of friction over momentum as a cloud of dust and feathers filled the still evening air.

Behind me, I could here the commotion as a dozen or so local women came running from their little bamboo houses to the scene of the accident. Still trapped under the bike, I was pretty sore from my encounter with the road, but I knew I was fundamentally OK so me-thinks I'd get a little sympathy and perhaps some TLC. So I lay there. ...And I lay there. ...And no one came!

Glancing over my shoulder, I caught sight of the women, crowded around the deceased bird fighting over ownership of the remains! Whilst this melee continued an old man came to my rescue and helped resurrect both me and the bike. By the time Karen and Khanh arrived at the scene, the women's dispute appeared to be over and an old lady disappeared in to her traditional village house clutching the lifeless chicken by it's legs.

“Look on the bright side”, Karen said trying to cheer me up, “At least you provided that family with a good meal tonight!”. Try as I may, I found it extremely difficult to share in their new found happiness!

Premature

2009-03-12T23:16:00.000-07:00

Day 52: Pom Coong (VN) – Phu Yen (VN). “I may have peeked too soon!”, I exclaimed to Karen, anxiously”. Karen said nothing, but continued to stare at the ceiling of our bedroom of the little guest house in the small town Vietnamese mountain town of of Phu Yen. Of course I was referring to my travel writing.

Whilst there were many advantages to keeping a daily log of our travels, 'real-time' writing didn't really give us the time to reflect on the overall experience of our adventure. And therein lay my current dilemma: We had enthused about Russia, we had warmed to Mongolia, we had been captivated by China – but then we had arrived in Vietnam – and this place absolutely knocked our socks off!

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that we thought any less of our fabulous experiences in the previous countries, and we wouldn't have changed anything about our itinerary. It was just that by the time we arrived in Vietnam, I had already exhausted all of the superlatives available in my relatively limited vocabulary and so I had nothing else to give. I had no way to describe Vietnam. You'll all just have to come here and take a look for yourselves.

The motorcycles were adding further to our enjoyment of this beutiful country and the mountain scenery that lay before us - in my opinion, the most involving form of mechanised transport available. For on a motorcycle you don't just pass through the countryside, you are part of it. All five senses are acutely tuned to your environment, allowing you to experience so much more than travelling by car or bus. And the further we got into the mountains, the more like celebrities we felt as whole communities came out to wish us well, each village dressed according to their ethic origin. “We have 58 hill tribes in these mountains”, Khanh said with a great deal of pride. He went on to enquire “How many tribes do you have in England?”. “Err...Just the one, really”, Karen replied with a smile.

Long Way Round

2009-03-11T20:29:00.000-07:00

Day 51: Hanoi (VN) – Pom Coong (VN). Drawing closer to the truck, I became smothered in clouds of dust and diesel as it struggled to make head way against the steep incline. The road bent to the left giving a perfect view of what lay ahead. I stabbed the gear lever with my left foot, the bike responding immediately, propelling me past the first truck and then a second. In front of me Karen disappeared from view as the mountain pass snaked sharply to the right. I gave a little push on the inside bar and the bike instantly banked to the right, narrowing the radius of the turn. As the sun emerged from the other side of the mountain, the apex of the bend came clearly into view, allowing me to give it a little more gas - instantly, the bike stood up and I had Karen in my sights once again. We were riding motor cycles through the mountainous jungle region of North Vietnam and we were having an absolute hoot (you all knew we would didn't you?)

Having left Hanoi shortly after rush hour, Khanh our Vietnamese guide for the next three days, quickly got us on the the quiet back roads to the North of the capital city. Riding through sleepy villages, rice paddies and untouched rain forest, the bikes provided the best possible perspective to view this stunning landscape. Far from the beaten track we seemed to be the star attraction in every village we entered: Children waving hysterically, adults smiling their friendly hellos and other bikers nodding appreciatively.

With all this attention, it was easy for Karen and I to become complacent, but these roads needed absolute concentration. In addition to the usual biking dangers , poor road surfaces and roaming livestock at every turn gave these road an extra challenge. Indeed, such were the conditions, that after 6 hours solid riding we had covered just a little over 100 miles, a distance that would have taken about an hour on our bikes back in the UK (Sorry, officer I meant 2 hours!)

Eventually though, after perhaps the most memorable day of our trip so far, we arrived at the little village of Pom Coong, where our guide had arranged for Karen and I to be the guests of the Chung family, simple farmers belonging to the Muong hill tribe. Their traditional wooden stilt house overlooking the rice fields provided the perfect place for us to catch our breath, try some delicious home cooked Vietnamese food and drink a glass or two of rice wine whist we listened to the hypnotic sound of the jungle as day gradually gave way to night.

Bananas

2009-03-10T15:16:00.000-07:00

Day 50: Halong Bay (VN) – Hanoi (VN). “Maybe we can enter Thailand at Poipet, then go from into Laos and then re enter at the border crossing near Vientianne” I said, spreading some more strawberry jam on to my slice of toast.

The sailing junk continued on its course through the bay while Karen and I tucked into to a hearty breakfast. We listened intently to our French shipmates, Stephanie and Fred recounting their travelling tales from 8 months on the road taking in South America, New Zealand, China and now, Indo-China.

Since leaving England back in January, the Thai government in it's wisdom had decided to change it's immigration rules for European nationals which was now affecting all of our travel plans, hence the hot topic of our early morning conversation.

In a seemingly money motivated move aimed at hitting backpacking travellers, whilst protecting the higher spending tourists, visa durations had been halved for those crossing a land border rather than flying in to the country. In addition, the rules around multiple entries had been revised, which from what we understood, was causing no end of confusion and injustice at the various border control points. On top of all that, the UK and French Foreign Offices were also warning their citizens not to use the land borders at Chong Jom or Choam Sa-Ngam due to the levels of tensions between the Thai and Cambodian military. “Take no notice of that”, Fred said. “It's just governments being over protective”. Maybe he was right, I thought.

Now I'm no politician and I don't claim to know anything about macro economics, but it seems to me that when close on ten per cent of a countries gross domestic product is generated from tourism and with the world in financial meltdown, the last thing you would want to do as a government would be to drive away dollars, euros and pounds. But that was precisely what this new directive was going to do.

Clearly, this was going to affect our plans, but we didn't know how. And right now, the truth of it was we didn't really care. We were in Vietnam, and Thailand was weeks away yet. “Pass the sun tan lotion, can you Karen!”

PS If you happen to be a Thai border control guard reading this, we'd like you to know how much Karen and I are looking forward to meeting you and visiting your wonderful country. I do hope you didn't mind our little joke about your government – I'm sure they know what they're doing really!. You do have a sense of humour, right!?

By the Seaside

2009-03-09T17:52:00.000-07:00

Day 49: Hanoi (VN) – Halong Bay (VN). “It's a turtle. No, no, wait. That's the bear. Or maybe it's the lion!?”, I suggested to Karen, clearly bemused by the gigantic stalagmite formations in Sung Sot Cave that were supposed to resemble the form of magical animals.

After two and a half days at the mercy of Hanoi's acrid pollution we were in need of some fresh air and with the Gulf of Tonkin a (relatively) short bus ride away, Karen and I decided the best way to clear our nasal passages would be to take a trip to the seaside.

7 weeks had passed since we last saw the sea and that was on the opening day of our voyage whilst crossing the North Seas from Harwich. But gazing out over Halong Bay from the decks of our Vietnamese Sailing Junk, the panorama felt like a million miles away from the Suffolk coast rather than the eleven thousand or so that we had actually travelled to be there. Around 3,000 incredible islands rose from the emerald waters – a priceless collection of unfinished sculptures hewn from the hand of mother nature. Untouched white sandy beaches awaited discovery by anyone who cared to explore them and a flotilla of small fishing junks completed this idyllic scene.

And here we were aboard this beautiful hand crafted wooden boat - our home for the next two days, sailing across the Unesco rated World Heritage Site: Taking in the scenery, exploring the caves and getting our hair wet. With the sun setting behind the gigantic limestone monoliths, we tucked into a seafood buffet, shared a drink or two with our fellow travellers and listened to the sound of the waves lapping against the shore. Does it get any better than this?

Day 49: Total Mileage to Date: 11,567: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 9; Number of Transport Modes Used: 26, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +22C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Weasel Words

2009-03-08T21:01:00.000-07:00

Day 48: Hanoi (VN). Steam filled the air as the early morning sun burned away the overnight rains. Through the mist, a well ordered crowd of several thousand people filed by to pay their respects to their cultural and spiritual leader. We had witnessed a similar thing in Red Square for Lenin, in Tiananmen for Mao. Now we were in Vietnam, it was the turn of Ho Chi Minh.

The Vietnamese are a fascinating and intriguing people, having earned their stripes in successive skirmishes with the world's mightiest powers during most of the second half of the 20th Century: First it was the French, then the Japanese, then the French again, then civil war, then the might of Uncle Sam, then civil war again, then Cambodia and then China...

But as Karen and I watched over a large party of school children at the Ho Chi Minh Memorial Complex, all we could see was an incredibly friendly and upbeat nation that wanted to move on from the past. It appears that all Vietnam's new generation want is a place to succeed. A place to have fun.

Taking time out to soak up the atmosphere we stopped by a café in the Old Quarter and at the recommendation of our hosts ordered a cup of 'Weasel coffee'. The beverage finished we enquired as to the origin of the unusual name (always a dangerous thing to do after you've drunk something!) Our waiter was only too pleased to tell us that this was a special blend of coffee where the beans are selected and fed to a certain species of weasel, which in turn passes the beans through in its excrement which are then ground – hence the unique flavour! “Oh, well. Look on the bright side”, I said to Karen, “At least we haven't got the job of collecting the beans from the weasel!!”

Steroids

2009-03-07T18:59:00.000-08:00

Day 47: Hanoi (VN). If aliens from another planet were to land in Hanoi, they could be forgiven for thinking that our planet was inhabited by motorcycles and not by people - such are the number of two wheeled vehicles that swarm the streets of the Old Quarter of Vietnam's capital city. “I thought the traffic in Mongolia and China was bad!”, I shouted to Karen over the noise of the bikes, “But this place feels like Beijing on Steroids!”

Our travelling adventure just seemed to be getting better and better. Venturing out on to the streets of Hanoi, Vietnam seemed to us to be as culturally diverse compared to China as China had been to Russia. Different people, different food, different customs.

Two million motorcycles vie for position in Hanoi city providing personal transport for individuals, family transport (mum, dad, two children and a dog – not an uncommon site), taxis and commercial haulage (anything and everything; livestock, crates of beer, furniture, plate glass windows – you name it)! And today, as Karen and I tried to cross the road by Hoan Kiem Lake, it felt like every single one of them had taken to the streets to welcome us to this enchanting city! Such is the number of bikes and such is the poor standard of road craft that forty bikers a day die on these roads. However, despite those appalling statistics it actually felt like the most dangerous form of transport in this city happened to be walking (our chosen way of navigating the city!) It's not that there aren't any pavements – there are and they are very wide. The problem is you can't get to then because every square inch is covered with motorcycles!

Two things kept our sanity that day. The first was the intoxicating qualities of Vietnam's Xeo (rice wine): Available straight or fruity at 50p a glass. The second was Bia Hoi – the worlds cheapest street beer at just 25p a pint. You know, I think we're going to enjoy it here!

Apocalypse Now

2009-03-06T22:29:00.000-08:00

Day 46: Nanning (CN) – Hanoi (VN). “I hope we've got our sums right here otherwise we could have one enormous overdraft when we return home!”, I exclaimed as Karen pressed the confirm key on the ATM to withdraw 2 million Vietnamese Dong (hopefully, about £80!).

The early morning bus had taken us as far as the Chinese border and, as we had come to expect with anything Chinese, the formalities of exiting the country were dealt with in a very efficient and business like manner.

In stark contrast to the approach adopted by the Vietnamese immigration officials! Leaving the very clean and modern Chinese buildings we we whisked across the area of no-man's land between China and Vietnam on golf buggies (how cool is that!) to arrive at a very run down and dirty building with ageing timbers and a corrugated tin roof. Inside pandemonium ensued as we were processed by the army of laissez-faire officials. Unsure whether we had been the victims of a border scam, Karen and I had to pay the border guards for a medical certificate which consisted of us both having to tick a box confirming that we felt 'OK' on entering the country!

Catching the Hanoi bound bus on the Vietnamese side of the border the scenery was astonishing: With high mountains, terraced rice fields and palm trees, it felt like we were part of a scene from Apocalypse Now (maybe that was Marlon Brando we saw in that bar at the side of the road!). I watched the highway snake back and forth as the bus negotiated the narrow mountain passes, the sun glinting off the smooth asphalt,and started to think how wonderful it would be for Karen and I to ride these roads on our motorcycles. Two miles down the road however, we witnessed the remains of a bike that had come second place in an argument with a twenty-four ton truck. Closing my eyes settling down in my seat to get some rest before we reached Hanoi, I thought I should probably forget the idea. At least for now.

Delightfully Uninspiring

2009-03-05T18:01:00.001-08:00

Day 45: Nanning (CN). Billed by the Lonely Planet as '..hard to love due to its relentless urban sprawl...', there wasn't a great deal to commend us to the city of Nanning. There was no Great Wall to walk, no clay soldiers to uncover and no spectacular scenery to lose ourselves in. In fact, Nanning was as average and as uninspiring a city that you could possibly care to stumble upon. But we loved it.

We were here, not by virtue of what the city could offer, but by necessity as we planned our onward travel route through southern China right down to the Vietnamese border. But it was precisely these kind of non-eventful days that we had set about encountering before we embarked on our overland adventure. For Karen and I, these kind of days marked the difference between the 'travelling' we wanted to do and the 'break-neck tourism' that had traditionally formed the theme of our holidays. With nothing to do and no-where to go, today was all about chilling: Long lunches, window shopping and whiling the hours over a cup of the local tea - watching the world go by. Perfect!

And by taking time, even humdrum places like Nanning can prove to be fascinating. Well off of the tourist trail, this city and it's people were as 'Chinese' as it gets. Such was the complete lack of any western influence on the restaurant menus that Karen and I found it quite difficult to find anything we wanted to order - although, I'm sure in some part, that had to do with the literal translations used to help English ignoramus like us. For instance, I challenge anyone (western or eastern) to get enthused by the prospect of 'Miscellaneous Pig's Bits' or for anyone's digestive juices to start flowing when offered the delightful 'Mashed Frog in a Pot'!

Tropics

2009-03-04T15:32:00.000-08:00

Day 44: Yangshuo (CN) – Nanning (CN). “We could fly into Shanghai, go down to Yangshuo, then up to Lijiang and across to Lhasa”, I suggested. Karen wiped the condensation from the window of the bus with her hand, gave a small nod and watched the little town of Yangshuo disappear in to the distance.

So impressed were we with China, that here we were, less than half way through our current travelling adventure already talking about what we would do when we returned next time. China had provided everything we wanted from our travels: Culture, diversity, scenery, interesting people and great food. But alas, as we only had a few days remaining on our visas, we now had to start making our way to the border and planning our route out of the country.

Heading south on the daily service bus to the city of Nanning, we passed through the 23rd parallel of latitude putting us geographically into the Tropic of Cancer. Outside it was still drizzling and the temperature was a chilly 8C, but after our cold trip through China, we hoped that now we were in the tropics it would signify the start of warmer and sunnier weather to come.

Market Day

2009-03-03T16:54:00.000-08:00

Day 43: Yangshuo (CN). Enquiring of Lily, the best day to visit the travelling markets in the outlying villages of Yangshuo, we received the following reply: “Markets take place every third day, however , after the third market the next one is in four days not three but this doesn't happen in all towns – there are no markets on the 10th, 20, 30th and 31st of the month”. Miraculously, and by accident rather than design, we happened to stumble upon Xinngping on market day!

For these small communities the travelling markets are the social and economic highlight of the week but for Karen and me they provided a fascinating way to while away a few hours and an opportunity to learn a little bit more about the Guangxi region of China. Vibrant, bustling and noisy; the smell of fresh spices and cooking wafted through the air as we meandered through the lanes perusing the sellers wares.

From our western, point of view, the market provided a challenge to our own expectations: In what looked like the pet area, caged animals squawked and barked, only for us to realise we were actually walking down the food aisles. A local man loaded an 8 ft tree on to the back of his motorcycle while his wife rode pillion; clutching the weeks shopping and two live chickens under both arms. “It's only strange to us because it's different”, Karen said, wisely “Imagine what they would think if they came to England and saw us eating baked beans on toast and collecting the newspaper in our gas guzzling 4x4's”. I laughed, but she was absolutely right.

In need of lunch time refreshments we stumbled on a intriguing little café with a whole menagerie of live animals on the terrace: Snakes, chickens, pheasants and pigeons. Caged at the back of the shop were two of the most enormous bamboo rats we had ever seen; available fried or boiled. On this occasion we politely declined, and settled for a nice cup of jasmine tea!

Sanjie Liu

2009-03-02T23:46:00.000-08:00

Day 42: Yangshuo. I can't explain why, but some things just fuse together perfectly - like chocolate & chillies for instance or strawberries & black pepper. On the face of it, it sounds like a disgusting combination, but experience it first hand and it you know it just works. Deliciously!

And that's how it felt witnessing 'Impressions Sanjie Liu', Yangshuo's hottest show. Bringing together the polish and production of a Lloyd/Webber show, the artistic majesty of the Royal Ballet and the magic and glitz of Walt Disney. An unusual combination that shouldn't really work, but in this production directed by Chinese movie maker Zhang Yimou, it did. Perfectly, movingly and entertainingly.

Billed as a 'Folk Musical'' the performance was acted out in the dead of night on the Li River (yes, that's right, they performed on the Li River), with the gargantuan proportions that we had come to expect of anything Chinese. For a start the backdrop was provided by illuminating 12 of the surrounding karst peaks. Thrown in to the mix were 600 local fisherman, a similar number of local school children, a choir, the town ballet troupe, 100 bamboo rafts, half a dozen cows, a score of cormorants and more light bulbs, candles and dry ice than you can shake a stick at.

In an experience reminiscent of the Balshoi, Karen and I had been fortunate enough to witness in Moscow so many weeks ago this was a tear jerking event. Conducted entirely in Mandarin we were unable to understand the narrative, but as with the ballet it really didn't matter. The power of the dance, the music and the production was all we needed to bring our senses alive.

Tucking in to a late supper of fresh river shrimps and beer fish we both enthused about the evening's entertainment. “I couldn't believe the co-ordination of all of those dancers”, Karen said cheerfully. “And the lights. Fantastic”.

The excellent food added to our high spirits. Since we arrived in China we hadn't had a bad meal. Sure, some dishes were better than others, and the food in each region of China varied extensively, but we had yet to order something that we didn't devour heartily. And the further south we appeared to travel in this huge country the more we seemed to enjoy it. A perfect evening all round.

Day 42: Total Mileage to Date: 10,899: Number of Time Zones Crossed: 9; Number of Countries Visited: 8; Number of Transport Modes Used: 23, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +15C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Picture Postcard

2009-03-01T20:32:00.000-08:00

Day 41: Yangshuo. A little out of breath after ascending the 1,251 stairs of the natural stone staircase leading to the top of Moon Hill, Karen and I fell silent. From our high vantage point, we were intoxicated by the dreamlike scenery that lay before us. In every direction - as far as the eye could see. All we could do was stand and stare.

The karst topography around Yangshuo is world famous, and such is it's beauty, it has become iconic with images of China. Soaring limestone peaks, rice fields, lazy rivers and tiny villages – the true face of rural China. The weather; cold and misty, somehow seemed to add to the atmosphere of this place and for the first time in days Karen and I forgot about our desires to head to warmer climes – right now, this is where we wanted to be.

Determined to see as much of Yangshuo's outlying countryside, Karen and I took to cycling, along country lanes and farm tracks, every bend in the road gave us a new picture postcard view, a new perspective to enjoy. So addictive was the scenery, so compulsive was the desire to 'let's just see what's down here' that we covered over 30km before our backsides started to complain about the levels of comfort offered by the rather narrow saddles of our rental bikes!

Inspired by the change of scenery, Karen bravely decided it was time for a change of hairstyle. Now, when I had my hair trimmed back in Beijing; getting over the language barrier was quite straightforward: I just pointed to the clippers and spaced a 3 millimetre gap with my fingers. But for Karen, it was a little more complicated. Clutching a piece of paper with some rudimentary Chinese phrases, meaning “Nothing off length, but layers” she sat down in the salon across from the hotel and thumbed through the pictures of a magazine looking for suitable Chinese hairs-styles. By this time she was causing quite a stir and a small crowd of local people gathered around as the stylist lobbed half her hair off with an implement resembling a machete. “It looks OK”, I said encouragingly as she emerged 1 hour later and £2 lighter. “I'm not sure about the back”, she replied hesitantly. “Perhaps I'll wait until we get home before I have it cut again!”

Bargain

2009-02-28T19:31:00.000-08:00

Day 40: Guilin (CN) - Yangshuo. “Two people, two bags. 30 Yuan. No more”, Karen insisted as if she were a local. The ticket seller nodded reluctant agreement and gestured for us to put our bags in the hold as the driver started the engine of the rickety old service bus.

Travelling in China, you can't help but relax, because everything takes so long. Buying a bus ticket for example – back home the price is the price; you pay the money and off you go. Here on the other hand, this simple task can lead to a protracted and articulated negotiation, so much so that we had just spent the last 15 minutes arguing over the equivalent of £1 Cracking sport though!

Climbing the steps on to the bus, the air was heavy with stale tobacco smoke as all public transport tended to be in China. So entwined into the culture is smoking that the act of refusing a cigarette can actually be a great insult to your host – which little faux pas, I managed to commit back in Chongqing, prior to learning this little nugget of cultural etiquette. My excuse that I didn't smoke, clearly was not a good enough reason not to have cigarette and for a moment, I thought I would encounter the full wrath of the Triads!

Arriving at Yangshuo, we were mobbed by hawkers trying to entice us to the many hostels and hotels. Luckily, we stumbled on the fantastic 'West Lily Hotel' proving that the adage 'You get what you pay for' is not always true. Easily, the best accommodation we had encountered so far on our journey, and at £3 a night for an en- suite room, also the cheapest. Bargain.

Chalk & Cheese

2009-02-27T21:39:00.000-08:00

Day 39: Wuhan (CN) – Guilin (CN). After almost 40 days into our adventure Karen and I had already learned a tremendous amount from our experiences. We had learned about travelling; learned about different people and cultures and learned about ourselves. I already knew for instance, that when our journey was over I wanted to continue living my life by the 'Travellers Philosophy', and that philosophy states “If it isn't working for you then change it and if changing it is not within your gift, then you shouldn't have been worrying about it in the first place!”. Today, proved an excellent application of our learnings.

After the frustrations of the previous day; the herding, the commercialism, the crowds and the cold we decided to change what we were doing and go back to what we knew best – travelling simply, independently and magically. Chalk & Cheese.

Chinese trains run four classes of accommodation and to help us get 'back to our travelling roots' we opted for a 'Hard Sleeper' (2nd class) ticket for the 15 hour journey down to Guilin. With this class, the carriages are arranged as an an open dormitory with about 70 bunk beds, giving us a chance to get to meet some new people on the way. We were soon taking to Lou-Lou a 25 year old Chinese lady who was making the trip south for a 'girlie' weekend with some of her colleagues from work. Seeming as genuinely interested in our story as we were in hers, one of the things she wanted to know was how my almost 6 foot frame was going to fit into the 5' 6” Chinese bunks! (the answer to that was it didn't and I slept all night with my ankles and feet hanging off the end of the bed!)

Stopping at Xianning, the station platform was awash with people trying to board a train bound for Shanghai. From our carriage window we looked across into the standard Hard Seat carriages of the train, jammed packed to overflowing – the lucky ones who had actually managed to secure one of the seats; but most people standing;, animals, birds in cages; it had the lot! “How long will those people have to stand like that”, inquired Karen. “To Shanghai”, Lou-Lou responded, “About 22 hours”. Never again will I complain if I can't get a seat between Kings Cross and Finsbury Park!

Gorged Out

2009-02-26T16:10:00.000-08:00

Day 38: Wushan (CN) – Wuhan (CN). Sometimes travelling can be hard work. Even when you living your life's dream you can still get those days when you think to yourself “There has to be a better way”, For me, today was one of those days.

Since we had been in China, people had told us about the beautiful riverine panorama of the Three Gorges and having reached Wushan by passenger ship, the only way that we now could find to view the Yangzi River's most fabled piece of geology was by joining one of the many organised tourist trips that sailed the gorges. Not just your average tourist trip though – this was a particularly tacky tourist trip in contrast to the way we wanted to travel. This form of travelling involved being herded through the sights without time for contemplation, it meant buying souvenirs rather than taking away lifetime memories, and it meant noise and crowds rather than peace and tranquillity. And on top of all of this, I was cold again! Even though we were at a latitude similar to that of the Canary Islands, the temperature was only just above freezing, a cold wind was blowing and I was back to wearing my thermals and my woolly hat.

But despite my annoyance and my resulting bad mood, nothing could dilute the outright natural beauty of the Qutang, Wu and Xiling gorges. Rising dramatically into view, their cliffs jutting out in jagged and triangular chunks rising to just under 3,000 feet tall; the peaks often disappearing into the ethereal layers of mist. Even with the constant plugs to 'buy the DVD' this made for an incredible experience.

Things got a little better over dinner though and I even managed to crack a smile. Sitting with a group of Chinese people on holiday from Beijing, they were concerned as to the whereabouts of our Tour Guide. When we explained that we didn't have a guide and we had travelled independently from England they appeared quite shocked. Their perception of 'foreigners' was they only ever travel in groups and always with a tour guide!

Slow Boat

2009-02-25T17:42:00.000-08:00

Day 37: Chongqing (CN) – Wushan (CN). For the same reasons that Karen and I had come to love travelling by train; boat travel offered the same stimulating and relaxingly adventure; the same change of perspective and pace. Only slower.

Perched on a couple of old plastic chairs just below the bridge of the Su Lie, Karen and I had the perfect vantage point to while away the morning and watch the scenery unfold as the passenger ship that was to be our home for the next couple of days, carefully navigated her way along the world's third and China's longest river. Huge modern cities, grimy towns, quaint villages, rice fields and mountain vistas, the Yangzi had them all. With the serenity and gentle motion of the ship, I closed my eyes to take a nap only to be rudely awakened by a long blast on the ships horn as another vessel crossed our bows. As with the roads in China, the rivers suffer the same levels of congestion as barges, cargo boats, passenger ships, cruise liners, pleasure craft and traditional fishing boats all vie for position.

As the boat meandered it's path along the river we made shore at Fengdu. As with the rest of China we were warmly welcomed, although as the only westerners aboard, we continued to provide a source of entertainment to the locals.

Taking our opportunity on dry land to browse the market stalls, Karen's eye was caught by a rather fetching cashmere jumper. Disappointed by the fact she didn't have it in Karen's size, the trader disappeared for a few minutes only to return with the same oversized jumper but this time with a different label denoting the size sown into it! Whether you call that superb customer service, opportunism or fraud – you've got to admire it.

Hotpot

2009-02-24T20:51:00.000-08:00

Day 36: Xi'an (CN) – Chongqing (CN). “Are you hot enough now?”, Karen enquired. Unable to speak, I simply nodded; beads of perspiration dripping from my brow, my eyes watering from the heat. But the source of my discomfort wasn't due to any meteorological phenomenon, it was down to our choice of lunch – Chongqing Hotpot; quite simply the spiciest dish I had every tasted!

Travelling through the night on the sleeper train from Xi'an, we awoke thoroughly refreshed after an excellent nights sleep thanks to the marvellous service provided on the Chinese trains; punctual, clean, inexpensive and efficient. Pulling the curtains back from the window, the sun streamed into our compartment and we gazed out on a very different China from the one that we had left in Xi'an. This was the China of high mountains, terraced rice fields, palm trees and small villages. Stunningly beautiful.

Arriving in Chongqing, we met up with a guy named 'John'', recommended to us by the hostel in Xi'an. He had managed to secure us a passage on a Chinese passenger ship, going as far as Yichang - 400 miles downstream on the mighty Yangzi River. From there we should be able to get a bus to Wuhan taking us in to the heart of the Hubei province.

So with the boat not sailing until much later that evening we had the whole day to acquaint ourselves with Chongqing, and in particular it's famous fiery dish that had caused me so much discomfort. Born on the banks of the Yangzi, Chongqing Hotpot was originally eaten by poor boatmen and is similar to a fondue only the cooking broth is heavily laced with fresh whole chillies and Sichuan spices. Such is the heat of this dish that we as 'soft westerners' were advised to dip our food in an infusion of sesame oils and garlic to take some of the heat out. Even with our 'wimps' cop out, the flavour of this food was mouth numbingly, eye wateringly, tongue blisteringly hot and so I shudder to think what the heat would be like if you opted for eating it the 'hard' Sichuan way!

Identity Parade

2009-02-23T21:47:00.000-08:00

Day 35: Xi'an (CN). “Oh, for a moment I thought those two were the same”, I said, trying to feign disappointment, “But if you look very closely, that ones moustache is slightly longer then the other ones and his hair is brushed a little differently”. I had to concede defeat: The archaeologists were right. There were 8,000 life size Terracotta Warriors stood before us and each one one had been lovingly crafted to be unique. Each one had its own individual facial expression – you could even say its own personality. Absolutely unbelievable!

It was my birthday, and this was the best birthday present I could ever have wished for. The opportunity to see first hand the remarkable excavations that had been uncovered in the eastern outer suburbs of Xi'an. Started in 246 BC, the army was crafted for, and buried with the the First Emperor of Qin to help him rule another empire in the afterlife. It is said that a workforce of some 700,000 worked on the construction of Qin's mausoleum over a period of about 35 years, many of which were executed and buried alongside the emperor so that their secrets would never be told.

Just like our visit to the Great Wall a few days previously, nothing could have prepared us for these sights. Sure, we'd seen the pictures in books and on the TV before we arrived, but it was the sheer scale of these sights that was really knocking our socks off.

In keeping with the day's theme, dinner and drinks were at the Park Qin, a Terracotta Army themed bar where a Chinese version of Eric Clapton belted out 'Wonderful Tonight' in between the piped Country & Western music whilst we were looked over by life-size terracotta statues wearing beanies, shades and sporting wispy beards. I know what you're thinking...but in a strange kind of way, it actually seemed to work (or maybe I had just had one too many birthday beers!) As 'Eric' took a break, I caught up with my emails and was completely overwhelmed by the kind words and birthday wishes I had received from our friends all over the world. And then I got to thinking – if only those people could have been with us that evening – then it would have been the best birthday ever imaginable.

So guys, if anyone fancies a Chinese - I know a super place, just off the South Gate. If you could join us, it really would be Wonderful Tonight!

Day 35: Total Mileage to Date: 9,171: Number of Time Zones Crossed: 9; Number of Countries Visited: 8; Number of Transport Modes Used: 17, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +15C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Travelling Dilemmas

2009-02-22T13:08:00.000-08:00

Day 34: Xi'an (CN). In the days before Karen and I decided to place our careers on hold to enhance our quality of life and to fulfil our travelling dreams, I used to be a successful manager for a major international retailer. One of the things I used to preach to my team was the premise that 'the only bad decisions they could was to not make a decision'. And here I sat – hesitating, floundering, procrastinating! I just didn't know what to do next.

Karen and I were chilling out on the well worn but comfortable sofas of the excellent Shuyan Hostel. Having made the move south to Xi'an in the search of warmer weather we were now trying to work out where to go next and had enlisted the help of some of our fellow travellers: “Go to Chengdu – you'll be able to hike the mountains to see the panda's”, one of our friends suggested. “No, Lhasa's were it's at – you can ride the highest railway on earth – 5,000 meters up!”, said another. “I wouldn't bother with that – Lijiangs is the place for travellers – head for the province of Yannan”, added a third.

The truth of the matter is China is such a massive country. You can quite easily travel this spectacular, culturally diverse country for a year or so and still end up wanting to see more. With all the opportunities that lay before us, we were in danger of falling in to our old habits and manically racing around to cover as much territory as possible. Fortunately Karen pulled us back from the brink, “Don't forget it's about quality not quantity”, she said with a smile. Of course she was right – this trip was about taking time to understand the people and the culture and we could only do that if we took it nice and easy.

At that moment, I also remembered David's 2nd law of management: 'If you're unsure of what to do – trust your gut instinct'. Earlier in our travels, Karen and I had talked of following a route through China that meandered around a line we had drew on the map connecting Beijing to Hanoi. So that would be our route. This time around there would be no pandas, no mountain railways and no travellers Mecca. But it didn't really matter. From what we had seen of China so far every bit was amazing - every town a fascinating experience, every person a source of enlightenment.

Karen shifted around on the sofa to face the travel desk. “We've decided now”, she said to the incredibly patient JieJie. “Two soft sleepers on the overnight train to Chongquing on Monday. Bottom bunks if you can get them, please”.

Wobble over. Our travelling plans were back on track.

Southbound Again

2009-02-21T22:37:00.000-08:00

Day 33: Beijing (CN) - Xi'an (CN). “Have you noticed, I seem to be wearing the same clothes in every single photograph”, Karen said, flicking through the pictures on the digital camera. To be honest, I hadn't really thought about it, but Karen was absolutely right: Every time you saw us we were decked out in the same outdoor coat, fleece, thick trousers, scarf, hat & boots – and it had been like that since Poland; that was the last place we encountered temperatures above freezing.

The experiences that we had gained in the cold of Siberia and Mongolia would stay with us for a lifetime, but right now, after a month of sub zero temperatures we just wanted to be a little warmer. To be able to put on a pair of jeans, to wear a pair of trainers maybe, and to have just one day where we no longer had to wear our thermals - would be sheer bliss!

Thumbing through the pages of the Lonely Planet guide, it seemed Xi'an would be our best bet. It was 750 miles further south of Beijing, but we could get there by overnight express sleeper train and googling the weather forecast, we could expect 12 degree temperatures over the next few days. Which, from what we were used to, seemed positively tropical.

Arriving at Beijing West, we were bowled over by enormity of this, one of Asia's largest railway stations. Fighting our way through the sea of people, we eventually found our train and as we climbed the steps from the platform we both took a last look at the city that had been our home for almost a week. We would miss Beijing – but right now we just needed to be warmer!

Bicycle

2009-02-20T17:13:00.000-08:00

Day 32: Beijing (CN). In the short time that we had been in Beijing we had really grown to love the Chinese capital – from its people, to its sights to its food – it was a fascinating place to visit. But Karen and I were keen to see the real Beijing, the Beijing behind the 'must-see' tourist sights and the shopping-mall glitz. We wanted to explore the city's Hutong (neighbourhoods) that criss-crossed the city, linking together and forming a huge, enchanted warren of single-storey, ramshackle dwellings and historic courtyard homes. And when you're in Beijing, the only way to do that is hire a bicycle and join in with the city's 8 million other cyclists!

Cycling in Beijing isn't quite as nerve racking as you might think. Sure, you do have to have your wits about you with so may vehicles of every description competing for each inch of road space; but with the city as flat as a chessboard and ample bicycle lanes it really was a great way to get around this sprawling metropolis.

The day's bright sunshine wasn't only perfect for cycling – The locals were taking to Beijing's parks in their thousands, making the most of the fine weather and practising their Tai Chi, Bai Dai and Poi. Stopping by Jingshan Park to take in the fantastic panoramic views of the city, Karen and I were warmly welcomed and actively encouraged to get involved.

The park with its hilltop temples and botanical gardens provided an excellent opportunity to seek sanctuary from the noise and pace of city living, where throughout the park inspirational messages are posted to facilitate the search for inner calm. On one sign we read the words “Be Careful People - The Pathways can be Steep and the Road in between is Always Slippery”. Karen and I tried to decide whether this was a public service notice warning of the condition of the park's pavements or some deep philosophical message hinting at the difficulties of achieving ultimate enlightenment. Oh well, whatever!

Sweet & Sour

2009-02-19T18:54:00.000-08:00

Day 31: Beijing (CN). “Confucius say 'Never do long walk with stinking hangover!'”, I joked as we scaled the steep incline. I think my attempt at humour had been lost on Karen as she ignored me and continued to trudge through the deep snow. In keeping with the Chinese theme it felt very much like a very 'Sweet & Sour ' day.

The sweetness was our location – Hiking the Great Wall of China from Simatai to Jinshanling – and in doing so fulfilling one of our lifelong ambitions to visit one of mankind's greatest construction projects. The statistics are mind blowing: The wall is 4,160 miles long, 25 feet high and 15 feet wide – enough bricks were used to circle the earth at the equator with a wall 4 feet high and 3 feet wide . It is estimated that during the Qin Dynasty, 70% of China's population were working on the wall (of which it is said that 3 million died doing so). At it's peak in the Ming Dynasty, the wall was guarded by more than a million soldiers. But the guidebooks and the statistics don't give you the true feeling of this magnificent spectacle. They don't describe the hostile mountainous terrain through which the wall snakes on it's way from Shanhaiguan in the east to Lop Nur in the west. They don't give you a feel of the steepness of the ramparts, some of which Karen and I had to scale on all fours just to make progress. And they certainly don't give you a feel for the awesome beauty of this place, particularly as we found it, covered in a mantle of snow.

The sourness though was our pounding heads. The previous night we had met up with fellow travellers, Dan and Ali for a 'few drinks' and as so often happens on these occasions, those 'few drinks' turned in to a 'let's try and drink China dry' session. Amongst other drinks, we consumed pints of luminous green beer and pints of luminous yellow beer which, because of my state of inebriation, I can't even remember whether I liked or not! The effects of the alcohol combined with a total of four hours sleep was making a difficult hike into an extremely difficult hike.

With my 43rd birthday just a few days away, one of the vagaries of life that I really wanted to understand right now was at what point in my 'maturity' I would learn about the effect of over doing it. Oh well, until then, perhaps I should curl up in this nice cosy watchtower...!

Life's Good

2009-02-18T21:02:00.000-08:00

Day 30: Beijing (CN). We were very happy with the way things were going. We had settled in to the travelling mentality fairly well, the money seemed to be lasting OK and most importantly, we were enjoying ourselves.

Beijing was always going to be a decision point. Before we set off, back in mid January, Karen and I had agreed to use our visit to the Chinese capital as a time for reflection: Was the trip delivering what we both wanted it to? Would we be able to face another train journey? Would we be missing home too much? In between our sightseeing and the 'I'm a Celebrity – Get Me Out of Here' food challenges, we had been using the time to ponder these questions. “It feels like a 'no-brainer to me”, Karen said excitedly as we reviewed the flight options on Expedia. “Everything back at home is OK, we're not spending as much as we budgeted and you and me are still talking”, she added with a smile. And with a couple of clicks it was done: We had changed our return flights and extended our adventure into May.

And that wasn't the only change we made that day: I had a makeover: Firstly, the day had come at last for me to have a shave as my beard had been driving me mad for sometime now. Not a trivial task though – it took Karen and me 40 minutes, three razors, a pair of scissors and the 6 inch blade from our Swiss Army knife to remove it. The result? A face as smooth as a babies bottom and one blocked sink (Ooops!). Secondly, I found a little Chinese barber who gave me a haircut, wash and blow dry, for the princely sum of just 5 Yuan (about 50p). And thirdly, I went shopping for some more underpants. After a clever bit of bartering down at the local market, I ended up in a unique position having more pants than I started the journey with. Life's Good!!

Tourists

2009-02-17T19:36:00.000-08:00

Day 29: Beijing (CN). “I'm all 'templed' out”, Karen said exhaustedly. “Likewise”, I replied, “...and I think I'm gonna need another memory card for my camera!”

It was starting to get dark and a few flakes of snow were starting to fall marking the end to a cold, grey day in Beijing. Our legs were aching from the days sightseeing exertions but as we walked wearily towards Tiatandongmen subway station, we still had the energy to muster up a few more superlatives as we remembered the amazing sights that we had visited in China's capital city. Sub zero temperatures had kept us on the move for most of the day – but that was OK, as it enabled us to cover some of Beijing's most famous attraction; Tiananmen Square, the Forbidden City and the Temple of Heaven; all of which, given kinder weather, could have consumed a day in their own rights. My perceptions of these sights prior to my arrival in Beijing was so much smaller that reality, China's premier square is of gargantuan proportions (the worlds largest) and words and pictures can not convey the enormity (or indeed the beauty and magnificence) of the Forbidden City, occupying three quarters of a million meters of space in central Beijing, the perimeter walls measuring three and a half kilometres long and enclosing some 9,000 rooms.

Despite Beijing's sprawl, moving around the city proved to be amazingly easy thanks in the main to Beijing's excellent public transportation system. Remembering for a moment, the difficulties Karen and I had had with the Moscow Metro just a few weeks prior, also made me realise how our own travelling skills were improving as our experiences grew. Indeed, I smiled to myself as I watched Karen purchase tickets from the automated ticketing machine without even bothering to change the language to 'English'!'

In way of sustenance at the end of the day, we stopped by Donghuamen Night Market, serving some of the best street food in town. And all so conveniently packaged too: Star fish and sea urchins - sold individually. Seahorses, centipedes, lizards and chicken hearts - by the bag. Grasshoppers, scorpions, snakes and genitalia - on sticks. Like I said a couple of days ago, “Fancy a McDonalds, anyone?”!

Two Halves

2009-02-16T20:08:00.000-08:00

Day 28: Erlyan (CN) – Beijing (CN). “It's like trying to cross the road in Ulaanbaator”, I joked, as we emerged from the railway station. But stepping forward tentatively, trying to negotiate our way through the 'traffic', our difficulties this time weren't caused by the number of cars as they were back in Mongolia's capital but by the number of people: Thousands of them – we had finally arrived in Beijing

And the culture shock was explosive. We expected to find a ragged tableau of communist China, but instead we found ourselves in a thoroughly modern city displaying chic and commercial vibrancy (although that didn't stop us having dinner sat next to a man with a poodle on his lap dressed in a panda costume (the dog that is, not the man!) or horrifying our waitress by trying to eat our soft shell crabs with the shell still on!

Reaching China's capital represented a major landmark in our journey. Firstly, we had reached the end of our Trans Siberian adventure and in turn had reached the most Easterly point on our voyage, having crossed through 120 degrees of longitude (or a third of the way around the circumference of the earth). From now on our direction would change and we would be generally travelling in a Southerly direction, until we were within 10 degrees of the equator. Secondly, we had completed the major travelling phase of our journey and (hopefully) escaped the bitter penetrating cold of Central Asia. From now on our travelling pace would be much more leisurely and relaxed. And thirdly, we no longer had any plans or schedules to keep. From Beijing we had no idea of how we were going to get to Bangkok - we were just gong to make it up as we went along.

Having covered two thirds of our journey in one third of the time we were now in the second half of our adventure. (who says I wasn't any good at maths!!)

Day 28: Total Mileage to Date: 8,154: Number of Time Zones Crossed: 9; Number of Countries Visited: 8; Number of Transport Modes Used: 15, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +8C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Disneyland

2009-02-15T23:53:00.000-08:00

Day 27: Ulaanbaator (MNG) – Erlyan (CN). Amy Lee's haunting voice built to a crescendo as the band kicked in for the last few bars of 'My Immortal'. Listening to my mp3 player, the warm afternoon sunshine filtered through the window of the train making me feel a little drowsy but I resisted the temptation to close my eyes, preferring instead to remain fixated on the remarkable panorama that lay before me. The music of Evanescence provided the perfect backing track to this endless expanse of wilderness and I just starred in wonder at the beauty of the Gobi Desert.

We were on the move again; aboard the 08:04 Trans-Mongolia Express to Beijing, a journey of about 18 hours. With the train speeding through the heartland of Mongolia, devouring mountains, pastures and deserts, we gained a real sense of how isolated and sparsely populated the countryside of this enormous country really was. In the ten hours from us leaving the nations capital to the sun setting beyond the horizon we couldn't have seen more than 50 people.

With the memories of the Russian border crossing still fresh in our minds, Karen and I were a little apprehensive as towards midnight, we approached the southern fringes of Mongolia. But thanks to a Chinese desire to upstage everybody else along the Trans Mongolian railway the formalities for entry into China were not just easy but actually quite entertaining, in a 'Disneyland' kind of way! As the train inched toward the little border station of Erlyan, we were greeted with the sounds of the Vienna Waltz, Auld Lang Syne and the Theme from Titanic blaring from the tannoy system – so loud in fact that the waiting customs officials had their hands firmly pressed over their ears to prevent their eardrums from exploding (or was it to restrict the grating sound of Celine Dion's voice?). Fairy lights around the station and enough neon to cover the Magic Kingdom added to this surreal image. But the border guards were courteous and efficient and after another change of bogies to align with the Chinese railway network, we were on our way again.

Our only disappointment of the day was the lack of 'Character Breakfast' opportunities in the dining car! M, I, C, K, E, Y, M, O, U, S, E!

Meat Feast

2009-02-14T15:42:00.000-08:00

Day 26: Ulaanbaator (MNG). Karen and I have so much to learn. That wasn't a problem to us – in fact that's the main reason we had embarked on this voyage of discovery. To learn about ourselves, about each other and about other cultures. And Mongolia was kind enough to teach one of the differences between travelling and holidaying: Question your unquestioned premises.

At the start of our adventure Karen and I had held staid views that suggested whenever you were in a foreign county you had to embrace the culture fully; the concept of going to a western style restaurant chain and ordering western food filled us with horror. But there we were, sat in 'Khaan's Irish Pub', surrounded by other westerners, devouring pizza, chips, bread & butter pudding, Coca Cola and mugs of cappuccino – and it was truly heaven!

Arriving in Ulaanbaator a week previously, we instantly took a liking to the quality and value of food on offer in this fascinating country (bargain of the week has to be a three course meal with drinks for the equivalent of about £1.50: Mutton broth, mutton pasties, mutton dumplings & rice cooked in mutton stock - Baaaa!). But in a country where cattle outnumbered people by 20 to 1 and whereby the short summers and hostile winters prevented the cultivation of much in the way of fruit or vegetables (and a lack of hard cash prevented their import) therein lay the problem: It was just meat, meat and more meat – and our frail western bodies just couldn't cope; our digestive systems in melt-down. Without being too crude or going into too much detail – I couldn't stop going to the toilet and Karen couldn't go at all! By mid week, we both started smelling of the mutton dinners we were ingesting as our bodies tried to remove the excess protein by 'sweating' it out.

“What would you do here if you were a vegetarian?”, Karen pondered, as she slapped another dollop of tomato ketchup on to her pizza. Looking up from my food, I caught site of Aron and the rest of the guys from the hostel, freshly returned from their trip to the Gobi desert. With the same monotonous choice of food that we had for the last week their first port of call on arriving back in UB was 'Kaan's Irish Pub' for something 'different' and western.

Fancy a McDonald's anyone?

Michelin Man

2009-02-13T16:02:00.000-08:00

Day 25: Mongol Els (MNG) - Ulaanbaator (MNG). The wind howled across the desert plain. The sand hit my face and burned my eyes, the cold numbed by face. “One thing: Wearing all of these clothes makes my rucksack lighter”, shouted Karen against the noise of the wind. I tried to respond but I couldn't. My scarf had frozen to my beard making it difficult for me to move my mouth. This was an awesome experience!

During the night a huge storm had developed battering our little ger tent. In the middle of the desert there were no mains services, so we had huddled around a solitary candle playing cards, afraid to go to bed in case our little tent blew away. The temperature plummeted to -28C, which with the wind-chill, made it feel more like -40 to -45C. Karen and I had hardly slept at all. Not only were we afraid that our ger would be relocated by the desert storm, but we also needed to religiously stoke the fire every two hours to ensure it didn't go out. If we had not, the cold would have been unbearable.

Having made it through the night we were now outside experiencing this incredible phenomena. Looking a bit like the Michelin Man, we were practically wearing every single piece of clothing that we had brought with us on our trip: 2 pairs of thermals, 2 pairs of socks, 1 pair of trousers, 2 tops, 1 fleece, 1 waterproof jacket; 2 pairs of gloves, 1 hat & 1 scarf – and still the cold penetrated!

Bizarrely, this is what we wanted Mongolia to be like For the months of planning that preceded our adventure, Karen and I had speculated about what the formidable cold of Central Asia would really be like. But when we got to Ulaanbaator the temperatures were a balmy -3, leaving us a little; well, disappointed. But Mother Nature had come to our aid and given us a display of how unbelievably hostile this environment could be.

That feeling of standing in the desert, with that cold and that solitude – all five senses working overtime – will stay with us forever. Like I said: Awesome!

Equus

2009-02-12T18:49:00.000-08:00

Day 24: Kharkhorin (MNG) – Mongol Els (MNG). “Still, it could have been worse. You could have got a bowl full of sheep's testicles”, Karen said remembering my biggest concern about coming to Mongolia. I nodded in agreement, shrugged my shoulders and picked at the meal.

We had travelled across the Khan Uul Nature reserve, deep into the heart of the desert to spend the night with a lovely family of nomadic people who had chosen to make their life in this inhospitable environment. During the long journey, Jack our guide talked openly about his life in Mongolia: Under the Soviet regime he worked as a mechanic in the west of the country, but with the abolition of communism he moved to Ulaanbaator, to make a better life for his five children, Eight years ago he was introduced to Mr Kim, the owner of the hostel back in UB who offered him a job as a guide and Jack has never looked back since.

Jack's stories were totally absorbing, colourfully interspersed with jokes about the Chinese people and his clever observations regarding the behaviours of the various nationalities that he came in to contact with in the course of his work (Which, in the interests of diplomacy, I shall not disclose here in fear of causing a major international incident!) So much so that the three hour journey simply flew by.

Arriving at the families camp, we were encouraged to take their horses to explore the countryside. At sundown we returned to the ger, absolutely famished. In true spirit of the days equine theme, our nomadic host presented us with a lovingly prepared dish of horse meat. Ordinarily, this may not have bothered me unduly. But today, after spending quality time with our dinners best mate it felt; a little wrong and so without our hosts knowledge we emptied the dishes in to the fire and tucked into an open packet of biscuits!

Dust Bowl

2009-02-11T22:36:00.000-08:00

Day 23: Terelj National Park (MNG) – Kharkhorin (MNG). “Years ago, this was great pasture land. In June, July August everything green – many people bring cattle to graze. But no more. Last five years bring no rain. Weather change. All desert now.”, Jack, our Mongolian guide recalled with a hint of sadness in his voice

Leaving the mountainous escarpment of Terelj we retraced our route of the previous day, passing through Ulaanbaator and out of the city again in a South-Westerly direction en-route to Chingiss Khaan's original 13th century capital of Kharkhorin. For the first 100km west of UB, the road surface was surprisingly good allowing us to make good progress on to the high pasture lands that Jack described to us now. “An all too familiar story”, I said to Karen, shaking my head. What saddened me most though about this particular story of climate change was the size of the impact on under resourced countries like Mongolia, despite their relatively small contribution to the initial problem.

After a few hours driving, the tarmac ended and the road again turned into a dirt track that by spine remembered only too well from the day before. However, on this occasion the 'dirt track' was so badly potholed that most drivers preferred to make their own 'road' across the desert. So flat was the environment land you could see for miles in every direction; across the entire landscape were tens of dust balls – each one indicating the presence of a vehicle with its own independent trajectory across the desert.

Despite the uncomfortable off-road journey, our lack of sleep from the night before coupled with the warmth of the winter sunshine amplified through the glass of Jack's car soon had Karen and I dozing. Dozing that is until we were awakened by the honking of horns and the sound of stones and sand hitting the side of the car. Just as there were no marked lanes on this 10 mile wide desert 'highway' there also appeared to be no rules and Jack had just had a near miss with a service bus coming from the other direction, heading towards Ulaanbaator. Jack looked in the rear view mirror to see Karen and my worried faces. He chuckled to himself. This was just an entertaining game to him! “This is just like 'Road Chicken'”, remarked Karen recalling our experiences of driving on Poland just a few weeks prior. “Yes”, I responded, “But for advanced players!”

As the sun started to set behind the mountains, Jack gestured to the West. “Big storm is coming”. He was right, the wind had picked up. Tumbleweed hurtled across the desert sands and huge dust storms were limiting our visibility, further impeding our progress. But eventually, late in to the night, we reached the little ger that was to be our shelter for the night and Karen and I collapsed into bed, thoroughly exhausted by the days travelling.

Outer Mongolia

2009-02-10T20:18:00.000-08:00

Day 20: Dozorny (RUS) – Ulaan Baator (MNG). A solitary eagle, silhouetted against the cloudless blue sky soared high above the barren plains, making the most of the weak thermals. Like the eagle I was transfixed by what lay before me: Overnight the scenery had changed. Long gone were the thick pine forests, little wooden houses and deep snowdrifts of Siberia – replaced by the vast grassy plains of Selenge Gol, surrounded by rolling mountains and just the finest dusting of snow. Despite the southerly latitude; it's land-locked location and it's proximity to the high mountains of Tibet, Mongolia's winter climate is very cold but very dry; consequently snow is a rare occurrence.

Staring through the dirty windows of the train, the landscape was occasionally broken by the presence of a few nomadic sheep herders and their gers (traditional felt tents) dotting the wide grassy expanse. It was a tranquil and dreamlike scene. Which was a good thing, as last nights border crossing was not quite so tranquil and dreamlike!

We arrived at Naushki on the Russian border at about 8pm where we remained for the next four and a half hours whilst the Russian Authorities completed our exit formalities. Passports, visas and registration documents were checked. Money and valuables were declared. Bags, people and trains were searched – and all this time we sat in our compartment – unable to get anything to eat or drink or go to the toilet. And it's funny in those circumstances, how guilty you feel – even if you haven't done anything! Eventually though, after what seemed an eternity, the Russian passport controller, stamped our passport and allowed us to continue with our journey (although, it was touch and go at one point – they really didn't like my beard!)

“Thanks goodness that's all over”, Karen said exhaustedly. Unfortunately, it wasn't. 5 miles down the line we entered the Mongolian passport control. And for the next two hours we had to go through the same protracted process all over again. Arghhh!!

1st Class

2009-02-07T20:27:00.000-08:00

Day 19: Irkutsk (RUS) – Dozorny (RUS). “I've just met our new neighbour!”, I exclaimed to Karen, with a concerned look on my face. It was 5am local time (midnight Moscow time) and we had just boarded train number 4 that, over the next couple of days, would take us south through the Sayan mountains, across the Russian border, into Mongolia and onto its capital: Ulaanbaator.

Wanting to experience as many different feelings and emotions as possible, we had decided to travel this leg of the train journey in the first class compartment. Previously, we had travelled, very comfortably, in 'kupe' or 2^nd class accommodation, deterred by the effect that the high cost the premium accommodation would have on our budget. But for this trip, for the sheer entertainment value alone, it was well worth it!

First class compartments are a similar size to those found in kupe (about 7ft x 7ft) but rather than having four bunks they have just the two, one above the other on the left hand side of the cabin. Fixtures and fittings are more elaborate with wood panelling and embroidered soft furnishings replacing the plastic and nylon of the kupe cabin. The extra space provided by the removal of bunks 3 and 4 enabled the addition of an arm chair, a small table, a wardrobe and a shower! Now a shower may not sound much, but when you've travelled for days at a time on these trains without the opportunity to have a proper wash, it's the one thing that you (and presumably your fellow passengers, if they have a good sense of smell) really miss.

But what they didn't tell me was that the shower cubicle is ingeniously shared between two first class compartments. So at five am when I decided to 'check out' the shower, I managed to walk straight through in to next doors cabin, only to find a rather disgruntled Chinaman standing there in just his underpants! To rub salt in to the wounds, I then managed to lock the door that allowed him access from his compartment to the shower cubicle, so that at 10am he was braying on the door to be let into 'his' shower.

“I'm glad to see you're making such a good impression with the locals!”, Karen said with a smile. I said nothing and kept my head down.

Cute

2009-02-06T16:53:00.000-08:00

Day 18: Listvyanka (RUS) - Irkutsk (RUS). “Oh they're lovely”, “Prijatnyj”, “Oh so cute”... About a dozen gooey eyed women of various nationalities crammed around the tanks that were home to the Baikal Seals - fixated by these gorgeous animals. As I watched both the seals and the reactions that they invoked, I decided that when I finally do meet my maker, I'm going to ask if I can come back as a seal next time - because as a seal you really can't fail to be a hit with the ladies!

Apart from the seals that we had come to see, the Baikal Museum had a number of fascinating displays and exhibits describing the the unique ecosystem that has developed in this huge fresh water lake over the last 50 million years. The lake supports over 3,500 different forms of life of which 80%, the seals included, can't be found any where else on earth. Almost hunted to extinction, the seals are now a protected species, their numbers fortunately on the rise again with a present day population of around 60,000 animals.

“We need to find somewhere to stay for the night”, I said to Karen as we reluctantly said goodbye to these beautiful creatures. We had a very early train to catch the following day so we thought we'd check out the station rest-rooms or 'komnaty otdykha'. In a mixture of broken English, broken Russian and sign language we enquired the cost of a bed from the rather stern looking attendant “That will cost 110 roubles per hour and an extra 85 roubles if you want to use the shower”, she replied with a dead pan expression. Karen nodded her approval to me and so I counted the money onto the little table in front of the attendant. She handed us our towels and we retired for the night.

So that's another 'first'. Never before had Karen and I bought a room by the hour! Seedy? Well, maybe just a little!

Toseland?

2009-02-05T16:03:00.000-08:00

Day 16: Irkutsk (RUS) – Listvyanka (RUS). “Never mind another country this looks like another planet!”, I said as we both gazed out on the incredible scene before us. Pulling our scarf's around our faces we set off in to the icy wind to walk the couple of miles into the centre of Listvyanka. Completely overwhelmed by our environment, for the most we walked in silence.

Having made enquiries the previous day, we had managed to secure transport to take us the 40 miles from Irkutsk to Listvyanka on the edge of Lake Baikal. Baikal is the oldest and one of the world largest lakes being 400 miles long, 40 miles wide and a mile deep. So vast is this inland freshwater sea that if all the rest of the worlds drinking water dried up tomorrow, Lake Baikal could supply the entire population of the planet for the next 40 years!

However, in the grips of midwinter, the 'Blue Eye of Siberia' was completely encased in ice 10ft deep for as far as the eye could see. On the far shores, beyond the ice sheet, I could just make out the summits of enormous mountains poking out from the cloud cover. The wind howled in from the north and my face burned as it was bombarded with crystals of ice broken off from the lake's freezing mantle. I had never seen anything like this. All I could think of was an old textbook on astronomy that I had as a child. In there was an artists impression of Europa, Jupiter's frozen moon. To me, this was Europa.

As we entered the village itself an old man called from the verandah of one of the wooden cottages by the lake shore, “Privet!, eta Nadia”. Nadia? We had met a Nadia – back in Irkutsk – whilst we were trying to work out how to get to Listvyanka. Nadia had told us of a kind family who would be happy to help us find accommodation. She must have called ahead and said we were coming. Within minutes we were invited into the ageing fisherman's traditional Russian house to meet his family. His wife Tanya made us hot drinks to combat the effect of the biting cold and insisted that we stay with them during our visit to the lake; very quickly we were making ourselves at home in their simple little cottage.

NB I would like to make an official apology to the Russian nation. Prior to the start of our adventure I had made a number of jibes about Russian food and its reliance on the potato. I would now like to formally quash that rumour. Tonight Karen and I had a very cheap but traditional meal of Omul; an indigenous fish to Lake Baikal and I can honestly say it is one of the best meals I have ever tasted. I hope the Russian people can find it in their hearts to forgive me.

Springtime

2009-02-03T19:01:00.002-08:00

Day 15: Irkutsk (RUS). For me, there's something special about February. On the one-hand its my birthday month so it usually involves quantities of beer and cake! And on the other, February offers those tantalising glimpses of spring: The sun shines, the birds sing and just when you begin to believe warmer days are on the way - Winter returns to regain it's icy grip. So it was today.

The scene could have been any city in the Northern Hemisphere: Brilliant sunshine, not a cloud in the sky, old ladies discussing the unseasonal weather, children playing in the playground and students reading literature on park benches. But then if I told you that the slide on which the children played was carved from solid ice, the manuscript was that of Marx and the balmy temperatures registered a whopping -12C, then maybe you'd conclude we were in Siberian town of Irkutsk.

Dubbed 'The Paris of Siberia', Irkutsk is a quaint little town with traditional wooden architecture that must have been stunning when built 100 years ago. But sadly, the town doesn't appear to have weathered too well under the communist years and today it looks a little, well, tired. Deep into Russia, Irkutsk however does give you a feeling that East and West are finally united The people look different here. Not necessarily European, not necessarily Asian – just different. And despite its 'tired' appearance the Asian influence helps to brighten up those Soviet style concrete monstrosities that we had seen all over Russia by the addition of colourful banners, lanterns and dragons.

For Karen and me, the unseasonably warm temperatures were very much appreciated, because whilst -12C is not exactly tropical, it did enable us to spend pretty much all day outside sightseeing without suffering any of the effects that we had encountered back in Yekaterinburg (although I still found that I couldn't go for more than an hour at these temperatures without needing another wee!!)

Today's 'entertainment' came by way of the transportation system. Irkutsk has a excellent public transport system: trains, trams, trolleybuses & buses all play their part, but by far the most popular way to travel here is by using one of the hundreds of mini buses that patrol the city. If you can actually get on one, that is! If you've ever tried to hail a black cab after midnight to go 'South of the River' then you may just have an inkling of what's involved: We stood at one stop and watched 30 buses a minute go past. Most were full to bursting. Of those that had seats, many didn't stop. Many of those that did stop drove off before we had time to get in. Eventually, we finally managed to get on board. Only for it to drop us further away from our destination than when we started. Oh Joy!

Babushka

2009-02-02T23:56:00.000-08:00

Day 14: Krasnoyarsk (RUS) – Irkutsk (RUS). “Checkmate!”, I exclaimed excitedly. Karen seemed less impressed than me at my chess victory. But it felt important to me. So far Karen had thrashed me at every game of Gin Rummy, Scrabble and also got the better of me at Fives and Threes (although we later discovered our domino set was missing three or four tiles and consequently I declared this result to be null and void!).

Prior to embarking on our trip, I did wonder whether I would find these long train journeys quite tedious, but the reality was very different: They were actually great fun. We would occupy our time playing games, reading, talking (loose term!) to our Russian travellers and watching the amazing, captivating scenery pass by our carriage window.

Every couple of hours of so the train would pull into a station to take on more supplies and clear the accumulated ice and snow from the bogies. This presented a good opportunity for Karen and me to stretch our legs and get a little fresh air. Our excursions however, clearly made Maryna nervous as she regarded us to be a bit 'out of control' and so we never ventured too far from the train.

These stop-overs were also the opportunity for the local 'babushkas' to peddle their wares on the platforms (and even on the train if they could get past Maryna!). No matter how rural the station or how cold the night, the variety of goods for sale never failed to impress. Bread, fruit, cigarettes, hats, jewellery & souvenirs. It was all there. “That looks appetising”, Karen joked as she gestured towards one old lady whose contribution to this mini-bazaar was a solitary fish that she waived in the air optimistically at any prospective buyer. We don't know how long she had it or where she got it from (we were 3,000 miles from the sea and all the locals lakes and rivers were frozen) but she was determined to sell it.

On this occasion Karen and I declined her kind offer.

Day 14: Total Mileage to Date: 5,723: Number of Time Zones Crossed: 9; Number of Countries Visited: 6; Number of Transport Modes Used: 10, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +8C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -23C.

Siberia

2009-02-01T22:16:00.000-08:00

Day 13: Omsk (RUS) – Krasnoyarsk (RUS). As the first light of day illuminated our compartment, I awoke from a deep and restful sleep. Clearing the ice and condensation from the inside of the carriage window I gazed out on the changing scene before me. No more were the dense forests we encountered on the western stages of our journey – the landscape had been replaced by a barren wilderness encased in a blanket of snow. For this was the inhospitable Baraba Steppe – coarse reeds and sedge concealed swamps, peat bogs and rare patches of firm ground.

The train progressed relentlessly, heading generally East-South-East and devouring two more time zones in the process.

As we crossed the border between the principalities of Sverdlovskaya and Tyumenskaya we reached another notable milestone in our epic journey. “Welcome to the world of Dr Zhivago”, I said to Karen. For we had now entered the vast tract of land know as 'Siberia'. Karen smiled but kept here eyes fixed on the stunning scenery that lay on the outside of our frozen carriage window.

“Zazdorovje, Prost, Salut, Cheers”, we all said in unison. It didn't seem to matter what language we spoke, somehow, miraculously we seemed to be communicating. Our Russian cabin-mates; Tania and Albert had invited us for a drink and so there we were, sat in the dining car of the Trans-Siberian Express, telling tales, exchanging photographs and drinking vodka. It felt very surreal; as Rihanna blared from the jukebox and we laughed at unfunny jokes - for a moment, it felt like we were back at home in the Waggon & Horses. Except for the fact that nobody spoke English... And we were travelling on a train at 50mph... And outside it resembled Santa's Grotto... And nobody mentioned murkins... Shame!.

Freak Show

2009-01-31T21:42:00.000-08:00

Day 12: Yekaterinburg (RUS) – Omsk (RUS). “The people don't look very Asian”, Karen said as we huddled in all our clothing layers and walked along Pr Lenina against the falling snow. It was a fair observation. As the continent's first major town travelling from West to East, Yekaterinburg felt very European. In fact, it felt more European here that it did back in Moscow; many of the signs were printed using the Roman alphabet, a few more people could speak English and the restaurant staff weren't quite so rude!

We had chosen to spend a day here simply to break our long train journey but actually, it was a really nice place. Historically, Yekaterinburg has an infamous past; for this was the place in April 1918 where the Romanov's were imprisoned, tortured and later executed. It was also the focus of world attention again in May 1960 when Gary Power's U2 spy-plane was shot down from an altitude of 68,000 feet just 20 miles south of the town resulting in the collapse of the Summit Conference in Paris. But today, as Russia's fifth largest city, it feels very cosmopolitan, modern and welcoming.

The intense cold limited our sight-seeing activities to blocks of about an hour before seeking refuge in the warmth of a café or shop. But that worked for us as we had to stock up in preparation for our next train journey; a 53 hour marathon that would take us from our current location down to Irkutsk and Lake Baikal. Most of the Trans Siberian Trains are equipped with restaurant cars, but everybody takes a picnic on-board to 'graze' during the long journey. As we wandered around the supermarket, I gazed into our shopping basket and it reminded me very much of when Karen and I were students: Bread, cheese, mushroom soup flavoured crisps, vodka, fizzy fish, nuts, water and the Russian equivalent to 'Pot Noodle'. Bliss!

To add to the confusion of Trans-Siberian travel, all trains in Russia run to Moscow time (rather than local time) and so at 14:34 we boarded the 12:34 train to Irkutsk. Instantly, we became the source of the locals entertainment as we brought our western style 'freak show' to Service 64. I tried to introduce myself to our Russian cabin-mates using a mixture of English, German, diabolical Russian and sign language whilst Karen was getting to know Maryna our cabin attendant: Maryna, determined to collect all of our train tickets - Karen only wanting to offer those tickets for this leg of the journey. Unable to explain their respective points of view, each grabbed a corner of the wallet and fought over it like two dogs would contest a bone. People swarmed into the corridor to watch this entertaining spectacle – Great Fun!

(By the way, I think Maryna's got the 'hots' for me! - She been asking for my email address and showing me glamour photographs of herself! Perhaps it's my new beard that I've been cultivating since leaving Steeple Morden. I think it gives me a certain 'lived in' look!)

Deep Freeze

2009-01-30T19:56:00.000-08:00

Day 11: Balyezino (RUS) – Yekaterinburg (RUS). Karen flung her arms around me, “That's one continent done, on to the next!” she exclaimed excitedly. Our fellow passengers in carriage 8 had started to congregate in the corridor long before we reached the white stone obelisk in that marked the continental division. Behind us now, the continent of Europe and our home of Steeple Morden some three and a half thousand miles to the west. Ahead of us, the continent of Asia, which as part of our travelling adventure, we also intended to cover end to end.

The train pushed on, huge plumes of diesel smoke were visible from our carriage window as the locomotive struggled with the changes of elevation as we crossed the low mountains of the Urals. The snow lay deep and crisp and as we advanced towards Yekaterinburg we caught a glimpse of the rudimentary ski-lifts that formed the basis of this town's winter sports activities. “It looks a bit cold for that”, Karen said with a shudder. She was absolutely right – since crossing the Ural's the temperature had plummeted and we were now trying to come to terms with life in the deep freeze.

In common with the rest of our travelling experience we had lessons to learn – and fast! Foolishly, I had disembarked the train with my jacket open and only my inner gloves for warmth. After just 10 minutes of exposure to these temperatures, I started to experience pins-and-needles in my fingers. We made for the warmth of the Metro station; my hands burning and painful. I realised with horror that in just a few minutes, I was starting to suffer from frost bite. My body's natural reaction to the intense cold was to withdraw all of the blood from my extremities in order to maintain the functioning of my vital organs.

After stopping for a hot drink and checking that we were fully layered up we ventured outside again – incredibly cold but this time bearable. Ahead of us an advertising hoarding broadcast the outside temperature: -20 degrees centigrade: colder than the inside of a three star chest freezer – no wonder we were cold!

As with everything in life, there was an upside however to the incredible cold that we were experiencing. In need of warming we stopped by a local bar and ordered a couple of vodka's. Out here they store the Vodka outside, so that it turns syrupy in the extreme cold. And it went down beautifully; smooth, cold, viscous. So well in fact that we had to have another. And another. And...

Zazdorovje! (Cheers!)

Trans Siberian Express

2009-01-29T17:34:00.000-08:00

Day 10: Moscow (RUS) – Balyezino (RUS). The snow was falling thick and fast. I cleared the condensation from the carriage window using the sleeve of my jumper and peered out into the gloomy Moscow night. After a couple of minutes a big grin covered my face as I caught a glimpse of what I was looking for: Kilometre marker '1'. It was 38 minutes past midnight and the powerful diesel locomotive that hauled service 44, the Trans-Siberian Express, had just pulled out of Yaroslavsky station.

We had boarded the longest train journey on earth; our destination, Beijing was located at kilometre marker 7,865 – some 5,000 miles down the line and this was to be our goal for the next three weeks.

After the formalities of boarding the train we soon found the cabin that would be our home for the next 36 hours and we were making ourselves at home. This time we had opted for 'kupe' class which was similar to the 'couchette' cars that we used in Europe, only the Russian trains had just 4 berths per compartment rather than 6 giving us a little more personal space.

As the only English speaking people on the train, we were soon causing a lot of interest with the locals – our carriage attendant seemed to burst into fits of giggles every time she saw us (I'm still not sure why!) and so it was not long before we were paid a visit by 'Director of Train' no less; handsomely dressed in a shiny blue shell suit. (Nice!). But after checking through our paper-work he seemed happy enough and went about his business.

The train sped on in a North Easterly direction towards Perm, the most northerly latitude of our entire adventure, rolling through dense forests of pine, birch and oak and crossing two more time zones in the process. According to the locals we spoke to in Moscow, the weather had been exceptionally mild for the time of year – but not so here. Winds blowing directly off the Arctic Tundra, had brought an abundance of snow to these forests and we gazed on in delight at the constantly evolving 'Christmas Card' scene before us; trees and telegraph poles bowing under the weight of a Russian winters snowfall. Stunningly beautiful.

As the light faded and the train continued on its incessant journey into the heart of this enormous country, we engaged in a friendly conversation with Galia; our room-mate for this leg of the journey. Galia could speak no English and we could speak no Russian, but between us we managed to engage in a long and amusing dialogue that was closer to charades than conversation. She told us how she was returning home after visiting her three daughters. Or did she have just the one daughter, but she had been there three times? Or did her one daughter have three cats? I guess we'll never know – good fun none-the-less.

Eventually Galia, produced a book of Sudoku puzzles. Something we could all participate in as equals - the universal language of mathematics. Although, I don't think Karen was too impressed by the symbols used by the Russian authors of the book to depict the difficulty of each puzzle. Easy puzzles were denoted by a picture of a child, intermediate puzzles by a picture of a woman and difficult puzzles by a picture of a man. I said nothing!

Bolt

2009-01-28T22:41:00.000-08:00

Day 9: Moscow (RUS). As Anastasiya Yatsenko took her final encores, I had to admit there was a tear in my eye. “It must be awful smoky in here”, I said to Karen, as the house lights came up in the Bolshoi Theatre. She said nothing but gave me a knowing smile as we slowly made our way up the aisle to the exit at the back of the auditorium.

When it comes to art and literature, I'm a bit of a philistine. Don't get me wrong; it's not that I dislike art - it's that to be honest, I don't really understand it. And so ordinarily, give me a choice between going the ballet or going to the football, I'd have my Watford scarf on before you could say “Ah, referee!”. But our travel adventure was about new experiences and as we were in Moscow, home of arguably the best ballet company in the world, performing at arguably the best ballet venue in the world, we simply couldn't miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Moscow had turned up in its finery; black ties, ball gowns, diamonds and tiaras. And then there was Karen and me: Hiking boots, muddy trousers, fleeces and woolly hats – clearly the scruffiest people there – but nobody minded (well we didn't anyway!)

As the spectacle in front of us unfolded I became completely entranced by the powerful combination of music and dance as the State Academy performed Dmitry Shostakovich's Bolt; a ballet in two acts depicting the tale of a disgruntled factory workers plot for industrial sabotage; a theme deemed so controversial in 1930's communist Russia that it was banned after its one opening night performance and remained confined to the text books until re-instated by the Bolshoi in 2005.

The talent, commitment and dedication of the dancers and players shone through in their performance, and even philistines like me were able to grasp what was going on. Karen, did however make me laugh in the final scene when Ivashka's dream conjured up ballerinas on scooters dressed in red flying suits complete with Biggles hats & goggles. “It looks like a highly coordinated version of the Red Barrows!”, she said And she was absolutely right. (Although the only people that would understand that reference are people from Steeple Morden who have seen Shostakovich's ballet. Chris?)

As we made the way out of the Theatre we were reminded of our presence in Moscow by the usual souvenir sellers selling their incredible repertoire of tat: Bolshoi Theatre snowstorms, ballet shoe fridge magnets; Swan Lake tea cosies – they had the lot.

As we made our way to the Metro station, Karen and I reflected on the wonderful evening we had spent and we contemplated our next ballet. Maybe, just maybe, I did have that 'culture gene' after all.

Local Knowledge

2009-01-27T21:13:00.000-08:00

Day 8: Moscow (RUS). “Thanks, Sergie. we feel a lot better now”, I said as we shook hands and made our goodbyes. Karen and I made our way down the narrow corridor of 20a Novoalekseevskaya Street, through security and back out to the main street.

Our stay in Moscow had taught us the importance of seeking local help to enrich our travel experience, whether that be from our new found chums in the hostel, Moscowvites that we met during our stay, or 'friends of friends' that everybody has across the world. We didn't need to try do everything alone - in fact, the truth was, we couldn't do it all on our own.

And so , when we became concerned about the our visa registration we opted to make the short trip to the Alecseevskaya area of Moscow to pay a visit on our friends at Real Russia. It is a legal requirement in Russia that if you stay in the same location for more than 72 hours you have to register your movements with the State Police. We had been in the city for more than two days and hadn't got around to this. Also, to make matters worse, when we entered Russia from Belarus nobody had stamped our passports which added to our anxiety's. 20 minutes with Sergie, though and everything was sorted. All the paperwork in order, everything legal, everything explained.

As we left the offices, Sergie enquired about our plans for the day and he insisted that as we were in Alecseevskaya we must pay a visit to the All Russia Exhibition Centre . Off of the main tourist map, this was fascinating place. Originally created in the 1930's to show everyone the success of the Soviet economic system - glorifying every aspect of socialist construction from education and health to agriculture, technology, science and food. We found the Armenian pavilion particularly inviting but that was probably due to the availability of their excellent local brandy that we just had to sample (it would have been rude not to!)

Our confidence in navigating Moscow had increased immensely and by the afternoon we were hopping onto monorails, off trolleybuses and onto the metro with relative ease – a very different picture than when we arrived in this alien city just a few days ago.

It wasn't all plain sailing though. At dinner, in my constant battle to get to grips with the Russian language and with my clumsy understanding of Cyrillic, I ended up with a plate of Pigs Snout with Boiled Cabbage. Tasty!

Dare

2009-01-26T16:34:00.000-08:00

Day 7: Moscow (RUS).

Take a lift to the top of the Empire State,
Take a drive across the Golden Gate,
March, march, march across Red Square,
Do all the things you've ever dared.
These are the things, These are the things:
The things that dreams are made of.

If you recognise those lyrics, chances are you are as old as I am and have a similar taste in dodgy music! I remember buying the Human League album 'Dare' as a spotty adolescent back in 1981 and being inspired by the words and Phil Oakey's delivery of 'The Things That Dreams are Made of'. I remember thinking, “Yeah, I'm going to do all of that”.

Well it's took me a long time, but today, after almost 30 years, I finally achieved that boyhood dream. Karen and I visited New York back in 2000 as part of a long weekend away to cerebrate her 30th birthday, and as part of the usual tourist route we ascended America's most famous skyscraper. The following year we did a tour of the West Coast on one of our most memorable holidays and on the way down from the Napa Valley to LA we we drove over that iconic bridge. On this day, as flurry's of snow blew in the cold Russian air Karen and I walked the across the open expanse between Pokovshy Cathedral and the Lenin Mausoleum and I finally completed the set by marching across Moscow's famous square.

Moscow is an amazing place – not what I was expect ting – but amazing non-the-less. In fact, as we wandered around the wide boulevards, I found it hard to image that this city was ever communist! The chauffeur driven Rolls Royces's and Maybach's portrayed the cities affluence, the top class Sushi restaurants and expensive coffee shops characterised the cities 'chic' and the array of designer brand shops along every high street depicted the city as truly international.

The Kremlin, also, was not what we expected. To me the Kremlin was a building – like the White House, but it is actually the entire old city consisting of government buildings, churches, cathedrals and museums. And believe me it is stunning! The architecture, the paintings and the artefacts exhaust superlatives within minutes. And when we stumbled upon a choir of Orthodox monks delivering praise to God in Russian A Cappella, it sent shudders down our spines. On it's own, worth the 2,000 mile journey.

Day 7: Total Mileage to Date: 2,377: Number of Time Zones Crossed: 4; Number of Countries Visited: 6; Number of Transport Modes Used: 7.

Bogies

2009-01-25T18:46:00.000-08:00

Day 6: Minsk (BY) – Moscow (RUS). “K, curly Y, Triangle, backwards R...”, I recited to Karen. If you overheard us you would have thought we were playing some weird image association game, but no, we were actually trying to navigate the Moscow Metro!

Having left 'familiar' languages based on the Roman character set behind some days ago we were trying to make sense of a whole new language based on Cyrillic characters. Sure, we had a map, but the guide book had 'very kindly' translated everything into words that us Westerners could pronounce – and that is not what is displayed in the stations or on the streets!

But eventually we made it to our little hostel (aptly named the 'Trans Siberian') in the Kurskaya district of North East Moscow which would be our home for the next few days. The hostel was a simple affair, but it was clean and had everything we needed. The host, Dima, was extremely helpful and made us feels at home instantly, providing us with some great information on how to make the most of our stay in the capital of the Russian Federation.

Following the stresses of the previous days travel, the journey from Minsk was perfect in every way. Our nine hours on the train passed without incident and we got a perfect nights sleep in our little cabin of the Moscow Railways train. For this leg of the journey, the only occupants of the cabin were Karen and me which meant that we didn't even have to engage in the customary game of 'Twister' every time anybody wanted to get their toothbrush out of their luggage or scratch their right elbow!

As a bit of a closet 'geek', my personal journey highlight was witnessing the engineering solution to handling multi gauge tracks over this gargantuan railway journey: On the Belarusian border the railway gauge (the width of the track) changes from 1.4 to 1.5 meters. But rather than changing trains, the railway authorities simply hoisted the carriages lock, stock and barrel into the air and then deposited them on a new set of bogies compatible with the new railway network. And all of this happened without any of the passengers even having to leave the train. Fascinating! (Hello! Is anybody still awake?)

Naivety

2009-01-24T15:06:00.000-08:00

Day 5: Warsaw (PL) – Minsk (BY). “I am going to write a very strong letter of complaint to Polska EuroLines”, Karen said tongue in cheek as she walked towards the taxi rank. I said nothing as I lugged my rucksack back on to my shoulder and blew on my hands to keep the night's cold at bay.

We had always intended the first few days of our adventure to be a 'trial run' for both our abilities and our sentiment for travelling before we reached the 'hard core' demands of Central Asia. And tonight, as part of our initiation, we learnt a very big lesson: Back home we assume all systems work and then we complain if they don''t. Out here, we now knew that you had to assume that nothing works and then if it does you can celebrate!

We had booked a bus to take from Warsaw to Minsk, departing at midnight from the bus station. Simple enough? Well yes, until we tried to find bus at the bus station! We arrived with about half an hour to spare only to realise that the bus details weren't posted anywhere. We then tried to seek help only to be defeated by the language barrier exacerbated by the fact there seemed to be (at least) three Minsk's; one in Poland, one in Belarus and one in the Ukraine – all apparently served by this bus station!

The security staff locked the bus station buildings shortly after we arrived leaving us (and a number of other people who seemed to be having similar problems) to stand out in the cold and wait. And wait! After we had given the bus company the benefit of the doubt for a further hour we decided to cut our losses and find a hotel for the night concluding that a) we were in the wrong place b) the bus had broken down and nobody had informed the bus station or c) the service we had booked was actually 'discretionary' depending on the mood of the driver!

At the crack of dawn we awoke and camped out at the train station information office to see if we could find an alternative route to Belarus. At first it appeared as if we were out of luck, with none of the available trains making it in time for our onward connection to Russia. But fortunately for us, one particularly diligent member of the ticketing staff realised that if we took the service train to Lukow we would just be in time to catch the sleeper train coming up from Hungary getting us into Belarus in the early evening.

The next problem we had was that the service train left in half an hour. We had to get back to the hotel, pack, check out, get to the train station and have breakfast in just 30 minutes. It was very tight but we just made it.

So for Karen and I, some important lessons learned and some great experience to help us in the next round of our travelling adventure. More importantly though, we had made it through our first set-back: We were still smiling and miraculously, still talking to each other!

All in all, this naivety had cost us about £300 in un-budgeted hotels & alternative travel arrangements, had lessened our available time in Minsk and had caused the loss of a pair of my underpants in the haste to check out of our hotel. The money was a concern to us as we had a strict budget but it was still early days in the adventure and we believed we could pull the deficit back – so our diet in Russia needed to be more aligned to Potato Stew rather than Potato Supreme! In term of Minsk, well we had to live with that – the guide books were fairly non committal about the city anyway. My pants on the other hand was a different matter. I only started with 5 pairs and now after just 5 days I was down to 4 pairs. If our adventure continued like this, I would be going commando by the time we reached Siberia. And it's bloody cold there!

No Swimwear

2009-01-23T17:47:00.000-08:00

Day 4: Krakow (PL) – Warsaw (PL). We are amazing. No, no – not Karen and I – I mean our species: Homo Sapiens. In a relatively short (geological) time frame, we have achieved an extraordinary amount. We have learned to control and manage our own food supply, we have developed a diverse array of art & literature, we have eradicated the causes of many fevers and morbidities and we have even put a man on the moon.

But as a species we are also capable of the most atrocious evil. Last year on a motorcycle tour of South West France, Karen and I visited Oradour-sur-Glane, the scene in 1945 of the systematic genocide of 600 innocent men, women and children in revenge for the Vichy resistance as the Nazi's fled Europe. This year, as part of our travels, we visited Auschwitz – the scene of possibly mankind's darkest hour.

The weather matched the venue; it was cold, damp and flurries of snow lay on the ground. In emotional silence, Karen and I poignantly wandered the deserted camp courtyard and read stories of the camps infamous occupants – some sickeningly saddening, others brave and heroic. The camp remains as a reminder to humanity that we must never do this again.

As we came to leave the camp, Karen and I were in need of a mood lifter. This came courtesy of some odd signs telling you what you can and can't do at the Auschwitz Museum. Some of them were obvious and self evident; No Talking. No photography. No music. The one that made us chuckle was the sign that said No Swimwear. And by the fact Polish authorities deemed it necessary to publish such a sign, I am guessing that this was a serious problem at Auschwitz. It made me think of some surreal conversations that may have happened in Polish households, “Would you like to go the Auschwitz museum today, dear?”. “Yes, OK. Should I wear my solemn black overcoat or my polka dot bikini and take my beach ball?”

We climbed back into the Fiat Panda and headed North on our long 250 mile journey to Warsaw where we planned to pick up the midnight bus that would take us from Poland to the Belarusian capital of Minsk.

Uncharted Territory

2009-01-22T20:41:00.000-08:00

Day 3: Somewhere in Northern Germany (D) – Krakow (PL). Karen and I had our noses pressed onto the dirty glass of the number 510 bus that was taking us from the railway station to the car rental offices. We were keen to take in as much as possible of our new surroundings as this was the first of many countries that neither Karen or I had been to before. The truth was though it wasn't particularly exciting here; a lot of grey buildings dating from the 1960's, the occasional shopping mall dating from the 1990's and here and there piles of snow that the wind had blown together.

So we intended to drive south to the stunning medieval town of Krakow. Making progress on the Polish roads was difficult however; one moment you were driving on nice new tarmac funded by the EU, the next you were back on rutted and potholed streets – the result of years of Cold-War neglect. And then, of course, there was 'Road Chicken' which seemed very popular with the local drivers. This basically involved suicidal overtaking manoeuvre whereby the local driver headed straight for us and the last one to take evasive action won the round. I have to be honest, they beat us hands down every time!

The snow was starting to fall heavy on the S7 as afternoon turned to dusk. The needle on the speedometer nudged 120 and then 130 kilometres per hour. “We need to get to Krakow before dark” I said. “You're missing the point.”, Karen replied with a smile. She continued “This is not one of our break-neck holidays. This is about travelling. This is about experiencing. We don't need to do anything”. Of course she was right. I still had a lot to learn about making this into a travelling experience rather than just another holiday.

We faired much better at dinner however. Having made it to the remarkable city of Krakow and having spent a delightful evening wandering about the Stare Miasto we then retreated to the back streets; away from the tourist haunts and where prices were much more reasonable. In fact, we found a great little tavern whereby we both had a home cooked meal with local beers for 45 Polish Zloty (about £10). Last night in Amsterdam, the same meal would have cost us about 45 Euro's (about £45!)

That was one aspect of Western Europe that neither Karen or I would miss!

Sleeper Car

2009-01-21T23:21:00.000-08:00

Day 2: Somewhere in the North Sea (GB) to Somewhere in Northern Germany (D). I don't know what it is, but I have a certain affinity with Amsterdam. Maybe it's the classic architecture, the scenic canals, the stately mansions from the Golden Age or maybe it's the coffee shops, the smell of shishka or the ladies of the city. I don''t know – but I do like Amsterdam.

Karen and I arrived there about at about 10.30am and after a typical Dutch street breakfast we spent a wonderful day wandering around the streets and taking in the sights of this beautiful city on a cold but bright winter's day.

By early evening we were exhausted and we were looking forward the the next leg of our journey – new experiences for both of us: Our first time sleeping on a train (although it would be the first of many!) and, at 15 hours, the longest train journey that we had ever embarked on (although this was to be eclipsed by journeys later in our travels!), According to time-table, The DeutcheBahn train pulled out of platforrm 11b of Amsterdam Centraal at preciously 19:01 on its long journey across the Eurasian continent to Moscow. We however, would only be staying with train 447 until it reached central Poland.

We had been allocated bunks 83 and 85 in a 6 seater 'couchette'. By the time we had found our cabin, two of our room mates were already busy finding space for their belongings. Marek and Natelia were both from Northern Poland and were returning home having attended a conference in Holland on Zen meditation. Fortunately for us, they were both very kind and helped us to make the most of our journey in our confined space. Each couchette, measured approximately 7 ft by 7 ft and had 6 bunk beds arranged on either side of the cabin up to the 8ft height of the compartment. Whilst the couchette was comfortable, its size and lack of available luggage space meant that every movement we made needed the coordinated agreement and understanding of the rest of our travellers. It reminded me very much of a human version of that puzzle where you have to arrange the tiles, one at a time, in the right order. Still it helped to break the ice!

We went to bed at about 9pm and a combination of the days exertions coupled with the gentle rocking motion of the train soon had me fast asleep. It was however a broken sleep. At about midnight, as we arrived in Cologne, I was awoken by the arrival of two further passengers to our compartment, one of which had enough luggage for five people which she piled up next to my bunk to the extent I couldn't even get out of bed! Then later still we reached Berlin and I was awoken by the sound of trains de-coupling and coupling as our transport was split in to three, one segment bound for Copenhagen, another bound for Prague and then our section bound for Poland.

All in all, an interesting experience. And one we were definitely looking forward to repeating as our holiday progressed.

First Steps

2009-01-20T23:21:00.000-08:00

Day 1: Steeple Morden – Somewhere in the North Sea. I think it was Mao Tse-tung who said “A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step”. Which in many ways seemed quite apt as we had decided to walk the first leg of the journey. The only difference was that Mao's journey was 1,000 miles, whereas ours was nearer 12,000 miles.

After a final excursions to the Waggon & Horses for a final farewell drink with Steve, Karen and I donned our ruck-sacks and set off on the short 3 mile walk to the country station of Ashwell & Morden over those delightful country paths that brought us to Steeple Morden in the first place.

It was a great relief to be finally on our way. The last few weeks had been an emotional roller-coaster for Karen and me as we had been completely over-whelmed by the warmth and sincerity offered by our close friends and relatives as we kissed and hugged our goodbyes. Even the first leg of our journey wasn't without emotion, with Ange insisting on taking our picture outside of the church as she offered us one last embrace. John, the chairman of the Church Friends shook our hand as we passed St Peter & St Paul's and Sue from the Parish Council waved her goodbyes as we walked down the side of John Jarman's farm.

It took us an hour with our backpacks to walk that first leg of the journey, but soon we were aboard the 16:04 to Cambridge. At the station, we took a short bus ride in to Cambridge City Centre for a spot of dinner and people watching. How strange it felt sitting in All Bar One, mingling with the commuters as they filed out of their office buildings whilst we were there on our way to Bangkok.

At 19:43 we boarded the Dutch Flyer, which whisked across East Anglia from Cambridge to Harwich where we boarded the Stena Line Ferry that took us to the Hoek van Holland, and then onwards to Amsterdam via Rotterdam using the Dutch National Railway system.

Not a bad start then. Day 1: Total Mileage to Date: 150: Number of Time Zones Crossed: 2; Number of Countries Visited: 1; Number of Transport Modes Used: 4.

We were on our way.