Day 179 - New Delhi, India

It's New Year's Eve as I write this, or rather more accurately it's about 5:00 in the morning on New Year's Eve, and I'm sitting on a train waiting to go to Delhi. We've been in India for 13 days now and I still haven't decided whether I like it or not. I'd better make up my mind as we leave next week...

Walking through the filthy, dusty streets of Varanasi, in which we arrived last week, I started making a mental note of my likes and dislikes about the country to try and put things into perspective. However, while avoiding the rivers of human piss, trying not not step in piles of rotting cow shit or puddles of betel stained gob, the list was growing rapidly on the dislikes side. I gave up on that as it was making me even more depressed so I decided from then on that I was going to focus on the positives rather than the negatives.

We were in Varanasi, or Varanasty as Rich re-Christened it, for four days which was more than enough. In fact two days were plenty as it's a fairly claustrophobic city and holds little of interest other than the numerous ghats that line the Ganges river. A Ghat is a stoned step-way leading down to the water's edge that is used for a particular purpose such as bathing, laundry or cremation and each of them along the Ganges is uniquely named and varying in style. We walked along the banks of the river taking in the views when we came across the cremations area. A bloke invited us up to watch and asked us not to take photos which was fair enough. As I stood there it occurred to me just how matter of fact these deeply personal and emotional ceremonies were being carried out. An image that will probably stay with me forever is seeing a bloke pushing a half burned body back into the flames while goats wandered around the funeral pyres munching on ceremonial garlands of chrysanthemums. It was all quite surreal and to be honest made me feel pretty melancholy.

It was an education though and very interesting. Apparently it's not that unusual to be shampooing your hair or washing your smalls downstream from all this and for body parts to drift gently by as the cremated remains are placed into the Ganges regardless of whether they are completely reduced to ashes or not. Fortunately we weren't witness to that.

Along the way we encountered numerous little kids who would spend hours flying their makeshift kites in the gentle air currents. It was lovely to see something so simple giving them so much pleasure. I bet they didn't spend Christmas Day opening hundreds of pounds worth of electronic entertainment only to be bored with it by Boxing Day. Some of the kids tried selling us little candle votives to send floating down the river; apparently our karma would have been healed if we'd bought one. I wasn't sure that mine needed healing just yet so I left it.

The traffic in Varanasi was hideous, as it is in most Indian cities and I've come to the conclusion that pedestrians are the lowest in the pecking order of all traffic. It doesn't matter how clearly you make yourself seen, all vehicles will just hurtle towards you as if you are completely invisible. There are rarely any pavements to seek sanctuary on and even when they do exist they are just regarded as nice bits to ride motorbikes or auto-rickshaws on. I've lost a few pounds in weight since reaching India and I'm sure it's due to my increased adrenaline levels.

For Christmas Eve and Christmas Day we booked into the top hotel in Varanasi. It was pure heaven sleeping in a soft bed in a clean, quiet room and we didn't leave the room other than for dinner on Christmas Eve and to complain about the Internet connection packing up. The bathroom had a bewildering array of products and I was determined to use them all to get my monies worth. I bathed my skin in Indian berry bubblebath, I moisturised with rose scented cream, I shampooed with apple flavoured shampoo and dried my bum on soft, white, fluffy towels. I smelt like an exotic fruit salad afterwards but didn't care as I was properly clean for the first time in ages. How can such small pleasures make such a big difference?

Our Christmas dinner consisted of a packet of curry flavoured Nik-Naks, some processed cheese and a few Ritz style crackers. We didn't want much else after our massive dinner the previous evening plus we're on a budget you know... We spent most of the day watching Christmas telly on the Star Movies channel which was a Godsend, but there's only so much Tim Allen you can take for one day so we stopped at The Santa Clause III.

Boxing day came and we were on a train again. This time we headed for Lucknow and checked into an hotel near to the station. It was run by a complete zombie who's expression or position didn't change in two days, no matter what time of day. He also had this creepy knack of having our room key in his hand behind his back each time we returned to the hotel. He would hand it over with a sinister glint in his eye and a slight twitch of his moustache.

The sights in Lucknow were as disappointing as everywhere else; years of neglect, peeling paint, crumbling walls and pigeon crap everywhere. I really don't understand where all the money goes as they get hundreds of visitors, each paying a small fee to enter, or a large fee if you're a foreign tourist (often 20 times what the locals pay). Somebody somewhere is making a lot of money out of doing very little and it's intensely irritating to pay so much to see so little. The most annoying thing is watching so many staff sitting around doing nothing or just idly chatting amongst themselves.

While at one of the mosques, we sat down for a rest after several hours walking and this family came up and asked for a picture. I assumed she meant of them, as I've done so many times before, but then she positioned her son and daughter either side of me and snapped away on her phone's camera. She then shooed her daughter out of the way and took another photo. As she started to walk off I asked her if I could see the picture and she'd completely zoomed in on me, cutting off her son's head. I pointed this out to her and she just shrugged and giggled to her friend as they returned to the rest of their family. The daughter looked ever so disappointed at being excluded. I guess that's just another of the photo albums around the world that I'll star in!

Two days was plenty in Lucknow and we had another train to catch, this time to Amritsar. We got to the station and it was complete and utter chaos. None of the electronic information boards worked, as usual, and half of the speakers belching out confusing and garbled information had blown. We went to the advertised platform but there was no sign of the train well past its due time so we went looking for some information. I ran across to the 'information' counter to join the huge, surging crowd of others that were in front if it. No queue of course, just pandemonium. Like everyone else I tried pushing and elbowing my way to the front to ask about our train. There, behind his screen of iron bars and Perspex, sat a fat bloke chewing a pen, leaning back on the hind legs of his chair and barely bringing himself to give a toss. I was furious but powerless to do anything about it. If that was back home the bloke would have been lynched, I'm sure.

Eventually, a local family asked us where we were going and gave us the information we were after. It turns out they were going the same way and were even in the same carriage. It was a stroke of luck so we latched onto them while trying to ignore the various misshapen beggars that were demanding money from us. After a while, the father came up to us and asked us if one of us would swap our lower bunk with his wife's top bunk as she supposedly had a slipped disc and couldn't climb up. A last minute platform alteration showed us just how disabled she wasn't as she legged it up the footbridge laden with luggage. We said we'd think about it and let them know. When the train eventually came they managed to secure what they wanted without us having to swap by having a quiet word with the carriage attendant. Presumably some sort of financial encouragement was involved as that seems to be the way to get whatever you want here. So, with the family out of the way, we ended up sharing our little area of the carriage with some insects, a mouse, a travelling underwear salesman that snored a lot and two old Seikhs that spent the journey farting and belching. Presumably they were on a high-fibre vegetarian diet. Twenty one hours later, due to fog apparently, we arrived in Amritsar. After checking into The Grand Hotel, which wasn't grand at all, we took a car to go and see the border with Pakistan. Every evening at sundown they have a ceremony at the gates where the two country's flags are lowered as part of an elaborate ritual that involves much parading and puffing of chests by soldiers on both sides. It's a curious mixture of bravado, jingoism, feirce patriotism, shouting and cheering with a small dollop of restraint. It's a good show though.

After that we were driven to the Golden Temple which is a massive Siekh built structure, covered in gold and surrounded by a sacred lake. It was stunningly beautiful at night as it was all lit up. It was worth the horrendous train journey for that alone. We visited it the next day as well to see it in the daylight. There's an amazing feeling of calm in the whole area as religious men chant readings from the holy book and people queue silently to get inside the temple and make their offerings and prayers. I loved it there and the people were all so friendly. It was one of the few places where kids would speak to you without asking for anything and we could walk around without being stared at constantly. This was the best place that I think I've seen so far in India and yet we were not asked for a single rupee in return. The place was spotlessly clean, beautifully maintained and hassle free yet all of this was done on voluntary donations. It speaks volumes.

We spent last night in a great restaurant called, rather exotically, Crystal Restaurant. We'd been there earlier in the day to look at a menu to see if was worth the walk in the evening and it was a little confusing as there were two restaurants with the same name, one upstairs and one down. As we approached the doors, both of them sprang to life and competed with each other to get us in. It turns out that the original one downstairs was so popular that somebody else opened one upstairs with the same name hoping to cash in on its neighbour's success. Bloody cheek! Of course, we went to the original and the food was superb. It was one of the few places that I ate a meal at and didn't have to think about asking the hotel for spare toilet rolls when we got back.

Well, Delhi is next on the agenda and this train is a delight. We've got proper seats, a clean carriage, tea and coffee and breakfast is being served as I write this. Rich just said "If only all of Indian Railways was like this" and I couldn't agree more.

We're still running two hours late though, despite leaving on time.

Day 172 - Varanasi, India

Kathmandu sort of came and went really. It's not that difficult to imagine its hey day in the 60's and early 70's when the hippies used to hang out there as it doesn't look like much has changed. The shops are still selling loads of Indian and Nepalese art as well as an outlandish array of hippy smocks, loon pants and felt slippers shaped like mice in all sorts of psychadelic colours, but they've now branched out into fake branded hiking gear, walking poles and back copies of The Economist much to Rich's delight.

We walked around the city quite a bit and managed to see a fair amount. The closeness to Tibet was quite obvious in the number of Buddhist temples dotted around and the stupas being circumnambulated by the familiar maroon robed monks. One of the stupas was really quite impressive, set in the middle of a huge square it absolutely filled the space. The hundreds of colourful prayer flags that adorned it were vivid and bright and the gold top piece reflected the brilliant sunshine. After walking around it we decided to go to one of the many rooftop cafes for a slice of cake and a view of the Himalayas. We got the cake but no view as it was too smoggy. Instead I amused myself by listening to an old American lady having her Tibetan homework checked by her teacher. Of course, the American thought she'd done really well despite what the teacher was telling her.

We spent another day at a big Hindu temple, or rather we walked for over an hour to get to the temple only to find that non-Hindus are not allowed in. The guide book says that if you walk round the outside you can catch a glimpse of the back end of a huge golden bull. We didn't. What we did see though was a ticket office where you could pay to go in and see the rear of the temple. We paid and once we were in we found ourselves on a river bank where cremations were taking place. One of the young blokes who was touting himself as a guide told us we could take pictures but I chose not to. The grieving family at the corpses side had enough to contend with without tourists pointing their Canons and Kodaks at them. Instead, I walked along the bank to take a picture of a monkey eating one of the rice offerings but managed to get a lung full of smoke from one of the funeral pyres. It really made me gag as you can imagine so we fled to higher ground. There were plenty of other monkies there, picking at various items and climbing all over the temples. Some of them shimmied along the power lines and onto the lamp posts to have a play with the broken light bulbs but soon got bored. One of the things that I found very strange were the Saddhus. A Saddhu is someone that has given up all worldly possessions and dedicated their life to one of worship. It's a bit like being a monk except these ones are half naked and often covered head to toe in white ash for some reason. Anyway, the thing that I found weird was that although they reject all earthly possessions in the hope of reaching a higher religous state, they still charge you to take a photo of them. How does that work then?!

Between the numerous power cuts in Kathmandu we needed to book our flight to India. There are loads of little travel agents dotted around so we traipsed from one to another trying to find one at a fair price. We went into one agency run by two completely hopeless young girls who were just setting up their business. After they made lots of phone calls, searched endlessly through their one lever-arch file and tapped a lot on their computer keyboards we got the price after about 30 minutes. We gave up on those two and ended up booking it through a grubby little joint with faded posters on the walls and where they ran their computers on a generator. Photocopying our passports was the straw that broke the generators back because as soon as he pressed the copy button all the lights dimmed and the computers rebooted themselves. Despite all this, we managed to get a couple of business class tickets as that's all that were left.

The airport at Kathmandu is basic. It looks like it was designed by someone in the 50s more used to designing office canteens. Still, once through passport control we were eager to use our invitation to the hospitality area that we were given on check-in because of our business class tickets. Free drinks and snacks were beckoning us. We eagerly approached the executive lounge, invitation in hand, wondering what delights awaited us. "Excuse me sir." shouted the uniformed attendant, "Can I help you?" she continued. We explained we had the invitation and asked her where we needed to go. She pointed to a badly lit booth with a dry burger, an empty looking cheese sandwich, some pizza slices and a few little pasties. Our expectations were cruelly cut down to size when we found out that we were only entitled to one of the miserable looking pasties and a small carton of juice or a coffee, i.e the cheapest items they had to offer. This defintely wasn't British Airways!

The departure lounge was a joke. Complete chaos. They'd obviously invested in huge plasma display screens to show departure times, flight numbers, gates, etc. but forgot to employ anybody competent enough to operate them. Much of the information was either wrong or just missing so it was pure luck that we got on the right flight. The plane was nice and the extra room in business class was a welcome relief. Air India obviously has a policy of keeping on mature staff though. One of our attendants could barely stand up straight and the other had what looked like the body of Bernard Breslaw squeezed into a very tired looking sari. I won't forget that midriff in a hurry. They were both very gracious though, much more so than some of the younger ones who daren't do a thing to help you lest they bust a perfectly manicured fingernail.

Eventually we made it to Kolkata (or Calcutta as it used to be called). We caught a taxi to Hotel Crystal and all seemed well. Once in the dismal room though we decided we weren't staying there and Rich went off to find another while I stalled the rogues checking us in.

We were soon checked into the VIP International which initially seemed so much better. However, the scaffolding outside should have been a clue as to how noisy it would be. We ended up having three different rooms within the space of three nights due to the noise. The first night we moved because the room was so close to the bar that we could hear glasses chinking and the music kept us awake all night, the second night we had to put up with building work going on til 1am and on the third night it was so bad we asked to be moved again but the new room was near a bunch of Indian guys that were playing a radio til the small hours. We couldn't wait to leave. The worst thing about the whole experience was that all of the staff we spoke to on reception to sort the problems out couldn't give a damn. There was no apology, in fact the best we got was a key slung at us for another supposedly quieter room and a request for our patience during this period of renovation. Bloody cheek.

I really wanted to like Kolkata but there's not a lot to do there. The most interesting things were buildings or monuments left over from the days of the Raj such as the museum building, Victoria Memorial or Park Street Cemetary. However, these great places have lost their gloss through years of under investment and non-maintenance. In the Victoria Monument, for example, huge damp patches and pigeon crap covers the walls. In the museum it's hard to see many of the exhibits in any great detail as they are covered in a thick layer of black dust and look like they've been slung into the display cases. You're lucky if there is even a lightbulb working in order to illuminate anything through the grime. The cemetary has some interesting monuments but the grounds are badly kept and the rusty advertising hoardings detract from the sanctity of the place. Such a shame.

It's also really hard to find anything in the city as there don't appear to be any street signs so a map is pretty useless. Dodging the traffic coming from all directions is a skill you need to develop for survival so it's no surprise the people don't walk very far in the city, hence the thousands of big yellow taxis, tuk-tuks and auto-rickshaws. We took one of the taxis to the train station the day we left and, as usual, he did the trick of telling us the meter didn't work and carefully arranged his scarf over it to prevent us seeing the real price. However, at the station after trying to get 200 rupees out of us I yanked his scarf from the meter to reveal the real fare of 37 rupees. He must have thought we were born yesterday so we settled on a price of 100 after a big row that drew a small crowd. Greedy sod.

The train journey was slightly better than I thought it would be, though not a patch on the trains in Russia, China or Japan. Horrid vinyl covered seat/bed things and itchy blankets in carriages filled with noisy locals and cockroaches crawling the walls. Delightful. The carriage attendant was a right little Hitler figure who clearly loved his job when it involved chucking people out who didn't have the right ticket.

We're in Varanasi now and it's Christmas Eve. I'm going to wait until after Christmas to write any more and maybe I'll be in a more positive mood as I'm conscious that I've done nothing but moan about India so far. I'm not hating it here, in fact it's a really interesting place, but the idea of not being home for Christmas is making me homesick for the first time since travelling. At least there are only two weeks to go before coming home for a bit now we've booked our flights. Pampering ourselves for a couple of days and getting steaming drunk in a nice hotel may help relieve this. We'll see.

Day 164 - Kathmandu, Nepal

Everything that I'd ever imagined about Tibet was brought to life while we were in Lhasa. The weather was icy cold but the sun shone in a cloudless, blue sky, Buddhist monks wandered the streets in their crimson robes and the smell of incense permeated everything. It was a thoroughly magical place.

After the first night there we had breakfast on the rooftop restaurant which had a fantastic view of the sun rising over the mountains that surround Lhasa as well as The Potala which is the winter palace of The Dalai Lama. It sounds idyllic but actually it was bitterly cold and we sat there shivering despite having thick coats on. Expecting a nice cooked breakfast we were encouraged by the sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen and the brilliant flashes of yellow light quickly followed by a "Whoosh" as whatever was being fried burst into flames. We were then presented with some cooked potato and chillies, a couple of cremated eggs and a huge pile of crispy bacon. It looked OK but by the time they'd bought it the short distance from the kitchen to the table it was stone cold. The only thing that stayed warm was the toast but it filled a gap.

This set us up for a bracing walk down to The Potala and what surprised me was the sheer number of pilgrims following their daily walk around the Kora. There was a complete mixture of people, old and young and some of them were even prostrating themselves along the entire route. The Potala is build upon a huge lump of rock that dominates the West end of Lhasa and walking up the stairs to reach the palace is quite tough, especially when short of breath from the high altitude but it's worth the effort. The inside walls and ceilings are all painted in brilliant yellows, reds, blues and greens and in the bright, clear light of winter the colours just glow. Each of the chapels and tombs are adorned with Buddhas and lit by burning yak butter, filling the air with a comforting yet slightly sickly aroma. The light from the buttery candles made the gold covered tombs shine and the flickering of the light enhanced the serene feeling that filled the place. The only thing that spoiled it were the shocking charges the monks were imposing for taking pictures inside the place. It was outrageous so we didn't bother.

We continued wandering around Lhasa for a couple of days taking in all it had to offer. The Jokhang Temple was stunning, especially the climb onto the roof where you could get a good view of the square below and see the worshippers doing their thing. The Renpoche Monastery was also a real treat, though I couldn't help feeling a little guilty when our guide, Sambhu, started hammering on a closed temple door only for it to be opened by a weary looking monk that eventually let us in. It wasn't the monk I felt sorry for, but the other locals that had the door firmly shut in their faces after we'd entered. I guess we did pay a lot for the ticket though and the locals get in for free.

Regardless of how much I loved Lhasa, there was definitely an air of tension in the city. Guarding all the little alleyways leading into the old town were dozens of Chinese soldiers armed with guns ready to fire rubber bullets at anyone that posed a threat to the peace. As well as those, soldiers and police strutted around with big wooden batons which must have antagonised the Tibetans even further.

One thing about Sambhu was that he loved his sweet tea. In the first place he took us to we sat down next to a group of very excitable Tibetan women who were obviously very curious about us. Rich delighted them by taking pictures of them which generated shrieks of laughter. The next time we had tea, in a Buddhist nunnery, I though I'd take some pictures of the other customers myself. This wasn't appreciated so gratefully and the old woman that I was pointing my camera at held her thumb to her throat and slid it across from one side to the other and looked at me with a "just you dare" sort of look. I put my camera down and avoided anymore eye contact with anyone.

After our couple of days in Lhasa, we were then driven to Gyantse. On the way there I was stunned to see a man standing in a field, surrounded by sheep with his trousers down. All sorts of things went through my head but I'm sure there was a perfectly rational explanation. The town is small with a big monastery and the best thing there was the Kumbum which is a huge stupa with 77 chapels built into it and apparently 10000 murals. I somehow doubt that number but there were an awful lot of paintings and statues to see. Needless to say, we didn't stop to look at them all but what we did see was very impressive. There's also a great view of Gyantse from the top.

To kill some time we had a little walk around the town before settling down for the evening. It was a very grim place, partly due to the thick, sandy dust that coated everything but mainly due to the trio of dead dogs we saw lying in the park with their teeth exposed and 'snarling' in almost comic fashion. One of the best views in the town was that of the Old Fort at the top of the hill. It could be viewed from 'dead dog park' but the Chinese authorities, in their infinite wisdom, decided to stick a great big, ugly monument in front if it which really spoilt the otherwise pleasant viewing spot. Typical and arrogant.

The toilets in Tibet are possibly the worst we've seen to date. Often they are just a hole in the ground with a couple of planks suspended over it forming somewhere to stand. Other times there is no hole, it's just a platform suspended over the side of a hill. In all cases they stink to high heaven and even the locals must hate them because on many occasions we saw men just urinating anywhere on the street in exactly the same way a badly trained dog might do. It's apparently not that unusual for long skirted women just to squat down in the road and relieve themselves either. I suppose the skirt retains some sense of dignity. This wasn't just limited to adults either; I couldn't understand why so many kids were wandering around with the seam in the backs of their trousers split open, but I guess as it's so cold they could just stop what they were doing, do their business then continue their games without the hassle of nappies or getting undressed. It sort of makes sense, but still just seems wrong. Thinking about it, maybe the sheep farmer I saw on the way was just emptying his bladder...

After Gyantse, we drove to Shigatse which is the second largest town in Tibet. On arrival, Rich and I had a walk around the town again to see what it had to offer. Butchery is obviously a big thing here with yak and goat heads in big demand given the number of them we saw for sale. I asked Sambhu about them who told me that they are a big delicacy and quite delicious once all the hair has been singed off and then cooked (the head, not the hair). He doesn't like it though - can't imagine why. The main attraction here is the Tashilhunpo Monastery and it's a real beauty. It's a huge site and has traditionally been the seat of the Panchen Lama, probably the second most important person in Bhuddism after the Dalai Lama. One of the highlights here was seeing the young monks gathering in their ceremonial robes of crimson and yellow, getting ready to go and pray. Most of them were no older than about 15 and were behaving like naughty school children until an older monk bought them into line. Once they started chanting it was great to see, then they all filed off into an assembly hall to continue their prayers. All that was left were dozens of pairs of crimson boots that the boys had shed before leaving.

The next day was really exciting, after a breakfast of cold oily cabbage, raw oily potatoes and warm greasy spam, we continued our drive along the Friendship Highway to Everest Base Camp. It was a long drive, but I loved every moment of it, even seeing a man on his motorbike with a skinned, slaughtered sheep riding pillion. The scenery was absolutely beautiful and our first glimpse of Mount Everest bought a huge grin to both of our faces. Continuing along the
Gyatso-La Pass bought quick increases in altitude as we wound our way up and over mountain ranges. The views of the Himalayas were breathtaking.

Eventually, we reached Everest Base Camp and were blown away by the clear, unadulterated view of Mt. Everest or Mt. Chomolangma as the Chinese call it. We couldn't have had a clearer day and we were the only ones there! I was expecting the base camp to be full of tents housing groups of intrepid explorers and their Sherpas all decked out in Gore-tex hiking gear and clasping oxygen masks to their faces. It was nothing like that, there was a grotty toilet block, a couple if deserted tin huts, lots of prayer flags and a view to die for. We clambered up the hill to get a better view and at this point I tied a string of prayer flags to the others already fluttering in the freezing air. That was in memory of my Dad as he'd loved to have known I had been there.

Eventually, we tore ourselves away and drove to Old Tingri to stay the night. We were due to stay at the Rongphu Monastery which is quite close to the base camp but were told that it would be too cold as they have no heating there. A terrifying drive followed where we didn't stick to any road in the conventional sense, but followed a rough dirt path usually used for trekking. We were worried that night was closing in at this point and thinking that if anything had happened to the car we'd have been stuffed because nobody was around for miles. The car, at one point, lurched up an icy hill and then started wheel spinning before the engine cut out. The driver, looking slightly worried, switched off the ignition then let the car roll back down the hill. We heard a big crunch at which point Sambhu and the driver got out, looked at each other anxiously then looked at the front wheels. After a minute of so, they got back in the car and started the engine and we were on our way. Next, we found ourselves on a huge sheet of ice confronted with a deep but narrow river to cross. I looked out the window and could see the flow of water under the thin ice that our 4x4 was now parked on. I closed my eyes while the driver slowly backed up to find another route across. We made it, but it was getting dark at this point and the next trial was traversing the side of a hill on a very fragile, narrow dirt track with a sheer drop on one side. Rich looked petrified when I glanced across at him but, again, we made it. Each small settlement we saw in the distance we hoped was Tingri and the third one turned out to be the right one.

What a huge relief.

Tingri turned out to be no better than the Rongphu. The first guesthouse we arrived at looked quite cosy as we sat by the stove and sipped weak tea. We'd just started to look at the menu when the Sambhu got up and declared that we weren't staying there. There was a very strange atmosphere and I don't know what was going on but we were bundled back in the jeep and drove next door to the neighbouring guesthouse. All very strange. We were shown our 'room' and our hearts sank. It was rotten. I'd seen cleaner stables and it was dark and freezing. The only heat and light came from a 40 watt light bulb that got progressively dimmer as the evening wore on. After having some very dubious looking 'chicken' curry and veg momos, Sambhu told me that we may encounter some problems on the road the next day as they are resurfacing it and it doesn't open until 8pm. I thought he might be exaggerating and tried not to think too much about it. I slept in all my clothes that night, trying to keep warm in a sleeping bag, tightly wrapped in a smelly damp quilt and grubby blanket. We couldn't wait to leave the next day. There was no chance of a shower as the corrugated iron 'door' was locked for the winter and I had to hold my breath as I used the stinking toilet before we left.

A quick cup of tea heated up on the stove fuelled by yak dung and we hit the road to Zhangmu, the Tibetan/Nepali border. I didn't look back but I just managed to catch sight of one of the numerous stray dogs, whose back legs had given out, shuffling itself along using it's front legs and dragging it's arse along the ground with its back legs tucked forward like some pathetic impression of a gymnast. It was pitiful.

A few hours into our journey and we reached a town called Nyalam. The driver hopped out with Sambhu at the checkpoint and then informed us that the road is indeed closed and we were not allowed to pass until 8pm that evening. Even the bribe of a packet Tibetan fags couldn't persuade the gatekeeper. It was 1pm at this point so we decided to stop for lunch and decide what to do. Sambhu suggested that we start walking and he and the driver would catch us up when they could. It was 30km to Zhangmu so we were a little apprehensive about starting the walk along a largely unmade road with the possibility of it getting dark before seeing the car again. However, we bit the bullet and set off. It was not a choice we regretted as the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. It was all downhill so not too tiring and we passed numerous waterfalls, some of them frozen, tree lined valleys and gushing streams. We walked for five and a half hours and made the entire 30km. Absolutely knackered, we sat on a rock as it got dark around us and waited for the car. It arrived fifteen minutes later and soon after we were taken to our final Tibetan hotel. It was another bitter disappointment. Firstly, despite asking for a twin room we were put in a dormatory with five filthy looking beds lined up around a cold stark room. There were no showers which was a real blow as we were cold and caked in dust from the long walk and the toilet was a hideous squat type toilet with no light. The only hot water was delivered by thermos flask and we had to wash in a washing up bowl in the corner of the room. Neither of us could be bothered to go out for food so we just climbed into our beds and fell fast asleep. That was until Sambhu, obviously relieved at safely delivering us to our final destination, came back to the hotel rip-roaringly drunk and shouting at the top of his Tibetan voice. God knows what he was saying but the driver was obviously trying to calm him down. Eventually peace returned and we all slept through til the next morning.

Sambhu looked really rough, and a little embarrassed the next day. I told him that he sounded like he'd enjoyed himself the previous night and I'm sure he squirmed a little. Ha ha ha...

We made it through the border to Nepal and I was glad that we were heading to a decent hotel after the previous two tough nights. After the usual struggle to get a taxi for a decent fixed price we were shown to a car that looked like it wouldn't make it to the end of the road, let alone more than 100km to Kathmandu. Rich and I kicked the dilapidated back wheel and looked at the driver suspiciously. We were told there was a spare wheel and it was OK. Reluctantly we got into the car. Two hours later the driver stopped at a puncture repair place and got the attendant to stick yet another patch over the knackered inner tube of the bald spare wheel. It was farcical but turned out to be very prophetic as an hour later the back wheel that we'd regarded with such suspicion got a puncture and had to be replaced with the even more knackered looking spare.

Luckily, we made it to Kathmandu and checked into a decent hotel. Only one major snag with this though, the electricity is switched off for several hours a day in Kathmandu as there is not enough to go around. I'm sitting here in the hotel room writing this in dim, flickering light, powered by the hotel's generator. With a bit of luck, the power may come back on at 8.30pm. Or it may not...

Who know's?

Day 156 - Lhasa, Tibet

Saturday 6 December.

The trip to the panda breeding centre was really good. We arrived there just about feeding time so we got so see them languidly tucking into some delicious looking bamboo. (Excuse my use of the word "languidly" but I know my mate Jack will appreciate it.) The weather, as usual in Chengdu, was a horribly overcast and misty day, the air thick with the output from countless industrial districts and so the light wasn't that good for photographing these brilliant animals. It was great fun watching them though as they reclined on their more than ample arses and delicately stripped the more tender bamboo leaves from the branches. Some of them seemed painfully shy and appeared to be deliberately avoiding our camera lenses. It was much like that old Kit-Kat advert where the bloke waits hours for the pandas to do something and as soon as he turns his back to "have a break, have a Kit-Kat" the panda starts swishing around on a pair of roller skates and doing acrobatics. I bet they did that to us, too. The best thing about the visit was seeing the baby pandas. Only a couple of months old they were about the size of large teddy-bears and infinitely cuter. One of them, my favourite, just layed flat on its stomach with its arms and legs splayed out like one of those animal skin rugs. It only got slightly animated when another of its furry friends clumsily fell onto it. They were absolutely adorable but we weren't allowed to take photos of those. It turns out that you could pay ¥100, if you felt so inclined, to have your picture taken holding one of the little cuties. Shameless racketeering, but not that unusual.

The next day we took a trip to Leshan to see the giant Buddha. The guesthouse we were staying at runs trips there but it costs about 60 quid to hire a car for the day. Probably feasible in a big group to share the cost but we fancied going it alone. We took the long distance bus to Leshan then a local bus to the Buddha. It was a bit of an adventure as travelling by bus in China always is but we made it there. We even managed to book a little boat trip to go and see it
from the river where you get a fantastic view of it in all its giant glory, plus you get to see the two guardians either side of it which you can't see from the land. Starting in AD 713, the Buddha took over 91 years to build and is carved out of the cliff face. It is 71m high (over 210ft) and its ears alone are 7m long. It is very, very impressive. We climbed down the steps to look up at it from his toenails and it just dwarfs everything around it. A Buddhist monk called Haitong started the building process, originally thinking that the Buddha would calm the rapid waters and protect the fishermen from the dangerous currents of the nearby river. It worked, not from any divine influence, but from the sheer amount of rubble, rock and silt that was dumped into the river, filling the hollows and therefore calming the turbulent water. It's a miracle!

All in all, our full day trip including transport and entrance fees cost about half of what the guesthouse's tour would've cost. Plus it was more fun. Bargain.

On Friday we just faffed around Chengdu for a bit visiting the monastery and various tombs and temples. The monastery was a lovely place to see, monks scurried around urgently, sweet smelling incense filled the air and worshippers said their prayers in front of the numerous images of Buddha. It was so calm and serene, a great place to escape the depression of the ugly, grey city. The only disappointing part of the place was the little garden out the back, or more
specifically the "free life pond" which was the main feature. It consisted of a large pool, green with thick algae and numerous dead fish floating around in it. Even the turtles seemed afraid to wallow in it as most of them were trying to escape onto a nearby island. The ones that weren't fleeing the murky mire looked suspiciously inactive. I think maybe the name was translated incorrectly and should have been "free of life pond". It was pretty stagnant.

Our last meal in Chengdu was a local, Sichuan speciality called Hotpot. Now, to most of us, this conjures up cosy images of Betty Turpin dishing up a Lancastrian confection of lamb chops, carrots and onions stewed under a thick layer of sliced potatoes. No such luck. This particularly fiery potion was a huge vat of dark oil infused with chillies, peppercorns, chillies, garlic, chillies, ginger, chillies, lemon grass and more chillies. This fearsome cauldron was then placed over a gas burner in the middle of our table where it bubbled and boiled scarily in front of us. We then dipped slivers of raw pork, beef, potatoes and dumplings into it where it fizzed and cooked within econds. The first taste was like holding a blowtorch to your tongue, but once your mouth was sufficiently numbed from the Sichuan chilli's effect, it became quite delicious. The idea was to dip the oily cooked morsels onto a further bowl of sesame oil infused with garlic (more than I would use in a dish for 8 people!!), coriander, salt, sugar, vinegar and oyster sauce. There was loads of food and we couldn't eat it all, particularly since it was so greasy but I think it's more of a novelty than a gastronomic delight. More so for the staff in that they had a couple of useless Westerners in their restaurant who didn't have a clue. At one point we had six members of the crew fussing over us, letting out squeals of delight each time I tried fishing out a slippery dumpling with my chopsticks and failed. Miserably.

Back at the hotel we were happy to recieve our permits for Tibet and collect our luggage ready for the train. I sat down on the sofa while we waited for our transport and one of the two kittens that had been wandering around the restaurant came and parked himself on my lap. It was really cold so neither of us complained about sharing our warmth with each other though I think the scrawny little kitten got the better deal.

We'd been shopping earlier to stock up on snacks and instant noodles for the journey. Groaning under the weight of our booty, we were then presented with a big bag of fruit and biscuits for the trip by Sim, the owner of the guesthouse. A really nice touch.

It's Saturday afternoon now and we've been on the train to Lhasa for 16 hours already. Only another 29 hours to go. We're now at the point where 2 days on a train is barely an inconvenience, it's more of a chance to rest and catch up on some reading.

Sunday 7 December.

About 40 hours have passed now and we've ascended to 4560m above sea level. So far, only mild symptoms of altitude sickness are affecting us; runny noses, slight dizziness and shortage of breath, etc. The true test will be when we reach Lhasa and have to carry our heavy rucksacks for any distance. It was a little bit worrying when the train's carriage attendant knocked on the door last night and issued us each with oxygen canulas to plug into the O2 supply. Donning it
made me look like someone out of one those Government commercials warning of the risks of smoking. Speaking of which, though these carriages are supposed to be non-smoking it doesn't seem to stop the locals. I just hope they're not using their oxygen at the same time
otherwise the there'll be a terrible mess.

20:29

Arrived safely in Lhasa and our guide met us outside the station, they used to be able to go right to the platform and meet their punters, but not any more. He seems a nice enough chap, speaks good English without an American accent and is not one if these wide-boy tour guides like a lot of them.

We went for a meal tonight in a local restaurant. Rich thought he'd be adventurous and order some Tibetan stuff but hated it and went hungry instead. I enjoyed my yak momos and tenthuk though!

Day 150 - Chengdu, China

Seventeen hours on that last train, followed by five hours on a bus and then two more subsequent bus rides and we made it to Dali. Struggling onto packed local transport with a huge backpack and no clue where you're going is not for the feint hearted, we could barely move on the bus and the best you can hope for is to be carried along towards the exit door by the ripple of other people clamouring to get on or off. Somehow though, we made it and it was worth the hassle. Dali is a beautiful little town located in the Yunnan province of China and it nestles in a wide valley between two huge mountain ranges.

On the first night we were both pretty exhausted from the travelling so headed to the nearest and most decent looking restaurant. It was the first time that either of us had really felt cold since starting this leg of the travelling so we were sitting there in jumpers and coats while the restaurant staff lit a little stove to heat up the place. It was really cosy. We sat by the window watching the world go by and it was nice to see that the town had retained a sense of the traditional in that many of the locals were dressed in very traditional clothing. While I was staring out of the window, two of the richly dressed women wandered by and started signalling to me. I then realised that they were asking me if I wanted to buy hashish! I was quite shocked as they weren't young either, these were respectable looking, middle aged women. Their costume must have been some sort of calling card because almost everyone that offered us drugs was dressed like this. I suppose it makes it easy to sniff out that stuff if you're into it but they were so blatant about it, they even tried selling it to us when there was a police car cruising behind them.

The mountains are pretty scenic around this area and one of the days here we took a cable car up to one of the lower peaks. It only cost a few quid and it was one of the best cable car rides that I've been on. A slow, twenty minute cruise over the tree tops took us as far up the mountain as we could have walked in two hours and there we were dropped off at a convenient point to follow the trail to the downward cable car. Eleven and a half Kilometres we walked and it took us a little over two and a half hours; the guide book says to allow four and a half so we obviously walk fast. A student sort of latched onto us at the end of the walk and we thought we would never get rid of him. He obviously wanted to practice his English on us, as so often happens here, but fortunately we managed to ditch him once we descended from the mountain. We did see him again in Dali but he was scooting off to somewhere else and luckily didn't have time to talk other than to wish us well on our travels. He was another one of those weird Asian types that insisted on having his picture taken with us. I'm wondering just how many photo albums around the world that I'm going to appear in now as it always seems to happen wherever we stop.

We booked a bus from Dali to go to Lijiang which was a three hour nightmare because of the bad Chinese television that they insisted on showing plus two brain-dead, bleach-headed Chinese girls that stank of the previous nights booze and chattered like two demented parakeets for the whole journey. At one point they both lit up cigarettes (on this non-smoking bus) and the driver yelled something at them at which point they both scurried to the back of the bus and started devouring a big bag of monkey nuts. I chuckled to myself when one of them, obviously after over-indulging, took herself to the loo and started honking up. There's justice. She was very quiet when she came back out and she didn't look half as cocky as she had earlier.

Lijiang is another wonderful place. The actual city is pretty big and not that attractive, but the old town is a real treat. It's all no higher than two stories and very traditional to look at. Much of it was destroyed in an earthquake quite recently and was rebuilt, but it was all done very sympathetically and, for a Chinese place, it's quite tasteful. Wandering around the old town you're pretty much guaranteed to get lost as it's a rambling maze of cobbled streets criss-crossed by small waterways and streams. Rich was ill for most of the time we were there so I spent the first day wandering around the town myself and trying to suss out a decent place to eat that evening. The next day we took a walk to The Black Dragon Pool Park which is supposedly THE place to go and take photos of the snow mountain reflecting in the lake's clear waters. However, the sky was really cloudy that day so we didn't see any mountain. Shame for Rich, but at least I got to see it the previous day. As Rich was feeling a little better by Sunday we decided to book a trip to Tiger Leaping Gorge, well, we couldn't come to this part of China and not see it. The drive there was by minibus and I think both of us were feeling a little nervous after our previous near-encounter with a cliff edge, but the driver turned out to be pretty good and kept to the speed limits most of the time. The morning was quite cloudy and overcast again and so the drive there was pretty bleak. The only real colour that we saw were huge bunches of chilli peppers and corn cobs drying in the cool air. We got to the gorge and after a fairly decent lunch we managed to walk along the path that had been blasted out of the side of the mountain. It was a good few kilometres, but by this time the sun was shining and there was a fantastic blue sky against which the white rock of the mountain stood in stark contrast. Apparently, the gorge got it's name by an old story that a tiger once leapt across the rapidly flowing river firstly by jumping onto a big boulder and then across to the other side. It must have been a pretty impressive tiger to have managed that. The drive back was even more spectacular as we got a great view of the snowy mountains which are the highest peak of the gorge and since the sky was so blue it made the yellowing leaves on the trees and the red of the earth stand out to brilliant effect. It was a riot of primary colours and showed the countryside at its best.

We're now in Chengdu after having caught a flight from Lijiang and it's a pretty grim place. The whole place is covered in a thick coating of grime and the air is thick with a polluted fog that makes everything look grey. We went for a walk this afternoon and the only interesting things I saw were strings of sausages hanging from the same line as someone's washing effectively being 'smoked' in the fuggy air. We got a bit depressed that we have to stay here until at least Friday (4 days) until we can head to Tibet. We spent the morning booking our trip to Tibet and, since the riots back in April, it has now become even more restrictive to foreigners than ever before. We knew that one of the rules of going to Tibet is that you have to join a tour, which can consist of only one person if necessary, and once you've got your permit to enter you could pretty much abandon that tour and travel fairly independently. That's not the case now. You still have to join a tour, but as well as that you have to employ a guide to accompany you throughout your stay in Tibet. This makes things really expensive as well as restrictive because you also have to provide a full itinerary which the guide will follow. We've got a couple of days booked in Lhasa and will be taking the train there from Chengdu so we can try and acclimatise to the altitude. If either of us gets ill though, I'm not sure what we'll do; I guess we'll just have to take some of this dodgy Chinese medicine and plough on with the schedule hoping for the best.

Tomorrow we're planning on going to the giant panda breeding centre which should be pretty good. Luckily we've missed the 'falling in love period' when the park closes to give the pandas a little privacy, but I'm hoping to see lots of little baby ones.

We've been in China for about two weeks now and though I've really enjoyed it, I am looking forward to moving on to somewhere else. China has some amazing places to see but there are some things that I won't miss. Firstly, everything in China is REALLY LOUD. People shout all the time, especially on their mobile phones. Their mobile phones always ring at the loudest level possible and for some reason the people just stare blankly at the screen for ages before answering it. Bus horns are loud enough to shake you out of your skin and since they use them incessantly on busy roads your nerves are frazzled by the time you've reached your destination. The worst thing though is the spitting. Chinese men in particular, but not exclusively, love to spit. It's not just a gentle ejection of a little bit of spittle to clear one's throat, but a full gut-wrenching, nasal passage clearing, lung-straining hoik that is loud enough to warn ships at sea in heavy fog. It's disgusting and they do it all the time. Even on our flight here to Chengdu, all you could hear over the droning of the engines was this constant gobbing and rattling as their abandoned load hit the bottom of their sick bags. Utterly vile.

This guesthouse that we're staying in is probably the most backpacker style place that we've been in since all of the travelling. It's fairly basic but comfortable and the helpfulness of the staff more than makes up for its lack of style. The only worry that I have is that when coming up the stairs there are big blobs of plaster missing and cracks in the walls exposing shattered brickwork. Beneath this is a sign telling us not to worry about it, it's just damage caused by the last earthquake and they're not going to get it repaired as there are still aftershocks going on. If you don't hear from me again, you may find me under a pile of rubble where Sim's Cosy Guesthouse once stood.

Bye for now!

Day 143 - Dali, China.

Our train safely made it to Guilin and the first thing we did when we got there was to find a bus out. It's not that we took an instant dislike to it, it's just that we'd planned on heading out of town to Yangshuo which is more rural and a much nicer place to stay than Guilin which is pretty much a big old concrete and white tiled monster. Outside Guilin station we were shuffled onto a bus straight away by two very efficient old girls who took our money and issued tickets before we could draw breath and an hour and a half later we were there in Yangshuo.

We're getting really quite good at negotiating the room prices now. The first hotel we tried started off with the rack rate of over 800 Yuan. By the time we'd finished, checked the room over, found there was no hot water and were walking to the next hotel on the list, the bloke was offering the room for 130 Yuan a night (about £13). The fact that the next hotel had in-room internet swung it for us and it was only 20 Yuan more; hot water too!

We did quite a lot of stuff while in Yangshuo. We hired bikes from the hotel and cycled to Moon Hill which is a big old arch naturally formed out of rock. It's a knackering climb up some very steep steps but worth it for the view. It's made more enjoyable by the army of little ladies that follow you all the way up trying to sell you bottles of water or Coca-cola. Their little hearts sank when we got to the top and pulled out a large bottle of cold water from my backpack. "Oh, big water." they said then one of them changed tactics and tried selling us some postcards while another started to explain to me that she likes to collect foreign money. I bet she does! We took a different route on the way back through some farmland and over unmade roads. Luckily the bikes had suspension.

In the old days cormorants were used by the fishermen to catch fish and we were taken out on a little bamboo boat one evening to see this spectacle. The fisherman takes a group of the birds out on his boat and ties a thread around the bird's necks just tight enough to stop it from swallowing anything bigger than a minnow. They are then set free to swim around and catch as many fish as they can before coming back to the boat to regurgitate them into a basket. I'm pretty sure this is all for the tourists' benefit nowadays but I still steered clear of any fish whilst eating out. Incidentally, while looking through the breakfast menu one morning, I couldn't help noticing stir-fried dog with vegetables, horse with noodles and sauteed frogs. I just had yoghurt and muesli that particular morning as my taste buds were feeling a little too timid.

Another day we spent taking a boat trip up the Li river as some of the scenery is just amazing. We were put on a bus at Yangshuo by the girl that we booked the tour with and told to stay on it until we are met by someone else. This was a normal, public bus that was full of locals and their numerous bags and boxes of luggage so we asked how will she know who we are. "You're the only two foreigners on the bus!" was her sarcastic reply. She had a good point. We arrived at Xingping to be greeted by an excitable little woman who rushed us down to the river bank to catch our boat. She was supposed to wait for us during our two hour excursion along the river and then take us back to the bus stop to return to Yangshuo. She clearly couldn't be bothered and gave us a bundle of money to do it ourselves. We didn't need her anyway.

The highlight of our stay was seeing the light show which the locals call "Impressions". It's an evening performance with over 600 people taking part and is set on the Li river with the mountains lit up as the backdrop. Boats float in and out of view with soothing Chinese music and singing while vast ribbons of red silk are moved around in the water to create blood red waves. It's impossible to describe and even harder to photograph but very beautiful to watch.

The worst part of our stay was the day we went to the Dragon's Backbone rice terraces. It's supposed to be a real genius piece of engineering that has taken place over generations to sculpt and terrace the sides of hills and mountains into layer upon layer of rice fields. Shortly after getting on the bus we were introduced to Oscar, our tour guide. A nice enough chap who, in turn, told us that we were in the safe hands of Mr Liao who was an excellent driver. He wasn't an excellent driver at all, he was a cocky little creature who had hair like he'd just got up and who's idea of driving was to use both the accelerator and horn with equal, generous measure. It was a white knuckle ride from the moment we left Yangshuo to the moment he misjudged a bend and crashed our coach into the barrier protecting us from the cliff edge. If we had been 1 metre to the left I wouldn't be writing this now, I'd be practising my harp scales and trying to persuade St. Peter to let me in. We got off very luckily and there were only three casualties; the driver's bravado, the coach which must've been a write-off and the poor woman in the front seat who smacked her forehead on the handrail at the time of impact. What was shocking were the two police cars that drove past and didn't even bother to stop, despite rubber-necking and the fact that it took over an hour for an ambulance to arrive which had no supplies on but thankfully whisked the woman off to hospital along with our tour guide.

Eventually another bus turned up with another guide that couldn't speak a word of English. She did start singing to us though, presumably to calm us down, but it was so shrill that it just put us even more on edge.

Sadly, by the time we got to the rice terraces it was so foggy that we could barely see over the railings at the top of the lookout point. All in all a complete and utter scary waste of time. To add insult to injury, when I complained in the office from which we booked it, the girl behind the counter just smiled and said sorry. I showed her the pictures of the wrecked bus I'd taken and that persuaded her to give us a generous refund of 10 Yuan each (about £1). Big deal. She then had the nerve to ask if I'd like to book anything for the next day.

We returned to Guilin on Sunday afternoon and booked ourselves into The City Garden hotel using our honed bargaining skills. We whittled her down to 180 Yuan for the night and the room was pretty comfy. There was something slightly dodgy about it though because as well as the usual complimentary shower caps and bubble bath, there were also vibrating condoms and hand towels in a neat little rack on top of the writing desk. Not seen that before!

Fortunately, we were only in Guilin for one night because there's really not a lot to do. We are now on another train heading towards Kunming where we'll try and find our way to Dàlî one way or another.

Beer index:
£1.81 per litre (Avg)

Day 136 - Hanoi, Vietnam

It seems that I'm always writing these things on the move lately as I'm now sitting on a train at Hanoi station waiting to leave for China. It's a good way to pass the time though.

The taxi driver that brought us to the station was a right rogue, he played that old trick of putting his newspaper over the meter so we couldn't see the price and tried charging us almost double for the journey. We cottoned on though and made sure we saw the price before paying.

He didn't get a tip.

That's pretty much the thing in this country though, everyone is trying to screw the tourists for money. In real terms, we're only talking tens of pence but it's the principal more than anything, nobody likes getting ripped off. When we got to the station, the guy checking our tickets very kindly showed us to the train, which was helpful, but then sat on the seat with us and wouldn't leave until we tipped him. Not content with his pay-off, he then screwed his nose up, held up his palm rubbing his forefinger and thumb the way a dodgy market dealer would do and demanded more. He wouldn't leave until I showed him my [now] empty wallet.

Hanoi is a nice little city, though it would never win any beauty contests it does have a level of charm that Ho Cho Minh didn't have. Maybe it's because there are a lot of older buildings left over from the days of the French occupation, maybe it's because it is so compact and easy to walk around or perhaps it's the warren of little streets that host hundreds of Bia Hoi and Phõ joints. It probably all of those things and it's a shame that we were there so briefly..

We managed to do two of the main trips out of Hanoi. On the first full day we took an excursion to Ha Long Bay which involved a six hour round trip on a bus and four hours cruising round the bay on a junk. The bay, although very picturesque, wasn't the most interesting thing for me. I found the floating village nestling among the huge rocks fascinating. Little wooden houses were built upon planks of wood that were just lashed to big blocks of polystyrene. Most of the dwellers are fishermen and their families that are too poor to buy land in the city and who sell their catch to passing tourists and the restaurants back on land. Our boat moored up against one of the 'plots', dwarfing it but causing a flurry of excitement by the people living there. In his little wooden garden he had plots laid out like a vegetable patch but instead of growing cabbages and carrots, he was keeping crabs, clams and fish. He then gave us a demonstration of how to net and kill one of his captives with a large lump of wood and the fluttering fish fluttered no more. The fisherman's dog looked on with a 'more bloody tourists' look in its sleepy eyes.

Some of the other people in the group were cajoled into parting with around $30 for the flaccid fish as well as some other huge sea mollusc after the guide told them that the cook on the boat would prepare it for them for lunch. What she didn't mention was that another little oik would come round demanding more money for cooking it after they polished the whole lot off.

The next day we took a trip to The Perfume Pagoda which in some ways was much nicer; involving a long bus ride through some little villages and countryside scattered with paddy fields. We then had to get on a little boat where a young lady rowed us for an hour to the pagoda. Our tour guide, Kinai, was possibly the worst I've ever come across and was constantly disappearing whenever we needed him most. The first time, at the pagoda, he was nowhere to be seen while some ticket inspector was demanding that we buy tickets despite them being included in our tour price. Kinai came shuffling down the hill, singing, without any cares other than how his carefully coiffured hair or fake D&G shirt looked. He was only 24 and told us that he's in a boy band and will one day be famous. When asked what instruments his band played he looked confused and said that they just sing and dance. Funny sort of 'band' if you ask me.

The pagoda itself was interesting but that was more to do with all the Buddhist monks performing some sort of ceremony. I've no idea what it was about as Kinai was useless and couldn't explain it, but the singing and incense burning was very atmospheric. A cable car took us to the top of the mountain to see the cave that's used for prayers and Kinai warned us not to take photos inside as it would offend the people praying. Once inside he asked us if we wanted him to take photos of us.

The next time he did his disappearing act was on the return trip back in the row-boats. The girls rowing, despite having been paid by Kinai, were demanding tip money. I gave them what I thought was a generous tip of 40% of the boat trip price and she insisted on five times as much! I couldn't believe it, we told her where to go and marched off to find Kinai. When talking to the others, some were saying that their rower wouldn't even take them ashore unless they got a good tip. I think we got away lightly.

On the bus back, Kinai wanted some feedback about our feelings for the way the trip went and what we thought of him as a tour guide. There was just silence from everyone while we all squirmed in our seats and looked out of the window or stared at our feet. One French woman eventually piped up and told him that he should stick to singing. Very embarrassing but highly amusing. Like a worn out puppy after an exciting day Kinai slept on the front seat of the bus for the rest of the journey.

Hanoi, due to the number of tourists and abundance of watering holes, is a great place to go out drinking. We spent some time on all three evenings mixing with the locals and other foreigners at the so called Bia Hoi Junction which is a crossroads surrounded by half a dozen or so little drinking joints. Miniature plastic furniture lines the curbside and pavement and a stout, often very hairy woman mans the beer pumps. It's great fun until a police van turns up and the whole party is cleared away in seconds while the officials look on with accusatory eyes. Apparently the authorities are trying to keep the place from becoming the debauched and hedonistic Gomorrah that Ho Chi Minh has seemingly become. It just added to the excitement.

On our last day we spent the afternoon ambling around the city to kill a couple of hours before leaving for the train. I love doing that as we had no real plan other than just wandering and looking. It's great to be in a city where chickens wander the streets like tourists, some of them so scrawny they've hardly a feather to their name. Their fates are pretty much sealed to the chicken soup restaurants around which they roam but at least you know it's fresh.

We are now in Nanning in China and have been ushered off the train for a couple of hours. The reason? Who knows, this is China. We were lead to a big hall full of huge, bright yellow armchairs and told to wait. We nipped out to find some breakfast and had a sort of steamed patty stuffed with Chinese cabbage and spices then fried. Sounds vile but was delicious. A family of grossly overweight Chinese people are travelling on our train and one of the kids has just been beaten on the back by his mother for dropping something. The poor kid is inconsolable while his mother spits abuse at him from her fat, swollen lips and his aunts look on laughing. You don't need to be Freud to imagine what that kid is thinking right now.

Day 132 - Hûé, Vietnam

I'm on an overnight bus again now and about to leave Hûé for Hanoi. We're travelling with a different bus company now and it's a world away from the haphazardness of the previous one. The buses are exactly the same but this time we got strictly allocated seats, computer printed tickets that we could actually read and advice about where the longest beds are on the bus. Brilliant. I'm now lying down fully stretched out and looking forward to a good kip. My confidence is being only mildly shattered as I've just noticed the driver fiddling around under the dash board and checking the fuses with his torch...

25 minutes later...

I had to stop writing for a while there because when the driver started the engine there was a strong burning smell and smoke started pouring out of my overhead light. I yelled to the driver to stop and he 'fixed' it by yanking all the wires out, snipping them with wire cutters, taping them up, untaping them again then shoving all the wires back in. I've now got a disco light show to entertain me for the evening where they keep shorting. I'm currently hoping for no flames but the stench of burnt plastic is bearable as long as that's all that happens.

Hoi An, as I mentioned before, was a lovely little place. Very easy to walk round with loads of little cafés and restaurants along the river. We visited one of the old houses in the town that was over 200 years old with French and Chinese architecture. The woman told us that about seven generations of her family had lived there and showed us around. It backs onto the river and for the last twenty years or so has flooded every October. Apparently it's due to deforestation in the valley which causes the river to silt up. I guess it's only going to get worse as their population grows and demand for wood increases. Shame really as I can imagine a few more years of that will destroy those houses forever.

We took a day trip to My Son (pronounced Me Sonn) which is Vietnam's most important centre of the ancient kingdom of Champa. Unfortunately, the Vietnamese were using the area as a strategic vantage point during the war so the Americans bombed most of it. Shame really as it was quite lovely.

We left Hoi An and took the bus to Hûé which is more city like. We arrived in the afternoon having left at 08:00 and were immediately swamped by touts trying to get us to book ourselves into their hotels. They even boarded the bus stopping us from getting off while they stuffed business cards, maps and leaflets up our noses. Determined not to be overwhelmed, I uncharacteristically shouted at them and pushed them off the bus so I could retrieve the luggage and get away from them. We thought we'd go a bit off-piste this time and not use a hotel from our trusted Lonely Planet guide. It worked to our advantage too as we ended up paying only £6 a night for a good room with air-con, hot showers, free Internet and a TV.

The guide book says that a typical scene in Hûé is of a tourist walking down the street being followed by at least a couple of cyclos and a moped all offering to whizz you around the city with the tourist shouting back "No, thank you, no". It couldn't be more true. No sooner had we finished our lunch today, a rather intimidating bowl of bubbling, boiling water with onions in it and a plate of raw beef and rice paper, than we were being cat-called by five cyclo drivers all offering their services. Due to the lashing down rain it might have been tempting if our hotel had been any more than 50m away.

Yesterday we did a bus tour of some of the old royal tombs around Hûé. Many of them are less than 150 years old and the last one was completed in 1931; a monument of concrete and ceramic tiles. In some ways it was the most elaborate one that we saw as concrete can be pretty much shaped into anything. The tour guide was next to useless though and was making things up as well as conveniently forgetting to say how many Vietnamese slaves were used to build them. One of the tombs doesn't actually contain the expired emperor; he was buried along with lots of his gold a riches in a secret location. Nobody knows where though as the 200 slaves that performed the service for him were beheaded so they could never reveal the secret. There's gratitude.

This morning we took a walk over the bridge to the North side of The Perfume River. How it got that name eludes me because I can imagine it being far from perfumed in the summer. We strolled around the old citadel, the highlight of which was feeding the greedy carp in the lake and then found our way to The Forbidden Purple City. It may well have been purple once, but now it's barely rubble as most of it has been turned into a vegetable plot following its destruction during the Tet Offensive of 1968.

We're due to arrive in Hanoi at about 06:00 tomorrow morning and will be there for about four days. It should be interesting, and of course the excitement is that if we don't get out of Vietnam before our visas expire we could be in a whole heap of trouble.

Wish us luck trying to book train tickets to Guilin in China.

Day 128 - Hoi An, Vietnam

Arriving in Jakarta turned out to be nightmare because of the problems we had getting a taxi from the bus station to the city centre. The bus station is about 20Km from the city centre and the local buses are just too daunting after an already long journey so a taxi was the best option. However, trying to get a reliable taxi that would use their meter proved arduous to put it mildly, simply because the whole outfit is run by one bully controller that tries to get you to agree a price upfront and pay in advance. We were having none of that and after about thirty minutes or arguing, shouting and hand gestures we managed to install ourselves into a taxi that looked at least half roadworthy.

Fifty minutes and numerous toll booths later we were in the hotel and ready for a quick snack before exploring the city. I opted for a pancake with bolognese sauce and a cappuccino as it had been a good couple weeks since having a decent cup of coffee after all the 'sludge' that is usually served. The pancake was actually quite pleasant and the coffee had enough cream on top to line my arteries for a good few years to come. Lovely.

On our first full day in Jakarta we took the train to Bogor which again was a chore. First off, the train was cancelled without any announcement or notice so we had to wait over an hour for the next one. Once on this so-called Ekspress we crawled towards our destination, stopping at every station and it took three times longer than the scheduled time. We arrived in an absolute downpour and both marched towards The Botanical Gardens with our umbrellas held aloft looking very much the undeterred Brit abroad. Great orchid collection but not much else. Getting the train back to Jakarta was twice as bad as the journey out and only made bearable by a young woman that took pity on our utter confusion and explained which train we should take.

We both needed a drink after that and headed straight to a little restaurant that did British food. We indulged in Shepherd's Pie and Fish & Chips. Just what the doctor ordered after all that rice and noodles!

The next day we took a little auto-rickshaw to the other end of the town and walked back via couple of museums, the old Dutch quarter and the enormous monument that dominates the central part of the city. On the top of the monument I was approached by another tourist with that "Would you mind?" look in his eyes while waggling his camera at me. I assumed that he and his wife wanted their picture taken against the Jakarta city backdrop but no, after I'd agreed to do it he came marching over to me, put his arm around me and ordered his wife to take a picture of the two of us. This is friendly, I thought to myself. I stood there a little bemused and the bloke took the camera from his wife and started to take a picture of me again. This time I was joined by his wife and another miniature woman that could barely reach my armpit. "This is my grandmother" said the man while she looked up at me, smiled toothily and blinked through a huge pair of specs. This is what it must be like to be famous. The wife looked as bemused as I felt.


The alarm woke us at 2.30am the next morning as we had flight to catch shortly after 6am to Ho Chi Minh city. The hotel arranged a pick up for us and it was nice to get into a decent car with working seatbelts. The driver found it amusing as soon as we 'clunk-clicked' though and told us they weren't necessary. We were going to be the judges of that though and they proved essential as I've never seen such heavy traffic and chaotic driving as this place. It's just staggering. Trying to cross the roads in the city was like watching one of those nature programs where a grasshopper (us) is trying to cross past a swarm of army ants (mopeds). The best policy was to do it slowly, deliberately and with lots of eye contact with the moped riders.

I've mentioned before about people trying to sell us stuff all the time but it reached new heights in Ho Chi Minh. We'd be just sitting there, eating our noodles or chicken porridge for breakfast
(seriously!) and they would shuffle up to us and try selling books, sunglasses, fake Zippo lighters, cannabis or hashish! At one point I got really angry at being offered drugs while tucking into my brekkie and I whispered back to him "Shall I call the police? Isn't selling drugs illegal?". He just replied, in a not so subtle voice, "No man, heroin illegal, hashish OK". I beg to differ...

We took a day trip out to the Viet Cong tunnels which were extremely claustrophobic despite them being made twice as big for the tourists. As part of the same trip we were taken to the Cao Dai temple which is a sort of church thing, painted in the most excruciating colours and used for ceremonies where the religion believes just about everything and includes elements of Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism and Confucism and anything else that a very doubtful agnostic might need to try to protect themselves when they finally shuffle off their mortal coil. Talk about hedge your bets!

We left HCMC yesterday morning at 8am and arrived here in Hoi An this morning at just after 7am. That's nearly 24 hours on buses. It was made worse by the fact that the office where we booked our ticket screwed up and didn't reserve a sleeper bus for the second half of the journey, i.e. the overnight part! We shouted, pleaded and screamed blue-murder at the bus station to the manager but the best he could do was to offer us two seats each on the seated bus. We thought that would be OK, but they were sticky, vinyl covered seats on a packed bus with most of the padding worn down as thin as a sheet of toilet paper so we hardly got any sleep at all. Hoi An is really nice though and a real contrast to HCMC. It's much quieter, the buildings are lovely old low-rise jobs and feels a lot more laid back and relaxed. It's a shame we're only here for two nights really.

There are two entries in the beer index this time round. The first one is the average price we were paying in HCMC and the second is for the fresh beer or 'Bia Hoi' which is a local brew and non-branded that we found in Hoi An:

HCMC = £1.58 per litre.
Hoi An = £0.49 per litre (bargain!!)