Buddha loves cash

You thought that mini-bus was bad.

After rejection at the hands of freshwater dolphins it was time to leave before Tim’s heart was broken anymore. We were told by a smiling, over-friendly Mr Hap that our exclusive bus would be leaving at midday. We waited with two Dutch girls, who were coming along for the ride, until 1.00pm when we were thrown aboard and set off. We weren’t too surprised but still quite disappointed when we drove round the corner and stopped. To our dismay the engine was turned off and the driver got out. We were encouraged to get out and stretch our legs after the 10 second journey but eager to get on our way we all stuck to our seats. As time ticked on we were told we’d leave in 2 minutes, then 10 minutes, then an hour. Finally Mr Hap turned up, evil smile and all, to translate the truth. The bus would leave when it was full. Oh crap, full to us or full to Cambodians? The Dutch girls looked horrified and we were assured that there would only be 14 extra passengers and as we’d paid Western price we would have to sit next to any Asians. Casting the insinuation of racism aside we decided to count seats instead. To our Health and Safety addled minds we counted 10 seats, with five of us already in. The Dutch girls fled, calling Mr Hap all the words for thief their excellent English vocabulary could manage. We stayed.
At 3.00pm people began to arrive and clamour aboard. I took a photo when I counted 23 passengers but two minutes later a monk was squeezed on board and two boys clambered through the back window. We left at 3.30pm with a total of 26 passengers, which Tim and I decided was a pretty shoddy effort considering the amount of space left above our heads. We envisaged some kind of strap system that would easily mean an extra 2 people, something for them to consider.
The road east is a sealed delight and it only took 2 hours to reach the halfway point, unfortunately this is where the way became somewhat bumpier. For the next three hours, most time-wasting activities were impossible as the contents of the mini-bus were thrown around like we were driving on a bouncy castle.
We arrived in Ban Lung after dark and thus, as it always goes, we stayed in a complete dive for the first night. The next day we moved to Treetop Lodge for a more sanitised experience and headed to the infamous volcanic lake. The waters were as crystal clear as promised and we floated and splashed about in the beautiful setting until the krill’s interest in us became too much. For the rest of the day we sped around on bikes, investigating waterfalls. After much characteristic indecisiveness we booked a two-day trek. Two hours later, after a trip to the market to amuse the locals we were prepared. Sensible shoes for both, some classic Asian pyjama bottoms for me and some industrial strength insect repellent, we were ready for the jungle.

Anyone for a Cook Tail, mine's a Blooby Mary.

No Dolphin Hugs, the bastards.

Suddenly left alone we jumped on a bus bound for the East, our ultimate destination the Laos border. The tourist bus stopped in a small nondescript town to change buses and after a while an irritated man shoved us into a mini-bus. As more people climbed in the air got unbearably hot and we were encouraged by the driver to try to reduce the size of our pelvises. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief out of the nearest window as the movement created a breeze in our mini-prison. However we didn’t get far. Round the corner we stopped and the air dropped still once more. As the driver got out and eyed up the huge vegetable pile so did we, wondering where the hell it was going to go. In a wondrous feat of packing we set off once more, the bus quite a lot heavier with our knees up round our chins.
We arrived in Kratie some 3 hours later. To put it politely it’s not a very picturesque town but a handy stop over point for access to the eastern jungle. We decided to stay one night to investigate the island lying visibly a short distance from the mainland. Mr Hap ushered us in to his hotel and took an immediate shine to Tim, hugs and all. He didn’t try it with me, he looked a bit wary that I might bite.
The next day found us being ferried across to the island with our rusty bicycles. After we’d pushed and pulled them over the beach we were met by Solophan, who arranged for us to have lunch with a family on the island. Later, after we’d explored all the corners we could, cycling at a speed appropriate for the way of life, it turned out it we would be lunching with Solophan’s family strangely enough. He’d moved his family from Phnom Penh only 3 months before to escape the hectic life of the city and find a more peaceful, healthier existence, like a ‘A Cambodian Year in Provence.’
We ate while the children stared, slowly warming to our presence before accompanying the family for the afternoon wash. As we swum in hammocks, Tim showing off his remarkable skills in the magic floating bed, the clouds above began to turn a muddy grey. By the time we headed down to the river, the sky was almost black with just shards of light on the horizon. The water was warm from the hot day but when it started the rain was cool. As we floated about the lightening got closer and the thunder got louder until the dogs ran away. The rain began to pound down and we found ourselves in the mighty Mekong in the middle of a thunderstorm. The thunder cracked over our heads until the children cried and had to return to the shack. By the time we got out the wind had whipped up and it was the coldest I’d been since England. Partially dried we left the family and thanked them for their hospitality with the international sign of thanks, cash.
We decided to leave the next day, after a quick stop to see the dolphins off the southern shore. Trusting Mr Hap and his excessively friendly nature we booked a tour and a bus for later, that we were assured would leave when we wanted due to the Western excess price we’d paid.
Early the next morning we were hustled into a tuk-tuk and driven towards the waiting dolphins. Tim was especially excited as Matt Sim loves the dolphins so much has marked himself with a pictorial tribute, we could only assume that such devotion was born from their friendly nature. Naturally, we were expecting hugs. When we arrived it turned out Mr Hap’s dolphin tour consisted of an jaw-droppingly expensive tuk-tuk ride as extra money was demanded for the boat ticket. We had a peaceful half an hour on the river, gasping at splashes that could well have been drowning tourists for all we knew. Later the river began to fill with more boats and we charged around the river, chasing the splashes with boats of safety conscious Japenese tourists, resplendent in lifejacket orange. Needless to say there were no dolphin hugs that day, it took quite a while for Tim to realise and finally lower his arms.

5 weeks explained in 5 minutes - a post by Tim

Having set up this great blog, you may have reflected that the level of writing is high. It's been engaging, entertaining, informative, and regularly amusing. The reason for this is obvious, Christie does all the writing. So, I thought it was about time I gave you a couple words.

We've been lucky enough to enjoy a number of breaks around Vietnam since we've been here, but on a recent holiday we took the chance to explore the neighbouring countries a little. We are very grateful to have found this little working niche in the world, where we're able to take a 5 week break. It is appreciated, even more so having been caught in the 9 to 5 world back along.
So our trip took us to some of the major sites in Cambodia, and with time and distance being a factor, we opted just to lightly touch the southern part of Laos. I'll try to sum this up in chronological order without going on too much.
Arriving in Phnom Penh for Saigon folk like us was great. A pretty enough clean city with the looming excitement of a Devon contingent arriving. And so they did, full with jet lag and happy smiles. The doctors (namely me and Andy James) prescribed the only sensible jet lag cure, all day drinking in an unfamiliar climate. This set us off nicely for a holiday of culture, adventure, countryside, and beer.
The Khmer history was sour to our tastes, but undoubtedly an important message. We skipped away from this down to some seaside relaxation which was only tainted slightly by those blasted spiders camping out in bathrooms ready to sit there looking nasty and threatening. The sun was only slightly more friendly, but a few clouds was probably best for every ones Lilly white english skin.
Stepping in land just a bit we set up on the sides of a river in a rustic looking Cambodian town. Our host ran the hippest guest house maybe in all of Asia, and although it was excellent, maybe I'm too old for hip now.
Having raced motorbikes and paddled in sparkling nighttime river water, we made our way to the celebrated kings of the past, to the majestic complex of glorious Angkor. With some staged classical dancing and an attack of evil food bugs, the final reflection has to be a must for all people, everywhere. I love those temples and the locals have laid on real comfort for us spoilt westerners.

"Bye bye English friends" was our next step as Christie and I took our travel toward Laos. We saw some dolphins, enjoyed the hospitality of a gem of a local family and managed to get ripped off by the nicest horrible person I may have ever met. Having a cramped minibus boasting a population of village proportions, we set off east on hellish roads to find a trek in a jungle. And trek we did, plus much more. A beautiful volcanic lake framing paradise for us as we found stunning tree top accommodation to off set a hard night swinging in hammocks in a wet rain forest. Maybe the best so far.

Time, much like ambition, has a way to push you on, so that's what we did heading into Laos, and finding a tranquil beauty on some islands neatly sat in the Mekong starring back down to Cambodia. Once settled, there was a feeling that nothing should be done, and we should never leave. I only set foot on two, but those 1000 islands (or is it 4000? Maybe 100, I don't know, it was too special to remember names) are just about perfect.

Leaving perfection, with a quick town stop we headed a little north to pick up motorbikes and go off the beat and track into the unknown. Luckily, much like many an adventure, the route had been heavily tread and there was ample sustenance and support along our mammoth bike journey. It included everything I want in a good bike trip - mountains, caves, off road, mud traps, forests, corners, breaks, and rest stops, monks, home stays, nice food, odd food, life jackets and head lamps, views, friends, an end. Travelling out from Thakheak, Laos, anyone could manage this trip, and it would reward everyone.

So a night bus with some cowboy Vietnamese across the border to Hue marked the last stop. A lovely Vietnamese town it was too, and quiet enough to lull us slowly back into the Saigon madhouse before our 20 hour train journey back to home, and you'll be glad to know, work - yes, even us blessed couple have to don the cap of society and at least partially pay our way!

(this journey was completed with persistant positive vibes and thanks sent out to Dan and Matt Sim, and of course the parents of us humble explorers. Without you guys, we'd be sat in a call centre somewhere dreaming of 2 weeks in Spain. THANKS)

More bloody temples

ooh temples

Pot-Mash just isn’t right.

As Chris, Laura and Andy’s pathetic holiday allowance dripped away we were ready for Siem Reap and the mighty civilisation of Angkor so we headed north. To prepare for Tim’s birthday I dosed myself up with food poisoning from a bus stop delicacy and spent the next section in our hotel room, thankfully it was more hygienic to lie on the bathroom floor there.
We spent an evening watching traditional dance and wasting an opportunity at an all you can eat buffet. It was a pleasant evening until the dancers stood up to bow and appreciate their applause. I thought the first man who leapt onto the stage to have his photo taken was probably just slightly retarded but when there was a mass rush to overtook the stage we sat and watched in shock. People barged past dancers and got themselves into ridiculous poses, arranged around them while the troupe stood staring out with the vacant expressions of abuse victims. I can only guess it’s normal and there is something profoundly wrong with us.
Out first foray into the Angkor temples was just before sunset. Tour groups are ferried to a hill that faces west to appreciate the sun dropping below clouds amongst 100s of other jabbering people, so we headed the other way. This is the time to visit Angkor Wat. The largest of the temples, the figure-head of the entire complex, it’s certainly an arresting sight. We went in as everyone was leaving and as the halls cleared it was the best way to take it in. We sat and watched the sun sink as the Wat finally became peaceful and then headed back for dinner.
We ate at a reputable restaurant, where Tim ordered a bizarre fusion dish of Khymer cannelonni. He muttered at one point that it tasted of Pot-mash and when I urged him to stop eating it, he confidently informed me that he liked Pot Mash. Needless to say the next day Tim had made friends with the bathroom floor and we were all agreed that anything that tastes like Pot Mash just isn’t right.
The four of us had to head off to the temples without Tim, which as my second visit I can assure is a very unsatisfactory experience. Without a man following you round spouting facts from the guidebook it just isn’t the same. The rainy season begins around May and as the heavens had yet to break the heat was at its most intense, making trekking round temples slightly less than comfortable.
Weak from Pot-Mash and his advancing age our last night as a group wasn’t quite one of those raves and we shipped them off back down south, back to their offices, while we prepared to push east alone, vowing to only eat rice for some time to come.

Nap, Nap, Shower, Nap

The Planet of the Rabbits and rock elephants, snakes, pigs and horses.

Just south of Kep is Rabbit Island, named for its shape apparently but we couldn’t work out from which perspective. It’s a small island with accommodation that was only just on the right side of rustic for us, drop toilets and spider-infested toilets was our limit it seemed. We spent our time sleeping and swimming and carefully considering the optimum combination of naps and showers. I decided on Nap, Shower but others went crazy for nap, nap, shower, nap.
We were treated to a cultural experience when the local drunk, or possibly witch-doctor, appeared to engage us in conversation. As he spoke to us in broken, mostly incomprehensible English, tugging at his ripped wife-beater we donned polite, interested faces suitable for conversing with the locals. He began to get agitated when he was unable to convey his unfathomable message and took to pointing and shouting in frustration. Our expressions became a little strained as his cloudy eyes gave us a measured stare while raving in Khymer, punctured with ‘Do you understand?’ and a wild chuckle that convinced us all separately that he was going to try and kill at some point.
Surprised that we’d survived the night we jumped in a boat and went back to the mainland to be greeted by a very cunning fellow. Scrambling out of the boat a smiling man approached us waving 5 tickets for a bus to Kampot. We were pretty sure we hadn’t asked for them or made any kind of booking but we admired his psychic ability and allowed him to usher us away. He loaded our bags into his tuk-tuk, along with the pathetic women, and took the whole lot 100m down the road. Thank god our pretty ankles and fluffy minds were spared the trek.
Kampot was a little further west along the southern coast. It’s a pretty town on the river surrounded by the vista of the national park, which we explored on creaking bicycles. Our guest-house was on the river, which we jumped into during the day and swung our feet amongst the phosphorescent plankton at night. It was run by an Australian couple with Cambodian staff who were living the dream in Asia, surrounded by lounging Westerners who seemed to spend hour upon hour updating their status on Facebook. It’s important everybody you ever spoke to to appreciates what a nice time you will be having as soon as you log-off.
Our second night was Friday, which was live-music night, a highlight of the Kampot social calendar. We watched, with shoulders hunched in a cringe, as the aging ‘muso’ owner tried to cling on to his youth. The smack of indulgent posturing gave me a bad taste that the free tequila couldn’t quite shift and we left him to his moment of rock stardom.
The next day we explored the near-by caves. Westerners on bikes are a natural magnet at the best of times but in a tourist area the children flock to be your guides. Their practised lines were repeated in unison as a babbling group forcefully escorted us round. The main activity on the tour seemed to be pointing out rock formations with ever more loose claims of animal resemblance. Everyone was reasonably satisfied with the inevitably awkward money discussion, except the rude kid who was demanded money in a sulky voice unsure why his technique of repeating everything we said in a high-pitched mocking voice hadn’t worked. Alan Sugar would sort him out.
While the less-energetic of us rested Andy decided to create his own adventure straight out of The Beach and find the secret lake. He returned sometime later pleased, dirty and $10 lighter, with a map that had ‘The Secret Lake’ clearing marked in large letter. A modern day explorer in our midst, we’ll make a Lonely Planet writer out of him yet.

Like a bad smell in Cambodia

Feeling like we needed to stretch our legs and take advantage of another year in SE Asia we organised a month off and headed to Cambodia. The weekend of our departure was a public holiday and suddenly there was a mass exodus in celebration of the death of a king and the whole city was grounded. All buses and trains and most flights were full. For once the nervous dedication to planning that I learnt at my mother’s knee paid off and I smiled smugly as we climbed on to a bus to Phnom Penh, waving tickets purchased 3 weeks before. Happily we sat back expecting delays, pointless stops and karaoke music blasted out at ridiculous volume; we weren’t disappointed.
After only one night, like rats hearing of a particularly filthy sewer in swarmed the Devon contingent.
Any visit to Cambodia, is said to be incomplete without the Killing Fields and Angkor Wat; more of the latter later. Two smiling, nodding tuk-tuk drivers escorted our party to S-21, Tuol Sleng. The building was formerly a school until the Khmer Rouge took over the city in 1975 when they turned it into the largest prison in the country. We paid for a guide and he led us through torture rooms, pointing out blood stains and re-enacting torture scenes in a nonchalant manner. The Khmer Rouge were organised in their torture and everyone that came through the doors of S-21 was photographed and their confessions recorded. Rooms lead into each other with rows and rows of photos of the dead, looking out with vacant or wounded expressions. It was sunny day when we visited and the trees were in blossom, a pretty, quiet place that is hard to reconcile with the location for the destruction of a people.
The killing fields are on the outskirts of the city, where S-21 prisoners were taken to be executed. I’d read that it was a difficult place to visit but I was unprepared for the tranquil beauty of the surroundings. The tower of skulls that had been erected in the middle made it difficult to forget the reason for your visit but it was hard to appreciate the sheer volume of people whose life was ended there and in what horrific circumstances. Scraps of clothing still poke out of the ground from the mass graves and work is going on to excavate further sights. Someone said that the scraps had been strategically placed, I heard others discussing how they thought the tower of skulls seemed distasteful at a later date but I soon got sick of hearing Westerners contemplating exactly how they want to be shocked and depressed by the sights. Perhaps the Cambodians can decide how it will remembered.

We left the city, running for the peace of the south. We stopped in Kep, a small seaside town. We slowed down our pace, riding bikes and eating seafood, only once increasing speed to watch the sunset from cunningly named Sunset Rock. After going to the wrong place, confusing a security guard, re-tracing our steps whilst blushing, we started the march up the jungle covered mountain with limited time. As the incline got steeper we hurried up, watching the sun start to sink. We practically ran the last part but we made it in time to an uninspiring sunset, everyone covered in a sheath of sweat inches thick. As soon as the sun disappeared from view a thick blanket was dropped over the jungle and torches were whipped out like lightsabers. We waited a minute while the hippies stood winding theirs up and then plunged back down the hill. The silence took on a sharp eerie edge as we all concentrated on our foot falls. I could almost hear the tense music of a horror movie as we shuffled past rustling bushes and barking dogs but no psycho killer leapt out with a chain-saw
On the drive back to our hostel we didn’t see anyone, hear anything for a full 10 minutes. No traffic, no stares, no kids, no-one selling us anything. It felt like we were the last people on Earth and I felt guiltily pleased. I thought what would Ray Mears do? Not Bear Grylls.

Fly my pretties, Fly.