Merry Christmas

From far across the seas, in the land of elephants, temples and frangipani trees, we wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Thank you for following our blog these past few months. Lots more to come in the new year so keep checking in!

Helen & Nick. xx

Dressed Crabs

If Disney made Beer...

In addition to the usual experiences of a city, the culture, the hustle and bustle and visits to various must-see sights, there are other equally important places of interest that are not to be missed. That is, if you are Helen. I am constantly amazed at how she never tires of the numerous markets at which the same old tat is sold by hawkers singing the same old tunes. I usually turn into a petulant five-year-old, grouchy at being dragged along. It is like being torn away as a kid from watching your favourite cartoon by your mother in favour of the significantly less important task of food shopping.

Nevertheless, there is usually something to occupy me at these places, regardless of the fact that I didn’t want to go. The Russian Market in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, was no exception and is where much of the western clothing made in garment factories in and around Phnom Penh that doesn’t make it to western stores, turns up. At a mere fraction of the western retail price, one can find labels such as Gap, H&M, Next, Abercrombie and Hollister, just to name a few. The problem is you can’t be sure what you’re going to find, which is not unlike shopping at the jumble sale that is TK Maxx.

To this end, it is not uncommon to see tourist t-shirts with names and pictures of local places or phrases written on them with a Gap or other familiar brand of label inside the collar. Moreover, many Asian countries produce their own brands of beer, the labels of which are reproduced on tourist t-shirts and vests for gullible visitors to advertise for free. Imagine then, if you will, a t-shirt adorned with a popular Asian beer on the front and a Disney label stitched into the collar. True story. And it was not just a one-off; I witnessed on many stalls around the market a deliberate ploy to progress and develop the cotton candy-like image of the most famous of American exports. God bless Globalisation. What on earth would Walt say? Frankly, I don’t care. It seems there really is magic in the kingdom! Either way, there is no doubt that if Disney made beer, it would probably be the best beer in the world.

đá cầu

While we were in Vietnam we were fascinated with a game frequently played by the locals in parks and on the street, in which a weighted shuttlecock (longer and slimmer than a badminton shuttle) is kept in the air using feet and other parts of the body (but not hands, although we've seen many a player skillfully use them during informal games). Rules are similar to Badminton and played on a similar-sized court. It can be played for points, for simple artistic pleasure or to show off skills. The game goes by many different names, depending on where you are in Asia, but in Vietnam it is known as đá cầu and is the national sport, apparently played especially in Hanoi.

Warning: contains serious skill.

Enjoy the Videos (apologies for you having to turn your screen around on one of them).

The Unfortunate Cricket

Now this is worthy of a blog, especially as you will probably be as shocked as I was if you know Helen. Usually the one to pass up meat that contains any obvious fatty bits or gristle, Helen likes her meat to look pretty. Now, there are so many contradictions to this as she will eat hot dogs, for example, and God knows what they contain. But nevertheless they at least look appealing. You see where I’m going with this.

We were on our way to Siem Reap by bus, which usually includes a stop in a place famed for eating Tarantulas called Skuon and affectionately nicknamed Spiderville. There they were, piled high on a wicker tray and were the object of many fascinated tourists flashing away with their cameras. They looked just as you would imagine. Apparently they taste, as every alien meat seems to, like chicken. I’ll take their word for it. Next to them was a whole array of insects, which, to my obvious disgust (I tried to hide it but couldn’t) were being dished out to locals in small plastic bags like pick and mix at the cinema. I lost myself in the horror of what I was seeing. Once I turned around and came to, consternation and surprise enveloping my face, Helen was being handed a deep-fried Cricket to sample from a food stall after having had its legs and other unsavoury bits politely stripped from its body. Now, in the split-seconds it takes for thoughts to be processed, I assumed that Helen would refuse and laugh it off. But immediately it occurred to me that I don’t know Helen as I thought I did. Following some understandable hesitation, she put it in her mouth as I looked on, dancing on the spot with my hand hovering over my mouth in gesture at what I was witnessing. It wasn’t that anybody was eating one; hell, we’ve all seen Bear Grylls and contestants on ‘I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here’ eat far worse. It was that HELEN was eating one.

And what did it taste like? You were going to say chicken weren’t you? No. Apparently, by Helen’s admission it tasted like a crisp. Yes, a crisp! Sure. Good one. Well, if only I’d have known that. The next time I reach for a bag of over-priced Kettle Chips, I might reject them in favour of a few Crickets! I guess everything has the capacity to be palatable if you deep fry it.

Helen has declared that she doesn't want to try a spider, being a self-confessed arachnophobe, but she followed that statement up with, "I think I could as long as it doesn’t look like a spider." So watch this space...

Rules of the Asian road

The most important part of your vehicle is not the engine, tyres or steering wheel. It is the horn. You must learn how to use this essential part of your vehicle properly. Being able to actually drive is irrelevant.

Your horn is not used for aggression as in other countries and no derogatory hand signs should be used in response to the hearing of a horn; just accept it as a part of driving. It is primarily used (incessantly) to alert other drivers of your presence.

How to use your horn:

100 metres away from vehicle in front - beep
50m away from vehicle in front - beep
25m away from vehicle in front - beep
On the tail of vehicle in front - beep
Once parallel to vehicle in front - beep
If you know driver of vehicle in front - beep (and wave)
Once past vehicle in front - beep
If you see a Pedestrian who is nowhere near the road - beep
If you know them - beep
If no other traffic is encountered - beep (to test horn is working and to keep withdrawal symptoms to a minimum).
If you drive through a puddle, test horn to see if it is still working.

Do not under any circumstances pay any attention to beeping from other drivers.

Do not under any circumstances use your mirrors. They will impair your tunnel vision.

Do not under any circumstances use your indicators. They will only distract other drivers.

Do not under any circumstances pay any attention to painted lines on the road. Lanes do not exist.

You may overtake or undertake, but only if a big truck or bus is coming in the other direction.

Everybody has the right of way.

There is absolutely nowhere that your vehicle is not permitted to go. Even pavements and tiny market walkways.

You may park your vehicle wherever you please. Nowhere is off limits.

Vehicle maintenance is not legally required. You must, however, have your horn checked every few days.

A motorbike is not ready to go unless all 10 members of the family is on, including the household furniture, dog, cow, water buffalo, chickens and all produce to sell at that days market.

Thank you for reading this important government-sanctioned handbook and good luck.

Asians will sleep anywhere!

Our journey so far…continued. Vietnam.

October 2010

24th - Arrived in Hanoi, Vietnam at 9am after spending night at Kuala Lumpur airport. Slept like dead for afternoon and woke to sea of conical hats. Sat on foot-tall stools in evening to eat splendid noodles with beef on street. Worlds cheapest beer (Bia Ha-noi) at 50 cents negated by knee operation needed after getting up from stools. We loved Hanoi.

28th - Bus to Halong Bay for one night aboard traditional Junk and one night in hotel on Cat Ba island. Beautiful place. Sailed and kayaked around limestone karsts (rock formations) and visited caves.

30th - Back to Hanoi for one night as a stopover before overnight bus to Hue.

31st - Overnight sleeper bus to Hue. Hired bikes and got drowned as it pissed down all day. Visited Pagoda where we saw the Austin car used by Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc in 1963 to drive to Saigon before immolating (setting fire) to himself to protest the policies of President Ngo Dinh Diem. Had great gander around food supermarket and joined mad frenzied queue for freshly baked baguettes. Surreal.

November 2010

3rd - Bus to Hoi-an. Stressful 4 days in a place infamous for making any type of clothing you can imagine on demand. Helen had skirts, tops and dress made. Nick had sleeping bag liner. Helen did Vietnamese cookery course. Nick ate food cooked. And survived.

6th - Overnight sleeper bus to Nha Trang - again. Joy. 5 mins on bus and Helen hysterical over carrier bag left in lobby of hotel containing…socks. Yes, I know. Efficient hotel sent bag by moto-taxi. Disaster from Devon happy and Nick’s journey made easier. Arrived in Nha Trang at 6am to see whole town doing Tai Chi on beach and visited Cathedral to see service in progress in exactly same tone as home but in Vietnamese. Bizarre but comforting. Nice to see so many people attending, all doors open to church and plastic chairs laid on outside as all pews full.

8th - Bus to coastal town of Mui Ne for one night. Hired motorbike to see not-so-famous sand dunes. Cut short visit to first dunes (red sand) to see second lot further away (white sand) as were supposed to be better. Not so. Sand Castle empire left in ruins.

9th - Bus to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City). War Remnants Museum (Vietnam war) excellent and needed two visits. Stormed the gates of Reunification Palace but sadly not successful in raising Union Jack on roof. Numerous visits to Central Market and a chance for some slow time. Both had haircuts. Helen looked beautiful with haircut from very good salon, including upper body massage for 8 pounds. Bargain. Nick’s refusal to pay much for his resulted in battle with hairdresser to not come out looking Vietnamese.

16th - Bus to grotty town of Can Tho in Mekong Delta where biggest floating market turned out to in fact be small. Unfortunately we both blinked at the same time and missed it. Kidding. It was good to see life on the river. ‘When the weather is fine, you know it’s the time for messing about on the river…’

17th - Bus to nondescript Rach Gia for stopover. Nothing to report except frenzied hunt for Snickers futile. Oh, and, bizarrely, more stares from locals as if they’d never seen a westerner before, even though tourists frequently come through the port town to catch ferries to Island.

18th - Ferry to Phu Quoc Island to spend time on white sand beaches. Adventure on motorbike in search of deserted beaches ends in retreat from incredibly poor and muddy roads, and incident with mosquito ends in broken laptop and tears. Nevertheless, it was hard not to enjoy the paradise which was Phu Quoc.

23rd  - Ferry to Ha-Tien for bus across border into Cambodia. Border experience nearly enough to induce mass suicide by all passengers on bus. After grapple with usual red tape, ‘put up or shut up’ strategy forced in to effect by fitting 14 people plus luggage on minibus with 10 seats. Spent 2 nights in coastal town of Kep. Cambodian adventure begins.

The Barterer

If there is one element of Britishness that inhibits in us the ability to barter, it is conservatism. Bartering conflicts with our general nature, although some are better at it than others. And, I am sure, all are better at it than me. I do not like to barter, instead preferring to know the price as is. I do not want to be quoted a vastly inflated tourist tax used as an invitation to play the bartering game. Maybe it is about saving face. Perhaps it is the dislike of looking a fool in front of a complete stranger - one whom you are unlikely to ever see again, incidentally. Or maybe that because we, as westerners, live in a culture where we are used to seeing the price in black and white, it is just pure laziness. Others submit to the game and revel in trying to achieve the best price for something that only cost that in the first place. Once, in Saigon, I was quoted a high price for an item and was subsequently and immediately handed a calculator in order to counter offer my best price.

When I barter, I tend to get annoyed with the process and the simple fact that I am having my intelligence insulted by being vastly overcharged. In Ubud, Bali, I was offered a pair of ‘Ballibong’ flip flops for more than the price of a pair of similarly-named real ones. The problem is that once one elects a more aggressive method of bartering, it only serves in forcing the proprietor to firmly sustain his ground where previously there was movement.

I also hate the tedium of markets in Asia where the same tat is sold by the same hawkers singing the same tunes. However, while most of the time I don’t want to be there and don‘t like playing the game, I am a curious and willing spectator who is easily drawn in to a battle of territory when it is played by a pro (like flicking through channels late at night and pausing on darts or snooker for any longer than a few seconds, and staying for three hours). And if there is one talent of Helen’s to which I will acquiesce, it is the ability to barter. I am forever entertained by Helen’s bartering, during which she tactically uses an abundance of humour to win them over, from using their own catchphrases against them such as ‘good price for you, good price for me‘, to the resorting of rock, paper, scissors (which she won). It is funny and entertaining to watch and she never fails to form a relationship with them, which automatically makes it hard for them to say no. And inadvertently, since I don’t like doing it, we have together put the infamous ‘good cop, bad cop’ strategy to good effect. It suits both of us and very often achieves what we want.

We're Back!

Like any decent crime-fighting or music-making duo, we are back! We hope you haven't missed us too much. Our laptop is, surprisingly, fixed and there's no stopping us now. Keep up with things here, we've got lots to blog about... 

Sleeper Bus

Spanning 128,000 square miles, Vietnam is not dissimilar in shape, but slightly larger in size, to Italy. To travel down its length from Hanoi in the north to Saigon (officially Ho Chi Minh City but still known affectionately as Saigon) in the south, one can employ various modes of transport. Adventurous and free-spirited mavericks will do it on bikes, while the rest of us can choose planes, trains or automobiles - the automobile giving the significantly cheaper option. Although there is many on offer from a mind-boggling amount of travel agents, an open bus ticket generally has five stops or destinations, at which one can stopover and stay as long as one requires, and then hop back on to the next stop when one desires. Of these five stops, two are overnight and sufficiently long enough to require what is known here as a sleeper bus.

It was a surreal experience that took us from Ha-noi to Hue and then from Hoi-an to Nha Trang. Normally, a 14-hour bus journey would fill anybody with dread, as it did us. But the prospect became easier to swallow when we saw a double-decker-style bus consisting of approximately 32 bunk-beds laid out in three linear rows front to back. Each one no more than 1.5 feet in width and 5.5 feet in length, the beds reclined back to roughly 150 degrees. We construed that it did not look dissimilar to a military hospital. The bars down the sides of the beds substantiated this notion, while we surmised that the reason for the plastic box at the foot of the bed in which feet are placed, was perhaps to keep foot odour contained to a minimum. Great. Maybe this journey won’t be so bad after all.

While the idea of a sleeper bus comforted the instinctive dread we felt of such a long and arduous journey, the reason for the box and bars soon became clear; they existed to keep us from being thrown out of our bunks. Poorly constructed and maintained roads together with what, I assume, is considered normal driving in Asia by a professional driver persistent in swerving and breaking sharply all night conspired to collectively deprive passengers of sleep. Imagine witnessing, on countless occasions, thirty two people in rows sit bolt-upright at the same time in a half-asleep-daze triggered by the driver’s heavy foot. It is like a scene from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. Evidently the grand idea of a ‘sleeper’ bus was a fallacy.

I am sure we got some slithers of sleep at various points throughout the night. Nevertheless, it was an interesting and surreal journey that got us to our next destination and, as the cliché goes, it is apparently all part of the experience of travelling.

If only travel was that easy

Travel can be a pain in the arse at the best of times. After landing at Hanoi and while waiting for our Visas to be processed, we couldn't help but see the irony in this.

Travel? Simples.

Please don't abandon us!

We have suffered a huge setback as our laptop is broken and we are unable to blog regularly at the moment or put any pictures up on facebook. Public computers are shockingly poor. We hope to get it repaired in a few weeks when we get to Bangkok, so please keep following and don't abandon us, we will be up and running as soon as we can!

After spending a month in Vietnam, we have been in Cambodia for 3 days and will hit Thailand around mid-December.

Thanks everybody.

Mimosa Pudica

We were shown this plant by a guide when we visited Borobudur, a Buddhist monument in Indonesia. It shrinks when it is touched.

The Trials of Travelling

A joke: What does the slug say to the snail? Big Issue. Get it? Well, it’s just not funny when you have to explain it. The slug has no shell and is therefore homeless.

Perhaps more hobo-like, but far from being homeless, our existence consists of lugging a shell from place to place in the hope of finding a base from which we can explore the local landscape. It can sometimes be challenging and, believe it or not, stressful. And we can have good days and bad, just like at home. It is easy for us to think in relative terms and moan about endlessly sweating in the heat and humidity. Or what a nightmare it can be finding a place to sleep and trying to stave off the inevitable shoulder and backache whilst lugging around our oversize rucksacks. Or relentlessly having to consciously think about the security of our belongings. Nevertheless, because we are so far removed from home in terms of time and mileage, it can be easy to forget all of you at home putting up with the monotony of work. Getting up when it is dark, cold and damp and coming home in the same conditions is no fun. Or having to put up with the changes in weather as the winter rolls in. These things are always relative to the situation in which one finds themselves, which is why it sometimes makes it harder for us to take into account what life is like at home. The choice of what we would rather be doing or where we would rather be is, of course, a no-brainer. We are doing something that will undoubtedly enrich our lives and, who knows, send us down a different path. Nonetheless, the numerous positive comments we receive about the photos we have taken reiterate this fact to us when they can momentarily become blurred. We appreciate this no end. But there are other things that randomly happen to aid us in realising how fortunate we are to be doing this.

Like I said, sometimes we can have bad days. Often these days can involve much travelling, and therefore time-wasting, and can often test our resolve. On one particular day in Indonesia we had travelled from Padangbai to Lembar by boat and was then immediately picked up by bus from Lembar to Sengiggi. This part was fairly straightforward, although the process takes longer than you can ever imagine. Once in Sengiggi it took the best part of two hours to find accommodation, during which time we hauled two bags each up and down the main strip trying to get the best price. Nobody wanted to budge on price for a room that just did not seem worth it. It was getting late and we were hungry and tired and it was the kind of day that just makes you say, screw the price, I’ll take the room! Consequently we ended up with a mediocre room at more than we should have paid (although in reality it still wasn’t that expensive). Next task was to find somewhere to eat. The main strip was obviously laid out for tourists and, hence, so were the prices. We were struggling to find something within the budget when we happened upon the beach, with which we were not that impressed. At one end of the beach a woman was selling noodles from a portable cart, which amounted to nothing more than super-noodles topped with a fried egg and tossed with soy sauce and pak choy for good measure and a little iron. We promptly ordered the house special as our hunger overruled any indecision we had. The time was edging towards 6pm and dusk had settled in. As we waited for our noodles, various touts selling goods from jewellery to t-shirts followed the Western beacon flashing above our heads and came over to present their wares. Politely, we declined offers of a ‘cheap price’ and, despite their best efforts in continuing the sales pitch, we indulged them in conversation and banter. Our noodles arrived just as the sun was setting. We sat eating them on the beach whilst sitting with the locals and enjoying the sunset. It was a golden moment that could not have been better planned, and one that surely seldom happens. It was almost as if fate had intervened to ensure that we did not leave with a negative impression of a place that did not deserve it.

We have had so many experiences already, all of them unique, that it is impossible to document them all. But as much as we can we will try to share them with you. Despite how many times we have heard how lucky we are to be travelling like this, we do not see it that way. We are the ones who created this opportunity, planned and saved for two years and sacrificed many things to be make it possible. It is the many experiences and moments that occur along the way that make us lucky.

Indonesian Time

When in Asia it is vital to ask the right questions. The problem is that every question pertaining to a time of arrival always yields the same answer. Someday. Here is proof. In black and white (or black and blue as it's all about being precise).

Who Needs Friends?

As much as we love our friends, they can sometimes get on our nerves. The solution? Have them deep fried.

Who's Desperate?

 We weren't that desperate. Just so you know.

Restoring the Faith

To the locals, the scattering of crazy white people they see on a daily basis must live on another planet when not in their locality. They carry around a huge bag on their backs for months on end with no home to go to just so they can see something that has become a ‘must-see‘ on the tourist trail.

Geographically speaking all places on the tourist map, together with the local people within them, will benefit in some way economically from the trade. ‘Local people‘, however, is a loose term used to describe natives who can often be placed in to two categories: those who will go about their daily business oblivious to your presence, and those seeking commercial gain by your presence. The former have probably lived in that place for their whole lives with the same daily routine and could care less whether you were there or not. The latter move with the tourist trade, wherever that may be, pester you incessantly, treat you like a walking cash machine and try to extract as much money from you as possible for various services and/or products. The challenge lay in knowing the difference between the two.  In a place where everyone wants to talk to you, the unwritten rules of British conservatism, with which we have all grown up, do not apply. At home, strangers generally do not try to talk to you unless they have something to gain and it is, therefore, very black and white and easy to distinguish between the two types. Here, since our very appearance means that everybody wants to talk to us, it is hard to know who wants to sell us something and who wants to genuinely practice their English. A blunt no thanks to every person who probably would have been genuinely and honestly intrigued and curious about us and where we come from, can leave us feeling uncomfortable. It is hard to not get into the mindset that everybody is out to scam us. Nevertheless, it is important that the thick skin one has developed after being in Asia for a while remains just a little porous.

Take, for instance, whilst walking the streets. Now, as much as we say, ‘lets put the guidebook away so we don’t look like tourists’, the very fact that we could not stand out more in an African tribal gathering negates this very idea. Being strangers and seemingly possessing no names, introductions aimed in our direction range from ‘England?’ or ‘Where you from?, London?, Manchester?, Liverpool?’, in that order.  We have a range of other countries shouted in our direction of course, but it did not take long to realise that once we had answered England, the places they know, or at least by proxy, are where all of the top 5 Premiership football teams are based.  Hard to believe they had not heard of Exeter City or Northampton Town. We have given up trying to explain where Devon or Northampton is and on any given day we now come from either London, Manchester or Liverpool and support any one of that city‘s teams. One thing is certain, they adore football here in SE Asia, especially the English Premiership, and they will enthusiastically sell their soul to talk about it with us. It is sometimes hard not to get tired of this same conversation though, especially when we realise they just wanted to sell us something. But, ever the polite Brits, we indulge them.

Other introductions range from the amusing to the downright irritating, depending on how many times we have heard them. After the usual, ‘where you from, England?’, to which we have replied yes, we have lost count of the amount of times we have heard ‘luvvly jubbly’. It is one of those annoying and stereotypical sayings that are said more times by others who know about them than from where they originated. Just yesterday though, for the first time, we heard something that made us chuckle. As random as it was, we heard an ‘izzy wizzy, lets get busy!‘ I was more offended that perhaps we didn’t look busy enough or that she thought our names might have been Izzy and Wizzy.

Learning the difference between those out to scam  us and those genuinely wanting to talk is a challenge, but every so often somebody restores a bit of faith.  The genuine ones don’t hustle for our attention, but instead beam in our direction the brightest and most sincere smile.  What emerges, due to the lack of language communication, is a series of head nodding and eye contact. It is a universal and subliminal conversation needing no translation, telepathically trading all the information one needs to know about each other.  It is also a heart warming exchange of two people, whose lives and lifestyles could not be further apart, and equalises all the terse rejections we usually and automatically give out.

Hi, have you met...Louie?

Louie on his first trip to the beach in Halong Bay

Apparently there is a well-known American seafood dish called Shrimp Louie. As far as we can tell, it is the fancypants cousin of the poorer and more common Prawn Cocktail.

Neither of us had heard of it until we saved a shrimp from the Shrimp Rescue & Rehoming Centre in Bali. According to his testimony, he was destined for a Shrimp Louie salad in a Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. restaurant. He and several others succeeded in a planned Alcatraz-style escape, a split-second from the razor-sharp edge of a crazed seafood chef’s knife. It was weeks later when Louie was rescued while roaming the mean streets of Bali. He was dehydrated, cold, homeless and kicking an old and rusting coke can down the street. With his few belongings slung over his shoulder in a handkerchief on the end of a stick like Huckleberry Finn, he was given a second chance.

So, for the past two weeks, Louie has been travelling with us and has proved himself a very worthy travel companion. As you can imagine he couldn’t wait to get out of Bali and has loved Vietnam as much as we have (although he still has some trust issues and fears we will sell him for the sake of a spring roll). He has been to Hanoi, Halong Bay, Hue and Hoian so far with us and we even bought him a conical hat to keep his skin from burning, the rain off his face and to help him embrace Vietnamese life and culture.

Keep up with Louie and his journey on here and we will try to get him to write something of his own. It will be hard though as his experiences make it hard for him to open up. And he doesn’t always like to share as he is a little Shellfish.

In Hanoi with his new conical hat

Slowly learning how to kick back

Louie admiring the view

Pedestal

This may be a somewhat obvious statement to make but there are an innumerable amount of Buddhist Monks in Asia. As one might expect they are always dressed in robes, sport shaved heads, leather thongs on their feet and wear an aura of peacefulness and tranquillity. Some can be seen wandering down the same street you are, shopping in the same shops and eating the same food. Most, though, are to be found in their rightful and peaceful place in temples and monasteries, which is where one’s stereotypical ideals of Monks can be fulfilled. I have come to realise that I dislike seeing them in any other place other than where I feel they belong and, if they are not in this place, it does not seem right. The tiny amount of Chi that I imagine I possess is immediately affected; something is out of place and my illusion of them is ruined. Perhaps my use of the word illusion suggests that the image of the Monk itself does not actually exist. But it does exist. More accurate, though, the image has been idealistically embellished through photography for the rest of the world - the tourist world. The problem, though, is that I want to hold them in such high regard as purveyors of harmony and serenity so as to fit the whole concept into a neat little box. I do not want to see them in any other place than a temple or monastery so as not to ruin the illusion or mystique carried by them. In much the same way, when I was in Lower School, I remember being devastated when I saw my teacher in the Coop doing her food shop. She was carrying out a normal everyday chore and seeing this ruined my perception - a perception that I, myself, had unfairly created of her. It is easy to put people on such a pedestal and when we do this we are immediately setting them up for a fall. But this is human nature and perhaps to create these perceptions about others is to make us feel secure and better about ourselves. Or conceivably it just serves to give us something to which we can aspire. Either way, I will try to remember that they are all human after all, just like you and I.

An immigration official called ‘Arse’

When encountering non-English-speaking countries, there are obviously and quite rightly going to be things that are lost in translation. Far be it for me to criticise those trying hard to decipher a language so alien from their own, and I will not. However, it does make for interesting and sometimes hilarious reading. There are an innumerable amount of mistakes in everything from signs, tourist paraphernalia and menus. Take for instance an earlier blog referring to toilets in Asia. Now, it is hard to imagine someone actually standing on the rim of a western-style porcelain toilet and dumping from a great height as they might in squat toilets, but apparently this actually happens. Enough, it seems, for an educational and instructional sticker to be posted in the cubicle at eye level above the toilet. See photo attached. Talking of airports, we all despise being treated like terrorist cattle by all manner of staff whose perpetual po-faced and indifferent attitude leaves us with an experience that dampens our holiday spirit. Imagine our delight, then, at the unfortunate immigration official at KL whose name was ‘Arse’. Brilliant. Unfortunately, for obvious reasons, there is no photo to accompany this one.

It is a long-standing myth that the English and French can’t stand each other. This myth also exists with Germans and probably a whole host of other nationalities, perhaps owing to histories that, for some reason, cannot be forgotten. However, we couldn’t help but laugh at a menu in a restaurant in Kuta, Bali advertising French Fries with the underneath description, ‘deep fried french people’. Hilarious, even if it is at the expense of the French. Most mistakes are obvious typos, which can easily be explained, but this was aneurism inducing - it just did not make sense, especially in  a restaurant situated in such a heavily populated tourist area with a decades-long history of catering for westerners.

Then there are other mistakes that fall under a more common category. These orthographical errors are forgivable even if they are not understandable. They are, nevertheless, humorous. On a menu board on the island of Nusa Lembongan we were offered a No.7 Special pizza with various toppings and finished off with nothing less than Origami. Surely a pizza staple in Italy.

Signs can often also be blunt, perhaps in part due to limited English skills by those who write them. This, in turn, often results in a lack of the usage of words typically used to buffer a statement, command or advice. A temple on the southwest coast of Bali requested as politely as it could that women on their period stay away. We are still trying to figure this one out but I am sure there is a perfectly logical reason. Either way, it is almost refreshing that we are in a land less obsessed about its political correctness and one that is clearly not as worried about who it may offend.

Chopsticks

No, this particular blog is not about a piano waltz. Just a simple case of irony.

As we have discovered since being in Vietnam, the Vietnamese love their beefsteaks. However, not the thick, tender and juicy slabs of meat cooked medium rare that melt in your mouth. These are rather pathetic-looking thin things sacrificed for too long over an incredibly hot wok. At this one 'street restaurant' every local used chopsticks as you would expect, except those eating beefsteaks, who used the more western method of a knife and fork. Why? Because you can't chop with chopsticks. 

I guess everything has its limits.

A philosophical question...

Why is it that when a normal-sized bar of soap reduces down to the size of a complimentary bar usually given in hotels, it is hard to create enough lather to wash with, but when you are given one of those small bars in a hotel they lather up just fine?

The Chicken Carcass and the Stolen Banana

It may shock some of you to learn that, on occasion, my eyes can be bigger than my belly. Greed often takes over and before I know it I’m rolling around on the floor with belly ache. There is, however, no chance of that here owing to small portions, minimal choice and a restrictive daily budget. Having said that, sometimes the food Gods look down on me in pity and with a powerful arm grant me the opportunity to fill one of my many stomachs. On this occasion I surmise that he must have been Indian since we were strolling through the Saturday night market in Little India in Kuala Lumpur. Buying small, tasty titbits as we dawdled along, my eyes suddenly fixed upon a large wok, within which was frying what looked like succulent pieces of chicken. Once cooked, various pieces aplenty were then placed on a large plate for people to choose their cut before buying. Going on the instincts with which I was born, I immediately chose one of the biggest pieces on the plate, paid the 80p equivalent in cash and was feeling happy with my purchase. I was pretty hungry for something substantial at this point and, after a short walk to find somewhere to sit, we settled down so I could devour the purchase of which I was so proud.
 

Now, digressing for a moment, imagine you’ve just eaten your Sunday roast. Leftovers consist of a bunch of vegetables, potatoes and the body of a chicken stripped bare of its breasts, legs, thighs, wings and other areas from which any substantial meat can be taken. Essentially you are left with the ribcage of an animal, good for nothing else but producing stock or for extracting whatever scraps remain for the cats.

Back to the story. Sitting perched on the step at the front of a building in Little India, my steaming-hot, fried chicken portion encased in golden batter concealed to my horror and embarrassment what amounted to nothing more than a chicken carcass. I immediately questioned why anyone would batter and deep-fry a chicken carcass, let alone use it for any form of sustenance. What looked like a huge piece of chicken that was about to satisfy every need of my appetite had bitterly disappointed and I was left feeling disgruntled with a food God I had always assumed was on my side.

The Stolen Banana

I’m sure you are wondering what the hell a stolen banana has to do with a chicken carcass? Well the answer is absolutely nothing. Aside from giving these anecdotes a cracking title, it merely amounts to a couple of mistakes I have made so far that could be categorized together in the ‘dumbass section’ for the purpose of comedy.

As you will either know or well imagine, there are so many temples in Asia to visit. So much so that continuous visits to different temples over a period of time can result in what is known as ‘temple fatigue.’ A visit to one of these temples resulted in a rookie error, the type of which I assume I can be afforded since it was so early on in our trip. Having missed breakfast for an early start to avoid the masses later on, we had prepared ourselves with a packed-breakfast, which consisted of some malted milk-style biscuits and a banana each. Now, wild monkeys are everywhere in SE Asia, especially, as we have discovered, around tourist traps such as temples. They will often steal something easy to grab such as sunglasses, cameras or flip-flops in order to trade them back to their owners for food. It seems graffiti artist Banksy is spot on with his depiction of monkeys wearing clapperboards displaying the words, ‘laugh now, but one day we will be in charge.’

Previous to this visit, I would have refused the idea that a monkey could be more intelligent than I, but at 33 years of age, together with a whole bunch of other questions about life, I am now pondering this very notion. In hindsight, it may have been a little silly to walk to the temple that morning holding a banana. I mean, who knew that monkeys eat bananas and would probably do anything to get their hands on one? Well, as you can imagine I was mobbed by an unarmed gang of delinquent and bearded critters, each one no more than a foot tall, some tugging at my shorts and some trying to climb me. I managed to fight these off with Charles Bronson-esque street-fighting skill not seen since the seventies. Holding my banana high, as if I thought monkeys couldn’t climb, I was managing to keep my breakfast mine when it was suddenly and rudely snatched from my grasp. But not, as you would imagine, by one of these monkeys climbing my Greek God-like statuesque physique. No. This one was sitting on the roof of the jeep, next to which I was standing.

What kind of toilet does the Buddha use?

There are certain expectations one has when visiting South East Asia - especially when doing it on a shoestring budget like we and most other people do when they are lucky enough to see so much of it in one go. Gone, or very limited, are western luxuries to which one has become accustomed and, quite frankly, with which one has been spoiled. But, lest one wants to admit, these are the things one is secretly looking forward to going without despite how much one dreads or moans about it, in the vain hope it will turn one into a more grateful being.

Having said this, one is not sure how grateful one should be when one is presented with a room costing no more than the price of a few beers, containing a bed, fan, shower and…

Where’s the toilet?

After this non-discovery one feels the urge to complain, but fears any complaint sent in the direction of the owner will be treated with triviality and bemusement before falling down the hole where the toilet should be.

“Ah, this your toilet”, says the incredulous owner in his best broken English, pointing to what amounts to a hospital bedpan sunken into the concreted floor.

Ok, so where’s the toilet paper?

“Toilet paper long hose. Water clean butt after.”

The realisation hits when one acknowledges that this is what is meant by being grateful. Still, one must look on the bright side. It is impossible to land any floaters.  And at least after shaving one can complete the other two S’s with convenience as the shower is usually situated very close or directly over the pan. The discovery that a self-flushing western-style toilet should be considered a luxury, and therefore worshipped, is realised with elation when, having moved on and found another room in another place with said style toilet, one immediately falls to ones knees in submittal to the porcelain Buddha.

Our journey so far…

September 2010

7th - Arrival Singapore (8am). Nap at hostel in Kampong Glam. Afternoon spent walking city with jetlag to Clark Quay and Chinatown. Helen just can’t help herself!

8th - Bus to Mersing, Malaysia and boat to Pulau Tioman for a few days on a beach with jungle backdrop for relaxation and acclimatisation. Only 2 hr walking round-trip dodging Komodo Monitor Lizards, Monkeys and Bats to Duty Free shop at airport an added bonus. Limited places to eat owing to Ramadan.

11th - Boat back to Mersing for bus to Cherating. Disappointed with large curved beach and far out low tide but had best chicken samosas at reggae bar on beach for dinner.

12th - Bus to Marang and boat to Pulau Kapas for more island time and beach discovery. Beautiful white deserted sands, relaxed atmosphere and great people made for excellent mellow vibe. Limited places to eat owing to Ramadan - able to cut a deal with manager of resort at next beach for all-you-can-eat buffet food at bargain price. First experience of killer spider in bathroom of beach hut.

14th - Boat back to mainland and bus to Kuala Terengganu to wash clothes, get food supplies and visit central market with amazing array of materials for sale, exotic foods and usual tourist tat. Great mix of Indian and Malay food for grabs at night market

16th - Bus to Kuala Besut and boat to Perhentian Islands for more beach downtime. Went on excellent all-day snorkelling trip and saw Turtles, sharks and Nemo. Helen soiled bikini jumping off base of lighthouse and ate many Roti. Had couple of great BBQ’s for reasonable price at local hotel. Second experience of killer spider in beach hut.

21st - Boat back to mainland and bus to Kota Bharu. Got on the McDonalds wagon for lunch and discovered 25p ice creams. Not very memorable place but more washing done, internet session and usual fare from night market.

22nd - Train on Jungle Railway to Jerantut. Quoted as an engineering feat but to us, just another (single track) train which took 9 hours not including a one hour stop to fix the hydraulics! Not as glamorous as it sounds.

23rd - Bus to Jetty for longboat trip (3 hrs) to Taman Negara National Park. Great slow ride in longboat-style vessel up-river and into jungle passing time by monkey spotting. 2 hr trek into jungle on arrival in long pants to avoid leeches. Spotted humungous centipede. Helen risked all on canopy walkway, soiled pants and nearly made first claim on holiday health insurance. Rustic jungle hut accommodation with mosquito net for protection and pet bathroom frog aptly named Mr. Frog.

24th - Bus back to Jerantut (1.5 hrs) for another bus to Kuala Lumpur (3 hrs). 2.5 hours spent in queue at 7.30am for tickets for Skybridge at Petronas towers. Nick dying of unknown tropical disease which prevented his 3.30pm visit to Skybridge. Helen Nightingale abandoned Nick at hostel to attend on her own. Visited Batu Caves, Chinatown and Little India where Nick purchased deep-fried chicken carcass.

27th - Flight from KUL (2 hrs ) to Jogjakarta, Indonesia. A chance for some down time resulted in the purchase of many doughnuts from Jco. Coffee & Doughnuts, which enabled us to use their WiFi. A break from doughnuts consisted of a trip to the local markets, the Sultan’s Palace and temples including Prambanan (Hindu) and Borobudur, the worlds largest Buddhist monument. Luxury of lovely pool at hotel for bargain price of 7 pounds a night.

October 2010

1st - Bus to Gunung Bromo (10 hrs) for Volcano sunrise tour. Cramped seating made for uncomfortable 10 hrs on full minibus en route to Bali via Bromo.

2nd - Jeep journey (1 hr) up to volcano viewing point at 3.30am.  World’s bumpiest ride and never seen so many jeeps in one place. Sunrise disappointing as too much cloud and although not epic, a great experience. 12.00pm bus to Denpesar, Bali with ferry (11 hrs) with seating only big enough for the 4ft natives. Packed with locals and memorable for the wrong reasons. Taxi to Kuta (40 mins).

5th - Hired jeep for 3 days and toured west coast of Bali in search of futile mission to find Helen‘s perfect beach. Drove to Permutan, Lovina, Singaraja, Pura Tanah Lot (temple) and the Bukit peninsula seeing some great coastline, temples, rice fields and life away from the tourist trail. Pura Luhur Ulu Watu (temple) now famed for the banana incident.

8th - Drove back to Kuta to drop off jeep and spend the night.

9th - Taxi to Sanur (1 hr) for next day boat to island of Nusa Lembongan.

10th - Boat to Nusa Lembongan at 8am (1.5 hrs). If we had realised that Lombok (3 days time) wasn‘t going to fulfil the beach mission, we would have stayed longer here. Great island, several nice beaches with white sand and a real working island full of real local people harvesting seaweed. World’s best omelette served at hotel.

11th - Boat back to Sanur and taxi to Ubud (1hr) for Helen’s spiritual enlightenment  in the form of the reading of ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ in a rice paddy. Explored the streets of Bali’s capital of art and culture and visited the markets. Hired bicycles to tour rice fields. Almost had second usage of holiday health insurance policy as the Disaster from Devon fell sideways into irrigation channel on bike.

14th - Bus to Padangbai (1.15 hrs) for boat to Lombok and incidentally found the best beach in Bali. Through streets of scruffy port town of Padangbai and up and down messy, rocky road adorned with derelict buildings appeared a tiny patch of paradise with white sands, palm trees and Robinson Crusoe type huts. Had fresh mango on beach cut and prepared by local woman.

15th - Ferry to Lombok (4 hrs) and minibus to Sengigi (1 hr). With accommodation overly expensive, dark sand coloured beaches and cheap food scarce, we didn’t warm to this place. However, a quality moment spent on a nicer part of the beach eating noodles from a hawker while hanging and chatting with locals and watching the sunset saved a monotonous day.

16th - Bus to Bangsal (1 hr) for boat to Gili Trewangan (30 mins). Trewangan served to give us time to relax, recuperate and reflect before flying to Vietnam. Beautiful white sand beaches and a busy but laid back atmosphere, Gili T was exactly what we needed. Snorkelling straight off beach and swimming with turtles the highlight, as was the many baby turtles in the nearby Turtle Conservation Centre that Helen had to say goodnight to every night. Cheap local food found by jetty including world’s best pancakes consumed every night after dinner.

23rd - 8am boat back to mainland Bali (Bansal) for bus across island (Lembar) to pick up ferry back to Padangbai for one night.

24th - Bus to airport at Denpasar for flight to Hanoi, Vietnam.

Malaysia - Island time

Arrival in Singapore

The day of Departure.....

Monday 6th September

Midday flight to Singapore from Heathrow