Enter the Flashpacker Crew.

After travelling through northern Thailand and down through Laos, where for the best part of a month temperatures were much more comfortable in the day and significantly cooler in the evening, we were excited to be hitting the islands off the south of Thailand for sun, sea and sand. Two months in to the dry season promised endless days of sunshine, heat and humidity. We were also excited about the imminent arrival and temporary two-week addition of two new members of the Flashpacker Crew, Mick and Julia. Once they had gotten over the initial trauma of setting eyes on two formerly fit and healthy travellers, now pathetically gaunt, malnourished and needy, we spent a luxurious day at the beach with plenty of sun, food and beer. Such extravagance was a treat indeed for a couple of backpackers whose daily budget can often be blown on a packet of prawn cocktail crisps.

It was easy to settle into the idea of spending 14 days like this. That is until we discovered that the Brits had brought the weather with them. Typical. ‘If we can’t have any sun, nobody will. Humph.’ The next day started gloomy, prompting the usual optimistic hopes that it will clear up. Well it didn’t. As much as I love the mystical view out to sea when it is gloomy and dark as a result of low cloud cover, as if there is a greater power at work, this was not what any of us expected. And so the Famous Five (I’m sure we acquired one of the many feral dogs along the way) went off on a Crusoe-esque exploration of the island. No sooner had we stepped out on the long road to discovery, the greater power decided that it would be fun to see how suitable our t-shirts would be for a wet t-shirt contest. In case you’re wondering, three of us failed the test miserably. Still, we persevered, trying to make Robinson proud.

Armed with nothing more than flip-flops, swimming attire and our own brand of adventure, we conquered unforgiving and baron highways where tumbleweed crossed the glassy tarmac in the distance and masses of dried-out frogs lay flat on the road as a result of the harsh environment. Steadily, to conserve energy, we made our way through the grounds of a hotel, and down toward the beach. To our trepidation, a surface water drain resembling a ravine swollen from the monsoon-like rains, stopped us in our tracks and threatened to spoil the party. But just as we were contemplating how to cross it safely, Mick leaped with cat-like agility across the rocks and onto a floating raft that fate seemed to have placed there for our very survival. Not to be outdone by someone nearly twice my age, I tried to emulate the feat but miserably failed on style points. While the raft was infinitely less steady with all of us on, owing to the raging and relentless current, I assisted Mick in pulling the rope that was attached to the other side in the hope of crossing what looked by now like the River Grande. With distress and disbelief enveloping their faces, hotel staff watched helplessly from the safety of the hotel restaurant. Unable to advance the raft across the rapid and, fast running out of options, Mick displayed scant regard for his own life in order to rescue ours. With shrieks and cries of ‘don’t do it’, Mick bravely plunged into the powerful torrent in a selfless and sacrificial act. Fully expecting him to be entirely submerged and swept swiftly away, the bravery of Mick’s act was negated as soon as we realised he was standing in 2ft of water up to his knees, without even a steadying hand on the raft, looking like Dr Foster. 

The rest of us crossed the stream without incident. With the adventure over, we tried not to feel disappointed with the anti-climax. Instead of basking in the glory of heroism, Mick followed behind dragging his heels with droopy shoulders, dejected at the loss of a promising future career as Indiana Jones.

We completely lost the sense of time through this escapade. But it mattered not. It was beer o’clock.

Our journey so far...continued...Cambodia.

November 2010

23^rd – Arrival in sleepy, shabby coastal town of Kep, most famous for being a colonial retreat for French elite in 1908 until Khmer Rouge rule kicked them all out. Blackened shells of once grand colonial villas still stand. Rather uninspiring beach since white sand used to be shipped in from Sihanoukville. Also a town known for its seafood, especially crabs, not that any of it was in the budget. However, found giant crab on which to take out our frustration.

25^th – Bus to Kampot, a town only 20 minutes away, most famous for producing the famous pepper. Apparently before the Cambodian civil war, a Parisian restaurant wasn’t worth its salt if it didn’t have a condiment of Kampot pepper on every table. Not much to do in this river town but hired bikes and explored. Invited to a Cambodian wedding which made us feel more awkward than a pig at a hog roast. Printed forever on our minds, however, was the morning we were leaving. Nick still asleep. Helen in shower. Snake slithering up through 4-inch drain-hole. Screams from Helen forced Nick to reach for axe but once fully awake realised he did not have one. Uses water jet of butt gun instead to coax it back down drain. Drain cover firmly back on. Or so we thought. Persistent bugger repeats whole drama again two minutes later. Helen abandons shower idea. Nick hailed as hero. Just like Indiana Jones, then.

27^th – Bus to coastal town of Sihanoukville, Cambodia’s premier beach resort, in search of place to rest weary bones. And continued quest of new entry into top ten beach list. Discovery of Holy Cow restaurant serving world’s best pesto tagliatelle prompted many visits over the week. Hired motorbike to explore area. After asking in every place about fixing laptop since it was broken, jackpot hit in smallest of computer shops in most random of towns. Ironically, laptop sent to our next destination, Phnom Penh, to be repaired and were told 5 days. 2 days later, with a Sunday in between, Sam Sung was returned to us looking and behaving as new, inspiring cries of ‘we’re back’!

 December 2010

4th – Bus to capital, Phnom Penh. Visited Royal Palace and disappointing Silver Pagoda and subsequently spent 2 hours photographing monks on way to worship holding umbrellas, riding on back of motorcycles and tuktuks, and ones trying to avoid glare of our lens. Discovered Pizza Co. and market selling garments made in in Phnom Penh of famous brands that were not fakes (see blog). Visited S-21 prison used by Khmer Rouge to imprison and torture civilians before sending them to one of many Killing Fields, which we also visited. Read the shocking and sad Killing Fields book, which put it all in to perspective.

  8^th – Bus to lovely, quaint town of Siem Reap, which serves as the base camp while visiting Angkor Wat. Spent 3 days visiting every temple within perimeter of Angkor Wat. Nick ready to commit suicide on second day but being able to play Tomb Raider on third day at temple it was filmed saved him. Helen did cooking course, Nick went to gym. Visited silk farm. Also Nick’s birthday, where it was decided to spend one more day in Siem Reap in favour of being on bus. Gifts from Helen included, among other goodies, latest dvd films and Casio watch, all fake and under a fiver from the market. Bonus!

 16^th – Bus to Battambang for sole purpose of riding the Bamboo Train (see previous blog). Visited old Pepsi bottling factory, that hasn’t seen glass since the Khmer Rouge regime bulled their way across Cambodia, in search of old Pepsi bottle. Search futile as factory out of bounds to tourists. Will not be in hurry to visit Battambang again but thoroughly recommend Bamboo Train as something quirky and surreal you cannot do elsewhere. Shame that last place visited of a wonderful country ended in Battambang.

17th - Bus to border with Thailand at Poipet for Bangkok. Sad to leave Cambodia but Thailand adventure begins.

A Laotian New Year

New Years Eve 2010 was special. Not because we are on the other side of the world and doing something of which most people dream, but because we did something very different. Frequently, for many people, New Years Eve is something of an anti-climax where at the stroke of midnight one can be found singing Auld Lang Syne with a bunch of strangers in an over-priced bar while clinging to the oft false hopes of a better year. But in Pak Beng in Laos, which was simply a stopover breaking up a 2-day boat journey to Luang Prabang along the mighty Mekong River, we lit huge lanterns adorned with fire crackers and rocket trails while making our new years’ wishes as the gas inside propelled them up into the star-littered sky.

As we left our guesthouse in search of something to eat, I was less enthusiastic than Helen about finding the source of a scattering of lanterns in the black sky.

“But they’re so pretty”, Helen said.

“I don’t care,“ I grumpily retorted as my belly started to make noises, “they’re probably miles away anyway.”

I was forced to bow to her intrepidity, however, when we came across a gathering of locals all dressed in white and chanting melodic mantra-like verses in Laoan as they released their lanterns. We were fervently welcomed and invited to join them in holding the rim of each lantern until they filled with enough gas to take off. The repetitive chanting was infectious and though we were unable to sing, we soon found ourselves humming along. We each had a lantern dedicated to us and asked our names, which were then integrated into the chant. Every so often we would hear our names between words that to us were incomprehensible. We must have set off dozens of lanterns over the course of an hour, each one clapped earnestly by its dedicatee as it accelerated skyward and on which many hopes, prayers and wishes were pinned.

And as if that wasn’t enough, it was the Monk’s birthday, so after singing him a happy birthday after midnight, we all ate cake. Grand.

Footnote: Now I cannot stand those typical travel accounts found in Lonely Planet travel guides gushing about how wonderful a run-of-the-mill experience was as if the writer is a family member of the Brady Bunch. Honestly, I would not be surprised on opening a guide book to read how amazing it is watching a poor kid eat out of the gutter in some developing country while sitting back, drinking a beer and soaking up the atmosphere. And the account would probably conclude with an overused, cliché noun like ‘Heaven‘. But this was a magical encounter that I had to write about. It is one of those experiences that doesn’t come around too often and we will remember it forever.

Just wondering...

In many countries across Asia, you can spend thousands in local currency that amounts to the equivalent of a pound in sterling. After taking out 2 million Kips in Laos from the bank, which will last the grand total of about 5 days, Helen joked that we were millionaires. It is such an overused and familiar term in the western world and one to which we all aspire, but do 'millionaires' exist here? If someone has that much money here, what do they call themselves? Answers on a postcard to The Beach Hut, SE Asia.

The Many Faces of a Buddha

In the Buddhist monastery, there exists a division of labour. Just as in other organisations, roles are assigned to those best qualified for the job. We didn’t realise this either, so we hope our pictures will serve to educate you.

Saturday Night Fever Buddha

Darth Vader Buddha - Star Wars Convention WINNER 2010

Anorexia Awareness Society Buddha

Buddhas Against Suffocation (BAS)

Dickens' Oliver Buddha

Statue of Liberty Emulation Buddha

Traffic Police Buddha

Wardrobe Malfunction Buddha (or so Janet Jackson said)

Anyone for beef dick?

It seems Cambodians will eat anything. Borne out of necessity and owing to a turbulent history that often left them with a severe lack of food, one might assume that certain items on a modern menu would be dropped in favour of more appetising fare during more peaceful and prosperous times. Not so. It seems old habits die hard. Often, at the end of a hard day’s quest to be the next intrepid explorers, declaring that we could eat anything was perilous; we could never be sure what we’d be presented with. Next to more conventional items that one expects to see in Asia like rice or noodles, it was not uncommon to see rats, snakes, spiders, crickets, beetles, ants or the clearly more acceptable ‘beef dick’ on a Cambodian menu. Snakes could be chosen live from a tank like seafood and cooked as desired, and I am sure there is some ungodly way to eat rats, but thankfully we never had to find out. Insects were invariably fried or deep-fried, which is clearly a succinct term used for making things taste better or simply just palatable. We only ever received advice on how to eat spiders; picking them apart and shelling them like a crab seemed like the preferred method over taking pot-luck and biting into them. Although, alarmingly, if using the latter method, one is advised to steer clear of the abdomen where some pretty foul-tasting brown goo can be found. Right you are then. In that case, before the next time I eat one I’ll make sure I’ve taken my entomology course just so I can be sure where it is.

All Aboard The Bamboo Train!

 In a grubby little town in western Cambodia called Battambang, there is little to do unless you pad out a visit with activities that can be better seen elsewhere. But Battambang has one unique claim to fame, which was the reason we made a stop there after leaving Siem Reap, and before crossing the border in to Thailand - The Bamboo Train! Named so because carriages consist of 3-metre squared fence panel-like frames made of bamboo which sit on two barbell-like axels connected by a fan belt to what amounts to a lawnmower engine. Its speed controlled by a broom pole, which is somehow temporarily connected to the throttle, the ‘train’ happily cruises along at 15km/h (although it feels much faster when you‘re actually on it). Nevermind that it would not pass a single relevant Health & Safety regulation in the UK, apparently it is not uncommon to see a dozen or so people piled on to one carriage together with several tonnes of rice or produce to sell at the market. Alarmingly, the track is used for real trains, but it’s ok as there is ample time to stop, disassemble one’s carriage and get out of the way before being crushed to death. Now, where do I buy a ticket?

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