Jacked off with Jakarta

A rather sudden departure from Kuala Lumpur was in itself a good thing. I’d got to wasting away the days, achieving little, seeing less. In fact the intended delight of a shopping frenzy never fully materialized. And it wasn’t for the lack of opportunity! The place it packed full with enormous shopping malls, too many in fact, you’re spoilt for choice. I couldn’t have even touched the surface, whatever the goods I had in mind. Neither was it difficult to get around, the monorail and metro systems are quick and efficient ways to get around; they’re also dirt cheap. The main drawback is the crowds, it seems that anywhere worth shopping in are packed. While the western world is undergoing a recession the east is in a spending frenzy. The amount of money I see people pulling out their pockets is unbelievable. Every bank of ATMs has a steady stream of eager shoppers punching in their number and drawing out their piles of paper. Huge wads of cash are produced when they make even quite small purchases; sometimes I wonder if it’s the show that counts. (Photo: Future of the Islands - Batam dock, Riu Islands, Indonesia)

Jakarta is no different, it’s just busier, which I didn’t think possible. Has the world gone mad, consumerism has taken over. What the west had the east is now desperate to have even more of, western goods are in high demand. The crafty thing is naming goods with similar names to quality western brands, but originals are the most desirable. They aren’t cheap either, many clothes I looked at I can buy as cheap at home. Europe may have curbed its spending spree, but Asia seems more than capable of taking over. The tide has turned, if any of you had any doubt about the up and coming financial clout of previously third world countries forget it. The decadence of architecture here is phenomenal, big shiny monstrosities litter the skyline. There’s no shortage of investment in capital cities. Transport systems are improving rapidly, mega bucks are being poured into developing the financial centre’s of these countries. And why not, we've had our chance and it seems that we failed to maintain our ever expanding capitalist ways. Who are we to deprive the rest of the world their opportunity to learn that expansion can only go so far? Remember our worlds resources are limited, it has to stop some time. (Photo: Clearing the last few loads - Batam dock, Riu Islands, Indonesia)

Having gone from one gargantuan city to another I’ve definitely had enough. Of course this is the problem of backpacking, relying on public transport, being taken from one transport hub to the next. No wonder I’ve always gone out my way to avoid cities, and it was so easy on a bike. I had half a mind to buy another bike on reaching Jakarta, I’ve given up that hope, simply because I can’t face staying here long enough to track down a machine. Second hand availability is elusive, and prices are stupid, I can buy a decent bike at home for less. Being quoted $800 for a five year old 125cc is more than I’m willing to consider. That is not a throw away machine, and I can’t face the rigmoral of trying to resell at a reasonable price. So my journey will have to continue relying on whatever transport is available. It’s time to lighten my load even more, I’m tired of carrying so much weight on my back. Out go my favourite, but ragged, teeshirts, in the bin go my faithful, but torn, Animal trousers. (Photo: As close as I wished to see Singapore - Leaving Batam, Riu Islands, Indonesia)

With the Indonesian Archipelago spread before me I’m on the last leg before I turn around and consider returning home. It may be a few months yet, and my mind isn’t exactly contemplating being back in North Wales, but I do feel the end is in sight. I’m getting even more critical of where I am and the people I meet, that’s not a good sign. Each new place I encounter takes a bit more to settle into, it’s easy when faced with beautiful beaches and relaxing amidst natural delights, or it should be. The tendency now is to notice the negative before appreciating the positive, that isn’t how I wish to travel. I’m still happy enough meeting the various people who cross my path, at least the locals anyway. It’s nice to meet other travelers now and again, but they seem to be wherever I go recently. A few days here and there with no other white face in sight, but it’s not enough. Maybe a bit more effort to get off the beaten track is needed, or maybe a better appreciation for whatever the world around has to offer would do just as well. (Photo: Training homing pigeons - Jakarta, Indonesia)

The dulcet tones drift across the rooftops, a soothing, melodic call to prayers. It beckons gently to the faithful, enticing one to enter a tranquil world, to escape the harsh realities of modern life and lose yourself in prayer. Who could resist the temptation to slip into blissful rapture? This is the promise carried on the non-existent breeze. It eases the mind, opens the heart and cleanses the soul. Suddenly an abrupt staccato shatters the peace, piercing the reverie achieved. Shouting, threatening, in direct competition with the peaceful overtures, a new crackling voice demands obeisance. Come to prayers or be damned is his message. I know which I would be drawn to, if I were so inclined. I thought worship was meant to be a heavenly endeavour, I thought it was meant to sooth the soul. How lucky that the second attempt at beckoning people to the mosque has only been heard once! It’s a pleasure to be lulled into the realms peaceful contemplation at regular intervals during the day; maybe the other Imam couldn’t handle the stress levels he invoked and blew a gasket. (Photo: Beauty within the beast - Jakarta cityscape, Indonesia)

Malaysian Jungle railway.

I’ll say one thing about being back on the move, it’s all been a seamless experience. At each transfer point there have been no hitches and no delays, but it has taken it out of me. Three days of constant travel to get from the peaceful environs of Koh Tarutao to Kuala Lumpur has taken its toll. With little sleep each night my energy levels hit an all time low, but not my fortitude. A few times I found my mind starting to stress about the late arrival of various trains, as there was nothing I could do I just went with the flow, and I never missed a single connection. Whenever a glitch seemed likely it resolved itself, without any effort on my behalf. The border crossing I took was the dodgiest in this part of the world, bombs are not unheard of along the stretch of border of Thailand and Malaysia, particularly in the region of Sungae Golok, the east most point of the frontier. The fact that it’s a troubled area was self-evident. (Photo: Paddy Thai style - South of Hat Yai, Thailand)

Scrabbling over the rails to reach the furthest platform of Hat Yai rail station, a distinct difference was all too obvious. A heavy military presence loitered outside my scheduled mode of transport. The other four platforms were totally devoid of such personnel, which would be enough to worry more fretful characters. It isn’t as if I scoff at the smell of danger, though I must admit it does make my heart pick up pace a tad, it’s more that we can’t go through life avoiding potential hazardous situations. Alright, there would be less risk on another route, there would also be far fewer delights. I’d heard of the Jungle railway, a route that starts in the far northeast corner of Malaysia and winds its way through the jungles of the central highlands, finally joining the main branch line connecting the main cities on the east coast. Not only was I intent to go out of my way for a more dynamic experience, I was also determined to take the slow mail train leaving at 03.50 am. (Photo: Jungle as it should be - Nr Tumpat, Kelantan, Malaysia)

On the way to the border the train played host to a full squad of soldiers, wielding AK47’s and M16’s. They worked their way through the whole train, checking whatever luggage appeared to be unaccompanied. Then they split up leaving at least one member of the squad in each carriage. Every town we passed through had barricaded checkpoints at each intersection, fortified barracks stood in prominent positions. The military were sure taking the risk seriously anyway, I decided to leave them to do the worrying and sat back to enjoy the scenery. The Thai’s are a long way from utilizing every square foot of soil for cultivation, large areas lay as broken wasteland. Where expanses of flat land were to be seen it was given over to rice paddy, apart from that rubber plantations far outnumbered all other uses of the countryside. Accommodation is generally basic and far flung in rural areas, the railway essentially their main lifeline with the rest of the country. (Photo: Alternative modes of jungle travel - Nr Kuala Lipis, Malaysia)

The closer to the border we got the more predominantly Muslim the population became. I mean traditionally Muslim; in west coast Thailand the largely Muslim population are not as strict in their dress code, nor the men’s drinking habits. It gradually changed, by the time I’d crossed into Malaysia and reached the first city, Khotu Baru, without exception the women were covered from head to foot; face and hands were the only bare skin to be seen. It was nothing like other staunch Muslim countries, the women were not hidden or sheepish, there was no avoiding eye contact. They didn’t hesitate to converse with strange men, even tattooed ones with dreadlocks. I won’t claim they were clamouring to initiate conversation, yet neither did they avoid it. They laughed and joked with the bus driver on the way to Tumpat, the north end of the Jungle Railway, they just didn’t appear subjugated to any great extent. (Photo: Hand cleared homestead - North of Kuala Lipis)

If expecting unbroken jungle I’d have been disappointed, luckily I wasn’t, I’d been forewarned. But there was enough of it to warrant the title given the train ride. The initial leg of the journey was through a lot of natural jungle, not impenetrable bush country, yet enough to get the feel for it. There wasn’t much in the way of orderly cultivation, what there was tended to be on a small scale. Rubber plantations gave the game away, and for a long time there was little other evidence of mankind’s interference. Banana palms were common, but haphazard, infrequently small patches would appear in small areas obviously cleared for that exact purpose. Clearing is very much an ongoing process, before Kuala Lipis only half an acre or so would be cleared in any one place. That changed drastically once aboard the second train on the day, enormous expanses of bare soil swept across the horizon, hillsides roughly terraced to facilitate the planting of date palms. Whole vistas of date palms crowded out any illusion of a natural habitat, from new plantation to well matured versions that must have been there for many decades. Palm oil is the harvest from date palms, and the fruit is produced while the palms are barely above ground level. All they need do is thicken out before bearing fruit, which I don’t imagine takes too many years. I know Malaysia produces a lot of rubber, as do many of the SE Asian countries, but it’s far outweighed by palm oil production, at least in acreage given over to production. Obviously future investment is concentrating on palm oil rather than rubber. Bearing this in mind it seems strange to witness many ruins standing at the edge of the plantations, I can only assume the necessity for workers to live amongst them has diminished with the advent of better transport infrastructure. (Photo: An overabundance of date palms - South of Kuala Lipis, Malaysia)

For me the train was all about experiencing the every day life of those who depend on it, those who rely on that early train. Kids who’ve never had an alternative method of reaching school, women who load bales and baskets of goods on board on their way to market in the next decent size town. The train stops at every single station, getting more and more crowded as it goes. Passageways become clogged with bags, bundles and bushels, old ladies sit atop their wares smoking hand rolled jungle tobacco. Scurrying up and down the aisles they carry gossip between one group and the next. It’s as much a community gathering as a trip to market, life is bright and breezy, they laugh and cackle with glee. From Kuala Lipis I had to join an express train, gone were the colourful characters in their bright, gaudy polyester garments. But the ethnicity of the people grew more varied. The closer to the bright lights of the big city, the larger the melting pot of cultural diversity became. Ethnic Indian and Chinese increased in numbers. By the time we reached Kuala Lumpur Malay Muslims were outnumbered by these migrants from times gone by. (More Limestone karsts - Central Highlands, Malaysia)

Tarutao and Koh

The main islands in the Tarutao National Park are Koh Tarutao itself and the smaller, but more distant, Koh Adang. Nestled offshore of Satun Province this group of islands are as close as you get to Malaysia; Langkawi, the Malay tax haven is actually closer than the Thai mainland. They aren’t the main destination off this section of the coast though. Koh Lipe for some reason is not included within the bounds of the national park, and it shows; it’s bristling with resorts and restaurants. Within the park there are no private developments, and only in recent years have the park authorities developed their own low-key resorts. Adang is the smaller of the two, a forested island virtually untouched. The only blemishes on it’s otherwise pristine lands are the resort itself and a Sea Gypsy village a short way round the coast. (Photo: Nit-picking– Koh Adang, Tarutao National Park)

It sounds idyllic, and in many ways it would be stupid to dispute this; there again I can be quite stupid at times. I didn’t immediately take to the place, for such a potential paradise I thought they’d fallen short of the mark through sheer laziness. A beautiful beach of powdery white sand, choked with the remains of uprooted trees, first greeted me. Providing natural shade conifer glades line the beachhead, where you can rent a forestry tent or pitch your own, but watch out for the bottles and cans strewn around the place. OK, there aren’t that many left lying around, but they are in plain sight and remain there six days after I first saw them. It’s these shows of laziness I refer to, only a visit by the big boss got the staff off their backsides, and then it was only a quick scurry around to rake up some leaves; the bottles and cans are still there. To be honest private ownership encourages a bit more pride, or is it just a clearer view of what’s needed to satisfy the market? (Photo: Say cheese, ugh! – Koh Adang, Tarutao National Park)

Dogs running free around the place did little to impress me. Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs and enjoy their company, but it’s hardly in the nature of a national park sanctuary is it? Apparently the big boss doesn’t think so either, because suddenly a number of them contracted typical symptoms of being poisoned. The story goes that they’re brought over from Koh Lipe and dumped, every now and again the staff simply poison them. It’s horrendous to see a dog you’ve befriended slavering and convulsing, unable to stand, terror in its eyes. I managed to get it to drink some water, 24hrs later it was still alive so I fed it an omelette. Another day went by and it was showing signs of improvement, managing to eat a portion of battered chicken. I ensured she had a supply of fresh water available by the steps of my bungalow. It took over 48 hrs before all the convulsions stopped, but she was scared and hid under my bungalow half the time. I was tempted to remove her from the island, but wasn’t sure if that would do her any more favours. All I could do was take her and dump her on another island, somehow that seemed even more irresponsible. (Photo: Gecko, gecko– Koh Adang, Tarutao National Park)

I found the whole episode deeply disturbing, watching the terror stricken dog violently convulsing broke my heart. It might sound awful but I think caving a dogs head in with an axe is less traumatic for the animal; no more humane, but quicker and therefore involves less suffering. Though difficult, I’m trying not to fold under the emotional turmoil this has invoked. It wasn’t as if I felt happy and strong beforehand, now I need to concentrate on whatever positive aspects of life I encounter. A father playing with his daughter in the ocean brings a smile to my face. As he grabs her and flings her high in the air her squeals of laughter remind me of playing the same games with Cai, when he was a similar age. It seems so long ago now, but the memory is as vivid as though it was only yesterday. How much nicer it is to see compared to other families; one where overprotective parents have created a paranoid trio of siblings.The mere sight of a dog sets these kids into hysterics, they can’t go near the water without inflatable armbands on, and heaven forbid being allowed the chance to feel the pleasant sensation of the sun on bare skin. For these unfortunate offspring being on the beach involves being fully clothed, and no they are not Muslim, just mollycoddled. Surely being taught not to be afraid of dogs would be of more benefit to their lives. Wouldn’t an effective sun cream provide the requisite protection from the harmful UV rays, and condition their skin gradually to exposure to the sun? They are obviously a close and loving family, can’t they see beyond their own over-exaggerated fears? Don’t they see the limitations of their own paranoia? Before their very eyes are numerous examples of bold cheerful kids having a great time, while their own are infinitely more subdued. You can’t shelter kids from life, it’s there, it must be lived, as parents shouldn’t we allow them the chance to live it? (Photos: 1] Bird of Paradise, 2] I must be in heaven – Koh Tarutao, Tarutao National Park)

So far this journey has been largely devoid of much in the way of wildlife. I’m glad to say there is a lot more to see where I am now. It isn’t as if there is a huge variety of animals, but at least there is some. Despite their mischievous ways the monkeys are a welcome sight, they may well create havoc with campers who inadvertently leave possessions in the open, but the answer to that one is simple. Monkeys quickly adapt to the presence of humans, and they take full advantage of it. Not that they need to steal food, of make off with interesting objects, it’s just that it’s so much fun. Watching them it’s abundantly clear they are perfectly aware of their actions. They advance en masse, constantly checking that the coast is clear. One will make the first move, the others quickly follow, and then mayhem breaks loose. Try and chase them away and they’ll only go as far as absolutely necessary, only just out of reach. (Photo: Hornbill ahoy– Koh Adang, Tarutao National Park)

It shouldn’t be forgotten though, they can be very aggressive, especially the mature males. I moved to Koh Tarutao on my birthday, for a change of scene, and the monkeys there tend to have even less fear of humans. Walking along a shaded path I solitary male wandered from out the jungle, in front of me by about 6m, heading in the same direction. He hadn’t seen me, nor heard me; I was walking barefoot on solid ground. Gradually drawing closer I decided not to surprise him, it isn’t a good idea with wild animals, so made some noise. His reaction was instant, he turned and charged at me, fangs bared, screeching for all he was worth. Having only a bag on me I swung it straight at him, which seemed to do the job. But he didn’t run away, rather nonchalantly he continued on his way, keeping me in his field of view. As for yours truly, I allowed him a bit more space before I carried on. Though when confronted with the whole troupe spread across the road, not moving, I turned tail and went back the way I’d come. (Photo: Ao Mo Lae beach – Koh Tarutao, Tarutao National Park)

My time on Tarutao has mainly been spent enjoying the copious amounts of sun, and searching out my own little spots of private paradise. There’s been good company most nights, but the days have been enjoyed alone. It isn’t difficult to find isolated beaches, and many of them are totally deserted. Well not totally, one morning I was greeted with the sight of a couple cavorting in the shallows directly in front of the only entrance onto the beach. I was a bit slow on the uptake, it took a second look before I realised they were in the throes of sex. And I’d been worried about being seen working on my all over tan, at least I’m conscientious about keeping away from prying eyes. Mind you, from their reaction I think getting caught out was the last thing they expected. Personally I preferred watching the natural wildlife, though I’m not sure which made me laugh me, catching the tourists at it or a couple of macaques the day before. (Photo: Brahimey Hawk– Ao Lac beach, Tarutao National Park)

Making the most of Thailand

Bangkok in general seemed much quieter than I’ve always imagined. My previous viewpoint has been from the safe confines of the main rail station. Always in the past it’s proved unbelievably hectic, the roads chockablock and the pavements choked with shoulder to shoulder pedestrians. City traffic is renowned for being gridlocked, making travel around the city slow and laboriously. That seems to have changed, it’s diminished significantly. Traffic actually appears to move at a respectable pace, the pavements are easily negotiable, even fully laden with a rucksack. In fact the busiest area I’ve seen is Nana Plaza, where I’ve elected to stay while here. Koa San Road, the main backpacker haunt, is also said to be pretty much as busy as always; so it seems that tourist-ville maintains its hectic schedule while the rest of the city is more subdued. (Photo: Doing a roaring trade – Sumnavit Rd, Bangkok)

Maybe the recent floods helped reduce the overcrowded byways and highways, I know many people had to be evacuated. Where these people went and whether they’ve failed to return could explain the situation. Alongside the rail tracks there used to be extensive shanty town of corrugated iron hovels, stretching for miles from the centre way out into the suburbs. Most of that is gone, maybe the authorities have used the floods as an opportunity to move in and bulldoze flat the former squalor. It hasn’t all gone, but there is very little evidence of the haphazard shanties any more. Two other aspects I’ve never been aware of, so am unsure exactly how new they are, are the Skytrain and Metro systems. They both look new, everything looks newly constructed anyway. In itself this could explain a reduction in congestion, as could relocation of a sizable portion of the cities population. . (Photo: From yucky to yuppie – Bangkok cityscape)

Such observations and assumptions are only based on a fleeting glimpse, I wasn’t about to hang around any longer than necessary. However quiet the place is in comparison to previous insights, it still is not a place I relish. Despite brief thoughts of visiting some of the curiosities of the city, when confronted with the bars and clubs advertising ping-pong shows and such like I lost interest. Numerous bars, with numerous farang (the derogatory Thai term for foreigners) swilling beer almost 24hrs a day holds no interest for me. Maybe if in the company of a group of friends I could bring myself to visit some of these less savoury establishments, but only safe in the knowledge that their interest was purely mild curiosity, rather than actual sexual titillation. Blimey, it sounds as if I’m becoming a prude in my old age. But isn’t that better than becoming a desperate old man who prowls the worlds seedy joints for sexual satisfaction? (Photo: From Father to Son – Railroad siding , Bangkok)

For me the most relaxed way to travel in Thailand is by rail, it’s cheap and comfortable. Overnight sleepers save the cost of a hotel and, hey presto, you’re at your destination shortly after you awake. My only choice was to be my initial destination, would I take any time out in Thailand, or push on for the Malaysian border? The last couple of times I’ve come here it’s been the wrong time of year to reach the islands of the Tarutao National Park. In monsoon season regular boat services stop, you’re lucky if there is one boat a week out to the islands from Pak Barra. Having declared a reluctance to spend time in Thailand previously, my attitude hasn’t changed. I find those people involved in the tourist trade to be unreliable, saying and doing whatever is necessary to relieve you of your hard earned cash. And I’ve got to say that nothing has changed my mind on that level. Transit points are the worst, the touts and tuk-tuk drivers will lie through their hind teeth to get your over-priced custom. (Photo: Bird’s eye view of Koh Lipeh – Tarutao national park, Thailand)

And so it was when I reached Hat Yai, as soon as I set foot outside the train station. As one of the only couple of tourists on the train I was of course a prime target. I was also well versed in how to deal with it, respectfully but insistently refusing everything the touts tried suggesting. An interesting phenomenon in tourist Thailand is a refusal to give a reasonable price to farang, if you won’t pay the over inflated quote they simply won’t deal with you; there’s no question of getting the going rate. In the past I’ve gotten used to touts claiming there were no alternatives to what they had to offer, but never before have I been maliciously put on the wrong transport. Songtheaws are the cheap means of navigating cities here. They ply a set route and they generally cost pennies, rather than pounds, all you have to do is find the appropriate Songtheaw. In Hat Yai one guy hounded me for ages, quoting an extortionate price to take me to the bus station for a Pak Barra bus. I refused politely, stating clearly I knew it was far too much. The bastard then showed me a Songtheaw to use, which took me to the wrong station on the opposite side of town. (Photo: Monkey-ing around – Koh Adang, Tarutao National Park)

At first I wouldn’t believe people when they said there were no buses to Pak Barra, that I had to go 10km to the other side of town. Even when a police officer informed me of this I stared at him in disbelief. He was great though, taking me outside the station and making a correct Songtheaw stop and telling them where to drop me. We drove right past the train station and on for another 5km or so, it still only cost me 20p. The government minibus was half the price of the private ones from the station, and the cost of a boat ticket out to Koh Adang was also cheaper at the dock than in Hat Yai. But the Thais don’t miss a single trick, the boat only takes you to a floating dock off the island, then you have to pay another £1 for a long-tail to shore. And that is typical of the situation here; wherever possible you’ll be wrung dry of your very last cent, which is why I have so little time for Thailand. (Photo: Squirrel or tree rat – Koh Adang, Tarutao National Park)

Baulking at Bangkok

The last few days in Laos passed with only one minor glitch, and that was alcohol poisoning. It all started with an innocent boat trip up the river, in search of a nice beach to spend some time with the some of the other guys at King Kong Guesthouse. It was a chance to get away from the premises, which has that quality that once relaxed it’s hard to pull yourself away. Weeks slip by barely noticed, and barely moving off the property. So we decided on a guys boat trip, our own mini booze cruise. Two crates of beer and a bottle of whisky seemed to do the job nicely, I didn’t even feel that plastered when we finally set off back home. So it came as a bit of a surprise to suddenly find myself hurling my stomach contents from the balcony of a bar into the river. There again, once being reminded that I’d not eaten since breakfast it wasn’t that much of a surprise. It wrecked my system for days though; I’m only now managing to eat decent amounts of food again, four days later. Will I never learn? Probably not! (Photo: Charcoal burner - Don Det, Laos)

It was with slight trepidation that I set off, once more into the fast lane. The pace of life is so slow in Don Det it comes as a shock to enter the realms of a hectic transport system. It was more than that though, I hadn’t caught a bus and had to mingle with the hoards on public transport for months. My temptation was to keep myself to myself and ignore everyone else, but that isn’t really in my nature. I made the most of what company I had, it passed the time much quicker. But for the last leg of the journey I was almost the only foreigner on the bus, to get a good seat I was the sole farang on the lower deck. Also being the first to take a seat there I got the best place, so quietly tucked myself into a blanket and slept for about nine of the twelve hour journey. Now and again my eyelids lifted momentarily, only to slide shut once realising it was still dark outside. (Photo: Keeping cool in the mid-day sun - Don Det, Laos)

And then I hit Bangkok. I’ve never stayed here before, always arrived and left within the same day. My only view of the city had been of the vicinity around central rail station, a particularly hectic part of the city. With no guide book I followed the simple advice of a fellow traveler and headed for a district away from Koa San Road, the notorious hangout of backpackers. If the area I’ve come to is quiet in comparison I’m glad I did so, the girly bars and tourist restaurants are everywhere. The tourists damned near outnumber the locals, and bearing in mind I termed Phnom Penh as Sin City, the numbers of western guys here in the company of local women is phenomenal. The first person that attracted my attention was an offer of getting together by a lovely looking Thai woman; at least I think it was a woman. It made no difference, it’s not what I’m here for and I still find the whole situation a bit sordid. (Photo: Monkey man - Don Det, Laos)

Prostitution doesn’t disgust me, it just isn’t my thing! Being a romantic at heart I can’t quite bring myself to pretend there is anything genuine about the situation. It can be argued that many of the girls here aren’t charging for their services directly, a little more subtlety is in play. Enjoy the company of an escort, keep them fed and watered, treat them to a gift or two, and the rest is part and parcel of the game. I can never take my mind of the plain fact that most of these girls/women are desperate to find themselves a sugar daddy, any chance to improve their lot in life. Without doubt there are a hell of a lot of attractive Thai women, but I can’t ignore the feeling that’s it’s taking advantage of their desperate situation. Chances are few and far between for the average Thai, as in the rest of SE Asia, I’d prefer not to be left feeling I’d satiated my sexual desires by throwing a handful of money at someone. (Photo: Improvised bodyboard - Don Det, Laos)

The city was a necessary evil, I had to sit and take stock of what lies ahead of me. Ideas of where to head next filled my head, with plenty of choices and no information I had to look at my options. And it’s just as well I did, the islands I’d set my mind on next are in the throws of monsoon and nothing will be open for another few months. So instead of combing the streets for some form of entertainment I’ve holed up in my hotel room and researched routes and modes of transport to get there. No information has been found to suggest I could have brought my Vietnamese bike into Thailand, especially as it isn’t even in my name. There are few other options, I done the right thing by selling it in Laos, and I think it would be a short lived association to buy another here, I’d only have to sell it again before entering Malaysia. From this point on island hopping is to be the mainstay of my journey, a bike would be a hindrance, though not altogether impossible if I bought one for each country I enter. (Photo: One boatman and his buffalo - Don Det, Laos)

There seems to be a pattern emerging between my Americas trip and this one. Initial months went with a fast and furious pace, covering many miles and many countries with barely a breath between. Now I’ve slowed down drastically, just as I did then. And I’ve started finding it a bit boring at times, well, not necessarily boring, maybe just a touch tedious. Hanging around other westerners makes a nice change after being alone for months on end, but not for too long. My feet start itching, I get dissatisfied being in the same place for weeks on end, I want to be on the road again. The trouble can be regaining my momentum, which takes a while each time I stop for more than a few days. I guess it’s at the stage where I now feel I’m winding down for the end of my journey. I’m not ready to go home yet, but still my reserves are running low. It isn’t a matter of feeling lonely, yet I do feel pretty much alone. Truth be known, this is where I’m at in life itself. It gets harder and harder to bolster my own reserves, I must rely on my pig-headed nature to continue. (Photo: Spectator in my toilet - King Kong Guesthouse, Don Det, Laos)

Sadness has consumed me the last couple of days, the last time I stood in Bangkok Central Station was with Cai. With that realization I once again feel the depth of my loss, and struggle to deal with it.

New Year or last year

Whether your character is one that sees off the old year with contemptuous relief, or welcomes in the fortunes of another year of opportunity with open arms, this year is wrought with predictions of doom. I guess the Maya have a lot to answer for. Ancient stelae depict great cataclysms, a complex and elaborate duel calendar system accurately foretells when our impending doom will descend; according to those who claim to understand such things. Personally I’ve found Mayan belief systems and astronomical knowledge fascinating, but I think archaeologists and their ilk fail in their theorizing. They’re modern people with a modern mindset, how the hell can they expect to understand the rationale of an ancient race. It could be claimed that a race with such amazing methods of prediction should have seen their own impending doom. Their method was not vague, it’s based on calculating planetary alignment, which they achieved for thousands of years into the future. (Photo: The Mekong at it’s best - Don Det, Laos)

If we do give them any credit, and trust the interpretations of the specialists, great cataclysm’s are said to befall our world on 22nd December 2012. But whatever you do, DO NOT PANIC! Aren’t we at the beginning of The Age of Aquarius, an age of freedom and enlightenment? According to Buddhist belief we’re about to enter a new Golden Age, a 2,500 year period of spiritual harmony. Nostradamus, way back in the classic days of science, made predictions for this day and age. However you look at it our present day has been the focus of predictions for thousands of years, maybe it would be sensible to take heed. Maybe it would be foolish to scoff at the words of ancient sages. One thing is for certain, if we give them any credence what so ever, the times they are a-changing. But that’s the premise of life anyway, it’s all transient. Don’t hold on too tight to, it’ll pass you by in the end. (Photo: Always up to mischief – Don Det, Laos)

What I do know is that death can come for any of us at the most unexpected time, if you don’t make decent use of each day you’re letting your life slip away. It’s your duty to utilize your days, make them as fulfilling as possible, for you and those who matter to you. If you’re not achieving this you could be in danger of letting your life pass with barely a ripple. I’m sure most of us have those things we’d love to do while we still can, isn’t now the time to do them? Surely that’s the only way to ensure you don’t reach a time when it’s no longer possible to achieve what matters most to you. But please don’t all give up work, sell up and set off round the world. It’s getting smaller every day as more and more nations reach a point of economic growth that empowers their populations to join the throng of travelers scouring the planet for adventure. (Photo: Fully manned Dragon Boat – Mekong River, Don Kohn, Laos)

So Happy New Year folks! I hope yours was welcomed in good style, mine was spent in a jungle clearing amidst a host of other Falang. The only local people in attendance were a few partners of westerners. And whilst I say it was a jungle clearing I actually mean a patch of land at the edge of the paddy fields, with a couple of thatched tepees and a huge fire pit. I don’t think there were any falang anywhere else on the island, it’s becoming thick with tourists here now, high season hits SE Asia. I’d like to say the island boat race was a different matter. It was a local event, two days party with a day of Dragon Boat racing thrown into the bargain. For some inexplicable reason the local’s party was allowed to continue way into the early hours, whilst the falang New Year’s Eve bash got shut down at 2am. There again, there is an 11pm curfew in Laos. (Photo: Beyond bailing out – Mekong Boat Race, Don Kohn, Laos)

The Laos party on Don Kohn was one of the parties of the year for locals, with no religious pretenses everyone could eat, drink and be merry without a guilt trip. Dismissing the quality of the compère, and the tacky Laos disco music, it was nice to see the relaxed and easy rhythmic manner in which the locals danced. It made the screeching tones of wailing music and the high pitched chatter of the compère almost bearable; that guy really liked the sound of his own voice. It was distinctly Laos, music, dancing, and all the peripheries. That was before the falang turned up in droves, then it turned into a mess. Drunken falang is a term I must include myself in, but not to that extent. A wall of whities blocked out the reserved demeanor of the locals, the subtle and precise dancing of the Laotians. People were twisting, pogoing, and anything in between. I’m not criticizing it, people were having fun, but it seemed a shame to overwhelm the cultural niceties with over-enthusiastic drunken buffoonery. Mind you, I did enjoy drinking beer with the police chief in the announcement booth while watching the racing. (Photo: Their world is Orange – Mekong River, Don Det, Laos)

For me weeks have gone by in a drunken and stoned haze. It’s been nice in many ways, but it isn’t what I want out of this trip. I can do that at home, it may be a more interesting environment here but the result is the same. Setting up a volleyball/badminton net has given many afternoons of healthy distractions. One of the resident whites bought some sports equipment and it’s going down a storm, not least with the young kids. Now the kids hang out playing badminton, football and volleyball. They’re inventive though, they’ll use anything to play with, and then there is always the river. All the kids swim, and are seen everyday swimming across the swift moving Mekong. I’m not talking about teenagers here, kids as young as seven years old swim across. Even younger ones launch themselves off bank, drift down and scramble out further downstream. I rarely see unhappy kids here, seems a great life from the outside. (Photo: The Drifters – Mekong River, Don Det, Laos)

Beyond Sin City

Some events are timeless, a classic occurred in Sihanouk Ville, before setting off for the islands in the south east of Cambodia. While sat down waiting for my food the peaceful tranquility was shattered by banging dance tunes approaching. They emanated from a tiny step-through motorbike, laden with a huge box strapped on the back. To my dismay the rider was a grizzled old guy in an oversize baseball cap and white lab coat. Parking directly opposite he got off and proceeded to disco dance and body-pop with full gusto. He was hilarious and loved every minute of it, a showman to the very last. I can assure you he got everybody’s attention, it was top class. Bizarre to say the least, but I save the best for last. He was the local fish merchant doing his night-time rounds. The man had style, as well as a damned good sense of humour. He didn’t sell any fish, but I think it really mattered to him. (Photo: The Heywain - Don Det, 4 Thousand Islands, Loas)

I need to start carrying my reading glasses at all times, I can’t even read menus or see my food clearly. My overnight stop between Phnom Penh and the Laos border proved the latest example of problems that can arise. I thought the barbequed meat looked like chicken. It isn’t that I felt particularly against eating frogs, it was more that it wasn’t what I’d bargained for. Stuffed frogs, with everything but head and feet, their chest cavities filled with a gritty mix of grain and paste. I got the feeling it might be better not to know what was in the stuffing. It was palatable and I ate most of two frogs, bones and all. It was little more than the back bones I left but still didn’t wish to waste it, so I fed the leftovers to a dog. To be fair it was a well-fed dog, but still, it turned its nose up at the offering. It made me wonder how edible food is when a street dog won’t eat it. I’ve tried frogs legs, they were better. With little meat and suspect stuffing I wish I’d have seen them for what they were straight away. (Photo: A monk driving a motorboat - Don Det, 4 Thousand Islands, Loas)

Two days was my guess for the trip from Phnom Penh to Don Det, one of the Mekong’s 4 Thousand Islands in the south of Laos. Having straightforward directions my only worry was getting the bike over another border. Bearing in mind it’s not in my own name, so I have no legitimate paperwork, it went surprisingly well. I had to pay $10 temporary exit tax to leave Cambodia, but entering Laos was much easier. The customs post stood a mile or more back from the actual border, the barrier was up, so I rode straight through. In effect that simple reckless action freed me up to dispose of the bike anyway I wanted. So I have done! For a piddling fee I’ve handed over the bogus documents and the bike is destined to retire onto the island of Don Det. It will have an easy life of pottering up and down the sandy banks of the Mekong River. How long it will last is anyone’s guess. It's served me well but I'm not sorry to see it go, it's only a matter of time before I had to dump it anyway. (Photo: View from King Kong restaurant - Don Det, 4 Thousand Islands, Loas)

Don Det for Christmas it seems to be for me. Though much busier than imagined, it is very laid back. There are a lot of foreign settlers here, a situation that has steadily increased for a few years now. Most the island properties line the riverside path, if there is room at the riverside itself a few bungalows may have been built. Tourism is mainstream on the sunset side, here on the east there are more long term visitors. Marriage as a means of setting up home and business is common. I make that sound so mercenary, I’m beyond criticizing the thoughts or decisions between two free thinking adults. The world is opening up more, and I don’t mean purely for travel purposes, cultural divides are breaking down. From what I’ve seen in SE Asia now inter-racial relationships are very much a part of today’s Asia. It would be wrong to associate this side of it with sex tourism, even though that is also in evidence. There really is only one Thailand, it must be host to the world's seediest sex tourism, none of the other countries have succumbed to the gross exploitation found there. (Photo: Some islands are aren't big enough for habitation - Don Det, 4 Thousand Islands, Loas)

Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia have been waiting for me for some time. Many years have passed with the knowledge that I would travel these countries, I was merely waiting the opportunity and inclination to do them as a single journey. I’m glad I did, they have many similarities but are quite different too. All have suffered horrendous damage due to the crippling bombing raids of the USAF, but Laos seems to have avoided the mass slaughter of it’s population by infighting. They’re more reserved than the other two nations, and I wander whether this is sufficient to explain how it got away from the protracted armed struggle of Vietnam or the genocide of Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge in Cambodia. Ho Chi Min lead a revolution in Vietnam, the fight for a united, independent Vietnam. Pol Pot was just insane, he basically marched the whole population of city dwellers into work/prison camps and gradually exterminated millions of them. In Loas the problem was the bombing raids by the USA, they’d dump any left over from raids on Hanoi onto Laos territory. Many of the population cowered in caves for years to escape the continuous bombardment. (Photo: Well they are Water Buffalo - Don Khon, 4 Thousand Islands, Loas)

I wonder how the different histories have shaped the peoples, none appear irreparably scarred by the experience. Pol Pot had his reign of terror as recent as 1979, not long after America finally left Vietnam to it’s own devices. It’s strange that Laos, not actually at war with anyone, had more US bombs dropped on it than Vietnam and Cambodia. Their only sins were the Vietcong sypathisers up north, the yanks tried to destroy all supply lines, which is why whole communities resorted to living daily life in cave systems. As it happens the Americans also encouraged and supplied the royalist army trying to stir up an internal war against the rising tide of communism in Asia. All three countries were devastated by the biggest aerial bombardment of all time, many of these border regions still have armed ordinance lying in wait. Within about a decade the populations of all countries were decimated, there’s a huge population gap. But the numbers of kids is now immense, more than 50% of the populations are kids. If nothing else the people show one hell of a lot of perseverance. (Photo: Wee part of the waterfalls - Don Khon, 4 Thousand Islands, Loas)

Finally making my decision over which publisher to use was a relief, it felt more hassle than writing the book itself; which was a pleasure despite the emotional upheaval of doing so. Did I ever have a deadline? Maybe I should have done, I’ve faffed around with it long enough. Now it’s with the copyeditor for its final edit, I guess I won’t see it until next year now.

Oh, I guess I should wish you all fun Festivities as well. Enjoy the meyhem folks, I'll be in touch next year!

(Photo: My last voyage with the bike - Nakasarn, 4 Thousand Islands, Loas)

In the land of nod with the Pajama people

Cambodia really is a sleepy laid back country, it’s also very poor and the people have few opportunities in life. In such places it’s easy to see how locals view foreigners as a means of obtaining money, but I think the emphasis on this is a far cry from my experiences in Vietnam. Without doubt the peasant classes are not too different in either country, they’re a long way removed from the general hustle of mass tourism. Yet for the experiences in rural Vietnam I’m still inclined to think the Vietnamese are more likely to bump up their prices where foreigners are concerned. Of course in Vietnam tourism is better established, even following the Ho Chi Min Trail many sections see a continuous dribble of intrepid tourists riding through on their illegal motorcycles. By doing the whole length of the trail we passed through many areas where they obviously didn’t see many foreigners; people’s response to our presence is a clear indication of this. In neither country is there much evidence of wealth, I’m just glad to be back on two wheels to see the life away from tourism. (Photo: Rural setting in Cambodia – Kampot Province, SW Cambodia)

My route back to Phnom Penh took me around the coast, through Kampot province, before heading inland to the capital. How glad I am to have made this decision, it was a quieter route by far. Once leaving the main Phnom Penh to Sihanouk Ville road it was quiet roads and rural backwaters all the way. Much as I enjoyed the company on my down it was brilliant to be travelling under my own steam, at my own pace. I could concentrate on the world around me, with no regard for anyone else. I’ll never stop enjoying the look of delight on the faces of passersby when I acknowledge them. Without doubt the Cambodians are a touch more reserved than the Vietnamese, but dare I say they seem a touch more genuine in their response. In some ways this is unfair, we met a lot of locals in Vietnam thrilled at our presence, if only to ply us with rice spirit. (Photo: A small bike trailer, literally – Nr Kampot, Cambodia)

I didn’t mean to make the whole journey into Phnom Penh in one day, I almost wish I hadn’t but Kampot held little of interest. I got the closest to coming of this bike that I’ve been, and it left me feeling awful. Little more than pottering down the road a young dog wandered into the middle of the road, only to change its mind halfway across. Unfortunately I’d already corrected my course, moving far to the right to give it plenty of room. I tried beeping my horn, I was on loose gravel by then and could do little to reduce my speed as it walked straight into my path. The best I could manage was to veer further off the road, I still clipped it though. I’m just so glad I was going relatively slow, my foot connected with its jaw giving a resounding thud. I don’t think I’ve seen a dog run away so fast, yelping in pain and fear.
Was there anything I could do for it? I don’t think so, it didn’t hang about for me to find out, but to be honest I didn’t actually stop and try finding it. For those who know me well you’ll also know how wracked with guilt it made me. I’m not trying to justify it, but I’m sure there was no bone crunching feel or sound on impact. I only had soft shoes on and the force of impact would have been less than a well placed kick. It doesn’t matter really, it sickened me, both the event and my lack of compassion by not stopping, I only hope I’m correct in my assessment in a lack of serious damage to the poor thing. (Photo: 1] A quiet backwater – Approaching the Kampot coast, Cambodia; 2] In the land of nod – Phnom Penh, Cambodia)


Cambodian women with foreign men is a common sight, more so in the capital than the provinces but it’s still frequent, anywhere tourists have infiltrated. What can I say, in my mind it looks terrible, smacks of sex tourism. I’m glad to report that on the coast many of these couples were actually between foreign settlers and local women. It sort of gladdens my heart that folks have met and settled down together, of these unions there seems a natural balance. It’s invariably between two acceptable looking people, not an old western minger and fit young Cambodian. These do exist, especially in the capital, there is not the stigma attached that you find in Laos, where sex tourism in actively illegal. There relations between locals and foreigners should be declared to the local authorities, in theory making quick pickups nigh on impossible. (Photo: An example of beautiful traditional architecture – Phnom Penh, Cambodia)

Island life, I don’t think, is that far removed in nature anywhere in the world. If there is some form of livelihood other than fishing it may stand a chance of bypassing the influence of alcohol, on Kaoh S’dach that wasn’t the case. There isn’t any agriculture, and little industry outside of fishing or boat maintenance. I never fathomed how folks made any living, they certainly can’t rely on tourism, few tourists make it that far out. The local youths loiter, many appear inebriated but luckily don’t succumb to the aggressive drunkenness of the western world. Where they obtain the money is anyone’s guess, commerce with the outside world relies on seafood from what I can see, maybe the sense of community spirit ensures no-one goes short. As most the fishermen are often drunk, I think the pattern is pretty much set. Let’s face it, there’s bugger all to do on the island, who wouldn’t resort to alcoholic entertainment on an evening? (Photo: Mekong river folk – Phnom Penh, Cambodia)

Surprisingly I’ve seen little of this problem in the city, maybe everyone is too busy trying to make a living from the plentiful supply of tourists. Young kids of little more than 7 yrs old trawl the river area flogging bracelets and scarves to foreigners. They actually speak better English than the island kids, probably a matter of necessity. Today I broke one of my golden rules, I gave a handout to a couple of kids. Not monetary, I couldn’t finish my tub of ice-cream so gave them a treat. I had to stop an older lad taking it off them. He then suggested I give him a dollar, so he got a lecture on earning his own money, not begging. And what can you say when the truthful answer is that it just isn’t that easy in Cambodia? He sells books on the street, as do dozens of others, would I buy a book off him? No not really, because I don’t need another. So I wouldn’t give him any money, and couldn’t provide any solution to his dilemma either. Life sucks at times, I wish I could cure all the worlds problems in one foul swoop. (Photo: Monk on a motorcycle – Phnom Penh, Cambodia)

I wondered if the monks paid for the bike rides they obtained, considering they aren’t meant to handle money or have any possessions. Wake up Les, this is the modern world. I’ve now noticed many producing wads of notes from the folds of their robes, apparently times have changed.