Saturday 30 March 2013

Friends and Travelling Companions (Part2)

From Krachi, my plan was to head almost due north, across the Laos border to Don Khone, one of the '4000 island' group on the Mekong. My minibus was supposed to leave Kratchi at 7am. However, it turned up an hour late, cruised around the town picking up and dropping off other passengers and then pulled in at a workshop to have some work done on, I think, the rear brakes. Consequently, by the time I arrived in Stung Treng, where I was supposed to connect with a bus to take me across the border, my transfer had already departed. The local bus company rep. basically told me that my choice was to either pay for a different transport, or stay overnight and await the next bus the following day.

I really didn't want to waste a night in a 'nothing' town and was keen to get on to Laos. However, having paid for a through ticket, I was loath to spend more on anther vehicle to take me on. I eventually got a refund of part of my fare and, meeting another couple in a similar fix, sat at a bar with the bus company rep. to try to negotiate a 'sensible' solution. My bargaining partners were a French couple called Laurence and Fabrice and, between us, we managed to get seats on a minibus leaving an hour later. As has so often been the case, both Laurence and Fabrice spoke much better english than I could their native language. They were heading for the small town of Don Det, on the island just north of my destination.

Along with our 12 bus companions, we found ourselves at the Laos border an hour or so later. The bus stopped, a couple of hundred metres short of the border, at a cafe, where we were invited to sit and fill out the appropriate immigration paperwork. Then they asked us for our visa fee - $5 more than the published fee. We all expressed surprise and asked why we needed to pay this extra charge, at which point the 'agent' got agitated and 'invited' us to go sort it ourselves.

One thing I have learned as I have travelled is how backpacker, especially, tend to be on a tight budget and so will not spend a penny more than they can get away with. With this in mind, we all traipsed, in the heat, over to, first, the Cambodian exit gate to get our departure cards stamped and then across no-man's-land to the Laos side to buy our visas and enter their territory. Passing my passport, application and requisite $35 through the little window, conveniently placed at waist height, a hand took my offering and almost immediately placed it back on the window ledge. Bending low to try to communicate with the hidden official I heard a disembodied voice from behind the screen say '36 dolla'. I remonstrated, pointing out that the Laos visa web site stated $35, but he was having no of it. Standing back, I watched as all of my companions tried the same. Some argued profusely, but, eventually, we all bowed to the inevitable and handed over the extra cash to 'smooth the process'. 

Our passports were then passed through the checkpoint office to the immigration officer. Who, in turn, showed a passport,  through his similarly ill positioned window, and, when the owner stepped forward, swiftly retracted the document and demanded another $1 'overtime. By this time I was getting pissed off, not a state I often reach. However, one thing I really dislike is corruption, especially in government officers. It quickly became obvious that this was a battle we were not going to win and so, reluctantly, one by one we parted with another dollar. I asked for a receipt. The dollar was snatched, contemptuously from my hand and my passport thrust through the portal.

So this was the reason that the cafe agent wanted five bucks extra. By now our driver was also miffed as, presumably, he didn't get his cut for dropping us at the cafe in the first place. So, while we were stood by the bus waiting to continue our journey, he sat under a shelter with other drivers and border officers watching football. Having none of this, we marched over and told him we were ready to go. Ignoring us, he continued to watch the football with his confederates. One of our number went and stood in front of the tv. We might not have been able to win against the border officials, but we sure as hell were going to make life difficult for the driver if he didn't capitulate. After a brief stalemate he conceded and we were on our way again.

After 3 amazingly relaxing days in Don Khone, it was time to move on again. Before I left, I bumped into my French travelling companions again and enjoyed a beer and conversation in a quiet bar. I then took a boat back to the riverbank to get a bus to Tat Law, a set of waterfalls north east of us and about a quarter of the way up the country.

Waiting to board the bus, I met Jerone and Marta. The former Dutch, the later Spanish. They had met a few days before and now were travelling together to the same destination as me. So we became a somewhat unlikely triumvirate. We had a long and tiring bus ride and got to the village after dark. Checking in at the first available guesthouse, we then spent a couple of days exploring and visiting the waterfalls that are the main attraction. Hiring moped we drove to see the biggest one, about a 20min ride followed by a 15min walk, only to be totally under-awed by the thundering...trickle of water that evaporated in the daytime heat before it had a chance to fall to the pool below. The other, smaller, falls were much more impressive and did make trip worthwhile.

Leaving Tat Law, we three continued north to visit some wonderful caves at Khonglor, and then on to Vang Vieng, north of the capital, Vientiane.  Vang Vieng is a backpacker magnet of a town and is home to an activity know as 'Tubing'. Previously this involved floating in a lorry inner tube along the Mekong, being towed into the multitude of shoreside bars, drinking and continuing on downstream to the next bar. Following the death of a young Australian about a year ago, the Laos government put a stop to the bars and so, whilst Tubing still happens, it is now a much more tame activity.

After 3 days in Vang Vieng, Jerone and I parted company with Marta. She was heading straight to Bangkok and then to Burma. Jerone and I were going to Luang Prabang. After another tortuous bus ride, we made it to the town with time to wander around to find accommodation in daylight. We had met a couple of Danish women on the bus, Cecilie and Rikke. Whist we opted to sit at a bar to have a contemplative beer, they headed of to find a room at a good price. Consequently, when then came back along the road a little while later, we were able to take advantage of their research and check in at the same guesthouse!

We had a great couple of days in Luang Prabang, visiting some more waterfalls and some rather over stated caves. However, after  2 days, it was time for me to move on the pastures new, as Thailand was calling. So, leaving Jerone to stay a few days more before heading south to Bangkok, I headed for the airport to fly to Chang Mai.

My flight was late morning, so I had a lazy lie in and then got a tuk tuk to ferry me and my bags to the airport. It is a very small terminal and so checking in was both quick and easy. One extra piece of luggage that I acquired in Saigon, and had been carrying with me since, was a small 'travel' guitar. A poor, but reflex, purchase as it looks good, back will not tune for ready money. Probably because it's made of balsa wood, or something. However, passing through the airport security, the guards took quite an Interest in my belongings and asked me to take it out of its case. Having done so, they then passed it between them, giving it a tuneless strum and holding it up to inspect the sound hole. Passing it back to me, they asked me to play something! I tried desperately to think of something they might recognise and settled on The Bare Necessities, from Walt Disney's Jungle Book. They joined in as they got into the rhythm and a couple of people in the queue who know the words gave accompaniment. 

My little impromptu performance over, I began packing my guitar back into its case. As I turned to leave, the woman behind me in the line said to me, in hushed tones, 'I'm so pleased I didn't pack my rabbit in my hand luggage!'

Next stop Thailand. I'm nearly chasing my own coat tails (or should that be coat tales)

Tuesday 26 March 2013

Friends and Travelling Companions. (Pt. 1)

I've met so many wonderful people while I have been travelling, some for only an hour or two, other I have spent several days with. Some I have already mentioned in previous blogs. Some,  I'm afraid, I didn't take a note of their names and so, other than memories of meeting, are consigned to just that. Others, I hope, I will stay in touch with - even if just through Facebook or by email.

I already credited most of the people I met up until Hoi An in Vietnam. Although, there are a couple of omissions. I made a day trip from Beijing to the Great Wall. It was an early and cold start, with a 2 hour drive. When we arrived at Jinshanglin, allegedly one of the best example of the original, unrestored, wall, the car park was ringed by market stalls placed with the intention of selling souvenirs to the hordes of foreign invaders that, ironically, the wall was built to repel. However, being out of season and -6degrees C, all but one were closed, giving the impression that we had turned up at the right party...on the wrong day. The result was that, other than the 12 of us on the tour, and two other independent visitors, the only other people on the wall were local Chinese farmers offering themselves as guides. 

The wall is indeed 'Great'. I spent a wonderful hour and a half walking the sometimes precipitous route with a Spanish/Argentinian couple and a Taiwanese/American guy called Kevin. Stretching in a seemingly impossible ribbon across a mountainous landscape, The Wall disappears in either direction, east and west. Sometimes the stone steps are almost vertical, climbing high above your head to the next watch tower. For as much as I wondered at and admired the people who built this amazing feat of engineering over 2000 years ago, I also found myself imagining what it must have been like living on, patrolling and defending this stone border that stretches 5500 miles across mountain  and desert. 

On the journey back to the capital, I had a long conversation with a South African, from Jo'burg, called Phil and his partner Toni. Two of the nicest SA tourist I've ever met, they were great company on the trip, with Phil and I discussing life, the universe and everything on the way home. We found that we had some key life issues in common and it was good to be able to talk openly about some difficult topics. Phil and Toni, if your reading, good luck and I hope you find the direction you want to be heading. 

A few weeks later, travelling by train from Hui to Moi Ne in Vietnam, I met another lone traveller, Judy. Judy had come to Vietnam to meet and journey with her daughter and her partner. Having spent a few weeks together, they had headed in different directions and Judy was working her was south to meet her flight home to Cornwall. We were both going to Moi Ne to hunker down for the Luna New Year, 'Tet' - one of the biggest dates in the Vietnamese calendar. The whole country almost comes to a standstill for a week, once the entire population has travelled to their family homes, and most shops, hotels, transport, etc. grinds to a halt or, at best, is operated with minimal staff. As we were staying not too far apart, we met for dinner and drinks that evening.

Moi Ne is a beach resort in the South East of the country. We were staying on the outskirts, which, as it turned out, was a good thing. The centre of the town is wall to wall tourist bars, clubs and restaurants and has a heavy Russian influence and most of the signs were in dual Vietnamese/Cyrillic. Fortunately, the nicer beaches were at our end of town where there were also fewer tourists. I found myself getting irritated by the rude and unpleasant behaviour of the Russian visitors, especially their behaviour to the locals. They reminded me of the stereotype 'Brit' in the Spanish Costas, circa 1970/80. Judy and I managed to do a good job of avoiding the worst excesses of the bad behaviour, although we did end the evening drinking rather strong Mojitos at a beachside bar. 

The next day, we took a jeep tour to some  picturesque sand dunes north of Moi Ne. Of the two sets of dunes, one is soft white sand that shimmers in the strong sunlight and the other, the colour of a beautiful sunset. We rented a quad bike to ride up onto the dunes and take some photos. The heat was amazing and quite literally took your breath away. 

I enjoyed Judy's company for those few days, but I can't say Moi Ne was a raging success for me. I didn't take to the place and was happy to be moving on to Saigon a few days later. Judy left the day before so we arranged to meet again in Saigon, before her flight home.

Saigon was still 'quiet' in the wake of Tet. Even so, Ho Chi Minh City, as it is officially known, was a thriving metropolis. Staying in District One, the city's central zone, is a blend of European colonial buildings, modern glass and steel towers and tree lined boulevards. On the second night, I witnessed a 'drive thru' by motorbike riding  Saigonese who were cruising the city centre to view the magnificent Tet lights. It was like London's Oxford Street at Christmas, except bigger. And, if you could imaging a Brighton bank holiday weekend in the  '60s - Mods on Vespas in their hundreds - then multiply it by 1000, you might get an idea of the scale of the scene.

Leaving Saigon for Cambodia and Phnom Penh, I met a Swedish guy, called Hans, on the bus. As he hadn't booked anywhere, he joined me staying at a hotel in the Royal Palace area. We took a trip out to the Killing Fields the following day. Anyone old enough, or interested in the history of the region, will know the significance of this. I came away thinking 'never again should these atrocities be allowed to happen'. Of course, since then there has been Bosnia, Rwanda and other similar genocidal attempt. It does make one despair! 

Hans and I got on so well, well travelled on together to Siem Reap and Angkor Wat, probably the biggest tourist attraction of the country. Made up of several temple sites over a vast area, one could easily spend a week exploring. However, as is so often the case, what sustains such a place is also its downfall. We got up at silly o'clock to see the sunrise, but by 10am the whole area was heaving with tourists. I can't complain, as I was one of them. However, the serene tranquility of temples is only spoilt by the number of sightseers.

It was here that I had my 'wardrobe disaster'. The previous evening I bought a pair of quite funky trousers. Light cotton, baggy (plenty of airflow helps in the heat) and with an elephant print pattern. They felt really comfortable and just the thing for a hot day wandering around temples. Unfortunately, although sold as unisex, they aren't really tailored for the male profile. By 9am I noticed the seam in the upper inside leg was beginning to split. By 10am my trousers had no crotch. This was doubly awkward as I had sent all of my spare clothes to be laundered and so was travelling 'commando'! Eventually I had to buy another pair from a stall at Angkor Wat and make a quick change in the gents! One size fits all, my a*rs!

Hans then continued his journey west to Bangkok whilst I headed back east to Krachi for a couple of days. I took a ride north along the Mekong to an area where it is possible to see the rare and elusive Irrawaddy dolphins. These creatures are, sadly, incredibly endangered and imminently threatened with extinction. There are estimated to be less than 100 left in the Mekong between Cambodia and Laos and I was fortunate enough to make a few sighting whilst out on a boat. Though most of my photographs are of the surface of the river! They live up to their reputation.

I've just noticed how long this blog is becoming. So, to create a sense of suspense and trepidation...I will publish now and continue in a day or two. Next stop...skulduggery at the Laos border, waterfalls and caves, the decline of Tubing and an impromptu performance the airport! And more new friends.

Friday 1 March 2013

Sex And Drugs And Rock And Roll (R & R)


Music has always been an important factor in both my and Vicky's lives. Vicky, especially, loved to have music playing and would usually prefer that to having the TV on. Whilst I am selective (aka picky/snobbish) about what I listen to, I have an eclectic taste in music and, depending upon how the mood takes me, am as happy listening to Mozart or Madonnas, Billy Bragg or The Beatles, Ella Fitzgerald or Eric Clapton. 

Unfortunately, like sex and drugs, decent music has been markedly absent throughout my journey so far. Of course, I have my trusty iPod - filled to the brim with my favourites from Abba to Weird Al and everything in between. But other than that, musical entertainment has been sadly lacking. In fact, at times, it has been more of a punishment, I'm sure.

When I boarded the TSR at Moscow, the piped music in the carriage was a Russian pop/cover compilation - Abba and the Carpenters along with some rather suspect 80's style soviet disco. At first, it wasn't too bad, but it became evident that they only had the one cd. Over the 4  days travelling between the capital and Irkutsk, I lost count of how many times I heard 'Money, money, money', 'Yesterday Once More' or 'My American toy, American joy, and now he's all mine. My American boy' (aaaagggghhhhh! 9 weeks later and those dastardly lyrics are still locked in my head!). It was no better in China. Though this time the music was Sino-pop instead.

Beijing and other Chinese cities, at night, occasionally took on a Glastonbury like feel, as impromptu dancing would take place in vacant spaces outside the big stores. Unlike Glastonbury, where people would bump and grind in random semi-rhythmic gyrations to techno/garage/house/shed/car alarm, in front of stalls selling anything from bongs to hand woven, organic sanitary towels, this was therapeutic line dancing. Like an outdoor aerobics class, up to 50 or 60 people, mainly women, would congregate to exercise to music. Also unlike Glastonbury, the music was classical Chinese.

In Vietnam, most of the music was of the region. Not to my taste, but local and authentic. Like the Chinese, the Vietnamese like their karaoke - or 'son sun bahd' as it is known. On the boat trip to Halong Bay, the evening entertainment was billed as 'English DVD, squid fishing or...Karaoke'. The host was most perturbed when his guests said 'could we just sit a chat over a beer?' 

Halong Bay is a beautiful introduction to north east Vietnam.  It featured in a scene of the Bond film, 'Tomorrow Never Dies', and consists of hundreds of island that rise, in sheer vertical cliffs from the water. Over the two day there, I was able to land on one island and climb to the top for a terrific view, kayak through caves to the isolated centre of another and row around a floating fishing village. In the morning mist, the islands have a ghost-like quality especially as it can be so quiet, before the tour boats start moving around.

It was on the boat that I met Steve, who has already featured in a couple of my blogs, and Barry & Tom - a father/son duo from Melbourne. Barry was a fascinating character who, it turned out, worked in television and had been on the commissioning team that launched 'Neighbours' (Lee, if you're reading, I could probably get you a signed koala from Harold!).

When Steve and I met up in Hoi An and were looking around for somewhere to eat/drink, we both agreed that a)we would not go to anywhere playing 'crap' western music and b)we would leave immediately should 'Gangnam Style' be played. It became quite clear, very quickly, that we were going to lose this particular fight. Fortunately, we then met Chloe, who thought nothing of going up to the bar and asking to plug here iPhone into the PA. She had an excellent collection, including some older French pop/rock and a certain je ne sais quoi that allowed her to boldly substitute the house music with her own and have the staff smiling to boot!

My most painful musical experience, though, has to be the bus journey from Seam Reap to Kratchi, Cambodia. Apparently, what I experienced is typical of Cambodian travel. As the bus began our 8 hour journey, a DVD of Cambodian karaoke was set playing. Frankly, I would have preferred waterboarding! A couple of people I've met since have said that, not only did they play a karaoke DVD, but the Cambodian passengers sang along too! Noooooooooo!

There have been a couple of musical oasis' on my travels. My two nights on the wonderfully tranquil island of Don Khone, in southern Laos, was one. Staying in a riverside shack on the Mekong, where nothing moves very fast, except the water cascading down the waterfall, was quite idillic. I regret only staying two night. I could easily have stayed a week, swinging in my porch hammock reading and listening to Van Morrison, Paul Weller, The Doors and just about anything else that the French owners had playing quietly in the background.

Of course, none of these tales do justice to the wonderful places that I am privileged to be visiting, or the fascinating people, both local and travelling, that I have met along the way. Of the places, well Lonely Planet, et al, do a pretty good job of describing them - probably better than I can do. Of the people, maybe i can introduce some of them in my next missive.

Until then...