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Five-minute friends

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Sunset and beautiful skies at Railay

Sometimes in life, you’re destined to meet particular people. They go on to become friends, soulmates, someone to have a beer with, partners, or in some cases – eventually – you meet someone who will become a lifelong partner.

You meet through work, through friends, through school or university or perhaps by complete chance. Sometimes it can be engineered, but I’m a firm believer that if your paths are meant to cross, then at some point, your paths will cross.

I’m lucky to have some brilliant friends around me, but when I think back to how we met, there are reasons for it. Going to university on the south coast, mainly because of a relationship and applying late for a journalism course, I knew nobody. I remember walking around Southampton on my first day there with the strange feeling that I was completely alone. Three years later, I left with a group of lifelong friends, and a couple of them who have become absolute soulmates, people you trust, people you look forward to spending time with. And I knew in most cases, straight away from the moment we first met, that they were ‘my type’ of people, that I’d like to be friends with them and enjoy spending time around them.

Travelling provides so many of these opportunities. Every new place you get to, there’s a chance you could meet that new person to add to your friend list. The ‘five minute friend’ check usually makes up your mind – join them for a Chang and share a room, or leave them struggling with their rucksacks and boring stories on the pier

Where am I going with this? Let me explain – five years ago I was on an overnight flight back to London from New York with my family. It was our ‘last’ family holiday together, and we’d had a brilliant time. For the flight back, we changed all our pre-booked seats and chose some towards the back of the plane.

About two hours before we landed, I began talking to a cheerful blonde girl sat next to me. She’d been asleep most of the way, but she was around my age, had similar interests and, co-incidentally, was a journalist based in the City. After lots of chat about our jobs – a favourite hack pastime – a bit about our travels and how we got our careers, the tick box in the ‘five minute friend’ test had been well and truly checked. Her name was Hannah.

We swapped business cards, promised to add each other on Facebook, that we’d meet for coffee sometime and said goodbye at the baggage carousel.

Of course, time went on, we had a few messages every now and again, perhaps one of us would ‘like’ a status or a photo every so often, but as our lives went along separate paths, there was little chance of us bumping into each other again.

Fast forward five years, and to my last day in the Look North office before setting off on my travels, when a message drops into my inbox. Its from Hannah, the girl on the plane, who had seen my status about how I was leaving for a few months to travel the world. She too had gone through a break-up, packed up her career for a while, stuffed some clothes into a backpack and set off for a round the world trip of a lifetime. She was already in Thailand and loving every second.

“We should meet for a beer on the beach,” we agreed.

Of course, Thailand at that point seemed a million miles away. I was still to turn on my ‘out of office’, bring everything in my daily life to a halt, find my passport and work out how to get myself across Russia. Maybe we’d meet, maybe we wouldn’t, but it was nice to know I wasn’t the only one taking the plunge in such a spectacular way and wished her well for her journey.

Three months on and Hannah and I, along with her friend Laura, have just been out on one of the best nights out of my trip so far in Ao Nang, Krabi. Our paths crossed, and the five minute friend test was right. We had an absolute blast, and we’ve gone on to become really good mates.

Coffee in London...or Mai Tai in Thailand?!

It rounded off a great week of meeting new people. Having gone to Koh Phangan for the Full Moon party with the daunting prospect of not knowing anyone on the island, I ended up sharing a brilliant few days with Sarah, Emily and Brad, while yet another five minute friend, Jenny, had abused me in the street for seemingly outstaying my welcome in Haad Rin.

My ferry that finally gets me off Koh Phangan!

But alas, my time on the island did eventually come to an end and I got the overnight ferry to Surat Thani in the south, a huge transport hub that sees hundreds of backpackers pass through every day.

Sleeping arrangements on the ferry! Cosy!

I was heading to Railay, a place that had been recommended to me and where I had found bungalows just before Christmas going for around 400 Baht, or £8. It was affordable, just, and pencilled myself in for a few days.

My bags enjoying the ride to Railay

After an exhausting journey, I arrived on the beach by longtail, the only way you can get there thanks to a complete lack of roads, and a way that always evokes images of a Robinson Crusoe-esque arrival nomatter how many times you wade ashore with your bags. I made a sweaty, bag-laden trek up the steep hills to the back of Railay East and  the cheap bungalows I had found.

They were full – and had almost doubled in price.

It prompted a search high and low for something affordable, but thanks to peak season and a lot of package tourists being in the area, it was impossible. In the end, I settled for a jungle bungalow after bartering them down from £22 a night to £14. I also made a mental note to leave the place as soon as possible.

Eventually found a home in the jungle!

Then I had a message from Jenny, the girl I met in Koh Phangan who ‘kept seeing me everywhere’. She was making her way back north to Chiang Mai from Koh Phi Phi, a short ride away from Railay. Her journey meant a stopover in Krabi, a place where she’d been before, so she asked if I fancied meeting for a beer in Railay as she’d like to see it.

Being in a bungalow, it was already hard to meet other people so I told her it was a great idea, and the following day she arrived on the peninsula. We had fruit shakes on the beachfront, chatted about life back home, our families, our travels. She told me of stories about her trips through India and to the Everest base camp, and how she was gutted to be leaving Thailand in a week’s time.

We joked about the small world that finds her family running the Hill Holt Wood project in Lincolnshire, a place where a few years ago I did a bit of filming. A fellow blogger, we talked about futures, careers and aspirations. Basically, we completely hit it off and had a brilliant laugh along the way, mainly about the way we met and her abuse of me. It also turned out she had been in the same taxi as me when I arrived on Koh Phangan – she told me how she’d jumped out after realising she could walk the distance to where she was staying. Immediately I remembered the moment – I’d even shouted out ‘good luck’ as she set off on a seemingly futile trek. Perhaps our paths were supposed to cross.

Indoor fire shows in a wooden bar...safety first, as usual

In the end we had a brilliant night, watching Thai Boxing that was laid on at one of the beach bars, laughing about the lack of complete health and safety regulations as a fire dancer performed a full routine – indoors – and sipping buckets until the early hours, tapping our feet to the current Thailand anthems.

Jenny meets her match

Jenny left the following day as she continued her journey north, and ultimately on her way home back to Derbyshire, but I know we’ll stay in touch. After such a fleeting meeting in a busy street, suddenly a new friendship is formed, one that will continue, and it’s a great feeling. Its one of the best bits about travelling.

Continuing her journey home

I too was moving on, to meet up with Hannah, the girl from the New York flight five years ago. I was to share a room with her friend Laura, a complete stanger. But then it was easy to forget that Hannah was still a complete stranger to me herself. The next few days could be brilliant if we get on, but could be a disaster if it turns out we don’t!

With Laura and Hannah...after visiting 7-Elevens (keep reading!)

As it happens, they’d clearly had similar discussions as it was revealed I’d been referred to as ‘Psycho Phil’ prior to my arrival, a joke between them about how little they knew about me, yet we were to share accommodation. Infact, there was nothing to fear – the next few days were a blur of beach time, dancing in bars and making regular stops at the 7-Elevens for a new game dubbed the ‘7-Eleven bar crawl’.

Spy wine coolers...girly but deadly!

It’s a great way of saving money when you’re on a budget, where to save the £3 cost of bottled drinks in the touristy bars around Ao Nang, you simply raid the 7-Eleven ‘bars’ at the back of the shop. For just 60p, you can get bottles of Spy, a sparkling fruity wine drink, that while being incredibly girly, packed a 7% alcoholic punch!

Loving the 7-Eleven Bar Crawl!!

The rules are simple – on the way to the pub, you have to stop at every 7-Eleven you come across, pop in to the chiller at the back, pick up a drink and finish it before you reach the next 7-Eleven. Sounds easy, but there were five on the way to the main bars from where we were staying, and its fair to say we were well on the way to a morning ‘Changover’ by the time we reached them.

Flaming B52s all round!

It resulted in a couple of fairly heavy nights out, but there was plenty of banter between us, we all laughed at the same things –

He was awesome...

mainly a guy wearing a ‘I Am Awesome’ t-shirt, and they helped to sober me up after one too many buckets by force-feeding me a Burger King before going to bed. That’s when you know you’ve found some good friends…and they found it highly amusing!

After three days of hitting Ao Nang’s nightlife, raiding the 7-Eleven girly drinks cabinets and some much needed hungover breakfasts, I was ready to relax. I booked a ticket to Koh Lanta, an island a little off the tourist trail and one where hopefully I can enjoy some cheap living for a week.

I doubt whatever it was happened to be that funny!

Another 7-Eleven purchase!

New buckets please!

Saying goodbye to Hannah and Laura was more of a farewell – in a week’s time, I’m heading to Koh Tao to do a diving course, and at the same time, Hannah and Laura will be there too. We’ve agreed to meet up for more fun and games together, but in the space of just a couple of days, we had become great friends. So much so, it was easy to forget we had been strangers before – you know when you’re in tune with people when it feels like you’ve known each other for years.

Laura, Hannah and their awesome friend!

When I think back to when we first met, of how Hannah was trying out my noise cancelling headphones (not that she remembers) and telling me how she hates flying, who would have thought that the next time we’d meet wouldn’t be in a coffee shop in London, but infact on a beach on the opposite side of the globe. That if we hadn’t changed our seats on that flight, the chances are we wouldn’t have spoken at all. And if Facebook wasn’t invented, well, it would have just gone down as a chat with a random passenger on a plane.

Same could be said for Jenny. What would otherwise have been a boring couple of days without knowing anyone in Railay, and probably having to go on yet another solo night out in the hope I’ll get chatting to someone (it gets tiring after a while!) turned out to be a memorable few days. Again, thanks to Twitter and Facebook, we were able to meet, have a laugh and become friends.

The importance of staying in touch with five minute friends – you just never know when they might be in the right place at the right time for a beer and a good knees-up. Even if it is in some far flung land!

‘You’ve been here ages’

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My home for a while!

How do you know when to move on to pastures new when travelling? When you get bored? When the weather turns? When you’ve made your way through every dish on the local restaurant’s menu?

No. Its when a complete stranger bellows across a busy street: “You’ve been here ages, I keep seeing you everywhere!”

Or in my case, its when two complete strangers shout that at you. On the same night.

So I was back on Koh Phangan after three days on Koh Samui to visit Dirk. With him on his way back to Germany, I was glad to be getting off the island, and I wont be going back.

Overall conclusions? An island that’s been spoilt by mass tourism, in a ‘Benidorm or Blackpool in Thailand’ kind of way. I know by me being there, and in Thailand in general, I am a tourist and therefore contributing. But the sad thing was, it was dirty, overpriced, the sewerage system can’t cope leaving the streets smelling really bad, the beach needed a serious litter pick, the constant pestering by massage girls, the unfriendly feel about the place. Whether or not its because I’m more used to quieter places in recent weeks, I don’t know.

Beautiful sunset back on Koh Phangan

What I do know is that I feel at home arriving back on Koh Phangan. I checked into my room that I’d managed to book in advance before I left for Samui and had a walk around Haad Rin, stopping for lunch at one of the cafes. It felt like I was among friends again, and quickly got talking to two blokes on a nearby table.

On the way back to my room I bumped into two familiar faces in the 7-Eleven – an Australian named Brad and his French partner Emily. Strangely, I’d also bumped into them the night before on Koh Samui, when I’d decided to take myself out for a night out on my own. It was a strange feeling, walking around a nightclub on my own and having brief conversations with people, but I figured if the music was going to keep me awake in that awful room I was staying in, I may as well go and enjoy it!

It was towards the end of that night that I recognised them – they had been in my taxi just before New Year, and their friend Sarah was a journalist. Bumping into the pair of them again, I was jokingly accused of following them and then we got talking, agreeing to meet up the following night for a few drinks.

Koh Phangan

Suddenly, I had a new group of friends, and we met up the following day for drinks on the beach. It was while walking back into the town that a random girl shouted at me.

“You’ve been here ages – I keep seeing you everywhere. You were on my boat!”

I had no idea who it was, and for a second shouted back that she too had been here ages in that case, before we began chatting. Her name was Jenny and she told me she lived in Derbyshire. I told her I was from Grimsby in Lincolnshire.

“I know that, well, I know Lincoln,” Jenny said.

She told me her dad runs a business and lives between Lincoln and Newark.

“Norton Disney?” I queried.

“How did you know that? Nobody knows that place!” she threw back at me, laughing.

That’s when I told her about my job back home and that I happen to have a fairly in-depth knowledge of Lincolnshire’s towns and villages after years of driving and filming in and around them.

Jenny told me how I’d been on her boat over to the island and that she kept seeing me everywhere. It gave me a bit of a complex, that perhaps I was becoming part of Haad Rin’s furniture and that others would see me and think the same. I didn’t particularly want the reputation as ‘that guy with glasses that just wanders around’. I told Jenny she’d obviously been stalking me.

She was fun, but she had a friend with her and I was keeping my new friends waiting so we joked we’d probably see each other at Full Moon.

Incredibly, a few minutes later, the same thing happened with another girl near the beach. She was a bit worse for wear, but was still able to pinpoint where she’d seen me. Growing slightly concerned that the next edition of the Lonely Planet will have an entry about me and where best to spot me. (it would be the café next to Chicken Corner  – superfast wifi!)

Full Moon wear!

It was now officially Full Moon day, the night when the beach fills once again with thousands of people to dance the night away, under the brightness provided by a full moon.

Haad Rin is a town where the whole economy is based on this once a month spectacular. Every shop is filled with bright illuminous clothing, all daubed with bright slogans and logos for full moon. There’s loads of bright fluorescent paints available, glow sticks to buy, flashing lights and hats to spend money on. There are posters everywhere about the event, as well as about Half Moon and Dark Moon events – there is something almost every week to keep the parties going.

It all started back in 1985, when the first Full Moon Party was held at a bungalow outfit on the beach as a thankyou for about 20-30 travellers.The parties carried on and quickly gained fame through word of mouth, and the event now draws a crowd of about 20,000-30,000 every full moon evening, more for big events like New Year.

Its popular as almost every genre of music is played by the dozen or so bars along the beachfront, each with ever impressive sound systems that could shake your fillings out if you stand still long enough.

Its now one of ‘the’ things to do for anyone backpacking their way around the world. Tonight is my third ‘Full Moon’ event in a year, and yet again I locked all my belongings safely away so unfortunately have little in the way of photos from the night.

It began with Sarah, Emily and Brad, who I’ve become good friends with over the last few days. They invited me to their hotel to join in with the body painting workshop that was currently taking place in their bathroom. I went for dots and squiggles down my arms, in some fetching dayglow yellow, stunning pink and a bit of green. A trips to the 7-Eleven bar meant we had some cheap drinks before hitting the buckets yet again. Tony Bucket was delighted to see me back on the island, and naturally gave me a big free hug!

Fire fun - or madness, depending on viewpoint!

It was actually nice to just wander along the beach and take in everything that was going on. We walked up to Mellow Mountain to the extreme left of the beach, with a great view looking over the whole area. The beauty of this huge event is that everyone seems to be in a great mood – everyone is on holiday of one sort or another, and while there have been reports of some violence here and there, compared to some nights out I’ve had at home, its chilled, relaxed and has a very friendly atmosphere.

Most of our time was spent around the Cactus and Drop In bars, which seemed to be playing the six anthems of Thailand on a loop, the main one being Levels by Avicii, with an incredibly catchy chorus of ‘Woah-oh, sometimes’ which has an annoying habit of getting completely stuck in everyone’s heads, while ‘Save The World Tonight’ by Swedish House Mafia, and David Guetta’s ‘Without You’ are other favourites. Infact, you can normally walk along the beach and hear any one of them playing somewhere at any point in the night!

The fire ropes and fire jumps were back out in force, with many having a go, while others – and it has to be said, mainly the girls – had a go at firebreathing.

With Tony Bucket saying goodbye - and my bucket!

Sarah, Emily, Brad and I opted for another drink and a bit of dancing on the tables until the sun rose. Apparently, it’s the rules that you have to see the morning in on such a big night. Once again, that mission was accomplished, but with the tide coming in fast, we called it a night. I went home with a souvenir – my last bucket from the party, and possibly my last ever bucket from Koh Phangan.

Tony signing my final bucket

The next day, as usual, was a bit of a write-off after Full Moon, but I met up with my French and Australian buddies for dinner. It was our last night together before we all go our separate ways – Sarah to Hua Hin in the north, Emily to Burma on a visa run, and Brad on his way towards Bangkok and preparing for his journey home to Sydney.

With Brad, Emily and Sarah at the great Thai restaurant off the main street

I took them to a lovely little Thai restaurant, run by a family, and which serves some of the best food I’ve had. Thankfully, my friends agreed. Over dinner they told me more about Leela Beach, a beautiful beach a few minutes walk from all the craziness of this town.

Paradise on party island

They were right – it was stunning. I’d had no idea the beach existed, yet a few minutes walk up a hill and then down through the Cocohut resort leads you out into a smaller cove, away from Haad Rin and with a typical coconut palm fringed beachfront, idyllic quiet spots and beautiful clear blue water.

Leela beach

I was slightly annoyed I’d not visited sooner. I knew I’d have to leave the next day, as it was time to explore more of the country,

Little crab friend that kept me amused

but the beach was beautiful. It seemed a million miles away from the buckets, chicken burgers and pumping dance music on the other side of the hill. It was peaceful, relaxing – and it had wifi for the blog! I spent the entire day with a coconut tree waving over me, watching the waves lap on the shore, writing away about recent events with an occasional swim to cool off. Fab!

Sarah left around lunchtime, so we took a few photos of each other on the beach and said goodbye. She’s also blogging about her journey, having travelled across land from home. Incredibly, along with Emily, they hitchhiked most of their way to Thailand before catching a few trains along the way. Sarah was returning home to her job as a journalist for AFP, full of traveller stories and tales, although she wasn’t looking forward to the cold.

Sunset beach

I, however, was looking forward to moving on. I’d already had another tweet from Derbyshire Jenny, winding me up about how she’d managed to escape Koh Phangan’s clutches and wondering if I was still stuck here. I was, but only for a few hours – I’m booked onto a night ferry to Surat Thani, and onwards to Railay in the south. My plan is to spend a cheap week or so there, and then move on.

I watched yet another stunning sunset on the island, had a last walk along the beach where I have so many memories from my three visits over the past year, and said farewell to a great place that had become home. I didn’t particularly want to leave, but as one cheeky redhead from Bakewell rightly pointed out, I had been here ages!

The sun sets on my time on Koh Phangan

Dirk’s big break

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Visiting Dirk in hospital

I had no plans to visit Koh Samui, and after three days on the island, I knew exactly why I had been avoiding it like the plague. However, this wasn’t a sightseeing trip or a bit of beach time – it was more of a mercy dash for a stricken friend.

Dirk when we were tubing in Laos

You may remember Dirk, the German guy from my tour around Cambodia, Vietnam and Laos. He of the Vietnamese mafia fame, who got chased on motorbikes after having his camera stolen and paying a wedge of cash to get it back. He who then had said camera knocked clean out of his hand and into the tubing river in Laos – and then having to pay another wedge of cash for divers to retrieve it. He who then lost his treasured hat to some driver who gave it to a street kid in Luang Prabang.

Yep, you get the picture. Poor Dirk hadn’t had a great deal of luck during his few weeks in southeast Asia. We loved him for it on the tour though, and he was a great guy to travel around with.

Unfortunately, just before Christmas, and in the middle of his Padi diving course in Koh Tao, he broke his leg. Twice.

He’d been stuck in hospital on Koh Samui ever since, and while a few others from the tour had visited, I was now the only one left in this part of the world from the tour, as everyone else had either moved on to Australia or gone home. Well, I was the only one who still had the use of both legs…

With Samui on the horizon from the beach at Koh Phangan, I felt it was my duty to go and see him and try to lift his spirits a little.

View from the boat leaving Koh Phangan

I caught an afternoon sailing from Haad Rin to the island, the largest of the islands in the Gulf of Thailand, and after the storms of recent days, there was a huge swell in the sea.

A bit of a rough crossing - some struggled!

We bobbed our way for an hour across the crystal clear turquoise blue water, which offered us some stunning views or the immaculate beaches on both islands, before heading to Chaweng Beach, quite near the Bangkok Hospital on Samui. And yes, having a hospital with another city name is incredibly confusing.

After the excesses of New Year, I’d set aside this week as a ‘cheap week’, skimping on a few areas like decent accommodation, food, drinks – you know, the stuff you normally take for granted – but with depleting funds, it’s a necessary step as a backpacker.

With many places full, the rooms I could find were starting at about 800 Baht a night. I feared the worst. It works out to be £16 a night, well out of my price range. Its one of the downsides of travelling alone, that everything is done on a room rate here, rather than by person. My luck changed a little when a guy approached me in the street for Ali Baba’s restaurant. There were rooms available, so I agreed to check them out.

Somehow it almost looks nice in the photo!

Hmmm. It was fan cooled, so pretty stuffy. The sheets had stains and fag burns on them. The mosquito covering over the window was pointless, as there were some weird building tiles that let what little air there was into the room – as well as every insect known to the Thai islands. The toilet was a non-flush bucket version, the water out of the taps was brown, the electrics looked shocking (pun intended)…but I got it down to 350 Baht a night.

“I’ll take it,” I said, taking a deep breath and telling myself I won’t be in it much.

If anything, it meant I could get my heavy bags off my back.

Home sweet home

I walked out onto the street.

“Sexxy masssaaaaaaage,” said a gaggle of girls in skimpy skirts near the doorway.

Head down. Walk on.

The beach wasn’t anything spectacular, despite what the Lonely Planet described as ‘one of the best on the island’. It was marred with rubbish, washed up weed and too many tattoed skin-headed blokes getting beered up for two weeks.

Above all, there was a perculiar atmosphere, one of tourists, holidaymakers, families and backpackers all trying to mix together. Nobody seemed to want to talk or get to know one another. Most were in couples or groups. I knew I wasn’t going to like it here.

The only photo I could be bothered to take of Chaweng beach!

However, I wasn’t here for ‘me’ I was here for Dirk, and that night, unannounced, I made my way to the hospital he’s spent just over two weeks in. It was only a couple of miles away, but taxis wanted a standard 300 Baht for the trip – £6 for a journey that would cost pennies in Bangkok.

In the end I found a motorbike taxi for 80 Baht and made my way to the particularly plush hotel, sorry, hospital that Dirk was being cared for in. I found my way to his ward, and asked the nurse if he was awake. She looked at the cctv monitor and nodded, pointing towards his door. I knocked.

“Jaaaa, come,” came a familiar voice.

Still full of beans!

I walked in, Dirk looked around and then cheered at the top of his voice. A huge smile lit up his face and he grabbed me for a manly hug. I could see he was so pleased to see a familiar face.

Then I looked at his leg – out stretched and covered in bandages and dressings where a series of metal pins and plates have been inserted during surgery.

“Its getting better – now I can move my toes a little,” he said.

Some serious repair work

I was gutted for him. Dirk was always one of the ‘cwazy’ ones in the group (as he says) giving us all a laugh, daring to be different, and nobody deserves to spend Christmas or New Year in hospital alone, thousands of miles away from family and friends back home, knowing that your dream trip around the world was at an end.

Dirk at Christmas

For the first time, Dirk told me exactly how he got such a terrible injury. Its still subject of an insurance claim, but what I can say is that it happened on a beach. After the first break was done to his shin bone, he tried to stand up and then broke the fibula, the calf bone behind it.

“I looked down and my foot and lower leg was at right angles to the rest of my leg,” he said.

“The pain..oh the pain,” he grimaced, covering his head as he relived the moment.

It was one of those horror breaks that you see footballers, boxers and other sportsmen do every now and again, usually with a story about how it ended a career. For Dirk, it was the start of an agonising 20 hours before he got to a specialist hospital. At first there was no pain relief given until insurance formalities had been completed. His leg was manipulated into the right sort of position, and then strapped onto a wooden plank to give it support.

At this point, you have to remember Koh Tao’s roads are basic to say the least, bumpy, pot holed and rutted. There was no ambulance at this point – his journey to the boat was in the back of a pick up truck.

“I felt every rock on that ground, every hole in the road. Man, it was so painful I was screaming,” he said.

Then it was onto a boat to Koh Samui, rocking on heavy seas, and finally to a hospital.

“I have never known pain like it,” he said

“It was like something else.”

Dirk, one of his nurses and his monkey mascot Whiskey

Some serious surgery followed, and a specialist had to be flown over from Germany to keep an eye on the injury. There were some huge complications too – compartment syndrome set in at one point, where the lower half of his right leg effectively began to shut down as pressure built up, cutting off blood. He told me he came within a few hours of losing his leg completely. A terrifying prospect.

With Dirk as we said goodbye in Chiang Mai, Thailand

Dirk had left Germany a week or so after I left the UK. Our paths met in Bangkok in November, and at the end of our tour I didn’t expect to see him again. While he was also travelling to Australia, he was then to go on to travel across South America, taking a completely different way home to me. He was due to return back home around June.

“I will be back,” he says, defiantly.

“This is just God’s way of saying I need to be home for a party in Germany. This is all part of my journey.

“Once I get the use of my leg back, I will fly out to Australia and complete my trip. Whether that’s in three months, six months or a year, I will do it.”

His determination is heart warming. With his constant laughing and joking, and the overall way he’s dealing with it, I admire him. Every day he’s having intensive physiotherapy to try to rebuild muscles which have been destroyed and to get his leg and foot functioning again.

I stayed until 11pm, and then walked slowly with him around the hospital ward as a last bit of exercise before he goes to bed. He is to fly back to Germany in a couple of days, and I promise to return the following night.

That night, I hardly slept. The room was hot, the mosquitos were biting – despite me taking refuge in my sleeping bag – and I appeared to have booked a room right between two huge outdoor nightclubs. LMFAO’s Party Rock song – you know, the ‘everybody’s shuffling’ song, must have played about eight times before I managed to grab some kip. I woke up in the morning with it still shuffling around in my head.

‘Sexxxxy massaaaaaaage’

I walked outside through the gaggle of skimpily dressed massage girls again. By now I’d have thought they’d have got the message that I was staying in the adjoining hotel. Instead, they tried to grab me like I was a regular customer. I smiled, put my head down and walked on to the beach.

I found it to be a huge problem on the island. While Thai massage is a huge part of life, and the culture, of Thailand, these massage parlours seemed to be of a seedy variety offering anything but a traditional massage. And there were lots of them – flyers and massage girls are in your face almost everywhere you go. While some parts of Thailand do suffer with that sleazy image – and indeed benefit from it – I didn’t know Koh Samui, or this resort, was heading such a way. They were harmless, but it got so annoying everytime I went back to my room!

I spent the day on the beach, setting up camp outside the Ark Bar and making full use of its free wifi for the price of a solitary Coke. I made sure the password was kept safe for future visits!

I didn’t speak to one person properly all day, and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. When you travel alone on a backpacker circuit, you get used to rocking up next to someone and just starting to chat. Its easy, its fun and you meet so many different people with different stories. Here, there was almost a snobby attitude – that I was some sort of outcast for being here on my own. The majority of people in the resort were Australians on their annual summer holiday, either as a group or couples on a two-week package tour. I felt uncomfortable at times. It’s quite a lonely feeling.

Back to see Dirk

I was glad to return to see Dirk that night, but I had the sad job of helping him pack his bags. Its difficult for him to move around with his crutches, so I spent half an hour walking around, collecting some of his belongings and helping him to get them inside his packed rucksack.

The sweetener for Dirk is that he’s being flown home to Cologne in style – he has to keep his leg straight to help it heal, and the only way he can do that on his Lufthansa flight home is to fly in the First Class compartment. With a doctor from his homeland to accompany him too, I can see exactly how his insurance bill is already running into tens of thousands of pounds.

Dirk in the First Class lounge awaiting his flight home!

One of the items he packed was his X-Ray taken just after the accident, showing just how badly his leg was broken. It was a clean break, and I’m sure his X- Ray will one day be an infamous trophy from his time in Thailand.

I left him that night with a handshake, a pat on the back and a promise that somewhere, one day, we would meet again. For now, his travels were over and he is heading back to Europe. A reminder to me, and to any backpacker, just how quickly your fortunes can change. Yes, its an amazing experience being in far flung parts of the world, doing things that you would never do back home. Yes, travelling around clinging to the back of pick ups or on tuk tuks is fun. And yes, if you’re so inclined, the fire shows, fire rings and burning skipping ropes on the beach at night can be an exciting thing to get involved with after a bucket.

But suddenly, with one error of judgement, or an accident caused by someone else, you can find yourself back on a plane and heading to the colder climes of home for a potentially long and tough recovery.

I have to pay tribute to Dirk. If the same had happened to me, I’d be beside myself. I can’t think of anything more depressing than being sat in that room with a shattered leg while the rest of the world is celebrating Christmas and New Year outside, and your family are thousands of miles away back home.

Yet, throughout his entire ordeal, Dirk has remained strong, in good spirits, laughing and joking with everyone involved in his recovery. Not once have I heard him moan or get angry about what happened. Instead, he looks for the positives – choosing to look on the bright side of life.

“It could have been worse – a lot worse,” he says.

“I might have gone back to Germany without a leg. Me? Without a leg? I can’t imagine it.

“This is just part of my story, part of my travels, a story for my blog. I will go home, I will get better, learn to walk on it and I will start again.”

Dirk, from me, our tour mates, from our tour leader Fon and from all the other backpackers who I have told your sorry tale to in recent weeks – we salute you.

Get well soon buddy. Your world awaits.

Christmas in Kuala Lumpur

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Christmas Day in Malaysia

I knew it was going to happen at some point. Infact, I’d been preparing for it to happen. It was well overdue. I was surprised it hadn’t happened weeks ago.

No, its not meeting someone from Grimsby…although that did happen –  sort of – more later!

Nope, this was something else, and boy, did I know about it.

I got sick. Over Christmas. Thousands of miles away from home. Its not what I’d had in mind for the festive period in the sun!

Arriving into Kuala Lumpur, I checked into a fantastic new hostel called the Reggae Mansion. I’d arrived early, pulling into KL’s Central Station at 6am. I’d not eaten since the day before, but at that time of the morning breakfast options were limited to Mcdonalds, so I went for a Mcmuffin meal. It was my first Mcdonald’s for weeks.

The dorm was beautifully air conditioned and completely different to anything I’d stayed in before – each bed was in its own little compartment, complete with light, power supply, cabinet and mirror. It was like a mini bedroom, with a curtain that pulls across at the foot of the bed.

Funky dorm...that I spent a lot of time in!

I climbed in to my little bit of Kuala Lumpur for a few days and caught up on sleep that I’d missed by being sat upright all night on the overnight train. It was mid afternoon before I woke, and I felt groggy. I put it down to irregular sleeping. I went out to explore the surrounding area, buying myself a new plug adapter and taking in the Little India area I was staying in.

That night I ate pizza in the hostel bar, having a bit of a Western day away from noodles and rice. And that might just have been my downfall. Overnight, someone implanted a washing machine in exactly the same place my tummy once was.

The next morning, having had very little sleep overnight, I felt terrible. I put it down to food poisoning, with a good dose of fevering and everything else that comes along with it!

The next two days were a write off – completely bed ridden, unable to wake up, no energy. Thankfully I had wifi, so could keep myself amused by looking at everyone’s Facebook updates back home stating how they were all excited to be finishing work, going home for Christmas, travelling to see families. What a tonic to make me feel better!

I must admit, it was a little depressing, and again it hit me how far away and isolated I could be. People in the dorm must have thought I was some kind of hermit, shut away in my bed and tapping away on my laptop instead of seeing the sights and enjoying Christmas. The knock-on effect was that very few made any effort to talk to me. Not that I was in the mood for conversation anyway – and nor could I stick around too long before having to, shall we say, dash off somewhere…

Thankfully, by Christmas Eve, the stomach cramps and fevers had become much better. There was a countdown party organised on the rooftop bar, in the shadow of the famous Petronas Towers and KL tower. It was a fantastic setting, complete with a Christmas tree and decorations. I felt anything but Christmassy, not only due to my illness but also because life in Kuala Lumpur was just continuing as normal. Being a majority Muslim country, there were very few signs of the extravagance and spending that you see in the West when it comes to the festive period.

Fun on the rooftop

It was time to try to meet people. I went to the bar and got speaking to a German guy called Martin. We spoke about football – always a good starter – and then a bit about how we both found ourselves in KL for Christmas. He was visiting Thailand for a wedding and had just flown into KL from home with his friend Philipp. He invited me to sit with them, and we immediately hit it off with lots of banter about England and Germany football results over the years, World Cup goals that should have stood, the usual light-hearted fodder when it comes to our national rivalry.

After a while we moved over to the main seating area, sitting with two girls who also looked to be on their own. They were Danielle and her younger sister Alannah, from Canada. It turns out Danielle is working as a teacher in South Korea, and her sister had flown over to spend Christmas with her. After some time in Korea – at a time when it all kicked off over Kim Jung Il’s death – they’d travelled to Malaysia for some time in the sun.

Clappy hands

I risked a beer, knowing I’d probably pay a price, but it was almost Christmas and everyone else was making the most of it. So much so, that the party was in full swing. The Petronas Towers shimmered in their silvery bright light, the KL tower, complete with its revolving restaurant, was full of diners enjoying a Christmas meal. They were looking down on a rooftop full of backpackers who were waiting to count down the minutes until the big day.

Everyone had been given a party bag full of noisy hand clappers, those blowy whistles that you get at kids parties, face masks and a few had some spray snow – and over the impressive sound system (you wouldn’t want to live within at least a mile of the place!) the countdown began, just as you have at New Year.

Three, two, one…Merrrrrryy Christmaaaaas!

Its Christmas Day!

Everyone went crackers, shaking hands, giving kisses, running around with balloons. It was great – with a few classic Christmas songs, finally, I felt a little Christmassy for the first time this year. It was mixed with emotion too – it’s the first time I’ve ever spent Christmas away from home, and I knew that back home the usual meet-up in the local pub would be taking place, catching up with friends I haven’t seen for a long time, and then heading to see mum and dad for a few glasses of port and nibbles.

Father Christmas turned up on time

On Facebook, thousands of miles away, I could sense the excitement building back home with people counting down the hours. I let everyone know that Father Christmas had just flown over the twin towers and was on his way west – prompting a funny reply from one friend who’s son had told her I wouldn’t get any presents because I’d actually seen Santa Claus. It made me smile, and the party continued.

Father Christmas dropped by on his way and offered us all a free drink if we gave him a kiss. There was a huge line of people waiting to take him up on his kind offer, which naturally I joined. It was good of him to get a round in, but I worried we were holding him up on his busy night!

I refused the offer to sit on his knee

The party went on until the small hours, with more balloons and dancing on tables providing much hilarity. I went to bed at a decent time though – I still wasn’t feeling too well, but I had agreed to finally see the sights on Christmas Day with Danielle and Alanna, as both the German guys were leaving to catch their flights.

Started to get messy

Rested, and just about feeling well enough for some sightseeing, I met the girls in reception and we headed out to find the sightseeing bus that does a loop of the city. It was Christmas Day, but you wouldn’t know it. Outside, the city was a fully functioning city – people were heading to work, there were queues for the underground railway, McDonalds and Burger King were doing brisk trade and there was not one ‘Merry Christmas’ uttered by anyone. The only tell-tale sign was the odd Santa hat sat on a tourist’s sweltering head here and there, and a Christmas tree every now and again outside only the largest of department stores. It was a completely different experience to anything back home.

One of only a handful I saw this year

Thankfully, the sightseeing bus was air conditioned – it really is such a humid city, and the sun was hot when it broke through the clouds. Our first stop was China Town and Petaling Street, full of street hawkers, street food, noise, hustle and bustle. We walked through to one of the city’s most important Hindu temples before catching the bus again.

It was around lunchtime when we decided to visit the Batu Caves, which I had seen advertised on day trip posters, but Danielle and Alanna told me it was very easy to reach. I had been tempted to visit but presumed it was quite far away. Infact, a train goes directly there in about 20 minutes, so we headed to Central Station, bought a ticket and the train was waiting at the platform.

Batu Caves

By now the sun had come out and it was scorching. We were confronted with around 200 steps to get into the cave. I was making my way up them when suddenly there was a commotion ahead of me, and a rustling of bags. I thought someone was having their bag snatched, and it turned out they were – by a monkey.

Cheeky monkeys on the prowl

I’d been too busy concentrating on my footing and trying not to keel over with yet another passing fever to realise there were dozens of wild monkeys lining the sides of the steps, eyeing up tourists and working out who would be their next victim. One of them looked at me and jumped off the wall, walked over to the man in front of me and reached for his bag. I put my small daybag on both shoulder, which the monkey spotted. He then turned his attention to me, and more importantly, to my camera that was half inside its case.

Mother and baby. And someones lunch.

He came right up to me, made a grab for it and then hissed at me when I quickly pulled it away. Now, I really like monkeys, but something told me this one wasn’t quite the king of the swingers but more the king of the stealers. He was really aggressive and was determined to get something. He snatched at a carrier bag, and then someone behind me made an even louder hissing noise and shooed him away, much to the relief of everyone around me.

As I’ve said before, I don’t have too much luck when it comes to cameras, but having to tell the insurance company my Panasonic Lumix had been stolen by a monkey would have been plumbing new depths even for me.

Others on the hike up weren’t so lucky though – apparently, they presume anyone with bag will have some sort of food tucked in it. Rather than being picky, they just make a grab for any bag they can find, scattering valuable contents throughout the trees and cliffs. I do wonder whether the vendors selling crisps, snacks and even milk at the bottom of the steps work in cahoots with the vendors selling exactly the same at the top – their pink carrier bags were prime targets for the primates. One grabbed a bag of crisps to feed to its baby. It was fascinating to watch, mainly because once you’d twigged, it was just a waiting game to see which unfortunate tourist would be picked on next!

The caves were, well, caves really. There were a couple of temples inside, and the dampness and shade was welcome relief from the Kuala Lumpur heat. Another cave nearby offers the chance to see bats and rare spiders – and that’s when I realised I’d seen these caves on a BBC Planet Earth programme – before we decided to watch the monkeys in action for a bit longer.

Rascals

One woman, possibly American, was bashing a plastic bottle on the floor, trying to attract the attention of a monkey close to where she was sitting. A few seconds later, there was a scream – while she was ok, the expensive-looking camera wasn’t, and one of the monkey’s mates had disappeared through the trees with it. Its owner decided it would be a good idea to step over the fence and wade through the trees after it – close to a few baby monkeys. Cue an onslaught of monkey paws and screeching as he was slapped and scratched back to where he had come from. Served them both right!

On the way back I was talking to Danielle and Alanna about life at home in Toronto when I was mentioning about how I’d visited many years ago. That’s when I discovered a brilliant – and coincidental – fact.

Danielle was born in – wait for it – Grimsby! The only other place in the world called Grimsby is in Ontario, Canada, about an hour or so away from Toronto. I was making small talk about how I’d visited and had a photo taken with the sign when Danielle stopped me in amazement. She never normally tells anyone she’s from Grimsby (insert your own Grimsby joke here!) as its such a small town that people in Canada don’t usually know where it is, let alone someone from the other side of the Atlantic.

Good old Grimsby!

We were amazed at the coincidence. Both of our passports have the same birth town listed, albeit with a few thousand miles in between. It had taken two months, but I’d found one – I was travelling with another fish out of Grimsby!

We headed to the Petronas Towers for photos with the famous buildings, and I donned a t-shirt that my two Spanish friends Santi and Galli, from the trans-Siberian railway journey, had given me. I tagged it on Facebook complete with a Christmas message in Spanish for them, knowing it would make them smile.

A Christmas Day message for my Spanish friends - with their t-shirt!

That night I felt ready for something to eat. I’d not had anything proper for three days, and what better to start again with than a turkey dinner at the rooftop bar.

Christmas dinner

I had turkey, beef and lamb, along with an attempt at a Yorkshire pudding and a few vegetables. It was hardly one of Mum’s dinners, but it had to do. It was certainly a different backdrop to my parents’ living room. I met up with Danielle and Alannah for dinner, and we spent much of the time talking about how we spend our respective Christmas days and thinking of our families back home, who were by now waking up for the start of the big day.

With Alannah and Danielle and a great Christmas dinner backdrop

Speaking of which, it was time to Skype them. The eight hour time difference meant it was getting on towards lunchtime back home, and I knew my package of gifts from Thailand had arrived a couple of days previous. We’d agreed to have a video call where they would open them on camera, and it was brilliant fun for an hour.

Brother Andrew, mum and dad back home with my box of presents I sent. And yes, mum did get that hat for Christmas!

While I couldn’t be there in person, it was the next best thing, and it was great to see their faces as they delved into the large Thailand Post box and pulled out the newspaper wrapped presents I had packed inside less than two weeks ago.

Somehow the hand-carved flower shaped soaps for mum had just about made it home in one piece, my brother put on his Angry Birds t-shirt, even though it was slightly small, and dad laughed about the daft elephant slippers I’d bought him from the Chiang Mai walking market. They read the individual notes I’d wrapped inside the presents, and hung the Buddha charms from the White Temple in Chiang Rai on their Christmas tree.

Unwrapping time!

I might not have been there, but it was nice to know that items that I’d picked up and thought about my family back home had made it, and it was slightly strange to see them in everyone’s hands, on the other end of an internet phone call, thousands of miles away back home.

Later, or should I say early in the morning, I called them again. Dad had only been half joking when he said I should join them for Christmas dinner, so I Skyped again at 3am and while they tucked into turkey, stuffing, pigs in blankets and roast potatoes, I’d been maximised on the computer screen and became a virtual guest at the dinner table!

Stunning

Technology played a part the following day too, thanks to Twitter. My friend Simon Clark, the sports reporter for Look North, had seen my tweet stating I was in Kuala Lumpur. He’s a huge fan of Malaysia and travels to the country a lot, and sent me an article about a top English pub called Sids Pub, which is highly commended.

It turns out he visits it quite a bit, and to my surprise, Geoff, the owner of the pub, tweeted me back inviting me for a visit. It was a bit out of the way, but with a few decent Premier League matches on that night, I decided I’d spend Boxing Day evening there. The best thing was, on the menu were pigs in blankets- a whole plate of them- and having gone this Christmas without them, it was a great dish to eat whilst watching Manchester United go on yet another goal rampage against Wigan.

Pigs in blankets...and Guinness. Bliss!

I got talking to Frank, one of the owners and managers of the pub, who told me about some of the potential problems facing Malaysia – its such a multi-ethnic country, but the government’s ‘One Malaysia’ campaign is apparently dividing some sections of the community. We got talking about football, work back home, travels, and eventually about how I was getting back to Thailand. I’ve now worked out that Singapore has much cheaper flights back than Kuala Lumpur, and Frank told me it was remarkably easy to get there from KL. Infact, the buses that run between the two cities are almost like business class cabins on flights. Frank gave me a tip on the best company to use and I used the pub’s wifi to book a seat.

The KL Tower

It rounded off a great relaxing day which helped my recovery. I’d had a wander to the KL Tower and admired the view from the top, including a look down onto the hostel where I was staying. It gave a great panorama of the city, but having been up a few tall buildings in the last few months, it was noticably closer to the ground for the price! I could still see people on the ground – a far cry from the dizzying heights of the Financial tower in Shanghai a few weeks back.I did my usual trick of going up to the top half an hour before sunset, making sure i’d get to see the city from the sky at night and during the daylight. Two birds, one stone and all that!

The Reggae Mansion hostel from above

By day...

By night

I’d also taken in the other sights around the city, including the many mosques and temples, interspersed with so many colonial style buildings. Its a real mix of cultures, and of the old and new. It makes for a fascinating walk.

Gets the message across!

Kuala Lumpur is a very compact city, its possible to walk from one side of the city centre to the other in about an hour if you keep the pace up. It was on one of these walks I ventured into a huge shopping centre (there’s quite a few in KL!) mainly for a blast of cold air conditioning and to get me out of the sticky tropical heat. That’s when I came across a great indoor rollercoaster, complete with loops and steep drops. I’d have been tempted to go in, but looking at the queue it was mainly kids with parents. I gave it a miss!

Great indoor rollercoaster

Kuala Lumpur was a great place to spend a few days, but admittedly I’d been there quite a bit longer than intended. I’ll never forget my nights looking up at the glittering Petronas Towers, nor will I forget eating a turkey Christmas dinner in the heat on the rooftop bar with a fellow fish from Grimsby.

Petaling Street...home to just about everything!

I spent my last evening with the girls from Canada, wandering around Chinatown and Petaling Street, dodging people trying to sell us anything from dodgy watches to dodgy designer bags, and from dodgy Tiffany jewellery to dodgy Chelsea tops. It puts the frequent ‘fake goods’ crackdowns back home into perspective, but its good fun looking at just how bad some of the copies are. One thing that wasn’t dodgy was the excellent Chinese meal we had on the street, complete with a bucket of beer. It was a nice way to part ways, as the girls head up to the beaches of Langkawi and I head south to Singapore.

Street food in Chinatown

It was on a last minute trip to a 7-Eleven that I discovered perhaps the strangest name for a soft drink I’ve ever come across. I can imagine the marketing team coming up with the name, agreeing it was the right name for the brand, perhaps celebrating with a glass of the illuminous green fizzy drink itself. Its just a shame that they’ll never be able to market it in the West should it become the next Coca Cola.

Can you imagine the tv ads? ‘Tired and thirsty? Time to….’

It was actually quite nice!

This might sting a little…

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Heading back from Pai

My new-found love affair with motorbikes was about to come to an abrupt end.

We left Pai around lunchtime, with the aim of making the 155km journey back to Chiang Mai as much a day out as it was a trip back to our belongings at the Spicy Thai hostel. With waterfalls, hot springs, geysers and mountains to explore, it promised to be an exciting ride.

Half of Chiang Mai's scooter rental stock outside the Spicy Pai hostel!

What we didn’t factor in was a speeding minibus driver who shot around a hairpin bend, running both Krys and I off the road.

Having skin on your elbows is overrated anyway…

The day had started well, although Liz tempted fate by asking to ride as my passenger as I looked to be a good driver, and it would give Krys a chance to ride on his own. I agreed, and we loaded up with our two bags and set off in convoy.

Up in the mountains

The weather was perfect- glorious sunshine, a gentle warm breeze and some of the most picturesque roads in the country made for a lovely day to be out on a bike. There were places where it struggled, purely with the weight of two people and all our belongings up some very steep stretches of roads in the mountains. We didn’t quite struggle as much as some of the lorries we got stuck behind, belching fumes and grit into our faces, but we forgot about that when we stopped at some of the sights.

Liz, Erin, Bryce and Krys take in the view

Lush, green, jungle-clad mountains contrast so well with beautifully clear blue skies, and some of the viewpoints and lookouts provided memorable views. We were on our way to tick off the geysers from our ‘to see’ list when disaster struck.

Jungles and mountains

The road to the geysers was more of a track off the main road. We’d just stopped off for a few minutes break at a small shop, and Bryce entrusted me with a bottle of locally made strawberry wine, which I put in my scooter’s drink holder. Then we tackled the road, and I immediately took it steady – patches of slippery sand, gravel and potholes meant it was a tricky road to navigate on two wheels. I was taking it relatively slowly – which is more than can be said for the driver of a silver minibus that suddenly just appeared right in front of us and on our side of the road.

He’d shot straight round a hairpin bend we were turning into, but veered out into our side of the road. Krys took evasive action in front of me, diving to the left out of the way of the minibus, but then stopping right in front of me. I took even more evasive action, pulled hard on both brakes, steered to the left, and that’s when I knew we were in trouble.

Not only had I run out of road, I’d gone straight into a sandy part of it at the edge. Everything then seemed to happen in slow motion – the front wheel locked and skidded, I saw it turn underneath the bike, there was a bit of a lurch through the steering, the bike went one way, I went another, and then I remember heading down towards the ground.

There was a thud. I hit it pretty hard. In the slow motionness that was still going on, I looked round to see Liz heading down towards the tarmac too. The scooter was resting on my leg, half sticking out of the undergrowth at the side of the road, engine still running. I checked if Liz was ok  – there were no tears, and more importantly, no blood from her. The strawberry wine was still intact too.

In my head my thoughts started to go around checking all my limbs. I could still feel everything, and I wasn’t in a great deal of pain. I stood up, and glared at the driver and his passenger. He looked sheepish. His passenger looked concerned.

My next concern was the bike – any damage and i’d be in trouble. Repairs are known to cost foreigners a lot in this country, mainly as it’s a good way for rental places to boost their coffers. Thankfully, nothing seemed broken. There were a few scratches on one of the plastic panels, and a bit on the footplate, but that was it.

Then I looked at my elbow – it was bleeding, and there was sand and grit stuck all over it where I’d momentarily slid on the tarmac. The same could be said for my knee.

We carried on and caught up with Bryce and Erin, who had started to wonder what had happened. They looked surprised when I showed them my arm, which by now had a trickle of blood running down it. We headed to a visitor centre at the geysers, and I ran my arm under a tap for a good 10 minutes to try to clean the wounds.

There were three deep cuts on my elbow, one of which was particularly deep, and was close to needing a stitch. Erin and Liz raided my cheap Tesco first aid kit I’d taken along with me (just incase!) and rubbed antiseptic cream and wipes all over it. I turned away and gritted my teeth. I think Liz offered me some sort of cloth to bite on.

The fuss over my arm meant I’d not realIy checked anything else, and then I found a bit of road rash on my chest from yet more gravel on the road. The girls used a whole roll of Band Aid tape to hold some antiseptic wipes in place as a makeshift bandage. Having alcohol permanently in contact with the cuts wasn’t the slightest bit comfortable, but with hours to go yet on the journey, it was the only thing we could do.

Scuffed up arm, taken the next day when I could laugh about it! (and it was much worse in the flesh, stupid camera!)

We went on to see the geysers, even though I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, and a bit guilty for injuring Liz too. She had a graze on her upper leg, but kept assuring me she was ok.

Hubble bubble...toil and scooter trouble to see this

The geysers bubbled and steamed away thanks to the red hot rocks below us. Thankfully the warm breeze was blowing the sulphury, eggy steam away from us, and we stayed for a good half an hour, being mesmorised by the constant noise and energy being emitted from deep within the earth. Bryce threw a rock into one, but sadly it wasn’t catapulted back out. They were by no means on a par with those i’ve seen in Iceland, but impressive to just come across as part of a national park in Thailand.

Geysers

Then it was time to get back on the scooter. My confidence had taken a massive knock, which was a shame because I’d absolutely loved the experience and felt totally in control. Sadly, as good a driver or rider you may be, you can’t do anything about the bad driving of others. I was just grateful I was driving slowly and carefully, otherwise things could have been much worse.

Waterfall on the way to Chiang Mai...i'm still covered in dust from my close examination of a road surface.

We took in another waterfall on the way back before arriving back into Chiang Mai that night. After a much needed shower to wash the rest of the dust and dirt off me, I felt a bit better, but knew I’d be sore for a while as it heals. And I knew I’d get a massive bruise on my leg too from where I landed, mainly as it had started to stiffen up and given me a limp.

Over a few drinks that night, I’d decided I wasn’t going to let the mishap put me off. The following day we agreed to go in search of Thailand’s highest point, Mount Doi Inthanon, a good 70km to the south of Chiang Mai but thankfully along good straight roads and hopefully away from speeding minibus drivers! When you fall off the horse, you’ve got to get straight back on and all that…

Our bikes knew where the good street food lived!

As usual, we started out late – too late in all honesty – but we were determined to at least make it to the national park the mountain is in. On the outskirts of Chiang Mai, we had to stop for something to eat as we knew it would be a good couple of hours riding in each direction. Bryce spotted some smoke, and we dived off to the left and up at muddy ramp towards some wooden shacks. There was a barbecue on, and some particularly good looking sausages and mystery meat.

Bryce, Erin and some of the best street food we've had

I asked for a sausage and wanted to know how much.

“One kilo, 30 Baht,” the man said.

That was the equivalent of 60p. Surely not. Bryce looked in amazement at the price. It meant we could buy the whole barbecue for about £2, though I have no idea what we’d do with that amount of meat. Then the man’s assistant came over. Turns out it was 300 Baht for a kilo – about £6. Sometimes things get lost in translation. I’m just pleased I ordered one sausage!

Plastic bottles are so last year!

That’s when we tasted it – it was some of the best barbecued meat I’ve had. Erin got a portion of pork, and while a lot of it was fat, it was edible and very tasty fat! Between us we had the entire tray, I ordered another sausage to go, and with a bag full of Pepsi (they keep the glass bottles – interesting way to drink pop, but it works!) we were back on the road.

We found some really impressive waterfalls – the sheer noise and power of the water from a river falling over the edge of a cliff never fails to impress. The spray was drifting all over, and had made a walkway down the bottom really muddy, which in turn made Erin really muddy. With my stupid limp and not wanting to risk another fall in as many days, I stuck to the safer path.

Erin braving the mud

We then rode for 20 minutes to another waterfall, before deciding that we just about had enough time and daylight to head further into the park and towards the main mountain. After all, it’s Thailand’s highest point – we’d got this far, and if it meant riding home in the dark, then so be it.

More great views

The roads began to get steeper, and the engine on my scooter began to sound more and more like it was about to cut out. The higher we got, and with less oxygen in the air I’m presuming, the worse my scooter got. I had the throttle fully open, but could manage a measly 20km/hr in many places, meaning Bryce and Erin were constantly ahead of me. And then I noticed the fuel gauge. It was almost showing empty, and we were miles away from any kind of petrol station.

Still we climbed, and by now the air was getting cold. Thankfully my oversized hoody came in handy again – the extra long sleeves double up as gloves, and were much needed as the cold air blasted against my hands.

High up

After about an hour of climbing, we suddenly hit a bend in the road with an incredible view. With trees all around, we’d not quite realised just how much we’d been climbing, but suddenly the whole world was below us.

We carried on further, finding a viewing area with car parking space and a shop. It had a great view of the neighbouring mountains, and after a few quick photos, I had a more pressing need in the form of fuel for my scooter. A guy with a barbecued chicken stall came to the rescue, magically producing a container of yellowy liquid from behind the toilet block. I was hoping it was petrol.

Sun begins to set

He looked into my tank, swished it round and said I had enough to get back down the mountain. The only problem was, despite the sun beginning to set, we wanted to go further up the mountain, so with £1 handed over, he gave me a litre.

Hurrah!

After 15 arduous minutes for my struggling scooter, we made it to the very top, the highest peak in Thailand. There was a military installation with huge signs saying ‘No Photographs’, a sign marking the achievement of reaching the top, and a lot of trees blocking most of the view. We walked through them hoping to get a clear view of the sunset, but there wasn’t one. We took the decision to head back down to the initial bend we came across with a clear vista across the whole range.

Not a bad scenic road!

We arrived just in time. The sun was setting, the sky was a bright orange and pink colour, and it was perfect for a few memorable photographs. It was a great sense of achievement making it all the way to the top, and there was a similar buzz of excitement from the many other tourists who’d stopped alongside us to take in the view of yet another day coming to a close.

Erin and Bryce

Beautiful sunset from the top of Thailand's highest mountain

Except for us, there was still more to come. The ride back was thankfully trouble free, and waiting for us was Liz with our bags of washing she’d kindly retrieved from the laundry.

Last night with Liz, Bryce and Erin

It meant that it was our last night together. Downstairs in the hostel, everyone was already in good spirits after a good few hours playing drinking games around the table while we were out. We decided to do some serious catching up thanks to supplies of strawberry wine (!) vodka, Red Bull and Coke, and headed out to a nearby bar where we once again made friends with Mr Sang Som, the local whisky.

Sang Som...everyone's favourite Thai friend!

We had a brilliant night together, full of banter, laughs and chats about all the things we’d done together. Erin still maintained she hated Canada. Bryce still maintained Canada was better than America. Liz was Australian and so gave me lots of Pom abuse. I returned the favour. It was great fun.

This had to go in the blog!

Towards the end of the night, Sang Som clearly kicked in!

Early the next morning, we waved goodbye to Liz as she left at 8am to get her flight to Cambodia, where she’s spending the next few weeks. Bryce, Erin and I managed to give some newcomers a bright and cheery welcome as they tiptoed into the room, not long after Liz left, as they were trying not to wake anyone. Somehow, we were all wide awake and in really funny moods and had a good laugh between us and with them. Then we crashed out again, waking up at 11am with agonising hangovers. The Sang Som was obviously still in our systems early on. It’s a funny tipple that stuff!

I too needed to head off south. I’d spent far longer than I intended in Chiang Mai, and with only a few days left on my 14 day visa from the Laos land border, I needed to come up with a plan. In Pai, I’d made a huge decision to spend New Year in Thailand with Bryce and Erin at the New Year Full Moon party. It meant that I wouldn’t be in Sydney for new year, as was my original plan. I figured that I’d already experienced the fireworks around Sydney Opera House a few years ago, and that I felt there was still a lot I wanted to do in and around Thailand.

It was a sacrifice – the earliest flight I could get to Sydney from Thailand on my particular ticket wasn’t until January 29th. It means another month and a half in this amazing country, but plans to meet friends and celebrate with them in Australia would have to be put on hold.

The other problem is that I’d need to make a visa run to another country to renew my tourist visa. If you cross  by land, you get 14 days stamped in your passport, but if you fly into Thailand you get 30 days. It’s a bit of a pain, but means I need to leave the country, go somewhere and then fly back in. There are companies that will do visa runs for you, but it costs a lot of money and involves a trip to a Thai consulate somewhere and paying for a visa – about £60.

I figured that I needed to head south towards Malaysia, where there’s a border crossing, and the possibility of a visit to Kuala Lumpur. Its somewhere ive never been before, and if you have to leave the country, you may as well go and explore somewhere. I made my mind up, that’s where I was heading, and so rode my scooter to the railway station and booked an overnight train to Bangkok that night.

Newly coloured-in scooter said goodbye to the hostel!

On the way back I stopped off at a shopping centre. I needed some blue and black permanent marker pens – a little DIY patch up job was required on the scratches on my scooter in the hope I could make them less noticeable. If they had a Halfords over here, I’d have probably got a proper touch up paint kit, but as it happens, marker pens are equally as effective!

With my scooter coloured in, I donned my fleece and jeans in the mid afternoon heat to cover up my road rash scars (apparently they are giveaways to check the bike closely!) and sweltered my way back to the hire shop. As soon as my driving licence was back in my hand, I got out of there while the bike was still being given a once-over. I’d got away with it, minus a bit of skin here and there, but on the whole I was very relieved. I’m probably going to put my motorbike days behind me for a while and quit while i’m relatively ahead!

Back at the Spicy Thai I said goodbye to everyone and headed out to catch a taxi to the railway station. With an hour to spare before the train, I had plenty of time – or so I thought. Aside from the fact I managed to put my foot straight into a red biting ant nest while waiting to cross a road,  resulting in a very amusing funky chicken dance from yours truly for the scores of drivers waiting for a green light, there was not a taxi or tuk tuk in sight. When one did turn up, there was just 35 minutes before my train left. But the driver decided to pick up and drop off lots of locals first, before dropping the bag laden foreigner off for his train.

With just seconds to spare, a train guard ushered me in through a back carriage door, and a few moments later we began to move. It was far too close for my liking  -and I still had crushed ants all over my feet. But the stress was over, I was on my way to Bangkok. A week and a bit after the rest of my tour mates left me in the north, I too was heading back, and settled down for supper in the dining car.

Hue and Ha Long Bay, Vietnam

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Me' Hearties on a junk at Ha Long Bay!

I’d love to be able to write about how amazing Hue is as a city, about all its culture and history, about how its Forbidden City was just as good to look around as the one in Beijing – but I can’t.

That’s mainly because there was only one bit of Hue a large group of us saw – a bar named DMZ. Located a few blocks away from the hotel, it was where we headed during a brief respite in the rain to get some lunch. The only problem was, they had a special offer from 4pm where you get a free bucket of vodka and lemonade. Well, it would be rude to turn it down!

A flaming B52 - and so the sightseeing problems began

Colin, Sarah, Ricky, Malcolm and I had every intention of taking in a bit of culture. Instead, we took in far more Flaming Dr Pepper, Double Flaming B52, Flaming Jagerbombs and delicious Skittle Bombs (Cointreau and Red Bull – try it and taste the rainbow!) than we really ever should do in the early evening.

It was accompanied by more pool, and a particularly shocking game where I was seven-balled for the first time ever, much to the delight of everyone who saw it, by our resident tour pool shark Ricky, and after a few more cocktails we decided to head back to the hotel to meet everyone for dinner.

He did me twice in the end...

Twenty minutes later, we were on our way back to the same place – its where Fon our guide had booked a table for the night, so with more free buckets of vodka and lemonade, we were well on our way for a big night.

Feeding time

I somehow managed to regain a bit of form on the pool table later in the night, with a six game unbeaten streak and knocking everyone from Aussies, Kiwis and locals off the table, as well as Malcolm who managed to pot the black on about his second shot, but by far the strangest incident while I was at the table was a bit of rough justice by the bar staff on a Vietnamese bloke who didn’t want to pay his bill.

Dragged off a chair, and making a failed bid to grab a pool ball, he was promptly thrown flip-flop-less into the street and whacked with another pool cue a bouncer had grabbed from behind the bar. Something told me its not the first time they’d dealt with unpaid bills in this manner – and a few of us made sure we kept paying for drinks as we ordered as a result!

With departure not until mid afternoon the following day, Ricky was intent on carrying on after DMZ. It wasn’t long before Emma from Wales, who joined the tour in Saigon, signalled the end of our stay there by collapsing on a table and ending up in a heap in the corner. Undeterred, she managed to stay with us as we all ended up finding a late night bar called Brown Eyed Girl – it was a bit of a dive, but the beer was cheap.

Ricky drove but still had to pay

It had gone 4am by the time we stumbled out and into the basket of a local cyclo rider, while Malcolm and I got a lift on the back of a motorbike taxi. Back at the hotel, Malcolm decided he was sober enough to ride the motorbike, and stupidly the taxi man let him. He promptly fell off and had to pay up for the damage. I had a less eventful but enjoyable chat with my parents and nanna on Skype until around 5.30am, when it was definitely time for bed!

The next day most of us woke up just before the midday checkout, and unsurprisingly headed straight back to the DMZ bar for lunch. Ricky and I demolished both a pizza and a burger meal, while everyone else filled up ahead of the overnight train ride to Hanoi.

Heading north

The transfer to the station took us past the Forbidden City, so at least we saw a bit of it. Our guide Fon was laughing – she knew very few of us had seen anything of the city, but I think she knew we also needed to let our hair down a bit, especially with all the rain. Without getting wet, there wasn’t much else we could do apart from camp out in a pub!

The train to Hanoi was scheduled to leave at 2.43pm, but as could be expected, it was running an hour late. A few of us had planned an evening of poker onboard, so we were hunting for poker chips at the local stalls. Unsurprisingly, there were none to be found, so having weighed up the ideas of playing with boiled sweets, peanuts or Bombay Mix, I spotted something hidden away at the back – cotton buds.

Everyone agreed, and £1 down and two packs of cotton buds later, we were waiting on the platform for the train. There were a lot of locals waiting too, while others walked towards us along the tracks, using the rails as a convenient cut-through.

Railway children

A group of Dutch tourists were also waiting alongside us, who then caused problems when the train finally arrived by clogging up the narrow corridor in the carriage. A few of us were stranded outside, being beckoned on by the train crew desperately wanting to make up time, but we were stuck as there was no room inside the doorway for 10 people and all our bags.

The train arrives, the Dutch prepare to annoy us

One train guard ushered me into a second class carriage, but there was then no way for me to turn round. As I shuffled down the carriage to a doorway, so I could back my rucksack in and turn around, I then got yelled at by another railway worker who must have thought I was heading to the wrong carriage. It was all a bit of a mess, but eventually I found my way to my bunk.

Poker fun on the overnight train

The journey was a lot of fun – it’s a very comfortable train, and I have to say much nicer than any of the Russian and Chinese ones I travelled in across Siberia. We even got given free water, a freshening towel, and – a pot noodle!

The only problem was our poker plan hit a snag when the table was deemed to be too small – a rack was screwed into it for water and snacks. It soon came off with the help of a screwdriver in my multi-tool kit, and play was underway. With a 50,000 Vietnamese Dong buy-in (about £1.50, so by no means mega money!) it’s amazing what you can improvise with. The dealer button for the night was one side of an Oreo biscuit being passed around the table, while the cotton buds were carefully cut in half and became worth 2,000 Dong each.

Cotton bud chips, half an Oreo as dealer button. Vegas would be proud!

With a few beers and a pot noodle, the time flew by as we had plenty of banter and laughs as the sun set and we rattled our way through the countryside and north to the Vietnamese capital. It started to get late, and the game was ended with a crazy round of pre-flop raising and betting which saw me all in with Ace Jack. I was quietly confident with the hand, but Ricky ended up taking my chips, and second-place Stephen’s too.

Steven, Malcolm and Verena with Pot Noodles at the ready!

It was 4.30am when we arrived in Hanoi, and we were immediately on a bus for the four hour trip to Ha Long Bay, a beautiful stretch of coastline to the east of the capital and a Unesco world heritage site.

Cliffs at Ha Long Bay

It was nice to see and feel the sun shining on us again as we set off for lunch on a traditional junk. We’d been asked if any of us didn’t want seafood, so of course I opted for the non-seafood option. There was everything from barbecued pork, chicken, beef stir fry, vegetables and chips. Between four of us, one of whom is vegetarian, there was plenty to go at, summed up by a series of photographs secretly taken by Alissa which made it look like I’d enjoyed some sort of private dining experience!

Hmmm, quite nice...

'Would sir like some more spring rolls?'

I'll try some of that over there?

Rumbled!

By the end of lunch, we were approaching the spectacular limestone cliffs that rise so impressively out of the sea. There seems to be hundreds of them, everywhere you look, each covered in greenery.

The bay

We stopped at one and were taken inside a cave, where apparently the stalactites and stalagmites form the outlines of animals, according to our guide. There was one that looked a bit like a dolphin, but I think much of the experience relied on an active imagination.

In the cave, or a 'Kip' as our guide called it

Colin had by far the best spot of the day however-  high above us he’d noticed what looked like the back end of a horse hanging from the ceiling. Strangely, that wasn’t mentioned in the official tour.

The Colin Craig 'Horse bum from ceiling' discovery

Back on the boat we sailed around the cliffs to a spot where we could hire a kayak canoe.

Ricky and I agreed to hire one, and off we went paddling through limestone gaps and tunnels, venturing out into the choppy sea and around some of the rocky islands.

Ha Long Bay

Emma and Megan spent much of their time trying to keep up with us, so we towed them along for a while, and at one point a fish managed to jump out of the water and into their canoe, sparking panic. It was only a tiny thing, but nonetheless we had to do the manly thing and save them from the stickleback that was harmlessly flapping about in a puddle of water at the bottom of the boat. He swam off in the sea without a care in the world.

With a few beers and photos on the sun deck as darkness fell, it was a very relaxing journey back to the port.

Sailing to shore

Dinner was at a recommended place called Bamboo Bar, which managed to serve up not only the worst meal of the tour so far, but a good dose of unintentional comedy too. They didn’t have enough chairs, so were were all perched on top of incredibly tall bar stools around tables that you couldn’t get legs under, while the swarms of staff looked like they’d never had more than three customers in at once. I had a fake bamboo tree next to me, meaning the only way I could get comfortable was by angling myself away from others. There were just six menus in the whole place, the staff lost track of who had ordered, food was arriving while orders were still being taken, Dirk was arguing because they’d asked him to pay before the food arrived, and European-style techno music was blaring almost full blast from the speakers.

I ordered a chicken club sandwich, which arrived with one tiny sliver of chicken in it, while Colin seemed to wait an age for his sandwich. At one point, a man walked through the place with two loaves of bread, quite obviously for our orders, while Ricky was left so hungry from the measly portion he tried to order another dish. Except despite being one of the world’s largest exporters of the stuff, the restaurant had managed to run out of rice. It was almost farcical, and with little else to do in the area, many of us went to bed early.

Road hog

The next day we headed back to Hanoi, with the usual game of ‘what’s on the moped’ from the bus throwing up this little beauty. Sausages for tea?

This little piggy went to market...

The Killing Fields, Cambodia

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When you look around in Cambodia, there are very few old people. There’s a reason for that – just outside my lifetime, almost half of the population was wiped out by the Khmer Rouge.

It’s a staggering fact. The population dropped from more than seven million people to three million people as communist Pol Pot and his army systematically murdered the middle classes in the mid 1970s. Anyone who was educated, who could possibly question him and his regime, was sent to one of hundreds of killing sites and buried in one of more than 10,000 mass graves.

Mass graves near Phnom Penh

I knew a bit about what happened – I remember hearing about the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot on the news as a kid, but I had no idea about the full scale of the genocide, how many people were killed, the reasons why or the brutality behind it.

The visit to Cambodia’s killing fields, and the capital’s main prison, was harrowing.

One of the reasons for travelling is to broaden the mind and to educate, and today that certainly was the case. I knew it wasn’t going to be a day by the seaside, but its hard to fully prepare for what you are about to learn about and see.

Some of the tour group had decided to miss the visit having heard about how gruesome it can be – after all, the main memorial to those who died is a monument filled with the skulls of those whose bodies were found in the grave.

For me, learning about atrocities and what happened in the past is important, nomatter how hard it can be to take in. I visited the D-Day beaches in Normandy last year, and struggled to take in the utter waste of life caused by war on the sand in front of me. I had a similar feeling in Cambodia, except these were not people who were fighting for a cause – they were completely innocent people, who shared a similar will to live a normal life like me, but yet were dragged from their homes and murdered for no reason other than they’d tried to give themselves a better life through education and work.

Skulls of victims in the memorial

Pol Pot’s regime aimed to bring a single class to Cambodia – city dwellers were sent or forced from their homes to work the fields in the countryside. Nobody was allowed more than just a few grains of rice a day. Khmer Rouge soldiers patrolled and killed anyone who breached rules.

We travelled to Choeung Ek – one of the sites chillingly known as the Killing Fields – and our guide was a man who was born during the regime. His father and brother were killed by the Khmer Rouge, while his sister died of disease due to the poor conditions in the country. All the doctors had been killed as they were educated, and so healthcare was non-existent.

The site is one of the main memorials to the more than 1.7million people who were murdered – and its also one of the main mass grave sites. There are still hundreds of bodies buried beneath the soil, while thousands more have been exhumed.

We stood by one of the largest graves where blindfolded prisoners were led to, tied around the necks with rope to prevent them running away, hands tied, before being told to kneel, bow their heads and sing along to patriotic Khmer Rouge propaganda songs blaring from loudspeakers. One by one, they were hit over the back of the head with axe handles or spades – to save ammunition – while razor sharp palm branches were used as spears and knives to ensure any signs of remaining life were snubbed out.

It was truly barbaric. Our guide, despite doing this tour probably hundreds of times, took no pleasure from relaying to us what happened. Instead, he’s just glad that people will go and listen to him. The Cambodian government actively encourages tourists to visit the sites, learn about what happened and take photographs. It ensures the outside world is reminded of the atrocities committed here.

“I warn you, you may find some bones or teeth on the ground, still coming up from below, but don’t worry, you don’t need to feel bad about walking over them,” our guide tells us.

“Those who died, and their spirits, are just glad you have come to remember them and to tell others of their loss,”

Many of the group had a tear in the eye.

Teeth of victims still being uncovered

Sure enough, as you walk around the site, there are small piles of teeth and bone fragments, brought to the surface by heavy rains and flooding from the nearby river. The ground has hollows, dropping around three feet below the surface, where attempts have been made to recover bodies, but the simple fact is there are far too many here to fully recover them all.

All around there is cloth and pieces of rag on the dusty surface. Its only when you look closer that you realise its not rubbish or old rags – they are victim’s clothes.

Victims' clothes

There was no escape from the Khmer Rouge – even babies were murdered, bludgeoned against a ‘killing tree’ that still stands next to their mothers’ mass grave. Their theory was it would prevent an uprising in late years when the angered children grow into adults and seek revenge for what happened to their parents.

It was the sort of place where you need to spend some time, even to sit in silence for a while, just to take in and appreciate the depths humanity can sink to.

Photograph showing the site being exhumed

The walk around the graves ends at the memorial Stupa, filled with some 8,000 skulls of those whose bodies were recovered. They are arranged into groups – young women, older women, older men, children.

Memorial

Its always hard to explain how you feel at moments like that, looking at the remains of so many innocent people. Like any other decent human being, I felt anger and sadness at such a loss of life. There was almost a sense of guilt – that somehow you wanted to apologise for what other fellow humans had done to those whose skulls stare hauntingly back at you.

They are long since absent of eyes and features but yet somehow seem to be looking back at all of us who visit. I quietly paused and looked at some, trying to imagine what they may have looked like, the families they had, the jobs they did in this far flung land.

“Take photos, its important that people know,” one man said.

At just this one site, there are 129 communal graves. Only 86 of them have been exhumed, revealing the remains of 8,985 people who were exterminated here. Across Cambodia, almost two million people met their end at terrifying fields like this. It was hard to take in.

Sadly, our guide seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, and I was soon wishing I’d made my own way to the site to take it in at my own pace. Instead, we headed to Tuol Sleng, the main prison in the capital Phnom Penh, where most prisoners were taken by the Khmer Rouge before being murdered nearby.

Tuol Sleng prison

Until 1975, Tuol Svay Prey High School was filled with the sound of children and teachers. That was until Pol Pot’s henchmen turned it into Security Prison 21 (S21), the largest detention centre in the country. Between 1975 and 1978, more than 17,000 people were taken there and tortured before being sent to Choeung Ek. Those who died under their brutal treatment were buried in another mass grave at the site.

Small wooden cells

Every prisoner was photographed, and their images stare out from huge boards all around the site, in former classrooms that went on to see unimaginable horror. Many are photographed wearing a number – a tell-tale sign that they faced certain death within the next few hours.

Photographs of victims

One of the main questions I had about the regime was how it was allowed to happen – why the Cambodian people went along with such a horrific regime. The simple reason is that most, out in the countryside, had very little knowledge of the death camps. After years of civil war, they believed the Khmer Rouge would bring stability and peace, even celebrating when they first gained control of the capital. But it wasn’t long before many were sent for ‘re-education’, often duped into believing better jobs were on offer or that they had been headhunted by Khmer Rouge leaders because of their exceptional skills. Instead, they were being sent to prison, and ultimately, their deaths.

Torture cell and image of how it was found

The prison’s torture cells were particularly grim, having been left almost exactly as they were when the Khmer Rouge fled – often killing the inmates before leaving. Blood stains could still be seen on floors and ceilings, around the bed that an inmate was once strapped to.

Water torture bath found at the prison

Elsewhere, the tools and machines of torture, such as a water torture bath and shackles and chains, were still in rooms surrounded by depictions of what life was like.

It was graphic, but it was also real life- something that happened just five years before I was born. With the Second World War, you visit sites and learn about what happened in the knowledge it was sixty or seventy years ago, and that history had supposedly learned lessons. Yet somehow, years after the Beatles had risen to fame and Concorde took to the sky, this horror took place. It wasn’t the first of its kind, and by no means the last, but it was worthwhile going to learn about it and gave me a fuller understanding of what happened and why.

Only a handful of people made it out alive, among them Bou Meng, who managed to survive the prison until the Vietnamese liberated the area. His wife was murdered in the nearby killing field after also being held at the prison. He was busy signing his book, which tells of his life before and after he was captured, under a canopy near the cell he was held in.

With prison survivor Bou Meng

Incredibly, he was spared because he was an artist, put to work by painting pictures of Khmer Rouge leaders.

“I am a victim of Pol Pot,” he says

“And I was able to survive because of pictures of Pol Pot.”

I bought a copy of his book, which he signed and dated, before gratefully shaking my hand and posing for a photo.

He seemed a nice man, who had moved beyond a need for personal revenge by finding peace in educating others, in the hope similar atrocities can be avoided in the future.

“I want everyone to hear my story and the misery of other victims of the genocide. Demanding justice for the victims of the Khmer Rouge regime is always in my heart and soul.

“I will not give up my efforts in demanding justice. Even though justice cannot compensate the victims, it will prevent the atrocities from happening again.”

Bou Meng faced his tormentors by giving evidence at the Khmer Rouge Tribunal. Five top Khmer Rouge leaders are held for crimes against humanity. Their trials have just started.

The Paris of Siberia

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Irkutsk – October 22-25 2011

“Some crazy Irish guys have just arrived in a Volvo”

Not what I was expecting to hear from a fellow backpacker as I bundled through the main door of the hostel after the trip to Lake Baikal!

Irkutsk -near the big lake towards the East!

A well-travelled registration plate!

Sure enough, parked up outside was an old Volvo 940, complete with Irish registration plates, an Irish flag sticker and a load of sleeping bags and belongings inside.

Its owners are married couple Cameron and Julie, an Australian and an Irish girl. Incredibly, they’ve driven all the way to the far side of Russia from Dublin, having left the Emerald Isle in August. Along the way they’ve stopped off at Stockport to see friends, before making their way to Harwich for a sailing across to Holland, and then driven across Europe, through the Russian border, and after a few weeks battling the crazy way of driving here, managed to reach Irkutsk.

Cameron and Julie...and their Volvo!

I’m amazed – having thought my trip was a bit of an adventure and ‘off the beaten track’, driving the entire 8,000km in a 1991 Volvo pretty much trumps everyone’s traveller story, and we sit around for a few hours digesting their tales of how the engine erupted into flames at a petrol station, yet somehow still manages to work. Of how they had so much trouble bringing the car through the border. How they’ve been asked for photographs by members of the public with their number plate. And all along, we’re drinking shots of Russian vodka which had been given to them by a well-wishing trucker at their last truck stop, full of praise and admiration for their intrepid adventure.

Their story makes me smile, as one of my first ideas when I was starting to think of my trip was to buy an old van and drive it to Moscow, to help save on transport and accommodation costs. I’d have kitted it out with a mattress in the back, much to the amusement of my friends Matt and Siobhan back home.

I wouldn't fancy driving in this lot!

They had visions of me being arrested in lay-bys somewhere in Eastern Europe. It wasn’t that thought which put me off however – it was the problems with bringing a car into Russia and potentially having to leave it there while the journey continues around the world. It’s a bureaucratic nightmare to say the least- and the Russian authorities are very much against any western cars being left on their soil!

Cameron and Julie seem to have a plan, although I won’t go into it here in public for obvious reasons – but their blog is at www. wanderwithus.tumblr.com if you fancy seeing how they get on (after you’ve finished here of course!)

Nearby street

I had an important reason for being in Irkutsk – the small matter of a visa for Mongolia. It was something I desperately wanted to get before leaving the UK, and had planned to make a visa dash to London on one of my days off before leaving, but my Chinese visa application took a lot longer than it should have done – more on that in a future scribbling!

Lenin statue near the hostel

Anyway, it turned out that the Mongolian consulate was only around the corner, but when we arrived I was told they could only do a ‘next day’ service. That somewhat scuppered my plans to get a train that night to Ulan Bator, but these things happen. It meant an extra day in Irkutsk, so more time to look around.

Fishing on the Angara, Irkutsk

I went back to the hostel and searched for the trains to Ulan Bator the following day. I was quite alarmed to see there was no availability – especially as my Russian visa expires in a few days, so I needed to get out of the country. With a two-day journey to Mongolia, things were getting a bit close for comfort if I had to leave in two days time. By my rough reckoning, the Wednesday train would see me clear the Russian border by a matter of hours, delays not included in the equation.

I decided to head to the railway station in Irkutsk to try my luck there. I went with another backpacker, Hannah, who’s originally from New Zealand but lives and works in the financial district in London. With my handwritten Cyrillic ticket request (I think its harder to write with their alphabet than it is to read it) we braved firm ‘nyets’ from a number of stern female Russian ticket sellers on at least four different windows before eventually finding the international ticket window (again, no signs or help anywhere, you’re just expected to know where to go!)

Irkutsk station - confusing!

Thankfully, the website was wrong, and a second class lower berth was mine on tomorrow night’s service from Irkutsk to Ulan Bator for 4,600 Roubles, or about £90. I was relieved- it gives me a day to play with on my Russian visa, and I wont have to face the wrath of any angry border guards!

Irkutsk

Hannah and I went in search of some lunch, which is easier said than done here. Its so hard to spot cafes and restaurants, as there’s very few of them. The Russian view on eating, I’ve concluded, is completely different to that in the West, where its seen as a sociable way to enjoy time, with nice food and good company. In Russia, judging by some of the pre-prepared buffet-style food I have managed to find, its simply a means to an end; a way of staying alive!

Crazy tram drop-offs in the middle of busy roads

I’m used to fast food usually being available everywhere you look. So far, I’ve seen just one Mcdonalds sign in Russia, which is probably good for my addiction to the place, while there’s nothing in the way of KFC, Burger King or Pizza Huts, the usual venues for a quick but unhealthy fill.

Rows of 'food' stalls

Instead, there are hundreds of little stalls all over the place, selling cakes and biscuits and various breads through a little hatch. My musings have already prompted concern from my parents and on Twitter that I’m not eating properly. The problem is, fresh fruit and veg is hard to buy, and proper cafes or restaurants are few and far between. Even when you find them, it’s a game of Russian Roulette – or lucky dip as the travellers call it – running your finger down a menu and hoping for the best. There’s absolutely no way of working out what on Earth you’re ordering!

Park in Irkutsk

We gave it a good go trying to find something authentic. We looked for a café that was recommended, and it seemed far too pricey. We looked for another in the guidebook, and it had changed into a United Colours of Benetton (still the height of fashion here!) and eventually found somewhere that sells Russian pancakes. We settled for that, hoping for a savoury filling. That was a no-no, as only sweet fillings were left we were told! We decided to have two each, with apricot jam on the side, and laughed about having to have dessert first.

The main course was a Subway that we managed to find on the way back to the city centre. Well, we did at least try to be authentic!

Trubetskoys house

The rest of the day was spent seeing some of the sights, including Trubetskoy house, once home to Sergey and Yekaterina Trubetskoy, who caused a whole load of trouble back in 1825 when they tried to mount a coup, which failed, and so lived here in exile. By far the best thing about it however was the sign on the gate. All I’ll say is I was there on a Monday…I didn’t want to take the risk the next day!

Hmmm... I'll give Tuesday a miss

That night a few of us went ten-pin bowling at a nearby complex, which was a lot of fun.

Bowling fun

The first game was full of male competitiveness between Cameron and I, for the highest score, although his flukey Turkey blew my hopes to bits. The second game was much more fun – we’d seen the system showed your bowling speed, so invented a new game of taking the heaviest ball and seeing who could bowl, or should I say throw, it fastest!

Butterfingers at work

Of course, the 15 ball had really big finger holes, and I dropped a clanger by trying to put all my energy into it, just as it slipped off my fingers and into the air behind me. As we were the only ones in there, the noise surely alerted the staff to our shenanigans.

Male pride...

If it didn’t, the next calamity certainly did. Matieu, a French guy, bowled it as fast as he could, except the machine was still in the process of clearing pins away. We all gasped. We knew what was coming. Time did that weird slowing down thing as we hid behind our hands and cringed, almost wanting to look away, but actually really wanting to see what would happen. BANG. Pin clearing machine was broken!

Thankfully, the camouflage-wearing (!) security guards weren’t alerted, the machine was repaired for us, and we finished the game. I won the game, but Cameron won the real game. With a speed in excess of 35km/hr!

The rest of my time in Irkutsk was spent picking up my Mongolian visa, which set me back $100, and wandering around through the streets of the city. Its called the Paris of Siberia, and with its river, pretty streets, churches and cathedrals, it was easy to see why.

Damaged Cathedral of the Epiphany back then

The city centre had a display of historic photos, including some of its original cathedral that had to be pulled down after being damaged in the civil war, and others of its recently restored, and rather colourful, Cathedral of the Epiphany. An amazing restoration judging by the photos of its damage

 

Cathedral of the Epiphany today

 

I opted for a strange bit of Russian cuisine for lunch from one of the little stalls near the city stadium.

Mystery pasty-esque food

The best way I can describe it is as a deep-fryed Cornish pasty containing yet more mystery meat. I ate it sat on the banks of the River Angara, near to the Trans-Siberian railway memorial, dedicated to the work of those who built the line I’m travelling on.

Trans-Siberian Railway memorial

After stopping at a shop to buy some supplies for the train journey – some bread rolls, cheese, tea and apple juice, it was back to the hostel to pack. There’s a two-night journey ahead, and another country to discover.

Lake Baikal

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Sunday, October 23 2011

Lake Baikal

I woke up in a panic – I knew I’d pressed the snooze button on the phone alarm, and I had the guy who runs the hostel waking me up. I had a trip organised to Lake Baikal, the world’s oldest and deepest lake, and the pick-up was at 9.50am.

Thankfully, I still had 20 minutes to get ready. I’m staying at the Nerpa backpacker’s hostel in Irkutsk, close to the city centre. It’s clean, homely and friendly, everything you need when you’re adjusting to life as a backpacker. They’d booked me a trip to the lake after I saw it on the noticeboard, and it was one of my main reasons for stopping off in the town – the other reason being that it has a Mongolian consulate, so I can get a visa for the next country on my trip.

I was under the impression that it was an organised trip, and as the minibus turned up, I was quickly taken to the town’s market. An hour later, and the minibus now full of locals, we were on our way to the lake, 60km away. It was a pleasant journey, a couple of passengers tried talking to me and kept repeating the word ‘London’ with smiles and a nod. I kept smiling and nodding back!

The journey

The journey took me through some fantastic countryside – long straight roads cutting through evergreen forests, rolling hills and villages made up of tiny wooden huts, a typical sight in Siberia. It did not feel like the Russia I had imagined – it felt much more like I was in the French Alps. It was about an hour before we reached the lake, stretching out for miles and meeting snow-capped mountains on the far side.

Chillaxing!

We arrived in the lakeside town of Listvyanka, the minibus driver gave me a list of car registration numbers I could get a lift back with, and I went off to explore. Some fellow backpackers told me there was a ski-lift to take me to the top of the hills around the town for a great view of the lake, so finding that was the main objective. I quickly found however that the town was very spread out along the main road at the edge of the lake. I read my guide book on the shore for a few minutes, before deciding to walk to the main village.

The water was incredibly clear and blue, lapping onto the pebbly beach. On the horizon, snow-capped mountains, and the borders of Mongolia and China.

Listvyanka

The sheer scale of the lake is immense – it’s known as the ‘Blue Eye of Siberia’ for a reason. It’s the world’s oldest lake, formed 50-million years ago; the deepest at 1,637m (5371ft) and is among the largest lakes on the planet, stretching 400 miles long and between 20 and 40 miles wide. There’s so much water in it, that if everyone’s taps ran dry in the world, Lake Baikal could keep the entire population of Earth going on fresh water for 40 years! And its so clear and clean, that the locals simply put a bucket in and take it home – I even saw one man who works at a diving company filling two cups, presumably for a warming cuppa, straight from the lake.

Siberian village by the lake

The guide book revealed how it was a nice walk to the town’s church, nestled at the back of the town in a valley.

The church, minus its 5-star toilets!

Walking through the streets was like walking back in time – people were in their gardens turning over soil, tending to their vegetables, while rusting cars and tractors were dotted around. Most houses are wooden, many are falling apart, but nearly all of them have beautiful painted shutters adorned with carvings.

One of the reasons for finding the church was because the guide book told me some concessions had been made for tourists, and that there were some new five-star toilets located behind it. I thought that would be a ‘convenient’ stop after a while travelling, so headed towards them. There were some cheery waves from people as I walked past, and after about fifteen minutes, I found the church…and the ‘five-star’ restroom. Needless to say, I didn’t use it, but did spend the walk back to the main road chuckling about how many other travellers must have followed the words of the guidebook expecting to find a shiny, sparkling w.c, maybe with hand driers, basins, mirrors, the works – only to find a shed and a hole in the ground!

An Omul fish, unique to Lake Baikal

I walked along the path and headed to the easternmost side of the town, which looking at the map seemed to be a short walk. I failed to look at the scale, and three kilometres later, I eventually found the Baikal museum. It cost about £3 to enter, but I’m afraid to say it has to go some way to rival The Deep. There were a couple of endangered freshwater seals swimming around in a tank that was clearly far too small for them, along with a few other exhibits of wildlife unique to the lake, including the Omul fish. People were selling these fish all over the place, normally barbecued and at the side of the road. Its supposed to be lovely, but my dislike of fish makes this delicacy off-limits!

My map shows the hilltop lookout as being behind the museum, so I set off to try and find it. Yet again, Russia’s aversion to maps and helpfulness means I walk around in a big circle for a while, getting trapped on some form of wooden walkway, and then asking the person at the museum which way it was. Helpfully, she gave me instructions in German, although her pointing gave me the general idea of where to head.

As I walked up a dusty track, and then climbed steps to another dusty track, I wondered if I was on yet another Russian wild goose chase. There was no ski-lift to be seen, just hills and trees. I walked up a hill, and was about to head through some gates, when there was a whistle from behind. One of the locals, wearing a traditionally big and fluffy Russian hat, motioned me to turn left – mainly as I was about to walk up to a military camp!

The world's slowest ski lift!

After what seemed like an eternity aimlessly walking up dusty tracks, looking for signs and wondering if a hilltop viewpoint actually existed, I began to see a metal building and heard a familiar noise – the low drone of a ski-lift winding its way up a hillside!

It was a fairly hefty £4 to take the lift up, but after a good few hours hiking, I was ready for a rest, and I rest I certainly got. It was possibly the slowest ski-lift in existence! I’d have probably crawled up quicker if I’d tried, the chairlift slowly bumping over each wheel on the pylons at a boredom inducing pace, but it gave me a chance to analyse the slope below me, obviously a piste when it snows, and by the looks of it, a short but challenging run!

Success -I found the top!

The wait was worth it, the view at the top was spectacular. The sun was in completely the wrong place for photography from the peak, but I still managed to get some nice shots. Below, the lake flowed into the River Angara, which itself flows all the way up to the Arctic Ocean. I met an American man from Charleston in the States, he’d asked me to take a photograph of him and his wife at the top, and he seemed as surprised as I was to find someone else who speaks English! They are few and far between around these parts, so we both enjoyed finding out about each others’ travels. He was there with his Russian wife –they had married in May and so had both now travelled to her home country to meet family.

The view from the top!

Also at the top was the Russian man in the furry hat, the local who’d whistled at me. He asked me to take a photograph of him on his phone, and then motioned to the sun and managed to gesture enough to me that it was a good day to visit the top of the hill. He seemed to enjoy telling me all about the lake in his native language, motioning how deep the lake was, how big it was, the fact Mongolia and China are on the other side.

Cheese!

Clearly proud of living there, and now having the opportunity to show off this amazing natural wonder to tourists, we both leaned on the railings admiring the view for about an hour, taking it in turns to try to explain different things to each other. He would be giving me facts in Russian and hand signals, at one point writing numerals on the ground (it was how deep the lake was) while I showed him maps of where I was travelling to and showing photographs of life back home (Russian people absolutely love this!)

Eventually I decided to go – he shook my hand, smiled, and said pretty much the only bit of English he knew: ‘Goodbye my friend’

Mountains in the distance

I decided to walk down the hillside, and comprehensively beat the chair lift down to the bottom, before walking the three kilometres back to the marketplace. While there, I bought a barbecued kebab. I asked if it was beef (‘rosbif’) but he just said it was 150 roubles and gave me it anyway. It came with a blob of ketchup and some onions, and it has to be said, was very, very nice. I sat on the beach eating the meat – be it beef, pork or yak – watching as the sun started to drop behind the mountains. There was a really nice atmosphere, people strolling along the prom, sitting on the beach, laughing and joking, despite the fact temperatures barely rose above freezing point all day. It was so cold, my camera battery died really quickly, so I wasn’t able to get any shots of sunset over the lake, but it was stunning.

Lucky ribbons - a Siberian tradition

The man from America walked past me and said hello again, and asked if I’d had a good day. He joked if I didn’t hurry up, I’d miss my bus – but I had one more task before heading back to Irkutsk…

Legend has it that the Baikal waters are holy, and that if you dip your hands in, you will add an extra year to your life. Well, I’d done that just to wash the greasy mess off from the kebab – but if you dip your feet in, apparently you add another five years on to your life. So off came the shoes and socks, and I felt a bit stupid as I walked over the cobbles and went for a paddle.

It was icy cold – the lake freezes over with three metres of ice for much of the winter – and it was almost unbearable. But being slightly superstitious, it was worth it for another five years!

As for the legend that a swim in the lake adds an extra 25 years to your life – judging by the temperature around my feet, I don’t think I’d have seen the sun finish setting that day if I had gone for it.

Some superstitions are worth forgetting about!

From Russia…with Love

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Hello Russia!

I landed in Moscow with a bump…to the head. From a very large, very heavy leather laptop bag that slid out of a luggage compartment and straight onto me. The seatbelt signs hadn’t even been switched off, but one bloke decided he needed his stuff earlier than everyone else, therefore catching me unaware. Glasses flew off, the lot. The guy next to me actually had a go at the bloke who opened the compartment, but to be fair to him, he was beside himself about the whole situation and couldn’t apologise enough.

It was about an hour’s wait, semi-concussed, to get through passport control. I’d been expecting it because of how difficult it is to get a Russian visa. There was no point making people jump through hoops, getting invites from people or companies in the country, listing exactly where and when you’ve been abroad for the last 10 years, even going in depth about what I do and have done for a living, if they weren’t going to be thorough at the border.

Before long, my passport had been stamped, and I was officially in the country and on my own. I knew the British voices I could hear around me would start to disappear, and by the time I reached the AeroExpress train to the centre of Moscow, I was the only foreigner around. I ate a slice of leftover Dominos pizza I had foil-wrapped in my bag, and took in the pleasant aroma in the carriage. It was like an air freshener had been placed somewhere nearby.

At this point, I had no idea where I was going. I’d booked into a hostel that I had put down on my visa application for the authorities, but I had no idea where in Moscow it was- I’d planned on getting all that on my phone. I remembered reading it was within walking distance of Red Square and the Kremlin, so I looked to see where the nearest Metro station would be on the basis that someone would recognise the name of it.

Cyrillic signs....groan!

That’s when it started to dawn on me just how difficult it is to navigate around the city. Absolutely everything is in Cyrillic, with no English translations or letters anywhere. I didn’t really know where the station was that I’d just arrived at, but by analysing a few maps in my guidebooks, I worked out I was to the south east of the city centre.

With my rucksack weighing me down, I found my way to the Metro station, and as often is the case I’m finding here, joined a long queue for a ticket. I got their form of a travelcard with five trips on it, and made my way down to the platform.

Moscow Metro stations- attractions in themselves

Well, to say the stations are elegant would be an understatement. Never have I seen such amazing architecture in a railway station. The ceilings and walls were more like what you would see in a historic museum, ornate plaster sculptures and pictures, fantastic chandeliers and marble from the floor to the roof. The only thing that lets it down is the slightly dilapidated looking trains which run through them….oh, and the fact its nigh-on impossible to work out where you need to be going!

Marble on the Metro!

So much thought has obviously gone into how to decorate the stations, that it doesn’t seem to have occurred to someone that people might need maps on the platforms. The Cyrillic words don’t seem to match the Cyrillic words in my guidebook, and with no helpful pictures or arrows anywhere telling which train heads where, it was a bit of pot luck. I got on a train (which incidentally, are full of maps) and matched the next station name with the one in my guide. I was heading in the right direction!

I emerged into the cold dark night, onto a fairly quiet street, at around 11pm. Most of the shops were closed, and there were very few people around. I walked for about 15 minutes, aimlessly I guess, wondering where the hostel was. I knew I was near the main sights, and next to the Bolshoi Theatre a taxi driver pulled up. I asked if he knew the hostel, but even I knew that without the street address, he had no chance. Besides, he needed a magnifying glass to try and read my English, and with a shrug of his shoulders, he drove off.

I needed help, and my only lifeline without my smartphone was yet again my netbook – and a backstreet Dunkin Donuts with a big ‘Free Wifi’ sign on the door. I bought a coffee and browsed the web, finding all the details I needed. Or so I thought.

The name put me right off...

I waved the screen under the nose of a taxi driver, who made a grunt and motioned me to put my things in the car. There was a familiar smell inside – exactly the same smell as the airport train. Perhaps its some ‘Moscow public transport’ aroma, which would be a nice, unexpected touch.

I sensed the hostel wasn’t too far away, and as we whizzed through the streets and the bright lights of Moscow (speed limits don’t seem to exist here) we quickly got to the address on Tverskaya Street. There was nothing. No signs, no brightly-lit doorway I was expecting – just an abandoned old shop on the otherwise thriving street.

The taxi driver went around the block a few times, said something in Russian and then took me back to the abandoned shop, pointing at the number 27 on the wall – the number given on the website. Bemused, I paid him, got out and went to a mobile phone shop nearby. I was told it was down past the Metro station, so I walked for 10 minutes past there. Realising I wasn’t getting anywhere, I asked at a Pizza Express – where a waiter told me I’d gone the wrong way and to go back where I’d come from. I trudged back and then asked a doorman at a hotel, who told me to go back on myself and then turn left. So I did, and still couldn’t find it. I showed my laptop page to another doorman at a bar, who seemed really helpful – and then directed me back to where I started in the first place.

This went on for about an hour, and by now my back was aching and feet were hurting. I asked two more shopkeepers, pointing at my laptop, each gave different responses. I’d started to wonder if I’d ever find the place, and with tiredness creeping in at about 12.15am, I knew I needed to find it sooner rather than later. After walking right along the street, and obviously looking lost, another taxi driver asked me where I was going. He was brilliant – we agreed a price and he agreed he’d help me find the hostel. He took me to exactly where the first taxi driver dropped me off!

After a bit of searching around the back, it turned out the hostel was an apartment high up in the block above the shop. The taxi driver rang the buzzer, a door opened, and in I went. At 1am, I’d obviously woken up the guy that runs the Eesti Airlines Hostel, but I was just relieved to be able to drop my bags and sit down on a bed.

I noticed a familiar smell in the room – the same I had noticed on the train and in the taxi. Then I saw the front of my rucksack was wet and foamy…thanks to a split bottle of Lynx shower gel. Explained a few things!

The Trans-Siberian station

I woke up at 9.30am on Tuesday. My priority was to find the station to buy tickets for the trans-Siberian train that leaves that night, train number 4. It’s the one direct train from Moscow to Beijing that leaves every week, and according to my research, usually had quite a few Westerners on it doing the same as me. I knew I had to stop somewhere with a Mongolian embassy, so decided that Irkutsk was the best place to stop off. Its near the worlds largest lake, Lake Baikal, and everything I read seems to say its beautiful.

I somewhat more successfully navigated my way around the Metro to the mainline Yaroslavsky Station, and queued to buy my ticket. The attendant did not know any English, so thanks to the brilliant Trans-Siberian Handbook I’ve got, filled in one of its forms which gives all the information they need. Unfortunately, the train to Beijing only had third class left – and after watching Karl Pilkington on An Idiot Abroad make the same journey in third class on television a few weeks ago, I knew ‘sitting on a shelf like an ornament’ wasn’t for me!

Instead, I was told there was a train the next day, and asked if I wanted to go in the day or at night. I asked for the night one, giving me an extra day in Moscow, showed my passport, paid 9,800 Roubles (about £200) and that was it – I had a ticket in my hand!

Ticket to ride!

Now it was a case of taking in the sights – first stop was of course Red Square and the Kremlin. They were really busy areas, and there was some sort of Festival of Light being set up, so Red Square was full of lighting pylons and a huge stage in front of Lenin’s Mausoleum.

St Basil's Cathedral

It spoilt the view a bit, so I headed down to St Basil’s Cathedral, more commonly known as ‘that funny church’ because of its colourful and oddly shaped domes. Its an extraordinary building, and I walked around to get the sun in the right place for the photos.

I sat down opposite the cathedral to have some lunch. I’m still making my way through Saturday night’s Dominos pizza that I’d ordered in when I was busy trying to fix my phone. It came close to being thrown out, but Dad wrapped it in foil for me and it had kept pretty well. Two slices later, and I made a move for a nearby shopping centre called Gum, highlighted for its spectacular glass roof. With its range of D&G, Hugo Boss and Ferrari shops, it was hardly Princes Quay…but its glass roof was fairly nice!

Pretty (expensive) shopping centre!

I had a look around inside the Cathedral – which to me, felt more like being inside a dolls house than a church – and then strolled back through Red Square.

Red Square

My fact of the day is that the name Red Square has nothing to do with the country and communism – instead, its all down to the original cobbles which were once laid there. The red cobbles were ripped up years ago when a smelly, dirty market was condemned, and replaced with the present grey cobbles.

I kept having to make double-takes everywhere I went.

Scunny fans everywhere

Every few minutes, I’d see a Scunthorpe United fan wandering around. And then another with a scarf in the air. Then whole groups of them wearing the claret and blue Scunny tops around Red Square. It was very surreal, but turns out it was a Turkish team in almost identical kit that was in town for Champions League match with CSKA Moscow! I doubt they’d be shouting ‘Up the Iron’ much

I made my way to the main entrance to the Kremlin, stopping by at the tomb of the unknown soldier and the eternal flame beside the Kremlin wall. Its guarded by soldiers from the Russian Army, and at the changing of the guard, Basil Fawlty’s ministry of funny walks did spring to mind! I went to buy a ticket to go inside the Kremlin, but despite the guide and the ticket window saying its open until 4.30pm, it was closed. A man walked up to me and asked if I could understand why it was closed – I obviously had no idea, but we walked up to the main entrance together.

With Husanbay outside the closed Kremlin ticket office

With Husanbay outside the closed Kremlin ticket office

His name was Husanbay, a 31 year old from Uzbekistan. He’s living and working in Moscow as a Chinese teacher, but has a wife and daughter back in his home country. He’s trying to get into international relations, but needs to study first so is saving money to get into a college somewhere. He was good fun, and had really good English, and we seemed to get on, so we walked around together talking about our lives back home and the places we’ve been – or in Husanbay’s case in particular, the places he’d like to go.

The Bolshoi Theatre

We wandered to the Bolshoi Theatre and marvelled at the detail on the outside of the building, its huge pillars and the statues of the horses and of Karl Marx outside.

Detail on top of the Bolshoi Theatre

Without my panic of the night before – and the weight of my bags – it was a much nicer experience to take it all in. We then walked looking for the former headquarters of the KGB, and there was supposed to be a museum about it there too. We found neither, and at around 5pm, headed for the Metro. It was interesting to see that Husanbay, despite living in Moscow, also struggled with navigating around the underground system!

Red Square and Cathedral

We swapped email addresses and gave him my website details, before saying our goodbyes. We’d spent a good few hours together, getting to know one another, and I wished him all the success for the future before he jumped on his train and disappeared into the tunnel.

Sunset over Moscow

Back in the hostel I decided to double check my train tickets. The train leaves at 00:35 on the 19th of October. Today, was the 18th. I suddenly twigged – half past midnight means the train leaves in just a few hours time, and I didn’t have another day in Moscow after all. I had to get my things packed again, bought provisions for the journey, and said goodbye to the guys I’d met at the hostel.

Goodnight Moscow

They were a bit bemused by how I’d turned up after sightseeing saying I was staying an extra night, and then suddenly I was packing up and getting ready to go. I explained what had happened and they laughed. Im just pleased I decided to double check – I’d have looked a right fool turning up 24 hours late for a train!

Speaking of which, I’ve got a train to catch…better go!

The Kremlin by night