China: No Pain No Gain...

After watching a BBC report about the number of ex*cu*ions that take place in China every day, plus it's proximity to North Korea and it's provocative japes with uranium, I was a little trepidatious about visiting the PRC. However, my brother Martin and his wife Yolanda live in Shanghai so there was no way I wasn't going! (Plus, we'd already paid HK$1300 each for a sodding visa)

Shanghai is a BIG city, the biggest in the People's Republic of China and the 8th biggest city in the world. It was known as the Pearl of the Orient and it was, in its day, as a bit of a free-wheelin' den of vice. The city was occupied by the terrible British and took a bit of a beating during the Opium Wars in the 1800s. Surely the Opium Wars would have been a bit of a relaxed affair though. England: "We're going to march on the city walls and systematically destroy them... right after we smoke out and take a little nap zzzzz" China: "We will not tolerate this invasion and will retaliate viciously... but we do need to stare blankly at a spot on the wall for 3 hours".

Sorry, enough of what the world is like in my imagination. After arriving at Shanghai Pudong Airport we took the Maglev (Magnetic Levitation) train further into the city. These trains get up to terrifying speeds, 431kph to be precise, and when another one WHOOOOMFS past in the opposite direction it can make your hair stand on end a little. The Maglev line only has three stops at the moment, being more of a glorious demonstration of the PRC's advancement and fabulousness, but there are plans afoot to extend it.

After settling in to Martin and Yolanda's apartment we headed out for a spot of lunch, and far more importantly, cheongsam shopping! A cheongsam the western term for a traditional Chinese dress, however in China the dress is called a qipao and the man's traditional outfit is known as the cheongsam. The dresses used to be quite loose fitting, until the modern version of the qipao was first developed in Shanghai around 1900. It became tighter with higher splits up the side...… more tarty basically, which is no bad thing!

We walked up and down a street in the charming tree-lined old quarter that was one cheongsam shop after another. It was almost overwhelming to try to choose a design and a fabric with the vast array of options available. Each shop was full of beautiful embroidered silks in bright jewel colours and elegant ladies choosing their next gown. After choosing my fabric and design, it was time to be measured. And who doesn't love standing in a small shop feeling the size of a house while two small Chinese ladies measure the distance between your nipples? As I was being measured the ladies we discussing my measurements in a Shanghai dialect which I guess they did'’t expect Yolanda to understand. They discussed the fact that I had a nice figure and a small waist, but I "stuck out at the back". Too right I do, I mean what's the point of having a form-fitting dress if there's no form to fit to? Hmm? That's right, NO POINT! After checking with the seamstress if she had enough fabric to cover my colossal bottom the dress was ready in an astonishing 2 days, and it fit perfectly! AND it was a birthday present from Martin & Yolanda: how very, very kind.

The next day Martin took the role of tour guide and steered us round the Yu Yuan Gardens, a tranquil oasis in the middle of Shanghai. The gardens were built in the 16th century for a wealthy family in the traditional Chinese style with numerous rock and tree garden areas, ponds, dragon-lined walls and doorways and zigzag bridges separating the various garden areas and pavilions.

I must say though, I am reconsidering using the word tranquil to describe the gardens as it was quite busy with other tourists, quite a lot of whom were Chinese. The Chinese language and speech patterns are, to the Western ear, quite harsh and forceful. So what is probably a civilized exchange along the lines of "look at that beautiful ornamental pond full of carp darling" "yes dear, it's most picturesque", comes across as a loud, heated and violent bust-up.

We continued our tour of Shanghai with a stroll alongside the Huangpu River on The Bund (from the Persian word band meaning muddy embankment). In the 1940s The Bund was home to the headquarters of many of the major financial institutions operating in China so the contrast of Old Shanghai and the colonial buildings on one side of the river and the young upstart building like the easily recognizable Oriental Pearl Tower on the new Pudong side was interesting. One of the most famous Buildings on The Bund is the Peace Hotel, formerly known as the Cathay Hotel. Before 1949, the Cathay Hotel was regarded as the most prestigious hotel in Shanghai. After that the Communist Government took control of the building and was used by the Municipal Finance Committee to keep their livestock in (or something). Noel Coward wrote "Private Lives" here, so to honour the comedic and literary genius we had an overpriced sandwich on the roof terrace.

Back on The Bund we made a couple of new friends: two young guys visiting the big city. We must have seemed quite the exotic creatures to them as they were very keep to have their photographs taken with us. (Well more just me actually...) It was nice that they asked permission though, as I lost count of the number osurreptitiouslyle were sureptiously snapping me with their mobile phones.

With the guidance and ordering skillz of Yolanda we enjoyed some beautiful dishes at great restaurants. The stand out one has to be the Lion's Head and Xiao Long Bao we had at the Victorian House. Xiao Long Bao are little pork dumplings that you have to eat in a particular way otherwise you end up with hot orange-coloured oil all over your new silk cheongsam...… However I rose to the challenge because otherwise I would be turning down good food, which is unthinkable.

Yolanda also looked after our personal appearance as well: she took us to a fancy salon for a hair wash and treatment (yes, even Paul!) and also for a massage. After an hour of being thoroughly pummeled Paul expressed interest in the traditional Chinese medicine treatment of cupping, a method of drawing the impurities out of the skin. He'd had it done before by some hippy in Brookline so he thought he knew what to expect. Heh.

I stayed in the room to capture the moment on camera. Boy, was that a mistake...… First the chap gave Paul a good oiling all over his back. Then he got out a tray of about 20 glass jars the size of pint glasses. THEN he gets his massive flame-thrower out, sticks it inside one of the jars to suck out the air and create a vacuum. Jar is placed on Paul's back. Cue violent screaming and cursing. Repeat 20 times. I've never seen anything like it and felt sick to my stomach. Again, pictures illustrate things far better then I can with words:

When all the cups came off his back looked like a piece of flesh lego.

We left Shanghai for Hong Kong for a brief stopover before heading to Amsterdam. Return to the UK was just days away...

Thailand: Coup Coup Ca-Choo...

or
Thailand: Oompah Oompah Stick It Up Your Junta...

Enough of the bad puns, there was no sign of the military coup, the only soldiers I saw were at the new Bangkok airport making sure everyone got their luggage. No sign of civil unrest, but then my Thai conversational language capabilities are not up to being able to ask locals how they feel about the political situation...

A couple of days were spent in Bangkok. Traveling up and down the Chao Phraya river was the best way to get around the traffic-choked city, but we made sure not to sit in the rear of the public boats, as this is the area reserved for monks. Presumably this is to make sure they don't accidentally have physical contact with a woman during the rush-hour crush. I did see one regular Joe ignore this protocol though, and if you think Buddhist monks are completely serene and beautific you should have seen the filthy looks they were shooting his way.

An alternative to the public boats was the long boats - long, thin rickety vessels powered by a truck engine attached to a large egg whisk. Those boys could MOVE! I didn't feel 100% safe getting into one though. You can travel in one of these boats from Phnom Penh in Cambodia to Bangkok. Personally, I'd rather do the journey on a pogo stick.

Ventured out to the infamous district of Patpong for a little scandalous entertainment. Turning the corner into the street we were immediately set upon by touts for the various shows available for our delectation. "Ping-pong show? Very good!" "I'm sure it is, but no thanks" I would demure, but that would just prompt them to show me the full printed menu of the choice of live performances available. They were all variations on a disturbed theme: Girl on Girl, Boy on Girl, P*ssy Fish In (shocking grammar), P*ssy Chopstick, and one that particularly sticks in my memory, P*ssy Snap Needle. I mean... what?? and, Ouch!

Didn't see (or identify) too many ladyboys, but I did see one with a particularly mix and match approach at a bus stop: short skirt, manly hips, hyper-womanly bosom and a 3-day mustache.

Flew to Koh Samui and got a catamaran to Koh Tao. The original plan was to go to the Full Moon Party on Koh Phangan later in the week, but I had started to doubt that I was still Mad For It. This was confirmed when the catamaran stopped at Koh Phangan and a huge procession of British "geezers" of both sexes got off, all sunburn, Hoxton fins, bad tattoos and general twatishness. The thought of being trapped on a tiny island with these tossers and relentless "banging" tunes from 5pm to 9am was far from desirable.

The main focus of our time on Koh Tao was diving. After the Philippines and Vietnam it was a bit of a shock to have to set up my own kit and even de-fog my own mask - the horror! The dives were jolly good fun, even when we had Aaron as the Dive Master: a Californian of the most irritating variety, wearing a visor upside-down and to the side, and every 5th word being "chillin'". Tool. (I've become quite the grouch haven't I?) The best dive was after we did our Deep Adventure Dive qualification which allowed us to go down to 30 meters and have a swim around with some grey reef sharks. Eeek!The trip to Koh Tao afforded us the opportunity to refamiliarise ourselves with the Great British Public, there were hordes of the buggers on holiday in Thailand. Not all personality types on display made me want to rush home. The most cringeworthy but ultimately gratifying Brit Abroad experience happened while I was enjoying breakfast in a cafe one rainy morning. A scrawny bloke came in, wearing those offensive plastic Crocs shoes. If you have been fortunate enough never to see them, then here they are in all their glory:

I have no objection to these loathsome items if they are worn by someone doing the gardening, but if you are in public there is no excuse. Barefoot would be better. Anyway, said bloke begins demanding in a thick Essex accent "Free (3) sammiges (sandwiches) take away (take away)". I could barely understand the ill-mannered oik, and the Thai staff had trouble also. To make himself clear he used the effective communication tool of repeating the request louder and in a more aggressive tone of voice. Surprisingly, still no success. He then proclaimed to the cafe that "these lot are worse then them round the corner innit". I have no idea who them round the corner were but they immediately had my sympathy.

After a few more minutes of international diplomacy he got his sammiges and a coffee, and he clattered off down the steps. Inflexible molded plastic shoes and wet steps are not an ideal combination: he slipped and hit the ground with some force, his sammiges scattered hither and thither, and his coffee burst over him to pleasing effect. As he writhed in agony on the floor the normally friendly and helpful staff looked on impassively and I chortled happily into my coffee. The moral of the story:

• Don't be a dick abroad. The universe has ways of getting revenge.
• Crocs worn in public will lead to personal disaster.

Back to Bangkok for one final indignity: I asked a street prostitute for an eyelash tint. I don't wish to dwell on the matter.

Vietnam: No, YOU'RE the Ho...

And so on to another South East Asian country with a violent and depressing recent history!

The taxi ride from the airport into Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC), or Saigon as the locals and most southern Vietnamese still call it, was inauspicious to say the least. All was grime, poverty and noise and for a while we considered heading straight for the train station and getting out of there PDQ. Our hardy traveler spirit prevailed though...

We were given a practical lesson in how to cross the road in HCMC by one of our hotel's playful and smiley staff. This is an artform which requires nerves of steel and a Zen-like philosophy about your place in the traffic mix. First let me explain that there is no such thing as lane discipline in Vietnam, their Highway Code amounting to:

• Every man for himself
• Right of way goes to the biggest vehicle
• Be very, very afraid of buses

As there is a constant fast flow of traffic their is no point waiting for a quiet and safe moment to cross. You take a deep breath, step out and walk very slowly so that the hundreds of motorcyclists can best judge how to avoid you. If this sounds terrifying, it is, but the best thing to do is never look at the buzzing angry traffic bearing down on you, but to keep your eye fixed straight ahead. Otherwise your brain kicks into action and tells you to "F*CKING RUN you idiot!", which would result in bad news for all parties. The closest thing I can compare this process of crossing the road is to the leap of faith required when I stepped off the platform at the Canyon Swing.

I had begun to feel a little travel-weary, and so had a rethink of out plans for Vietnam. To fit in the "must-dos" of the country was going to mean a lot of moving around in a short space of time, and frankly I could no longer be arsed. "Oh, you simply must see the Vietcong tunnels/Ha Long Bay/Sa Pa" Must I? Really?? Is this one of the conditions of my visa? Will the world cease to turn if I don't? Didn't think so...

Refreshed and revived by this decision we went out to dinner, transported by cyclo drivers. These "vehicles" are bicycles with essentially big metal buckets attached to the front that the passenger sits in while an unfeasibly skinny man does the hard pedal work. If being a pedestrian on the streets of HCMC had been scary this was a whole new world of terror.

The story of Saigon cyclo drivers is an interesting but sad one. Before the American War many of them were professionals: doctors, journalists, teachers lawyers, but after the fall of the South to the Communist North they were sent to "re-education camps" to be taught the error of their non-socialist ways. They were further punished on their release (up to 12 years later) by being forbidden to return to their former professions, and not being allowed to even own a house. Most were thus unable to afford to marry and start a family, and remain alone and scratching out a living ferrying around well-fed tourists.

The next day we rode a 7 hour section of the HCMC to Hanoi Reunification Express train to the beach town of Nha Trang. "Express" is, however, a bit of a misnomer as the trains travel at average speeds of 40kph, about the same speed as when the train line opened in 1936. And they say you can't stop progress.

The 6 days in Nha Trang passed in a peaceful haze, punctuated by a few dives and the small matter of turning 30... Although I was dreading this milestone it passed without any major identity crises and was very pleasant, due to calls and messages from lovely friends and the beloved parents, cards and even a couple of gifts! The bottle of breakfast champagne was also a nice treat, but it did cause me to behave in a somewhat unseemly manner on the beach. In my defense it is quite easy to loose control of your volume while "refreshed", but I'm sure the guardians of a group of 8 teenage girls of vacation on the next loungers to me didn't need to hear my comment of "Christ, I wouldn't like to be in charge of that set of jailbait!". You'd think I'd have better manners at my age wouldn't you?

As our guesthouse staff had been fielding my calls and messages all day they soon realized it was my birthday. In a wonderful and touching gesture they bought me a birthday cake and some flowers! I couldn't stop smiling.

And so on to Hanoi. I was expecting a grim, functional and practical city, as befitting a Communist capital, but it was elegant and agreeable, thanks in part to the French colonial architecture and the tree lines streets. Just as much city hubbub and contempt for traffic safety as HCMC, just in a prettier package. However, it was hot and humid to the extent that even my shins were sweating. So after a quick wander around the Old Quarter we sought refuge in Highway 4, a traditional Vietnamese bar and restaurant. After a couple of restorative beers we decided to try a couple of sampler flights of their medicinal liquors with flavours such as sticky rice and bee (honest). Seemingly innocuous when you first swallow, your face soon turns to this when the fire kicks in.

We woke bright and early the next day to see Ho Chi Minh's (translation: "he who enlightens") Mausoleum. It was a little hard to find.

It was a huge disappointment to find out that Uncle Ho's body had been sent off to Moscow for its annual "maintenance" just a couple of days earlier. A bit annoying for the visitor to miss it, but you can't deny him his regular wash and brush up. God knows I need a manicure...

Instead we perused the Ho Chi Minh museum - for 30 cents why not? It was a very impressive museum: very artistic and thoughtful displays. The best part was a photo exhibition which showed Uncle Ho to be a nice smiley bloke who liked a laugh, loved his ciggies, had a good rapport with children and generally someone you wouldn't mind going for a pint with. Ah, the power of the communist propaganda machine!

A very diverting evening was spent at the water Puppet theatre, despite the presence of a rambunctious Italian coach party, for whom I have a special message: learn to queue you ignorant set of pushy loud-mouths. The water puppets were amazing: the movements were so intricate and realistic. The puppeteers are behind a screen waist deep in water, and their skill and dexterity is very impressive. It was also interesting to hear some traditional Vietnamese music and singing. One member of the orchestra appeared to be playing a sewing machine.

When getting out of the taxi at Hanoi airport to catch the flight to Bangkok we had one last amusing Vietnam experience. We were instantly mobbed by a group of teenage girls who all wanted their photos taken with us. I can't imagine who they thought we were, but I rather suspect it was their equivalent of Paul having his photo taken with the Filipino hobbits...

Audience Participation Time!

If I could pick an all-star group of 5 people to go on an all day session down the pub with, it would be these guys:

1. David Niven
2. Oscar Wilde
3. AA Gill
4. Dave Grohl
5. John Peel

What would your choice be?

Hong Kong and Cambodia: From Blandness to Beauty and Horror...

After the simple loveliness of the Philippines I think I was slightly resentful about going to such a hectic place as Hong Kong, even for just a couple of days. The 99 years of British rule seem to have left no lasting on impact on Hong Kong, apart from the style of road signs and traffic markings. Everything else seems to be the embodiment of Chinese style thrusting progress.

To take in the size and scale of the island we went up the Peak Tram and looked out at the skyline. Even these modern structures however are built in strict accordance with Feng Shui principles to ensure positive life energy flow and prosperity. The HSBC bank building was built as an elevated structure (on big stilts basically) so that the Feng Shui lines of the old governor's house would not be interrupted by it. Strange then that the architect of the Bank of China tower should ignore Feng Shui rules and incorporate inauspicious triangles into it's design and resembles a screwdriver which is, by all accounts, drilling the wealth out of Hong Kong. The building is consequently disliked intensely and even feared in Hong Kong.

To satisfy our curiosity about what exactly the highest building on the island was we set off to walk to it. This in practice turned out to be very difficult. Hong Kong is not built to accommodate the pedestrian wanting to get from Point A to Point B in the quickest time possible. You are forced to take detours through one glossy luxury brand mall after another which would be dandy if you have money to burn, but merely an annoyance when you're on a traveler's budget.

While walking "through" the city a strange pattern began to emerge: wherever there was shade there was a group of women having a picnic and playing cards. I don't just mean the kind of pleasant leafy shade that a park might afford, but literally any patch of shade: under a tree, in a pedestrian subway, behind a skip, anywhere. Underneath the aforementioned HSBC Building looked like an overgrown school field trip. Not sure if this was a special occasion thing or just a regular weekend occurrence. Odd.

Anyway, for those of you that care (not me incidentally) the tallest building turned out to be the IFC 2 Building, with no public access. How dull. In the evening we took the Star Ferry across to Kowloon to watch the 8pm HK skyline light show. This is funded by the Chinese Government and an Australian company was paid a few million dollars to set it all up. No small feat: 33 buildings and god knows how many LED that flash along with music. The most difficulty building to incorporate was the Bank of China tower because of the problems caused by it's predominantly glass triangular structure. See what happened when you ignore Feng Shui? This was all very cool to watch but... Perhaps a small waste of electricity???

Next day we departed for Siem Reap and Angkor Wat in Cambodia. I didn't really have many expectations for Cambodia, just temples and a people slowly recovering from the brutal years of the Khmer Rouge, but I really liked it there. A little background on Siem Reap and the temples of Angkor Wat for you:

The Angkorian period, starting in the 9th century was Cambodia's "Golden Age". The first monarch of that time, Jayavarma II, introduced the religious cult of Devaraja or "God-King" where kings were believed to be the earthly incarnations of Shiva, Vishnu or Buddha. Can anyone say "ego-maniac"? Each king would build a temple in honour of who else but himself, and the beauty and the detail of the sandstone carvings and "bas reliefs" (storyboards) are awe inspiring.

In the 12th century King Suryavarman II constructed Angkor Wat, considered Cambodia's greatest architectural masterpiece. In fact is is the main feature of the country's flag:




This temple was dedicated to the Hindu god Vishnu, or Suryavarman II as he liked to be called on earth. It would later become a Buddhist monastery when his successor Jayavarman VII decided on Mahayama Buddhism as Cambodia's religion of choice.

One of the best known and most beautiful sculptures in Angkor Wat is the bas relief of the "Churning of the Ocean of Milk" depicting the Hindu myth of creation. Gods (devas) and evil spirits (asuras) pulled a giant sea serpent back and forth for 1000 years in order to create the essence of immortality. The good guys grasped the essence first of course. Incidentally, I thought that if you churned a sea of milk you would end up with a massive block of butter, not immortality. Something to think about for those odd people using sunflower spreads instead of real butter for health reasons isn't it...

How well the detail of the carvings have been preserved is astonishing. 900 years later and the tiny details are still crisp and clear.
At the start of our stroll around the temples we picked up an unbidden and unofficial guide. He gave some interesting extra information about the temples but his most memorable story was of a more modern and sobering nature. He asked us to come over to a palm tree and feel the sharp and serrated edges of the branches. These, he said, we used by Khmer Rouge soldiers to cut people's throats. It would take on average 3 days to die from the wounds.

The temple of Ta Prohm was next. Built by Jayavarman II as a Buddhist monastery but first Hindu purists got at it and destroyed some of the carvings, and after that a far more formidable force overtook it: Mother Nature. There were only a couple of other people at the temple and so the atmospheric jungle-ravaged peace wasn't ruined. This is surprising as a lot of scenes for Tomb Raider were filmed here and I expected hordes of pasty faced computer game geeks to be here expressing their reverence and devotion to Lara Croft.

Banteay Srei is a 10th century temple built on teeny tiny proportions for petite Hindus. The rose colour of the stone and the detail of the carvings make it just gorgeous. However the dolls house scale makes it feel crowded if only 10 other people are there, yet alone a coach party of snap-happy Korean tourists.

The walled city of Angkor Thom was home to perhaps a million people. The main feature of the city is the Bayon temple: 54 towers, each tower topped with 4 enormous carved faces, most likely the image of Jayavarman VII. No self esteem issues with him...

The name Siem Reap means "Siem" as in Siam, the ancient word for Thailand and "Reap" meaning defeat. As you can gather there is no love lost between the Cambodians and the Thais. Only 2 years ago the Thai actress Suwanan Kongying made a comment to the effect that the Cambodians had stolen Angkor Wat from the Thais. The Cambodian people had a display of temper about this and burned down the Thai Embassy in Phnom Penh in protest.

We traveled on to the capital Phnom Penh, where the terrible impact of the years of the Khmer Rouge became more evident. I don't think I am sufficiently informed myself about background and origins of the regime, and I don't want to turn this into too much of a worthy history lesson, so perhaps you can look here if you want a bit more information. What I do know is that it very quickly turned into a power-crazed and paranoid reign of terror.

We visited the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, previously known and feared as the S-21 Prison. Approximately 20,000 people went into S-21, only a dozen or so made it out alive.

Imprisoning, torturing and murdering their own soldiers and people they were meant o be protecting and liberating is one level of madness, but doing the same to little children is a level of barbarity I simply cannot comprehend.

Despite the fact that the Khmer Rouge was only deposed by the Vietnamese in 1979, and insurgency and attacks continued on into 1999, the people of Cambodia are resilient, cheerful and proud of their country. I admire them greatly.