Spennymoor: it's not the end of the world, but you can see it from here...

Christ, what happened?

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.

The Philippines: Very "Pleasing"...

The realization that we had 10 days allotted for the Philippines was a bit of a shock. What the hell were we going to do there for all that time?? With the benefit of hindsight I now know that I could happily have spent triple that amount of time there. My original lofty plan was to travel to the "Last Frontier" of the Philippines, Palawan. However, the prospect of the extra faff involved in getting there and the fact that electricity on the island is cut off at 9pm lead us down the path of least resistance for a lovely beach and dive sites. Hello Boracay!

A couple of days in Manila were first though. A city with a face only a mother could love and aromas not experienced since La Paz, but still interesting to wander around. Even the most inauspicious little restaurants and office buildings were guarded by men with guns as big as themselves, and every 4th building seemed an Entertainment Theatre, all on a recruitment drive for "18 year old girls with pleasing personality". Well, quite.

Watching a few minutes of local TV made the premium placed on physical perfection obvious. According to adverts selling various lotions, potions and treatments, if you aren't tall, thin, with long legs, a fulsome bosom and thick lustrous hair you may as well drag your ugly ass into a ditch and wait quietly to expire. So much for a pleasing personality...

The Filipino people love to sing, with a particular fondness for power ballads. Wherever there is a radio playing there are people singing along. To pass the time before the flight to Boracay I was perusing the display of pencil cases in the only shop in the airport. Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing" came on the radio and the girl behind the till joined in with much enthusiasm and emotion. I stayed for the whole performance, mostly because I was enchanted with her free-form changing of the lyrics, particularly the chorus: "I miss you baby, and I don't want to miss my shoes!". Indeed, who would?

Arrival on Boracay Island and a bewildering array of short hop transport legs dumped us on the famed White Beach: 7km long and apparently where the island got it's name from. The consistency of the soft white sand is said to be like cotton, the local word for cotton is "borac". With an unerring instinct for substandard accommodation we cheerfully checking into the Orchids Resort for a week. The disappointment was incremental:
Day 1: Hotel breakfast gave me food poisoning
Day 2: Noisy and early morning renovation work begins on the other rooms
Day 3: Becomes obvious that the room will not be cleaned
Day 4: Smell of mould becomes omnipresent
Day 5: Insect population boom in bathroom
Day 6: Mystery monster noises at 4am
However, I really didn't care as just outside the hotel was this:The Filipino people of Boracay were a joy: friendly, polite and helpful. Even the beach touts flogging blag watches, genuine pearl earrings and boat trips didn't hassle you and were generally very laid back. Apparently it's an effing nightmare during high season though! It was a week of relaxing in the sun, swimming in the deliciously warm waters of the Sulu Sea, reading, drinking cheap rum & cokes and watching glorious sunsets.

After a very bad scuba diving experience in the Galapagos (of the negative entry, strong current, "oh my god I'm going to die down here" variety) I finally faced my fear and booked a Scuba Review course at a 5 star dive place - Calypso. This basically involved a dive instructor (the lovely Jade) gently and patiently taking me through things I already knew but needed a confidence boost on in a controlled pool environment. He dealt with my slightly scary intenseness very well - Q: "YOU'RE NOT JUST GOING TO F*CK OFF AND LEAVE ME DOWN THERE ALONE ARE YOU??" A: "Relaaaaaaaaax".

Despite rising panic my good soldier instinct kicked in, I did as I was told and before I knew it I was rolling backwards off a speedboat and into the deep (well, 24.4 meters). It was a wall dive and with Jade's help I was relaxed enough to enjoy the experience and the sights. I did get the fear though when I spent too long looking up at the wall and the life teeming above me, but just looked at a clown fish grooving around in some soft coral until I calmed down. Another demon slayed - RAH!

Another lazy day followed, but gave myself some sport by snarling at Old Man Sex Tourists smugly parading around with the young and pretty Filipino girls. I understand that if everyone is of a legal age then both sides are getting someting they want out of the deal, but I still find it terribly distasteful. Look at that, I have some moral fiber! Next day another dive, and an amazing one at that. Amongst other things, saw loads of beautiful coral, stingray, lionfish, scorpion fish and frog fish. Really enjoyed it and didn't have to cling on to Jade's hand once!

On the last night on Boracay we dined at Hobbit House. Yes, the front of house staff was entirely made up of dwarves and midgets. So many people didn't even bother to eat have a drink there, just get their photo taken with the Persons Of Restricted Growth out front. I even saw two Buddhist monks having a snap taken, so although they obviously had no worried about the effect this may have on their karma, all that was going through my head was "Exploitation, exploitation, exploitation!". Paul had no such concerns.
Repaired one last time to the Red Pirates beach bar for a night cap in the pillow pit. I have been to some fantastic drinking establishments in my lifetime: sophisticated city cocktail lounges, cozy country pubs, grand and imposing establishment bars, seedy dives, the Littlest Bar and plenty of relaxed beach bars, but this place beats the lot. The combination of location, effortlessly cool and tranquil decor & ambiance, laid back staff, a drinks menu totally 6 items and 2 sleepy ginger cats on the bar put it in a category all its own.
I fell in love with Boracay down that raffish end of the beach and now I can finally see how and why people "drop out" of the socially acceptable norms of decently paid 9-5 job, mortgage, shiny car and half a dose of happiness at the weekends. I will return to the Philippines and Boracay, I highly recommend you do so too. And in return for a flight ticket there I might even show you where the Red Pirates is...

Australia: Crocodile Hunter-less

The Australian leg of the trip almost didn't happen. Presenting ourselves at the Qantas (Queensland And Northern Territory Air Service) check-in at Christchurch Airport our passports were swiped and found sadly lacking in the Australian Visa area. Ah.

Having done no research into Australia, or even investing in a basic information pamphlet meant that we were 100% unaware of the fact that a visa was necessary (an attitude hangover from the Colonial heyday obviously). Luckily as we now have the new fancy biometric passports we could purchase the visa at the airport and have them digitally scanned on to the passports. So "thank you" to the thieving Ecuadorian bastard who relieved us of our old style ones.

So, another minor crisis averted we were on our way to Australia. I struck up a nice rapport with a flight attendant, so he made sure my champagne glass was never empty and stuffed a box of chocolates into my bag when disembarking in Sydney. Result!

The next day it didn't really sink in that I was in Australia until I coughed my first glimpse of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. It was just the kind of day you'd expect Down Under: sunny and delightful despite it being the end of their winter. We took a ferry out to Manly and sat on the beach watching the rather lackluster surfers bobbing up and down without any apparent intention of riding or catching or whatever it is that you you do with waves. Perhaps they were the wrong sort of waves, what do I know anyway? That night we met up with Liz, our new pal from the Galapagos boat, at the Opera House Bar, watching the hordes flying foxes flapping around over the Harbour Bridge as we flapped our jaws.

The next morning we climbed said Bridge, which was not nearly as scary as I thought it would be. Quick Bridge Fact Blast for you:
* 6 million rivets hold it together
* The Opera House is times as heavy as the Bridge, despite only being half its' size
* It was known as the "Iron Lung" of Sydney as it kept so many people employed during the Depression years
* Only 16 people died during construction (I ask morbid questions). During the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge, which took place at round about the same time, 27 workers lost their lives. So in your FACE Depression-era American Bridge Health and Safety Standards! Seriously though, you'd think it would be more wouldn't you?Once we'd clambered down and got out of the frankly ridiculous jumpsuits they make you wear we hopped on a flight to Melbourne and into the arms of our hosts Ox & Kate. Melbourne is a very architecturally diverse city with more public art per square meter than I have ever seen. My favourite building was Council House 2, a completely self-sustaining building. Those tube things on the outside are for collecting rain water to cool the building. I found this very groovy. Melbourne is also a city dedicated to food, drink and sport, especially drink. The entice populace seemed to be utterly slaughtered by 7:30pm on a Friday night.

Ox very kindly sacrificed his usual football (soccer) spectating to take us to a Footy (Aussie Rules) game: St Kilda Vs The Western Bulldogs at the Telsta Dome (capacity 47,000). I was supporting St Kilda because A) I was told to, and B) they had the most attractive outfits. Most of the British Readership will have seen at some point this marvelously violent and chaotic game on TV, but honestly, there is at least 20 times more violence and chaos going on when you see it live. Mayhem. The pitch is a MASSIVE oval, there are easily 50 people on the pitch at any given time, only 36 of which are legitimate players. Once you've factored in the referees, linesmen, coaches, first aid people and water boys who can apparently just mill about and disrupt play you really don't know where to look!The levels of gore during play have calmed down somewhat since the 1980s but there is still enough argy-bargy and jumper-punching going on to satisfy you if you're into such things... Just look at this psycho: Star Nutter for St. Kilda, Fraser Gehrig. He still looks hard as nails despite wearing lycra hotpants. The shorts are worn that skimpy and tight to avoid them being pulled down during rough tackles. Excuse me, I think I need to go and splash some cold water on my face...
I completed my Footy experience by having a "Four and Twenty" pie. On the packaging it claims it is a "meat" pie. I didn't pluck up the courage to read the ingredients list, but hey, I ate one and I never have to do it again.

Next day, despite cumulative hangovers we drove out to the Yarra Valley for some wine tasting. To be fair, Kate drove and watched the 3 of us drink wine - thanks again Kate, very much appreciated! Taking her hostessing duties to the next level Kate had a very special activity in store for us: penguin chasing! not actual chasing you understand, because that would be cruel. Instead we just shone torchlight in their faces, subjected them to flash photography and generally disturbed their peace. Kate is a trained and responsible penguin-botherer though, so it was all above board.

An unseemly early flight took us out of Ox & Kate's hair and on to Ayers Rock. I'm not being culturally insensitive: the airport is called Ayers Rock, the actual "rock" is Uluru, OK? I think the pilot on that flight had been sent to special Australian Quaintness School as in his short pre-flight chat to the passengers he managed to use the words "beaut", "dinkum" and "no worries". No "cobber" though which was a disappointment.
Obviously the huge red monolith is very impressive and full of cultural and religious significance for the Anangu people, but I still don't see why that makes it OK to charge $60 for the cheapest bloody buffet dinner at the resort. Just saying. The anangu don't like tourists to climb Uluru and encourage you not to. You can see their point: would you think it's appropriate to absail down the Wailing Wall or do a double pike dive into the waters at Lourdes? Instead we walked around the base which was good enough for me. You get to appreciate its size, texture and real shape this way. I had always thought it was a smooth loaf shape, not so. Still had to touch it just once though, so many apologies to any Anangu people who may read this...

At the Silence under the Stars dinner we watched the sunset over Uluru and Kata Tjuta (aka the Olgas) to the sounds of the didgeridoo played by some white bloke claiming to be aboriginal. I think he was using the same logic process that half the population of Boston uses to claim that they are Irish. Saw my first kangaroo that night - in an appetizer. Delicious, unlike crocodile which is surprisingly bland (lacked bite.. oh forget it). After dinner and astronomer talked us through the star constellations, fascinating stuff. I got a bit misty-eyed and emotional when he pointed out that what I had thought was a light cloud in the sky way actually the Milky Way.

The next stop was Queensland and the Tropical Escape B&B in Mission Beach. The lavish and extensive website suggested and exclusive mini-hotel but was in actual fact a Homestay at Dot and Bill's place where they had converted 3 ensuite bedrooms into guest rooms. It was very nice, don't get me wrong, but it was more like staying with a friend's Auntie: trying not to make too much noise, making sure not to leave the towels on the floor and offering to help with the washing-up.

Had planned for a couple of days relaxing on the beach with a book, but the weather had other ideas. Went for an aimless drive instead (PARTY!) and came across a cassowary and her chick. These are big shaggy flightless birds, a bit like an emu but with a multi-coloured Mohawk and lethal massive claws on their feet. They are endangered: only 1200 left in Australia so were happy to have seen them, but also not a little scared even in the car as they look HARD and have a reputation for being testy. Took a beachside rainforest walk that afternoon. I was already a little spooked by the signs saying "DANGER - CROCODILES" and warning you to stay away from the water's edge, so when there was a crashing in the undergrowth and an enormous cassowary within feet of us I called time on the nature walk.

On to Airlie Beach where we had planned to do a "live aboard" sailing trip around the Whitsundays for 3 days. Unfortunately that area of Queensland was suffering from an unusual weather pattern, that in layman's terms is known as "shit". The whole town was just full of bars with glum faces peering out at the sky trying to will along a patch of blue. Not ideal conditions for the open water so sacked off the live aboard. Luckily the afore mentioned Liz was also there with her boyfriend Ben so we managed to have a good time despite the weather and not exactly fitting in with the 18 year old crowd at Paddy Shenanigans and the wet t-shirt competitions. Did a day trip out to a dead section of the Barrier Reef (thanks for nothing FantaSea!) and another one to Whitehaven Beach which was glorious - softest sand I have ever felt.

Back to Sydney for a couple of nights, just enough time to do some admin and meet up with another face from the Galapagos, Vicki. The night ended up like this
so as you can imagine the 4:15am start the next day to catch the flight to the Philippines felt less than special. Top fun though!

I know we only saw a small fraction of Australia and came at a bad time of year but I don't feel any strong compulsion to return, unlike so many people I know who can't wait to move there permanently. Didn't see a koala, but did eventually see a kangaroo. Dead, upside down in a ditch. Ho hum.