It was my mothers birthday yesterday (happy birthday mum) and I suppose it's those events that make you miss home more than usual.

I'm not the introspective type. I prefer to not ask the tricky questions, bypass the issues and if you want to cry my advice has always been to swallow it, file it away and hope that all that repressed emotion will gradually dissapate rather than boil over one day in a postal moment. But work is finished for the year and the prospect of my last nine days of 2007 is a healthy chunk of alone time in which questions must be asked. Like just how late can I stay in bed with nothing to get up for? Do we really need to eat to survive? That sort of thing. Work has kept me so busy the last month that I haven't had time to do anything but work. On top of that I seem to be having anxiety attacks and hyperventilating, which seems odd to me since I am not in the least bit anxious. But the doctor seems to think I have forgotten how to breathe and need to learn again, so rather than going to yoga I am hitting myself in the stomach with anything heavy - that's a man's remedy. No improvement yet but I'm not ready to chuck the spandex on and salute the big gay sun just yet.

So perhaps the next nine days of alone time is just what I need to relearn certain things people take for granted and to also figure out what I'm doing here. I'm not too concerned about christmas day - it's not a real christmas day in this heat anyway. I just need to make sure I've got enough food in to last me through the bank holidays. To be fair, a large number of work colleagues have invited me to theirs for christmas, but I decided that a couple of days marooned in a strangers house would not be good for my anxiety and the prospect of passing out at a colleagues house and ruining their families christmas is also a fairly good reason to shut myself away for a while.

Mum is arriving in the new year and the prospect of getting out of Auckland for a week or so has seen me packing already. It's a lovely town in the summer, but somewhat claustrophobic. And after months waking up to a different view in a different room, the three months I've been here actually feel a lot longer. I think Wellington is calling me. Shift has an office there and moving down shouldn't be too hard, so I'll check it out later next month and see if it's the next stop on my journey. But there are rumours that Shift may be swallowed up by the global advertising machine Omnicom. My path crossed with theirs at Tequila and I don't have any fond memories of them from that so I'm not sure I'll be hanging around to see them stifle another company.

I can't decide what I'm looking for in life, or whether I've found it. It would weigh on my mind more if I didn't have the internet to distract me. Every time I stop moving I feel I'm treading water which I don't think is how life is supposed to feel. Day to day I enjoy the things you are supposed to enjoy...work, hanging out with friends...is that it? The magic thirty has crept up on me simply because I didn't care that it was coming, but now I feel like I've lost a decade. When I left university someone pressed the fast forward button on my remote and that was my twenties gone. If I hadn't left London I may have carried on like that until retirement and by then the regret would probably be overwhelming. As it is I think I'm making time count a little more, but I'll still be growing old at the same time, losing my mind at approximately the same time and ending my days at the same time regardless. So if the destination is the same, and it takes the same amount of time, does the journey matter? I still can't decide. I like having the memories and I like getting out of my comfort zone and seeing what the world can do to you...but you can't do it forever, life catches up with you and around comes another cycle of 'how long can I take it?'

I'm rambling, and you have probably given up reading this nonsense long ago, so perhaps I should get back to the internet and ignore the swell of doubt in my mind.

I know...it's been ages. How have you been? It's actually been over a month since my last post and I notice my internet audience share has dropped considerably. But with reader loyalty I know this post will bring you all crawling back.

Except that even with a month since my last post I have very little to say. I have instructions from Amanda-Sue to set the record straight and write an errata note: Amanda-Sue wasn't a nightmare to go travelling with, in fact she was awesome...that sort of thing. Except that sounds insincere so I can't say that. I read back through my blog and I'm pretty sure you all get me, or you would have given up reading it a long time ago. So you all already know that my cutting wit is really my self defence mechanism and fear of rejection kicking in and therefore much of what I say is to be ignored or written off as fiction. Ultimately AS was brilliant to travel with and looked after me in those dark few hours when neither of us new if I would live or die in Hanoi and for that I am eternally thankful.

Getting back to the here and now; Work has been keeping me busy. I'm enjoying it. I have the right to work here indefinitely now and come and go as I please. I already qualify for residency (where I get a sticker in my passport that gives me certain rights) and if I stay for 3 years I can get a New Zealand passport (I assume it comes in black) and I get taken to the shire elders and we have a big party with fireworks provided by the white wizard.

I took a little trip out to Piha a couple of weekends gone. It's only about 40 minutes from the centre of Auckland but a world away. Auckland spans this isthmus but the town is sprawled around a naturally protected harbour, so on this side of town there are no waves at all, but the beaches are still nice. Piha is on the other side of the isthmus and there is no protection apart from Tasmania and that's quite a way away. So the waves are huge and the rips a lot more dangerous. But it's much more like what you'd expect a beach to be like. It's also volcanic black sand and I burnt the sole of my foot walking on it.

I went to the sky city casino in town one friday night and lost a hundred bucks very quickly. I started at the $5 black jack table and spent an hour winning and losing until I stopped with $95. Assuming I would never make any real money on that table I went over to the $25 dollar table and promptly lost all my money in less than a minute. Not exactly James Bond, but I smiled and tried to give the impression I throw a hundred bucks away every minute before I went home and cried myself to sleep.

What else? I went round to my friends Tali and Ben's house to help sand down a table that they made themselves. Harder work than I had imagined and not as much fun, but probably better than spending another weekend arranging my clothes into fake people that I can talk to.

Then last night was the main event: Christmas in the park. 200,000 Aucklanders head to the domain (just over the road from my apartment) to listen to various festive / death metal anthems belted out by such celebrities as the 2004 New Zealand Idol runner up and Dave - the guy from Shortland Street. OpShop were the main act (you won't have heard of them, but they aren't as bad as everyone else) followed up by some pretty impressive fireworks. It's surreal listening to Silent Night in 22 degree (that's 72 for you Mum) heat with the sun still up at 9pm, but if you forget it's christmas a good time can be had. A testament to just how good a time is the number of lost kid notices flashing up on the big screen. I'm not naturally prejudiced (what? I'm not) but every single one was described as Samoan or Polynesian which led me to the conclusion that the islander parents come to the park, get coma'd safe in the knowledge that their kids will be rounded up by some responsible event worker and they can pick him up hours later when they have sobered up. It wouldn't be allowed back in the UK, but that's because at an event like that 50% of the crowd would be paedos. Here they live in a time of innocence where hobbits can run around fearlessly.

My friends Trevor and Lou came through town last week. I travelled for a couple of days with those two up the Mekong from Luang Prabang to the Thai border. They finally made it to Auckland and it was great when I was asked at work what my plans were for the evening and I could finally say "oh, I'm meeting up with some friends". People looked incredulously at me and Richard laughed thinking I was joking. So all too briefly the social life picked up, but i also met a couple who are old friends of theirs and I shall be going to watch the Hatton fight tonight with Mark (my new friend by proxy).

Here is a little video of NZ culture to whet your appetite:



You'd think, judging by the 80's style retro haircuts and crazy robot dancing that this would have been popular quite some time ago. But no, in 2006 it reached number one here. So that's about the average. If there is anything that is "in" in the UK now let me know and I'll have about 15 years to prepare for it to arrive here.

And another clip, highlighting the quality of the NZ education system:

How To: Install Solitaire on Vista on a MacBookPro

Yet more apologies for my slackness at updating this. I got round to installing tracker software last month so I can see if anyone visits and surprisingly someone did a couple of weeks ago, so hello to you. I'm updating now not because I have any massive new revelations to report but because I feel like the blog might die if I don't. I'm changing the tone of it though. So now there may be more reflection and less day-to-day, 'whatI did' diary type stuff. This means changing from the present tense, all-action style to a past tense, more thoughtful style. I hope you enjoy it. What am I talking about? It's not like anyone ever gets beyond the first paragraph.

It's been a busy month at work. I've been working pretty much non-stop on a website with crazy deadlines dictated by the Rugby World Cup final as the site is all about 2011 in NZ. If you are remotely interested in Rugger go here: www.newzealand.com/travel/frontrowrugbyclub.

Have got older and actually went to a pub quiz and drank ale. There are anti-smoking laws here so I couldn't sit at the back smoking a pipe in a tweed jacket, with a whippet lying by my feet and I think the moment was poorer for it. The first week we came second I think, although that may have been because we got the weakest team-member to do the adding up. The second week and we'd cut away the dead-wood and the three remaining brains won. It wasn't all celebrations though as the quiz master was Welsh and I took it upon myself to insult his heritage to his face leading to a swift exit by me as he warned my other team mates he was seriously thinking about smacking me in the face. So, no more pub quizzes for me, but that's probably a good thing.

Most weekends have been imposed quiet time, with the occasional brunch on a saturday morning. I have been getting more and more comfortable with the lifestyle here as summer draws in and the days get longer. I can't imagine living in London again now, which is a worry as at some point I think I will have to. But of the things that I miss, the big one is saturday/sunday afternoon sport on tv. No one follows football here so it's difficult to get excited about the game. And even if I had Sky TV it would be on in the middle of the night with no repeat. F1 is also on Sky. The only sport I've watched has been rugby and that has been at 8am which takes the edge off it.

I was invited to see Auckland take on Wellington at Eden Park in the final of the Air New Zealand Cup. It's surprisingly similar to what I imagine watching a rugby league match in Bradford must be like in that the rain was coming down a treat, a freezing gale was blowing in and there were some poor cheerleaders standing out in it trying to show enthusiasm for some of the worst rugby I've seen played since I was at school.

Of the time I've spent in NZ so far the highlight has to be a Hangi down in a place called Mango (that's a colloquialism - I can't remember it's proper name). A Hangi is a traditional Maori meal where the men dig a hole, cut a tree down, burn the tree to heat some rocks, put the rocks in the hole and add some meat, then cover in soil and drink beer for five hours. When suitably drunk you dig the food up and eat so much that all the alcohol in your system gets soaked up and you are ready to drive home. In amongst the food preparation are various things like kicking a rugby ball about (good), watching the mound of soil for signs of steam escaping (bad) and shooting potatoes over a kilometer with an acetylene powered spud gun (very very good).

The guys at Shift would like me to work permanently, which is something I need to think about over the next couple of days, That means getting a proper work visa which kind of leads the way down the path of a certain amount of permanence to my residency. It slightly concerns me since I had never planned to stay here forever and i worry about my ability to move on if comfortably settled. Think of me as London (that'll make sense if you watch the clip below) except that rather than moving on when I need to make a new friend I move on when I've pissed off most of the friends I've already made. It surely can't be long now before I have to leave NZ.



Well, it's half past two on a sunday and I've got the rest of the afternoon to try and understand how to manipulate google map data at the pixel level in flash. There is no reason for this, but in the absence of conversation I have to keep the brain busy. If anyone wants to write me an email please do, I've even removed my spam filters just so I have mail to read.

Decided against the cat idea. Chris at work got three kittens and whilst they are cute, there is the constant possibility they might die - I don't need that sort of worry.

Around Northland

Apologies that I haven't posted in absolutely ages. Convention would probably lead you to believe I've been too busy enjoying life to post but sadly, I've just been too lazy. With the new job sat in front of the laptop for eight hours a day the last thing I feel like doing in the evening is sitting in front of the laptop. I actually do sit in front of the laptop, but watching dvds.

Everyone from work is currently off galavanting around the tongariro national park. I am not invited due to the pretense that I am a contractor, but more probably because I bit the hand that feeds me in my last post (I'm sorry NZ Web Design - you aren't that out of date).

I settle into work pretty easily I think. It's good to be around code again after 6 months on the road. After losing touch with them Intellisense and Auto Event wireup are my two best friends again. I have some other friends too. They are work colleagues, but they still count. We go to pub quizzes together, play golf and meet for brunch occasionally.

I break the routine up by going to Paihia on saturday. It's in the Bay of Islands, about four hours north of Auckland. It's a beautiful part of the world and the weather finally is kind. I'm in a rugby obsessed nation and England win, the All Blacks lose and I suddenly want to go home so I can celebrate properly.

And I persuade work to let me take a morning off on Thursday for Expression, Around the Clock; a Microsoft event showcasing their latest bit of software. It's quite a promising bit of kit, but the presentations sadly don't do it justice. For a company with a lot invested in a piece of software targeted primarily at designers (there's even a Mac version) they consider it appropriate to show how it can add rounded corners and a reflection to video. Cue the stunned silence from the audience... or is that them just waiting for something good? I won't be giving up on it though, I spent half an hour working on it and made something much more exciting than a video player.

So with no work colleagues and, thus, no friends around for the next few days I am back in solitary. I have plenty of work to keep me busy so I can keep insanity from the door.

I may buy a cat.

A new life

It seems anyone with any skills leaves the land of the long white cloud as soon as they are old enough to get a passport. When I tell people I'm moving here they struggle with the concept and after I tell them I have some skills so getting a job should not be hard they assume I am insane. I am starting to wonder why I am here when everyone else is leaving. It feels like I missed a boat and now I'm a drowning rat on a sinking ship. I'm mixing analogies and seem to be on a boat having missed one - but Auckland is all about boats.

After just one week of looking around and going to quite a few interviews I get myself some employment at www.shift.co.nz - the premier web design company of NZ. It's a perfect set up for me and I start on monday. They are an interesting bunch of people. An international crowd with people from Israel, the UK, the US, France, Spain,China, Korea and of course NZ. It seems like they cherry pick the biggest geeks from around the world and then put them in an open plan ofice just to see how awkward it is. There are a lot of headphones and Burger king wrappers lying around and I don't mind it at all. I can walk to work in about ten minutes and my walk takes me through Albert park - a particularly beautiful public space that makes me feel a whole heap better about being here and knowing no one.

I get thrown in at the deepend at work since they are so busy. But the work is pretty easy given that it's all about two years out of date. That's the thing about New Zealand web design - since no one can get decent broadband there is no need to produce super-flash websites.

On wednesday evening I go to the Auckland web meetup with some of my new colleagues. It's basically a meeting for all of Aucklands web designers where they can talk about emerging technologies and showcase work. Auckland is a small town and their web industry, I assume, is small too, but about 150 people turn up and a bigger concentration of nerds you will not find. I actually forget for a few hours how super cool I am and laugh along at the jokes about the cool things flash 4 could do.

Friday night is drinks at work. Something I need to stay away from in future. And then the weekend turns up again for another 48 hours of alone time.

Plan for next week: Join gym, make friends. Or make friends first then join gym - don't want gym buddies.

Plan for following week: Cancel gym membership. Write book.

Solitary confinement

It's been a week of solitary and rather than just sitting here bouncing my tennis ball against the floor and wall Steve McQueen style I have been settling in nicely.

I drop Amanda-Sue off at Auckland International on the wednesday, the same day I move into my new apartment in downtown Auckland. It's a weird feeling saying goodbye after two months in each others pockets. But that is the deal and you deal with the deal as best you can. So I head back into Auckland to drop the car off at Jucy - the bright green rental people with a stupid name - and walk to my new home. I have no broadband, so that's number one on the list of priorities. It gets installed the following day, but their idea of broadband is my idea of broadly crap. I don't really need super fast speeds until I get a job, but I feel I should have it out of principle being a digimon. But they tell me NZ isn't really set up for high speeds and that's definitely true. People will return your call after a couple of days with nothing more than a "Sorry, I've been a bit stacked" and the maximum speed in a built up area is 20kph - you can walk faster. I'm getting used to the pace though. I think I'll get a job in a couple of weeks.

Since I've stopped travelling and doing interesting things I have very little to write about. I have a drawer style dishwasher in my kitchenette. That's different. Not exactly interesting but I haven't spoken to anyone in seven days and it makes a noise when it's on so I consider it company. Television here is an interesting mix of all the worst tv from all over the world. They have Coronation St, but it's a year behind, and I haven't got that low yet. They have McLeod's Daughters from Oz and I know it's awful but that hasn't stopped me getting into it. They have a channel called Maori TV for the indigenous people that can actually afford a TV, but it's not in English and even if it were it would be a waste of airspace. Thursdays at 7.30 is "brand new Family Guy" according to the ads, but I definitely saw the one last week about a year ago. To sum up I am reading a lot.

In desperation I buy a couple of DVDs, but don't think about region coding at all. When I bought the mac it was region 1 which I changed to region 3 to watch a singaporean dvd. I then changed to region 2 to watch my own dvd and I have one change left. I'm not going to waste it just yet. So the dvds provide me just enough entertainment of reading their back covers.

The weekend in the center of Auckland is a quiet time. I walk around, but it's cold. I take a ferry across the bay to Devonport - a nice little village type place. I have a coffee on my own and climb a volcano on my own. It is grey and cold. Up at the summit of the volcano, through the drizzle I spot my ferry coming and try and race down to beat it. I lose. Half an hour later and soaked I do get a ferry and hole up in my apartment for the rest of the day. I'm working on my CV which is less appealing than working on my novel, but just as much fiction.

To get me out of the apartment I head up to Ponsonby for sunday breakfast to see my only existing kiwi friends - two fat cats. There are loads of kids there playing with the cats and they don't even see me come in or leave. Nothing else happens of note.

Monday turns up as you would expect and I head out to visit my old friend Wayne. It's great to see him, if only because it allows me to speak to someone other than the dishwasher. The rest of the week is job seeking and killing time waiting for people to return calls. Since no one else is unemployed they don't have the same urgency as I do so it's a frustrating week, but hey it's thursday and an episode of Family Guy that I saw last year will be on soon, so that's already twenty minutes of my evening taken care of.

Final bunch of photos

So that's it. Journey's end. I've got an apartment in Auckland which looks very empty at the moment. I spend my days on the phone to my broadband provider because their service is so bad (and because I have no one else to talk to) and I've got myself an all blacks top for to wear for the next month.

Here are some photos of the last legs of my journey:
Angkor: http://www.flickr.com/photos/robinsouthgate/sets/72157601516782118/

Koh Tao: http://www.flickr.com/photos/robinsouthgate/sets/72157601517122816/

Sydney: http://www.flickr.com/photos/robinsouthgate/sets/72157601646001758/

Melbourne: http://www.flickr.com/photos/robinsouthgate/sets/72157601646094490/

Auckland (the first time): http://www.flickr.com/photos/robinsouthgate/sets/72157601652916549/

The rest of North Island: http://www.flickr.com/photos/robinsouthgate/sets/72157601653228481/

Home Sweet North Island Home

Well it's taken a little while to get here and the journey has taken it's toll on occasion, but I've finally reached Auckland to start my new life as a Maori. So it's Kia ora from me, etc.

As it turns out the weather in Koh Tao is unseasonably bad. The rains move in and the sea on most of the dive sites is terrible so I fail to get my night dive and deep dive done. I'm disappointed not to be able to call myself advanced simply because no-one else ever will but there's no time to dwell as it's back to Samui and perpetually southwards now. Samui has great weather and we probably should have spent the last week here instead of persevering in Tao. With just the one day I embrace the opportunity to get a McDonald's. I assume a double cheeseburger, fries and diet coke would ease me back into civilization, but there is too much cheese on the burger, too much salt on the fries and the diet coke is a can, not a cup. It's a minor issue, but I've already up-sized for 15 baht and all I get for that is ten extra fries and a smaler than normal drink size. I can't enjoy the meal with this budgetary excess hanging over me but I return for a McFlurry to try and forget it (that's shit too but I am expecting it this time). Amanda sensibly opts for local food instead, but the restaurant is a lonely planet recommendation and of course is shit.

Our next morning is pure indulgence at a spa. I go for a two hour massage and Amanda gets facials, massages, steam things and god knows what else. A lovely old lady washes my feet in scented water and gives me some elastic underwear to protect my modesty, then proceeds to work every joint and pull me in every conceivable way until I'm all straightened out. The old lady is far less concerned about my modesty than I and exposes my pasty white ass to the entire beach on a number of occasions (the one-size its all elastic underwear fit no-one and do very little to shield me from prying local eyes. In reality the only eyes are hers and I'm sure she's seen enough white mans ass to last a lifetime).

The flight to Singapore is your normal crap service. But on the other side of immigration suddenly everything is different. Prices are high, the buildings are higher and litter doesn't exist. The hotel is everything we have been dreaming about since booking it. White sheets, fluffy towels, proper, hot hot-water, pay-tv, internet access in the room and room service 24 hours. We are in in time for dinner, but I choose a place again and now, true-to-form, I find the worst restaurant in the vicinity within twenty minutes. It's $5 for a pepsi, but I'm too excited about buying a laptop tomorrow and the potential hours of haggling to worry. It's Funan digital life mall we head to. There is a mall for everything in Singapore. There is very little else apart from shopping to be done and on every street corner there is another mall. The digital life one, according to our receptionist, is the one to get a computer. It's a Sunday so the whole of Singapore and their dogs (those not on the menu) are here. It means bargaining is good and sales assistants are frazzled. Apple fix Mac prices (something that is supposed to be illegal) so the haggling is done on what they can throw in for free on top of the Mac. I start with a nano, but I have one so change to the Airport Express, before realising I don't need one. I settle on a memory upgrade and a neoprene case. All for about $1500 less that the UK price. And then I get slightly mac obsessed and spend the next couple of days glued to my new toy. I take it to coffee houses on the pretense that we can look stuff up while we are out and about but we both know it's just so I can see how great it's wifi features are. I carry it everywhere until the novelty wears off and my back starts complaining about how heavy it is. I don't have any software so I'm limited in what I do, but it looks so pretty I can't help using it.

After dragging Amanda around a digital mall for an afternoon we swap around as Amanda goes clothes shopping. It's not as much fun as computer shopping and I'm sure my input of "it looks ok" or "yeah, it's alright" isn't the most helpful, but I'm carrying enough bags by the end of the day so I think she managed ok. She is now in charge of picking restaurants so our meals are better, local cuisine.

And then it's Sydney and suddenly the temperature drops 20 degrees. I'm used to the warmth and I have just one light jumper with me, so it's an unwelcome change, but I battle on without complaining. We have just one day here and we cram it with the Aquarium and Wildlife World, followed by a split - Amanda heading to the Art Gallery of New South Wales while I head to the harbour. Then we meet up with a couple of friends for beers and food. The aquarium and wildlife place are your typical snap happy tourist places where I manage to get through 500 shots. I can't really face editing them but at some point I'll upload a new set. The harbour is exactly as I remember it - there is a bridge and an opera house. The beers are australian so not worth talking about.

On a hangover we fly to Melbourne. Supposedly more arty and cultured than the beach-bum atmosphere of Sydney. It's definitely colder. We are staying with Luke and it's amazing to finally be in a home rather than a hotel. It's a flying visit and Luke, bless him, tries to fit a lot in while all we want is an early night. So the run-down is sunset in St Kilda, BYO Pizza restaurant round the corner with some of Lukes red collection. Then up early and onto the Met-rail to go see the National Gallery of Victoria, some aboriginal art in the Ian Potter centre, back to Lukes for a home-cooked Aussie beef rib roast followed by Aussie-rules on the tele with some more wine. The gallery is nice (but pricey if you want to go to the Guggenheim exhibition), the Aboriginal art is interesting up to a point. St Kilda's is a young sort of happening area, the roast was a little taste of home-cooked heaven after so long on the road and Aussie-rules is like rugby for retards.

We leave early for Auckland. Our cabin crew are kiwis and, as such, the nicest people we've met so far. The immigration woman wants to chat about our plans and recommends places to see as opposed to the UK attitude of assuming we are terrorists. There are free cups of tea while you wait for your bags to arrive and the beagle sniffing for drugs is frequently fed treats just for sniffing - paradise indeed.

This is my new home for the next couple of years so I'm apprehensive about it all. It's still a holiday for the next ten days while we travel around the North Island and see a few places, but on the horizon is the getting a job, getting a flat and which one do I get first dilemma. I'm nervous, but as it has been throughout this trip my attitude is to not think about anything until I can't not think about it.

Scooby doo, Scuba done

Just a week left in South East Asia now. It feels like I'm winding down as we step up the comfort level by leaving Cambodia, heading south to the tourist destinations of Southern Thailand and then following that up with the luxury of Singapore. So the hard bits done and now I can really enjoy myself - except I won't - you know me.

We leave Phnom Penh after just a couple of days. It's a nice place, but limited for things to actually see. We bump into Gianna from Halong bay just outside some school / extermination centre (it would seem in Pol Pots time getting shot was an education). I'm still feeling colonial urges so we heads to the FCC (Foreign Correspondents Club) for some G&T's and home comforts served by a local pauper. And the next morning we head to Siem Reap by luxury bus.

Six hours later (remember - it's always six hours) and we pull into SR to be met by a bunch of tuk-tuks and local "guides" who would love to take us to a hostel for just a dollar. It's a real scrap. Their business model revolves around the dollar loss leader. They know you are here to see Angkor Wat and they know that you will need a tuk-tuk and guide to see it, so if they take you to a hostel they have a twenty minute journey in which to persuade you to employ them for the next three days. We randomly pick a young guy called Te. And sure enough on the way to our elected hostel he asks if we need a guide. I normally don't like this secondary sell, but in his case his English is so good and he is such a nice guy we both figure we got lucky and should take him up on the offer.

I'm the one picking the hostel and in the end opt for a non-air con room without cold water for $7 a night. I'm too delicate for the lack of cold water and Amanda-Sue is too delicate for the lack of air-con so we aren't in an especially good mood when we have to return to this sauna every evening.

The Angkor Wat admission ticket is not actually controlled by the government but some local petrol company. There is no reason for this other than the petrol company giving a fat backhander to a government official and now making $20 off a day pass, $40 off a three day pass and $60 off a week pass from every tourist. That's a lot of money for doing nothing. The temples aren't even maintained by them (and I wouldn't trust a petrol company to maintain a 1000 year old relic anyway). The Angkor archaeological group which does try and stop these things falling down gets just 10% of the admission fee. The government finance body (a notorious Cambodian black hole when it comes to Riels) gets 40% and the petrol company gets 50%. In a country where corruption and scams are the norm this still seems like a disgusting abuse of a national treasure. But what do I care; if it falls down now at least I got to see it first.

The three day ticket is what we go for. If you buy it after 5pm it starts from the next day and you get the evening to see a sunset for free. You can see a sunset every evening for free, but not overlooking Angkor. So we head to Phnom Bakheng along with every other white man for views over Angkor Wat and the Western Baray. Apart from the large crowds it's a great introduction to the temples of Angkor. Built on a natural hill and supposedly the first temple here, it's great to get an overview of everything else in the area. Of course when you stay to watch the sunset you have to descend in complete darkness and because these temples are representations of the mythical Hindu Mount Meru the sides are steep and the steps are huge (and often broken) so getting down without breaking a leg takes an hour or so.

The town itself exists purely for Angkor. There is little in the way of local authenticity. We eat at a Khmer kitchen and I leave my camera in our tuk-tuk who is meeting us tomorrow morning. Te, our driver, stands to make about $60 from us over the three days. My camera is worth about $2000 so I assume we will never see him again and our evening is spent in quiet contemplation over the loss.

But the morning arrives and so does Te with my camera, thus ensuring a big tip from me. It's our first full day and I can enjoy it again now I can take photos. We are saving Angkor Wat until day three. Building up to it gradually. So today is Angkor Thom; the big walled city with some incredible temples inside. Bayan, Baphuon, Wall of elephants, leper king thing and Phimeanakas are all worth seeing and all take a good hour to see properly. It's sensory overload as each temple is built by a different king in a different era and exhibits some unique feature. Bass reliefs are the big thing in Bayon whereas Phimeanakas is all about the tower (with trees growing all over). Food out here is local shack variety and when all the tour groups head back to SR for lunch we eat right outside Bayon, saving us valuable time and getting a start on the coach loads of japanese. So the afternoon is for Ta Phrom - a massive structure that the French Indochine historical society decided to leave untouched when they decided to restore all the others. This means, for the purposes of films like Tomb Raider it is the perfect backdrop with massive tropical trees growing all over the temple buildings. Highly recommended but expect a crowd.

Day 2 is more of the same. I don't mean to say that it isn't worth seeing since each temple is unique in its own way. But the differences have to be seen rather than described here to sound worthy of a visit. Take, for example, East Mebon in the middle of the Eastern Baray. Today it looks like every other temple (a representation of Mount Meru) but when it was built a century after the Eastern Baray (or reservoir) its second level was at the water level and it could only be approached by boat. the reservoir was 3km by 1km and about 4m deep where they built it. Just trying to imagine how they built a temple underwater impresses me. In my head I see some Pharaoh with a big whip and lots of slaves dying. Then there is Banteay Srei; a not very big temple built at differing times depending on who you ask. It's unique because it's small, but the best preserved in terms of bass relief carvings and you can easily spend a couple of hours admiring it. I am hungover so don't but that's not the point. Then there is Amanda-Sue's favourite Banteay Samre - small but quiet. It's far enough away that the day trippers don't bother with it which makes it all the more special. Or Banteay Kdei with it's apparent Greek architecture. I could go on and on. The one dissapointing aspect is that the Khmers, for all the grandiose ideas, never mastered how to build an arch. So they set about building five tiered structures and then bodge together some roof or doorway and expect it to last forever. They've not done badly lasting a thousand years with the jungle constantly trying to take over but I feel if they'd got a couple of Romans over to just oversee the architecture then the temples would still be pristine now.

So day 3 is for Angkor Wat. The biggie. It's a 4.30am start so we can see the sun come up from the East gate. I can't do it justice in a blog. It's just one of those places that needs to be visited and seen first hand. Obviously going for sunrise means sharing it with a couple of hundred other tourists but in a temple this size two hundred can easily disappear. As it is most of them wait on the west gate looking at the temple with the sun behind, meaning all the shots will be silhouettes. We head straight through to the central tower and climb in the early morning light. And then we sit for half an hour as the sun makes it's ascent. There is just us up here at this time and the entire temple complex stretches around below. Suddenly, when I assume the sunrise is bad, we get a break in the cloud and the whole place is covered in a warm, red light. It's one of those moments that you try really hard to remember exactly because you don't get very many of them. And then it's another couple of hours looking around and taking it all in. Amanda-Sue draws, I take photos and we both quietly look around in awe of it all. I can't heap enough praise on it - go while it's still there.

That's the end of Cambodia for us. We fly from Siem Reap to Bangkok and then plan to bus down to Koh tao. But I messed up the bus reservation assuming it is for 9am when it's actually 9pm so we fly again, this time to Samui. From there it's a 2 hour ferry ride to Koh Tao where we have no reservations, but with typical luck stumble into a nice looking dive centre and get a room. This is supposed to be a mini-holiday for us; staying in one place for a few days, unpacking and enjoying a bit of luxury. But luxury is difficult to find on our budget and this place has been full every day since so we feel pretty lucky to get anywhere.

I sign up to the PADI open water course and get diving. I'm not naturally buoyant and feel like I'm pushing my luck every time I get in the water, but it's about the only thing to do here and occasionally I forget I'm moments away from death when I see a pretty fish. Four dives later and I'm a certified diver, but I'm hooked now and like every man I want to go deeper and for longer. So I sign up on the Advanced course. It's deep dives, night dives, propulsion vehicles and navigation. I'm diving with two dutch guys and they buddy up for the first navigation task - swim away from us for a bit and then find your way back. So away they swim and ten minutes later when they don't return we give up waiting. Without them I have to do the nav tasks on my own and the visibility is down to 4m. It's disorientating as soon as I get midwater and can see nothing, but I've been trained well, rely on my compass and find my way back. I'm a proper diver now: tonight is my first night dive and tomorrow we drop to 34m to induce a bit of nitrogen narcosis. Apparently the nitrogen dissolved in your blood is narcotic and can lead you to do certain things like take out your regulator (not recommended) so before you are an advanced diver you need to know what this feels like in order to avoid it.

After that it's straight to Singapore. We are booked into a nice hotel and it's time for me to buy a macbook so I can gradually get back into the world of workers (or at least avoid internet cafes).

Kampuchia

It's the country I spent most time in so far, but finally I'm out of Vietnam and into Kampuchia (Cambodia for those unfamiliar with Khmer transliteration). Up to Hoi An I was loving Vietnam. It's got a bit of french va-va-voom thrown into the already exciting SE Asian hotpot. But the further south you head the more the gloss fades and the less tolerant I become. By the time we fast-boated over the mekong border I had a bitter taste in my mouth. Not from the huge amounts of coriander the Vietnam chefs put in every dish, but more, the apathy and occasional hostility from the locals and the open desire to fleece you as much as possible.

Overall though I fell in love with Vietnam. The food is some of the best in Asia, the climate varies from UK temperate stuff in the north to desert hot in the south and the things to see, on the whole, are the most interesting and varied in this region. When you combine the usual pagoda/wat stuff with a war museum and shooting range I say you are onto a tourism winner.

It is from Mui Ne that I pick up the recap then. We reach Saigon in a not unreasonable 6 hours. Every bus journey is six hours, whatever they advertise it as. It's late and Saigon is big an scary after the weeks in coastal villages. We have agreed not to make our usual mistake and settle for the first hotel we find so we walk all over looking at rooms to find almost all hotels are full. So we return to the first hotel we found and take their (now rate inflated) room. The first signs of tension are beginning to show between Amanda-Sue and me. We are equally annoyed with each other for no good reason. I think my non-stop juvenile joking is wearing thin and Amanda has assumed my Mum's responsibilities in telling me off for not cleaning my teeth twice a day. A good meal and everything would be forgotten but I pick the restaurant and according to my new Mum I was wreckless in my choice and the food is awful (the food hasn't arrived at this point, but that is just me being pedantic).

It's time for some emergency action on my part to salvage the situation and the next morning I get up early to find an improved luxury hotel room for the lowest price possible. With my finely honed haggling skills I get a room half the size for about twice as much but it doesn't smell of mould and the sheets aren't made of highly flammable synthetics so all of a sudden everyone is happy.

A bowl of Pho for breakfast and we are happier still - 50 pence for a bowl of noodles with beef brisket in a soup and you are set for the day. But it's late by now and half the day is gone. I go for a haircut and shave (the first in a few years) and then we are off to the five star majestic for some cocktails to celebrate that we haven't gone our separate ways.

Ever since we reached Vietnam my debit card hasn't worked and I finally decide to do something about it along with sorting my insurance claim out now that I'm through the worst of it and won't need to readmit myself to a hospital. So we trek to the Saigon branch of HSBC (the world's local bank) where I enquire about my card. The manager doesn't know and says I need to contact HSBC UK. I ask if I can use his phone and apparently no, while HSBC in the UK is the worlds local bank, HSBC Vietnam is the worlds worst bank. He tells me to try the Post Office for international calls. So I do and I buy an international calling card with 15 minutes of talk time. 9 minutes later and I've put in my sort code, account number, date of birth, second digit of my security number and fifth digit of my security number. They have retrieved my balance of all four of my accounts and now I am holding for a customer service representative. The clock is ticking and at 10 minutes I finally get through to the recorded message informing me the call centre is closed (it is 7.30am in the UK). I am wrong about HSBC Vietnam; HSBC UK is the worlds worst bank... by far. When I do finally get through to someone (someone in India - where it's only 3 hours behind Vietnam and a not unreasonable noon) I am transferred to Fraud prevention and told my card has been blocked because I've used it abroad. I explain that I've been using it abroad for a full three months and if they actually want to stop fraud they should try to react a smidgen quicker than that. But the line is bad and the wit it lost somewhere over the indian ocean. She does at least remove the block before my second phonecard runs out.

Everything is sorted but I'm still close to losing it. If a tuc-tuc driver approaches me now I'm scared of what I might do (and more scared of what he might do in return when I fail in what I was trying to do). So we walk through a park towards the reunification palace giving me the opportunity to take some deep breaths. At this point I am aware that I would normally brush over or slag off the tourist attraction that we are visiting, but for almost the first time I am impressed with an attraction and would recommend the palace to anyone that is anywhere near Saigon. It's been left exactly as it was when the Viet Cong marched into Saigon in 1975. The retro 70's feeling of the architecture and interior is intoxicating for someone who loves to feel like colonial times are here again. I imagine myself sitting in the games room demanding some kaffer gets me another G&T. Admittedly wrong race, wrong time and wrong colour, but that's just what comes into my head.

There is a great video in the basement all about how the Vietnamese struggled against the Americans and embraced the Viet Cong, how the Americans killed thousands and the Viet Cong saved thousands, how the vietnamese women were still firing their AK-47's at American soldiers while giving birth to the next generation of anti-imperialist troops. A complete work of fiction, but entertaining for it.

We follow this up with a morning visit to the Cu-Chi tunnels. On the outskirts of Saigon this is where thousands of Viet Cong troops could remain hidden from the Americans and conduct raids at night. It's been disneyfied with some poor mannequins sitting in reconstructed tents. The reconstructed tunnel itself is about 150m. After putting up with all the disney crap first (which includes firing my AK - sadly no kids around) we are finally allowed to enter the tunnel. Our guide tells us there are exits at 50m intervals. The map we are shown by our guide shows kitchens, medical centres and bedrooms all connected on three levels by this tunnel. So after the first exit at 50m, with everyone else getting out, I persuade Amanda-Sue to carry on expecting to come across something more interesting than a 3 foot high tunnel at some point. By the end of it and having given up on finding a room we leave the tunnel to find our group and guide have left us and gone on. It takes us a fair while to find them in the jungle and we have missed a lot of what our guide was saying. But since he couldn't speak English, the entire site is one big tourist pile of fictional shit and that I've been stuck in a tunnel crouched and sweating like crazy I couldn't give a shit about anything except where our bus with A/C currently is and how long it will take to take me back to something approaching reality. So if you get the chance don't go to Cu-Chi. But if you do and you have a guide called Suwe, please, please, please take your AK-47 off it's stand turn it to his face, tell him this is from Robin and pull the trigger. He is good enough to drop us at the war remnants museum on our way back to Saigon which is a seriously depressing place full of pictures of Agent Orange and napalm victims. There are a couple of feotuses in jars with two heads and the like just in case you were thinking of having supper. Whilst they have an understandable dislike for the Americans they actually hate the french far more from the 1940's and 50's Indochine fighting. There are a few rooms here dedicated to pictures and stories of purely french atrocities... and I didn't think I could dislike the french any more than I already do.

It's time to leave Saigon, take the malaria tablets again and head into the Mekong Delta. It's a three day trip that ends in Phnom Penh and rather than the small group sizes we have had on tours up to now this is a full size coach load of tourists who have all paid just $25 to do this. I've always said you get what you pay for and in this case we didn't even get that. Day 1 is spent bussing to a boat stop taking a quick boat journey either to a factory where they make some local tat or to a random point in the river where we turn and sail back. The vast majority of the time is spent on the coach and at one point we are supposed to get a ferry over a large part of the Mekong in our coach. But the queue is long and our guide, Moon, decides it makes more sense to offload us and walk to a passenger ferry. On the other side we can then wait at dusk by the river and sewers for our bus to catch us up. You can probably see where this is going, but just to spell it out so I can vent some of the plenitude of frustration built up from this tour: the bus obviously goes no faster in the queue with us off it and we wait for about 45 minutes for it to catch us up. In all that time we are completely surrounded by mossies deep in malaria country. There is no A/C on the side of the road but plenty of it on the bus so I'm not alone in asking Moon why in Buddhas sweet name he decided this was a sensible course of action. As is typical he explains nothing but puts on a big toothy Vietnamese smile just asking for his teeth to be smacked all over the road.

Our night is home-stay - some little bungalow on the river. The food is typical of home-stay food: authentic but inedible. I'm on a table with French people and images from the Indochine rooms of the war remnants museum keep popping into my head. But I hate our guide so much at this point I've lost interest in hating the French. Plus these guys all seem quite nice and cheerful (they could easily have been laughing at me though - I've no idea).

Day 2 and it's the same formula. Bus, boat, factory, market. No explanation of anything and no enthusiasm from anybody. I'm ready to go straight to Cambodia but we have to put up with one more night in this hell-hole they call the delta. Because of our home-stay night we get an upgrade tonight to an air-con room in Chao-Doc. It does indeed have air-con, but nothing else. The door is frosted glass and at the top of the stairs that every other guest has to come up to go to bed. Above the door is a gap three bricks high and about five foot long which ensures the air-con is completely wasted. At 3am the kitchen (at the base of the stairs) puts on a CD of the little mermaid soundtrack (on repeat) and that is the end of any possibility of sleep on the nylon sheets that give you static shocks should you just roll over.

There are some more markets and villages to see before our boat leaves the next morning, but we skip all that and jump on a fast boat at 8am. Sadly by skipping the mornings sights I miss the opportunity to not tip our guide. I obviously don't tip him, but I wanted to do it very obviously so he'd know that I found him a completely useless human being.

The Cambodia/Vietnam border is your typical inefficient SE Asia experience. The border guard soldier is actually lying in a hammock smoking a cigarette while we wait. There is an x-ray machine which is employed in what must be the most pointless security operation in the world and then we're in. The Mekong is boring by this point - wide and flat - and so I read Harry Potter all the way to Phnom Penh.

As is now expected on a tourist route we are met by about ten to twenty touts for tuc-tucs, hostels, motos and some who can't even be bothered to tout but just ask for money. This is the part of the world that gave us that incredibly annoying Motorola sign off phrase of "Hello Moto". Every moped driver will stop and say it to you in the hope you will jump on the back and pay him 1000 Riels for a journey. But apart from that negative they all seem a bit nicer than Vietnamese. We eventually take a tuk-tuk for $1 to a hostel of our choice. The driver tells us our hostel doesn't exist anymore and being the wisened traveler I tell him I've heard that one before and let me guess, you know another hostel that is similar and close but will give you a fat commission. He doesn't understand me and continues driving. When he pulls up to our hostel we discover that it really doesn't exist anymore and I blame the lonely planet and all it's scam warnings for ever making me doubt our poor tuk-tuk driver.

Since we took the fast boat we are in early enough to kick start the Cambodia leg of our trip with a journey out to the killing fields where just 20 years ago anyone and, it would seem, nearly everyone was exterminated and buried. It's a cheery way to say hello to a country but essential viewing that brings it home that something like that has happened in my lifetime.

We're still in Phnom Penh. It's not the prettiest town and it has precious few sites, something I think will be repeated throughout Cambodia. Everything here is about Angkor Wat. It's on their flag and it's their national beer. There really is little else to keep the tourists here. So tomorrow we head up to Angkor for what I firmly expect to be the absolute highlight of my trip. Fingers crossed.

Here today, Saigon tomorrow

I should have written this post yesterday for the headline to be true, but I only came up with it this morning and, in a George Dubbya war report type way, decided it was too brilliant not to use because of a thing like accuracy. I'm in Mui Ne on the south coast about 3 hours from Saigon, but I'm jumping on a bus in a few hours and will be there by 5pm. So I pick up the story leaving Hanoi a week ago.

It's a one hour flight down to Hue; about half way down the east coast. We catch the local bus number 17 from Hanoi to Noi Bai (the airport). Every hotelier and tour person we speak to says this will be very busy and take too long and ordinarily I'd listen, follow their advice and blow $10 on a taxi. But having had no problems with the number 17 last week when I met Amanda-Sue I adopt my traditional, arrogant position and do what I do best - ignore local advice and go with my own opinion. As it turns out they are all wrong and the bus journey is easier than any taxi journey(and you know I'll be using that little victory for weeks). The flight is an Airbus A321. Without me even asking the check-in girl puts me next to the emergency exit in an extended leg-room seat. She can only be about 5' so I must look freakishly tall. But the emergency exits in an A321 don't have windows and I'm forced to fly blind for the hour journey. I realise I'm not the one doing the flying and therefore, strictly speaking, don't require a window, but without one the plane seems even more like a coffin than normal. To add to my woes the captain is obviously a junior and a bit nervy. As the stewards and stewardesses start sorting drinks he shouts over the intercom for them to sit back down and buckle up as we are in the middle of a typhoon and everyone might die. I'm paraphrasing. But I could hear the sentiment in his voice.

Against Allah's will we land without incident. Hue is an old town that once was the capital of Vietnam. It has limited sights. The big draw is a citadel with the countries biggest flagpole. We can't get down to Hoi An until the morning so we have to go see this. It's much hotter than the North and we walk (and sweat) all the way. The inside of the citadel is very much like the outside. Roads, houses and shops continue as if an historic, ancient wall is just a hindrance to progress. There is, though, a museum with some rusty tanks and APVs in the courtyard. In front of every one is a sign telling of it's capture from the puppet soldiers in 1975. If they really were operated by puppets I think I could have captured them too.

The flagpole is reinforced concrete. I'd say it's not the most authentic or interesting thing to see in Hue, but it probably is.

A quick bus to Hoi An in the morning and it's like another world. This place is old french colonial and they have managed to preserve it's atmosphere. There isn't a great deal more to do, but just ambling around is nice enough. We organise a tour to My Son, an ancient temple complex a couple of hours away, but in my apathy at 8am I let Amanda-Sue experience that on her own. Apparently it's a lovely place, frequently referred to as the little brother of Angkor, Sukhothai and Bagan. But I've been to Bagan and Sukhothai and will be in Angkor next week so I can happily ignore their little brother.

It's then an overnight bus journey down to Nha Trang and on to Mui Ne. I've become soft with my many flights for long distances and as soon as I get on the bus I swear not to do another overnight. It's packed so we get two seats at the back. My chair is broken so doesn't recline, but the seat in front definitely isn't and reclines right into my lap (if I manage to get my legs out of the way in time - otherwise I just get brusied knees). It's a 6pm departure and so we assume there will be a stop for dinner a couple of hours into the journey. I'm not sure you could call it supper but we do pull into a petrol station where a corn seller is dispensing corn cobs that have been boiled for enough hours that all the flavour and nutrition has been leached out. It's valet service so the lady dispensing petrol puts the pump into the fuel tank and walks away. The majority of the passengers are standing around this pump smoking cheroot or cigarettes (it doesn't matter which, they can both ignite petrol). Since the petrol pump is unmanned when the pump drops out of the tank and starts spraying petrol over the side of the coach, the floor all around the coach and the people standing around nearby no one can work out how to turn it off. It is only by the grace of Vishnu that it seems to miss those smoking and only sprays those non-smokers munching their corn. It would perhaps been Vishnu's divine sense of irony had the non-smokers all gone up in flames. Although with a full tank of fuel and in a petrol station I guess if anyone had gone up we all would have suffered the consequences. Back on board I spend a sleepless night with my head millimetres away from the dandruff of the man in front. Amanda-Sue suffers with me, since I considerately check to see if she can sleep every half hour. So we roll into Nha Trang at 6.30am with a two hour break before we need to be on another coach to Mui Ne. The good spirit that has taken us this far seems to be absent along with our sleep and concious that my sarcasm and cynisicm aren't welcome I head to the beach to give Amanda-Sue some time to find it. Nha Trang is a big resort town and every step along the beach I'm relieved we aren't staying here. Big casinos, discos and high-rise hotels blot what would have been a beautiful beach. The vietnamese seem to love it though. This is the number one destination for internal tourism.

The 3 hour bus to Mui Ne turns into 6 hours. No one says why and there are no obvious delays en-route. I think it is just a 6 hour trip advertised as 3 to make foreigners more comfortable for the first 3 hours.

Mui Ne is a more desolate beach resort. It's a single road running along the coast for about 12km. The hotels and restaurants are spread out all the way along the road making it very difficult to walk around and check out where you want to stay. Not impossible though so as I settle down for a diet coke in a cafe in the middle with the bags I send Amanda-Sue off to find the best deal she can. I have been giving her haggling lessons and see this as the perfect chance for her to practice. She is under instructions to find an air-con room with en-suite, minibar, free internet and cable TV for no more than $2. We end up paying $20 but get everything bar the free internet. I'm obviously not a good teacher.

There is nothing in Mui Ne apart from a nice beach but that doesn't stop them setting up tours of local attractions. We sign up to a sunrise tour to go see the red sand-dunes, the white sand-dunes, the red canyon and the waterfall (I love waterfalls). The red and white sand-dunes are what you would expect. The red canyon is a miniature version of what you might expect if they used the word gully and the waterfall is just not even worth talking about.

So it's time to move on and get back to city life in Saigon. There is plenty there to look forward to. The war museum promises plenty of photos of American atrocities and at the CuChi tunnels I can shoot an AK-47. They have it fixed on a rotating pole though so I doubt I'll get any gooks. But $200 is a lot to these kids - I may be able to persuade one of them to take a bullet.

Hanoi and North 'Nam

I am still in Hanoi, but contrary to what I assumed would happen I haven't actually been here for the last nine days. I managed to get out and about thanks to a combination of antibiotics and my incredibly high tolerance for pain. Amanda-Sue is still here and hasn't yet started complaining about me too much but I will start complaining about her soon - her idea of looking after me so far has involved palming me off on a hospital and buying me a banana.

It's Day 2 in Hanoi. I'm out of hospital and pumped full of antibiotics. The doctor says at this point I need a very strict diet. No meat, no dairy, no uncooked anything, no vegetables or fruit except bananas; basically I can't eat much. I assume, since my cellular make up is now 80% antibiotic I should be able to throw caution to the wind and eat anything from anywhere. Amanda-Sue doesn't let me. We book tickets to Sapa for the Saturday giving me a full two days in Hanoi to get better.

We meet Amanda's friend Zoe who is travelling the north of Vietnam and go out to a very exclusive Hanoi restaurant. The food has received rave reviews. I'm only allowed a canned drink. I sit there with a Sprite like the designated driver only in Vietnam the idea of a designated driver doesn't exist so I just get strange sympathetic looks from the waiting staff. The following day we get up early to go and say hello to Ho Chi Minh in his little mausoleum. But it closes at 9.15am a full hour before the Lonely Planet says. The more I travel the more I realise I could write a Lonely Planet. You don't actually need to visit anywhere and you don't need to get any of the actual facts right.

Our afternoon is spent in the Literary Museum which has a turtle pool (a big draw here). Turtles here, along with dragons, unicorns and pheonix, are spiritual animals and seeing one is considered lucky. That said, they also eat turtle - so it's not THAT lucky. And I've seen a few now; still ill and still miserable so I dispute their good fortune bringing abilities.

The train to Sapa is an overnight - usually 4 berth soft sleeper, but since we are both signed up members of the flashpacking club we upgrade to the only VIP cabin with just two beds. It doesn't matter though, sleep is impossible as the train tracks are so old the train struggles to stay on them most of the night. We arrive at 5am and have to wait until 10 for a bus to our "Eco-Lodge". I'm always skeptical of places with names like that. I assume Eco means cheap and we will be staying in a bamboo bivouwak. But this place is Danish and they have built proper bungalows on the top of a remote hill. The fittings are luxurious and the view up the Sapa valley is probably as good as it gets. We are only here one night - it's a chance for me to recharge and for Amanda-Sue to work on her bedside manner. The food up here is very traditional so naturally I'm not a fan, but I struggle on without complaint. It's supposed to be cold in the mountains, but it's not and we sleep with the doors and windows open letting every bug in without care as we have a mossie net. An hour later and somehow a cockroach has perched himself on the inside of the net very near my head. Cockroaches here are like the Great White in jaws. They carry vendettas and pursue their victims for miles. I recognise this one from Burma. He woke me up by crawling on my face there.

After the nightmares that ensue we trek down to the local village in the morning. It's a long way down and difficult to stay upright. Sights are the usual fayre - buffalos, rice paddies, locals in embroidered costumes. We are walking with a Danish 18 year old who is the cousin of the lodge manager and is spending five months here. He tells me how he has moved his bed to the middle of his room and sits all night with an aerosol can and lighter ready to open a can of flamethrowing whoop-ass on any insect he finds. I don't think he'll make five months. Before lunch we come across a waterfall and as is now traditional we swim in the lagoon. This waterfall is massive and the lagoon a death trap so it's not quite the magical experience I have come to expect from waterfalls. To get back up to the lodge we take mopeds for an hour on switchback paths not really designed for mopeds. Predictably my chain breaks and perhaps the turtle comes to my rescue as we don't careen into the ravine. And then it's back to the station for our VIP train journey back to Hanoi. No sleep again thanks to something (probably a wheel and probably incredibly dangerous) broken directly under our cabin.

We are due to head out to Halong bay at 8am and arrive in at 5am so we take a long walk with back packs into Hanoi. Everyone here gets up early and by 6am the whole of Hanoi is well into their early morning routine. This seems to be Tai Chi by the lake if you are an old widow or badminton by the lake if you have a partner. It's lovely to see that socialism here involves more socialising and not many 'isms.

A quick breakfast stop and we are off to Halong Bay - limestone cliffs jutting out of turquoise blue sea water north of Hanoi. It's a tour so we have to put up with other foreigners, but the group size is limited to twelve and no one stands out immediately as an undesirable. The boat is beautiful. We get an air conditioned cabin with en-suite, for once something exceeds my expectations. The food is also vast and flavoursome. It is, however, biased towards sea food. Something I should have expected on a boat, but still a dissapointment for someone who doesn't like anything with a shell. I'm still on antibiotics though so I manage to keep down what little I eat.

The boat cruises all afternoon between this stunning scenery. It's difficult to do it justice either in a photo or writing. But two hours later and one limestone cliff surrounded by turquoise blue waters looks very much like the other hundred (or officially 3000). The boat docks at a cave where we are all taken around by our guide Thwan. He points out the rock that looks like a person, the rock that looks like a turtle, the rock that looks like a dragons tail and then, predictably and in a cave with thousands of stalacmites rather too easily, points out the rock that looks like an erect penis. I'm about to say that I can see hundreds of penises all around me but I don't want that label. It's too hot for caves but perfect for a swim, so pretty quickly we take the boat to a cove and all jump in. The water is the temperature of my bath. It's a perfect place to unwind. But after two months of unwinding it's probably wasted on me. One of our fellow sea-mates is a nine year old girl called Jasmine. She is beautiful and has that enthusiasm that I haven't been able to muster in the last twenty years. As a memento she goes around the boat taking photos of everyone in the group. When she reaches me I try to smile but only manage a half grimmace that screams sex-pest. She tries to say it's a good photo but I can tell, in her head, she hears her parents' voices warning her about weird looking strangers. I keep my candy for myself and pray she doesn't show the picture to her parents before I'm off the boat.

Our night on the boat is interrupted by a rat that has detected my shortbread biscuits. Like me he sees the picture on the box - rips that to pieces - and discovers the actual biscuits inside are nothing like the picture. He discards the biscuits as I did and proceeds to rip little holes in my pants (not the ones I'm wearing). I can only agree that these are probably more tasty than the biscuits.

After a couple of days of this we head back to Hanoi. The city has grown on me as my health has improved and coming back this time I feel more like a local than a tourist. I still look more like a tourist than a local though. We need to move on but I need to extend my visa and we both need to push back the flights so we can stay here longer. A day of administrative stuff and we are now ready to fly south for the winter. So next stop is Hue and Hoi An. Lots of culture and old buildings so expect the next post to be full of moaning.

Photos of Northern Thailand: http://www.flickr.com/photos/robinsouthgate/sets/72157600832512261/

Photos of Northern Vietnam: http://www.flickr.com/photos/robinsouthgate/sets/72157600833024197/

Waiting to die

I've been worse than usual updating you all. I say all - does 5 people count as an all? I've just been let out of hospital in Hanoi after 2 days which I consider a good enough excuse not to be writing a blog. So let the whining begin.

From Vang Vieng in Laos you can either head north to the mountains or south to the islands and rivers. In the north there is the "gibbon experience" which isn't yet in the lonely planet and therefore gets all the travellers raving about "authentic experience", "real laos" and various other clichéd terms that will appear in the lonely planet review just as soon as it is updated. I have nothing better to do and so reserve a place there and make my way up; first by bus to Luang Prabang again. Nicole is here on her way to Thailand and since I've been here before I show her all the good places to go. Luang Prabang is probably about 4 blocks in total so I imagine she could have found these on her own, but I need the company. My day in LP is spent sorting transport up to Bokeo to see the gibbons. It's a two day boat journey with an overnight in Pak Beng. Once this is sorted I get enough Laos Kip to pay for the gibbons. It's a currency that is worthless as soon as you cross the border and I now have 1.5 million of it. I then call to confirm my booking to discover that my place has been given to a couple. I would complain but since their customer service is so incredibly bad I couldn't see any point. Instead I shall just spend the next few years of my life shadowing forums and travelling haunts telling anyone who will listen that the gibbons are all dead and in their place are leeches and french people. That should sort their business out.

I take the boat anyway. It's taking me away from Hanoi but Nicole is on it on her way to Thailand and it's that or stay in LP on my own for another few days. I decide a boat trip is a nice way to spend a couple of days. But then I see the boat.

As a 'farang' I'm expected to pay twice as much as a local for exactly the same journey. They make no pretentions about this. There is a big sign up giving Local and Tourist prices. The boat is an old wooden longboat with wooden benches and 10 coach style seats. Since I have just paid twice the local rate I have no problem asking an old local woman to remove herself from my comfy chair and sit on the deck. In a pang of guilt I help her by carrying her walking stick. I give the laos too much credit and turn up without food or water expecting a restaurant on board. There isn't one. There isn't much of anything. I do meet a nice couple, Trevor and Louise, and with a little conversation we get through the 10 hours to Pak Beng. It's a village built purely for the boat stop. The hostel is $2 and not worth that. No electricity, leeches, cockroaches, that lovely musty smell in bed. Nicole, Myself, Trevor and Louise meet for supper and while away the evening drinking beer Lao to try and forget that we have to do it all again the next day.

Up early to try and get a comfy seat on the boat again. Except it's a different boat, with no comfy seats. the engine is pretty ropey too and an hour into our journey the propeller and shaft fall off. This would normally spell disaster, but here, while we float back downstream our engine man dives in, retrieves the propeller and pushes it back through the underside of the boat, reattaches it to the drive shaft with some banana leaves and away we go. The only repercussion is that every half an hour or so he deems it necessary to pour a cup of water over the banana leave to stop it burning through. It's hard to believe they make things like this work, but then again, it's hard to believe someone who knows how an engine works can stand there pouring a large can of petrol into it with a fag in his mouth. Hard to believe until you see the scars all over his arms and legs.

We make the border crossing into Thailand just after it closes. The driver seemes to power down for the last hour of the journey and I may be doing them a disservice (but you know I'm not) in saying that I suspect they get a commission from the guesthouses for forcing us to remain in Laos for one more night. Everyone is on the take in SE Asia and tourists are the little pawns in their game. HouayXay is the border town (it's also the town closest to the gibbon experience to which I'm not going). There is nothing going on here except the border which opens again at 8am. So we hunker down in a considerably nicer hostel than Pakbeng for $5 each.

Getting back into Thailand is easy - a 5 minute ferry ride over the mekong and we're in for 9am. We all stop for breakfast on this side of the border and immediately everything is easier than in Laos. ATM's abound, the food choices are vast and the quality good. I haven't had a good impression of Thailand from my last two blighted visits, but this is a welcome improvement over Laos facilities. By 11am we are all on an air-conditioned coach to Chaing Mai. It's another full days journey, but the lunch stop is at a coach park with a 7/11 and Mr Slurpees so I'm happy.

Chiang Mai is a lovely town that reminds me of a tropical Amsterdam. The hostel we go for doesn't live up to the town. But I only have one day here so for once I keep the complaining to myself. My first night and I'm throwing up again. I only mention it because its relevant to my current state. I feel fine in the morning and head off with Nicole elephant trekking, hiking to tribe villages and then bamboo rafting. The elephant trekking, contrary to my experiences in India, is nice. The elephants are well cared for. Rather than smacking big metal rods into open wounds these elephants respond to a wooden baton tapped behind either ear. They also have a taste for bananas and affectionately bring their trunks up over their head to your face so you can feed them. They can really move those trunks so if you ever go take enough bananas. After a bit of hiking we reach a waterfall lagoon and it's time for another swim. Not quite the magical holiday moment as the previous waterfall since the current is so strong you could easily get swepped to your death, but fun for sure. Then it's onto meet some villagers from Burma - I yawn and explain that I've actually been to their original village just the other week. I can see the people I'm with have put me down as a complete wanker but apart from one girl with a fantastic body I don't really like the group and don't care what they think. So I start talking in Karin Burmese with the locals and explain to the others why their traditions mean their houses are on stilts and their clothes are always blue. The guide at this point has joined the rest of my group in the "complete wanker" pool of thought. The afternoon is for bamboo rafting down river and while we wait for the raft my guide challenges me to chequers. They have a rediculous rule where your king can move an unlimited number of spaces in a single row. Even with this I beat him comprehensively and I think it may have been more sensible to lose. He decides I should drive the raft so while Nicole and Lauren (the girl with the fantastic body) get to sit down on the raft I stand at the back with a pole. Bear in mind I'm still not in peak physical condition after my various ailments. I don't really want to be standing for all to see in my swimming trunks. But as luck would have it I'm so bad at driving I spend very little time standing and a lot of time swimming after the raft trying to catch up. It's all good fun for my two passengers and I laugh along to hide the tears. But both feet are now in agony from the rocks in the water and the bamboo on the raft and I'm about ready to go home. Back in Chiang Mai and Nicole, Trevor, Louise and I go out for a final farewell meal before we all go our seperate ways.

I fly to Hanoi early. But get in late since I have to go via bangkok and Air Asia insist on taking their time checking everyone in and Hanoi immigration insist on taking their time checking everyone out. To top it off the baggage carousel breaks (I told them to go see the one in Luang Prabang) and our luggage was stuck underground for an hour.

Just have time for an evening meal in Little Hanoi before an early night as I have to be back at the airport early the next day. I decide that a taxi won't cut it this time and I need to get a local bus out there. I'm not catching a flight. I'm meeting my new travelling companion, so I figure I should rough it to set an example. But buses in Hanoi aren't that easy and I get a lift on a moped to a number 17 bus stop. The driver claims to know exactly where to go, but 15 minutes later pulls over and asks me where I want to go. I'm in a bad mood this morning as the first signs of a new illness are on the horizon so rather than letting this go I decide to ask where he has been heading for the last 15 minutes if he now needs a map. He smiles and suddenly doesn't understand a word. He doesn't understand maps either so I leave him to it, tell him he can forget his 10000 Dong and I figure I can walk to the bus stop. I can and I do. The bus is 5000 Dong all the way to the airport (compare that to $10 for a cab - although you can't without looking up the exchange rates - so let me just tell you it's a shed load cheaper). And at 10am I cease to be a lonely traveller by meeting Amanda, who is travelling with me all the way to NZ.

A lunch and dinner later and Amanda's first day in Hanoi is turning into a bit of a nightmare as I develop a severe fever, chills, aches in all my joints, severe stomach cramps and, of course, bloody diarrhea. I can tell she is relishing the chance to pamper me. After a sleepless night for both of us (mainly because the door to the bathroom isn't as soundproof as it needs to be in that situation) she takes me to the International SOS clinic. I explain the symptoms to a lovely french doctor who looks much more concerned than I am. He hasn't heard of the bacteria that they found in Bangkok but is convinced after taking my temperature (39.1) that it must be serious and after I rule out repatriation he insists I stay in and get on fluids straight away. They have no lab facilities here so there is no way to find out how to treat it - they use best guess treatments. They can at least take blood and do so straight away. To put me on a drip the nurse insists on shaving a little patch on my forearm. The doctor returns looking serious and explains that the blood work is not good. White Cell count is through the roof, granulated cell count also very high, sodium and potassium very low and CRP (I didn't ever find out what it meant), which is measured as 0-6: Stage 1, 6-12: Stage 2, 12:24: Stage 3, 24:48: Stage 4, was at 96. There is no stage five but it is well over anything he's seen. He mentions repatriation a few times but I decline and tell him he has my full confidence to treat the problem here. Since neither Ciprofloxacin, Ofloxacin or Metronidazole has worked he goes for Rocofin in an IV drip at 2g. I'm not convinced it's going to work as one of the few things I read about Aeromonas is that it is resistant to Penicillin (of which Rocofin is a type), but we have no way of even testing for Aeromonas so I just go with it. Even with the lack of any lab to do cultures the nurse insists on a stool sample - I think just for her private collection. I think it is the closest I come to going home as I squat down over a tiny transparent plastic pot which I then have to give to the nurse who looks repulsed as she notices what is in it. Her diagnosis: I have bloody diarrhea. Thanks for that.

There is no improvement at the end of the day so I get more rocofin in the morning and yet more orally for the road. My temperature is down a bit so I'm out of there before I catch something else. I check out with a bill for $1600. Never travel without travel insurance.

And now I'm still in Hanoi, still in pretty bad shape and really just waiting to die. It's fight or flight time for my white blood cells. If they don't get rid of the infection this time with the help of these antibiotics I think I will write this body off as a lemon and do the world a favour by recycling it. But since I have a stupid little bare patch on my arm with a swollen vein I doubt even the worms would touch it.

Vien Viang Vici

Well and truly on the backpacker rat trap is Vien Viang. If you're aged 17, extremely pasty and too young to realise that you are offending not just the locals with that rediculously small bikini but my sensibilities too then this is the place for you. It would seem obvious (by the volume of fat westerners) that at least the food here is good and for me that's a good reason to spend a few days in a place after my rapid detox diet of the last week.

My last few days in Luang Prabang are spent waiting for blood test results to arrive from Bangkok. They don't so I have to call and remind the doctor that I haven't yet died and he should send the results through. He does and I am diagnosed with Aeromonas Veronii Boviar Sobria along with a secondary Salmonella infection. The Aeromonas comes from leeches, the salmonella from Bangkok. I'm back on the antibiotics (the antibiotics that I was taking should have prevented this, but you get what you pay for and at 3 rupees a tablet I think I got chalk). The Salmonella should sort itself out while the ofloxacin goes to work on the leech killer.

It's the next day by the time I feel some improvement and I eat for the first time in quite a while. Physically I now resemble the locals and I seem to be accepted into their society as they stop laughing at me and start pitying me. Extra rice is bought out at most meals with a concerned mama-san forcing me to eat more.

I visit the only sight I now haven't seen in Luang Prabang and fortunately Lauren is there to hold my hand - a waterfall about 25km away. There are black bears and a tiger there, rescued from poachers and kept in a compound with very jump-able looking fences. The tiger looks so well fed I think the keeper decided it was easier to keep him fat than build a better fence.

And then for a truly magical holiday moment. We go swimming in a lagoon under the waterfall as the Laos heavens open. It is never wise to be in the water in a thunderstorm, but it is a special feeling. The water from the lagoon is freezing, the rain luke warm and the surroundings beautiful.

Two hours later we are back in Luang Prabang and spend the rest of the day drinking. Lauren finally admits "when I first met you I thought you were a dick". I have to explain that I have heard that so often it is almost a cliché. She didn't say so but I think I managed to endear myself to her eventually.

Then it's off on a VIP coach to Vien Viang. Six hours later we pull into an old airstrip (Lima 21 as the Americans called it during the war) and I tuk-tuk out to a hostel. It's more like a resort than a hostel. And if I had a budget it would be out of it, but I settle into my little air-conditioned riverside bungalow more than a little smug that I'm a flashpacker.

I meet some new friends Jo, Nicole and Jennifer. Jo is ex 3-para. And when he left he went into private security in Afghanistan and Iraq. He scares me. Nicole is a kiwi girl and Jennifer a Canadian. The only thing to do in Vian Vieng is hire tractor tyre inner tubes and float down the river for 4 hours. If you stop (and there are many, many bars on the river bank encouraging you to do so) it can take the entire day. At each stop there is either a zip line or swing to entertain the drunk revellers. For 25000 kip you can purchase a bucket of local whisky, red bull and lime. It's not a particularly nice drink but I don't think the palettes of most of the drinkers are that refined. After my second bucket I decide it is the nectar of the gods themselves. It is getting dark, a thunderstorm is directly above and the more sober of our group get out an hour away from Vien Viang. Jo and I carry on enjoying the thrill ride as only a couple of paralysed drunks can.

The following day is more of the same. Nicole and myself now have a bucket craving while Jo goes on a long run. The day is very similar except that one bucket in we see a kid take a swing on one of the trapeze only for it to snap causing him to smackdown on his back. I've had enough of the swings by this stage and decide to invest all my energy into the bucket drinking.

After two days of that I've exhausted all that Vian Vieng has to offer. Jo and Nicole, clearly more organised than myself, have moved on to the next thrill-seekers town. I'm now drifting around the town from bar to bar to find new bucket buddies.

ROCK ON.

Photos of Laos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/robinsouthgate/sets/72157600474677266/

I'm a pathetic westerner, get me out of here.

I've tried to see everything in the best light and embrace the new cultures that are different at every stop, but now I've come to realise that when people don't even know how to cook an egg without nearly killing the person they are serving it to their culture needs attention. According to the Lonely Planet (and this is clearly a statistic that they just made up) 50% of travellers get food poisoning in Myanmar. Being the traveller's bible and a bunch of authors who seem to think that getting ill is all part of the experience they actually kind of embrace that as adding authenticity to a place. I consider it a legitimate reason to send the Ghurkas back in, reclaim Burma as part of the British empire and add cooking to their school syllabus.

I don't get sick in Burma. I fly out celebrating this fact only to order an egg in Bangkok and get salmonella (that's a self-diagnosis - it could be denge fever, I'll never know). I'm supposed to fly to Luang Prabang the day after I arrive in Bangkok, but I am so close to death I decide Laos might just push me over the edge. So I lie low in Bangkok for another couple of days. It's a difficult balancing act being ill when on your own. You constantly need to check you can still walk so that if you need attention you can still go and get it from a doctor. But at the same time if you can still walk you probably don't need a doctor just yet. If you pass out no one will know so you have to constantly work out how close you are to unconsciousness and all the time you have to feed yourself to try and prevent that happening. But if eating makes you sick you have to find a restaurant close enough to your room that will give you enough time to eat, return to your room and then throw up the food you have just eaten. To sum it up my three days in Bangkok are a new low point on the trip.

I'm so fed up lying in my dark little hole of a room in Khao San that I decide Luang Prabang actually can't be any worse. So even though I feel no better I decide to go for it. My taxi driver would probably argue that this decision was a poor one after I throw up in the back of his cab, but I tip well and when you get right down to it, I just don't care.

Two hours later I'm in Luang Prabang. It's the second largest town in Laos with a population of 25,000. There are only seven people on my plane; some little Lao Airways twin-prop. The other people seem to have read their guide books as they arrive with $35 and a passport photo for their visa. For once I'm completely unprepared and to the other travellers I must look like a retard as I have neither a passport photo or the $35 (or indeed any kip - the local currency). The airport has no photo booth or money changer so I'm starting to think I'll have to head back to Bangkok. Luckily the Myanmar government had stapled a picture of me into my passport and the visa guy says I can use that. I borrow the dollars from some french couple and I'm in.

The airport has a baggage carousel and I think they are quite proud of it. Our bags are in the back of the plane with us and it would have been very easy for us to take them with us but protocol obviously dictates that the carousel must be used. So quarter of an hour after landing they turn it on. Seven bags come out, making use of about 4 metres of this 50 metre carousel, at which point it is turned off again. No doubt there are a few local kids missing out on an education so that I can experience that western convenience.

I check into some random guesthouse and carry on where I left off in Bangkok by rolling around on the bed, clutching my stomach and crying to myself. I pull myself together just enough to look around the town the next day. Their 'sites' are only worth seeing if you are easily pleased and have a special interest in low quality buddhas. I paid 20,000 kip to see buddha's footprint. I have no idea why. All I've done for the last month is complain about buddhist iconography and yet I still feel obliged to check it all out. This footprint is a particularly good example of why I'm about ready to write off the entire religion. It's a plaster cast of a couple of indentations in a rock with a gold foot painted around it. You have to give the monks some credit that they actually get stupid suckers like myself to give up $2 to see it.

I'm supposed to go trekking and kayaking for the next two days in the jungle, but after another night throwing up (and remember I've not eaten for 4 days so I have no idea where this stuff is coming from) I decide that, whilst I'm not exactly close to emergency medical help here, going into the jungle and moving even further away from western drugs would be wreckless in the extreme.

So two more days of lying around waiting to die ensue. It's now Monday. I've been sick for nearly seven days. This is the first day I've actually felt like I can sit further than 10 metres from a bathroom without risk of an embarrassing situation occurring, so I assume I am starting my recovery.

Why does anyone go travelling?

Regime Change

Back in Bangkok after what I thought would be one of the more difficult parts of the trip, but in fact turned out to be the most amazing and enjoyable place I have visited. There were of course, lots of negatives and I shall spend my time dwelling on those.

Mandalay is like a sauna (if you put all your trash inside a sauna). But it has a lazy attitude which I appreciate and I'm acclimatising to the heat so I can amble about comfortably enough. Every traveller goes to at least one Moustache Brothers show. The lonely planet raves about the comedy/culture show featuring Li Mar Par who is mentioned in the Hugh Grant movie; About a Boy. It is two hours of my life that I will never get back and for that reason I should struggle to find something worthwhile in it... but no, it's less entertaining than American TV.

In a change to my usual routine I take a ferry to Bagan rather than fly. Sometimes the journey is the reward and sometimes you spend 14 hours on a ferry wondering if the destination could be any worse. It leaves Mandalay at 5.30am and since I'm not an early morning person the first few hours are the most difficult. When I do wake up and have a mango for breakfast I'm slightly more chirpy than my usual self. I'm travelling with an English girl; Ornella, a Canadian girl; Lauren, a German girl; Anna and a French-Canadian guy; Mathieu. Unusually they are all nice people and I don't have to pretend to enjoy the conversation - I actually do.

Bagan is one of those places that would be over-run by tourists if air-con coaches could get there from a resort in 2 hours. As it is you can explore the entire place (and it's on the scale of Angkor Wat) completely alone. It's all pagodas but Myanmar has rekindled my interest in Buddhist culture. Theravada buddhism as it was practiced in the 11th/12th centuries has a lot of depth to it. The buddhas are slightly different, the monks don't have to dedicate themselves quite so much and the pagodas are mainly just brick. Nothing fancy until you build 3000 of them in the same place. 200 photos later and we call it a day. It's my birthday so the day needs to be finished off with some drinking. Kiwi Murray is treating me to dinner and all my new friends turn up to celebrate with me. It's a late night by Myanmar standards and I struggle back to my room close to midnight.

From Bagan it's more or less straight back to Bangkok after a rest day by the pool where I manage to lightly sautee my chest.

I'm sad to say goodbye to Myanmar in some respects. Everything is cheap, getting around is much easier than I thought it would be, the people are the nicest I've met anywhere and the weather is close to ideal. People moan about the government, but if they added a couple of wi-fi hotspots near the pagoda places you would have an ideal holiday destination. So for me we should end all the trade embargos and embrace a society where yes, the odd person gets shot, but the ones left un-shot smile a genuine "I'm happy to be alive" smile.

It's on to Laos next, for more of the same I suspect.

Photos of Myanmar: http://www.flickr.com/photos/robinsouthgate/sets/72157600338193549/

Road to Mandalay

Been away for a month now. Feels like I've packed enough in. I know the number of blog posts are on the skinny side, but that's not for lack of material, just lack of effort. I can never shake my general apathy, even in blogging.

No one has yet found a way to silence me. So I feel comfortable enough to tell you a little bit about Myanmar while I'm still in the country.

On my last day in Yangon I stumble across a demonstration to free Ang Suu Kyi. Apparently it is supposed to be her last day under house arrest, but it isn't so people take to the streets. All very peaceful, but lots of guys taking photos of the crowd (including me). I assume they are tourists, but someone says they are secret police. I assume everyone else has since been rounded up and shot, but as a westerner they probably have more difficulty putting a name to the face. So this is borrowed time.

Take a flight up to Heho on some dodgy old fokker 80 plane, but it makes it and I meet an 80 year old New Zealander who is also travelling on his own. I'm almost inspired but the apathy takes hold. Inle lake is a relief after the humidity, pollution and general shitness of Yangon. The accomodation seems really nice too, but my first night there and I wake up with something crawling across my face. Without power to turn any lights on I assume it's a gecko (and I quite like geckos), but I wake up to find a whole family of cockroaches have started squatting in my bed. The next few nights are more or less sleepless.

The lake itself is beautiful. Most of the sights seem to be of the pagoda/stupa/wat variety. Lots of buddhas, lots of monks - a similar theme to everywhere else in this part of the world. I stop taking photos at this point. I'm conscious that, unless you have visited the religious icon in the picture, they must lose their appeal after the third flickr set.

So after five relaxing days in Nuang Shwe (a mini-holiday) I jump on a plane to Mandalay. It's a 20 seater twin-prop and the rainy season well and truly kicks in. We bounce around for the 30 minute flight but the karma saves me and we touch down in Mandalay on the hottest runway ever. It's 40 degrees and 95% humidity. I haven't seen the hostel yet but I'm pretty sure this is hell on earth.

Hostel has air-con, so it's actually more like heaven. But the air-con only works when the government supply power and that comes in 6 hour on, 12 hour off cycles. I feel sad. I'm sure when we moved out in the 50's we left this place in a much better state than it is now. It's like giving a kid a car you've built for their 12th birthday - you know they will crash it but they have to make their own mistakes. They are such sweet kids though, you can't stay mad for long.

Mandalay has lots of things to see and I don't want to hang around so I go straight to the hill, climb it, take a photo and on to the fort and palace. Both nice (surprisingly there is a stupa there - no one tells you that until you get there). The next day is for the old towns in the vicinity - lots of pagodas around to be seen. Our guide brings his neice along who is studying English. She is supposed to be 22 and learning at university. Either a testament to how appalling their education system is or she was away the day they learnt how to count in English. She looks about 12 and for the entire day tries to persuade me that I would like her as a wife. On the whole they are a reserved, modest people, but she hasn't learnt that life lesson yet. After the fifth time I have to push her off me she accuses me of being shy. Perhaps she is right. We don't part ways on good terms. She is crying into her uncles arms and refuses to say goodbye. Just another broken heart I leave behind - you grow immune to it after this long on the road.