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.