Thailand

Bumpy is about the best word to describe our journey back into Thailand. Apparently, one of South East Asia's top airlines are paying the government of Cambodia a healthy sum to keep the road between Siem Reap and the Thai border in a dodgy condition. Unfortunately for many travellers, this extra cost is beyond them, and like us have to endure a morning of being thrown around a poorly made bus as it drives along the dusty, pot-holed track. The journey itself is only one-hundred-and-twenty kilometres, but takes a bone-crunching five hours to complete.

Finally back in Thailand, we only hung around in Bangkok long enough for a nights sleep in one of the Khao San Road's cheapie guesthouse rooms (a cardboard box in the street would probably have been more pleasant), and then headed to catch a local bus the following morning to Kanchanaburi, a small town about two hours west of the sprawling capital. Instantly, Kan (as the locals call it) is a likable town. Quiet and quaint, it belies much of what you see in the more heavily touristed areas of the islands or the big cities. Unfortunately, like many of the places we've already visited, it hides a dark past.

In the spirit of continuing our recent trend of death, destruction and depressing historical events, this is the town made famous by the moving story of the Bridge over the River Kwai. During World War II, the Imperial Japanese Army had plans to connect Yangon in Burma with Bangkok, via a railway which would aid their transport of military supplies. Of course, such an undertaking meant they'd need a lot of manpower, and so prisoner's of war from all over Asia were drafted into the project which was to become known as the Death Railway. The four-hundred-and-fifteen kilometre track was thought to have taken to lives of over 100,000 men, many simply from exhaustion or malnutrition, as they toiled in savagely inhumane conditions on a project that was estimated to take five years, but was completed through force in just sixteen months. We visited the museum which explained more about the project itself, and the told the stories of some of the POW's from diaries which were secretly buried with them. Across the road are the allied cemeteries, where thousands of name plates sit in rows of bleak remembrance to the fallen soldiers. Lastly, we went to see the site of the bridge itself as it majestically spans the river. Imagining how such an ordinary bridge lies at the heart of such an extraordinary story can only be achieved once the history behind it has been uncovered.

With one second and last day in Kanchanaburi, we took ourselves off on a tour of the surrounding region. The only real attraction in Thailand we'd yet to take part in was an Elephant ride, mainly due to the fact that we were concerned with the way in which animals are treated in this part of the world. It seems that wherever we go, the Thai's aren't particularly good in their treatment of wildlife, whether it be protecting their coral reefs or hunting for ivory and fur-skins of endangered species. This tour included a small elephant trek, and we decided that we'd only really be able to comment once we'd seen for ourselves. The young lad on the back of our particular beast seemed jovial enough and managed to control the animal with just a few commands and a tickle under it's ear with his foot to get her moving. After a few minutes however, he produced the pick-axe style weapon that we've seen other elephant handlers use. As we protested, he would playfully pretend to raise the instrument high and smash it into the Elephants head, stopping short and smirking wildly at our cringing, before finally doing as we asked and putting it away. Thankfully, this was the last we saw of it, and could enjoy the trek without further need to harass him. In honesty, we still felt bad about taking part, and it's by no means a comfortable experience anyway which will probably be enough to stop us returning any time soon. The novel part however was when we all got to go into the river with the elephants and give them a bit of a scrub. As the trainers made them dip below the waterline, we'd all get a bath of our own, the only real moment of worry arising as giant, football-sized lumps of turd would float menacingly past us!

Bangkok would see only another quick stopover for us, checking out a few of the bigger shopping centres in the Siam Square area before the buying began in earnest a week or so later with our fourth and final visit. For the evening however, we were surprised to hear that our friends Tom and Lisa were briefly in town. With a flight booked to the islands for early the following the morning, we didn't really want a large one, but somehow found ourselves sitting with buckets of Samsong and Coke in the Khao San Road at 3am and had to hurry back to our guesthouse for a half-hours shut-eye before leaving for the airport. Suffice to say, by the time we reached Ko Samui early the next morning, we were only fit for spending most of the day in bed.

The first few days back on the island were fairly quiet. With rain delaying play, we watched a little Wimbledon from our hotel room and caught up on the whole third season of Lost, which was predictably unenlightening. We did manage to hook up very briefly with Stacey, a girl we'd met in Buenos Aires, and spent Christmas in Sydney with. It was around the fourth day that things began to liven up, as we began to make ourselves permanent fixtures on the free sunbeds outside the popular Ark Bar in the middle of Chaweng Beach. First we got chatting to a couple of older lads who were on holidays checking out some property on the other side of the island. Soon though a few more characters began to join the party, and this is when things became a little more interesting.

Five people from our second visit to Samui will forever stick in our minds: First up, a young girl called Saren. We're fairly sure she had a bit of a screw loose, mainly due to the fact that she sat around bragging about going home with a nice bout of Worms. One evening, we got chatting to a lad called Matt. We'd heard a little about him but I wanted to confirm the details for myself. Leaving Manchester just over nine months ago with a round-the-world plane ticket, he arrived in the Ark Bar and never actually ended up leaving. A standard day involves rising at 4pm, coming to the bar with his book for a Sprite and a Pad Thai, going back to the room for a few hours before returning around 8pm for a night on the lash. He's due home in just a few weeks, having seen nothing of what he'd set out to do, but apparently with no regrets. Impressive, if slightly sad.

Next up, came Richard, a fifty-something 'Geezer' from the north of London who claimed to be a chef, living and working in Portsmouth. Instantly recognisable as a 'pinch of salt' kind of guy, when asked about the kind of food he served in his restaurant his reply was "we make a bit of everything, barbecues some nights, even Panini's for the kids". You can understand the dilemma we had with taking any of his stories as given, and things were little helped when he later claimed to be a three-time World Disco Dancing Champion. We couldn't bring ourselves to ask for a display, but would get one sooner or later anyway.

Finally, two lads from Guernsey rolled into the fray. Testament to the fact that living on a small island all of your life can't be good for you, these two weren't quite the full ticket. Although offering little in the way of thoughtful conversation, they were a good laugh and were the source of almost constant amusement. Paul, the slightly dippier of the two, was a law unto himself. After ordering boiled eggs with his breakfast one morning, we asked why he was smashing them to pieces and looking so confused when they arrived. His startling response came with a make-believe drawing on the tabletop, and without any sign of shame: "This wasn't what I wanted, I was after the one's with the big white bit on the outside and the soggy yellow bit in the middle - you know, the type that leaks all over the plate when you cut through it". If we hadn't heard it with our own ears we probably wouldn't have believed it. Anyway, these two managed to liven the place up, constantly stroking Richards ego (which he was more than happy with), and generally being nice, but worryingly stupid lads.

All in all, this week turned into a great crack. We all sat around in the daytime's, moaning about Ark Bar's standard of food, it's repetitive music policy and over-charging, but still did little to leave and find something else. This week was all about taking it easy. Nights out meant a few beers around the pool table, and then a stroll up to one of the lively bars in the square where Richard would pull out a few of his world-class (??) moves and the lads would humorously egg him on. Despite the diverse group, with very little in common, it proved to be a great combination for an interesting finale to the Thai islands.

Back in Bangkok for our last few days, it was all about the shopping and a touch of last-minute sightseeing. Numerous shopping centres (which were disappointingly expensive), the stalls on Khao San Road and the weekend market at Chatuchak were all comprehensively covered in search of bargains, whilst a compulsory quick visit to the Grand Palace, the kings former official residence and temple was also on the menu. This was, unsurprisingly, grand and quite palace like. For our final night, we met with Michaela and Rupert, friends from the good old days back at Bloomberg. They accompanied us to our last must-see, the Patpong market and an accompanying Ping-Pong show. A Bangkok institution, this is where some of the city's finest young ladies display incredible dexterity and talent to produce razorblades and lengths of handkerchief, blow whistles, and fire ping-pong balls from their nether-regions. Although reports from other travellers claimed this was an incredible show, we were slightly underwhelmed by it all.

And that's it all over with. I'm currently writing this from our friends apartment whilst we see out our final week away in Hong Kong, and I'm sad to say that this will be our final blog (collective sigh of relief). I suspect that a monthly update of our time in Bexleyheath and Welling might not be interesting enough to warrant a written account. By the time most of you read this, we'll be on our way home, heavily depressed but excited to see everyone after ten-and-a-half months and almost eighty thousand kilometres of travel. Adjusting to the realities of a normal life is going to be tough I'm sure. We'll be tempted to walk everywhere or use buses rather than expensive taxi's, carry a roll of toilet paper wherever we go, put our weekly shopping into carrier bags and attach labels with our names on, get ourselves a pair of bunks so other people can share our bedroom and wash our underwear in the shower to make sure we don't run out.

We've seen some amazing things, and although it's hard to put much of our trip into words, we hope that those of you who are still with us (how are you Mum?) have enjoyed reading our blogs and have been given a little inspiration to see some of the world as we have. Sarah's been lucky enough to be offered a couple of weeks work back at the court, whilst I have more pressing matters of attending my brother's stag gathering in rainy Blackpool. Back down to earth with a bang is probably a mild understatement... we hope to see you all soon.

Dan and Sarah

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It took us just under three record-breaking minutes of free-wheeling in southern Thailand to get ourselves well and truly stitched up. After the bumpy speed-boat to mainland Malaysia, the two-hour taxi-cab to the border, queuing patiently at immigration and lugging our packs across into Thailand by foot, a tuk-tuk to the station and a four-hour train up from the border to the city of Hat Yai, we were in no mood for being messed about. Unfortunately, we disembarked to find ourselves confronted with a gaggle of aggravating tuk-tuk drivers and touts, all offering their varying services. Trying to sound as complacent as possible, we pushed past and continued on our merry way in the hope we'd be left alone. Of course this was never going to happen, and finally a young fellow pulled the correct question out the hat and made us answer him. Yes, we were on our way to catch a bus to Krabi, and yes, we may want a taxi to take us there if the price is right. "Aaah, hurry, hurry, bus to Krabi leaves in fifteen minutes, come, hurry".

Trying earnestly to disregard our mass scepticism of anything anyone from this part of the world ever says to us, we took the van driver at his word and followed him to his awaiting vehicle. I'd got my bearings beforehand, and he seemed to be heading comfortingly in the general direction of the bus station, until of course we come to rest outside a handily situated travel agent. With little option but to climb out in the middle of nowhere and entertain them, we were quickly told that the bus for Krabi had gone, and that there would not be another for six hours, but (unsurprisingly) they could offer us a mini-van which would take us to our destination, much quicker than any other bus could. Wearing us down to within an inch of our sanity, we eventually conceded, and knocked the cost of the journey down from five-hundred-and-fifty baht to four-hundred, content in the knowledge that we'd secured a reasonable deal. It was only on clambering into the mini-van an hour or so later that we met three Swedish girls who had been on our train, and had secured the same journey for just over two hundred baht. A harsh lesson had been learnt, and if it weren't for the fact that the four hour journey was going to cost us six quid we'd have probably taken much more offense. It seems that over the years of the mass tourism boom, the Thai's have certainly learned where their bread is buttered, and I'm sure we aren't the first, or the most aggrieved party to be taken for a few quid.

A well deserved sleep-filled night in Krabi, was followed by yet another four hour journey to our first island stop, Ko Lanta. We'd heard that this place was a quiet introduction to the islands off the west Thailand coast, but the off-season clearly doesn't even come close to this and after a couple of nights of unsuccessfully trying to find a lively spot we thought better of it and arranged our boat to the more popular island of Ko Phi Phi. By our standards, the accommodation here is fairly pricey, and after a couple of hours scouting around we settled in a resort and waited around the pool for the imminent arrival of my friend from home. After a spot of tropical time delay, Dave turned up about three hours late, looking like a dog's dinner after his long trip from the UK, but in good spirits. It was good to see my drinking partner again after over seven months away, and it seemed our first priority was to get ourselves into town for a night on the lash! Or perhaps three...

As expected, it all got a bit messy for those first few nights, bar-hopping between dodgy bars playing banging trance music, and the strange Reggae/Thai Boxing venue that didn't actually have any boxing on, or appear particularly rastafarian for that matter. Our only real adventure (outside of throwing numerous bottles of Chang down our throats) was the afternoon boat trip out into the surrounding area.

The four of us joined the tour with limited expectations, especially as the dark storm clouds gathered to the south and threatened an afternoon of choppy seas and torrential rain. A quick kayak into the gorge and a snorkel around some of the most heavily devastated coral we've ever seen was followed by the main event: a tricky landing at the rocks edge, and a crawl through a cave to the scene where the 'The Beach' was filmed some years ago. It was a nice spot in fairness, but you got the feeling that it had gone to the wall slightly since it's fame and fortune had come and gone, and it was now just used as somewhere the locals could dump curious tourists for an hour or so. Despite the stunning, but if somewhat gloomy scenery, the whole show was stolen by our enigmatic guide, who with the comedy catchphrase of 'Welcome to Paradise' and a devious chuckle, would sweep his arms out to the grey clouds and murky water surrounding us.

Next stop was the mainland, and the holiday-makers dream of Phuket. With golden beaches and a real resort atmosphere, this would have been great had it not been for the almost torrential rain which seemed to be dampening our spirits as well as everything around us. Not to be deterred however, we thought the best thing would be to keep ourselves busy, firstly, with a night at the 'Super Real' Muay Thai Boxing arena. With the locals in a betting frenzy down in the bottom corner of the stadium, we'd noticed the distinct advantage of being in the 'home' blue corner, as first a Swedish woman boxer, and then a Bangkok fighter were both beaten on points when they clearly should have been victors. The Australian fella in the fourth fight had clearly noticed much the same thing, and consequently took all of ninety-seconds and three clean knees-to-the-face to take out the local opponent, sending much of the foreign support into a bit of a frenzy. All good fun, and not really the gore, blood and guts that the girls had expected. With the weather still playing havoc, the next day we took ourselves off for a muddy afternoon of quad-biking in the northern marshlands and just the kind of adrenalin activity we needed, even if we did have to wear a dodgy pair of Crocs to save ruining our shoes.

As dusk approaches in the Patpong beach area of Phuket, the neon lights of Bangla Road begin to warm up for an evening of fun and frivolity. Dave and myself had already noticed a fair number of what we would refer to as 'dubious' characters on the streets around our guesthouse, but nothing could have prepared me for what awaited in Soi Crocodile, the closed-in lane of bars off the main strip. This was the moment Sarah had been eagerly anticipating, and I'd been brushing off with awkward ambivalence. It was time to have a drink with a bunch of Ladyboy's.

As we arrived at the entrance, the 'ladies' in question were all gyrating around on the podium, and of course this was all the persuasion needed to get us all in for a beer. A performance by one of the lead 'girls' soon followed, where a mystery, but strangely willing Japanese tourist was hauled up to dance and covort with 'her'. As the night progressed, plastic boobs, and on a few occassions, post-op undercarriages were all proudly displayed to the mixed crowd of curious tourists, many of whom were jumping at opportunities for photo's or some kind of interaction. The girls got stuck right in at the front to get some close-up tell-tale photography for later study, whilst Dave and I sat cowering at the back by the bar (where else?) to avoid being needlessly accosted. Many travellers who'd already visited such an exhibition had said to me that they couldn't tell the difference, but us lads came to the conclusion that for ninety-nine percent of the time, with some sure-fire detective methods (height? / strong jaw-line? / spot the adam's apple? / big hands or feet?) and a spot of good old male intuition, we would be able to tell the difference. We suspect for most worldy men, it would be that one percent which would be the cause for concern and spark a real 'Deal or No Deal' moment. As Alan Partridge might say: "It's all very confusing".

For our final day in Phuket, we took a day tour out to the islands in the east at Phang Nga Bay, a combination of a farm tour which lacked any serious effort (except for a randy monkey which amusingly tried to get it's end away with Dave's head), a boat cruise to a floating muslim town for lunch, a canoe trip around some of the towering limestone mountains and caves, and the main event: 'James Bond Island'. As anyone with a television turned on for christmas day afternoon will know, this is the setting for the final scene from the 1974 film 'The Man with the Golden Gun', where Roger Moore and his fake third nipple eventually finds himself taking pot-shots at Christopher Lee in his ingeniously crafted room of mirrors. The island itself, with it's usual array of local stalls (Scaramanga had a clear-out of 'Nick-Nacks' after filming - boom, boom!) is quite unmemorable, but for most people it's the large tooth-shaped rock which juts elegantly from the sea just a few hundred yards off-shore that brings them to the area.

Back in Phuket for our last night, we all headed out to dinner and a few drinks. The girls retired early, and we were left at the bar to befriend a like-minded Londoner called Paul and the Irish manager (also Paul). The former of the two had popped out for a couple of pints after his pal had been taken ill, and like us (who were getting up for a 7am bus) was in for an early night. Somewhat foolishly, we all managed to rope each other into going on to a dodgy club (arms well and truly twisted) until 5am, drinking buckets of vodka redbull and generally giving ourselves the best chance of a hellish journey the following morning. Strangely enough, I don't remember too much about the next day, but I believe there was a fair amount of dribbling and booze-infused sweat in the back seat by the time we climbed out on the other side of the peninsula.

Thankfully, that evening we struck gold. The girls headed off into the night in search of accommodation, and came back with news of a booking at a positively swish, and reasonably priced spa, just a hundred metres from the beach. After a peaceful nights sleep, we were finally grateful to see the sun shining, and headed straight for Chaweng Beach. There's no doubt this is one of the busiest island resorts around, similar to what you might find in any European seaside destination, but we didn't mind as long as the sun kept his hat on for a few days. The six kilometre beach is lined with scores of accommodation complexes, bars and restraurants. Numerous jet-ski companies line the shore, and we took a couple out for some action out on the waves. A successful debut for both of us, although slightly marred by the screaming woman who clung to the back of me throughout whimpering that I should slow down (guess who?). I'll be back for some more though.

Our couple of days on Samui were fairly uneventful, consisting of some well intentioned laziness on the beach, a couple of nights out in the local bars, and being harshly labelled as 'a good ladyboy' for not taking on one of the child businesswomen at Connect Four (a national obsession) on the beach one night. Strangely enough, the 'You pay one-hundred, if I win I keep, if you win you get it back' rules weren't doing much for anyone along that strip of sand.

Our last island hop would be over to Ko Tao, about a two-hour ferry ride north of Samui. This mountainous island perches on a ledge of coral reefs and thanks to the water's high visibility and abundance of marine life makes for a diving and snorkelling mecca. After watching one of the 'crazy' dive videos being shown on the ferry over, myself and Dave were at this point quite happy to partake in an introductory dive. On arrival however, it was all about the hard sell, and the Israeli guy who approached me about scrapping the idea of the 'pointless' intro dive and taking on a much more expensive four day open-water Padi course only served to put me off from doing any of it. I wasn't sure that diving was for me, the girls were not partaking from the get-go, and so it was left to Dave to take on the course, a decision I think he was really happy he took, despite the studying, revision, and general mickey-taking from us about how we probably weren't cool enough to be his pals any more. As a reward for his large monetary commitment, we were all placed in a lavish apartment at the dive school's hotel, which we aptly named the 'Crack Den'. Truly delightful.

It seemed only right that we get out into the water somehow though, and so Sarah and I (Jan paid, but then took the opportunity to sleep for a change) went on a snorkelling trip around the many bays of the island. After the last few months of travel through Australia and Malaysia it felt like we'd done this same trip about thirty times, but it was still a pleasant day out at sea with the reef sharks, turtles and the thousands of resident fish, plus we also got to take a stop at the small beautiful island located to the north-east of Ko Tao.

For our last night together, Dave and I went off to The Castle, a nightclub style open-air bar, where I got to be a bit of a chap for a night and meet up with all of Dave's other wacky dive-school buddies. They were a nice bunch in fairness and we had a good drink to mark the end of his holiday. Highlight of the night was when we stood speculating about the 'dubiousness' of one certain 'girl' in the bar who actually turned out to be an american woman who'd understood everything we'd said and surprisingly didn't take too kindly to our conversation. Whoops.

Unemotional farewells ensued the following morning as Dave headed to Ko Samui for his flight to Bangkok and we took our ferry and coach to the same destination in the hope of catching a train straight out of the capital to Chiang Mai that evening. Unfortunately, the train was fully booked, and so we had one more night with young David around Bangkok's famous Khao San Road area. Dinner in the strange setting of a converted petrol garage forecourt, and a few final Chang's in a local bar was all we could all manage however as a days travelling got the best of us, and more tearless goodbye's were exchanged.

A day of fairly unsuccessful sightseeing in Bangkok was about all we managed the following day, after falling for the oldest trick in the book (it's actually in the guidebook and I'd read about it not more than twenty-four hours before!) and being taken for a ride (literally) by an honest looking tuk-tuk guy to see some temples. His actual mission was to take us to five of his favourite shops (silk, tour agency etc) in search of some extra commission, but he only got as far as two before we sacked him off to save any more harrassment from store personel who we had no intention of buying from. There was time for one more dinner with Dave, and so we said a third and final goodbye to my temporary drinking partner, and source of overly-used but humourous Sean Connery impressions, before heading off to catch our overnight train to the north.

The overnight train is an experience in itself. The sleeping berths are surprisingly comfortable, but how anyone is actually meant to sleep amongst the racket of the train is beyond us. Of course, Jan managed to get a decent nights shut-eye, whilst we generally figdeted around for eight hours in search of a short doze.

Chiang Mai is set quite charmingly in the neat square shape of your standard Monopoly board. The main one-way roads which ring the edge of the old city is split perfectly into two by the moat and remnants of a medieval-style wall which was built seven-hundred yeara ago to defend against Burmese invaders. Where you'd usually find one of the four stations, the walls still stand proudly as gates to the internal soi's (small lanes) which are filled to bursting with small guesthouses, markets, restaurants and bars. It's a world away from the Thailand we'd seen in the south and made for a welcome change. The money-making ethos hasn't deserted the northerner's however, and within two days of being at our accommodation we were more or less kicked out beacuse we hadn't booked any tours with them, something we later found from other travellers to be common amongst many of the ruthless businesses in this area.

None of us were feeling particularly up for the trekking which is a reason many tourists come to this part of the country, but we were quite keen to have a day at one of the Thai cooking classes. Firstly, we were whisked off to the local market to buy all of the ingredients we would need for our chosen six dishes. This was all fairly unremarkable until we entered the 'meat' room, where all sorts of animal were being chopped up in front of our very eyes, and trays of organs, intestines and other unsightly innards sat ready for the next willing customer. The day flew by, but at the end we'd managed to cook from scratch a selection of Thai curries, appetisers, beef and chicken stir-fry's, spicy soups and satays with varying degrees of success. All in all a very worthwhile day and with our recipe books in hand I'm sure we'll be making use of some of them when we return home.

The only thing left to do was figure out how we would exit the country. After asking around, the journey further north consisting of long bus -ride plus two uncomfortable eight-hour Mekong river boat rides didn't sound overly appealing, and so we opted for the lengthy, but less painful thirteen-hour coach journey to the eastern border town of Udon Thani. We'd begun taking our Malaria tablets just a few days before, and Sarah (second place) was the first to fall to the well-documented nauseous side effects, vomiting like true professional in a local restaurant and the lobby of our guesthouse after just one day. Jan (disqualified) wasn't sick, but spent most of her second day feeling rough during the cooking class and missed all of the lessons, whilst I (Champion!) managed to last out for a whole three days, eventually chundering unceremoniously (and loudly I'm told) into a miniature carrier bag on the aforementioned bus.

This wasn't the way we'd really considered leaving Thailand behind, but it was slightly apt. Although we'd had alot of fun and seen some beautiful places in those last few weeks, the constant need to watch for devious Thai's and their money-making priorities had begun to wear thin. As a nation, they don't seem particularly proud of their country and do little to keep it clean, while the much employed point of being 'polite' generally seems to be a one-way street, and being rude is allowed as long as it's tourists on the receiving end. This obviously doesn't apply to all, and we met some genuinely freindly and hospitable locals along the way who made us feel very welcome. Unfortunately, it's only tourists that can be blamed for creating the monster, and hopefully things will change for the better in the years to come. Next stop was Laos and what we hoped would be a slightly different take on South-East Asia.

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