Top Deck

Day 71: Phnom Penh (K) – Kampot (K). Fascinating though Phnom Penh had been over the past few days, Karen and I knew that if we were to experience the 'real' Cambodia we had to get out there – out into the rural heartland of this charming country.

Initially though, this was easier said than done as successive Tuk Tuk drivers kept insisting that we should join one of the air conditioned 'tourist' buses leaving from the central market when what we really wanted to do was to travel using 'local' transport. Three Tuk Tuk's and one hour passed before we were able to articulate our requirements sufficiently well and get the driver to drop us off at the southern end of the Monireth Boulevard where we hoped to flag down a passing mini-bus on the way to Kampot.

As was the case in Vietnam, the frequency of these local mini-buses was such that we didn't have to wait too long before the first one arrived and immediately Karen and I knew that this journey was going to be every bit as interesting as the ones we took in Cambodia's neighbouring country.

As the vehicle drew to a standstill, half a dozen people were already perched on top of the metal roof, but Karen and I opted for the (relatively) more expensive seats inside the mini-bus. Equipped with enough seats to carry 11 passengers, there were already 22 people on board (including two sharing the drivers seat) and the 6 up top making a total passenger count of 28. With no room for our ruck-sacks the driver carefully tied these to an aged motorbike, which in turn he strapped to the back door of the mini-bus. To complete the picture: Several sacks of obligatory rice were stowed under every seat, a lady in all her finery was on her way to a wedding and every now and then an animal in a basket near the front of the bus would squeal it's discomfort. This had to be seen to be believed!

Travelling down National Highway 3, the 100 miles from the capital to the relaxed yet run down provincial town in the far south of the country took around 5 hours. In some places, the single track road was in remarkably good condition but in others, it was no more than a badly pot-holed dirt track, transformed now in to a mud bath by the onslaught of the first rains of summer. Passing through the small towns and shanty villages, occasionally we would stumble on a police checkpoint, but a few hundred Cambodian riels covertly pressed into the palms of the waiting officials was enough to allow us on peacefully our way. No corruption here then!

History Lesson

Day 70: Phnom Penh (K). “We learn from history, but we do not learn from history”. At some stage in everybody's lives we have all had a teacher who has been inspirational – whether that was a schoolteacher, a family member or a life coach, we always remember their words and advice. For me it was Mr Hodgeson, my modern history teacher back in the early 1980's, whose thoughtful simplification of complex matters captured my attention and stayed with me for thirty years. However, never had his words seemed so poignant as they did today.

Towards the very beginning of our adventure, 12,000 miles ago back in eastern Europe we had visited the grim remains of Auschwitz. The site is now a museum dedicated to the thousands that died there in mankind's darkest hour - a reminder to humanity that we should never again repeat those terrible atrocities. But tragically, like my wise old teacher advised me, as a society we didn't learn and 35 years after the Nazi's, Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge perpetrated the same unspeakable genocide on the Cambodian people to form the next tear stained chapter of our history books.

Walking around the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek in total silence both Karen and I were completely overcome by the emotion that this place generated. As with Auschwitz, it was totally incomprehensible how anybody, no matter how evil or depraved could commit such heinous crimes against his or her fellow citizens. For here in this now peaceful place just a few miles from the city centre, 17,000 innocent men, woman, children and infants were brutally murdered after enduring years of torture at the infamous S-21 concentration camp. Many were bludgeoned to death to avoid wasting the Khmer Rouge's precious bullets.

In 1980, after the world uncovered the truth behind Pot's tyrannical regime, the remains of almost 9,000 people, many of whom were bound and blindfolded were exhumed from these mass graves and their bones were laid to rest behind clear glass panels of the Memorial Stupa, erected in 1988. 43 of the 129 communal graves remain untouched and we can only hope and pray that their occupants eventually find an eternal peace.

The comparative recency of these events added to the intensity of our emotions and the feelings of helplessness that we were suffering - a point summed up excellently by Karen “Whilst all of this was going on, I was a little girl playing with my friends. Totally oblivious to the horror that was occurring on the other side of the world”.

Can you imagine what mankind could have achieved if all of the energy we have expended over the years pursuing evil had been channelled into making this world a better place?

God help us all.

Day 70: Total Mileage to Date: 13,625: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 10; Number of Transport Modes Used: 34, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +35C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Silver Lining

Day 69: Phnom Penh (K). Shielding ourselves from the burning sun, Karen and I jumped on-board the nearest Tuk Tuk to take us down Sisowath Quay through the chaotic city traffic on our discovery of Phnom Penh, a capital whose very the name conjured up images of the exotic: The glimmering spires of the Royal Palace, the fluttering saffron of the monk's robes and the luscious location on the banks of the Mekong. This was one of Asia's gems.

Being the official residence of King Sihamoni, part of the Palace complex is closed to visitors, but those areas that remains open simply numb the senses by their sheer majesty. The 200 foot tower of the Throne Hall dominates the Phnom Penh skyline, but it is the opulence of the Silver Pagoda that really captured our imagination: Named in honour of the floor, which is covered in 5,000 silver tiles each weighing one kilogram, adding up to a whopping 5 tonnes of gleaming silver!

Leading up to the pagoda, a staircase of solid Italian marble. Inside, an emerald Buddha made from Baccarat crystal stood behind a gold Buddha encrusted with almost ten thousand diamonds, the largest of which weighed in at a massive 25 carats! To the left and right of the gold Buddha stood two further Buddha's, one cast from solid bronze and the other from solid silver. The list went on and on – a truly amazing sight.

At Wat Phnom, we took time out to catch our breath and watch the world go by with the street circus unfolding before our eyes: Beggars, women selling drinks & lotus peas, old men offering elephant rides, children selling post-cards and the local troop of baboons stealing what ever they could get their hands on! Most entrepreneurial of all though were the old women with caged birds charging $1 to free one of the little creatures. We observed as a few tourists took pity and shelled out their hard earned cash. The birds (obviously trained) took to the air and circled around the tree covered knoll for ten minutes only to return to the comfort and safety of their comfortable cages. Fantastic – a completely sustainable business!

Hot Air

Day 68: Chau Doc (VN) – Phnom Penh (K). The best part about travelling and living simply is how excited you can get over the simplest of things. Arriving at the Phnom Penh in the Kingdom of Cambodia, Karen and I though we would splash out a bit and and check in to a real 'posh' hotel. Raiding our piggy bank we managed to coble together the $20 a night needed to stay at the Paragon hotel right by the riverside (no joke – this was positively expensive by Vietnamese standards!)

But it was worth every penny (cent?), as not only did we get a shower cubicle in our en suite bathroom but the public toilets downstairs actually had a working electric hand-dryer. Something that neither Karen nor I had set eyes on since Moscow. It was brilliant! Every now and then we would pop to the toilet to wash our hands just to feel the warm air gently caress our skin. In fact, it was so good that on one occasion I actually went into the toilet and switched it on without even washing my hands. Ah, life on the edge!!

Journeying across the border into Cambodia had been a magnificent experience. Chartering a speedboat to hurtle us the 80 miles or so up the Mekong River from Chau Doc to the Kingdom's capital at speeds in excess of 30 knots sure was a memorable way to enter our tenth country on the 'Road to Bangkok'. Even the border crossing itself was a breeze. The boat weighed anchor at the river checkpoints for both the Vietnamese and Cambodian officials. Both sets of border controls; impeccably courteous and ultra efficient (even though the Cambodian immigration did have to use thirteen rubber stamps to complete the proceedings!)

And from our initial impression of Cambodia; we could see this was going to be a very interesting country. Even though we had travelled less that 100 miles up stream from Vietnam, we could already see the subtle changes of our new environment. The people looked a little different, the markets smelled a little different and the food tasted a little different. Deep fried tarantula, anyone?

Cat & Mouse

Day 67: An Binh (VN) – Chau Doc (VN). Arriving in the little Mekong port of Chau Doc, Karen and I were totally exhausted. Whilst some of our tiredness could be attributed to our lack of sleep from the previous night the main factor was the sheer effort of travelling in these remote areas having left the luxury of the rail network and sealed roads long behind us.

Looking back to our earlier travelling on the Trans Siberian Express, we were clocking up as many as 900 miles in a single day. But our latest journey across the Mekong Delta from Ho Chi Minh City, a distance of just over 200 miles, had taken us two solid days of travelling to accomplish and had necessitated the use of: 1 service bus; 6 motor bikes; 2 passenger ferries; 3 mini buses; 2 junk boats, 1 rowing boat and a 5 mile hike. No wonder we were shattered!

Passing Phoenix Island, we learned of it's most famous resident - the 'Coconut Monk'', so named because of his single food diet. However, besides the monks obvious eccentricities lay a serious side; promoting reunification of the northern and southern Vietnamese people through peaceful means, infuriating successive South Vietnamese governments and leading to his imprisonment on several occasions. Such were his beliefs that he used to cage cats and mice together to prove his theory that arch adversaries can learn to get along together. “He obviously never met our cats”, Karen joked. “Putting Huffkin & Chudleigh in a cage with a load of mice would not be a good model for world peace!”

Charades

Day 66: Ho Chi Minh City (VN) – An Binh (VN). “I think we'll audition for the Morden Players when we get back home!”, Karen quipped, referring to the village amateur dramatic society back in Steeple Morden and our new found acting and improvisation skills.

Leaving behind the chaos of Ho Chi Minh City we headed south, deep into the Mekong Delta: a watery landscape of green rice paddies and sleepy villages, everywhere criss-crossed by the brown canals and rivulets fed by the mighty Mekong River. The further we travelled – the more remote our environment. By nightfall Karen and I had reached the tiny island of An Binh were we were fortunate enough to find a room with Tam Tien and his family. During the Vietnam War (or American War as they call it here), both Tam and his wife had been freedom fighters for the Viet Cong, but with the coming of peace they took to fruit farming and settled in the delta to raise their family of three sisters and one brother.

And now as the evening took hold and with dinner out of the way, we sat out on the terrace with Guyen, one of Tam's daughters trying to understand a little more about each other; even though our Vietnamese was confined to 'hello', 'thank you' and 'two beers please', and Guyen's English, whilst certainly more advanced that our Vietnamese, was still fairly rudimentary.

We filled the table with every prop imaginable to help our fragmented conversations: a map of Vietnam, photographs of our life back in Steeple Morden, digital images of our travels so far, a bowl of fruit and here and there; pages torn from a notebook containing symbolic scribblings of anything that we felt would assist with our communication.

But even with all of this, it was our two hour marathon of 'charades' that made the evening so entertaining (Karen does a wicked cow, indecently!). Amongst other things we learnt about our hosts we discovered that Guyen was 36 years old and was looking for a tall, dark, strong, handsome husband with lots of money and between the age of 40 and 45 (not too particular then!)

As we retired for the night we were reminded of just how rural our host's farm was. Between the insatiable appetite of the Mekong mosquito's, the swarm of cockroaches that got in to our room courtesy of an ill fitting bedroom door and the rat pack that spent most of the night scratching at our door, neither Karen nor I got very much sleep at all that night!

S...S...Saigon. Saigon!

Day 65: Ho Chi Minh City (VN). Back in 1985, as an undergraduate at Manchester Polytechnic, I was a bit of an arrogant little herbert. Committed to pretty much every environmental and left wing issue of the day – you name it I had the badge stuck to my rainbow braces – Ban the Bomb, Save the Whale, Free Mandela, I even had one for the Tufty Club! And so when Paul Hardcastle released his anti-war song, '19', it was right up my street. Thinking back though, as I listened to the jukebox in the student union bar 24 years ago, I never dreamt that I would one day visit the city encapsulated in the lyrics of that number one hit.

And in those 24 years, things have changed here beyond recognition. For a start, the city is now called Ho Chi Minh (although in reality everyone, with the exception of government officials, still refer to the place as Saigon!). It has an electric, near palpable energy - Vietnam's largest metropolis and undisputed capital of commerce.

Arriving here in the blistering heat (35C and 60% humidity), the first thing we noticed (apart from the heat!) was the incredible amount of traffic - eclipsing even Hanoi! In addition to the usual cars, buses and trucks, in excess of three million motorcycles fly around these streets. Trying to cross one junction, Karen and I counted over 300 bikes, 20 abreast, waiting to give it full throttle as the lights changed to green. Scary stuff!

Trying as best we could to shelter from the blast furnace that was Saigon in the springtime we had a relaxing day successfully mixing cultural activities (Reunification Palace, Notre Dame Cathedral & War Remnants Museum) with not so cultural activities (Beef-Burgers, Onion Rings & Peanut Butter Smoothies!)

As the sun set behind the tall skyscrapers of the financial district the advent of night did nothing to alleviate the scorching temperatures. Already hot and sweaty we dined on Pho – Vietnam's favourite street food consisting of hot chicken and noodle soup with added chillies and spices. Steaming!

Free Market Communism

Day 64: Cat Tien National Park (VN) – Ho Chi Minh City (VN). I must admit, I don't quite get communism. I mean, I understand the principles well enough, but I just don't see how it works in practice. Take the buses in Vietnam for instance: In paradox to the country's ideology, the bus service operates in a seemingly unregulated free market, with each bus competing against each other. Whilst this provides a great deal for passengers, sometimes, from our western perspective, it can also cause pandemonium!

The beauty of Cat Tien was such that we could have easily spent another three or four days there. But unfortunately, our Vietnamese visas were due to expire in less than a week and with a substantial distance still to cover before we reached the Cambodian border, we needed to continue with our journey.

Jumping aboard a couple of moto's at the Park entrance we soon reached Highway 20 where Karen and I hoped to flag a bus down to take us to our next destination. We were not disappointed. Within 10 minutes three buses had stopped and offered us a ride, their attendants nearly coming to blows with each other to secure our business. And whilst we watched their animated arguments in the middle of the road from the relative safety of the pavement, the price of our passage just kept falling: 250,000... 200,000... 150,000 dong – and that was without us even uttering a single word!

Having made our choice of transport, Karen and I loaded our backpacks on to the little mini-bus at the rear of the three-some and watched as the other two buses sped away. Fearing that the competition would have the pick of potential customers at the next town, the red mist descended for our driver. Setting off in hot pursuit - at speeds well in excess of 100kmh - he finally caught up with his adversaries and then, in a moment of apparent madness, overtook the leading mini-bus at the exact moment it was already overtaking a truck – and to make matters worse this entire triple decker manoeuvre was conducted on a blind bend with oncoming traffic. Completely insane!

Reaching La Nga we trawled the back streets of town looking for prospective passengers to join our merry band. Spotting a young Vietnamese lady by the side of the road, our attendant used all of his charm and wit to entice her on to our bus, but with little success. Undeterred, and keen to add to his passenger list, the attendant decided the best way forward was to man-handle her on the bus 'hijack style'. I'm sure to this day that she only popped out for a packet of fags – the next thing she knew she was on the way to Ho Chi Minh City. Poor woman!

Blood Suckers

Day 63: Cat Tien National Park (VN). If you're anything like me, it doesn't matter how long you go away for, be it a weekend or a month I always forget to take something. Usually it's leaving my glasses on the kitchen table or forgetting to pack my handkerchief. But today, in Cat Tien National Park I realised that we didn't have any leech socks. What were we going to do?

The truth of the matter was, before arriving here, I didn't even know what leech socks were, but as we set off on our 10km hike to Crocodile Lake the Ranger insisted we wear some (fortunately for us, we managed to rent a pair at the park office). And this wasn't some kind of namby-panbyism. Two miles into our hike through the dense, moist jungle both both Karen and I had a number of the little suckers trying to bite through our boots and protective leggings to get the our tasty warm blood!

For me, with my irrational fear of spiders and stinging insects this really was life on the edge! The jungle was teaming with every form of life you could possibly imagine. Under every stone, a palm sized arachnid. Wasps the size of dragonflies and malaria infested mosquito's at every turn -all desperately wanting us both for lunch.

But you know, I wouldn't have missed this for the world. Even reaching the lake, watching pied kingfishers and ospreys hunt for food, I was actively looking forward to the walk back through the jungle: To feel the heat and the humidity. To smell the smells. To hear the reverberating jungle chorus. To witness nature's true glory.

Chatting to the Ranger by the lake, we received an interesting lesson on perception. Whilst discussing the incessant noise of the cicada's (huge locust like bugs), the Ranger had told us how good they were to eat. “Do you cook them first?”, Karen enquired with interest. The Ranger looked at us with total disgust, “Absolutely! No one would eat raw cicada's!”. Proving that whether something feels acceptable or not depends on your perception of what 'normality' is in the first place!

Day 63: Total Mileage to Date: 13,202: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 9; Number of Transport Modes Used: 32, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +31C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Spring Clean

Day 62: Da Lat (VN) – Cat Tien National Park (VN). Maybe it was the cooler climate of the Central Highlands, maybe it was the solitude of the Lang Bian mountains, or maybe it was the coming of spring. I don't know. But whatever it was, something clicked with Karen and me in Da Lat that made us look back on our scribblings of nearly a year ago to see how our trip was shaping up.

Taking out the crumpled piece of paper we eagerly read through the notes we both made in the Waggon & Horses all those months ago. “Have a story to tell: I think we'll do that”, Karen said, “Challenging: Definitely; Culturally diverse: Absolutely; Live & travel like locals: I think we'll achieve that”, she continued. “Outside our comfort zone and Simple existence. Hmm, maybe we need to think a bit more about those two.” She was right. Whilst our trip through Asia, had been an unforgettable experience, the low cost of living had made it just too easy for us to opt for soft options: An air conditioned bus here, a pre-booked hotel there.

With six weeks remaining before we reached Bangkok, now was to time to push ourselves just that little bit further. That meant exchanging the travel guide for a good map; packing our sandals and dusting off our hiking boots.

We had read of the beauty of the Cat Tien National Park but has dismissed it as being just too remote. But now, with our new found energy, we were determined to get there whatever it was going to take.

“Cat Tien?”, Karen pointed to the huge expanse of green on our map. The lady at the bus station shook her head, but in typical Vietnamese fashion we soon had a crowd around us trying to help. A middle aged lady in a long dress and conical hat pointed us in the direction of a small mini-bus ready to depart. It didn't go to the Park but the driver could drop us off along his route which would put us within 25km of the entrance.

We gladly accepted the offer and were hurried on to the bus: In itself, an experience: Apart from people, the seats were occupied by animals, bird cages, sacks of rice and one lady even brought her motorbike aboard at Bao Doc and parked it in the aisle! Five hours later, the driver dropped us off at little town of Tan Phu. Unsure of how were going to cover the next part of our journey, we soon found ourselves at the centre of a huddle of inquisitive locals wanting to know where we were from and where we were going.

Two of the locals offered to take us to the park on the back of their mopeds, which after the customary price haggling, we agreed to do for the princely sum of 120,000 dong (about £2.50 each). Loaded with full backpacks, Karen and I clung on for dear life as our maniac drivers raced each along the twisty jungle roads at speeds approaching 80kmh, desperately trying to get their knee down, until we reached the Dong Nai river and the end of the road. From here we managed to get a raft to take us across the swollen river to the entrance of Vietnam's most beautiful wilderness area, home to the Javan Rhinoceros – one of the rarest mammals on the planet.

“I think my rider thought he was Valentino Rossi”, I joked to Karen as we approached the Ranger Station to enquire about accommodation in the Park. I don't think she heard me though – my voice was completely drown out by the deafening sound of cicada's in the surrounding trees. You know, today really felt like travelling.

Solitude

Day 61: Da Lat (VN). Thoroughly exhausted by a combination of the altitude, the heat and humidity, Karen and I took a well earned rest 200 meters from the summit of Lang Bian. Neither of us said a word. Dappled sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of the rain forest high above us. The jungles echoed to the chattering of a thousand species. The intense heat enveloped us. It was just us and the jungle. Magical!

Fantastic though our experiences in Asia had been, we had found it extremely difficult to find our own space. It didn't matter how hard we tried to 'get away from it all', there always seemed to be somebody around the next corner trying to sell us a bamboo raft, a slice of pineapple or some fake Ray-Ban's! Today though, in 30 degree heat, on our 10 mile hike to the top of a 2,169 meter volcano, we finally found the piece and solitude we had been searching for.

Such was our elation that even the death of our camera (thank goodness for backups!) and the disintegration of Karen's boots (thank goodness for gaffer tape!) couldn't detract from our day.

Despite our sense of achievement, trying to make conversion over an early dinner proved to be extremely difficult for both of us. The heat and the exertion of the day had completely floored us - all it took was a single beer and we were both nodding off over our beef and vegetable noodles. By 8.30, as Da Lat started to shape up for an energy filled Saturday night, we were tucked up in bed counting zeds. Party Animals!

Rolling Stones

Day 60: Nha Trang (VN) – Da Lat (VN). For some, Nha Trang would have been paradise. Coconut palms fringed a golden sandy beach, lapped by warm azure waters and bamboo huts provided shade for an afternoon cocktail or two. Some may have questioned why we didn't just end our travelling right there and then and drink pina colada's on the beach for the next seven weeks.

But beautiful though this place was - Nha Trang wasn't for us. Here, the tourists outnumbered the locals, cocktails came before culture and 5 star hotels and gourmet restaurants prevailed over the simpler hostels and street food that we were used to. Nha Trang had very little to offer us in our quest for knowledge – knowledge about Vietnam, it's people and knowledge about ourselves.

So like the proverbial rolling stone we were on the move again. “Let's leave the coast, an travel inland”, Karen suggested in an attempt to get away from the touristy feel we had adopted since our arrival in Hoi An a few days previously. A quick look at the map pointed us in direction of the Central Highlands and the Troung Son Mountain range. At an elevation of 1,475 meters lay Da Lat, affectionately know as the City of the Eternal Spring due to its cooler climate and lush green vegetation. Hours later, we were winding our way through tricky mountain passes on our way to our next horizon.

Limbo

Day 59: Qui Nhon (VN) – Nha Trang (VN). Whilst lazing about on a sun lounger under a bamboo shade on a white sandy beach may seem like a great way to spend an afternoon, for Karen and me it was just a way to catch up on some much needed sleep.

Boarding the packed overnight sleeper bus in Hoi An, we got the last two remaining seats. 12 hours later, we realised why these should be the last tickets to sell! Sleeper buses in Vietnam are a great concept: About 30 fully reclining chairs arranged as single file bunks along both sides of the bus. At the back; a row of ten 'beds' were split over two levels and it was here, on the bottom tier,, that Karen and I tried our best to make ourselves comfortable for our long journey southwards.

Shoulder to shoulder in cramped conditions, the five of us lay there, the restricted headroom making it impossible for any of us to sit up. The lack of lighting and the gloom created by the bulkhead created an atmosphere of darkness and the inappropriate air conditioning made it hot and sweaty. For the first time in my life, I felt I could really empathise with those tinned sardines!

Most interestingly of all though was the procedure for getting into and out of our seats. Restricted by the close proximity of our fellow travellers and the inability to sit upright, we were left with no choice but to perform a strange animated limbo dance every time we wanted to move. Great entertainment!

As the first light of day started to cast long shadows along Nha Trang's 5 mile stretch of pristine beach, the bus made its final stop and our night of discomfort was over. Undecided whether to spend our day sightseeing or lounging about drinking cocktails – the margarita's won by two clear votes to none.

Suits You, Sir!

Day 58: Hoi An (VN) – Qui Nhon (VN). You know, I have always fancied the idea of owning my own tailor made suit, but somehow never seemed able to justify the indulgence. But with Hoi An being Vietnam's Saville Row at Camden Market prices, it was going to be now or never.

Awash with boutiques offering bespoke tailoring services using the finest materials and the highest quality workmanship, Hoi An's trader's can make anything for anybody in a fraction of the time.

Wandering into Indochine Silk with the sun beginning to set behind the old Japanese Bridge, Karen and I were presented with over 1,000 fabrics to choose from and as many styles for our apparel as the catalogues on the large wooden table and our own imagination and creativity could muster. Two or three attentive staff crowded around us taking every conceivable measurement you could think of and within an hour, they were ready to start work on their overnight marathon in preparation for our first fitting at 11am the next day.

For the equivalent of about £90 we were the Belles of the Ball (if only we had a ball to go to!). For Karen; a little hand made chiffon and silk number ($35) and a hand made flared cotton summer skirt ($18). For me a hand made suit in cashmere and wool, lined with local silk ($62); a hand made cotton shirt ($12); a hand made silk tie with matching cuff links ($3).

End to end; a truly memorable experience, although I was a little disappointed not to be asked that archetypal tailors question “On which side do you dress, sir”. Perhaps my large frame had made the answer to that question patently obvious to my female attendants, I pondered to Karen. “You wish!”; the response I received.

Helpless Addicts

Day 57: Hoi An (VN). “The only regrets you have in life are the things you don't do”, said Karen reciting our own life mantra. It was that philosophy that brought us on our travels in the first place but here we were, sat on a beach in tropical Vietnam, having gorged ourselves on fresh seafood, contemplating the possibilities for our next trip. The 'Road to Bangkok' was supposed to have been a one off; the fulfilment of our long-time travelling ambition. But just like the prawns, once we had acquired the taste, we just wanted more and more. We were helplessly addicted.

Wandering around the Hoi An was like walking through a living museum. A thriving sea port in the 17th Century, the town took its influence from the fusion of Japanese, Chinese, Indian and European cultures provided by the assembly of international merchants that prospered here so successfully. This, combined with the underlying French architecture, made the place feel much more like a sleepy Mediterranean fishing village than any other Vietnamese (or for that matter Asian) town that we had previously visited.

Down on the wharf, a constant stream of small boats came and went; unloading their bounty of fresh seafood from these plentiful waters. As fast as the catch could be brought ashore it was whisked away to serve the many beach bars and restaurants along this stunning coast. And Karen and I were not far behind! Seeking out some of the largest, freshest, tastiest, (and cheapest!) prawns we had ever tasted. Yummm!

'R & R'

Day 56: Hue (VN) – Hoi An (VN). “My God, this country's beautiful”, I exclaimed as we drove south from Hue towards the sleepy town of Hoi An. On previous travels, Karen and I have been fortunate enough to experience some of the most beautiful coastal drives on the planet: Big Sur, Kalbarri, the Cape & Kerry to name but a few. But after today, there was a new contender on the block: Vietnam's Highway number 1; a scenic , if at times hair raising, trip through some of the most stunning coastal and mountainous region in the country.

Notching up transport mode number 30, the local sleeper bus provided us with an elevated position to view the scenery: On our right hand side, still lagoons, buffalo herders, tiny villages and striking mountain ranges rising up into the afternoon mist, on our left; rugged coastline, golden beaches and the blue expanse of the South China Sea.

Relishing the opportunity to get sand between our toes, we took a stroll along the deserted My Khe beech to the south of the Danang. During the Vietnam war this 20 mile stretch of golden sands became known as 'China Beach' – an Edenic respite from the hell of combat where thousands of American G. I.'s spent their leave. Years later, millions of television viewers tuned in to the acclaimed 1980s television drama with the same name depicting the famed U.S. Army R. and R. base.

Today, their were no G. I.'s and there were no army bases. It was just Karen and me, a lady selling sea-shells, the sand and the sea. This was our Rest and Relaxation.

Day 56: Total Mileage to Date: 12,512: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 9; Number of Transport Modes Used: 30, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +26C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Prima Donna

Day 55: Ninh Binh (VN) – Hue (VN). “Bit like a 19th century Maria Carey, then?”, I suggested to Karen, trying to relate to the Prima Donna antics of Emperor Tu Duc. Apparently, it is said that he insisted on 50 dishes to be prepared by 50 cooks and served by 50 servants at every meal. On top of that his tea had to be made from the dew that accumulated on leaves overnight. Not too demanding then!

Travelling by noisy and rather dirty overnight sleeper train from Hanoi (we used our 'anti bed bug sleeper sacks' for the first time tonight!), we had arrived at Hue; the intellectual, cultural and spiritual heart of Vietnam. Serving as the political capital under the 13 emperors of the Nguyen dynasty, its crumbling citadel had achieved Unesco World Heritage status and formed the scene of our afternoon's wanderings.

At the heart of the citadel, the Forbidden Purple City (Tu Cam Thanh) formed the private residence of the emperor, where apart from the man himself, this are was off-limits to all but concubines and eunuchs. Fortunately for Karen and me, things had changed some-what and we were both welcomed with open arms.

Ravished not only by time but from the violence that ensued in the Vietnam war, Tu Cam Thanh is in a state of severe decay. Walking around these peaceful streets and witnessing all of these smiling faces, it was hard to believe that in 1972 these streets saw some of the worst fighting of the war. With the Viet Cong entrenched inside the old citadel, the emperors palace was bombarded by American mortar fire as the city echoed to the rat-a-tat-tat of sub-machine exchanges.

Birthday Girl

Day 54: Hanoi (VN) – Ninh Binh (VN). Even when you're on a tight budget, you need to let your hair down out and give yourself a treat every now and then. And with Karen entering the last year of her thirties – what better excuse did we need? So today we forgot about trying to find a meal for under $5, we put on our glad rags on (jeans and trainers anyway) and went in search of the finest cuisine Hanoi could over. And thanks in part to the Lonely Planet (what else!) we found it, in the shape of the 'Wild Lotus' restaurant

And this wasn't just a good restaurant just by Hanoi standards, this was a fine restaurant even by west-end standards and with a comprehensive wine list including a 1995 Chateau Margeux Grand Cru at £1,000 a bottle (yes, that was British pounds and not Vietnamese dong!), this was the Le Manoir Aux Quat'Saisons of Vietnam. Indeed, such was the exclusivity of this lovely restaurant we were the only diners – but that didn't stop us enjoying our 10 course meal (washed down with bottles of beer because we couldn't afford any of the wine on the menu). The whole affair costing a cool million (this time however, I am talking Vietnamese dong rather than British pounds!)

Apart from the obvious quality of the food, the other noticeable difference between this and some of the other restaurants we had frequented in the Vietnamese capital was the apparent absence of rats. Vietnam as a whole has a big problem with rodent infestation which Khanh had detailed to us during our motorcycling tour. His view on the problem stemmed from the countries decision to round up all of the cats and sell them to China for food. Huffkin and Chudleigh – aren't you so pleased you live in your nice warm house in the UK and not in South East Asia?

Chicken Tonight

Day 53: Phu Yen (VN) – Hanoi (VN). Ahead of us; the evening sun was low in the sky sending long shadows along the dusty road following a hard but extremely exhilarating day in the saddle. We were less than 5 miles from base-camp and I was already dreaming of a cool beer to soothe my parched throat. Back in the UK, they say this is statistically the most likely time to have an accident; when you lower your guard after a days ride out. Motorcycling takes complete concentration and if you don't give it 100% you are in the lap of the gods. Today the Gods were not on my side. Today, I had my first motorcycling accident in over five years of riding. Today, in Vietnam.

Entering Mai Chau, a group of children came to the roadside to wave their hello's and I was only too happy to reciprocate. To my left a lone buffalo walked along the side of the road and ahead of me to my right, a couple of chickens scratched around in the dirt. Ordinarily, my focus would have been with the animals but that evening, to my detriment the children took the best share of my attention. As I drew along side the birds, something in their minuscule brains must have clicked, and they both decided that it would be a cracking idea to play 'chicken' with the bike. Despite my best avoidance techniques, I couldn't stop quickly enough and with an explosion of feathers I struck the first rooster . As the bike continued over the bird, it's animated 'cock-a-doodle-doing' was soon silenced.

Whilst this may have signalled a permanent end to the chicken's problems, it was only the start of mine. With the front wheel now in in the air and the bike unsteady from the action of my sudden breaking, I couldn't prevent it falling away to the right. Hitting the road we slid for about 20 meters of so leaving a path of broken glass and bits of dashboard to mark our progress. My helmet crashing into the hard road surface marked the victory of friction over momentum as a cloud of dust and feathers filled the still evening air.

Behind me, I could here the commotion as a dozen or so local women came running from their little bamboo houses to the scene of the accident. Still trapped under the bike, I was pretty sore from my encounter with the road, but I knew I was fundamentally OK so me-thinks I'd get a little sympathy and perhaps some TLC. So I lay there. ...And I lay there. ...And no one came!

Glancing over my shoulder, I caught sight of the women, crowded around the deceased bird fighting over ownership of the remains! Whilst this melee continued an old man came to my rescue and helped resurrect both me and the bike. By the time Karen and Khanh arrived at the scene, the women's dispute appeared to be over and an old lady disappeared in to her traditional village house clutching the lifeless chicken by it's legs.

“Look on the bright side”, Karen said trying to cheer me up, “At least you provided that family with a good meal tonight!”. Try as I may, I found it extremely difficult to share in their new found happiness!

Premature

Day 52: Pom Coong (VN) – Phu Yen (VN). “I may have peeked too soon!”, I exclaimed to Karen, anxiously”. Karen said nothing, but continued to stare at the ceiling of our bedroom of the little guest house in the small town Vietnamese mountain town of of Phu Yen. Of course I was referring to my travel writing.

Whilst there were many advantages to keeping a daily log of our travels, 'real-time' writing didn't really give us the time to reflect on the overall experience of our adventure. And therein lay my current dilemma: We had enthused about Russia, we had warmed to Mongolia, we had been captivated by China – but then we had arrived in Vietnam – and this place absolutely knocked our socks off!

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that we thought any less of our fabulous experiences in the previous countries, and we wouldn't have changed anything about our itinerary. It was just that by the time we arrived in Vietnam, I had already exhausted all of the superlatives available in my relatively limited vocabulary and so I had nothing else to give. I had no way to describe Vietnam. You'll all just have to come here and take a look for yourselves.

The motorcycles were adding further to our enjoyment of this beutiful country and the mountain scenery that lay before us - in my opinion, the most involving form of mechanised transport available. For on a motorcycle you don't just pass through the countryside, you are part of it. All five senses are acutely tuned to your environment, allowing you to experience so much more than travelling by car or bus. And the further we got into the mountains, the more like celebrities we felt as whole communities came out to wish us well, each village dressed according to their ethic origin. “We have 58 hill tribes in these mountains”, Khanh said with a great deal of pride. He went on to enquire “How many tribes do you have in England?”. “Err...Just the one, really”, Karen replied with a smile.

Long Way Round

Day 51: Hanoi (VN) – Pom Coong (VN). Drawing closer to the truck, I became smothered in clouds of dust and diesel as it struggled to make head way against the steep incline. The road bent to the left giving a perfect view of what lay ahead. I stabbed the gear lever with my left foot, the bike responding immediately, propelling me past the first truck and then a second. In front of me Karen disappeared from view as the mountain pass snaked sharply to the right. I gave a little push on the inside bar and the bike instantly banked to the right, narrowing the radius of the turn. As the sun emerged from the other side of the mountain, the apex of the bend came clearly into view, allowing me to give it a little more gas - instantly, the bike stood up and I had Karen in my sights once again. We were riding motor cycles through the mountainous jungle region of North Vietnam and we were having an absolute hoot (you all knew we would didn't you?)

Having left Hanoi shortly after rush hour, Khanh our Vietnamese guide for the next three days, quickly got us on the the quiet back roads to the North of the capital city. Riding through sleepy villages, rice paddies and untouched rain forest, the bikes provided the best possible perspective to view this stunning landscape. Far from the beaten track we seemed to be the star attraction in every village we entered: Children waving hysterically, adults smiling their friendly hellos and other bikers nodding appreciatively.

With all this attention, it was easy for Karen and I to become complacent, but these roads needed absolute concentration. In addition to the usual biking dangers , poor road surfaces and roaming livestock at every turn gave these road an extra challenge. Indeed, such were the conditions, that after 6 hours solid riding we had covered just a little over 100 miles, a distance that would have taken about an hour on our bikes back in the UK (Sorry, officer I meant 2 hours!)

Eventually though, after perhaps the most memorable day of our trip so far, we arrived at the little village of Pom Coong, where our guide had arranged for Karen and I to be the guests of the Chung family, simple farmers belonging to the Muong hill tribe. Their traditional wooden stilt house overlooking the rice fields provided the perfect place for us to catch our breath, try some delicious home cooked Vietnamese food and drink a glass or two of rice wine whist we listened to the hypnotic sound of the jungle as day gradually gave way to night.

Bananas

Day 50: Halong Bay (VN) – Hanoi (VN). “Maybe we can enter Thailand at Poipet, then go from into Laos and then re enter at the border crossing near Vientianne” I said, spreading some more strawberry jam on to my slice of toast.

The sailing junk continued on its course through the bay while Karen and I tucked into to a hearty breakfast. We listened intently to our French shipmates, Stephanie and Fred recounting their travelling tales from 8 months on the road taking in South America, New Zealand, China and now, Indo-China.

Since leaving England back in January, the Thai government in it's wisdom had decided to change it's immigration rules for European nationals which was now affecting all of our travel plans, hence the hot topic of our early morning conversation.

In a seemingly money motivated move aimed at hitting backpacking travellers, whilst protecting the higher spending tourists, visa durations had been halved for those crossing a land border rather than flying in to the country. In addition, the rules around multiple entries had been revised, which from what we understood, was causing no end of confusion and injustice at the various border control points. On top of all that, the UK and French Foreign Offices were also warning their citizens not to use the land borders at Chong Jom or Choam Sa-Ngam due to the levels of tensions between the Thai and Cambodian military. “Take no notice of that”, Fred said. “It's just governments being over protective”. Maybe he was right, I thought.

Now I'm no politician and I don't claim to know anything about macro economics, but it seems to me that when close on ten per cent of a countries gross domestic product is generated from tourism and with the world in financial meltdown, the last thing you would want to do as a government would be to drive away dollars, euros and pounds. But that was precisely what this new directive was going to do.

Clearly, this was going to affect our plans, but we didn't know how. And right now, the truth of it was we didn't really care. We were in Vietnam, and Thailand was weeks away yet. “Pass the sun tan lotion, can you Karen!”

PS If you happen to be a Thai border control guard reading this, we'd like you to know how much Karen and I are looking forward to meeting you and visiting your wonderful country. I do hope you didn't mind our little joke about your government – I'm sure they know what they're doing really!. You do have a sense of humour, right!?

By the Seaside

Day 49: Hanoi (VN) – Halong Bay (VN). “It's a turtle. No, no, wait. That's the bear. Or maybe it's the lion!?”, I suggested to Karen, clearly bemused by the gigantic stalagmite formations in Sung Sot Cave that were supposed to resemble the form of magical animals.

After two and a half days at the mercy of Hanoi's acrid pollution we were in need of some fresh air and with the Gulf of Tonkin a (relatively) short bus ride away, Karen and I decided the best way to clear our nasal passages would be to take a trip to the seaside.

7 weeks had passed since we last saw the sea and that was on the opening day of our voyage whilst crossing the North Seas from Harwich. But gazing out over Halong Bay from the decks of our Vietnamese Sailing Junk, the panorama felt like a million miles away from the Suffolk coast rather than the eleven thousand or so that we had actually travelled to be there. Around 3,000 incredible islands rose from the emerald waters – a priceless collection of unfinished sculptures hewn from the hand of mother nature. Untouched white sandy beaches awaited discovery by anyone who cared to explore them and a flotilla of small fishing junks completed this idyllic scene.

And here we were aboard this beautiful hand crafted wooden boat - our home for the next two days, sailing across the Unesco rated World Heritage Site: Taking in the scenery, exploring the caves and getting our hair wet. With the sun setting behind the gigantic limestone monoliths, we tucked into a seafood buffet, shared a drink or two with our fellow travellers and listened to the sound of the waves lapping against the shore. Does it get any better than this?

Day 49: Total Mileage to Date: 11,567: Number of Time Zones: 10; Number of Countries Visited: 9; Number of Transport Modes Used: 26, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +22C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Weasel Words

Day 48: Hanoi (VN). Steam filled the air as the early morning sun burned away the overnight rains. Through the mist, a well ordered crowd of several thousand people filed by to pay their respects to their cultural and spiritual leader. We had witnessed a similar thing in Red Square for Lenin, in Tiananmen for Mao. Now we were in Vietnam, it was the turn of Ho Chi Minh.

The Vietnamese are a fascinating and intriguing people, having earned their stripes in successive skirmishes with the world's mightiest powers during most of the second half of the 20th Century: First it was the French, then the Japanese, then the French again, then civil war, then the might of Uncle Sam, then civil war again, then Cambodia and then China...

But as Karen and I watched over a large party of school children at the Ho Chi Minh Memorial Complex, all we could see was an incredibly friendly and upbeat nation that wanted to move on from the past. It appears that all Vietnam's new generation want is a place to succeed. A place to have fun.

Taking time out to soak up the atmosphere we stopped by a café in the Old Quarter and at the recommendation of our hosts ordered a cup of 'Weasel coffee'. The beverage finished we enquired as to the origin of the unusual name (always a dangerous thing to do after you've drunk something!) Our waiter was only too pleased to tell us that this was a special blend of coffee where the beans are selected and fed to a certain species of weasel, which in turn passes the beans through in its excrement which are then ground – hence the unique flavour! “Oh, well. Look on the bright side”, I said to Karen, “At least we haven't got the job of collecting the beans from the weasel!!”

Steroids

Day 47: Hanoi (VN). If aliens from another planet were to land in Hanoi, they could be forgiven for thinking that our planet was inhabited by motorcycles and not by people - such are the number of two wheeled vehicles that swarm the streets of the Old Quarter of Vietnam's capital city. “I thought the traffic in Mongolia and China was bad!”, I shouted to Karen over the noise of the bikes, “But this place feels like Beijing on Steroids!”

Our travelling adventure just seemed to be getting better and better. Venturing out on to the streets of Hanoi, Vietnam seemed to us to be as culturally diverse compared to China as China had been to Russia. Different people, different food, different customs.

Two million motorcycles vie for position in Hanoi city providing personal transport for individuals, family transport (mum, dad, two children and a dog – not an uncommon site), taxis and commercial haulage (anything and everything; livestock, crates of beer, furniture, plate glass windows – you name it)! And today, as Karen and I tried to cross the road by Hoan Kiem Lake, it felt like every single one of them had taken to the streets to welcome us to this enchanting city! Such is the number of bikes and such is the poor standard of road craft that forty bikers a day die on these roads. However, despite those appalling statistics it actually felt like the most dangerous form of transport in this city happened to be walking (our chosen way of navigating the city!) It's not that there aren't any pavements – there are and they are very wide. The problem is you can't get to then because every square inch is covered with motorcycles!

Two things kept our sanity that day. The first was the intoxicating qualities of Vietnam's Xeo (rice wine): Available straight or fruity at 50p a glass. The second was Bia Hoi – the worlds cheapest street beer at just 25p a pint. You know, I think we're going to enjoy it here!

Apocalypse Now

Day 46: Nanning (CN) – Hanoi (VN). “I hope we've got our sums right here otherwise we could have one enormous overdraft when we return home!”, I exclaimed as Karen pressed the confirm key on the ATM to withdraw 2 million Vietnamese Dong (hopefully, about £80!).

The early morning bus had taken us as far as the Chinese border and, as we had come to expect with anything Chinese, the formalities of exiting the country were dealt with in a very efficient and business like manner.

In stark contrast to the approach adopted by the Vietnamese immigration officials! Leaving the very clean and modern Chinese buildings we we whisked across the area of no-man's land between China and Vietnam on golf buggies (how cool is that!) to arrive at a very run down and dirty building with ageing timbers and a corrugated tin roof. Inside pandemonium ensued as we were processed by the army of laissez-faire officials. Unsure whether we had been the victims of a border scam, Karen and I had to pay the border guards for a medical certificate which consisted of us both having to tick a box confirming that we felt 'OK' on entering the country!

Catching the Hanoi bound bus on the Vietnamese side of the border the scenery was astonishing: With high mountains, terraced rice fields and palm trees, it felt like we were part of a scene from Apocalypse Now (maybe that was Marlon Brando we saw in that bar at the side of the road!). I watched the highway snake back and forth as the bus negotiated the narrow mountain passes, the sun glinting off the smooth asphalt,and started to think how wonderful it would be for Karen and I to ride these roads on our motorcycles. Two miles down the road however, we witnessed the remains of a bike that had come second place in an argument with a twenty-four ton truck. Closing my eyes settling down in my seat to get some rest before we reached Hanoi, I thought I should probably forget the idea. At least for now.

Delightfully Uninspiring

Day 45: Nanning (CN). Billed by the Lonely Planet as '..hard to love due to its relentless urban sprawl...', there wasn't a great deal to commend us to the city of Nanning. There was no Great Wall to walk, no clay soldiers to uncover and no spectacular scenery to lose ourselves in. In fact, Nanning was as average and as uninspiring a city that you could possibly care to stumble upon. But we loved it.

We were here, not by virtue of what the city could offer, but by necessity as we planned our onward travel route through southern China right down to the Vietnamese border. But it was precisely these kind of non-eventful days that we had set about encountering before we embarked on our overland adventure. For Karen and I, these kind of days marked the difference between the 'travelling' we wanted to do and the 'break-neck tourism' that had traditionally formed the theme of our holidays. With nothing to do and no-where to go, today was all about chilling: Long lunches, window shopping and whiling the hours over a cup of the local tea - watching the world go by. Perfect!

And by taking time, even humdrum places like Nanning can prove to be fascinating. Well off of the tourist trail, this city and it's people were as 'Chinese' as it gets. Such was the complete lack of any western influence on the restaurant menus that Karen and I found it quite difficult to find anything we wanted to order - although, I'm sure in some part, that had to do with the literal translations used to help English ignoramus like us. For instance, I challenge anyone (western or eastern) to get enthused by the prospect of 'Miscellaneous Pig's Bits' or for anyone's digestive juices to start flowing when offered the delightful 'Mashed Frog in a Pot'!

Tropics

Day 44: Yangshuo (CN) – Nanning (CN). “We could fly into Shanghai, go down to Yangshuo, then up to Lijiang and across to Lhasa”, I suggested. Karen wiped the condensation from the window of the bus with her hand, gave a small nod and watched the little town of Yangshuo disappear in to the distance.

So impressed were we with China, that here we were, less than half way through our current travelling adventure already talking about what we would do when we returned next time. China had provided everything we wanted from our travels: Culture, diversity, scenery, interesting people and great food. But alas, as we only had a few days remaining on our visas, we now had to start making our way to the border and planning our route out of the country.

Heading south on the daily service bus to the city of Nanning, we passed through the 23rd parallel of latitude putting us geographically into the Tropic of Cancer. Outside it was still drizzling and the temperature was a chilly 8C, but after our cold trip through China, we hoped that now we were in the tropics it would signify the start of warmer and sunnier weather to come.

Market Day

Day 43: Yangshuo (CN). Enquiring of Lily, the best day to visit the travelling markets in the outlying villages of Yangshuo, we received the following reply: “Markets take place every third day, however , after the third market the next one is in four days not three but this doesn't happen in all towns – there are no markets on the 10th, 20, 30th and 31st of the month”. Miraculously, and by accident rather than design, we happened to stumble upon Xinngping on market day!

For these small communities the travelling markets are the social and economic highlight of the week but for Karen and me they provided a fascinating way to while away a few hours and an opportunity to learn a little bit more about the Guangxi region of China. Vibrant, bustling and noisy; the smell of fresh spices and cooking wafted through the air as we meandered through the lanes perusing the sellers wares.

From our western, point of view, the market provided a challenge to our own expectations: In what looked like the pet area, caged animals squawked and barked, only for us to realise we were actually walking down the food aisles. A local man loaded an 8 ft tree on to the back of his motorcycle while his wife rode pillion; clutching the weeks shopping and two live chickens under both arms. “It's only strange to us because it's different”, Karen said, wisely “Imagine what they would think if they came to England and saw us eating baked beans on toast and collecting the newspaper in our gas guzzling 4x4's”. I laughed, but she was absolutely right.

In need of lunch time refreshments we stumbled on a intriguing little café with a whole menagerie of live animals on the terrace: Snakes, chickens, pheasants and pigeons. Caged at the back of the shop were two of the most enormous bamboo rats we had ever seen; available fried or boiled. On this occasion we politely declined, and settled for a nice cup of jasmine tea!

Sanjie Liu

Day 42: Yangshuo. I can't explain why, but some things just fuse together perfectly - like chocolate & chillies for instance or strawberries & black pepper. On the face of it, it sounds like a disgusting combination, but experience it first hand and it you know it just works. Deliciously!

And that's how it felt witnessing 'Impressions Sanjie Liu', Yangshuo's hottest show. Bringing together the polish and production of a Lloyd/Webber show, the artistic majesty of the Royal Ballet and the magic and glitz of Walt Disney. An unusual combination that shouldn't really work, but in this production directed by Chinese movie maker Zhang Yimou, it did. Perfectly, movingly and entertainingly.

Billed as a 'Folk Musical'' the performance was acted out in the dead of night on the Li River (yes, that's right, they performed on the Li River), with the gargantuan proportions that we had come to expect of anything Chinese. For a start the backdrop was provided by illuminating 12 of the surrounding karst peaks. Thrown in to the mix were 600 local fisherman, a similar number of local school children, a choir, the town ballet troupe, 100 bamboo rafts, half a dozen cows, a score of cormorants and more light bulbs, candles and dry ice than you can shake a stick at.

In an experience reminiscent of the Balshoi, Karen and I had been fortunate enough to witness in Moscow so many weeks ago this was a tear jerking event. Conducted entirely in Mandarin we were unable to understand the narrative, but as with the ballet it really didn't matter. The power of the dance, the music and the production was all we needed to bring our senses alive.

Tucking in to a late supper of fresh river shrimps and beer fish we both enthused about the evening's entertainment. “I couldn't believe the co-ordination of all of those dancers”, Karen said cheerfully. “And the lights. Fantastic”.

The excellent food added to our high spirits. Since we arrived in China we hadn't had a bad meal. Sure, some dishes were better than others, and the food in each region of China varied extensively, but we had yet to order something that we didn't devour heartily. And the further south we appeared to travel in this huge country the more we seemed to enjoy it. A perfect evening all round.

Day 42: Total Mileage to Date: 10,899: Number of Time Zones Crossed: 9; Number of Countries Visited: 8; Number of Transport Modes Used: 23, Maximum Temperature Encountered: +15C, Minimum Temperature Encountered: -32C.

Picture Postcard

Day 41: Yangshuo. A little out of breath after ascending the 1,251 stairs of the natural stone staircase leading to the top of Moon Hill, Karen and I fell silent. From our high vantage point, we were intoxicated by the dreamlike scenery that lay before us. In every direction - as far as the eye could see. All we could do was stand and stare.

The karst topography around Yangshuo is world famous, and such is it's beauty, it has become iconic with images of China. Soaring limestone peaks, rice fields, lazy rivers and tiny villages – the true face of rural China. The weather; cold and misty, somehow seemed to add to the atmosphere of this place and for the first time in days Karen and I forgot about our desires to head to warmer climes – right now, this is where we wanted to be.

Determined to see as much of Yangshuo's outlying countryside, Karen and I took to cycling, along country lanes and farm tracks, every bend in the road gave us a new picture postcard view, a new perspective to enjoy. So addictive was the scenery, so compulsive was the desire to 'let's just see what's down here' that we covered over 30km before our backsides started to complain about the levels of comfort offered by the rather narrow saddles of our rental bikes!

Inspired by the change of scenery, Karen bravely decided it was time for a change of hairstyle. Now, when I had my hair trimmed back in Beijing; getting over the language barrier was quite straightforward: I just pointed to the clippers and spaced a 3 millimetre gap with my fingers. But for Karen, it was a little more complicated. Clutching a piece of paper with some rudimentary Chinese phrases, meaning “Nothing off length, but layers” she sat down in the salon across from the hotel and thumbed through the pictures of a magazine looking for suitable Chinese hairs-styles. By this time she was causing quite a stir and a small crowd of local people gathered around as the stylist lobbed half her hair off with an implement resembling a machete. “It looks OK”, I said encouragingly as she emerged 1 hour later and £2 lighter. “I'm not sure about the back”, she replied hesitantly. “Perhaps I'll wait until we get home before I have it cut again!”