As terribly awkward situations go, being set up with a tall Chinese girl who didn’t speak English must rate fairly highly up the list. However, more on this later…

In the last post, I left our intrepid adventurer in the freezing mists of Yuan Yang having returned from a successful trip to see its famous rice terraces. The next stop on my travels was Kunming, capital of the Yunan province and serious party city (or so I was told). Accompanying me on the seven hour bus trip were my three fellow travellers from Yuan Yang, who all assured me that they knew a great hostel in Kunming and an even better bar. “You’ll love it… well you’ll hate it at the time. But afterwards you’ll love it!”. The full story came out in drips and drabs, the three of them virtually unable to get the words out they were laughing so hard. Apparently the story goes something like this…

An American, A Frenchman and a German walk into a bar, sit down and then proceed to be befriended by a group of drunken Chinese guys. One of the Chinese guys then proceeds to talk in unintelligible English/Chinese at them for a few hours spitting in their faces the whole time, whilst the others dance like complete fools, constantly trying to get the Westerners up and dancing. This was hardly the world’s most convincing pitch – yet somehow I still managed to end up i the club being pushed towards a giant Chinese girl (I’m afraid your still going to have to keep waiting on this one…).

Anyway, after a blissfully smooth seven hour journey we arrived in Kunming and settled down in our luxury 4 bed ok-but-nothing-special dormitory in a big hostel called “The Hump”. Now, for those of you who have travelled in Asia the idea of a hostel might sound a little strange. They don’t really exist in South-East Asia. In Thailand and its neighbours there is no need for them. Cheap guesthouses offer you the privacy of your own room for a pittance, and locals have been quick to pick up on exactly what backpackers want and can afford. In China things work slightly differently. There are still cheap guesthouses, but “cheap” means something very different – something far more Western in terms of pricing. Thus, hostels are back on the menu and bedding down in China feels very similar to the European backpacking experience.

The view from our hostel

After settling down I went to explore the city. Kunming is a wonderfully relaxed city. Despite having between three and six million people depending on what boundary you use, the city centre itself feels small and pleasant. On the night which I stayed there was a night market in the main square. Here various traders tried to peddle their goods, the young played with flying disc toys, and a five year old kid tried to impress the world with his dancing talents on a China Mobile stage – all in all the whole place just had a friendly vibe coursing through it. Yet this was all to change on the sixteenth strike of the clock. Come 8pm the whole centre had turned into a seething throng of drunkenness, and let me get one thing straight right now: The Chinese cannot hold their liquor! With groups of young Chinese men and women wandering the streets, throwing up, singing and swaying, and the time not even yet past the watershed, there was only one thing to do: start drinking!

A few beers in the hostel, led to another few beers in a terrible bar cum-club (see above) and eventually on to the dance floor. Suddenly I found myself alone. Where had my former partners in crime gone? And why had they abandoned me with a bunch of Chinese students eager to use what little English they had? In the end, I just went with it. What else was there to do? Boogieing away to such classic 90s tracks (cutting-edge in Chinese music tastes) as “Let me be your fantasy” and various remixes of the seminal works by the Backstreet Boys (THE band among 20 year old Chinese men!), I was certainly in another universe. But the night was about to get even stranger. Apparently dating in China is very practical matter. Indeed, the logic of my Chinese friends appears to have gone something along the lines of:  “you are tall… she is tall… you are perfect for each other!”. In fact they pretty much told me this was the case while acting confused as I protested that I had a girlfriend that I was perfectly happy with thankyouverymuch. Despite this and other firm rejections, I somehow found myself in a Chinese circle with a tall Chinese girl, clearly considered freakishly tall by her male Chinese friends but just under 6′ in truth, expected to get it on. She looked as embarrassed as me, but with a distinct keeness showing through. It was all very uncomfortable as I tried to explain that, although she was of course lovely, I had a girlfriend whilst at the same time desperately looking to make a dignified escape. However, it is very difficult to do anything in a dignified manner when the sweet harmonies of Nick Carter are being distorted into a trancey groove in the background. Consequently, I was finally forced to physically duck out of the circle and make my escape to the exit and to freedom.

Fresh, cool air. And no Amazonians after me. But I was lost. Finally  after an hours walking around (including a brief trip to McDonalds!) I was back in bed. In fact I was due up in about 5 hours to find a bus on to Dali. Still that is a story for my next post I think. Zai Jian all.

So, after attempting to put China all in one post and only making it as far as my second day, I’ve decided to serialise the entries for China, hopefully updating twice a week.

In other news, I’ve been working on an interactive map to display the best photos from the trip. The problem is that wordpress doesn’t like the scripts involved so basically I’ve had to find some webspace somewhere to host it all. Consequently the beta version (and let me stress that it isn’t finished yet) of the map and photos can be found at:

http://jealousyet.freeate.com/

Currently only China, Brunei, Singapore and Borneo are fully done – though I may still add a few more pictures to the China section – and Thailand and Laos have a few pictures up. Navigation is easy. Just click on the country you want to see the pictures from and a small window pops up with a browser. The different locations within the country are shown by thumbnails on the left hand side (which should bring up place names when the mouse rolls over them). NB: If it doesn’t work make sure you allow pop-ups for the site (my map is the only one I promise) or hold ‘ctrl’ when you click the country.

Please feel free to comment on this post. Any feedback on the China thing, or on the picture map would be most appreciated.

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UPDATE 11.01am: 08-12-08

The server is currently down on the test site for my photo map (somewhat typically). A backup copy of the site can be found here, so please use this link if the one above fails to load. I apologise for the adverts on this link, hopefully  the primary server will be back up soon.

Go to Backup Site

I’m back! (…finally, and well overdue).

It’s strange, I’ve always wondered whether I could attract the ire of a world power. Apparently I can and in China it would seem that I don’t even need to try. Despite wordpress.com working in much of China, as well as the BBC site – which I had been assured was blocked (it was in fact unblocked for the Olympics) – jealousyet refused to load. For the first time in my life, I had been censored!

Not that any of that matters any more. I’m back in England. My travels complete, the backpack headed only up to it’s final resting place on top of the wardrobe. Gone is the ever-present sun and the golden temples. Gone too is the laid-back life of the beaches and the pure carnage of the megacities. No longer will I gaze across fields of rice instead of wheat or barley… and no longer will food be prepared using only ONE pan, regardless of the meal. Alas, Asia feels like a different planet back here in cold England and one that I can’t help but miss.

Not that it’s all bad! Cheese is finally a viable food option once again, bread isn’t made from potatoes and nor does it taste like the baker knocked a bag of sugar into the mixture without noticing. Yes, finally the old English Ploughman’s is mine to savour again!

… Still I digress. Apologies to everyone who missed their travel news fix whilst I was behind the Bamboo Curtain. I know I probably should have found a way to post, but I really was very busy. In just under 28 days I traveled more than 3800 miles by land. Some of these miles were traversed at glorious speed: from Beijing to Hong Kong, around 1225 miles, took less than 24 hours on a high-speed train. Other journeys seemed to stretch on for hours: my first journey in China from Lao Cai in Vietnam to Yuan Yang in the Yunan province, a journey of under 100 miles, took 9 hours along the bumpiest roads I have ever been on. Still, this was China, and I was excited!…

Yuan Yang, Yunnan Province

After wobbling away from the world’s bumpiest bus ride I stumbled out into a different world. Yuan Yang’s old town (the name of which I can’t remember) is small. Exceptionally small by China’s standards I suppose. The hotel listed in the Lonely Planet obviously didn’t exist and the map which I had copied down off another blog was completely useless. No-one spoke English and I couldn’t be sure whether the town was further up or down the hill from where I had been dumped. Still, this was the challenge I had come for and I wasn’t about to shy away from it just yet. After much pointing at Chinese symbols as well as much more pointing in various directions, I walked 10 meters from the bus stop and found the only hostel in town. Sam 1 – 0 China.

Then I looked around. Sam 1 -2 China. What a dive!! Now, I don’t want to sound like a snob, god-knows I stayed in some pretty awful places around Asia, but this place takes the price for worst hotel. At a little over £2 a night it was still good value, but the toilets were the most unspeakable of horrors and as far as I could tell the showers didn’t even exist. Plus Yuan Yang was cold, really cold. Well not really cold, but I was used to the staggering heat of Vietnam and Thailand. The only chills I known over the 7 months preceding my visit to China had come at the top of a very large mountain and even then I soon warmed up again once the trek back down had begun.

The town itself was wonderful. Everything I had imagined (wrongly of course) China to be. Decrepit old Communist blocks of buildings merged seamlessly with the mist hanging over the town. Old men wondered around in mao caps, hands clasped behind their backs, slowing pondering the world’s problems in their best strolling jackets. Half the town also seemed to sitting around a table gambling on various games of chess and tiles, the other half watching (well those that weren’t currently strolling).

After establishing that there was not a lot more to the town than I had already seen on my first cursory glance, I headed for my second proper Chinese meal. Lunch had been a mixed bag, not-bad bean “dish” with some less nice leaves on rice, so my only aim was to do better than lunch. After much internal deliberation I settled on a small restaurant in the town’s square which had a sign advertising “menu english here”. This proved to be no help when my “spare ribs” came in a soup. Accompanied only with chopsticks, the ribs were rendered virtually impossible to eat. My first attempts were an abysmal failure. Using the chopsticks to hold the ribs while tearing the edible fresh off I was only rewarded with the soup sprayed all over my only jumper after slowly losing my grip on the ribs. Other methods were attempted: eating with my hands only burnt them, taking the whole chop into my mouth left problems of what to do with the bones, and the bowl was far too large to drink out of without further risk of spillage. All in all the meal was a bit of a disaster! Still on the ‘morrow I would be seeing the famous rice terraces for which I had suffered an agonising journey in order to see.

Having staggered out of bed half asleep at 5am in order to see sunrise, I was somewhat disappointed to see that the whole of the town lay under thick grey mist. After a few minutes spent deciding whether or not to go back to bed and a few more spent in vain trying to find the non-existent showers,  I was in the minivan I had hired with three other western travelers (a Frenchman, a German and an American) heading towards the paddies. One hour later and it was still dark and grey – spirits were low, and stomachs were growling.

After a quick stop for breakfast and the realisation that sunrise had already occurred and was utterly rubbish we set off for the terraces. Despite the heavy mist, our moods were lifted. The terraces really were spectacular, and even more sensationally, we were completely alone in a tiny farmers village. The days of tourist-filled Vietnam were over, Hurray! (more on this later…)

After we’d had our fill of wandering we headed on to our next stop. This was a bustling market village a few kilometers down the road, where local farmers sell and trade their wares. Wandering round the village was a real treat. Bowls of bright red chilis and peppers of all shapes and sizes mixed with giant blocks of tobacco fromaround China. This was another point of interest. I’ve been to eastern Europe and thought that the men there like to smoke – well if they like to smoke in Europe, they love to smoke in China! Never have I seen so many people smoking in one place! Literally every man had a cigarette in his hand or, more interestingly, was puffing out of a giant bong-like pipe. Most bizarre of all was the fact that many of these pipes had only a normal cigarette as the source of smoke, tiny in relation to the size of these humongous bazooka-like tubes.

After our stop at the market we went back for a mid-day nap and lunch before heading back out to a different spot after lunch. This time we weren’t alone, two other tourists arrived and much to our relief the local tribes women (read vultures) stopped trying to ask us to buy stuff in Chinese and headed over to hassle them instead. The views after lunch were better and although the photos don’t really do the view justice, the sun did come and out and the view was utterly stunning. Here are a few more photos to give you a hint of what the view was like.

Here’s one of the strange pipes. This man probably didn’t take his lips off the end all day.

Barbecued tofu is delicious. Watch out for the sauce though, it could probably burn through steel.

The view from the top.

Hassled for money even on the edge of a cliff. The joys of being a tourist!

Mist…

… continued next week

I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves on this one. Note the last picture – the weather wasn’t quite so good on the journey back to shore!

Hoi An

“Hoi An!!!” This beautifully posed question was sighted in the slowest restaurant in Hoi An.

Shoes, glorious shoes!

The Market

Hoi An is a Chinese street, and on some streets every other building seemed to be a pagoda.

I’m not sure what it is exactly, but presumably it’s used in some kind of handicrafts.

I get a  cheeky lift, and yes I did feel bad enough to do a bit of paddling too.

 
My trip to My Son

More peaceful that Angkor. A more beautiful setting with trees and mountains. Shame about the temples eh! Cambodia 1 – 0 Vietnam (but don’t tell them I said so).

 
It didn’t stop me taking some nice pictures though.

Where would be the best place to dry your corn. Oh yes ON the road!

A surprisingly normal sight in Vietnam’s countryside (although usually it’s a woman carrying it all).

And some insect shots. Just because I can…

The butterfly decided to spice up my shot at My Son.

Now this is getting a little iundulgent, sorry. I will stop!

Dalat

The view from the cable car in Dalat, why they have one that barely goes uphill I’m not sure.

A rare shot of yours truly.

And another! See I am still alive.

Dalat… no not the Alps.

In Dalat town (as well as the rest of Vietnam), old military barbed wire has many uses. Including adding a nice festive look to this house’s side.

A standard alley in Dalat, although a few less motorbikes than most lanes in ‘nam.

The town’s cathedral. Yes, it is a little pink.

Dambri Falls in it’s full magnificance.

Me at Dambri Falls (note the excellent photography by Mr Wine a.ka. Mr Luu)

The zoo at Dambri, the animals were *ahem* wel… err, they were “cared” for (maybe).

Wine photographed later by none other than Mr. Wine himself. The irony!!!

This trip started with beaches in abundance: South Thailand was a festival of sand and sea; Malaysia had the gorgeous Perhentians, and the slightly more local flavour of Pangkor Island; Borneo had pristine jungle bays (although I don’t think we took full advantage of the opportunities to lounge on these natural gems); and Indonesia… well, Indonesia is just a bit of land connecting the different beaches together. After this however our beach intake suffered greatly. North Thailand has no beaches, Laos is landlocked (no the “beach” on Don Det does NOT count as a beach) and Cambodia’s shoreline is limited. Indeed, in the last 3 months of travelling we had only managed to rack up a few days on Koh Chang in Thailand, a night on Rabbit Island and a few days on Lazy Beach in Cambodia. In short, I needed sea and sand! Even more than this I needed good weather to enjoy them with. Vietnam managed to produce the goods in the form of Nga Trang first and then Hoi An.

In no way does Vietnam have the best beaches in South-East Asia, but what it does have, isn’t half bad. Nga Trang’s beach seems to never end, neither does the countless hordes of children demanding that you buy their peanuts. Apparently not having any money is no deterrent. “You, Liar!”. Cue many demonstrations that this is indeed the case and that I am not hiding anything in my towel, book or single pocket. But no, this is not enough. “You can have peanuts now, pay tomorrow“. Tempting, if I did indeed want peanuts. “No, thank-you”. And still it goes on, “You buy tomorrow… or I KILL YOU!” … errrr… 7 games of rock-paper-scissors later and I was in the clear. Apparently I’m quite good. “Best of 3, best of 5, of 7, of 9″, “NO MORE!!!”. Finally they leave. Peace and Quiet. Until… “Hey mister. You buy peanuts?. Sigh.

The second day in Nga Trang was all about diving. A nice trip out on a boat to the island with diving and then a couple of dives before lunch seemed like a great way to reintroduce myself to life below the waves. My dive buddy was a local fellow that went by the name of Hung (there were 4 Hung’s on the boat) and I can safely say that he was a nutter. The scenery wasn’t a patch on sites further south, but with my crazy Vietnamese guide showing me what was what it didn’t matter. During the course of the two dives we drove a sand eel with some fiercely sharp looking teeth into a frenzy, captured a pipefish (which we later released) and generally ran amok with the creatures of the deep. Although I felt a bit guilty for enjoying it, I must admit, diving with Hung was a lot of fun – especially when he almost lost his respirator because he was laughing too hard at the sand eels vibrations of rage (i was too, until later I was told they could bite straight through bone!!).

After some sea, sand and serious drinking in Nga Trang I moved on to Hoi An, the tailor capital of Asia. To get there I took my first “sleeper bus”. These surreal vehicles come equipped with a line of seat come beds in three rows and two levels. However, despite the normality of this idea in theory I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw the reality of the “beds”. Designed more like one might imagine a spaceship’s sleeper “pods” might look, half of you body slips under the seat/bed in front virtually trapping you inside you pod for the rest of the trip. Still, it beats sitting up and, despite the 45 minute break almost as soon as I nodded off, the 15 hour bus ride sped by.

Sorry. I know it’s been an awfully long time since there was any Sam input on this blog. Indeed, some of you may have begun to question whether you faithless photographer was still alive and clicking. In short, I was and I am.

To kick things back off, here’s a collection of photos that really could only have been taken in Vietnam.

In the museum.

Frogs? Mmmm.

Balloon anyone?

The old imperial palace.

Cult?!

Temple-Mobile.

So what have I been up to?

Well I was expecting the worst from Vietnam, stories of aging hippies being slapped in the face by a bus driver for daring to ask for a toilet stop were still ringing in my ears as I got off the bus in Saigon. Of course driving rain started right on cue to drench more than just this poor backpacker, and one taxi driver certainly lost a customer by managing to drip more water on yours truly by holding his umbrella in exactly the wrong place. Still, after this disastrous start Saigon (that’s Ho Chi Minh City technically) surprised me with its friendliness and generousity.

On my first afternoon in Saigon I must have had a sign saying “English Teacher” on me as I was approached by about 10 students all eager to practice their English. They were all friendly but I was glad to escape back to my hotel. Still, it certainly wasn’t the kind of attention I’d been braced for. Speaking of hotels (tenuous link I know), hostels and guesthouses don’t really exist in Vietnam like they do in the rest of Asia. The prospect of a fan room with a shared bathroom and cold water apparently doesn’t fill the Vietnamese with joy, so in their place is the mighty “Mini-Hotel”. These usually tiny rooms pack a powerful budget punch. En-suite bathrooms with hot water, a TV with satellite stations and a fridge. My room in Saigon had all of the above and was tiny way up on the fifth floor in one of thousands of buildings in the warren of the backpacker district.

Over the next few days I saw all the sights. The bizarre Museum of Ho Chi Minh City was first stop on our sight-seeing trip. Along with an Australian couple who I had gone room-hunting with I read with wonder the displays on the walls. “The People of Cu Chi Demonstrate to Request “American Empire to Go Away” ” one poster announced, another informed that on 20 November 1965 “the emulation movement for killing American troops was launched” as a result “the first congress of valiant American killing took place… in which 209 individuals and units commended the “Valiant of American Killing” “. Still more shockingly the bombing of the Victoria Hotel in Saigon was shown in one photograph with the slogan: “To be ingeneous and brave, the special forces attacked suddently the American nerve-centres in Saigon”. I don’t think America’s been fully forgiven yet. Other sights ticked off were the Jade Emperor’s Pagoda, the “Reunification Palace”.

For a different taste of Vietnamese life I decided to check out the only legal horse-racing track in Vietnam. Apparently they do things a little differently in government-run tracks. For one, there were no visible odds – probably because the odds are so bad! Secondly everyone bets on the top three horses, in order. The whole track was filled with people bent over studying the form guide like it was gospel. For another thing the jockeys are young. People in Vietnam tend to look on the young side, but surely some of the jockeys cannot have been over 12 or 14 years old.  Judge for yourself, see below. I won the second race I bet on. There were no odds but they star the favourites in the form-book, my horse was not a favourite. When I went up to collect my winnings I was excited, I had backed an outsider and won, surely I would at least get 5/1 or 7/1, a hefty profit. When the lady handed me 27,000 I was shocked – I had bet 10,000 – odds of under 2/1. That’s communists for you – apparently gambling is a capitalist vice and the track is only open as it makes the government so much money (no surprise with odds like that!).

Saigon is full of motorbikes. They say there are three million of them in all clogging up every available inch of tarmac in the city. Watching them weave in and out of each other as 5 lanes of traffic criss-cross across a junction is an almost beautiful sight, however, being on the back of one of those motos doing the weaving is a far more terrifying experience.

So what is all the negative press about – well, I did get one fairly strong taste of the Vietnam’s infamous hassle. A shoe shiner followed me for about 200 meters trying to shine my shoes. His sales technique left a lot to be desired, and I can’t help but think that he somewhat shot himself in the foot by telling me that the locals would only pay him 10,000 Dong going on to ask me to pay him 100,000 for the same privilege. Even more bizarre was his choice of targets – how many backpackers get their shoes shined?! And come to think of it, how many backpackers wear shoes? How does one shine veteran travel-worn sandals – surely they are somewhat beyond the help of a little kid with a tin of polish and a rag. Still he tried. For 200 meters. Sigh.

When I finally managed to leave Saigon I did so in the direction of the central highland. Instead of going to the old French hill station of Dalat first I got off in Bao Loc, a town worthy of a sentance in the Vietnam Lonely Planet (and the advise from a travel agent not to stay there). But what a decision it turned out to be! The scenery was gorgeous with more tea plantations, though with a less orderly appearance than their counterparts in Malaysia. My first walk around town managed to coincide with home time for the schools so as I worked my way through the throngs of people I was greeted with hundreds of cheery hellos, more often than not followed by a happy “What your name?” and then a chorus of giggles. On my way back I was even invited in to a games shop to play pro evo with the owner. Was there anything left for this town to get right?!? In fact there was, and at dinner came the biggest surprise of all. Searching for a restaurant that served beer I somehow ended up being invited back into the home of one of the young students that lived in box rooms set out behind the cafe. Together we shared a whole heap of dishes with a troup of students who spoke a little broken English but tried very hard. And they would not let me pay a dime, even my attempts to buy them all a beer to break up the rice wine drinking ended with the oldest (and only one with a real job) replacing my money with his own. The “unfriendly” and “money-obsessed” Vietnamese were not exactly what my fellow travelers had advertised.

The next day I went with Mr. Trang and Mr. Luu to Dambri Falls, I startlingly powerful waterfall 18km away from Bao Loc. Mr. Trang (I am Mr. Sam despite my protestations) works there and was able to give us the grand tour (with free tickets and billiards to boot). After we returned to Bao Loc town I was taken fishing by Mr. Luu and his friends – there we mainly ate and drank (more rice wine), fishing taking second place. The owner of the custom built fishing-pond-come-restaurant was also a real character and gave me three ancient “lucky” chinese coins after showing me his old pot collection that he was very proud of. He had fought in the war (I didn’t like press him on which side) and had been forced to move from his home near Bao Loc. After finally making it back to my hotel and having a rest I met the guys again for a farewell coffee. After many photos and much swapping of contact details (every detail possibly imaginable) we finally parted ways. Subsequently I have recieved many text messages from Mr. Luu, Mr. Quang and Mr. Tuong and I look fondly back on those couple of days in Bao Loc as one of highlights of my trip.

The guys.

Next stop was Dalat, where again I met some exceptionally friendly Vietnamese. One student walking me 2km back from town after I asked for directions, and another insisting on giving me a tour around one of the lakes at the end of the town’s cable car ride (he too insisted on buying me drinks and lunch). I can see why people are down on the Vietnamese, your hotel will hassle you to take their tour/bus etc etc. But this is the same everywhere, and so far the hassle has not been as bad as Indonesia or even Siem Reap or Phnom Penh.

Hoi An, more to come on this one!

The paint is peeling on the faded balconies in the square. Children shriek, flying their plastic-bag kites on the village green, the sun shines down, and the scene seems, to me, to be timeless. Even the builders vigorously restoring a roof and the low hum of passing motorcycles seems to fade into the background. The sky is a serene shade of blue, punctuated by the odd cloud.

I feel quite as though I am in rural Provence, but in fact I’m in Kampot, Cambodia. It has taken me several days and the discovery of the village green where I now sit, but all at once I see why so many foreigners come here and never leave. It offers a rare slice of small-town life, often so lacking in our anonymous modern world. You really get to know the local characters in the bookshop, the artsy café which is run by an incredibly sweet deaf woman (where I sit as I write this), even the butchers. Plus, all the windows have shutters, Provence-style. Shutters! Quite thrilling.

We while the evenings away in a café on the river, but earlier today we chartered a boat for a few hours. It was so peaceful, and quite the cleanest river we’ve encountered in Asia, as it’s near the source in the mountains. The water was like a rippling mirror. We stopped at a bathing hole which locals and Khamer tourists frequent – not another Western tourist in sight. The current was strong, so everyone took it in turns floating on a tire attached to a rock with a piece of rope as not to get washed away! We met a Khmer-American family who had lived in California for thirty years and spoke with the most bewildering twang I’ve ever heard. They wanted to share a roast chicken with us, but we had to decline as we wanted to watch sunset on the boat.

Floating back up the river, we watched the ripples our boat cast on the river surface as they were refracted by late afternoon sunlight. It was the most perfect weather: about 25 degrees with a lovely breeze. River-dwelling locals live in woven straw and bamboo huts along the river and they all yelled and waved to us as we drifted past. Lots of them were having very energetic splashing fights. Everyone is so young and energetic here; it’s striking. We’ve learnt never to ask about parents, because so many died under the Khmer Rouge. A sombre detail in a place which seems so tranquil today, and yet was one of the last Khmer Rouge outposts.

I know, I know… it’s been almost an entire month, and there’s been no word from Asia. And incredibly, I’ve been back in London for three days! My flight was fine; in fact, I feel duty-bound to mention Royal Jordanian, my airline, for outstanding services to humankind. I had a 7-hour stopover in Jordan, and the darling precious people put me in a hotel! That nap and shower saved my sanity in almost 30 hours of transit time.

It’s funny, though, 30 hours isn’t actually all that long, when you think of the incredibly distances involved. I was watching the in-flight statistics they show you from time to time. It’s surreal to think that a plane can cover thousands of miles in just a few hours. I loved watching the map, too, as we flew past Iraq and over Europe. The last book I read in Asia tied into that theme, actually. It’s called ‘A Fortune Teller Told Me’, and is all about an Italian journalist (Tiziano Terzani) who decided to avoid flying for a year after a fortune teller tells him he will die if he flies in that particular year, 1993. He ends up travelling all the way from Bangkok to Berlin overland. The book is great – a defense of old-fashioned Asian superstition and the irrational, with some fascinating insights into Asia thrown in for good measure. It made me want to visit a fortune teller badly. Sadly, we didn’t have time! Oh well, at least it’ll give me an excuse to make another trip.

Sam is still in Asia. He ended up extending his time for another two months, hoping for more adventures solo in China. After quite a bit of soul-searching, I decided that I missed Marmite and baked beans too much and besides, at the ripe old age of 22 I think I’m ready to get a job; a career, even! This blog has been good for my brain, but I’m definitely ready for new, career-related challenges. That is, if the wretched recession doesn’t stem all hope of getting a decent graduate job!

What else to expect from the blog: more of Sam’s writings and photos from Vietnam and China. I’m going to write a few retrospective posts. The last month in Cambodia flew by, and words seemed to escape me for a while. I have some notebook scribblings which will be translated (from my scrawl) into some sort of collected thoughts, hopefully. How can I possibly visit Angkor Wat without writing about it, after all? We also visited a lovely, sleepy little town called Kampot in the south, spent rather too much time in Phnom Penh; and an idyllic final few days in a place called Lazy Beach.

Sam and I also entertained ourselves on long bus journeys writing ‘Top Tens’ of everything from ‘Best Cities’ to ‘Worst Meals’. Hopefully these will make their way onto the blog and we’ll come up with a few posts which might help in planning a trip to Asia (or interest anyone just wanting to read about some hilarious food disasters). So stay tuned – we haven’t quite finished yet.