Where are we now ?

We set off on the morning of Wednesday 26 June 2002 in our little Fiat Uno and drove down from Lancaster, stopping off for the night with some friends near Brighton - Cheers Steve and Carole, and sorry that we were so tired and not terribly good company that night. It was great seeing everyone before we left but by the time we had said goodbye to you all we were both emotional drained and physically exhausted. The following morning we drove via Canterbury (for lunch with Jennie) and on to Dover in time to catch the late afternoon ferry to Calais.

Friday 12th July 2002 update - Bilbao, Spain.

France - June 2002

After arriving in France and eventually coming to terms with the fact that they drive on the wrong side of the road, we finally managed to successfully find our way to Lille and where we stayed with Sarah and Colin for the night.

From there we headed south from and camped at a beautiful spot just outside of Chartres, a fascinating medieval cathedral town and within easy reach of Paris. So we took the train into Paris on the following day - using my primary school level French to ask for the tickets, only to be replied to in perfect English. In Paris we did the usual touristy things, wandered down the banks of the Seine, visited the Eifel Tower and Arc de Triumph, and whilst strolling down the Champs Ellysee later on in the day got caught up in the country's World Cup victory celebrations.

We then headed for the coast and found a campsite right next to Mont S. Michel, which was stunningly impressive, if a bit too touristy (and where it was pissing with rain), so we didn't hang about too long before heading south again through Bordeaux, and stopping off in the Loire valley to visit the odd chateau. The car has been causing us a few problems these past few days - it looks like the handbrake cable has snapped (we're now carrying a small rock as a substitute) and the exhaust has started blowing like a tractor. So far we've been unable to find a garage that'll fix it so we're hoping that it'll last out until we get to Bilbao, where some friends of ours may be able to help us out. By now the rain was really beginning to get us down so we decided to push on further south, over the Pyrenees and into Spain.

Spain - July 2002

As soon as we got over the border and started our descent through the mountains the rain stopped and the sun broke through the clouds making us feel much better. We stopped first at a small campsite near Lumbier in Nevarra, where we spent a good few days walking in the hills, sampling the local wine and exploring some of the small towns and villages in the neighbourhood, and by chance came across a small Franciscan monastery where St. Francis Xavier once lived and whom we expected to meet again later on in our travels, probably looking rather the worse for wear, in a Cathedral in India.

From here we headed west into the Basque country to pay a visit on Begoña & Jorge who live in Bilbao. It's lovely here, very green and hilly (not what you expect in Spain), and we're having a really nice time being pampered by Begoña & Jorge and their flatmates who have made us feel like part of their family. Staying here we have been able to see a side to Spanish culture that we wouldn't have been able to otherwise, and everyone has been so friendly and taken time out to show us around.

Since we've been here we've visited the Guggenheim museum (which we found to be impressive, amusing and just plain silly in turns), and gone off in Begoña's little car exploring the countryside which reminds us of the limestone Yorkshire dales in places. We've also enjoyed sampling the local food, especially the tapas and pixcos which are small nibbles (mushrooms, olives, fish etc) which are usually served to you when you order a beer in a bar - Potatas Bravas (fried Potatoes in a red chilly source) are a particular favourite with us.

The only problems we've had so far are with the bloody car; the handbrake cable went in France (which made ´hill starts´ something of a challenge) and the exhaust pipe seems to be full of holes in all the wrong places, so we're getting that fixed today (hopefully) before we can continue on our way. We're hoping to be in Portugal towards the end of this week before pushing on to Morocco. Our Spanish (and Basque) is appalling, and no doubt our Portuguese and Arabic will be just as bad, so hopefully the natives will be as friendly and forgiving as they've been up to now.

Tuesday 22nd October 2002 update - Kaş, Turkey.

Before leaving Bilbao we also managed to get the handbrake and exhaust fixed at a local garage (with the help of a friend of Begoña's to do the translating for us) - so at least the car no longer sounds like a tractor ! After saying goodbye to Begoña, Jorge et al we left Bilbao and drove west into Cantabria and to the Picos de Europa National Park, where we spent an interesting few days camping and walking amongst the hills.

The scenery around here is fantastic, sort of like an extreme version of the Yorkshire dales, with plenty of rocky limestone outcrops and pavements. And whilst out walking amongst the high mountains we discovered many alpine meadows where cattle, horses and sheep were grazing.

Portugal - July 2002

With a pressing desire to head south for morocco, we drove south over the next couple of days, stopping briefly at the small town of San Giao for the night before finally arriving at Lisbon. Here we spent a couple of days being tourists; walking up to the Castello on the hill overlooking the town, with fine views over the Tagus, and visiting the Torre & Monesteiro at Belem (although being a Monday they were both shut). Driving in Portugal proved something of a challenge - no wonder they have the worst road accident rates in Europe - as drivers seemingly regard traffic lights as being merely colourful ornaments with no obvious function. From Lisbon we drove flat-out again until we reached Gibraltar, where we decided to park the car for a few weeks whilst we explored Morocco. Unfortunately, since the ferry to Tangier had been suspended a few months ago, we had to take a bus to the Spanish port of Algeciras in order to catch the ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar.

Morocco & Gibraltar - August 2002

Arriving in Morocco proved to be a shock to the senses - and again made us wish we could speak at least some French, which is widely spoken here. Deciding to get out of Tangier we made our way to the bus station and caught a bus to Tetuan, employing the time honoured method of standing around looking lost & confused, whereupon some kindly soul took pity on us and sorted us out with tickets & pushed us onto the right bus.

From Tetuan we travelled to Rabat and spent some time exploring the medina & old walled Kasbah whilst getting to grips with the differences in culture & cuisine - Harira (a thick veg. broth) is great, but I'm still not overly struck with couscous.

We then too k a train down to Marrakech - nothing like the song at all (no goats & chickens), in fact it was all very plush & comfortable with squidgy seats & air con. There we found a place to stay in the medina, just off the 'Place Djemaa el Fna', where every evening food stalls are set up selling everything imaginable (and sometimes unspeakable). Competing for attention in the square are also to be found an assortment of snake charmers, dentists, acrobats, story tellers & various lunatics - in fact everything you could possibly need for an evening's entertainment. The temperature in Marrakech was overpowering (at ~45 degrees) so we decided to head for the hills to do some serious walking (as opposed to the silly kind) - ending up at the village of Imlil in the High Atlas mountains.

Here, in the shadow of Jbel Toubkal (Morocco's highest peak) we spent time exploring the valleys and Berber villages clinging to the steep hillsides during day walks. We also hired a mule for a short trek into some neighbouring valleys, which made light work of carrying our backpacks, and allowed us to get away from it all for a bit.

After our brief spell in the mountains we returned to the heat of Marrakech, before heading north to the town of Fez. Here we spent a couple of days exploring the old town before deciding to return to Spain, feeling exhausted by the heat (maybe August wasn't the best time of year to visit Morocco) and a bit travel weary - Morocco having not really lived up to expectations for us at all, the general feeling being that we seemed to be viewed by too many people as sheep waiting to be fleeced. So we caught the ferry back to Algeciras and then spent a few days in Gibraltar, exploring the rock and enjoying some good old English pub grub, before stocking up on a few essential supplies (Baked beans, veggie sausages etc) and heading back into Spain.

Spain (again) - August / September 2002

Once back in Spain we drove east along the south coast to Almeria (where they filmed the Spaghetti westerns) with a fist full of Euros again. Although, having just come from Morocco we didn't find the landscape too inspiring - mostly desert (we should have known really) - so we travelled west again, ending up in Ronda.

Here we enjoyed a relaxing time walking in the green rolling hills and having a bit of a holiday. Ronda itself is a beautiful old town, set astride a deep gorge with bridges connecting one side to the other; in fact the whole area is littered with hidden gorges and deep caves, making for quite a striking landscape. We then called at Malaga airport to pick Simon & Janet up and drove to the remote village of Acequias (15 miles south of Granada) in the heart of the Sierra Nevada, where we'd booked a cottage for a couple of weeks. Here we had a fantastic time, living in the lap of luxury (soft beds, fridge & Satellite TV) and exploring this mountainous region. Often we'd go off for day walks in the surrounding hills, usually ending up in a local village bar for beer & tapas. Had a couple of days in Granada as well, exploring the town & visiting the Alhambra - a stunning hilltop Moorish palace/fortress, built before the Christian conquest of Spain.

After dropping Simon & Janet off at the airport we drove north, skirting round Madrid and ending up in Barcelona. Here we soaked up the city's vibrant atmosphere and enjoyed discovering little bars & cafes in the side streets off La Rambla. Visited 'La Familia Sagrada', Gaudi's incredible cathedral, still under construction after 120 years - a fantastic building that seems more to be growing than being built - in fact bits of it wouldn't look out of place in the Natural History museum. We climbed high up into some of the already completed towers, from where I'm told there are superb views across the city - if you're brave enough to look (I just became curiously interested in looking at my feet instead). Also wandered around the 'Parc Guell' where we discovered some stunning Gaudi mosaics and whimsical 'ginger bread' houses - all very surreal. The weather here at last seemed to be turning, as we had an amazing thunderstorm whilst camping here - in fact I'm amazed the tent survived since there now seems to be more patches than tent.

Italy - September 2002

We left Barcelona and, driving through the night, entered Italy (another country of suicidal drivers) and headed for Pisa. Here we had a few days exploring Pisa & Florence - including a very cultural day in the Uffizi gallery (getting our fill of 'Annunciations') - before driving across to Venice.

Here we camped on a campsite just south of Venice - seemingly full of young Australians who were evidently intent on drinking their way around Europe (or maybe I'm just getting middle-aged). Italy too seemed to be much more expensive than Spain, so we decided to whiz through the country rather quickly. We did however, have a few rather wet days exploring Venice - where even the Piazza S.Marco was entirely flooded, which somewhat dampened the orchestra. The Basilica of San Marco was stunning though, with an amazing tiled mosaic floor and the walls dripping with gold. The museum inside was a bit more macabre however, with a bizarre collection of bits of dead saintly dudes - ranging from odd fingers to entire skulls in various jars and caskets. There was also an amazing collection of loot here too, stolen from Sancta Sophia in Istanbul during the later Crusades - when the Crusaders, having decided that Jerusalem was maybe a bit too dangerous a place to be at the time, decided take home a few souvenirs from Constantinople instead.

We then headed south to Rome, and had fun for a couple of days rummaging around the Coliseum, the Forum and the Vatican (a few too many Cherubs for our liking) before moving on to Pompeii where we had a full day exploring the site. There seemed to be much more here that's open to the public than when I was last here 12 years ago, and the mosaics & paintings that can be seen inside some of the houses are absolutely stunning.

Our final drive in our trusty old car took us down to Brindisi, whereupon we (somehow) emptied the contents of the car into 2 rucksacks and left the car to its fate - it having safely taken us an amazing 7,301 miles since leaving home (without a single accident !)

Greece - October 2002

We took the overnight ferry from Brindisi to Patras, and then caught the next ferry on to the island of Kefallonia in the Ionian sea. Kefallonia is a remarkably green and mountainous island, and we spent the best part of a week here, walking in the hills and relaxing. Whilst also trying to figure out what we could lose out of our overweight rucksacks. It was a good feeling to be back in Greece, a country that we keep coming back to time and time again, and it was a shame that we couldn't have stayed longer. It was here though during a particularly rainy night, that the tent finally gave out on us, so the next day we promptly moved into a dry rented room and chucked the tent in the bin - at least it was one less thing to carry.

From Kefallonia we went back to Patras and caught the night train to Athens. Now the plan here was to get the ferry to Cyprus and then on to Egypt, but it turned out that the ferries to Cyprus were no longer running. So, deciding to go the long way round via Turkey & the Middle East, we caught the afternoon train to Istanbul - arriving there tired and smelly sometime the following evening.

Turkey - October 2002

It felt good to be back in Istanbul, it being several years since we were last here, and instantly felt at home. However, there seamed an increasing urgency to push down into the Middle East (before that moronic President 'Boy George' starts his ill-conceived, utterly pointless (except to grab the oil) and no doubt ultimately disastrous war of terror !), so most of our time here seemed to be spent visiting embassies and filling in forms. Having not been able to arrange any visas before leaving home (i.e. they would have expired long before we could have used them), this also required us to visit the British Embassy too in order to acquire a 'letter of recommendation' to present to the Syrian Embassy - a costly and time consuming affair.

So finally, with Syrian visas stamped into our passports we took a long distance bus south to the town of Fethiye on the Mediterranean coast. The buses in Turkey are great, they're (generally) very comfortable, you get pampered en route with cups of tea or coffee and biscuits, and they splash liberal helpings of lemon scented cologne over you to freshen you up every few hours or so. On top of that they're very cheap and go absolutely everywhere (and only occasionally crash). Down in the south of Turkey the temperature had soured into the 30's again which is rather pleasant for late October, and we managed to do some walking along this incredibly beautiful (and relatively unspoilt) coastline - including bits of the Lycian Way, Turkey's first long distance path. There's also an incredible amount of archaeology to be (literally) stumbled upon around here (Lycian cities, Roman amphitheatres, deserted Greek villages etc) which makes strolling around the region even more fascinating.

At the moment we're staying in the pleasant relaxed coastal town of Kaş, where we plan to do a bit more exploring, before heading down to Antakya and then over into Syria sometime next week. However, given that the Internet is effectively banned in Syria, it'll probably be from either Jordan or Egypt when you'll next hear from us.

Saturday 23rd November 2002 update - Dahab, Egypt.

The journey from Kaş involved a change at Antalya before getting the overnight bus to Antakya (Biblical Antioch) close to the Syrian border.

Its hard to get any sleep on overnight bus journeys and the route took us inland, via Konya, which was distinctly chilly in the middle of the night. We originally intended spending the night at Antakya before heading over the border, but we were not too inspired by the sprawling, polluted mayhem of the place, so we decided to push on - maybe we'll spend more time here when we come back this way in a couple of month's time.

The bus over the Syrian border was a relatively painless affair, with only a cursory prodding of our luggage by customs officials on the way, and we arrived in Aleppo tired and in need of a wash later o n that day.

Syria - October/November 2002

The first thing that struck us about Syria was how friendly the people were; you can't walk down the street without at least a few dozen people waving at you and saying hello - a stark contrast to London. And within a few hours of arriving we were befriended by a couple of young lads who plied us with limitless quantities of tea and pomegranate back at their place.

We spent a couple of days here in Aleppo, exploring the magnificent Citadel which dominates the old town from its hilltop position, and the labyrinthine souq with its medieval vaulted ceilings and shops selling pretty much anything you could imagine. And unlike the souqs and bazaars of more 'touristy' places (e.g. Istanbul), there was far less of the hard sell - shop owners were genuinely pleased if you just stopped by for a long chat over several cups of tea .

From Aleppo we caught the bus south to Hama, a small town on the road to Damascus noted for its huge, creaking waterwheels down by the river, used to irrigate the surrounding farmland - water being a precious commodity in this part of the world.

Here we made a day trip out to the Roman ruins of Apamea, with its stunning 2 km long colonnaded main street which was largely intact, and were among only a handful of other visitors that day as we explored the ruins.

We also had a day out to the impressive Crusader fortress of 'Krak des Chavaliers', described by T E Lawrence simply as "the finest castle in the world". We certainly weren't disappointed: the castle is almost entirely intact, having never fallen to invading armies (it was simply abandoned when the Crusaders realized they had lost the Holy Land), and probably looks the same today as it would have 800 years ago.

From Hama we headed east into the desert to the oasis town of Palmyra; originally a Greek outpost it rose to become a city of unsurpassed wealth during Roman times. Despite numerous earthquakes and erosion over time, so much of the city remains that we spent several days exploring the site. Built mainly from red sandstone, it looked stunning in its desert setting, overlooked by a hilltop Moslem fortress and with numerous funery towers disappearing into the distance in the valley beyond.

Coming into Damascus from such a tranquil setting proved to be something of a shock. Damascus is a huge, sprawling and polluted city, too large in fact for the narrow valley it rests in that it has spread up the steep-sided valley walls - when you can see them through the smog, that is. After obtaining our Jordanian visas from the embassy here we had some time to explore the old city, visiting the souq and the ' Umayyad mosque' which dominates this part of town. The building, built on the site of a Roman temple (some Roman masonry can still be seen in the walls of the mosque itself), was first a Byzantine church before being converted into a mosque in the 7th century. In fact it was here that the head of John the Baptist (preserved in a casket) was said to have once been held - his right arm being sent off to Istanbul (where it can still be seen, if you care to look), proving that arms smuggling is nothing new. As one of the earliest mosques in the world it has weathered well, despite invading Mongols and the ravages of earthquake and fire, and what remains is certainly impressive, and is a great place to just sit and contemplate the world.

Jordan - November 2002

We took a direct bus from Damascus to Amman in Jordan, only being held up at the border for an hour or so. The monumental sprawl of Amman didn't impress us much (although it did contain a rather good 'Pizza Hut'), so we got the first bus out the following day to Wadi Musa, a village near the site of Petra.

It rained quite heavily soon after we'd arrived, the first rain we'd felt since leaving Istanbul, so maybe Winter is finally catching up with us after all. Its noticeably cooler here in the evenings too, requiring a jacket at least, although through the day the temperature still soars into the 30's.

Our arrival here also coincided with the start of Ramadan, making eating during the day from now on somewhat problematic. Although it is quite acceptable to buy food from the supermarkets and bakeries, eating it in public would be rudely insensitive. So for the next month we will have to eat either back at our hotel room or at least out of view from anyone else, since no cafes will be open during the day. At least, being Winter, the days are shorter than they otherwise might be - when Ramadan falls during the Summer months it must be a particularly trying experience for all concerned.

The first time we visited Petra was a memorable experience; the entrance leads down a narrow gorge (siq), cut out of the most amazingly coloured layers of red sandstone. However, as you near its end tantalizing glimpses of an immense tomb, carved into the rock face, catches your eye - if you've ever seen the final scenes of 'Indiana Jones and the last crusade' you'll know what I'm talking about. This tomb, which is one of many, was carved out of the sandstone by the Nabateans when they came to settle here in the 7th century BC. The town was later occupied by the Romans (who else ?) who added the usual array of colonnaded streets, amphitheatres, temples etc, of which much still remains. The Crusaders were briefly here and built a fortress, but since then it became a forgotten city, known only to the local Bedouin, until its rediscovery in the 19th century. The site is still being excavated, and we found the remains of a Byzantine era church with the most incredibly well preserved mosaic floor, which had only been discovered a couple of years ago. Needless to say, we spent several days exploring every inch of the site and climbing the nearby hills, from where the views of the surrounding landscape are truly magnificent (I'm going to have to think of some different adjectives).

From Petra we booked a jeep trip into the desert around Wadi Rum, camping out overnight in the desert. In fact we enjoyed the tranquillity of the desert so much that we decided to stay out there for a few days more and do some walking. So, with our friendly Bedouin guide (Aodeh) returning each night to light our camp fire and cook some dinner, the rest of the time we had the desert practically to ourselves. Whilst walking in the desert (not always the easiest thing to do) we encountered the occasional Bedouin, out with their camels and tending their goats, and even a large group of Oryx. The night sky was particularly amazing, with so many stars (how do they manage to fit them all in ?) lighting up the desert landscape of eerie rock formations and sand dunes.

Sadly, but in desperate need of a good wash, we left to move on to Aqaba - giving up on the original idea of riding there by camel (a la T E Lawrence) and taking the bus instead. The setting of Aqaba is quite striking in itself, sitting as it does in that narrow point where Jordan meets the sea. Behind it are a range of high barren mountains, and from our hotel balcony we could look out across the Gulf of Aqaba and see the port of Eilat (in Israel) to our right and the high mountains of Sinai (in Egypt) in front of us across the bay. With the Saudi border being only a few miles up the coast too, Aqaba has had little room to expand, and it remains a small relaxed town with a faintly Mediterranean feel.

So we spent a couple of days here relaxing, and attempting (though unsuccessfully) to wash some of the desert out of our clothes, before catching the ferry across to the Egyptian port of Nuweiba.

Egypt - November / December 2002

The ferry across to Egypt proved to be a confusing affair, compounded, no doubt, by our having to obtain visas for Egypt on arrival at the port. However, once we'd passed through immigration we headed down to the small coastal town of Dahab.

It feels like a different world here, and a real travellers centre with a very laid-back feel to it - even the effects of Ramadan are hardly in evidence here as the sounds of Bob Marley and David Gray compete for attention with the call to prayers from the local mosque. And all along the ba y is a string of beach-front restaurants serving anything you want - we even had an Indian a couple of days ago, and Claire's lapping up all the fresh fish and seafood - and there's even plenty of cheap beer.

Its also a major diving and snorkling centre, and Claire's already been out with her flippers (or whatever you call them) and reckons its amazing: plenty of coral and exotically colourful fish. So we're planning on having a little holiday and staying on here for a few days yet, treating it as a nice gentle introduction to Egypt before heading on to Cairo to do some serious monument hunting.

I think that we're going to head then up the Nile to Luxor and Aswan (and hopefully Abu Simbel), before coming back here for a few days to rest again. After that its back over the gulf to Jordan and Syria to see all the places we missed on the way down, before ending up in Turkey for Christmas (what else ?).

.. And don't forget to keep on emailing / texting us, you'll never know how great it is to hear from folk when we're so far from home.

Wednesday 29th January 2003 update - Istanbul, Turkey.

Well, we finally moved on after a week or so from Dahab and took the bus direct to Cairo. The ten hour journey followed the coastline of Sinai, south to Sharm el Sheik before turning north to Suez. Sinai itself seemed to consist of an extremely barren interior - no doubt accounting for its 'wilderness' tag in Biblical times - and a bleak sandy coast punctuated by the occasional resort-type complex, mostly deserted or only half built. We stopped at roadside cafes a couple of times throughout the day to stretch our legs, but since it was still Ramadan there were no refreshments on offer (napkins were still available though). Suez too proved to be a disappointment, since the ro ad went through a tunnel underneath, and offered not even a glimps of the Canal. But we eventually crawled into Cairo a couple of hours later after fighting our way through the traffic jams.

Once installed in Cairo we spent a full afternoon at the Egyptian Museum, losing ourselves amongst the vast collection held there - after all Egypt must be the only country to have an '-ology' all to itself. Half the upper floor was devoted to the spectactular funnery treasures of Tutenkhamun, discovered only 80 years ago, and surprisingly not pilfered by the British to be subsequently displayed in the British Museum.

The streets of downtown Cairo became alive in the evenings with throngs of people out shopping, eating or just wandering about. And we got quite addicted to the local 'fast food' speciality, Kushari - a delicious mixture of noodles, rice, macaroni, lentils, chickpeas and onion - sold in foil tubs or ta ke-away plastic bags; Egypt's answer to fish 'n' chips.

The next day we took the bus to Giza - now a suburb of the ever expanding Cairo - to see those strange pointy things on the edge of the desert.

I don't think anything could quite prepare us for the awesome sight of these gigantic man-made mountains that loomed over us, nor I suspect can anything I write here do them any justice. So the words of one camel owner nearby who apparantly said, "they're very big and very old" are as apt as any I suppose.

We climbed a hill to the west and sat for a long time gazing at the scene before us, and watching with mild amusement the coach loads of camera clicking tourists who were allowed to get out of there comfy seats for a few minutes before being whisked away again to see the next site. In fact the only thing which spoilt the tranquillity of the whole scene was the endless convoy of tourist coaches that ploughed up and down a newly constructed road which actually ran up between the Pyramids - but, I guess, in the eyes of the Egyptian tourist board more is definitely better.

Walking back down to take a closer look, passing tourist policemen who either invited us to climb up on the stones (if we proffered the appropriate baksheesh) or blew whistles apoplectically at folk who were actually standing on them, we came to the entrance of Chephren's Pyramid and paid to go inside.

The narrow entrance tunnel descended slowly into the Pyramid, then turned upwards again and narrowed even further to about a yard square, causing us to shuffle along on our bottoms. Finally we emerged at the central burial chamber, a surprisingly large room - and still bearing Chephren's outer sarcophagus - which was nonetheless incredibly airless and hot, and definitely not a place for claustrophobes. Being at the heart of such an enormous and ancient structure was an incredible feeling; hard to describe but certainly not one to forget.

Moving on again we took the night train to Aswan, following the course of the Nile south. Aswan is a pleasant small town lying on the east bank, with fine views across the Nile where feluccas can be seen gracefully sailing around the many islets found here. We spent a few days exploring, crossing over to the west bank to visit the wonderfully preserved monastery of St. Simeon (he who achieved sainthood by standing on a pillar for 30 years) situated on the edge of the desert sands, and found ourselves to be the sole visitors. The mausoleum of the Aga Khan also lies nearby, but we were prevented from getting too close to it by a policeman who rattled his gun at us.

In fact the twitchiness of the police was very evident here, with heavily armed paramilitary police stationed behind bullet proof shields on every street corner eager to keep tourists exactly where they could see them. No doubt this is a consequence of the 1997 massacre of a coach load of German tourists in Luxor by Islamist extremists intent on specifically targeting tourists, and thus Egypt's main source of revenue.

This feeling was further reinforced when we made the trip south to the temple complex of Abu Simbel and were made to travel the whole way in armed convoy. The trip was certainly worth it however, and the sight of the giant statues of Ramses II staring out across the desert were incredible. The inner chambers of the temple were superbly decorated with large scale drawings of the gods and Ramses II in suitably heroic poses, the colours of which had remained surprisingly vivid after over three thousand years.

But, perhaps the most mind-boggling thing of all was the very fact that the entire complex had been moved, stone by stone, w hen the Aswan High dam was constructed in the 1960's, and relocated on the higher ground of its present site as part of an UNESCO project to save it from the ensuing flood.

We sailed gently down river from Aswan on the following few days on board a felucca; one of those small, graceful, single-sailed boats that inhabit the Nile. This was an exceptionally tranquil experience, watching life going on around us on the river banks by day and star gazing by night, eating and sleeping on board as we drifted slowly northwards down the Nile towards Edfu.

After a brief visit to the temple of Horus at Edfu we continued north by bus to Luxor, arriving there at the end of Ramadan, the Eid el Fitr. For 3 days the town was alive with festivity and the streets crowded with people, boys on horseback, food stalls and tinsel banners overhead.

Eventually the chaos subsided and things returned to normal, or at least as normal as Luxor ever gets. Now presumably because of its long history of mass-tourism and the effect this has had on the Egyptian people, but Luxor to our minds is now equated with hassle. Mark Twain commented on this too when he visited in 1866 and claimed to have "suffered torture that no pen can describe from the hungry appeals for baksheesh that gleamed from Arab eyes". And the aggressiveness of some of the touts here is certainly the most extreme we've witnessed so far, and was a stark contrast to our reception in Syrıa and Jordan where we were treated, almost without exception, fairly and with a friendly respect. But here we found that even a casual stroll down the main street would provoke endless calls for felucca rides, taxis or baksheesh every few yards or so, and despite being generally amiable about the inevitable banter that ensues, it does at times get beyond a joke to the extent where tempers can get somewhat frayed. And even buying something as apparently straightforward as a falafel sandwich could prove to be trying at times, since the price quoted to you was often more a reflection of how much money the vendor thought you had on you than on how much it was actually worth. Now we wouldn't have minded just paying more for visiting tourist sites or using public transport, in fact it would seem quite fair in places to pay more than the locals, but when you have to argue over the cost of every basic item you buy life gets to be very wearisome indeed.

Hassles aside, there was plenty of other things to keep us occupied here. We spent a full day across on the west bank and visited 'The Valley of the Kings'. Here in this otherwise barren valley lie the tombs of dozens of past rulers of ancient Egypt who were buried here along with vast treasures. Most of which have been robbed over the passing centuries (or sometimes only years after being sealed) de spite the often elaborate mechanisms employed to safeguard their contents, involving hidden precipices and misleading tunnels. What remains, however, is the stunningly decorated walls and ceilings of the tunnels and burial chambers themselves; heavily symbolic art depicting both humans and gods, and of course, never intended to be seen again by us mere mortals.

Most of the 'package tourists' were dragged around only a handful of these tombs, so by going to places they didn't visit we were able to wander peacefully at our own pace away from the crowds and spend some quality time exploring.

Another highlight of Luxor was Luxor temple itself. The double row of Sphinxes leading to the temple entrance was dramatic enough, but the shear size and beauty of some of the statues inside took our breath away. Together with the remarkably intact temple structure itself, this was an unexpected gem right in the centre of town and illuminated each evening to great effect.

Karnak temple, a few miles to the north, couldn't fail to impress due to its ambitious scale - and it took us a whole day to take it all in - with its forest of pillars, huge pylons, obelisks and staues scattered over a very wide area.

Our only gripe here was with the overly helpful (and self appointed ?) guides who would persistently shuffle along after us, pointing out the bloody obvious (yes, we know its a pillar) and then demand some baksheesh for their trouble, which made it infuriatingly difficult at times to quietly contemplate all that was around us.

We only had a few more days left before our one-month visa expired, and on deciding to avoid re-visiting Cairo, we chose to take the direct bus back to Dahab. This was an appalling 17 hour journey in cramped seats, and one we'd rather forget.

Dahab was still as mellow as ever which made for a pleasant end to our Egyptian jaunt, although as it was noticably cooler here than it was a few weeks ago there was a definite 'end of summer' feeling, and now that we were heading further north things were about to get colder still.

We left Egypt on a rather sour note too. We missed the boat to Aqaba that we had intended to take due to being buggered about on the bus from Dahab to the port of Nuweiba which took far longer than we were assured it would. At Nuweiba we were then forced to take the later (and of course, much more expensive) catamaran instead, and to agravate matters further they refused payment in Egyptian Pounds and insisted that we bought our tickets in US Dollars. So we left Egypt feeling angry and entirely ripped off.

Jordan and Syria (again) - December 2002

On arrival at Aqaba we found a bus waiting to depart for Amman and so jumped aboard and arrived there later that night. Feeling tired and uninspired we couldn't face the planned visit to Jerash, and so soon moved on again across the Syrian border to Damascus, where our feet barely touched the ground as we took the first bus we could north from here to Aleppo. Here there was a definite chill to the air, causing us to break out our thermal underwear and fleece jumpers for the first time. It also became apparent that I'd picked up some 'flu-like' thingy, and so was confined to bed for a couple of days whilst Claire played nursie.

So it was partly because of that, but also due to a general state of travel weariness that we decided to leave the planned visit to the Crusader fort near Latakia for another time and move on north again, back into Turkey where we could relax a bit and prepare ourselves for the next leg of the journey.

Turkey (again) - December 2002 / January 2003

It was only a short bus ride over the Turkish border to Antakya but was quite entertaining enough at the border itself as we watched sacks of contraband being hurriedly switched between cars whilst the Customs officers' backs were turned. From Antakya we took the night bus to Ankara, where the temperature couldn't have been much above freezing and the city seemed to be covered in a thick layer of ice - which came as a bit of a shock to our systems since we seem to have managed to spend most of the past 6 months in continual Summer.

The reason for visiting Ankara was to investigate getting visas for our onward travel. But while the Pakistani embassy quite happily handed us the application forms, the Iranian embassy bluntly told us that it couldn't issue us with visas without authorization which could only be obtained from within Iran itself. For us this would involve contacting a travel agency in Tehran who, for a price, would apply on our behalf to the Ministry of the Interior for a Visa Application Number. Should this be successful we would then be able to call into a nominated Iranian embassy and, for a further fee, receive our tourist visas. So we fired a few emails off to various travel agents in Tehran and hopped on a bus to Cappadocia where we could enjoy a Christmas break and await any news about visas.

So Christmas was spent loafing about at a cosy little place in Göreme, which lies at the heart of the unique scenery of Cappadocia. Here the soft volcanic rocky landscape has been weathered over the millennia by wind and water and been shaped into the most bizarre formations imaginable. And it was here too that early Christians sought shelter and safety by carving out homes and churches from the rock itself, and then later building entire cities underground to escape persecution from invaders that swept across from the east. Many of these Troglodyte dwellings can still be seen today (in fact the Pension we were staying in was half built into the rock), and we spent several days exploring some of the nearby valleys. Although, as several feet of snow had landed here since our arrival we were unable at times to venture too far - but at least that gave us a suitable excuse to surrender to the festive spirit by eating and drinking to excess.

It was also around this time that our future travel plans changed somewhat. We had received some replies from Tehran and it appeared that the cost of obtaining visas for Iran was going to be pretty steep. Also, the FCO was currently advising "against all but essential" to Pakistan, which meant that out travel insurance would be void if we went there. So with our intended land route blocked and all the alternatives contemplated, we finally decided to fly to India from here. This was quite a blow to us as we had both been looking forward to visiting Iran and Pakistan, and I certainly had hoped to keep my feet firmly on the ground throughout our trip, but hopefully the situation there will improve in the near future and make visiting possible (I can sense another trip being planned)..

We spent a few days around New Year south of Cappadocia at the pretty town of Egirdir in Turkey's Lake District. Situated on the edge of a huge lake and surrounded by high mountains this was certainly an idyllic spot, although bitterly cold and quiet at this time of year. On one day, however, the sun came out and we managed to climb up the hill overlooking the town from where there were some impressive views. Feeling the need for a bit of warmth we headed south again to the Mediterranean coast, and the only bit of Turkey that doesn't really have a winter as such..

Arriving in Antalya was very pleasant indeed - off came the thermal underware and on went the sunglasses - although not exactly hot, the temperature here was a rather nice 20 degrees or so, which cheared us up no end. It was here too that mine and Claire's mums flew out to spend a week's holiday with us, which was a real tonic and gave us the excuse to live it up a bit and do a few touristy things. We hired a car for 3 days and visited a few places, including the Roman site of Tremessos, dramatically situated high up in the Taurus mountains, and the old port of Phaselis set around a tranquil bay. It was also nice to have someone else to talk to for a change, despite the fact that Claire and I are still (amazingly enough) talking to one another..

After 'the Mums' had flown back home the rain set in, so we took it as a sign to leave too and headed back to Istanbul. We've been in Istanbul now for just over a week, filling in our time by flicking through our Ind ian guide book and catching the latest releases at the local cinema, in between several visits to the Indian embassy. Hopefully, we'll be able to pick up our visas later today, which is cutting it a bit fine since we're due to fly out to New Delhi in 2 days time on 31 January. So, all being well (war in the Middle East included), we'll be in India from 1st February onwards - hopefully for some time, as there's much we're wanting to do there..

In the meantime, keep those emails and text messages coming (they're muchly appreciated), and we'll post a mailing address for us in New Delhi as soon as we know what it is ourselves..

Friday 11th April 2003 update - New Delhi, India.

Well, the Indian visas came through just in time after serveral anxious visits to the embassy (there's nothing quite like leaving things til the last minute, is there ?) and we finally flew o ut of Istanbul on 31st Jan, having personally consumed most of the 'duty free' beforehand to stop my knees from shaking. The flight involved a stop over, oddly enough, in Amman where we were put up in a hotel (to be fed & watered) for a few hours before continuing our flight to Delhi.

India

Delhi - Feb 2003

We arrived at New Delhi the following morning, and after being re-united with our bags - an event that rarely fails to surprise me (failing, generally, when they disappear totally without trace. NB. Don't ever fly Air France) - we caught the bus into the centre of town.

Delhi is a chaotic city, and as we crawled slowly through the endless traffic jams and heavy clouds of pollution towards Connaught Place we began to wonder why on earth we had come here to one of the most depressingly polluted cities on the planet - in a country that also contains many runners up. We were also feeling tired and jet lagged, and mentally unprepared for the crushing multitudes, scenes of monumental squalor, endless rip-off scams (shoe shine boys chucking handfuls of muck at Claire's shoes, before asking her if she wanted them cleaned, was an ingenious one we thought), and constant demands for our time and/or money.

So the following day, after seeking some temporary relief in the air-conditioned heaven of 'Pizza Hut', we decided that we could explore the delights of Delhi at some later date - of which there were likely to be several - and leave town as soon as possible. So having formulated no plan whatsoever, other than that of leaving, we took a bus the following day to Jaipur in Rajasthan.

Rajasthan - February 2003

Jaipur, 'The Pink City', is also a horrendously overcrowded and polluted urban sprawl, though admittedly in a different colour and not wholly without some degree of charm. And once within the confines of the old city wall it's just about possible to catch the odd glimpse of its former glory. Built in the early 18th century by the Maharaja Jai Singh when he decided to move down from his hill palace at nearby Amber when Mughal power began to wane, and constructed a new palace which is still (in part) occupied by his descendants. The whole town was painted pink - a colour associated with hospitality - to welcome the Prince of Wales (before he became Edward VII) who visited in the late 19th Century, and the colour seems to have stuck.

The main city palace covers a large (and peaceful) area consisting of several courtyards and buildings in a mixture of Rajput and Mughal styles, some of which are now museums containing assorted princely oddities - such as the two enormous silver pots in which a former Maharaja used to carry gallons of holy Ganges water on a visit to England, preferring not to risk the English water - and having tasted London water I can't blame him.

The famous Hawa Mahal (Palace of the Winds) is a central landmark in town, overlooking a busy street. Consisting of little more than a facade there's little to see inside, but the impressive five storey structure with its delicately carved sandstone windows and turrets - designed so that women from the Royal household could look out without themselves being seen - offered fine views across the city.

One of the most delightfully odd places we visited in Jaipur was the Jantar Mantar or Observatory, and Jai Singh, who was an enthusiastic astronomer, liked to build on an impressive scale. What at first appears to be a bizarre collection of surreal sculptures, on closer inspection turn out to be a series of giant astronomical measuring instruments constructed out of stone. The most impressive (and surely the largest in the world) being a 30m high sun dial.

Taking a rickshaw to Amber, a few miles to the north, we visited the old palace fort capital. Looking as you would expect a Rajput fort to look, stunningly situated on a hill top overlooking rolling sandy hills, it certainly doesn't disappoint. Inside we wandered through the courtyards and Maharaja's apartments, with their latticed galleries, mosaics and mirrored ceilings, thankfully now being restored after decades of neglect.

Having spent much of the last few months in places that certainly don't suffer from a shortage of sand, and finding ourselves once more in a desert, a plan slowly began to form to head further south to where it should be lush and green for a change. To this end we joined the queue at the Railway Station for 'Freedom Fighters & Foreign Tourists' (no kidding !) and reserved 2 berths on an overnight train from Bombay to Margao in Goa for 2 weeks time - it being impossible to book anything sooner since it appears that at least half the population of India is constantly on the move. So with that in mind we decided to drift slowly southwards over the next fortnight, calling at a few places on the way down to Bombay.

We spent a few days in Pushkar, a pleasant small town, thankfully devoid of much traffic, and set alongside a tranquil lake. It's also a pilgrimage centre for devout Hindus, and so has a collection of interesting (though none too old) temples and bathing ghats down by the lakeside. It's also a bit of a 'traveller's scene', and usually full of 'lost' westerners trying hard to find themselves, though it was oddly quiet whilst we were there - maybe they've all found themselves by now.

We then took a bus south from here to the small town of Bundi, along what must be one of the most pot-holed roads in the world, merrily bouncing along on the back seat with our luggage strapped to the roof. Bundi is a quiet town in a steep sided valley that probably hasn't altered all that much for centuries; narrow winding streets meander through old blue painted houses, with the imposing Rajput fort and palace brooding overhead. The locals were exceptionally friendly too, evidently not much used to western tourists, and only too keen to stop and chat. Unfortunately, with India still being basically a Cricket worshiping nation, most of the conversations revolved around the World Cup. And as we both know less than nothing about the sport, most people probably thought us either mad or just plain stupid.

From Bundi we took a couple of short train rides (avoiding the appalling roads for once) to the town of Udaipur in the south of Rajasthan. Udaipur is, without doubt, one of India's most stunning cities, set around a large lake and surrounded by gentle barren hills. There are several Maharaja's palaces here t oo, some now converted into luxury hotels, including the famous one set on an island in the lake itself. The city exudes a whimsical Rajput charm (I don't work for the Indian tourist board, honestly) around the old town near the lake, containing numerous elegant palaces, havelis (mansions) and temples - the modern urban sprawl extending beyond the old town being the usual polluted mess and is probably best avoided.

Udaipur is also famous for its arts and crafts, and we had the opportunity of watching a performance of Rajasthani folk dancing at a restored haveli one night, and Claire turned her hand to miniature painting in the Rajput-Mughal-Persian style under the guidance of a local artist.

By now it was getting on for the time that we needed to be in Bombay, so we took an overnight bus from Udaipur. Buses in India can be an exhilarating experience, albeit a sometimes terrifying one. Driving usually involves flooring the accelerator and sounding the horn every 5 seconds or so to make sure that people get out of your way in time. In theory, at least, they drive on the left; in practice they drive in the middle of the road where there's fewer potholes. When any other vehicle is encountered coming the other way, the lesser of the two vehicles is expected to swerve (at the last second) apologetically out of the way. Misunderstandings here as to the relative status of the vehicles concerned can have unfortunate consequences. When driving at night, unlike in Cairo where they always turn off their lights at night, here they only seem to do so, as a courtesy to other road users, while overtaking on blind corners - which is the norm rather than the exception. The statistics speak for themselves: at over 80,000 road deaths per year, India uncomfortably ranks highest in the world. Unfortunately, this is unlikely to improve since most drivers subscribe to the karma theory of driving - whereby accidents are less to do with other vehicles colliding with you, than with events in your previous lives catching up with you.

Bombay (Mumbai) - February 2003

After an uncomfortable night, without much sleep, we arrive safely in Bombay - or Mumbai as it's now officially called - on the following morning. As we had the whole day to wait before our overnight train to Goa, we left our bags at the quaintly named 'Cloak Room' at Victoria Terminus (now renamed 'Chatrapathi Shivaji Terminus' in an attempt to further de-Anglicize the town), and spent most of the rest of the day trying to escape the muggy heat of the place by visiting a couple of fast food air-con eateries and enjoying the afternoon in the company of Hugh Grant at a local cinema. Indian railway stations being the civilized places that they are - despite their apparent surface chaos - often have a washroom available to the sweaty traveller. So after a thorough scrub-up we left that night on the super fast, and newly opened, Konkan railway to Goa.

Thursday 7th August 2003 update - Kathmandu, Nepal.

Goa - Feb / March 2003

We spent about two weeks down in Goa, staying at the small village of Benaulim which we had visited five years ago, and in fact hasn't much changed in the past twenty years. I only hope that the cement mixers continue to stay away to prevent it from being destroyed by development as some other areas of this coast have unfortunately been. We were surprisingly active here - no lounging on the beach for us - and we hired push bikes to explore the coastline and the often neglected interior.

Goa was a Portuguese colony until 1961 (when India threatened to send in the army if they didn't pack up and go home) and there's much that remains of their legacy. Cycling through the countryside we stumbled across many old Portuguese churches and colonial mansions, some of which we were able to look around and were still owned by descendents of prominent Portuguese families. On a day trip to Panjim, the capital, we found many painted stuccoed houses and whitewashed churches whilst walking around the old town which lent an almost Mediterranean feel to the place.

Old Goa, the original capital, is now a large open-air museum where half a dozen imposing churches and cathedrals are all that remain of a town that was once said to rival Lisbon in magnificence. The site had a ghostly, abandoned feel, and although seemed totally out of place among the tropical palms was fascinating to explore.

We finally left Goa at the beginning of March, just after the annual 'Carnival', a riotous three day festival, originally celebrating the coming of spring, but now just a great excuse to have a good time. Each village put on its own show involving colourful floats, music, food and plenty of drink, such that a good time was had by all and it was a great end to our visit.

Karnataka - March 2003

Heading south by bus we stopped at the coastal town of Gokarna in Karnataka only to find that we'd arrived a day late for the party. For Hindus Gokarna is a sacred site and a major festival had just ended, and although heaving with people as we arrived everyone was packing up to go home. Gokarna i s also famous for some (allegedly, since we never saw them) good beaches, and so attracts a certain type of pseudo-spiritual beach-bum western tourist who look like they've been having fun with the 'dressing-up-box' - otherwise known as tossers. We left the next day.

Moving down the coast to Mangalore we then took a bus inland to Madikeri, the capital of the Kodagu district. Once an independent kingdom, Kodagu (called Coorg by the British) is a beautiful hilly region rich with many coffee and spice plantations, as well as being home to wild elephant and tigers. Whilst staying in Madikeri we had a walk out to a local beauty spot called Abbi falls - advertised as a spectacular waterfall set amongst some lush coffee plantations - but although it's probably quite impressive during the wet season it was only a trickle at this time of year. But the most depressing thing about the place was that since it's become a popular picnic spot with the new wave of middle-class Indian tourist who seem yet to realize that dropping litter is a bad idea (although, far be it for me to tell them how they should behave in their own country), the place was less an area of outstanding natural beauty and more like a rubbish tip with a stream running through it.

We, however, had three great days trekking though the countryside - a mixture of plantations and wide open moorland - staying at remote farm houses along the way and swimming in the rivers at the end of each day. It was here too that the fireflies were out in force, and every night all the trees and bushes in the neighbourhood were lit up with dozens of living fireworks creating quite a magical scene. We then had a restful few days staying on one of the coffee plantations near the old summer palace of the ex-Maharaja, and managed a few day walks whilst using it as a base, including climbing to the top of Tadiandamol (xxx ft) the highest peek in Kodagu.

We then moved on to Mysore for a few days, and climbed up Chamundi hill to admire the view and visited the famous Mysore palace. The palace is perfect example of what can be achieved with a near inexhaustible supply of money and a handful of unrestrained architects. Built about eighty years ago in an Indo-Disney style, the palace is a kaleidoscope of stained glass, mirrors, gilt and gaudy colours. It was just unfortunate that we weren't here on a Sunday night when it's lit up with tens of thousands of light bulbs. We also had a day trip out to Seringnapatnam, the eighteenth century capital of Tippu Sultan's empire. Although little much of interest remains in the town itself, the Summer Palace was worth the visit, especially the fine murals depicting the defeat of the British in 1793.

Tamil Nadu - March 2003

Feeling the heat we headed up into the Nilgiri hills where the weather was pleasantly cool (if a little wet) and stayed a few days at the Raj-era hill stations of Ooty (now officially called Udhagamandalam, though everyone still calls it Ooty) and Coonoor - which are still popular retreats during the hot season. The ghosts of the Raj still remain however in the form of street names (There's even a Charing Cross), old colonial houses in varying states of collapse and Anglican churches with graveyards full of those who never made it home. But perhaps the two most striking relics are the Botanical Gardens in Ooty and Sim's park in Coonoor. Both are immaculately maintained landscaped Edwardian gardens, built at a time when the British must have believed it was their destiny to be here, and re-created little slices of England to prove their point and to make themselves feel a little less homesick.

The hills around here are prime tea growing country, and we managed several walks through tea plantations of vivid green from where there were some spectacular views across to the higher Nilgiri mountains and down onto the plains several thousand feet below. The narrow gauge rack and pinion mountain railway that runs from Ooty down to the plains was only running as far as Coonoor due to a recent landslide, so we had to make the rest of the journey down to Coimbatore by bus, unfortunately missing out on one of the wonders of 19th century engineering.

Kerala - March / April 2003

Taking the train back to the west coast again we arrived at Fort Cochin - a laid back fishing town almost cut off from the mainland and reached by public ferry. Fort Cochin has had a chequered history over the past 500 years, being first a Portuguese trading post before passing on to the Dutch and then the British, and much of this colonial legacy remains. The church here - the oldest in India - contains many coats of arms of Portuguese nobility and was also the initial resting place of Vasco da Gama before his remains were shipped back to Lisbon, still his tombstone remains here intact. The Portuguese built the impressive palace for the local Maharaja, in exchange for trading rights off the Malabar coast, and which has now been turned into a museum. They also introduced the cantilevered 'Chinese' fishing nets which are still used today along the coastline here, although there are fewer now than there was only a few years ago.

To be honest though, we didn't do an awful lot whilst we were here. Being late March, the heat and humidity were oppressive and it took most of our energy to just lie under a fan and sweat. We did, however, manage to catch a performance of Kathakali whilst we were here - Kerala's colourful and theatrical dance form (with wild eye movements and lavish makeup) - which we can't really pretend top have understood, but were fascinated by it nonetheless.

The coastline of Kerala is riddled with an intricate network of lagoons and we spent the next few days travelling south on public ferries that connect isolated villages hidden amongst the backwaters. Passing fields of Rice, Mango, Cashew and Coconut palms we sailed down from Kottayam to Alleppey (now called Alappuzha) and down to Quilon (Kollam) before taking the bus to Trivandrum (now unpronounceabley named Thiruvananthapuram). Here we had a relaxing few days at Kovalam beach, one of India's most picturesque beaches (albeit now becoming a bit overly developed) before taking a marathon 52 hour train journey all the way north again to Delhi.

Delhi - April 2003

Arriving in Delhi (amazingly, for once, on time) we met Simon and Janet at the airport and spent a couple of days here whilst they recovered from the flight and got their bearings. Being hotter, dustier and more oppressive than when we were last here (April is not a good time to be in Delhi) we were eager to escape to the comparative cool of the hills. However, we did manage to squeeze in a visit to Shah Jehan's impressive Red Fort before we left - including an evening 'sound and light' show which gave an entertaining potted history of the fort from a very nationalistic viewpoint.

Himachal Pradesh - April 2003

Taking the overnight train north to Kalka, we then boarded the narrow gauge mountain railway to Simla (now renamed Shimla) which trundled slowly up into the mountains through some breath taking scenery. Being at an altitude of 7,200 ft, Simla was a pleasant relief from the heat of the plains. Set among pine-clad hills, and once the Summer capital of British India, the town oozes a crumbling colonial charm and is a popular hot season holiday town, particularly with young Indian honeymooners.

Whilst here we went for the odd walk in the area (steeply up or down in any direction), Simon managed a round of golf at the nearby course at Naldehra (supposedly the highest in the world) and we visited the one-time Viceregal Lodge (now the Indian Institute of Advanced Study) from where many of the decisions affecting the destiny of the subcontinent were made 50-odd years ago.

We also managed a short 3 day trek out to the village of Tattapani on the banks of the Sutlej river, passing through some stunning scenery along the way and offering plenty of bird watching opportunities for the two twitchers. Tattapani (meaning 'hot water') is famous for its hot springs, and after a long walk it was great to soak our aching limbs in a hot bath whilst gazing up at the bright stars overhead.

Uttaranchal & Delhi - April 2003

Hiring a car and driving all day, via Dehra Dun and Haridwar, we eventually arrived at the town of Ramnagar at the entrance to the Corbett Tiger Reserve. We then spent 2 nights at the village of Dhikala, right in the centre of the reserve. Apart from Tigers, the park is also home to wild elephants, monkeys, various deer (spotted, sambar, hog and barking), crocodiles (a sign by the river read: "No Swimming. Survivors will be prosecuted."), leopards and jackals, as well as countless birds and insects. During the day we weren't allowed to venture outside the village (in case we got eaten), but each morning at dawn and each evening for an hour before sunset we were able to explore the park by either jeep or on the back of an elephant. Jeeps, being noisy things, tended to scare most of the animals away, nevertheless it was an incredible sight to see herds of wild elephants and deer roaming the wide open spaces as the early morning mist was rising.

However, the most amazing sighting occurred whilst we were on the back of an elephant. Lumbering gracefully through the forest just before sunset, as we were heading back towards the village, ours and another elephant cornered a tigress in a clearing of elephant grass as it was stalking its prey. As we slowly closed in on the animal there was a sudden blood curdling roar as it leapt from the undergrowth only 20 yards from us and lunged at the other elephant. The elephant shrieked back with a loud trumpeting sound, whereupon the tigress changed course and vanished into the forest. It was all over within seconds but, like us, our elephant beneath us was shaking all the way back to the village.

Heading north again we first stopped at the hill station of Ranikhet for a few days before getting a closer look at the high mountains from the village of Kausani perched high upon a ridge. From here the snow capped peaks of the Himalaya were clearly visible, including Nana Devi (7816 m) and Trisul (7120 m) near the Tibetan border.

From here we headed back to Delhi, via the hill station of Nainital, so that Simon and Janet could catch their flight home. After seeing them off at the airport, and having no reason to linger in Delhi, we took an overnight train to New Jalpaiguri in West Bengal and then on to Gangtok by bus in the mountainous region of Sikkim.

Sikkim & West Bengal - May 2003

Sandwiched between Nepal, Tibet and Bhutan, Sikkim was a semi-independent kingdom until 1975, and has only recently been opened up to foreigners. Despite that, the permits required to enter the state were straightforward and quick to obtain - unlike the usual Indian bureaucracy. Gangtok itself was a relatively uninspiring hill town, with seemingly every other shop being an off-licence selling cheap beer and genuine 'Scotch Whisky' (made in India).

So, after seeing a few of the sights around town we jumped on a bus to Pelling to the west of the state, close to the Nepalese border. From Pelling the snowy peaks of the Himalaya were almost within touching distance, and the skyline was dominated by Kanchenjunga (28,200 ft), the highest mountain in India and the 3rd highest in the world - Although by mid morning the cloud had often obscured the view.

From here we went on several day walks to nearby monasteries and villages and even went on a short trek (stretching it out to 8 days since we were enjoying ourselves so much) to the holy lake of Khecheopari and the ancient capital of Yuksom, walking through some stunningly lush mountainous scenery and staying at small villages along the way.

From Pelling we headed south to Darjeeling - to my mind the most pleasant of all Indian hill stations - where we spent a few days deciding what to do next. Our Indian visas were due to expire in a few weeks time - the original intention being to have a month in Sri Lanka and get them renewed whilst we were there - but with Sri Lanka being at the other end of the country and Nepal being only half an inch away (on our map at least) we decided to head for Nepal instead, in the hope of maybe doing a short trek in the hills before the monsoon struck. So we jumped on a bus to the border town of Siliguri and took a cycle rickshaw across the bridge over the river and into Nepal.

Nepal - Late May/June/July 2003

From the Nepal border town of Kakarbhitta, after completing immigration formalities we took a 20 hour overnight bus journey to the central Nepalese town of Pokhara, just south of the Annapurna range of mountains.

Thursday 23th October 2003 update - Calcutta, India.

Pokhara is a peaceful town situated on the shores of Phewa lake and surrounded by high mountains, and made a great base for a few days whilst we sorted out our trekking permits and bought a few supplies.

By now it was late May and the Monsoon was expected in about a week's time, so we decided to set off on a trek around the entire Annapurna massif which would take us up into the Himalayan rain shadow of the Tibetan plateau (in the regions of Manang and Mustang), and hopefully avoid the worst of the wet weather until the last leg of the walk. So after reducing the weight of our rucksacks to around 10 kg each (by leaving some stuff behind) we took an early morning bus east to Beshishar and started walking.

The first couple of days as we walked through the lush green lower hills were very hot and humid, making it exceptionally tiring work. But as we rose higher the landscape and climate began to change to a more alpine one and we began to get into our stride, aided by the daily Nepali diet of Dal Bhat (rice & lentils) - though we managed to avoid that other trekking delicacy 'Mars Spring Rolls' i.e. deep fried in batter.

As we entered the district of Manang the Tibetan influence became more apparent, with mani walls and stupas (chortens) appearing alongside the trail and odd monasteries (gompas) perched on the hillsides. It was here too that the natural scenery began to change too, with alpine meadows giving way to a more barren, rocky and dry landscape, and we were given our first close-up views of the towering Annapurna II and III mountains.

As we rose above 3,000m the effects of the altitude became more apparent and finding ourselves becoming quickly out of breath we had to stop frequently. After spending an extra day at Manang to aid our acclimatization we pushed onwards and upwards past Gangapurna and its impressive glacier and towards the Thorung La (pass). We had another rest day at the foot of the pass to get our breath back, for now that we were at 4,400m our bodies needed the extra time to adjust, and so a couple of restless nights later we were ready to attempt the pass.

Already we had met some people who had been forced to turn back due to altitude sickness, so we were prepared to take it slowly and steadily and turn back if either of us became unwell. Setting off just before dawn it was initially a slow, steep climb for the first hour before easing off slightly, but after about four hours walking and several false-summits we finally reached the prayer flags at the pass.

At 5,400m the Thorung La was the highest that either of us had been (whilst still remaining planted on the ground) and it was exhilarating to be there. At this altitude there is roughly 50% less oxygen filling your lungs with each breath and breathing becomes a very laboured and conscious affair. Muscles also become exhausted rapidly and rest stops become frequently more necessary. In the end though it was a beautiful day, with an almost clear sky the views across Manang to the east and Mustang to the west were superb, and it was with some reluctance that we began our descent on the other side.

Passing only the occasional isolated farm buildings, some four hours of relentless downhill walking later we finally arrived, totally exhausted, at the pilgrimage site of Muktinath and found a bed for the night at the village of Ranipauwa nearby.

It was a gentle downhill stroll to the village of Kagbeni in lower Mustang where we stopped for the night, before following the Kali Gandaki river downstream over the next few days. As we descended in altitude the landscape began to change again to green farmland and we encountered the occasional rainfall.

Taking a short rest at the village of Tatopani, so that we could rest our weary limbs in the hot springs there, we then headed into the Annapurna Sanctuary - a region totally enclosed by the mighty mountains we'd just walked around and from where many of the climbing expeditions of the 1950's to 1970's used as a base camp.

It was here though that the rain began to fall in earnest, obscuring for the most part any views of the mountains and also bringing out hordes of blood-thirsty leaches to attack us while we walked. Finally reaching Annapurna base camp (Annapurna I South Base Camp) feeling tired and damp, we were nonetheless lucky to have a clear view the following morning (albeit only for an hour before the clouds rolled in) giving us uninterrupted views of the stunning wall of ice that is the south face of Annapurna I, as well as clear sightings of Annapurna South and glimpses of fish-tailed Machapuchre.

The following two days was a trudge through the rain, picking leaches off ourselves as we walked back down the valley to the village of Chomrong and then on to Birethanti. From there it was a short taxi ride (it felt weird moving so fast), before we arrived - 25 days after setting off - limping back into Pokhara, where after a quick shower and a change of clothes we celebrated our return over pizza and several bottles of beer.

We spent another week or so in Pokhara, licking our wounds and eating and drinking enough to put the wobble back into our walk, before catching the bus to Kathmandu. Here we managed to pick up some mail that was waiting for us (thanks to all who sent some) and also obtained fresh Indian visas so that we could soon return to India

After toying briefly with the idea of doing another trek in the Langtang region (and deciding not to on account of it being too wet at the moment) we were about to leave for India when another idea occurred to us. Since China had given the all-clear to the SARS epidemic a few weeks ago, and had just re-opened its land border with Nepal, it was now possible to make a short excursion into Tibet. The Chinese visa regulations for such a trip are complicated, to say the least, but so long as you go as part of an organized tour and stay for less than 15 days within a defined area, then tour agents in Kathmandu are able to arrange for you to be placed on a group visa which would be valid for the trip. There were several agents in Kathmandu offering various deals at widely differing prices, and we ended up picking the cheapest one which involved a bus from Kathmandu to the border and then a shared Land Cruiser for 5 days, visiting several places on the way to Lhasa.

Once in Lhasa we would be on our own and quite how we would get back to Nepal within the remaining 10 days was still uncertain, especially since we wouldn't be travelling back as part of the same group that we originally travelled with. We just assumed that if Land Cruisers were travelling from Nepal to Lhasa then they'll be going the other way too, and if our paperwork wasn't in order then it'll probably just mean throwing enough money at the appropriate official to get it straightened out.

So we spent the next couple of days visiting a few sights around Kathmandu - the giant stupa of Boudnath and the Hindu temples and burning ghats at Pashupatinath - before packing our bags and catching an early morning bus to the Tibetan border. The road to the border had been severely affected by landslides due to the heavy rains, and in places was nothing more than a muddy ledge overlooking shear drops of several hundred feet. In spite of this, and a few hours later than planned, we arrived at the Nepali border town of Kodvari.

Tibet - July 2003

So, after a quick poke in the ear with a thermometer stick (to check that we weren't infected with SARS) we were allowed to enter Tibet - or more accurately (and sadly) the Tibet Autonomous Region of the People's Republic of China. Since the whole of China runs on Beijing time, which is 2 ¼ hours ahead of Nepal, the afternoon swiftly became early evening and we found a bed for the night at the border town of Zhangmu.

Despite the stunning location of the town, clinging to a steep sided green valley, it was a fairly grim place to stay. Border towns are often little more than grubby truck stops full of cheap hotels and shady shops selling cheap imported/smuggled goods and this one differed only in that it was very much a Chinese town, replete with anonymous concrete buildings with blue tinted windows and exterior walls covered in lavatory tiles.

We moved on the next day. Climbing steadily skywards over rough roads and high passes the landscape quickly began to change into one of wide sweeping valleys and barren hills. It was surprising though to discover how green and fertile some of the valleys were, with fields full of rich crops of barley, rice and wheat.

Throughout the day we followed the Brahmaputra river eastwards, passing through many Tibetan settlements of flat-roofed wood and mud houses with prayer flags fluttering from the rooftops, until stopping for the night at the village of Tingri. At over 4,000m the effects of altitude were noticeable here despite having crossed two passes over 5000m during the course of the day. So after a dinner of noodle soup I went to bed nursing a headache whilst Claire, seemingly unaffected, went for an explore.

The following morning we were disappointed at not being able to catch sight of Mt. Everest, which is normally clearly visible to the south of here, due to thick cloud. However, we consoled ourselves with the thought that we'd be coming back this way in a couple of week's time and that we would probably see it then.

Arriving at the town of Shigatse later that day was like entering a building site. Apparently, the Chinese authorities had seemingly bulldozed large chunks of the old Tibetan town and dug up most of the roads - consequently, it was a total and chaotic mess.

At Shigatse lies the great monastery (gompa) of Tashilumpo, the seat of the Panchen Lama, and we spent the following morning looking around the place. Despite the Chinese oppression and persecution over the last 50 years the gompa still continues to function. In fact due to a thaw in ideas concerning religious freedoms over the last few years - religion is no longer thought to be quite so poisonous - restoration and reconstruction is now underway at many monasteries and the pilgrims are now returning. So Tashilumpo, though partly still a building site, was teeming with devotes and monks of all ages who were busily acquiring merit by making offerings at the many shrines and statues or circumambulating stupas (chortens) or the monastery itself.

In spite of the more conciliatory noises now emanating from Beijing the life of the Panchen Lama is still strictly controlled. Back in the 1980's when the old lama died his successor (or reincarnation?) was selected by the Dalai Lama in accordance with ancient tradition. This unfortunate young boy was the promptly arrested and imprisoned (and still is) while a new candidate was selected by the Party, and who just 'coincidently' happened to be the son of an important Party official. And this young lad, who is now in his early twenties, will one day be responsible for choosing a new Dalai Lama when the time comes for his Holiness in exile - certainly no one can accuse the Chinese authorities of not thinking ahead.

Driving on from Shigatse we passed groups of nomads and saw several herds of yaks as we crossed the passes on the way to Gyantse. The town is dominated by an impressive fort (dzong) which overlooks it from its hilltop position, and the climb up to it reminded us that we were yet to become fully acclimatized to this altitude as we had to stop for breath often. The climb was worth it however, and the views across the town and to the countryside beyond were superb. There was also a curious (for its appalling spelling and its interesting take on history) museum at the fort. The "Anti-British Museum" told the tale of the appalling behaviour of the British army during their brief invasion of Tibet in 1903 when they held the fort for a while.

We happened to be here at the time of a big festival, and since most of the town had turned out for it we thought we'd join them. There were song and dance troupes, food stalls, games and competitions, and we sat amongst the merry throng watching all the happenings with smiling faces as a bottle of chang (a sometimes palatable, mildly alcoholic, rice or barley beer) was passed around between us. The following day we visited the Kumbum monastery here, the central stupa being a many tiered structure with numerous shrines on each level dedicated to the many thousands of Buddhas, Bodhisatvas, demons and monsters of Tibetan Buddhism.

It was only a few hour's drive to Lhasa from here, past the turquoise lake of Yam Drok-Tso, and as we finally entered the city our eyes were transfixed by the sight of the Potala standing high on the hill in the centre of town and illuminated by the late afternoon sun. In fact the Potala possesses a peculiarly magnetic quality, making it hard to take your eyes off it once it's within your sight, and several times on subsequent days I found myself walking into things because of it.

Lhasa itself is a relatively compact town, and far from being the 'forbidden city' of the past is now a bustling town with many tourists, hotels and restaurants. It's ironic though that most of the tourists are Chinese, and have come to see what's left of Tibet after having tried so hard to destroy most of it and its people over last 50-odd years. And unfortunately most of the Chinese we met (and I hope that this isn't a national characteristic) turned out to be arrogant and rude, in stark contrast to the the Tibetans who would generally greet us with much warmth and humour.

The Jokhang lies at the heart of the old town, and is one of the oldest and most revered places of worship in Tibetan Buddhism and was a great place to just sit and watch the many pilgrims come to make offerings and spin their prayer wheels as they have done for centuries. Each day hundreds of people would come just to walk around the Jokang (clockwise always), maybe chanting a mantra as they walked, or they would prostrate themselves repeatedly before its great doors.

The Potala itself is open to the public and is preserved as like a museum, and we were able to wander around to explore its many rooms and shrines, including those of the present Dalai Lama (though he hasn't set foot here in over forty years), and trying to avoid the noisy hordes of mobile phone obsessed Chinese tourists. Any visit to the Potala wouldn't be complete without a visit to its toilet which must rank, in terms of views from its windows, as one of the finest in the world.

Over the next few days we took local buses out to the neighbouring monasteries of Deprung, Sera and Ganden, although by the end we were suffering at little from monastery saturation. Definite highlights, however, were witnessing the weekly monk's debate at Sera involving much lively gesticulation and hand clapping, and walking the kora (religious circuit) around the hilltop monastery at Ganden. Many of the monasteries were undergoing extensive reconstruction (Deprung being largely a building site) and judging by the slow pace of work being carried it'll be many years until they're fully restored. Ganden, being the seat of the Gelupka order (of which the Dalai Lama is the temporal head) suffered much damage at the hands of the Red Army, and its battle scarred buildings can still be clearly seen.

After much confusion over our travel permits and visas for the return journey to Kathmandu we finally managed to pay the required fee to the appropriate government agency and booked ourselves a Land Cruiser back to the Nepal border. The journey back took only 2 days since there were no stops for sightseeing along the way, only an overnight halt in Tingri, and here again we were denied a view of Mt. Everest due to cloudy weather.

At the Tibetan border a particularly inscrutable and recalcitrant Chinese border guard (nearly all uniforms in Tibet are worn by the Chinese) found fault with our papers and at first seemed reluctant to let us leave the country. However, persistence and innocent smiles prevailed and we were finally allowed back into Nepal.

Nepal (again) - August 2003

The transition at the Nepali border was immediate - with much hand shaking, friendly smiles and offers of cups of tea, it felt good to be back in Nepal, and within the hour we were merrily bouncing along on a bus back to Kathmandu.

It was pouring with rain when we arrived back in Kathmandu and continued doing so, on and off, for the next week. Having already obtained our Indian visas before we had left for Tibet there was nothing keeping us from heading now back to India, except the rain. The roads out of the Kathmandu valley are prone to landslides and every year become impassable for at least a few days during the monsoon. So every day we would check to se if the road was open, and for several days in succession we found that instead of being able to take the bus we had to stay and eat cake and drink beer instead.

Eventually, however, we were able to leave and we took a bus down to the town of Sunauli, close to the Indian border. Along the way the wreckage caused by landslides was all too apparent - with the whole road having been swept away in places and wrecks of trucks lying by the side of the road having been flattened under huge boulders. We finally made it down safely onto the Terai and stopped for the night in Sunauli before crossing over the Indian border the following morning.

India (again)

Uttar Pradesh & Delhi - August 2003

The plan was to head up to Ladakh in the far north of India, and since we had a fair distance to cover our feet barely touched the ground. From the Indian border we made our way to Gorakhpur and took an overnight train from there to Delhi. Having only a couple of hours to kill in Delhi before our next connection we went straight to Connaught Place and happily munched at Pizza Hut before taking the afternoon train to Chandigarh.

Punjab & Haryana - August 2003

Chandigarh was a surprise. Originally we had intended to push on the following day north into the mountains, and bit for a chance meeting with an elderly Sikh gentleman (Narinder Singh) we would have probably done so. Instead Narinder took us under his wing and over the following couple of days introduced us to the delights of Chandigarh.

Chandigarh is a planned 'garden city', designed and built in the 1950's by the French architect Le Corbusier, and is totally unlike any other Indian city. The town is sectioned off in such a way as to keep the residential, commercial and industrial sectors totally separate, and the roads are planned so that heavy traffic doesn't snarl up in the centre of town, in fact trucks are rarely seen at all. And large tracts of green spaces sweep down through the centre of town, creating a sense of uncluttered openness alien to any other Indian city. I've heard it being likened to Milton Keynes, but I think that's being unfair to Chandigarh.

So over the next couple of days, with Narinder being our guide, we visited all the museums and public buildings, strolled through the Rose garden and the Rock garden, and sat in at meetings in the local Hindu and Sikh temples, as well as discovering some great places to eat and where to get a cheap beer.

The Rock garden deserves a special mention though. It was started by a man called Nek Chand back in the 1950's as a hobby (even his wife didn't know what he was up to at first), and he began making odd sculptures out of odds and ends in a bit of waste ground behind his house. Using whatever materials he could lay his hands on (ceramic lavatory tiles, broken electric plugs, bits of wire, you name it) he created a fantasy world of miniature figures, strange creatures, waterfalls and rock pools. As the city expanded his secret garden was finally discovered and the local council wisely turned it into a public park - Nek Chand still works on it to this day, and the garden now covers several acres. We were so impressed by this 'Gaudi-like' wonderland that we had to visit it more than once in order to take it all in.

Himachal Pradesh - August 2003

Taking the night bus from Chandigarh we arrived at the small village of Naggar, high up in the Kullu valley, early the following morning. Naggar lies on the east bank of the Beas river and is noted for its 500 year old castle which dominates the valley below. The castle has now been turned into a hotel (and surprisingly one within our budget) and was our main reason for breaking our journey here, having never stayed in a castle before.

The other reason for coming here was to visit the Röerich gallery. Nikolai Röerich, an eccentric Russian émigré and part time philosopher, mystic and artist (the British also thought him to be a spy) came to live here with his family in the first half of the 20th century. Whilst here be became a prolific writer and painter and his house is now turned over to be a gallery of his works, particularly for the huge collection of surreal watercolour paintings inspired by his many expeditions into the high Himalaya.

It was a short bus ride north of here to the sprawling hill town of Manali where we stayed for a few days whilst we sorted out hiring a jeep to take us north to Ladakh. We found Manali to be an uninspiring and unfriendly town, comprised mainly of hotels catering for the domestic honeymoon market - although I'm buggered if I know why they bother to come here. The valley itself is quite pretty though, in a very steep and green sort of way, and can sometimes be seen through the occasional gaps in the buildings.

Having procured a couple of seats on a shared jeep heading to Leh in Ladakh, we set off early one morning and swiftly climbed up into the clouds. Passing through grim and damp villages that seemed perpetually shrouded in mist we eventually emerged above the clouds and continued climbing on rough unmade roads as the landscape around us began to change.

Ladakh bears many similarities with its neighbour Tibet; they both lie at similar altitudes (in fact Ladakh is geographically an extension of the Tibetan plateau) and historically and culturally their paths have often crossed, such that Tibetan Buddhism is widely practiced here, the Ladakhi language is a western dialect of Tibetan, and many customs and traditions are similar to those practiced in Tibet. And since it has a land border with Tibet it has become a sensitive area as far as the Indian army is concerned, particularly since china invaded India across it in 1962, and so as the landscape slowly became more rocky and barren and villages less frequent the number of military check posts became more common.

The road from Manali to Leh (a distance of some 477 km) is only open for a few months during the summer - the high passes being blocked by snow from October to May - and crosses through some pretty rough and inhospitable terrain. The middle stretch of the 2 day drive is totally devoid of any permanent settlements and so temporary tented encampments are set up during the summer months to provide lodgings for travellers along the way. So we broke out all of our thermal underwear and spent a freezing night under canvas at a group of tents calling itself Sarchu.

Jammu & Kashmir (Ladakh) - August/September 2003

We left early the following morning, crossing another 5,000+m pass, and finally entered Ladakh. Snow could clearly be seen on some of the nearby peaks and it was actually snowing lightly as we crossed the Taglang La. At 5,328m this is the second highest motorable pass in the world (the highest also being in Ladakh, crossing into the Nubra valley) and the final pass before entering the Indus valley. We dropped down to meet the Indus, here still relatively young, and followed its course through several small villages with imposing hilltop gompas, until we finally arrived in Leh.

Leh is still a relatively small and pleasant town, despite the increasing numbers of tourists who flock here, and overlooked by the old crumbling Royal palace which is said to have inspired the construction of the Potala in Lhasa. At an altitude of over 12,000 ft, it was a slow and breathless walk up to the palace (now slowly being restored by the Archaeological Survey of India) and the Victory fort above it, but we were rewarded by some fine views across the valley and to the the Indus river and distant snowy peaks beyond.

The landscape here is exceptionally dry and rugged, practically a desert, and the only arable land is that which lies a few hundred yards on either side of the river. And a peculiar clarity of light often gives an acute contrast in colour between the green fields of barley, the barren brown hills and the deep blue sky. Due to the altitude the sun was often extreme and night time temperatures quite chilly, though nothing near the -40 ºC/ºF it can sometimes reach in winter.

Over the following few days days we took local buses out to the villages of Tikse and Shey and visited the monasteries (gompas) there and went for walks along the banks of the Indus. Tikse gompa was particularly impressive and we were lucky enough to be able to sit in on a prayer ceremony there, complete with monks chanting mantras, bashing cymbals and blowing 10 ft long horns. We were also offered some Tibetan (butter) tea which when mixed with barley flour (tsampa) becomes a kind of salty soup, and which we forced ourselves to drink with a smile.

We had intended doing some trekking whilst we were here in Ladakh, but after putting myself out of action with a strained back and being confined to bed for a week it consequently put paid to that idea. Things were somewhat redeemed, however, by the two-week Ladakhi festival. This annual festival brings together performers from all over Ladakh, with each community putting together some kind of show, from music and dance performances to archery and polo competitions - The opera performed by the Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts and the polo matches being particular highlights.

It has to be admitted though that we were pretty slack whilst we were here. Partly this was due to having spent so long up in the mountains - on and off since April - and partly in finding ourselves back in a place so closely resembling Tibet (even though its stunning) after having so recently been there, so that we were by now craving somewhere lush and tropical, and preferably near a beach with a cold beer to hand.

So we girded our loins and jumped on a bus heading back down south to Manali. Setting off in the early morning whilst it was still dark it was a bump 2 day long journey back over the high passes, stopping overnight at the village of Keylong, before we finally arrived back in Manali - cheaper than a weekend at Alton Towers, and just as hair-raising. After a couple of days recovering back in Manali it was a few short (well, relatively) bus rides down onto the plains to Chandigarh, then onto Ambala where we caught an overnight train heading east to Lucknow.

Uttar Pradesh - September 2003

Arriving in Lucknow early the following morning we left our bags in the cloakroom at the railway station and head off to visit the British Residency. The Residency itself is in ruins, left exactly as it was when the final relief came, and preserved as a memorial to all those (on both sides) who lost their lives here in 1857. It was here during the uprising of 1857 (The Indian Mutiny or 1st War of Independence, depending upon your point of view) that the British inhabitants of Lucknow took refuge and barricaded themselves within the compound. For 3 months the few thousand British and Indian captives under the command of Henry Lawrence withstood a siege and hung on with limited provisions, and many died from disease, starvation and enemy fire. When Henry Havelock finally broke through with his army the relief was short lived however, and the Residency was immediately besieged again for a further 2 months until Colin Campbell's army relieved the survivors in November 1857. Of the original 3,000-odd people who sought refuge here only just over a thousand survived the 5 month siege, and many of the dead were buried in the now overgrown graveyard nearby - including Henry Lawrence who "died trying to do his duty". It was an eerie experience walking around the many canon scarred buildings and the impressive little museum commemorating the events of 1857.

Collecting our bags from the railway station we then took the afternoon train to Varanasi where we stayed for a couple of days. To Hindus, Varanasi is an extremely holy city lying on the banks of the Ganges, to us it was a bit of a smelly dump. Most of its ancient temples are out of bounds to non-Hindus, the touts who greet you as you leave the railway station are the most pernicious in India (Agra excepted) and its also swarming with tourists. Once we'd wandered about in the narrow streets of the old town and had a glimpse of the faithful washing away their sins at the bathing ghats down by the river there wasn't an awful lot to do, unless you've got a ghoulish desire to see bodies being cremated - which we haven't. Perhaps we were here at the wrong time of year; with the monsoon yet to abate the river was a raging torrent so we couldn't take a boat out on the Ganges to watch the sun rise, and most of the bathing ghats were underwater - as were some of the roads which made getting about a bit tricky. I had also been here a couple of times before so maybe the novelty of the place had warn off - okay, I'm just making excuses, the place is a dump. After two nights here we had pretty much done all that we wanted to and so took an overnight train to Calcutta.

Calcutta (Kolkata) - September 2003

Arriving in Calcutta (now called Kolkata, though everyone still calls it Calcutta) many hours late we crossed over the Howrah bridge and checked into a hotel. We were immediately impressed by Calcutta, with its gardens and parks, stately Georgian and Victorian buildings and churches, and some decent shops, museums and cafes, it felt a bit like London on a hot day - admittedly though with a few more people living rough on the streets. The first thing we did after arriving here was to find out when the next ship for the Andaman islands was due to sail. Discovering that there was one leaving in 3 days time, we promptly bought ourselves a couple of tickets and enjoyed our remaining time by engaging in a little sightseeing. So we visited the amazingly over-the-top Victoria Memorial (a British attempt at a Taj Mahal-like structure), St.Paul's Cathedral, The Planetarium, the riverside gardens, and indulged ourselves with the cakes and coffee to be found in the cafes down Park St. It's a surprisingly easy city to get around too, with its efficient and cheap underground metro, its ancient and quaint trams, and probably the only place in the world that still uses hand-pulled rickshaws (as opposed to the new fangled bicycle powered kind).

We sailed late in the afternoon and only got a few miles out onto the Hoogly river before the ship dropped its anchor. The Hoogly is a notoriously dangerous river, with many hidden sandbanks, and we had to wait until high tide before we could safely sail out into the open sea. Once out in the Bay of Bengal the water was clear blue and calm and the 5 day / 4 night sailing was relaxing and peaceful, and our frequent turns about deck helped us to relieve the boredom and get some much needed exercise as well as generating many curious stares from our fellow passengers. The repetitiveness of the food being our only complaint - after 5 days of sloppy curried veg, for 3 meals a day, we were heartily sick of it by the time we reached Port Blair in the Andamans.

Andaman & Nicobar Islands - September/October 2003

The Andaman and Nicobar islands are a chain of several hundred islands lying over 1,000 km from the east coast of India - in fact they are much closer to Myanmar (Burma) and Thailand, and the indigenous population have more in common with the peoples of South East Asia than with mainland India. Originally set up as a penal colony during the time of the British Raj it has since been settled by many people from all over the mainland, so that the indigenous tribes now constitute less than 10% of the overall population and because of land clearing and development their numbers are in decline.

Some of the tribes are totally isolated from contact with the outside world on protected and restricted island reserves, suck as the Seninelese who have consistently repulsed any attempts by outsiders to make contact with them. Occasionally contact parties arrive on their island with gifts of coconuts, bananas and red plastic buckets only to be showered with arrows. To illustrate some of the tribe's isolation, and indeed that of the Andamans in general, there was a story going around whilst we were there that a few months ago a contact party landed on one of the more friendlier tribe's islands, and out of respect for the visitors the headman of the village ordered that the flag be hoisted in their honour. The trouble was that it wasn't the Indian flag that was raised, it was the Union Jack. In more ways than one its generally felt that the Andamans are a few years, if not decades, behind the rest of the country.

After we disembarked and wandered up into Port Blair town we were surprised at how busy the place was, challenging our expectations of tropical island life. The roads were full of people and traffic, and given the size of the place and the fact that this is really the only town of any note on the island, we were led to wonder where on earth everybody was going.

We had a day trip out to Ross island, the old British capital lying just off shore from Port Blair, where the ghosts of crumbling buildings and churches lay over run with weeds and pipal trees - it was difficult to imagine that only 60 years ago it was a thriving town. We also visited the remains of the once notorious cellular gaol which has now been turned into a museum and memorial to the many freedom fighters and political prisoners that the British incarcerated and tortured here. It was certainly not one of Britain's finest moments as the very moving sound and light show that we saw here one evening testified.

Deciding to escape the noise of the town we caught a ferry to the nearby island of Havelock (named for Sir Henry of Lucknow fame) where we hoped to find some sign of our tropical island paradise, and we weren't disappointed. Havelock is a truly beautiful and unspoilt island covered by coconut palms and papaya trees and fringed with fine beaches of white sands, beach jungle, mangrove and coral. The few villages that exist on the island consist of only a few dozen buildings and don't even have names but instead are usually referred to by number. So we spent a very pleasant week staying in a bamboo hut on stilts (to stop the snakes from getting at us) in village number 3, taking time out to swim in the warm turquoise waters or go for a walk around the island. Claire was in here element with the rich assortment of seafood and fish on the menu and we even found a shop that sold beer, so I was happy.

We were also fortunate to befriend Nilesh and Priya who live in Port Blair and had come over for a couple of days, and who arranged for a boat trip out to the otherwise inaccessible Elephant beach from where there was some great snorkelling to be had. It was my first time that I'd tried snorkelling (Claire having already honed her skills in the Red Sea) and I was totally amazed by the beautiful (and improbably shaped) coral and the overwhelmingly colourful fish and other more bizarre creatures of the deep.

The only unpleasant thing here in fact was the rain, and most days there would be at least one torrential downpour, and for our last 2 days on the island it didn't really stop at all. Consequently our clothes and bedding started to get a little mouldy and damp, so we left before we began to smell too much.

Anyway, back at Port Blair Nilesh and Priya kindly put us up at their place for a few days and treated us to some wonderful home cooking and took us out on a small boat (called a Donghi) to a wonderfully deserted beach and a great snorkelling spot at North Point.

For our last few days on the Andamans, after we had bought our tickets for the return boat trip to Calcutta, we went down to a place called Wandoor, only an hour's drive from Port Blair. Again we stayed in a basic bamboo hut on stilts close to the beach, with wonderful views out to the scattering of small islands off the coast, and from where there were some pretty spectacular sunsets. Returning for the last time to Port Blair we had one last farewell meal with Nilesh and Priya and then left with the promise of returning again in the not too distant future - but preferably when its not raining quite so much.

The return voyage aboard the MV Akbar only took 4 days / 3 nights, and with the added privacy of having our own cabin this time we passed the time with our noses in books, breaking off now and then for the obligatory curry slop.

Calcutta (Kolkata) - October 2003

After slowly winding our way back up the Hoogly river and disembarking in Calcutta we checked in again to the hotel we'd stayed at before. With the only business left for us to do being that of buying tickets for the flight from here to Bangkok - it was a shame that we had to come back to Calcutta at all since the Andamans were so close to Thailand - shortly after arriving we bought 2 one way tickets on an Indian Airlines flight to Bangkok leaving on Friday 24 October. We spent our last few remaining days in Calcutta (and India) wandering about the city's parks and monuments and making the most of our last opportunity to indulge ourselves in some fine Indian cuisine. Although Claire was relieved to discover that she'll still be able to get Masala Dosa in some places in South East Asia.

And so as Friday finally arrived and the frozen codpiece of time slid slowly into the boiling oils of eternity (does anybody actually read this ?), we sadly said goodbye to India and boarded the plane to Bangkok.

Thursday 11th March 2004 update - Malacca, Malaysia.

Thailand - October/November 2003

Our first impression upon arriving in Bangkok was how clean, quiet and ordered everything was. We had been told how polluted and congested the city is, and okay it's got problems (what city hasn't ?), but hey, it's hardly Calcutta. Here all the traffic obediently keep to their own lanes, and even when it's gridlocked (which it is, admittedly, more often than not), car horns are rarely heard. In fact at first I thought it must be due to some post flight deafness.

On checking in to a cheap hotel down Khao San Road the next thing that became apparent was how commercial and touristy the place is. After having spent the past year or so in relatively conservative countries with not much in the way of mass tourism it was quite an eye opener on our first night here to sit in at street side bar surrounded by flashing neon signs and watching all the legs and cleavage wander by. Maybe we've just been out of the loop for too long.

We spent about a week in Bangkok just getting used to the place and doing a few touristy things, such as visiting the National Museum which gave us an overview of Thai history, art and culture, and visiting some of the fabulous Buddhist temples (Wats) to be found around the city such as Wat Arun and Wat Pho with their incredibly elaborate mosaic chedis (stupas or chortens).

The best way we found to get around the city (to the sights along the river at least) was to use the fast and frequent river buses which ply up and down the river and so make it possible to avoid the congested roads. The alternatives being the cheap, slow and crowded buses or the overpriced Tuk-Tuks (Thailand's answer to the Indian Autorickshaw) with their noisy two-stroke engines and rapacious drivers - one shouted 'fuck you' at us after we refused a ride with him (although he later claimed to be wanting to take us to the temple of 'Phra Kaew').

Whilst we were here in Bangkok we also had a look around the former home of the American Thai silk entrepreneur Jim Thompson, who disappeared without trace back in 1967 whilst out walking in the Cameron Highlands in Malaysia. His house is a fascinating building, built from parts of several traditional wooden Thai houses and stuffed full with a superb collection of Thai art and furnishings.

Taking a bus north we spent a couple of days picking our way through the ruins of Thailand's ancient first capital of Sulhothai. Dating back to the middle of the 13th century, spread over a large area and surrounded by canals, there were some impressive remains here of once magnificent Buddhist (with a touch of Hindu influence) wats, and the peaceful rural setting made it a pleasant site to explore.

Moving on again northwards we stopped for a while at Chiang Mai, a historic moated mediaeval town (that has long since expanded beyond the confines of its moat) which was once the centre of the independent 'Lanna Thai' kingdom, and so boasts many impressive wats to rival those of Bangkok. It was from here that we broke with tradition and booked ourselves onto a short organized trek up into the tribal areas in the hills to the north towards the Burmese border. Now this wasn't a trek in the Nepali sense of the word, but rather a gentle guided stroll through the woods, short elephant ride and splashing about on a bamboo raft on the river kind of trek. Having said that, we were put together with a great bunch of people (cheers to Anita & Lynn for being such rattling good company), had a terrific time away and were especially well looked after by our guide 'Nai'.

Upon getting back to Chiang Mai we were just in time for the full moon festival - a spectacular couple of nights involving fireworks, lanterns, hot air balloons made from wood & tissue paper and candles sent off floating down the river - making a great finale to our stay in Chiang Mai.

Taking the bus north west we stopped for the night in the small town of Tha Ton near the border with Burma (Myanmar) before taking a boat down the Nam Mae Kok river, meandering through rice fields all the way to Chiang Rai, from where we caught the bus on to the town of Chiang Khong on the border with Laos. Here the Mekong river forms the border between Thailand and Laos and so the following morning we took the short ferry ride across it and into Lao.

Laos - November 2003

Upon arriving on the other bank of the river a sign saying 'Welcome to Indo-China' was the only evidence that we were in fact no longer in Thailand, and to get from this remote western border town to pretty much anywhere else in the country involved a long boat ride down the river.

So for the next two days in Laos we sailed down the Mekong in what we were told was the local ferry, but in actual fact was a tourist boat, and we found ourselves stuffed aboard in cramped conditions with about 50 others who had also travelled across from Thailand. Needles to say, by the time we arrived at Luang Prabang we were in need of some rest and a degree of comfort, so we spent the next week relaxing here in this pleasant and sleepy historic town.

Luang Prabang itself is now an UNESCO World Heritage Site, and during the time of the monarchy was the main seat of power, and so is home to not only an impressive handful of Buddhist wats but also a grand Royal palace and some fine old French colonial mansions.

The French influence was actually a welcomed change, having not managed yet to adapt sufficiently to enjoy Thai food, and finding that Laos offered more of the same (with less variety), it was something of a relief to discover that we could buy fresh French baguettes, cheese (unheard of in Thailand) and decent red wine in the shops here, and some of the cafes served some excellent salads and pasta dishes.

Whilst we were here we managed to catch a performance of opera at the palace theatre which was interesting, although with Laos being a tonal language (like Thai, Vietnamese, Kymer etc) and listening to it so unfamiliar to us, the singing began to strain or ears after a while.

We also had a trip out to some nearby waterfall which were quite stunning, with its waters cascading down through odd limestone formations into turquoise pools perfect for swimming in.

From Luang Prabang we took a bus south to the picturesque small town of Vang Vieng, set by the Nam Song river and surrounded by bizarre shaped karst limestone hills. The place has very definitely been 'discovered' by the backpacking crowd, with Bob Marley and pizza restaurants very much in evidence, but the scenery more than made up for that and we were able to go off walking and exploring the countryside.

The 'big thing' here is kayaking on the river - something that neither of us had tried before - so we spent a day negotiating the rapids (and falling in on several occasions) along a stretch of the river and enjoying ourselves immensely. In fact we enjoyed it so much that when we came to leave Vang Vieng we ended up kayaking all the way down the Nam Song river to the outskirts of the capital, Vientiane.

As far as capital cities go, Vientiane must be one of the smallest in the world, being no bigger than a small market town it's a relatively easy place to get around. Having said that, it's not a particularly interesting place, although it does have it's fair share of imposing French colonial architecture, although some of them, such as its Indo-Chinese version of the Arc de Triumph don't bear too close an inspection.

We visited the impressive National History Museum whilst we were here, which mainly concerns itself with Lao's lengthy struggle for independence, firstly from the French and more recently from the appalling and ill conceived American war which after starting in Vietnam ended up by dragging both Lao and Cambodia into the whole damn mess, which has resulted in Lao holding the dubious distinction of being the most bombed country in history - the legacy of unexploded ordnance still claims over a hundred lives each year, and limbless people are a disturbingly common sight in the streets. Incredibly, and despite the atrocities that have plagued the country over the past fifty years or so, the Lao people are generally quite lovely, often displaying a remarkably upbeat character that is no doubt helping to inspire an optimism for the country's future and bringing about quite rapid changes.

Moving on again, and after acquiring our Vietnam visas from the embassy here and visiting a few more Buddhist wats, we took a succession of buses south, first to Pakse and then west to Tad Lo, on the Bolaven plateau. We spent a few days here in this rich coffee growing region, going off for odd walks in the neighbouring countryside or just gently relaxing along the riverbank. Feeling the need to get moving again before we took root, we travelled non stop north to Savannakhet where we took a hellish overnight bus along horrendous unsealed and potholed roads to the Vietnam border. Arriving at the border at 3am we then had to wait for over seven hours before we were finally allowed to cross.

Vietnam - December 2003

The road improved somewhat on the Vietnam side and a few hours later we eventually trundled into the town of Hué sometime in the middle of the afternoon with both of us feeling utterly exhausted.

The first thing we noticed upon entering the town (and it turns out that this goes for most places in Vietnam) was how busy and crowded the place is compared to anywhere in Laos (or even most of Thailand) - the streets are bustling with human activity and motorbikes come at you from all directions. When not currently being used, motorbikes are usually parked so deep on the pavements that walking on the road is often the only option left for the pedestrian. Crossing the street too can be an unnerving occupation, requiring you to have complete faith in the belief that oncoming bikes will swerve to avoid hitting you - thankfully they are generally moving slowly enough to manage this, although we were occasionally clipped by ones that got too close. The level of shear chaos caused by too many people doing too many things at once was both invigorating and bemusing - and not experienced by us since leaving India. Thailand and Lao in comparison, while not exactly being in any way sterile, can at times seem a bit dull.

The town of Hué was once the capital during the Nguyen Dynasty (and is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site) and so is filled with plenty of historical interest. We spent a few days here visiting the old Royal seat of power of the 'Forbidden Purple City' inside the citadel - some of which had unfortunately been flattened by American bombs due to Hué's unfortunate location close to what was once the DMZ dividing the north and south of the county. We also took a tourist boat trip up the Perfume river to inspect the rather grand Royal mausoleums of past Emperors that lie along its banks. It seems that Vietnam has embraced tourism with enthusiasm over the last few years, and bears little resemblance to the country described in our guidebook. There are agencies on every street offering tours all over the place making it incredibly easy to get around, and the quality of the hotels is exceptional - mostly new and well fitted out (often with bathtubs and cable TVs) and costing less than £5 a night.

Taking an overnight bus north - the buses are good too, reminding us very much of Turkey with their comfortable and modern fleets (although, however good they are you never really sleep well on overnight buses) - we arrived at the capital Hanoi sometime early the following morning.

Hanoi is an interesting place. A city of shaded boulevards, grand French colonial architecture, Buddhist temples, lakes and monuments, and with its relatively laid back atmosphere and street cafés it was quite a pleasant place to spend a few days. The weather here, however, was colder than we'd had for a while and we had to break out our fleeces again for the first time in a couple of months.

Apart from just wandering about and soaking up the atmosphere of the place we paid a visit to Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum, although the venerable old chap (Uncle Ho to his friends) was currently away in Moscow for a few weeks visiting his friend Lenin for their annual appointment with their embalmers. We also visited the Ho Chi Minh Museum museum which illustrated the great man's life, and the odd Buddhist pagoda, although to be honest we'd just about seen enough wats/pagodas/temples by this stage.

Whilst we were here the South East Asia games were being held (hosted this year by Vietnam) and so most nights the cries of celebration (or otherwise) could be heard throughout the city, and traffic was brought to a standstill by revellers on more than one occasion.

We spent a few days off on a trip to Halong Bay whilst we were here, setting off from Hanoi early one morning and driving to Halong City. From there we went out in a cabin boat, across Halong Bay and spent a night anchored out in the bay and another couple of nights on the island of Cat Ba before we returned to Hanoi. The trip was quite a novelty for us, being an organized tour, and in many ways was a great success - it felt good being looked after for a change and having someone else sort out all the inevitable hassles. Halong bay itself is an impressive sight, littered with numerous karst limestone outcrops which form hundreds of tiny islets out across the bay creating quite a magical sight, although unfortunately the weather here was not at its best. Cat Ba island itself was a bit of a building site and presumably the powers that be see a great future in the place for tourists (which obviously involves a lot of concrete). Apparently a National Park covers half the island, but we were sufficiently disillusioned to not bother venturing that far.

Upon returning to Hanoi we paid a visit to the Cambodian Embassy to sort out our visas and then left as soon as they had been processed on an overnight bus going south, via Hué, to the town of Hoi An.

Hoi An (once known as Faifo) is a charming small riverside town, filled with tiny winding streets and misshapen houses, and a place where we happily lingered for a few days. It was once an important port prior to the 20th Century, and settled by Chinese and Japanese merchants, and in places the town looks like its hardly changed much in the last hundred years. There are several Chinese Assembly halls here catering for the needs of the various communities who originally settled here: Cantonese, Fujian, Hainan, Chaozhou and Hakka, and which are still functioning today for the benefit of their descendents. Since the decline of the town as a sea port the locals have turned their energies to the arts, and the town now has a thriving industry in amongst other things oil and water colour paintings, and we were sufficiently taken by some of them to buy ourselves a few.

From Hoi An we took another overnight bus south to the mountain town of Dalat. Set at a pleasant altitude and surrounded by evergreen forests and lakes, our guidebook described it as Vietnam's most favoured honeymoon spot. However, what we found was a noisy, overpriced and sprawling town, lacking in anything faintly approaching character. Maybe if you make the effort you can find some nice spots in the surrounding countryside (there are supposed to be some nice waterfalls and lakes somewhere), but we couldn't be arsed and so left on a bus to Saigon the following day.

I'll update the rest in a couple of week's time (honest!), after we've arrived in Oz.

Monday 24th May 2004 update - Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.

Saigon or, as it's officially called these days, Ho Chi Minh City (although most people still call it Saigon) is a vibrant and sprawling metropolis, and being Vietnam's largest city the huge numbers of people and their obvious industriousness give it a dynamic and spirited energy. Although being the capital of South Vietnam from 1956 to 1975 and ending up on the losing side some tensions inevitably remain, and a degree of resentment and bitterness was evident in some people we spoke with.

Staying here for a few days we visited the French-built Romanesque 19th century Notre Dame cathedral and the impressive Emperor of Jade Pagoda filled with colourful statues of various Chinese divinities and grotesque heroes.

Housed in what was once the US Information Services building we found the 'War Remnants Museum'. This was once known as the 'Museum of American War Crimes', but was recently renamed so as not to offend the sensibilities of visiting American tourists - definitely a sign of the times. Although obviously a museum with an agenda, much of the exhibits speak for themselves and offer a gruesome reminder of the USA's experiments in Vietnam with conventional, chemical and biological warfare, and how (to my knowledge at least) successive US governments have refused to old themselves in any way accountable for their actions here.

Over a period of about 10 years America dropped 8 million tons of bombs and 75 million litres of defoliants on Vietnam, killing over 3 million Vietnamese and turning vast tracts of fertile land into a wasteland. Even today, every month or so someone (very often a child playing in a field) will be killed or maimed by left over unexploded ordnance.

In his memoirs Robert McNamara (US Secretary of Defence during the Kennedy & Johnson years) said "We were wrong, so terribly wrong. And we owe it to future generations to explain why."

The 'War Remnants Museum' here in Saigon goes at least some way to do just that.

South and west of Saigon towards the Cambodian border lies the Mekong Delta, a dense area of swamps, rice paddies and rivers; and where the waterways are often the only means of travel and are an integral feature of daily life.

Choosing to take another organized trip we travelled by various buses and boats through the delta region, stopping for the night at Can Tho and visiting the floating market there the following morning before taking local transport to Chau Doc near the Cambodian border - having, by this stage, got pissed off with being nannied and shepherded on the tour, there being a limit to the number of visits to crocodile or honey farms that we could take.

From Chau Doc it was a short boat ride to the border - a surprisingly laid-back place on the riverbank - and then another 6 hours or so up the Mekong to the outskirts of Phnom Penh.

Cambodia - December 2003 / January 2004

We arrived in Phnom Penh on Christmas Eve, and after checking in to a cheap hotel we went out to celebrate over pizza and beer with Mark and Anita whom we'd met on the boat from Vietnam.

Phnom Penh is an interesting place, and not nearly as lawless as we were led to believe. It's a city very much in transition; struggling to come to terms with its recent, violent past and exhibiting a newly found optimism for the future, however fragile that might be. Fine old French colonial buildings can also be seen in various states of decrepitude lining leafy boulevards and which compete with the more recent fast spreading concrete developments, and unlike other cities in Indo-China cars outnumber motorcycles and successfully clog up the roads. It's no doubt due to the appalling state of the national economy and the levels of foreign aid, but the US dollar has also effectively replaced the Riel as the local currency here.

We visited the bits of the Royal Palace that we were allowed to see, including the impressive Silver Pagoda which houses the Emerald Buddha and other images dripping with gold and diamonds. The Palace is still the official residence of the King, who has somehow managed to cling on to his position (albeit largely ceremonial now) through some pretty shady and Machiavellian manoeuvrings over the years, and whether the people want it or not his (and also the Queen's) larger than life portrait are to be seen plastered all over town.

The National Museum was worth the visit too, and gave us a good overview of Khmer art and sculpture over the centuries, including the Angkor period of which we would soon be seeing a great deal more when we travelled north to Angkor Wat. It was particularly interesting to discover the links between Indian Brahmic culture and Khmer Buddhism, with classic tales such as the Ramayama being a common and recurring theme.

A more contemporary, and distressingly emotive, museum we visited was the Tuol Sleng Museum. Once a high school, it was taken over by Pol Pot's security forces in 1975 and turned into a prison known simply as Security-21. Over the next 4 years it became the most infamous centre of detention and torture in the country through which thousands of people were 'processed' before being taken on to the extermination camp at Choeung Ek to be executed. The museum is without doubt a moving and thoughtful step towards a degree of truth and reconciliation; the silent and haunting portraits of hundreds of captives being a powerful testament to the appalling crimes of the Khmer Rouge.

At the killing fields of Choeung Ek lie the remains of over 17,000 men, women and children who were bludgeoned to death here and dumped in mass graves. A memorial stupa containing more than 8,000 skulls, erected here in 1988, acts as a powerfully emotional reminder of one of the most brutal acts of genocide in living memory.

Moving north we took a bus up to the town of Siem Reap along some pretty dreadful roads, not being able to face yet another boat journey. Siem Reap itself is a small town with an abundance of guest houses, hotels and restaurants which have evidently sprung up to cater for the many tourists who flock here to see the famous temples of Angkor that lie only a few miles away. Having said that, it's a pleasantly relaxed place, and after meeting up with Mark and Anita again we were able to celebrate seeing in the New Year in style, even though most of the rest of the country doesn't celebrate it until April.

The temples of Angkor are spread out over a wide area, so we bought a 3 day pass and set about exploring. On the first day we took a motorbike taxi which dropped us off at Angkor Wat itself and from where we started to explore on foot. It has to be said; Angkor Wat itself is absolutely stunning. With stone causeways leading out over the huge moat to the soaring towers of the temple itelf it certainly is inspirationally spectacular, particularly when illuminated by the late afternoon sun.

Built sometime in the 12th century in honour of Vishnu - bas reliefs surrounding the complex depict the various exploits of Rama - and used as the King's funerary temple, the whole structure rises through several storeys of interlinked galleries culminating in 3 towers; the central and highest one dominating the entire temple complex.

Behind Angkor Wat lies the fortified city of Angkor Thom, the capital of the Angkor kingdom founded in the 12th century. Entrance to the city is through one of five monumental gates and at its centre lies the Bayon, a huge multi-tiered temple with the many faces of Avalokitesvara smiling icily down from its central tower.

We had only explored a fraction of the site by the end of the day, so on the following morning we decided to hire bicycles so that we could cover more ground. Despite only being able to find a couple of bone-shakers we nevertheless made it out to the outlying temples of Ta Prohm, where the tentacle-like roots of the encroaching jungle embrace its stonework, and the equally atmospheric Preah Khan amongst several others.

On the third day we were feeling pretty buggered so we simply went back to Angkor Wat and spent the day sitting amongst the ruins and chatting to a few novice monks who come here to practice their English by talking to tourists in their spare time.

It was a slow, rough ride by bus from Siem Reap, along some bloody awful roads to the border town of Poipet, from where we walked back across the border and into Thailand.

Thailand (again) - January 2004

Taking the first bus heading south, and stopping for the night in Trat, we ended up on the island of Ko Chang in the Gulf of Thailand not far from the Cambodian border. Eventually finding a spot less heaving with tourists than others (Kai Bae) we relaxed in a beach hut for a few days, putting on some shark-repellent and going out on the odd snorkelling trip, before returning to Bangkok to meet up gain with Simon and Janet who were flying out to meet us.

After spending a couple of days back in Bangkok, and visiting the Grand Palace and Wat Pha Kaew amongst others, the four of us took a bus out west to the town of Kanchanaburi, not far from the Burmese border.

Kanchanaburi lies on the river Khwae Yai (or Kwai as David Lean would have it), where the famous bridge was built during the Second World War forming a strategic part of the Death Railway to Burma. Its estimated that well over 100,000 Allied POWs and forcibly conscripted labourers from Thailand, Burma, Indonesia and Malaya died during the building of the railway which the Japenese hoped to use as a supply line for its forces pushing north through Burma towards India, and we found a well maintained Allied war cemetery in the town commemorating those who died during its construction.

Parts of the line are still functioning today, linking some of the outlying villages (although it no longer connects through to Burma), and we took a trip out to the nearby Hellfire pass where there is an impressive Australian funded museum and memorial, before taking the train back to Kanchanaburi.

The bridge itself has been re-built since the war, as the original was finally destroyed by Allied bombers in 1945 - and not by Alec Guinness and a few sticks of dynamite as I'd previously thought.

Returning to Bangkok again we then took an overnight sleeper train south (a very comfortable experience indeed) to the town of Surat Thani, before catching a bus on to Khao Sok National Park. Khao Sok itself comprises a large area of jungle dotted with limestone hills and provided us with some good walking opportunities. However, the denseness of the jungle made wildlife spotting somewhat difficult, although we did see some colourful lizards and Simon narrowly missed stepping on snake.

It was a short bus ride from here to the coast at Krabi, from where we took a small boat to Hat Ton Sai, one of the smaller bays down the coast. Although much quieter and less developed than Phukhet to the north it was still pretty overrun with tourists (particularly those into climbing the dramatic limestone cliffs here) and consequently prices too have soared in recent years if our guidebook is anything to go by. Nevertheless, we spent a pleasant enough few days here, including the odd snorkelling trip and sea kayaking, before retracing our path back up north again to Bangkok.

With our feet barely touching the ground, we took a bus back to Ko Chang again (where Claire and I had been a few weeks earlier), so that we could have a relaxing few days after all the recent zipping around before Simon and Janet had to fly back home again from Bangkok.

So after giving them some of our excess baggage and seeing them off at the airport, we spent the following day kicking around Bangkok and doing a bit of shopping - including buying a tent for future use in Australia and New Zealand (and inadvertently making our bags bloody heavy again). So the next evening we finally left Bangkok on the overnight sleeper train south to Butterworth, over the border in Malaysia.

Malaysia - February 2004

Passing smoothly through immigration the following morning, we arrived in Butterworth later that afternoon, and from there it was a short hop on the ferry across to George Town on the island of Penang. Arriving in George Town was a pleasant surprise; After becoming heartily sick of Thai food (I know, there must be something wrong with us) and the in-your-face tourist consumerism of Thailand, it was an immense relief to arrive again somewhere with a vibrant culture, friendly locals (who don't just want to book you onto one of their tours), and where you can also get some damn good food.

Ceded to the British East India Company in 1786 who wanted a strategic staging post between their lucrative Chinese markets and British India, Penang quickly became a prosperous free-trade port, attracting merchants and itinerate emigreés from India, China and beyond. Consequently today Penang is a curious melting pot of Malay, Chinese and Indian communities, with shades of a colonial past. Each community has its own enclave (though divisions are blurred) and seem to co-exist quite comfortably, and we found ourselves staying in Chinatown (where the accommodation was both good and cheap) and eating in Little India (the Roti Channai and Tandori at the Kapitan's Restaurant can be particularly recommended).

George Town itself (named for either George III or IV depending on whom you ask - though probably the latter, since Penang was originally known as 'Prince of Wales Island') is compact enough to explore on foot. So after visiting the fascinating museum to get a feel for the island's history, we wandered around the fortifications of Fort Cornwallis (the initial British settlement), before going on a walking tour and discovering, amongst other things, some imposing colonial architecture (including some stately government buildings and the Queen Victoria clock tower), some colourful Chinese temples, an old British cemetery and the Indian-Moghul style Kapitan Kling mosque.

One of the most interesting places we visited was the mansion of the Hakka Chinese merchant Cheong Fatt Tze, a rags-to-riches millionaire who arrived penniless in Penang in the late 19th century and proceeded to build for himself a huge trading empire. The legacy he left in Penang was this exquisite Chinese courtyard mansion (now turned partly into an up-market hotel) designed along Feng Shui principles and featuring Art Nouveau stained-glass windows, elaborately wrought ironwork and superbly delicate wood carvings.

Whilst walking back from the Botanical gardens one day on the edge of town we were caught up in the celebrations of the Hindu festival of Thaipusam. This colourful and typically noisy festival involves bizarre purification and cleansing rituals, requiring the participants to undergo painful body piercings such as skewers through their tongues and bells on hooks through their chests, before parading through the streets on their way to the temple.

We eventually left Penang, taking a bus south-east to the town of Tanah Rata, high up in the Cameron Highlands. Being at an altitude of around 5,000m the climate here was pleasantly cool (even quite chilly at night), giving us some temporary relief from the steamy humidity of the lowlands.

It has to be said that the scenery on the Malay peninsular is generally fairly uninspiring - mile after unbroken mile of Palm Oil and Rubber plantations - and so it was a pleasant contrast to be up here in the mountains with some fine view to be found amongst the jungle and tea plantations. So we spent a few days here enjoying the countryside, climbing the odd hill and of course visiting a tea plantation and honey farm - the homemade scones were also a particularly delicious if somewhat unexpected find.

Heading back into the fire we took a bus south to the capital Kuala Lumpur, where to be honest we weren't planning on staying too long - large cities in Asia tend to be hard work, and in this tropical heat usually even more difficult (and polluted) than ever. We were therefore surprised to find that we actually quite liked the place (despite the oppressive heat), and stayed long enough to have a good look round.

Kuala Lumpur (or KL as its generally known) is a curious blend of the old and the new; Its modern, gleaming Islamic high-rises tower equally over multi-lane highways, glitzy shopping malls, old Chinese shophouses and colonial architecture. And like Penang, it also has a mix of cultures - a vibrant Chinatown, an Indian quarter, and a cricket pitch in the centre of town next to the mock-Tudor Royal Selangor Club.

As usual, our first stop was to visit the National History Museum, housed in one of the many Moorish styled former colonial administration buildings overlooking Merdeka Square, to get a feel for the place. After that we visited the very modern and stylish National Mosque before spending several hours in the dazzlingly new Islamic Arts Museum looking over its extensive collections of Quranic calligraphy, textiles and metalwork before taking a late afternoon stroll through the Lake Gardens. Just wandering around the town we were struck by its diversity: the intimate Moghul-style Masjid Jamek (Friday Mosque), the Art Deco Central Market, the futuristic and gleaming twin Petronas Towers and the whimsical Moorish Railway station being just a few to mention.

Before we left we also went on a bit of a spending spree after discovering how cheap electronic goods are here, and are now the proud owners of a dinky little notebook PC. Okay, its something extra to carry but its already proved its worth, from twiddling pictures off the digital camera to writing this website thingy.

From KL we took a bus straight down to Melaka (formerly Malacca) on the south-west coast. Melaka has had quite a chequered history; it rose to become a great trading port under the Melaka Sultanates in the 15th century before Albuquerque captured it for the Portuguese (some of the fishermen here still speak Portuguese) who held it until the Dutch captured it in the middle of the 17th century. The Dutch then lost it to the British soon after the Napoleonic wars who then controlled it, along with Singapore and Penang (forming the Straits Settlements) until Malaysian Independence in 1957. Recently Malaysia has recognised the importance of the city as having played a significant role in the nation's history and has, rather ironically, developed and modernised the town. Despite modernisation however, the old centre of town remains relatively untouched and still has an atmospheric Chinese quarter, old temples and various legacies built by the former European colonial powers, especially the Dutch who's solidly built bright red town hall and Christ Church dominate the old town square.

It was also a pleasantly laid-back place (and slightly cooler than KL) to while away a few days and do a bit of sight seeing - there appears to be more museums here than anywhere else I can think of - before catching the bus south down across the causeway to Singapore.

Singapore - February 2004

Passing swiftly through immigration we soon found ourselves in the centre of Singapore, and our first impressions were that it was similar to a Malaysian city such as KL or Penang but with a noticeably more visible Chinese presence, more signposts in English and a slightly higher street litter bin density. But then it shares a common history with Malaysia, and in fact was part of the Malaysian federation for a short while after independence.

Legend has it that Thomas Stamford Raffles landed here in 1819 and thought that it would make an ideal base for British interests in the region, and following a similar free trade port model as used successfully in Penang, Singapore quickly rose to become a major trade and economic centre in the region, eclipsing Penang by the end of the 19th century. Similarly, a flood of mainly Chinese, but also Indian, Jewish, Arab and European traders and immigrants settled here and this accounts for the diverse ethnic mix of the population today. By the time of independence in 1965 Singapore was a mess - Uncontrolled growth and a lack of investment in the city state had left it with many problems, and so it is quite an incredible achievement that today Singapore ranks as the wealthiest country in the whole region.

It also means that its quite an expensive place to be, so we had to see Singapore on the cheap. Nonetheless, we did take Kipling's advice by choosing to "feed at Raffles, but sleep elsewhere", although I suspect for slightly different reasons (they had a cheap lunch deal on at the time), and managed to see most of the sights about town. There was also a fascinating little museum at the Raffles Hotel which was stuffed with all sorts of memorabilia and anecdotes - This must surely be the only hotel in the world where a tiger was once shot in the dining room.

The waterfront along the Singapore river has been nicely gentrified and made for a pleasant afternoon stroll, and much of Singapore's history has been preserved there. The History Museum was also interesting to visit, as was the Asian Civilizations Museum which gave a history of the various communities that have come to settle here.

We also wandered up into the Arab quarter to see a different side to Singapore and checked out some of the eateries in Little India. We also had a good look round some of the high tech shopping malls for electronic goods (well, you have to really, don't you ?), but I still reckon KL is cheaper.

Whilst we were here we also bought our tickets to Australia for a flight leaving in a couple of weeks time (13 March), so with some time to kill before then we decided to return to Melaka by bus.

Malaysia (again) - February 2004

Once back in Melaka we checked out the possibility of getting a boat over to Sumatra for a couple of weeks, amid much confusion over the recent introduction of mandatory visas for most foreigners. So within two days of being back in Melaka, and deciding it was worth the trip, we found ourselves on a boat bound for the Sumatran port of Dumai.

Indonesia - February / March 2004

Docking at Dumai and acquiring our visas on arrival we jumped aboard the first mini-bus leaving for the central Sumatran town of Bukittinggi. It was a long ride in cramped conditions over some fairly poor roads, but we finally trundled into Bukittinggi late on in the evening.

Bukittinggi, despite lying only a few miles south of the equator, is a mountain town and as such has a fairly cool climate. It was once the Dutch administrative centre of the region and several architectural reminders remain from that time. However, we didn't hang about too long here, and instead jumped on a bus to the nearby lakeside village of Maninjau.

Needing somewhere to relax for a week before catching our flight to Australia we couldn't have found anywhere more idyllic than Maninjau. Set alongside a lake of the same name, resting in the crater of a long extinct volcano and surrounded by thickly wooded hills, it certainly was a peaceful spot.

We can't really admit to doing anything much at all here for the whole week, other than sitting around admiring the views, going for the odd dip in the lake and eating some great food, so I'm not going to pretend otherwise. We also can't really say that we got in any way to grips with Indonesian culture whilst we were here, having already in some senses disengaged from Asia and were busy ploughing through guidebooks on Australia and New Zealand and planning for our cycling trip there.

What I can say is that the scenery is quite beautiful, the people are exceptionally friendly, and we intend coming back sometime in the future in order to do it justice.

So with that in mind we retraced our steps back to Bukittinggi from where we caught an overnight mini-bus back to Dumai in time to get the morning ferry back across the strait to Melaka.

Malaysia & Singapore (again) - March 2004

Once back in Melaka we had a spare day to sort out our gear, and post some things back home, before catching the bus down to Singapore again. We only spent one night in Singapore, but still managed the following day to grab a final lunch at Raffles before we headed to the airport and flew out later that evening - Finally leaving Asia and heading to Australia and New Zealand.

Australia - March 2004

Melbourne

Sydney

New Zealand - March / May 2004

Wellington

South Island -- Cycling

Malaysia - May 2004

Kuala Lumpur

Nepal - May / June 2004

Kathmandu