Southeast Asia Post Script

So, two wonderful weeks in Chiang Mai, Thailand have passed altogether too quickly. I managed to find a few beautiful big temples just out of town, drank Slurpees every day and ate pad thai all the time. We talked about coming back next year, or considering the cost of this year, maybe two years on. We spent two more days in Bangkok, and are learning to love that big, mad city too. We talked about where we went wrong, where we went right, maybe some new places to see and new mistakes to make. We got to absolutely love Thailand. We could take or leave Malaysia, although I thought it is a remarkable example of tolerance that the rest of the world could learn from. We have had time to look back on Nepal and see it in a new light. I think it was because Nepal so was so not where we thought we were going and we did it right at the beginning of the trip, so we were shellshocked immediately. In retrospect, we saw some pretty amazing things. Kathmandu is a pit. That much has not changed. But the surrounding areas and even some places inside Kathmandu are truly remarkable. Cambodia, we liked for the most part. Someplaces I could take or leave, but as far as I am concerned, Phnom Penh and Siem Reap are amazing places, just littered with things to do and see and most of it is quite educational too. Burma. BurmaBurmaBurma. Again retrospect seems to put on a rosy hue to the place, but I haven't forgotten the rotten bits. Overall though, it's very cool, and if you see it beore it gets overrun with tourists, you'll get a real sense of the place. I actually found many things to like about Mandalay, the place said I would hat. I loved Bagan so very much, and Yangon (or Rangoon) is full of wonderful places and things to see. Ten years time, and it will be all set up for western tourists, and won't be a shade of itself anymore. I so wish we had seen more of Laos, it was really unfair to the country and to ourselves to have not spent more time there. I really liked Luang Prabang, and I am genuinely looking forward to our return so we can investigate this country further. I just can't say enough about Thailand. Sure it has it's flaws, like the police will spend all their time investigating tourists and expats when a tourist is murdered, and will only invest locals when there is simply no one else to blame. The traffic is crazy and they have insects on a stick and call it food. I also learned that there is no end to the amazing places and things to see, the arts and culture, the temples and wats and chudis are the most beautiful, ornate places I have seen in a long time. I love Thai food, I so love Thai food, and there's this soft drink called Schweppes Manau that is like fizzy sweet lime juice, and I am deeply saddened that I won't taste that again for quite a while. Thailand also has more 7-11s than anywhere else in the world, sometimes so many per street that you end up looking at one while standing in another. There are no such thing as 7-11s in England, so goodbye slurpees. Goodbye to cheap food and hotel rooms and transport. There are several types of taxi in Chiang Mai, but the best is the red truck. They are everywhere and so very cheap. Flag one down and you can get anywhere in the city for 20-40 baht, the equivalent of 40-80 p. The beaches are lovely with gorgeous white sand and superclear water, it's hot, but you get used to it. It's a clean country full of national pride, and rightly so. Most importantly, I learned that the great mystical mystery that is India is in fact complete shite.I learned to despise India. Which brings us to right this minute. We are in Delhi, after having said goodbye to Bangkok bright and early this morning. I can't tell you how heartbroken we are to left Thailand and doubly for having to return here. Our flight back to Manchester via Doha, Qatar leaves from here very late at night or I should say very early in the morning on the 28th of September. So what to do here until we leave.... we are suspicious of the food, the water, the air, the people. Do we just stay in the hotel room for two days until it's time to go. A very real possibility. Maybe we should brave the streets one more time, just to say we haven't been completely beaten. Or maybe I don't have anything to prove,and I'll just go for lunch. Haven't decided yet. Soon, it's back England, and back to real life. The first year of my degree in mechanical engineering has already started and I'm late. I don't know what the house looks like. I'm sure it's fine, it's been looked after. There's making my own bed and cleaning my own clothes and making food and doing the shopping and the washing up and and and. Sigh. Had a pretty good run there, and maybe in a year or so, we can have another. Maybe. I had no idea I would enjoy southeast Asia, I had really never thought about coming here. Now all I think of is coming back, and I'm so glad I came. There aren't many places that I have been to that I would come back to. So wish me luck, reality awaits, but I'm not holding my breath for it. Sigh.

India Pt 5

I knew that there was one thing I needed to see before I left the filth and graft and disease of India far behind. Everyone say it with me, the Taj Mahal. I mean, who comes here and puts up with everything this place throws at you and doesn't go to the Taj Mahal? Even if you've been to India before, you still want to see it again. It's as close to a pereect building as you're likely to see. The symmetry, the way that the four towers line up in relation to the main building to the apex of the arches of the massive entrance halls, everything about it is so close to perfect. The intricate carving on the walls, the inlay of the Islamic prayers inside the memorial hall, the way that if you hold a flashlight to the marble you can almost see right through it, it's of such fine quality. There's the remarkable echo inside the main hall, personally I would want to be around when there is someone singing prayers in there. There's the immense gates on all four sides of the grounds, and they even line up with the Taj Mahal itself. There's the iconic reflecting pool outside where so many photographs have been taken. With everything I have said, plus the pictures you have no doubt seen, assuming you haven't been there, how could this part of the trip be such crap too? It starts, as always, with the hotel. The name of the hotel is Ray of Maya, an offshoot of the better known hotel Maya, right next to an entrance to the walkway leading to the western gate of the Taj Mahal. It really is ideally situated for an early start to the great monument if you want to see it by sunrise. It is also at the end of a two foot wide mud path which is raised and runs between two construction sites. This path begins at the gauntlet of autorickshaw drivers and runs past a hotel and restaurant before it gets to a vacant lot littered with garbage and rusted, decrepid buildings. Next stop along the path, we pass a new hotel being built adjoining the Ray of Maya, and then past the hotel gym, which is actually an unfinished underground parking lot, filled with one tank for water and one tank for septics until the sewer line is completed. We arrive quite late, so I get one of the hotel staff to show Siobhan and Dominic to the room while I do the check in. Hotel checkins are really rigorous in India. They want to know where you've been, where you're going, how you got here, how you're leaving, when you're leaving, have you got a phone number, have you got an email address, have you been to India before, why are you here anyway? Then there's the stuff you expect, the passport and visa numbers, names and home addresses. They are even more suspicious if you're staying in a town near the Pakistan border. I finish up and get to the room. Then the banging starts. Faster and Faster, louder and louder, and for those dirty birdies reading, we had no neighbours. No, it's coming from the construction site next door. Once again angry ( this happens a lot lately), I meet a fellow resident who wants to know if I'm going down to Find out about this banging. Actually he asked if I was going to ask about the f***ing banging to which I replied "abso-f***ing-lutely". The man on desk said he'd find out. The banging stops. It's 1 am. We want to be up for 5 am to catch the sunrise at the Taj Mahal. The banging starts again, only this time faster and louder with no breaks for a breath. I am going to kill. No really. It's time for death. I go back downstairs and I am assured it's only going to last another 5 or 10 minutes. So you know about the banging. Yes. Is he one of yours? Yes. DOES HE KNOW WHAT F***ING TIME IT IS? Yes. So sorry. Die. Everyone should just die. Back to bed. 5 am comes. I don't care. 5:15. Fine. Let's get up. 5:30. Crap. Getupgetupgtup! Outside we see that everyone else has had the same idea. Supercrap. We get in the slowest moving electric autorickshaw we can find and get to the Taj Mahal. There are metal scans and bag checks. Siobhan has to empty her bag. Bloody nuisance. Fine. Let's go. We start walking and are promptly set upon by guides. How the hell did they get in? we were the first lot through the gates. Surely they don't work for the monument? Annoyed. We get to the reflecting pool, and photographers are there taking pictures of the tourists sitting on the stone bench. Seriously, how do they get in before we do? Do they sleep here? We get up and try to take our own picture when we hear a photographer say "shoo!" like we are dogs getting in his shot, and he's the only one allowed to take pictures there. I know that shouting loudly at the locals on the site of a world monument is not done, but this little pissant just tried to shoo me away. I'm so shocked all I can do is verbally and loudly abuse him, knowing I look like a dick. I don't care. I hate India. The skies open up. The weather has closed in. Rain hurls itself down with such ferocity the huge gates can't be seen from the monument. Fortunately we are only steps away from the entrance, but we still manage to look like wet dogs by the time we get inside. As I mentioned earlier, the inside of the Taj Mahal is almost as remarkable as the outside. The intricate carving, the jeweled inlay on every marble panel which is every surface on every facet of every wall, the ebony arabic prayers, set in the marble and runs up each of the six corners and around the top of the mausoleum. The tombs are in the centre, walled off from approach. A hall runs the circumference of the Taj Mahal and again every intricately carved wall with it's floral motifs is carefully inlaid with garnet and lapis. Just from a strictly architechtural standpoint, it's a truly incredible achievement. Apparently engineers have done several surveys of the structure, and the towers and main buildings line up almost perfectly, to within a few centimetres on either side. The towers are actually angled out slightly, so that if an earthquake happens, they will fall away from the mausoleum. Simply an incredible feat of engineering and aesthetics, and quite likely the most beautiful building I have ever seen. I like to think I have seen many all over the world. We walk past the main entrance to the mausoleum which looks out over the main gate, and there's no one there. it's been open for an hour and the usual masses of people are trapped under the eaves of the massive gate as the rain thrashes down and shows no sign of abating. A few brave souls decide theve've had enough standing around and say "rain be damned" as they head out into the maelstrom. Once the first lot start moving, others soon follow. In moments, the grounds are swarming with tourists. It's time to go. The museum doesn't open for another hour, and we're not standing in the rain just for this, so we go back to the hotel for some rest. Mission accomplished, we head out for some dinner. The hotel restaurant is actually across a busy road. Genuinely, even little annoyances like this are becoming enormous rage starters. I can't seem to find the little happy things anymore, which I find very troubling. I am always the one trying to find the good in everything, whether it be the food in the restaurant or the facades on the buildings or just the water pressure in the shower, but I am having real trouble finding anything to feel good about and now I'm actually looking for things to gripe about. I don't have to wait either. There's always something to be angry about now. We just want to get to Delhi now. One step closer to Thailand. The train is an hour late, which for a three hour train ride takes some doing. Or not doing as the case may be. We arrive eventually, and go to our hotel which is on Connaught Place in the outer circle. It's upstairs in what appears to be a little hole in the wall. The walkway to the hotel crosses a hallway which has "Do Not Enter" signs painted on the walls. Eeep. A door at the end of the murder hall opens up to a really quite nice, if not small, lobby. Freshly painted, the whole place smells like paint and chemicals, but it's a very modern looking place with all new beds and appliances. A very welcome change. There is hope that things might actually work as they should here. There is crap internet in the first room, so we get another. I'd like to say that things like internet shouldn't matter because we are not touring the internet of the world, but everything is done on the net now, and if you say you have good strong internet, you really ought to. So we move. The room we go to is smaller but the internet is marginally better. We need laundry doing so we try to find a laundry service, and find none save the hotel's own. This is gonna cost. And it does. We make an inventory of what needs washing and do the math on what it should cost. It's one of those places that charge by the item, not by the kilo like we are used to. We go out to have a look at the area. Connaught Place was built by the British, it's a large circle with an inner and outer ring, lined with shops all round and small streets running fron the outer ring to the central park. I'm sure the place was really lovely once, but left to the devices of the Indians, the place has become filthy and stained with betel nut spit and smelling of feces. People are sleeping under bits of cardboard and legless people shuttle themselves along on bits of plywood with casters on the bottom. It's almost cartoon poverty, it's so prevalent and obvious. There's no attempt to help the beggars other than to give them a few rupees, and this help comes from passersby, not the government. There's no income tax for the average people, so there's no money for civil services. The way to get anything done is through bribes, not bids, so a greased palm gets you what you want. It seems that what's wanted is personal advancement. There's no thought about the people who actually spend their lives living in the rubbish heaps of the big cities, scavenging what they can to sell for scrap or even feed their own.It really is such a shame. A lot of money went from Britain to India in the way of aid and investment. They spent the money on building a whole new section to the city of Jaisalmer and other towns like it. Then the locals moved in and the shiny new construction, within a year, looked like four walled crap. It seems like an incredible waste of money and time, trying to help those who just treat their cities and towns so poorly, and considering where the money could be going in our own country it's doubly galling. But western guilt says we must help, and so help we do. Maybe it's best not to know where the money goes, so we can feel like we've done some good without knowing if it's good or not. There's an underground market on the outer circle called Palika Bazaar. An escalator leads down to 3 floors of shopping. There appears to be only 4 or 5 shops, just repeated over and over. The sari shops, t-shirt shops, cosmetics shops, jeans and jacket shops, and sunglass kiosks. The standout is the number of tattoo shops. They seem to share the same flash and picture books, and frankly none of them appear of an better quality art than you'd get from a high school art student. Again, trying to shop is pointless, you're given a second to actually look at the wares, then there's always someone waving their product in your face and trying to get you to come spend money in their shop. There must be enough tourists come through there that they know that's not how you get a westerner to spend money. As soon as I see someone coming at me with tat in hand, I try my best to go in the opposite direction, even if that means I end up nowhere near where I want to be. Siobhan wants to go to the Bahai temple, also known as the Lotus Temple, so named because it was built in the shape of an enormous silver, white and stone lotus blossom. There's longest line I've ever seen to get in, but it moves very quickly so the wait isn't that long. It's really a very striking structure, very cool to look at but exceptionally austere inside. They only allow total silence in the temple, very difficult thing for a three year old to maintain, but Dominic holds up admirably. Next is the ISKCON temple, or Hare Krishna temple. I really have no truck with the Krishnas, but Siobhan is happiest with them, she loves the temple and being around the music and clothes and dancing and people and is actually quite taken Krishna himself and is herself an ex-Krishna, and the boy just likes the look of a blue guy with long hair and a flute. We go through the light and sound extravaganza, which is really just lights flashed on statues and very loud talking and music with various sound effects for punctuation. One of the cheesiest things I've ever seen but still kind of fun. Dominic is a little frightened by the noise, so he clings to me. Awww, poor little man. The temple itself is lively, with a small band playing traditional instruments and repeating the Krishna chant over and over to a jaunty little tune. There are several people dancing and singing, with devotees giving blessing by placing a bowl on peoples' heads. I don't know, don't ask. The atmosphere is festive amongst the people sitting crosslegged on the floor, everyonne singing, chanting, clapping or just happy to be there. It's about the nicest place I have been in India, and when people come up to talk to you, it's because they are interested in you, not for any sales purposes. They don't even do the in-the-street book sales anymore so there's none of that either, It's mostly just curiosity about what would bring a caucasian family with a little boy here. The shops have samosas and muffins, cakes and other nibbles, but as they don't use onion or garlic or any spices which could inflame your passions and their baking uses no eggs as they are strict vegetarians, the takes on western foods are a bit flavourless, but the samosas are delicious. I feel happy here too, there's no harrassment or people in your face. I love a good haggle, I truly do and I think I'm ok at it, but I don't want to haggle here because no one is trying to rip you off or over charge you here. It's what I'd hoped India could be, and don't really want to leave. I'm not a Krishna, I'm not interested in being one, and I think they are all just a little bit barking, but they are genuinely nice people, and when I have to go back to Delhi before we fly home, I will make a beeline for here. We get back to the hotel and I ask for my laundry. I wasn't just telling you about my laundry earlier because I thought you cared about the state of my trousers, I was actually going somewhere with it. We have been charged about 200% too much. I look at the bill and see 9 shirts, 2 housecoats, 2 jackets,3 suits, and I truly don't remember sending these things to be washed, mostly beause I don't have any. Half the clothes are still filthy, they have charged for my son's little clothes what they would charge for big people clothes, and they have bleached a pair of my son's trousers. They completely missed the stained white things with the bleach, but manage to get it all over my son's trousers, ruining them. Last straw. I want out of this bastard country. Now. Everything since I have got here has gone horribly wrong, everything is filthy, diseased, or both and tends to give you the trots, everything has fallen apart, popped stitches or just failed to work, everyone has tried to rip us off or outright steal from us, and then treated us like it's our fault. I hate it here,and Siobhan agrees completely. Luckily we have only one more day before our flight back to Thailand. I am leaving India and going back to the place we all felt happiest for our last couple of weeks before we have to return to reality. I can't adequately express my joy. If my son gets sick, there are actual doctors with actual licenses practising everywhere. There is food which doesn't make me purge. There is a system of civil services which means there are no animals feeding on garbage in the streets. This I think will be my last missive, as I don't think you really want to read about my days being passed happily and idly, visiting temples and seeing the sights with my son. I'm sure you don't want to read about Siobhan's myriad massages or our lovely meals or purchased souvenirs, so I will leave you here. I hope I haven't bored you overly, or put you off travel to these palces, there are so many wonderful, amazing things to do and see in this part of the world. Perhaps I have given you something to think about, and maybe some things to watch out for, both good and bad. If nothing else I hope you have been even marginally entertained. If not, why are you reading this? If so, Thanks for reading this, I have enjoyed writing it, and this will help me remember our trip as well as the pictures. I don't know how or even if I can put pictures in this, so I haven't. If you ask me nicely, maybe I can send you some. Thanks again and take care, Love to you all, Colin, Siobhan and Dominic. PS Dominic's skin is much better now.

India Pt 4

The train from Jaisalmer to Ajmer was relatively uneventful, but the arrival in Ajmer was quite jarring, not because of the train, but because of the horrorshow outside. Humans piled on top of one another trying to get off the train, and the red clad porters try to walk off with your bags and bring them to taxis run by their mates, taxi drivers compete with one another for fares, and more people try to get on to trains than trains can safely allow. No one bats an eye but us. It's the craziest I have ever seen a train station and I am sure it gets worse in bigger cities. It takes us ages to figure out how to get out of the station, every gate is locked and door is closed. We finally find a muddy path leading to a parking lot, and then another muddy path leading through another parking lot, which seems to lead to the entrance to the station. We must have gone the wrong way as we got off the train, but I couldn't see another way. Regardless, we trudge on trying to find the fixed rate taxis when we walk past a man asleep on the ground. The man is missing a foot and half his fingers on one hand, and he is, on closer inspection, covered with flies. Is he that drunk that he's passed out at the mouth of the train station and doesn't even notice that he's playing host to dozens of these little black pests? Even at my most seriously passed out, I'd have noticed that eventually and tried instinctively to brush them away, but this man doesn't move, doesn't even twitch. His hands and face are covered with sores that the flies are congregating around. I remember a bird or other small animal had got trapped in the attic of our old house, and had died. As it decomposed, big blue-black flies started showing up around the house. I must have bashed dozens of them, until there were no more, and these flies were very reminiscent of those flies. We wonder if the man has died? Why has no one tried to help him? If he has died, why had no one moved him? We keep walking, wondering then why we have done nothing as well. My first thought is that if no one else has helped him, I am most certainly not. I suppose I am just another western dickhead who thinks he's too good, too clean to touch this man. Maybe so, but I simply wasn't going to, and I made peace with that. That thought makes me uncomfortable to think about it now, but at the time... We find a taxi to take us the half hour to Pushkar, which is situated by what I am told is a lovely little lake with bathing gats all the way around it, scads of temples throughout the town, and overall, just a very cool and relaxed vibe about the place, a sort of backpacker haven. What I see is another filthy, hectic town full of tourists and hawkers, cars and motorcycles, cows and dogs. Siobhan assures me that when she was here last, it was no where near as bad as this. The traffic has doubled, the garbage has spawned more garbage, and the rain just put a grey, muddy wash over everything. We thought that this being monsoon, low season for tourists, we could just wander into town and have our pick of places to stay. Siobhan had been in contact with a relatively expensive place the night before, but we opted to take our chances when the owner said he'd send a taxi to get us from the station for the bargain rate of 500 rupees. That's not actually a bargain, incidentally. It cost us 300. That's where our luck ran out. There's literally no room at the inn. Crap. So we contact the hotel we'd passed on earlier, and they said they'd come get us from the restaurant we called from, now that we are in town. How nice. What he meant was he'd send someone to show the taxi driver how to get there. Whatever. We get to the hotel, which is a real haveli (not hovel), and it's surprisingly really lovely. That was as good as it got. The power kept going out, it was nowhere near anything, except conveniently a taxi stand to get us out of there. We spend the rest of the day deciding on whether to carry on to Udaipur because we are just being too hard on India and it will get better, or to get to Delhi as fast as we can because we are concerned that if places like Jaisalmer and Pushkar have gone to hell, what are the chances that Siobhan's second favourite place in India has not gone to hell too? Finally Siobhan decides she'd rather remember her favourite places like Udaipur, Darjeeling and Orchha as they were and so we make the decision to leave India after just 6 days and book a flight from Delhi back to Bangkok, leaving in 4 days time. We decide to go for dinner in the hotel's rooftop restaurant. We place our relatively simple orders and wait. My relatively simple drink of soda water and lime juice is naturally quite wrong. They didn't actually bother with the lime. OK, can I get some lime for this like I will doubtless be charged for? A tall glass with half a teaspoon of lemon juice arrives by the hand of the surliest staff member who slings the glass down loudly and sulks off. This is a joke, right? OK, I don't really care that much, just bring our food and we'll stop inconveniencing you. My food and Siobhan's food shows up, but where is my son's food? I am assured it's in the oven and will only be another minute. 20 minutes later I have fed my son half of my dinner and I am still waiting for his food. I realise he hasn't even put it in the oven. I have never been so angry so frequently in one country before. Everything is wrong or falling apart or disease ridden and the only ones who have noticed are us. I tell the cook that I'm really pissed off about this, and he should put the food in the fridge and heat it up for my boy tomorrow. I then go downstairs to tell the manager/ owner about this nonsense. He actually has the nerve to tell me that they have to make it from scratch so it takes a while. Could no one tell me this when I said the food was for a little boy? I should mention the food in question was pizza. How long does it take to make pizza, even from scratch? 20 minutes? Half an hour? I have worked in pizza restaurants in my life, and 40 minutes was unforgivable. So an hour? I told him that his excuse was crap and he knew it. He was the one who told me it would only be another minute and knew it hadn't even been put in the oven. Raging now, but it's bedtime. We decide we've genuinely had enough of Pushcar and it's time to go. In the morning we ask the owner if he could arrange train tickets for us, and I won't go into details about the different schedules for paying for tickets, it's a little complicated, but we asked that he use the tourist rates to ensure that we get on the train. He assures me that the new software his contact is using will ensure 100 percent cerainty that we will get the tickets, but it will cost more. Of bloody course it will. Fine. We are told how much more. I choke. I pay. Out of curiosity we check the train website to see how much they actually cost. A red mist of rage descends. We have been ripped of to the tune of 2700 rupees. This will not do. I storm out and demand our money back and tear an enormous strip off him, calling him a thief and criminal, and that's the repeatable words. He first tries to tell me that they charge commission for services like this. I am prepared to pay comission, but not 200% commission. I rip in again, and I won't say the words used, but they were indeed salty. He says he'll let me take the amount he cheated out of us, and use it to pay for the room. I should mention he wanted 2000 rupees for the room, but we turned to leave so he charged us 1500. Still too much for the room, but we were out of options at the time. Anyway, we get everything square but I am just raging angry and I still have a few choice words for him. We leave and go across the street to the taxi service and arrange a taxi to Ajmer to get on the train to take us to Delhi. On the way to Ajmer I find out why the owner of the hotel wanted to settle with us so quickly. As I check the tickets, Siobhan notices that we were charged for the general rate, not the tourist rate, so as a parting gift we were ripped off of a further 500 rupees. We briefly debate turning the car around so I can go turn the thieving bastard upside down and pull the money out via his arsehole, but it's too late. We won't make the train if I go kill him. I am growing to truly hate India. It's not a full blown hate yet, but it's getting there, and it wastes no time in filling that hate gap for me. Another overnight train, this time direct to Agra and the Taj Mahal.

India Pt 3

We opt to stay in a hotel just outside the fort rather than in the fort because the hotels are supposedly nicer with fridges, and pools and all the things you want in a room. We will pay for this decision. Siobhan wants to stay in the more characteristic fort, but luxury wins out. Another overnight train gets us to Jaisalmer in the morning. We almost missed the train because we know that each train has it's start and end points written on the side of the train, but unless you know which cities are the start and end points, this information is not useful. So the train that we were waiting for was actually right behind us the whole time, and it's only because I decided to ask someone where this train was going that we managed to get on it with 2 minutes to spare. The ride is uncomfortable, and Dominic keeps trying to roll out of bed, so Siobhan and I are up all night putting him back in. A fair amount of work from the bottom bunk, but I am in the top bunk. We actually put our big bag just to the side of his bunk, so that when he rolls out, he'll hit the bag which is maybe 6 inches below him, rather than the floor. He does roll out at least once, so that was a good idea. More than once I get out when I see his legs over the side of his bunk, like he fell asleep sitting up. The bathrooms on the train are just disgusting, as you'd imagine. There is a western style toilet one side and a squat toilet on the other and the western one is far filthier than the squat one, as effluence has farther to travel when standing, and they do stand. For everything, seemingly. Wear your shoes is all I can say, and try getting more comfortable with squat toilets too. They are apparently better for making the poos, and closer to the hole where the poos go, so less to slip on. Anyway, the hotel had managed to find out what manner of transport we used to get to the city and actually came to the train station to collect us. This bodes well for our stay. The hotel itself is a very modern take on a pre-raj era haveli. The room we are given is on the first floor. It a very spacious affair, with two window seats large enough to make a bed for the boy, a large bathroom and two twin beds. Pretty amazing what $15 dollars will get you. We unpack and the boy settles down for a nap just in time for the monsoon rains to begin. Within minutes, the the filthy, muddy street outside is a filthy muddy river, and the rains come down so hard you can't even see the other side of the street. Surface scratch number one; the windows were never fitted properly and not sealed, so the water start coming in the sides and bottom of the windows in small rivers of their own. Soon the boy's bed is soaking wet, and because it never occured to us that the windows would be unfinished, the water almost soaks all the way through his mattress before we realise what is happening. Our clothes are soaked. The bedding is soaked. We are using the towels to soak up the water, but there is more rain than towel and the job is not getting done. We are incredulous, as this is something we had just not seen coming. A new room is in order, so we get one, this time with a fridge too. We decide to get in the pool after the rains stop, so we change into swim suits and head outside. Almost immediately Siobhan notices a smell of sewage around the pool. Dominic and I have already got in the pool, and because the smell is emanating from the poolroom which is at the far side of the pool, we didn't smell it. Another thing I don't smell is chlorine. This is a worry. We get out of the pool, and I go talk to the hotel staff about the stench and the lack of chlorine. They assure me that the smell must be coming from the filter because the pool is constantly being self-cleaned and the insect carcasses must be beginning to rot in the heat and humidity. I've not heard of the pool that doesn't need to be cleaned by hand, so I am suspicious, and my fears are borne out, when by nightfall, red blotches have begun to form on Dominic's face around his eye and behind his ear. We agree to take him to a pharmacy in the morning and by that time the red spots have spread across his forehead his cheeks and arms, and the existing spots have got much worse, crusting up his eye and cracking and bleeding behind his ear. I am just furious. How is the hotel allowed to get away with this? The trip to the pharmacy is not enough so we find out where a good clinic is and go immediately. To their credit, the manager offers to take us in the hotel van, but they don't offer to pay for the doctor visit or the medication. In India, it's actually possible to buy your medical diploma and license online after having passed the most cursory of exams. Fortunately where we are taken is a fertility clinic, so we feel more confident about the medical staff's abilities. A sign on the wall states that sex selection is illegal. Sex selection actually involves aborting female foetuses because boys are more desirable. I knew this existed, but it's jarring knowing that you're in a place where this is even considered, never mind practised. The doctor orders blood tests, which are performed immediately on site, and Dominic is a trooper, never making a sound. I think it's because of the promise of chocolate, which again the hotel manager supplies, free of charge. I think this man is genuinely remorseful, so I am a little more gentle with him. I am less so with the rest of the hotel staff. The diagnosis is an allergic reaction to the filth and bacteria in the pool water, and an armload of creams, ointments, powders and syrups are prescribed and purchased. Just furious now. We decide to go to the fort, which is still occupied and operated as a village. Its a very cool place, with it's streets exactly as you'd imagine they'd have been 200 years ago. Only the contents of the shops are different, with tourist souvenirs and internet cafes filling the retails spaces and hotels with rooftop restaurants taking up the remainder. A little shopping for things to bring home for family is what we planned, but the sales technique is relentlessly pushy, so we run from most every shop. Siobhan is terrified of the dark. If it's too dark, she actually begins to panic and scream, explaining it feels like the dark has mass, and it closes in, weighing on her chest and blocking her breathing. So naturally the power goes out at about 9 pm. It's so dark and the sky is overcast, so there isn't even any star or moonlight to break up the blackness, and Siobhan begins a serious freak out. It might have been helped by a cool breeze, but the night is deathly still, stifling with heat, humidity and darkness. Fortunately I have the torch (thanks again Wade), so we're relieved of total darkness, but the batteries won't last all night, so I try to get some candles from the staff. They find some for us but again the candles won't last. Where is this back up generator which was advertised in the listing? I'm told that everyone has one, but no one puts them on. Not good enough. They offer to give us a room on the roof which is cooled a bit by the slight breeze, and we accept. It's actually a nice room, a shame we can't really appreciate it. I have no fear of the dark, and it seems very strange to me that a full grown woman would have a fear of the dark, but a phobia is more fully fleshed out than just a fear, and it doesn't care if it's unreasonable. I have done what I can to make Siobhan feel as comfortable as I can, which is only marginally better, because I can't make the wind blow or the sun rise, but she falls asleep eventually and the power returns. As it happens, the power authority can be bought off to turn the power back on. They had turned it off due to the rains, but rupees can buy back the light. It goes off and on intermittently throughout the next day. We visit the fort again for dinner, having made the decision to move on the next day. The restaurant has 5 staff members that we can see and only one other table, but it still takes an hour for them to make a grilled cheese sandwich. Just not happy, and getting less so by the minute. We leave and try to find an autorickshaw back to the hotel, but the drivers are mostly drunk by this time, we can smell the booze on them and they are beligerent. Not getting in that, we decide to just walk back in the dark. The streets are not so much streets as piles of broken asphalt and rubbish, with livestock sleeping in the middle of it, so we go slow and finally make it to the little lane on which our hotel is situated. A family of pigs is snacking on a large heap of garbage about 50 feet from the hotel. Really, just appalling. The manager has offered to take us to the train station which is good of him. I'm learning to hate India, and we have opted against going to Jodhpur which is another big, filthy city. I hope the next place, a little town called Pushcar by way of Ajmer is better. I can't wait to leave, and we begin discussing whether we even want to stay in India or go back to Thailand for the remainder of our trip. Dominic still needs to be cared for, and his caboose has been a little loose, and with everything he's been put through, we'd just rather be nearer to competant medical care. We'll see what Pushcar brings.

India Pt 2

Siobhan repeatedly tells me she hates Jaipur. She says it's a big filthy, overcrowded, chaotic mess of a city and she hates it. She never misses an opportunity to tell me that she hates it and can't believe she's going back there. So naturally I have high hopes. Jaipur is known as the pink city, as the city has a pink theme if seen from the walls of the Amber fort. The fort is a little ways out of town, and is a great big museum. There's not much in the fort itself as the fort is the museum piece. There are a few rooms with lovely mosaic or faded painting on the walls, but for the most part it's a pretty sparse affair. There is a long wall around the area of the fort, which could be easily confused for the great wall of China if you didn't know the locale. The views of the town and the countryside from the high points of the fort are pretty spectacular, but everyone says the fort is breathtaking, and it's just not. I suppose I have seen enough forts throughout Europe and North Africa to compare it to, and to me, it's just a fort. There are actually 3 forts on 3 separate hilltops all right next to one another, that's a pretty cool sight, especially with that great wall running up and down the hills between them. There is the mirrored hall, a room which does what it says on the tin, with typical Mogul architecture and design throughout. There are also the touts who seemingly understand enough English to give you a guided tour of the fort, but not quite enough to understand the meaning of the word "no". In fact there are touts almost everywhere in India, ready to give you guided tours of everything, autorickshaw trips everywhere (via their cousin's shop, of course), sell you everything you want or not, get you hotel rooms in places you don't want to be, etc. They almost ruin every site with their persistance and sheer number. As soon as you've said no to one, there's another with the same offer, like you've been passing up all these other offers because you've been waiting for him alone. It's difficult to enjoy seeing much of anything with the constant annoyance and pushiness. There's no refusal as far as they are concerned, it's just a matter of finding your price, and they will find it if they have to follow you throughout the whole site. You could admire the desire to make a sale if you weren't so pissed off. Jaipur itself really is quite revolting, again the garbage, especially when it rains. The rain seems to wash all the garbage and filth, cowshit and scabby rats up to street level. I have a natural fear of disease and the word cholera runs through my head with alarming regularity. I am glad that Dominic is either in his stroller or on my shoulders, because I don't know what that water that fills the streets is carrying, but I have a fantastic imagination. There is a relatively new temple in the city called the Narayan and Laxmi temple, and it's a really lovely building with a very relaxed atmosphere about it, a very welcome break from the craziness of the Jaipur streets. Again it is white marble with beautiful carvings of gods and philosophers and even Christian saints and Jesus himself puts in an appearance on the exterior columns.The inside is again quite large and sparse with great big full colour statues of the title gods, and smaller, less significant deities dotted throughout. The big draw to the city other than the amber fort is the Hawa Mahal, an enormous screenlike building designed to allow the women of the royal household to look out to the street and enjoy festivals and such without being themselves seen. his a remarkable example of Mogul architecture and seemingly quite out of place in this city. I recommend having a look at some pictures of it, it seems like a big honeycomb. Another major attraction is an outdoor observatory, the Jantar Mantar ( no, really), a series of big outdoor astronomical tools built from stone and marble, and used for telling the earth's position in the solar system, the time of day using a colossal sundial which is apparently accurate to about 2 seconds, an enormous sextant, and various devices still used for divining the best days to get married. The city palace is also close by, a fortified series of buildings once used by royals, now another tourist draw and fantastic shopping opportunity, or so they would have you believe. All of thes attractions are in the old city, right in the middle of a series of small shops which line both sides of the streets, in parallel and perpenicular directions. So many shops in fact, one can't imagine there could be anyone living in the old city. But there are inhabitants of the old city. Whole herds of cattle roam the streets, in most cases just slowing traffic, making everyone drive around them, but sometimes there are so many of them just lying in the middle of the road that they completely stop traffic and have to be gingerly moved along. Those are the animals you expect in India. Noone said anything about the ridiculous number of dogs of wandering the streets. Most are harmless, but there's always one mean one who barks at you and startles the boy. there are also great big goats, quite the largest goats I've ever seen, and a good number of them too. I wasn't expecting the pig walking down the street like he owned it though. That was a surprise. Once again, the city had offered up everything there was to see in a day and a half, so we book out of there as fast as we can, having had more than enough of the overpowering rubbish and refuse. The next stop is what I am assured is a small, picturesque town with a living fort called Jaisalmer.

India, Pt 1

The wonder of India, the mystery of India, the magic of India. The wonder, for me, is "I wonder how I can get out of India", the mystery of India is "how did they manage to get so many people to want to come to India", the magic is "it must be witchcraft that allows all these cows, pigs and goats to survive on street strewn garbage alone". I wanted so badly to love India, to feel that oft spoken spirituality, to have it inhabit a corner of my heart, mind and soul, and never leave me all my days. Siobhan has happy, happy memories if India, the places, food and people. She has said she's been killing time, waiting to come back to India. Even this trip, she's lost interest in the places we've been, knowing we wil be in blessed India soon. I hate India. I truly hate India. I wish I didn't. I wish that the places could be such an undeniable draw that you couldn't avoid going. I wanted to love the place. I knew it would be filthy. I knew the roads would be chotic, and I knew that I'd be overcharged and lied to about prices and shops and hotels. I'd be told to go buy train tickets over here because the official ticket office is closed today, even though you can see the official ticket window is open and busy. The guy with this helpful information is getting a commision on every ticket bought through this con. Taxi drivers tell you the hotel you want to go has burnt down, but they happen to know a hotel that has rooms, it belongs to his cousin. Of course it does. They all want to know where you're staying, how long, where you're going next, and it all goes to formulate a way of getting more money out of you. Noone talks to you because they are just being friendly. Every word is designed to get you to come shop, come buy, come to the hotel, come to the restaurant, part with your money. Even waiters in restaurants know a guy with a shop. Taxi drivers know lots of guys with shops and will take you to them whether you want to go or not. Hotels have treks and tours and constantly ask you if you want to go on a camel to the desert. The all say that they are not touristy at all, so many say that in fact that the touristy treks must be completely vacant and completely untouristy. They actually get annoyed with you if you don't go on these treks and tours. They say that they are not affiliated with the taxi and autorickshaw drivers congregating outside their front doors, but they know every single one of them, and don't do much to move them along. The first stop on our trip is one night in Paharganj, Delhi, before we go to Amritsar. Paharganj is the backpackery, touristy area, filled with shops, money changers and hotels, restaurants and barber shops. The garbage and filth is unbelieveable. I don't understand how they can live like this, in so much garbage. The streets are full of garbage, and livestock, and livestock eating garbage. Can't they see it anymore? Nothing is clean, every toilet seat has been pissed on, and most have footprints on it, because they are used to squat toilets and haven't figured out that they have to sit on the seat, not just perch up on it like a bird and do your business. They actually have signs telling people not to stand on the seats, not to spit in the drinking fountains, that urinals are for peeing. Every wall outside has at least one guy standing and pissing on it. Some bushes have people crouching down taking a dump. They seem to have made some perverse peace with the filth and effluence, the disease and death. Unbelieveable. If you do need to exchange money, be very sure that the bills you get are in very good shape and are not worn or torn or written on as shops and restaurants won't take them. we found this out the hard way while trying to pay the bill at a restaurant. Fortunately, the restaurant manager sent a waiter with us back to the money changer to get fresh bills, so we didn't have any problem getting better conditioned money. In fact, we had so little trouble, it became very obvious that the sly bugger knew precisely what he'd done and had been caught out. Shapes of things to come. They hotel itself had been refurbished, it had been painted and reworked, new western toilets installed and beds, and bedroom furniture, but another trend emerged that the surface must never be scratched and the products must never be tested, as the spell of clean, shiny, new and functioning will be horribly shattered. Mold in the bathrooms, suspect colours remained on the sheets, an unidentifiable smell, not uncommon on the streets but unwelcome in the rooms. We only had the room for a few hours when we had to leave to catch our overnight train to Amritsar. Foolishly, we asked the folks at the front desk how much they wanted for a taxi to the train station. One comedically extortionate quote later, we are out the door, bags hurriedly thrust on backs and in arms, trying to find a cab at the last minute. I had to get everyone to stand outside a shop and wait while I charge down the road looking for a taxi. Taxis aren't actually marked as taxis, or at least not in any way I would recognise, so I feverishly ask anyone who'd listen about where to find one. Luck is on my side as a man with a van says he'd do it, and for a fair price too. We pile in and inch down the main bazaar road to retrieve the family and luggage. Time is running out. I try to keep optimistic, but it's not easy when they say it's a 25 minute ride and you have 20 minutes to get on that train. Some how, the ride takes 15 minutes. I manage to carry all the luggage I can, leaving Siobhan to handle the boy, a two handed job if there ever was one. With seconds to spare ( I exaggerate, it was about 5 minutes) we get on the train, and we are on our way to the holiest site in the entire Sikh religion, the Golden Temple. The train ride immediately gets off to a rocky start when we find our seats have been filled by an entire Indian family, from grandma to baby. You have my sympathies folks, but my family needs to park it too, right here in fact. The issue remains unresolved until the conductor comes along and checks tickets. As it happens, the family all have berths spread out all over the car. My sympathies again, but these are ours, so beat it. They manage to switch enough berths so that they can chat to each other all night long. At top volume. Sigh. At 2am I start getting annoyed, and I ask them to be quiet. No one speaks English. Sigh. They must have understood the meaning, because the volume came down a bit. 3am comes, and the lights go on. Bright lights and loud talking. I am raging. I throw myself over the side of the bunk, which, as I am on the top bunk, in perilous, and with great volume and prodigious swearing, demand to know what the problem is now, and why they can't sort out that everyone is trying to sleep. It's a group of Indian soldiers. Awesome. In for a penny, in for a pound, so I tell them to shut up and turn out the lights. After about half an hour they do. Amritsar comes far too soon, so off the train and into the scrum of porters and taxi drivers. I wasn't sure if they still allowed that in train stations, as there were no porters and drivers inside the airport, so I hoped against hope, and it turns out hope is a bastard. We wade through the masses of people saying "where do you go" and "where you stay" and taxitaxitaxi tuktuktuktutktuktuk, and we try to find a few feet to speak to each other with out being stood on. The Indians in particular do not understand personal space. Perhaps it is because the country is so overcrowded that if you do not claim your space, you'll lose it. There's no such thing as a queue, an idea abhorrent to a Brit. There is a heaving throng all trying to get served next, get on or off first, get their hands on the thing first. It's frustrating and infuriating and all you can do is point out where the line should be and people tend to fall in quickly. Taxi drivers do not. They move back about 6 inches. We settle on a driver with what we think is a fair price and go. When you don't know what a fair price is, it becomes what you're willing to pay until you know what a fair price should be. The other drivers hurl abuse at him for undercutting them, but he gets the fare and they get each other. Knowing we're being taken for a ride literally and figuratively we arrive at what we think is the hotel. It's actually a traffic police road block, allowing in only electrically powered vehicles, due to the proximity to the golden temple. Sigh. The driver in his very broken English gives us very loose directions to the hotel, which we very loosely follow for quite some time. Frustrated at our inability to find the hotel, we stop briefly for breakfast at a McDonald's and discover that it's vegetarian, again because of it's proximity to the temple. So curried veggie patty McMuffins it is. We carry on wandering the streets and lanes and eventually find it tucked away in a little side street. The lane empties out into a major street some 10 feet away, and we realise we have walked right past this hotel about 3 times. Sigh again. We plan on staying for a few days, so we unpack and get settled and almost immediately a hotel staff member just waltzes in the room, then says oops he didn't know we were in here. Naturally we don't think much of it. We go out for lunch to a little place recommended in the travel guides, and the food is pretty good, so satisfied we go to the temple. It's a beautiful big complex made of white marble. Everything is white marble. there is an enormous moat/holy water/bathing site surrounding the Golden Temple itself, which is connected to the complex by a bridge. The marble, while lovely, does not mix well with the water and makes walking a little dangerous. We make a slow trek around the whole complex, then cross the bridge to the temple. It's surprisingly small in size, but there are so many people packed in, praying and receiving the holy water from a trough at one end of the temple, that it might just seem smaller than it is. People are actually drinking the water which comes from the moat, so I get in line, put some on my head and even venture to taste it. Not the worst thing I've had in my mouth, but I wouldn't let more than a drop in. We make another lap of the complex and then leave, feeling pretty pleased that we've managed to see something that many immigrants in my home country of Canada would consider to be a very holy and important thing. Back to the hotel, and find that someone has been in the room. They turned off the AC, which most hotels don't like left on, but that's not the point. Someone has been in and invaded our space. I don't like this and go tell the staff so. An hour later the same staff member who came in before comes in again, this time saying that it's the wrong room and he didn't mean to come in this one. Siobhan tells me he had come in earlier while I was out buying an Indian SIM card. Officially pissed off, I go down to reception and explain that this guy has been coming in, and if we see him again, we are leaving. He spends the rest of the day slinking past us with an accusatory look, like we could cost him his job. His job is not to come in my room, so maybe he needs to retrain. The next day we need a late check out as we've had enough of the filth and chaos of Amritsar. Aside from the temple, there's nothing else to keep us here, so we decide do move on to Jaipur. Siobhan says she hates Jaipur, but there's a few very cool things to see, so we agree to go. They girl at reception tries to charge us a thousand rupees to stay an extra four hours, so we decide to check out then. Our room has been repeatedly invaded, and they can't throw us a bone to say sorry? A call comes from the front desk, this time it's the actual manager saying we can stay for free. That's a little more like it. So to the train station and on to Jaipur.

My son, the rock star

Have you ever seen any of these events on TV where a film or music star gets swamped by crowds, and the safest thing to do and easiest way out is to just stand still and smile for photos until things thin out and the handlers can get close enough so he or she can safely slip away? That's kinda what it's like to be my son here in southeast Asia. The adoring fans, by which I mean Asian women with iPhones and their husbands and family and friends who take the pictures, appear in droves no matter where we go. We're quietly and reverently visiting a temple. One should be quiet and respectful, right? As it happens, this what would happen if the next Buddha arrived, so not to make the comparisons between deities and my boy, but they just can't help themselves. Everyone smiles, points, waves, pinches (gently), touches, and photographs. Some actually get quite aggressive. They pose him like a doll, one pulls him right off my shoulders, and one old lady actually grabs his package as if checking his gender! What do you do about that? Is this normal? No one seemed at all bothered about it. We are left shocked, angered, bewildered by the behavior, and shamed that we didn't say anything, but what do you say? This little old lady just did what she always does, I guess, but our western sensibilities just screamed abuse at us.They take his hand and walk away with him. Where are they going? are they bringing him back? have we inherited a new family? are they going to recompense us for the boy? I kid about the last one, of course. We follow, smiling as though we know no harm is meant, but we can't help but worry a little. We've heard enough and read enough about people who walk off with your lovely, trusting little child. So we try not to overreact, but we are definitely cautious. Most people are respectful enough to ask if they can take a picture, but of course others see that the beautiful little white boy is allowing pictures, so they want in on the action. Sometimes he stands still and smiles for 10 solid minutes! Have you ever tried to get a 3 year old to do anything for 10 minutes? He really seems to like it. He even expects that people with cameras will want to take his photograph. He walks right over to people and photobombs them. He has his showbiz smile, and his showbiz poses. We can't really describe what it's like. He gets narky when people don't ask him. This almost never happens, of course. When we went to India, the people still wanted pictures, but the would walk behind him, imitating his voice like they were mocking him, to get his attention they hiss at him, they pinch him hard and are generally not terribly pleasant to him, so we didn't allow a lot of pictures there. I don't know if culturally there are just like that with their children, but there really is a line as far as we are concerned, and we just didn't like how he was treated. In Laos, the people didn't seem quite as immediately friendly, and that confused us. We got so used to Dominic being swarmed everywhere, that it almost felt insulting. It's not the case at all, of course, they are friendly people, and they love children and love Dominic, they just react differently to tourists. I don't know if it's distrust left over from the Vietnam war. The Americans dropped hundreds of thousands of landmines and never bothered to come collect them when the war was over, but their children are still having their legs blown off, if not being killed, trying to salvage UXOs (UneXploded Ordinance) for scrap metal. Lucrative, but exceptionally dangerous. Back in Thailand, it's business as usual for Dominic. For a little while, he was getting annoyed with all the people and pictures, but he's come back around to liking it, smiling and posing every time someone asks him to take a picture with him. He gets sweeties and toys, souvenirs and little gifts given to him. I guess people want to leave a little piece of themselves with him, as he has kindly given of himself to them. Very kind and very cool, I think. He even has stock poses and things to say. He says hello in the native language and laughs along with them when they squeal with delight at the little boy who says" sawatdee kap" or "minglaba" or "namaste/namaskar". He has them eating out of his hand, and loves it. He knows that they all find joy in him, so he gives them what they want. That's the sign of a great entertainer, understand your audience, and give them what they want. He tells them of his adventures, the flights and boats and trains he's been on, the cities he's been to and the things he's done. Most of the time, their English is limited so they don't understand what he says, but they like his squeaky little boy voice, so they talk back and smile, they ask his name and his age and where he's from, and Dominic tells them. He's gotten quite good at it, and he answers them in the order they are usually asked, even if it's not the actual order the questions are asked. The long and short of it is that he likes being the star. The focus of every one's attention and affection. I think when we return to England it will be a bit of a shock, he's still a lovely child, but he's in no way unusual. He's a chatty, happy, playful little boy, and he'll always be our rock star.

Phnom Penh, Cambodia

After all the sleepy, beachy, relaxing places we've been recently, I am completely ready for Phnom Penh. I miss fast pace, the noise, the dangerous driving and the chaotic everywhere-there's-lights-and-action feeling that can only be found in southeast Asian cities. History places the Khmer Rouge all over this city. They infamous former school-turneed prison S21 is in the centre of the city. just outside is the even more infamous Killing Fields. There are actually over 300 killing fields throughout Cambodia, but this site is the source of all the films and documentaries, this site is where the serious atrocities (as if the atrocities could be any less serious) were comitted. More on this later. right at he meeting of the Mekong and Tonle Sap rivers, Phnom Penh is a bright, bustling and beautiful city full of the glaring contradictions so indicative of the metropolis' of this part of the world. All at once rich and growing, and desperately poor, mothers and newborn babies living on streetcorners begging for food. We feel like we being really horrible when we don't give money to little childern following us for blocks begging for money, but we know these kids should be in school, not begging, and we have been told repeatedly that giving money to these kids only keeps them out on the streets. We know that what we are doing is the right thing, not supporting or encouraging begging, and considering that basic primary school is free, there is no good reason why these children should be being exploited by their parents like this. But does my refusal to donate actually help? Does it make anyone look at the long view? Or are they just thinking about eating tonight? I don't have answers, so sometimes we give, and sometimes we don't. Siobhan saw a young mother sitting on the sidewalk with one child sleeping at her side on the pavement and another at her breast, feeding. Siobhan is suddenly gripped by the urge to do anything to make this baby's life better, and gives the mother $20. We don't know what the woman did with the money, but she knows she did what she could. Guilt assuaged for the time being. The hotel we are at is called the 240, as it is on 240 St. the streets here are numbered strangely, only naming every 6th street on the evens and the odds run perpendicular and tend to be lower numbered. We are told there is a pool we can use, but we find the balcony of our room, and lo and behold we have our own little pool! Amazing what 5 extra pounds will buy you here. So there is exploration of the markets and the streets, a trip to the royal palace, and once around the wats and temples. The lure of night life is too much one night, so we get a babysitter for Dominic and go out to a bar which has some live music. Wow. I had no idea the what Nirvana was missing was a Keyboard player and female singer. These people bleed all the life out of the songs for as long as we can stand, then we can't stand no more. We have heard about a little hole in the wall place run by a Taiwanese guy who genuinely lovess rock music and plays his record collection (and a fine collection it is too) every night to a small but appreciative crowd. Everything we asked for we got, and a truly good time was had by all. The diet cokes I had ensured I was up three times in the night for a slash, but worthwhile. Now for the serious stuff. Siobhan, Dominic and I go to S21 to see the former Khmer Rouge prison. The Khmer Rouge believed that city dwellers were drains on society, and only the farmers, the workers, were of any value, so they emptied the cities and made everyone work, sometimes at gunpoint, in the fields. They closed the schools, and killed the intellectuals, the educated, the French speaking older generation, the artists and free thinkers. They even killed children and babies. There are paintings of the methods of death the Khmer Rouge used. One struck me to the core. the picture is of a Khmer Rouge soldier, holding a baby by the ankle and swinging the baby headfirst into a tree. I felt sick. I felt anger. I wanted to start screaming in peoples' faces, demanding to know why they would let this happen. It's not just here though, it's happened all over the world. Someone gets a big idea about how their country should be, they see corruption, decadence and evil everywhere and want to help their country and eventually the world, but the idea must be compromised in order to make it work on a large scale. The idea is loved by the downtrodden and oppressed, but the intellectuals have seen this before and know where it will lead. they speak out and protest, but now the majority says that these people are dangerous and exile is not enough because they can still speak, they can become martyrs. They must be made examples of, if they cannot be disappeared. Revolt must be crushed outright and the protesters must be killed and shown to the world to be evil and against the will of the people. The idea becomes a twisted, horrifying version of itself when put into practise because the idea should remain an idea. So long as one person is dissatified or disagrees, the idea can not work in reality. There are photographs of the emaciated dead lying on the still present beds. No mattress, just the springs. there are the implements of torture and death behind glass. Just horrible. I have been to Dachau and Auchwitz and now S21 and the killing fields. I feel like it is my duty to go to these places, learn more and pay my respects to the dead. Siobhan can't face going to the killing fields, so Dominic and I go. The most obvious thing is a pagoda dedicated to the victims of the killing fields. Not an ordinary memorial spire though. Only when you get closer do you realise it is a glass spire filled with the skulls of the murdered. Over 17000 of them. That was quite sobering, These were not plastic or foam, they were real skulls, real bones and actual clothes worn by actual victims. That was pretty intense. The whole area is very quiet, peaceful, almost serene. Sugar palm, trees and a small lake fills the landscape, and next to each is a sign indicating the terrible purpose each fulfilled. Obvious graves and pits dot the scene, but it's the more innocent looking things which are most jarring. A rough pen marks out the space where a chilrens' mass grave was found. The sharp edges of the sugar palm stalks were used to slit throats. The lake... well you can guess about the lake. The audio guide is exerpts from a survivor's tale, ahrrowing doens't quite cover it, but the most harrowing fact is that bone and cloth still surfaces through the dirt paths throughout the site and the most cursory of inspections proves this. I found bits of bone all over one particular path, and cloth, whether clothes of victims or blindfolds are everywhere all over the site. It's impossible to leave the site feeling good about human nature. On another note, Phnom Penh isn't just about suffering and misery. Fun, adventure, food and bright, tinkly trinkets are a Tuk tuk ride away. Transportation within the city is dead cheap. A dollar or three will get you to most places you'll want to go. Tuk tuks are everywhere, some drivers have a better command of English than others, but they all understand the haggle. Suddenly the English improves when money is involved. The haggle is everything. It determines how strong your will is. They already know what the thing is worth, and you'll never get it for that, but you can get pretty close. Be prepared to walk away. Even if you really want it, don't show it. Walk away saying you don't like it that much, the ride isn't worth that much, you don't like the colour. Even if the guy you're haggling with doesn't come down, the guy next to him has heard the whole thing, and will be more wiling to play ball. If the cab wants too much, let him go. There's another one right behind him. I've seen a load of drivers harrassing the one who took me because they all had a price they wouldn't budge on, and this one guy went lower, cutting them all off and getting the fare. They were angry, but they also didn't get paid. The food is plentiful and delicious, if you want Khmer food it's cheaper than the western alternatives, but all your fattening favourites are here too. If you wake early enough, you can go to the river just in front of the royal palace and walk the retirees doing tai chi or aerobics, sometimes one group right next to the other with loudly competing tunes as the sun rises over the Mekong to the east. Phnom Penh is one of very few places we'd actually return to, not just because we liked what we saw, but because we'd like to see more. That's hard to come by, if you've been as many places as we have. We feel we've got the gist of most places in a few days, and have no real interest in scratching beneath the surface, but here, there's more than enough history, culture and cool vibe to make us want to come back at least once more. First is a couple of days in Bangkok, near the feared Khao San road, said to be as mad as any place we've shied away from. I can tell you, it's a very clean and pleasant place, and Khao San is no more mad than Petaling Street in Kuala Lumpur, or the souks in Marrakech, but with added scorpions on a stick, for which they charge 20 baht per picture. I'm not sure anyone actually eats them, no matter how drunk or stoned they get in the dive bars littering Khao San. The only marginally disturbing thing about the street is the number of bars advertising the fact that they don't ask for ID. The river cruises are expensive, but like Budapest, if you get on a river taxi for locals, you can see the river from both sides for 15 baht. There are a couple of very impressive sights here, the royal palace and the gigantic reclining Buddha at Wat Pho, and the iconic Wat Arun,Bangkok's most famous temple, but the view of the whole city from the Sky Bar is pretty impressive too, and in fact, the whole city is very cool. Naturally, there are areas we didn't need to be in, so we didn't go, but the city is pretty cool, although crossing the road is perilous at best. The part of the trip Siobhan has been holding her breath for is up next however. Mystical, magical, mysterious India beckons.

Kampot, Cambodia

I said "charming"and "quaint", right? As it happens, once you get into the middle of the town and further up the river, it actually is! Imagine my surprise. The roundabouts here have statues in the middle because the majority of the residents are illiterate and can't read street signs so the just say "the 2000" or "the fishermen". It makes it easier for tourists too, most of them can't read Cambodian either. A goodly number of shops and hotels are owned by expats who know that the tourist rush is coming, so they got in on the ground floor. It's only a matter of time before this place gets overrun with camera waving mapmonkeys, all looking for the ice cream shop (which is here, it's run by a Canadian wearing a Lethbridge Pilsner shirt, something only Canadians of a certain vintage would recognise). there's not a whole lot to say about Kampot except that there is a fierce rivalry with nearby Kep, a fantastic rib restaurant run by a Brit with the ubiquitous Asian wife, and the hotel we stay at is a little out of the way, but they know that, so they offer rides to and from the centre of town, which is a very nice touch. The whole town is quite small, and doesn't take very long to explore the main sights, but again there are loads of trekking jaunts, tours and boat trips either just down the river or all the way to the nearby caves, again filled with Buddha icons. This is a thing here, I guess, caves filled with Buddhas. I am struggling to talk about the trip here and about the town itself, but it's more of a laid back stop before the chaos of Phnom Penh. There's not much else to report. Nice, quiet, relaxed and slow paced. That's it, really.

Sihanoukville, Cambodia

Everyone, when asked about Sihanoukville, had said they would rather punch themselves in the face than return to Sihanoukville. They said it was the worst place they had ever been, and some of them had even been to Middleborough. So naturally we go there. The reason is that all the other beachy places are in the grip of the monsoon right now, so the water is rough, it's raining buckets and it takes a very long time to get there, or you need to get an unpleasant boat to get there. The other option was actually a completely unspoiled, virgin beach with soft, white sand. The issue is that because the sand is virgin and untouched, the sand is home to sand flies which will take giant chomps out of your flesh, and there are so many of them, they are the flying equivalent of pirhanas. So, to Sihanoukville. We are told that there is actually a rather pleasant part of this wretched corner of the country called Otres Beach, which is a little ways away from the city and it's hell beaches, too far away for the drunks and burnouts to make the effort to get here, and not developed enough to be overrun by tourists yet. Give it 10 years. The first place we stay is on Otres 2, the furthest beach on. There are no shops, no restaurants, and no visitors. One could say that the hotels are close to nonexistent. Actually I could say that. The place we stay at is a beach hut complex made up of loosely constructed wood buildings which are completely empty save two rock hard beds complete with mosquito nets that have mesh so big, the bugs waltz right through. We end up bitten as much under the nets as outside. There are locals stretched out in hammocks under our hut, smoking. This means that, as the building's floors and walls are just loosely attached spats of wood, the smoke rushes up and into our room. Magnificent. Of all the places to hang your hammock and smoke your face off. There is one fan in the room, ensuring the room has only one stream of hot air, and as it is stuck in one position it sort of cools only one person. We move to Otres 1 the next day. The new place is a bit more expensive, but it's more spacious, there's a restaurant and cafe, and the doors of the bungalow open up onto the beach. Truly wonderful. The sea is a bit rough, but we go in it anyway. Dominic get a little pushed around, and runs back and forth up the beach, shouting at the waves like a little Don Quixote. I throw myself into it, sometimes crashing through them, sometimes riding the tide up and down. The water is murky because it is so rough, but it's so lovely and warm, it doesn't really matter. there is always a little snag, however. Place advertises "very good wifi". Anyone who knows anything about southeast Asia can tell you that in crap beach resorts, it's a minor miracle that there is wifi at all, never mind good wifi. Actually, that stands for most hotels, there's no point in singling out beaches. So the power keeps going out. The electrician is called. The power keeps going out. When the power is on, the wifi is crap, and there's barely enough signal to get us a hotel in the next city. It's touch and go as to whether we will have a roof over our heads when we get to Kampot, our next Port of call. Siobhan is less than pleased. I try to enjoy the stay there, but it's difficult. I actually feel guilty that there is so much amazing scenery but we can only find joy in the wifi. We start getting a little restless and the restaurant in the hotel is a little pricey, so we go for a little walk further down the beach, just to see what else is available. We find a dingey little place that looks like a half finished basement bar called Blame Canada. We don't feel very confident about it, something about cockroaches being the wait staff. oh well, it adds to the ambience. The stereo comes on and angels begin to sing. Actually Robert Plant begins to sing, and for the first time in a while we begin to relax and genuinely enjoy being in a restaurant. We order a chili dog for Dominic, and I must say, the Cambodians have an interesting take on chili. I'm not sure peanuts are in chili. They are now. The rest of the food is suspect at best, but ease has been achieved. Siobhan says that if Guns 'N' Roses comes on, she's never leaving. Her statement is soon put to the test, and sensibly she aquiesces to the moans of "bedtime". The next night Siobhan starts to get antsy and goes for a cocktail at the hotel bar, saying that you can't go to a tropical paradisde and not have a blue or pink beverage. I can't fight that logic. I put the boy to bed, and go join her at the bar. the bar, is within eyesight of the bungalow, so we can see and hear the boy if he wakes. Siobhan begins to loosen up, and decides to continue the revelry at Blame Canada with some people she met at the cafe. I stay with Dominic. 3 am comes along and I wake with a start. siobhan is not in bed. I take my neck light (thanks Wade), and lock the door to the bungalow, and hoping that Dominic doesn't wake, I walk down the street to the Blame Canada, hoping I don't find Siobhan's rapidly cooling body by the side of the road. no sign, so that's good and bad news. No body, but nobody. See what I did there? Clever, no? I take my search to the beach, going aabout the same distance as I went down the road. I pass a few people sitting up, some listening to the radio, some snogging, None are Siobhan. I go back to the bungalow to make sure the boy hasn't woken, and to worriedly await her return, which she does around 5am. I am so relieved she's ok, I forget to be annoyed. She went to the town and had gone to a couple of bars which stayed open a little later. Apparently the very dregs of humanity go to this town, and Siobhan is pretty horrified by the place. The denizens of these places seem to have seen every circle of hell, and have that stare that says they just pray for oblivion, and know they will find it at the bottom of every alcohol and pill bottle, syringe and reefer, and the company they keep are like minded souls who just fill their days waiting for the end. I was glad to stay at the hotel with the boy, frankly. Even in my roughest days, and I had a few, it still wouldn't be the sort of place I would choose to go. I would end up there occasionally, but I wouldn't have made that my first stop. Anyway, the last day held high winds, lashing rain and rough seas, so any boat trips to Koh Rong were definitely out of the question. A group of French tourists got on a rickety boat, having waded out in the sea to get to it. I just couldn't have made myself do it, and some of them were obviously questioning why they won't stop their legs from walking to the boat, but they still go, and I salute them as one would salute those knowingly going to their deaths. Brave? Perhaps. Stupid? Undoubtedly. I hope they got where they were going and returned in one piece and alive, or at least didn't feel much pain. we organise a taxi to take us to Kampot, a little place routinely referred to as "charming" and "quaint", which reads as rundown, dull and escape proof, but at elast we knew we will get there alive. We have to briefly wrestle with the driver's machismo, reiforced by the military uniform hanging over the driver's seat. Having no idea of the medal to rank ratio, I won't guess about his importance, but the fact that he moonlights as a hack says he didn't really apply himself. It's a shame about the weather, I would have liked a nice day to float and relax and not concern myself with power outages, and dodgy wifi and tales of drug addled ladyboys. Oh well. Better luck in Kampot.

Siem Reap, Cambodia

This was the stop on this trip that I had been waiting for. Siem Reap is the home to Angkor Wat, one of the world's best known sites and for good reason. More on that later. Siem Reap is a city that seems to exist for tours to Angkor Wat and the other temple and tourist attractions in the area. Every third shop organises trips and tours, likely all with the same three or four bus companies. Many times they will take you themselves in their own car at a greatly inflated rate. If you get a three day pass to the Angkor sites, know where you want to go and what to see (all achieved with just a tiny bit of research or just look at a map), and get your own tuk tuk to take you around to the sites, again all very easy to do as tuk tuks are everywhere, you can see some of the most remarkable and truly iconic sights in Cambodia and indeed the world. I am getting ahead of myself again. We stayed in a place just off of Pub Street, and I am sure that if you make an intuitive leap you can figure out why. We had a little foreshadowing of our stay when we found out the hotel had booked our room out to other people, then kindly gave us a larger room. All well and good except they charged us the larger room rate. So basically they moved us because they double booked and then punished us for booking at all. It was a better room, and not that much more so we grudgingly accepted the room. We were told there was free coffee and tea. Not as such. Or at all. We were then told we could have a kettle in the room. They lent the sole kettle to another room, said they would go get another one, then didn't. Sighs getting deeper. At least the breakfast was included in the price of the room. You know where this is going. They explained that the booking agency erroneously stated in the listing that breakfast was included when it was not, and then charged us for all breakfasts eaten. Officially pissed off now. Since there was no tea or coffee, I kept going and asking them for pots of hot water. Not what was offered, but the best I could get. Siobhan's fears are getting worse, fortunately Valium and xanax and morphine are sold over the counter at reputable and disreputable pharmacies alike in Cambodia, so we stocked up. Not on the morphine of course. Not to sound like drug fiends but the novelty got the better of us, and we bought whatever we liked. Fortunately we like pretty tame things these days, so we just got things we would use, tramadol for the days when my dosage isn't enough to keep me walking all day, xanax because Siobhan is an insomniac, and Valium for the terror she relates to most moving things. Pub Street is pretty bananas. Neon flashing lights every where, loud music, restaurant hawkers, tuk tuk hawkers, tat hawkers, they all add to the feeling that you can't get away fast enough. We have seen some very lively areas all over the world, but we didn't expect this level of crazy here. Perhaps we are naive on the way we thought about Cambodia, and the way we thought about a city that is basing its GDP on the tourism of holy sites. We honestly didn't think that people would want to get stupid drunk and get tattooed. We were wrong. This part of the city is bright and loud and crowded and horrible. Not at all what we want in a place to stay. By night. By day, the feeling is completely different, you'd never know they were the same street. The shops are still open and so are the bars, but it just seems so much more civilised. During the day, the main problem we had was trying to find somewhere to eat without being forced to leave for all the cigarette smoke. It's amazing to me that despite the open patios, every smoker sits inside and puffs away, ensuring the air is unbreathable in minutes. I used to smoke an awful lot, and I used to smoke everywhere I was allowed and sometimes where I was not, so I do understand then when you're suddenly free to smoke with impunity, you absolutely will. I also understand that this is not really place that most people will bring their small children on holiday. I also understand that there is enough education about smoking and it's effects on others that there should really be some kind of separation between smokers and non. Enough ranting. The rest of the city is a filthy southeast Asian city like they all are. This one has a Hard Rock Café, and I have seen then in most every major city I have been to and never gone in. This time I did, and I must say, there's overpriced, and then there's this. Nothing wrong with the burger, it was really nice, but the prices, my god the prices! The souvenir drumsticks, which I thought must be reasonable as they are just drumsticks are $25. I rant too much. It's a nice enough town, I just think that I have seen enough filthy cities and the shine has worn off the charm and novelty of it. The Angkor complex is made up just the one very large walled, moated temple, but there are loads of other temples and shrines in the area, some really impressive, some less so, but all of them are gorgeous, breathtaking structures. The ancient city of Angkor Thom is, for the most part still standing, as it is made of several smaller buildings all surrounded by a wall 9 km square. The city is said to have held somewhere between eighty and one hundred fifty thousand people (thanks wikipedia), and the central structure called Bayon is in fair shape due to the constant efforts to reconstruct it from existing blockwork whereever possible, and reconstruction using new materials and historical sources to create a true rendition. It's remarkable the work that goes into the maintainance and the recreation of the temples, facades and bas reliefs, and it all adds to the sensation of time travel. The only thing that gets in the way for me is the tourists climbing all over the statues and towers and spires to get a photograph. They stand next to the things and try to inject themselves, co-opting history. I don't know why it makes me so annoyed, it just does. I just think that maybe these things are just very important, and by inserting yourself you minimise the impact, it just becomes another tourist stop, and lessens its historical value every time some Dick pretends he's lifting it. Stop pointing to it in the picture, we can all see it. Maybe I am being petty. I don't care. Stop climbing on the monuments. Stop trying to claim history. Look at it, admire it, marvel at it, photograph it, don't pretend its a hat. Dickhead. Do I rant too much?
The monument I can't accurately describe, you'd really need to just come here and see it, walk the whole site, investigate every dark nook and crumbling cranny. The opening to Raiders of the Lost Ark and Tomb Raider was filmed in the complex, and one of these temples has essentially been reclaimed by the jungle, with banyan and bodhi trees growing right through the walls and roofs of temples. Again I can't accurately describe the scene, and pictures really only tell half the story. Do look at the pictures though, they will make you want to see it with your own eyes.
Siem Reap slowly grows on you, not with quite the same warmth as Chiang Mai, but still quite relaxing by day at least. Next up is a night bus to Phnom Penh and a taxi to Sihanoukville, where we will stay at Otres Beach. Sounds nice, right?