A Nepalese Wedding

I usually write my blog after I have visited a country but this weekend an exceptional thing happened.  Avid readers will note that I do a cooking class in almost every country I visit, and with my return to Nepal I wasted no time finding one in Kathmandu.  More on that later.  What I was not expecting was to be invited, along with my fellows cooks Dominique & Yvonne, to the wedding of the brother-in-law of Amrit, our host.

The day before heading out to the celebrations we had a bit of preparation work to do.  Dominique & Yvonne had been able to borrow saris from Amrit's wife, but I needed a dhaka topi, a traditional Nepalese hat.  These are commonplace in Kathmandu, but finding one with an even remotely tasteful design takes a bit of work and a helping hand (always take a woman with you when shopping for random clothes for weddings!).

Additionally we needed a large supply of biscuits and sweets as a present to the grooms mother as a thank you for inviting us into their home, and of course a present for the happy couple.  Some good haggling in the lanes of the Thamel area of Kathmandu saw us walking away with a simple picture frame with a peacock motif.  Not knowing exactly what we were doing, I thought we had done pretty well.

In the morning we met Amrit and his daughter, Anu, and got an early bus for the 3 hour ride to Falante, a small village where the grooms family lived.  There we met Amrit's wife and his sons, Aksh and Asis, the groom, Birendra, and his brother, Bimal.  We were treated to a welcoming plate of fresh buffalo curd and celebration bread, a local delicacy only made on special occasions.  The houses were stone with dirt floors comprising few rooms, beds everywhere, a simple kitchen but large compared to others in the village.  Animals were kept outside, unlike villages I had been to in other countries, and they had a garden with lychees, mangos, bananas, coffee and much more.  In addition they had a flock of around 700 chickens.  Clearly well to do in the community.

We were taken to visit Amrit's sister-in-law and her children, who were very excited to meet us, before the rest of the village arrived to begin the celebrations.  A feast was laid on for the whole village to celebrate the marriage as only the men and close female relatives were to attend the actual ceremony the next day.  Dominique & Yvonne were indeed privileged to witness the following days ceremonies.  The food was plentiful and delicious - mutton curry, potato curry, bean stew and much more, washed down with Nepalese tea, thick, heavily spiced and brewed over a wood fire for a unique flavour.  The children were fed first and then the adults, scattered around the buildings anywhere we could find a seat.

After dinner we were shown the rest of the village and the school.  We were joined by what seemed every child in the village eager to talk to us and practice their English.  They were very good, although conversation was generally limited to 'what is your name?', 'where do you come from?'.  They loved to play and act for our cameras, loving the photos we were taking when shown.

One girl was so taken by us she asked if we would come back to her house for tea and to meet her family, which we more than happy to oblige, the pleasure it gave her to be taking the westerners to her house truly heartwarming.  It was a smaller house, with only a couple of rooms but clearly a house full of love.

With an early start the next day and little to do in the village we had an early night.  Due to the number of people staying in the house at the time, this meant that Aksh and I had to sleep outside on the balcony.  Thankfully the night was neither cold nor wet.

Then it was the morning of the big day.  While Dominique & Yvonne were dressed in their saris by Anu, I dressed in a smart shirt and trousers (for a backpacker I am unusually prepared for these occasions) and donned my topi.  We were decorated with tikkas on our heads before being introduced to the groom.  Birendra looked suitably nervous as he began his marriage rituals  Before he left his home to go to his brides village, he paid respect to his ancestors for peace and received gifts from his family, and of course the picture frame from his honoured guests.

Then it was time for us to board the party bus for another 3 hour journey to the brides village, Bhorle.  This was really entering rural Nepal as the roads gradually turned from tarmac, to dirt and gravel.  Arriving at a couple of roadside huts we waited a short while.  Music could be heard approaching down the road - this was the welcoming party from the brides family come to carry the groom to the brides house on a palaquin.  It was quite a sight as we wound our way along a forest path to the small collection of houses, a very beautiful setting halfway up the hillside.

In a small yard outside the house there was a buzz of activity, the brides family and villagers having already gathered awaiting the groom, the women all dressed in their finest saris, the priest preparing the jagya around which the various parts of the ceremonies would take place.  And without much fanfare at all the bride, Chamedi appeared.  The ceremony takes several hours, as the groom is welcomed to the brides family, the bride given to the groom thus joining his families lineage, and their feet washed by any people.  Birendra was still looking a but nervous but Chamedi was clearly delighted.  As these rituals take some time another feast was held, fairly similar to that at the grooms house but much more richly spiced.

In the meantime the happy couple had preceded indoors for their own meal and further rituals, and so the band started playing and the local villagers entertained us with dancing.  Soon the final stages of the ceremony commenced, with the bride and groom making offerings to a fire in the centre of the jagya.  Armit explained that all this was in order for the bride to say goodbye to not only the traditions and beliefs of her family but also to her family itself as she was now a member of her grooms family.  The time had come for her to leave her home and journey back to Falante.

Now comes possibly the daftest part of the proceedings.  Aksh convinced me to ride on top of the bus.  It is not comfy and the roads are fairly bad.  Hanging on for dear life as the bus wound its way up and down the hillsides, through clouds of dust thrown up by the preceding marriage car, ducking and dodging tree branches and low hanging power cables, I was somewhat concerned I may end up at the bottom of one of the 100ft cliffs that loomed below me.  How the 30 or so Nepalese boys riding up there with me acted so nonchalant I will never know.  And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse room was made for the grooms wedding gift - a wardrobe and a bed.  In all honesty it was great fun and I would happily do it again, but I'd like to have a cushion.

Back at the grooms house we were greeted by children chasing the bus and singing and dancing from the women who had been waiting for the arrival of the married couple.  A short ritual was performed to welcome the bride to her new home and family.

By this time it was late and we were all tired.  We had another early start in the morning to return to Kathmandu.  It was emotional in the morning.  We said farewell to the family who had welcomed us into their home and honoured us by inviting us to this special occasion.  The ceremonies were not over for Chamedi however.  She would perform more rituals to be worship the ancestors and deities of her new family and their ways an traditions.

I am truly grateful to Amrit for inviting us all to participate in this joyous occasion.  I will never forget the children who showed so much joy in our presence or the generosity and hospitality shown to us by the families and friends.  In a way it was a privilege in their customs to have us as guests, but I felt much more privileged at the opportunity to experience real Nepalese culture.  This was one of the most wonderful experiences of may travels so far.

How To Spend 5 Weeks On An Island Doing Not Very Much...

Indonesia.  South East Asia's largest country.  The worlds largest archipelago with over 17000 islands.  So how on earth did I only see 5 islands in 7 weeks!?  And not even any of the big ones!

We start this mystery in Kuta Bali, a beach resort mostly populated by Australians as it is closer to them than anywhere else and has plenty of surfing, which they seem to like. I was only planning to be here for a couple of days, meet up with a friend, Gunnar, who I had met back in Mandalay outside a temple.  In waiting for him though, I ran into an unusual problem - Nyepi.  Balinese New Year.  New Years Eve was celebrated in style with a 'monster parade', where statues of monsters, or Ogoh-Ogoh, made by the townspeople, are taken through all the towns on the island supported by a band and dancers to ward off the evil spirits for the coming year before being burned.

This was pretty exciting stuff, and a nice surprise to walk into.  New Years Day however was a different issue.  This is a day for self-reflection.  Silent Day.  No sound must be made, lights, TV's, radios are not turned on.  No one is allowed to leave their homes.  Even tourists.  For 30 hours we were confined to our hostel.  While we could go out on the terrace, we could not get close to the railings in case we were seen by the few police officers who enforce the proceedings.

For the couple of days following this we enjoyed what Kuta had to offer - mainly the beach, before heading north into the hills and rice paddies to Ubud.  My summation for Ubud is it's OK.  It's nice.  This may be because I have been a bit spoilt so far.  When you've seen 2000 year old rice terraces you know it's going to take something special to impress you.  The same goes for temples.  Especially when you can't go around them, which seems to be a trait peculiar to Bali.  The food, though, was turning out to pretty damn good.  So nice as it was we turned our attentions to the next island, Lombok.  Or to be more accurate the Gili's.

Our lack of real exploring was partially due to Gunnar being at the end of his travels and he wanted to spend his last days mostly relaxing.  After having travelled Malaysia, Myanmar and Philippines pretty much solo I was tired too and was generally in agreement.

We headed to Gili Trawangan for a few days first.  This is the largest of the Gili's, 3 islands (or Gili) located to the north west of Lombok.  It is supposed to be the party island, and while definitely busier than the rest we did find it difficult to find any late night parties.  We also tired quickly of the horse carts, locals selling dubious substances, and the general clientele.  I did however find a cooking school here which was very good & cooked so much food I had to get Gunnar in to help eat.  Which he wasn't complaining about...

So we soon got the boat to the Gili Air.  And as soon as we stepped off we knew we were home.  Smaller (but not the smallest) Gili Air can be walked around in about an hour.  Accommodation is a bit more expensive, food and drink cheaper.  It is also quieter.  So we settled in.  At this time I found out that Sandra & Saskia, who I had met in Sagada, were also heading here.  Liking the idea of more friendly faces I was not inclined to leave my little paradise.  After  few days of lazing around they arrived.  On Gili T.  I headed back for a day to celebrate Sandra's birthday before convincing them life was much more fun on Gili A.  They followed me back and seemed to agree, staying for a number of days.  It was through them I found H2O Yoga, somewhere which was to become very important to me.  They also brought with them Laura, a lovey, crazy, Italian girl who was to join me in a really fun adventure.  And a really adorable one.  This one first!  We went on a snorkel trip around the islands hoping to see one of the many turtles that live in the waters here.  We saw 8.  I got to touch the shell of one as it swam below.  But even this didn't come close to what happened on my first trip to Gili Meno.  One day every 6 months they have a turtle release, where for a donation to the islands hatchery and conservation program you can release a baby turtle into the sea.  This was that day.  I felt like a proud father as I placed Myrtle, her little flippers wrapped around my fingers, into the sea, saw her get hit by a big wave and disappear.  I really hope she's ok...  Right, now the other adventure.

Fully visible on Lombok is Mount Rinjani, an active volcano.  Sat on the beach on Gili Air I had stared at Rinjani for days, slowly becoming more and more entranced by her.  I just wanted someone to join me, share the experience.  Laura was mad enough.  So the day after we said goodbye to Gunnar, Sandra and Saskia, we ventured off Gili Air (not an easy thing to do) and went to Senaru at the foot of the volcano.  The trip was 3 days.  It started badly.  As soon as we set foot on the trail it tarted to rain heavily.  It barely let up for 2 hours.  It was hard work going up through the forest on the lower slopes, but even worse higher up with minimal visibility.  When we finally found the tents for that nights base camp it took ages to found which was ours, they were so spread out in the low cloud.  Finally in the tent it started to rain again.  I checked my bag.  All my clothes were soaked through.  This did not bode well for the early morning climb to the summit in two days time.  We shivered through the first night...

To find a beautiful morning.  We had camped close to the rim of the volcano.  A quick peek over the top revealed a wonderful sight - the cone of the new volcano in the bottom of the old, surrounded by a lake, and opposite the rising peak of Rinjani.  The days trek was much nicer.  First we went down into the crater for a swim in the lake, then around the shore to natural hot springs for a quick dip.  The weather was sunny and warm, and a few wardrobe changes got all my clothes dry before lunch.  The afternoon saw us climbing back up to the rim, to base camp below the final ascent.  We were treated to an almost otherworldly sunset as clouds drifted through the crater below us.  But as we got back into our tents for the night the ominous patter of rain started once more.

At 2:30am it was still raining.  The guides said it was up to us to decided to attempt the summit or not.  They felt it was too dangerous.  Occasionally you have to know when to accept defeat.  We went back to bed.  At 4:30am I was awoken by what sounded like an army marching past the tent.  A German couple in the next tent 'knocked' on ours.  It had stopped raining.  The clouds had gone.  Laura was enjoying her sleeping bag but I decided to have a run at it.  And run we pretty much did.  It should take over 3 hours to reach the top from where we were.  It took us 2.  We scrambled in the dark up the side of the crater to the rim, chasing the last torches in the distance and just kept going along it.  Sunrise came just as we hit the final climb and it was impressive enough to halt us for a few moments.  Then the last slog.  600m up a 30 degree slope.  Thankfully the rain had caused the ash surface to compact under all the other feet before us making it easier than we had been led to believe.  Eventually the summit was achieved and the view was spectacular.

All the way to Bali in the west and Sumbawese in the east, my beloved Gili Air clear far below.  And then down.  All the way.  2 hours back to the tents (to find Laura had gone down ahead of me), and a further 4 to the village below.  My legs and feet were screaming in agony at every step, but I felt nothing but joy at what I'd done that morning.  Unfortunately, stealing a summit like that comes at a price, and Rinjani proceeded to chuck it down on us once more for the final hour leaving everything, once again, soaked.  And cold.  This was my second mountain, and much more difficult than Mount Kinabalu but also a much more enjoyable experience.  I liked camping out rather than staying in the lodge, and much preferred the almost untouched climb of Rinjani to the manicured steps and staircases of Kinabalu.  And there were more of us all chatting together through the days and nights, keeping the jokes going between us all the way back to the boat to Gili Air.

And so we did return to Gili Air.  Laura left me the next day.  After such an intense experience together there were plenty of tears.  I climbed both mountains with a Laura.  I highly recommend people take a Laura with them when they climb a mountain.  They were both amazing fun and kept everyone going through their inexhaustible positivity.

Before going on the volcano I had just managed to get my passport in for a visa extension before the first ran out.  There are two ways to do this.  Either go to the main town on Lombok, Mataram, and apply in person (250,000 IDR for a couple of days turnover, 400,000 for same day), but this means at least a couple of days doing not a lot in the town.  Or you can give your passport to one of the many travel agents on the islands who for 600,000 will sort it out for you in 3 days.  This option would seem a bit daft if you're on a budget, but if you time it with a 3 day trek, thus negating any extra accommodation, travel and food costs in going to Mataram it becomes a very canny idea.

This should have been the end of my stay on Gili A.  But news had filtered through of another imminent arrival.  And one which I was not going to miss out on.  I had met Katie 8 months before in Xi'an and again in Pai.  Now she was slowly crossing Indonesia towards Lombok and Gili Air.  So I waited.  Although it was starting to become a bit of a joke with everybody: 'How long have you been here?  Doing what?  Are you ever going to leave?'

To pass my time in this period I started doing yoga every day.  H2O is a fantastic place.  The teachers, Sarah and Anya, are brilliant, never taking themselves seriously but always there with help and advice.  It didn't take long for my weary body to start feeling the effects.  I was starting to feel much better.  My mind slowly followed and a zen like state was achieved for the first time since Pai.  I didn't care that I wasn't seeing more of Indonesia.  It's a big place.  I was going to have to come back anyway.  I was doing what I had to do at that moment.  This, I realised, was what I had come to Indonesia for, even if it was not what I had imagined when I got off the plane on Bali.

And finally Katie arrived.  Wifi is bad on Gili Air so no messages were sent.  I was having dinner with some Aussies who had taken pity on me.  I had just sat down and looked across to the next table where an almighty laugh could be heard.  'Er, hi Katie!'  So the final couple of weeks were spent doing equally not a lot with Katie and her travel buddies, Chris, Florian and another Katie.  Ok, I'll be honest.  Mostly with the other Katie.  The stories, as amazingly beautiful and amazingly innocent as they are, are ours alone.  To say that saying goodbye to her at the harbour the morning they left was the hardest yet is a massive understatement.  You'd have to go all the way back to when I said my last farewell at Norwich airport to even get close to this. Maybe saying goodbye to my Dad...

But with their departure I felt nothing was keeping me here and it was time to leave.  I only had 1 week left of my extension anyway, so no time to really go anywhere.  The last couple of days were spent hanging out with the guys at H2O, now as much friends as teachers, and wandering around having  few 'lasts' - last ice cream (amazingly good - at the start we had one nearly every day), the last dinner and happy hour at Zipps (our regular haunt - only on one day did I not spend any time there), playing in the sea under the stars...  Everything held fantastic memories, but was also tinged with sadness.

Just as with Pai, Gili Air was as much about the people I shared the experience with as the experience itself.  Not only did I make new friends but to get to meet so many friends that I had had fun with before was fantastic.  And this time it was for days on end rather than just a few hours.  It is true what they say, that if you travel long enough you will meet the same people again and again.  I just don't think anybody meant it to happen so much on an island barely a mile long.  Here's an example of how small the travelling world is: when I was staying at Bedbunkerz in Kuta a few days after arriving in Bali there was a girl in the bunk below me, Ramona.  We spent a great couple of days with Gunnar and Peter drinking and relaxing, going through the usual retelling of our travel stories.  It was only when we finally got around to adding each other on Facebook that I noticed an anomaly.  3 mutual friends?  Well, Gunnar & Peter I understood.  But who...?  Oh yeah... that'll be dear old Katie...

It's More Fun In The Philippines

With volcanic eruptions becoming quite fashionable in Indonesia at the start of this year, I decided to make my next port of call the Philippines.

Whilst they don't have any visa to apply for, their entry requirements insist that you have an flight booked back out of the country before you enter. This is checked when you check-in for your inbound flight, so no getting out of it. As the initial entry pass only allows 30 days, and as the Philippines is a large & very spread out country, there was no way I wanted to be tied into a particular flight before I even got there. Thankfully Air Asia had a remarkably cheap flight from Cebu to Kota Kinabalu in Malaysia, quite possibly the emptiest flight in the world as everyone seems to book it but never turn up.

After a couple of months trekking around Malaysia & Myanmar I decided I needed a holiday, so headed straight to the paradise island of Boracay. A trip involving a delayed midnight flight, a rip off taxi journey around Manila to change terminals before just making check-in for a second flight to Kalibo (which at least lessened the pain of the taxi charge - buying a new flight would have been much more expensive), a bus journey, a boat across to Boracay island, and finally a tuk-tuk to the hostel, where I was welcomed with a beer at 11am. I highly recommend Frendz Hostel...

There is little I can say bout my time on Boracay. There was much alcohol involved. And lazing around. There is quite a lot to do here, such as parasailing, kite-surfing, mountain biking, and diving. I just didn't. White Beach is quite beautiful. It is just that – pure white sand with crystal clear sea lapping against the shore, sunsets of unbelievable colours reflected off the calm surface of the ocean. As soon as you turn around you notice the problem – resorts line the beach, bars and restaurants filling the gaps. They even have room for a shopping arcade! If it wasn't for the people I met at Frendz I would not have stayed as long as I did, or partyed quite as hard. Especially on the last night before flying out to Puerto Princessa on Palawan.

I was only in Puerto Princessa for one night,but I did get to see one of the most beautiful sights on a firefly tour. The boat cruise took us into mangrove swamps where they had phosphorescent plankton in the water, which glowed as the boat passed through them, along with the fireflys in the trees and a clear sky with all the stars visible, it was as if everything was sparkling.

Then I was headed north to El Nido. Whilst trekking in Myanmar I had been told about a boat expedition from El Nido to Coron with Tao Expeditions. It sounded like an unmissable experience and I was lucky enough to get myself booked onto one, so arrived in El Nido a couple of days early to make sure I had everything I needed. This was a good idea, as El Nido is a lovely little fishing village. It may not have the beach of Boracay, but it has much more character.

On the morning of the expedition I met the rest of the passengers and the crew. Most were couples, and a couple of friends travelling together, just me as the sole single traveller. Sometimes this can get weird as the couples tend to revolve round themselves (especially when they're on honeymoon!), but this was not the case this time. By the end of the first day we were all getting along, which was a relief to the crew who admitted they often get nightmare cruises where people just don't get involved.

The days took on a simple pattern: we would be taken to an island to snorkel around the corals, kayak into lagoons, have amazing food cooked for us by Alejandro, the boats cook, in the tiniest of kitchens which was constantly rocking, more snorkelling, before finally being brought to a basecamp for the night set on a remote island where we stayed in bamboo huts on the beach, usually without any electricity, showered from a bucket, gorged ourselves on yet more astounding food before whiling the evening hours away with beer and rum (stupidly cheap at $2/litre), telling stories round the campfire and gazing at the stars in a pristine, unpolluted sky.

As the days went by, and we ventured to more remote islands, so the coral and fish we saw got better and better. One of the basecamps had a shipwreck just off the shore, providing a welcome morning swim and a glimpse of how corals use wreck to create new reefs.

One of the highlights was actually on land. One of the basecamps, which we did not stay at but I think everyone gets to visit, was the home of Tao Farm, a self-sustaining organic farm set up to be able to provide all the boats with fresh fruit and vegetables, and with an aim to supply fresh meat, especially pork (one of the days games was to see what Alejandro was going to turn his fish into, although he was amazingly inventive). They want to provide for their communities – piglets are sold to villages on the islands for minimal amount with the intention that the boat crews can buy the pork back at full cost when they visit. They have also set up a womens group with the aim of teaching women a new skill, such as weaving or food production, with which they can make a living for themselves and move away from the traditional role subservient wife.

We also got to visit the island villages where Tao help by supporting schools, building basketball courts for the children (bizarrely this is the number one sport in the Philippines, where the people are quite small). They have also provided assistance to communities affected by Typhoon Yolanda, which devastated the area. Getting to meet the children here, see them in school, play volleyball on the beach with them (they were much better than us) made us wonder who the lucky ones were. They have a hard life, very few will have a future outside the islands, they had few possessions, yet they were amazingly happy and seemed to want for nothing. With the assistance of Tao they are being given opportunities (all the crews are from the islands).

By the time we arrived in Coron, after fives days together, I don't think there was anybody who was not affected by what they had seen and experienced. It was a most magical time, capped off with a final snorkel around a sunken Japanese gunboat and final round of rum and pineapple as the sun set one last time.

After a couple of nights in Coron (unless you dive there is nothing to do here) I decided on a change of scenery and headed to the main island of Luzon and the mountain village of Sagada (20 hours, one delayed flight, a taxi across Manila via the iStore to replace a power cable left on a remote beach, an overnight bus to Banaue and finally a minibus. This was a very different place. Much cooler than the islands, at least at night, and hillsides dominated by firs that would not be out of place in Germany if you ignored the palm trees and rice terraces. I had come here primarily for one thing – the Hanging Coffins. I had seen these on TV many years ago, and realising I was coming to the region had to see them.

The local Irogot tribes did not bury their dead. Instead they hang them from cliff faces on wooden beams or occasionally placed in small caves. The idea is to bring the dead closer to heaven. The body is placed in a foetal position to mimic a return to where they came from, and occasionally a chair will be suspended next to the coffin in case the spirit feels the need to stretch their legs. This custom has died out over the years with the introduction of Catholicism by the Spanish, and the last coffin to be raised was in 2007. There were actually far less coffins than I recall seeing on TV due to an earthquake in the 1990's that brought many of them down which are now stacked in a cave entrance. Even so it was good to see something that had always fascinated me.

I had one of the most fun days out of my travels in Sagada. While trying to find the route to the hanging coffins on my first attempt (nothing is signposted so that you need to employ a guide to help) I bumped into a couple of German girls, Sandra & Saskia, who had been on the bus to Sagada with me, who were heading off to a nearby cave with Federico & Moon who they had met a a tour the day before. Deciding to give up on my planned trip and have a bit of fun instead I joined them. One of the best decisions made so far. What I hadn't taken into count was that this wasn't a basic cave trip. We were going caving. We spent the next almost 3 hours squeezing through tiny gaps between fallen rocks, descending knotted ropes into near darkness (I won't call it abseiling – no harness or belay was provided), wading through rivers, and climbing back up with standard Filipino health & safety (none), with only the guides gas lamp to lead us, and poor Moon stuck at the back with his phones torchlight. If anything had have happened to us we were generally screwed, but as with the moped ride in Vietnam, these situations tend to make close bonds between people. The rest of the day was spent exploring various cafes and the rice terraces for sunset. It was a great day, but alas only one.

I left Sagada to go back to Banaue and then to Batad to see the 2000 year old Ifagau rice terraces built in a natural amphitheatre. I spent a couple of days trekking around, first to a nearby waterfall, then all around the terraces and also to a viewpoint on the other side of the valley to see the amphitheatre lad out in all its glory. No matter where you viewed them from, the terraces were a mesmerizing sight. At night all that could be seen were the lights of the villages in the bottom and the occasional fire as the farmers burnt the stubble to prepare for the next crop. It was so peaceful.

I had time left to have one ore adventure here, so returning to Banaue I got a bus back to Manila (10 hours overnight), a taxi to the bus station to go south, got the cheapest bus I could which I sat on for 3 hours before it set off to Legazpi (13 hours) for an overnight stay before a final minibus to Donsol, where I stayed in the swankiest backpacker beach resort I ever did see, spending a couple of days doing nothing by the pool, because there is almost nothing to do there. What I was doing there was waiting for Marie (remember her? From way back in Kota Kinabalu?). It was an unexpected but very welcome catch up, and interesting because she was the first person I had spent a significant amount of time with that I was now meeting again after many months on the road. Had I changed? Apparently so. Good.

What we were both doing there was to see whale sharks. The largest fish on earth, up to 15 metres long, it is not definite that you will get to see one. Sightings over the last few days had been good, although some people had reported going out for 2 days and not seeing anything. There were lot of boats out, each with a spotter looking for the tell tale sign of the shadow in the water. Officially only one boat is supposed to be with a whale shark at any one time. In reality as soon as a spotter spots one all the boats descend on it, wanting to make sure that no one goes home disappointed. This has the affect that the whale shark may sound before some people get there and that the interaction is very short. It also means that every time we went into the water we got to see one. The feeling of putting your face underwater to find yourself staring into the gaping mouth of the shark as it swims directly underneath you is one that will never leave me. The next day a tropical storm set in and the boats were cancelled. We had been very lucky.

We left Donsol, and going in our separate directions said our farewells again. I got an overnight bus back to Manila to catch a flight the next morning. But these islands had a sting in the tail. The tropical storm slowed the bus & caused another to crash ahead of us. These combined meant we approached Manila in rush hour, four hours late and no chance of making my flight. I managed to book another flight out that night (overstaying would have resulted in a hefty fine and a interrogation by immigration long enough to miss any flight I booked to leave later) and then found myself needing to change dollars over to pay an airport tax to leave the country.

This was one of the more annoying things - hidden charges.  Not content with high rates for local guides, without which it is easy to get lost or injured without any aid, most regions in the country have 'Environmental Taxes'.  In Banaue, Sagada & Batad they are small fees, usually less than 50p, without usually charged on entrance to the town & without which you cannot employ a guide.  Sometimes, as in Banaue, the 'tax' can be avoided as it is not checked.  In Boracay the fee was a couple of pounds and unavoidable.  Donsol levied 7 pounds before you could get a boat to go whale spotting (free extra rant!: at Donsol they have a maximum of 6 passengers per boat.  While it would be easier for the office administrators to assign people to boats, you are expected to find the people to make up the rest of your entourage.  Marie & I spent ages trying to find 4 people to share with.  We found 3 Koreans and ended up having to pay extra to allow for the empty spot...).  And don't get me started on that airport tax! (Although some don't charge it & smaller airports charge less than a pound.  And could do with the money - Busuanga at Coron had no x-ray screeners for luggage and no baggage carousel - it was just put on a table shaped liked one...).  Along with taxi drivers refusing to put their metres on this slow leeching of money slowly became infuriating.

I found the Philippines to be a massively diverse and beautiful country, but being so large and spread out it is possibly the most difficult I have travelled. While buses and minibuses are usually waiting at all locations, it is near impossible to pre-book anything other than planes as phone lines are never answered and added fees abound. There seem to be no tour operators providing linked transport like most other countries. In a way this adds to the charm of a country much less developed than others, but also makes it exhausting and somewhat frustrating to research. You just have to dive into it and hope. Do and the rewards are massive. And I barely touched the surface of the Philippines...

The Road Less Travelled

Myanmar.  A country still struggling with it's military dictatorship past & ongoing civil war.  It is also a country of immense beauty and complex history.  Rapidly changing, it is a country I have wanted to see since seeing images of the temples on Bagan Plain in Ron Fricke' Samsara, and one I want to see before tourism ruins it like so many others (I am aware of the irony).  It is also a destination I seem to have been putting off going to because it just hasn't fitted into my plans.  And because I spent so long in Pai...

It is not an easy country to gain access to.  While it has several border crossings into Thailand, these can only be used for day visits into the country, nominally for renewing your Thai visa.  So the only way in is by air - via either Bangkok or Kuala Lumpur (exiting is far easier).  These cities are also the only places you can get a Myanmar visa in South East Asia, although thankfully the ever increasing number of tourists seems to have forced the embassies hands a bit and this process is easier than a few months ago.  I got my visa from Kuala Lumpur in a 'same day' process - this used to take a couple of days.  Also, in order to obtain a visa you must provide proof of both your inbound and outbound flights, thus setting a time limit on how long you wish to stay (unless you but another flight).  I gave myself 21 days.  The maximum allowed on your visa is 28.

In addition to this, not all of the country is open to foreign visitors yet, either due to civil unrest that could be dangerous for us to wander into the middle of, or maybe because there's something that the government would rather the world doesn't see just yet.

It is also not an easy country to organise anything in either.  I have a tendancy to use Hostelworld to book my hostels through, usually only a day or so in advance.  They had nothing, although I put this down to places being fully booked and a lack of awareness from hostel owners that this service exists.  My saviour on many occasions would turn out to be Agoda, through which I got some decent rooms at acceptable prices.  Myanmar is an expensive country to stay in!

The final thing which was noticeable was the lack of information, or rather how outdated it was.  My trusty Lonely Planet guide advised to take US$ (crisp, new notes) as there were not many ATM's available and also not to use the airport or banks for changing money - the black market apparently had much better rates.  I acknowledge that the information in the guides is usually a couple of years out of date, and Myanmar is changing quickly, but even scouring the internet did not present a greatly improved picture - there seemed to be a few more ATM's, but only in the big cities, and they may not accept foreign cards.  So, armed with a fistfull of dollars and my now quite battered cash card I set off for Yangon...

To find it's a complete load of rubbish!  ATM's were everywhere - even in temples - and more than happy to chuck their Kyat (pronounced chat) at me.  Airports and banks exchanged dollars at the market rate, much better than hotels.  If the black market were doing even better rates then they clearly haven't got the concept of Capitalism.

So, to Yangon.  It is a vibrant city, on the surface much like any other.  But walking the streets you see signs of it's personal past - abandoned edifices of British rule left to rot, decaying old colonial buildings inhabited by the need for  roof over ones head, and many buildings less than 30 years old showing worse signs of ageing.  On the streets you cannot move for food vendors selling generally unidentifiable but delicious food - noodle soups, a vast array of fried goods - just take the risk and enjoy, it's so cheap!  Fruit and veg stand side by side with DIY stalls and hifi stores.  I have never seen so many speakers for sale.  Or heard so many being tested.

But for all this there is little to actually see.  There are, of course, a few pagodas, the main attraction being the vast Shwedagon Paya.  Sitting 99m high, covering 14 acres, and surrounded by 82 other shrines and buildings, covered in gold leaf and jewels, this is pure excess.  The highlight for me was stumbled on by chance.  While flicking through Tripadvisor trying to find something to do I read about the circular railway.  Costing a mere $1.20, and lasting 3 hours, this is a train journey through the Yangon that lives by the train tracks, from city slums to colonial neighbourhoods, to railway station markets, and out to the surrounding countryside and villages.  A first glimpse at the everyday lives of the Burmese people.

Next stop was Mandalay.  This was like a quiet Hanoi.  Wide boulevards, lined with trees, humming with scooters, make up the downtown area, showing signs of large Chinese investment in building projects.  But step away a couple of streets and you get a feel for what it was like only 5 years ago - dirt-packed roads lead through wooden houses and shops into monasteries and temples.  Just outside my hotel was a hue market selling nearly everything you could think of.  Except food stalls, which I found insanely difficult to find anywhere in this city.

A $10 ticket will get you entry to some of the main attractions in  Mandalay, such as the (reconstructed) Royal Palace and the worlds largest book (a large temple complex where 729 marble slabs tell the Tripitaka canon - covering several acres).  You can avoid paying this though if you go late in the day, or go through the wrong entrance.  The fee goes to the government, and it is clear that while some people are happy to take money off their government in working to collect the fee, they are much less interested in helping the government by actually doing their job.  Which is good for us!  It became a mission to avoid as many camera fees and entrance fees as possible as this money does not go to the people.

Outside Mandalay are 4 historic cities, former capitals of Myanmar in themselves.  Mingun is a half-day trip by boat up the Ayeyarwady River and it's main sight is the Mingun Paya.  Destroyed by an earthquake before completion this was to be  massive 150m high stupa, which huge elephants providing a gateway from the river.

The other cities - Amarapura, Sagaing & Inwa - are generally done in a touristy day trip.  The tourist trail starts with Ganayon Kyaung, a monastery where 1200 monks gather in  procession to lunch at 10am everyday.  Watched by 500 tourists.  I felt very awkward at this sight.  The younger monks still showed an excitement at being the centre of so much attention, but you could tell in the eyes of the older ones that by the time you get to about 15 years old, thousands of mornings of this takes its toll. I saw many monks walk back to their rooms to eat their meal away from the prying camera lenses.  Even mine, I am ashamed to say - but I did try to use maximum zoom rather than shove my camera in their faces.

Sagaing is home to many temples on a hill, and, frankly, is barely worth the walk up the hill and around the top.  Inwa was much more interesting.  Only a few signs remain of it's past - a ruin of a temple, crumbling city walls, a watch tower on the verge of falling over. Being taken around the site in a horse cart (a necessity born from it being late in the day and the size of the site - I kept an eye open to make sure the driver didn't use their whip excessively, but I feel the horse would have stopped without it) it felt much more like a village,  farming community, which is essentially what it now is.  My favourite stop was a teak built monastery, still in use, in need of a bit of dusting, and complete with it's own cat.

The final stop of the day was U Bein's Bridge, a 200m long teak bridge.  It was a stunning sight at sunset, not lessened at all by something which had become apparent during the day - the hundreds of tourists being bused about on tours seeing the same things at the same time.

As I had been in a private taxi with a friend I had been able to take my time seeing various things and had become distanced from them in a way. But here they all were.  In their inglorious hordes.  A sight which would be no less familiar at my next destination - Bagan.

Quick travel tip: don't get night trains in Myanmar.  The seats are uncomfortable, the train rocks crazily and the loosely bolted seats make it even worse.  I barely got any sleep.  Saved a few bucks on taxi fares to the bus station though.

Bagan was my inspiration for coming to Myanmar - over 4000 temples and pagodas scattered over a plain next to the Ayeyarwady River.  Just one shot in Samsara, of the sunrise relfecting back off the brick structures was enough for me.  And it didn't disappoint.  Although I could never get out of bed in time to see the sunrise.  Plenty of sunsets though.

It took a couple of days of exploring to be satiated.  First I went around most of the main sites by bike, marveling at the stupas and buddhas, in various states of disrepair or reconstruction, but found it difficult to escape the crowds or tall owners, who wanted to show you 'their' buddha, or 'their' temple, and then force 'their' unique trinket on you.  I hate to be cynical on this, but it really gets on your nerves after a while.  The following day I rented an electric bike to cover more ground and find a few more remote sites.  And was thoroughly rewarded.   Not only was the bike very capable at being being thrown around sandy dirt tracks, it got me to some quiet temples with amazing views over the plain to see temples at sunset, silhouetted against the setting sun, or other large but remote temples that had not been as extensively renovated as other easier to get to places.  These were the delights of my stay.

After a couple of days of temple-ing though, I was in need of a change of scenery so headed to Kalaw and the start of a 2 day trek across the hills to Inles Lake and Nyaungshwe.  This was exactly what I needed, although the countryside was a bit bemusing.  I had come to Myanmar in the dry season.  It was hot and dusty by day, bitterly cold at night, the leaves were turning orange and there was a definite autumnal feel in the air around dawn and dusk.  But when the sun blazed down in the afternoon the scrub trees, cacti and agave made it feel as if you were in South California or Mexico.

Our guide spoke amazing English, self taught over 2 years as a trekking guide, but she herself only knew bits of the tribal languages spoken in the villages we walked through.  This was very much unlike the experience I had had in Sapa.  These were real farming communities.  They survived growing crops and making local handicrafts for sale in the nearby towns.  The homestay we stayed at also had a more authentic feel - our hosts invited us to sit with them around their fire after dinner and slept in a room partitioned off from our sleeping area, as is the norm in Burmese households.  But still the signs of encroaching tourism could be seen.  Most of the treks overnight from Kalaw to Nyaugnshwe stay in the same village, and just outside this village large hotels of bamboo bungalows are being built by businessmen from Mandalay and Yangon to feed the demand of the growing number of tour groups for whom staying in an authentic homestay would be anathema.  That the land these hotels are being built on was sold by locals after being given to them by the government does make you scratch your head a bit, but then, the land being used could not be farmed on so how else could they make money?

The trail meandered long cart tracks and footpaths through some beautiful countryside before descending beside a river to Inles Lake, where villages have been built on stilts in the fertile reed beds for centuries.  People here have made their living the same way all this time, until the tourists got here.  The lake is dotted with fisherman in their canoes, balancing precariously whilst maneuvering their fishing traps to better spots; a floating garden has been built over the years, a layer of compost that grows everything needed from flowers to tomatoes.

Now this life is starting to change.  Boats that taxied local villagers from one side to the other have now been joined by boats full of tourists being taken around the usual sights - a lakeside market selling all sorts of trinketry and handicrafts(but nothing remarkably different from each other),  small factories making local cheroot cigarettes, gold & silver smiths, and a large weaving mill producing high quality scarves and clothes from cotton, silk and lotus threads, all significantly out of the affordability of the villagers, but bringing in lots of money from the tour groups (if not the travellers, who still strive for a good bargain).  Te most annoying sight though were the 'fishermen'.  Discernible from actual fishermen by their lack of fishing and spending most of their time posing for the tourist hordes, showing how well they can balance on their boat, one leg wrapped around the oar and the other holding up the fish trap in a very inefficient manner before holding aloft a clearly long dead fish for a photo op, hoping to get some money for this charade, and then retiring out of the way to wait for the next gullible boat load to come along.

To combat this I went on a second boat trip the following day, this time a private tour in a boat paddled by a restaurant owner who offered to take me around her village.  Without the sounds of the motors coming from every direction this was much more tranquil, drifting on the glass like surface of the waterways between the houses that make up the network of streets for these communities.  Everything is here for them - schools, temples and even post offices!

Also in Nyaungshwe I managed the unexpected - a continuation of my ceaseless quest to do a cooking course in every country (thanks Tripadvisor!).  And this was a special one.  With a severe lack of internet access, and communication issues with the locals, finding Bamboo Delight and arranging a class was not easy.  And with less than 3 hours cooking time it seemed a bit short.  But Su took us on a wonderful tour of the local market, a very rural experience (contrary to what I said in my last post, sometimes buying fish & meat is a bit different - in depends on the existence of health and safety regulations.  Not for the faint-hearted this one.), making up the days menu on the spot depending on what was available and what we liked the look of.  There were only 5 of us in the class and Su's husband, Leslie, ensured that we all got to cook at least one dishes each.  Given that most of the dishes had the same methods this was not an issue, and being a small group we were always milling around seeing what was going on, having a look at Su's house and talking about the dream she made come true.  As a child in the early 1990's her father had opened a restaurant when people started to come into what was then still Burma. Rather than advertise, he simply drew passersby in off the street, who invariably wanted to know how to cook what they were eating & take these recipes home with them.  Over the years Su was able to learn to speak English from their guests and when her father died she took over the business turned it into a cooking school.  And she was able to give back to her neighbours.  We made a lot of food - much more than we needed.  Anything remaining is taken to the local orphange to help feed the children there.  Su also takes time out to help teach them English and cooking skills, as well as assisting the community financially.  By any standards she would be a success, but what she is doing in Nyaungshwe is truly a wonder and I am so glad I found her and grateful to have been part of this experience.  We actually convinced her to sell some of what was remaining to a French couple who had dropped in thinking this was a restaurant - something she had never thought of doing.  The couple thought our cooking was excellent.  It was.

I then had to go back south again (flights out of Yangon are cheaper than from Mandalay, so this sort of makes sense) as I wanted to see the Golden Rock at Kyaiktyo.  From the base camp it is an 11km hike up the mountain to this site of pilgrimage, mostly through a forest, with little to see except stalls selling food and drink to people going up.  Of which there were decidedly few, as there is a truck which will also take you up for just $2.50, but as always I wanted to do it properly.  I also decided to make it a mental test as well as a physical one by acquiring a drunk Thai gentleman who claimed he was a guide but only wanted a friend so he wouldn't charge me (which he didn't) but just wanted someone to talk to.  I was thinking, cool, I get to have a chat to someone about the area and Burmese culture.  Wrong.  He was so drunk that the conversation revolved around how he wanted a friend and someone to talk to, whilst hanging off my arm and making it even harder work.  After about an hour and half of this, and the conversation not really getting any further, I decided that Buddha would agree I'd done as much as was reasonable and not frown on me too much, so sat him down to rest (for the umpteenth time) ans strode of up the hill at a pace I was sure he couldn't keep up with.  The hike proved to be more memorable than the rock, which is a big rock, covered in gold leaf, balancing on top of another rock, overhanging quite considerably.  They say they are not sure how it balances.  I reckon it's to do with the large quantity of gold leaf stuck on one side of it acting as a counterbalance.  But I could just be being cynical again.

While this would have been an impressive sight it was lessened by the temple precinct which again seemed created for tourists rather than devotees, with tiled walkways and shops.  I decided to get the truck back down the hill which was one of the scariest things I have done so far.  The truck is filled with people sitting on benches on the back of a flatbed lorry.  At the back of this is a caged enclosure for people who have to stand.  Which included me.  With nothing to keep me in except holding on for dear life the truck descended at sometimes silly speeds down the steep slopes and hairpin bends, and along the twisting roads of the valley floor.  It was so much fun I wanted to do it again.

I spent the night in what the Lonely Planet call 'a crime scene', but at $8 it was the cheapest place I had found all trip, and the next day headed for Bago.  Not originally on my itinerary, I had passed through on the way to Kyaiktyo & felt I could fit it in on the return rather than spend another day in Yangon.  Home to not a lot except the tallest stupa in Myanmar, at 114m, and the longest reclining Buddha, 55m, it is a small town with a little charm, but does have an exceptional cafe for breakfast.  This is what places not geared up for the tourist trail feel like, and I guess the closest I will get to how it would have felt just a few years ago. I caught the train back to Yangon, catching me somewhat off guard by being a whopping 90 minutes EARLY.  I thought the British had given them their rail network?  We surely didn't teach them this...  The journey back was far more relaxed than by bus (where karaoke is played at full volume no matter what time of day it is) and as I looked out on the countryside one last time I had chance to look back on my 3 weeks in this country.

It is without a doubt one of the most beautiful and special countries I have visited.  The people, on the whole, are friendly and want to talk to you and help you without any expectation of personal gain.  But still I have found it difficult to fall in love with Myanmar as so many have done so before me.  Maybe I have just got here a couple of years too late, when the streets were full of bicycles instead of cheap Chinese motorbikes, before large scale development had taken place and towns like Nyaungshwe were a community of villages with a central market rather than a collection of suburbs.  Maybe it's because you feel as if you are on the tourist trail, going to the same places as everyone else because it's too difficult to get to some of the more distant cities, or that we can;t have access to.  Or maybe it's because, due to both these factors, that the infrastructure for travellers, rather than tourists, isn't as comprehensive as the rest of South East Asia, resulting in a lack of reasonably priced hostels with dorm rooms, forcing you into more expensive twins or double rooms in hotels of which there are still not enough (tales abound of people having to sleep in the streets in Nyaungshwe at times last year because even the monasteries did not have rooms to fit everybody in); that lack of haggling in recent years by more affluent tourists has set expectations higher for the locals of what they are able to make for accommodation and transport.  This makes Myanmar an expensive and sometimes trying place to visit, and I happy to settle for one of those, but not both.

Maybe in a few years, with more investment, things will become cheaper or easier.  Maybe I would return, at a different time of year to see the lush, green rice paddies and jungle, and when the authorities have opened up more of the country.  But maybe, most likely, the country will have been radically changed by then.

A Return to Malaysia

My journey had been heading south through Thailand towards Malaysia.  And yet another interesting border crossing was to be encountered.  At least this time it wasn't due to the border authorities on either side.

Getting the bus to Penang meant getting the longtail boat off Tonsai back to Ao Nang.  This bit was accepted.  What wasn't was the rigmarole I had to go through with the buses.  A mini van picked me up from Ao Nang.  I was really hoping this wasn't to take me to Penang as it had seen better days.  It dropped me at a central point near Krabi to reassign passengers to other vans depending on where they were going.  I got back on the same van.  Alone.  I was then dropped off at their office in Krabi where I waited for 40 minutes before another van came to collect me with no one able to explain what was happening.  The next van was already full so I spent most of the 5 hours to Hat Yai, a border town in Thailand, sat on the very uncomfortable middle seat next to the driver.  At Hat Yai I was told to get off the van once more, again with no explanation of what was going on.  Thankfully it was only a short wait before I was bustled onto yet another van.  And finally someone was able to explain, albeit another passenger.  As there are so few people going from any particular place in South Thailand to the same place in Malaysia (other than the capital, Kuala Lumpur), they collect you and then gather you all in the same place before putting you onto a final van which takes everyone from different starting points to the same destination.  All very logical.  Would just help if someone explained this at some point...  Passports stamped & I was back in Malaysia and finally deposited in Georgetown, Penang, an island off the east coast of the Malaysian Peninsula.

Georgetown is an old colonial town first settled by the British for the East India Company in 1786 for its strategic position at the north end of the Straits of Malacca, the main trade route to the Orient.  Other than a stint of Japanese occupation during World War II it remained under British control until Malaysian independence in 1957.  And that's your brief history lesson for now.

The city is, to me, beautiful.  Old colonial town houses line the streets of the old quarter, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  My hostel was located in one of these buildings.  While only two stories high, they are very long and have an amazing amount of space.  My favourite was a bistro which had taken 2 of these buildings, back to back, creating a cafe on one street and a restaurant on the other, both with different themes and joining the back yards into a large courtyard.  The upper floors of both were then used as an gallery.  And this was a theme.  A lot of art galleries are housed in these buildings, and street art covers their exterior in many areas, particulalry around Lebuh Armenian.  The network of streets and alleys made it a wonderful city to explore, uncovering either new art or temples around every corner.  The temples in the old quarter are much more impressive that the newer ones.

I may have been somewhat spoilt in the temples I have seen so far, but some of the larger ones in Georgetown were a disappointment.  The Kek Lok Si temple is an old Chinese temple, with a pagoda, plenty of Buddha statues, and many buildings.  It is also mostly badly painted, cheaply tiled and has beggars everywhere, interspersed with shops not necessarily selling religious paraphernalia.  Similarly the Thai Buddhist temple has a large reclining Buddha, garishly painted.  Compared to the gold reclining Buddha at Wat Pho in Bangkok it looks positively tacky.  The Burmese temple on the other side of the road shows how it should be done, with a tall gold Buddha.  You may think that this is not the most important part of a temple, but it is certainly the most impressive and the one which you will remember your visit by.  In comparison the smaller temples do not try to make a point of large statues.  Quality craftmanship and remarkable attention  to detail made seeing these, such as the Khoo Kongsi clan temple, a true pleasure.

Another thing Georgetown has plenty of is museums.  Entrance varies depending on whether the museum is state owned (1 or 2RM - about 20-40p) or private (usually 20RM).  I went to a couple of state museums, being the Penang State Museum for a mighty 1RM, where I spent a good educational hour learning about Georgetowns history & multi-cultural origins, and Fort Cornwallis, the battlements of which have stood for nearly 200 years.  The fort is small and a bit, well, meh, but for 40p I'm not going to cry.  For a private museum I went to the Camera Museum which has a good collection of camera through the ages, old camera obscuras to play with (I enjoyed the juxtaposition of taking a photo with my digital camera through one of these!), and a room size pinhole camera which showed the simple process in some style.

If you're a camera buff (a bit like me) the this is quite a good museum, but the 20RM fee I felt was still a bit high for a small museum, & way too much for someone who is just mildly intrigued.  Or taken against their will.  Feedback from other travellers on cultural museums, such as the Chueng Fatt Tze Mansion had pretty much the vibe - too much for way too little.

Too get away from the city for a while I headed out to the Penang National Park where I hoped to find some decent trekking.  I intended to spent a couple of nights & give myself plenty of time, but the guesthouse I found was less than desirable, populated by a couple of residents who looked as if they had been there way too long and the surrounding town void of entertainment.  A quick search revealed that this was the only place in a decent location for a decent price, so I stayed, hoping the weather would be nice & I would get my treks done in one day - an ambitious idea.  I was shown to the room by the owners son who would not take payment & said his dad would come & see me soon.  He did not.  I woke to the sound of heavy rain, and a heavy heart - would I have to stay an extra, boring day? - but when I eventually got up the rain had stopped & the early heat had dried most of the ground.  Grey clouds still lingered, but this at least stopped it getting as hot as it could have done.  My walks took in both of the trails in the national park, the first going over the hill to the west coast, a pleasant beach and a meromiktik lake, one of only 19 in the world.  They are formed by a layer of salt water that filters through the sand of the beach & settles under the fresh water lake created from water coming off the hills.  But the tide was out & it was a bit unimpressive.  I retraced my steps back up the hill and took a second trail to Monkey Beach.  Despite being the main attraction in the park, this is the harder trail.  While it hugs the coast & the overall rise is not as great, it necessitates a lot of clambering over trees and rocks.  And seems to go on for ever.  And the beach is not that great either.  Maybe it was just the overcast skies, my exhaustion, or the fact I was sharing the beach with a few muslim women, unable to sunbathe in their full burkhas.  It was just a bit rubbish.  I continued past the beach & climbed to the Muka Head lighthouse.  This was a long, steep climb and nearly finished me off, but I finally arrived (where I found a sign saying this was the most difficult of Penangs lighthouses to get to - the rest are all at sea level & in towns!) & climbed the steps to the top of the lighthouse.  To views which may have been spectacular if it wasn't grey.  It was starting to be a bit of a let down.  I retraced my steps down the hill and along the coast, finally seeing the park gates with a smile on my face.  I had covered 14.6km in just over 5 hours.  And realised I had forgotten to eat all day.  That was a bad idea.  It was mid afternoon, so I got my bags & got out of there, finally meeting the owner on the way out to be able to pay him.  I had nearly managed to get a free night,  but am actually glad I didn't.  It's just not right not to pay for your lodging, however poor it may have been (unless service is awful, of course...)

I returned to Georgetown to recover from my exertions (ie, I went to the cinema.  I seem to do that a lot in Malaysia.  Quick tip - take a jumper.  They have the air-con really cold.  I nearly froze watching The Hobbit) and finally eat for the first time in nearly 24 hours.  It was good and well earned.

My next port of call was Tahan Rata in the Cameron Highlands. This area is in central Malaysia and as the name suggests is much higher than the rest, so it is much cooler.  As a result it is a good climate for growing fruit, vegetables and tea.  And lots of trekking through the jungle.

I had met Joseph on the rather scary bus ride (the driver was throwing it around the mountain bends and overtaking anywhere it wasn't safe) and found we were going to the same hostel.  After checking in we had a chat with the hostel owners about treks in the area and were told that a Rafflesia had bloomed and a tour was going the next day. Whilst not exactly rare, these plants only bloom for up to 10 days, and it had only just come out that day.  So we booked to get a chance of this marvel.  First up though was food.  Again I had not eaten for ages (not my fault! - the stall owner at lunch refused to sell me any noodles for no apparent reason) so we found the Sunday market & tucked into street food that was amazing good and stupidly cheap.  Roti Mutarbak is now a favourite.

We started the next day early.  It was a bit cold but the trek to the bloom soon sorted that out.  It was a tough walk at times, especially the final section up a steep muddy climb, and our guide showed us as much wildlife as he could - including a-bit-too-large-for-comfort-and-quite-definitely-poisonous spider.  I have refrained from calling the Rafflesia a flower because it isn't.  It's a parasitic fungus which grows on vines.  It blooms once and then dies.  And they bloom high in the jungles of Malaysia and Indonesia.  Guides search for the buds all year round and tell the tour companies when one is about to bloom.  So due to the unpredictable nature of seeing Malaysias national 'flower' this was a bit of an unexpected treat!  And we were not disappointed (although apparently the ones on Sumatra & Borneo are much bigger - ours was only about 70cm across).

The other attractions in the area are tours around the strawberry fields and tea plantations.  We found a tour that combined a tea plantation with the 'mossy forest'.  I was not going to a strawberry field - the endless polytunnels and greenhouses that cover the hillsides make the Cameron Highlands look like a huge allotment (I suppose it kind of is...) and I could go and see a garden centre at home.  We were joined on this trip by Renske.  It started with a visit to the tea plantation itself for a photo session.  The clouds were low again but the plantations were impressive.  Pickers could be seen on distant slopes.  The next stop was the viewing tower on the highlands highest peak, Gunung Brinchang, where our guide promised us views of... well, the clouds.  The cloud was still low.  Lower than us.  Visibility was about 20m.  We saw a couple of trees.

The mossy forest was much more interesting.  It is what it says it is, a forest covered in moss, mostly sphagnum moss which retains more water than it's own weight and is therefore vitally important for the planets ecosystem.  The forests of Malaysia also contain a huge amount of medicinal plants (and even more poisonous ones) and so conservation and research of this area, which is starting to heat up (which is bad) is essential.  It is also beautiful.

Our path wound it's way through the forest, side paths with drooping mosses looked as if fairies would appear at any moment (they wouldn't - they don't exist - sorry for spoiling your dreams, but that's my job), pitcher plants everywhere and the occasional orchid.  We finished up with a quick tour of the the processing plant and a much more leisurely pot of tea and a cake.  It was alright...  Unlike the trip to the Rafflesia, where a guide is needed to know where the bloom is, this trip could have been done without a tour.  But we wouldn't have been privy to all the information nor the guides great sense of humour.  Sometimes it can be best to do the tourist thing.

Joseph & I got some trekking through the hill done on the way back to the hostel, first with some very steep up & down climbs and then a much more enjoyable walk meandering through the forest.  Not that many years ago there were many more trails but the rapid encroachment of development and agriculture has resulted in the loss of a lot of forest.  It's a double edged sword - the beauty brings in the visitors, but destroys it to make way for more.

We were unsure where to go next - Taman Negara for more jungle trekking, or Kuala Lumpur for the Hindu Thaipusam festival.  I was in urgent need of a laundry session, so a return to KL won.  No luxury this time - I was in a dorm.  A very dark dorm with a floor covered in bags.  It was a bit dangerous getting down off the top bunk.  Our hostel was also next door to the largest Hindu temple in KL, so we were surprised with a bit of a street procession as the devotees transported the statue of Murugan to the Batu Caves for the main festivities.  Thaipusam is a festival celebrating the god Murugan, occurs, like Easter, at a different time every year, and we had stumbled into the middle of it.  The focus point in KL is the Batu Caves, 11km north of the city.  The procession for devotees starts in the middle of KL and is bout 15km long, although spiritual preparations last for 48 days.  During this time they show their devotion by carrying jars of milk on their heads, weights (usually fruit - limes, apples, pomelos) attached to their bodies by hooks through their flesh - the heavier the better (I saw someone with 2 kg of apples hanging off them) or even with ropes attached, dragging people behind them.  Some even carry large headdresses weighing 100kg, needing a framework to keep them upright, for the full distance.

Culminating in a climb of the 272 steps to the caves themselves.  We took the train & started about 100m from the steps...  It still took over 2&1/2 hours to get to the shrine of Murugan.  It was an amazing experience to be in the middle of this.  Many people had worked themselves into a trance, small children would be overwhelmed with the heat and noise of the occasion.  The sight that showed the devotion the most to me was spears pierced through the tongue, ensuring a vow of silence and supposedly giving the power of endurance.

Renske headed to Melaka the next day, Joseph continued his exploration of KL, & I went on the now traditional cooking class.  This was a really god one, but a tad expensive.  The usual market tour was very good, lots of time given to tasting spices and fruits, and eating the breakfast of Roti Canai (also now a favourite).  Many people say the best thing about the market tour is seeing how to buy meat and fish.  Really?  You need to get out of the supermarket and down to your local butcher - that aspect of shopping does not change no matter where the country.  The cooking itself was done in a nice building in the hills with great teachers, always helping, making sure you don't mess up, and always ready for a chat about anything food related or not.  It was very hands on (apart from long or complex procedures) and the food very good - beef rendang, prawn fritters (first time I had ever deep fried - and no one died!), cucumber salad and Kueh Koci - a steamed, glutinous coconut dessert.

KL had not much more to offer, so I said farewell to Joseph & followed Renske to Melaka.  My first hostel was full of old people.  So I moved for need of atmosphere into a place in the middle of Chinatown (everywhere has one.  And a Little India.).  I found Melaka to be a lot like Georgetown, a lot smaller and a lot more touristy, the streets full of trishaws (basically a bicycle with a little carriage) which were garishly decorated, blared music out at all hours, and some even had wifi for that authentic experience.  No, I did not partake.

It is again a colonial city, this time rising from sultanate rule from 1405-1511 when the Portuguese arrived, the Dutch took over in 1641 and then the British went all Empire on it. A walk around Chinatown and along the river had the main sights done in a day, mostly temples.  On the other side of the river was the site of the original Portuguese fort, of which little remains, and Dutch buildings of the Stadthuys, bell tower and church, long with a mock up of a sultanate palace.  The rest was the now familiar townhouse.  An interesting site was Bukit China, a cemetery for a single Chinese clan, still in use and recently saved from redevelopment.  The tombs were like small barrows, a gravestone at the entrance and a kind of altar in front for family to come and pay respects.  It had a solemn feeling of awe, quite different to a Christian graveyard.

At the weekends Jonkers Walk comes alive with a street market and entertainment, but is generally selling overpriced tat and cakes and crowded with Chinese tourists moving as slow as ever and having their pictures taken in front of anything and everything (a postcard stand!? That's what you want to remember of your visit!?).  In fact, finding food was a problem - most restaurants, even the local food courts, seemed to have random opening hours, and you were never sure what they were selling.  The other options were usually expensive places for tourists.  Until I found a cheap local Indian place doing great rotis.  Then I was happy.

Melaka only needs a couple of days.  Spare time was spent in the cinema (it is so much cheaper than at home, but the Malays have not quite got the idea of being quiet) so when there were no more films to watch I headed back to KL to arrange the next step of my journey and enjoy a brief reunion with Martin & Stefan from Pai.  It has become standard to check the crowds in hostels for a friendly face, but the regularity and randomness of meetings with the folk of Pai is astounding.  Tine has also met up with many on her travels through Laos and Cambodia.  The phenomenon has become known as 'Pai on Tour'.  Long may it continue.

I am now sat in the hostel lobby in KL, less than 7 hours until my flight out (my first trip on a plane since I arrived in Cambodia just over 4 months ago).  Monsoon season means that the islands on the west coast of Malaysia are closed for a couple more weeks, so I feel that my time in the country is now done.  I have no need to return, at least not on this trip.  In my 3 visits here I have made many friends and had some fantastic experiences.  But I feel that I have been able to absorb myself more in the local atmosphere. I have had more time to travel here than other countries (Malaysia gives you a standard 90 day entry which means you never feel rushed) and so have had a lot more downtime in cities and a chance to talk to people about how they live and the hardships that they sometimes have to endure.  One woman I met lives in a cheap hotel, owes the owner several months rent, but still manages to raise her child without help from her family ho have disowned her because her grandparents favoured her more than them, after they had crushed her dreams of becoming a surgeon as they did not want to spend the money on her education.  A Nepalese guy working in a hostel was forced to leave his country for reasons I will not go into (very complicated - not his fault), was stuck in a 3 year contract that gave him no time of at all (to the point where he arranged activities for the guests as something for him to do away from his job), while not having spoken to his parents for 14 years as he did not want to live the life they had planned out for him.  He tried to call them for 10 years, but they refused to speak to him.  His sister is his only contact with home.  People like this can be found all over South East Asia.  I consider myself very lucky to be in a position where I can live the life I lead, not needed parental blessings or having to live their dreams.  I hope everyone with a pack on their back is just as grateful.