“Yesterday I got so old I felt like I could die.” - In Between Days by The Cure.

Warning: Curses! Everywhere!

I awoke to golden sunlight streaming through the curtains of my hotel room. I felt lazy. I lay around reading for a while then forced myself up from the bed to become a moving shadow in the sun’s glittering beams. I showered and headed onto the balcony. Before me lay a narrow street aligned with both old French colonial buildings and modern tower blocks. A stark purple colonial house opposite hosted communist flags draped from the outside walls, while children played on the balcony. Builders danced precariously on shaky scaffolding aligning one new building, hammering and welding with little or no safety equipment. In the road below, a few rickshaws idled, waiting for passing trade. A grocery moped tooted down the street with an annoying siren. One or two people ambled from surrounding buildings and shuffled over to buy freshly picked wares. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

The purple house...

The annoying fruit seller...

I was in a new country: Laos, the land of hard beds and soft smiles.

It was ten in the morning but even though I had a whole new culture to explore outside my window I really didn't feel like flexing any muscles. I wanted to take everything slowly. Little did I realise that I was already making great strides to fit in with the culture here.

I lay around reading until hunger spurred me into action. I went in search of a vegetarian restaurant I had found listed on the Internet. Being a veggie traveller can be time consuming on occasion (some would say frustrating), but when I reach a new place I always try to find at least one bolt hole where I can have a good meal. These places are usually found away from tourist areas and are a great way to see real life happening before your eyes.

I made my way down side streets lined with buildings of differing styles and colours, past That Dam Stupa (great name) which was to become a lovingly familiar landmark in the next few days, as it had been to the inhabitants of these lands for seven hundred years or so.  It was probably built a few centuries after the Laos people originally settled here a thousand years ago after migrating from South East China. Rumoured to have once been covered in gold, That Dam now stands blackened and gaunt in the sun, testament to the sacking of the city in the 1827 by the Siamese at which time Vientiane (or Viangchan) was abandoned. The city was gradually overtaken by forest until French explorers arrived at the end of the 19^th Century and claimed it for France, eventually repairing and restoring it as best they could.

That Dam Stupa

I travelled on past thoroughfares and small shopping complexes until I found the shambolic bus station. Here, people queued and buses never came. Still they queued, patiently, often silently. There was a certain Zen to the whole place. One old man rested stoically on a walking stick, shoulders slumped, face cast to the ground. He looked like he had been waiting here since before buses had been invented.

I slipped past the station and dived into a flood of people on the pavement outside the local shops. They all shuffled along slowly, pausing to admire clothing hanging on rails and large woven baskets standing in the street. I was patient. I waited for people to shuffle forward or move out of my way, which of course they didn’t. Any small space that could be taken up with a leg or an arm was quickly consumed by the wavering crowd. I jumped from the pavement and walked around everybody in the narrow space between the gutter and a million static motor bikes. I turned a corner into a narrow lane and found the tatty old Talat Khua Din market where my restaurant – the Khouadin Vegetarian - was located.

It only cost me a pound to stuff myself from the buffet style menu and the food was good. Afterwards, I waddled around the market like Jabba the Hut, eyeing the stalls warily. I wasn’t here to buy, just eye. Every kind of household item could be purchased. Toilet rolls were piled high next to industrial strength floor cleaner. Dead fish – and a few live ones – were proudly displayed in plastic buckets. Fruits and vegetables of all description were piled on tables. This was predominantly where the locals came to shop, but there were a few tourists around too. One couple I spotted had attempted to go native by wearing lovely embroidered silks that most of the locals couldn’t possibly afford (Vientianites, like myself, mainly wore mass produced clothing from China). Another male tourist I spotted had grown a short, scrubby little beard that covered his chin and throat the like of which I was to see time and time again growing on tourists in Asia. It was the kind of beard you would find on those weasel-like pop pricks the Spin Doctors back in the nineties, and for some reason it really offended me. Perhaps it was because we were in South East Asia where men aren’t genetically predisposed to being hirsute. Either way, I found myself laughing at the extent to which I felt sickened by all of these Noel Edmonds loving motherfuckers. I mean, here we are in a relatively poor land with a deficit of facial hair, so what do the tourists do to integrate? I know, let’s wear silk shirts and sport tidy beards to show Johnny Foreigner how superior we are. Yes – we’ll wear clothes that look like yours, but they’ll cost a fucking fortune, and we’ll grow a shitty little beard to look world weary and wise while drinking frappuccinos in the tourist bars, because we’re incredibly wealthy and can grow hair out of our anal sphincters if we please.

Anyway, I digress.

The market wasn’t bustling - nothing bustled in Vientiane, not even bustles - but it was a great place to hang out and explore to get a taste of the working culture of the town.

I wandered back through side streets, soaking up the atmosphere, and found myself at a pleasant but soulless fountain near my hotel constructed purely for the recent tourist boom that Laos is experiencing. I lifted some Laos currency (Kip) from a nearby ATM. Kip is worth less than the paper it is printed on and can’t be exchanged for other currencies anywhere in the world, so it’s important to only obtain an amount you are going to spend before leaving Laos.

The Nam Phou Fountain

I ambled back to the hotel and spent a lazy afternoon on the balcony watching the day go by. In the evening I grabbed a quick curry from the grandly named (but not so grandly built) Taj Mahal on Rue Yonnet. The food was basic but tasty enough. I then walked down Rue Sethathirat where there was a choice of bars to dive into. I wanted to feel invigorated, to shake off the stillness of the town around me. I was hoping the Samlo Pub was going to rejuvenate and energise me and provide a crazy, wild night I would never forget. With some trepidation, I pushed open the front door and entered.

The pub was empty. I sighed and asked what beer they had.

“Beerlao” chimed the upbeat barman.

“What else do you have?” I asked plaintively.

“Beerlao” beamed the barman again.

“In that case, I’ll have a Beerlao please.”

The pub itself was clean and well decorated. I sat at a table and pulled out my phone. I had a Thai sim, and could still pick up a Thai signal so I had internet. I got busy texting and Facebooking my friends back home. Well if no one was going to physically join me, I was going to have a virtual piss up!

During my second pint, something amazing happened. The barman had slung on a mix CD, and the first tune to blare out of the speakers was “What Difference Does it Make?” by the Smiths. Here I was in a little bar in Laos listening to one of my favourite bands of all time. And it was to get better – “How Soon is Now?” and “This Charming Man” quickly followed. Then, The Cure came on – “Lullaby”, “Lovesong” and “In Between Days.” Marvellous!

I sat in an empty pub, drinking beer, dancing in my seat and texting friends. I’ve been accused of being a sad git before, but here is the ultimate proof!

Then suddenly – dangerously on my third pint – the bar door flew wide and a stampede of rather large Laos women blew through the bar. I was genuinely surprised that many of these girls were on the large side; it’s not something you often see in Laos. They congregated around various tables throughout the bar, chatting raucously with each other.

Before long the bar began to fill out. It seemed this place only got going after ten. I started chatting with a British bloke called Brian and his tall Belgian friend. Brian looked and spoke remarkably like Billy Bragg, and as I drank another pint, I actually started to believe he was Billy Bragg.

One of the Laos girls in the bar that Brian knew came over and started chatting with us. She was a bright, flighty girl, very skinny with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. She introduced herself as Noi, and I would nickname her crazy Noi for the rest of the time I was in Vientiane.

By midnight, I had finished my sixth pint and the town was closing down. My alcohol tolerance was at an all time low, and I was all over the place. Outside the bar, I dropped my mobile phone and a concerned Noi managed to work out where I was staying so she could give me directions back. To be honest though, I have a “beer compass” that has never failed me yet. However, one thing you have to watch out for in Vientiane is the state of the pavement. Sometimes, the cracks are gaping holes that lead into the sewer.

The next day I awoke to the sound of imaginary crows tapping their beaks on my skull. I prised my eyes open and looked around my room. It had gone all wibbly-wobbly. I groaned, and contemplated ways of ridding myself of the pain from this terrible hangover, such as impaling myself on a ten foot spike, or hacking off my genitals with a rusty axe.

“Curse you Beerlao, you poisoned, seductive mistress,” I would have muttered under my breath had I the energy to do so.

I contemplated the last couple of days. I had done nothing, seen little, got drunk. The time almost felt wasted, but as I was to learn, taking a year off to travel is a marathon, not a sprint. You can’t expect to spend every day visiting fabulous sites, meeting new people and soaking up culture. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow. Like the Cure song, these first days in Laos were in-between days for me where I was adjusting to the new pace of life. Unlike the song however, it wasn’t yesterday, but today that I got so old.

A long shower brought back a semblance of consciousness, and I attempted to find a new place to eat at the Southern part of the town centre. On the way, a crowd of motorbikes were parked around a construction site, where a mobile crane was struggling to lift something from a ditch. In doing so, it had already knocked over a street lamp. A great crowd of people surrounded the ditch and the workmen looked uneasy as they worked in the mud. I thought that perhaps they had found an unexploded bomb but this was no wild speculation.

Laos is the most densely bombed country per capita in the history of the world. In the 1950s, Laotians fought a short, fierce war for independence from the French which led many unused bombs and anti-personnel devices scattered around the country. In addition, during the Vietnam War US forces carpet bombed the place to prevent the Vietnamese from using Laos to move troops and munitions so that even now, there are so many unexploded ordnances that it isn’t safe to stray from the path when walking in the countryside.

Beautiful chaos

I couldn’t really work out what was happening as the crowd was thickening all the time, so I trudged to the restaurant only to find there was no food left. Instead, I beat the weary path back to the Khouadin restaurant to fill my empty soul. Inside was another westerner – a British girl in her late twenties with waif-like curves, generous flowing hair and sensuous, deep brown eyes.

“Good morning,” she smiled warmly at me.

“’Wuuuuurrrggghhhh!” I scowled through lips that wouldn’t move. I grabbed a plate, piled it high with assorted delicacies from the buffet and found a dark corner where I could ingest my food like a fly. I immediately felt bad for being so antisocial, but the universe was determined I would behave like a dying insect for the remainder of the day.

And who am I to argue with the Universe?

This blog covers the period 19^th-20^th January, 2010.

Useful Links:

The great open source Wikitravel guide to Vientiane: http://wikitravel.org/en/Vientiane

The Travelfish take on the city: http://www.travelfish.org/location/laos/vientiane_and_surrounds/vientiane/vientiane

Danger UXB: http://www.uxolao.org/uxo%20problem.html

My visa for Thailand expired at midnight. I had less than twelve hours to flee the country and travel over seven hundred miles. When you are travelling, your only real challenge is getting from one place to another, so why not add to that challenge by having to make a ridiculous madcap dash across the country?

Luckily, I had found a very cheap flight from Phuket to Udon Thani in north east Thailand. From there I was going to catch a bus to the Friendship Bridge between Nong Kai in Thailand and Vientiane in Laos. I wasn’t sure what time the bridge closed for the night, but I guessed it would be around 10:00pm (I was right).

The flight to Udon Thani was late and the queue for it was confusing since the queues for all the flights seemed to merge  into one big tangle of people. I found myself standing in the wrong place at one point and started panicking, thinking I had missed the plane. However, once I went down to the entry gate and looked around, the queue became more obvious: the Udon Thani district is where many of the go-go bar girls come from and the queue mostly consisted of excited, chattering girls heading home for a break. One kathoey was dressed as a man, probably as a show of respect for his family, but could hardly hide the flowing hair and long finger nails. He looked awkward. I felt sorry him.

In the end, the flight was straight forward and the minivan to the bridge was easy to find just outside the exit of the small airport. There were only a handful of foreign tourists on the bus, which made the journey more interesting as strange dialects clicked and clucked across the air. I looked out the window and noticed that the town was quite busy and industrious, and the houses in the suburbs looked comfortable and modern. Maybe the redistribution of wealth brought about by tourism and the prostitution industry had brought the place from agricultural backwater to modern metropolis. Either way, that’s a hell of a double edged sword.

About fifteen of us disembarked at the bridge gate two hours later. We gave our passports to the border guards and were stamped out of Thailand. At least I had made it out on time without breaching my visa agreement. On the other side of the gate was a bus queue, and feeling tired, I sat on my backpack waiting for the bridge bus to arrive. It’s funny how travelling can make you feel exhausted even though you do little more than watch the world go by through a dirty window.

Eventually a big, old, rickety bus came to take us across no-man’s land. I hadn’t bought a ticket as I should have done, but the bus driver took the eight baht directly from me. As we crossed the bridge in the twilight, I could clearly see the Industrial buildings and the houses on the Thai side; street lights twinkling, brightly illuminating the streets. In sharp contrast, on the Laos side, there was nothing but a dark tree line along the Mekong River and a couple of unlit buildings in the distance.

Five minutes later we were at the Laos border. At the customs office, we were handed entry papers to fill in and sign. There were a number of tables and benches nearby so I sat down and began to scrawl away as quickly as possible so I could be processed quickly. As I filled the papers in, a middle aged Laos man sidled up to me and peered over my shoulder. He offered me a pen when I clearly had one in my hand and I smiled and said, “No thank you.” He continued to stare at me like a dog eyeing a favourite chew toy. I continued scribbling until I became uncomfortable, picked up my bags and moved to another desk. As it turned out, he was a minivan driver who didn’t speak good English and was trying to find a way to introduce himself. One of the other travellers succumbed to his strangely polite advances and managed to snag a good deal into Vientiane for eight of us while we waited for our visas to be processed. I was the last to hand in my papers along with a single passport photo (I’d taken 16 with me from the UK) and 35 US dollars entry fee. Paying in other currencies incurs a heavy conversion penalty. Luckily I always carry at least one hundred US dollars on me when travelling abroad. It’s especially useful for border crossings, when you find yourself without any local currency and in, um, the USA.

Fifteen minutes passed and my name was called out first. They had obviously processed the papers in reverse order. I approached the office tentatively.

“You’ve been refused entry,” said the guard.

Before I had time to register the implications of what he had just said, he cracked a big grin and started laughing. “Only a joke!” he shouted jovially, and handed me my passport with the visa good for thirty days glued inside. If a border guard - normally straight laced and with an anal sphincter as tight as a wing bolt on an aircraft - could play with me like that, what would the rest of Laos have in store?

Visas processed, we shuffled through the barriers at the end of the bridge and piled into the minivan. It drove in darkness through the dusty outskirts of Vientiane and I didn’t take much in, knowing I would be here for a couple of days anyway. The bus driver stopped in Rue Pangkham, an area with plenty of hotels and guest houses, so I jumped out with two other backpackers and we trampied down the street looking for places to stay. We had already been warned that many places were already full by the driver, and after asking at four or five guest houses without any luck, we came upon the Phonepaseuth, which only had one room available. My travel buddies turned it down because it was too expensive – eight pounds a night. This was within my budget though so I asked to see the room, mainly because my backpack was already stripping skin off my shoulders and I was tired. The room was right at the top of the building – no lifts here – but was clean and had a balcony. By the time I got back downstairs I felt like Dawn French after a cake binge and was too tired to refuse it. I later learned it was the best room in the place – even the lonely planet guide name checked it. It was just as well as I later learned that most of the other rooms were windowless and cramped.

The view from the guest house balcony.

So there it was. I had travelled from Phuket to Vientiane in about nine hours without pre-booking anything other than a flight. What’s more, I did it all for less than fifty GBP and really enjoyed winging the whole thing, in addition to seeing some out of the way places that not a lot of foreign visitors get to see.

Useful Links:

The Friendship Bridge: http://www.gonomad.com/transports/0011/clontz_laos.html

Other useful info on getting to Vientiane from Thailand: http://www.laoworld.net/?mid=transportation&page=2&document_srl=4397

For visa on arrival into Laos information: http://www.laos-guide-999.com/visa-on-arrival.html

This blog covers the 18^th January, 2010.

Thailand is affectionately known as the land of smiles by many visitors. The Thai people are slow to anger but quick to temper once roused, something I can fully appreciate. However, the wizened minibus driver that transported me from Krabi to Phuket was neither. He was perma-mad. His driving was as erratic as his thought processes, and they in turn were as erratic as a rabid dog that had just licked mustard onto its balls.
My new found friend Tim needed to catch a plane to Australia via Singapore whereas I was off to Laos. We booked a minibus to take us from Krabi to Phuket, but because of the kind of incorrect assumptions that are ubiquitous in all forms of human communication, we ended up being taken to the airport instead of Patong – Phuket’s main town. After a short, furious argument with the crab-faced minibus driver who refused to take us further despite generous offers of extra coinage (and even though he was going further for the other people in the bus), I jumped out, slammed the door and ripped out my bags, cursing vehemently at the slack jawed old fuckster. Foolish pedants rile me in any country.
We promptly found a metered taxi and hightailed it to my hotel in central Patong. Tim had an evening flight, so he temporarily dumped his stuff in my room. As we were leaving to grab some food he noticed a huge cockroach scurrying around the bathroom. I tried to catch it in a glass but it scurried behind the wall mirror. Unperturbed, I grabbed my trusty gaffer tape and sealed its exit for a couple of days until I was ready to leave. Gaffer tape is truly a traveller’s cure all.
We found an Indian Curry House nearby and ate our tasteless meals while we watched a gaggle of prostitutes across the road accost any man that walked by, flirting outrageously, cackling wildly and grabbing them salaciously in an attempt to spin them into their parlour. I have to admit that it was very funny to watch – the girls were so boisterous they were chatting up men walking past with girlfriends on their arm. A couple of times, they even shouted across the street to attract lone men to cross over. All this was done with playful high spirits, though realistically, it was also a successful business model.
We left the curry house and ducked past the girls on the other side of the street, almost disappointed not to be huckstered by them. It was mid afternoon, so Tim and I wandered down to the beach to see why this was such a tourist spot. Although bedecked by cracked and bloated bags of leather smouldering slowly in the sun (or package holiday tourists as they are sometimes called), the combination of sand and sea was actually quite pretty here.

We wandered around town for a short while, then Tim grabbed his stuff and we said our farewells, with promises to meet up again when I hit Australia.
After a shower, a shave and a shit, I donned my gladrags and headed onto the main strip to see what was happening. Down Ratuhit Road in the twilight, I passed a large building draped with illuminated hoardings. These advertised massages with a happy ending. It was the kind of place where your feet wouldn’t touch the floor when you left – which is probably just as well as they would be stuck to it otherwise.
It was a Friday night and my final destination, Bangla Road, was throbbing with energy. I idled up and down the neon-sprayed street, taking my time to eye up the best venues. As I walked, the crowd grew thicker. It merged and weaved, bodies dodging to and fro amongst the throng like fish in an outrageously lit aquarium. There were lobster coloured tourists fresh from a ten hour lounge at the beach glowing gently in the twilight, the older "farang" parading their latest female acquisition like ten year olds with a new toy, families trying not to lose each other in the fray, barely clothed Thai girls working the foreign boys and an assorted number of drunken partygoers, ladyboys and general freaks. It was all good.

Bangla road just before the crowd grew heavy.

A number of Sois (sidestreets) run off Bangla Road, but I didn’t head down any of them. They mainly seemed to consist of go-go bars and bar beers. Instead, for my first drink of the day I headed for familiarity - Scruffy Murphy’s - an Irish Bar that had a live band playing. It wasn’t so much that it was familiar or even that it had live music, but that it was moderately empty at this early period and I could sit down and have a drink without standing in a bustling queue for ages - something I can only tolerate after a few beers.
Inside I got chatting to a bunch of lads from the UK. I thought it funny that one Geordie boy was supporting Chelsea against Sunderland – and not because he was a Newcastle fan either. As a QPR supporter, I can categorically say I hate it when people support teams just because they are doing well. Look at the shit I’ve had to put up with supporting QPR (and Scotland for that matter) all these years! Yet still my allegiance is firm...
I left Scruffy Murphy’s and dodged into a nearby bar playing "One" by U2 simply because I liked the song. As it happened, the bar was called the U2 Bar. I ordered a Singha beer and "Going Underground" by the Jam came on – a song I love. I found myself singing along to it and just across from me, another bloke was doing the same thing. His name was Joe and was originally from Stoke but had relocated to Brisbane in Australia. Joe was a thoroughly nice bloke and we talked about music and travel in general. I bid farewell to him after a couple of beers as I was starting to feel pretty drunk and wanted to check out the Hollywood Disco across the road before full on inebriation set in.
Inside the disco, thumping dance tunes marched out of the sound system like an army of Titans on the warpath. The disco itself was a large rectangular room with a few tables and chairs on one side and wall mounted screens showing nothing of interest. The place was filled with a mixture of Westerners and Thais, all a bit drunk like myself, all intent on a good time like myself.
One of the main things about solo travel is that conversation is the best way of meeting new people. I knew that I would be drinking in Patong, so I had booked myself a cheap hotel so I could recover from the inevitable hangover the next day in peace. However, in a hotel it’s much harder to meet like minded people before going out the way you can in a hostel. Subsequently, roaming a large club trying to chat to people while music drowns out every other syllable becomes nightmarish. Additionally – and I don’t know if this is just a problem with me – but the bass sounds in a club tend to completely drown out the bass tones in people’s voices, so whenever someone talks to me they sound like they have just inhaled a lungful of helium. Nevertheless, I attempted to chat to a few groups of people, but the music was just too loud for the conversation to flow. I consoled myself by drinking Singha and watching some incredibly fit Thai girls gyrating on the dance floor before becoming bored with my inability to talk to anyone and leaving for my bed.
The next day I ached all over. My tolerance for alcohol was still pretty low – I had only drunk about six bottles of beer and yet it felt like Neil Peart was banging away on my skull as if it were his own drum kit. I lay in bed half the day with a James Bond novel, then trundled a short distance to the Kohinoor Indian Restaurant which was empty but served tasty food. As I walked back, a van seemed to follow me advertising a Thai Boxing match on Monday night – something the PA announcement made sure was lodged in my brain by repeating it three times. “Monday night! Monday night! Monday night!” Like a thirteen year old relative, it was amusing and annoying at the same time.
My stay in Phuket was a short one – I left the next day for Laos – but I think if I had stayed any longer I would not have enjoyed it. Brash and loud, the streets were scummy, unkempt and packed with people determined to enjoy themselves no matter what the cost to the environment or culture of the island. And I was no different. However, I had only stayed in Patong, which is no advertisement for the whole of the island. One day I will return to Thailand, and perhaps see a different side to Phuket, but for now, there is at least one nice thing I can say about Patong. It was sunny.

This blog covers the period 16th - 18th January 2010.

Warning: There is no swearing in this blog. Or is there?

I travelled through winding passes bordered by thunderous mountains, crossed rivers and streams jumping and playing in emerald excitement, witnessed raw, natural beauty from craggy peaks with sheer drops. And at the end of my journey, there she lay: Krabbi Town, the shittiest old boiler of a holiday hole you could ever want to visit.
I fell out of the bus and immediately jumped on the back of a motorbike, backpack and all. The driver was a cocky son-of-a-bitch who immediately started going the wrong way down the main road until I tapped him on the shoulder and told him to turn around. Thank goodness for India - it had taught me just to give directions and not get involved in any kind of face saving activity.
I was safely though unassuredly dumped at the entrance to the River View hotel, where I was met by the very genial manager who gave me some good ideas for things to do in Krabi. Being a local, he was very informative and would make a big difference to my visit. I would book nearly all my trips with him and he actually waived his fee on one of them.
By now it was late afternoon and I was tired. I wandered down past the surprisingly named Krabi River, watching longtail boats puttering off to uncountable destinations.

I waited half an hour for this fucking shot...

I drifted back to the hotel in the twilight, wondering where the world had disappeared to. If this was a holiday town, then it must be where the dead came to spend their decrepit vacations, mouldering in stained wicker armchairs whilst talking about the state of decay, because there was little sign of life here.
The next day I strolled into town. At the central crossroads, large plastic gorillas sat atop the traffic lights. They didn't light up, they didn't move and they didn't crazily try to direct traffic into a big pile up, though that would have been funny. However, as Krabi High street is Squaresville daddio, it made a good reference point for when you were lost by the mundanity of the place.
Seemingly from nowhere, the over friendly motorbike taxi driver that had taken me to my hotel the previous day appeared before me as if he had just sloughed off Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. He shook my hand vigorously and attempted to set up a number of tours with me. I picked up the cloak he had just dropped and made myself invisible, walking away as if nobody could see me. He stared after me as if I was crazy, but I wasn't. I was invisible.
I whisked through the shopping centre, buying some swimwear for a trip I intended to take later in the week. The mall I found myself in was clean and modern and comparable to any western mall apart from the unfamiliar brands, which was refreshing.
I ambled around town and found a quirky little cafe that dressed itself down to look like a tribal kitchen. It was called First Corner and had a rather good selection of veggie food. The owner greeted me with a smile and went about the business of delivering my food laconically and without fuss. It was delicious and I returned there several times that week.
I headed down to the docks to see if I could get a boat to Railay, a supposedly beautiful peninsular with great beaches. The boat driver was waiting for eight people to turn up. I was the only one waiting so I decided to go another day.
Later in the evening I visited a bar called the Old West Saloon. It was supposed to be Krabi's hottest bar, but the only heat it was generating was hot air from the mouth of a rather loud American bragging about his travels in Thailand. I settled down for a few beers and pulled out my iPhone to see what was going on back home. After a little while, a young bloke who was one of the only other patrons in the bar that night asked to see what apps I had on my phone. It was an unusual request, but I let him have a peek and he seemed a little disappointed. It turned out that he was an iPhone developer and had a popular app available - an Alan Partridge soundboard.
We got chatting and Tim (as he was called) turned out to be a bright young man and really good company. We were interested in many of the same subjects and talked about technology (especially the iPhone), Ancient Egypt (we were both fans), music (comparing playlists), women (a sometimes endless and bewilderingly complex topic in itself), books, the environment, conspiracy theories and other general bollocks. Beers went down fast and turned into sambuca shots. Before we knew it, we were both battered, it was half five in the morning and we were staring into the faces of some very cheesed off bar staff.

Me and Tim in the Old West. It’s vaguely possible that I may be slightly drunk here.

Promising to meet up again the next day, we said our farewells and I stumbled back to my hotel. As I was entering, the sun was rising and the hotel manager was at the door to greet me.
"What was open at this time in the morning?" he asked, a quizzical smile upon his face.
I stretched my arms wide and slurred, "The whole town was open for me." For some reason I thought this to be an incredibly urbane response, and I hauled my slumped frame up the stairs to my room, giggling all the way.
The next day was a write off. Again i tried to jump on a longtail boat to Railay, but by the time I got down to the docks mid-afternoon, the last boat had sailed.
Instead, I ate in First Corner and met Tim down the Old West where we continued our conversations from the previous evening but in a naturally much more subdued manner, even managing to get an early night.
I had booked a tour the next day marketed rather lazily as the "James Bond Tour," the reasons for which will become apparent. However, the day would be spent around Phang Nga National Park, a truly wondrous place.
A minibus picked me up outside my hotel and took me to a larger bus which then sped around Krabi for an hour until we reached a small dock near the tourist town of Ao Nang.
The longtail sped off with about twenty of us on board, spray curling through the air and cooling our faces as we made our way past Coconut Island and on to Kao Majoo. Here we disembarked and three of us jumped into kayaks with a jovial local man who spoke softly in Thai as he paddled us around. We went through Tam Lod, a limestone cave that led into an isolated cove where a vital stillness silenced the voices of the other tourists around us. It was quite beautiful.

We ploughed on through a shallow sea, under arches and natural tunnels, past drenched limestone crags with greenery clinging to them like drowning men. The scenery was astonishing.

Nice

Next the longtail sped off through Phang Nga Bay to Ko Khao Phingkan. Here, a monolithic limestone crag called Ko Tapu pushes its way up 20 metres from sea level. This site was filmed in 1974 for the Man With the Golden Gun, and so the island is often referred to as James Bond Island. It really was a pretty little place, but unfortunately it's become so commercialised that stalls have been set up selling all kinds of tourist tat and shutterbug idiots like myself stumble around the winding paths of the island trying to make the best of the light, whilst essentially all taking the same photo.

The longtail took off once more, and the view of James Bond Island from the sea was quite spectacular. Being a scene locator for the film industry must be such a difficult job.
Next we headed for Ko Panyee. Sheltered by a huge limestone karst, this floating village was started by three Muslim families 200 years ago who weren't made welcome on the mainland. Now Ko Panyee is a thriving fishing port, and of course, a main stop in the Phang Nga Bay tourist circuit.

The village itself is colourful and well maintained with a mosque, a quaint little school and shops everywhere - mainly aimed at tourists but with some also selling fare for the locals. It's such an impressive place to walk around and soak up the atmosphere, but it looks absolutely amazing from the water.

Next, we headed back to the mainland and jumped on the bus that took us to Wat Suwankuha, or the Monkey Cave Temple.
One of the Buddha statues here had an unsettling stare, a bit like the stranger that your parents warned you about when you were a child. It was as if the real Buddha had been stolen and an Asda replica had been put in its place. I must admit though, I kind of liked this Buddha. He was quirky and different - so unlike all the other Buddhas I was to see on my travels.

The cave itself was large and dank, and filled with hanging bats high on the ceiling. It was quite interesting to explore for about five minutes or so. To the rear of the main cavern was an incline that led out onto a lovely, peaceful view of the rainforest surrounding the cave. None of my fellow travellers found this spot, and I stood there for a while, breathing in the sweet, clean air and marvelling at natures wonders around me.
Back outside the cave, some lazy macaques begged for nuts that lazy vendors were selling to lazy tourists. I ignored this sham even though the monkeys were cute, and jumped straight back on the bus.
We were driven overland to a wooded area where a small, unimpressive waterfall trickled gently through the trees. I explored the rainforest a little, bumping into a Golden Orb Weaver spider, much like those I had seen in the forests of Wayanad in India but much smaller.
Afterwards, we were returned individually to our hotels, and after another meal at the First Corner Cafe, I headed down to see Tim and some other travellers at the Bluejuice Guesthouse where he was staying. We had a few drinks and played a card game called Stupid Bastard which was new to me. Luckily I won. I don't know whether that made me a stupid bastard or not. I think I've just answered my own question.
The next day it was time for another trip. The usual deal - a convoluted bus to the docks, but this time we were in a speedboat headed for Ko Phi Phi. The boat bounced and frolicked among the waves as it sped across the Andaman Sea towards Bamboo Island. We disembarked, and I walked the empty beach while white sand and azure sea caressed my eyes.

I made my way inland and hid from the harsh sun beneath a canopy of trees. What a beautiful island!
We took off at speed again, past mountainous islands to Hin Klang, a coral reef just over a mile off Laem Tong Beach on Phi Phi Island. Here I went snorkelling for the first time in my life, and what an amazing place to snorkel! The water was pure emerald, with the brilliant, multi-hued coral clearly visible.
At first, as I struck out from the boat, I swallowed a couple of big gulps of salty water and gagged. I flapped around like a seal having a stroke for a few seconds, then I reapplied the snorkel and had another go. Once you get used to the mask and breathing through a pipe, snorkelling is great fun. Within five minutes I was gliding serenely above the reef, staring in awe at the hundreds of brilliantly coloured fish. There were angel fish and parrot fish, fast swimming long bodied fish with an electric blue colour zipping around my peripheral vision. I wasn't aware until later that the guys on the boat were feeding them, which accounted for their excitement. I swam with the shoals and they swam with me. I didn't want to leave the beautifully warm water, but eventually I pulled myself out once I was sufficiently prune-like.
Next we headed off to Phi Ley Bay. Phi Phi actually consists of several islands. Of the two largest, the southern one, Phi Phi Ley is considerably smaller than Phi Phi Don but no less beautiful, and the bay we entered had staggering, vertical walls over a hundred metres tall. It was so naturally beautiful, it looked as if it had been concocted as a CGI backdrop for King Kong or Jurassic Park. The only real problem with it was me. Well not just me, but the other tourists with me. And not just them either, but all of the other tourists on all of the other boats that clogged up the bay as the vessels slowly and carefully drifted about trying to avoid each other. It was like an exceedingly dull "dodgems" track.

We left the bay and floated past the Viking Cave. This place is used to "farm" birds’ nests for the famous soup.
We accelerated off to Phi Phi Don for lunch at a Hotel near the main port. The food was average, and I spent more time windmilling at flies as they buzzed around my plate. The beach was pretty though.

Interesting business venture on Phi Phi Don beach

After lunch we headed to Maya Beach which was made famous by the film, "The Beach" starring the cabbage faced Leonardo Di Caprio (long before Martin Scorsese grabbed him and moulded him into a decent actor). There were complaints at the time that filming there had damaged the island's environment. However - I would contend that this has only happened since the beach became famous due to the film, because now it's awash with lobster pink tourists scuttling over the sands.

The boat crew gave us an option to either land on the beach or have more time for snorkelling. We sped away pretty quickly, and headed to Lohsamah Bay where we snorkelled for nearly an hour. There was a lot of brain coral around here and although there wasn't the same kind of diversity in the coral, the fish were in even more abundance. I had really found my snorkelling fins by now, and was dodging, weaving and turning with the fish as they swam around me. It was an amazing experience.
Finally, we drifted past Monkey Bay (where there were no visible monkeys – perhaps they had found my Harry Potter cloak) before heading back to the mainland.
Phang Nga Bay and the Phi Phi Islands were quite beautiful and should be on anyone's itinerary if they are in southern Thailand. By the way, Phi Phi is pronounced "pee pee" as in, "Nanny, I just done a pee pee in my pant pants and need a damn good hiding."
That night, Tim and I decided to explore the town a bit and find a different place to drink. We started in Bluejuice and headed past the Old West where the barman was sitting outside playing guitar. I grabbed it off him and began to play it and sing in the street. I hadn't played guitar since I had started travelling five months earlier and I really, really missed the feel and sound of the instrument. After showing off to an empty street for ten minutes, Tim and I headed down Maharaj, the main street in Krabi and found a bar called Crazy bar. Crazy was a place for locals, and we were the only westerners there. A band played covers as diverse as Blondie, Queen and Abba. They were pretty hot, but most of all, the female backing singer was hottest of all. I couldn't take my eyes off her all night!

My favourite has her lips curled around, uh, a microphone here

Tim and I agreed that the Crazy bar was a pretty cool place to hang out (especially when he got chatting to a really hot girl outside).
I slept in a bit the next day, but I was determined to finally make it down to Railay. I headed over to the docks but again I was the only one there and the boat driver was waiting for more people to come. Railay was definitely more of an early morning trip. However I found out that there was another dock a short way away that could definitely get me there. I negotiated with a cab driver who drove me there and bought me the boat ticket too. I waited patiently with five other people but again, the skipper was waiting for two more bodies. After twenty minutes I got annoyed with waiting around and suggested to the other passengers that we all chip in the fare for the two missing people. Everyone agreed and we left immediately.
The boat trip was short but really showed Railay off at its best. It really was an amazing sight from the water. When we got to the beach however, the boat could only go in so far, and dropped us about a hundred metres from firm land. I traipsed across sinking sand, getting stuck almost up to my knees in some spots. After a real slog which involved an exceptional amount of cursing on my part, I eventually made it to land and washed all the slurry off my legs.
I ambled down the beach, then cut across the island to the beach on the other side which was actually a lot nicer. Typically though, I didn't hang around. Fear of sunburn and general tedium usually keep me away from prolonged stays at a beach.

Beautiful Railay

I got the boat back to the dock and was given a lift back to town by a lady on the boat which was kind of her.
That night, Tim and I went back to Crazy where the same band were playing. Then we headed further down Maharaj Street until we came to a club called Room 69. Inside there were about fifty evenly spaced elevated tables with seats around them. There were TVs suspended from walls showing pop videos and a DJ playing standard house music. The place was pretty full. However I noticed that the girls were all sitting at one set of tables and the boys at another. It was like the start of a school disco where everyone stares wistfully at each other until someone has the courage to break the spell and cross the dance floor, only here, there was no dance floor.
One guy came up to us and laughingly pushed a whiskey bottle towards my mouth. I'm no whiskey drinker, but this seemed to be some kind of male bonding ritual so I took a gulp and he drank some of my vodka red bull. There were smiles all round, apart from one of his friends who eyed us suspiciously.
Eventually the club livened up as the boys and girls mixed.
I can't say I enjoyed the club, but then I rarely do enjoy clubs. It's hard to make conversation with loud music blaring, and Tim and I were out of our depth since we didn't know anyone and didn't speak Thai. Plus, it was all a bit sedate and formal. When we'd had enough of this new cultural experience, we headed home.
So there it was. Krabi Town had more than done its job. What started out as ambivalence had turned into a love of sorts. Krabi wasn't charming, but it was was cheap, it was real and it had superb connections for seeing the local sights. Compared to nearby Ao Nang which looked like a tourist trap, Krabi was a relief from hordes of visitors tramping down the beach with hankies on heads and ice creams clamped firmly in hands. Like a favourite, grisly old relative, it was comforting to be around and ultimately quite loveable. I hope to see her again someday.

This blog covers the period 9th-15th January 2010.

Resources:

General Krabi resources:

http://www.krabi.com/

http://www.krabinet.com/

For Krabi nightlife ideas and other good local info, check out this page and site: http://www.1stopkrabi.com/articles/krabi_nightlife/

"People are drifting like the waves on the sea, without direction like the restless wind, not knowing forward, not knowing back, just existing." Is There A Difference? - Howard Jones.

"It is more important to see the simplicity; to realise one's true nature, to cast off selfishness and temper desire." - Tao Te Ching Chapter 19.

Imagine a town where people get up in the morning, drop their kids off at school, then go to work in local offices, factories and shops. Imagine a town where people come home from work to watch TV with their families, or go down the pub with their friends to chat and listen to a live band. Imagine a town where dull modern buildings predominate, where a large Tescos sits on the edge of town, where cars and lorries trundle the roads all day. Sounds like any suburban town in the UK, right? Now imagine that this town has a magnificent thousand year old Buddhist Temple sitting on the High Street, where insects the size of your fist hum through the air, where brooding mountains with their own weather system perch on the horizon and where hundreds of miles of empty golden beaches are within an hours drive. Welcome to Nakhon Si Thammarat, Thailand.

I booked the minibus to Nakhon in Koh Samui, and after the uneventful ferry crossing to Don Sak Pier I was faced with a number of unmarked minibuses to choose from. I asked each of the drivers where they were heading until I found the right one. I was the only Westerner on board - a good sign.

I wanted to get off the beaten track, get away from the commercialism of the holiday islands and their hedonistic lifestyle. I wanted to live amongst people just going about their daily lives; to see a bit of the real Thailand.

The minibus tore through the Thai countryside, barely stopping to drop off the other passengers. As the heavily wooded hills flashed by, I kept wondering to myself why Arnold Rimmer from Red Dwarf was running in the local elections.

Has Chris Barrie moved to Thailand with political ambitions?

The bus dropped me off in the middle of town and at first I was a bit disorientated. My hotel was a couple of miles south of the centre, and I tried to work out how I would get there. Outside of the large cities in Thailand, there are no local taxis or buses. Instead, people are transported around via a Sàwngthàew (pronounced songtao) which is essentially a small truck with two sidelong benches in the back that people use like a bus. Your hotel will give you a guide to which of these to use when heading out, but if you arrive in town without planning, you could end up struggling to get anywhere.

In this case, a Sàwngthàew turned up and I tried to explain to the driver where I wanted to go but he shook his head sadly, the international sign language for, "I don't understand what you want and quite frankly I don't give a shit."

To be honest, he did as much as he could with the help of a passenger who spoke English, but this bus wasn't going near my hotel. However, the one that pulled up behind it offered to take me straight there for 200 baht. I knew it was a con - it should have been 10 baht and it should have gone around the houses picking people up and dropping them off before getting to the stop near my hotel, but I didn't know that at the time and had just been travelling in a cramped minibus for four hours and wanted to flop. On the spur of the moment, I did the deal without even bothering to haggle and was transported to the hotel with the Sàwngthàew to myself.

The Twin Lotus Hotel is a large, multi-storey building at the southern end of Nakhon. It's modern with a large opulent lobby and clean, spacious rooms, although they're starting to look a little weary. Still, at twenty pounds per night I was more than happy to stay there.

Hotel view

I dumped my stuff in my room and went for a walk (by the way, I'm getting sick of writing that line but it's what I nearly always do when I reach a new destination).

I found myself in the local superstore across the road. It was called Tesco Lotus, and was essentially a part of the Tesco group, but obviously adapted for Thailand. The right hand side of the store - like in the UK - sold electronic goods, stationary and clothes. Same brands, same products.

However it's the food section where the real changes are obvious. Noodles abound, the delicious scent of sesame oil and coconut drifts down the aisles, the people working the food stands and deli counter sing and shout for customers to come and view their wares, as if they are working on a Market stall.

Surprisingly in such a large store, I am the only white face visible. I see people staring at me, almost dumbfounded, as I walk around. Children stop whatever they are doing, their eyes bulging and their mouths agape in wonderment. Very small children being carried by their parents start to smile and instinctively reach out to touch my strange looking face.

The adults are no different, smiling at me as I walk past or pointing me out to their friends. I'm rather enjoying both their reactions and the attention.

I purchase my goods and head back to the hotel to devour them.

In the evening, from the 12th floor of the hotel, I watched the night descend quickly over the industrial landscape spread out before me. I ventured out, looking for a scent of the town - that unmistakable feature which makes it resonate to a unique frequency.

I wandered down the street outside the hotel where Google had told me there were a few bars. I walked dark, busy roads with little street lighting and no pavement. The trees, leafy and green even in winter, rustled gently and kept my only company as I walked. Nothing appeared to be open. I walked back to the hotel and further into town. A bar called Casanovas pumped heavy dance music into the night. It looked like a club full of very drunk Thai people. I didn't like the music, so I kept walking. There was nothing else around however, so I returned to the hotel, feeling defeated. Outside the lobby, I heard the loud click of an insect wing case, and turned to see a huge cockroach take to the air majestically like a helicopter to the tune of Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries.

The next day I took it very easy, trying to sort out some issues I had back home with my tenants (they weren't paying the rent), writing my blog and watching a little TV. In the evening I drifted downstairs to where a woman was murdering some Chinese songs to a piano accompaniment in this hotel's version of karaoke. She sounded like she had a vibrating love egg inside her, turned up to 11.

I headed to the outside bar, bought a drink and listened to the live band play a few competent but bland covers. There were about fifteen other people sitting around. One, a middle aged Thai man was sitting with what was obviously a kathoey, or ladyboy.

It's funny, but I can tell ladyboys quite easily. It's not just from lumpy throats or big hands either - it's mainly from mannerisms. Boys and girls have different patterns of behaviour, some innate, some instilled into them since they were born. It's this core set of behaviours that people who change sex are usually missing. If you're good at reading body language, you can pick it up quite easily, because the exaggeration of natural female mannerisms, or poorly acted - or especially badly timed - mannerisms will give the game away. Of course there's bound to be a few who you'll never spot as they are just naturals, but being a kathoey in Thailand is almost a fashion these days, and sadly, I believe gay men are driven to the op for financial reasons more than out of any real need.

The next day I moved to a hotel in the middle of town so I could be in the thick of the action.

I'd heard there was a little vegetarian cafe in town so I ploughed down the streets looking for it. The main street was packed with cars and motorcycles - people going about their daily business. I walked past a school where suddenly a thousand children emerged on their lunch break, cluttering the pavement. I felt like growling and roaring, legs apart and clawed hands held high in the air like a big, fat Godzilla scaring all the kids off the pavement, but instead I walked in the gutter so they wouldn't be in danger of tangling with the traffic. It seems that this one large school catered for the town and the surrounding villages, and it looked modern and well stocked. I passed by the central Market place where stalls were doing a firm trade with the locals. I walked past an ancient hand bell shaped stupa, blackened and leaning at an angle with age. I noticed a small but elegant temple on the other side of the road, with people coming and going, saying prayers and receiving blessings.

I couldn't for the life of me find my cafe though.

Ratchadamnoen – Main Street, Thailand.

On the road back, I passed by a garage where a bunch of mechanics were eating lunch. One of them shouted out "Hello!" and they all began to laugh. I turned and waited for the next sentence. They continued to laugh so I joined in. The caller jumped up, smiling and shook my hand. It seemed that was the only English he knew. Basically, the cheeky sods were taking the piss out of me, but it was all in good fun.

I passed a modern, clean restaurant with lots of Thai lettering plastered all over the windows, but the menu had one English word that jumped out at me - vegetarian! I ordered the dish - noodle soup with some vegetables in it. Simple but filling.

There was a Carrefour here. I dived in and bought some food for later to the sound of an hilarious tune that seemed to be a cross between 60s bubblegum pop and chanting monks - sung by girls with squeaky voices.

Thai Supermarket Music.m4a

(download)

Click here to download:

Thai Supermarket Music.m4a (833 KB)

I walked further up the High Street and clocked a couple of bars for future reference.

After a rest in the hotel, i went out in search of some nightlife. I passed the bars I had spotted earlier. There were girls sitting outside. They didn't say anything to me but I could tell straight away these were no bars. Clearly, they were bordellos for local men. One girl bowed lightly at me as I walked by and said hello. She seemed genuinely delighted to see a Westerner in her town, but there was no intent to persuade me to come in.

Light rain began to spot the pavement as I walked and I ended up at the Bovorn Bazaar where Market stalls and shops vied for trade during the day and bars waited patiently for custom at night. It was midweek however and nobody was out to play. I dodged a few shining, black carapaces as I trudged back - at least the cockroaches were in good form. A couple of girls dashed by on scooters, waving and shouting "Hello!" as they passed. I smiled and waved back, wondering where the party was.

Back at the room, a large cockroach had decided to keep me company. She spied me as I entered and froze, observing me, assessing the danger. She obviously didn't like what she saw as she scurried into a hole under the wardrobe and I never saw her again.

The next day I decided to venture down to the largest and most important Temple in Southern Thailand, Wat Phra Mahathat. As it was raining heavily, like all great idiot explorers I decided I knew a shortcut. I walked the backstreets right into a dead end on a building site. A wizened old man shooed me away whilst a man on a scooter laughed hysterically at my confused expression. He pointed the way out and I soon found myself back on the high street - Ratchadamnoen - and in a Sàwngthàew to the temple gates.

I spent a peaceful time wandering around the small stupas dotted around the temple. For the first time, I saw two Western girls who were obviously Buddhists as they made offerings and said prayers. Around the edge of the main temple was an array of golden Buddhas in their own enclosure.

Around the outside of the main enclosure, there were more golden Buddhas. Alongside them were a few golden statues of what I assumed were monks. These statues looked so realistic, it was as if their bodies had been covered by gold leaf after their death.

One of the many Buddhas surrounding the main pagoda. 

I sat on the floor with my legs crossed at the main entranceway to the pagoda, just enjoying the quiet ambience. Others would come and kneel or bow, say a silent prayer and then offer money for their prayer to be heard.

I wandered around the inner courtyard some more, noticing the lotus emblem on the pillars, then moved on to the attached museum. The museum curator, on old woman wearing a simple blue dress and wandering around in wrinkled bare feet tried to direct me. "You! Go here!" she shouted, pointing to a doorway behind her. I laughed at what would have been considered rude behaviour in my culture, but her English was poor and she was only trying to help, as determined by the huge grin on her face.

The museum housed a large reclining Buddha, and some great ornamental pottery and furniture. One wooden chest in particular had me captivated with its remarkable patterns interwoven with the likeness of animals. It was beautiful, and somehow reminiscent of the repetitive works of M. C. Escher. The date was marked 19th Century, which seemed unremarkable to me until I realised it was the Buddhist 19th century, making this piece mediaeval.

Face of the huge reclining Buddha

The museum was cluttered with lots of tiny religious pieces; small buddhas, old books used by monks, silver trees, rings and other general brick-a-brack that sat on dusty shelves, waiting to be discovered and loved. I found it all rather charming.

I left the temple feeling calm and very satisfied. Although it was the first Buddhist temple I had visited on my travels, I knew it would be one of the best.

I wandered back down the main street and began to sing a song in my head called "Is There a Difference," by Howard Jones. It was one of the few songs I knew with words directly influenced by Buddhist teachings, so it's no wonder my subconscious dredged it up.

As I walked, oblivious to the world as i sang the song in my head, I realised I was in the way of a girl on a motor cycle who had mounted the pavement and was waiting patiently for me to pass. I stopped at an intersection and took out my map to find my bearings. I felt something soft and wet on my foot (I was wearing sandals). I looked down, and the girl from the motorcycle was standing lightly on my foot and smiling mischievously. The people of this town certainly had a cheeky sense of humour!

I walked further up the road, exploring another small temple before finding a peaceful little river meandering through the edge of town.

That night I was determined to find a good place to have a beer. I asked at the hotel and they directed me to a bar on the highway called Bar 60. I walked down the highway through open air restaurants where people would cook up amazingly spicy fare at the side of the road and sell it to locals spread out on wooden chairs. Three stray ponies began following me down the road in the hope of a sugar lump. I found the bar - it was packed - and ordered a beer. I was sat near the entrance on an elevated floor, and people would say hello to me as they entered. A band was playing - very entertaining and constantly getting the crowd involved. I chatted to one of the female singers who did a cover of Linger by the Cranberries. She had an excellent voice.

As the evening wore on I enjoyed myself more and more, and although the language barrier prohibited any long conversations, little waves and smiles that I received all night made me feel at home. In fact, Nakhon reminded me of my home town, Stevenage, with its ordinary houses and dull work buildings, its cheeky people and lively nightlife. Earlier in the week, I had tried to find the essence of the town, and then I remembered the Stevenage motto: "The heart of a town lies in its people." If that is so then this town had a big, healthy, beating heart, pulsing with warmth and laughter.

Nakhon Si Thammarat. Say it once. Say it again. Feels good doesn't it?

This blog covers the period 5th-9th January 2010.

Resources:

http://www.everythingnakhon.info/

Warning: My matrix filters let through sweary words.

"I was trying so hard to please myself I was turning into somebody else." Out of the Blue (Into the Fire) - The The.

The minibus driver threw his vehicle around the roads as if it were an unbreakable child's toy with plastic figures inside it. He obviously wanted to get back home in time for lunch, but at this rate we would be the ones who would end up as lunch - for worms. I can't say I was too worried though, I'd seen far more frenetic driving in India. The gasps and the screams of the other passengers were entertaining in their own right.

We were travelling from Surat Thani Airport to Don Sak Peer where the ferry to Koh Samui departed from the mainland. I had booked the flight from Bangkok as it was the only route available at the last minute.

As we neared the peer, a number of angular limestone mountains poked their ragged faces from beneath the earth like trolls; their hair, dense foliage which clung on at every precipice; their features, sun-bleached rock and shadow.

On the ferry to Koh Samui, I watched billowing cumulous clouds skate across the pearl flecked sky. An old lady approached me angling to find passengers to cart around in a minibus to hotels on the island. It could all have been a scam but it wasn't.

Approaching the island

The roads around the island weren't in the best of repair, but it's amazing to think that there were no roads here at all 25 years ago, the island being uninhabited at that time. Now there was infrastructure, but it was all a bit weary.

I fell asleep on the bus and as it came to a juddering halt, I jumped out still half asleep. Unfortunately it was the wrong stop. I was a mile from my hotel and had to march over a large, wooded hill, dodging bikes of all descriptions as they hurtled around the winding bends of the road.

I dropped off my backpack at the hotel and went for a walk. I was in the Lamai Beach area and it was mid afternoon. There seemed like a lot of bars around but not too many punters - probably still recovering from the night before based on the reputation this place had.

I found something to eat, a Tofu curry from a place advertising Vegetarian specials. The curry had a long thin spiral of hard aluminium in it - as if cut from a tin can. When I showed it to the waiter he just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing I can do about it."

I made my way to the Shamrock, an Irish bar in the centre of town. There I got chatting to a madman who I shall call Luke.

Luke was in his mid-thirties and ran his own business which was very hands off, so he spent much of his time travelling the world living like a playboy. We had a good conversation about our travels, and he also revealed he had a few problems with people not liking him as he felt was far too practical and not very empathetic.

We downed more beers, chatted about football and music, and then started getting really drunk. He began talking about all of the many prostitutes he'd had and how it had clouded his judgement of women.

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"You can get anything you want here from P4P to GFE."

"Eh?"

"Pay for play and the girl friend experience. I do it so often now that I can't be bothered with women back home. Come, I'll show you."

We started walking around town and found some "bar beers". These are open air bars grouped in little clusters worked by bar girls who either sit around playing games like Connect 4 or dancing on the tables.

We drank more beers and chatted with the girls, then he pulled me away down the end of the High Street. Here was a massage shop with a collection of girls waiting for punters outside. He grabbed a girl and pulled her inside motioning me to do the same. The other girls tried to pull me in but I sat that one out at a bar across the street. He came out ten minutes later with a big grin on his face.

"Let's go clubbing."

We headed down to the Subterranean Club but it was mostly empty and not too entertaining. Next we headed to more bar beers. By this stage I was completely rat arsed, and must be honest that I found the whole thing to be a bit dangerous and quite exciting. Here I was, living it up in a town full of gorgeous and available women who all seemed keen on me. But as Marty Pellow once sang, I was living in a world of make believe.

We went to the Fusion Club but as we arrived Luke decided to call it a night - he had an early flight to catch the next morning. We said our farewells and I started to walk back to my hotel. Just as I reached it, a girl was emerging from the hotel reception and we exchanged glances. She was one of those girls I find immediately attractive for some reason (although the reason on this occasion could well have been twelve pints of lager). I started chatting to her and asked if she fancied a drink. We headed back to the club and got some more drinks in. Her name was Lek, she was 34 and Koh Samui was her home. We chatted some more and started to get on really well, and as the neon turned to fuzzy velvet and people started to duplicate before my eyes, I thought we had pulled each other. However, as the evening unravelled and my drinking spun out of control, I found out to my cost that I hadn't pulled Lek at all.

After a long, long lie in the next day, I got a phone call from my mate JJ. He and his better half Debbie were in town and we were going to investigate a few watering holes together. You may remember I met these two rapscallions back in Paris. Personally I think they are stalking me around the world and I shall do as much as I can to encourage this further. The first night was an easy stroll down to the Shamrock with JJ and I knocking a few back to the sound of a Filipino cover band thrashing out sometimes tuneful, sometimes painful songs, whilst Debbie had an early night as she is a girl.

JJ and Debbie

When JJ hit the skids too, I went back to Fusion bar. Again I have to admit that the whole thing was tantalising even though it was like looking at an alien landscape. I could see how people could get lost in this lifestyle. The Thai attitude to sex is liberal and natural, unhindered by the thousands of years of repression built into Christianity by St. Augustine in the fourth century.

There was a tap on my shoulder and there was Lek. She seemed a different person from the carefree girl I met the night before. She was clingy and manipulative, claiming a stake on me and directing my every move - especially who I kept company with. In fact, the only person she "allowed" me to speak with was her friend - a Kathoey (ladyboy) with flapping great hands.

Quite a few of the girls working the bars up and down Thailand like to keep a few foreign boyfriends on the boil, as they can be a good source of income even when they are back home. Lek was older than most bar girls, and although she was pretty and engaging, she probably wanted to retire soon. She was looking for a foreign sponsor and it seemed I fitted the bill. Although I was drunk, I hate being cosseted and so started to make my way back to the hotel. Lek followed me and I explained several times that, like Greta Garbo, I wanted to be alone. Finally, at my hotel door she got the hint and left. That was the last I saw her, but she would continue to phone and text me until I left Thailand and ditched my Thai sim.

I woke late the next day and idled, reading on the bed until my friends were ready to go out. Again we had an easy stroll down to the Shamrock with Debbie and I knocking a few back to the sound of the same Filipino cover band, whilst JJ had an early night as he is a girl. We walked down to a beach bar and chatted idly to the relaxing sound of the surf.

Lamai Beach, Koh Samui

And so it was New Year's Eve. Not the New Year celebrated in most Buddhist countries (it was actually the year 2553 in Thailand), but the Gregorian New Year of 2010. JJ, Debbie and I convened at lunch time and had a nice meal in one of the beach side restaurants. The beer was flowing freely, the talk was easy and hours disappeared in the haze of good times. We wandered into town late afternoon for more food and as night descended we found ourselves back on the beach, lounging on comfortable chairs. As midnight approached, Chinese Lanterns rose into the sky in steady streams from various points on the beach. More and more rose majestically, casting orange glows across the night sky until thousands arced their way over the island, outshining the stars.

Then the fireworks began. Rockets sped into the sky and burst a hundred glowing embers of all colours, aerial shells exploded furiously as if emulating the lifetime of the universe in the blink of an eye, pin wheeling detonations illuminated smiles and gasps while runaway Catherine wheels somersaulted along the beach. Cracks, pops and fizzles burst here and there to the smell of gunpowder and sea. It was violent and it was beautiful.

We drank some more and partied through the night. I was so pleased and comforted to be able to spend New Year with good friends. We walked back to town, but after JJ and Debbie retired I found myself back in the Fusion Club, attracted by the danger, by the unknown, by the sheer audacity of it all.

Fade to black...

I awoke in bed the next morning with a stranger lying next to me. She smiled and started chatting to me in Thai. I must have looked very rough, because she gave me a hug. I felt rough. I felt like a Zombie had eaten my brain and replaced it with a stack of nails which were now slowly making their way into the remainder of my skull.

I stared bleary eyed at the girl next to me, then hugged her back. I hugged her hard, spinning from the torment of a brutalised liver. I clung onto her for dear life as if I was about to fall off the edge of the world. We hugged each other and our movements were reassuring and tender, never sexual.

Her name was Lulu, she was 31 and she was from Udon Thani. She loved sad Thai ballads and spoke little English. Apparently, through sign language and a mixture of Thai and English I found out I had picked her up in the club the night before. I remembered none of this. I don't know what I'd promised her, but I paid her later in the day anyway just for clinging onto her like a frightened child for five hours and she looked at me rather strangely, smiling her quirky smile and clucking away to herself in Thai.

I hadn't come to Thailand to be a sex Tourist. I didn't want to end up like Luke; buying love and hating myself for it. My period of alcohol abstinence in India had lowered my tolerance, and the availability of cheap booze was obviously getting me so drunk that my base instincts were taking over. It just goes to show that when alcohol strips away our self image, with all of the associated assumptions and pretentions, there are some very basic driving forces at the core of us all.

I never ate at all that day.

Strange Koh Samui road sign that summed up my New Year’s day

The next day I bade farewell to JJ and Debbie who were off to another local Island. We went for lunch and I butchered some songs at a karaoke bar. It had been great seeing them - they were a link to my past - to what seemed like a different person in a far off age. In their presence they had kept me relatively sane, but I had changed in the last few months and was still changing; some strange metamorphosis brought about by new experiences, ever changing vistas and too much introspection.

Now it was time for me to move on too, find someplace where I was anonymous and free, but also out of temptations way.

For a while in Koh Samui I thought I would enjoy being someone who hasn't a care in the world, where no rules applied and where there was no such thing as responsibility - even to myself. I had been so intent on having a good time that I had lost myself in a place where nobody knew me. In a way, that is what my whole journey is about: to deconstruct all the familiar parts of my identity just to see what surfaces, to test myself, to gain new ground, to find different angles in a complex hall of mirrors. It's not always going to be successful as doing this relaxes your standard levels of self control.

The night before I left town I was sitting in a bar feeling bored and friendless when Lulu spotted me and approached, smiling. We gave each other a hug and sat together holding hands, content in each other's company. It was all rather sweet. Sometimes the loneliness of solo travel, or of a job that brings intimacy without emotion can lead you to miss the essentials of existence. The simple touch of another person, feeling their warmth, finding comfort in their presence without any obligation to be anyone but yourself. These are the things that make life worth living.

And in those warm moments in a ragged roadside bar in Koh Samui, watching the stars wink at each other across a black velvet void and listening to Lulu sigh, I found myself again, if only for a short time.

This blog post was written under the influence of Miles Davis and covers the period 28th December 2009 - 4th January 2010.

Warning: Contains adult language and scenes of a not very sexual nature.

A vast blue sky cut through with flecks of white paraded itself over my head as I headed towards Bangkok from the airport. A brilliant sun bleached the immaculate pavements, grass verges stretched and yawned, verdant trees leaned lazily toward each other like neighbours chatting over a garden fence.

As my taxi drew in towards downtown Bangkok, I was surprised by the number of gleaming towers perched upon the horizon, bright and proud like statues lining the road to some ancient state capital.

I yawned. I hadn't slept all night on my flight from Mumbai and that electric fuzz that sweeps around your brain when you're convinced it shouldn't still be light was shorting out my neurones.

The car left the motorway and turned onto Sukhumvit Road in the heart of the city. There were few vehicles here and all were driving in an orderly manner. The streets looked deserted; I wondered for a moment if it was some kind of national holiday. The few people that were around seemed to pace purposely, carefully and oh-so-slowly down the street, as if walking the prow of a ship in high seas.

The tall, elegant structures of glass and cement formed a hollow canyon and enveloped me in shadow.

"Where has the world gone?" spluttered my tired brain. It was if the earth's atmosphere had turned to tree sap, and all of us poor fools plodding slowly through it were gradually being entombed in amber, to be poised forever in six billion moments of mundanity.

Perspective is a funny thing.

Many people who have been to Bangkok may be surprised, even dumbfounded by my description of it. Most say it is a bustling, noisy, energetic city with far too much happening all at once. However, besides being over-tired, I had just spent nine weeks in one of the most populous countries in the world, where walking five abreast is the norm, where traffic jiggles and bounces around like a badly animated cartoon, where you are surrounded by the constant noise of car horns tooting and people jabbering. In comparison, Bangkok was not just sedate, it was almost tomb-like.

I had splashed out on a nice hotel in the city centre called the President Palace as I fancied a bit of luxury over the Christmas period. As soon as I had dumped my gear, as usual I was out on the streets having a gander at this strange new world I had found myself in. The hotel was on Soi 11 - a Soi being a lane leading from a main road.

I reached the junction at Sukhumvit Road and as if from nowhere, an Indian man appeared directly in front of me. I thought I was having some kind of flashback.

"Excuse me sir, it's your lucky day!" he chanted excitedly.

"No it isn't" I scowled and slid around him. My spiv dodging skills acquired in India were by now well honed. Even as I left him behind though, I thought I should have said to him in Churchillian fashion, "Sir, it may be my lucky day, but sadly it is not yours."

I found a supermarket - I'd forgotten all about these things - and stocked up on fresh fruit, salad, fresh bread, and wonder of wonders, Marmite! It's funny how you miss the simple things when you've been deprived of them. I also found a pharmacy and bought the secret elixir that seems to cure all my ills - Pepto Bismol. I'd been suffering from diarrhoea for the last eight days and I was starting to feel like a human colander. Within a day, this stuff had fixed up my insides. When I inevitably succumb to some fatal disease I'll just chug some of this stuff to cure it.

After a refreshing sleep, I wandered back onto Sukhumvit and walked around, eyeing the many market stalls crushed onto either side of the pavement. You can buy just about anything here as long as it is fake - watches, handbags, wallets, T-shirts and underpants - all mimicking famous designer names. There was also a vast selection of hooky DVDs ranging from poor cams of the latest movies to top quality copies of TV shows and a range of random porn flicks.

I hopped on the Skytrain -  a modern elevated railway that runs through the heart of Bangkok. It was clean, fast, had a regular service and was beautifully air conditioned. I got off at the MBK Centre a large shopping complex that has many small independent traders. The fourth floor is packed with phone accessories and I picked up some Bluetooth earphones as a Christmas present for myself.

Outside, a boxing ring had been set up for a number of Thai boxing bouts between some local contenders. The fighting didn't look too convincing. It was a free event so the fighters were no doubt saving themselves for a money match.

As I headed back to the hotel, looking around at the sleek new cars and the sweeping overpasses, the people loaded with shopping bags and weighed down with jewellery, I thought how modern this city was and how much it must have changed even in the last ten years. Tourism has brought a boom to Thailand, and with favourable exchange rates and Western Multinationals moving in to take advantage of the new money in the country, Thailand, like the rest of Asia, is on the rise.

That night, I was determined to head out and investigate the red light district around Nana Plaza as I had discovered it wasn't too far away. I've always found run down, seedy places to be far more interesting than the new and opulent. I grew up in a New Town, so I'm used to the safe but mundane.

I threw on my glad rags and found my way to a small bar at the end of Soi 11 called Cheap Charlies. And cheap it was. Effectively a bar leaning onto an open road where you stand and drink, Cheap Charlies isn't going to win any awards for decor. However, the beer is cheap and the place has bags of character.

I started chatting to some British boys in their early twenties who were just finishing up their first tour of Thailand and were full of that all knowing world weariness that only youth can afford.

Inevitably, my bladder filled and I headed for the toilet - a frail wooden outhouse by the side of the road. Inside the stinking shack, I heard some scuffling near my feet. I looked down to see a furry friend had decided to pay me a visit - a rather large rat. Now I like rats, and this beauty looked terrified of me, but when it saw that I wasn't moving (for fear of spraying my feet in the cramped conditions) it just scuttled under some pipes and disappeared through a hole in the wall.

I returned to the lads, got some recommendations for their favourite places to visit in Thailand and disappeared into the night.

It was three days before Christmas and I still wasn't in the mood for festivities. It was 30 degrees at night and sweat was running down my legs. However as I approached Nana Plaza, the local red light district, I heard a ho, ho, ho. Three of them were walking down the street, chatting.

I ducked into a large bar called "Gulliver's Travels" that looked half empty. Various older "farang" (Thai for Westerner) were sitting around with much younger girls glued to their sides. Another bunch of girls were playing pool. They were very good at it too, suggesting they spent a lot of time in bars. I chugged my beer and moved on.

I walked down Soi 4. This was it. The red light district. I braced myself. I found another bar and dived in. It was pretty full with what appeared to be karaoke on the stage. This wasn't so bad, I thought to myself as I tucked into my fourth beer. Not nearly as seedy as I thought.

I looked around. The bar was populated with couples - Western men, Asian girls. I got looks of surprise from the men, as if wondering why I hadn't hooked up with someone yet. It's funny how expectations of behaviour vary according to your geography.

I ordered another beer and noticed that the awful karaoke was actually a band playing mindless pop tunes with vacuous lyrics such as, "I love you and you love me, will you marry me?" Apologies to anyone who used that sentence as a proposal.

I was getting increasingly drunk. A middle aged woman walked into the bar, screwed up her face, turned around and then left. A large glitter ball that had remained static for most of the evening now started to slowly rotate, spilling beams of light over the faces of the disappointed, the lost or the just damn strange. By now I was on my sixth pint and I was convinced this wasn't a red light bar. It was just too much like any European club but with a large proportion of Asian girls.

My tolerance for alcohol was at an all time low. I hadn't drunk this many beers in the last four months and I was starting to feel a little blurred around the edges. Then something happened that made me sit up with a clear head and bright eyes. No, I wasn't being genitally manipulated by some Thai girl; the band had started playing "Killing in the Name", and what a great cover it was too. Clearly, they were talented musicians - they had just been playing too much rubbish all night. I got up and made it to the dance floor, stomping around manically and screaming the chorus when it came along - so much so that the singer beckoned me over for the final chorus and handed me the mike, where I happily screamed the final line over and over, "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!" Three days later I was surprised and thrilled to find out it had been the Christmas number one in the UK.

I staggered down the road after chucking out time and started chatting to some Brits who were standing by the corner of the main road. A Thai woman was getting drinks from somewhere and bringing them over to us. I was just happy to still be drinking. As we were talking about Bangkok and our first impressions of it, I was approached by a Thai girl in her mid twenties. I was giddy with the cooking lager by this stage and don't remember a lot of what she said, but I do remember she was very restrained and started relaying some kind of sad story to me. I suddenly realised where I was, that I was more drunk than I should be and it was time to go home.

As I was weaving down the road, two more girls approached me and tried to convince me that I should take them both back to my hotel. They were very pushy and aggressive with their proposal, but softened it all with smiles and laughter which deeply confused me.

I made my excuses and left.

The following day I had a nice long break from the world, watching telly and reading. I noticed that the Thais seem to love sad songs. I watched a few music videos - each portraying tragedies more graphic than the last, culminating in a video for a slow, melancholic song drenched with minor chords in which a tearful girl watches over a boy in a coma who then wakes and chases her from the hospital only to see her hit by a car. I was laughing my arse off.

I decided to upgrade my room for Christmas and as I stood at reception paying for the extra amount, one of the young interns stood at the counter, hands clasped together, smiling and bowing every time I spoke. She was so cute that I wanted to put her in a cage and keep her as a pet, although unfortunately there are laws preventing that, even in Thailand.

I went for a walk and up at the intersection, there was my Indian mate again. He was a Sikh and his job obviously wasn't sitting well with him as he almost had sorrow in his eyes as he spoke to me. Sikh's have a fearsome reputation for honesty, so perhaps that's what was making him uneasy.

"Hello sir, today is your lucky day..." I tried to remember the undelivered response from two days ago, but I got confused and just waved him away with a stern, "No."

Christmas Eve, then, and no one to visit. I'd done some internet research and found out that although I had been near the red light district I hadn't actually been in the thick of it. With that in mind, I dressed as a vagabond and melted into the darkening alleys. This time I found Nana Plaza straight away.

A square surrounded by three stories of bars and clubs with names like Fantasia, G-Spot and Hollywood. Random neon flashes across your face in all possible colours. Transient people enter and leave the square constantly. They often come in as a party of one and leave as two or more. But others arrive too; working girls striding in to start their shift or returning from an earlier job;  voyeurs like me just here to observe the human cavalcade of oddities - such as each other.

I sat at the bar in the centre of the square and bought a beer. A couple of girls working the bar eyed me seductively. I ignored them and they left me to it. I watched the streams of people melt and flow through the place, observed their initial hesitance as they stepped across the threshold of the square or the boldness of their movements as their intent became clear. Some had come looking for love and affection, others a quick grope and a cheap fuck. One thing was for sure - if you had money you could easily buy the second and at least the illusion of the first.

The bar girls now started laughing and joking and throwing me glances - trying to draw me in. One came straight up to me and asked where I was from. We started chatting and I bought her a drink. I asked her where she was from. It turns out that she came from a place where most of the professional girls in Bangkok come from, Udon Thani, a relatively poor agricultural area in the North East of Thailand. The girls from this area are slightly darker skinned than their Bangkok counterparts and are looked down upon for being uncultured peasants. Sadly, the TV and billboard adverts for skin whitening cream in Thailand are unremitting.

Bella, as she called herself, was remarkably open about what she did. She told me that a lot of the money she earns goes straight back to her family in Udon Thani. In fact, it is common and accepted there that a girl from a local family might be in the city, "working for a hotel."

As we were chatting, there was an almighty commotion from one of the nearby go-go bars, and a huge crowd formed. I stood up, and since the bar was on a raised platform, I could quite clearly see two of the bar girls going at each other ferociously. Fists were flying, hair was being pulled, red faces and tears were evident. I felt terrible, yet loads of men were standing around laughing. I wanted to jump down and split them up, but there was no way I was getting through that crowd, and to be honest, I would probably have been set upon by the locals for interfering.

After about five minutes or so, the fighting stopped. Only pride had been seriously wounded and the crowd started to disperse. The winner of the fight stomped back into the bar with her nose in the air and the loser stood around crying with nobody to comfort her. I don't know what she had done but I just felt like giving her a hug. However, I was in a red light district and that kind of behaviour could easily be misconstrued. The crying girl wiped away her tears and slunk back into the bar.

Now my curiosity was really piqued. I left Bella and walked down to the go-go bar which the girls had been fighting in front of. It was called Rainbow. I breathed deeply and walked in.

A long bar stretched from where I sat to the wall, mirrors on the floor, mirrors on the ceiling. Older women walked the space in between, making sure I had a full drink. Girls strutted on top of the mirrors. Music played. They shuffled tiredly. It was like watching performing animals in a circus.

I yawned. One of the girls yawned. I yawned again. Three girls yawned. At this rate we would all be asleep in ten minutes.

As they continued to shuffle tiredly across the stage looking as bored as I was, I looked around at the clientele. Nothing unusual; a few Japanese salarymen, older western guys and a few young bloods  looking goggle eyed. A mamasan approached and asked me what number I would like. I didn't understand until I looked up at the girls and realised they all had a number pinned to their skimpy costumes. I politely declined.

The music stopped, the girls got down from the stage. Some of them sat with men who had expressed an interest, the rest disappeared into a room in the back where another set of girls emerged, climbed the stage and set off on the one step shuffle all over again.

It was a machine churning out flesh for consumption and short term relationships as inconsequential as the whisper of a lover in a half remembered dream. There was more life to be found in a body bag, more excitement to be had at a Royal Variety Performance and more sexuality to be gained from a mouldy pork pie.

I left the square thinking it was all a bit dull.

The next day was Christmas. I'd spent just about every year with my Mum at Christmas, and as the day dawned, miles from the people I loved, I knew that this day would never be special. Instead of pretending to enjoy it, I did little. I walked the streets of Bangkok, harrying with the local vendors. I stood at the street corner where the Sikh salesman usually accosted me in the vain hope I could use my killer line. I found a local vegetarian cafe that made me an amazing Thai curry for Christmas dinner. Sated, I paced back to the hotel and watched episodes of 24 on some hooky DVDs I had bought.

I could feel a strange sense of ambivalence in me. On one hand, I was in a nice, easy place to live with all the amenities a modern city provides. On the other hand I was bored. My time in India had changed me, and I was in a transitional state.

My friend Anil Nadig had once warned me: once you leave India you will miss it - the vibrancy, the crowds; the sense of being alive. I laughed it off thinking it would never happen, but he was right. Here I was, looking for some kind of thrill and excitement in any way I could find it.

Perspective is a funny thing.

This blog covers the period 20-27th December 2009.

Useful links.

Bangkok Hotels.

Bangkok Nightlife.

Things to do in Bangkok.

Travelfish Guide to Bangkok.

Tips for Surviving the Subcontinent

India is a place of extremes, from lavish wealth to abysmal poverty; from beautiful natural landscapes to brutal urban slums; from blissfully peaceful settings to areas where you'll receive constant harassment; this country is guaranteed to induce emotional highs and lows in any traveller. It is certainly not for everybody, but if you have a keen sense of adventure or require an experience that will give you a jolt, India will thoroughly reward you. Extreme poverty, hideous pollution, an endless tide of touts and scammers and very poor infrastructure is offset by a diverse and warm people, amazing scenery and fantastic monuments, temples and history.

Culture shock is something you will definitely experience no matter what part of the world you are from. India is highly populated and the sheer number of people around you can be overwhelming at first. However, it's also important to remember that violent crime is low - generally the worst thing you'll experience is being ripped off by commission touts or a crushing bout of diarrhoea.

Single female travellers may find it harder than others; Indians interpret Westerners from our own media - especially advertising - which has a habit of depicting scantily clad "available" women. Thus many Indian men think all western women are of loose moral virtue and may try to get away with the odd sleazy approach or even grope. If possible, hook up with other female travellers, or if you find yourself in an intolerable situation, loudly draw attention to it - Indian men are easily shamed in public.

Travel

Be aware that many travel agencies in India are merely commission men who book through more reputable agencies and pocket the extra money you give them. Nearly all hotels and hostels can arrange flights, taxis etc. and usually only charge 5-10% commission which saves you the hassle of standing in the queue at the railway station. Always ask for a quote first and if you feel you aren't getting value for money, phone around or search the internet for comparable deals.

Railways

Travelling by train is a rewarding experience in most cases. However it can be confusing if you do not know how things work.

When you buy a ticket, you will either be assigned a seat number immediately or put on a "wait list" shown as W/L on your ticket. The wait list will consist of two numbers. The first number is the position you start the wait list on. Thus if you are waiting at 19th in the queue, 19 will be the first number. The second number is your current position, so in our example, initially that will be 19 too. However, if two people above you in the queue cancel, the second number will drop to seventeen - you will be W/L 19/17. Two hours before leaving the station, all the seats that have been set aside for dignitaries and railway employees etc. will be freed up and there's a good chance you will suddenly find yourself with a seat. I've started a wait list well into the 30s and still been assigned a seat two hours before departure, but it all depends on the train and the type of seat booked.

The railway carriage you are assigned to will often have a list stuck next to the door with all of the people booked and their seat numbers, so if you cannot check whether you have been assigned a seat via phone or the internet, turn up and check the carriage door. If you can't see your name, you can then decide if you want to take a chance and bluff your way on. You will usually be able to pay for either an upgrade or downgrade (be warned that a downgrade could mean travelling in a filthy carriage jam packed with people in very hot weather with no air conditioning).

For bookings, use the Indian Rail Website. You can use international credit cards to book, but the site is a little flaky (it has many, many users) and it may take a few attempts to actually book anything.

For more information, check out Seat61 which contains lots of useful information about riding the trains in India.

Taxis

Taxis and are cheap in India. Fares vary between states, but sometimes a pre-booked cab is the only way to travel, as you can go from A to B whilst visiting C and D on the way. Cabs can be booked via hotels, local travel agents, or take your pick from the local yellow pages. Drivers are generally reliable, honest and can occasionally act as a guide or even as a minder to keep away those pesky hawkers. Cabbies are normally paid a reasonable wage, so it is in their interest to keep you happy so that they keep their jobs. However, watch out for the fly-by-nights who offer you great deals on the streets. Their vehicles are usually on the verge of extinction and you may have to sit in sweltering heat while the driver tries to fix it every five miles you travel.

Vehicle Hire

Obviously you can hire a car in India, but almost invariably you have to return it to its point of origin. It's the same deal with bikes. Make sure you are a confident driver, as you'll need nerves of steel to confront the Indian road system.

Auto-rickshaws

The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was by cloning himself all over the world and going into the auto-rickshaw business. Treat every auto-rickshaw driver as a cheat and a liar (because they are). Do not let them take you anywhere other than your actual destination. Aim to pay 10 rupees per kilometre (it's actually less but that is a fair price) and make sure you agree the price up front (metered auto rickshaw drivers will drive you around for ten kilometres before dropping you off at your destination which was three kilometres away). Okay, so not all auto-rickshaw drivers are the devil, but in most big cities they will rob you blind or cart you around to every handicraft shop in town where they earn a commission before leaving you bruised and battered at your destination. Always refuse to be taken anywhere other than your destination and be firm about it, or you will be ripped off or exposed to high pressure sales techniques that can easily turn ugly.

Nearly all major railway stations have prepay auto-rickshaw stands outside them. Take your time and find these, or ask for directions at the information desk in the station. When you find them, you usually pay a nominal fee of 1 or 2 rupees to the stand and are given a ticket with a fair price to your destination. You will generally get no hassles from these drivers as they only get paid to take you where you want to go, but do not give the ticket to the driver until you reach your destination - he will not be paid without it.

Most importantly, do not encourage touts by going with the first idiot that latches onto you when you leave the station - you will pay between 3-5 times the regular price and encourage "good" drivers to the dark side when they see others making silly money by being aggressive at the station entrance.

You have been warned.

Buses

State buses have regular services - often hourly - to long distance destinations and can be jumped on at most central bus stands. You pay the conductor once you have climbed aboard in cash only. They are cheap and can get very packed at certain times of the day, but are definitely worth a go. Most state bus drivers are clinically insane and blind to any other traffic on the road. They also have a phobia about taking their foot off the accelerator.

More comfortable buses can be booked, but for me they weren't comfortable enough to justify the extra cost and the driving was almost as bad. At least you get the ultimate hair-raising thrill of nearly dying on a state bus. Don't sit at the back though - the buses thunder over bumps and pot holes in the road like they don't exist and you get the full spine rattling effect in the back seat.

Planes

I must admit, I only used Kingfisher Airlines as they had extensive internal routes, were cheap and were excellent in terms of service. However, there are other airlines you can use such as Jet and Air India.

I did have problems using my credit card on the Kingfisher Airlines website, in which case I used Ebookers for the same price plus a 5-10% commission.

Skyscanner is a good resource for finding cheap flights.

Rules of the Road

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

No seriously.

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!

Okay, from meticulous study, the only rule I've worked out is that there is a hierarchy of objects on the road. Let's start from the lowest to the highest in order of importance (and therefore right of way).

Women. Sorry girls, but if anything is going to be run over it is you.

Children.

Men.

Bicycles.

Motorbikes.

Bicycle rickshaws.

Auto rickshaws.

Cars.

Vans and trucks.

Buses.

Finally the thing that gets complete right of way, the humble cow.

Travel Essentials

Immunisation. See your doctor at least six weeks before you travel to find out what you need to be immunised against.

A visa. Make sure you have one - nearly everybody requires one to enter the country.

Travel Insurance valid for what you intend to do (action sports etc.)

A medical kit including sterilised needles.

A mobile phone. Essential for emergencies and useful at all other times.

Conservative clothing - you need to cover up not just in Temples but on the streets. Local people can become indignant at the sight of foreigners wandering around in beach wear - even on the beach!

A torch and spare batteries (or even better, a wind up torch). Power cuts are rife all over India.

Toilet paper. Some hotels don't stock it, so always carry a roll just in case.

Mosquito repellent. Those pesky flies are everywhere - especially near areas of stagnant water where they breed. Deet based repellents are most effective, but be aware that deet is toxic and can cause allergic reactions.

A mosquito net.

Anti-malarials if you are going to a high risk zone.

A rain jacket. Even outside of the monsoon period, Indian skies can deliver lots of water very rapidly. Monsoon periods also vary between geographical regions, and some places have more than one monsoon.

A universal adapter for plugging in any electronic items you may have such as a mobile phone.

A pen knife or multitool.

Gaffer tape. Great for temporarily mending bags, mosquito nets, even clothes at a pinch.

Needle and thread.

A travel pouch. Something discreet that you can wear under your clothes to keep passports, credit cards and money safely hidden from the clutches of pick pockets.

Passport sized photographs. Always useful in case you lose your passport, need a phone sim or decide on the spur of the moment to get a visa for Nepal or something further afield.

Earplugs. India can be a noisy place especially in the cities.

A padlock and chain for securing your bags on trains, buses and even your hotel room. The padlock can come in handy to lock doors in some hostels/hotels where the lock is broken.

Two photocopies of your passport, kept in separate places in case you lose the original.

Phone numbers - emergency numbers, credit card and bank numbers etc. Keep a printed copy in case you lose your phone.

Loperamide (Imodium) tablets to stave off diarrhoea temporarily on those long journeys. 

Accommodation

The variety of hotels all over India is vast, from renting a room in a converted palace (seriously) to a grubby, rat-infested toilet (seriously).

If you are just turning up in the hope of finding cheap, quality accommodation, then good luck! Always ask to see a room, check the toilet to make sure it has working facilities, lift a pillow and have a look for bed bugs (also on the floor next to the bed) and have a quick look behind furniture or in dark spaces for cockroaches. Smell is also a fairly good indicator! Make sure windows shut properly or you could end up being eaten alive by mosquitoes.

In my opinion, the best way to find decent accommodation is to discover what other people think of a place. This is where the internet excels. My favourite sites for checking the quality of a place are Tripadviser which has hundreds of user reviews of different hotels and B&Bs (some of them very amusing) and Hostelworld which has cheap but usually good quality accommodation listed (again with user reviews). Remember that you don't have to chose a place in the top five listings; many decent places can still be found half way down the list.

I also found Booking.com quite useful in reserving the actual rooms as they don't have an obvious surcharge (I've used most of the big booking sites and they are only good value if you can get a deal when staying more than one day). Hotels.com is a useful alternative, but you will pay a surcharge at the end of the booking process.

Don't make the mistake of thinking that Guest Houses are a poor option. There are some fantastic, clean and inexpensive options all over India. Just do your homework first on the above listed comparison websites.

Homestays are a great way of meeting Indian families and having a great adventure too. I stayed with my friend Anil at the Buena Vista Hut in Wayanad. Check out the site - it lists other homestays around the country too.

Health and Safety

Get comprehensive insurance before you go. I hate insurance. As an insider in the insurance industry for several years I know what a con it can be. However, comprehensive travel insurance is a must. When it comes to your own personal health, you do not want to be stuck in some backwater medical facility suffering from an infected wound just because you can't afford proper treatment.

The biggest threat by far to your health in India is on the roads. According to statistics, India has the most dangerous roads in the world and once you see how Indians drive you'll understand why. Learn how to cross the road properly - always keep your wits about you, keep a steady pace and always stare at the oncoming traffic, gesturing for them to slow down with an upraised palm. Keep looking both ways especially as you near the far side of the road as some people travel the wrong way on bikes near the kerb. Most tourist accidents involve scooters or motorbikes. Only hire one of these if you are confident handling them and you think you understand how the road system works (which I doubt because not even Indians know that). Never drink and drive - the roads are crazy enough when you're sober, and always wear a helmet on a bike.

Malaria is something you should not ignore and dengue fever even more so. Visiting most areas of India does not require you to take anti-malarials (see this map for details of malaria hotspots) but you should always use a deet based mosquito repellent spray or cream (Odomos is a cream you can buy in India which is actually very good). Cover your feet, legs, arms and head (either with clothes or repellent) and wear bright clothing (mosquitoes love emos). The truth is, some people attract mozzies more than others (I'm lucky - I rarely get bitten) and infection rates are quite low but prevention is better than cure - malaria and dengue are rotten illnesses, sometimes fatal. The bites themselves can become very itchy, irritating and occasionally infected.

Diarrhoea is a very common traveller's complaint in India. If you get it, drink lots of fluids with rehydration salts when necessary. If it persists for more than two or three days, seek medical help. Dehydration will weaken you severely and if left untreated can damage your internal organs or kill you.

Always drink bottled water and make sure the bottle is properly sealed as there is a scam where old bottles are filled from the tap and resold. Crush all bottles after you use them to avoid this. You can obtain water purification tablets from any good travel shop for emergencies. Tap water in India is often unchecked and unreliable in terms of cleanliness, and most Indian people have built a natural immunity to many of the bugs that would wipe a foreigner out. Because of this, also avoid ice in drinks.

Similarly, be wary of street food or empty restaurants where "static" food is being exposed to flies and other environmental nasties. Peeled or cut fruit is usually a bad idea unless you cut it yourself.

As part of your medical supplies, bring a sterilised needle kit - you can't be certain that in a medical emergency you or your doctor will have access to a clean needle giving rise to the risk of infection from Hepatitis or AIDS.

Many animals carry rabies in India - you can catch it even if a dog licks an exposed cut on your skin. Rabies is fatal, so be wary of any roaming creatures, no matter how cute they look.

Communication

There are many public phone booths/shops available in India. Just look out for the PCO (local calls) STD (inter-state calls) and ISD (international calls) signs - usually around Internet Cafes which are easily found due to the fact that there are so many of them.

Phone sims can be purchased for your mobile if you have a passport sized photo available. I used Airtel which has extensive coverage all over India. You can also enable GPRS for internet requirements. It is extremely cheap compared to using your own sim card, even for international calls. Note that you have to enable roaming if leaving the state you bought the sim card in, and topping up - which can be done at any small mobile phone shop - will cost slightly more if you are roaming. Make sure your phone has an IMEI number or you won't be able to use it - India banned the use of unregistered phones in December 2009 in the wake of the Mumbai attacks.

Scams

Indian people are generally reserved by nature, so anyone who approaches you on the street - especially near transport hubs and tourist attractions - is doing so because you are being singled out as a tourist and therefore a source of income for them. Of course this isn't always the case, but the number of ingenious scams going on in India that will separate you and your cash - sometimes in very large sums - is endless.

Usually, a firm "No!" will do, but India is the land of the persistent scammer and you must be persistent in turn by putting the palm of your hand in their face or telling them to go forth and multiply vociferously - or better still, be prepared to completely ignore those who approach you as if they didn't exist.

The most common offenders are auto-rickshaw drivers who will attempt to charge you as much as possible if you are from out of town, or try to take you to their "brother's" shop or hotel where you will be massively overcharged and the driver will earn a nice commission out of you. Other scammers just stand around in the street waiting for their mark (i.e. you) and will strike up a conversation with the classic "Where are you from?" or by claiming they are just practising their English.

There are many dodgy travel agents in India too - always shop around or ask your hotel what they can offer. "Too good to be true" offers are usually there to entice you into a place where a trap will be sprung and you'll end up literally paying far more than you bargained for.

Never use a credit card for purchases - cash only. The temptation for some unscrupulous shopkeepers to run up a number of transactions on top of the official one is just too great a temptation. Hotels are generally trustworthy in this respect.

Tout's are usually confidence tricksters - that is, they will try to gain your confidence with sweet words concerning great deals (or even a meal with their families), but you will ultimately pay the price when dumped off on a high pressure sales team or are deposited in a quagmire of a hotel which has the best front desk you've ever seen, but the worst rooms. Again, use common sense. Source all of your hotels or guest houses first and only use these touts if you are desperate and willing to pay the price (which should never happen with a little preparation).

Scammers always ask you if this is your first time in India. This is to determine how gullible you are. Always answer "No."

Never accept food or drink from a stranger. It could potentially be drugged (it's a known scam) and you may end up waking up without your possessions in a hospital with sore orifices (okay, so that's a worst case scenario, but you will usually be robbed at the very least).

There are many other scams in India. To give the scammers credit, some are actually beautifully inventive. To keep up to date with them, check out your guidebook or the IndiaMike Scam Forum. Don't get depressed about all of the scams out there - following the above advice and simply knowing they exist will ensure you don't fall prey to them.

A final word of warning - corruption is rife in India, so try to avoid any reasons for having to contact the local police. You may end up having to buy your way out of any situation you find yourself in.

Shopping

India has been trading goods with other nations for thousands of years and haggling runs in the blood of most Indian people. It is in fact a very social practice and somewhat of a battle of wills. Remember, the idea is not to try to grind someone down so they hardly make a profit, but to reach a mutually acceptable price. What you have in your favour is that if one bazaar is selling that carved rock elephant you desperately want, another will also be selling the same a few metres away and a threat to buy from another trader will nearly always get you a price drop.

Major shops and chain stores operate in the same way as the West, and options for bargaining are limited, but many independent shops will nearly always display the maximum price they want for an item (if there is a price at all).

Remember, as a foreigner you stand out, so prices will often be three times as much as an Indian would be quoted. Start by offering a third of the price and start haggling up. If you don't get the price you like, walk away. This act in itself will usually be enough to get you the price you asked for. If not, there will always be an opportunity to get that item somewhere else.

Toilets

Some would say this is not only my favourite subject, but the main inspiration for my sense of humour. Personally I think they're talking out their arses.

Most toilets in Indian hotels and guest houses are western style. Occasionally you will find squat toilets where you straddle a hole in the ground, squat down and drop one into it. Many places have a small "water gun" hanging by the side of the cistern. This is for spraying a jet of water into your arse crack to clean it. Personally, I found these to be very hygienic - especially for the hot climate - keeping your anus clean, fresh and itch free, especially if you have piles.

Public toilets are few and far between and are about as hygienic as a blocked sewer (which is often what they are).

Showers generally come with two buckets - a large one for filling with hot water which you clean yourself with and a smaller one for filling with the water from the big bucket to pour over yourself. You don't have to use these if the shower works however.

Beggars

Do as your conscience dictates. I've seen a beggar pull out a mobile phone to tell another beggar I was travelling in his direction. I've also seen desperate, starving people that have nearly brought me to tears. Whatever you decide, I would advise not to give to children as this only encourages them (and whoever may be coercing them) into a lifetime of begging and poverty. Instead, buy them some food and do as I do - donate money on a regular basis to one of the many charities that support the poor all over the world. Contrary to popular belief, they don't actually spend all their money on advertising - that's just an excuse for the apathetic and tight bastards.

Also, consider getting involved in an aid program.

Resources

IndiaMike is in my opinion the best travel resource for India, with an excellent forum for any questions you may have about your trip.

Virtual Tourist is useful for seeing other traveller recommendations for local places to visit, especially nightlife. Good scam information here too.

I love Wikitravel. I use it all the time to source possible destinations for my travels.

Lonely Planet guides can be both exasperating and a joy, mainly because of their over-exuberant scare mongering and because every hotel they recommend is full of people carrying Lonely Planet guides. Still, they are definitely useful - especially their "walking tours" if you are only in a place for a short time. Their forum is pretty good too.

Travel Junky is a witty and irreverent site that looks behind the scenes of the major travel destinations. Thoroughly entertaining.

British newspaper, The Guardian’s take on India.

British Government Travel Website is useful for seeing if riots/natural disasters/terrorist threats/alien invasions are coming to a town near you.

The Indian Ministry of Tourism website has some useful info to help plan itineraries, and most importantly lists all the Tourist Offices which are actually very helpful in India.

Foreign Embassies in India. Use this resource to note details of your embassy should you lose your passport or be involved in an accident or crime.

The Library of Congress has a list of Indian Internet resources.

Indian Blog Entries

Overwhelmingly, people comment that one of the most entertaining and informative blogs on India is by a dysfunctional miscreant called Rob Jamieson. Actually, only I would say that, because it's me.

All of the information above is distilled from more than two months of travelling around India which I have extensively blogged. The blog is descriptive of all of the sites I have visited with plenty of pictures and sometimes video clips, and is also highly personal and hopefully amusing. But don't trust me until you've checked it out for yourself.

I've listed each place I've visited in chronological order and by place name to make it easy to scan if you are planning an itinerary. Some links go to the same page if I've covered two places in the same blog.

Bangalore

Chennai

Mamallapuram

Pondicherry

Kumbakonam

Thanjavur

Madurai

Bangalore (again)

Mysore

Wayanad

Kozhicode (Calicut)

Ernakulam

Kochi (Cochin)

Allapuzah (Allapey)

Kovalam

Trivandrum

Padmanabhapuram Palace

Kanyakumari

Goa

Delhi

Agra

Taj Mahal

Jaipur

Jodhpur

Udaipur

Mumbai

Warning: Contains vivid depictions of toilet related escapades and graphic scenes of monkey sex. So what's new?

Mumbai from the air is a bewildering sight. Large areas of high rises and commercial buildings are interspersed with strange patches of undulating grey - like the view through a monochrome kaleidoscope. As the plane nears the ground, these strange blotches coalesce into millions upon millions of small ramshackle buildings with corrugated roofs squashed into a maze of tiny alleyways: the Mumbai Slums.

I had chosen a hotel near the airport for the first night because it was cheap and downtown Mumbai is notoriously expensive. I dumped my stuff and went on my usual reconnaissance of the local area. I was on the busy Mathuradas Vasanji Road, teeming with life, overcrowded with noisy vehicles. I passed a few restaurants noting which I could use later. A foul, heavily polluted river oozed nearby.

I walked around the edge of some slums. I wanted to walk down the darkening alleyways but strangely, it wasn't the threat of any danger that stopped me, but the feeling that I would be intruding. I was tired from the flight - air travel always knocks me out - so I grabbed dinner and went to bed early.

The next morning I did a little research and found that I was near the Nehru Centre, so I opted to stay another night and explore the area more. I wandered the streets aimlessly, hoping to find something interesting. This may sound like an ineffective way of doing things, but it usually works very well for me as I love walking and nearly always find something unusual or interesting to see that is off the beaten path. Today wasn't to be one of those days. I walked for what seemed like miles past nothing but construction sites and empty buildings. Feeling tired under the onslaught of the midday sun, I hailed an auto-rickshaw. It took five minutes to explain where I wanted to go before I gave up on the driver and continued to walk in the general direction of the Nehru Centre. By now my underpants were filling with sweat and my continuing diarrhoea made every fart potentially fatal.

Suddenly, my driver reappeared driving slowly along next to me. Apparently he had become enlightened and knew exactly where I wanted to go. Dubiously I climbed aboard. We trickled down the road in gridlocked traffic for five minutes before pulling in at a petrol station. He left me alone in the rickshaw while he disappeared for a while before jumping back in again. We stop-started down the road for a few more minutes before he turned left at a junction, did a U-turn and joined a queue for another petrol station that looked so long it could probably be seen from the International Space Station. We had travelled a grand total of fifty metres in twenty minutes. Exasperated, I tapped the driver on the shoulder and said, "I've had enough."

Seriously dehydrated from the diarrhoea and the temperature, I jumped out of the auto-rickshaw, bought a huge bottle of water and retired to my room for the rest of the day where I regained my strength gradually. During the evening, I let rip with what should have been a huge pump. Instead of the usual entertaining frapping sound, there was a dull pop. I can only conclude by saying that my fellow Stevenage alumnus Lewis Hamilton may be a better F1 racer than me, but I can leave more impressive skid marks.

The next day, I booked a cab to take me to the Hotel Oasis, a cheap downtown hotel I had booked online the night before. I shared the cab with a girl called Kay from Oxford who, by coincidence, was also going to the same hotel.

We drove in the clamorous Mumbai heat, casually chatting. I warmed immediately to Kay - she was well travelled, good natured and entertaining.

We stowed our bags and took a walk into town. We walked past an elaborate police station which the guards outside wouldn't let us look at for security reasons. Since the Mumbai attacks, there are armed police posted all over town.

We hit the Gate of India down by the docks, a large stone edifice similar to a triumphant arch designed by the British for a visit of King George V. I thought it was tired looking and preferred the view of the misty (polluted) bay.

We walked past the Taj Mahal Hotel which had been a focal point of the Mumbai attacks, with explosions, executions and people escaping from windows by tying bed sheets together. Around the block was the famous Leopald's, a Mumbai Café Bar where we had lunch. The food was average, and later I found out that more people had died in this place during the attacks.

We continued to walk around downtown Mumbai, taking in the University and High Court - all very grand and European in design and architecture.

As the sun was dipping we visited Jehangir Art Gallery. Although it contained some exceptional pieces, I found it pretty uninspiring. However, the good thing about this place is that it has a high reputation in the Indian art world and artists are on a fairly rapid rotation, so give it a go - you might get lucky.

Back at the hotel, I noticed a black spot on my pillow. I shook it and the black spot fell to the floor and slowly started crawling away. Repulsed and without thinking, I stamped on it. A thick sheen of crimson blood spattered across the floor. My blood - it was a bed bug.

The next day, Kay and I went on a long walk. First, we headed to Chatrapati Shivaji (Victoria) Railway Terminus, a grand and eloquently designed building, where thousands of people traversed the platforms.

I found a large colony of cockroaches scurrying around the ticket office in broad daylight. These were obviously the cockroach equivalent of the marines as they showed no fear as I approached and observed them.

We headed to Crawford Market - an amazing place which defines the word "lively". I saw a kitchen sink being sold there, so there's no limit to what else was on offer. I'm also pretty sure I saw a fully working light sabre, the One Ring and the Ark of the Covenant near the pitches of Elvis and Lord Lucan.

Crawford Market – this women is an expert at ignoring hawkers. Kudos!

Crawford Market – a young woman with something on her mind sells vegetables.

We walked further afield towards a mosque which we never found, where the streets took on an almost rustic, Gallic appearance.

Then we found our way into the backstreets and past some makeshift slums. A little boy was joyously playing in the streets and Kay noticed that his mother asked him to beg from me. He didn't - that kid will go far.

Back towards town we ran across more dilapidated dwellings by the side of the road.

One of the major things I noticed about downtown Mumbai is that on the whole, it was sedate and modern, with a few grand historic buildings thrown in too. And the biggest difference of all? No cows. I didn't see a single heifer swaggering around like it owned the place. The thing is, I'm a vegetarian so I have a real fondness for Hindu beliefs. However, letting cows wander wherever they like, although an admirable trait, simply isn't practical. Firstly, the cow needs to eat a lot and consequently, defecate a lot. When you have cow pats all over the road coupled with poor or nonexistent public services, sanitary conditions spiral down. And let's face it, if the mighty cow can shit and piss all over the place, why shouldn't people? I surmise that is why a lot of people follow suit - apart from the fact that there are large numbers of homeless people in the big cities. Not only that, but the cows end up eating rubbish left out in plastic bags. The plastic bags get entangled in the cow's gut, leading to a lingering, painful death. Personally, I think Mumbai is leading the way in not allowing cows into the city centre - intentionally or not. It certainly is one of the most sanitary city centres I have seen in India.

The next day, Kay's friend from England, Davita turned up. She was quick witted and lively and kept the conversations moving along nicely. We headed for Elephanta Island - a popular Mumbai tourist spot. On the island are many cave temples with embedded shrines. Most of the statues have eroded with age (the temples were carved out around 1500 years ago) but the most impressive statue of a three headed Shiva that stands six metres tall is both a captivating and immensely beautiful work of art.

There are several colonies of monkeys on the island and they caused mischief all day, from stealing some of Kay's lunch to a huge monkey war which we were lucky enough to witness. The monkeys were pin wheeling, gesturing and physically battering each other on the nearby hillside while others looked on dumbfounded. There was also some dirty monkey sex if you're into that kind of thing. They were going at it like England footballers at a fashion show, prompting one young lad to embarrass his mother by asking what the stringy, viscous fluid hanging from one young monkey's fingers was.

John Terry, yesterday.

That evening we relaxed by going to the Taj Hotel and sipping cocktails in the bar. We attempted to find the Insomnia nightclub but it had been temporarily closed. Never mind - I don't think any of us could have lasted the night anyway. I said my farewells to the girls - it was to be my last night in Mumbai, and in India.

The next day I packaged some books and clothes up to send back home. In India, you have people who parcel up your package in front of you before you mail it. As I stood opposite the Post Office while a large demonstration was going on outside it, the parcel wallah asked me to step away from underneath the overhead trees. I didn't understand why until a few seconds later a large white streak flashed down on my black shirt. Dirty pigeons!

I dispatched my goods (it cost more for me to post them than to initially buy them) and grabbed a cab for the airport.

It had been nine weeks, twenty three towns and cities, seven states and over three and a half thousand miles of travel. I'd been bitten by insects, stalked by giant arachnids, met some wonderful people, bumped into a few scoundrels, witnessed some heavenly places and been torn up by some terrible sights. India is truly a country of extremes; wonderful, absurd and intangible.

Most importantly, in India you always have a keen sense of the here and now; of being alive. Every sense is active, every heartbeat felt.

There is no other place like it in the world.

This blog covers the period 13-19 December 2009.

Warning: I like to say rude things and I'm a very naughty boy.

Pale winter sunlight falls gently on the amber earth. Stunted trees rise from the arid soil. Occasionally, a swathe of green cuts through the crenulated hills as irrigation ditches crisscross the landscape to nurture large paddy fields.

A soft wind blows; the rice gently yields.

In the distance, a roaring beast thrashes along a pit filled road, belching smoke and furiously beeping at eternity. Sat inside this monstrosity, I smile at my driver's lack of fear and ignorance of danger. I'm used to it all now. We pass the open countryside, disturbing a few geckos. A distant hawk flaps its wings. Then we are gone in a cloud of dust; thundering through the next valley, careening around every bend in the road.

For a fraction of a second I see a girl carrying a large clay pot on her head. She is making her way to a small well near the side of the road. She is about twenty, though the sun has aged her slightly. However, those harsh rays can do nothing to diminish her beauty. She is adorned in a peacock coloured sari - blue, green, gold - all melting around her slender figure. Lustrous black hair falls loosely around her shoulders; rich brown skin forms tautly around her high, regal cheekbones; wonderful, large brown eyes stare straight into me.

It is a perfect picture-postcard shot that only exists in my mind and she will remain frozen in time, forever within my memory.

We drive on.

The landscape opens out once more. We speed through a wide expanse of almost desert-like terrain. A huge backlog of lorries has blocked the road for about a mile ahead of us, but it's not a problem for the driver, he just jumps into the opposite lane until we reach the blockage: a lorry has skidded across the road. Luckily, it has just been corrected as we reach it and with a tasty bit of driving he nudges the vehicle to the front of the queue and drives off down the open road. First class.

Back up into the hills again and we slow so I can observe a man driving oxen round in circles to mill grain.

We thread through the hills then hit a plain where the small town of Falna is situated. We sweep through the town and just before we hit the railway crossing I see a young girl raking her arms through a big pile of rubbish looking for something that has recycling value. My driver speeds on but the image stays with me, for now the onslaught of the Delhi slums comes flooding back. I was too shocked by the poverty I saw there to even acknowledge it - never mind act on it - but now I know what I have to do.

At that moment, I had enough money on me to pay for my food and lodging for the day. I would give that little girl a day of my travels; just one day to me but possibly a lifesaver for her. She was only a single person, but it is said that a random act of kindness can trigger a chain of events that brightens any number of lives.

I asked the driver to turn around. He looked confused as I asked him to drive slowly so I could find the little girl at the side of the road. We crossed back over the railway. I searched. It was definitely here, near this big pile of rubbish. I got out of the car. I looked up and down the road, searching frantically for her. I was possessed. Nothing could stop me from doing this deed. Nothing except for one thing. She was gone.

I cursed slowly and wretchedly under my breath. I kicked a big clod of dry earth into the air.

I hadn't acted quickly enough.

Dejected, I climbed back into the car, thinking good thoughts about her for the rest of the journey, hoping that my feelings would somehow filter out into the world and evoke the same butterfly effect that the gift of a few rupees might have done.

Half an hour later, I was in a queue, chatting to a middle aged Indian man about my travels. As I told him of all the places I had been and how Kerala and Rajasthan were the two most beautiful places I had seen in India, I could see pride shining in his eyes.

The queue was for Ranakpur Temple. Whenever you visit a place that has been described as stunning, incredible or amazing in tourist literature, then your arrival at such a place is often accompanied by a gnawing disappointment that you try to ignore. Such was my predicament when I laid eyes on Ranakpur temple for the first time. Sure, it was pretty, but incredible? Such superlatives are only truly justifiable for places that are great wonders of the world, for people who have changed many lives for the better and for things such as my penis. (A girlfriend once said, "It's a wonder." Her following words were, "I can feel it." Unfortunately, I fear it was all part of the same sentence).

I stepped inside the temple and was almost immediately accosted by a "monk". I put monk in inverted commas simply because this guy looked more like Sinead O'Connor on a very bad day. Also, he was carrying a dish with a 100 rupee note in it and asking for a donation.

This immediately made me wary. Firstly, hadn't I already paid to get in? Secondly, why was a holy man asking for money – aren’t alms always given freely? And thirdly, why was he using a known psychological con like having a single item of the largest denomination possible in his collection plate (the con is that you don't think about not giving - he's a monk after all - but you don't want to look like a cheapskate so you match what's already there, and he's obviously not rich as he only has one note in his collection). Caught off guard, I did give him a donation, but only for 20 rupees as I thought he was being cheeky. In hindsight, I realise he was a complete fraud as he wasn't wearing a facemask or brushing the ground before him to avoid killing any small creatures as all Jain monks do.

It's a shame that some of the people you meet in holy places are the last people that should be there - I think the Catholic Church can vouch for that at the moment. In fact, things have been getting so bad on the religious front lately that I've been inspired to start my own religion and these are the rules. Firstly, sins of the flesh are no longer sins. Go forth and do what you want in a mutually agreeable manner. Secondly, drinking is not a vice, it's an obligation. Thirdly, all murderers, rapists and paedophiles shall be burnt alive. And with that, I've just realised I'm the devil. Any takers?

I started to wander around the temple. This is when it started to hit me that this place is actually very beautiful. Nearly 1500 white marble colonnades, each of them carved differently, hold aloft domes and carved archways giving a cavernous feel to the temple.

Every column is different.

Extreme wide shot to show the roof and the columns supporting it.

Column detail.

The inside of the temple feels like it is shining even without direct sunlight.

I walked around feeling calm and very comfortable, yet there was a nagging feeling that I was missing something. Then I heard the source of my disquiet: a very distinct noise just like a kettle expelling steam but without a whistle. I turned around and almost jumped out of my skin. A man who looked like a cross between Ron Moody's Fagin and the Child Catcher from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" was beckoning me to follow him. As if this wasn't chilling enough, his smile alone looked like it could cut paper. Due to his surreptitious behaviour, the fact that I had been conned in a temple before (see blog here) and his Texas Chainsaw Massacre looks, I ignored him. Still he persisted, blowing and making as many different quiet sounds as is humanly possible, but if there's one thing my mum taught me, it's not to talk to strange men - especially if they look like they want to rob you, bugger you and cut off your head (and not necessarily in that order).

I continued to look around, unimpeded this time and examined a number of statues and carvings. Not for the first time in India, I marvelled at the intricate craftsmanship and the many hours of labour that individual people had put into this masterpiece of a building and I wanted to know who they were; to shake the very hands that had made all of this beauty surrounding me.

I find my car and we steam back off into the mountains. The driver beeps repeatedly on an open road, but I suppose it’s because he’s still cruising down the wrong side of the road for no good reason at all. In the fields, circular hay roofs sit atop bales of hay like badly woven wigs. Broken rocks spill across the road in defiance of man’s intrusion. The wildlife wisely continues to avoid us.

After an hour we start to approach Kumbhalgarh Fort. However, we’re now looking hopelessly lost, stopping to ask the locals directions every five minutes and with my GPS showing no roads at all in our vicinity, we're literally off the maps. I really don't mind though, the countryside around here is rugged and beautiful and the local people colourful and friendly. In fact the drive itself is one of the highlights of travelling between Jodhpur and Udaipur. At one point I jumped out of the car and took a picture of a woman and her children walking down the road in the distance. I waved to them and the kids waved back, but not the woman. It was only when I examined the photograph a few days later that I realised why.

We make it to Kumbhalgarh eventually and I start the long trek up the mountain.

Another fort, another long arduous climb, but if you want to see a fort, you don't generally stroll up a hillock. What with all the walking and diarrhoea it's no wonder I lost twelve pounds in India.

As you ascend the fortress grounds you can see a small run-down village and an extensive temple complex stretching out to the surrounding countryside, but unfortunately I never had the time to explore them.

The fort is out in the middle of nowhere, but it was once in a very strategic position. Built by Rana Kumbha in the 15th Century (he also built over thirty other forts), it was used by Mewar warriors to fall back to in times of attack. The wall surrounding the fort is the second longest in the world and held off all but one occupation - from the great Moghul Emperor Akbar (see my blog on the Red Fort at Agra here) - which only lasted two days before the fort was retaken.

Kumbhalgarh is wonderfully deserted except for the monkeys that scamper and play around the grounds. The only effort that is made to maintain it is to keep it in its current state of disrepair. But that's what I loved about it - its authenticity. No audio commentary here, or even guards strolling the halls. No furniture or paintings either - in fact some parts aren't even lit and a bit of exploring in the dark with a couple of flash photos revealed empty dilapidated rooms inhabited by pigeons and no doubt rats. However what you do get is atmosphere and tons of it.

The main courtyard.

Some of the rooms upstairs from the courtyard are dark and barely decorated, but the wind blows through all of the screened windows, making a sound like a thousand people whispering, as if the previous inhabitants over the past six centuries were trying to tell their story.

The views from the roof of the surrounding countryside for miles around are vivid and immediate for which photographs can do no justice.

There are hardly any other visitors here and you can explore at your leisure. And that's another great thing about the place - there are many nooks and basement rooms that you can wander around if you have the time, a flashlight and a helping of courage - some rooms are pitch black.

I wandered back to the car and my driver tore down the road to Udaipur as if his driving earlier had been a Sunday stroll for him. We made the town as the sun was beginning to dip and I was greeted by a worker from the guesthouse who led me to it and booked me in.

I staggered to the bathroom and let loose an almighty gush of watery excreta. The diarrhoea was getting worse.

I flopped on my bed. It had been an exhausting day full of sights and sounds, ups and downs. I immediately wanted to tell someone all about it and the first person who popped into my head was my mum. And then I got that jolt again. That fiery, blue, electrical arc that twists through your mind every time you are grieving for someone but had temporarily forgotten they were gone. It's one of the worst feelings in the world - like waking to hear the same news day after day that someone you love has just died; a constant realisation that you've lost something very beautiful and precious.

Tears came. They flowed for what seemed like an age. But this time, instead of the usual deep sorrow and an unending pit of loss yawning before me, something different happened. I felt an overwhelming sense of love, warmth and respect for my mum. After all, it was her that nurtured me to become the big, fat idiot I am today. And you know what? It's fun being a big, fat idiot, doing big, fat idiot things. I'm mostly happy with life and that sense of well being was derived from her.

This was an acceptance of sorts and the following days would bring a real acknowledgement of all the things my mum had given me over the years.

I fell asleep feeling like I wasn't alone for the first time in months.

The next day I took some rather unconvincing pictures from the rooftop of the guesthouse, then stalked the streets of Udaipur looking for adventure and whatever came my way. Nothing much did.

A rickshaw driver asked me if I wanted hash, cocaine or a lady. I laughed in his face and strolled on. In smaller towns like this, ignoring hawkers works a treat. They start off with the usual, "Hello, excuse me sir", and when they see I'm not taking any notice, their voice diminishes, their tone drops and their words peter out. Perfect.

I wandered further and a smart, eloquent man of around forty started chatting to me, saying how he was taking his business to an expo in Birmingham (lucky him). He really built this up for about five minutes and then asked if I would be so kind as to check out his exhibition to see if it was worthy of being shown in the UK. When I politely declined he seemed to give up all his pretences and asked if I wanted to buy some drugs. I made my excuses and left.

A man of around twenty body checked a young European girl on the street and stared at her like a piece of meat as she walked away. She looked both embarrassed and intimidated. Suddenly enraged that any man should do that to a woman, I did the same to him, leading with my shoulder and digging my elbow sharply into his ribs, making sure it hurt. His look of surprise and pain showed me he didn't like the taste of his own medicine, but he definitely got the message. I was immediately set upon by another tout trying to sell me drugs which made me wish I had followed through with my fist.

I strolled down to a bakers shop and ate a tasty pastry while I watched cows and dogs shit in the road. Flies swam in shoals around my head.

I sauntered down to Lal Ghat at the side of nearby Lake Pichola where women were washing their clothes and an old man was bathing naked. Here I could see Jagmandir, the island upon which the Lake Palace Hotel is situated. You may recognise it from the movie Octopussy, and if you don't, you can watch one of the endless nightly reruns of the film in some of the local hotel bars.

Walking back through the bustling streets to my guesthouse, a boy of about twelve cycled up to me and beamed a brilliant smile.

"Hello!" he said.

"Hello," I smiled back. And then he was off, clattering down the streets on his tatty old bike. Brilliant.

Nothing seemed to be happening in Udaipur and I didn't really mind. For the first time in a long time I didn't feel any drive to get out and explore everything around. And that was fine. I would just enjoy my stay here as if I lived here rather than rushing around all of the tourist traps. I returned to my room and read a book, listening to children playing cricket opposite in the temple grounds, breathing in amazingly fresh air for an Indian town and relaxing deeply.

In the evening I went for a meal in Maxim's Cafe, one of the local restaurants with great views of Jagdish Temple from the rooftop terrace. While the food was delicious, the rice smelled a bit off. When I told the owner, instead of trying to save face, he immediately apologised and offered to make me more. When I said I was leaving, he offered to make me a complete meal to take with me. I explained that I was leaving because I was full, not because I was upset, but with that level of customer service, that young man and his restaurant should go far.

The next morning I tried to find the City Palace and Museum, a huge imposing edifice in the centre of town. Apparently it’s huge and imposing, because I couldn't find the fucker. My sense of direction was gone, gone, gone, like some confused albatross that had found itself perched upon a Toy'R'Us store in Basingstoke. I pottered around the town for a bit smiling to myself, then packed my things and set off for the airport. From what I could make of it, Udaipur was a gentle, laid back town - quite pretty in its own unique way. I hadn't really made the most of it, but I had enjoyed it nevertheless. Now I started to get excited because I was heading to the airport and the last stop on my mammoth trip around India: Mumbai, the City of Dreams.

This blog covers the period 11-13th December 2009.