Travel

The Rheinube River Ramble Part 3

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I write a lot of stuff about travel but it’s never been my intention to review accommodation or hand-out “to do” lists although I do occasionally write about these things in passing. I’ll leave that to the Union of Soviet Socialist Lonely Planets and stick to quirky and interesting (to me, anyway) observations.

So I was going to tell you about the bathroom in the B&B we stayed in in Ayr in Scotland. It’s roof over the toilet and washbasin was about 5’6″ high (we were under stairs). If you are shorter (like the child bride), no problem. If you are 6’0″ it’s at eye level so you are reminded to duck. If you’re 5’8″ like me you will have hit your head on it three friggin times after only 3 or 4 hours in the room. And the showers all over the UK – intelligence tests one and all – twist, push, pull, smack, dial, smack again, swear, freeze, swear again etc. My cousin has one with a tap. She stole it from the London Museum.

But enough of these trivialities. We travelled through Glencoe on our way to Fort William and any thought of showers and bathrooms was as ruthlessly put down yesterday as the MacDonalds were in 1692. I’m talking about the scenery which completely dominates everything so there’s absolutely no room for petty quibbles when presented with nature’s overwhelming majesty.

If you appreciate glacial geomorphology, this is the place for you. The Principles of Physical Geology by Arthur Holmes or “Holmes” as we knew it in high school and at university, came flooding back. Well, not quite but recollections of U-shaped valleys, cirques and tarns and drumlins were still sufficiently clear to appreciate the awesome forces of nature that produce them.

And it’s not just nature that sculpts and builds. The Scots have been pretty good at it as well. There are eight locks at the Fort William end of the Caledonian Canal which stretches up to Loch Ness forming a waterway that goes from Fort William to Inverness and effectively cuts Scotland in half. These locks drop the water level 20metres and they were built between 1803 and 1822.

But if that’s not impressive enough, there’s a castle here called Inverlochy which was built in 1280. There’s another with the same name which was built in 1863 which is now a hotel and has a better roof than the 1280 version but impressively, most of the 1280 version still stands. In this throw-away, built in obsolescence society that’s some serious longevity and something a few builders I know could learn from.

We joke about Melbourne’s weather – if you don’t like it, wait a minute. Now I don’t know if this absolutely applies to Melbourne. The weather there is generally pretty atrocious (just ask anyone from any other state in Australia) and it’s making even more people go to football games in winter so they can huddle together to stave off the cold. Comrade Dan, Supreme Leader of the People’s Democratic Socialist Republic of Victoria has closed another coal fired power station so people can’t turn on their heaters as much, thereby reducing the earth’s temperature and saving the planet. I’m not sure it actually works like this though.

But the weather variability thing absolutely does apply specifically to Fort William and the Highlands generally I expect. We must have transitioned through the four seasons numerous times over the past two days. Being freezing cold, dripping wet, sweating and occasionally comfortable in five minute intervals just comes with the territory I guess.

The Rheinube River Ramble Part 2

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We are now in Scotland; Ayr to be precise. I love Scotland because there are more redheads per square metre here than in any other place on the planet. Having said that, it is necessary to be a bit careful because they are a volatile bunch. I’ll let John Cleese take over here temporarily and he’s talking about security threat levels as in the American Defcon 1-5 and the English version which ranges from “miffed” through “peeved”, “irritated”, “a bit cross” to “a bloody nuisance” which was last invoked in 1588 when the Spanish Armada threatened.

“The Scots have raised their threat level from “Pissed Off” to “Let’s get the Bastards.” They don’t have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for 300 years.”

Thank you John.

So I suggested to the CB that she not irritate the locals. This is somewhat problematic because she has recently taken to suggesting better or more interesting ways to cook food to waiters in restaurants. As long as this happens after the food has been delivered I am sort of okay with it. Doing it beforehand is really asking for trouble (or food poisoning).

But let’s backtrack a bit first because we had a few terrific days in England. England is part of Great Britain which if we’re completely honest is better described as “Fair to Middling Britain” these days. But after all of England went ape-shit due to winning a penalty shootout to advance to the last eight of the World Cup, try telling that to anyone from Carlisle to Bournemouth. I know I’m mixing countries here, but it’s my blog. However the places we go to and the people we see (mostly relatives) still qualify for greatness I have say.

So after a few days of “hostile hospitality” (a phrase coined by a very good friend of mine in India who was and is peerless in this regard), the CB and I are now able to regroup and do a bit of touristy stuff.

Still on England, many years ago Francis Rossi asked his legion of fans “Would you like to ride my Deutche car”. If this is a bit esoteric for some, refer to Status Quo’s classic song “Paper Plane”. The legion responded by saying they would like to ride in a Deutche car but not his and promptly went out and bought their own. Consequently every second person owns a BMW / Audi / Mercedes / Volkswagen (strikeout whichever is not applicable). Either there’s a massive amount or wealth in this country, a massive amount of debt or we in Australia are being massively ripped off. It reminds me of Cambodia where every second car is a Lexus. That’s a Machu Picchu-like mystery which no one has been able to adequately explain to me yet.

The real Scotland experience starts tomorrow when we visit Fort William and seek out some Scotch distilleries. Hopefully the child bride won’t start telling them where they’re going wrong.

The Rheinube River Ramble Part 1

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We haven’t hit Europe’s impressive river system yet. That’s about 10 days away. First up is visits with rarely seen relatives and some wonderful (if you call a raging hangover wonderful) reunions. So the title of this and the next few entries will be something of a misnomer. So, from the beginning.

The CB and I are now winging our way to London. A break of almost a day in Hong Kong was nice. The CB hasn’t been here for years and it’s changed a bit. However it’s good to be back on our way to the final destination. Actually that’s an interim final destination – Manchester and probably better described as “the start” as Hong Kong has been designated Day Zero. The “final” final destination is Budapest in four weeks.

Anyway, it was a good day spoiled by the fact we have been given the two middle seats of a row of four on our flight to London. Those of you who have read my previous travel stuff will know I am a firm believer in frequent traveller privilege. That’s a bit like white privilege but not as insanely PC. We are in premium economy with seats configured 2-4-2. Qantas wouldn’t have dared put us in those seats but we are on British Airways and despite the fact I was born in England, I suspect winning back the Ashes hasn’t counted in my favour. And just for the record, when sitting in a Cathay Pacific premium economy seat, I can’t reach the seat in front of me. On BA I can almost reach the seat in front with my elbow. And not to labour the point (much) when the seats are dropped back for sleeping (they go back a long way – big plus), I am trapped.

But let’s scroll back. The flight to Honkers was fine. I had an aisle seat. Okay, okay, enough. Pretty uneventful. Airline coffee is not remotely like real coffee and I fell asleep before Stephen Hawking had got though the two years he was initially given to live, in the movie about his life. Did you know he outlived his doctors?

It’s August so Hong Kong is hot and sweaty. Notwithstanding, the usual haze was absent so the CB and I got the Peak Tram up to the Peak (funnily enough) to look at one of the most spectacular views in the world. We had to queue for about half an hour. Not too bad considering the time of year but I am willing to bet money that in all of that time we didn’t encounter one member of Asia’s most exclusive club – the Personal Space Appreciation Society. When I traveled frequently for a living and especially during the period when I had a pathological hatred of wheeled luggage, I used to carry a suit bag, the sort that carried a week’s worth of clothing, a couple of pairs of shoes and a spare book. If anyone nudged up behind me, they wore that bag which could be swung around savagely, ostensibly to realign it on my shoulder. In these circumstances I’m always reminded of a sketch on the old Dave Allen (the late great Irish comedian) Show where about eight cloth capped workers marched into the sardine factory, for want of a better phrase, dick to bum.

A few cold beers and a bit of pub food in Lan Kwai Fong (see previous post, A Week in Honkers) and we were knackered. It would have been almost unbearable had we not been able to walk almost all of the way from Hong Kong station to the Peak Tram station, undercover and mostly in air conditioning. The walk-way system round Central is brilliant.

We have now landed in London. Immigration hasn’t improved since last time (see European Safari). We faced long queues, minimal personnel and total indifference. If minimum airline connection times used Heathrow as their base line, they’d all be increased by an hour.

To finish Day Zero on a positive note, the weather is excellent…….but we haven’t got to Manchester just yet – sorry, couldn’t help myself.

 

A Week in Honkers

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Of the many business trips I’ve done over the centuries very few have involved staying in one place, or even one country for the duration of the trip. Even conference attendances were usually combined with onward trips to other less salubrious places – give conference organisers their due because you rarely end up in (which country/city/race am I going to offend here) Caracas or Lagos or Port-au-Prince or Pyongyang or Adelaide. It’s always Bali or Paris or Cancun or Singapore. And when was the last time a save the environment conference was held somewhere where the delegates could see the problem they were pretending to be concerned about first hand? Rio de Janeiro could almost qualify if the delegate excursion to the favelas had been held in something bigger than a tandem motorcycle but I guarantee no one touched the ground more than two blocks from Copacabana or Ipanema.

Which brings me to Hong Kong where I was for a conference last week and stayed for the entire week. Hong Kong is a great place. It’s a love it or hate it place but in my book, I could live there. Having been there numerous times I know there’s traffic and it’s crowded and there’s smog and typhoons and expat bankers and the Chinese think we are barbarians despite them being the rudest people (with one or two exceptions, says he inserting the cowardly caveat) on the planet. And they’re the most numerous on the planet so big tick for me for offending the most people possible from one race in one sentence (no, muslims aren’t a race so they didn’t qualify). But you never tire of the view and the energy is electrifying. Unfortunately every time I go there the land bit has got bigger and the sea bit has got smaller as more and more land is reclaimed. Victoria Harbour is up there with Sydney Harbour and the Bosphorus as one of the most spectacular waterways in the world but I expect to be able to walk from Hong Kong Island (or the Southern Suburbs as it will then be known) to Kowloon without going through a tunnel or over a bridge or getting my feet wet in the not too distant future.

Speaking of bridges, the Chinese have just built one from Hong Kong to Macau – 35 miles long and the world’s longest sea bridge. As the Chinese are inveterate gamblers (that’s “inveterate” meaning hardened or incurable not “invertebrate” which is what I am after a skin full of sherbets), they now have something for the Hong Kongers to throw themselves off after losing the family fortune in Packer’s old Macau casino.

The object of the conference exercise was to promote a mining project to potential investors. This involved booth manning (I will not say “personning” even if Canada’s teenage girl prime minister wants me to) and spruiking the benefits of the project to everyone who stopped by. If we get to do this again I think I’ll round up a few of the Indian tailors who you trip over in Nathan Road. They’d be able to sell a coal mine to one of the drink waiters.

Standing up and talking for a few days straight is all very well but one needs stress relief and it comes in the form of evening functions that are attractive for one reason and one reason alone – free booze. The first one was an awards night celebrating the accomplishments of various industry high achievers. So we had a room full of miners and bankers being plied with free drinks and some poor sod at the front of the room trying to get them to shut up long enough to hand out a few gongs. Fat chance. Rudeness is an abundant commodity in the mining and money communities. Or deafness perhaps, which would have explained all of the shouted conversations. And here was me thinking they were shouting so they could be heard by their fellow rudees over the bloke at the front with the microphone.

My two colleagues and I eventually escaped to the more sedate, heaving pub precinct of Lan Kwai Fong and seated ourselves roadside to watch the world stagger by. It was a public holiday the next day and the rugby sevens was in town so the bar staff were busier than an octopus with tinea but still managed to keep the Heinekens flowing to our table at a most acceptable rate despite our being as far away from the bar as it was possible to be – take note all you bar slicks in Australia who only ever see the chicky babes lining up at the bar.

The bar entertainment was outstanding and entirely free. Well that may or may not have been the case for other revellers because the entertainment was, in fact, a ticket scalper who happened past advertising his wares while we were enjoying the view and the ice-cold beers. His accent was very familiar and it turned out he lived about a mile from my Manchester relatives and my parents’ old stamping ground. This guy really had the gift of the gab which I guess is rather fundamental to his chosen profession and once he got warmed up we went from the Winter Olympics to the Summer Olympics to the World Cup to the Rugby Sevens to the Commonwealth Games in about 45 minutes without a pause for breath. And all it cost me was a beer. Well played sir.

This was my first overseas business trip for some time and I’d almost forgotten what it was like to lie flat in an aeroplane. Those of you who have read some of my other travel epics on this blog will be aware of my pathological hatred of crowds. Especially when that crowd comprises economy class plane passengers. You will know that until about four years ago, I thought jumbo jets were only 10m long. I was never curious about nor cared where all of those people were going to after they passed through that curtain at the back of the plane – back into the terminal I guess. Before this trip I’d almost become a plebeian plane passenger again but a timely injection of silver-service snobbery brought me back to my senses. Phew.

 

Mekong Muster Part 6

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Well we got back from our Cambodia / Vietnam adventure yesterday and as is the case with most holidays, the glow wore off about half a day after returning as the memories sunk inexorably into the past. We were jolted back to reality after the child bride went to pick up the cats who had resided at the cat motel for the past two weeks. Almost immediately there was a territorial stand-off between Charlie the dog and Kaos the cat and we woke this morning to a fir ball on a rug (not on the wooden floor of course) and something disgusting in the litter tray.

Oh to still be sitting in the Game On Bar in Saigon watching the NRL or the AFL or the rugby or the EPL of the boxing or the racing or the golf – TV’s showing sport everywhere you looked, local girls in tight shirts serving ice-cold beer and pub-food that doesn’t look back at you. We managed to get there twice in two days.

The first day in Saigon we explored a local market. Imagine the Baywatch girls, in beach uniform, attending a maximum security prison. That was the rather aggressive, noisy and touchy/feely attention a westerner generates in that place. It is rather intimidating but we managed to get out with the required shirts and dresses albeit with the wallet a little lighter and the bargaining voice a little hoarser than the parallel experience in Cambodia. Not to worry because it was only a 10 minute walk to Game On which was only a two minute walk from the tallest building in the country which had a viewing platform and……a bar.

Met up with our four Victorian mates in Game On and drifted from beer to beer for the rest of the day including dinner at a restaurant where a local entrepreneur (who was a boat person and made his money in Oz) ran a restaurant training street kids (chefs, front-of-house, waiters etc). The food was nothing like rat, very nice in fact and like the art school in Siem Reap, an admirable enterprise.

Day two in Saigon and we had to check out at twelve, and had our hotel transfers arranged at four. How to kill a few hours on a hot steamy afternoon? Here’s an idea, thought some genius. Let’s take a 10 minute, $3 cab ride to Game On. Done. And so the gentle transition back into Australian culture began.

Visiting developing Asia is a great and rewarding experience as long as you can experience most of it standing up rather than sitting down, if you get my drift.

Mekong Muster Part 5

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Well it’s only one more day on the boat then off to Saigon tomorrow. And not a day too soon for some, I think. The last couple of days have been absolute carnage with this place now resembling the aftermath of the Alamo. This is not in any way, shape or form a criticism of the cruise company. They have been scrupulous in their adherence to safety and health standards.

The karaoke excesses of a couple of nights ago plus the accumulated impact of different foods and breathing different air, especially in the open markets, have taken their toll I think. I was a mess yesterday but am fine now. But I reckon if it was possible to harness the power generated by the simultaneous sphincter clench of 78 people, you could drive this boat from Saigon to Brisbane without refuelling.

The markets in the Mekong delta have to be seen to be believed. People shop twice a day because apart from a few random blocks of ice and the fact that most of the seafood and assorted reptiles and amphibians are still alive, everything is out in the open. However to spare the sensibilities of the more fragile brethren, the rats are skinned before being put on display.

Last night was concert night when the various ship departments put on a show for the guests. Watching a bunch of Vietnamese and Cambodians pretending to be The Village People and doing everyone’s favourite, YMCA, had to be seen to be believed although I’m not sure they all comprehended the significance of the arm movements.

And after that finished some of the guests who had “volunteered” the night before, had to get up and perform. Apparently I volunteered but I’m pretty sure I was volunteered. Had I been forewarned or at least been vaguely aware of what was coming, I could have prepared Not Garfunkel’s full repertoire. But my still alcohol fogged brain was only capable of a rendition of Hotel California on the only guitar on the ship. A Londoner got up and told a few jokes and as he warmed up, they got better and better if you know what I mean.

We are now wending our way to the last stop before leaving La Marguerite. I think it’s to see another bloody temple. Actually I can now see a massive bridge that I and a lot of other Australian taxpayers built about 10 years ago. I recognise it from last time we were here so we must be getting close to the end. The internet connection has been getting progressively better so it stands to reason.

Maybe one more travel blog to impose on you before we leave. We’ll see.

Mekong Muster Part 4

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We are now at the Cambodia/Vietnam border and it’s day something or other into our caravanserai  adventure as we watch the world slip by in air conditioned comfort. Thank you barman, you may indeed freshen up my drink and as the story goes, I have this medical condition which requires this glass to be replenished every half hour, on the half hour.

Yesterday, our second day in Phnom Pen was a great day, it has to be said. After trying to imagine what it must have been like (impossible) during the Khmer Rouge times the child bride and I decided to have the afternoon in. We were all pagoda’d out anyway. Then some of our party mates suggested a trip to a bar down town. No worries said I. Five of us piled into a tuc tuc and off we went. We found a place overlooking the river where happy hour went from 7.00am to 11.00pm, I kid you not. Icy draft beer for $0.75. We spent the afternoon there and the bill for five was less than $30.00. I am moving to this country and buying a Lexus.

Needless to say, last night (two nights ago, now) was either a write-off or a triumph, depending on how you look at it. We’ve pretty much commandeered the music situation so instead of middle of the road we now have Rolling Stones and Guns ‘N Roses and the place is jumping. It’s karaoke night tonight so that will be interesting.

It’s the morning after karaoke night and it’s been a struggle. My attention span could not extend to the intricacies of a spinning loom operated by a 12 year old girl I’m afraid. And vague memories of Wish You Were Here are swirling round my brain and bouncing off the insides of my skull. Fortunately we’re cruising this afternoon because I don’t think I need to learn any more rural Vietnamese life skills.

I decided to finish this story in the library. It’s the only public place on the ship where you can’t be tempted by alcoholic extravagance and it’s as far away from a bar as it’s possible to be.

Mekong Muster Part 3

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Just spent a very confronting morning at one of the killing fields outside Phnom Pen then the Genocide Museum which is in what was a school and was used by the Khmer Rouge as a torture venue. From reading some of the so-called confessions and listening to the guides relate stories of the time you wonder whether the Khmer Rouge ever questioned how the CIA managed to employ hundreds of thousands of agents including whole families. Being good Buddhists the locals eventually forgave the bad guys whereas most of us would have been sorely tempted to exact some form of retribution, with extreme prejudice.

You’d think Cambodia would be the most anti-communist place on earth after experiencing the most perverted version of an already perverted political philosophy but there can’t be too many places with both a North Korean Embassy (next door to the Prime Minister’s house as it happens) and a Cuban Embassy as well as a street called Mao Tse Tung Boulevard. I took a picture of the North Korean embassy but we weren’t allowed to take pictures of the US embassy. I guess if you’re North Korean this is probably one of the safer places in the world to be what with The Donald’s finger hovering over The Button. That reminds me, North Korea is the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and under Pol Pot this place was called Democratic Kampuchea. The similarity is that no one gets to or got to vote.

Time to lighten the mood. If I asked you to name the place with the largest proportion of Lexus’s (or is that Lexii) on the road in relation to the other vehicles, you might suggest Nagoya, where Toyotas are made or Geneva (no, that’s Ferraris with Arab rego plates) or Manhattan. I guarantee you wouldn’t guess Cambodia but that is in fact the case. They are everywhere. It’s like some weird parallel universe. And I still haven’t received a satisfactory explanation as to why. It’s fated to be one of those unanswerable questions like why does a women stroke her chin when she drives or why does “change up” mean “slow down” or why can’t some people see the absolute logic of all of my arguments?

Mekong Muster Part 2

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Actually “Mekong” is a bit of a misnomer. We have been on the Tonle Sap River for the past 3 days and don’t reach the Mekong until this afternoon in Phnom Penh. The Tonle Sap River is highly unusual because in the dry season the Mekong pushes water north along the Tonle Sap and in the wet season there’s enough water flowing into the Tonle Sap Lake in the north to push the water south down the river. So it’s one way part of the year and the other for the rest. Wouldn’t be out of place in Hollywood.

There are 172 floating villages round the lake. Everyone lives in a relocatable home and all are connected to the same sewerage system. Needless to say of the hundreds of fish species in the lake, the most prevalent is the brown trout. Fish and rice provide most of the sustenance but like an old mate of mine from Japan, they’ll eat anything with its back to the sun, tigers and elephants excluded. Tarantula sandwich anyone?

On a more serious note, Cambodia has an awful lot of catch-up to play after the atrocities committed by the Khmer Rouge. There were about 10,000 doctors here pre-1975. By 1979 when Pol Pot and his mob were finished there were seven. SEVEN! Now families have eight or nine kids as repopulation continues apace. There are some inherent human skills that can never be eradicated even by the most determined scumbags.

This trip is quite unlike what you would imagine a river cruise to be if you’re thinking of Amsterdam to Budapest or the Loire Valley. It’s all very rural and life experience stuff. Yesterday we went for a ride in an ox cart which really loosened up the joints. I suggested to the farmer in charge of our transportation that he consider installing eight sided wheels as they’d be much more comfortable than his six sided versions.

But it’s not all killing fields and Old Macdonald’s farm. Back on the boat there’s a party group as you would expect. Yesterday was my birthday (thanks for all the good wishes) and we found a guitar so raucously worked through all of the songs I could remember. It’s amazing how good Wish You Were Here sounds with a bucket of Southern Comfort in the bag.

Off for a tuc tuc tour of the city soon. A tuc tuc is like a carriage for two or four people towed behind a vehicle with what sounds like a ride-on mower engine. Should be interesting. We’ll be stopping at some markets where the child bride will put her considerable bargaining skills to good use. So I’ll have to stop at an ATM.

Mekong Muster Part 1

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In August 2017 the child Bride and I visited Cambodia and Vietnam and took a leisurely cruise down the Mekong River. Following is a 6 part opus on that epic journey.

Well the Mekong Muster, Siem Reap in Cambodia to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, is now well underway. We are on the boat – La Marguerite – and having done the unpacking and explored the boat the 40 degree heat and 100% humidity are doing their job. La Marguerite is very small – about 78 passengers I think – but has two bars. Having been on here all of two hours I think we’ve done well to befriend Jenny, one of the bar attendants who now knows our order. Jenny is here to mitigate the heat and humidity.

But let’s backtrack a couple of days. We flew out of Brisbane on Saturday afternoon in gorilla class but on Singapore Airlines – scant compensation I know but it could have been a whole lot worse. No….no it couldn’t – can’t think of anything worse after all of those years flying at the front on someone else’s dime. I know you’re all feeling my pain – thanks, that makes so much difference.

We had 8 hours in Singers airport and despite all of my previous travels I have never been asked to rate a toilet but there in the airport was this very opportunity. So I go for a pee and there’s a box on the wall in the loo that says “Rate our toilet” and you can tap a button of your choice. I was torn between shithouse and pissweak. But enough of that so let’s move along.

The rest of the trip to Seam Reap was uneventful but now it gets interesting. In this politically correct world we live in, if you believe cultures are unequal you are a bigot. Anyone who thinks Angkor Wat is the equivalent of a handprint on a cave wall or a poison dart blown through a hollow reed or an ability to build a mud hut that will withstand a light drizzle can call me a bigot – guilty as charged. And we’re not here to indulge in in-depth academic debates on the pros and cons of the noble savage vs the industrial revolution so let’s leave it superficial and flippant. Those temples – hundreds of them – are not only works of incredible detail and complexity but they were carved out of impenetrable jungle about 800 years ago. Of course elephants help, vis a vis the jungle bit but it still must have been an architect’s paradise.

Compare with the pharaoh’s chief architect:
“So your munificent, sun shines out of your sarcophagus, God-pharaoh, you want me to build you a tomb. May I remind you I built the sphinx, the library of Alexandria and consulted on the hanging gardens of Babylon, so it’s not another bloody pyramid is it? Oh, it is. It’s a big one, you say, with lots of secret passageways. Hoo-f..ing-ray.”

At Angkor Thom and Angkor Wat and all the others, the builders had an absolute ball it seems compared with the poor old pyramid builders.

The first day, after spending most of Saturday night in the airport, was zombie central but we did manage to drag ourselves away from the air conditioning for a few hours. Apart from visiting the aforementioned temples, a highlight was visiting a school where a program called Overseas Development in Art teaches art as well as English language, computing and a few other things to underprivileged and orphaned kids. It was started by a local artist and now extends to eight schools. He established all eight of them.

Compared to our whiney, the tax payer owes me a living, artists who produce bugger all of any redeemable or cultural value, like standing on one leg in a bucket of offal for six hours at a time, this guy is a saint and deserves the Nobel Prize. Think Mother Theresa without the leprosy. And he’s a bloke.

But last night after climbing all over a series of temples, we did what everyone does when visiting a provincial Asian city for the first time. We visited Pub Street (that’s what it’s called) and drank $1 beers in the Red Piano Bar. Well I did. Jan drank $3 wines. Secondly, I did what every male does in these places…..no, not that. I had my feet eaten. Yes, you read that right. I dangled my feet in a large tank of water and dozens of fish nibbled the dead skin off my feet.

Now it has to said, I have the ugliest feet in Christendom (which we weren’t actually in to be fair) but these little buggers gave it a red hot go and did an admirable job. But really. If you thought maggots or bacteria are at the bottom of the food chain, think again because I can’t think of anything that beats this in a disgusting race to the last link. Of course if you’re ticklish it’s almost unbearable. I lasted about 15 minutes. Another hour or two and I could have been a foot model.

For the next seven or eight days the most stressful decision will be which of the two bars to patronise, as in offer them my custom, not talk down to them. And when the intermittent wifi kicks in I’m going to find out where I can buy some of those fish.