Nam and the art of motorcycle dodging

After two days in Hanoi, Welsh has jumped up my "must learn" languages list.

Like Beijing, Hanoi is overrun with the street-sellers from hell. Unlike in Beijing, where huge swarms of young children who can't speak a word of English ram plastic dragons in your nose and expect payment for it, in Vietnam the hawkers are more sophisticated. Their English is fluent, and their modus operandi is to engage you in conversation before trying to force their kipple onto you using emotional blackmail. This is where pretending to be Welsh would work a treat (I suspect the hawkers are sophisticated enough to speak most useful languages fluently, having been fully trained in the pits of hell).

Yesterday we witnessed two traditional Hanoi spectacles, only the first of which is mentioned in the Lonely Planet. That was water-puppetry, an ancient Vietnamese tradition. When ancient traditions were being handed out, the I feel the Japanese were a lot closer to the front of the queue and still bask in the coolness of Ninjas and Samurai. In contrast the water-puppet show we saw was like a less-funny version of Bill and Ben the flowerpot men in a pond. You have to admire the Vietnamese tourist industry. For the puppeteers to stand for an hour in a big green puddle with wet privates wobbling cast-offs from Thunderbirds around on a stick in order to entertain an audience (half of whom were dropping Napalm on them thirty years previously) shows exceptional commitment.

The youth of Hanoi make up for the lack of machismo in their ancient traditions by being magnificently fearless motorbike riders. Faced with speeding armadas of crazed youths who have never even heard of the concept of "stopping distance", crossing the road can be tricky, even for Londoners. I soon developed a technique:

1) Ignore zebra crossings, red and green men, and tooting horns. Everybody else does.
2) Walk very slowly across the road, staring at the motorcycle which is currently on the most accurate collision-course with you, and try to make eye-contact with the pilot. If they don't change course, stop. If they still don't change course or slow down, panic.

Last night the streets were busier than ever, as Vietnam had whipped Laos 8-2 at football. That Accrington Stanley's under-21 B-team's grandmothers could probably have put up a more convincing performance than either team (we caught a few minutes of the match in a bar whilst I sampled the aptly named Red Beer) didn't dampen the spirits of the motorcycle kids. They whooped and cheered and tooted their horns even more than usual (although it would take a sound engineer to tell the difference, as it is a constant tone anyway). Big red flags were waved whilst members of the two-wheeled convoy played the "how many people with huge flags can we fit onto one Vespa" game. An amazing spectacle, and well timed, as it saved my most enduring memory of Hanoi from involving puppets.

Annoy Hanoi

As Arthur Dent would surely agree, an Englishman can face all manner of absurdities provided he is armed with a decent cup of tea. On the first morning in our beautifully French colonial style hotel in Hanoi, breakfast failed to provide the desired preparation for the culture shock to come. When my glass tumbler of tea arrived black and I asked for milk in it, the waiter returned with a small carton of strawberry milkshake which he proceeded to pour into the glass in front of my horrified eyes. Tasted alright, but a proper cuppa it was not.

Road Trip to Lampang

Lampang, we discovered, is a bit like Chiang Mai but rubbish. The guide books don't tell you that, so we found out the hard way.

As I was driving an elderly Suzuki SJ413, I'd say we found out the very hard way. The only other thing I've driven with comparable steering response was the R. Tucker Thompson, and that's a 60 tonne tall ship. The titchy windscreen wipers would have made their journey across the flat-glass windscreen faster if they were being towed by trained slugs, the brakes responded by giving your right foot a Thai massage, and the accelerator served only to increase the volume of the cacophony from the engine. In future I will leave "cars" like this to those with strong religious beliefs.

Next stop Hanoi (by plane, fortunately)!

Food, Fittings and Firebombs

Chiang Mai is renowned for being Thailand's cultural and gastronomic centre. We've also discovered the Thais come here for cheap shopping, as apparently the clothing and crafts of all descriptions are the best value in Thailand.

The food I can vouch for.

Sonia and I had the best Thai meal of our lives on Thursday, which is surprising given that we cooked it ourselves. Fortunately we were under close supervision from our tutor on G.T. Eco-Tours' cookery course. After gathering the ingredients at a local market (where Sonia was particularly careful that the dead hens didn't sneeze on her), we spent the rest of the morning at a custom-built kitchen set in an idyllic organic garden in countryside 20 minutes outside of Chiang Mai. For those with more time on their hands, longer classes are available including a residential course for anyone wanting to get away from it all or just wanting to get fat on large quantities of delicious Thai home cooking.

As with all things culinary the real hard work was in the preparation. Fortunately, apart from a bit of token carrot-cutting and seriously bothering a few spices with a pestle and mortar, we didn't have to do any of it, nor any of the (extensive - Thai cooking is bowl-intensive) washing up. Up to 8 trainee chefs can participate, but on Thursday Sonia and I were the school's only customers. For the price of a Phad Thai in London we ate far too much delicious Thai food and hopefully came away with a fighting chance of being able to replicate it back home.

The clothing I'm less sure about.

I was first drawn into the world of tailor-made business suits when I arrived in Hong Kong for a six month work secondment having torn my only suit on a broken doorhandle en-route. I found my new tailor on the Friday, and by Sunday a new suit was ready for my first day at work on the Monday.

After three friendly Thai tourists we'd bumped into all told us they were on holiday from Bangkok/Koh Samui for the cheap clothes shopping, I started to think there must be something in it. I was also impressed by the way that the tailors stayed inside their shops. In Hong Kong and Bangkok it takes more effort NOT to buy a suit than it does to buy one, such are the hard-sell tactics of the thick-skinned tailors. Once they've smelt the sterling and identified you as a potential victim they stick to you like limpets on steroids. In Chiang Mai, either the selling technique is much more sophisticated and features paid-up stooges planted at strategic locations, or there are genuinely satisfied customers on the loose prepared to recommend their tailor.

Having believed the stooges, I made my way to the tailor's shop. Aside from a short argument about paying the entire price up-front, everything seemed fine.

Then I went back for the first fitting. The jacket-prototype wasn't ready yet, and on trying the trousers it appeared that they'd accidentally mixed up my measurements with those of Bernard Manning.

At the second fitting, the failings were less blatant so my knowledge of clothing was called into play. As anyone who knows me will testify, whilst my automotive knowledge is encyclopedic, I can usually bully cameras and computers into doing what I want and can hold my own as a lawyer, when it comes to clothes and fashion I know less than sod all. But even I know that unless you're Linford Christie in lycra, you should only be able to look down and clearly see your genitals when you're naked. Slipping my hand into the pockets felt about as smooth, natural and effortless as Prince Charles. Trousers mark two went back for further alteration.

When the jacket was finally ready, I prayed that it would be OK in the same knowlingly hopeless way that one prays Microsoft Windows will correctly install a new device. Sadly, as with Microsoft, I was familiarly disappointed when one side of the suit looked like it had had a stroke, and the right sleve was over a centimetre longer than the left. It went back, and I started to think it might be quicker to take a sewing course and make the thing myself, especially as the material was finest "mink cashmere flannel, made in Huddersfield."

The final night of the Loi Krathong festival was a cross between bonfire night and the US assault on Fallujah. Sitting by the river Ping, trying to set sail to our modest Krathong, we narrowly avoided death at the hands of a number of small incendiary devices launched from above (which fortunately plopped harmlessly into the Ping). Trying to ignore the sound-track from Platoon whilst taking a couple of photos of the bridge, I lowered the camera from my eye to see a Thai teenager sitting next to me holding a rocket in his hand and trying to light it from his cigarette. After three failed attempts, with the fuse burned down to nothing, he investigated by sticking his eye about an inch away from the non-existent fuse before throwing the recalcitrant firework into the river. Then a massive explosion went off behind us, making my ears ring. We decided to escape the war zone, but wearily dodged bangers and rockets all the way back to the safety of the hotel Montri.

Miss Chiang Mai 2005

I have to admit to a little error in yesterday's instalment. It is actually tonight, the 17th November, which is the "main event" of the Loi Krathong festival. Last night was the parade of the "small" Krathong. Krathong are the floating offerings to the spirits of the river, which include a candle, some Baht, and perhaps something from the sinner's body (eg nail clippings). They are sent into a body of water (the river Ping in Chiang Mai but the sea works even better on the coast) to say sorry for all the things you've done wrong. In Buddhism, unskilled actions give rise to bad Karma, so perhaps my sins include the many inept photographic moments I've had since starting this trip. Sonia and I will be floating our sins away later this evening, but last night turned out only to be the second day of "trailers". We watched part 1 of the beauty pageant. Given that the above-average Thai girls on the streets of Chiang Mai would give Miss World a serious run for her money, I was expecting a stunning display. Sadly the same political correctness which stops anyone too fit from entering Miss World seems to apply to Miss Chiang Mai too, and it was utter rubbish. Even for a nation of natural smilers, the stilted forced-smiles for over an hour proved too much. The dancers who sandwiched the rather stale beauties were (both relatively and absolutely) stunning, and the "small krathong" turned out to be very cute children (pictured).

Loi Krathong (Yi Peng)

There is a full-moon tonight. For most a Thai full-moon means the party island of Ko Pha-Ngan, clubs, beaches, backpackers, drugs, getting raped without knowing and having all your stuff nicked without caring (maybe in that order). We're much too middle aged, partnered-up and weighed down with expensive electronic equipment for that nowadays, so it's just as well Chiang Mai's full-moon ceremony is a more sedate affair.

The Loi Krathong Festival, or Yi Peng as it is called up here in Northern Thailand, is ostensibly about paying respects to the spirits of the rivers. Really I think it's just another excuse for a party. The coolest part of this party, which goes on throughout Thailand for several days, are the flying lanterns launched from all over Chiang Mai. Whilst the festival is national, I believe the lanterns (which would be unlikely to gain a British kite-mark) are a local embellishment. Last night, although it wasn't the main night of celebration (festivities go on for about a week), the sky was lit up by the almost-full moon and hundreds of new yellow and temporary stars. We launched our own, then watched a seemingly endless and colourful procession of ground-based lanterns go past the hotel restaurant whilst we ate our Cheeseburgers (comfort food after the hill trekking). Tonight is supposedly the main event, which will be impressive if it can top last night's easy splendour.

Tips for Hill Trekking in Northern Thailand

The Lonely Planet assumes a better educated reader than myself. In case I was expecting the "Karen" tribe to be an Essex hen-party which got lost, it helpfully points out that they are the largest ethnic minority "hill tribe" in Thailand. However, rather than telling me that "kinship is matrilineal and marriage is endogamous", I wish it had just said "take walking boots." I have therefore prepared a list of hill-trekking tips for dummies:

1) Take walking boots. Hill trekking in sandals is about as sensible as doing a track-day using re-treaded tyres.

2) Don't listen to anything the travel agent who is trying to sell you the trek says, especially if it is "sandals will be fine, there's no need for walking boots." Although it didn't really matter, the itinerary we were given by the travel agent was an absolute work of fiction.

3) I can't speak for any other time of year but in mid-November take a winter sleeping bag, a blanket or lots of layers of clothing (or all three). Whilst you might need the air-con in Chaing Mai, it's a lot colder at 900 metres above sea-level. The wafer-thin sleeping bags provided on our tour served only to prevent actual death through hypothermia rather than offering sufficient warmth to allow sleep.

4) Go for the two-day, one night trek. That way, you get to see plenty of Karens, waterfalls, elephants and bamboo rafts but you only have to spend one night without sleep. With sufficient bowel control you may be able to entirely avoid having to use the hill tribe toilets which consist of a hole in the ground and appear to be part of the rice-irrigation system (ie a river runs through them). With the toilet-river and the complete lack of any dry or clean surfaces or anything which could be used as a hook inside the toilet-shed, presumably you CAN take a dump without getting your shorts and underwear covered with mud and piss but only if you're a member of Cirque du Soleil.

5) It's probably best not to carry a Canon EOS 5D and 24-105L lens or other similarly bulky, expensive and fragile equipment. If you thought it was heavy at the start of the day (it is), just wait until the end of the second day of lugging it up a hill after a night without sleep. In addition waterfalls, slippery stream-crossings and mischievous elephants will all conspire to cover it with muddy water on a regular basis. The Lonely Planet says "don't take photographs unless permission is granted." Presumably it's talking about photographs of the tribes-people, but as I don't even speak a word of Thai never mind Karen hill-language (which bears as much similarity to Thai as Welsh does to English and is just as near the bottom of my must-learn languages list) I'm not sure how to get permission. My attempts at the international sign-language for "do you mind if I take your picture" could just as easily be interpreted as "would you like to buy my camera in exchange for one of your delightful hand-knitted purses."

6) Not being able to choose the other participants in your trek, combined with winter in Europe and Murphy's law make it a mathematical certainty that you will be trekking with Germans. As everything is damp and/or covered with mud, they don't want to get their towels dirty so instead claim territory simply by getting there first and making a mental note of the fact. Arriving last at the sleeping-hut should therefore be avoided unless you want the sacrificial mosquito-protection position next to the door.

By following the above tips, you should be able to enjoy a wonderful hill-trekking experience. Even breaking all the rules, much fun can be had.

Bangkok and Chiang Mai

Thai airways doesn't, by my first impressions, have much going for it. Their aircraft look elderly, changing the timing slightly on the "fully flexible" ticket inexplicably took about the same amount of time as earning the fare, and the little LCD screens on the back of the seats, which I enjoyed when I flew from Hong Kong with Cathay Pacific ten years ago, were missing. They served tiny thimbles of wine with dinner, and their logo looks like a diagram of some fallopian tubes.
However, all is forgiven because the hosties have nice smiles and are genuinely friendly. You might expect a smile from an air stewardess, not that you always get one, but my experience so far is that Thais always smile back. There seems an almost complete lack of grumpiness in this country, perhaps even enough to cancel out the demeanour of most London workers and create an overall neutral world karma.

We bumped into a Thai nurse who helped us cross the road (not straightforward in Bangkok), then cheerfully suggested a sightseeing itinerary for the day. On the way to the Grand Palace, an old Thai man stopped us in the street, asked where we were going, and pointed out that we'd need to change as shorts and T-shirts weren't allowed inside the temples. On the hot and smelly Tuk-tuk "Bangkok near-death experience" theme park ride back to the hotel, we passed at high speed through some dark satanic sweatshop backstreets. In a brief moment of calm, the tuk-tuk stopped and I smiled through a window-hole at a Thai lady steam-ironing in the paralysing heat and semi-darkness of some horrendous workshop. She smiled back. Not the sort of smile you may get once a year on the Tube on an unbearably hot day from a fellow suffering passenger, but a smile like a child who has just unwrapped their favourite present on Christmas day. Waiters, bell-boys, taxi-drivers, travel agents, even the men and women whose jobs are to sit in boats full of fruit so that the tourists who outnumber them fifty to one can take their photographs have all seemed genuinely cheerful.

Yesterday we went on a coach trip to the floating market and rose garden. It featured, in vague order of amusingness, a Bangkok chick-boy tour guide who tried to teach us songs (with actions) about elephants and snakes; crocodile, elephant and snake exploitation factories which would have made the average animal rights campaigner's head explode and a Thai cultural extravaganza which was how a school nativity play would be if it featured elephants and kick-boxing. Food of unbelievable disgustingness was thrown in, although just about everything else was an extra. The guides were predictably cheerful and smiley, unphased that they were enjoying it more than the customers. I still can't get that awful loop of music they played over and over during the elephant mutilation ceremony out of my head. I think I'll leave coach tours until I'm too old to walk properly. Hopefully by then scientists will have isolated Thai cheerfulness and it can be included in pill form as part of all package day trips.

We've now left Bangkok and arrived in Chiang Mai, which seems lovely. Haven't had much chance to explore yet but the locals seem friendlier than ever, food is even more of a bargain, the air is clear and there are more temples and golden Buddhas than you could shake an incense stick at. There is a water festival going on over the next few days, as part of which a man has just lit a home-made hot-air baloon latern and launched it from the wall opposite where I'm sitting. Not sure what happens when it comes back down. Tomorrow we're going on a camping trek thing to sleep in tents and watch some poor people.

Hong Kong Part 2

In an episode of Red Dwarf, Lister tested his theory that he was onboard a "divine" version of his spaceship by ordering a pot noodle from the vending machine. It tasted good, proving beyond doubt that strange forces were at work.

Impressed with Hong Kong when I worked there five years ago, I carried out a similar test and was shocked to discover that tasty pot noodles were also available in Hong Kong. If that wasn't bizarre enough, the other day I bought something from Ikea in Causeway Bay, Hong Kong. Like almost all shops there, it was conveniently located on the high street and was still open when we visited at 10pm. They seem to have managed to cram an entire out-of-town industrial estate's worth of showroom into the Causeway Bay high street, but the real surprise was that on reaching the checkout there was no queue whatsoever. Such a pleasant Ikea experience is proof, if proof were needed after the tasty pot noodle experience, that there is something unnatural about Hong Kong.

Hong Kong

I've never been one for "ticking off" tourist attractions, which may be why I rate Hong Kong more highly than some other travellers. There aren't really any tourist attractions as such. For me, Hong Kong's appeal lies with its visual treats and bizarre atmosphere.

Today I saw a woman at Wan Chai market catching live toads which had escaped and were hopping around her fish and vegetable stall. She scooped them into a plastic carrier bag and handed them over to a customer. Meanwhile the man next to her was slicing live fish diagonally in half with a huge meat cleaver. There is always something to shock the senses of a western tourist, from decapitations of various species of fish and fowl to the pungent mixture of drying seafood and over-worked drains. But whilst Hong Kong can be shocking, I always feel safe. The mix of harmonious contradictions is what I love about Hong Kong. The East and the West, the rich and the poor, the unspoilt countryside colliding with densely packed skyscrapers.

Five years ago when I lived here for six months, I never once felt the need to go and visit one of the few bona fide tourist attractions - the "big Buddha" on Lantau Island. Sonia and I ticked it off the list on Monday. It was rubbish.

The temperature has been pleasant, not too hot to walk around all day with a camera-filled daypack. Unfortunately it is constantly misty, which is not ideal for photography. I was glad to discover that the Ritz Carlton still does an excellent champagne brunch on Sundays. The Devil's Advocate bar still exists opposite Carnegies, although they don't seem to do the same deal on a Wednesday with Standard Chartered 20$ notes... Although a few new skyscrapers have sprung up (including one ludicrously tall one) in the last five years, happily nothing too drastic seems to have changed.