Kuala Lumpur

"Hotel Die-Nasty?" asked the taxi driver.
"The Dynasty, yes."
Certainly the most bizarre and frustrating hotel we've ever stayed in (despite being four stars) did not prevent us enjoying our time in Kuala Lumpur, or should I say our time in the Petronas Towers? A lot of people equate Kuala Lumpur with the towers, so we decided to take that approach one step further and not leave them for three whole days, other than to return to the Dynasty for protracted arguments with reception, housekeeping and room service and, if there was time after all that, a couple of hours sleep.
The Petronas Towers are a city in themselves, containing all that is necessary to support modern life. Tip for KL - the sky-bridge offers good views of the city, but is only open to ticket-holders. Tickets are not sold, but given away free on a "first-come, first served" basis. Unless you queue up at 8.30 AM your only chance of getting on the sky-bridge is if your girlfriend's tearful outbust appeals to the hearts of the attendants (it worked for us!) After a mad dash to buy smart shoes specially for the purpose, we listened to the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra playing Beethoven's 5th Piano Concerto. We then surfed the Internet, ate Sushi and shopped for a laptop all within the magical citadel of the Towers.

In Singapore we had even less time than we did in KL, but were still able to look at porcupines in the dark. It happens that Sonia and I visited London Zoo shortly before we set off on this trip. Comparing Singapore's night safari with London Zoo is like comparing, well, night and day. Whilst London's decaying pre-Victorian effort was utterly crap to the point of being both depressing and disturbing, the night safari was wonderful, even after having been on a proper safari in the summer.

A short flight from Singapore brought us to Sydney, and up to date. New Zealand tomorrow!

Cambodia and the Temples of Angkor

Although we were only in Cambodia for five minutes, there was plenty of time to realise how special the Temples of Angkor are. Angkor Wat is the most famous, but to my eyes far from the most spectacular. My favourite was Ta Prohm, of Tomb Raider fame, where vast fig and silk-cotton trees tower above the ruined temple, incongruously taking root in the temple stonework itself.



From the rural simplicity of the local communities to the tranquil beauty of lake Tonle Sap, Siam Reap's surroundings were never less than captivating, even though we STILL didn't manage to see a proper sunset!

King Mekong?

I'm a bit confused. We've been to so many countries and seen so many movies in the last couple of weeks I can't remember which of the giant cockroaches, naked natives, cobra wine and temples with skull heads were from Narnia, King Kong or the Mekong Delta. I'm four entire countries and at least as many films behind with the blog, so forgive me if the details are a little conflated.

I liked Saigon. I sat in a bar for the whole day drinking beers and coffee, eating the occasional meal when I felt like it, reading photocopied history and watching the locals on the street outside try to sell photocopied novels. The entire day cost two quid, and that includes the hotel and the six hundred fake DVD's I bought.

Vietnam won the football again (I think they were playing Madame Tussauds B team this time) so we were treated to the Saigon version of the fabulous mad motorbike flag-waving riot. It's a pity their team has a red national flag, but seeing the entire city flooded with a procession of chanting Vietnamese draped in red, you can understand why the Americans tragically mistook them for Communists.

As life was easy, comfortable, colourful and cheap in Saigon, we decided to leave immediately so that we could sleep on a tiled piece of concrete in the middle of a mosquito-infested swamp. This was what is known as a "home-stay." We actually paid extra for this, on the understanding that it would add authenticity to our mekong delta trip. It was quite interesting. We discovered that the inhabitants of the Mekong delta live a simple agrarian lifestyle without proper beds or any hot water, and that they mostly support Manchester United. Seriously, "Manchester United" were the only two words of English our host spoke, and whilst the house only had partial walls, concrete beds and a pig in the back garden, there was a 30 inch TV featuring all the Premiership matches in Dolby surround sound!



After showering in cold water in the yard next to the pig, we were escorted by boat to the Cai Rang floating market. We then visited a man with snakes and a magically clean toilet. Or was that in Harry Potter? Later that afternoon we discovered how they make rice noodles out of dogs.

Big Ass Tourists

Travel broadens the mind. The painful part about having my mind broadened is the realisation of how narrow it was in the first place. Sometimes I start to believe I know some things, but then I travel and vast galaxies of my ignorance open up before me.

I didn't know very much at all about the Vietnam War. I knew it happened round-about the nineteen sixties and involved America dropping a lot of bombs on Vietnam, but that was about it. After being inspired by the passionate account of a tour guide (who was himself a war veteran) on a visit to the Cu Chi tunnels, I found myself a copy of Robert Mcnamara's book, "In Retrospect," and am enjoying broadening. I am angry with my education, however, which made History a boring chore in which we learned much tedious detail about British prime-ministers in the 1870's, but nothing whatsoever about the Communist revolution and the Vietnam War.

According to our veteran tour guide, the Vietnamese now refer to Brits and Americans as "big ass tourists", for obvious reasons. My ass proved small enough to fit through a short section of Cu Chi tunnel, but two minutes of it was quite enough for me. It was a fascinating and moving place, made all the more real by the personal stories from our guide, and I will leave much the wiser.

Vietnamese Jingle Bells

Real joy was brought to my heart when we left the altogether average Hoi An and flew to Saigon (officially Ho Chi Minh City in the same way that the official name for the Union Jack is the Union Flag). We found a proper department store (the Zen Plaza), and a sushi bar within. I was quite cheered by the prospect of sushi in pleasant surroundings, but what warmed the very core of my soul was hearing all the Christmas songs in Vietnamese. I'd forgotten all about Christmas! Not that I'm actually looking forward to Christmas, of course, but I suddenly realised it was only 20 or so days to go, and this was the first Christmas music I'd heard in 2005! The genius timing of our trip not only avoided England's crappiest weather, but we'd got off totally scot-free on the "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" front too!

Same same (but different)

My copy of the South-East Asia Lonely Planet is sorely lacking photos. Actually it's sorely lacking pages, too, since Sonia cut out and discarded most of them to make bag-room for airport kipple-purchases such as a tiled handbag. Before they went, I did see a small black and white image of Halong Bay and decided we had to go there. Vietnamese fish farmers with triangle-hats paddling rustic boats silhouetted against steep limestone outcrops at sunset beckoned.

Another day, another tour. Despite my resolution never to join the ranks of the organised coach-trip after the Bangkok day-trip experience, Sonia persuaded me that a "3 day, 2 night" tour was the best way to see what Vietnam proffers as "one of the great natural wonders of Asia."

It was average. It was actually 2 days, 2 nights, as the "third day" merely involved driving back to Hanoi. The light was rubbish so photographic opportunities were limited. The first evening featured one of the weakest sunsets I've ever seen, and the second night's sunset would have made for some average photos if we hadn't been behind schedule, stuck on an island with a mad kayak guide, being attacked by rabid monkeys, whilst my camera languished on the main boat.

Kayaking sucks pretty badly. Unlike rowing, which is quite rewarding at the same time as being tiring, Kayaking is simply tiring and irritating. You don't get the opportunity to get out of breath - repetitive strain injury sets in first as you flap the little paddles around to hardly any effect. We paddled about 14 kilometres, accompanied by the tone-deaf singing of our vietnamese guide, to a place called Monkey Island, where (surprise surprise) there are some monkeys. One eyed us viciously after it had finished pulling the legs off a gecko and putting it back on the ground to see if it could still walk. I was convinced it was evil, and probably had rabies. It decided to attack Sonia.

We did have some excellent food, met some interesting people, and saw quite a nice cave, but overall Halong Bay was a bit of a disappointment for me compared to similar scenery in Krabbi (Thailand) and Coron Bay (Philippines).

As our fellow tour-groupers in Halong Bay were all civilised Europeans and Americans, we needed to subject ourselves to some up-close and personal South-East Asian culture. So we booked ourselves a 14 hour overnight train journey aboard the Reunification Express from Hanoi to Danang. After a slightly confusing bit of shuffling (the hotel had booked Sonia and I beds in different cabins) we ended up in a 4-berth cabin with a Vietnamese family. Sonia feared the worst for our night's sleep when she saw the five-month old baby. Actually he was the most well-behaved baby I've ever seen. Perhaps he was deaf, as he didn't even start crying when piercing Vietnamese opera started blaring from speakers all over the train at 6am. Very good child. Pity the father snored like an Elephant with bird flu, though.

As is usual in the region, when we arrived at our destination some little men rushed up and stole our bags. We've learned that instead of calling the police, the easiest thing to do is just follow these guys and pay them lots of money to take you to your hotel in their taxi. So we quickly exited Danang and arrived in Hoi An, where the light was still rubbish. Apparently there is a beach but we didn't much fancy it in the rain, so the only entertainment was getting another crap suit made and going back for 6 fittings. Tailored suits in Asia are like bargain wine in France - a false economy. It seems appealing until you've thrown away your 15th bottle of crap plonk and wished you'd just paid an extra two quid for some decent stuff at Tescos.