TravelStream™ news feed for member lnb203 on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/lnb203 en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 03 Sep 2009 09:47:35 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lnb203/1/1236062400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lnb203/1/1236062400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lnb203/1/1236062400/tpod.html Thu, 03 Sep 2009 09:47:35 -0400 A jolly jaunt around Asia.

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Tiger Leaping Gorge, Yunnan, China

Day One:

Setting out bright and early, our bellies full of pancakes, we caught the bus from Lijiang to Qiaotou where the trek was to begin. After three hours in van that closely resembled a squashed beer can on wheels, we arrived and were promptly met by a warm, if somewhat batty, Australian lady. Jane is apparently a bit of a legend in these parts, and filled our heads with top tips before we set out to brave the elements. Stocked up on essentials (read - snickers bars), we set off with a spring in our step.

As we left the village behind, heading sharply uphill, it soon became apparent that the trek would be a stonking success. I hadn't really known what to expect, but as every Km passed and we ventured deeper into the gorge, the scenery and vistas got more and more spectacular. After a number of hours of uphill walking (on paths that are somewhat similar to those found in HK's hills), we reached the top of the infamous '28 Bends' and were rewarded with a view straight down the gorge, with its frighteningly sharp slopes and green river snaking through the bottom. Describing scenery always seems like a futile exercise, and I doubt my photos will do the scene justice either. You'll just have to take my word for it, it was a ripper!

We had a good group, and I'm glad I found the company. Taking on the gorge alone would have been fantastic as well, but somehow the experience was heightened by being able to share it. Also, my previously described navigational ineptitude would probably have resulted in me taking getting lost/walking off a cliff etc had I been alone.

We rested our heads (arriving as the sun went down) at Teahorse Gueshouse. Bit a dump to be honest, but the beds were cheap and the food plentiful. The night was spent sipping hot chocolate, watching Deniz try and fail to find some decent psychoactives and playing Isreali card games in temperatures hovering around zero. Moral had slipped with our blood sugar leverls, and it took a few hours of disgusting over indulgence to raise our smiles. As we lay down to sleep, we spared a thought and a prayer for the Spanish chap we'd bumped into earlier. The crazy devil had decided to pitch a tent, and with the wind howling and the temperatuire plummeting, we were half expecting to find his frozen body somewhere on the trail the next day. Raul - we salute you!

Day Two:

Sleeping in, we were somewhat embarrassed to rise to find a group of Americans arriving at our guesthouse. They'd done three hours of walking before we'd finished getting dressed, shockingly lazy on our part... Lovely people all of them, but they followed their national stereotype with regards to their noise levels (HEY!! WASSUP GUYS!!?? AWESOME!!! etc). Deciding they would likely ruin the serenity of the walk, we made our excuses and bloody legged it.

Today, the scenery got even better. Won't describe it, but it was ace. CLiffs, snowy peaks and winding rivers galore. Almost got butted to our doom off a cliff by a froup of over friendly goats. Crossed waterfalls. Ate dumplings made fresh from ingredients from the fields. Walked in sunshine, wind, rain and snow.

Taking the high road, we reached a part which to be honest was (in my sissy opinion) stupidly dangerous. Climbing higher and higher, with sheer drops inches to my right, on a trail that was 'shingly' and best and almost non existant at times. Frankly, was crapping myself, particularly as the wind was blowing strongly and I'd stumbled a number of times earlier in the day on safer trails. Thankfully, no one died and it felt great to reach the top, although I'm not sure I'd recommend our route to others purely from a safety perspective. Part of it was so steep that I was using my hands as much as my feet... Apparently a few foreigners have died in the gorge over the years and I'd be highly suprised if this section wasn't the cause of the fatalities.

Having survived this part of the trail, we thought it'd be a cruise home to Sean's guesthouse where we were to stay. Not so! Got hopelessly lost, halfway up a mountain, with no real trail in sight, things got a tad nervous as the dark set in. The thought of huddling overnight in the pitch black and freezing cold was unappealing as best and frightening at worst. Not cool! Thankfully, just as I was about to cry 'every man for themselves!' and bound off to find safety, we stumbled upon the right trail and our lives were saved... Not a pleasant experience, but it made arriving at Sean's all the better.

And what a night we had! Hot showers, good food and great company! They even made us a bonfire so we could settle in for a long night of congratulating ourselves on a fantastic and unforgetable couple of days. Deniz, still frustrated by a lack of decent marijuana, suggested a bottle of whisky... Hit the spot.

Pleased to report we also met up with Raul, the only other person staying at our guesthouse. He hadn't died, on the contrary he was in spritely form.

Day Three:

Lazy lazy lazy. Strolled down to the river in the gorge below, frollicked around for a while. Threw stones like a neanderthol man. Posed for stupid pictures with Team Tiger. Had a good time. Found the bus to take us home. Stopped at Jane's and were told someone had needed to be rescued the day before (we weren't the only ones to get lost!).

Got back to Lijiang, checked into Mama Naxis. Very tired. Ate a lot of food. Drank a lot of beer, got accidently drunk (Dmitri, the enigma appeared from nowhere like a Russian KGB agent). Had a good night with the posse, went to sleep.
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Georgetown, Pinang, Malaysia

I spent about three days in Georgetown, not doing a great deal but still finding the town to be one of the highlights of my trip to date. I continued my theme of solitude from Phi Phi, rarely feeling the need for company - other than some staff at my favourite restaurant I hardly talked to anyone. My days were spent exploring the town on foot (it’s small and walkable), chilling by the seafront and searching out a few historical buildings of interest. I embraced the multi racial nature of Georgetown, particularly with regards to my eating habits. Chapattis for breakfast, noodles and fried pork for dinner, sandwiching a relaxing cup of mid afternoon tea.

As these cities go, there wasn’t a huge amount to do in Georgetown with regards to ‘attractions’, and a number of people I know seemed to have been thoroughly bored by the place. I don’t understand this thinking, as I found just wandering the streets and watching life unfold to be more than enough to keep me happy. There are the inevitable glitzy modern buildings, presumably the result of pre-crash development in the early 90’s, but far more interesting was the old colonial architecture, the Chinese temples and drinking dens and the Indian markets and restaurants. The place reeks of a rich and somewhat salubrious history, and strolling around the back alleys and crumbling buildings I thought enviously of the fun the triads and smugglers and old school colonials must have had. I imagine it would have been a perfect setting for old Sir Harry Flashman to have weaved his nefarious magic. Is there a Flashman in Penang novel?

Georgetown = 8.8/10, a fine score!


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Shanghai, China

Shangers
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Beijing, Beijing, China

b
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Singapore, Singapore

S
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Melaka, Melaka State, Malaysia

M
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Kuala Lumpur, Wilayah Persekutuan, Malaysia

KL
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Pulau Perhentian Kecil, Terengganu, Malaysia

I hadn’t intended to visit the Perhentians - despite being told they were absurdly beautiful I felt I’d had my fill of beaches and wanted to head on down to KL. However, a moment of reckless spontaneity sidetracked me from this plan. At around midnight, sitting on the social couches at Daniel’s Lodge, my Belgian buddy Bert and his two German comrades were discussing an audacious plot to leave at 4am on a mission to the beach. The laughs were flowing, the vibes were good and I was overcome with a sudden urge to join the companionship and merriment. So my initial plan was abandoned and 4 hours later we commenced our mission, arriving at the beach in the late afternoon (2 extended car journeys, 1 long train ride, 1 hair raisingly fast speedboat ride, 2 flat tires, 2 broken headlights and 1 dead engine later).

The Perhentians really are all they’re cracked up to be. I’ve been on plenty of tropical beaches in my time, but the water here was without doubt the best I’ve ever seen. Even at 5 meters depth you could see the sea floor (and the assortment of corals, fish, turtles etc) with perfect clarity. The weather was top drawer (maybe a little too perfect if I must gripe, leaving the shade for 10 minutes between 10 and 3 o clock would fry me to a crisp), the food was tasty, the local beach boys were friendly, funny and honest (far more genuine than their Thai counterparts). Pretty much everything you need at a beach stop was there, and in excellent quality. I went snorkelling a few times and caught sight of giant sea turtles and sharks, as well as the best coral and variety of fishes I’ve ever seen. I’m obviously not a diver, but plenty of people I knew there were and said it was the best diving of their life. We’d left the Germans on the Big Island, and so Bert and I stayed alone on Long Beach on the Small Island. The busiest beach on the islands, but also the cheapest and most social. A good choice.

I settled into my fairly standard beach routine. Rise in the late morning, read for a few hours on my porch, grab some lunch, read some more, then hit the beach and the sea when the sun was slightly less intense in the late afternoon. Everyday we played beach volleyball for two hours before sunset, playing out the classic beach scene from Top Gun - it was great to do some activity and work up a sweat for once. Bert plays V-ball a lot at home and I’m not TOO bad either, and during our 6 hours of combined play we never lost a set. CHAMPIONE! We struck fear into the hearts of challengers from all over the beach. I once spiked a ball straight into the very pretty nose of a Malaysian girl on the other team. Cue shocked groans from the crowd, a bleeding nose, a brave face from the girl in question and embarrassed apologies from myself. A most regrettable incident, despite it being an accident I think my popularity went down on the beach somewhat - she was much loved.

It was a relatively social affair, as a number of people from Daniel’s Lodge in the Cameron Highland’s had also found their way there. We played volleyball regularly with a friendly if slightly odd Danish chap (Arnus?) and chatted in the evenings a few times with the talkative and hugely enthusiastic/opinionated Danish medical students. Bert himself was a top guy. He’s 27, although from the looks of him I’d have put him closer to 21. He quit his PhD to go travelling, saying he couldn’t be bothered with all the politics associated with getting anywhere in academia - rather confirming my long held suspicion that that the academic world is populated more by egotists and bullshitters than the great minds and thinkers that the romantics lead us to believe. Or perhaps great minds and thinkers just also happen to be egotists and bullshitters. Bert is a bright chap, speaks about 5 languages and was another who thinks before he speaks. He’s also a genuinely nice guy who seems to get along with everyone. Glad to have met him.

The lowlight of my stay would undoubtedly be the accommodation. I really don’t mind roughing it, and despite having stayed in a few dives on the trip so far I haven’t felt that budget lodgings have been detrimental to my enjoyment of my surroundings. Not the case in this instance. The shower was pitiful, closer to a slow drip, and it took me about 5 minutes to get wet. This wouldn’t have been a huge problem anywhere else, but at the beach it meant that I couldn’t even wash the sand off my body. This, combined with high temperatures and a fan that didn’t really work meant that every night was a sweaty, sandy affair. The bed lacked sheets, and every person who has ever stayed there has presumably sweated tons of liquid into the mattress and pillows. Again, less than pristine beddings doesn’t usually bother me, but the stench from my pillow suggested it had never ever been washed - it was literally difficult to breath through the fumes of stale sweat munching bacteria. There were also an abundance of bedbugs, and sitting here in KL a week later I’m still scratching the 50 plus (literally) bites all over my body. The only thing separating the rooms was a thin piece of wood, which meant that soundproofing was non existent and every time my neighbour emitted a violent bottom burp in the middle of the night, I’d be rudely awakened. It was also quite a small double bed, and while Bert is a lovely chap I found him rather too close for comfort in the evenings. Pathetic, but I found it off putting.

During the day, these issues weren’t really a problem, but combined together they made the night and trying to sleep a bit of a nightmare. I literally dreaded trying to catch some shut eye. The remedy to these night terrors was obvious - I had to get myself thoroughly drunk. I cracked into the emergency bottle of rum that had been carried in my bag since the Rishikish Booze Run, Bert got through his spirits picked up cheap on the mainland, and each night we’d grab a bottle or two of the local sprits - affectionately dubbed ’Monkey Juice’. Not much else to do at night anyway to be honest, and while we weren’t exactly partying it up we had a few good chats on the beach in the evenings.

Lodgings aside, it was a good few days and I would highly recommend the islands to anyone. Better beaches than in Thailand, and enough going on socially to keep you entertained. I wasn’t sad to leave however. Realistically my gut feeling that I’d had enough of beaches had proved correct, and I was keen to hit KL and get on with seeing new things rather than just essentially killing time in a pleasant location. Before I left, I found out an Italian girl who we’d spoken to a couple of times was going to be on my bus, so company (very chatty, dramatic company haha) was assured for the evening. Incidentally, the overnight bus was plush and for the first time in my life I slept solidly through the 8.5 hours bus journey. A minor miracle!


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Cameron Highlands, Pahang, Malaysia

I hopped into my minivan to the Cameron Highlands at 6am, and was immediately confronted with probably the oddest character of my tip to date. Gerry was an American in his late 20’s. He was very skinny with intense blue eyes and a full beard, and had the stuttering speech of someone who is in a state of over excitement. He was very friendly and talkative, but the subject which was his clear passion and dominated 90% of his conversations was that of diet and particularly fruit. The guy was mad about fruit! He’d planned his whole trip around the seasons of exotic fruits worldwide, and was clearly loving every second of his time Malaysia (where, I’m reliably informed, there is a quality and variety found in few other countries). You might say his Malaysian trip had proved….fruitful! HAHAHHAAH, ooooh lordy! Anyway, his chatter was interesting for a while, but by the time we pulled into Tanah Ratah in the CH 4 hours later, his passionate analysis of the comparative merits of Malaysian Vs Thai VS Malyasian/Thai hybrid durians was proving a tad tiring. Anyway, during my stay here Gerry would delight and bamboozle everyone else he stumbled across, eating literally 10 full bags of fruit a day and very little else. To be fair, despite being skinny the guy was the picture of health - he pretty much glowed.

Immediately upon arrival, it was clear why the British had selected this area as their holiday retreat. Despite the blue sky, the air was cool and crisp, and was a blessed relief after the humidity of Georgetown. We trudged up the road to Daniel’s Lodge, which had been recommended to me, and checked into the dorm there. What a place. It was small and cosy, the dorm was always full, it had a free book exchange and a well stocked and comfortable film room, and it had such a social atmosphere that you couldn’t help but to meet people. Sitting on the comfy sofas in the courtyard, you’d chat to a revolving selection of people as the guests came and went and passed in and out of the hostel. The resident kitten was everyone’s friend, and livened up every trip to the sofas. By night we’d crowd into the Jungle Bar attached to Daniel’s Lodge, and sit around the bonfire (which was needed, the place was cold in the evenings) shooting the shit and drinking a few beers. The bar was run by three fun loving young Aussies who got their room free in exchange for their work. They kept the fire burning and the beer/conversation flowing. I met plenty of cool people during my time here, but aside from Gerry and the Aussies, my favs were Fabbers (a long haired Dutch guy, who was highly interesting and easy going, and who I was able to have long conversations on a variety of topics), Chrissy (an American girl who was good enough to listen and even agree with some of my half pissed views on ‘The State of America’) and Bert (a Belgian who I’d later spend time with in the Perhentians). There were endless other characters, but these were the main players in my 4/5 day stay.

In all honesty, there wasn’t a great deal to do here. It was more a good place to relax and socialise, escape the heat and spend the days eating and doing some moderately interesting sight seeing. I went on forest walks, which to be honest rather resembled the HK trails, just less well kept and with significantly denser and more tropical vegetation. I saw tea plantations (cool, but Darjeeling was far more impressive). I visited a strawberry farm (predictably with Gerry), which in all honesty which pretty crap - hundreds of Malaysian tourists and about 5 strawberries in a pot. I tried my first ever durian, at Gerry’s insistence (it tastes like it smells, rather like how I imagine sweaty socks would taste - not a fan). I got lost on a long walk, almost died of dehydration and had to take a cab home. Incidentally, this cab driver was a fascinating chap. He regaled me with stories of the glory days past, told me of how panthers were still common in the area (which shit me up a bit, seeing as I’d just walked alone through the forest for a few hours), how tigers used to regularly eat people here in colonial times, how the Indian/Chinese population were in decline due to Malays getting preferential treatment from the government (which allowed them, financially speaking, to ‘breed like rats’), how CAs are the most revered profession within the Indian community (he had a nephew just starting work with E&Y in London), how Malaysia was suffering an Indian/Chinese brain drain to Singapore/UK due to Malay government not supporting the most able students etc etc etc. A real character, this cab driver.

I spent many happy hours scoffing scones and cream (when in Rome) and drinking tea and Malaysian coffee in a quite café, quietly reading my books (a couple of Nicholas Evans page turners - if an author writes well but resorts to cheesey Hollywood plotlines, is he a good writer? I’m undecided on this Evans chap, I suspect that after the Horse Whisperer and his big bucks jackpot he now constantly has his eye on selling film rights). Anyway, a really enjoyable stay, if not overly exciting.






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Georgetown, Pinang, Malaysia

I awoke at 8.30 in time for my 9 o clock ferry, and thought ‘Balls to this’. These long journeys have been building up and up, and I’m finding I have less patience for them at the moment. The thought of an uncomfortable ferry followed by a long trip in a cramped minivan did not fill me with joy - must be getting old etc. But what must be done, must be done, so I set off with a dour look on my face.

The scowl must have worked its charms, as despite the ferry being cramped with cattle like tourists (as usual), nobody dared sit next to me. Sweet result, more space and less forced early morning small talk. Munched on a nutritious and delicious breakfast of sesame seed crackers, before stretching out and snoozing away the journey. Arriving in Krabi, I was met with surprising efficiency by my driver, and was directed to the standard minivan affair. Soon after, I was joined by a couple of unfriendly German girls and a South African dude who was possibly the only person on earth to out scowl me that morning. I was both impressed and intimidated by this scowl. It wasn’t a very friendly atmosphere it has to be said, although at least with just four of us we could stretch out a bit. It was also rather sweaty (why do they use that faux leather rubbish for seats in hot and humid climates?). As we sped along the South African started complaining about the driving, and I was surprised to note that I hadn’t really realised the guy was speeding and swerving. India and China must have lowered my safety standards, or at least numbed me to nerves.

After a quick and chatless lunch and a few more hours driving, the South African and I were moved to a different van for the final hour or so before the border. I finally got speaking to him, and it turns out Clinton is actually a fairly good guy. He’d been working on Phi Phi as a dive master for four months, and was just heading to Penang for his visa run. His scowls were caused both by boredom (he’d done this journey a few times before) and by a blazing hangover (as we all know, Thailand divemasters swim around by day and chase tourist girls in bars by night). Having snapped out of my morning moodiness, the company was appreciated and helped pass the time as we went through immigration and continued to sit in the van until 7 or 8pm.

Arriving in Butterworth, we crossed the channel to Georgetown on the car ferry. A real blast from the past, reminded me of the old days in Hong Kong and the few times we took the car across the harbour on the ferries. Now I think about it, the crossing and the view itself wasn’t all that different to Hong Kong either, although the night skyline is obviously rather more lowrise and less spectacular than in HK. We chatted to a Malaysian business man, who with his distinctly Chinese face and accent again reminded me of home.

We were unceremoniously dumped out of the van into the middle of the street. Looking around it was clear we were in Chinatown, and thankfully the man Clinton knew a place we could stay. Checked in, money exchanged and other formalities completed, it was time to hit the streets. Immediately got a very good impression indeed. Looking around, there were endless signs that the area was inhabited by Cantonese people - the smells, the food, the characters, the temples etc etc. Combined with the rundown British colonial architecture and grizzled expats sitting in bars, I couldn’t again help but to think this is what Hong Kong must have been like before the rapid development and highrised buildings set in. As I wasn’t alive in that period I obviously have no way of knowing for sure, but it’s a strong hunch and I’m sticking with it. Anyway, I was happy and I felt at home, and I was glad to realise that being surrounded by the Chinese brought such a positive response. It somewhat justifies my decision to ditch Indonesia in favour of six more weeks in China. Also excited about Penang now, I’m aware there is also a strong Indian community here so I look forward to some interracial wandering tomorrow, amongst the decaying backdrop of a former colonial playground.

After dinner at a street stall (Cantonese fried pork, niiiice, classic) we headed back to the guesthouse to rest before bed. Clinton pointed out that on his previous visits here, he’d noticed a number of late middle aged gents who seemed to have lost the plot. Couldn’t help but to agree. There were quite a few sitting on their own, drinking themselves into oblivion. Also one or two who in all honesty just seemed completely mad, waving their arms around and muttering to themselves etc. Quite sad really. Anyway, we sat in the bar chatting for a bit. As he was South African, I played it safe and avoided politics, sticking to less controversial subjects such as great white sharks and slipping standards within British education. Then it was toodloo, nighty night, and I never saw him again. Cheerio Clint, happy diving.


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