Days 115 to 118 - Ubud and the Cremation Ceremony

The Sacred Monkey Forest

It was good to be back in Ubud. When you return to a place you feel familiar and familiarity is the feeling we associate with being home. In a minute way, returning to Ubud and the Warsi Bungalows was like coming home. With an air of confidence we knew where to eat and returned to our restaurant just down the hill on Monkey Forest Road.

After dinner we went back up the hill towards Ubud Palace and saw how the preparations were coming along for the cremation ceremony. All the black bulls which were to hold the dead were lined up neatly. A hawker came up to me and talked me into a sarong. Sarah got another one for her, but she has more use for them in everyday life. I chose one purely on pattern without checking the fabric which felt like a table cloth. On returning and tying it the way I'd been taught from our copious temples adventure it bunched up awkwardly at the front. The knot looked like and African head scarf and tucking a t-shirt over it made me look like I had a permanent erection. I fussed over the tying of this sarong for ages, and in the end settling for a less than embarrasing knot. I also got the fabric wet, so as to hopefully eliminate starch. That was futile and Sarah wouldn't let me buy another.

That evening we ate at a restaurant down near the river. During the meal we found ourselves talking to an ok couple. He was American from New York, and her Chinese by birth. They both now lived in Hong Kong. Our visit there 6 or 7 weeks ago gave us some topic for conversation. Being from New York, you kind of hope to meet a Londoners opposite number in The States. He had the considered way of talking. Conversations went to Sarah's life in Britain came up and the riots were discussed. Of which I try to be balanced and analyse the good aspects as well as the bad. I'll do that quickly now. The majority of Britain was dismayed at the riots. More cleaned up afterwards than took part in the looting. More youngsters turned up to clean in fact. Politicians did sod all, and the teenagers sense of entitlement fueled the riot. Like life in general, most of us work hard, the politicians and rich take and some from the poor ruin it for us. Anyway his response "they (the rioters) should be stripped of their citizenship and sent to Africa".  I'm not exactly sure which colonies Britain has left in Africa to send our hoody friends to. I also don't think you can lose your British Citizenship, if we could I would have renounced mine ages ago. Also we are not citizens, we are subjects of HM. It was from this point I got the measure of the man and from thereon tried to tread carefully with subjects. All was going well until he pointed out how great Hong Kong is for having no capital gains tax. How well taxation rewards the rich. I wanted to not talk anymore. Taxing the rich heavily is the very least we can do after they fucked up of late and left us all in the shit. I'm glad when we paid up and left. I don't want to be caught out like that again. If you are from New York or France or a traditionally more libertarian part of the world, please declare any red neck / chavish conservatism at the outset, so I may not be sick in my mouth when eating.

The 28th July was the day of the ceremony. I tied my sarong about me. Luckily on leaving our hosts at Warsi saw what an abortion of a sarong was tied around me. He offered to re-tie it and did a good job. It now looked less bulky at the front and I left with as much dignity a man can have walking up the street in the middle of a day wearing a dress.

The day was really hot, and without the normal breeze so typical of Ubud. It was with this we met the crowds outside Ubud palace. Most were Balinese, but there were many westerners it seemed. Many like me had shown respect by wearing a sarong. Some wore a hat to go that extra step. The part we saw, I will call 'the running of the bull'. A massive black bull was constructed as I mentioned earlier and this was transported by lifting, not wheels, and taken down to street to the final cremation destination. The same method was used for a big pagoda come slide for the bodies I assume. This was carried by much manpower. A few big cheeses, including a dour looking army general sat on the pagoda come slide, adding much to the weight. Their one concession seemed to be kindly spraying water on the lifters, how kind of them.

The Pagoda / Slide thingy

The bull and the pagoda moved at an impressive speed, and left us dragging. As it turned into a temple area we followed the example of many others and climbed a wall into the temple area avoiding bottle necked-crowds. Doing this loosened my sarong, leaving me pleased I changed my mind about not wearing it the Scottish way. Also somewhere up in the park the heat really got to me. Once the pagoda and the bull were parked, the cremation seemed to take an age. We agreed that they would probably light it when the night starts to fall. Therefore, we started to walk back to our bungalow. We took another way which added at least an extra mile to our foot journey. The heat got to me. Maybe the excitement of snapping pictures as if I was pulled back in time as a Vietnamese war journalist, and not drinking as much water as possible. We stopped in a store on the way back. I couldn't stand up in it much longer. I handed Sarah the money and my choice of things and sat outside on the curb willing myself to be less dizzy. The walk up Monkey Forest Road, was hellish and I was so glad I got back. My head ached profusely, and didn't really stop until this morning, two days later.

We ended the day with a meal and icecream and lastly we stopped into a bar across the green from our bungalow, which had been calling to me from both my Ubud stops. It was called Shisha Bar, and had a big Heineken sign over the door. Inside it was decked out like a hybrid of Morocco and Bangkok. Flowing sheets from the roof, shisha pipes (as the name suggests) and pillows thrown everywhere. However, models of the Buddha were everywhere leaving the decore confused. The two drinks we had were terribly expensive. Luckily for our wallet, my stomach kicked off badly and we had to head back.

However,  I got trumped on the health stakes again. I was conscious that Sarah was breathing loudly in the night and restless. She woke me up to say that she feels huge chills and body aches. I gave her my hoody and told her to sleep the best way she could. I don't think she could sleep. As daylight approached we googled malaria. I've been reading this book on journalists during the Indochinese Wars, and malaria was described as chills and body aches. It was unlikely she had it, but acting too late can be fatal. The doctor was open at 9am, so our bungalow hosts told us. So for the second time this holiday we found ourselves in a doctors surgery. The doctor examined Sarah and took a blood sample, and luckily it was confirmed to not be either malaria or dengue fever.

The Shisha Lounge

Tomorrow we are returning to Kuta to spend our last week in easy circumstances. Well lets not pretend Ubud has been hard in the least, if you take health out the picture. We have about 71 days of travel left. The end is in sight. The money and unforeseen incidents have cut our trip in half. I'm not sure I feel bad about that at all. We have to travel all the way back up from Singapore through Malaysia through Bangkok and onto Cambodia, Vietnam and hopefully Laos. A long journey by any reckoning. I think I could be regretful of not reaching China, India, Nepal and Tibet. Or I could see the journey for what it is. All were new places, even those I've returned to threw up something new. I did this to learn about myself and my tolerance. I come to the conclusion I need to be more tolerant towards people. I know I should be, but occasionally I feel guilty at my annoyance at hawkers, or even cracking jokes to Sarah about them. The are citizens making a living in their country and I'm the guest. It makes me an arrogant person with traces in myself that I dislike in others at home.

I've really enjoyed Bali. I'm not sure I will have much to say about our final week as Kuta is a relaxing but culturally stale place as opposed to the Bali we've enjoyed over the last few weeks. So there maybe be little to report apart from a lovely bit of snapper and cheap Bingtang. We may try our hand at actual surfing, not just boogie boarding. When I last tried to stand on a buoyant surf board, Kurt Cobaine was still strumming. I have little confidence in myself to look good. Especially as I will be surrounded by Aussies who learnt to surf before they knew how to swear. If this throws up some anecdotes, or Sarah is in front of an expensive general practioner again, I will be sure to update. Otherwise see you on the mainland.

Days 110 to 114. Kalibukbuk back to Ubud - Bali in General

Sunrise on the Bali Sea, Kalibukbuk.

Our time in Kalibukbuk was very sedentary. Of the five nights we spent there we only did one activity. Even though I left with the idea that I would hire a bike. The activity we did was an early morning dolphin watching excursion which I'll descride in a moment. First about the area we stayed.

Kalibukbuk is one of a few towns in the Lovina area. This is situated on the north coast of Bali. Its brand is an area which is quieter than Kuta in the south. The sea is gentle and rolling as opposed to the vibrant surf of the south coast. We found a bungalow really easily for quite a bit over our intended £10 a night budget. However, we were to offset that by limiting our paid for activities. The sea was very nearby. However, with the boats and general look of it, it didn't look inviting to swim in. This was ok as our bungalows had the perk of a sister resort which had a pool which we could use. We got very lazy. When you analyse beach vs pool how can the beach win. Beach equals sand everywhere and rubbing the inside of your shorts. Keeping a constant eye on your belongings on the shore. Repeating the beach hawkers you don't want a bracelet or sarong. The pool was clean and was fountained in the sense there was a turnover of water provided by overspill and models of Balinese princesses pouring water back into the pool. With the pool and the quiet (we often had the pool to ourselves) I lept forward many pages in my latest book; Highways to War by Christopher Koch. A great story about correspondents in the Indochinese Wars which I will be reviewing in my book club.

On Day 111, 23rd July. We had booked the dolphin excursion. This was another sunrise thing which is something easily traded on in Asia. We had to be at the beach to catch the boats for 6am. Once there we realised how popular this excursion is for the many tourists in the area. The beach at 6am was crowded with people of all nations looking stunned by morning and dangling Nikons around necks. As the sun rose to the east of the Island the whole beach aimed a lens and the orange forcing through the clouds and sillouetting the boats that had already launched.

Our turn came up and the boat, a sort of catamaran, became available. It was almost like a canoe in a sense. We sat on boards and not within the hull at all. Another couple sat in the front and we took 10 minutes to reach where the dolphins were. We knew when we reached the place as thats where all the other boats were. All chasing a school of dolphins everyone fiddling with their cameras to get the lighting and autofocus correct. Some like me were switching to multishot as these dolphins would leap for a about 3 minutes top, then submerge to where they are faster and more at ease. When the sun rose properly it was magical. Maybe partly due to my battery being low, or maybe feeling a bit sea sick, I resigned my camera to my bag soon after I'd taken a few. Seeing dolphins jump so near us, one of the few animals to be drawn to man in an inquisitive sense. This was something I needed to burn into my memory and not watch through a view finder (in any case Sarah was videoing). A word on whether this is nice to the dolphins. Well the dolphins are there every morning. They have the whole sea to escape if they didn't want to be around the boats. I'm convinced this was enjoyable for flipper. However, I still think a mass of boats and whistles pointing and shouting had all the glamour of a colonial hunt for a tiger. The boats would chase the diving dolphins and do a kind of pinscher movement. Dolphins are intelligent in the extreme and have by now worked out how painful a rotor blade on a fin can be, so as soon as the boats move in they are under the water. For someone to get a perfect framed shot. Ultimately they are lovely creatures, and I'm glad they like us humans and I will continue to check the back on tins of tuna.

The food in the area of Kalibukbuk was the best so far, which is saying something for Bali. The seafood was a plenty. Smoky flavoured marlin with a Balinese sauce of shallots and chilli made me come back to the Warung Dolphin Restaurant on three occasions. Another restaurant, I wasn't feeling adventurous so just ordered a tuna baguette. This was not a tuna baguette in the sense of Pret a Manger near your office. Not mashed up fish and mayo. This was a tuna steak seared on the barby in a sandwich. So tasty you forgot you spent half the time swatting mosquitos.

This was our life for a few days. Great sea food, dips in the pool which took us up to today. Day 114, 26th July. We took the 9am bus back to Ubud. On the 28th we are attending a cremation ceremony. This is a ceremony which happens every 5 years in the Balinese calendar which I think is 210 days long, so almost every 3 years in the gregorian calendar. In accordance with Balinese Hindu tradition bodies are popped inside bodies of bulls and cremated to join spirits or something. Its a great priviledge to see it. As invited we returned to Warsi Bungalows in Ubud where we will be for the next 3 nights.

On Bali in General.

We have now visited 4 different places in Bali and I think I am almost qualified to make a judgement on the place in general. I wanted to do this maybe prematurely as I watched the countryside go by from Kalibukbuk to Ubud this morning and it is fresh in my mind. Probably per square mile it is one of the most beautiful places in Asia I have visited. You only get a sense of this when you are outside the tourist areas. Green paddy fields dot the landscape then leave you to be replaced by dynamic jungled hills. Bridges span high over small streams pouring spring water. As you reach a height you then find yourself giddy from a big landscape falling of into eternity. Sometimes not into eternity, sometimes to a blue sea. As we were about 40 minutes outside of Ubud, my jaw nearly dropped before being mindful of my coffee breath. I looked down on this lake dotted with small houses. I can't describe it very well.

The temples, and we've seen loads are almost uniform. They seem to all have a gateway on sharp triangles pointing out. Still the magnitude of temples and where you find them, means you haven't seen them before at all. Plopped in jungles, on hills near a beach. On the roads everywhere, be careful where you step, the pavement is littered with offerings of flowers and incense sticks parceled in small wicker baskets no more than 4 inches square.

Bali is more than rice paddies and sarongs.

And the people. I always lauded the Cambodians as the nicest Asians I've met, but now I don't know. I'm going to still say the Cambodians but the Balinese are very close. So helpful and inquisitive in a nice way. "hello, where are you from? where are you going?" this is asked everywhere in Asia, its a sales pitch here as much as anywhere. That said they asked you with almost palms held open and I think they really want to know. Of course there are hawkers. Lets get a figure out here. Our daily budget is about £45 a day at the moment. The Balinese average earnings are about £66 a month. How would we British act if we saw hundreds of people walking aimlessly up and down our streets, knowing they may have about £2000 to £5000 in their pockets at any moment. Mug them is the initial answer (especially in Liverpool). After that, you think I wouldn't throw in the towel where I work and invest in a taxi? With this in mind I think the Balinese are very restrained. Where many used to work in farming, a guesthouse now sits. The job is gone and those may be the people we see pushing us to spend 50p to pound on a bracelet. With this in mind, I feel mean and stingy every time I ignore them. When I do buy from them, I feel bad that I chose one. How come I chose that one to give a days wages to, what about her next door. I feel bad for haggling sometimes. I walk away with a saving of £5 and I feel victorious. Thats 3 days wages to this vendor. Responsible and ethical tourism meets with so many questions. Ultimately it's better we are here than not, and the longer I stay travelling the more of my wealth is distributed amongst those in the world less well off than I. In that sense, my occassional ignorance and haggling has some greater good. If I think that I sleep well tonight.

I've digressed again. I cannot big up Bali enough. Please come to Bali and please make the effort to visit the interior. If, as with most, Kuta is the jump off point, don't be dismayed. It gets better. However, if you are there have a Bingtang. Eat at Tubes. Order the Snapper with Balinese Sauce. Wherever you are in Bali. Relax.

Chris' Travel Book Club - July 2012

Centennial, James Michener


Now I'm cautious about this book as Sarah planned to take us to Alaska when we return to the USA, so I bought Alaska by Michener to learn about the land a bit. I must admit I loved the Russian part but when the Klondike goldrush happened it really dragged. Sarah no longer wanted to relocate to Alaska and I was secretly relieved, and very pleased to hear she preferred Colorado. So I wanted to arm myself with the history of the land, so I went back to my friend Michener.

I saw the series as a kid, I loved it but didn't understand it much. I read it again at 22, but without a deep understanding of American history I struggled. Thanks to youtube I watched the series again and loved every minute and I wanted the same to while away the hours here on my travels.

The book is over 1000 pages but covers a relatively short-time in history. Apart from the geologicial crap which I skipped over it takes you from the Indian settlers, to Indians getting horses then guns, then meeting the first white man, to meeting the first nasty white men, to the massacre which is close to the Sandcreek Massacre to the coming of cattle. From good crop farming up until the bad farming which caused the dust bowl. The French, English, German, Mexican settlers that all made the west what it is. Some stereotypes are true, some facts are hard to stomach about the west. Not only the genocide of the indians, but also some honesty about how Indians had some cruel devices of their own.

The beauty of the book for me is that it seems the history of this part of America seems to be based on new comers having trouble melting within, but in the end being part of that fabric. In all it seems that all loved the land and were very in tune with it. Ultimately it was the Indians who based their lives on too little, ie the buffalo and the Mexicans who weren't as geared to land ownership who ended up either disappearing or staying on the margins of society. I also loved the fact that the two great events of US history; The War of Independence and The Civil War only get a passing mention as the effects of these nation forming events are remote from this area.


America Unchained, Dave Gorman.

Something that I would love to do with a few get out clauses. Dave Gorman decided to drive from Coast to Coast of America without giving any money to 'The Man'. That means no Starbucks, no McDonalds, he didn't mention them, but no Cracker Barrel (that would be my get out clause), no chain motels or hotels and obviously causing the most problem only filling up at independent gas stations. I wouldn't even know where an independent gas station is in the UK. By and large he almost does it, with a few slip ups. I've seen Dave Gorman live and he is mostly hilarious with his logical approach to explain the absurd. He isn't a socialist or hippy in any straight forward sense. He just wanted to find out the 'real America'. To do that he feels he has to visit Mom and Pop motels and eateries. He meets some amazing people, and his self-imposed rules probably cause him to have a greater experience than a road trip relying on chains.

Initially he plans this as a personal holiday but according to his book, his agent talks him into having a single camera person and making it into a back-to-basics documentary. I have doubts at this stage how hard it was to talk him into this. Surely with the BBC picking up the tab he got much farther as it seems the Ford Tornino station wagon he bought, purely for aestetic purposes than practicality, couldn't go very far without something falling off, overheating or clunking out, causing constant mechanic bills. It is much a story about the making of a documentory than about the content itself. I say to his credit he is witty and as a writer he is more like a television editor. He jumps you around in a format I think similar to the Hangover films where the tragedy is known from the outset, but getting to that place is the story. For me this less used format kept me page turning and constantly interested.

Here's where I am critical. He seeks to find the 'Real America'. Now if American tourists come to Britain and want to see the Real Britain. They set off in an old Rover and zip through the Cotswolds, Devon Villages with a little shop with a bell of the door, and past red phone boxes in Kensington, then they are being patrionising as this is not the Real Britain. Real Britain is a town or city with a shopping centre exactly the same as the next, all possessing the four banks a Next a Costa Coffee and a WHSmith or in the North a Greggs Bakery every 5 paces. Outside the shopping centre before you turn off on a motorway, there is an industrial estate with a PC World, a Halfords and a B&Q, that is real Britain. In the same respect looking for the Real America and trying to find pockets of the 1950s in a 1970s soccer moms car is unrealistic. What you find are remnants of a bygone age, no more relevant to modern life than a replica Old West Saloon. Chains are a reality which have made our lives easier if culturally bland. I think this point was lost on him. It wasn't as if the petrol from and independent gas station came from an independent refinery, 'The Man' still got the money and Dave had to drive further to get it. In actuality you find the Real America when you clear passport control and leave the airport. There it is, the most technologically advanced economy in the world, and over there is an Arby's... deal!

A Stolen Life, Jaycee Dugard

This was a heavy vacation read and what a brave autobiography. Most know of the case of Jaycee. She was kidnapped in 1991 at 11 years old in Lake Tahoe. She would not see her mother again until she was 30 years old. During this time you can only imagine the anguish a mother went through; losing a child but not having a funeral. However, as this is told through Jaycee's eyes the search by her mother and the authorities is not mentioned, just the trauma Jaycee went through at the hands of Philip and Nancy Gariddo her captors through to reunification with her family on finding eventual freedom.

What is very interesting is besides the original kidnapp there is no mention of physical force on her. Her imprisonment and rapes are successful through fear alone. It becomes a sick bit of Stockholm Symdrome where she looks to him as a protector as well as a torturer. Out of the rapes comes two daughters who Jaycee seems to be justifiably protective to this day. With her kidnapper Philip Gariddo, I found it pointless to try and understand him, he was a disturbed and extremely selfish individual. However his wife, Nancy, who had a wealth of normality about her, but acted as an important enabler for Philip, this is harder to understand. Also harder to understand, but who would; even with the internet coming into her life somewhere in the noughties, Jaycee didn't email help. Maybe you can't understand being completely imprisoned by brainwashing and fear until you are there. Or maybe I can.

Very impressive is the writing of this book by a woman who's education was cut off at the age of 11. Her wording and quotes of T.S Elliot seems that she did all she could to educate herself despite being imprisoned for 18 years. While the details of the abuse is a harrowing read, the book ends on an up and leaves you thinking better about humanity and the kindness of people, and their goodness almost overshadows the evil a minority do.

A Memory of Running, Ron McLarty

If ever there is a feel good story which is crying out the be a road film movie this is it. Smithy is an overweight alcoholic. He has let himself go as he enters his late 30s and early 40s. A series of three events cause him to make a journey from East to the West of America by cycle. One day his parents are injured and later die in a car crash. On opening their letters he also finds out his sister, who has been missing and has a long history of poor mental health is also dead. After the funeral wake for his parents he drunkenly goes into his parents garage finds his old bike and rides and rides. He wakes up on the grass in the morning with a hangover. On going to the store he tries to buy 40 cigarettes and some beer but finds he has only a dollar on him, only enough to buy some bananas. This kick starts something in him, and he keeps riding. With help from his friend Norma, who has carried a crush on him since a child, he finances a journey across the USA with the vague aim to get to see his dead sister. Along the way he meets with other adventures and misunderstandings. He also meets those
who help him to continue.

The lead character is so incredibly lovable. In circumstances throughout his life which would test the most tolerant of us, he shows no aggression and seems to go with the flow both to his aid and sometimes to his detriment. Although his weight is an issue, he is not vain enough to do anything about it, so the cycling and losing weight as he does so seems to only satisfy him in the sense he feels more healthy. He is very much a Forrest Gump type character. The dark humour relating to his sisters mental illness and being shot accused of paedophilia doesn't even seem dark in the way it is written. Such a beautiful book and saying the ending is perfect gives nothing away.

Stupid White Men, Michael Moore

I'm not sure how I feel about Mikey Moore. He's on the left like me and deals with the issues I care about. If there has to be a big radical right, then there has to be a brash loud left?? Yes I like him, but that didn't stop me cringing slightly over several chapters.

His attack on Bush, starting off that he claimed the Presidency in 2000 by coup and a corrupt Supreme Court seems very glib. Yes he had 500,000 votes less than Gore but Democracy is representative not a straight forward tally of people sticking hands in the air. In Britain we have had two elections in my life time where the winning party had less ballot crosses than the next lot. If Gore had been an overall choice of the people it wouldn't have come down to a few old Jewish people in Florida getting confused. His further attacks on Bush seem childish. Asking if he can read. The drink driving incident and possible cocaine use. Lets assume most people with a college education have at one time got high off more than beer, and not embarrass eachother by asking for confirmations.

I was a bit hesitant when I read his ideas on Palestine as this is something I care deeply about. I didn't want him to be glib about this and to my surprise he was bang on. Make Israel earn their hand outs from American tax-payers by commiting to peace and not social cleansing. Diverting the funds to roads and public works in Gaza. This would show the Muslim world what a free dynamic Arab state looks like, and maybe just maybe they'd follow democracy also. I loved his analogy of how abused children often grow up to abuse, and this is with nation states. This was true with Cambodia and it is certainly true with Israel. I was nodding in agreement at what is undeniably this generations South Africa. Then he moves onto Ireland and it goes a bit wrong.

I may look like I have a bias, but Irish terrorism is or was not the same as terrorism against Israel. That is not to say that any terrorism is justifiable. However, Irish Republicanism always had a democratic means to have complete home rule for the whole of Ireland. Sinn Fein just never received the support it wanted with most catholic votes going to the SDLP. Sinn Fein and it's army the IRA were essentially bad losers in the democratic process. Palestinian groups are generally kept out of the Knessnet. A political quango where one Ultra-Orthodox party keeps itself in coalition means the Palestinian groups feel they have no process apart from disobedience. Now for a country (USA) born of the mantra "no taxation without representation" to glorify in song and art the American Revolution, is it right to call Washington and Adams terrorists of the time? Maybe look to the moderate Palestinians and even feel a glow of patriotism as the try to live the original American dream. I've digressed here, but Mikeys answer to the Irish Troubles is for all Protestants to become Catholic. Brilliant! I can see no flaws to that. Oh he was joking? Well we don't laugh at things like that.

I think Mr Moore is someone who is necessary as an entertainer but overly inflates his political importance. I have always been attracted to the left as it always seemed this was the side where we consider controversy and highlight solutions as well as problems. In that sense I don't think I want the lefts answer to Glenn Beck or the Daily Mail. The beauty of the left is we don't need scare tactics and panic inducing policy, we just need truth and a few books on Engels.

Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser

Even if you haven't seen the film or heard about the book, I'm sure you can guess this is about Fast Food and how bad it is for us. This is only true in a fraction of a sense. Fast Food is bad for society generally, with the slaughtered animals probably the luckier ones within the industry. The book starts quite even handed with The Founding Fathers of Fast Food. The part dealing with the early 20th Century when burgers and hot dogs were not only coming of their own but produced what I think are American heroes, who worked hard and saved and built great livings as a result of this. Even Ray Kroc who bought the first franchise of McDonalds and sold this on seems a man of noble intentions, seeking only to introduce Fordism into the food industry. Thus making a business of affordable food, so eating out was for all not just the middle classes. What could be more egalitarian?

With progress comes victims. As we approach the last quarter of the 20th Century we see the barbaric production process which causes injury and misery not only to Americans but in almost the majority of cases illegal immigrants. I immediately think of a Republican redneck who is scoffing a burger, complaining about immigration and not caring how reliant that meat was on some wet-backs getting through. If the meat companies care little about the animals, they care less about immigrants getting injured horrifically in killing rooms. Health care is not an issue, an injured Mexican can be tipped off to INS and deported with a few hundred other illegals there to take his or her place.

As with the workers the customers are treated with similar disdain. In a case where Wendys provided 400,000 pounds of beef infected with E-Coli they only recalled 20.000 pounds under the claim "hasn't been tested correctly" not has been tested and contains E-Coli. If you had a Wendy's in Illinois, Missouri, Michigan or Nebraska in 1994 I hope you are ok. It also went into how a death from E-Coli works. Long story short it liquifies your brain and eats up your internal organs. A painful death will follow several toilet bowls full of blood. E-Coli also seems to effect children most and more efficiently, who are incidentally the target market in what is called 'pester power'.

I don't think it will stop me going into a fast food place even though the truth is so graphic. Ultimately fast food is progression, and progression is an unchecked by-product of capitalism. You show me a part of capitalism which has no victims amongst the clueless and vulnerable.

Days 105 to 109. From Ubud to Kintamani to Lovina

Sunrise on the top of Mount Batur

After my special birthday on the 16th we did very little but chill in Ubud. The main activity we did was a bit of a hike on the 18th July along a ridge outside Ubud. The walk was about easy to moderate and once you meandered out the town you follow the ridge and find yourself amongst the rice fields and the picture looks real. Kids playing with catapults, farmers shin deep in paddy fields and stray dogs wandering no where in particular.

The following day we were to catch the 11am bus to Kintamani, the second visit as this was the volcano territory, but a more fullfilling one than prior. As we checked out our kind elderly host invited us to the cremation ceremony on the 28th and said she'd reserve a room for us. We noticed some pre-celebratory activity on setting out on our ridge walk yesterday. A large bamboo platform being raised. Models being made of black and golden cows, and much more. It looked like something big was in the pipe line and this was it. With the preparations going ahead 10 days prior it is no doubt something of note and we will be returning for it.

We joined another couple for the small journey to the Kintamani area. The bus set us down at the village of Penelokan. We wanted the lake area and particularly a small town of Toya Bungkah. This is the place to pick up a trek to the top of the volcano as was our plan. As we stepped off the bus we were greeted by a hawker selling a taxi and a guesthouse. This can sometimes be annoying, but on this occasion it was needed. To give some geography, Penelokan is at the top of this valley (or more accurately the caldera, which I will explain in a bit), the long steep winding road leads to Danau (Lake) Batur and the foot of Ganung (Mount) Batur, the volcano. Actually I'll explain it now as I may forget later in my edgy freestyle way of blogging. The valley / caldera isn't a valley as such it is really the whole volcano. Mount Batur is a volcano within a volcano (a double caldera actually) which has appeared after the last explosion, many many years ago. I'm not a keen or a good geologist so don't expect any ground breaking insight into volcanology by reading further. So, we negotiated a taxi down with a French couple with limited English for Rp50K for all four. The taxi was a truck really. It was a good job the back was open plan as we were being blasted with exhaust fumes and flies the whole way down. The guesthouse we were taken to was perfect in price, Rp100K (£7 or $11) a night. It had a porch looking out just to the mountain but the lake was mostly blocked by other buildings. Still the beds looked comfy and it felt airy.

We wanted to trek the volcano and of course on arrival we were looked for rather than went looking. We were offered for $35 a sunrise trek. This would mean being awake at 3:30am to commence the walk at 4am to be at the top in time for the 6:30am sunrise. This seemed perfect, and I'm glad Sarah and I were both in agreement. So to bed early that night as we were to be up before the cockerel.

Sleeping wasn't easy, it never is when you have to get some sleep to be up early despite the tiredness. Other factors made my sleep patchy. The mossies around the lake were not the quiet kind I'd grown used to. The ones which quietly go about their business in the night leaving you to wake up looking like a leper. These buzzed loudly in your ear. A dog started barking at 2am having some sort of conversation with another dog in the valley. Then about 3am the cockerel started to crow, and pretty much kept going all day. So 3:20am I was out of bed. My clothes were set out neatly, Sarah slept in hers so we were pretty much out the door and on our way at 3:45am.

The group on the rim of the volcano. Edwin in the middle.

Our guide, Edwin, met us and handed us flashlights and water and started us on the trek. The initial hill was tough but you get your stride and your heart realises it needs to speed up a bit and you find it ok. Edwin was a talker and I like to do my exercise quietly. Still I listened to him drone on about how he can get sacked with one bad complaint from a group (don't tempt me). Another French couple were with us and the girl was having trouble with the pace. She wanted frequent stops. I didn't mind when she asked for them as I was too proud to. Still as we started getting nearer, about 30 minutes away I thought the stops she requested were excessive. This made me feel good for Sarah and I. We both thought we were out of shape yet we were fairing better on this trek than a 20-something.

As it got steeper, Edwin made things a little awkward. First it started with a hand up a large step. Or a hand where it was slippy. Then it came to wanting to hold hands in the easier parts. He would help me up a step and as soon as he felt I wanted to let go he'd hold my hand harder like a wierd ex who won't accept its over. I remember walking past a group with him holding my hand like I was the retard of the group, or the fat guy who was about to pass out and it was extremely embarrassing. I was nearly vocally angry at him when I fell to my left. Had my hand been free I would have stopped my fall but holding Edwins hand I couldn't and my hip hit against a rock or a branch and left a painful bruise.

Anyway we made it to the top for sunrise. Looking out over the top of the clouds at other mountains poking out. Seeing the gold and red of the sun tip itself over the clouds will leave and impression which I don't think I have the vocab to do justice to. The light as it came up lit faces orange and most were peacefully looking out over the clouds and sunrise somewhat hypnotised. There were a few Americans or Canadians (I cannot tell accents apart) who were up dancing, smoking and drinking beer. This may seem like a rowdy scene which spoilt the ambience but really it added to it as all were dealing with the sunrise in their own way.

Edwin and his drink selling friend conspired to fuck this mood up for me. His drink selling friend held Sarah's hand to the top and for that he wanted us to buy a bottle of Coke or Sprite. His price was Rp25K (£1.72 or $2.75). I know this may not seem a lot and I look stingy. That is what you would pay in a cinema back home or at Alton Towers Theme Park and this moron has carted them up a mountain. However, here Rp25K buys a large beer in a restaurant. It can also buy a good main course meal. Sarah however was feeling feint and possibly low blood sugar level as she is one of those who must eat on getting up, so climbing a mountain for 2 hours only on water, the sugar from the drink was needed. However, the drink seller asked just as I was about to buy Sarah's drink, and with Edwin the guide in direct earshot; "would you like to buy your guide one also?" I did and was fuming. He asked if I wanted one as I handed over the price of a meal and drinks at the our guesthouse, I said I'd share with Edwin. Edwin drank most of it. I looked envious at the French couple who did not succumb to this sting.

As the sun came up fully the cloud or steam from the volcano enveloped us. We ate our breakfast of banana sandwiches and eggs. Edwin told us a bit about the history of the volcano and eruptions. The last one being in 2000, which claimed some German tourists who set off without a guide. I'm not sure if this is a scary story told by guides to ensure they are needed. What I will say at this stage. If you are aiming to take a trek up to the volcano from Toya Bungka, you can probably do it without a guide. If it's dark be very careful, and of course should you have an injury you are on your own. In daylight the paths are well marked and obvious. Ultimately, how lost can you get? The walk to the top is 3.5km and the destination is obvious from miles away. Also even in the morning, many others are attempting it. Just follow the lights. If you are a somewhat experienced walker, you have good walking boots, some warmth for the top as it is cold at the summit, do it alone and you won't be bothered with Edwin.

Edwin was probably astute in that he noticed as we do that French nationals are the majority around Toya Bungka (and maybe Bali after Australians), and they don't tip. Sarah is American and lordy lordy don't those yanks tip big? God damn it I can't show ma face around 'ere if I ain't the biggest tipper. Son I want ya to tell the world Billy Ray Krazinsky from Diddlybop, Idaho gave you the biggest tip you'd ever seen son, ya hear? Therefore with a yank and Brit (a Brit can go either way), Edwin was sure to lavish his affection on us as that's where his cigarette tokens were coming from. At the top he made things awkward by draping his jumper over my legs. I never asked for nor wanted this. On the way back down as we walked the rim his hand holding extended to Sarah, drawing her in on stories of how wealthy the US is compared to his life, and oh look Edwins shoes are worn out. Anyway he sort of helped us down again. A little hurried in parts and not giving a flying toss whether the French couple (the male of whom was deaf and maybe should have been offered more help) had slipped and broken their legs in 3 places or had their faces eaten by monkeys. Yes there were monkeys up there, nasty ones too, but I'm fed up talking about monkeys.

The only time Edwin waited for all of us was at the restaurant and reception area of our guesthouse. Then for some reason, well lets not kid ourselves we know the reason, he kindly guided us all the way to our bungalows. He stood there and shook hands with us. The French couple (and I genuinely felt affection for them at this stage) shook his hand and walked in doors. Sarah has a genetic problem which means she has to tip, so she asked me inside to grab the toys we got free from Singapore airport for Edwin to give to his poor kids (I don't believe he had any). We handed them to him and Sarah said "do your children want these" the rude bastard just shook his head. "Oh well", said Sarah emancipated from slavery to tipping by this (I hope) "lets get breakfast". He walked with us saying "bye" in a pathetic whining way twice. No Edwin the Rp25K bottle of Sprite was your gratuity at the top. Gladly we saw no more of him, he surpassed the most annoying guide for me since the Inca Trail 13 years ago. Congratulations Edwin.

As annoying as he was and how much I hated him and really wanted him to come to harm, Edwin could not detract from the trek which was magnificent and another thing I will pop in travel memories. The landscape has to be one of my favourites to date.

We realised that we had used muscles we never usually use for about 5 hours now. We made use of the hot springs in Toya Bungkah. There are 3 types. The first two, and most expensive over look the lake. Being budget conscious we had a smaller one with no view, but still the pools heated by the volcano and full of sulphur, perfect for the skin, soothed us the only way you can be soothed after such a trek. It was probably due to this that the next morning, while a bit stiff, my muscles and I think Sarah's too were not as bad as the could have been.

The next morning we left Toya Bungkah for the northern coast. We were heading for Kalibukbuk in the Lovina area. We were drawn to this as it was sea but quieter than Kuta. We chartered a taxi for the whole journey of 2 hours for Rp250K (£17 or $28). Climbing back up the hill from Toya Bungkah to Penelokan we saw the views we couldn't see sat in the truck on the way down smothered with flies. We glanced and saw the volcano we climbed in clear unmisted daylight, and it looked an impressive feat. Not by distance so much as incline. The journey from Penelokan to Kalibukbuk through Bali life. The paddy fields were for Ubud, this was mountain territory first of all. Penelokan reminded me of a watered down, a very watered down Tibet. With its restaurants, some open, some closed down, but all perched over the caldera taking in the unique view of lake and volcanos. We reached Kalibukbuk at mid day. While we enjoyed being back in civilisation with ATMs, tastier food and cheaper beer. As much as I like Kalibukbuk I don't think I will take as much from it as the two nights in Toya Bungkah. We ended the evening of the 21st July and travel day 109 with a meal and traditional Balinese dancing. And yes after two Bingtangs (Bali Beer) and peer pressure from Sarah I got up and joined the Balinese dancer when I asked. I looked a fool I'm sure, in fact I know as I saw the video after. However, I care not.

Days 99 - 104 On to Bali

Decked out Kuta style!

So on 11th July, 4pm local time we jetted off to Bali from Singapore. We were slightly confused and unaware what was needed on landing. Bali does a visa on arrival, but we wondered how we get that. It turned out very easily. Many desks cashiers offer it for $25 or the equivalent in Indonesian Rupees. So no problem and onto the customs desk. The immigration officer looked like he may have trained in the USA. Questions like "what are doing  in Bali?" seemed to invite sarcastic replies which I knew to be unproductive so didn't. He questioned where I had been and seemed to have difficulty understanding that I'd been travelling for over 3 months now. The men seemed to get a hard time from this guy, but this is where he would deviate from his American counterpart. He treated the ladies with more leniency. American immigration will not think twice about reducing an elderly lady in a wheel chair to tears if there is the slightest chance she will get well, start walking and find an illegal job in Wendy's.

Days 99 to 102 - Kuta

We knew little about the country apart from the guidebook we bought over a month ago and a middle aged Chilean couple in Bangkok instilling us the beauty of the Indonesia Island. I've known people who've been in the past and heard mostly good reviews. The questionable reviews I've heard is that it's a Benidorm for Australians. I guess this was our first impression when we arrived in Kuta on the South Coast.

Kuta we saw on the map was very near to the airport. It was dark when we arrived and a quick journey to hotel was ideal. On leaving the airport, and here is a tip, taxi drivers surround you. The first price they gave us was Rp400,000 making its way down to maybe Rp250,000 (because of traffic). The guidebook said Rp50,000. The difference even in the weak and large currency is substantial. Rp400K is about £27 ($44) Rp50K is £3.5 ($5). Simply ignore these men who are picking on those literally just off the plane, walk right and find a taxi kiosk and you will get one for nearer Rp50K to Kuta. On arriving in our taxi through Kuta we saw immediately how touristy. We found a hotel straight away booked 2 nights which we later extended to 3.

I managed to get my taste buds back in entirity and also after the food incidents I'm brave again. My first meal was Indonesian and was it cheap. Beer (and whether you drink it or not it's always a good indication of the cost of an area) was cheap at only a £1 a glass. The meals usually come in at about Rp80K at most without alcohol thats £2.50 each for 2 courses. What I loved is the availability of snapper fish. It will more than double your meal cost in Thailand, but here it is so cheap and tastes perfect. All the goodness of fish the firmness of chicken.

Our days were spent on Kuta beach. The weather was just right the waves were big. The sea, less stagnant than Koh Phi Phi and the Pehentians, was refreshing. The sand being volcanic doesn't look aestetically pleasing being a muddy grey, but none the less it's still as soft. We hired boogie boards on both our beach days. Sarah 'got it' straight away and had some long rides. I was chasing the big waves every time and wasted most of them. The second day I sussed the timing and when to put my weight on and a where. I was proud to catch a pretty big wave (I don't know the measurement), but being on top of it looking down a wall of water, then pushing forward to slope down it like a tabogan, with the white of the wave carrying me nearer shore was exhilaration in extreme. So enjoyable it wasn't until afterwards I noticed my boogie board nipple burns. Now Kuta was great but we needed more than beaching and wanted to see the real Bali. Ubud in the interior was a step in that direction.

Days 102 to 104 - Ubud

Warsi Bungalows Ubud. £13 a night.

Anyone who's seen Eat Pray Love, Ubud is where Elizabeth finds Love after eating in Italy and praying in India. I don't think we were chasing the film but we were definitely chasing the green rice fields and a more majestical backdrop. We caught the bus at 1pm and were in Ubud by 4pm. It was pouring with rain so we took the first place that looked ok for a price no more than Rp200K. We found the Warsi Bungalows, and what a bargain. The architecture is like a temple. Our bungalow is at the end after a short walk over quaint bridges spanning gold fish ponds. Such a large bungalow with a huge veranda overlooking our own pond and statue and a rice field. A bamboo three piece sitting area makes it perfection and worth thrice what we paid.

The following day we took a walk down the road to The Sacred Monkey Forest. Again I'm not sure why, as we've seen so many monkeys and frankly they are trouble. Although this time Sarah was the victim. One threw a potato hard and accurately at her shoulder and seemed unashamed. Some monkeys were a bit vicious, but lucky for me they tended to pick on women and children. Apart from the monkeys, the forest is  more like a temple area with Balinese sculptures gathering moss and slowly being reclaimed by Banyan Trees.

16th July, My Birthday

Sarah wanted elephants for her birthday and I wanted a volcano for mine. We booked a tour for Rp150K each taking us round temples and a viewing of the volcano. I really had a lovely day and I think this is my best birthday ever. However, that won't stop me having a moan about a few things if only to tip off readers into what they may get from a similar tour. Now bring money and preferably in Rp20K and Rp10 denominations. As with most tours the temple entrance fees are not included. That said the driver gets a kick back from taking you there. This shouldn't really be moaned about too much as a typical entrance fee is about £1 ($1.60). It just seems you are reaching for your wallet a lot on the tour. The temples are of Indiana Jones ilk. The rocks and architecture put you in another place and completely deliver on the Bali experience.

Another part of the tour which niggled the whole group was the Volcano viewing. The tour was called The Volcano Tour, but should have been a temple tour. On arrival near the volcano we had to pay Rp11K each to drive up the approaching road. The driver went past what I thought were perfect volcano viewings including the lake next to it. Wondering when we were to stop he kept going. I was even hopeful that he was getting really near it as looking down into the volcano valley it seemed a road meandered closer to it. No he decided to stop for a spot of lunch at a restaurant decided by him. As the jeep approached restaurant staff opened the car doors gave us hot towels and beckoned into a restaurant none of the group asked for. The menu was three times the cost of central Ubud making it about as cheap as the UK. The view was of volcano, lake and valley was spectacular and with our own choice the option to sit and eat staring at it was far from unpleasant. Sarah took a hot towel and we took pictures of the view, but concensus in the group indicate we weren't to be held captive audience and shamed into purchasing. On reading the guidebook, it warns many guides will drive you to a restaurant where the buffet lunch will be about Rp100K (ours was offered at Rp120K) where the guide gets half of that in commission. Our guide would have got half of what we purchased in that restaurant, so that meant he pocketed (let me reach for a calculator), absolutely naff all. A gentleman asked why weren't eating there and we replied "too expensive" he said its not and besides they have tax to cover. My reply "what's your tax here 200%?"

Enough moaning because prior to the volcano I didn't see on the tour list but was very pleasantly suprised to go to a coffee plantation. A small little outfit which grows coffee beans and produces coffee. Along with cacao, cinammon, vanilla and other stuff. Now they offered free tastings so we could have walked away without parting with a penny. We tried vanilla, ginseng, coconut coffee. I love coffee and this was a real treat to see it roasted and ground in front of me. However the real treat was trying the most expensive coffee in the world pound for pound. Luwak Coffee. Its expensive as there is no fast way to mass produce this. Essentially the Luwak is a ferret like creature who eats the coffee beans then shits them out. The shit out beans are recovered and the time its taking in Luwaks tummy being attacked by stomach acids creates both a strong flavour without the bitterness. This is the fermentation process. It cost £3.50 for a small cup, but it was my birthday and I wanted to try it and was encouraged by Sarah and the group to. The taste is.. well it's quite good. I'm sorry to be holding back on the praise but for the price and reputation I expected more. However, it delivers on flavour smoothness within a dark roast. I would have been very pleased if I picked it up at Sarah's old organic shop for a competitive price, but I don't think I'm about to order it shipped over en masse when I settle at last.

That evening Sarah said I could eat wherever I wanted being my birthday. However, I had a great day and when you are in Ubud Bali you don't have to choose an expensive place to be in a perfect setting and the restaurant on the high street advertised as 'The Cheapest in town' finished off the day perfectly. Happy birthday to me!!

Days 96 to 99 - Singapore

We woke reasonable refreshed at 7ish as we had a 9am train to catch from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore. I felt a little pang of something as we left Fernloft for the last time. In all we stayed a total of 14 days in KL. In my case all those days were spent in Fernloft Hostel, Sarah had four of them in hospital. That said we returned twice for a couple of days, but this last time was the last time. I'm not sure if we will see KL again and so I asked Sarah to take a picture of me leaving Fernloft for the last time. It isn't a remarkable hostel. The staff are helpful if you ask them something about travelling Malaysia, but they don't go in any strenuous sense out of their way. That said the sheets and pillows were clean and after the Pehentians, that has been a priority for me. Also I snapped Sarah on Pesar Seni LTR. I used that station so much it probably became as familiar to me as Archway Station in London was during the mid noughties.

The journey to Singapore was to take 7 hours as per the schedule and indeed it did, running a mere 15 minutes late as we pulled into Woodlands SG Train Station. As we left Malaysia I was wondering what form the immigration would take. Last time I crossed the Thai/Malay border by train and coach we had to get out and drag all our baggage past a customs booth then back onto the same transport and off we went. This time leaving Malaysia seemed easier. We remained sat and the Malay immigration came to us. We then crossed the river into Singapore and then a more formal immigration process as we left the station.

We found a hostel quite easily. Fernloft Singapore in Little India was full (we were chasing a loyalty discount by staying in Fernloft KL. Still the place 3 or 4 doors down was more that adequate. As we were checking in I immediately spied the Tiger on tap and took advantage. Being priced at more that £3 a mug it was 3 times what I've become used to in Asia so my drinking was limited that night.

My first impressions of Singapore were no different than what was promised in the guidebook and probably all you've read. It is a clean and neat city-state. Rules on chewing gum and littering carry harsh penalties if transgressed. Also your landing card says in clear red lettering: "Trafficking in drugs carry's the Death Sentence". It seems that all is being done to maintain the utopia or order Singapore wants. I guess I am very impressed and in agreement with this. As a city state on an island they are have an advantage in being able to create laws and order over a small population in a small geographical area and they do that. They limit car ownership, as a simple and effective tool against traffic congestion. The result is a liveable clean city. A city with parks and streets with air conditioning. Creation of beaches even if those beaches are metres away from a major shipping lane. Everything is taken care of for your enjoyment and relaxation. The trade-off is as a resident (or tourist) you are forced to comply in this order rather than asked nicely. We know in the west asking nicely to act toward the greater community has limited success.

I was so impressed by the place I picked up a copy of The Straits (a newspaper) and looked at the classified jobs. It seems I'm not the only traveller to look at this. Most adverts for vacancies clearly state "only Singaporeans and PR (permanent residents) need apply".  Just as well it was only a 5 minute pipe dream anyway.

The first night in Singapore we did little as we were obviously tired from travelling all day. After a quick drink at our hostel, I was still thirsty but quenching that thirst with more draught Tiger was disallowed, and instead a Big Gulp from 7 Eleven did the job. Sitting on a veranda I finished my book, The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty. This is one of the most moving books I've read in ages, maybe ever and I'll cover it in greater detail in Chris' Travel Book Club.

Our dorm was quite comfortable I thought, of course there are some complaints but SGD20 for a bed is cheap for an expensive city. We woke after a semi good sleep had breakfast and set about exploring. My suggestion was heading to The Harbour and Mount Faber Park. The Singapore Tube is another excellent little subway and easy and cheap to navigate a big city with. The cost of a one way journey is about £1.20. You have this system where you leave a dollar deposit for the card which is plastic and shaped like a credit card. If you are travelling a lot in a day you can get an EZ all day card for SGD 10. This may work out cheaper, but we didn't use it. As we got out at Harbour Point stop we saw the cable cars bobbing along in the skies above us and decided this is for us. You can walk up to Mount Faber for a good view of the city, but in 30 degrees the cable looked a perfect alternative. We paid £35 for both of us to use the cable car for a day. Although at the time we only thought this was a round trip to Mount Faber and back.

There isn't much at the top of Mount Faber apart from the view, but the ride in the cable car gives you the views you need. There seem to be so many cars that having one to ourselves was easy everytime. After buying the ticket you take the lift to floor 15 and in you climb and you leave the top of a skyscraper and bob along at a dizzying height. After Mount Faber we took the cable back the other way to Sentosa. Sentosa is another island (Singapore is also an island) which was previously a British fort but was handed back to Singapore to use in a way which Singapore does best, provide leisure space. Once there you have much offered to you. Zip lining, museums, more ski lift type rides. All this of course costs money and we just wandered. What is free is a beach. Yes Singapore made a beach out of imported sand and you can have a dip. It has a major shipping lane as a backdrop and sitting on the beach seems difficult. Of course you can use the bars along there to sit, and of course that will lighten your wallet. We found a step to sit down and take in the ambience before we walked back.

The icon of Singapore seems to be a Merlion. Its as it suggests a lion crossed with a fish, like a mermaid. I don't get it either. There is a huge one of these overlooking the harbour. You can climb to the top, for a price. We didn't.

Next stop Raffles Hotel. Stamford Raffles was the founder of Singapore. A clever Brit who saw that this marshy jetty at the end of Malaysia could one day be an amazing city of immense trade importance. He was right and it became that. Essentially I'm not sure why it wasn't spotted before. Two great empires jossled for Malaysia. Roughly speaking modern day Malaysia, Brunei and Singapore was under the British Empire, and modern day Indonesia was the Dutch Empire. The remnant of this being that Dutch will stagger off for Indonesian food after a night of drunkeness as Brits do for an Indian Curry. With those two trading routes established I'm not sure how brilliant it is to say "heh that bit on the end, could be good for ships to unload I reckon". So not a genius of foresight just a colonial with a bit of cash. Anyway founder of Singapore he is and if you want to take a quick step back into colonial Singapore, pop along to Raffles Hotel, nearest tube stop is City Hall. Obviously a meal or a night there is way out of our price range but you can grab a drink there in the courtyard. Drinks are about SGD 20 - 30 which coming from London I think is excellent value. Some of the cocktails were designed or the favourites of celebs. Noel Coward, Charlie Chaplin, Ava Gardner all sat there and had their drink of choice. Of course we didn't but we took a wander around the grounds as much as we could. Looking at the white cast iron chairs which look a century and a half old, you look at them and think which one did Chaplin park his arse on. In all you can wander quite a bit of the hotel area for free which is always my favourite price tag.

Food beckoned us come the evening and being in Little India and my tummy fully recovered. Also I recovered my food confidence again and we headed off to the Indian Restaurants. We ended in a Vegetarian Indian Restaurant and had great meal for very cheap. We were the only white people in there which meant that this would be a different Indian food experience than The Red Rose Tandoori in Mossley. The food was very spicy but balanced and it stayed down so my food tasting mojo is back. I was getting sick of sandwiches and fries, so just as well.

The following day I think Sarah was driving and we took a walk through Little India and the markets. The architecture of the small shops and houses, with upstairs with shutters in elaborate patterns are so colonial Asian. With the skyscrapers hovering in the background you have the perfect juxtapose of the old and new. The restaurants looked so inviting, I'm so glad my taste buds have returned in gusto. We popped into a Hindu Temple and took a few snaps. Hindusim is a rich religion and the temples have an adornment of whacky gods. That said I don't feel it like Buddhism. Maybe I'm so ingrained in my monotheism I can only cope with the Buddha as a point of focus, so a variety of elephant thingies and women with tongues out killing enemies, I get a little confused and wonder what is needed from me.

We continued via the tube to Chinatown and into a Chinese Buddhist temple. A ceremony or service as we in christendom would call it, was in full swing. The monks were chanting from written verse. At first sight and hearing it seemed so monotanous, but I'm really feeling my Buddhism again and I loved it. I loved those chanting along and getting lost in something. I firmly believe all lifes problems are in the mind. Well they aren't all in the mind, losing your job and getting evicted from your home two weeks after your wife has run off with a sailor is very real.  How we react to this is totally in the mind. Samsara; that word which has no English equivalent, just clutter and crap in your mind is the scurge of western society, any society. The chanting and challenge to that mind clutter provides real meaning for me. I was in a bit of a funk for a few days, and the few minutes of chanting, even though I was there only as an observer was a little helpful.

That was our two days in Singapore really, the following day we were heading off to Bali. Checking out at 11am and needing to check into our flight for 1pm that afternoon our day was mostly spent in transit.

Days 86 to 95 - Sarah's Birthday to the Pehentians.

The 28th of June is my fellow cancerian and wifes birthday and as she always made clear she wanted Elephants on her birthday. Luckily we found a good deal which was a bus to an Elephant Sanctuary 60 miles north of KL and the bus would also drop us off at Chinatown KL. We caught the bus rather than the boat back from our jungle village of Kuala Kampung Tahan to the jetty town of Jerantut. Then after picking up our provided packed lunch of rice with chicken, some watermellon and water we were on our way to the sanctuary. Once there the place didn't look as rustic as the brochures led us to believe and seemed more like a single species zoo. That said, despite the looks it is indeed a sanctuary. Besides the tricks and rides the elephants provide, we are faithfully assured the elephants return to a large area to spend more of their life doing elephanty things than tricks for us. The first of the three activities was feeding the young ones and we are given a bag of bananas and potatoes. Unfortunately there seemed to be an abundance of the bananas and less then 10% potatoes. The elephants are obviously spoilt for bananas as every one there has a bag for them. They do not hide their boredom of a banana, as they will happily take it from you then throw it away with their trunk like a piece of crap. The potato they loved, but we only had two to give.

Next was the elephant ride, which was a bit of a damp squib, as they just went around in a circle of maybe 20 foot diameter and seemed less than the "jungle" (someones overgrown backgarden) trek I had about 10 years ago on Koh Samui, Thailand. However, I think looking back the Malay Elephants had a better deal. Following the ride we were invited into the muddy water to bath with an elephant. Sarah concerned about her eye regretfully sat this out. I did get in. Taking off my trainers and socks and leaving shorts and t-shirt, I thought maybe just the bottom of my shorts would get a bit damp. I hadn't looked carefully at the brochure. I was asked to jump on young dumbo, and the rest of the visitors were asked to and gladly splashed me and young dumbo. I was drenched and after getting off looked at my non-waterproof watch to check if it was ok. It was fine. A wet arsed journey back to KL followed and we ended the evening with some excellent pasta and The Reggae Bar in Chinatown and the cool Carlsberg beer hit the spot. I hope Sarah enjoyed her birthday.

Day 87 - Batu Caves.

Batu Caves

We had to get up early, well early for travellers, as Sarah had an eye appointment at 9am. According to the doctor, everything was moving in the right direction. Her drops have now lessened to every 2 hours from on the hour. Still it is sore in the morning, but as the doctor said eyes don't heal fast like flesh wounds. She will be a few months before she is back to anything like normal again. That said, it could have easily become much more infected and she could have lost her eye, so it is largely good fortune. Although without the pain, its probably easier for me to type this than Sarah who wakes up with pain and is slowly waiting for her sight to come back.

Following the doctors we visited the Batu Caves about 15km outside of KL. They are a collection of Hindu temples around and inside some magnificent caves. Probably the second most visited place in KL after The Petronas Towers. 8 Years ago I was badly ripped off by a taxi driver who charged MYR 186 (about £31 at the time). He did all the things that I should have been looking out for. A metre which looked to be revolving like a 78rpm turntable, and jumping out the taxi to check if the caves were open (metre running) despite me asking him not to. A couple of American tourists at the time took a more honest taxi and paid MYR 50. Anyway this time and not being able to afford a mistake like that we took the train which amounted to 3% of the first one-way journey. Some things about the caves were new. Some more gaudy images of Hindu gods had appeared in the last 8 years. Moving forward about the caves, the steps up are long and intimidating as they are. This is without hundreds of thieving monkeys standing on the steps trying to steal from you. Anything from a bag to a can of coke is fair game. Or in my case a bag of Sarah's eye drops invited a robbery attempt from one little shit. I could see he spied it, but without shame he looks me in the eye and runs at the bag trying to grab it. I swung it to fling him off and I think I clouted him on the head. For a split second I feared another session of monkey revenge as back on Koh Phi Phi, but it seemed he took his failed robbery as par for the course and moved on the the next jumpy tourist. Meanwhile we climbed to remainder of the steps and entered the caves. Inside more temples and more gaudy hindu statues and art. The caves are massive inside and surrounded by hindus being blessed and the smell of incense burning is a worthy experience. They are also quite cooling and a definite reprieve from a hot Malaysian day.

Day 88 to 89. We just killed time on Saturday. The previous day we had bought tickets to Kuala Besut, the jump off point for the boat to The Pehenthian Islands. The bus left at 9:30pm scheduled to arrive early the next morning in Kuala Besut. The journey was slow and uneventful. However, waiting for the bus at KL I found myself very hot. Not a shocker really as I was in KL, we'd struggled through the heat with our back-packs. However, at the station Sarah went to look for the bus, I found myself very feint and hanging onto a bannister to not pass out. Maybe just tiredness, although maybe not. Putra Bus Station in KL is a busy place and is probably busiest on a Friday night before the weekend, with locals clambering to leave the city. Not unlike Victoria Bus Station in London on a Friday. The heat and the fumes from all the miriad of coaches was a torture. Added to that there is no obvious system for boarding your bus. You are given the number and told to find it. In our case bus number KV3333D. As the lady at the counter said "if you can't find it by 9:30pm (our departure time) then come back and see me". Still as said we found it and the journey was uneventful.

I was concerned on arrival in Kuala Besut, where the jetty to the islands would be, would a bunch of taxi drivers shout over our confusion as we tried to discuss what to do and talk us into an unnecessary ride? On arrival it wasn't bad at all. Someone shouted "boat leaves at 7" (it was now 6:15) "tickets over here". We bought not only the tickets out and back, but the bus back to KL. A few less things to worry about.

The ride over was exhilerating as this was a speedboat. So unsure of our safety they gave us life jackets to wear. There were two boats, one to the big island and the other to the small and it seemed they were racing. Every now and then as we were slightly behind the other boat we would be caught in the swell and jump high and land in a way to cause our spine to shoot out through our necks. On arrival we walked across Long Beach on the small Pehenthian Island (Kecil) and found the first place was about MYR 65, about MYR 15 over our accommodation budget. In hindsight we should have taken it. We asked where a place for no more than MYR 50 a night and we were pointed toward Symphony Village. On seeing a place which was MYR 50, and one for MYR 40, the difference being a toilet and shower, I wanted to cry. Now I've stayed in some shitty places travelling before and I wasn't a baby, but I was feeling really exhausted and achy and sick. Still I put this down to broken sleep on an all night coach. We accepted the MYR 50 room. The room was dirty, the electric was off until 7pm. We chalked it up to better than camping. I crashed under the mossie net and fell asleep. Sarah was meanwhile on her own. She grabbed some food and made a friendship with Habib the Chalet owner, a friendship she would later regret forming.

I woke up at some time after lunch and just sat outside the chalet on the plastic chairs. Still sick and exhausted, I looked to my left in a zombie state at all the trash piled up. I had very little mental capacity to care. In fact this summarised the rest of the day really for me, I was not taking much in at all, very zombiefied. Sarah took me to eat at this place on the beach. I ordered a veggie curry soup and some fries. I didn't finish it. I went back to the chalet and had a second nap, waking groggy that evening. When it came to evening meal we found a place at the end of the beach and all I wanted was fruit and tea. Fruit mainly as I think my body was in deficit of nutrients. I think I self-diagnose simply whenever I feel ill. I assume diet is wrong or exercise is low. I think both cases have effected me of late. I've become tired from strenuously walking in the heat, however its been too long since I got red faced and panting from a good half hour session (no sniggers there, I'm referring to jogging or gym activity).

The Moonlight Cafe and Chalets were really nice and we enquired about the cost of a chalet as the place we were at, well we weren't sure if we could do a week. When we returned it was obvious we couldn't. We walked in and the shower wasn't working. Added to that, while the electricity had come on as promised being past 7pm, the fan wasn't working. The chalet owner got both working again. Then we thought it was raining as water was pouring in through the bathroom window. When I say window I mean gap in concrete with chicken wire for security. Sarah was dealing with him, as she sensed how laid up and useless I was. In fact I think my only contribution was to lay under the net and say "we can't stay here". Anyway this was confirmed by Sarah in a few moments. She returned to the chalet storming in "right we're leaving, he touched my boob". I couldn't quite take this in. I asked her again, then she went off to the Moonlight Cafe to see if there were any rooms, there was no one available. Within this time I locked up and tried to find her. She told me the whole story that Habib was a bit touchy the whole time. Holding her hand to show her the shower is fixed. Arm touching which Sarah reciprocated out of friendship. When she came to advise of the leak, he put his arm full around her shoulder and reached to fondle her breast. Sarah pulled the arm off and shouted "no don't do that!". We walked to the next chalet complex and found a room for MYR90 and this overbudget but very agreeable complex called Panorama. We returned to Habib's Chalets to pick up our stuff. He had gone by this time, maybe aware of what he'd done. His friend tried to call him and said he'd gone to bed, we said we'd return the next morning.

I woke up in the night in our new room sweating and shivering and groggy still but I think some kind of fever broke. I was a bit concerned as my shoulders and chest was aching. I've been bitten by many mossies and Dengue Fever (or break-bone fever in Asia) was a concern. Basically it adds achy bones to the other symptons, there are no preventative measures and it is a growing concern amongst travellers in Asia. My appetite had not returned but I tried some cheese on toast which I struggled with. In all I had to stop being a wuss and this morning I had to see Habib. I had to confront him about molesting Sarah, and we also needed our money back for at least one of the nights. While walking I was still mindful of a few things. This is a small island. Is this man the brother of the only person who has the boat back to the mainland? If the police became involved at any point, is law enforcement the same as in mainland Europe, ie if in doubt arrrest the Brit and say he was drunk? These were ungrounded fears. When we turned up he was sat at the table smoking and seemingly nervously expecting us. As we walked up he stood up and motioned us to sit down, we remained standing. He walked to the fridge and returned with two cans of pop as gifts. He returned the MYR 50 without any protest. I said that Sarah was very upset that you touched her chest. He said "no its accident" but carried on talking as if it was the faulty room causing our grievance. I mimed by points at him, hand and Sarah's chest what he did. His English was very minimal and it was hard communication. I said Sarah deserves and apology. He said "sorry" though I'm still not sure what for exactly. He also said "I speak not English". I'm not sure if he was hiding behind that or not. The point was he seemed humbled and sorry. But had he learned his lesson? I think not. On the beach today Sarah and I were wallowing in the shallow clear waters and looked up at a new female traveller. There he was offering her a mat to sunbath as he did Sarah, and there he was smoking a cigarette, stroking his moustache and looking intently as the bikini clad lady bent over to sort herself out. Me thinks his stock of canned drinks will be trading at a loss this season.

I should say something about the Pehentian Islands or at least the small one we are staying on. The place is a diving mecca, but we don't do diving. It is the perfect place to chill as that is all you can do. Don't be expecting a Thai Island full moon party. Alcoholic drinks are very overpriced. There are no ATM's and WIFI is available at a large for Malaysia cost. Maybe this is the point. If there is one place where you will be forced to pick up a book or stare out to sea and contemplate then this is it. I was sick for the first part, but now with my appetite returning and the nights a bit more comfortable, the place is starting to look good. By time I return to mainland Malaysia I will have been alcohol and internet free for a week and I should do that more often. The guesthouses are minimal and pricey, but the island trades on that. The water is refreshingly warm, but also so clear. I mean so clear you feel you are swimming in Evian. The guesthouses are slightly camouflaged by a jungle of sorts. As evening falls the sea stays blue for a little longer making every night a moment. Indeed should a 7Eleven or ATM arrive on this island I think it would be over. Diving and snorkelling carries this island and for all I'm too scared to dive the likes of those brave enough too carry with them preservation of a kind. That said there is an ugly side to a less developed infrastructure. Trash is hard to dispose of and the cheaper guesthouses probably don't want to avail themselves of the hassle of the boat which carts it to the mainland and throw the stuff in the jungle or even canals. I'm glad I got better to enjoy it.

It also got me thinking about why we are travelling. I made an executive suggestion (only Sarah is qualified to make decisions). My strong suggestion is that on return from Bali, we head to Bangkok and we try hard to get those Indian Visas. We lost out to China but we probably also lost out because we were too defeatist. We could have tried again in Hong Kong. Every traveller I met that did, managed to get their visa without difficulty in Hong Kong through an agency, and on knowing this I felt a bit ashamed that just because a morning of our day was spent in an embassy and wasted, that should have sent our year long plans in a different direction. This is what we will do in Bangkok; We will find a cheap flight to India, we will get a 3 month visa and we will see India before going back. I'm a little sick of going back on plans because they look hard, or at least giving up on first refusal. Granted there are many occassions when we keep trying, but this is a weak trait in us that I will curb from here on.

Day 93. Thursday 5th July

The day prior was Sarah's Independence Day, which she would have passed unnoticed had I not glanced at my watch and shouted "Happy Independence Day!" while she was in the shower. "What?, I can't hear you". "Happy Independence Day!" "That's today?". In the past we would mark this little American tradition which celebrates the glory of tax dodging and tea vandalism with a quick blast of the Star Spangled Banner on Youtube. It seems miles from both our homes the day seemed less significant.

We spent Thursday doing very little as usual, Sarah dragged me to the water for one last dip. I was happy reading and I am thoroughly proud how much I've read while I've been away. Also how faster and better I'm getting at Solitaire and Pool on the iphone. For some reason mosquitos search the whole island just for me. As per the law of averages, by counting the bites on me, I should have malaria, dengue fever and AIDS 3 times over. The sand of the beach makes the bite itches worse for some reason. Especially if its that perfect lighter white snowy sand that surrounds the Pehentians (or maybe it's the salt water). But one last dip in the ocean, was going to be ok, as tomorrow we would be out of here and on to the more mossie forgiving mainland. No more sweaty stinking pillows. No more of the suffocation of the mosquito net. Tomorrow freedom.

Day 94, Friday 6th July

"Oooooh!! I need to puke!". Sarah said and ran to the bathroom. She'd caught a bug. My first thought was, oh I wouldn't want to be travelling with that. We analysed and tried to work out what she ate to cause this. Ther last meal was a pizza. What did it matter, now she had it. Now what to do? We had to check out at 11:30am and the boat to the mainland not until 4pm with a wait on the beach at 3:30pm. Between that time, there would be no shelter. Sarah couldn't travel. I booked another night with ease, and counted the money on us as there is no banking or simple way to replenish our cash supply on the island. "Fuck, why here, why now?". Sarah's eye problem happened in the best place it could have happened in Asia, seems our luck ran out, double fuck! I tried to negotiate our ticket on the 9:30pm bus to Kuala Lumpur. It took some persuading to get the reception guy to put the call through. The first time the phone was 'broken'. Then a call came through while I was there, the phone was fine and he put the call through to our travel agent on the mainland. As with all types of customer service in the Asian travel industry, English is suddenly in short supply when anything but a sale is being made. No refund on the tickets was the final answer, most probably!

The time came closer to 4pm and I willed Sarah's bug to go away and her to feel fit to at least make the journey to the mainland. That deadline passed. Later she felt a bit better and managed a few bites of mashed potato. The evacuation of fluids and matter greatly reduced. Although she hasn't made a full recovery as I type this (10:24am 08.07.12). She still hasn't been able to eat a full meal, although she is hungry.
During the course of the evening I spied the state of the pillow under the pillow case and maybe I saw the source of the illness. It was disgusting to say the least. Not brown, more black with dirt. How many people had sweated their fluids here? Fluids with how many bacteria and illnesses? We may as well have rested our heads on the toilet bowl each night for a week. That night I slept halfway down the bed using my arm as a pillow rather than that cradle of disease.

Day 95. Saturday 7th July

This morning I was awake at 3am and out of bed reading at 5:30am. The chalet next door was occupied by a couple of English girls who had a loud disagreement. They were southerners and while it was refreshing to hear an argument with more succinct vocab than I became used to in the conflict of the wee hours in the north of England. Words like "Compromise" "facilitate" were used as opposed to... well you know. Still they broke my sleep and it never came back.

Still we were getting on that boat, and as advised we were on the beach at 7:30am and the boat headed for shore at 8am after some faffing. We reached the blessed mainland (I wanted to kiss the ground) at 8:40am. The bus to KL was at 9am, or wait another 12 hours. A taxi offered to take us to the ATM and to the bus station for MYR 10, a slight rip off. Once there, my card didn't work, fuck, double fuck!! I did what I hate doing, I took cash out on the credit card. We bought a ticket to the waiting bus at 8:57am. The bus was Asian so it wasn't going to leave on the sheduled minute. I nipped out to buy some water and cookies. We made it. By 6pm we would be back in KL. On return we were back in The Fernloft Guesthouse. While our dorm mates were inconsiderate little bitches, using every inch of floor space for both of them, and playing loud music (maybe we are old fuddies), the clean sheets and clean pillow and AC was perfection. I slept perfectly until the bitches came in at 4am and turned on the lights. Next stop Singapore.