The Trans-Mongolian. (and the great wall)

A picture can speak a thousand words. I'd be happy with just a few, but here's 20,166 for you. The Trans-Mongolian;  Beijing, Ulan Batar, Irkutsk, Moscow.

 Forbidden cities bare little fruit. 

 Eats; points and shoots.  

 cans and yanks. 

 Told you White Men Can Jump. 

 'Yellow, brown, green.' 'No, green, yellow, brown.' 'Just google it.' 

 Visionary. 

Beardy Buzz Lightyear.

 'BOGIES!' 

 'Everything the light touches is mine.'

 Who gave me this? It clearly says year of the Goat. 

 Impoverished Welshman can't afford a full body wax.

 Caught myself a lamb, and a travel story. 

 Are the 3 'Manly Games' under threat? 

 'Too pussy to wear the speedos as well?' 

 Farm Yard Fodder. 

 Top right for the truth. Yep it was 25°C this morning

 It just came out of nowhere. 

 It doesn't count if you don't put your head under. Your rules not mine. 

 Missionary for a Swede.

 See the cross above the moon..? Yeah, you know what that means...

Good Morning Vietnam

Having never seen two people sleep so much, its fair to say that dengue fever took its toll on the other two. After hating most of our stops for the last few weeks Ho Chi Minh City quickly reversed the trend, and they were able to celebrate a full recovery as well as arriving in Vietnam. All it took was a few incredible mango shakes,delicious Com Ga, 30p beers and we were pretty much in love. On top of that, the city offers weird Asian food markets selling god knows what, cheap massages and wide open parks where you can watch Vietnamese men pass around a shuttlecock with their feet (Jianzi), whilst chatting to ambitious young Vietnamese wanting to practice their English.

Oh and did I mention the massages. Now connoisseurs of said past time Thorps and myself discovered two ladies with a talent for trapezing the spine with a feline touch, then with a flick of their big toe could crack all the bones in your back to derive endless pleasure. With this discovery convincing Rhys to part with $5 was slightly easier than usual. Unfortunately for the poor man, there either weren't enough masseuses for the 3 of us, or (more likely) the sight of his hairy back sent any women left in the building sprinting for the exit. Whatever the reason a big strong bloke (with no affliction to back hair) was dispatched to deal with him. Hilariously, he lay face down perfectly relaxed, oblivious to his impending doom. The next hour was spent in a state of confusion as the calloused hands and grunts brought a dawning realisation to the reality of the situation. Despite their best attempts to conceal his identity, which included sending the masseuse out of the room when it came time to turn over, Clouseau cracked the puzzle and was forced to spend an uncomfortable hour squirming every time a hand ventured too far above the knee.

Our love affair with the country continued as we traveled up the coast to our next stop Nha Trang. Having become accustomed to cramped Cambodian buses, which take pleasure in blaring out the latest local ballad, the fully reclining bed you get on every bus in Vietnam felt like it was sent from heaven. A short 12 hour overnight bus and we woke to see the sun rising over the South China sea. We probably haven't had quite had enough sun, sea, sand over the last 4 months...but it was nice to spend some more time chilling; me diving,Rhys tanning, and Will burning.

The geography of Vietnam has meant that we've constantly bumped into friendly faces whilst journeying up coast. This brought us together with Becs and Jess, who had plenty of advice on how to negotiate with the locals, control elephants and not leave your camera on a bus. On the other hand, by the time we reached Hoi An it meant that we were now getting followed by a pesky pair of Italian mafia dons that we had dormed with in Koh Phangan. Despite their slightly gangster influences Franki and Marco now rate among our top travelling companions.

Hoi An town is by far one of the most beautiful we've visited. Situated on a small river, the first night we arrived locals gathered to fill the slow moving water with glowing lanterns. With the street lights cut, a soft glow from the river and an electrical storm far off in the distance lit up the scene and made for a pretty spectacular sight. In addition, the beach isn't far away,and this seemed to be the appropriated way to spend my 22nd birthday. The 5 of us embarked on the short cycle out of town, through lush green rice paddies, past a few buffalo and spent the day attempting to body surf whilst sampling all Vietnam's cheapest beers. It had the 3 of us so glad to have escaped the exam hell of this time last year (to anyone distracted enough to be reading this, good luck).
Shaan

Ranting in Cambodia

After a third and final stop off in the admin centre that is Bangkok, we began the infamously horrible journey eastwards. The border crossing from Thailand to Cambodia via Poipet where scams are rife, and nobody is trusted. The journey began on a sour note as we piled into a 12 seater minivan amongst some eighteen others. I was used as a storage rack, Shaan as a pillow, and Will was essentially a seat for the conductor. A four hour ride brought us to the border crossing. Despite already having our visa, we would spend three hours dodging fake establishments and queueing to be granted access into Cambodia. Fortunately we were made to queue outside in the forty-plus degrees of heat. No water. No banter. No fun! After all the commotion we became restless, and we foolishly boarded a free shuttle to the international bus terminal, where we would encounter our first fall to the con artist. We found ourselves helplessly dropped in the middle of a fake station, facing higher cost of transport, and lower quality of service. Following a rather heated argument with these scoundrels we realised we had no choice. With patience running low we paid the inflated price and headed for Siem Reap - or so we thought. Following another four hours on board, we pulled over alongside countless tuc-tuc drivers in what clearly wasn't Siem Reap. After simmering for the duration of the bus ride, our blood now began to boil once more as we paced back and forth with rage. Surprise, surprise, we were 6km shy of Siem Reap, once more reaching deep into our pockets. It was a long gruelling day, with some minor arguments and bags of frustration, but after 12 hours we made it to Mr. Bun Kao's Guesthouse. Here we stayed two nights in great comfort and company. Sharing our dorm room was a self-proclaimed 'Granny Backpacker' by the name of Jerry. She was a lovely lady from who we heard some great anecdotes and gained vital information for our further travels.

The following morning as arranged, tuc-tuc driver ,Tom, awaited us at 10am sharp ready to whisk us around the Temples of Angkor. 'Templing', as it's become known, only meant one thing; long sleeve tops and bottoms and at least one of us sporting the inevitable floral design (see below). The day trip took us from world-famous Angkor Wat, to the Tomb Raider Temple, the faces of Bayon, and the Sra Srang lake. All incredible in their own unique ways. Hours passed as we wandered in awe of such jaw-dropping architecture and design in the sweltering 45•C. As we reached the end of the afternoon, soaked through with our own perspiration, we were happy to call it a day. A very memorable adventure indeed. Following a tough day fighting against dehydration we decided that the perfect way to top it off was with a few beers on Pub Street; where we later indulged in the 30pence beers, a bit too much. Yeah. Way too much. We spent long periods of the night with a few Dutch girls that we became friendly with. Unfortunately, all the night brought was further confirmation of their teasing nature. Another Dutch 'guaran' down the drain. Seriously, if you're not in it for the long all, don't waste my WHOLE NIGHT! The morning of day 85 brought with it the nearest-death experience of the trip. What an awful hangover. The classic scenario upon awakening, searching around in silence and pain for answers. "What the **** is happening to me?!" The entire day was consumed by several snoozes and slow attempts to eat our way back to reality, topped off by a fantastic self-cook BBQ buffet, as far away from Pub Street as possible.

Despite being rid of that monumental hangover, the following day brought genuine illness in a completely different form. Will (especially) and I began to feel strange overnight, and we just happened to be boarding a bus, on which we'd spend nine hours listening to horrendous Cambodian music, when it started to worsen dramatically. As we arrived in Phnom Penh, Will looked as if he was clinging onto consciousness by a thread, and thus we rushed across town to check in and get some rest. Thankfully we bagged a nice spacious room with air conditioning and a good selection of TV channels. With the exception of a few hours a day, this room became a permanent crash pad for Will and I. At separate times we all managed a visit to the S-21 Tsol Sleum Genocide Museum, and the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek. During these visits we learnt of the brutal Khmer Rouge Regime which facilitated the deaths of millions of innocent Cambodians, and tourists, in the late 1970's. On top of feeling horrific, these visits brought tough, emotionally challenging times. Words cannot explain what those people went through.

What later turned out to be Dengue Fever, forced the first separation of the Well Street Wanderers. Whilst Will needed some time alone to recover, Shaan and I took another terrible bus journey to Kampot. A journey that progressed at an average speed of 20km an hour for 150km. Such a bad decision. In my opinion Kampot is a town full of screaming children, the heaviest rain of all time, and general misfortune. For the next passage bear in mind that Dengue Fever was still very much present. On our first full day we strolled slowly along the river, I was feeling sorry for myself, and thus we went in search of a massage parlour, again. The 'Seeing Hands Massage' had been recommended in our guidebook, a place ran by blind women. Upon arrival there seemed only to be fully sighted individuals, but a few calls had these ladies tracked down in no time. Whilst Shaan's masseus had clear visual impairment, mine appeared from around the street corner pedaling away on her push bike as if to say, "I'm coming! I'm coming!" Seemingly high on life. So many questions were answered when I learnt that she was blind in only the left eye. Couldn't help but be disappointed. I wasn't disappointed however with the massage itself. Very impressive from a blind lady, even if she could ride a bike..

As the sky grew dark with heavy cloud, we decided to move a few doors down to the cinema, where we watched 'The Killing Fields' lying down on the padded loungers provided. Shortly after the start of this great film, a heavy storm began pouring from the sky outside, creating a slight sound barrier inside the screening room. Within thirty minutes, a heavy storm began pouring from the sky inside! What started as a few intermittent drops turned into a pretty constant flow of rainwater falling on top of us. We moved to a dry section. Problem solved. For now. As the film ended there was no sign of the storm passing over, and it seemed more and more likely that we'd have to make a run for it. Fifteen minutes, still no change. Into the plastic bag went the valuables, off came the tops, and we ran for our hostel. Within twenty yards we'd already opted for shelter, a little breather as the rain grew heavier than I've ever witnessed before. We looked at each other, already drenched, and decided to plow on. By the time we reached the end of the street the floods were above the shin, and I'd lost my footwear. There I was in the pitch black on my hands and knees, wading through the current in search of my flip flops, with Shaan disappearing in the distance. I wanted to be back in Phnom Penh tucked up in bed, resting and watching TV, not wrestling the street waves of Kampot. Did I mention I wasn't well? As we slowly dried off in our grubby room the storm passed, and we were finally able to venture out for dinner. We didn't dare go any further than next door.

An early morning journey took us across the south coast of Cambodia to the party town of Sihanouville, where we were delighted to reunite with our long lost wounded wanderer- who looked a hundred times better, but still on the road to recovery. It was the time of the Khmer New Year and thus we had pre-booked accommodation at Panda's Guesthouse. Despite the best efforts of the friendly Irish host, Patrick, our stay here was clouded by several factors. Having already committing, we had to pay up front for two nights, without being granted sight or access to our room. After exchanging money, it became apparent that we'd have to wait a casual four hours before we checked in officially. Oh no, there was nobody in the room, he just hadn't got around to cleaning it yet. Seems fair enough? Slightly angered, we ventured off to find the beach. We found a half decent coastline, ruined by rubbish, sleazy bars and pushy teenage vendors; who seemed to own the beach. We parked ourselves in a sea front restaurant and made our way through a mediocre breakfast, interrupted by vendors at fifteen minute intervals. Great impression so far! Not too long later we were shown into our absolute hole of a room. Despite the suggestions made by it's name, Panda's Guesthouse and it's damp, smelly, windowless cells weren't fit to accommodate a furry friend, let alone a human. At least we paid a premium price for it! After laying silently for a while, we thought, at least we have a television to pass time in the evenings, to finally get over Dengue Fever. Underneath the surface, Sihanoukville supposedly had a good nightlife which Shaan sampled two nights running with Harry, a friend we'd made at Panda's. Meanwhile Will and I were back at Ritz having a fight with the TV. This useless machine had no controlling device and WAS STUCK ON THE HIGHEST VOLUME LEVEL POSSIBLE. Eventually we managed to track down Patrick, to hopefully save the day. We explained the situation and our general anger. "Ah, trouble with the television... You'll need one of these!" A code? A magic wand? No, just an old dusty remote which conveniently resides in a padlocked drawer behind reception. Makes sense. I had no energy whatsoever to run my mouth, and so we just returned to our pig sty to try our best to relax. Thank god we only had two nights before leaving the country that brought us serious illness and needless annoyances.

Other than that Cambodia is great. But seriously, get me to Vietnam!

Rant over.

Rhys

One Foot in China

After three days on Koh Tao, the full moon recovery was as good as complete and the appetite for 'real travelling' was born in all of us once again. Chiang Mai was to prove the perfect place to satisfy that appetite, but it would have to wait one long day more. The Chinese Embassy, in Bangkok, was calling.

Some of you will have heard all about our first, somewhat pitiful, attempt at obtaining a Chinese visa. This time, we were determined to have one less empty page in our passports by the end of the week! The chirpy proprietor of Bangkok's most dog/child friendly internet cafe must have thought his Birthday had come early. We slaved over keyboards for an afternoon: printing bank statements, mocking up hotel reservations and flight bookings and finding new and creative ways of proving our employment statuses.

Use of the word 'proving', here, is about as loose as a wizard's sleeve. Contact the organisers of Bangkok's famous 'ping-pong shows' for a rough idea of just how loose that is...

The next morning we queued for a solid three hours, finally submitted all that paperwork and vowed to keep everything crossed until Friday - when we would learn our fate.

A freezing cold, sleepless, overnight bus journey took us north from Bangkok to Chiang Mai and we arrived early, with the sun. Finding a cheap and cheerful hostel was as easy as we've had it. The news that our dorm would not be ready for five hours forced us on to the streets to see the sights of Chiang Mai.

After giving the cameras a much-needed workout at three temples and traipsing around a mediocre museum, we stumbled on a pretty unique little place. The Chiang Mai Women's Correctional Institution, (yep, prison for Thai birds), was so much more than the iron bars and pool tables you might imagine. After a delicious prison lunch prepared by the inmates, intrigue lured us into sampling one of their other talents. No, not fashioning deadly weapons from toothbrushes or drug stashes from bibles. Thai massage. After all, who in their right mind wouldn't part with a fiver in return for what was essentially a sound beating from a 5 foot tall, softly spoken, smiling, bouncy and bubbly murderer.

They might have been murderers?

An early rise the next morning wasn't too difficult, we had a lot to look forward to. The 'trek' we had booked last night proved to be more of a taxi ride around various tourist traps, in the end it didn't matter. This jam-packed day included, amongst other things, elephant rides, white water rafting and swimming in the pools below one of our less impressive waterfalls. I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Having enjoyed the company of two of our trekking companions in particular, we arranged to meet them for dinner. **Aal** is from Israel, and spent three years in the army there. It was only right, then, that we gauged on humous and falafel. Only natural that we spent half the evening poring over the Gaza conflict. Touchy subject, it turns out.

Our second and, prematurely, final full day in Chiang Mai was spent well. We enrolled on a cooking course. Obviously we just wanted to exercise our already exceptional culinary skills, we had nothing to learn. Fish cakes, Chef Sri-Path will tell you, are definitely supposed to be deep-fried to within an inch of their existence and reduced to what is essentially a lump of coal. Mmmmm. All in all, though, the course was a success and a lot of fun. One lucky reader could one day be treated to a unique take on Thai Green Curry, courtesy of us idiots. Entries on a postcard please.

With an hour to spare before catching the night bus to Bangkok, those who know us and Thailand in equal measure will guess how Shaan and I opted to kill the time. Very cheap, and therefore very sketchy, massage. Yay.

I had a shocker. My masseur turned up 20 minutes late, in jeans - not promising. Expectations, low as they were, proved overly optimistic. Massage this was not. More, aimless stroking in randomly selected parts of my back and arse. The same arse that this strange woman felt the need to ram full of my favourite Calvin Kleins. It turns out, however, that I actually got lucky. Shaan was met by a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, deep-voiced, bread-basket-handed gargoyle (think slittly-eyed Hagrid) who was out to rob him of every ounce of his dignity. For a brown guy he goes remarkably pale after being inappropriately fondled by a man of questionable gender. Did I say man? It's probably best that I don't quote Shaan directly in this little anecdote...



"She kept giving them a little tickle!"
"That's not the worst of it, when she turned me over she just went right in there and gave it a squeeze"
"I always thought I was completely comfortable with my sexuality..."

He's not really been the same since.

After all that excitement, I slept like a baby on the bus back to Bangkok. The same can't be said for the guys, but spirits weren't damp for long: we have Chinese visas!

Goodnight, Thailand.

See you soon, League 1.

Will