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

Er...Full Moon...i guess

Like thousands of other fun loving youngsters around South East Asia we joined the masses and descended on Koh Phangan.  By the time we arrived on the island, Thailand had already taken on the feeling of one alcohol induced coma, briefly interrupted by beach, and a bit more beach. The 5 days we spent here did nothing to change that feeling, but it certainly delivered some of the best parties and nights the three of us have had (courtesy of our room mates, sarky British cousins Franki and Marco, and their terrifying Mai Thai Pro travelling companion Mike). In the long build up to the full moon party, we went through everything from 'Project X' like pool parties to mafia run jungle raves. 

Our time here seems characterised by a series of unfortunate events afflicting my two injury prone, luck deprived travelling companions. A few nights before the main event, at one of the chilled beach parties Will must have got slightly disorientated. Thinking AD Bothroyd had sent him on for a 15 minute cameo. In front of the Six Fields faithful, he struck what he thought was the winner, outside of the boot...beauty. Unfortunately what he made contact with was actually a giant bin bag full of broken glass. The next half an hour was spent negotiating with the islands health clinics (which must be the most abundant business on the island), eventually deciding that a cut to the bone definitely doesn't need any stitches. 

Having realised that he probably did need some serious medical attention the next morning, the three of us hit full moon fully prepared, plims at the ready. 

What can I say about the full moon?  'Up and down the beach, young western men are unzipping their shorts and peeing into the Gulf of Thailand. Behind them, under the light of the full moon, thousands more shirtless, shoeless Europeans are massed outside 14 beachside bars, their knees bending awkwardly to a soundtrack of the Black Eyed Peas, Justin Bieber and generic drum'n'bass. And squeezed between the bars and the crowds are 35 wooden stalls, each selling plastic buckets filled with a litre's worth of vodka and Red Bull. The stalls are daubed with deeply dubious slogans, ranging from the lurid to the the moronic. "No Bucket No Boom Boom", "Fuck My Buckets", "Everybody Fuck My Strong Buckets" – that kind of thing. Welcome to the biggest beach rave in the world'

...well that pretty much sums it up! There we were 3 cliche British kids high on life (and some other stuff). And man it was fun! I think we all agree that it ranks as one of our best EVER nights (hope everyone back home is enjoying revision) 

Although the nights were brilliant, when it has comes to girls, my friends' bumbling Britishness hasn't turned out to be quite as effective as the movies would have you believe. For Will insult was added to injury when a lovely Dutch 'garuan' came to wake him from his post moon slumber for a romantic tour of the shower district. He refuses to tell me what went wrong, but, she suddenly realised that she was very tired, leaving him to furiously clean the neon from his body, alone. 

Rhys was no better, having lured his special friend for the night back to the undergrowth (instead of a completely empty hotel). He made the rookie error of not properly checking his sleeping area before erecting the A -frame. Ray Mears would have been tearing his hair out. But lesson learnt, slicing your delicate parts open on a coke can is the quickest way to deflate even the most heated situation. 

The morning after the night before we crawled onto a ferry to Ko Tao, fully regretting the decision to leave so soon. It was a even more expensive trip for me as an opportunistic dive salesman took advantage of my vulnerable state, and by 5 o'clock  I found myself back in school, enrolled on an open water course (still covered in the bloody paint). 

However, it turns out that early morning dives are one of the best ways to detox and feel normal again. One of 6 am wake ups was especially worth it, as we traveled out to Chumphon Pinnacle. With crystal clear visibility and incredible amounts of sea life, it was easily one of the most amazing things I've seen. The other two tried to pretend that their baby dives to 12 meters were just as good, but we all know that's a lie. 

Recuperated we headed back to Bangkok, to try make friends with the Chinese, but I'll let Will take you through his favourite bureaucratic visa processes. 

Until next time. Shaan. 

Ladyboy Watch

At the mid point between Bali and Bangkok we found ourselves in Singapore airport with ten hours to kill. Anywhere else in the world this would have been a grueling experience, but not in Singapore my friends. During this overnight stay we strolled freely from internet stands, to massage chairs, to entertainment areas packed with games consoles and a cinema! In the early hours of the morning we found ourselves touring the airports' terminals via the on site skytrain, as you do. We found endless retail outlets, a gym, a swimming pool and western food! Shamefully, after two months of eating local foods across Asia, McDonalds drew us in twice during our stop over. With our stomachs full to the brim with Big Mac's and soggy fries we decided to take a little innocent nap on the airport floor. Much to his surprise, Will was woken by a scary collection of armed guards, "show me your papers please.." Just making sure we weren't homeless seeking shelter! Luckily a few hours later we were air born once more bound for Bangkok.

Arrived in Khao San, the backpacker ghetto of Bangkok, surrounded by markets, internet cafes and massage facilities. Despite the tiring amount of offers for a 'massaaaaaage', we ended up settling for a room above one of the sketchier looking parlours near the main strip. By day these narrow streets flooded with westerners hungry for a bargain. We all fell victim to the remarkably affordable clothes, accessories, games, and refreshments on offer. As the sun went down the party-goers came out, and Chang began to flow. Chang (at "6.4%") is widely and openly known as a beer which varies from three to thirteen percent alcohol volume. But there's no telling what you have in your bottle. You could be drinking a pint of alcopop, you could be drinking a pint of wine! After sampling a few Changs ourselves we dabbled in the night life of this crazy city several times. After watching an enthralling Welsh victory over England we went out clubbing to celebrate Wales' defense of the six nations title (too soon?). This night taught us a great deal about the locals, specifically the 'ladies'. The research carried out by Thorps and I suggests that that there are three kinds of Thai women. Some in particular were lovely and would spend the whole night with you before revealing that they had a BOYFRIEND IN THE U.S ARMY CURRENTLY FIGHTING IN AFGHANISTAN. Others would drag you miles across town for a 'cuddle' and then send you home only hours later. The others my friends, are not women! Conclusion: it isn't worth the pursuit. And so in Bangkok the Lady Boy Watch began.

On a more positive mood, a highlight for me was the opportunity to reunite with our long lost friend Becky Price and travelling buddy Jess. We spent a long evening in Silom catching up, exchanging stories and swigging a few premium Singha's. Only at the beginning of their journey, the girls left us jealous of that feeling when you first find your feet. With so much ahead, the girls moved north as we turned south making way for the infamous Samui Islands and the full moon party.

At one point it seemed unlikely that we'd ever reach Koh Samui. After nearly 20 hours on buses, boats and minivans we finally arrived at our destination where we would chill out for a few days. Chaweng beach boasted a 3km stretch of white sand and clear turquoise ocean, a perfect place to relax we thought to ourselves. During our quiet night in, our game of pool was interrupted by three Hertfordshire girls wondering where we were going out that night. But as I said, we were having a quiet night in. So three hours later, there we were, six boozed up brits abroad dancing on tables on the beach with buckets in hand. Confused as to what happened, we tried to resemble what a quiet night entailed. One more night wasn't too bad... The following day brought the arrival of Jake and Zach, two lads who to this day we hold responsible for the current state of our livers. After being introduced, it was rude not to join them on their first night out in Koh Samui. We were now eight. This epic night kicked off a chain reaction of alcohol fuelled days and nights which sported some of the finest british banter, a sense of humour we'd struggled to find thus far. Despite this frequent behaviour we did manage to add some new experiences to our list. Shaan and Will bravely hired scooters for the day and took off for a tour of the island, passing waterfalls, secluded beaches and untouched landscape. With a nasty hangover I turned against the idea and went for a walk taking pictures as I slowly recovered back to normality. Less refreshed than expected we hopped from one island to the next. Koh Phangan and the full moon follows. Watch this space!

Rhys