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

No Cars Go

With Bali behind us, at least for the time being, we docked at Gili Trawangan lacking any real plan for onward travel. The vague idea was to hop around the three Gili islands, maybe check out Lombok and possibly head back to see more of Bali.

Yeah. About that...

A full week later, we'd moved roughly a kilometre a day. The round trip to the beach didn't draw that many grumbles.

Before Gili T, we hadn't stopped in any one place for more than a couple of days and nailing down a single reason for our extended stay is tough. Edy's Homestay, though, is probably culprit-in-chief. Being warmly welcomed 'home' every time you step into the courtyard, having breakfast offered even if you woke up at 2pm and singing along with genuinely talented guitarists every evening is a Michelin Star-winning recipe for comfort. Of course, the attractions of Edy's sucked in a host of like minded folk and we spent time with some of the friendliest and most fun travellers we've met since touching down in Delhi 10 weeks ago.

It would have been easy never to leave Edy's, but the rewards for mustering the strength to get out and about on Trawangan were nothing short of immense, day and night. Walk for no more than ten minutes and you're met with deserted, palm-lined beaches, views of the other Gili islands, Bali and Lombok (all from one spot!) and unparalleled sunset scenes. One of the best things about Gili T is how the locals have consistently resisted the introduction of motorised transport. Taxi services and deliveries are all horse-drawn, it takes a while to get used to! I can't remember another time in my life that I've gone an entire week without seeing, hearing or smelling a car. It makes for a relaxing walk down the street and, better, outrageously clear night skies. Will the opposite sex ever be less suspicious of the high-on-life English/Welsh guy suggesting a trip down to the beach to look at the stars?

No one wants to star-gaze alone, right?

Talking of night time, any description of our stay on Trawnagan would be incomplete without some talk of our evenings. There we were - in one of, if not the most beautiful places any of us had ever been. An evening could start with watching the sun go down, continue with dining on the catch of the day, and culminate in a little read and a chat with the sea lapping at your feet. So what did we do? Alas, with the reckless abandon of a sixth former in Tenerife, we tore that place up. Whoopsie!

I don't think we can be blamed - the night life was immense. Each night held a new party and each new party brought with it a story that this blog is not quite ready for... For my part, on our first night I was semi-aggressively harassed by a prostitute with suspiciously large hands, feet, and Adam's apple. Fear not, I escaped in the nick of time. At least nothing embarrassing happened the next night. It would have been horrific if I'd got chatting to a Swedish girl and drunkenly decided that it was appropriate to tell her (and all of our respective friends) that she was the best person I'd ever met and I loved her within a couple of hours. Wait...

Fortunately, the embarrassment of having your every word/dance move recounted the next morning hurt more than our heads. The days, then, were free to enjoy Trawangan for what its really all about. Snorkelling was a constant fixture and between us we saw some incredible stuff. Along with the ban on cars, officials on the Gili's strictly impose tight rules on fishing to protect the coral and it's inhabitants. The coral is recovering, slowly, from the days before the restrictions. Happily, the fish are in better shape - out in force just a few swim-strokes from the beach. Paddle for half a minute and the sand disappears from beneath your feet and is replaced with seemingly bottomless pools filled with stunning tropical fish and, if you're lucky, the occasional turtle. Getting your head around the cost of the equipment, though, takes some doing. A quid a day. Thanks.

'Going for a walk' takes on a completely new meaning in this place. You can complete a circuit of the entire island in less than two hours. It's tiny, and yet huge stretches of beach are completely deserted. Gili T's permanent population is 600 - the backpackers must at least double this at any one time. We probably made it over here a year or two before the place starts to spoil, judging by the rapid development of the east coast - home to all the bars and dive schools. It's already a very different place to the one described in our 2010 guidebook. Get there quick!

Before I sign off, it's worth noting that we're a way behind on this thing at the moment. We left the Gili's two weeks ago and have since been in Thailand (after a lengthy transfer wait in Singapore airport). We will catch up, honest, but we've been busy guys. Lying on the beach and drinking smoothies is time consuming stuff.

Up the Mighty Cobblers.


Will

Bali Boys

Nothing could have demonstrated the incredible contrasts of Indonesia more than swapping Cianjur for Bali (more specifically Kuta). The people look the same, but they've kept Hinduism rather than adopted Islam, kept the karma sutra rather than the Koran, Flo Rida instead of the Immans call to prayer. All in all Kuta is a trashy sell out, with bad beaches, loads of bogans and even more stalls to buy your fake snap backs and alcohol branded beaters. To my horror, I also discovered that you can expect physical blows, and abusive calls of 'bali boy' if you promise to 'come back' to a street vendor and he sees you buying your knock off vans somewhere else.

Nevertheless, having been slightly starved of this kind of tourist destination we went mad for it. It was probably expected from Rhys and I that David Guetta's latest magical mix of urban soul and electro would send us into a fit of delirious happiness. But it even had Will (now the proud owner of a JD beater and fake bans to go with that straw hat) proclaiming how much he'd missed the beautiful Belge. Overall Kuta is great for a bit; you can party all night, with aussie's that look like they've never been allowed out the gym, and even get a kebab on your way home after your mates have disappeared off with two japenese girls.

Next day we plotted our escape from Kuta by managing to convince some locals to rent us their cheapest Suzuki Jimmy (compete with leaky roof, terrible brakes, but a cracking sound system) and hit the open (very full) roads with Batur, one of Bali"s active volcanoes, in our sights. A few hours later with the help of Rhys's expert navigation and Will's incredible patience and compassion for dealing with overtaking scooters, we made it.

It turns out, however, that the volcano was guarded by a faithful troop of men, capable of sniffing out a plan to scale the mountain solo, with ruthless endeavour. For those of you familiar with Tikeshi's castle the feeling was akin to making it all the way to the final level. Just to have Craig Charles mock your feeble attempts as the imperial warriors destroy your paper ring within seconds. Basically we were forced to take a guide.

After paying less than a third of the small fortune the guy was demanding everything was sorted; a 4 am departure to make sure we made it time for sunrise photos, then over to the active crater for a look at the bubbling lava below. All our slight concerns that the conditions would be overcast were skillfully put to bed by the mountain guide, 'Sir, listen to me, I have been doing this job 17 years, in the morning visibility is always perfect, never any cloud'.....

Well I'm glad to say that the 4 am wake up, the 2 hour trek in the rain and the money we spent was totally worth it. As you can see from our photos the view of sunrise was gorgeous. And there wasn't a cloud in sight as we stared down to where you can normally see 'a sea of bubbling lava'. Either we're f***ing unlucky or that guide is a bloody liar.

Fortunately our faith was quickly restored in Bali and Indonesia after spending a few nights in the fantastically chilled Ubud. The town is home to the Monkey Forest, a beautiful jungle area of town complete with mini waterfalls, thick foliage and hundreds of the cutest monkeys trying to steal over-weight ladies' bananas. Me and Will spent too long (according to one rowdy monkey) wondering the forest as Rhys lay groaning about entering another liquid patch. That leaves one true member of Will's 'firm', yours truly.

Stay tuned. Shaan

3 musketeers became 4

With the excitement of moving onto another country, we left behind us the beautiful island of Sri Lanka. A short flight landed us in the centre of the Indonesian capital, Jakarta, on the Java island. Having fought passed the airport touts, we eventually found ourselves a means of transport to Kemang, where we would later be greeted by one of our own. Upon arrival to Kemang, with mansions all around, it became more apparent that we may have been in for a treat. As we paid our fare, a familiar pale face appeared with a big grin from cheek to cheek. "Boooooys!" The one and only Benjamin Marten. He lead us along the peaceful residential street, to the home which he'd been residing for the previous six weeks. This palace of a home (which belonged to his relatives) had everything. Tables tennis, pool, Internet, swimming pool, air con and clean sheets! Suddenly 48 hours in Jakarta didn't seem enough. We spent the night at the poolside exchanging stories and generally catching up.

After hearing mixed feedback about what to do in Jakarta we decided to venture out for only a few hours whilst Ben slogged away behind a desk somewhere in the vast city. We began at the harbour in search for fish markets, the canal and a flavour of the typical local way of life. In stead we found several offerings for massage, a few fish here and there, and an oily landfill of a river. As expected the scenes were pretty grim, yet the locals, as always, seemed happy as could be. The next stop came at the national museum. Another shocker. Unsurprisingly the summary of the day was that Jakarta is a city full of standstill traffic and few tourist attractions. We couldn't wait to get back to the palace, chill out, and sink a few beers.

After a top notch spread of barbequed foods we headed out on a bar crawl of sorts. During the night we saw the vast array of bars that Kemang had to offer. We strolled from Irish bars to open street bars to seedy bars with blanked out windows and low key red lighting. Oh yes, the 'Star Delhi' was an interesting one.

The following day saw us move eastwards to Cianjur to do a homestay programme. To our surprise we had company. Having seen as little of Indonesia as we had, Ben decided to tag along. After 4 hours inside a bus incapable of withstanding rainfall, we arrived in the hilltop town an hour delayed and a lot wetter than planned. After a quick meal we were taken to our bamboo house surrounded by rice fields and mosques! The latter kindly provided us with alarm calls, several times a day. My personal favourite was 4:30am. Mosques weren't something new to us, but here we found ourselves in the middle of competition. Five times a day we could hear several different prayer calls coming from various speakers spread around the village. It was like the x factor of the religious world. To this day I'm still not sure which one got my vote.

During our stay here we visited rural villages, floating villages and waterfalls. We always left for the day well fed, and the sun was inevitably shining high in the sky. During our first trip we roamed around Cianjur in the back of a pick up truck - which seemed a great idea at first. Suddenly we saw the harsher side of this mode of transport. Countless potholes sent shooting pains through our bodies whilst the thunder storm bucketed down intermittently. On the way home we sat in silence, drenched through to the core, helplessly trying to recollect the novelty we first saw in it. Despite the rough ride, we very much enjoyed the opportunity to spend time with local guides and villagers in their various habitats. A highlight had to be our time spent on the floating village, which was held up by concrete, polystyrene and bamboo. Here we were lucky enough to receive a fish pedicure, canoe around the various fish farms, feed the ornamental fish and do a little fishing of our own to finish off the day. Much of the day's entertainment came from my appalling attempts to manoeuvre across the bamboo shoots to get from A to B. The others seemed to be having a great time, cameras at the ready to capture my likely failure. Unfortunately, to the boy's disappointment and against all odds, I remained above water.

After a few days it became time for us to move on, and Ben to return to the office. We headed east for Bali whilst Ben boarded the coach for Jakarta (raincoat at the ready). Going our separate ways was made easier with the prospect of catching each other in south east Asia a little further down the line. See ya Java!

Rhys

The Hills

Writer's block, having a great time and probably some laziness, too, mean my update from the 'hill country' of Sri Lanka is pretty late. In the unlikely event that anyone's noticed the big gap since Shaan's last post, sorry!

After a few days on the beaches and evenings of futile attempts to find some night life, we hopped on a train away from the south coast. 6 uncomfortable hours snaking through jaw-dropping mountain views passed before we arrived in Kandy, the cultural capital of Shaan's homeland.

Our two nights here were among the most comfortable we've had. The highlight was having a bed to ourselves, each! It sounds like a simple pleasure. Until now, though, my sleeping arrangements have rotated between a hard mattress (with any luck) on the floor, a confused and broken commentary of Shaan's current dream or wriggling away from the Welshman's insatiable appetite for a cuddle...
Kandy was worth more than just a decent night's sleep too. We spent our time here wandering around a picturesque lake, gawping at the most enormous reptile (probably a dinosaur) and learning all about the history and production of everyone's favourite breakfast drink.

We bade an emotional farewell to comfort and quality sleep - heading for Nuwara Eylia. The activities came thick and fast here and by now we all needed the exercise. Backpacks were quickly cast aside at the hotel and we made our way to the Pedro (or 'lovers leap') tea estate. Our tour of the factory necessitated the relatively ridiculous outfits modelled below by my more photogenic companions. I kept the Frank Spencer jokes to myself - Rhys doesn't really watch tv.

The following day we decided it would be an excellent idea to rent bikes. It was, for a bit. We set of in the vague direction of 'that hill' we quite fancied scaling on two wheels. The trouble began with the realisation the mountain trails tend to be pretty loose underfoot. With all your might it's possible to achieve one full rotation of your back wheel before once again grinding to a halt. We did eventually make it to the top. Even better, the bikes were still where we left them when we got back down! The quality of cycling picked up dramatically once we found firmer ground and great fun was to be had by all. Coasting down tea-lined tracks having achieved some pretty tough climbs, I could hear the yellow jersey calling. That was until I punctured my back tyre. Unfortunately I didn't think to take a snap of myself crammed into the back of a tuktuk with a bike that on it's own was too big.

All three of us woke the next morning with extremely sore arses. Lucky then that we had a long train journey on rock hard, wooden benches to ease the pain. The mood when we arrived in Ella could perhaps have been better.

Mercifully the pain eased and the mood brightened. As it turns out Ella has to be my pick for favourite place in Sri Lanka. We spent two days here and climbed a mountain on each. Little Adam's Peak first, then the taller Ella Rock. What can you say about climbing a mountain? Take a look at the pictures.

Sri Lanka drew to a close back in Colombo, with Chandra - Shaan's uncle of sorts. Once again we left his place comfortable and well fed, this time for the airport and eventually Jakarta. Goodbye Sri Lanka.

Will