In the jungle, the mighty jungle..

North East Sabah, Borneo

Sandakan

Leaving the fantastic diving and bad memories of being robbed behind us, we caught a bus to Sandakan, the former capital of Sabah. We met a couple from Texas, Kori and Chad, on the bus and went out for dinner with them for a cheap martabak (Malaysian filled roti) with curry sauce. They too had travelled in South America and it was a great opportunity for us to reminisce. As the Malays are Muslim and don't drink we headed for a Chinese restaurant in search of a few beers. We found it. Thus ending mine and Mik's week of abstinence.

Sepilok

The next day we headed to Sepilok Orangutan Sanctuary which is located in the jungle. The orangutans are an endangered species and so native injured or orphaned orangutans get brought here, to one of only four sanctuaries in the world, cared for, and taught how to fend for themselves. They do their own thang in the jungle most of the day, but have a feeding platform, so that the public can see them. We went to both daily feedings and watched as orangutans large and small swung through the trees to make their claim on the bananas. It was a great sight, especially as the smaller long tailed macaques would try desperately to steal the bananas out from under their noses. They are such funny creatures, in some ways so very human looking, but being covered in bright orange hair makes them look so comical. We stayed an extra day at the resort and spent the day just relaxing in the jungle environment, and getting eaten alive by the mosquitoes.

Kinabatangan River

The following day we were picked up and taken to the office of Uncle Tans Wildlife Tours. This company had come highly recommended for their 3 day jungle tours along the Kinabatangan River. I was very keen to experience the jungle as we hadn't done it in South America, but I was slightly concerned with the company's opening line about their accommodation. This is not the Hilton, it read. Ahh! Oh well. I'm sure I'll manage for the two nights.

We met the other people in our group and we were really lucky as it was just us and another couple from Amsterdam, Koen and Linda. Normally there are about 20 people a day on the tour, and as there were also just 2 people in the camp from the previous day, we had gotten very lucky indeed. We took a 1 1/2 hour bus ride to the river where we boarded a rather small boat. I only say this as I knew the river to be full of crocodiles and was somewhat alarmed to be so close to the water. The journey took considerably longer as we zigzagged across the river stopping to see the wildlife on the way. We saw egrets and other birds, long tailed macaques and BIG crocodiles on the river banks which slunk into the water and somewhere under the boat When we approached, gulp.....! We even got to see an elephant - another stroke of luck. The elephants are extremely endangered and there are only around 150 left in the area. They also only pass through this area twice a year and we were fortunate enough to be there at one of those times. I can assure you that wasn't due to any amount of forward planning, just pure luck! We sat in complete awe as we watched an elephant scratch his backside on a tree trunk on the banks of the river just 20 feet away from us.

Upon arrival we walked the 10 minutes or so through the mud to the camp and were assigned a room. I use this word in the loosest possible sense as really it was just a few planks of wood held together with chicken wire. Still, the huts usually slept 6 and we had it to ourselves so at least no-one else would have to hear me whimpering at every strange sound from the jungle. The beds were just mattresses on the floor with a mosquito net above them. We had been provided with a single sheet each, but no pillows. This I created out of my dirty washing bag, sealed of course, wrapped in a sarong. We carry sleeping bag liners with us so at least we would be covered, but I still went for the extra covering of a towel too. We thought the sleeping arrangements were bad until we saw the toilets. Well, holes in the ground. They were of course the usual 'french style' toilets but these were worse than most as they were in the middle of the jungle where most ideas of sanitation went by the wayside. They also attracted hoards of mosquitoes. And I can tell you that it's not easy squatting to have a pee whilst holding your breath to keep from retching, and waving the mozzies away from your rear end so as not to get bitten. I did my best but to no avail. Hence I just rolled over and crossed my legs in the middle of the night, I didn't want to bump into the camp pig in the pitch black on my to the toilets as Kori had had the misfortune to do!

It wasn't long before we realised just how close to nature we were. Soon after we arrived one of the guides spotted a bright green snake in the grass behind the main hut. It was only small but even as Mik and Koen took photos, I kept my distance. Later during our introduction and briefing we asked our guide Leo whether the snake was a dangerous one. He said that it was a pit viper. We, of course, reiterated the question and asked what would happen if it should bite us. His response, "Oo la la, then you dead". What a way to start. Taxi!

The other form of entertainment in the camp were the long tailed macaques. As soon as any food was out on the tables, albeit covered by plastic hoods, the little monkeys would come swarming and try to grab anything they could. The first thing we saw disappear was an opened can of condensed milk. The thief ran off with it only to tip it all over the thatch roof of the kitchen and lick it off. What a waste! Much better drizzled over pancakes!

Our programme included several safari's over the 2 days, either in the boat or walking though the rainforest. We were provided with welly boots whilst at the camp as it was prone to rain quite a lot, as we would discover. Guess that's why it's called the rainforest then. These of course had to be tipped upside down and shaken vigorously before inserting one's foot.

Unfortunately for me it wasn't just welly boots that the little critters chose to have a nap in. When picking up my bag in our room I felt something crawl along my hand and fall onto the floor. I dropped the bag and made a small yelping noise. A passing guide heard me and asked what had happened. I said I thought it was just a millipede that was now hiding underneath my bag. He asked if it was a millipede or a centipede. I told him I didn't know. I hadn't exactly taken the time to count it's legs. He lifted the bag and saw that it was a centipede, I still couldn't have told you the difference, which apparently meant that it was poisonous. Great, the thing had just been on my hand. The guide tentatively lifted my bag and tried to get the centipede away. It ran across the deck and into one of Mik's welly boots. After much banging of said boot it eventually plopped out and ran off under our hut and away. Phew. I guess I had been grateful that the chicken wire would keep the monkeys, and hopefully big spiders and snakes, out, but hadn't given much thought to the smaller and possibily more dangerous insects. What is it with me and critters?

Having seen the elephant on our way to camp meant we had already spotted the number one ranked mammal. But we had been spoilt and now wanted to see more. Luckily the guides did too and so we did another afternoon boat safari instead of walking so that we could try to find the elephants again. We had pulled into the side of the river just down from the jetty (again I use this word in the loosest way) when we saw the next group arrive. We found out from them where the elephants were and changed our direction. What a result. We hammered it up river until eventually our guide cut the engine and drifted. As we looked at the shoreline we could make out some movement. And as we got closer we could see the bamboo moving and could hear the elephants munching. Amazing.

The guide drove to the bank and got out, disappearing into the undergrowth. He came back and gestured to Mik to give him his camera and off he went again. We sat quietly in the boat. He appeared again and this time gestured for us to follow him as the elephants were right there. He also advised us to remove the bright orange lifejackets we were wearing as they didn't provide us with great camoflage.

We stood on the banks of the river and wathced as the bamboo moved in front of us, then we got a glimpse of a baby elephant just 20 feet away. Slowly we were allowed to climb up the bank and get closer. There were 2 big elephants to our left busy munching away and the baby one in front of us with it's mother some way behind it but staring directly at us and watching over her baby. There were elephants all around us and we could hear even more than we could see. Mik and Koen were going mad with the cameras whilst Linda and I just stood looking completely gobsmacked by what we were experiencing. At one point a few of the larger elephants made a bit of a move toward where we were stood and the guide motioned us back down the river bank. It was actually fairly scary as you could see by the ease with which they had walked through the undergrowth that they could be on you within seconds if they chose to. Then the guide called us back up.

Just as the guys had clambered up the bank one of the closer elephants gave a loud trumpet. We all stopped dead in our tracks. Mik however provided some entertainment in this split second as he did his 'what the hell was that, oh my god how exciting is this, the baby elephant is coming right for me' dance. The look on his face and the springy movement his legs made had me howling with laughter, albeit quietly! Luckily the baby didn't come any closer or we may have had the mother and any other nearby elephants chasing us down the bank.

We watched the elephants for maybe 30 minutes and it was incredible. We had been lucky to be a small group so that we could get out and actually see them in their natural environment. It was starting to get dark and looked like it might rain so we had to leave. As we backed away in the boat however we saw several of the them come down to the water's edge and we watched as the baby took a bath and the others had a quick drink. We had been very lucky. It was a truly amazing experience and definitely a highlight of our whole world trip.

So from the highlight to the low lights. The night safari's! These weren't my favourite activity. The first one in the boat purely because it hammered it down pretty much the whole time we were out and the sound of the driver furiously shovelling bucket loads of water out of the boat left me feeling a little uneasy. Especially when we saw the eyes of crocodiles glinting in the torchlight, although half the time they actually turned out to be tin cans! Phew. We did see a magnificent owl though, who sat quietly and let us admire him, plus other birds and river frogs. It was quite difficult to see these things though as I had to have the drawstring on the hood of my waterproof poncho pulled tight around my face so as to not let the driving rain in. Not sure why I bothered really as I was still soaking by the end. We walked back to the camp and treated ourselves to a can of cheap Indonesian beer. It was mine and Mik's 4 year anniversary after all!

The walking night safari on the second night wasn't so enjoyable purely because I was shit scared. In my mind there was always the possibility of spiders or snakes falling out of the trees on to me. Linda and I had the same misgivings about walking around the jungle at night, and both kept our distance when the boys were playing the - who can get closest to the poisonous black scorpion - game. The guide won as he foolishly let the scorpion run over his hand.

Much to the boys disappointment, and Linda's and my delight, we didn't see any snakes and only one spider. The huntsman spider, also known as the long legged spider, but named by the guides the Peter Crouch spider. It did look remarkably like him. I was glad I had done it though. I would have happily given the scorpions and spiders a miss but we saw transparent frogs, a civet cat and birds sleeping. Clinging onto a branch with their feet, their head tucked under their wing, totally oblivious to the rain falling on them. Very cute. I was also followed by a beautiful butterfly which continually landed on my poncho. This may have been because my poncho was lit up like a beacon by my head torch. Apparently it gave me an angelic look. Well there's a first time for everything!

On our last morning we got up at the crack of dawn again for a second early boat safari. This time we had the camp manager (Lan) and I think he was determinded to find us something. He did. He spotted a large male orangutan sitting in a tree at the side of the river. How they see these things I will never know. Eventually after staring at the branches at which he is pointing does a dark blob shape become apparent and slowly you realise that it is indeed an orangutan. Not just some leaves. Lan decided we should all get out of the boat and try to get closer. For anyone watching from above (e.g the orangutan) it would have been quite an amusing spectacle. There were two groups, so about 15 people, fighting their way through the jungle in search of the particular tree where the orangutan sat. Or at least he did until we found said tree, upon which he would move. So we would change direction and chase after him as quickly at the thick undergrowth would allow us. This game went of for a while but we managed to get a few glimpses of him. It is something else to see them completely in the wild. Eventually he decided he had had enough of this game and so decided to try and wee on us! Luckily I hadn't been able to get close enough to him to have to avoid getting wet. And with that he was gone.

On the way back to camp we were able to take the boat right to the doorstep as the river levels had climbed so much that the banks of the river were flooded. The guides knew every tree and every turn and took us right into the camp. And that was our last jungle experience. We packed up our damp, filthy, smelly clothes and set off back to civilisation desperately in need of a shower. We actually nearly got a wash on our boat trip out as the heavy rain had washed a lot of debris into the river. This included rather large logs, some of which weren;t floating on the surface and could not be seen. So it came as a bit of a shock when one hit the propeller and tipped the boat at an alarming angle. For a split second I think we all thought we were going in, rucksacks and all. Luckily the driver managed to regain control and kept the boat horizontal. The two guides thought it was highly amusing, I guess they must have seen the look on my face. But I saw their's too and they thought it was all over just as much as we did.

We had had a brilliant time and were somewhat sad to leave but the thought of a shower and a proper bed was too much of a draw, so we left the jungle and all it's animals and critters and made it back to the office from where we would catch a bus to Sabah's capital, Kota Kinabalu.

Cara

p.s I know those of you reading this know better than to think that I am the one who is slow in writing up my entries! x

A tale of two cities

Semporna & Sipadan, Eastern Sabah, Borneo

Part I : The Diving Mecca

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"Life is too important to be taken seriously"
- Oscar Wilde

I love Southeast Asia, and I mean really love it. Sometimes it is great, oftentimes it is awful, bit it is always interesting. Our stay in the town of Semporna was a great example of this. After arriving in Tawau on the east coast of Sabah, the northernmost state of Malaysian Borneo, we took a couple of minibuses to Semporna, the nearest point on the mainland to the diving paradise of Sipadan Island. We realised we were finally back in Asia when we had to share our minibus with a gaggle of staring children, chain-smoking old men, and several large buckets of dead fish. We even laughed about it when one chain-smoking old man lit up another smoke as he filled our petrol tank in a service station.

When we arrived in Semporna, we had a bit of a bind finding a room. Malaysian independence day was approaching and a lot of the places were booked up. We finally bagged a small, windowless room in the centre of the town, at a place called Lee's Resthouse. It wasn't great, especially after our luxurious suite in Kuala Lumpur, but it did at least have air conditioning and the price was right. Under normal circumstances we would have avoided the place, as it was listed in our guidebook and this normally brings disappointment, but we were strapped for choice so it would have to do. We booked ourselves in for some diving with an operator we'd had recommended to us by Dave & Lisa, our Canadian friends who had been here recently, then took a wander around the town. Everybody was very smiley and all the kids would shout out hellos in English as we passed by. Cara was always chirpy back, but my misanthropic side began to tire after the 647th hello and from then on the kids had to make do with flick of the head and a neutral grunt.

For your average budget backpacker, diving here requires a significant investment. After doing the sums, we decided to book ourselves in with the dive centre on an adhoc basis, and make a decision after the end of each day. The next morning we were up early and made our way down to the dive centre. We sorted out our dive kit and set off towards Sipadan. There were only two other divers on the boat, besides the dive guide, so we could stretch out on the benches and have a snooze for the fifty minutes or so it took to get there.

I was lucky enough to dive Sipadan a few years ago. Back then, I was travelling on business and stayed at the expensive Kapalai Dive Resort, diving four times a day around Sipadan, Mabul and Kapalai. This time around the accommodation was somewhat less salubrious, but the diving was as good as ever. Within a few seconds of dropping into the water on the first dive, I remembered why this place is so special. The diving here really is incredible, the best in the world in my opinion (and let's face it, that practically makes it a fact). It is not just what you see, but how much of it there is. The sheer volume of marine life on show baffles the brain and strains the eyeballs. But let's start with the island itself. Sipadan is a true oceanic island, Malaysia's only one in fact. This means that the island sits off the edge of the continental shelf on which all the other local islands reside. Step off the reef edge and it is six hundred metres straight down to the seabed and a very bad headache.

The best way to describe the variety of marine life on show is to talk you through a typical dive we took at Barracuda Point dive site (despite having the greatest diving in the world, the locals still insist on giving the dive sites fairly mundane titles. If I had been draughted in to name these things, it would have been called "The Mind Boggling Shitload of Fish Vista in the Flying Current Coral Theatre and Turtle Emporium". Their loss). As soon as we plopped into the water at the edge of the reef, we were immediately surrounded by thousands of fish. Huge schools of trigger fish and longtail banner fish filled the water and large barracuda hung motionless in the current, pretending to be invisible in a way that only razor-toothed fish six feet long can get away with. A quick glance around showed a large turtle with attendant bat fish, heading to the surface for air, while another turtle swam beneath us and yet more sat dozily on the reef wall, looking at us with no more interest than a tramp has for his toejam*. We drifted along the reef and through the enormous schools of fish, with turtles constantly flapping into view before drifting back into the blue murk. The current was fairly strong, so we were all happy to be carried along by it without any need for exertion on our part. Grey and whitetip reef sharks circled beneath us, trying their best to look intimidating, but soon gave up and cleared off when they realised we were not novices who could be frightened by cheap theatrics and the opening chords of the Jaws theme tune.

After a short while, our guide pointed up ahead at a vague, flickering mass in the water. We all finned toward it and as we approached, the mass turned into an enormous column of barracuda (or is that barracudas?), swimming slowly against the current and generally having a sociable time of it. Our guide found a patch of sand on the top of the reef and we all settled on the bottom as the column first approached, then enveloped us. For a good few minutes we all just sat there and watched the giant swirl of fish swim around us. I can only assume they were having a group discussion on whether they should bite one of us for a laugh. Eventually, they seemed to reach the same conclusion as the sharks and began to move on. I looked up at Cara and she was clinging to a piece of rock, watching the twenty two and a half trillion barracuda sitting in the current around us. I noticed a whitetip reef shark trying to get some shuteye on the sandy patch in the reef, not more than two feet from the end of Cara's fins. I waited for her to look in my direction and pointed to the shark. Cara took a brief glance behind her, nodded at me to acknowledge she'd seen it, then went back to looking at the barracuda(s). It was at that exact moment that I realised what a pair of spoilt little shits we have turned into. When you can look down at a shark sleeping at your feet and not give it a second glance, you know you are one seriously lucky sod.

But that just sums up Sipadan. A casual glance around you takes in so much, yet you move on and moments later the current brings something even more spectacular into your field of vision. If there was one place on this planet I would happily dive for the remainder of my years, then this is the place (with the possible exception of Wraysbury quarry. I've heard you can see a shopping trolley and several used condoms on the same dive!). After about thirty minutes on the reef wall, we swam into a wide channel where the current whipped us along rapidly. Beneath us, scores of whitetip reef sharks slept on the sandy bottom with yet more swimming over and around us. The last ten minutes of the dive was spent looking at the amazing hard and soft corals in the shallows, before hopping back onto the boat and onto Sipadan Island for lunch.
Until a few years ago, there were a handful of dive resorts actually on the island, but the government closed them down and now the only permanent residents are a handful of army soldiers who can't believe their luck and the occasional monitor lizard (to monitor the soldiers, perhaps?). The divers are permitted to land on the island, but only in between dives, and everybody has to bugger off before nightfall.

In total, we did six dives off Sipadan, over two days. The second day saw only Cara and myself on the boat, so we had our own personal guide for the day. On the way over to the island, the rains came in and we were treated to a chilly tropical downpour that reduced visibility to less than ten metres in front of the boat and all sight of land vanished. It didn't overly thrill us when the boat driver ran over a piece of driftwood and we spent the next ten minutes drifting in the storm while he inspected his propeller. All was fine and with the special ninja powers that all dive boat drivers seem to have, he found the island without even having to stop and ask for directions from a passing turtle.

Over the course of those two days we were treated to some spectacular sights. One of the reasons we came here was because Cara loves turtles. We had seen the odd one on previous dives, but I had promised her she would see hundreds here, and for once I wasn't talking bollocks. We saw dozens on every dive. Big ones, small ones, zippy ones and sleepy ones. Every few minutes on a dive we would se another turtle sleeping on the coral wall. Some would find little ledges to wedge themselves into, while others just seemed to hang precariously from a large coral fan. We spotted a few amorous turtles and even a stack of them, five high, where the top males desperately tried to unlodge the bottom fellow from his mate. Or they were just confused, or kinky, or both. We saw sharks aplenty and too many varieties of reef fish to name (mainly because I've waffled on too much already). Even the coral here is incredible. The nearby islands of Kapalai and Mabul are more famous for the rare, tiny creatures that reside there, but we chose to stay diving Sipadan. A few more days would have been appreciated, but funds dictated otherwise and as you will read below, staying in town soon lost it's appeal.

We would have moved on the next day, but I decided to come down with one of my regular jungle colds, so we decided to stick it out in Semporna for another day. More's the pity.
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Part II; The Den of Thieves

"Honesty is, for the most part, less profitable than dishonesty"
- Plato

Sipadan is everything a beautiful tropical island should be, with white sand beaches, swaying palm trees and diving you'd kick your granny for. Semporna, on the other hand, is a shithole, and I'm not just saying that to be cruel. If you look it up in any encyclopaedia, it will either say shithole, festering shithole or two steps down from your average shithole (population:2000). Their words, not mine. Most people who come here stay around the seafront, and to be fair, that is not bad. We, however, were staying in the centre of town and it was ugly in a way that only Stalinist Russia and Burnley can comprehend. On our first day diving, another chap had mentioned that quite a few people, staying in the main tourist joint on the seafront that we had been turned away from, had had cash pilfered from their rooms while they were out diving, and that kind of made us feel a bit better about staying in town. That was until we made it back to our room at the end of the first day to find some light fingered little shitbrick had taken his/her turn with us.

All seemed well when we first got back to the room, but when I took a rummage in Cara's bag for the small digital camera, it was not to be found. Our first thought, obviously, was to hurl abuse at each other with accusations of leaving it in our room back in Kuala Lumpur, but closer inspection revealed that cash was also missing from Cara's bag, which had definitely been there earlier in the day. Now, you might be thinking that we are idiots for leaving these things lying around, but the room was locked and the bag from which the stuff had walked was also locked. Somebody had let themselves into the room, spent a good while working their way through the combinations on Cara's lock (probably knowing full well that we would be out of the room for the whole day diving), and helped themselves to our goodies. We were both fuming. The door had not been forced and the only way to get to our room from the outside was past the reception desk. It would seem that somebody in the hotel considered tourist's belongings a nice supplementary income. We went down to the reception desk to have a rant, and they couldn't have cared less. We at the hotel are not responsible for the loss of personal effects from the rooms, was the seemingly well rehearsed reply.

"Not exactly true," I said, "somebody at the hotel is responsible. Whoever did this had a key to our room and knew we'd be gone for the day. Somebody who works here is responsible for this, you are just not taking responsibility for it."

This clarification of their misrepresentation of the English language had the same effect as a belch in a frog farm, namely, none whatsoever. I continued to bounce up and down and throw accusations liberally about the room, but it did no good. Their expressions never wavered from "couldn't give a shit", with the exception of one girl who adopted a look of "is this going to take long?" for the duration. When I realised this would get us nowhere, I thought bollocks to it, and ranted some more. Cara gave them the obligatory notification that we would leave notice of their lousy security record on every website from here to Wigan, and we made our dramatic exit. Meaning Cara went back to the room to make sure our bags were still there and I went outside for a cigarette.

Whilst out there, a young chap who turned out to be Belgian (don't meet many of those on the road) came outside and joined me for a quick smoke. After a few minutes, he leaned over and in the best conspiratorial whisper his Inspector Clusseau accent would permit, he said I should be very careful of my things here, because he and his friends had had many hundreds of euros stolen from their room while they were out diving. They had been to the police, but they were no more interested than the people at the hotel. I thanked him for the advice and told him of our situation. He then said something that might have questioned their parentage, but I couldn't penetrate his accent so am unsure. It turns out that others staying at LEE'S RESTHOUSE IN SEMPORNA lost things from locked bags in locked rooms, so it would appear quite a lucrative sideline has been added to their main hospitality trade. Before we left we heard news of other thefts from other hotels, so perhaps the trend encompasses the whole town. In the fifteen months we have been on the road, this is the only time we have had things stolen from our room, and we have stayed in some dodgy towns.

We made our trip to the police station and filed the necessary report, and just as my Belgian friend told me, they showed neither the least surprise nor interest in our story. In fact, before they released the report to Cara, they asked her to confirm that she only required the report for insurance purposes, and didn't expect any investigation to take place. Nice one, boys. The missing cash was no big deal, but the loss of the camera, and even more importantly, the loss of the photos on the camera, was a major kick in the arse. This explains why you will not see any images on this or any other recent posts.

The diving in Sipadan is out of this world and I would not hesitate to recommend it to anybody, but if you plan on staying Semporna, it might be wise to invest in some sturdy padlocks.
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Mik

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*To all the tramps that may happen to read this who have a deep, rewarding relationship with their toejam, I apologise. My analogy was in no way intended to mock or belittle the importance of your own toejam or any other bodily secretions borne of limited personal hygiene.

**All photos courtesy of Chad & Kori Crow, who still own a camera

City living

Singapore

We were both really excited about getting back to Asia as it was still our favourite continent. We were looking forward to being warm again, the food, and the fact that everything would be so much cheaper than in NZ and Oz.

First stop Singapore. As this isn't one of the cheaper cities in Asia we were very lucky to be able to stay with Mik's friend Rob again who has now been living here for 5 years, and who we stayed with last year. It was great to see more friends and we celebrated with some cheap food from the local food courts (about a pound for a plate of roast duck, rice and veg.) and some hideously expensive beers - paying 5 quid a pint hurt.

We stayed for the weekend and spent most of the time eating all the lovely food we had been missing and tagging along with Rob and enjoying his expat party lifestyle. We went to a birthday party which was fancy dress - back to school - I'm sorry to say we didn't make the effort but enjoyed the entertainment and the jelly shots! We also spent a Friday night in the pub with his work colleagues. It was quite strange to remember what the end of the working week must feel like.

In order to help counteract all this drinking we agreed to go with Rob to his dragon boat racing training on the Saturday afternoon. We were both a little nervous having not done a lot of exercise in the last 15 months and Mik was determined to get out of it one way or another. He didn't and once in the boat he took to it really quickly. It was hard work but great fun being out on the river and seeing the city from a different angle. It is also very sociable with a keg of beer being provided at the end by the sponsors. It is a hugely popular activity and there are loads of different teams. We were actually training with the Aussies as apparently the British team is crap! We really enjoyed it but I was glad they took it easy on us. Despite the beer I knew I would be aching the next day.

In Asia, warm weather also means high humidity. Thus a return to being sweaty on a regular basis. Mik found that his girl's hair wasn't helping the situation and after a few (lots) of encouraging words from me he finally got his hair cut. Thank the lord. I no longer have to walk 5 paces behind him down the street. This was of course not as simple as it should have been. For starters the girl had to lower the chair as far as it would go, and then still ask Mik to slouch down in his seat, as she couldn't reach thevtop of his head. Then came the description of what he wanted done. Quite straight forward really, just cut it so that is 3 inches long all over. She got it eventually, or so we had thought! You can see the results in future photos. Personally I was delighted.

Our last evening was spent up on the 70th floor of the Swissôtel where not only do you have a great view over the city, but they also have a happy hour every evening with half price drinks. As this was the case I thought I'd hit the cocktails which would have been fine had I, a) not had to return a couple of them after the first few sips as the glass was cracked, b) not had to return a couple after the first few sips as they didn't taste right (turned out there wasn't enough alcohol in them) or c) had more than a snack to eat all day. As a result the lads, who had been drinking one beer to my one and a half peachy loves, were fine as we left whereas I couldn't stop giggling and was rather worse for wear. Still, we hit a local chinese restaurant and all was right with the world. Until the following morning that is!

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Yep, of course we had an early start to catch a bus to Kuala Lumpur, we were back in Asia afterall, where all things start before dawn. Ouch. Luckily we had booked ourselves on the luxury coach. We had had trouble finding a room on the internet and so Rob kindly offered to get us a deal at the hotel he usually stays at when on business in KL. A huge expense for us but an amazing hotel, and a we got a suite to boot. The hotel complex is massive it houses not only the usual rooftop swimming pool and spa etc but also a massive shopping centre, restaurants and a theme park complete with indoor rollercoaster. Madness. Oh and I nearly forgot the cinema and Imax screen which we visited as they had a film on about sharks. Guess who's choice that was.
When we were in KL last year we had seen the sights but had not managed to get up the Petronas Towers, the tallest twin towers in the world. This time we got up early and queued for an hour to get a free ticket for our slot 3 hours later that day. You are taken up to the skybridge which connects the two towers. They only allow around 20 people on the bridge at one time. I don't think I want to know why. Unfortunately it was a hazy day so we couldn't see too far but the building itself is very impressive.

We spent two nights there enjoying the luxury as we were then catching a flight to Tawau in Malaysian Borneo and there the luxury had to end or we would be coming home before the end of September! We were flying with Air Asia, the low-cost airline, and unbeknown to us they had relocated to the cargo terminal. Luckily our taxi driver (Mr Nairdu) had collected us super early and the 20 minute detour to get to the right place didn't mean us missing our flight. We checked in with baited breath as baggage allowance was only 15kg. We had left a few bits with Rob in Singapore to collect on our way out of Asia but would still probably be over the limit. We were, but only by a couple of kilos and they let us off - phew. Don't know what I'm going to do about all the things I plan to buy while here though! And we were off, gone were the trappings of modern cities, we were on the road again, and thoroughly looking forward to it.

Cara

Australia without seeing a single kanagaroo or koala

Sydney, Australia

''Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time"
- Bertrand Russell

After being relieved of $50 each at Christchurch airport, for departure taxes and an Australian visa, we finally left New Zealand and flew off to sunny Sydney. My mate Jenny, her fella Simon and her daughter Charlotte, moved to Sydney last Christmas and we would be staying with them in the fancy northshore suburb of Mosman. A train ride from the airport and a brief taxi journey later and we were at their house, a swanky looking place on a quiet road just a few minutes away from Sydney bridge. It was great to see them again, and not just because they gave us food and wine and pretended to be interested in our endless travel stories. We hadn't seen anybody we knew since Mum&Mum© left Mexico three months previously, and we hadn't seen these guys since last October. It was a great novelty being able to have a normal conversation again with people we knew. Quite frankly, neither Cara nor I have a single story or anecdote that the other hasn't heard already, and the other is always there for every new experience we have. It is getting so bad, I've resorted to talking Cara through my list of Most Impressive Pimples As A Teenager. Riveting stuff, I am sure you will agree.

Our first week in Australia was spent hanging out with Jen, Simon and Charlotte, taking in the sights of Sydney and catching up on what has been happening in the last year. We visited the aquarium in Darling Harbour and watched Deep Sea 3D at the Imax. During the week, when everybody was either at work or school, we would slouch on the sofa watching DVDs or wander around the city, looking for good noodle houses. Cara and I were missing Thai food so much, that we went to an Asian supermarket, bought a wok and a bucket of ingredients, and cooked up a few recipes we had learned in cookery school at Chiang Mai (this will surely have to go down as the most shameless name dropping of any blog entry).

After a week, Simon had to fly off to Mumbai, in India, on business and Cara and I settled down into a fairly lazy routine of not doing very much. After all this time away, it felt good to be staying in a real home environment, and although we didn't really do anything, we certainly enjoyed not doing it. The house was just a few minutes walk away from Balmoral beach, which is one of north Sydney's most pleasant little suburban beaches. A few times, Cara and I would take a walk down to the beach, buy fish 'n' chips from the place across the road and sit on the sand to eat it (sorry Oz, but you seem to be afflicted by the fresh fish/frozen chips debacle that scuppered New Zealand). The various commuter ferries cruised by in the distance, and seemingly every toddler in the southern hemisphere rode passed in a pram. It is worth noting that a small portion of Balmoral beach is sectioned off with a shark net that has in front of it a big sign saying the net is not shark proof. Almost as ludicrous as the warning found on the back of a bag of peanuts stating bag may contain nuts. Next thing you know we'll have warnings on the side of aeroplanes stating plane not impervious to gravity. Is it a shark net or is it not? Balmoral beach also has a resident flock of reasonably tame cockatoos, and one day we tried to get a couple of photos of them as they were feeding on the park across from the beach. As I was crouching down to get a photo of one bird that was getting quite close, it jumped up onto my hand and tried to stare me down. Annoyingly, it was the hand that was holding the camera and the strap was around my wrist, so I couldn't transfer it to my other hand. I tried to nudge the bird up my arm so I could switch hands with the camera, but after much squawking and pecking at my fingers, it jumped down again so I missed the shot. Thinking it was a great Kodak moment not to be missed, I tried to encourage the noisy little bag of feathers back onto my free hand to get another chance at a shot, but as I put my hand down in front of it, the bastard clamped down on my thumb and bit as hard as he could. In a vain hope of getting him off me, if only because it really bloody hurt, I lifted my hand up and away from him, but he just hung on and I spent the next half a minute jumping up and down and waving my arm about with a big cockatoo hanging off the end of it. I was not very impressed, but the 200 other people in the vicinity thought it was hilarious. Eventually, after realising I wasn't a really big peanut, he let go and trundled off to join his friends. I was a bit wary of them after that, but Cara, who is always impressed by the sight of a cockatoo, insisted I go back and take a picture of her with them around her. No further attacks occurred.

One evening, Cara and Charlotte wanted to watch the cinematic train wreck that is Moulin Rouge, so Jen and I took the opportunity to go off into the bars of Sydney and get smashed. We drank far too much and talked the hindlegs off a donkey that I had brought along for effect, just like the old days (the drunken ramblings that is, not the donkey). Ah, nostalgia, it's not what it used to be.

Our original plan was to spend a week or so in Sydney, then move on and spend another few weeks travelling around the east coast of Oz, but that plan was terminated and buried in an unmarked grave fairly quickly. That we were enjoying staying with friends so much, coupled with the fact that Australia turned out to be only slightly less expensive than Monte Carlo on grand prix weekend, had persuaded us to essentially write off Oz as a travel destination and just hang out in Sydney for a few weeks. As Australia is even easier to get to from London than Watford is, we didn't feel too guilty about summarily executing Australia's part in what is probably the most fascinating and heroic travel story since my mate Steve's suitcase got sent to Malaga by accident. We could always come back in the future, and it will probably be quite an attractive option the older and more intolerant I become. So it was settled, we would spend the entire three weeks vegetating on Jen and Simon's sofa, wearing out our welcome and stoutly avoiding absolutely everything of the remotest cultural significance. That last part is not actually true. One afternoon we made the slog over to East Sydney to visit the "World Famous" Bondi Beach, as the kiwis probably refer to it. And what a thrilling experience it was too! Some chaps, who looked like orange schoolboys with goatees, were sitting on surfboards, calling each other dude and making token gestures at riding little waves, a seriously scary looking old geezer, who looked like he spent twenty five hours a day pumping weights, was jogging up and down the beach in a pair of speedos that would make a Patpong Ping-Pong girl blush and an assorted assembly of underwhelmed tourists, including us, trying to whip off the odd photograph when the sun peaked out behind the clouds. And it is much smaller than you imagine. To be fair, it was the middle of winter and we were not seeing the beach under the best circumstances. In summer, I'm sure it is, well, busier. We were soon back on the bus into the city, where we caught the ferry to Manly to check out Sydney's second world famous beach. Considering I come from a part of the world where the sea is so disgusting even the fish are scared to swim in it, I should probably stop poking fun now and just say that Sydney's beaches are quite pretty.

Whilst in Sydney, we were also able to catch up with a few people we met earlier in our travels. Andy and Claire are an English couple we met on a boat travelling up the Mekong river between Vietnam and Cambodia over a year ago, and they have since settled in Australia, living in Manly on the northshore. We had dinner at their apartment one evening to catch up, although we didn't hit the booze too hard as Claire was just a few months away from giving birth to her own little Australian. We also had a chance to meet up with Dave and Lisa, the Canadians we first met in Iguazu in Argentina. They were travelling the world in the opposite direction to us, and our paths finally crossed again in Oz. They are both a great laugh and Dave is the only human being I know with a more ridiculous haircut than me (excluding the pasty folk with the dreadlock extensions, obviously). We met up with them in town one afternoon and drank a few beers in Sydney's oldest pub, which apparently is older than me.

Just before we had to leave Australia, Charlotte celebrated her thirteenth birthday, so we all went out to a new Thai restaurant up the road and had an excellent dinner. It was probably one of the best Thai meals I have had outside of Thailand, and we had a great old time. Fear not, newly fledged teenager Charlotte was having her real birthday party the following weekend with all her friends, but as it was a school night, she had to spend her actual birthday with us boring grown ups.

That pretty much sums up our stay in Australia. Three weeks and I didn't even manage to see one kangaroo, koala, spider or snake, although on one afternoon in a park, we did stumble into a group of large fruit bats, and as you can see from the photo, they seemed very happy to see us too. Oh well, next stop Singapore, again.

Mik

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Pointless aside No. 237
"Because you'll win bugger all on the lottery"- Quote from an advert for ING Direct seen on the side of a Sydney bus, featuring Billy Connelly. The same Billy Connelly who's advert FOR the UK National Lottery was voted the most irritating advert of 2002. Funny old world.

p.p.s. I've just realised that I rather rudely failed to thank Jen, Simon and Charlotte for very kindly allowing us to plant roots in their home for three weeks and making us feel so welcome that we struggled to leave. So, thank you all very much and we look forward to returning soon, maybe when it's a bit warmer.

Eat my snow

Christchurch, Methven & Mt Hutt, South Island, New Zealand

After taking a truly spectacular drive up to Christchurch from Wanaka, we decided to spend the weekend in the city and head up to Mount Hutt the following week when it was a bit quieter. There are few things more embarrassing than having a four year old child whizzing past you on the slopes, and staying away until a school day would minimise the risk. The tourist info place in Christchurch city centre would only offer overpriced, cramped and shabby hostel rooms, so we found ourselves another snappy motel room with a voucher we had cut out of a newspaper weeks earlier. We booked our flights out of the country and extended the car hire for another few days, then set off around the city to do the usual "New Zealand's World Famous..." spotting. Cara treated herself to a haircut and I treated myself to a slap up lunch at the local kebab shop. If I was going to face the "So, what do you think about my new hair?" question, I wanted something lining my stomach when the time came. The next day was spent driving around Banks Peninsula, east of the city, which is where the locals store their hills. We saw plenty more of the great scenery which kiwis seem to leave lying around all over the place, and almost drove into a lost cow on a hilltop. We offered her a lift home, but she preferred the walk and carried on in the opposite direction, looking for more blind corners to hide behind.

Monday morning we drove up to Methven, which is the nearest town to the Mt Hutt slopes, and organised our lift passes and gear hire for the following morning. Methven seemed to be exclusively populated by skiers and people catering to the needs of skiers, with not much else going on. I can only imagine that in summer, the residents pack the whole town up into a big box and drive it over to the east coast, where it spends the warmer months as a quaint, Edwardian seaside village.

After acquiring ourselves yet another spacious, comfortable, multi-roomed motel cabin for the same price as a trendy hostel broom cupboard, we took a drive down to Ashburton, the nearest town of any size (population : 15,000, large by south island standards), as we wanted to find a supermarket where we could buy a big bag of live green lipped mussels for dinner. We had a big cooking pot in our kitchen and it would have been a shame not to use it. After arriving in town, Cara stuck her head into a few stores to ask the locals where we could buy a big bag of live green lipped mussels. They all just stared at her like she was a loony (of course, she is a loony, but for different reasons). Why on earth would we want a big bag of live green lipped mussels, they asked? Who buys live mussels? Who sells live mussels, for that matter? No, they couldn't help us, and if it was all the same to us, would we mind getting our scruffy backsides out of their town and taking our strange foreign ways with us. Live mussels, indeed. Whoever heard of such nonsense? Two hundred metres further down the road we found the local supermarket, and inside was a big tank brimming with green lipped mussels. I can only assume the locals we encountered ate only straw, and shunned such needless extravagances as supermarkets. We filled a big bag with the tasty molluscs and paid the grand total of two pounds for them. Back at the room l cooked us up a grand dinner of moules mariniere avec frites. Actually, it was mussels and oven chips, but why split hairs? If you ever visit New Zealand, I strongly recommend trying the mussels. Each one is the size of a poodle, and cooked up in a puddle of wine and cream, they taste great. And cheaper than chips, literally.

Bright and breezy the next morning, it was back on with the thermal long johns and off we drove up the mountain to the Mt. Hutt ski slopes. The weather was perfect, with nary a cloud in the sky, and the last thirteen kilometres of the drive took us up a narrow, icy road which clings to the side of the mountain by it's fingertips. It is always an invigorating experience to stare at a sheer, five hundred metre drop as your car loses traction on an icy, hairpin corner.
The two days skiing were fantastic, and if I say so myself, my snowboarding skills are now exceptional. Professional snowboarders would approach me on the lifts and ask me what my secrets are. Of course, being a kung fu snowboard grandmaster, I would just humbly say it was down to plenty of practice and the odd spot of meditation. Unlike the last time I went snowboarding, no bones were broken and I could even get down the mountain without hurting anybody else. I would at this point like to extend a big thank you to the pink-suited skier who so considerately skied across the front of my snowboard one afternoon, whacking me across the thigh with their ski-pole in the process and allowing me to enjoy the curious sensation of skidding fifty metres down the slope on my face. And you were even too modest to look back or acknowledge your generosity in any way. I can only hope that you contract some form of untreatable fungal infection on your genitals, causing you to scratch feverishly in social situations and ostracising you from friends and family. Prick! And just to add insult to injury, as we exited the ski lift for the final time on our last day, Cara turned to me and said "You've done really well. You haven't had any really bad falls this time, have you?". Great, I thought, that was something that could have been said when we had made it down to the bottom. Sure enough, half way down the piste, probably as I was thinking about not falling over, I fell over. A great big, flailing limbs, snow up the nostrils and down the pants kind of fall that makes you look like a ragdoll in a tumble dryer. As I spun through the air for the third time, everything moving in slow motion, I thought to myself at least this will look impressive to anybody watching, but after I finally stopped and managed to extricate my head from the snow and my feet from up my arse and under my left armpit, I looked around and not another soul was in sight. It would seem my luck was taking a turn for the worse. Other than that, a grand time was had by all.

It was finally our last night in New Zealand, and I was going to treat myself to an enormous bag of fish 'n' chips from town. Cara, being the kind of weirdo that can say no to fried food, was having some pasta, which is apparently little curly things that you boil in a pan. Very exotic! I put on my woolly hat and my goofy grin and grabbed the car keys. The car was parked in the driveway, and as I was reversing onto the road there was a very loud crashing noise, which came at the exact same instant as the car stopped dead in its tracks. I looked in both wing mirrors, but couldn't see anything. I moved the car forward a bit, opened the door and had a look at what might have caused my little problem. There was nothing to be seen. Oh, hang on a minute, that was not quite true. There did seem to be something poking out of the top of my car. How curious. I should, at this point, fill you in on a few details about our car. The vehicle we had been renting for the previous seven weeks was a Toyota Rav4 four wheel drive, or "puddle jumper" as the locals liked to call it. Another thing that New Zealand is "World Famous" for is car crime, specifically things being stolen from parked vehicles at some of the more remote tourist attractions. With this in mind, we had chosen a Rav4 with blacked out rear windows, so nobody could see what we had in the back of the car when we were off doing the sights. The down side of this choice, other than making me look like a pimp in a hippo's bladder jacket, was that we couldn't see a damn thing out of the rear window at night. And the damned thing I couldn't see out of the rear window on this particular night, was a very large, very solid, concrete lamppost, which, thanks to the rear door of my Rav4, was now leaning out over the road at what some might call a jaunty angle. I walked to the back of the car to assess the damage, and it did not look good. The spare wheel was bolted onto the rear door, and the lamppost had used this to completely stove in the rear door, which now wouldn't open. I threw my hands up in the air and shouted all my favourite obscenities at the clouds. The clouds let me know what they thought of the whole sorry episode by starting to rain on me. There was nothing else to do except call into Liquorland on the way home from the chip shop. Seven weeks of driving through blizzards and hanging off the edges of cliffs, and I finally get scuppered when a lamppost jumps in front of the car.

The next morning we drove back to Christchurch to drop off the car. At the rental place, I hand over the keys and tell the chap in charge what happened.
"Oh well, never mind eh?" he said after giving the car a quick inspection.
"Is that it?" I asked
"These things happen" he said, grinning. "We'll soon get that hammered out, anyway"
To say I was relieved would be an understatement. Fortunately, when we first hired the car, we took out the insurance excess waiver, which dropped our financial liability in case of an accident from $2500 to $100. I just wasn't sure it would cover us in the event of reversing into a concrete lamppost. After going through the usual formalities, he even gave us a lift to the airport. What a thoroughly pleasant chap. In fact, pretty much everybody we met in New Zealand was friendly and chatty. I can honestly say that I only met four unfriendly people during our entire visit here, and they were all on the ski slopes. I guess some stuck up tossers just resent sharing their pistes with hairy goatboys like me. So, a big thumbs up to the people of New Zealand. Great scenery, great people, a million different things to do (even if some of them do require an unhealthy degree of exertion) and great food and wine. All they need to do is sort out that frozen chip debacle and I think they'll have it sorted.

Mik

What a difference a day makes

Cardrona ski-field, nr. Wanaka, New Zealand

The school holidays were over so we headed back to Wanaka a less touristy town than Queenstown and just that bit closer to the ski-field we wanted to try out. We found a room. It was a good deal considering the time of year, as it was a large one bed unit, but this meant it was very cold. We sat for a while in many layers whilst the heater tried to take the edge off!

We signed up for three days of ski-ing and hired the chains we thought we might need. We set off early and drove the long winding track to the ski fields. We were both very glad we had a 4WD as the road was fairly scary. I was just glad that Mik was happy to drive as I really wouldn't have fancied it. We could barely see 5 metres in front of us and there were fair size drop-offs at the side of the road -agh! The bad weather was certainly going to make for an interesting first day's ski-ing!

We got ourselves kitted out, Mik with his snowboard and me with my skis, and hit the easy slope for a practice run. It was freezing cold, the low cloud meant everything was white and actually finding the piste was difficult, and it was snowing. Being a fair weather skier I really wasn't sure about all this.

We had both signed up for lessons so headed off to see if the professionals were finding these conditions any easier. There were only 3 in my group which was just as well as it would have been very easy to lose the people at the back. As the weather conditions meant we couldn't really ski very fast the instructor had us doing lots of weird tricks like ski-ing on one ski. To practice our balance apparently, although I think he just wanted a laugh. He also decided to try and teach us to stand on the tips of our ski's (whilst still in them), again just for the amusement factor. I mean I'd only need to know how to do stuff like that if I want to be an instructor and show off to my class!

Mik and I then spent the afternoon ski-ing down what we assumed were runs. The snow kept falling and the wind picked up and it got very cold indeed. So cold that the part of my hair which had been exposed was covered in frost and I looked like I had icicles hanging from my head. Still we braved it out til the end. It was our first day afterall.

As we were about to set off down the mountain road a couple asked if they could have a lift as they hadn't wanted to bring their car up. They chucked their boards in the back and off we set. I spent the journey trying to distract them and myself from the fact that the road was a little slippy after the snowfall. Again, god bless 4WD's!

That evening, once showered and fed I don't think we moved. We were exhausted.

We awoke the next day, aching slightly, but to a beautifully clear sky. The perfect weather made such a difference, for a start we could see where we were going. We managed to get a couple of runs in before lessons and it was excellent. Fresh snow and blue skies - now that's my kind of ski-ing. Mik was coming on in leaps and bounds. I was very impressed and after lessons we hit the intermediate slopes and there were very few falls - for either of us! We spent most of the day taking photos of the mountains we hadn't even been able to see the day before and LOADS of video of us trying to do our best ski-ing/boarding - we'll bore you with those when we get home!

We were there til the last lift as it was such a perfect day. Again we headed home and sat in a state of vegetation all evening.

The next morning we had to move rooms. This actually proved to be a good thing as when I went to collect the new key kitted out in my ski gear the lady asked if we were planning to head up to the ski fields at Cardrona. I nodded to the affirmative and she then informed me that the mountain was closed and would be all day! Apparently they had had so much snow overnight that the road was blocked. The weather in this country is just mad! We were really disappointed but decided not to hang around. Our bags were packed, we got a refund on our lift pass and decided to set off for Christchurch and hopefully get some more ski-ing in somewhere else.

Not a bad Plan B, however......when I went to settle up for the the lady said the roads towards Christchurch may also be locked - bloody brilliant! We drove to the information centre to check it out. Hooray they were open. It wasn't exactly what we had had planned for the day but it was an interesting drive. The roads were open but we saw at least one car which had come off the road due to the conditions. They should have paid attention to the radio warnings 'Drive to the conditions, if they change reduce your speed' - sung to a jingle of course!!

Cara

It wasn't all bad

Otago Peninsula, New Zealand

Dunedin, yes give it a miss, but the Otago Peninsula nearby is beautiful. And if you can dodge huge bull seals on the beach you can view the rare yellow eyed penguin from a hide. There are only 3,000 of them. We saw 2!

Cara

I'd rather drill a hole in my forehead than waste time thinking of a title for this entry

Dunedin, South Island, New Zealand

Potentially the dullest, most uninspiring geographical location on the face of this green earth. Should be twinned with Burnley.

Mik

Now that's what I call remote

Te Anau, nr Milford Sound, New Zealand

Upon arrival in Te Anau we did the usual and stopped by the visitors centre to get any recomendations on accomodation. Whilst there we also found out that the road to Milford Sound was closed due to avalanche risk. Oh well it's not like that was the only reason we had come to this remote part of the country! Actually it was, which meant we had no choice but to sit it out. That afternoon didn't turn not bad as they were showing March of the Penguins at the local cinema. As an avid lover of penguins I thought it was a brilliant film and I now want to visit Antarctica. The whole experience was made even better by the fact that the cinema seats were like arm chairs and if we had wanted they would have served us cheese and biscuits!

There were a couple of guys in the room next to us who provided some entertainment. One night they tried to come into our room by mistake. Mik politely advised them of their error and off they stumbled in a drunken haze. The next day the motel owner told us they were hunters and as if to prove the point they came back the following day with a dead wild pig on the back of a truck! Nice, although even nicer were the blood stains from where it had been slaughtered on the back of another truck. Where the hell were we!?!

The next 2 days the road remained closed as they were blasting the snow to get rid of the avalanche risk and then having to clear the road. The second day of waiting we decided to drive the road and see how far we could get. It was a beautiful drive but the barrier was down and we could not get through. To make up for it Mik took us for an offroad experience. Finally he got to see what the car would do. Needless to say I wasn't quite so enthusiastic as we lost sight of town and wheelspan through the mud!

The following morning we got up early, again, in the hope that the road would be clear. Horray, they were going to be opening it at 11am so off we set complete with a set of chains for the car. We arrived at the gate to a queue of traffic. They finally opened the gates at 11.30 and everyone drove very cautiously through the mountain, past the huge piles of dynamite blasted snow. It made for quite a vista.

We then caught a boat and set off into Milford Sound, which we found out is in fact a fjord. The difference, well a sound is the result of rising sea levels flooding valleys, whereas a fjord is the result of glacial erosion. I did a geography degree don't you know. But still had to learn that from the skipper! The boat took us slowly through the stunning scenery and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. This in itself is unusual as Milford is known for it's low mists, even in summer, so we were really lucky in the end! The cruise lasted an hour and a half and we took a million photos, none of which do the place justice. We were then dropped at an underwater observatory where we could view the local fish life.

After the lovely 2 hour drive back to Te Anau we treated ourselves to a night out and went for burgers and beers at the local pub. The next morning we headed out and for the first hour of the journey barely saw another car on the road, talk about isolated.

Cara

Back to earth with a bump, a shudder and an icy slap around the face

Queenstown, South Island, New Zealand

I have always found it fascinating how your environment can affect your perception and mood. For example, during our last month in New Zealand I have been feeling extremely lucky to be here. To be able to wander to and fro as I please without the merest hint of stress, pressure or discontent. Feeling young at heart and eager to enjoy the many and varied experiences this country has to offer. I was viewing the world through the eyes of youthful exuberance and I had even been asked for I.D. when buying booze, for the first time in twenty years (although the legal drinking age is eighteen, most shops ask for I.D. from anybody under thirty. I still enjoyed it). However, on my first morning in Queenstown I awoke to realise that I am actually a scruffy, unemployed, overweight, unhealthy, middle-aged grouch with a girl's haircut and limited prospects. It came as quite a shock to the system, let me tell you. You see, Queenstown claims to be the party capital of New Zealand. It also claims to be the ski capital and the adventure capital of New Zealand. And we arrived at the height of ski season. In the middle of the school winter holidays. And on a Friday night. Shit!

Because we are apparently at the height of NZ's harshest winter for decades, most of the towns we have visited are empty of tourists and the briefest search usually turns up a great room for not a lot of money. Not so in Queenstown. The place was packed to the rafters and what it was packed with was lots of very healthy, wealthy, young people sat outside the many bars and restaurants after finishing a hard day on the piste, flashing everybody with their pearly white teeth and designer sunglasses. Then you have me, wearing the same clothes I have been wearing for the last fourteen months, badly in need of a haircut and feeling old enough to have fathered most of the people around me. And that was just the start.

For the lion's share of our travelling so far, Cara and I have enjoyed a fairly comfortable lifestyle. Of course, we're backpackers eking out our day to day existence on a modest budget and living out of a bag, but for most of the countries we have visited, those few pounds went a long way and we have rarely had to go without. Plush rooms, fancy restaurants and exotic excursions all fell easily within our financial grasp, and enjoy them we did. Our budget was as strong as an ox and could handle everything we threw at it. Then we arrived in New Zealand. We had to cut back on many of our usual luxuries and watch the pennies a little more closely. The budget started to look a little pale around the edges and it was losing stamina rapidly. Then we arrived in Queenstown. Almost immediately the budget suffered a full blown coronary and began hemorrhaging cash in all directions. We tried everything to staunch the flow of money, but it continued to spurt out of every pocket. Nothing could be done and we were both reduced to eating packet noodles in front of the TV whilst the train of inebriated party-goers passed beneath our window.
..

Our original plan was to stay in Wanaka, about a hundred kilometres north of Queenstown, and spend a week or so skiing and snowboarding on the nearby slopes. Unfortunately, the only way we could afford any of the accommodation was for both of us to turn tricks on the lakefront, and even then we'd be struggling (whilst Cara could have earned a mint, it turns out it would have cost me a fortune and on the balance of things we would still lose money). Even after moving down to Queenstown, we quickly discovered our plans might prove to be more than our terminally sick budget could take. Couple that with the fact that we had arrived during possibly the busiest skiing period of the entire year and it was clear we needed to rethink our agenda. We decided to stick around for a few days to do the various activities we wanted to get done in town, then move south toward Milford Sound, before heading back to Wanaka after the school holidays were over.

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We booked ourselves onto New Zealand's world-famous Shotover Jet, which involves sitting in a jetboat and driving up and down the canyons of the Shotover river. It was actually great fun, despite the arctic winds and large ice patches on the riverbanks, and quite a novel experience. The boats are extremely quick and agile and can take you places that a boat has no right going. The driver fires the boat full tilt at the rock walls of the canyon, only to whip the steering wheel away at the last second, bringing you so close to the rocks you fear your earlobes might remain behind, dangling from a piece of protruding granite. He also spins the boat in rapid 360 degree turns and skips across riverbeds barely deep enough to wash a sparrow, while his passengers squeal and yelp in mock terror. It is much more enjoyable than it sounds, although that's probably because I'm not describing it very well. The closest analogy I can think of is this; it is like having a pneumatic drill vibrating the length of your spine whilst a grinning maniac drives you straight at a brick wall at top speed, and all the while somebody else is firing crushed ice at your face from a shotgun and tipping water into your lap. You try to smile but a frigid wind freezes your features into a fixed, rictus grin and your left eardrum implodes when the petrified Korean lady sitting next to you screams her surprisingly capacious lungs into the side of your head. There, now that sounds like fun doesn't it? Give it a go, you'll never look at a pedalo the same again.

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That afternoon we took a ride up Queenstown's world-famous gondola cable car, to see the world-famous views over the world-famous lake where world-famous people take world-famous paragliding rides off the world-famous hill and the world-famous blah blah blah. We also enjoyed the world-famous Skyline Luge ride, which is actually more like a toboggan than a luge, as you sit on it rather than riding supine (something to do with soup?). Actually, it's more like a dinner tray with handlebars than a toboggan, but now I'm just being pernickety. Either way it is excellent fun, only costs a couple of dollars, and is probably the most fun you can have wearing a helmet. That night we treated ourselves to Guinness and draught cider in a local pub and the next morning, tired and hungover, we set off for Te Anau from where we would go to see the world-famous Milford Sound.

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Mik