a bar terrace rumpus and some pics from Hanoi to Lao
I take a seat at a street corner café, smile at the proprietress and hold up my index finger. She responds by unceremoniously plonking one glass, its light golden contents sloshing over the brim, onto the low plastic table at my side. The scent of pork marinated in herbs wafts across the street as a lady barbecues spare ribs. An adolescent boy with a spotty face chases a giggling girl through the maze of plastic tables, the girl doing a poor job of pretending that she doesn’t wish to be caught . I look round and greet the young lad who has been shouting enthusiastic hellos at me ever since I arrived. His excitement at having a real live genuine foreigner with whom he can practise his english is overflowing in torrents. He comes over to great me. “What is your name?” he asks. “David” I tell him and ask after his name. He tells me his name and asks where I am from. We spend some time going through the phrases regarding age, domicile, siblings, and Premiership football clubs that he has been learning at school and I feel that this bright faced young lad will go far with his enthusiasm for learning. As if to save the day when the conversation begins to fade there is a commotion a few tables over as someones beer is spilled. I look up and the boy looks round to see his father, a skinny man who has clearly spend the entire afternoon and a good proportion of the morning in the bar, making his way on unsteady feet towards us. Quite a kerfuffle follows him as he sways his way in our general direction, bumping into tables and stools upon which perch men with beer glasses in their hands. With a trail of curses and glares scattered behind him he finally reaches his destination, me, and lowers himself onto the empty stool thoughtfully left by my side. “Oh dear” I think as he peers at me through watery eyes. He attempts to look me squarely in the eye but as his eyes cross and uncross in a half hearted bid to focus he fails and falls short by several inches and settles on focusing on a point midway between us. I judge that he is about to speak as his brow furrows with concentration and rivulet of saliva dribbles from the corner of his mouth.
“Peter!” he barks. Taking this as an enquiry after my name I reply,
“David”.
“Peter” his words this time sprayed at me in an a sour mist of stale alcohol.
“No no, David”.
He guzzles at his beer and orders another glass; a disturbing development that seems to indicate he is settling in for the evening.
I look across the street, the spotty faced boy has caught the girl, she is punching his chest and he looks puzzled as to what his next move should.
“Peter!” He is looking unsteady on his stool now and his chin keeps dropping to his chest.
The girl has broken free and is standing in front of the boy swaying her body from the hips, I want to tell him that she is waiting to be kissed, but decide that as I would have to use sign language this may be misinterpreted and turn back to face my inquisitor. He is by now eyeing up the pork ribs across the street, undoubtedly a good sign. I look at the bright enquiring face of the young lad sitting at his side and remember what a hero and roll model my father was to me when I was growing up, I wonder what chance this bright young lad has with a father like this and decide that it is quite probably his uncle. I understand that uncles can sometimes be like that.
a typical bar scene
a non typical drinker
this girl was studying hard outside a shop in the back end of beyond…
she was franticly flitting from pen to chalk as she scribbled equations on the desk, and, unlike me, seemed to understand them
boys will be boys, he explained in mimes that an iPod is more fun
a rural petrol pump beneath a makeshift sun shade
the rice harvest has just finished in north west Vietnam
free range ducks forage for food in the mud of the rice terraces
the first time I saw this huge river it was little more than a brook. a damn two hundred kilometres down stream has created a massive lake at the bottom of which now sits the hotel in which we used to stay. the road at the left of this image is new, the old one along which we used to amble is now submerged.
The Streets of Hanoi
I sit in a teaming mass of hectic, seemingly disorganised humanity all vying for space, all trying to eek out a living and exist in a labyrinthine web of narrow streets criss-crossing in a bewildering maze that never fails to draw me in, hypnotise me with its limitless fascinations, and leave me lost with no idea of a way back home. An old lady stooped of back and wrinkled of face hobbles past shouldering a bag barely any smaller than she. Her quarry of discarded cardboard boxes weighs her down as she weaves through the melee en-route to a trader who, in exchange for her day’s toil will pay her enough for a little food. She steps into the road in front of me and is narrowly missed by a Range Rover. The Range Rover seems twice the size of any Range Rover I have seen before as it dwarfs these narrow streets and the swarm of bicycles and motor scooters that make up the mass of the cities transport. A white Bentley coupe passes by blocking my view of a child hawking gum and pencils from a tray hanging from her neck. A middle aged woman wears a weary face telling of too many sleepless nights as she weaves her way through the shin high stools supporting men drinking beer on the pavement. As I sit consumed by the spectacle of life being played out on one of the world’s most fascinating stages a familiar face fills my field of vision; “I knew I would find you here you old friend of my grandfather”. I burst out laughing, my old chum Phong has tracked me down. “Come on, down your beer, we have to go shopping”. He throws me a plastic helmet and I clamber onto the pillion of his Honda. “Did you forget” he shouts as we weave throughout a mass of motorcycles pedestrians and bicycles “it is my son’s birthday today”. We pull up outside a small shop and a man plonks a child’s bicycle onto my lap, “for my daughter” laughs Phong as I try to position the peddles so they don’t leave too many bruises on my chest and his back. As I wonder how we manage to make a safe passage through so much disorganised traffic without collision we hit the numberplate of the machine in front of us. The rider looks back and as Vespa collides with the little bicycle on my lap. The pink basket falls from the bicycle, we, that is the seven of us on the three motor scooters, all look at each other, smile, and continue. We pass by rows of cafés lit with pink neon, pretty girls sit outside selling themselves for an hour, or a night. We peel right down a street lined with wicker baskets containing chickens. Phong pulls over and after several moments inspecting the contents of one of the baskets he selects a large cockerel; “tonight we eat boiled chicken to celebrate my son’s birthday”. It takes seven minutes to slaughter, pluck, and prepare the rooster for the cooking pot, one cannot complain that it is not fresh. And so passed my first evening back in Hanoi, a city that truly never sleeps.
street life: punter repair service
pavement bars with their tiny stools and tables abound on street corners. Vietnamese men gather to talk, smoke and quaff the light and refreshing bia hoi, and white men with camera sits and observes
the beer is chilled by keeping the barrel in a huge bucket full of ice. the ice is delivered like most things on a small motorbike and hacked to size with a savage looking blade
in Hanoi it appears that a motorcycle cannot move unless the rider is akin a phone call
a shop on a bicycle
fruit shop on a bike...
and veg
Flood, What Flood?
“Tomorrow I shall travel to Hong Kong, and then to Macau, and after that I shall visit Peking, I have to get away from here”. The lady’s brow furrowed thoughtfully, “I have to escape Thailand” she said, “everywhere is flooded” My companion in conversation was the owner of the guest house I had been staying at and she was voicing her concerns for her safety. I looked around me, it was hot sunny and dry; very dry, dry-as-a-bone. I had at that stage been cycling for several hundred kilometres through Thailand and had seen no sign whatsoever of flooding. I had spent several days in Bangkok and seen no flooding. I have now been a month in Thailand and have travelled nearly the entire length of the country and seen very little flooding.
I am, as I write this, sitting on a train rumbling across Bangkok. From time to time I look up from my MacBook and gaze out of the window, I see no water, and yet the lady from the guest house was off to China to escape the flooding.
Now don’t misunderstand me, I am not denying that there is flooding here in Thailand, I am sure that there is, this is becoming worryingly apparent by the dwindling stock of Singha beer across the land as one of their breweries slowly submerges. My point is more that rather than judging things on their own experiences people generally harbour a tendency to judge things on what they are told. My wee brother Dicki and I once lay in my tent listening to the rain drumming against the tarp. Dicki prodded at his Apple or Orange or Raspberry flavoured Phone for a while, looked thoughtful and said, “it’s not raining”. I told him that I felt sure that it was and were he to poke his head outside his senses would confirm this. He studied his phone for a little longer and assured me that he was confident it was not. He unzipped the tent and, as rain drops spattered his phone, he prodded at the virtual buttons, shook his head and said “no, definitely not raining”.
I do see the television as I move along, be it in bars or cafés or restaurants, and with these periodic observations of the news I, like most of the world, have seen a Thailand submerged in a torrent of biblical proportions. It is a land blighted by shoals of crocodiles and venomous serpents, but when I look away from the TV, from the south of the country to the far north I see no sign of flooding at all, leave alone hostile reptiles.
A valid criticism that could well be levelled at me is that I should pay more attention to the news. Being away from newspapers and television for prolonged periods I long ago came to the conclusion that the world seemed to be muddling along quite splendidly without my keeping a close eye on whatever is taking place, and through this approach I feel that I do see the world slightly askew from others. My understanding of the world is based more on my personal observations and experiences rather that the observations and experiences of others. Whether this is right or wrong, good or bad I am as yet unsure, but it is the understanding of the present situation in Thailand that I have from personal observation rather than third party observation that has set me thinking, a most unusually occurrence and one I felt worthy of report.
plenty of water here, but ’tis a lake. the bridge would appear to be some way beyond its prime
plenty of boats should the water levels rise here...
but for now a scooter and VW sidecar will suffice…
a stormy sky but below it the road remains dry and sunny
for my recent time in Thailand a parasol has been more of a requirement that a brolly
my staple cycling nourishment in Thailand, noodle soup
a snake and a temple visit
.
I considered the serpents colour for a while, were it , let’s say, red and yellow I would have been in little doubt that it was best to steer clear. But it wasn’t red and yellow, it was green. I considered green; green is for OK, for go, for caring for the environment, green is a happy colour. I was visiting a lovely old temple I had happened upon, and as I went to lean my bicycle against a tree sudden movement had drawn my attention to the snake now under discussion. It was over a metre long and slender and had, until it caught my attention, been under severe danger of being squashed by a fully ladened bicycle.
I stopped manoeuvring my machine and the snake stopped manoeuvring itself and turned to face me. His countenance was one of confidence, a look that suggested he could handle himself well in a scrap. I considered his colour again, it was, I decided, rather a bright green and I made my way to another tree against which I could park my bike.
the contrast of old and new caught my attentions. to my mind the old temple is far more symbolic of the buddha’s teachings...
but the old temple had seen better days and now relies on props for support
note the knotted rope above the door. this did a complete lap of the temple in an attempt to hold the cracks together...
the cracks are above every door and window…
and each corner. i fear for the future of this lovely old building
buddha statues outside the temple
a dead end at kra istmus
even the locals were out photographing the sea’s attempts to drench the promenade
At first I understood it to be some sort of animal that was going to cause my skin untold discomfort, but as his explanation took on an altogether dramatic quality it became apparent that it was the flora as it increased in density that was going to flay me alive should I dare to venture beyond this creek. The fellow imparting this knowledge stood thigh deep in the mirky brown swirling water next to his motorcycle. I was unsure from his mimed explanation whether he was washing the machine or if, during an attempt to ford the river, he and the machine had parted company and the motorbike had become submerged. I suspected the latter to be the case, but he seemed jolly enough about it all as he went into an even more elaborate explanation of the horrors that lay beyond where he stood. To be honest I was relieved that he had given me what I considered to be good reason to go no further, for I feared crocodiles may lay in wait for me. I wished him well with washing/drying his machine and with any reptiles that may lurk in the mire and turned tail and fled.
This alas dashed my hopes of finding a definitive route along the east coast of peninsula Thailand without using the Asia Highway. At the southern end of my route I have managed to reduce the distance on the highway from the twenty-five kilometres mentioned in the itinerary to just six. I had hoped this would be all that would be necessary but here, at the Kra of Istmus – Thailand’s narrowest point – I would have to concede defeat and take to the highway for a further three kilometres. The irony of it is that it is a national park that blocks the way.
From the sea to the national highway is just a few kilometres east to west and I have now scoured every possible path trail and track leading from south to north, all to no avail. Without a machete one simply has to nip out onto the Asia Highway.
I have navigated a route behind an army base, around a national science park and even through an airbase where,in true Thai style, I had a bowl of noodle soup and drank a bottle of beer on the beach as the sun drew the day to a conclusion. But it was the national park, an area supposedly there to give the public access to the countryside that denied me access to the countryside. Having said this it was a wonderful few days of exploration and so far as the Thailand Winter Escape Tour is concerned I feel my journey has been a great success. The route I have devised takes in a wonderful combination of top class tarmac roads, narrow hard packed single track, red dirt roads winding through coconut plantations, a stretch of costal trail, narrow concrete roads winding through palm groves, seaside towns, fishing villages, an airbase with a beautiful bay and a crescent beach and a few wonderful kilometres of the Asia Highway
My objective over the past ten days has been to reduce the necessary kilometres of National Highway to an absolute minimum. It has taken an extra two hundred kilometres of investigative cycling to reduce this to two sections of just six kilometres at the southern end and three at the north. Those 200KMS have been great fun and have given me an even deeper insight into Thailand and the wonderful nature of the Thai people away from the tourist hotspots.
If you are looking for a holiday to see the Thailand your friends visit on holiday, if you want to experience what 99% of Westerners experience when they visit Thailand, then this tour is not for you. But if by chance you are looking to see the Thailand that is still the land of smiles, where Thais are friendly and open and interested in why you are travelling through their country, then the seat of a bicycle (I think this is called the saddle) is the way to go and this tour could well be for you.
Now, if only I can recall the route come February. (Only joking Mr Hoskins)
squid fishing is a nocturnal activity, by day the colourful boats are moored up in small harbours
a dirt road
the trail narrows
one of the unsealed roads along the route
the end of another road
fruit is abundant. i very nearly clobbered my head on these bananas
just a few kilometres from a huge Western style service station fuel is sold at a roadside stall in coke bottles
northward ho
I return to town just short of sunset – just in the nick of time for sundowners you may say – to the jubilant applause of the natives, for success was mine. Well to be honest jubilant applause from the natives may be hyperbole, but the girl at the café did ask if I’d had a successful day, I had.
Due to a lax attitude – teachers and bosses since time immemorial have informed me I have one – I didn’t manage to drag myself away from coffee drinking and nattering at the café until noon, at which stage a peep at the map revealed that I had left myself with a bit of a tall order. You may recall from my last post that I had set myself the task of plotting a route around the district capital town of Chumphon avoiding the city and major highways. With fifty kilometres to back track and then return looking along the many small roads that wind their way north east around Chumphon I was going to be doing well to return before dark. But with a song in my heart and a spring in my step I mounted my machine, plugged myself into my iPod and off I set. As I followed the curve of the sea around a bay I stood on the pedals to power up a small hill, the cable of my head phones snagged on the handlebars and the ear buds dropped into the front wheel; I watched in dismay as the cable wound its way around the wheel tearing into small pieces as it went; I have resigned myself to cycling in silence for the foreseeable future.
Spicy fried squid with chilli and basil over rice at a convivial little riverside restaurant gave me energy for a few more kilometres when I stopped to check the map (quite why I do this I am unsure, it has little detail, perhaps it is the action that gives me comfort). Later a fresh pineapple gave me a natural sugar boost to power me back home under the soft light of the setting sun. My day had been a success, I had found the way through.
in the interest of plotting a fine route I found myself on trails such as this...
For full details of the Redspokes Thailand Winter Escape Tour that I am presently fine tuning please have a look here.
- in the interest of plotting a fine route I found myself on trails such as this…
and roads such as this with an interesting red bicycle lane...
and tranquil little roads through coconut plantations
and seaside lanes
fresh papaya grows in abundance
costal mushrooms
most people are surprised to learn that pineapple grows on a small plant at ground level
pineapple being prepared at the roadside
stormy seas and jungle trails
My head retreated to the shelter of the wall twice as fast as it had curiously revealed itself to the lashing gale. I sat for a while satiating my hunger with bananas sheltered in an abandoned restaurant as slowly the rain and wind gusting in from the sea eased. I considered the tropical seasons and concluded that here on the east coast of Thailand the rain season has yet to finish. During tropical downpours the only real decision a cyclist has to make – once he has decided to ride on – is whether to don a jacked and be hot and wet or carry on without a jacket and be cold and wet, I checked the temperature, it was 22 degrees. it amused me to think that in the UK by the time the temperature reaches 22 degrees the island is festooned with milk bottle white legs and beer bellies and the nation is bemoaning the unbearable heat. I slipped on my non breathable non waterproof Gore Tex jacked and opted for hot and wet, I was chilly.
The purpose of this ride is to go over the route for the new Redspokes Winter Escape Tour (which incidentally dear reader has been cunningly planned to coincide with the dry season). This particular section I know has some tricky navigation and this is something I wished to address. Thailand is a country with a fine network of roads and a distinct lack of detailed maps to ease the wayfarer’s route through them. This makes things both tricky and ultimately rewarding when trying to plot a route through un-chartered territory. Like Magellan searching for the fabled East-West Passage I know there is a route from south to north without hitting the Asia Highway or splashing through the Gulf of Thailand. I know this to be true because I have done it before. The trouble is that one trail through a banana plantation looks much like another, much as – as soon became apparent – one route through a palm-oil plantation bears striking similarities to any other. So my day proved to be one of discovery and excitement. The discoveries were several fold; I discovered that most trails that snake off enticingly into a sea of verdant vegetation end, some kilometres further on, at a palm oil farm. I learned that palm oil farmers are a jovial bunch of folk keen to share their beer with lost cyclists. I discovered that my conviction regarding asking Thais for directions is correct. The Thai’s idea of travelling is to board the highest quality bus they can afford and draw the curtain at the window against which they proceed to slump and slumber for the whole journey to the dulcet tones of a Hollywood movie heavy in both physical and audible violence. So when one asks a Thai for directions they cannot grasp the concept that there may be a route other than the one the bus takes. At one stage whilst navigating a path through a particularly lovely stretch of rustic plantation I became quite excited. I was heading north in a zig-zaggy sort of a manner and, pointing in the direction I was travelling, people would say “Sawi, dai dai”, I was heading in the right direction. This was great, the trail was lovely, a red hard packed dirt trail through palm trees. Trained monkeys swung through the trees collecting coconuts as their masters looked on. From time to time I would have to lift my bike over a tree blown down in a recent storm. Occasionally there would be gap in the forest and in the distance, across a roof of palm stretching out for several kilometres I would catch a glimpse of sea. By jove I had cracked it, I had found the fabled North South Passage. The natives would encourage me, pointing forwards and sounding encouraging as I stopped to check the way. And then I came to a turn. I looked right, I was sure I recognised the scene before me; I must remember it from back in April when I found the way through from north to south, I looked left, that must be the way, I looked right again, it certainly looked familiar, had I seen it in April? Ah, duh, no, I had seen it half an hour ago; the ever helpful Thais had been sending me in a circle back towards the main road, and the bus!
But it was a great day and in the end I did find the way through and as it turns out it is not far at all on a hard packed unsealed trail. The excursions were thoroughly enjoyable and ultimately productive. I arrived at my destination after dark with still a section from yesterday to go over. I am convinced there is a way to completely miss a slightly busier few kilometres and today my mission is to back track and find it. Time to get on.
the calm before the storm
approaching storm...
whilst over on the west side of peninsula Thailand the sun shines
island hopping from Phuket to the mainland, the ferry prepairs to leave
On Phuket
- For now just one quick image for those who have shown interest in the afore mentioned Thai Winter Escape Tour. An hour ago I arrived at Phuket airport. Withing 35 minuits I had build up my bicycle to the aplause of a congregation of interested airport staff, loaded my belongings onto my machine and peddled to the beach where the Thailand Winter Escape Tour will start. I mentioned previously that it is 15 minuits from the airport to the beach by minibus, I was wrong, it took just five minuits to cycle it. As I rode through the little beach side pine forest just north of where we will stay I just started laughing, it really is quite lovely. The above is a quick snap I took from where the tour will begin.
If you will excuse me I shall pop to the beach now.
Thailand and Images of Tibet
As seems to be the norm when I am in the region of a globally recognised disaster I have seen nothing of it, a situation for which I am eternally grateful to the overseer of world disasters and pray that it may long continue to be this so. I understand that one third of Thailand is flooded and yet here I sit in the centre of Bangkok looking up at a blue sky and enjoying the cooler than usual air. Yesterday, following a visit to the barber*, I strolled down to the Chao Prayha River. By golly the water is high, but due to a network of canals and irrigation my little corner of Bangkok is dry.
Although Samsen has been lucky enough to avoid any flooding 7Eleven has had no large bottles of water for days and the girl at the café where I took breakfast this morning tells me she bought the last two bottles of milk yesterday. Supplies are struggling to get through.
So my initial plan of checking out a route from Thailand’s Issan Province into and through southern Lao to Cambodia and onto the temples of Siem Riep (Angkor Wat) and back into Thailand across a remote and newly opened border has been postponed until either the weather subsides or Mike sends me a kayak.
For now then I shall head south to Phuket to check out some details of my Thailand Winter Escape tour. Places are filling up and there are some details I wish to be sure of.
For now I shall leave you with a few more images of my recent ride through Tibet.
*Those who recall the story of my Bangkok barber may be interested in an update. The elder of the three has now slowed to a pace best timed with a calendar as he circles his hapless victim. The instability of age has caught up with his eroding granite like velocity and several times as he makes his way from the right side of his customer’s head to the left he slumps forward with a disturbing jolt. He was administering a shave when I was there, still is I suspect, and I watched with morbid fascination as he saved himself from tumbling by grappling at the mans head whilst still maintaining a tight grip on the cut-throat razor. The other two barbers have seen none of this yet as by the time the noise of the fall has been interpreted by their senses to something worthy of observation and they have turned to see what is happening the old fellow is back on his feet and continuing his circumnavigation of the beard as though nothing has happened. I cannot help but wondering if in days gone by Vincent Van Gough ever visited a barber in Bangkok, it could explain a lot.
our campsite near Everest
the summit of every pass is heralded by colourful prayer flags that flutter taking Tibetan Buddhist mantras to the heavens
the most common mantra in Tibet is 'om mani padme hum' which translates as 'hail to the jewel in the lotus'. The jewel being the Buddha, the lotus being the Buddha's favourite flower, a flower that begins its life in the muddy dark depths of a lake and slowly works and climbs through the gradually clearing murk and mire on its journey through to the clear water near the surface and then, finally as it blooms into a beautiful open flower, it burst through to the clarity of day. The Buddha likened this to the journey from the deep ignorance of birth through the difficult path to enlightenment. I think it would not be unfair to say that many Tibetans are slightly obsessed with this mantra carving it in stones that they pile into walls, cutting it into the sides of mountains in letters ten metres high and as seen here carving in into the horns of dead bovine and ovine.
Everest as seen from Rongbuk Monastery
- along the line between the brown foreground and the snow peaks beyond lays the 5050 metre Thang La Pass. From here it is a 4000 vertical metre decent over two days to our Nepali resort and my first beer in three weeks.
an early morning view, the frost still sitting on the ground as we climb our final Tibetan pass of the journey.
Escape Winter: Join Me For A Ride From Phuket To The Gulf of Thailand In Feb
the old fort just 10 minuets walk from our final night in the Samsen district of Bangkok
Back in April I wrote about a costal Thailand tour that I had been working on. It was a plan conceived from a conviction that those from northern Europe and North America would be as keen as mustard to escape winter’s cruel clutches come February. I am pleased to be able to report that Redspokes have added this tour to their list of 2012 destinations and at an introductory price of £895 it is a great chance to escape the winter blues with a blend of cycling, beaches, fine food and tropical seaside sundowners. You will have to endure my company, but hey, you can’t have it all.
It is a 12 day tour designed to fit neatly into two weeks off work. The tour begins on the island of Phuket from where we island-hop and cycle across Thailand and then follow small rural roads through fishing villages and local beachside resorts north along the Gulf of Thailand.
For more information please have a look at the redspokes newsletter where you will find a link leading you to an info request form. Of course I am more than happy to help in any way I can with info and booking.
For now I shall leave you with a few images from along the route.
the road hugging the Gulf of Thailand
The beach front of our hotel at Ban Krut
a moody sky very near another of our guest houses
The roads are rarely busy and the sea is seldom far away on this journey.
sunset at Rachabrapha Dam, our only non seaside overnight stop of the tour
along the way we pass many small fishing villages
the view from our small ferry heading from Koh Yao Noi to the mainland
Thailand, plenty of spice
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