thelongmosey

Conny booked tickets for our onward travel to Koh Samui. She enlightened me as to the fact that the journey time would be 4, maybe 5 hours. She scoffed when I told her it was more like 12 in the things I had read on the interweb. So at 7.30 am we awaited our minivan pickup. Squeezed in with the others and packed t the rafters we headed to the mainland first via bridge then car ferry. This is where stuff starts to get strange. You see, travelling as a tourist here means, in general you are heavily reliant upon travel agents, now these want to sell you everything from scuba trips and day tours to taxi rides at your next destination or even accommodation. Of course, they don’t tell you but they are doing it at a premium and for a slice of the action, which is fair enough, everybody has to make a living. It is an odd place to be, the punter, the lost at land traveller trying to navigate a culture in which one cannot understand the alphabet, let alone the language. On one hand, essentially you have people shepherding you from one place to another, which is quite good, however the problem is there isn’t really and awful lot of information exchange regarding the finer points of the trip. For example, you ask the person with whom you book your original trip, they will say, with a smile and a happily dismissive wave of the hand “Yes, we pick you up, take you to bus then to ferry and Koh Samui”. Sounds simple doesn’t it? Well truth is they take you to a town. Where you go to another travel agent. She checks your ticket and gives you a sticker on your chest. If you are lucky it will have your destination clearly scrawled upon it. Then you are told to wait, and that you have time to buy some food or coffee before you depart, handily served in the same shop. Then your next van arrives. You are shoved and shouted, admittedly not aggressively, but also not exactly clear to the untrained ear. The result is somewhat confused western folk not knowing if they are coming or going, being steered like a flock of sheep into their appropriate van. A van which may take you for three hours until your next change on the other side of the country. Or as it did this time, three minutes, where we went to a different “travel agent”/cafe, where we informed we must all get off the van(luggage and all), sign in, get fresh stickers and that we had just enough time to purchase some food or a beverage. Then somewhat abruptly, we were all told we had to get on to the next van. When I say next van, I mean the exact same van that we had all just climbed off, that had been parked a whole 3 metres from where we sat, the entire time we sat there. So…onwards, to the next town, Lord knows where, and another cafe or “travel agency”. Again, dismount, change stickers, and individually register with the agent in your respective travel groups, one by one. The lady continues to tell us that we will need a taxi at Koh Samui, and to be fair we are wise to her game, but she tells us that the onward ferry we want is actually best taken from the other side of the island. So we were already thinking we’d stay somewhere near to there. Then she informs us that the taxi on the other end will cost x amount and take x amount of time, whereas she will organise a van for a similar x amount but it will be much more efficient and take us to our door. We concur that this would be a good idea and go ahead with the purchase. Knowing that she just wanted to sell us something but still, if it worked out in our favour, what’s the harm? We get on to the next bus and head to the ferry port, where we are dumped, told to go in a room. The boat is late, the whities amongst the crowd look tense, nervous, confused. Amongst the Thais, not an eyelid is batted. Trying to discern exactly what is happening is not easy, but Conny and I manage to figure out that our boat is on the dock and we can go and get on. Long story short, at 8pm we arrive at Koh Samui, then our van driver doesn’t know where the hotel is so he drops us off at one side of a market and says “go that way” and points at an alley.

The room at Castaways in Bophut was actually excellent. The owner wanted 800 or something Baht for a room with AC, but we just wanted a fan, so he showed us to a room for 650 Baht per night. It was clean, had a good bathroom, and strangely an AC unit. Better still, they had free chili and tacos in honour of Cinco de Mayo. Bonus. I would highly recommend anyone going to Koh Samui to go there, although I might not recommend Koh Samui itself. We did what you do on Koh Samui. Got a scooter, saw a Big Buddha. Had a mosey around the island. There’s nothing much of wonderous excitement to behold. Some nice beaches, a lot of very touristy pap. We went to one swanky beach bar as a treat, sat down and got the uno cards out as we waited for a waiter (of which there were many) to bring us a menu. We waited, and we watched as other guests did the same…only they got menus, and smiles and when they started to get drinks I began to see this as a test. How long before we could get served without saying something. Coming from the bar trade I tend to be of the belief that if the staff suck that much balls that they can’t see fit to serve us, they aren’t getting my money. Now, I get that I could have spoken up at any point, but really, it was mind blowing to see. About 40 minutes later, and about 5 tables served (and may I add served slowly) before us. We packed the uno away and went to the next place for dinner. A mind fuckingly expensive dinner relatively, but given what we had just saved on the cocktails, I wasn’t too bothered when the bill included an added service charge and a tax that wasn’t on the menu. Fuck it. At least they served us. It is odd to be in the expat haven kind of areas. It is something I grew accustomed to in Nice, but it is also something that pissed me right off about Nice. The Europeans and Americans complaining how shit the locals and their ways are, mean while they live there, refuse to speak the language and basically continue their former existence in the sun. If it’s that shit, don’t fucking move there, and if you do learn the language and stop moaning. It should also be noted that they do this normally while boasting on facebook or telling the same stories in the same pubs to the same expats of how they are able to “live the dream” in paradise and complaining about those damn immigrants back home who refuse to integrate.

I have lost track here somewhere…now where was I? Oh I remember, the expats. Safe to say, it was ok on Samui, but we were happy to move on to the next island. Oh, and remember that lady who told us to go to the other side of the island and such. Fucking liar. The boat went from where we landed. The taxi was next to nothing, and we even got it thrown in with our onward ticket. Mother fuckers. We had decided, here on out, whatever the agents want to sell us, no matter how good it seems, is not necessary.

Koh Tao is much more our scene. Much smaller, we stayed at the bottom end, a little village, with plenty of nice food available, a bar or two if we needed and the hostel the Moov Inn. The hostel itself a bit ramshackle, but the showers were clean and the beds cheap.

In our quest for some adventure, Conny and I decided this time we would opt for dorm sleeping. Save some money, and hopefully find it easier to meet folk. Erm, that didn’t work. Night one was plagued by a techno loving German who has never heard of earphones and a Chinese lady who loved the TV on her phone, again, without earphones, but this time also with a soundtrack of chuckles and even a skype call back home to China, at fucking midnight.

I know I’m a grumpy old man and all but fuck me sideways, these youngsters have no idea of common decency. Plus, they didn’t get out of bed before 2 pm. The best thing about the place was Coco. She was the hostess with the mostess. Originally from Poland, she has travelled a bit, and been at that hostel for two years. A lover of the body suit, including one that she had bought and was unsure if she would fit, Conny and I were obliged to help see how one looked, as it had come in a little more petite and a lot more sheer than she had expected when she ordered it online. She did indeed fit in it. It was nothing short of an eye opener to see such a lovely young thing squeeze in to such a tiny little thing, she did however have to cover up the bits as it was super see through. Disclaimer, I only took a peak when I had gotten the OK from Conny that all lady parts were covered. Hard as it is to believe, I am somewhat the gentleman.

For Coco, the important thing in a hostel is to make a nice feeling. She welcomed us, chatted warmly and was not short of helpful hints or a smile, even when she had just heard some devastating news about the death of a friend on the island. We rented a bike from them and they said up front that they are fair if there is a bit of a scratch or damage, no worries, things happen, it’s only if something silly happens there will be an issue. Unlike others they wouldn’t take our passport as deposit either, which for a traveller is definitely a worry when renting a bike. Coco really was the difference between making this a bog standard bed for the night and somewhere to go to.

Koh Tao

is known for its diving. Unfortunately given my ears hadn’t recovered from our discovery dive in Koh Lipe, I wasn’t able to go diving further. Doubly annoying was the abundance of whale sharks in the area at the time. One chap in the hostel had seen at least one a day all week and on his last dive encountered three at once. I would fucking love to see one of these magnificent creatures. Up to 15 metres of elegant cryll eating wonder gliding through the depths. That said we did go snorkelling. The reefs are magnificent. I don’t have much to compare it to, but it was beautiful. Full of colour and life. From the thousands of fish, nonchalently swimming just past your fingers to the giant golden coral orbs that appear to be bedecked with jewells of ruby, emerald and azure. The clams in their brilliance opening and closing as you wave by. Hoards of angel fish and brightly coloured goofy looking things, nipping at he coral giving exactly zero fucks about sharing their domain with us. There was one bay with a cliff like drop off into the deep blue, where I was hoping to see the silhouette of a big shark or something. Alas no big ones but we did see a shark, a tiddler really, but a shark all the same.

It does have its more backpacker and young party traveller kind of areas on Koh Tao, but really that wasn’t our thing. The beaches, as most have been are great sunset spots though.

Luckily for us, it was full moon time. This meant that the island would become a lot quieter a couple of days before and a couple after as the revellers would migrate to the neighbouring island of Koh Phangan. Conny and I, old and grumpy as we are, were not among them.

The day before we left, we were headed out to breakfast. I heard someone say something in German, then Conny saying “No way…”. I thought “oh a friend of Conny’s…no fucking way” as it dawned on me that this was not a friend of Conny’s, but a friend of ours, Elisabeth. She lived and worked in Gstaad and shared an employer with Conny and I. We sat down to breakfast then, from the back of the restaurant comes another face I remember, another former colleague. Christophe works alongside Elisabeth and as such also for our former employer. It was a little odd seeing them out of context but a real pleasure to see them both, even if Christophe didn’t recognise me, to be fair, compared to my working days, I have let myself go a bit (my former employer recently saw me and said “its not that your beard is long, or big that’s the problem David, it’s that it’s a bloody ISIS beard”) so I am somewhat in disguise. But as ever in these situations surprise hellos are always welcome and it’s always nice to see a familiar face. They however were headed to the full moon party on Koh Phangan, so we bid them adieu, and following Coco’s advice we had booked on to the over night boat the next evening.

Quite the experience, a big cargo ferry, with a large bunkhouse at the back, we are assigned beds and off we go. No fuss, no frills, nothing but the smell of engine grease and a blanket, but it was suitably pleasant. Upon disembarkation, the usual shenanigans ensue of people herding us and other tourists around. The one next to us on the bus has a French accent, turns out she is from the same town as where my parents live. Small world eh. 8 hours later, upon getting to a station called Bangkok, we are told that this is it and that there is a bus here to get to Bangkok, we climb down once more puzzled but armed with previous in this regard. We decide a taxi is the safest option and get to our next hostel. This time it is pod sleeping in the Bunny Burrow. It is from here that I am currently writing. To be honest, we wanted a double room but it sold out as we tried to book. The hostel is basic, but really modern. The showers are nice as are the loos, the beds not luxurious but clean, tidy and comfy, plus we had zero Chinese TV watchers.

Bangkok, I had assumed, would be dirty. I expected fully bonkers roads jam packed with crazy traffic. It is a bit of both, but nowhere near to the extent that KL was, it surprised me somewhat. We took a day or two moseying around. The temples are gorgeously ornate affairs. I wasn’t really expecting to see, as I went into the hall of the Reclining Buddha (a 46 metre long gold statue of Buddha lying down, evidently), the walls were one single giant artwork. Intricately painted, sometimes replicated patterns but interwoven with individual scenes. It looked at first like very intricate wallpaper, but opun close inspection you see that it was hand painted. The burial towers of the former kings are stunning in their tile work. To cap it off, we had a foot massage there. The massage is done by people from the nearby school of Thai massage. As I mentioned before, I love me some Thai massage. This was doubly awesome as we were brought in from the sweltering heat to an air conditioned room, with the smell of tiger balm on the air. It’s a smell that takes me back to my younger years, the smell of linament before a running race, or the deep heat in the changing rooms at Shotfields before a football game or, best of all, the smell of Vicks vaporub under Christmas tree lights (I love that so much I have been known to apply a little, cold or no, if I have stumbled upon it in someone’s bathroom or such).

We cruised up and down the river on the ferry. We walked along the flower, veg and spice markets. Ate street food in China town. It really is a nice place. Added bonus was Poe. An old school friend of mine that I haven’t seen for 12 years. To be fair Poe doesn’t change. He’s an oddball in an endearing way, much like myself I hope. Is exactly who he wants to be and good on him for it. We met him and a group of his old friends in a strange little bar called Pizzicato. Poe has lived in Thailand for a long time but recently moved back to the UK, and in essence this was a reunion kind of send off all at once for him and some his older Thai friends that he hasn’t seen in a while. To be honest, he was late, by a couple of hours. We weren’t, so we sat down and waited. Turns out the girl behind us was also waiting so we got to chatting, Then a couple more folk showed up, and basically last of all came Poe. I’d forgot he was so fucking tall when I went to give him a hug and nearly broke my own neck. The good thing was, this was not one of those chats of what we’ve been doing and such. I mentioned before those things tend to piss me off. It was more lets just chat shit. Talk about the music (which in that bar was fucking immense) or football or what a shithole we came from (I am split upon my feelings for Leek, equal parts ace/shithole). He bust out the brandy and he, Conny and the Thai folk set about the serious business of libation. Two and a bit bottles later, Conny was off chatting up the boys at the other end of the bar, while I was chatting to a girl about her current lesbianism, but she has doubts it will last as she actually loves a boy. There was lots of beverage, a wicked soundtrack and plenty of laughs to make for a great night. As we walk out of the door and the bar owner hails us a cab, two cars smash into each other across the road, and we are shuffled into the car and head home.

Today we are bound for Chang Mai. Tickets are booked on the night train and a double room is booked at our next hostel, I’ll let you know what happens when it’s happened!

Thailand, the islands. We headed from Langkawi on the ferry a few hours North to Ko Lipe, or Koh Lipe, depending upon which map you look at. It was an odd experience, to say the least. The boat was marginally better than the one we had travelled on from Penang to Langkawi, but it had the bonus of having no commentary on the movie they were showing. The Langkawi trip had been plagued by a French lady who simply couldn’t get her head around the plot of John Wick, at least not silently, waiting as a movie unfolds like the rest of us do, she had to make comment on everything…she couldn’t quite grasp the idea and even if she failed at that you would have thought she could at the very least grasp that movies aren’t real life, that not everything that happens in them is true, and sometimes it’s just a little too convenient. Nope, despite her flawed comprehension and reasoning, everything was punctuated with a ‘ridiculous’, ‘that would never happen’, ‘come on’ or ‘how would he do that?’. I wanted to slap the words out of her (this is not misogyny, had it been a boy I would have liked to do the same, nor is it anti-French, I know many solid French folk and as such would not judge) mouth. There were however petrol fumes. More interestingly, we had to surrender our passports at the start of the journey, which is somewhat worrying to say the least. Then we have to change boats, something that the travel folk failed to clearly explain, so a bunch of puzzled looking tourists were we as we were bumbled on to a long tail boat in the bay. It appears that this sort of odd, not quite informative version of travel is standard in Malaysia. When we took the bus from Cameron Highlands to Penang, we were advised, by the travel agent, to take the bus to Butterworth, then the ferry to Georgetown as it is simple, easy and cheap. We booked for this very service. The bus however did not actually make it to Butterworth, on the mainland, but it did manage to drop us all, once again puzzled looking travellers at the bottom end of Penang Island, having crossed the bridge. We weren’t really told where we were, so while most of us tried to say “no this isn’t our stop, we are bound for Butterworth”, our driver, failed to convey in his English, that his bus was not going any further, and that we had to alight. It took another representative to tell us that this was indeed as far as we were going and that we had to catch a taxi or local bus from here. How very odd.

Back upon Koh Lipe, the sea was beautiful azure blue. The sand beautiful and white, my feet were wet, having to jump in to the water at arrivals and immigration…a hut on the beach. We settled and had a coffee before getting a somewhat mad rickshaw ride to the accommodation we had booked at Adang Sea divers and eco lodge. Again, not the Ritz, but what is when you travel like us. It was however clean, the welcome warm, the room plenty big and right by a beach and moments walk from the pedestrianised zone that essentially is Koh Lipe. Again, amazing food abounds. Be it on the beach or in town. It was nice to see. Massively touristy, but not too much of that Benidorm style Brits abroad tourism. Folk from all over, plenty of local eats and nothing too rip-offey in terms of price and shit shop stuff. A few souvenir places selling tat but that’s to be expected.

The two great marvels of this stretch were new experiences for both Conny and I.

Marvel Number One: Thai massage at a hut on the beach.

Lugging bags around and sleeping on buses and boats can be a strain on the back. So we decided to get a Thai massage. Given that we had spent the afternoon at the beach (despite our suncream), we had done the very euro-tourist thing of becoming various shades of pink (Conny) and red (yours truly) so opted for the addition of an Aloe Vera massage. It was a bit odd, when the old lady told me to get down to my pants and she chuckled sexy at me. I had thought this may be the case however, and had donned my loveliest newest fried-egg print underwear for this very moment which I stridently bust out for all and sundry, proclaiming that I had done such. So, I lay face down. Thinking back to the last time I had a massage professionally, that was bout 6 years ago, and it was one of those couple massages, performed by some Germanic lady types, it was nice, but my biggest take-aways from that were the realisation that the two massages were both identical for Conny and I meaning that when she was massaging my leg, sure enough her counterpart was doing Conny’s, then when she was at my chest, sure enough I looked across and another lady was handling Conny’s tits, quite fully. The emotion of that was confusing. The other take-away was the paper banana-hammock which they gave me to protect my modesty, if my modesty was limited to my penis because balls were busting out all over the shop. Anyway, back to Thailand. I lay down and the little lady started to climb on me, but it felt good, even when I thought my knees were about to pop. She then lays blankets on me and uncovers the area of body that she is set to focus on, legs, arms, back and so on. The massage is a delight. At times a bit of a pummelling, at others the smooth caress of gentle hands at others it felt like water running purposefully through my muscles. On occasion, I was surprised by a hand stroke to the edge of my nuts (no this isn’t a happy ending type service, more that I think the lady was just oblivious to the fact I have sexual organs) her finger even brushed my bumhole, which I’m almost certain nearly fired and involuntary puckering to the extent she is still lucky to have a finger and that it wasn’t sucked in and bitten off by my tighteneing balloon knot).

Then came the stretches and squishes of my inflexible limbs. Due to the fact that I have become a massive fat fatty over the last 5 years or so, I have sadly lost flexibility in these limbs, to the point my one and only season in Liga 5 of Swiss football was hampered by inflexibility and fatness related muscle injury. So as she is pulling and pushing on those same muscles I couldn’t help but fear a pop. A pop that never came. The massage continued, my body, my legs again, my head, but only the top of my face, she wouldn’t attempt to penetrate the beard-barrage. There were several cracks of fingers, and a couple of crack failures(each of my big, messy formerly broken big toes) same goes for the fingers without failures. Then there is more pulling, cracking, some pinching. The pinching was particularly good, she seemed to find an imbalance in my spine, one side hurt an awful lot more but felt a damn sight better for it after, then there was the piece de resistance, quite literally, a move where she positioned herself around my sat-up body, she took my arm and made a circular swirling motion, counting to three and on three, one big yank/swirl that stretched the very soul of me to my limits. Then the other side one..two… and BLAM, I simultaneously thought “what happened to three? OOOOOOWWWWW that hurts! And Woooowwww that is awesome”

Conny had suffered much the same fate, except for she got a lesson in Thai boxing when the lady massaging her went to swat a mosquito that was set to assault Conny, only she got it wrong and became the assaulter, boxing Conny more than the flying assailant.

We did both however walk away feeling relaxed and awesome, our pinkish glow shiny and effervescent with the Aloe Vera and our new aura, with the same thought.

“How and where should we learn to do that”

Marvel Number Two: Diving.

We chose to do a discovery scuba dive, well, two in fact. Our Dive Master was Manu. A blonde dreadlocked man from Barcelona, all tan and interesting tattoos and piercing blue eyes. I should have hated the dude from the off through jealousy as it was clear, most ladies would fall in love with him on sight (this was confirmed later by Conny’s sisters telling us that they would have been too busy doing exactly that to even start to learn to dive). However, he is a thoroughly pleasant and cool dude. Clearly a solid diver and great teacher, he got us doing exactly what we needed in no time. I had a little trouble as we got in, something wasn’t quite what I was expecting, especially that I didn’t expect to find it difficult, I think I just fucked up my entry and got a fuck ton of water up my nose that made me feel uncomfortable. Anyway, he said the right words and I was fine and dandy in seconds. Similarly Conny had problems equalising pressure further down, no hassles, he kept her calm and sorted it all without words, just a couple of signals and those baby blues. The first dive was shallower, clearer, but obviously we had more to concentrate on. We saw moray eels, lionfish, a huge stonefish, groupers and such. We even stopped by a coral too look at a seahorse that Manu had spotted and was pointing at. I followed and looked, pointed and smiled too. Conny followed our points and looks. She kept looking, and Manu asked if she had seen it with the OK sign. Conny told him she was OK with the OK sign.

We got to the surface and, knowingly, I asked Conny, what about that seahorse. “What seahorse?” I knew she hadn’t seen it but Manu was like “I told you when I saw one I’d let you know, you’d come to my shoulder for a look…we just did that”

“oh I know, but I didn’t see the seahorse”

“He did exactly what he said he was going to Conny, we both even pointed right at it, how did you not see?” I chimed in.

“Ah well”

The second dive was that afternoon. If I’m honest I felt the air was coming a little too forcibly into my lungs this time, unlike the first dive, and wasn’t as comfortable, but nothing off-putting. I had another wobble also when going through the safety routine, to recover a lost regulator. In my previous attempts I had felt the tube against my arm, when I didn’t this time I got puzzled and went through the first three motions again and again expecting to feel it…when I didn’t Manu had to tell me to do the next part, and sure enough it was there. Strange how that little difference tricked me into simply not following the procedure. Clearly, I am not as smart as I like to think!

The water was not as clear this time, but we did go deeper and more importantly there was quite a lot of current which made it an awful lot of fun. We saw the same stuff, plus many thousands of fish swirling and whirling around, the beautiful coral and rock of the imposing cliff underwater along which we were moving. Conny was my buddy this time, she was as inconsiderate as ever, doing her own thing rather than realising we were two. This made my job a little harder, but still it was excellent. Somewhere along the way I missed a giant barracuda, which sucks a bit but does not detract from the day. It truly was excellent. I know we paid, but I think we were very lucky to have such excellent divers/teachers with us in Manu and his cohorts, and I would like to both thank and highly recommend them for their service.

We left the next morning on rickshaw to the next ramshackle boat trip, equally as ramshackle but this time an hours trip by sweaty hot speedboat, to a hard to find office for onward travel by minibus for the next few hours to reach our next island, Koh Lanta. The bus ride was a bit nuts. All seats taken including the one next to me, which was stuffed with luggage, not leaving me much in the was of space. The transmission was also under my feet ad getting hot fast, but there was aircon and save from a few dead bum scenarios this didn’t phase me. The driving to this point had been somewhat mad, but what would we expect? We took a rest stop about 40KM from Lanta. We all came back, a drink and snack taken in, the various loo requirements taken out. Pretty solid I’d say. The driver however. Different story I have no idea what was on his sandwich or in his cup, but I want some. He was in a special place from here on out. Strong bursts of breath, like those when punching a bag, kept on coming, seemingly with no reason. Then there was the occasional air fist pump. His driving got more erratic. He tried to converse in English with a German, only even I had no fucking clue what he was saying, so the German had little hope.

One taxi ride later we arrived at Relax Beach, much to our confusion. The place was lovely, but not the same as we were led to believe by Air Bnb. It was way too swanky. It did say Relax Beach RESORT, but despite our protestations the taxi driver said this was it and shepherded us to the reception. Reception informed us that this wasn’t the place and that we had to trudge along the beach to the opposite end with our packs in the blistering sun. We did this and came upon the last beach bar, as we had been told, called the Lazy Days, we asked them, and they informed us that we were indeed in the wrong place and we had to go back down the beach, to the bar before the Relax Resort that is called Sea Culture. At Sea Culture we ask for Abu, the host, we ask about the bungalow as it is called on Air Bnb, they have no idea. The owner even tells me that his family own the whole beach and he has never heard of Abu. At this point nerves are starting to fray, but the Sea Culture owner lets us use his internet and an English chap gives us the lend of his Thai phone. Abu doesn’t answer. Conny decides to head off for a stroll to see what’s what and returns triumphant. We are 20 metres from the bungalow. Two bars down. When I say bars, I mean beach shacks operated by local hippy dudes* enjoying the sea and sun and serving the odd drink. Relax Beach is just as you could hope. Super chilled, beautiful, warm sea, white sand, not too many folk. Our bungalow is definitely on the basic side, but that is exactly what we had signed up for.

Honestly Koh Lanta is lovely. Brilliant to explore on a scooter (cost 5 euro a day from the Sea Culture). The roads are rough and fun. The East side is barely touched by westerners, where the West side is, well, very Western. Still all done in a way that only the Thais could. We popped on the bike and headed to the Old town on the South East tip, passing an elephant taking a dip en route. Had a coffee in the Old Town coffee house on their back deck and got chatting to a lovely family from Chang Mai. Then we came back up and cut across the heart of the island, and descended to Last Beach. A wifi free zone, with a lovely cabana bar and a beautiful long white beach, with some impressive waves breaking and keeping us suitably occupied. After a day lazing in the sun, we headed back up the beaten track amongst the monkeys to the road. To our right is a national park to our left the coast road. We opted for the latter and headed North once more. A local market beckoned us in, where we got to try bamboo smoked rice for the first time since our friends in KL had recommended that we absolutely must try it at some point. They were right it was bloody delicious. A mixed grain sticky rice with coconut, wrapped in banana leaf and stuffed in a stick of bamboo before being burned on a barbecue. Nothing short of wondrous.

I am currently back on Relax Beach while writing this piece. At this very moment, the proprietor of Sea Culture is butchering a shark in the surf that they caught last night. The sun is strong, the breeze a refreshing aside. I really do like this place and would recommend it to those who like a life less hustled and bustled as I do.

*Our favourite proprietor of such a bar was John, the proprietor of U Way bar, that you could easily not see, but just follow the gentle music that draws you to it. It turns out that he knows Abu, but we didn’t know that until 2 nights in. The first thing he did was offer us a joint, I think that we do not partake may have let him down slightly, but he still had some good chat and a cheeky chappiness to him that one could not help but find endearing. Plus he made good coffee and was insistant that his beverages be of good quality.

Malaysia. Kuala Lumpur to be exact. The first stop on our Asia leg of the mosey. More Proton and Perodua cars than you can shake a stick at and home of some of the most horrendous driving I have ever witnessed. Fuck me am I thankful for Uber here. I’d have been dead in minutes. Either that or I would have been overwhelmed by the fumes of my own bowels emptying each time I attempt a manoeuvre. Boy is this place a shock. Our first lesson, never trust a booking.com picture or description of a room for rent. Pudu 88 was ok. Not spotless, not ‘nice’ but definitely acceptable. It was however a bit stinky and nothing like what we expected. Still, it was cheap and in a great location. From where we were we were in striking distance of all that KL had to offer. If that is we could negotiate the traffic without succumbing to actual death. The streets are mental. Cars bikes vans everywhere, swerving and honking. Pedestrian crossings are merely suggestions of where you are entitled to chance your luck with marginally better odds of not getting mowed down. We swiftly learned to follow the locals, strength in numbers and such. There were however some public transport stations close by, and they more often than not had entrance via footbridge. The public transport in KL is great. A little confusing with which lines go where, but I would hazard a guess that that is more owed to the completely unfamiliarity of foreign names than it is to the system itself. I have a theory that it helps being familiar with the words themselves that make up the names when understanding what’s what regarding the lines and where they go.

KL is a strange place. Massively capitalist, which in itself leans against my sensibilities, there is building and ‘progress’ left right and centre. As a result, the city is quite mucky, but not unpleasantly so. Plus, when you factor in the climate here, it would be almost impossible for the city to maintain the cleanliness seen in some of the nicer cities we have visited, plus all cities, by their very nature produce mess and clutter. What I would say, is that the people are friendly, helpful, and at no point did I feel worried.

Our first day proper there, we went for a walk in the shadow of the twin towers, at which point the heavens broke. Fuck me I have never been in a thunder storm like it. A couple of hours of intense rain lashing down while booming thunder, louder than anything I heard while living in the Swiss Alps, bounced around the skyscrapers. It was near deafening at times and the sky was pierced with brilliant forks of electric light all around us. I would have loved to have been up one of the towers when this hit. Alas, Conny and I were stuck in a tiny pagoda in the park, which by the time it was done had started to flood, we didn’t even wait for the end, we chanced it in a momentary lull, although not complete stop of the rain to run back to the shopping centre for a coffee.

This leads nicely into lesson two.

Everything in Malaysia seems to be sweet. Coffee, more often than not comes loaded with sugar, and if you want it white, artificial creamer. Tea, sweet. Bread, sweet, Butter(probably margarine), sweet. Even when you ask for no sugar, its sweet. That is if it’s not monumentally fishy. One dinner we had was with some acquaintances…Conny could not believe the level of fishiness in everything that was on the table (except my vegetables). Not only mildly fishy, but that pungent, stinky shrimp paste fishiness. Conny, had her fill of fish for a while. On the whole though, once you realise how to negotiate the food and it’s sweetness and/or fishiness, it is spectacular. And spectacularly cheap. Its not cheap everywhere, if you try and be western you will get poor imitations of western food loaded with shit and you will pay a pretty penny for it. However, the key is sticking to where the locals eat. Bistros from food cart kitchens under little tents, Conny and I had a full dinner each with a cup of tea and it cost 2€ for the lot. Food courts in the clearly local malls and not the western ones, China town, and little India. All have really good food, really cheap. All could quite easily cater for vegetarians too. So long as you explain no meat, no fish, no chicken, no oyster or fish sauce, you are grand.

We were lucky enough to know some folk here in Malaysia, so we went up the Maxis tower for a view of the city. To be honest we had no idea of how vast it was, we thought that in the days leading up with our little expeditions here and there we had seen most of it. Nope. We had seen but a fraction. We were never going to cover all this area in one stay. We did get around a bit though. We went to the National Mosque. Hardly a classic piece of architecture but nice all the same, and nice that we infidels, so long as we held respect to some of their customs were allowed to take a look around and learn a bit about how Islam is done here.

I have to say, the most overwhelming and heartening impression of Malaysia and it’s people that I get is one of tolerance and multiculturalism. At least from an outsiders perspective the mix of different peoples, religions and ethnicities here is wonderful. Their cultures happily co-existing alongside and among one another. With all this talk of Islam being the devil in the world it’s easy to forget that when done right, it IS a religion of peace and respect to others. Malaysia is a shining example (as far as I can see, I wouldn’t claim to know if there are any problems further beneath the surface) of a Muslim nation that doesn’t adhere to the framework that many believe to be what Islam is about due to the proliferation of Isis and it’s relative coverage in the media. Personally I am not a fan of any religion, but I am a fan of people having the ability to choose their own way to live, so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. It is often made out that Islam is the bad guy, and while it does have a disproportionate number of madheads at the moment, that is no worse than the current crop of madheads of Christianity (and don’t get me started on the good old “when has Christianity done anything like ISIS” stupidity), Judaism and even Buddhism has it’s extremist murderous monks. Atheists have the exact capacity to be extremists, and as the apparent proponents of rational thinking have the least justification for doing it (the war on Christmas anyone?). Point is, it was pleasant to see that country can be considered to be of a given religion or belief and particularly one that is oft demonised for it’s intolerance, but those within that country are allowed to practice as they will without persecution.

Speaking of religion, we headed out one day to the Batu caves. 272 steps up the side of a cliff, the temple and its surrounding buildings seem to be in a permanent state of repair, like much of KL, but what did surprise me was monkeys. Loads of monkeys, I saw one steal something from a guys pocket, others just chilling on the railings. The temple itself was beautiful, if a little lost on me, the cave magnificent, but for the humans. I must say, I don’t like humans much. Particularly traveller type/touristy ones, I know, ironic given that is exactly what I am (although I try to minimise my twattishness, I am sure I invariably fail). Not people who go to places and look and learn and/or appreciate, but those fuckwits who go to a place, stand next to a sign that says “don’t feed the monkeys” while they not only feed the monkeys, but encourage their child to. Then guess what, the next child or tourist sees it, and you have several monkey feeders there. As I said, fuckwits. Plus the amount of litter created by us human folks. Admittedly the Malay people seem to be as bad as the tourist folk at this. This is a human condition, I have noticed everywhere that there is a concentration of humans, there is a disregard for what to do with one’s spent packaging or waste.

Moving on from such topics, once we were done with KL we decided to head to the Cameron Highlands. Up in the mountains it was a few hours by bus to the rolling hills of the tea plantations. The weather sadly was not in our favour as we took a trip up one of South Asia’s highest mountains and through one of it’s oldest forests. It was muddy, and wet, and cloud meant that there was essentially no view. We did however get to go to the BOH tea plantation and factory, plus the weather cleared. We were with some of the more obnoxious kind of traveller in our convoy as we headed to the Strawberry farm and the Butterfly farm, one of their number asking the driver if we could leave, just of her own accord, and then the whole group of four just walking in the butterfly farm past the lady at the booth, not paying as if to say ”what are you going to do about it?” It really pissed me off particularly as one of the girls reminded me of one of my favourite Danish people, if not people in general, only this one was taller, Dutch and a dickhead.

Our original plan at this point had been to head in to Teman Nagara national park, for a bit of trekking and such, but, given that the weather was only suggesting big storms for days, we opted to head straight for the coast and the island of Penang, particularly it’s old town, Georgetown.

This place is a marvel. I kind of imagine it to be what I expect Cuba to be like, if only Cuba had a population of South Asians and the long gone rule of the British Empire. It is a world heritage site, which means the buildings will stay structurally at least as they are, their facades are notably adorned with some of the most beautiful murals and street art I have ever seen. From tiny little cats (apparently these are done in support for the local animal welfare charity) to the large three story paintings with sculpture and anything else in between. It truly is a breathtaking part of the world to just walk around and take in. That multicultural thing I mentioned, on one street here you have the central mosque, the incense of a Buddhist temple, right by a Christian church and a Hindu temple.

I mentioned the food in KL, the food in Cameron highlands was good, but we chose to eat at a local Indian each day that was cheap and tasty. The food in Georgetown however is about as good as food gets. I’m not talking artsy fartsy high falutin’ stuff. Street food. They have halls, with every kind of food available, all tasty and quite nice. Better still, they have genuine street carts, often clustered on street corners and you will see locals in either of these, they sell snack bits that you can taste or put together and make a meal, all super cheap, some entirely vegetarian, others of no known origin, probably all entirely delicious. Not only do they have awesome food, but awesome coffee. Not everywhere admittedly, but it is easy to get a good one. In KL the only good one I had cost me 13 ringgit, whereas an entire meal could cost 16 ringgit. Here, for about 6-8 ringgit you could get a nice coffee, for example at the post card shop down by the port, opposite the Container hotel. There they have Illy coffee and sell some beautiful postcards and trinkets inspired by Georgetown’s street art. My personal favourite was called Easy Drip coffee. A stunning coffee bar and local roast house. They roast their beans in a roasting room in house, you can even go in and watch, chat and discuss with the proprietor. She loves her coffee, and knows an awful lot about it, she even gave us a lesson in roasting and how the location of the bean and it’s roast affects the flavour of the coffee.

We stayed at the Little India Heritage Villa, which was a pleasantly clean and lovely place with a delightful chirpy chap on reception/shop duty. It really was as perfect as we could have wished for again as everywhere was in walking distance plus right by a stop of the free circular bus. At this point I should include the standout place in Conny’s opinion. We had dined some way across the city, in China Town, Conny had required dumplings. But for dessert, she required something sweet from a bakery we saw down by the port. Conny informed me that when she had walked in before she had got a whiff of what they did there and it was apparently the greatest smelling bakery in existence. Obligingly I trekked the breadth of the city to fulfil her fancy, admittedly with a treat in it for me at the end. I walked in and was hit by the smell. Fucking delicious, I eye the sweet pastry balls that this place clearly specialises in and think the salted egg and caramel sounds intriguing, at which point Conny asks if they are all vegetarian.

“No”

“What there are some that aren’t?”

“No, they all aren’t”

“Excuse me?”

“We make them all with only chicken fat”

Fuck. Conny said they were delicious.

Otherwise, our only day trip was what we as tourists are supposed to do, and head up the hill on the funicular railway. Which we did. We had breakfast saw a fucking weird giant squirrel, and spoke some Chinese for some kids doing a project. I am pretty sure they tricked us into name calling ourselves but who cares. It is a nice view up there and could at times be quite relaxing to be out of it all. That is until we realised it was a Saturday and there was a large fun run event on. The place was swarmed with sweaty runner folk, and going down on the train I truly wanted to punch children, square in the face. Not only were they the last of three queues to line up, but when we were asked to move on to the train they rushed and pushed and cut in with no regard. Fine by me, but not the elderly couple in front of me or the chap with downs syndrome to my left. They piled in the car, massively over filling it with their stinky sweaty paws all over us. Not only at this point did I want to punch their faces but puke on them too. I held my nerve.

Next and last on the list for Malaysia was Langkawi. An island by the Thai border in the Andaman Sea.

We got off the ferry and headed for town, having not booked anywhere. Conny, being a bit shit at the backpacker thing, and not really into the walking in sweaty heat thing, was starting to flag as we neared the first motels. Add to this that the first one looked like we might die, the second we didn’t even reach as we saw a dead snake which left Conny hyperventilating, we had to make alternate arrangements. I left Conny at a stand with a beverage and the bags and went off on foot. I secured us a clean room in a hotel with our own shower and breakfast included. It was pleasant although double the price we were looking for. It did however have wifi which meant we could look for suitable lodgings for the next few days. Conny tells me she’s found a gem and asks if she can book. Of course, I say, without checking. It turns out that it wasn’t even on the island, which Conny hadn’t noticed. It was in fact on an entirely different island. We had to get a ferry out the next morning. The ferry itself doesn’t have a schedule per say. You kind of wait until its full. Luckily for us, that happened after the monsoon like storm that hit the moment we got to the pier. Then we got off the boat and tried to call our host, but my phone no longer worked. We were given the direction of the place by the locals and set out in the sweltering heat. Fifteen minutes later we came across some huts, Conny asked if this was the place, the lady said yes and got her husband. He sat us down, asked if we had booked, put the fans on, checked our booking. Then told us that this isn’t the place. That we need to go another five minutes down the road, but if we don’t get a room there we can pick one at his place!

Further down the road we come to Barkat Chalet. It’s no Ritz. It’s a little rough’n’ready, but that is what we were described and expected. It was right on the sea and then when we couldn’t see anyone we called out.

A voice from the sea called back “Hello!” and a head popped up from behind a boat. Our host, now friend, Shades was coming to welcome us. His wife Bara popped out and gave us a coke, while Shades came and rather than just giving us the keys and getting back to it, sat down for a chat. He offered us use of his canoes, his scooter, as and when we want free of charge, “live freely” was his motto. They offered us food at a discount daily due to our vegetarianism and really we were blown away by the hospitality. It was indeed an accident to go there, but it was a very happy accident in the end. We truly couldn’t have wanted more. The place has three funny dogs bounding around, my favourite of which was a stray who recently just joined the pack, somewhat randomly, he is called Mafia. There were eagles hunting and diving all over the shop, there were water buffalo that lazed in front of our beach. We went kayaking, we rode the scooter around the island and across the ricketiest of rickety bridges on to the next island. Shades and Bara took us out for tea with another guest, Adi. Everything was marvellous. Adi, is a frequent flyer at Barkat Chalet. He loves the place so much he comes every couple of months and is even building his own hut there. He helps Shades and Bara out a bit and looks after the likes of us, he is an all round lovely guy. He even came to fetch Conny and I one evening as he had heard us speak of bioluminescent plankton. So two nights we got to partake in this natural wonder. At around midnight, with high tide we went swimming and sure enough the further from the light of the land you go, the more you notice it. The water, wherever you disturb it glows green. Flickers of magic at your fingertips turn into clouds of glowing light with a swipe of a hand. Light bursts as you stroke forward, dripping through my beard and chest hair as I roll. Fucking amazing. It is hard to put into words other than that. Fucking Amazing.

Adi also took us out in his boat, up and down the river, giving us both a go at the helm.

I really could not rate this place enough. If you want to relax, enjoy a hammock or two, make some good friends and enjoy the beauty of somewhere very different, this place is it.

Steven, he’s the one who we met in Nice a while back and visited in Wanaka a few years ago. It is he that is Grandson to Gordon, the patriarch of the OAP crew that took us to the club and let us camp on the lawn in Wanaka this year. He is also the second born son of Gay and Gary, proprietors of the Bean on Thames and most wonderful hosts to Conny and I in Oamaru. It is clear that Steven is from good stock. He’s a cheeky chappy with a glint in his eye and a tale for all moments. He tells us how he was raised to chat with anyone, and this for sure is the truth. In short, we like Steven, he is a good dude.

Currently, Steven resides in Perth where he is a miner. We landed at silly o’clock in Perth from our China Airlines flight. For those not in the know, think Easyjet, only about three times as long an aircraft.

When we arrived, Steven met us in October. A recently acquired brutish beauty of a Land Cruiser. Now I am all for an eco friendly car, but these things are my little hypocrisy in that I find them ace. The truth is, where they are needed, they are unrivalled.

We decided, well Steven had it all planned, to head down to Margaret River where he had rented a house. We did manage to stop at the least successful service station ever en route. We thought we would get fuel, air in the tyres, a coffee and a toilet stop before moseying on. Only having got the fuel, we were informed that they had to switch the water off, so no coffee, or toilets, of course there was also no air. So all in all, pretty shit…they did turn the water back on eventually, but not before putting quite the delay on our trip and one of our number near ruining their underwear. Here we could stop at a brewery, which we did, he and Conny got suitably liquored, we could cook, we did this also. We even went to the pub. Conny who had decided to be Steve’s wingman and ably assist in getting him some lady company, kind of fucked that up near instantly. Mere moments after having walked into the bar, pints were ordered and Steve went for the arm-link pint drink. The thing is, this is a customary friendship drink in Austria which is finished with a kiss on the lips. The drunken awkwardness of this moment and the beffuddlement of all around in essence meant that not only was she a crap wingman, but she had basically stamped her brand on Steve right off the bat, by making out with him for all the ladies and their menfolk to see.

Now that I had become the 3^rd wheel in this scenario, my thoughts turned to the stomach churning fact that it was an open mic night. Something that I had not predicted. You see I kind of fancy myself as a singer. I actually think I’m pretty decent, but I also understand the craft and delivery of people who do it properly. I practice at home, I have recently allowed Conny to hear but other than that, nerves essentially make me shit the bed and crash the Ferrari all at once the very moment I think someone could be listening. Pitch goes out the window, as do lyrics and also sometime so does guitar playing ability. Worse still I look like a nervous wreck with an eye twitch. Plus, microphones scare the shit out of me. In the last 10 years or so I have sang approximately three times in front of people, with varying degrees of supershitness that have not helped my ego any and one even where I over heard a guy whisper to another chap I knew “Car crash” as I walked off stage past them.

This time however, was different. First I went to my old favourite, Disarm, by the Smashing Pumpkins. I tend to do songs differently, which also makes me shit my pants, but this one I feel comfortable with. Surprisingly, despite forgetting how to play it and even at one point whether I had sung the right words or not, it came to an end with a bit of an applause. Who’d a knew? Then it was time to bust out a bit of Neil Young. And again, a few minor fuck ups but no disaster. They asked for a third…I thought “Fuck, I don’t really know anything you’ll know” As such I told them exactly that, said “fuck it” and sang some Editors, fuck ups, forgotten lyrics, chords and all. But this time, I just laughed and carried on. Today, for me was a triumph. As a certain Orang-utan buffoon would say, a huge win.

The night carried on, with Steven, who it may be said likes a beverage, ordering at least one, sometimes two sixteen year old malts to go along with his beer. We got chatting to some pretty ladies, one of whom was single, but by this point, Steve’s speech, although clear, had descended into odd tales with, as far as I fathom, no beginning, middle, or end. The patience and decency of these fine ladies was remarkable as they listened intently hanging on his words. Sadly Steve himself said he had no idea what to do…at that point he needs someone to just tell him to stop, change the subject or to but in. This never came. With that kind of patience, those ladies should be snapped up and married ASAP. Steven said as much himself.

The next day we headed out to the beach to put October through her paces. We went through some of road tracks that to the mere mortal Sunday drivers like Conny and I, nothing would get through, yet we were assured that they would be no hassle, that it was just a stroll in the park for the burgundy beast. And it was. Now I’m not saying it was like Rolls Royce comfort of floating on air while the bumps dissolve in spongy suspension. Oh no, there was a large amount of whiplash inducing bounce and wobble, Conny even decided a sports bra would have been the best option my thoughts leaned towards no top and a video camera, but alas, that is to where my thoughts would always turn. I learned swiftly to hold on, if not for dear life, but to at the very least refrain from repeated window blows to the head. What it was however, was an immense amount of fun. We had a blast along the beach, got our feet wet and had a little picnic before Conny took the wheel and drove us back to the road. No dramas, we knew she was a natch ever since she drove down the hill from Mike Magan’s house a few years back. However one less talented lady had tried to travail the road in her rented Kia Sportage. Needles to say there was a blockage in the road, while two local boys and their monsterous Cruisers towed her out. Tonight’s dinner and evening was much more sedate, we cooked and ate, in then a spot of TV and chat before bedtime. The next day was another beach, but first a beverage in an awesome pub that had been burned down by fire, but when it was renovated, they kept the burnt bits as much as possible. This time we headed to more rocky shoreline, it was all holey and ancient looking, a bit like the moon but at once a bit animal. Then it was my turn to drive back. Not as eventful, just a few bush scrapes here and there, as Conny’s but still fun all the same.

So ever since we met the Smith family, we had basically been told that Steven’s brother had really lucked out in love, and managed to get himself a beautiful hot Columbian bride. Next on our list was finding out the truth of this tale. We headed out for coffee with a view, served, coincidentally by a stunning latina, and then we headed in to Perth proper, not that Perth proper has loads to offer, but the park was nice, it had an incorrectly named glass bridge, which was not anywhere near as exciting as it had been made out to be due to the fact that it wasn’t that high…NOR WAS IT MADE OF GLASS! It was a standard metal bridge, with some glass panels on the side. Still the view of the city and the coast line was lovely. It was incredible to see what used to be the airport, now a seafront strip, but I imagine landing there in days of yore would have been one of the more pant ruining landings one could have.

We headed to a sports bar. A big fucker of a sports bar, I forget its name. It never fails to make me wonder why bars are so big and bar tenders are so sluggish. I’m not saying that all bars need to be breakneck speeds at all times, but there were so many people for so little to do and they all did it so slowly(and messily) it was infuriating. Anyway, on to our lovely Latina. Her name is Sandra and she arrived in brilliant white jeans and silvery sparkly shoes and is indeed stunning. Moreover she is an absolute treasure of a lady. Fun, bright and talkative from the off, I can only confirm that the legends are true. She took us to a little Chinese place for dumplings (Conny’s favourite. Told you, she’s perfect) where Steven, several pints in at this point and I had taken over driving duties, proceeded to knock a glass of darkest red wine straight into her brilliant white lap. She laughed and carried on, as any trouper would. She clearly has been out with Steven before. The food was delicious, the company even better and a great night was capped off with ice cream before heading back to her flat for cocktails. They were worried as there was not much left in the cocktail store at home as she and Bevan(Steven’s brother) were about to move house. Never fear, David’s here! I may not drink, but I like to think I’m the muts nuts when it comes to tending bar. So I bust out a couple of diesel strength specials from some honey liquor, aperol, whiskey, frozen berries, a dribble of prossecco and some juice. The cocktails clearly worked as conversation flitted from everything to work, food, drink, religion, politics and vagina waxing. Yes! Vagina waxing! Somebody sparked up a clove cigarette, now I don’t smoke, but this intrigued me. I took a puff. It was fucking rotten. Smoking and dentists combined. Eugh.

The next day was spent nursing hangovers and by nursing hangovers, I mean heading to a brewery for beer. Several beers in, Conny and Steve decided that the cidre brewery next door was also a good idea. Now, both places were great, beer lovely, cidre lovelier still, but there are only so many hours of a day being the sober dude with a couple of piss heads succumbing to their ways a man can take.It was nice chilling in the beer garden and such, watching the troupes of clearly underage but monied youth celebrating a birthday. As I got bored of their chat I took October and hinted at our impending exit by waiting at the gates. The evening spent hanging with the flatmates who had graciously put up with us. Conny was, however on the booze, I was actually packing the bags for our early morning flight. It can be said, that occasionally, Conny like many, can let the booze get the better of her. Now I can relate to this, it’s fine. Apparently, I didn’t hear, but one of the flatmates said something disrespectful to his partner, like I say, I couldn’t say what it was. However, Conny decided(for which I am quite proud of her) to call bollocks and stick up for her new friend! However, as booze tends to do, it got in the way of her doing this in an appropriate fashion, and instead she got all mouthy and silly and acted exactly as disrespectfully if not more than he had. In short. Tensions rose. I told Conny to wind her neck in. She called me a wimp among other things. I left her to it knowing the regret would come in the morning! The regret came alright. It didn’t help that they stayed up til past one am. Our flight was before 6 am and we had a 4 something start. Sufficed to say that Steven was not up for the drive to the airport as promised but he did call us an Uber. He has since reassured me that no real offence was taken and guilty parties barely remember. We headed to the airport below a stunning golden moon, Conny swearing not to drink again until June (this is April), with another hungover flight beckoning it did not look promising for Conny. Onward! To Malaysia!

Lottie and Conny used to work together. Not only that, but they did this on a boat, where they had to share a cabin. As such they became good pals. It was to go see Lottie and her husband Ryan that we were headed to Geelong/Queenscliff. Normally, we would have stayed at their house. However it was completely gutted and amidst a full renovation. Instead we had to settle for a room at Ryan’s Dad’s house. When I say settle, I mean bask in the glorious luxury.

Barry and Tessa, Ryan’s father and his wife have a beautiful house. Up on windy hill the view is stunning, basically my perfect house, this place has epic high floor to ceiling glass and looks out to the sea, over the fields and is a mix of simple elegance with a touch of luxury, the views even extend to when having a shower. There are hobby cows milling around, a collection of hounds and even a workshop and art studio or two. To cap it off, a pool! Most importantly however, we were welcomed as long friends despite having never met, for which I can only ever remain eternally grateful. I got my “I’m a vegetarian who doesn’t drink” statement out early, I usually expect a little judgement, but there was none! Barry had to fly out on our second day there but the evening before was spent learning the finer points of Aussie Rules and discussions as to how it is a much better sport than ‘soccer’. I’m not entirely (read: at all) in accord with this sentiment, but I certainly did enjoy the chat and the game. Having never met Ryan previously it was pretty nice to get to know him too. A solid chap we had a great chat one evening putting the world to rights with discussions of everything from politics, even at the local level (Ryan’s Dad was formerly Mayor of Geelong) to the much broader ever present spectre of the volatile situation of world politics as it stands today. We talked on cars, electric and otherwise, sports, economics and lord knows what, I must say Lottie has done well, I thoroughly enjoyed our natter, however little it achieved in fixing the world. Geelong is a very nice town. They have excellent fish and chips* served from a boat house above the sea, the calibre of the fish and chips was greatly up for debate, as was my ability to judge them, due to my lack of fish consumption. However as a voracious consumer of the chips and their accoutrements I fell I am of prime position, whereas Ryan disagrees, he also disagrees that a proper British chippy is the worlds greatest, but then again, he is just plain wrong. That said, the chippies are great at this end of the world and I love that they serve potato fritters/scallops/flips/cakes depending on what you want to call them. We ate at a swanky restaurant in town that was delicious, Conny and I took the bikes out for a day and best of all Ryan took us out sailing. A Perfect size beautiful boat, big enough for one skilled sailor to handle, and also not too difficult to give us delinquents a chance to feel all Captain Jack Sparrow. I want a sail boat. To your average sailor, I’m sure what we did was very simple and mundane, in essence, we just steered a wheel. However I was feeling ebullient and was convinced my new title should be David Alexander South, Master of the Southern Seas. Plus I am entirely convinced I am a natural sailor and would require only 20 minutes more instruction before being able to circumnavigate the world entire.**

One more thing about our hosts, Tessa***, a beautiful Yorkshire lass, long emigrated to Australia, is an artist. Hence the studio. Her art adorns the walls of the most beautiful house I know, and not only does it not look out of place, it serves to beautify it further. She truly is a talent of many media and styles. Every piece she does is stunning and inspires that kind of “I’d like to think I could do something that wonderful, but realistically I have no chance” awe. I most definitely would love to have some of her work adorn the walls in my home…that is…if I weren’t homeless.

Further to the wonder of them letting us stay in their beautiful home on the hill, Barry and Tessa let us stay in their holiday home by Anglesea, a bit further down the coast.

Here we got to hang out with Lottie and a bit more and went to the seaside. At one point I saw a bright white deer. I told the girls this, who were in the front seats, but they were in disbelief, their response came thus: “Are you sure it wasn’t just an albino kangaroo?”. I shit you not. One of the girls said that. Luckily, I can’t remember which one came up with that gem, but they can both share the blame/credit as they were equal in their disbelief. To the point where I bade them reverse as it didn’t seem too spooked. They did. Their response was thus: “Oh look, a white deer”

We decided that at Anglesea we would cook. Ryan told me the one thing he just didn’t get was tofu. So I whipped up some fine Tofu in a barbecue chinese gravy and I think I may have shown him the light. I wouldn’t want him to say that tofu is the greatest thing ever. Just to know that when handled correctly, it can be delicious. Ryan however out did himself with dessert. He had spoke of a sponge cake in brief, said that he would pick one up, and pick one up he did. He told us it would be light and tasty. He told us it would be delicious. More to the point, we believed him. Still, we weren’t prepared for this. The single most airy and lightest sponge ever created, combined with a good slab of whipped cream(not usually my thing, but it works) and topped with the most delicious passion fruit butter-cream imaginable. Oh My Fucking Jesus Hairy Balls. We had intended to eat a small sliver each. We ate the whole thing with Ryan and I smashing down the last two chunks in fatness and delight. To day, it might be the single most talked about thing from Conny’s perspective of the whole trip. It is definitely the new benchmark for cakes, which Conny now sees as a challenge to find another that comes close, and/or recreate such a beauty when we get home. It is, in her eyes the pinnacle of all things baked.

The next morning, Conny and I took a stormy bus ride down the coast road for a picnic on the beach. To be fair, we couldn’t concentrate on the view due to the pure fact that the spirit of Colin McRae had taken possession of our driver. I’m entirely sure that he bottomed out at least twice, once while going around a 90 degree bend at the bottom of a hill on the edge of a cliff. I would like to think there may have been a few power slides in there too. We took Klaus, Lottie and Ryan’s excellently monikered dog to the beach and had a super relaxed time. We boarded the train at Geelong and headed back to Melbourne, home of a cohort of mine from the very old days, practically the middle ages when I was a running shoe salesman, James Sherratt. Back in the days we used to work together at the recently deceased Bourne Sports in sunny Stoke On Trent. He and I were always of a like mind about many things and spent many a night at the Underground, the Sugarmill in Hanley or Gatsby’s in Newcastle. He’s always been a nice lad. He’s a bit younger than me. Much more polite and a genuinely decent fellow. It’s been over a decade since last we met so it was very nice for me to see him doing well. Now he is a teacher of history at a posh Melbourne private school, and he let us stay at his place. As happens in the good friendships, there was very little of that tiresome catch up chat and straight into the silly shit.

Melbourne, is a great city. Easy to get around. Friendly people. We had a nose around the hipstery places and junk stores of Fitzroy, we had a mosey around the CBD and even took a day trip to one of the suburbs which had its own little retro-community vibe going on and the fabulous Sun cinema. First we partook in the most incredible vegan ice cream I have ever tried(not that that’s many), from Goje. I actually had no idea it was vegan until halfway through, up until that point I just thought it was fucking delicious. We then went to the cinema to see Beauty and the Beast. I love Emma Watson. Straight up, Conny knows, and understands. She is a perfect beautiful person. Much like Yarraville itself, the Sun cinema is an eclectic retro kind of place, the chairs are lush and the toilets stinky but all in all its a wonder. Melbourne is for the most part clean, but quirky, with some fantastic food, from the Yum Dumplings in little China to the Veggie Bar (an absolutely outstanding place for my particular breed of fatty, and those of a more omnivorous persuasion enjoy it equally) in Fitzroy the food was nothing short of wonderful. One night we met up with an old friend from Nice, Julian, who used to live with Conny, and we hit up a little food truck market just out in one of the suburbs. Another day we met up with a different friend from Nice that we used to work with, Sally, who about to bring her offspring into the world and we haven’t seen since the heady days of summer 2008 (I think, it’s hard to keep track). We met at the NVG, an entirely free gallery of art and antiquities where I was surprised to find an awful lot of stuff from my home town of Stoke On Trent. Odd that I should be in Melbourne half a world away a decade after leaving Stoke looking at its (admittedly quite exquisite) pottery. I could have told them a thing or two about it myself, they did miss some knowledge gems. We also had tea there with another of our acquaintances Michelle, who we looked after in Switzerland alongside her husband David who broke his back in several places while on a cycling trip there. Amazingly he was back on his bike within a matter of weeks, and walking was just a matter of days. She brought with her her daughter Caitlin, it was a busy time! It was nice to see Sally so happy. She has a husband in the army and quite enjoys the army wife life, is about to welcome her child into the world and looks all set for the adventure. You may or may not have guessed this, but a big part of this trip for us is seeing some of those familiar faces we came to know and love whilst living our lives of old. All in all, I have to say I am happy to say that most of these fond folk are doing well and enjoying their lives, which is what matters. The beauty of living the lives we have is that it has allowed us meet people from all over the world and forge bonds with them across international boundaries. Although we may not speak often and see one another even less, the fondness for these folk does not diminish and it is super heartening to see them in fine fettle. It turns out that I might be the one that didn’t quite grow up yet.

From Melbourne we headed to the airport bound to Perth where we would continue our catch up trip with the fine and dandy Mr Steven Smith.

*Excellent but nowhere near the quality of the Dancing Octopus in Newcastle Under Lyme

**I’m lying.

***Search Tessa Dodds Art on google if you are interested.