the whole caboosh

·
14th October

My brother, Brian took me to Heathrow. A hasty goodbye and there I was, alone, with a backpack and 6 months away. When you are very young, breaking-up for the summer holidays with 6 whole weeks out of school it seems a huge amount of time stretching into the distant future. This is how I felt, never having been away for more than the allotted 2-3 week holiday.

I could not avoid pondering all that had happened in the past 12 months or so and wondering if I had made a stupid decision. I had burnt all my bridges. At 54 I had no home, no job, no car and apart from the funds set aside for this trip, no money. But 6 months ago, when it was suspected that my cancer had spread out into my lymph glands, I can remember thinking that I might have a rather short lifespan ahead. From various sources I surmised that in a fairly significant number of cases the cancer returns within 5-10 years anyway. I still do not know the results of my final PSA test and
I will miss the next 2 three-monthly blood tests.

As the plane taxied these were my thoughts, along with recent memories, leaving parties, goodbyes to my good friends, my sons and my dad and to my wife, from whom I have only recently separated. A life-changing year. I must now look ahead, but not too far.

15th October

Landed 7.30 am (11.30 pm U.K. time). The body tells you it’s time for bed and the cabin staff is feeding you a cooked breakfast.

Temperature hot, humid, cloudy. Airport clean, high-tech, organised. Taxi to Geyland (!) - the ‘Princeton’, in a suburb, a fairly modern hotel, clean and tidy, a compact room, ensuite with a TV and AC. $40-£18, cheap by U.K. standards, but aware that this will seriously affect the duration of my intended 6 months.

A shower and a 4-hour kip - useful. 1 pm - off to the local MRT (metro) station, highly efficient and computerised - into the city, Orchard Rd - more retail space than any other shopping street in the world allegedly. A city regulated, sorted, tidied up and smoothed over.

Singapore, the Fine City, i.e. you get fined for chewing, fined for smoking, fined for this, fined for that etc etc. What a racial mix! Indians, Thais, Chinese, Indonesian, Malay, Philippine. Very few overweight. Beautiful, long, silky hair and, I am TALL here.

Many come here for a holiday, for the food, the sights, but I feel the need to move on and out of this ordered, hygienic society. Out in the suburbs though it’s a different place. Stalls, piled high with ripe fruits. Durian everywhere - the fruit that smells like hell, tastes like heaven. Local eateries, very basic but all with their white plastic chairs and tables, and full. All ages, chatting, laughing and eating and it's so warm. There are no pubs as such, but many sports clubs, football clubs, music lounges (karaoke) all quite expensive - £6 for a beer after 8 pm. Many of them were just amusement arcades lined with video/gambling machines.

I want to move on.

16th October

MRT to Kranji, then express bus to the border on the causeway. Bus packed, but we stopped to pick up 20 more. Off the bus, through customs, on the bus to Malaysian customs.

It's bloody hot, my bag weighs a ton and I need to get to the Gateway Hotel. A local chap approaches, offering his taxi so I accept. He drives me around the town, pointing out temples, interesting features, shopping areas, delivers me to my hotel, carries my bag into reception. What a nice helpful bloke! I pay him 15 rm (ringitts) - £2.25. The receptionist asks where I am from and I answer, Singapore. So why you get taxi? She gestures across the road and I see the place where I met the friendly, helpful man.My first ‘rip-off’. Hotel 60 rm - about £12, dowdy, less than 1 star.

Compared to Singapore Johur Bahrus is distinctly seedy, dishevelled; yet those very characteristics make it very popular with Singaporeans. Cheap houses, petrol, shopping and entertainment.

My backpack is heavy, I mean HEAVY, or is it this stifling heat, 36 degrees C. This was not part of the self-image, the cool, mature, panama hatteed hardy traveller - sweating, wheezing and puffing under the weight of his backpack.

Walked around town - a strange mix of shopping malls, little shops and eating places, here called Restorans. Many shops sell jewellery, watches, mobile phones, shoes and trainers, mostly crap.

Coffee in a glass cup, thick, dark and very sweet. No Starbucks here. The food is not recognisable, nothing is in English. I settle for a doughy fried thing with spring onions and vegetables, covered with a hot chilli sauce.

There are open sewers, building sites everywhere. A mix of Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus. My fantasy image of sitting in a bar, playing backgammon, chatting to other backpackers and being worldly-wise, swiftly evaporates when I realise I have not met or even seen another westerner. My guidebook informs me that the Blues Bar is the place and my taxi driver endorses this. There are 6 others in the bar, including staff. Chatted to the manager, Alex, who sends over a girlie to play me at pool. I won. A Tiger Beer costs £2.40, surprisingly high; the taxi 90p.

I am scared to eat. Two card-like strips of minced pork, like jerky, plus two rolls of indeterminate savoury filling. Later, I discover a fast-food place and gratefully eat a chicken burger with cheese and coleslaw in a deep fried bun.

I meet 2 Danish girls and we exchange food experiences, commenting upon the ‘deep-fried duck heads’, ‘curried lizard’,’ curried squirrel’ and ‘fish heads’. Not to mention curried pig brain & pig intestines.

There are also many moneychangers here and apparently US $100 will buy you twice as much in Malaysian ringits. Another reason why Singaporeans flock here at weekends, apart from the muck and filth.

17th October

I tried to get a bus to Melaka, an interesting, historical town further up the west coast, about 180 km. Alas, all tickets sold - sod it! - on to Kuala Lumpur, 300 km and over 3 hours on a coach. Cost £3! A very comfortable ride, includes bottled water, fruit and cake. We pass endless pineapple, rubber and palm oil plantations. The land is lush.

Middle of Kuala Lumpur, bloody hot, humid, loud - off the bus and, wonderful, a ‘Starbucks’, with giant ferns spraying cool mist onto its clients.

Over a delicious cappuccino I met and chatted to a Belgian couple and a Dutchman. We had lunch in ‘Chinatown’ and then they pointed me towards ‘Travellers Moon’ Backpackers. Up 3 narrow flights of stairs, book in - my room is 5’ x 10’, no windows, basically a large wooden box with a creaky fan and a dim light bulb - £3. Now I am meeting travellers (after 2 nights in hotels) especially up on the roof where the ‘common room’ is. Straight in with Eric, a French ski-instructor, over several games of backgammon and chatting to Gilbert, his mate.

Evening - discovered Chinatown again - a different place now, hundreds of stalls with food, leather goods, watches, clothes and, of course, mobile phones in their thousands. A CD is £1, DVD’s £1.50.

Met Mark (Dutchman), Katherine and Heinkel (Belgian couple) again and after a wonderful meal, went on to the local reggae bar. It reminds me very much of Pat Pang (Bangkok) but without the sleaze.

There is KFC, McDonalds, and Starbucks - mixed in with shoe repairers, quacks, soothsayers and beggars.

It is not a city dedicated to tourists, but a fascinating contrast of Malay, high-tech, high-rise, steel and glass. Plenty of Internet cafes - only 50p an hour. I sent a few - even had an immediate reply! I am still amazed at the computer age, having only recently become ‘enabled’.

Up to the roof terrace to ‘cool-off’ and chatted to a Czech chap (now Australian) and a Swedish girl who was reading ‘White Teeth’ (in Swedish).

Imagine the hottest, sweatiest day in the UK - well tonight, at midnight, here - it’s hotter.


18th October

Considering my room, bed and heat, I slept ok apart from my 3 visits to the loo, for a pee. Was it the 3 pints of lager, or my prostate cancer returning? Bugger that.

Off to visit the famous Twin Towers. After several misunderstandings and directions to take the nos 33, 34, 66 and 6a I arrive.


What a building! 452 metres high and the tallest in the world. Inside is a 6-level, crescent-shaped mall, a world-class concert hall, international art gallery, outside are beautiful lakes, gardens, play areas. Halfway up is a double-decked sky bridge. Looking down and around from this vantage point there are huge, glass and concrete edifices, colonial buildings, temples, shanties. One could spend several days exploring museums, lake gardens, the railway station, the markets as well as the bustle and clamour of the colourful nightlife.

Alas, I still feel the need to move on up the coast.

I noticed a big hoarding advertising beer. In big, bold, metre high letters
‘WHY FART AND WASTE IT WHEN YOU CAN BURP AND TASTE IT!’

Spent the afternoon playing backgammon with Lottie (from Lancs) and Simon, two hippyish travellers on their way down to Singapore. They are nearing the end of a year travelling but gave me some helpful tips for places to stay in Thailand.


Evening, emails and played a game of backgammon with ‘balloonitic’ from California on the Internet. On to Chinatown, met up with James and Neil, two young English lads from Travellers Moon and the two Danish girls (Johur Bahru). We all shared a meal outside amid the hustle and bustle - sweet and sour pork, lemon chicken, sizzling beef and steamed rice, a couple of beers each - £5 a head.

Wandered around, bought roast chestnuts (heated and cooked in roasted coffee beans) and ended up at the local Reggae Bar where I did partake in a brief smoke provided by a couple of Malaysian Rasta’s.

Feeling old I returned home at midnight. I later find out that the place really kicked off at 12.30 and they were all there ‘til 4 am. Can’t do that anymore.

19th October

I gave my spare phone to the little Indian chap, Morgan, on the desk; also sold him my stainless steel webbing (to secure the backpack) for £5 (it cost £30). Later found out I could have sold the phone for £50 (a week’s accommodation here!)

Anyway, with a slightly lessened load I struggle to the bus station. A madhouse, the strong smell of fish oil emanating from the food-hall, people everywhere, vendors shouting ticket prices. I eventually buy a £3 trip to Pangkar via Ipah and Lumut. It’s a 4-hour journey (£3!).

As I wait for my bus I marvel at all the Muslim women with their white hoods/cowls - immaculately white and creaseless. How do they do that with the traffic fumes and general city grime.

The sign on the shower ‘if the shower doesn’t work please mandi Malaysian style‘, sorry for the inconvenience’. (Hmm)

Arrived at the Pangkor ferry terminal, 5 pm. Met a Czek couple, Tom and Yana. Awaiting the boat we are ushered into a side room where a very helpful, pleasant lady informs us that the island’s accommodation is full because of Malaysian public holiday, but she had just heard that 2 rooms have just been vacated at the Paradise Hotel, the photos were impressive, so we booked them at 50 rm (£7.50) each.

The ‘express’ was rather slow - it took 20 mins to cross to the island and cost 5 rm. The taxi took us up a very poor rutted track to ‘paradise’, which like the ‘express’ boat was also a contradiction in terms.

Our rooms (shacks!) were basic, no chair, a rickety table, and a corrugated door to the loo, plywood walls and a rather shoddy toilet. The ‘towel’ was almost transparent and the place was ant-ridden.

Was this the right place? The one we had seen in the photos? It transpires that the nice, helpful lady at the ferry office was, in fact, the owner of ‘Paradise’.

Shared a late beer with Tom and Yana. They were returning home after spending 2 years in Australia, working, travelling and improving their English. They had met in Australia and were now a firm item. We eat sausage and egg and 2 tiger beers each - total £3 in the beach bar along the road, wondering why we could not eat in ‘paradise’. We sat there and listened to a large party of Malay Muslims singing along, word perfect, in English to the local karaoke DJ - Cliff Richard, The Carpenters, Tom Jones etc and none of them could actually speak English - macabre! and where the hell are we? I am sincerely hoping at this point that in the morning we shall be pleasantly surprised in ‘paradise’.

Yes, the sea is warm, calm, palm trees, sand, quiet - yes, very quiet! Of the dozen or so shacks along the beach mine alone is inhabited. Tom and Yana have moved on to Taluk Nipoh, while Muggins here paid for 2 nights in advance. So much for ‘full up’!

I explore the village and beach. It’s very quiet (holiday weekend!!). Chatted to Jasni of ‘Bogak Beach Enterprises’ (hiring goggles, flippers, trips out to the reef). He is concerned about his business, all the fault of the terrorists, Iraq; most Muslims, he says, just want a peaceful life, a job, and a family and now we have all been tarred with the same brush. Just across the bay is a smaller island, Pulau Pangkar Laut, you wouldn’t see it in an atlas. Jasni explained that this is where Bush and all the world leaders met for a conference a few months ago. It is privately owned (Chinese) and costs up to £5000 a night to stay there, access only by private boat or helicopter. A perfect retreat for the mega-rich. Joan Collins had her most recent honeymoon here.


I discover, wandering around, that I am the only westerner here and I wish I had a good book to read.

A local hailed me over, sitting on an upturned crate, he asked if I could spare a cigarette. I made him a rollie and chatted, after which he took me on his moped to have a look at Teluk Nipoh. At a sedate 10 kph I had time to receive many whiffs of his alcohol-laden breath and realised that 11 kph would have meant very near certain death. Now, here there are more than a few travellers, hotels, and restaurants. My man took me back and we retired to his favoured haunt where I topped up his craving for ‘Barons’ beer (rather a strong 86%).

He is 51, separated (thrown out), retired (unemployable) and alcoholic. He expounds upon 3rd eyes, chakras and wisdom - ‘my mother and father brought me to this world, she fed me, gave me milk and wiped my bottom. Does God do that? I must admit, he had me on that one.

I later did my ‘David Attenborough’ thing and attempted to explore the dense rainforest directly behind my shack. There were several harsh, threatening sounds - monkey, birds? 2 cm ants running up my legs, huge spiders in their huge webs. A metre long monster lizard paddled across my path. When the sweat began running down my back my imagination ran too and I was out of there.

They’ve given up doing breakfast, or any food at ‘paradise’, not worth it for one guest, i.e. me, so a walk along to last night’s place where Karaoke is in full swing. I had a full plate of Indonesian rice with chicken and listened to the Karaoke man setting up and testing his equipment. He speaks no English, but still uses ‘testing, testing’ 1-2-3 ‘standard line. Back in my room I left 2 chunks of doughnut in the corner of the floor - it might keep the ants away.

21st October
Eight a.m. It is raining, no, it is really raining, a total grey-out. The little island, 1-2 km away, cannot be seen. No breakfast available, the phone doesn’t work and I am 300 m along a track and the rain continues.

An hour later I grab my bag and struggle, soaked, to the taxi and head for Teluk Nipoh, where it is still raining. Huddled in a shop doorway for 2 hrs, it’s raining so hard there are no waves, they are beaten down by the deluge. Met 2 Canadians who recommended the snorkelling. Ha-ha.

After 2 hrs the rain abates and I check out Joe Fisherman’s where a small A-frame hut costs 16 rm (£2.40) - very basic - am then wooed into Nipah Bay Village rooms at 50 rm (£7.50). Nice room, A/C, TV and toilet/shower - includes a cooked breakfast.

The owner, a Buddhist, is a really friendly man and we had a good chat over coffee as he introduced me to his young staff. There is also a table tennis table and I packed my trusty bat!
Strolled the beach. There are many black and white hornbills, eagles, minahs and sparrows, just like ours, only slimmer.

Met Tom and Yana on the beach and I taught him backgammon, which he learned with a passion.


There are many Muslims here on some sort of conference, or course (religious). It’s 35 degrees C and seems so weird to see 15 or so Muslim women go for a swim, fully dressed. It’s an idyllic beach, but I can’t help but notice the old cans, plastic bottles dumped here and there, or washed up on the shoreline.

I have only been away for a week and already I have slowed down, adopting the slow, ambling backpacker walk.

After a luxurious shower I entertain the staff with a few magic tricks, which always guarantees smiles, friendship and transcends any language barriers. Quick game of table tennis, no decent opposition (I have been playing twice a week for 12 years).

Tom and Yana come round for a meal. For religious reasons alcohol is not served here but they do not mind if you nip over to the mini-mart for your own supply. We ordered, waited half an hour and were informed that the chef had gone home early. Wandered over to another eating-place, a put-me-up job created and set up by a local family. Plastic chairs and tables, a corrugated sheet on poles as a roof and very large football size wads of flypaper covered with 100,s of insect things. A very makeshift kitchen. Having our own booze we asked for glasses and were given the only 2 glasses - wine glasses. They wash up in a plastic bath of (cold) water and cook everything in 2 large weather-beaten woks, which throw out occasional spouts of ceiling high flames.

I ordered the curried fish and receive a huge snapper, big teeth, eyes, and the lot on a large oval platter in a curried sauce with rice. Delicious and tender, but a little bony. The Muslim waitress put the price up from 10 - 12 rm when she saw how much I’d enjoyed it. Tom and Yana had chicken, cashews and noodles with very hot chillies. We are surrounded by Muslims drinking water, juice, cokes or tea.

I returned for a long, philosophical talk with Math, the owner, who is half Malay and half Japanese. He is 49 and intrigued that I was alone. He wants to travel but is tied down by his work, his 16 yr old son and lovely wife. Menopausal? In the background there are a group of hip Malaysians watching a ‘Guns and Roses’ video. There is no refrigeration, all the food is fresh, and the cook has a fag in his mouth. Health and Safety eat your heart out. One
Bumped into the 2 Canadians who reminded me about the snorkelling. So, out on a motorboat, snorkel, and mask - about 2-300 metres to the reef. I took a bag of bread with me and within half a minute was surrounded by 100s of fish up to 60cm long, a tropical fish tank. They took the food from my hands. A great experience, amazing shapes and colours, wonderful.

The problem was that these locals realise the potential financial benefits and in their eagerness to cash-in the reef is slowly being ruined by clumsy travellers and tourists stomping and breaking the delicate corals. There is as yet no apparent effort for conservation and protection.

Back to the hotel, more magic tricks, tuned 3 battered guitars and played table tennis, winner stays on. After 13 games, non-stop, 36c, I am soaked and knackered, having played every half decent player in town.

Showered, changed and out for a meal - Malaysian fried noodles 45p. On the next table a Chilean chap and an English girl are celebrating his birthday and they’ve brought a bottle of red wine, probably the only one on the island. He also played backgammon and after he’d opened the bottle, by pushing the cork in (there are no corkscrews) we drank from tea-cups (no glasses). He beat me 3-1.

The handwritten menu says Fried Meehoan, Teou or Kaeo. Teou - bigger than noodle, Kaeo - smaller than noodle (or vice-versa). Service so slow, even on finishing the meal you still have to find your waiter, a Muslim boy with jeans, Arsenal football shorts, reversed baseball cap, to pay your bill.

I met a very nice Japanese lady, alone and here for a week. May meet her tomorrow.

23rd October

Met ‘Hiro’ again and we go out to Gian island, snorkelling and feeding the fish. Once more, superb, especially in the company of a bikini-clad, well put together, 35 yr old woman. It started to pour down so we just floated and chatted in the warm sea and then returned for coffee and more chat.

I am 54, she is some 20 years younger no, in your dreams Alan. Arranged to meet tonight!
Met 2 blokes, travellers - lost 8 rm (£1.20) playing backgammon with Simon. Lucky dice!

Cats

There are some strange cats here. They have 1-2 inch stubby tails some having a right-angled bend. I thought initially that this was a general policy, docking them at birth or they had lost them through fighting but, no, that‘s how they were born, a sort of half Manx.

Bugs

Although there are ants about the size of a full stop, generally bugs, butterflies, moths are BIG and colourful. One swallowtail butterfly, with each wing as big as my hand, perched and stayed on my shoulder as we ate our meal, Hiro, Tom, Yana and me. Hiro has decided to go inland to the Cameron Highlands with its relative temperate climate, about 6-8 degrees C lower than the coast. Miles of tea-plantations, golf courses and tourist resorts, hiking trails, rose gardens and butterfly parks. I consider this.

My money is running out (cash), there are no banks here, they won’t change traveller’s cheques so, whatever, I have to get back to Lumut, on the mainland, soon.



24th October

A hearty breakfast followed by beach and swim in the warm sea, met Tom and Yana again (backgammon) and Hiro .My last 3 meetings with her ended with firstly, a shake of the hands, secondly with a kiss on the cheek and finally, a hug and lip-kiss. ‘You are very handsome man Alan!’ Was this typical Japanese courtesy/flattery/diplomacy, or is it a hint?

Well, Hiro will be meeting her Zimbabwian boyfriend in UK, with an eye to a possible commitment of some sort, so perhaps she was just being kind to an old(er) man. But she was a very ‘rovery rady’ (and for God’s sake I’ve only been away just over a week).

Goodbyes all round and taxi to the ferry back to Lumut, the bank and coach to Buttersworth, 200 km £1.50.


After a 3 hr journey, arriving at the ferry terminal for a 20 minute passage to Georgetown, Penang (60 sen-under 10p)

Penang is an island, state and a town, the name derives from Portugese from the Areca nut, pokok, pinang. In 1786 the British named it the Prince of Wales Island, which did not catch on. Georgetown, named after the same prince, did catch on and stuck, even after Malaysian independence.

Mainly Chinese, it is a vibrant, bustling place with its share of modern buildings, but much of its colonial past is well preserved. It is also connected to the mainland by a causeway.
I jump on a 93 bus to Batu Ferringhi and find E.T. guesthouse right on the palm-fringed beach. Soon, the owner, is a Buddhist so it’s strictly shoes off outside, stringent house rules and very clean. A double bed, strong fan, a shared shower/toilet for 20 rm (£3). Penang food is excellent, a bewildering choice of Malay, Indonesian, Thai, Chinese, Japanese, Indian and Western dishes, remarkably cheap and if you choose to eat from the many hawker stalls or food courts, even cheaper. This is tourist town, many on packaged fortnight breaks. Many overweight Europeans and the food is cheap and everywhere. A great contrast after Pangkor.

Here all staff are in uniform, keen to usher you in, helpful and eager, polite and attentive. I settle for a sizzling beef, bean sprout, steamed rice and a large Chang beer (£3).

Then I discovered the reggae bar. Max, the Malay manager, has dreadlocks and even talks Rasta like a Jamaican. It’s a typical reggae place, the inevitable Bob Marley posters and of course ‘no woman no cry’ blasting out. Philosophical graffiti all over the walls and I see before me

Yesterday history
Tomorrow mystery
Today - a gift

Simple, trite perhaps, but these words really struck home for me and seemed to sum it all up. My new philosophical mood prompts me to think again about Hiro. Was it wishful thinking, did we have a connection or was it the indominatable male ego? My self-doubt and overall lack of confidence have not been helpful especially after the effects of the cancer treatment (am I physically capable?) On the way home nipped into an Internet place, 3 rm for 30 minutes.

Last night I had to get up for the loo 6 times, a bit of a worry as this was what took me to the doctor in the first place when prostate cancer was discovered. It’s not so bad if there’s a toilet nearby, but here I have to get up, get out and walk along a long corridor. I received text and email from Ben and Jan informing me that my PSA test results had just arrived back home (2 weeks late). A score of 2.4, although a little high, is a long way short of 12, as it was before my treatment began. Perhaps the radiotherapy has affected my bladder and there’s no real point in worrying about it anyway.

Today - a Gift

So, stop thinking about Hiro, beach tomorrow.

25 October

My bed is rock hard and the fan is extremely loud. I also discover that the local mosque is very close and between 5-6 am the (amplified) call to prayer blasts out over the whole area. What a difficult religion, especially if you have to work in a restaurant or bar till after midnight every day.

This also awakens the local population of cockerels, who pitch in with their cock-a-doodle-doos, but strangely, without the consonants - ock-a-oola-oo! Just as they have had enough of this the local dogs all start barking.

Consequently it’s an early start to each day in Penang.

E.T.’s does not serve food, but next door at Ali’s I sit at a shaded table in the hot early morning sun to a breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast, mug of coffee and a huge plate of watermelon, pineapple and mango.

Decided to stroll the hour or so walk along the beach and back with a few refreshing dips. At the far end of the beach I see a 60 cm lizard lazily crawling over the rocks, emerald green crabs and sand-skipping fish.
The beach itself is 30 metres or so wide and about 3 km long. There are ‘Golden Sands’, a ‘Holiday Inn’ and a ‘Shangri La’. There are also paragliders and jet skis but it’s still a lovely stretch of beach, backed by huge broad-leafed trees with wide spreading canopies, so cooling. I believe they are Banyan trees. Stopped off on the beach to play backgammon with a young English traveller, but it is so hot I am burning up. I retire to my room to begin Michael Crighton’s ‘Lost World’, which had been left in my room by a past guest. I went out and bought a Chicken Metabak from one of the many street vendors. Chicken, chopped veg mixed with an egg, fried on a hot plate and wrapped in a pancake, just 40p, delicious. Returned to my veranda to continue my book. From here I saw pigeons, jackdaws and several monkeys jumping from tree to tree. The locals appear not to even notice them. Later in the evening had a superb Malaysian beef and satay, 10 sticks with a cucumber, tomato, onion and peanut sauce, washed down with a refreshing glass of fresh starfruit juice (£2.50) Next door at Ali’s I chatted to a group of young Malaysian rugby players, here for an international 7’s competition. Imagine playing on rock hard grass in 36 degrees C.

They are accompanied by a Muslim girl, traditionally dressed though face uncovered. She is the team’s camerawoman and after swapping tricks with the boys chatted to her for an hour or so. She is 19, studying IT and is very eager to talk about anything.

How strange it must be to see so much via the Internet and still be bound by the strict rules of her religion. The boys are all dressed in designer jeans, polo/football shirts, the latest trainers, etc, but she is dressed traditionally. As I left I offered to shake hands, but she was so embarrassed and apologetic and explained that she was forbidden to do so by her faith.

26th October

I’d heard and read about Monkey beach, Northwest of here, 100 rm by boat (£15). This intrepid traveller decides to get a bus, then walk via the forest coastal path to this amazing beach where dozens of local simians congregate daily. I arrive at ‘last stop’, a fishing village. I meet an old Malaysian woman, holding a 2 metre long, dead, very thin snake on a stick, lunch presumably. She gave a vague grunt and gestured ‘that way’ along the path.

Off I jauntily walk along a pleasant path 30 mins to my destination, or so I was told. After said 30 mins the path meanders up, down, over fallen trees, under fallen trees, over boulders and then a rope bridge. I feel like Indiana Jones, slick with sweat my light blue t-shirt now stained dark blue. I cannot see the sky, but the sound of waves breaking assures me that I must be nearing my destination. The path closes in, I see monkeys high up in the trees, sizeable lizards cross my path, large ants crawl up my leg and bite. I stumble through large spider webs, sibilant hissing, hoots, cries and grunts. I have met nobody. What if I break my leg? - another rope bridge!

I finally emerge, blinking into the light, feeling like Oliver Reed in ‘Castaway’. There are other people here, all having opted for the easier boat ride. A Malay chap walks up to me offering me fruit and water. What must I look like? It starts to rain, a huge storm is imminent and everyone prepares to boat back. I really cannot face the return journey on foot and scrounge a £3 trip back with a fisherman, who first takes me to his floating home some 300 metres from the shore. His loyal Dalmatian dog greets him as he throws down a bag of barbecue scraps, chicken bones, crab claws and prawn shells. He has a TV here, a stereo unit, even a 10 ft tree growing from a large pot. Lightening and thunder flash and roll across the sea. It’s an absolute deluge and I am soaked to the skin again. To cap it all there were no monkeys on the beach, apparently they don’t like the rain either. At the bus stop I met the Dutch couple that had also set off on the same trail as I, but had sensibly turned back. Returning to E.T.’s after a shower I pull my bed directly under the fan, lying wet and naked with a fag and an ice-cold Tiger beer - absolute bliss.

I was really quite worried back there. Looking at a map of Penang, about the size of my hand, I discovered that the distance I covered was less than half the width of my little finger. BUT I feel like I’ve been on a long solitary death defying jungle trek. Phew! reading ‘Lost World’ seems quite apposite.

Later, booked my next stage, a boat up the coast to Langkawi, early Monday morning.

For my evening meal I went to the ‘Palace’, an Indian establishment where I ate Murgli Malai, succulent tandoori chicken and rice, followed by a platter of orange, apple, melon and starfruit - my most expensive meal yet at £4, superb! Finally finished with a beer at Ali’s, chatted to 2 Belgian girls, the rugby team and T.J., the Muslim girl who proudly showed me her film of the ‘Black Knights’ losing every match they played today. Tonight they all retired early for a 6 am start on the second day of the tournament.

It’s distinctly cooler tonight, about 24 degrees C, apparently rain tomorrow so maybe a trip into Georgetown.

27th October

After 2/3 Tiger Beers a night I have to get up4/5 times a night, a bit of a worry, especially with the odd painful twinge in the prostate area.Forget it !

Chatted to Barry & Sue from Weston Super Mare> He works in Taiwan and has met her here for a 2 week break. They gave me a lift into Georgetown, in their hired car and dropped me off at the main market which sells anything/everything, from exotica to weird quackery, from food to household goods, clothes and general ‘stuff’. We appear to be the only westerners here amid a mix of Indians, Chinese and Malays. I bought myself a nice pair of Eco (copy) shorts for 20rm (£3).

Wandered to the Victoria Clock Tower, built to commemorate her diamond jubilee,60ft high-a foot for every year of her reign (1837-97).It was built by a Chinese businessman, a tin millionaire Chea Chin Gok,who was probably angling for a knighthood at the time. There is a wonderful ‘colonial-era walk but , considering the noon heat I opt instead for the sightseeing rickshaw ride, under the shade of an umbrella which took in most of the interesting, historical buildings, temples ,streets & markets. The Indian area (little India) is gearing up for the Divali festival. Enough culture, the predicted rain has not appeared so back to the beach for a dip-the seawater is so buoyant here you could float on your back and fall asleep without fear of drowning.


Freshen up & out for a crab/squid/prawn salad , and of course, a Tiger or three. Chatting to some travellers ,just arrived, I hear that John Leslie is in some sort of sexual malarkey with Ulrika Johnson, a group of Chechnians have been killed, along with several of their hostages by the local police in a Russian siege. I also met a chap who was in Bali when the terrorist bomb went off. He had been suffering a hangover and did not join the many who did attend the club that night and lost their lives.

28th October

2 weeks ! -feels more like 2 months.
I do not need an alarm wake-up call here. Between 4.30 and 5.30am the Muslim faithful are called to prayer by the amplified wails. My bag is packed, I’m ready to go, I’m standing here, outside the door of E.T’s, watching night turn to day. Sitting in darkness I observe a group of spiky-haired, white-faced, brown monkeys-Luton. A local informed me that they come down from the forest each night to dine upon the fruit of the Katapong Tree. I sit, camera cocked, & .....run out of film just as a troop of 12 or so sit together on the lowest branch of the tree just 3 m from me. No spare film !
Peter and Yos, the Dutch couple, emerge from Ali’s, next door , at 7.30am-I’ve been sat there for 2 hours, having got the times wrong. We taxi to the ferry for Langkowi, which leaves at 8.30.A 2 hour trip up the coast to the last Malaysian island before the Thai border. On the boat I meet Chris, an English guy , also on a round the world trip. The 4 of us share a taxi to Pantai Cenang on the west coast.
Langkowi is supposed to be the perfect tropical paradise, budget rooms at £3,hotel rooms and more exclusive private resorts, which , unfortunately have taken over some of the prime sites & beaches. It is also a tax-free island, making it even cheaper than the rest of Malaysia. I opt for the Sandy Beach hotel, 50rm a night (7-50).Peter & Yoss book into a posher place at £15.00 a night, & Chris wanders off mumbling that he doesn’t like sharing, maybe he thinks I’m gay !!
My room, as it happens, is pokey, definitely not worth the money, so just 1 night here I think.
Anyway, the beach, the palm trees, the sand & sea all look perfect and it’s all a lot less built-up & touristy than I’d expected. The beach is about 2 km long, backed by bungalows, chalets & small hotels, under the shade of palm trees. There are no buildings over 2 storeys.
Peter & Yoss had been so friendly/smiley when I first met them last week, & I now realise why. After an over hasty shave back on Penang their first sight of me was when I had a wad of toilet paper stuck to my chin, stained red, & forgotten--they’d been too polite to let on or , I suspect, had a wicked sense of humour.
The sea is so warm, even uncomfortably hot in some parts but hey!-I’m not complaining. The place has a nice laid-back feel. Just along the road is Pulau Payar marine park’ crystal clear waters, thousands of ‘tame’ tropical fish, to swim amongst. There are sea caves, waterfalls & a landscaped theme park at Kuah, the main town & ferry terminal. I’d noticed as we disembarked the biggest, ugliest, giant fibreglass eagle you’ve ever seen-will keep well away.
CRABS
I am awed & bewildered again by the millions of fingernail-sized crabs inhabiting every square inch of the hard, wet sand uncovered by the ebbing tide. At first it appears that someone has finely raked the entire beach, but a closer inspection reveals that each crab has fashioned dozens of perfectly round little sand balls & arranged them into the most amazing asymmetrical and curiously symmetrical patterns leading outwards from their ‘burrows’. I am further amazed that there seems to be an imaginary straight line running the whole length of the beach. Below the line, seaward side, all the patterns are all round, curved shapes and above the line all they are all perfectly straight patterns.
No one else on the beach appears to notice this phenomenon .
And when the tide returns they are all washed away, but as it recedes, off they go again, within minutes, reforming their intricate pieces of miniature art. Wonderful to behold.
I also discover the ubiquitous local Reggae Bar on the beach, where all the boys (no girls-Muslim) all appear to play guitar, are all laid back and genuinely friendly. Seems perfect.
Hottest day so far, even the cold shower is hot, and my toilet overflows, the pipe drips, there is no sink, no mirror. Alright, it’s not all perfect--but who cares? Not I.
Compared to Penang the food here is mundane, my first meal being bony chicken & chips with a banana milk shake. I am not deterred but, I wish at this moment I had someone here I could share this place with.
Bumped into Peter & Yoss and we had a meal at one of the several places dotted along the road, just behind the beach. A good laugh, strange, I’ve never met any Dutch people that I didn’t like.
We strolled to the Reggae bar, met up with the locals and many other travellers who all seem like good company---is it because we all have a similar approach to life, or maybe you just get to be together for a short time, not long enough to discover the bad bits. A couple of English lads are on a 6-month trip and will return to their real world as labourers in the spring. A pleasant Swiss couple are here on a short break from Kuala Lumpor from their jobs as Red Cross workers.
After an hour or so, several Tigers and severaller rums I am invited to play the guitar and sing.’ Knocking on heaven’s door’, ‘Everybody’s Talking at me’, Sanfrancisco Bay blues’----just about the only 3 songs that I know all the words to. Rather rusty but acceptable to my drunk audience.

29th October

Checked out of my pokey room and went across the road to The Red Tomato, a cool little bar, for banana & cinnamon pancakes, Italian coffee & fresh mango juice (£2).The proprietor directed me 150m up the road to the Irish Bar & rooms--brand new & owned by a typical grouchy ex-pat, 55, on his second marriage to a young Thai ,30 years his junior. He appears to hate everything here but I must say his rooms are great, tiled, cool with a fan, curtains and clean.£5--great value (even better if I was going halves with someone).
Got settled in then hired a moped for the day (£3). Set off (shakily) to explore the island heading first to a waterfall walk, which involved a steep, stepped climb(400 big ones) to the top. Absolutely knackered & sweat soaked I took a dip in one of the several rock pools where little fish nibbled my toes. Air-dried in 10 minutes but just as wet & knackered after 400 steps down I purchase an ice cool ginger beer can & a bag of fresh roasted peanuts and lean against a shady tree. Almost immediately I am surrounded by 20 or so Macaque monkeys, all after my nuts! Grappling to get my camera out, as I try to fairly distribute the said nuts a cheeky one shimmies down the tree & grabs my ginger beer. As I try to retrieve it my hat falls off. A tug of war ensues, me at one end, a rather big-toothed simian at the other, my poor hat in the middle. This causes me to drop the bag of nuts which causes them to bounce and scatter everywhere and thus causes a full mob riot, a free-for-all, peck-order punch ups erupt around me along with angry shouts, shrieks and grunts. Fortunately there was no other human around to record the event for any future ‘You’ve been framed’ programmes.
Onward to the newly opened, state of the art cable car, which takes, you right up to the summit of the main island.
I had noticed earlier that all the locals wear their anoraks & coats back to front whilst riding mopeds. What a strange custom! I now realise why. We are still in the rainy season and there are several 5/10 minute deluges each day. Hence the preferred mode of dress. I, on the other hand, in shorts, t-shirt, sandals and (monkey ravaged) Panama hat, receive my fourth utter soaking of the day so far.
An impressive ultra modern cable car and it’s free for a week so all the locals can experience it ( & pass on this experience to future tourists), before the official opening. the fee will then be 15rm (£2-20), not a lot for me but 2 day’s wages for the average person here.
So, up we go, looking forward to the promised wonderful panoramic views. Half way up we were actually in a vast thundercloud and saw absolutely bugger-all.
I browsed the little gift/souvenir shops and met Chris, who is also out exploring the island by moped, but in the opposite direction to me so after a quick beer I continued northwards/westwards round the island, through vast rubber plantations. I remember geography books from my far off youth- pictures of rubber trees with a half-coconut, upturned and strapped around the 15cm trunk, beneath a V-shaped gash near the base. It is exactly that today. I inspected one of the dishes. It was brim full with the off-white, dry spongy mass of raw latex.
Away from the resorts the villages & isolated houses are the same as they’ve ever been and many are traditionally stilted, understandable now as I get a thorough soaking yet again. As in all of Malaysia there is deep, lush rainforest, magnificent trees everywhere.
The whole circuit took about 2 hours and I return unscathed but wet.50p petrol-the whole day out £3-50.I met Chris, Peter and Yoss at the Red Tomato and we arranged to meet later.
Handy Hint. I now shave using cheap shampoo on my face-it’s just as good, or even ordinary hand soap suffices. When I shower now I wash my pants & t-shirts at the same time, treading them underfoot. Cheapskate!
There appears to be a restaurant chain here. Either that or the sign outside them all is advertising some well-known local speciality. It says “Fook Look” and after passing several I cannot resist saying to myself “OK! I’m fookinLookin , right!”
After showering(& laundering) it’s back to Red Tomato for a deliciously light fresh baked pizza, followed by an ice-cold mango lassi and on again to the Reggae beach bar where we all enjoy a perfect sunset. Drinking,
chatting, larking about we meet Yahoo, a larger than life ,one-off ‘wild
man of Borneo’.
He is wearing a trilby, tailored jacket & shorts, odd shoes, odd socks and a huge, dishevelled beard. His catchphrase to all is ‘Appy Oliday!’ He entertained & played guitar like an old pro. Apparently he owns a backpackers’ here and is relatively well off, affording his eccentricity and he really was from the forests of Borneo. Anyway I am, by now , sufficiently inebriated to have a go am and myself enticed by the crowds ,with only a modicum of ‘hard to get’ to (re)perform my 3 songs. From here the night degenerated to the sort of scenario one might expect on a warm, friendly, balmy tropical island , listening to good music until 3am.I can’t do too many of these anymore. The frogs, geckos and insects are extremely vocal tonight.

30th October--is it really still October!

Red Tomato. Julia Roberts is sitting at the next table. This 33 year old Swiss angel is a schoolteacher here on voluntary work and as we talk for an hour my ‘wishful thinking’ mode lurches violently into the red. And then she says she is leaving today, in a few minutes actually. Oh Pretty Woman. In your dreams, Al.
Beach, book, crab observation followed by a beer, ice cold, at the Reggae Bar, where I meet Peter & Yoss and we book a local islands boat trip.
There are 99 islands to Langkowi, 104 when the tide’s out.
Our little cruise takes us to 4 of them. Eight of us, we 3, 2aussie girls and 3 Muslim ladies(fully attired) land first on a small island with towering cliffs festooned with all manner of vegetation. The secret is that within the high circle off rock there’s a big, freshwater lake, almost at sea level. We swam as 30 cm catfish nuzzled our feet.
The next island is similarly full of trees, shrubs, every crack, fissure, hole, every place a plant could possibly grow there would be 3, 4, or more all fighting for sunlight ,even reaching out impossibly far over the water. There are Mango swamps and to-die -for perfect beaches--all empty. The lake here has a legend, a high rocky outcrop is, allegedly, a young virgin slain by her overprotective mother suspicious of her daughter’s sexual transgressions. Apparently swimming here renders one very fertile. If it reverses my vasectomy it’ll be a bloody miracle.
The 3rd island is surrounded by deep, clear water and snorkelling, we see sea urchins and sea slugs along with the usual dazzling array of tropical fish. The shoreline is inhabited with hand-sized emerald green crabs, everywhere.
Sadly, even here you don’t have to walk far to discover a dump of plastic water bottles, cans, and crisp packets. Despite the ‘Keep Langkowi Clean ‘signs dotted about the locals haven’t quite got the idea yet, much to the consternation of all the western travellers I have met.
On our 4th and final , uninhabited island, a dubious looking local comes out from the trees, “ Ello-ow-areyoo?Wanna buy a watch,DVD,CD, very cheap”. Was he serious? Yes he was.
The monkeys here are audacious. Used to daily tourist tit-bits they now expect food from everyone. The local boat owners encourage this, good for business, photo opportunities but do not have the long view that it will actually deter customers as the monkeys become more demanding and violent, not to mention upsetting the balance of nature. But ,they are making good money now, so that’s all right. Hmm.
Burnt, knackered, a delicious cold shower followed by a cool fan drying off, then a £2 meal of fresh big prawns, cashews and rice( & a beer).Met Chris for a quickie in the Reggae Bar before returning to my place at The Irish Bar. He adamantly sells no local food, an all-English menu, and Sunday roasts. Most of the regulars here are fat, boozy Brits on a 2 week jolly or like him are moaning ex-pats who are Bernard Manning speak, racist and generally unpleasant. Played pool with the Malay kitchen assistant, who is 34 and earns £30 a month.
Having enjoyed good company for the last few nights I feel lonely again, eating alone and a long way away. Think of Julia Roberts. I always seem to get on with women but wonder if it’s my age. Perhaps I just come over as ‘safe’, non-threatening and sexual attraction has no part in the dialogue. Or, is my condition, the treatment and its effects sapping my confidence?

31st October-STILL October!

Walked the beach and back, settled under a shady palm, read my book, played BG with Peter, then checked my e-mail. It costs about a £ an hour and everyday now I find myself slipping into one of these places>It is a luxury and cheating in a way but nice to have such easy, quick access to family and friends.
I’m getting itchy feet now, maybe time to move on to another paradise.
Evening. A visit to the local street market with Peter, Yoss & Chris, where we buy snacks for pennies. Chicken satay & crab spring rolls.
Back to Reggae Bar where we sit spellbound on the beach, waves softly lapping, and witness a magical red sunset. Peter and Ross brought a half bottle of whisky and half of rum and brandy (£2 each) and with several Tigers in our tanks we enjoy a most sociable evening.

A shy, longhaired, slim beach boy, Zymee, plays amazing guitar. He’s a very good artist too and also flogs boat rides on the beach. Chee, the bar manager, buys me a bottle in return for a song, a very bad one. Followed by Yahoo who was brilliant. They set up a barbecue on the sand by the bar and we ate fresh, big, King prawns.

What a night, and a sad, but fond farewell to Peter and Yoss, a great couple, 2, 3 o’clock?, I don’t know, but it’s up at 8 a.m. tomorrow.

Passing thoughts

English words pop up everywhere amongst the strange Muslim signs. Words like klinic, famili, farmasi, restoran, cash and carry, polis and telefon. The ‘horny long’ bank (one for the ladies?)

A used car-lot, run by ‘Lean Tat’ (would you buy one?)

I have really enjoyed Malaysia. This is now the longest I have ever been away from home and I’m loving it. Could have stayed a few days more.

l November

Chris and I take the 1-hour ferry to Satun, Thailand. Ten of us team up to have a mini-bus to Krabi. He wants 450 each, then comes down to 400 - my God, that’s £60. It dawns upon us that he is talking ‘baht’ not ‘ringet’. So it’s £6 each - phew! not bad for a 5 hour, 300 km ride.

Arrive hot and tired. There are many places to choose from. Chris and I found ‘Area 5l’ a backpacker’s place. I settle for a basic room, fan, shared toilet - 150 b (£2.85), but it’s up 3 flights. Chris finds another place, posher, en suite and pays 500 b (£7.50). After shower, shave, etc I taught Chris to play backgammon, had a couple of beers and a wander. Krabi is a scruffy, busy place, more of a kicking off place, a gateway elsewhere.

Ended up in a restaurant/internet bar. It’s backpacker’s video night so the place is packed for cheap meals and free entertainment. Tonight it’s ‘Spiderman’ (pirate video). It’s in English but has English subtitles too, written with constant misinterpretations causing many a chortle from (the British) backpackers.

Chris is a very earnest, first time backpacker. Made redundant, he let his house and travelled. He has 26 flights, 9 months to travel. In his vast, heavy backpack he has (somewhere) a Malaysian language book and tapes, likewise for Thailand. He has Lonely Planet Books for Malaysia, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, Pacific and South America. Have you seen the size of these books?. He carries sun cream factors 50, 40, 30 and 20, gradually getting through each bottle religiously.

His pack has 4 padlocks, a panic alarm attaching his bag to his body. He keeps UK time on his mobile phone, local time on his watch. He has had injections for everything and he carries a field pharmacy. He has also created his own website and spends half an hour minimum every day keeping the site up to date, complete with photos.

But he’s a lovely bloke, friendly and is doing quite well at backgammon.

Oh yes, he also has a clipboard. He rips the relevant pages from his guidebook wherever he is each day and throws them away as he moves on, thus lightening his load. When he reaches America he’ll dump the backpack and get a suitcase. Compared to my plans and preparations Chris’s are distinctly OTT, or maybe I'm a little underprepared.Probably.


2 November

Played BG with Area 51 owner, never learnt to pronounce his name, and he beat me 4-1 (lucky dice). I booked the next 3 stages of my journey through him. Every body here is a travel agent, all are on commission. Well, for a total of 750baht(a tenner) I have a ferry to Railay, ferry to Phi-Phi,and one to Ko Lanta + a night's stay there.
He drove me to the waterside where the boat/room touts inform me that Railay is very full and there is nothing under 400b a night. Naturally they all just happened to have several rooms at just that price. Furthermore if I don't book now I might not even find anywhere. Another con? Dunno, but I'll chance it. I pay 70 b for a long tail boat to Railay and 3 of us share the 30min journey. It's not an island, but may as well be. It's a headland cut off by impenetrable forest and towering cliffs. As we approach there seems to be little sign of habitation, closer you see the shops, hotels & chalets nestling under the thick canopy of trees.
On this side of the island, the eastern, sunrise side, the beach is silty and fringed with mango swamp and the rocks are inhabited by thousands of crabs. These have one small, normal claw and the other is a giant, bigger than the whole body. They all occupy a piece of rock and make gestures with these huge pincers as if they are saying 'Ok...Come on then...Put yer dooks up!'(mine's bigger than yours)
Stepping off the boat I walked 20m to the first place,Ya-Ya's, and paid 490b for my room. There were rooms at 250 but these were rather pokey and I have a balcony of sorts, though the wiring here is distinctly dodgy.
Dumped my stuff and walked back along the beach, about 100m. The high, steep cliffs are pocked with holes, caves & chasms.
Long hanging stalactites and aerial roots festoon their way down to the base where there is an overhang, high enough for a cave-like walkway which brings you out about 150m on to the west side, the sunset beach. High above is Princess Cave, home of a mythical sea-maiden, Sa Phra Nang, and a hidden freshwater lake.

The beach here is a hedonistic paradise, bronze, thongs, bikinis, and tattoos, especially that ‘de rigueur’ base of the female back ones. Most of the lads seem to sport new age or Maori designs 'au Robbie Williams'. Clothes, trinkets, food, cold drinks are touted all along the beach and the sea is sparkling crystal clear. Long-tails are loading people on & off . After a welcome dip, a baguette, cold coke I just take in the spectacular scenery and the beautiful people.

Looking back to where the overhang spills out on to the beach below the cliffs I observe the newcomers emerging, no one fails to stop and smile and gawk, not quite believing it. At the other end of the beach is a corner around which is another idyllic , white sand beach, Ton Sai. Out to sea there are several weirdly shaped islands and rock formations jutting upwards.

This area has become a mecca for climbers and climbing centres have proliferated with shops, guides, specialised clothing and gear. Development is ongoing, new hotels, rooms, bungalows but not too noticeably as all are under the canopy of trees or higher up the hillside. A millionaire has just completed a new complex, the highest yet, reachable by a long winding concrete path, and it's opening tonight. I, along with everyone else has been handed a free invitation.

Picture this.

Sitting on a rush mat, squeaky white sand, candle lanterns, cold beers & cocktails, about a hundred of us sit, hushed and view the sunset. Forest topped cliffs on the left, to the right a tall ceiling-to floor thundercloud laced with flashes and cracks of shimmering light. Centre stage a swollen sun basking on the horizon, odd shaped islands in relief......okay, yes I've had a few, but what a sight! Then, gasps all round as two flickering dots of light appear and they skitter around the night sky, no straight lines. 'Fireflies!' suggested someone but I swear I saw them come out from behind the tall far-off cloud. Hmmm.

After a clean-up I head for the meeting point where we await the mini-tractor & trailer to take us up the meandering track, which is fringed by subtle lights and newly planted tropical flowers, plants and shrubs and the background music is supplied by insect,gekko, frog, toad and birdsong. Earlier I ate at Ya-Ya's, glass noodles in tamarind sauce with tofu & prawns+chang beer. 170b seemed a little high but it's a captive market I suppose.

Here, at 'Highway' the food is free tonight and the mouth-watering array of exotic hot & cold dishes, fruits and drinks are irresistible in spite of my earlier meal. I dip in and notice that the newly employed staff are also taking advantage of the freebies. A couple of the young waiters are obviously totally shit-faced on ganja. Everyone is having a good time. This place has had the full design treatment. Hardwood decks joined by wooden stairways, platforms with mattresses, food areas, bars, lantern -lit pathways through the lush, tall greenery. A sound system throbs the beat in the main central bar.

Sitting with a gang of Scottish gap-year girls we eat watermelon, pineapple, mango, thinly sliced, sweet bananas cooked in coconut milk, served warm. Where am I ?

There's the odd old git here and there but the majority are 20/early 30 somethings and I am surprised by the groups of young girls, outnumbering the lads, Brits, Scandinavians, Aussies, Kiwis and I am learning that most of the American accents belong, in fact, to Canadians, 75% of which appear to be west coast Vancouver.

After the botched glass & bottle juggling demo from the stoned waiters I headed for home but am lured by the 'Fire dance' signs beckoning me to 'Last Stop' bar. It really is the last stop, nestling beneath the cliffs at the extreme end of the east side. On one side the sea gently laps the wall, lantern-lit long tails bob among the mango swamp. On the other a string of bars necklaced with tiny sparkling lights.

Last stop, I promise myself after a Mekong/Coke(Thai whisky)and Samsong/Coke(Thai Rum){large ones}I am transfixes, mesmerised, by lithe nubile bodies, flash lit, swinging two metre long chains with flaming oil-soaked torches at the business end. They twist, step, gyrate and dance to pounding rave rhythms. The boys, all long dark haired, lithe, muscular, 6-packed, perform similar movement whilst spinning a 2m pole torch lit at each end, tossing it high and catching, perfectly timed.

Drugs and alcohol apart, I was truly entranced.
Evening temperature 28c.

Aside.
I saw many nubile, near-naked women today and yes, I was attracted. I admired and appreciated their beauty but felt no sexual stimulation. Earlier, in my room, I'd noticed the 3 young girls next door, were rubbing soothing lotion onto their sunburnt bare breasts. Feeling pervy I naturally averted my gaze( after a second or two)but was forced to review my current sexual state .Is it age? Or the well documented possible side effects of my radiotherapy treatment?

I also noted earlier that the beach vendors address me as 'Papa'. It is an honest term of respect for 'older' people here but, given my personal doubts, does my manly ego no good.

There are no roads here, just tracks weaving through the maze and I've spotted only 2 trucks which shuttle building materials from boat to shore and rubbish in the opposite direction and 2 mini tractor/trailers for tourists & luggage to the more distant rooms.

3rd November

After a breakfast of mixed fruit, muessli ,yoghurt & coffee(60p)I signed up for a local island hopping snorkelling trip. Our party comprising 4 Brit girls, 2 Kiwi couples, 2 Jap girls et moi, spent 4 hours taking in 4 small islands with far too many photo opportunities.

Whenever we stop off my boat mates crash out to read or sunbathe. Being a bit of a nature boy I cannot resist seeking out the local wildlife and at the end of one beach is a small troupe of monkeys turning over rocks and exploring the pools for shellfish, crabs and fish. Edging slowly towards them I throw the boss-man a piece of pineapple and he nonchalantly washes off the sand. Pushing my luck I move closer and cross the boundary. He bares significantly vicious looking teeth, grunts loudly and moves threateningly towards me. I stand my ground and stare him out and after a few moments he retreats noisily.

Returning from the excursion I feel lonely again so I set up the BG board and within minutes I've hooked an Israeli couple. Israelis love backgammon, it's a national pastime, particularly in the army there.UK 2 Israel 0. A chat reveals that they are wary here and dare not go into Malaysia and even Thailand as they feel instantly recognisable. To me they could be Italian, Spanish or even Arabic.

Evening walk along the track, a bar and a meal, sweet'n sour chicken and a young, blonde, buxom Swedish girl introduces herself and asks if she can sit with me!!!!! Male menopausal fantasies kick in but it takes several deluded minutes for this sad git to realise that I am sitting in the prime viewing position for tonight's video. rap film,’ American Pie 3' but in 5 mins blonde babes who don’t even know I’m there surround me. Oh well. Back to Ya-Ya's and one more game with Sasha & Naomi from New Zealand, keen players but it's UK 2 NZ 1.
Long-Tail boats are the main mode of transport here. About 6m in length their engines, from old Toyotas ,mounted on a pivot at the back of the boat with a 3m prop- shaft which is also the rudder making them difficult to manoeuvre in choppy conditions . They are everywhere.

I had a haircut today, maintaining my No 3, from a charming , older Thai lady, a shampoo, head, neck & ear massage for 100b. Lovely Jubbly.

4th November

Up at 6am, pack, breakfast and 10 of us clamber aboard a long-tail which takes us out to a sleek ferry boat big enough for up to 300. With free coffee & biscuits the 40km, half hour trip seemed excellent value at 200b.Mind you, it only costs 250b for the 1000km trip from Bangkok.
It's still early, not too hot and most are up on deck, sitting, feet dangling over the side and the occasional bow wave tingling salt spray is refreshing and welcome as the sun climbs the cloudless sky.

Everyone, it seems, is locked into their own private contemplations as they gaze out to sea. Sitting next to me a young Aussie recalls his last island boat trip when a school of 100 or so dolphins cavorting, ducking and diving alongside. Everyone rushed to gawk and snap photos with the result that the boat leaned seriously, almost capsizing with people hanging over the edge.

Several people recognise me and ask if I'm feeling okay and whether I enjoyed myself last night. Looking back to yesterday's diary I realise there is no entry for last night. What the hell did I do? It's a mystery - pissed up old git!

I wander around the deck; a young girl is vomiting into a waste-bin. I ask if she's okay and she replies that after last night she is surprised I'm not sick too. The plot thickens.
We arrive at Phi-Phi, in fact two islands Phi-Phi Don and Phi-Phi Le, day visits only to the latter.
As we awkwardly swing our legs over into knee-deep water one rather large lady tumbles arse-over-tit fully dressed and is completely soaked, but she comes up laughing.

Phi-Phi Don, the larger, is a dumbbell-shaped island with scenic hills, awesome cliffs and long beaches, white sand and a thick canopy of tropical trees and plants. The 'handle' in the middle has a long beach either side, the boats land on the sunrise, eastern part, rather like Railay. Development has continued here unchecked, and solitude and scenery would be hard to find. Shops, rooms, stalls, dive shops, climbing shops, restaurants, bars all fight for limited space. Room prices vary from 100-1000 bt depending on the season.

All the cheaper rooms have been taken and I end up with 9 others on a 20 min 'long-tail' ride to Hat Yao (Long Beach) - Phi-Phi Paradise Resort, 80 solid built bungalows from 400-1300 bt.


The manager here, a 70 something, well-spoken Englishman, like a retired headmaster, politely deals with us all and points me to a 400b room, double bed, toilet/shower, fan, with a veranda, 30m from the beach. We are all issued with clean sheets, pillowcases, towels and keys.

I help the large lady regain an upright position and carry her bag up the beach - did I say mine was heavy? This was twice the weight. She confides that her daughter has brought her here for the first time and that maybe 8 pairs of shoes might be a bit much for this trip.

In the bar I read a recent Bangkok Times and note that Richard Harris is dead. I recall seeing him on 'Parkinson' a month ago discussing the effects of 'viagra', the possibility of mistiming its use and walking around with a tent-pole down your trousers. I sympathise but as yet my own supply remains resolutely untested.

As I write this I realise that my writing, my reporting each day is becoming more detailed and for the first time wonder if there's a story here and whether anyone would be at all interested. I feel the need, anyway, to continue and to focus more on each day, having to write requires one to be more observant and interested.

I walk along another perfect beach, then chat to the manager, I was correct, he was headmaster of a public school in Kent, has lived here for 11 years and is just helping out, unpaid and speaks fluent Thai. I'm sure he has an angle but hesitate to comment.

As we chat a young German comes in carrying his girlfriend who has just stepped on a sea urchin, one of those black spiny things. The ex-headmaster is very helpful, calms her down and explains that it is imperative not to attempt to remove the barbed spines, which are deep into the soft part under the big toe. Next they soak the area with limejuice, which, over a few days, will dissolve the stings. Then they beat the area gently with the wide end of a bottle, which tenderises the flesh allowing the acidic juice to penetrate. Painful, but she'll be okay in 3/4 days.

I order a Pad Thai, a traditional dish of noodles, fried prawns, tofu, bean sprouts, spring onions, sprinkled with crushed cashews. Cheap, filling, healthy - 50 b (75p) Laying out the BG I immediately hook an American, Brandon. UK 5 USA 0. Another chap watches and then I play him, a Frenchman, Hercule. UK 2 France 0, not a bad player but one bad move and I swoop with a couple of lucky doubles.

It's low tide so I explore the shallow, rocky shore. The coral is right there, amazing shapes, brains, kidneys, intestines, iridescently coloured. One looks like a curled up snake, which I tentatively poke. It's not a coral but the mouth of a 30 cm clam and it nearly had my finger.
I gently prod one of the spiky black sea urchins, it trembles all over and slowly moves away. I've seen all this on nature programmes but it thrills me just 'to be there'.

Aside.’ Electrics' in most Thai places is dodgy. Wires connecting rooms or chalets are twisted and tangled. English regulations would shut them all down. In Railay my light switch was red hot and it's not unusual to see wires actually glowing. The locals appear unconcerned.

Another Aside. I have noticed that when I am 'thrilled' by some natural wonder/phenomenon I actually experience sexual arousal, a distinctive feeling. Assuming that I am not developing some sort of marine fetish, it is significant for me that there is some potential here. I have attempted masturbation, but with less than a good erection, about 60/70 percent and after half-hearted attempts lose interest anyway. This is dismaying. Thinking back to last year's visit to Thailand I remember that my concerns over difficulties achieving a climax were what spurred me into visiting the doctor in the first place. Sexual dysfunction, waterworks problems are warnings of possible prostate cancer.

I regret coming to this beach. It's a half hour walk via a twisting up and down forest track to the 'town' or a long tail boat around the coast. The only entertainment was a DVD 'The Others' with Nicole Kidman, a dodgy copy on three discs. The second disc started 15 mins before the first one ended and the sub-titles were bad translations. The service here was slow, half-hearted and unsmiling. The quickest reaction was when I walked out, forgetting to pay.

I ordered a Mekong/coke, for which I paid 50 b (75p) in Railay and was outraged at the price of 120 b here . When he brought me a half bottle of Mekong and a can of coke I was more than mollified. As a result I lost my way home and ended up trying to open next door's chalet. The German couple that'd had the bad sea urchin experience were very friendly and understanding. In fact, they cracked open another half Mekong and we downed it neat.

We sat, chatted and watched the 10 or so geckos hunting & chattering on the wall by the outside light. Here is one animal that has benefited from man's need of light and they have adapted to urban and rural conditions alike. A toad the size of my foot landed on said foot with a moist plop causing momentary heebie-jeebies, much to the amusement of my friends.

Discuss the possibility of visiting Phi-Phi Leh, site of De Caprio's film 'The Beach', but I decide against it.

I asked the ex-headmaster today, when the ferry for Ko Lanta left. Instead of just telling me he turned in an exaggerated 'Basil Fawlty' manner, looked at the timetable as if to say 'look you stupid boy, it's written down, clearly, THERE!' (and make sure your Latin prep is in on time!).

5 November

Breakfast, a half-hearted shuffle over from the waitress. Two minutes later another waitress comes over with another breakfast, somebody else's. I am told that we 'Farangs' all look the same to them. Take the jungle path into 'town' and as I pass a Thai massage hut I notice their sign 'If you like soft or hard we can do it!' Hmm. The path gets busier, shop, after bar, after restaurant, I hear 'Roxanne' (Police) and head for it ending up at the ubiquitous Reggae Bar. Bob Marley looks down at me as I sip a cappuccino. 'Hi Bob!' He's been with me all the way. There are other dead heroes, Jimi, Kurt, John, Che and now George. 'Message in a bottle' as I write this seems apt and then......'Walking on the Moon' - some say tomorrow's another day. Giant steps are what you take, walking on the moon.....Keep it up! Keep it up! Keep it up!.......This (Ton Sai Bay) is like a city, a metropolis without traffic. Email shops, phones, jewellery, dive shops, bars, food stalls, and mini-markets. Every other premise is a travel agent, all with special deals. Walked through to Loh Dalum Bay, the smell of Scandinavian roasting babes. Daytime Phi-Phi is everything one would expect of a tropical paradise, all the metaphors, so what happens after dark? Basically, alcoholic annihilation. 'Never have so many bars given so many drinks deals to so few'. One bar offers free vodka/red bull with every drink ordered, another gives 3 for 1 tequila shots all night or the 'traditional' beverage 'The Bucket' full of ice, half bottle of Mekong and 2 cans of red bull. Booze sodden frivolity. I noticed in 'Ferang' magazine - the best thing is that it stays open till dawn, is full of wasted 20 something’s (mostly Swedes) and is so small that you're never far from yours (or someone else's bed) when you finally conk out. Food is cheap and good standard whether you buy from a hotel or food court.

Phi-Phi has natural beauty and you can get away from the tourist beach by hiking inland where there is still plenty of jungle, full of creatures that want to bite you.

Lying on the beach, approached by a Thai chap with a brochure. I pre-empt him and say 'no thanks, no trips today'! He insists that I look at his brochure and there, behold, is a plastic bag full of green stuff. We exchange knowing smiles and the goods with money (300b )

I have heard that some of the beach boys could be plain-clothed police trying to entrap tourists and force up to 50,000b out of them, not to get arrested. I take a chance, find a quiet part of the beach and 'relax'.

Walking towards me is Chris who has just checked in. He has now finished his factor 50 and 40 bottles and is now into 30 (and still white). By now I am browner than I have ever been and my prickly heat rash that has plagued me for years has apparently been overcome.
We play BG. He's improving. We eat baguettes, drink Chang beer, chat, it's good to see him again. I smoke another and , yes, I feel good.

We wander through the maze of streets and meet Damion, an Aussie that Chris has been travelling with for a few days, and eat. Thai creamed beef & rice, a Chang or two.

Feeling exceptionally mellow I nip across the road, on a drug-induced whim, to the tattoo shop, a traditional bamboo artist (proper needles on bamboo sticks, no electricity involved). His mother, brother & sisters and several small children all come out to gawk as he does his work on my left forearm. I have chosen the Chinese character for 'Friend' ('Ohhh Noooo' I imagine my friends saying).Okay, the cannabis, Chang and euphoria might have had something to do with it, but at that moment I was , indeed, a 'friend' of the whole universe and this small memento will always remind me of this wonderful journey.

Said goodbye and headed back to Paradise Pearl.9pm, dead and the town is just kicking in as I pack up once again. Tomorrow I’m off to Ko Lanta, reputedly one of Thailand’s, as yet, most unspoilt islands.

As I write it's Bonfire night back home, the first I have ever missed in 54 years.

6th November

Early long-tail round to the main jetty and I am among the first aboard. Exploring below deck I come to a glass door and as I reach for the handle I notice a bloke on the other side also reaching for the handle. I step back, he steps back so I reach out again, just as he does. There's something familiar about him. He has a panama hat, battered like mine. He even has a similar tattoo. My first fleeting thought was of a grizzled Hannibal Lector then ....it's not glass, it's a mirror and it's me. This all happened in 5 seconds and my brief reverie is broken when 3 young Thai girls burst into giggles. I take a theatrical bow and scuttle, red faced back to the deck.

Reminder. Cut back on the early morning spliffs, Al.

First on the boat means an hour to cast-off. It also means that I'll be last off because my backpack is at the bottom of an ever growing pile of them.

One and a half hours to Ban Sala Dan, the main town & ferry point on the northern tip of the main island, Ko Lanta Yai. There are 52 islands, only 12 of which are inhabited and much of the area has been declared a National Marine Park in the hope that the fragile marine environment will be protected.

As we approach the jetty 100's of people are waiting. Some are at the end of their stay here but most are touts, shouting, hailing and holding placards. My room is already booked and I see a placard bearing the name ' Waterfall Bay ' and a cheer goes up as I approach. I am the last pick-up and we can now get outa there as 60/70 trucks have all parked willy-nilly all over the place. It’s bloody hot and 8 of us are packed into a 4x4 open backed vehicle, 5 up top, me, and a couple of girls inside.

Apparently Ko Lanta has had electricity for only 6 years, a road for 2 and phone lines a year as tourism swiftly usurps the traditional rubber, fruit and cashew plantations as well as the local fishing industry.

I am impressed with the new tarmac road as we steam out of town on our 20km journey to the south of the island. However, after 4/5 km the road has stretches of red dirt and rocky outcrops and it's rutted with potholes up to a metre across and deep. There is no protocol here. One simply finds the fastest, or safest way through the minefield, left or right. Extremely tense and hazardous when meeting or overtaking mopeds, pedestrians or other trucks.

Now we are bouncing down a 1 in 5 hill. At the bottom is a wet dirt quagmire. Next we are negotiating large rocks. This is the most hair-raising ride I've ever had. Our driver did not help. Lim has taken a fancy to one of the young Norwegian babes sitting in the back and in his effort to gain interest from her we narrowly avoided several innocent bystanders. This road would make an ideal advanced army vehicle training course, but after 45 mins we arrive, miraculously unscathed, at Waterfall Bay resort. As we have travelled down the island it has become less commercial and a 'Robinson Crusoe' effect has kicked in
I am shown to a pretty, thatched, wooden bungalow with 2 double beds, hot shower, A/C and it's set in a tended garden of tropical plants & grasses. 200b a night, if there were 4 of us that would be 50p each but I pay the full premium, being alone. I even have my own cat, my own Bent-Tail, lying languid at my door and we bond immediately. She curls up on my lap and her purrs resonate through my lower body.
This place is so conducive to reading, writing, contemplation, idle thought, walking and swimming. At the top & middle of Ko Lanta it's easier to crawl between places but here there are few taxis and moped hire, though possible, is not advisable.

So, here for a while but, no book. There is a motley collection of books in reception, some tatty, crumbling, left by past travellers. I see Jerome K. Jerome...never read '3 Men In A Boat', but this one says 'Tre Mand ie bad', Scandinavian? 'For ikke at tale on hunden'-to say nothing of the dog--oh well..then I see 'Hiassen', another foreign book? No, it's Carl Hiassen, one of my recent favourites, and it's 'Sick Puppy' , so I have my book and the perfect place to read it.

There are boat trips, snorkelling, treks, a huge cave system, but after my boat and truck drive I am shaken, but not stirred. Next-door is a writer of TV and radio plays. He is English but lives in Perth, Australia and he is here to re-write one of his plays as a novel. Several writers come to this very place regularly.

The staff are happy, though slow, friendly and willing to chat away without understanding a word. An Aussie girl , a traveller, is working here temporarily to save some money. She helps out with the customers sorting out any language misunderstandings, though she cannot talk Thai either. She's just got used to their ways and understands, more or less, what they mean and can interpret the menu, each evening, particularly the various fish that may, or may not , appear with the day's catch. She works for a free bed, food and a Thai wage, probably 500b a week and her bonus, I think, is regular attention from Lim, the mad driver and maybe some of the other slim, good looking local staff.
I walk the 1km crescent shaped, tree fringed beach and discover there is only one other place to stay with makeshift wood/bamboo huts, palm thatched and a bar which beckons with the strains of’ Don’t worry...'bout a thing...every little ting's gonna be alright'.another reggae bar but in larval form. The basic accommodation costs 80b a night. Here I eat King Prawns in garlic/black pepper sauce with red & white cabbage, tomato salad, side dishes of sweet'n sour,ginger and chilli. Also a couple of games with an English girl who has also been here for 3 months working & enjoying the locale(& locals)
My chalet, by now, is freezing , due to a very efficient A/C system, so I grab my book and retire to the bar. The book, second time round , is more enjoyable this time. A humorous, ironic and observant writer who rages at the despoilers of the Florida coastline. Will the Thais, I wonder, make the same destructive mistakes here on Klong Chak beach. Already a new resort is under construction, bigger, more robust chalets only 5m apart and more expensive.

Martin, a shy 31 yr old German with basic English, tries to chat but he plays BG well, having learnt from a wily Turk. However, it's UK 5 Germany 2 but we polish off my bottle of Mekong, and his of Southern Comfort(half bottles).

Later, as I am getting drowsily into bed, there is the tiniest knock on my door and the 2-waiter/odd job boys politely & respectfully ask if I have any ganja.

Why is it, wherever I go, whoever I am with, I always seem to be the obvious target for dubious offers or requests? Well anyway I roll them a splif and they disappear, after bows and handshakes, leaving me thinking that I will get good service for the rest of my stay here.

Aside. I broke wind as I walked the beach today. Loudly and long. This is the first time , since my radiotherapy treatment, that I have felt confident enough to let rip freely enough for my damaged sphincter not to cause further embarrassment.

7th November

Filling full fruit breakfast & an early start, heading up the Waterfall Walk, a gently inclined trek up through the forest alongside a meandering stream. I notice coconut-sized dollops of yellow-brown fibrous material and the odour reminds me of childhood visits to the circus. Elephant Poo, and then I see one through the trees, shifting timber. These elephants must be among the few in Thailand who still do real work, most of them being now involved with the tourist industry.

The ankle/knee deep stream meanders, babbling over shingle and boulder and reminds me of the drive here bearing a remarkable resemblance to the road and probably more easily navigable. There is no plastic rubbish but piles of wood, branches and the inevitable pile of smouldering coconut shells are in evidence. I asked an old lady how much further to the top. Her '45 minutes.....but for you Papa. maybe 1 hour' with a twinkle in her eye and a cheeky grin, was priceless. Actually reaching the waterfall or more accurately, water trickle, was an anti-climax. The little stream, wet season, is more of a raging torrent and the waterfall is more spectacular and not comparable to a shower you'd complain about.

As I come back down I meet Martin at a bar/shop. The girl there brings out her English book and insists upon me helping with her pronunciation and translation .I picked up a few Thai words too, all forgotten as I write. A cheeky one-armed little monkey further roughed up my sad panama hat as well as raiding my plate of nibbles. I meet Martin on the way back.

Martin is a bricklayer, at the moment out of work because the eastern bloc workers are flooding in and undercutting his rates. He, in turn, is planning to go to Switzerland to undercut theirs. We play BG , laze on the beach in hammocks and I drift asleep with thoughts of home, family and friends.
And I wake to the most beautiful sunset. A camera job-- reckon it'll be the best photo of the trip so far. I've used up 4 films already, had a couple developed in Malaysia, not brilliant prints and this could be a problem as time goes on, so many photo-ops.

Over food & beer I chatted to the owner who also plays guitar and is impressed with my playing, as strange as it might seem. But he has a proposition. He has built a large new bar area, thatched, for music and entertainment and would like me to run it for a free room, food, drink and a percentage of profits. What a thought!

I could do this, but I've only been away a month and with 5 to go anything could happen. Still it's a possible future option

Got chatting to a Spanish lady, Romi and her man, Christian, a German, both about 40. Romi lights up a splif and we smoke, talk politics, the euro, poverty etc. Romi is a fiery, passionate woman and Christian has piercing blue eyes, a wispy beard and all the visual makings of an SS officer but he has a wicked sense of humour and after a bottle of Mekong we get on 'champion'

8th November

The 3 of us share an early breakfast and a taxi into town, in the truck, another fairground ride of a trip. Rambled around & ended up having a bite and a beer on a stilted bar jutting into the sea and having a laugh watching the antics around today's ferryboat.

Apparently the road will not be completed properly for 5 years and in that time the place will become another packed popular tourist destination. Hopefully the 'national park' tag will protect it from the worst excesses.

After lunch at Ban Sala Dan, e-mails, browsing then the dreaded journey back but this time I'm on top of the pick-up, up back, and we arrive bone-shaken and covered in a thick film of red dust.

Tonight we chatted to a young Dutchman and he conversed in all 3 languages, fluently. He also knows French & Italian. I also sat with 5 Germans and they all spoke in English, even to each other, for my sake. I felt humbled, how lazy we English are becoming as our language becomes universal.

A late one, several Samsung/cokes before bed at 2am.

9th November

This morning I walked around to the last beach, southwards, cunningly called Last Beach. Almost identical to my beach but even quieter. The one bar is festooned with old driftwood, shells and rocks. Drinking a Chang I meet the 2 western helpers, backpacking girls who have been here for 3 months. It's weird because they both talk now in stilted English, as if they themselves were foreign.’ Where from?' they ask me,’ Where you go tomorrow?', 'I from Australia'. They aren't even aware of this. The Thais here know so little English that they have to converse in this way. They are both a little stir-crazy and yearn for families, friends and civilisation. Maybe my possible job here can wait a little longer.

I noticed, too, the sound of chainsaws, another 100 huts/chalets/bungalows are going up. I’ve never seen more than 10 or so people on either of these 2 postcard beaches but where will it end--another Phi-Phi in 5 years? We all want our own private paradise and when we do find it we resent others who are only looking for the same thing.

Back at my room 'Stumpy' is there, as always, a stroke, a purr. Showered, read, snoozed and watched another idyllic sunset before meeting Romi & Christian. They had earlier 'scored' so another spliffy night was guaranteed. I imagine Romi performing a passionate flamenco, an unlikely but fun couple, deep too. Two young Kiwis joined in the conviviality and spoke lovingly of their country, all New Zealanders do and, like the west coast Canadians, are keen travellers. Something to do maybe, with being on the fringes of the world map.


To bed, to read, to think. I have been on my own for 14 months, after a marriage of 30 years and I am experiencing all this alone, apart from passing friendships. Will I ever have another partner, do I want one? The viagra works, apparently, But I don't feel moved enough to find a willing accomplice and wonder whether I'd have the stamina after the smoking & drinking and lack of exercise. I do miss my twice-weekly table tennis sessions with Mick. You see...I'm musing now about bloody table tennis. What about some sweaty sex!


10th November

Still not the full month gone yet and the 5 months ahead seems a long long time. It is only the diary that keeps track of time, the month, the day and it's a Sunday.

A last breakfast with Romi & Christian, more fond goodbyes and promises to e-mail, keep in touch. Back to the ferry, a full truckload but this time I use my seniority to bag a softer, inside seat for one more memorable journey.
Ferry. 1pm. Two hour trip back to Krabi, seems ages since I was last there. As usual the sun blazes down intensely so I go below deck and meet Sasha, a 19yr old slim, English smasher.She plays a good game of BG ,2-2.
As we disembark a tropical downpour forces us into the nearest bar and again I meet up with Sasha and her boyfriend, Sam. Following a brief discussion we share a taxi to Ao Nang, a half hour drive west from Krabi. Lugging our packs for an hour before we found 2 adjacent rooms for 150b (just over 2 quid). It's down a muddy lane, next to a noisy building site( high rise hotel) but they're clean, toilet/shower, fan and nice beds. Excellent value.

After showers, splifs (yes--they do it too)and BG we explore this busy, developing town. New roads, hotels, and full of bars, shops and eateries. We found the 'pulse' off the main road, on the front. Here were stalls, vendors, touts and , of course, tarts." 'ellowelcome! 'owareyou !'whereyoofom !"

We find a bar, good music and a pool table, and a gorgeous creature, thong riding high above her low-slung jeans, small breasts (pads?) and small , tight bum. Yes! A lady boy, or Katoy, as they are called here. Outrageously camp and naughty he/she gave me a firm back massage as I sat on my barstool getting to know Sam & Sasha. Being with them probably saved me from a lot of hassle tonight. They , teasingly , addressed me as 'Papa' and I think the tarts really thought I was a father with my two kids.

An Aussie said he'd just arrived from Ko Samui across in the Gulf of Thailand and it's raining non-stop, a late monsoon. I hope it ends soon as my son, Sam, is meeting me there in a couple of weeks.

My room is clean, comfortable but my bed is rock hard.

Monday 11th November

This is my 13th bed since leaving England.

Ao Nang boasts the longest beach in the area, a long strip,backed by trees and the road running parallel with the usual array of shops, businesses, bars etc. There appears to be many European, fat and middle-aged tourists, quite a few of which are German, here on a fortnight package.

Looking seawards, on the left end of the beach are the cliffs, and the beach is relatively quiet and unspoilt though there are several massage stalls and bars. Touts sell warm, fresh doughnuts, fresh fruit, clothes, and paintings.
'You like massage Papa...I do you good...special price today...not much business".

Sam & Sasha did not arise this morning. Last night, feeling the need for a decent sleep they bought Valium tablets, over the counter, 15p each, and popped 2/3 each last night and, understandably, crashed. Young people seem to just do that nowadays.

Thailand-the Land of Smiles. A word on culture and social behaviour, which can be complex.

Never touch anyone on the head to show affection or friendship. This is very impolite.

Don't put your feet up on a table or while sitting don't point your feet towards Thai people.

When giving something don't throw or toss it. It is customary to give hand to hand.

Don't walk across somebody as they sit on the ground, even just their legs. Always ask before passing, especially with older people.

It is rude to chew gum when talking.

Take shoes off on entering a Thai house and often, a shop.

Cover legs and shoulders when entering a temple, especially if you are female and never touch a monk.

On language they delight in any attempt to speak Thai.

Sawadee Krap--Hello (if female you say Sawadee Ka)
Kop kun krap--Thank you (Kop kun ka )
Kor tot krap (ka)--Sorry
Pop gan mai--See you later
Chue...My name is

This is the phonetic alphabet-their actual script is squiggly and totally alien.

Many word meanings also depend on tone and if this is incorrect you could be saying something totally different. Listening to Thais talking to each other is delightfully singsong.

A cheeseburger & Chang made a nice change from my usual choice of rice or noodle and I ambled down to the grand opening of the'75, 000,000 Year Bar', a Hawaiian night. Sam & Sasha are still out for the count.

A free punch glass to start followed by half price drinks all night. The place appears to be full of incongruent Germans, bedecked with flower garlands. The entertainment was provided by a 40-something Thai guy wearing a loud, brown & white checked shirt, bootlace tie and cowboy hat singing Beatles, Eagles, Sinatra--he did it his way. To ensure slick continuation of the music whenever an instrumental break came along he stopped playing his guitar to look for the next backing tape but the music & guitar accompaniment carried on mysteriously.
After several middle-of-the-road numbers the German audience started to go wild ie.they started tapping their feet, or a finger on the table. What a party!

Buggered off to last night's bar where Zoy, the katoy, and I had an interesting discussion on the 'literal' ins and outs of being a ladyboy. He/she felt that Zoy might not be a suitable name. I was proud to rename her Lola, most apt I thought.

On my way home I met two brummie girls who had just arrived from Ko Samui where, apparently, it is still raining.

Back in my room I count 7 geckoes on my toilet wall and outside the muddy puddles have become the 'downtown' scene of several dozen vocal frogs. Sam and Sasha are still asleep!

Tuesday 12 November

A good sleep in spite of the early morning noise from the building site next door. Coffee in town and wait for a songthaew (I think), pronounced Songtow - a long- wheelbase, covered truck with seats for 5 or 6 either side facing each other. You walk on from the rear; hop on and off, wherever.

The road and pavement are under reconstruction and bricklayers, labourers, as many women as men are at work. There are no young women, they all seem to be 40/50 plus.

I am heading for Krabi again, maybe 2 nights there and then northwards, cross country to the ferry for Ko Samui, fingers crossed for good weather.

Back again to Area 51 (special price for you - regular customer). BG again with the owner who beat me 2 nil.
Krabi is a typical transit town with a continuous stream of backpackers and tourists heading north or south to the islands. Cheap rooms, travel agents, Internet shops, market stalls and bars, it's a bustly, grimy place but has a great feel. Cheap clothes are on sale everywhere and I bought a strong pair of 'Columbia' multi-pocketed and zipped shorts for 350b (after bartering). I need to mention here that the last cheap pair I purchased in Penang has disintegrated but these seem better value, as the originals would cost over 50 quid in the UK.

You can set up your own business here with just a plastic table and chair and a mobile phone. You rent it to passers-by with pennies for profit. Using one of these could cost you a mere 20b per minute.

Inevitably shop owners seem to be asleep at the rear of the shop or watching TV, the latest local soap. In one shop I met 2 Germans, also here because of the dreadful weather in Ko Samui. Oh dear.

The Hollywood Bar entices my nose. Beef in garlic/pepper sauce with rice 50b. There's a Brit at the bar. He's from Plymouth but has lived in Holland for 20 years. Coming here for a holiday he fell in love with a young Thai girl, has been sending her gifts and copious amounts of money and now he's back and has heard that she is on the game and that he is not the only mug. She works behind the bar and is making 'what a mug?' looks at me and winking when he is not looking. He becomes drunk, bad vibes, and I move swiftly on towards the ferry area, which is now transformed, into a night food market. All the locals are here, large families, the ubiquitous white plastic furniture is in evidence and a huge selection of breads, cakes, sweets, fruits, exotic dishes are on display. I am assailed by smells, sights and sounds and it all costs diddly.

Back to Area 51 and there's a loud, live band playing next door. The owner, a 40 yr old sexy, skin headed lady, with a Lauren Bacall voice sings with the band, very nice.

I fall under her spell and of course end up doing karaoke with an all-Thai audience. 'Streets of London', 'Green green grass of home', 'My way' and 'Knocking on heaven's door'. During the last song I glance across and see my reflection in the large mirror. Despite the rapturous applause I only see a sad old git.

Recovering outside and warming up after the A/C controlled coolness I see 2 Thai kids, a boy and a girl aged between 4 and 6 and they are trying to play badminton in the road as cars, trucks and mopeds speed by within inches of them. Their father arrives on his moped with a 2 yr old on pillion. Most people obviously love their children, but the Thais really dote upon them, but it gives me the heebie-jeebies to see this apparent lack of concern. Daytime traffic pace is fairly sedate, maybe 30 kph, but the site of mopeds passing, with 3, sometimes 4 passengers, without crash helmets is horrifying. I once saw 6 on a scooter - Mum, Dad, 2 young children, a baby and a dog on board.

Checked up on my emails, an almost daily ritual now. My son Ben has been enquiring of several cancer charities and one of them has taken my article on prostate cancer, my personal experiences. I really hope it helps a few men with their own decisions over treatment.

Back to the 'Rock Bar' where the very sexy owner wants me to stay until 1 am and duet with her. I feel strangely intimidated and, suffering a serious lack of confidence, I retire.

Wednesday 13 November

I slept all night without getting up to pee, the first time for 6 months or so. Can things be improving? Breakfast and BG with the owner who beats me again, bastard! Songthaew, 20b (30p) for the 20 km drive to Ao Nang where I lay, read, sunbathed, swam, all day.

Profit margins here are so much lower than at home. Bars here buy their Mekong probably for 100b and sell for maybe 120b, a profit of 30p max. In England the selling price would be at least double the selling price. Food too is so cheap and the difference between the lowly street stall prices and the posher restaurants is not what you would expect. Eating at street stalls is 'de rigueur' and the choice is amazing. If you bought your own food and cooked for yourself a fiver a week would be more than adequate.
'Papa! Papa!’ It’s Sam & Sasha , taking the mick, bastards! But it's great to see them again, refreshed after their drug-induced rest. Spent the afternoon with them playing Frisbee & football with some local boys. Knackered, too many cheap fags. I started the trip rolling my own but lost my rizla rolling machine and loose tobacco is hard to come by and at 50p for 20 I've ended up buying a pack a day. The tobacco companies have created plenty of addicts here to replace all those dying daily in the west.

I also met Martin, the quiet German from Ko Lanta. He is making his way overland to Singapore, stopping off at all the places I’ve been to, so I gave him some handy hints, accommodation etc.

Area 51, the owner, Oat, invited me to a small family/friends barbecue outside on the street. There's a freestanding bucket-sized, metal pot surrounded by bricks. On top of this is a sort of upside-down colander. Slivers of raw meat and fish are spread out on top and the burning charcoal heat slowly cooks the food, with the juices mixing and collecting in the depression around the edge. Chives, beans and herbs simmer in the juices and marinade the meats. Delicious. A simple idea I've not seen anywhere.

Rendel, a young, Dutch boy of 19 also joins us. He is a little like Leonardo de Capria and is, of course multi-lingual, and is travelling Asia on his gap year. Even his Thai language impresses Oat. A lovely BG, guitar playing evening, mellow, friendly but Oat invites us both to 'a night on the town'. Rendel & I go along, half-heartedly,so as not to insult Oat's gesture.

So far, in Krabi, I have seen little evidence of the seamier side, until now when Oat takes us to a 'special' bar, which has no spurious outward signs of debauchment, apart from blacked out windows and loud music and 3 young girls sat outside.
Inside there are more girls who each, in turn, attempt to ply their wares. Neither Rendel nor I am really interested, but he wants to improve his grasp of Thai and chats to the girls, one of which asks if he would like to buy her a drink. She orders a small shot-glass of a colourless liquid, probably water or soda with a little dash of weak spirit or wine.

He buys a beer for himself and me and then the bill arrives - 750b (5 nights hostel accommodation!). We have been ripped off. Rendel is devastated as he is on a fairly strict daily allowance. I gave him 400b to help out.

Oat cannot understand our attitude that we are not happy and we return home.

Thursday 14 November (1 month away)

Bargaining.
A national sport in Thailand, like most 3rd World countries, but it helps to remember that they're not all out to get you or rip you off. Bargaining should be fun, not stressful, but be aware that they are the experts.

If prices are fixed, like food, it is not acceptable to haggle and you'll only lose face if you try.

Don't buy on impulse, spend time asking around and you might get some idea of the correct, or at least, the average price. In the busier places, especially if you are new in town (i.e. If you are still white or pale) it is my experience that the 1st price they give you is often 3 or 4 times the actual value and it might seem reasonable compared to prices at home. Mind you; whatever the price you settle at you always feel you've been done and could have come down lower. If you are not happy with a 'final' price just say' no thanks' and walk away. If you hear the patter of feet behind, you can be sure that the price has come down and if they don't, at least you'll have a guide price for your next engagement.

Finally, don't get carried away. We relatively rich farangs look idiotic when haggling to absurd lengths over pennies.

Oat takes me to Krabi bus station for the 3-hour journey to the Ko Samui ferry.

A journey not without its fair share of bumps. I doze & imagine the rain over Ko Samui and waking up, discover that I am actually being rained upon. The A/C unit above has been leaking profusely and I am drenched. When we stop to drop some people off I take my problem to the driver, who has no English at all, but he replies with a gesture that implies wholehearted agreement with my plight and at the same time congratulating me on my remarkable powers of observation.

As we drive north towards the gulf the rain falls ever harder. The sight and sound of running water always makes subliminal demands on my troubled bladder, but fortunately we are only 10 minutes from Surithani and my urges are satisfied.

But, this is not the ferry terminal, just a staging point where we change bus. Here touts, pushing rooms on Ko Samui, approach us all. I book a room at 'Lamai Chalet' on Lamai Beach on the southeast tip of the island--150b (2-20)

The big, old, rusty lumbering ferry arrives and buses, coaches, trucks, cars and a 100 or so foot passengers, travellers and locals pile aboard.

Across the sea immense clouds tower over Ko Samui.

I chat to 2 girls and they point this silly old, disorientated git in the other direction and there is Ko Samui-cloudless.

The usual hussle-bussle madness at the ferry side and I catch a songtheaw to Lamai Chalet. It's right by the beach, various terraces of huts ranging from 150-800b per night. The top ones are modern, stone-built, marble floors, TV and A/C, while mine at 150b, is a semi-detached wooden hut, small balcony, bed and toilet/cold shower. The flush is a pot and my sink runs straight out onto the floor and out through a hole in the wall. Probably these were the very first rooms here about 10 years ago. It has 2 resident toads, cockroaches, several geckos and a small-shared balcony with bamboo table and chair. I like it.
If I'd been prepared to pay a month in advance it would have been 100b a night (45quid the month). And there's a pool, thatched bar & lounging areas, and a chef. Closest to the beach is a raised platform, thatched with 3 resident (young, female) masseuses.

Ko Samui has become one of the world's playgrounds. Quote from the recent issue of 'Farang', a popular magazine among travellers:"As the reputation grows among the global world massif the clubs and parties are evolving to accommodate the more discerning punter, not just the bangle’s beads posse that was more in evidence ten years ago"

Rocky Bay beach, just north of Chaweng on the main east coast, hosts 3 huge parties a month.’ Ritual' at the start of the month, 'Black Moon’ (i.e. no moon) in the middle and 'Freedom Beat' a week before the infamous 'Full Moon'.

Most of the revelry, the partying, the noise, and the tarts can all be found, to excess in Chaweng. 'Soundshaft', 'Green Mango’ and 'Full Circle' are the biggest, brashest clubs during my stay and world class DJ's perform to crowds up to 2000.I stayed here twice before.

Lamai, a 15 min drive down & round the SE tip from Chaweng, is a less full-on version, but is fast catching up. The main street runs parallel to the beach about 50 m away and all the usual shops, bars, restaurants, stalls are here. It too has its clubs,'Y2K','Fusion','The Bauhaus' the biggest and the latter is a vast sprawling open complex of bars, TV screens, food areas, a cinema and dance hall, compete with foam machines, lasers and willing ladies.

As night falls in Lamai the volume, the lights and the business rise. Ladyboys, live bands, loud sound systems materialise and 'ellowelcomeowareyou's' assail you. Fat, ugly old gits walk arm in arm with slim, short, long dark haired girls of teenage-looking age, but this is deceptive as I find that most of them (the girls) are usually early 20's and well versed in experience and knowledge of the male condition.

I am reminded of the lady who fell fully clad into the water on Phi-Phi. She described the phenomenon 'Children with Children'.

These men couldn't 'pull' at home but here they can revel in their delusions. Good luck to them-but is it just tawdry and sad?

I am tempted too, even just to discover that I am up to the job. What I really want is someone who really wants me, not just my money--now there's a laugh--I haven't got any!

Sitting, beer and watching day become night. Songtheaws with blaring sound systems pass slowly by, announcing parties, Thai kickboxing, bands, foam nights. Mopeds putter by in their dozens, rich backpackers on gleaming Royal Enfields, tarts a-pillion, hand carts bearing fruits, satays, fried bugs and drinks. And the tarts, often 3-up on a moped, are going to work at their noisy bars.

When I was here 5 years ago the popular games were always Jenga and Connect 4. Simple ploys to entice the boys in for a drink and very friendly chat though if the girl has poor English the game fills the language gap admirably enough for the magic to develop.

This time, however, I discover that BG has swept the island and every girl I play is an expert. Thaïs love games.

Friday 15th November

The island is covered thickly with coconut palms--an observation--nothing else to say on that.

Songtheaw to Chaweng, where I have stayed twice before, and strolled the beautiful beach, white sand, warm waters and loads of bronzed totty.

I visited 'Tip Bar'. It was one of my regular haunts when I was here for 10 days last year, playing pool, Connect 4 and Jenga with 3 friendly barmaids (I’m trying not to call them tarts) and even went round to their place for a meal. Four girls shared a 3 small-roomed concrete floored box. One room was kept 'spare' should any of them bring a punter home (it had a bed), another was occupied by the bar owner's wastrel brother and the 3rd was the kitchen, washroom, dining room and bedroom of the other 3 girls (or 4 on a no-customer night). I sat on the floor with them to eat a lovely little wok concoction, watching a cat eat a just caught lizard, noticing the long line of big ants march across the wall and listening to the girls jabber away in their sing-song accounts of their day's business.

They receive no money to work in the bar, just their meagre accommodation. If they pull a willing customer they are allowed to leave the bar, but it is customary for the lucky client to pay the bar (owner) 200b for her absence. It is then up to the girl to negotiate her fee for a half hour, or for a whole night, depending on how hard up she is or how desperate he is. If these girls see someone they really fancy, and are satisfied with the day's fare so far they seem quite happy sometimes to give a freebie, maybe considering it an investment for future business. What they all prefer is for 1 rich, good looking bloke to have them for a week or so, paying for meals, trips, hotel, clothes etc--a sort of holiday for them, a week of treats and relaxation. In some bars the girls least likely to attract men & money might be on a commission, a small % of any drinks they sell.

For a quickie the girls accept 500b, less if desperate, but the asking price for a night is around 1000b, negotiable.

My 3 old friends, Ami, Po and Boo would love to see the snaps I took of them last year bur it's disappointing that only Boo is still there with a batch of new, even younger girls. Ami and Po have both gone home, up in Chang Mai, in the north, to have their babies fathered by a German and a Brit. Perhaps the girls believed the promises.

Boo is wearing a t-shirt, a present from the German guy and the words emblazoned on it seem to sum it up perfectly-"FUCK & FORGET”; indeed, a fuck for a buck and a buck for a fuck, but there's always a loser.

I also recall, vividly, that it was my experience with Ami that first made me aware that something was wrong. I had found it difficult to achieve a climax, in spite of her lithe, 26yr old charms and it was then that I resolved to see my doctor, and thus the prostate cancer was detected.

30b, motorbike taxi back to Lamai Chalet, swim in the sea, so warm and in the pool, cool. Chatted to a young French couple who are on their way back to Florida to work in the French quarter in Epcot. An English girl in the pool compares her new 'friend' tattoo with mine and there is no resemblance. Mine, translated, says 'stupid old git', well it might do for all I know.

Back to my little veranda to read "Dead Famous’ by Ben Elton, an amusing read and a good mystery based on 'Big Brother', as Minah birds, squirrels and huge butterflies skitter and chat around me. Another swim to cool down and I flop on the sand to sleep. I am awakened by a stinging sensation on my leg and discover that I am lying directly in the path of a local ant colony, flea-sized and their excavations on my flesh prove formidable.

Had a lovely meal here, spicy chicken, salad & rice, expensive at75p relatively, but still cheap. Today's (pirated) video, 'Proof of Life with Russel Crowe & Meg Ryan fails to hold my attention and I meet 2 likely lads from Stoke, Ryan and Jamie, aged about 23/24 and travelling for as long as they can, for the 1st time. They talk me into a 3-up moped drive into Lamai, about 1/2 km away. It's Friday. It's Foam Party night at The Bauhaus.

All the young backpackers are here and all the tarts too. At midnight they will all be cavorting drunkenly in 5 ft of foam. Sadly I am just wishing I'd worn my dirty clothes for a free wash.

I left Jamie & Ryan after some time on the pool tables and nipped down to 'A Cut Above' bar where I am besieged by tarts, after my money and favour, but I stick to BG where it's UK3 Thai tart 0.Just up the road a few yards to Lamai Cabaret and I am reminded again that here any stunning girl taller than me and wearing a skirt is a bloke. The real girls are all short, 5ft2,and wearing shorts or jeans with a t-shirt.

I recognise 2 from last year who starred in the main Katoy place, 'Christies’ in Chaweng. One is still doing her great Tina Turner impression and the other, Lisa is one of the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen, and has wonderful breasts. If you see breasts on show anywhere here it's bound to be male. Nudity, or topless, is frowned upon here and the girls seem remarkably coy about it.
There's a lady/boy on our staff at Lamai Chalet. Just embarking on his chosen path he still has his deep voice, breast pads and an obvious wig, and 5 o'clock shadow. So obviously male yet the Thais seem to accept and even respect them, with kindly humour too. I have many offers from both genders as I walk home. Never having had the slightest inclination to sail in Poo Bay I nevertheless still feel untempted to join the sad, old gits who are here for the girls.

Anyway, a thoroughly interesting and enjoyable night out was had.

Saturday 16th November

At breakfast this morning, watching BBC 24 Hours, I noticed the viviparium on the desk. A large glass tank with a central, vertical log, about 45cms high. On the top are 3 bright green, intercoiled snakes, each about a metre long. At the base of the log sit 3 distinctly unhappy-looking frogs, the main menu items, not the most alluring scenario over breakfast.
Lamai beach is about 3/4 km long, a narrow strip of white sand, palm and bar fringed and I walk the 2km from Lamai Chalet to the central part near 'town'. I pass 4 people in the water, 2 sunbathers and a jogger but it's only 9am and the day doesn't really begin until midday.

I met Ryan who struck lucky at the foam party last night and brought his girl home only to realise that she is one of the masseuses here. Naturally the whole staff now know of his prowess. Did it cost him anything? All he paid out was the 20b for the taxi home so he feels obliged now to book her services on the massage table for 200b today.

I hired my own moped for 150 b today (2-20). Petrol is 30p a litre. I ride into Chaweng and again am amazed at the sheer number & array of vendors, touts, stalls and bars etc. After 3 hours observation of the general hullabaloo I drive back to The Bauhaus with its 7 bars, giant screens showing, live, Arsenal v Spurs and Chelsea v Middlesborough. Boxing and rugby are also on but the Brit football fans are all here with their football shirts, beers in hand and the girls have taken 2nd place, but the bars, pool tables, disco noise and many girls all beckon.

Later, as the disco took over (football finished) a charismatic, tall, slim bloke with a No 2 silver grey haircut impressed me, 6inch braided pigtail, dressed in black. He looked good as he danced with 2 beautiful Thai girls. Strange, but if the likes of Sting or Jagger behave like this it's acceptable, 'ok', but if a bloke of the same age, but fat, beer-bellied and ugly carries on in this way we judge it to be tawdry, disgusting or sad.

Over at Lamai Cabaret there are a couple of dubious looking women and the lovely Lisa. I would challenge any man not to be attracted to her. She remembers me from last year, and particularly she remembers my companion, Paul, who she took rather a shine to, and he to her! I am not attracted to Lisa, but I am in awe, especially when she confided that she still has a willy!

Sunday 17th November

Delicious lie-in until 11am then down for breakfast with Sparky and Lar, two likeable Irish chancers who came out here on holiday last year and ended up leasing their own bar called 'Dirty Nelly's', a magnet for all the Irish travellers and a good proportion of English, too. Not making a fortune but having a ball, committing the fatal sin of being stoned & drunk almost every night in their own bar. They rent a room each here for 50 quid a month, hoping to move soon into their own rented house. Irish Peter, from Dublin, is also there at breakfast with Jamie & Ryan. He is 25; a bleached blond computer wiz & skateboarder on a slow course back home from Perth in Oz and he helped me send a photo e-mail. A foin oirish brogue and a ready smile that impresses all the girls.

After breakfast I decide to keep the moped for another day, cheaper than a taxi and still with a nearly full tank, but more dangerous and a painfully obvious observation. It is said that more tourists die on the roads of Ko Samui than in any other world destination. Judging by the many leg & arm plaster casts, multi-scabbed bodies and crutches I can well believe it.
Took a half hour ride up to the waterfalls where there is a zoo, of sorts, with crocodiles, elephants, gibbons, bears and monkeys, one of which unzipped & emptied all my pockets. Afterwards I had a shave, a shower and headed back into Chaweng.
I made the serious error of changing gear down from 3rd to 2nd, going too fast as I hit a sandy bend and skidding straight across the road, coming off in the process. I was so lucky as there were no other vehicles around at that moment. I re-started the bike and nonchalantly set off again, smiling at several concerned pedestrians, a typical 'I'm in control' face-saving gesture.

As I headed on down Chaweng main street I see blood gushing from my severely lacerated and scraped arm so I stopped at a Green Cross shop where a beautiful, young Thai nurse spent over an hour cleaning and dressing my wounds. She charged me 40b (60p) and was so pleased when I paid her 50b. I was lucky not to be a statistic.

Driving on, slowly, to the centre of Chaweng, just by 'Green Mango' where there are dozens of blaring bars, the tart army out in force.

I met Kai at 'Blessing Bar’ where she still works. I met her last year. She is 40, full figured and has a radiant white toothed, big smile and her BG is as good as last year. Drinking several Singa beers we played 19 games, serious stuff and the final score was 10-9 to me. I bought her a glass of something innocuous, which cost 100b. This is how she gets paid, commission on drinks sold and I'm not sure whether she is in 'the business', making no demands or suggestions to me, but this bar is full of many younger, extremely nubile girls who do very well at their chosen profession.

They are not all just out for money. Jamie, Ryan & Peter have never paid. They always refuse but the girls go with them anyway (if there is no other business) and if they can get cash in other ways, meals, drinks, trips out or clothes they seem just as happy. I don't think this would apply to old gits though.

I am attracted to Kai though, not only because of the BG but because she is older, not so in-your-face, not so provocatively dressed and seemingly not a tart.

Later I looked in on 'Green Mango', a huge club, 8 bars, giant multi-screens, pool tables and a dance floor big enough for 1000 or so. This is where many an unsuspecting, drunk tourist falls prey to the tall, slim, sensationally dressed lady/boys with many a rude shock at the seminal moment.

A slow, careful drive back to Lamai, to Dirty Nelly's and a game of pool with Lar's young brother from Wicklow, Beating him with embarrassing ease I mention that he has been here for 3 days and I have not yet seen him sober. "Well...Oim fuckin Oirish..yeh!". Yes indeed.

Monday 18th November

Drove into Lamai and had a tart, of the fruit kind, with a cappuccino and just sat watching the street life. I was recognised by several locals, tarts & touts, a couple of whom came & sat with me for a chat. The lovely Lisa passed by on her moped, smiling, waving.

Last year I met a nice Dutch bloke, 40/45, who, with his friend, was negotiating a 3 year lease for a beach bar here, so I walked down to the beach and there he was in the newly appointed 'The Wall' bar, where you can relax in a soft, rustic beach chair, have a drink, massage, eat and play BG. He beat me convincingly 2-1 and passed me on to Boom, a slim, knowing, petite gorgeous Thai girl who also won 3-0, but it was pure pleasure for me. I felt like Steve Mcqueen in'Thomas Crown Affair'--that chess game with Fay Dunaway---in your dreams Al.

Bought, wrote and sent my weekly batch of postcards, e-mailed then returned the moped, noticing to my horror that there was a visible crack in the mudguard. Thankfully it went unnoticed, but I noted that most of the bikes were similarly affected.

BG and a chat with the lads, meeting Gary, a chef here in Lamai. He came here on holiday in 1989 and stayed. He's an ardent spliffer, is drunk by lunchtime, looks like an old hippy, has a live-in Thai girlfriend and seems content, though a little lost.

There's a young pair of Kiwi lads in the hut opposite and I spent an hour swapping songs on the guitar, which inevitably means that I end up playing 'Streets of London'. To my amazement they are the first people I've ever met who have never heard of it. 'Lucky Buggers! ' I hear several of my friends back home saying. I play with panache.

Taking it easy tonight as tomorrow. I'm going over to the notorious Full Moon party on Ko Pha Ngan. I've paid 4-50 for a minibus ride to Bo Phut on the north side of the island and a hi-speed ferry across to the party island 30 minutes away. The price includes the return journey at4,5,6 or 8am next day. I could stay a night or two there but am warned that it is not a safe time because of possible thievery, lunacy and druggery, not to mention the inflated prices for rooms at this time.

Watched 'We were Soldiers' with Mel Gibson at The Bauhaus, lying on a floor mat & cushion, supping fresh fruit juice and strolled back the beach way to Lamai Chalet where I played a one-sided BG with Gary, the chef, who was too drunk to see the dice.

Heading back to my hut for an early bed, geckos and frogs singing, on a balmy warm night I hear some lovely mellow guitar playing and I meet Duggie, an Australian ex-rock guitarist, my age. He played superbly; a real laid back, soft touch style. 'G'day mate! Fancy a smoke?'
Shame not to. Perfect. Nipped back to fetch my bottle of Mekong. One of the Thai chefs joined us to play, then more of the staff who all live on site in tiny communal huts, unfit for the hardiest of travellers. A 16 year old Thai girl joined us and I taught her 3 basic chords, enough fir her to play and sing her favourite Thai pop song. She was delightful, and delighted and I felt like a proud Papa.

Well, the ganja/Mekong mix finally has its way and I retire at 2am. So much for an early night.

Tuesday 19th November

5 weeks away now and it feels like 5 months.
There has been a heavy 2-hour rainstorm, the roads are flooded, and water butts are overflowing everywhere. Cadge a moped lift into Lamai with Oirish Peter and went to The Wall bar and played another game with the glorious Boom and ate Deep Fried Chilli Chicken legs, followed by watermelon and a Chang.

Walked the beach back and it's very hot and quite overcast, the last of the reluctant monsoon. Ryan, Jamie, Peter and the lads have all decided against the Full Moon Party because of the bad weather forecast, but by 6pm the sky is clear, the sea calm, so I decide to go. Pal up with Kevin, a Canadian environmentalist. He has spent the last week trawling every pirate CD stall in Lamai & Chaweng and has bought 400 to take home-1-20p each.

The minibus arrives at 7pm to take 10 of us to the ferry at Bo Phut where we walk straight on to a sleek express boat and join 30 others for the swift 30 minute crossing directly north to Hat Rin on Ko Pha Ngan. The party this year just happens to fall on the same day as a popular national festival.

Loy Krathong.

On this day throughout Thailand, wherever there is a river or coastline the people all construct little floats of banana leaves, decked with flowers, incense, sweets and maybe a coin or two. As the sun sinks they launch these candlelit offerings to the Water Goddess, at the same time sending their troubles and bad luck away.

As we ferried across 100's of these floating shrines sparkled like a necklace along the coastline. This beguiling effect was further enhanced by a similar effect high up in the sky, paper, hot air balloons fuelled by a night light candle on a paper platform beneath the structure. Mind-blowing. Fireworks and occasional rockets, fizzing upwards, augmented the scene.

What a wonderful start to the night!

Disembarking, we join the throng and follow the general direction. The narrow muddy streets are lined with food & booze stalls, the standard buckets are everywhere, with a 1/2 bottle of Mekong Whisky or Samsong Rum, 2 cans of Coke or Red Bull, full of ice-150b (2-20).

Here, I am old.

Young, semi-naked, beautiful people, daubed in fluorescent pink, green & orange, muster. We eat, drink and walk to the beach where the 100m track arrives at the mid section of the 1-2 km stretch.

Ravers from around the world have been gathering here for the monthly party over the last 15 years or so. As the infamy grew so did the numbers and now, especially at Xmas/New Year the numbers could reach in excess of 10,000. The event, organised by the Thai locals, throbs until 10/11am next day and the clean-up operation is substantial.

It seems that the legendary drug-crazed happening is not so 'up-front' these days, due to a strong undercover police presence, but I spot several 'energised' hip-hopping revellers in day-glo paint under u/v tubes who are definitely on something, mushrooms, ecstasy, coke or even Red Bull.

I reckon tonight was a low-ish turnout, about 5000, probably due to the bad weather forecasts and at one point it deluged for 30 mins and we all took shelter, cramming into the string of bars along the beach. On a busy night it is advisable not to go into the warm, inviting water. With 1000's of drinkers and toilets a distance away the shallows can become rather messy.

The event began originally at Paradise Bungalows and, apparently, the best show is found here still. 'Psycho', 'Trance', 'Techno', 'Hard Core' and 'Cheese' all compete in volume along the beach. For this old git's ears the difference between the various genres is difficult to discern but the primal, insistent, hypnotic beat makes it difficult not to tap one's foot. Oh no!! I'm starting to sound like Prince Charles!

Each bar has a raised platform for energetic dancers to strut their stuff, freeze framed by the strobes highlighting their painted bodies.

I was there in the 60's, the Beatles, the Stones et al, but this anonymously penned music links the world's younger generation as never before. Now the DJ is king, not the artiste.

On the way down to the beach Kevin & I stopped off at a warm-up bar full of merrymaking dancers. The DJ is hip, long, dreadlocked hair, a skinny westerner with pierced nipples and his hands skip continuously over the myriad knobs & buttons of his console and it looks impressive, though I cannot discern any obvious change in the rhythm at all. It could be all for show.

I look round for Kevin and there he is with a long-limbed, scantily dressed Thai girl draped around him, just as I am getting whispers from her friend, 'Yew wanna dance with me?'. I try to explain that I have not yet sufficiently imbibed, so she changed tack, went for the jugular, 'Yew wanna fug me in my loom?'

Not being in the right mood for weaving either I explored the full range of the musical offerings along the beach, fuelled by my 2nd bucket of Mekong/Coke. Brazen, gyrating young extroverts are everywhere and I am becoming mellow, but, at 3am, having failed to really abandon my inhibitions, I headed back to the jetty. Sitting on a wall, chatting to a Greek Cypriot & his wife we tuck into a giant splif and discuss 'beauty'. He is vociferously adamant that the world's most beautiful women are Greek and if his wife was anything to go by, at that moment, I was in complete agreement.

As the 4am boat sped away from the island I looked back. A vast thundercloud loomed over Ko Pha Ngan in an otherwise starry, full moonlit sky. Lightening played high up in the cloud, occasional rockets arced over the island and spinning spotlights traced rhythms in the sky.

Another cerebral moment, we all look back in wonder. I turned to the chap next to me, 'Fantastic,eh ?'

He & his mate are from Glasgow, drunk & totally smashed he answers, 'McwheradanuckMcfugginreemon!'
'Spot on, mate' was my reply.

Eventually, arriving home at 5am, rather done for, I am in a stew. I'd hidden 5000b in my hut, where no one would possibly think of looking, Of course, at this juncture, that includes me. Panic and paranoia prevail as I search for an hour, eventually finding it in the pocket of my shorts that I'd washed and hung out to dry. Nice one, Al. With relief I sleep, till noon.

Wednesday 20th November

'Woke up. Got outa bed...dragged a comb....'.Thankfully my No.3 haircut precludes the use of a comb, so glad I did it, especially with this constant 30c heat.

A local service truck hurtles up the lane by the chalets. On the back is a sign 'DRIVE LIKE A FUCKING MANIAC! FUCK YOU!' Here's a man who has truly come to terms with road rage.

Elephants.

The only animal with 2 sets of forward facing knees.
Pooying ben kah chang-Women are the hind leg of an elephant.
Hen Chang khee yah oltan khee chang-See the elephant shit but do not try to shit like an elephant (Don't attempt things you know you cannot do)
Fan olok lai chang-an elephant chasing rain (a sudden downpour)
Chang is also my favourite tipple here, not quite such a strong taste as Singha beer.
Ryan, Jamie and Peter are having trouble with their recent Thai conquests, who have become very possessive of their conquests. Lamai is still small enough for them to check up on other girls' and their 'farangs' and they don't like others competing for their backpacking benefactors. So, the boys are moving south to new pastures. It's a shame because I wanted them to meet my son, Sam when he arrives next week. They are all his age and I don't want Sam to feel he has to be with his old man all the time.

Just wandered, took my 6th film in, 6 in 5 weeks and it's proving costly, not to mention the extra baggage. Met the lovely Lisa selling pirate CD's on a street stall, her day job. Called into a bar near the boxing ring and played BG with Martin, a laid back American here on vacation from his TEFL job in Taiwan. Beat him 5-4, but teaching in Taiwan? Worth a ponder. Checked my e-mails & there's one from Jackie, an old friend who laid on a memorable 'going away' party for me. More thoughts on my old life. Where will I be and what will I be doing this time next year?

Walked home reading a mildly diverting SAS thriller by Chris Ryan, 'The Hit List'.

For the past 20 odd years I have annually suffered from prickly heat rash on my hands and arms. I have been in intense heat continually for 5 weeks now and the rash has disappeared. I cracked it. Now I am deep nut brown.

Thursday 21 November

Breakfast with Duggie and then the usual amble down the beach picked up my photos and called into the Bauhaus to watch 'Red Dragon' which has only this week come out in major cinemas. Peter and Ryan were there, the two Kiwi boys also. Jamie has a mystery illness and has gone to the hospital in Chaweng.

A chilled afternoon, then over the road to play BG with a vision, petite waist-length hair, dusky, pierced naval, skin-tight Levis, about 19. After beating her 3-2 we played pool, 2-1 to me. Beautiful boobs making eyes at me. I am sufficiently inebriated, in full fantasy mode, actually nipped over to the chemist for condoms (just in case!) returning, I noticed that she has exceptionally slim hips. I also notice a chap smiling at me from his bar stool. He sidles over and affirms my growing suspicions. Lady-boy.

A close call.

Definitely time for a spliff, and a relaxing hour or two reading on my balcony. Another deluge, 5 cm per hour - that's wet. A relatively early night i.e. pre-midnight.

Friday 22 November

Breakfast - fruit juice and coffee with Duggie who I am really getting to like. He looks like a Rolling Stone, a scrotum with sunglasses, a weather worn face, and full of stories. We share a spliff and he starts playing the guitar and sings, it sounds corny now but he plays:

'So how does it feel
To be on your own
A complete unknown
No direction home......
Like a rolling stone'

It feels pretty good at this moment.

In very fine humour I ambled onto the beach where a slim, dark, fortyish lady offered a massage. I retreat, paranoia - is this another 'cock in a frock'?

In all Thai towns/villages there is always a local Food Court, usually off the main drag, away from the more commercial bars & restaurants, run by families. Here there are 4 or 5 little businesses and I've tried to spread myself about, eating at each in turn. Today I have pork, cabbage, green beans, mange tout, mushrooms, broccoli, rice, salad & a Chang-80b.

Round the corner to Bauhaus again. Matt Damon in 'Bourne Identity', not bad. I'd just read the book anyway.

Across the road I meet Thom, a 40 yr old bespectacled lady who, in her earlier days had been ‘active’ and now was more of a 'Madame' in charge of a bar & 6/7 younger girls. She is a brilliant BG player and we play for drinks, my double Mekong's to her double Smirnoff's, ending up rather sozzled, but good friends. One of her charges, Demi, looks like a 15-year-old perfect doll. In fact she is 25 and also plays a mean game.

An older chap sits by me at the bar, bald, skeletal with only half a face. Demi sits with him, chats, smiles; you'd think she was with Brad Pitt, totally oblivious to his age or disfigurement, as he will surely pay a lot more for her favours. By this time I am surely incapable of walking the 2 km home so flag a songtheaw and retire semi-graciously.

Saturday 23rd November

Breakfast with Duggie. It's so nice being with someone the same age, someone who understands. Unfortunately he, and his 30 year old son, Justin are moving south to Krabi tomorrow. I passed on some of my knowledge of the area and he gave me his postal address in Australia, Byron Bay on the East Coast and his ex-wife's phone number who could contact him if I ever get there-slim chance but maybe useful.

'Backhawk Down' at Bauhaus with Ryan & Peter, getting to be a habit this film thing. Jamie is still in hospital, a mystery virus, could be 'Dengue Fever' with similar symptoms to influenza, caused by a type of mosquito which is unusually active in daytime, especially in urban areas.

Lotions or sprays are necessary between 5-8 pm particularly on the ankle/foot area. I've had a few nasty bites, which itch to buggery, but malaria is not a problem here.

The film was difficult to follow because of the subtitles. It is in English so why English subtitles? For the deaf? For Thais to read? If so they wouldn't have a clue about the storyline. eg. Film 'What the fuck!' subtitle, 'What's a fuck?'
Film 'He's an idealist' subtitle 'He's an I deal this'.
film'We just lost the initiative' subtitle 'We just got in the shit'
film’ We’re short on coffee, I'll get you some tea' subtitle 'We're sure uncomfy, I'll get you Saturday'
Rather diverting.
Had a beef burger, here made with buffalo meat and very tasty. A chat with Lisa over coffee and a strange discussion on breast implants, wllies, etc.

It has been lovely stopping here a while, but I do feel a little Samuied out, but tomorrow Sam arrives and I can relive all the pleasures of Thailand, the culture, etc through his eyes and experiences. It will be really great to see him. Apart from being family he will be the only person I have seen from my erstwhile life.

Sunday 24 November

There is national concern, according to the Bangkok Times, over the Loy Krathong Festival. Apparently it has been the recent trend to make the traditional, banana leaf boats out of polystyrene floats. The 2/300,000 blocks of polystyrene are now littering the shores of the entire country. One suggestion is to use stale bread as the float, which would then feed the sea life. This, of course, would draw complaints and concern from the environmentalist lobby.

Sontheaw into Chaweng, to book into a more up-market place. I think Sam might find the room at Lamai Chalet a bit of a culture shock and uncomfortable after his long flight to Bangkok and then the flight to Samui.

'Chaweng Gardens' is a 5-star compared to my recent accommodation and our chalet has tiled floors and walls, hot shower, A/C, table and chairs, cupboards and flush toilet. In central Chaweng, right on the excellent beach and just across the road from the boisterous nightlife.
800b (12 quid) between 2 of us still seems excellent value.

I walked Chaweng beach, both ways and it's packed with sunbathing totty, massage platforms and beach touts. The water is warm, calm and very clear.

I rarely get excited about things but today I just cannot wait to see Sam. A 20 min taxi to the airport at 7.30 pm, mooched, found the local hangout for the taxi drivers and sat watching a strange game of snooker. He eventually arrived at 9.45 pm. I have a tear in my eye as he comes through, jet-lagged, hot but smiling. After a hug and a kiss we get back to the hotel, get Sam sorted and, rather sadistically, I take him up the path to town.

He is bedazzled, bewildered and amazed by the noise, lights, sights and smells. A real culture shock, not to mention the abundant totty. I hope I don't cramp his style.

After a Chang or two and a good natter, we retire.
Monday 25 November

Sam, in his time-distorted state, gets up at 5 am and decides to explore the beach and at 9 am I am getting worried. He eventually arrives, exhausted and dehydrated as he has spent the last 3 hours trying to find this place again, one of many dozens strung along the beach. He crashed out and slept until 2 pm.

Despite my previous advice Sam has brought 3 pairs of jeans, 3 pairs of shoes, 2 large towels, several tops, far too much, but a common mistake for a 1st timer here. You could come out with an almost empty case & buy everything here for 20 pounds. Anyway, he's here, he's great company and I am actually glad of his errors. I've made them all myself but this fulfils my paternal role.

We spend the afternoon exploring Chaweng, a beer here, a coffee there, a meal then return for shaves 7 showers & hit town again at 7ish.Food, drinks, & more drinks and I cannot keep up with Sam. I drink more tonight than any night so far.

E-mail from Meemee in New Zealand, a lady I met briefly at home in Pewsey a year ago. She likes her adages & maxims:
Growing old is mandatory
Being old is optional.
Agreed.
We went round to the Reggae Bar, a huge place featuring 2 live bands every night and the route means we have to run the gauntlet of several dozen tart bars, much to Sam's bemusement. He received many offers & even I had to turn down a few, but the bar is dead, doesn't really kick-off till midnight, so we returned to Green Mango which was full-on buzzing right in the middle of town. After a good ol' father/son natter, bed at 2am.

Tuesday26th November

Up, pack & songtheaw back to Lamai Chalet where we book into adjacent rooms in a chalet/hut, a bit of a come down but Sam is quite happy, especially at 150b a night.

Sam is in a panic, lost his bankcard, which he hid in a safe place, where nobody could find it. Sounds familiar. It's nice to know that this sort of thing doesn't just happen to old gits.

Sam, bless him, is a little paranoid and tends to be a worrier. For instance, he'd heard & read that young travellers are often arrested at Bangkok, for drugs, which have been planted by smugglers, or even bent police officers. Naturally, he thinks his card has been stolen & his account emptied.

Cool head now, Sam, THINK !.....yes, there it is, in his pack of Anadins. Panic over.

Down to the beach for a swim. Worried about the strong rays I encourage him to use his lotion, as he is so white. I have stopped using it for a week or two now, perhaps foolishly.

Still jetlagged, tired and wilting, Sam goes back for a nap.

Meanwhile, back at the pool, Oirish Peter has turned up with a Danish cracker and I join the happy gawkers. Jamie is out of hospital now but still under the weather. He refused to pay the bill so they have kept his passport. 'Fuck it!' he says,' Let the insurance company sort it'. Ryan has been busted. At a local bar a young Thai girl kept pestering him to buy some ganja and despite turning her down she persisted and he eventually accepted a very small amount, enough for a splif or two, hoping just to get rid of her.

10mins later, as he is leaving, two policemen pounce from somewhere, handcuff him and drive straight to the nearest ATM machine on the back of a motorbike. It cost him 10,000b(150-00), not a fine but a backhander for his release. Fortunately his Thai girlfriend, a local, helped to reduce the amount from the more usual 50,000b. If he had refused or had been unable to pay then the arrest would have gone ahead and a 6-year mandatory sentence would ensue.

Serious stuff, which did not help Sam's paranoia.

Refreshed from his nap now, we head down the beach to The Wall and the food court where we eat a meal each with Chang beer, 150 b in total. Sam wanted to relax in the Bauhaus video deck while I had a quickie with Demi (BG) and then we went on to Dirty Nelly's, Sparky & Lars' bar. Sparky had earlier promised me a small bag of grass, but he has none, mindful of Ryan's demise yesterday. Another friend of his had been busted with 10 e-tabs and now awaits a 6-year spell in the Bangkok Hilton (prison).

It seems very hypocritical that this country should be clamping down on this stuff, especially as amphetamines, valium and viagra are all over-the-counter items everywhere, not to mention the prostitution. Even their version of Red Bull comes in brown medicine bottles, charged up with several dodgy ingredients, as are, apparently, the Mekong Whisky and Samsong Rum.

About half way home we stopped off in a German owned bar with a pool table and music to match the proprietor's 60's pedigree. Sam plays pool in winner-stays -on game and is unbeatable for 6 games. His final opponent is Tim, not only English but, as his accent clearly portrays to me, a Bristolian. First question I always ask, 'Which school?’ 'Brislington...and you?'. 'Fairfield.' One of my good friends at school was Chris Jowett, and this is his brother--small world.

Sam seems to be getting on well with one of the girls and they are teaching each other basic language, swapping words & meanings. He seems to be relaxing.

E-mail from Ben, my other son, telling me of his marriage proposal to Liz (and her acceptance) in Venice. The old charmer-tears in my eyes again.

Wednesday 27th November

Sam slept fitfully all day, hope it's the last of jet-lag, so I lounged around the pool & bar reading Ben Elton's 'High Society', highly amusing, about the legalisation of cannabis.

We finally got out and walked to Lamai, the Bauhaus, the film, the Thai food court and called into the German bar again. Last night's bar tart looks as if she would like to swap more than words with Sam tonight, but he is still not 'chilled'. Don't worry about bad things that might happen. Just enjoy the good things that ARE happening.

Today- a gift.

Thursday 28th November

After breakfast I treated Sam to an early birthday treat, an hour's massage at the hands of one of our resident masseuses, who pummelled, bent & stretched him. I think he enjoyed it but was a little embarrassed on the discovery of rather a large gaping hole in the crotch of his shorts, just as she was finishing the session.

Whilst enduring his treatment I nipped into Lamai for some cash and a hired moped. On seeing my still livid scars from my last moped trip Sam made me promise to drive at a sedate 25kph up to the waterfalls and small zoo. We also went to see the Mummified Monk in his glass case. He died in the lotus position 30 years ago yet his body is perfectly preserved and highly revered by Buddhists here.

From the sacred to the profane--The Grandmother and Grandfather rocks, which resemble Godzilla, sized male and female genitals.

Somewhere today I lost my specs but thankfully I had a spare pair. A relaxing day & we decided to have a night in at Lamai Chalet, drinking with Laurens, another multi-lingual Dutch guy returning from Oz, and Karyn, his girlfriend from Rockhampton in Queensland, Oz. A really good discussion, alco-aided, Politics, Religion, Drugs, Prostitution---the usual stuff.

Sam is in full swing and I know from personal experience that late night discussions with him can easily go into the early hours and after many hard -talking arguments of great length Sam will say 'Yeh--I suppose you could be right' and I retire exasperated. It is with this in mind that I do indeed retire and leave Sam with his unsuspecting friends.

Just remembered that the other night I met 2 geezers from Portsmouth, complete with Pompey shirts, shaven heads, arms blue with old tattoos, gold necklaces, gold earrings, mid-40's. After my game of BG with Kae, one of them confides that he has bonked Kae twice and that she is the best he's had. For some (possessive?) reason I am offended that this bloke has been bonking my BG partner, who I really like and respect. The other bloke brags that he always has 2 girls a night and asks 'Why aren't the women back home like this?’ I ask why he doesn't bring his wife with him and he replies that she's far too busy with their 5 kids (!).

I retort, 'If these girls had the same income, security and independence do you really think they’d want to bonk us for 7 quid?'(I nearly said 'you' instead of 'us'-but didn't want to push my luck)

Friday 29th November

After a lie-in, breakfast, Bauhaus, film, pool at Dirty Nelly's, another film after Thai food court then the Bauhaus again for the foam party with Laurens & Karyn.

I will not forget the look on Sam's face as he espied me, shoulder deep in foam, dancing with a longhaired, buxom Thai girl who'd just dragged me into the fray. Opportunity Knocks, but we walked back home, relaxed and easy, passing a street vendor selling crunchy deep-fried cockroaches, grasshoppers & locusts, local delicacies but unappealing to us.

I realise that we are getting into a bit of a routine and feel it is time to move on to Ko Pha Ngan for a few days, something different.

Saturday 30th November

Sam was chatting with Laurens (& smoking & drinking) till 5am this morning so he is starting the day knackered, as we taxi to Bo Phut on the north side, home to the Big Buddha gold statue and ferry point for Ko Pha Ngan, the same one I had used 2 weeks earlier.

A bit of a rough ride through a storm. Sam is looking a little green as we sit in a bar. After 5 mins we are touted and have a place organised at Ao Nai Wok on the west coast just north of Song Thala the island's main town. The songtheaw ride was up, down on narrow, mostly unmade roads & far too fast. After last night, the rough boat ride and this bumpy, hold-on -tight journey proves too much for Sam's stomach and our greeting by the owner was marred a little by Sam's chunder onto her path. I thought it might be a good idea to stop here 2 nights though my intention was to head to the renowned Bottle Beach on the north of the island.

Ko Pha Ngan started off as a back-door escape from the tourist crowds on Samui and well worth a visit for its still deserted, undeveloped beaches and coral reefs. Hordes of backpackers do come here, but mainly for the monthly full moon party at Hat Rin but the lack of an airport and unpaved roads have spared it from package development. Also, for the moment the accommodation costs are a half-two thirds of comparable places on Samui.

The Rough Guide mentions stories of travellers being offered ganja or pills by restaurant & bungalow owners and soon after being busted by police who somehow just happen to know exactly who, where and when to search or check, especially at Party time.
Our place is family run, a dozen or so wooden huts a few metres from the water's edge, double bed, mosquito nets, toilet, cold shower and veranda with hammock, 150 b.

Sam slept for an hour or two while I read my book, in my hammock. A total of 15, Ozzies, Kiwis, Italians, Germans and a Hungarian couple are in residence. Great game of BG with Eric, a 40 something, gentle German who has been here for 2 years in his own rented place in Hat Ran. He always comes here for his food and has the ulterior motive of wooing the very nice lady owner. If successful he will end up with citizenship and will not have to make the bi-monthly trip over the border to re-new his visa.

I bring up the delicate question of ganja and its availability.’ Just ask at the bar'. Fair enough. He has been here a long time & I trust his advice and experience and, ignoring Sam's advice to steer clear, I order 2 beers at the bar and casually bring up the subject. The beers and a packet of grass are placed before me. 'How much?’ I ask.
'No worry...I put on bill.'

Sam, still unconvinced, will not come near me and watches Sky TV, live soccer, with the keen Italian football fanatics, while I splif up and discover that the name of this place is Porno Sarwan, there’s a joke there somewhere.

The brother of the proprietor is barman, driver and general 'redcoat' gave us a fantastic Flame Dance demo- He was brilliant. As we watched huge bats flitted between us in the firelight. They roosted just 3m above our heads in the bar area.

It poured down heavily from 2-10am and I was treated to a panoramic lightening display as I swayed in my hammock. Sam is well into it now and I hear him discussing life with Eric and the 2 Italians until 5am.

Sunday 1st December

December! I've never slept under a mosquito net. It's rather like being in a 4-poster with drapes and induces a feeling of security, and the bed has a rare sprung mattress and large soft pillows. Last night was strangely quit for me, as it was the first time for weeks that I turned the fan off in a temperature of just 20c.

I walked about 2 miles around to the south west tip to Thong Sala, breakfast, coffee and a mooch and when the rain came down again I took a taxi back, lazed in the hammock, reading till Sam surfaced at 3pm. Man.Utd and Liverpool are on, live Sky, and all the locals are out to watch---Football is as big here as at home. Man U 2 Liverpool 1.

MetAntonio, an amiable Spaniard whose pure love and lust for life is contagious. He is 40, thick, black curly hair and one of life's inveterate charmers. We drank, smoked and chatted, played BG and chess and I was bowled over by his Basil Fawlty impression and his Manuel was superb. Up to now I didn't think the Spanish understood the humour that Manuel has for the English.

Sam and I are in different time zones. His day is from 2pm-5am and mine from 9am-midnight. Once again, sufficiently legless, I leave him to it, at midnight.

Monday 2nd December

The sun has got his hot hat on again, 37c.
Sam & I co-incide and take a songtheaw further up the coast to Hat Yao. Swam, ate, watched "The Spy Who Shagged me", walked and eventually headed back to a little get-together with Antonio, Eric, the 2 Italians and 2 new Dutch girls, shared a rare bottle of red wine and watched "Gladiator"-a regular favourite on the backpacker trail.

Antonio cracked me up as we lay on our backs looking up at a vast starry sky He points out all the constellations, individual star names and then recited the last words of Rutger Hauer, as the replicant in "Blade Runner". One of life's short-lived memorable moments.

Over a fuzzy game of chess Eric tells me more of his history, of his broken marriage, of his 2 beautiful daughters and of his coming here 18 months ago to actually buy his own house and his plans to slowly win over the proprietess.

Jan had given me the new Private Eye annual, an early Xmas present, which I had already devoured twice. I drunkenly presented it to Antonio who accepted it gracefully and tearfully. I just know he'll love it and I was rewarded by a long chat into the night with him. If I knew him back home I just know we'd be great friends and that's the nicest thing about travelling, meeting so many like-minded people from across the world.

Tonight a Praying Mantis fell on Sam's neck and a Gecko ran up his leg. An unforgettable experience for us both!

The hearty chortles of Antonio could be heard long into the night, as he read the book.

Tuesday 3rd December

Breakfast, goodbyes, e-mail exchanges and we head back along the south coast towards Hat Rin and stop at Ban Kha, Pha Ngan Lodge, a new development of 6 cottages, family run. Brand new, stone built, tiled chalets 300b per night (4-50 each). What's more we are only 100m along the beach from the site of the Dark Moon Party, i.e. No moon, 2 weeks before/after the Full Moon. Tonight.
Settled in, ate with the family and several other guests. Duncan and Adele, from Chepstow are on the same itinerary as I am and Adele is a party nutcase, already revving up for tonight's rave. She has a laugh like a donkey braying, which is strangely infectious.

I played guitar with the owner, Noy, while Sam chatted to Chat, one of the DJ's performing later at the party. We ambled along and a few hundred are already there, strobes, fluorescents and pounding beat, barbecues, stalls and a big cheap bar selling buckets.

A girl I had spoken to on the boat over asked me to guard her Chang while she skipped to the loo. I sat there for 30mins until I saw her in the middle of the dance area, totally off her face, fresh Chang in hand. Brush-off, or amnesia?

There's a relaxed vibe, it's warm & balmy and a small Thai girl/woman parks up by me and informs me that her sister fancies Sam so we drink & banter for a while until she informs me that they have nowhere to stay tonight. Oh yeh!"Pleez mista, no money, plomise"

Sufficiently relaxed to ignore the warning signals, firstly when she started pole-dancing up my leg and then when she climbed up to my waist and wrapped both legs around me and finally when she implores" Pleez mista, my velly firstime, no hurt me, Papa"

Well, they walked back with us, Sam & his girl chatting quietly together; mine riding piggyback and thrusting herself into my spine. I was right, they wanted money and we pack them off on their moped, convincing Sam that they'll be back with 'the boys' to sort us out.

I turn in while Sam returns to the party. There’s a strange glimmer on the horizon. Sunrise, 6am.
My first Viagra tablet might have had an effect---but I was asleep if it did.

Wednesday 4th December

We return to Samui, Lamai Chalet, with Sam still high & buzzing on Red Bull.At the Bauhaus we watch the new 'Harry Potter', only just out in the cinemas, during which I sleep very soundly. Sam has missed a night's sleep but you wouldn't think so, seeing him on the Changs and playing pool with Sparky.

I am so glad that Duggie is back from Krabi, with his son, Justin and Sam took to him as instantly as I had. Later, the 4 of us, with Laurens & Karyn had a convivial meal at the food court, a few drinks and wended our slow way home, me tired, Sam extremely so.

Thursday 5th December

Today is the King's birthday. Thaïs revere their royal family, respectful pictures and photos adorn every home, shop and office and to speak of them as we do our royalty, or mock, would be gross insult.75 today and everywhere is shut, even the bars and tarts have a day off. We hang around and I choose today for a massage at Lamai Chalet, the works, 2 hours at the hands of a strong, shapely and able girl whose bending, stretching and pummelling prompted the memory of an old rhyme I learned 40 years ago.

Oft I recall my life's first splendour
The glorious days of youth begun
When all my limbs were soft and tender
Did I say all?
Well, all but one.

And now the winds of age blow frigid
The Halcyon days of youth are done
And all my limbs grow stiff & rigid
Did I say all?
Well, all but one.

Lamai was dead, no booze anywhere. Imagine us doing that for the Queen's birthday.

At Lamai Chalet a group are barbecuing on the beach, driftwood fire and they have BEER, sensibly purchased yesterday. Campfire chats. One bloke from London, bit of a geezer, entertained with his tales of near death, motorbike & moped accidents, language laced with many 'facks' & cants'

Friday 5th December

Hot, Hot, Hot. Beach, swims, chicken kebabs, 10p each, and fruit juice. Cheerio’s to Laurens and Karyn, who confirms her e-mail address in Rockhampton, Queensland, Oz.

Walked to Bauhaus, watched 'Ali G', a cruder, modern 'Carry On' but funnier, and Hey! It's Friday again-Foam Night at Bauhaus- and the lot from our place are all there, raring to go.

And so are all the local girls, on the look out for farang. Sam is away with the beat, dancing right under the machine, which keeps pumping foam out to a depth of 4/5 feet.

Rising from the foam, a long, dark-haired and voluptuous Thai girl drags me into the suds, uncomplaining and makes it fairly obvious who her target for tonight will be. Me.

Duggie and Sam are watching her amusing antics with me. I am very aware of Sam, my son, witnessing his Dad with someone, for the first time, not his mother. I think he understands, but still feel a little awkward and I don't return Far's affections as I could here. I also picture myself, a 55 year old, surrounded by a youthful majority.

So here she is, in my room, a bad command of English and little scope for small talk. She strips naked, uses the loo and showers and calmly slips into my bed. In for a penny......and there has been no talk of money yet.

I also strip, shower and join her and we caress, but no response from me. It's great just to feel that closeness, skin to skin, 18 months since being this close.

After a half hour of this I slip out to the loo, partly to relieve my swollen bladder but mainly to pop a V. It meant a wait of 40 minutes or so but magically, eventually, there it was. By this time Far was far away, asleep and snoring soundly. Another tablet from my frugal supply is wasted, but holds future promise, maybe.

Saturday 7th December

Far was up and gone by 7. She asked for nothing but accepted the 500b note I offered.

Over breakfast we watched 'The Office', brilliant and surprisingly the humour is appreciated by all the other nations present. Offices like this must be similar all over the world; we're not so different.

Had a good meal with Sam and I left him at Bauhaus watching Man Utd and Arsenal again, 2-0, while I sent e-mails, nice one from Ben--really wish he was here too.

Had my BG fix with Tom, the able bar supervisor, ending up having to drink 3 double Samsong/Cokes.

We all ended up at the local Thai Boxing Ring. There is a big stadium here for the aficionados but this smaller ring is surrounded by 20 or so tart bars, with 500 seats laid out ready with waitress service from all the girls. A full crowd watched various hopeful young boys and girls kick the shit out of each other. Also this was the place where many of the working girls settled their differences, often with bloody results.
It is a spectacle. Turkish/Arabic sounding music is played throughout the bout and a manic compere talks us through the action, cajoling & leading the crowd in shouts of 'Ooooo' and 'Aaaaa' to accompany each punch or kick.
There is much pre-fight ritual and ceremony as the contenders step into the ring bedecked with notes of varying denomination from adoring fans, friends and family. Between each of the four 5min rounds Thai techno music pounds. A kiwi sitting next to me has a 100b wager with me and my man won.

Our usual walk back, stopping off at the German bar for one last long chat with Sam.

It has been so good having him here and I sincerely hope that it has helped him along his own road. Typically, just as he is relaxed and in the Thai groove he has to return.

Up at 5am for the songtheaw to the airport.

Sunday 8th December

Check in. Samui airport must be one of the nicest anywhere; all thatched and open sided areas. One more coffee, one hug and Sam leaves at 6.40am for the long haul back to Heathrow, via Bangkok. It’s 32c here, 2c in London.

Again I am close to tears, and he is gone. Alone again I must now make plans for another place, a new country, Australia.

I walked for a mile, wrapped in memories of Sam, Ben, Jan, my friends, my old life. I was offered a lift by a motorbike taxi. The driver was 20ish, shaved head, except for a 10cm platted lock over one ear and a large colourful 3rd eye tattooed on his forehead. He sang, laughed and gesticulated for the whole of the 50b ride back. He also told me that yesterday the island's police blitzed over 300 farangs at roadblocks yesterday fining everyone without a crash helmet 400b each. Today no one is wearing a crash helmet, and there are probably not enough to supply the thousands of scooters, mopeds etc anyway.

Slept for 3 hours and awoke to a tropical storm. Spent the rest of the day with Duggie, food, coffee, beers and smokes. He doesn't know when he's going back, or what he will do but assures me that his ex-wife will put me up if I ever visit Byron Bay.

He took me to one of his regular bars and we watched the most amazing live band fronted by 2 beautiful sisters, on bass and lead guitar, backed by a drummer and keyboards. Like most of the good musicians here, they were Plillipinos and their rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody was flawless. As we watched spellbound a young, slim girl, with perfect English plonks herself on Duggie's lap. I was attracted by the boss, a very confident looking, knowing woman, about 30 but Doggie’s girl explains she is married, a mother and out of bounds, not that I would have stood a chance anyway.

I was then propositioned by 2 katoys and a very tasty, mature masseuse who offered to come back with me, stay the night and give me a full body massage for 300b. What an offer, but mindful of my recent experience I declined. Home 2.30am after final goodbyes to Duggie, who will not be sleeping much tonight and will definitely not be up too early tomorrow.

Monday 9th December

Phuket

10am goodbyes to all the staff and recent arrivals. Songtheaw to Nathomg on the west coast, 12 miles, a 2hour ferry to the mainland, 50 miles on a bus to Sura Thani and finally 170 miles in a minibus-- all for the ridiculous fee of 300b (4-50).

Travelled and chatted awhile to Zanuck, a pleasant 27year old Czek, another disaffected soul who sees no future for himself in E. Europe.

It feels strange being on the road again after over 3 weeks on Samui. But here is Phuket, the jewel in Thailand's crown. Raped and pillaged by Burmese warriors, Portuguese traders, Chinese miners and more recently by horny farangs descending mainly on the west coast, notably Patong. Inland and on the east coast there are dense jungles and unspoilt beaches but it is Patong, where Sodom meets Gomorrah, where I am headed but my journey takes me first to Phuket Town on the south of the island.

Prices are significantly higher than elsewhere in Thailand but most of the lobster-red farangs, having flown in for a 2-week package deal with no plans to go anywhere and no sense of the loca economy, happily accept the inflated prices. Only in Phuket Town is there any sense of a community not dependent purely on tourism for its livelihood.

I find an average looking hotel and pay 400b a night, largish room, TV, shower etc. A service list on the wall offers beer, crisps and condoms (90b).

There are KFC's, McDonalds, Dunkin Donuts, huge malls, high-rise offices and traffic as well as interesting Sino-Portuguese buildings.

I am shocked again at the sight of a man on a moped, his 3-yr old child standing on pillion; hand on Dad's shoulder. Dad is also holding a baby in one arm, weaving in and out of traffic with the other.

Heading for the nearest food hall I find dozens of places, none of which pander to western tastes or eyes. Nothing in English, nothing recognisable so I finally settle for an expensive pasta meal in an air conditioned Italian restaurant, after which I drink an exquisite cappuccino at 80b, more than the usual price of my meals.

Christmas decorations adorn many shop fronts-Christmas!!- I'd forgotten all about it, especially in this heat.

I weighed myself tonight and I’ve lost 4kg, hopefully from my non-western diet i.e. few chips, crisps, potatoes, smaller meat portions, fresh fish, rice and noodles, and loads of fresh fruit. It can’t be the cancer back already!

Tuesday 10th December

Taxi fare to Patong is 200b for a 20/30 min ride, a rip-off because the cars all run a cartel and have fixed the high prices. I take a bus, 17b, and just as quick. I find a place about 200m from the beach, on the road that runs parallel to the beach road. Italian owned, 'Pricipe', and I pay 400b for a split-level room, lounge, shower, toilet downstairs and the bedroom above. What the hell--only 3 more days in Thailand, may as well go out with a bang (!).

Lovely beach, 3-4km long, but the whole stretch is taken up by rows of parasol led beach beds and could be in Spain, Italy or France, costing 100b a day to hire. Cheap, but I lie on my towel.

The sea is warm, clean & clear, a luxury cruise liner is anchored offshore and behind the shore is a grassy area shaded by lovely Causarina trees offering relative cool at 38c. A very busy tourist Nirvana.

Exploring at dusk I discover the hedonism. As the sun sinks the streets are transformed into a noisy melee of mopeds, taxis, tourists and tarts and I thought Samui was pretty full on, but this place takes the biscuit.

Wandering up a cul-de-sac off the main drag there were several clubs with names like 'Homers',' Spartacus', 'Charlie's Boys'. A tout shows me in to a dark foyer, I am curious but looking into the bar area I see 12 or so young, slim, greased up teenage boys pole dancing in their pristine white Calvin Kleins. Not for me. Another bar is called 'Katoys R Us', liked that one.

There's the kick-box stadium, but sitting at any of the bars with the slightest view of the action incurs a doubling up of prices. The tarts here are louder and brasher and I enjoy some playful banter, turning down several lewd offers. Restaurants all have their own touts out on the street cajoling customers in with culinary promises. I choose one and spend a pleasant hour with a chap from Perth, my next destination.

Fatefully, I stop at just one more bar and a girl, Nang, befriends me, or should I say 'targets me'? She explains that she, too, has just arrived here, 3 days ago and has not yet had a customer. The other girls come up to me, in turn, with a nudge, a wink, a smile, a whisper in Nang's direction. She tells me she shares her home, 1 room, with 6 other girls and would love to come to mine for a hot shower and a decent night's sleep. Poor girl. Naturally I want to help her and pay the obligatory 200 b for her to leave.

Well, it was very difficult not to, so I did, and the viagra did me proud but, rather worryingly I could not climax. I had been warned that the radiotherapy might do this. Good for lovers but not good for tarts as their aim is to get it over with quickly, although Nang was glad just to be in a nice bed, hot shower, good sleep included. And it was nice to see a stiffy off in the proper way.

Wednesday 11th December

After checking e-mails, confirming Friday's flight, I hear from Ailsa, an old teaching colleague and friend who now has her own pub, The Lamb in Devizes, and she is offering me a job. Her man, George, a lovely bloke, died 6 months ago (cancer) and she needs help to run the pub.

It still seems a long way off but at least I know that there'll be a home and a job when the time comes.

Called into a beach bar, totally inhabited by laconic, half shaved, 40/50 year old Frenchmen smoking Galloise cigarettes, looking very much the mafia types. They are also playing BG and the games are punctuated by all the grunts, gestures and shrugs that we all expect of the French.

Sitting there, fruit punch in hand, I muse. Here I am, a stranger without ties or friends, when who should walk past but Jamie, from Lamai Chalet. Oirish Peter and Ryan are also there on the beach and all three of them are still bonking around South Thailand and refusing devoutly to pay for it.
Apart from youth, good looks & stamina what have they got that I haven't?

Peter has been impressing the local lads with his skateboard antics and fashionable accessories and is even thinking of starting his own business here. I really believe that whatever Peter did, he would be successful and totally in charge.

Anyway, great to see them--once again--a small world.

Wilting under the sun I stopped off in Nang's bar. 'Hello Papa!' they all cry and again I am subjected to the full gamut of winks, nudges and knowing smiles. As I sit there Nang anoints my head, face, neck and shoulders with ice-cold tissues and asks with a coy smile if I will be 'seeing' her again tonight. Maybe later, but I have arranged to meet the boys in their local bar where they have been seeing to as many girls as possible over the past weeks.

After freshening up I dine on Barbecued Prawns with Asparagus salad and drink a chang beer then dutifully proceed to the aforementioned bar.

More beer, ribaldry & laughter. I was fussed over (targeted) by Gai and yes, one more viagra and very pleasurable, but still no finish.

Thursday 12th December

I have never seen so many tailor shops in one place. They are rife throughout the East but here about 1 in 3 premises is a tailors, each one indistinguishable from the rest. All are Indian or Nepalese owned, all have a tout outside trying to engage your interest and cajole you in. I have rarely seen anyone actually go into one, but there must be money in it. Talking of money mine is running out.

My Auntie Dot left me an, as yet, unknown amount of money in her will, as she did to all her nieces and nephews and Carol, my cousin had told me to expect around 3000 pounds. Without some of this money I will definitely have to curtail my trip. A favourite game here is 'Hit the Nail'. This involves 2 people competing to hit a 6-inch nail into a block of wood with the thin edge of a hammer. The loser, the one who takes the most hits to drive the nail into the wood, has to crawl, hands and knees, under the log stand. Innocent sounding enough but again it's an ideal ruse for the tarts to bond with their punters and dupe them into spending some cash, and they are experts at it.

There are Japanese, Italians, French, Germans, Scandinavians here as well as the shaven headed, beer bellied and tattooed Brits.

In a small breakfast bar I chatted to a 31-year-old waitress. She earns 4000b a month (60 quid) & her rent costs 2500b a month, for a single box-room shared with her boyfriend who, as a tailor, works for one of the above-mentioned shops. He receives 20% of whatever each item is sold for. I've had silk shirts made here and pay6-800b so he would get150-200b, about 3 quid max, per shirt--not a lot. I have never seen a Thai owned tailor shop though.

Went down to the beach for a last swim & sunbathe. Lying on my towel, reading, I am asked for a cigarette-okay, then a light-okay, then, 'Would you like my body?’ This was a quiet, slim young Thai, about 20. 'Um...no thanks, not for me'.

Looking to the left and right I notice that there are only men on this part of the beach and the one thing they all have in common are black Speedo swimming briefs--just like mine. There were several old, fat, ugly, rich looking Europeans and many handsome, slim Thai boys all tittering and limp wristed, vying for attention and admiration.

I resolve to burn my trusty 30 yr old Speedos- tonight.

I then returned to Gai's bar and played 'shut the box', a dice game for money, with several of the girls in leisure mode. I actually won 100b but bought them all drinks, which came to 200b.

Checked e-mails and I have one from Chris, he of the sun tan factors, last seen on Phi-Phi 3 weeks ago. He may be in Perth the same time as me.

Headed back to freshen up and bought an over-the-counter Viagra for 400b. Maybe I should have bought more but my financial situation is beginning to worry me. Maybe I won't need them anyway. Only time, confidence and luck will tell.

A meal, a Chang or two and on to meet the boys for one last time.

Met Les, 51, who has been here for 5 months. He has no home, his marriage finished, 2 grown up daughters in the UK and 300,000 in the bank and the interest enables him to live very comfortably. His father died last year, prostate cancer, and having no ties he has resolved to have some fun while he is physically able. He spent last night with two 20 year olds. As he made love to one the other did some interesting things with her tongue. 'Why should I go home?' he asks. Why indeed.

He also shared some information with me. His father told him that if he had sex, masturbation included, every day, without fail he would never get prostate cancer. Also, if you don't use it you lose it. Wise words?
At midnight, Gae, who has been keeping her covetous eyes on me all evening, finally confides that she has her 'menzies' and cannot return home with me tonight. Nice of her to say but I really suspect that she has had a better, more lucrative offer.

Final fond farewells and the swapping of e-mail addresses. How I wish I were their age again, or rather, how I wish I'd done this years ago.


Though rather squiffy I am not yet tired and I call into the bar across the road from Principe. Owned by a Scouser who came here on holiday 2 years ago, married a Thai, had a baby and set this place up. Finally, after a few more drinks with him I really am knackered and as I leave I bump into a petite Thai girl/woman who also looks a little dazed and tired, "Ello Mista, just on train, come Bangkok, nowhere sleep, come your loom?” Poor girl. Of course I ask her in and she heads for the loo, showers, and walks naked up to my bed. After a quick skip to the loo myself, shower and follow suit but as I climb the stairs I notice she is taking a rather close look at my backpack. After a sheepish grin she lies back on the bed, akimbo. Torn between throwing her out and...well.... Not throwing her out my recently semi-awakened libido makes the decision for me, but first I nip downstairs to hide my passport, cash and travellers cheques, except for a 500b note, which I leave on a side table.

The viagra, once again, works for me even though I am so tired.

I wake up an hour later to find that she and the note have disappeared and I horrify myself with thoughts of what could have happened if she'd had a knife or an accomplice, stupid, stupid, stupid boy.

Friday 13th December
Two more hours sleep; up at 7am for the minibus ride to the airport. I leave Thailand at 10.15,aware that 2 months have elapsed since my last flight from London to Singapore. The journey is spent browsing through a 'Buddhism For Beginners' booklet I picked up a few days ago. 'Live every moment and act fully. Accept that all things pass. Control your desires without starving them. Do not kill or quarrel. Hatred cannot be ended by more hatred. Forgive others and yourself, be kind, contemplate the beautiful. The four noble truths: Cultivate detachment, acceptance, the control of desire and the beauty of the moment- for serenity and strength.' And this by Marcus Aurelius. 'Men seek retreats from themselves; houses in the country, at the seaside, in the mountains. Such is the desire of the most common man. But it is in our power, whenever we choose, to retreat into ourselves. For nowhere either with more quiet or freedom do we retreat than into our minds, particularly when we have within us such thoughts that by looking into them we are immediately perfectly tranquil. And this I affirm, tranquillity is nothing more than ordering the mind.' Leaving my home, my job, most of my money, 27 years in a lovely village, great friends, 16 years in a local country pub, with all its gossip, rumour and relationships, my dalliance with cancer and threat of a curtailed life, I realise that I am happy, I am free. Goodbye Thailand, I'll be back. Singapore-Changi Airport What a place! 9 weeks ago I was here, but eager to move on, but now I have 4 hours to fill. I begin by finding the smokers area, but it's not the usual pokey fume-filled coughers' room. It's the Sunflower Terrace, full of, yes, blooming sunflowers and there are machines blowing out cool mist in 30c heat. It's like a city here, shops, bars, entertainment areas, kids' games, a gym, massage, cinema, free internet, lounge areas, a supermarket, duty frees. It's not cheap, a cheese sandwich & coffee $10, four pounds; same as Heathrow I suppose but still a shock after Thailand prices. There's more; TV lounges, a news hub, sports lounge, plasma screens, an oxygen bar (!), reflexology and a free tour round the island, time permitting. Comfy loungers with vibrating alarms in the headrests offer a chance of sleep. A rude awakening after a blissful 2 hours however, thought I was being electrocuted. It's pouring down and there's been an accident on the runway whish means a further 2 hour delay. On the plane my thoughts turn to Australia, a blank sheet for 2 months, no plans apart from meeting Christine at Perth airport. She was a girlfriend of mine at school 38 years ago and that is the last time I saw her. Before meeting her I have to suffer acute embarrassment as I go through Customs. They are very hot on imported wooden items and I happen to mention that I have a wooden comb, purchased in Gambia 10 years ago. This was taken away for closer examination and the female officer decided to dissect my belongings, item by item. Before leaving UK two of my so called good friends, Richie & Debbie, gave me a joke going away present--a pack of 'Little Pecker' condoms, about 1/2 cms in diameter. It has lain, forgotten at the bottom of my pack until this bloody woman picks it up triumphantly and asks 'What's this?' with a deadpan face. I try to explain that it's a joke, 'Explain!' she demands. This meant another 15 mins delay and I am now 2 hours late and it's gone 1am. As I finally walk out into the hall I realise that Christine & I have no idea what the other looks like. We'd met up on the internet, Friends Reunited, only 3 months ago and she offered to put me up should I ever make it. Her marriage of 15 years ended a year ago, just before the breast cancer appeared and now she was recovering from a mastectomy and a long course of chemotherapy. Up she comes, hesitantly, I'm not too sure as her hair looks so different, 'Hello, Alan? It's a wig' she whispers. Wow! 38 years, but the smile I do remember and the 15-year-old girl I' d kissed and petted is still there. A friend is with her, also from Bristol, Cindy, who is here on a holiday. Chat, chat, chat for the 30 min journey to her home in Jandacot, a residential suburb of Perth. A large 4-bed bungalow, 2 receptions, study, huge kitchen/diner, swimming pool, double garage and it's on the market for 140k. Pure schooldays nostalgia, talking till 4am and finally, bed. I am in Natalie's room, Christine's 14-year-old daughter who is away on a school exchange in Italy. A proper bedroom, a sprung bed, duvet, table lamp, pictures on the walls, photos, CD player, TV, all the trappings expected of a modern western teenage girl. Ornaments in the loo, more pictures, patterned toilet roll, twin ply, thick and so clean & sweet smelling. It really is culture shock, in reverse, back in the 1st world. Saturday 14th December Up, very refreshed, at noon for pizza, coffee & more talk of old Bristol, the 60's etc. I prefer her without the wig. Although a little grey it's just long enough now to look fashionably clipped. It really is great to see her. Our relationship was one of those pre-sexual, well, groping and not going 'all the way' ones. I can remember that her previous boyfriend, Basil, was 6ft tall and 3 years older and this meant she was probably more experienced than me, had a bit of a complex about that, was not confident yet, anyway, we never did bonk. This afternoon we have to vacate the house as the estate agent is showing round potential buyers. After a barbie poolside we drove into Perth, first to King's Park, a large area of preserved parkland overlooking the city. The impressive war memorial is here too and we look across the magnificent Swan River before crossing into Northbridge, party central, where the bars, clubs, restaurants, hotels and backpackers are all situated. The Soul Shack is just one of the in-places with a superb live soul band playing. A beer costs $5-7 (1 dollar = 40p). It's a warm balmy evening and people are out in their 1000's, al-fresco dining areas line the streets, big bouncers, strict dress codes (i.e. no thongs - flip-flops). Traffic flows easily and the atmosphere is very cosmopolitan. The city is clean. It is so weird to be in a sophisticated, civilised place again. Sleeping without a creaky fan, no frog or gecko songs, there are blonde tall women everywhere, eucalyptus trees instead of palms and real privately owned cars instead of songtheaws, mopeds and trucks. It is 25 c but because of the low humidity this is the first time that I have not perspired for several weeks. One more nightcap and more nostalgic memories of long gone days. Sunday 15 December 30c no cloud. Breakfast at the Old Swan Brewery looking out from the banks of the Swan River. The main city is on the north bank and this huge river splits the whole area. We met 2 of Christine's work mates and had a breakfast of ham, cheese, tomato and onion croissants - $9 ($2 in Thailand!) As we dined we watched speed boats, jet skis, rowing boats, kayaks, sail boards, fishing, jogging, cycling and people walking, all out for their Sunday constitutionals as were several dolphins. Drove along to Lake Monger - black swans, pelicans, wild fowl and yet more fitness fanatics. Further north to Mindarie Keys, a sculpted, landscaped marina, luxury mansions, elegant boats and expensive dive shops. Turning south to Hilary's Landing, a big yacht harbour, beautiful beach, timeshare apartments, bijou shops, bars and restaurants etc. Then to Perth's favourite Cottesloe Beach, packed with locals, picnics on the grassy banks above the sand. Finally to Freemantle, or Freo as it is locally called, older architecture, very European, funky al-fresco dining, massive bars, trendy shops and the wonderful weekend market. Captain James Sterling of the Royal Navy arrived here and this led to the founding of the Swan River settlement in 1829. 3 towns were formed, Freo, Perth and Guildford, 20km upstream to the east. It took until the end of the century to fully explore WA. In 1890 gold was discovered in the Kimberley and Kalgoolie and a population explosion followed with Perth becoming established as the trade capital and Freemantle's harbour upgraded to cope with demand. World war 2 initiated a huge increase in minerals, asbestos, lead, iron ore, oil, gas and diamonds. Perth's economy today still relies heavily on natural resources. I was amazed to learn that UK, France, Germany and Italy could all fit into western Australia and there are only 1.8 million people. 1.4 million of these live in Perth, the most remote capital of the world. Whilst in Freo I checked out the up-market Essex restaurant, owned by Paul Wallen, a cousin of one of my friends back home and who had actually visited my pub 2 years previously. My friend, Harry, had promised to stand me a meal there but unfortunately Paul was not in. Sitting, sipping cappuccino outside one of Freo's friendly coffee bars I discover that Cindy, Christine's friend from Bristol, was in the same infant school as I, in 1953. Her parents had run the local grocers shop and were close friends of my own parents. Her best friend at the time was Mary Taylor. I have a photo of Mary and myself when we were 4 years old and my parents and I lived in the downstairs flat of Mary's mother's house. Small world. Monday 16th December Chris had to work today so she dropped Cindy and I at the Park'n Ride where we took the15 min express into the city-$2-70 and after some hard caffeine intake we separated, Cindy shopped and I explored and checked out some local backpacker joints. Ambling through the malls and avenues I hear many English accents, a young chap from Bristol working in the photo shop, a lady from Swansea in the newsagents. There are Italians, Greeks, and Japanese; in fact I am amazed at the sheer numbers of Asians, Chinese, Thai and Korean. Asians in UK are Indian, Pakistani or Bangladeshi but here the term refers to Far Easterners. I am small again compared to most of the women. Few cocks-in-frocks here. A tap on the shoulder, it's the guy I won 100b from in the Thai boxing back in Ko Samui--small, small world. The malls are full of buskers, guitars, keyboards, didgeridoos, actors, and singers. It's 30c and it's Xmas next week. Weird. Took a free bus up to Kings Park for a daytime look at the war memorial, the Eternal Flame and walked around some of the 400 hectare park area containing all of the trees, flora and fauna of WA. There are water gardens, fountains, a network of paths and roadways through which I cycled on a hired bike. 1000's of Eucalyptus trees line the route, each one bearing a plaque bequeathed by the families of fallen soldiers. A poignant reminder. Met Cindy at 5pm and Chris at 6pm and home to a slap up stir-fry and beers. Saw some neat t-shirts today: 'Marijuana--Proud supporter of the snack industry' 'Only 2 States to be in-WA and Stoned' One had miniscule printing and when you were close enough to read it-'Nosey little bastard aren't you?' Tuesday 17th December Today I decided to take a flight up to Broome up on the NW coast. A fellow publican moved there from Pewsey a year ago so I might find her. Besides I did not want to get in the way of Chris's plans for her Xmas with Cindy and her daughter who is due back from Italy. The return flight is 220 pounds, far cheaper than taking a coach and apart from 1 or 2 notable places to visit the road journey is long, tedious and fairly featureless, or so I'm told. Chris took us to Freo where she works. Freo is to Perth like Bath is to Bristol, Salisbury to Swindon, older, smaller, quainter and arty. Many Perth people come here at weekends. We took the train into the city. The system, the trains, the stations, so clean and efficient and cheap and I ended up just 10 minutes walk from Underground Backpackers where I booked in for 4 nights over New Year after my return from Broome. Cindy is off to shop for Xmas and I sit on a bench, shirt off and listen to a Groove Armada CD I bought in Thailand for 100b. After track 5 it starts to skip. Armed with my map and city guide I aim for the Bell Tower, an ultra modern edifice housing 12 medieval bells from St. Martin-in-the Fields, Trafalgar Square. It is impressive here on the banks of the Swan River, a popular tourist sight and is reputed to be one of the world's largest musical instruments. For lunch I descend into a basement food court, one of several, packed with shoppers and office workers. In Kebabzz I have a full salad, olives, chillies, chicken & lamb, with sour cream-$6-95(2-80) and a very smiley service. There is great diversity of house types, very few estates of identical looking places. House buyers often look first for a 'Block' (plot), maybe $100,000 and then anything upwards from the same amount to build. Flooring and fitted carpets maybe another $20k and reticulation-water services-on top. A couple of young girls in sexy nurses uniforms are giving out free, cold cans of energy drink, a promotion, while jugglers, acrobats perform here and there. One chap is playing 'Imagine' on panpipes, with full orchestral backing track. A cool jazz trio, a lone opera singer and up a narrow lane an aborigine woman sings sad jazz accompanied by her little ukulele. All very 'Covent Garden' and very hot. I have seen many groups and individuals of indigenous origin; it's non-u to say 'abo's' or even aborigines, just hanging around, drinking, and shouting. There are many shops selling ethnic art, didgeridoos etc but all are staffed by westerners, new Australians. Local shoppers and workers appear not to notice them at all. I am fairly ignorant of their history, but I do know, basically, that they've had the shit kicked out of them for 100 years or more. A constant problem for modern Australia and apart from handouts they don't know what else to do, although recent developments and policies are attempting to come to terms with it. Apart from this Perth appears to be pleased, proud and very at ease with life, especially in this clement climate, although a little detached from the mainstream East side of Oz. A long day and when we get back chats and smiles, discussing old films, TV, comedians and 60's music. It has been so good seeing her again; we get on 'champion'. Her experience with cancer, like mine has given her new priorities and like me she is determined to just get on and enjoy. Wednesday 18th December Christmas a week away and it will certainly be a new one for me, for the first time ever away from home and family.
Chris drove us both to Freo again; coffee at 'Gino's', a fine old New Orleans type building and I took the train across town to Bayswater at a cost of $2-90, 25 stops and free return within 2 hours. As I get out into these suburbs to the northeast the older houses look very English, bungalows, small. I suppose when the early immigrants from UK flocked here for a Tenner in the 60's they tended to plan homes that looked the same as those they left behind. The newer houses are bigger and grander and with stable land prices and increasing affluence there are plenty of them. I am hopefully meeting Tony Byrne, the brother of friends in Pewsey, who has lived here for 25 years and an annual visitor to my old pub there. Christ! It’s a bloody scorcher today. I arrive early and walk across the road to 'The Bayswater' hotel, a basic2* sort of place, many rooms, a large diner and bar. It appears to be the social hub of this town. Tony works for the Rail network police and his job is watching the TV monitors installed at all stations. If he sees, or expects trouble he presses a button and the police move in. Nice work if you can get it. He owns 2 houses, one of which is home to his daughter and the other he visits just once a month to 'air' it. He is paid $50k a year living expenses so he stays here in the hotel, which costs him only $97 a year. On top of that his pay is above average AND he gets 3 months a year vacation---where are we going wrong? Well, we need a drink in this heat, so we pitch in. Yes, like all his family back home he 'enjoys a drink or three'. He introduces me to Bill Johanssen, Danish, 2nd generation Australian, bald and rotund and obviously a staunch regular here,"Fackin-'ell, mate! Not another fackin whingeing Pommie cant!" I think he likes me. After a slap up, eat-all-you-can Xmas meal, along with the local pensioners'club and copious amounts of the hard stuff I eventually stagger to the train, fall instantly asleep and fortunately awaken as we pull into Perth Central, where Chris is waiting to drive me home. With a pounding 5pm hangover I scoff 2 sandwiches and kip for 2 hours. Apparently Paul Wallen, the Essex Restaurant owner and cousin of a friend back home, lives only 200m from Chris-another 'small world' thing. I track him down at the local golf club where he shares a fine $40 bottle of red wine with me. He looks different from the last time I saw him back in my old pub. He now sports a No3 haircut, peroxide blond and it suits him. Perhaps I should try it. Back in his beautiful home, driven by his classic XJS jag, we spend an amiable hour drinking several JD & cokes, my earlier hangover forgotten. Thursday 19th December Paul kindly offered to run me to the airport. After goodbyes with Chris and Cindy I set off on my 2/3-hour flight up to Broome, with 3 sets to myself. Looking out over the desert all I see are shades of red, rust, orange and brown reflecting on Paul's description of the outback, "The Great Australian Fuck-All". Upon landing at this small, dusty airport I find myself wondering, "What have I done?” 40c, very humid, windy and yes, dusty and crushingly hot, the hottest I've ever been-40c! The in-flight magazine informs me, "It takes a long time to get there, but God damn it's worth it" Broome is situated in the north west tip of WA and that's supposed to be part of the charm, hours and hours from any other town the old pearling centre retains a unique feeling of contented isolation from the rest of the country. Contented? Not sure; but isolated, certainly. Frontiersville, Hicksville and far smaller than I'd imagined. Apparently mid-summer is not a good time to be here on holiday. That's now. Hailing a taxi I travel to 'Last Stop' Backpackers, only a 300m journey but I'm just thankful of a few minutes of air conditioning. There are 3 or 4 people lounging around, but no staff till 4pm, so I took a cool dip in the small pool before catching a bus to 'Cable Beach' B'packers, just near the famous beach of the same name. A few more sun kissed young things about, a big pool, TV, lounge & bar and I book into an 8-bed dormitory, $18 a night, a bit of a shock at 7pounds 50. This is my first experience of shared accommodation and I'm a little wary, especially with the 3/4 nightly toilet visits I have to make. There's only one other bloke in my room anyway, on holiday from Sydney he rarely steps outside the shaded room choosing to lie near naked in front of a fan set to its clattering maximum and determined to get further south as soon as possible. So, alone again, hot, tired and slightly negative and it's 30m to the loo. Walked to Cable Beach, 20+km long, 1-200m wide, a huge expanse of white sand, no shady trees and the sea is rough, the beach empty. There are only 2/3 bars or restaurants and I sit in one eating chips and sipping Cappuccino, surrounded by aggressive seagulls fighting even for the froth on my coffee. I asked around after Karen, the ex-publican from Pewsey but to no avail so it looks like I really am alone again. Walked back with 10 smelly, slow plodding and aloof camels that do 'Sunset Treks' along the beach every night. This evening there's a free barbecue (hot dogs) and after a drink or two I hope I feel more positive tomorrow. Friday 20th December Sam is 24 today, sent him a text last night, which hope he woke up to this morning. I am reminded of both sons and how nice, sociable and basically happy they are. Whatever happens to me I'll never better that. I have breakfast and a game of BG with Bram, a young Belgian and it's my first game for a week or so. I also slept well despite the heat. Life's not so bad. Bus into town. Broome is a weird mix of European, Malay, Chinese, Japanese, Plillipino and Aborigine and it's origins lie in the pearling industry. 80% of the world's mother-of-pearl was produced here until the introduction of plastic buttons in the 1950's. Cultured pearls were the salvation and assured the town's future and by the 70's Broome was producing 70% of the world's supply and they are, on average, twice the size of pearls found elsewhere. Broome is also the gateway to The Kimberley, one of Australia's last wild frontiers, an area of great rivers and magnificent scenery. I read in the guide that the main season is May-September. I am here in 'The Wet' when many of the tourist-based businesses close down, which is very apparent. There are things to see and do, an Osprey colony, dinosaur footprints, flying boat wrecks, cemeteries, a museum etc but my overall feeling is that there is not a lot here and the ad-men are trying desperately to promote it as a wonderful tourist destination. Walking around Chinatown, which takes about 10 minutes I can't help but notice that all buildings have corrugated roofs. As I take coffee Father Christmas walks by yo-ho-hoing and a-ranging his bell in full kit, big white beard and all, in 38c. I note too that he heads straight for the A/C conditioned mall where everyone else is sheltering from the noonday roasting. I ended up at 'The Roebuck Hotel' or 'The Rooey', a typical Aussie big bar, all pool tables and giant sports screens. Several grizzled 'Crocodile Dundee' types loitered around the bar, along with aborigines and others of vague racial mix, all here to drink. Many are in from remote farms and mines and many are highly dubious looking, which accounts for the permanent presence of large, equally dubious bouncers on duty all day. One of the barmaids is a Scouser, a traveller working here for 2 months. She earns $16 an hour but from 4-7pm this rate rises to $25 when she strips down to skimpy bra, panties or g-strings with all the other girls. Business noticeably improves and they have nothing to fear. The bouncers are big, mean and the punters know it. I cannot help noticing the many groups of aborigines just hanging around, sprawling under trees, drunk, several still there from last night. Apparently, in 1994 the unemployment average was 10% but for the 'indigents' it was over 40%. I still have yet to see one working anywhere. The problem is that the high visibility of these lost souls has inevitably led to a general stereotyping, unfair to those who do work and don't drink and there are settlements that are totally alcohol-free. One untruth, rife among new Australians, is that the aborigine physiology cannot process alcohol properly, and that this is the main cause of this drunkenness after minimal amounts of booze. Geckos come and go around my door light but it's the Dragon lizards that grab attention here and there is one that scampers upright on his hind legs. He regularly comes on to the patio and will take insects or moths from the hand. Outside my door tonight a snake wiggled past, but it was only 20 cms long, not exactly pythonesque. Going for a swim proved a long walk as there is a 10m-high/low-tide difference here but the water was warm although still rough. I grabbed the hostel's nightly free bus into town, thought I'd try a night at the 'Rooey'. Scantily attired barmaids apart there is a giant screen showing cricket, another horseracing, a 3rd with MTV. There's a buffet, meat & veg, as much as you can eat for $7-50, about 3 quid, and it's Happy Hour prices. $2-50 for a 'middy', which looks to be a half pint, maybe a little more. The entrance is a Wild West type swing door,, perfect because it really is a Wild West bar, full of early evening boozers thirsty after a hard day's graft or here for Christmas break a from the Outback. By 9pm most of these have left, either asked to leave or ejected, or just plain pissed, while next door, in the posh bar things are kicking off. There's a strict dress code, most important-No Thongs. i.e. no flip-flops. Most blokes here consider them to be formal evening wear so there is a better class of person and this is also where the girls dress up and come out to play. Dress code also bans Shorts and Singlets, which with the Thongs comprise the National Bloke's Costume. Live Music is here most nights and this is where they all come To Pull. Apart from a few cursory words to the barmaids and blokes at the bar, an uneventful night so I catch the Nightrider bus home. The streets are empty, no other vehicles, and no people. So, here I am at the bottom right hand corner of the map, in the top left corner of Australia. 'So This Is Christmas.....' I sing to myself. I am here for another week, will definitely book into The Rooey tomorrow. It's Full Moon tonight and what a difference from my last one on Ko Pha Ngan. Sunday 21st December Book in. I'm in an 8 bed dorm, 4 bunk beds, A/C, on the 1st floor with a balcony running right round. The bigger the dorm the lower the price, $16 and I'm the only one in it. I unpack my bag and find a small wrapped Xmas gift from Cindy, my only present this year. Broome: Butts, Boobs & Beer Bellies, Singlets, Shorts and Thongs-'de rigueur'. Quite a few Baseball Caps, usually with a ponytail hanging out the back. Most of the Aborigines and many of the white blokes go barefoot on concrete you could fry sausages on and is very unsophisticated after Perth. Found 'Skin Tight', another Carl Hiassen at the local bookstore, nipped into the Drive-Thru bottle store, a common feature in Australia and bought a 6-pack of Toohey's Extra Dry and settled very comfortably at the poolside in the motel section of The Rooey, until a heavy thunderstorm drove me inside to the 'Pearlers' bar, the posh bit that I was in last night. Tonight it is empty at 9pm and the Scouse girl told me that nothing really happens till 11pm so I watched 'The Simpsons' in the kitchen/common room along with 2 or 3 other lonely souls. She also told me of the punch-ups late last night, the blokes going 'Troppo', a common and seasonal occurrence among the ordinary 'Ockers, in this intense humid heat. The bar-glasses are not stacked here; they go straight into a basket, into a glass washer and then into a freezer and are served straight out from there. There are no bottles on shelves, they come out of cooler cabinets or are piled up in ice-filled containers. Cans of Bourbon & Coke or Dry Ginger and Whisky mixers are very popular and there is even Bundeburg Rum & coke on draft (Australia’s own brand). The entire bar staff are congenial and seem proud with their work. An excellent all-girl band are playing here for the whole month, up from Perth and the local talent, male & female, are all here tonight but after a few drinks I retire, feeling like an old perv and wishing I was still in Thailand. Saturday 22nd December There are a dozen or so aborigines sprawled comatose, on the verges, under trees, in the gutter as I wander round this early morning. There is no beach in Broome, just Mango swamps and I glimpse mudskippers, crabs, feral cats & dogs and unfortunately, broken bottles, rusty cans, plastic bags littered everywhere near the sea across the road from the town.

Amazed at how quiet it is for 11am on a Sunday morning until I notice the actual time, 8am-I'd set my alarm for 5am by mistake.
All the backpackers here have their own plates, cutlery, cups etc and all use the kitchen facilities to prepare their own meals. I cannot get into this after the cheap ready meals in Thailand and the prepared meals at Chris's but given the prices here I feel I should invest in some basic stuff as I'm here for another month or so.
So, a plate, a mug, knife, fork and spoon. This meant also buying burgers, bread, butter, washing-up liquid, dishcloth, coleslaw, avocado and beer.
Spent the rest of the day at the poolside reading before cooking my burgers, which were awful.
In the next room to mine is a Canadian, yet another traveller from Vancouver, who is cheffing at a local restaurant for $30 per hour and hoping to move on in another 3 months.
I sat in the bar for 2 hrs, alone and returned to my balcony to finish my book. I always relished the thought of a quiet, hassle-free and downbeat Christmas, but I cannot help feeling a little down.
Monday 23rd December
Met up with Hank (French), Bev (Canadian) and Mick (Londoner) - all of whom I had met at Cable Beach Backpackers - and we all shared a taxi out to the port where we saw not a single boat.
My hair is growing long again. In Thailand I paid a quid for a cut, which included head, shoulders and neck massage, but here it is $12 minimum, so I bought my own clippers for $20 and decide to do my own from now on. Last night's crap burgers hasten me quickly to the toilet several times and in between I read Carl Hiassen's 'Tourist Season'.
This was drawn on the kitchen wall by a long gone backpacker.
In every hostel there's a huge notice board displaying ads for shared onward journeys, for second-hand cars or vans, skint travellers selling CD players or guitars and work; 'Fishing Trawler - 3 months work, good conditions, good pay, no experience required'; 'Water melon pickers wanted ASAP; 'bar staff wanted'; 'Pearling Co needs shell-cleaners NOW'; 'Couple require M/F to help paint inside/outside of house. Free board + $250 per week'.
Most young people (under 27) have legitimate working visas for a year, but there appears to be plenty of cash-in-hand, no-questions-asked, opportunities. Apart from the thousands of foreign travellers working their way round there are many Australians and New Zealanders, drifters, who live like this, perpetually on the move around the coastline.
Early evening. Sports Bar. I pluck up the courage to put my dollar coin on the pool table and end up undefeated for 10 games. None of my opponents are what you might call small, shy and retiring so fixed grins and ‘gosh,I’m so lucky shrugs’ aplenty from myself.
A large, friendly aborigine woman chats to me. Three minutes later my new pack of cigarettes have disappeared. I look her in the eye and she smiles sheepishly and the pack is retrieved from the vast chasm between her bulbous breasts 'was jus' guarding them for mista!'
John, an amiable chap just in from the mines (lead and nickel) for Christmas, plays table tennis and I use this as an excuse to end my embarrassingly long stint on the pool-table. John is 42 and staying here at the Roey because his rented car and house have been ransacked in his absence. He is atrociously bad at table tennis and is also extremely pissed, but he's friendly. A bit of a drifter, he has previously worked for the Kimberly Development Council, a government sponsored body working with the aborigines. He is very protective of them and tells me of the great Australian guilt feelings towards them and of the extreme racial and bigoted views of many of his countrymen. In one bar where he was playing a friendly game of pool with two locals, when asked politely about his work, he narrowly escaped an extreme beating with pool cues because of his work with 'Fuckin' Abo's.
I cannot keep up with John's drinking rounds, the Karaoke has started up and I cringe inwardly as many a good number is murdered by a motley selection of drunks. I leave John to it.
Tuesday 24 December
Christmas Eve, 38c, no Xmas lights, no angels, no background carols and no jingle-bells. John is suffering in his room after last night so we get through several black coffees and a long chat, politics, terrorism, Iraq, 3rd world debt, but we agree on everything.
In the cool mall I buy fruit-juice, a peach, banana chilled milk, sardines, tuna, cheese, ham, baked beans and sausages, spring onions, a cucumber, tomato and a cereal bowl. Total $31, about 12 quid - a whole week eating out in Thailand - I've got to forget that. John tells me there might be an Orphans’ party and I take this to mean that he is feeling charitable, but no it's a party for estranged drifters, people away from home and family.
John drives us to Cable Beach where the wind has dropped, the sea is calm and warm and jellyfish-free. John is another lover of life and says 'G'day' to everyone. His car, bought for $400 5 years ago has 280,000 km on the clock. He loves Australia; he's been all over, a real Knight of the road.
Back at the Roey it's party, party, party. I came 3rd in the pool knockout winning $10. John has scored some weed so we wander back to his room to roll and smoke a big one.
We spend the next hour appreciating the Girlie band, just standing there, unable to form coherent speech, with those big, vacuous, cannabis-induced stupid grins on our faces.
At midnight it's hugs and kisses all round, a handshake and a 'Good on yer!' from John and it's back to his room for more beers. Ian, the Canadian chef, joins us. A drunken discussion about Buddhism reveals them both to be quite his current bible is the 'Buddhist Book of Living and Dying'. He is mumbling about Henry Ford saying 'I adopted the idea of reincarnation......'
'What a wonderful word-adopted' he exclaims to me. Five minutes later he is quoting Harrison Ford who apparently said 'I adopted the idea of reincarnation.....'
Realising that we were in some sort of loop, or Ford mix-up here I leave him, he's still mumbling about reincarnation, but I go to bed and had to get up 4 bloody times for a pee and wonder about my own reincarnation in the morning.
Christmas Day - Wednesday 25th December
A coffee, e-mails from Ben & Sam, from friends. Funny, they'll all be with families, boozing, snoozing in front of the telly, playing games, opening prezzies.
I prepare my breakfast of tuna, tomato, cucumber & spring onions with a chunk of bread, slightly stale, then go & wake John up. He gives me a card and a present; a t-shirt, and I am speechless! I remember my other present from Cindy- a small pot of lip-salve with a packet of Wrigley's gum. Oh God! -Does that mean I had bad breath?
We drove to Cable Beach, swam & walked. Not a lot is happening though there are 2 bar/restaurants open, but only to those who have booked their $70 sumptuous Xmas dinners. They are both full, mainly family groups.
Drove out to the headland, Anastasia's Pool, a small, hollowed out rock pool, apparently hand-made by a lighthouse keeper for his crippled wife a 100 years ago.
John is a lovely bloke, but rather 'full-on' & 'hyper' all the time. He reminds me of an incident we witnessed last night-The Stomach Challenge where volunteer contestants charge at each other across the room, Belly to Belly. It comes back to me now. A 20st bloke impacts with a 15st woman resulting with her rebounding some 4/5ft into the crowd of cheering merrymakers, who all ended up in a tangle, like ninepins going down. A joy to behold.
I also met a young couple with unmistakable Bristol accents and the boy, like me was an ex-Fairfieldian.
John goes off to his Orphans’ Party at a colleague’s house and I return to prepare my Xmas Feast. A tin of sardines with the same stuff I had for breakfast & by now, an even staler roll. A big Honeydew melon to follow with 2 large ice cold Tooheys. A feast indeed, followed by a spliff and a lazy afternoon at the pool, where I met Ian, Canadian chef, whom I now realise, is an alcoholic. Watched 'Indiana Jones', the one with Sean Connery, and a group of us Xmas orphans polished off a bottle of Vodka, Kahlua and coke.
Bed at midnight, still alone in my 8-bed dorm and it's still afternoon in Blighty.
Boxing Day Thursday 26th December
Boxing Day means zilch here.
Every night I've been watching big, ponderous black birds flying into the sunset out of the Mangroves, in their 100's and I now realise they are, in fact, fruit bats and bloody big they are too.
Had a couple of beers with John who is packing up to move on to his next mining job. Played pool with Ian and Noreen, a large semi-toothless, laughing aborigine. Outside, Ian befriends a hopelessly drunk aborigine chap but he is not too far off the same state himself. He tells me that this bloke has been wearing the same clothes day in, day out, for 6 months and has been sleeping under the tree across the road .Ian gives him a nice new silk shirt and helps him into it and you would think he had just solved the entire problems of the 3rd World. The bouncers arrive and escort (drag) the poor sot off the premises and onto the pavement where he still lies, comatose, 3 hours later. Ian, now very drunk himself, is inflamed at this 'layabout' and wants his shirt back. He really thought that this selfless act of his would be enough to give this chap his self respect back, that he would go straight out and buy a matching suit, shirt and shoes, get a job and become a model citizen overnight.
Ian is only 24 and he's been bumming around the world for 2 years, cheffing, never long in one place and drinking, with hard drugs if he could find them. He's running from something, for sure. I run into him at The Sports Bar and lend him $20 as he again relates the mixed up words of Henry/Harrison Ford, Buddhism et (boring) al. Every time a new barmaid serves us they are treated to one of Ian's corny chat-up lines; ‘That’s a lovely t-shirt!! What does it mean?'Or, 'your hair is beautiful! Surely that can't be your natural colour?’ Comments like these are always followed by a whispered aside to me;’ Do you think she takes it up the ass?' or 'I've never paid for sex, but I'd pay her'.
He also informs me that he can play any musical instrument brilliantly, has made love to over 200 beautiful women and when dancing he becomes an irresistible sex magnet. To demonstrate this he sidles up to 2 lovely Polynesian girls on the dance floor and joins in. To me his style resembles that of a courting pigeon and the girls don't even realise he is dancing with them. After a few minutes he returns to the bar, 'did you see how I got the whole place up & dancing? You gotta understand 'man, when I get going everybody gets going!' (hmm, home probably, I'm thinking)
He borrows another $20 from me, smokes all my fags, even though he told me previously that he only ever rolls his own. He has a lot of Walter Mitty problems. Another $10 loan, further talk of Chick Magnetism and another revelation, he is a Professor of Rock Music, too!! But now he owes me $50.
Friday 27th December
Coffee, breakfast, bookshop. Found 'Only Forward', Michael Marshall Smith, and started to read by the pool when Ian appears,' Hey man! Wasn't I a chick magnet last night? They loved me and one of them came back to my room'
I am tempted to ask if she was blind and took it up the backside but remind him instead of his $50 debt. An awkward few minutes pass as he says it's only $20,’Shit, man! Are you sure?'
I finally convince him with my earnest explanation, 'Hey man! You were just too busy with all those gorgeous chicks!'
'Hell! I'll just go to the ATM; I think my card works'. I'm getting a bad feeling about this.
5 minutes later, He's back:
'Hell man! The fuckin' ATM ate my card. No worries...I'll mail you the money'.
"Actually, Ian, I don't have an address and you did promise me the money today and I'm leaving tomorrow and I will need the cash!'
So he promises to pay me tomorrow at 10.30am. I'm leaving at 11.
I spend the last night at 'The Sun Picture House', the world's oldest al fresco cinema built in 1916. The seating is deck chair stalls and about 12 of us watch 'The Ring’, a remake of an old horror film, mildly watchable. Returned to the Rooey, the Pearler's bar where a beautiful A Maori/Chinese woman, slim, stylish and beguilingly exotic, temporarily transfixes me. In your dreams, boy.
So I go to bed, dreaming of her and $50 debts.
Saturday 28th December
Up at 8am, pack the bag again and knock on Ian's door-no answer-then trek the half mile to his workplace, nab him and he hands over the cash, to my relief. Goodbye Ian, it's been.....interesting. Taxi to the airport, a 30min wait and back to Perth, down the coastline, a sandy beach all the way and that red, dusty interior.
As we approach Perth the signs of civilisation, of human order; straight lines, right angles, cultivation, plantations, human settlement, swimming pools. From the airport an $11 taxi into town to Northridge, Grand Central Backpackers. As good a hostess that Christine was I prefer to be here mixing it with the day, waiting for anything/anyone to just happen.
$20 a day for a 3 bed room, $105 for the week in advance, but I'm not sure yet so book in for 2 days. There's a Japanese chap permanently asleep and a French guy whose clothes and belongings are strewn about the room. It's at basement level, dark and crowded and the toilet is on the floor above. 70% of the people here are Asian, mostly Japanese on language courses. Of all the nationalities I've met the Japanese seem to really stick together, don't mix and never speak English despite the fact that they are here for precisely that reason.
I attempt my first self-inflicted haircut, use the wrong attachment and end up with a deep, bald furrow up the back of my neck.
I hear that accent again-this chap is from Shepton Mallet and he's been here a month but the furthest he's been is 100m from this place. He watches TV, videos and lives on a diet of cheap pasta, home cooked. I've decided to give up this cooking lark, gave away my plates, mug, utensils and nipped out to the local food court-Sweet'n Sour chicken, pork, fish & noodles--as much as you can heap on a plate, a smallish plate but ample for $6.
At The Moon & Sixpence, A Brit style pub, you can drink Guinness, Caffreys, Boddingtons, Fosters, Tenants, Tetleys, Bass, Scrumpy Jack and Old Speckled Hen, a better selection than in any pub back home but it is all ice-cold and gassy, for me- unpalatable.
This Backpackers is not a very sociable place. Apart from the preponderance of Japanese there is no central meeting area. There is a TV room on one floor, a Kitchen on another and a Pool/Internet room on the third.
Sunday 29th December
Sitting eating a McDonalds breakfast I watch Perth busy itself with the January Sales, 30c. Bought myself a t-shirt--$70-nearly 30 quid, a fortune but a one-off, quite unusual and what the hell-a present from & to ME.
There are many mixed-race couples here and it's always Asian women & Western men, never the other way round. I wonder why.
I just sit, & watch the many slim, gorgeous women walk by. Fantasy? Menopause? Yes.
Back at Central I meet Miho, yes, Japanese, on her own and willing to talk, in English to a westerner. Pete Stone, from Salcombe in Devon, who understands a little Japanese, joins us. A builder/decorator, 39 and each year he stops work at the end of November and takes off till the end of March and has not spent a Christmas in UK for 12 years. Last year he did Asia, this year it's Australia and next, South America. If you are happy single it's a nice way to live. We arrange to meet later.......
At The Moon & Sixpence and I soon realise that Pete is Mr. Testosterone, personified, as randy as a buck rabbit and he can drink, too. Conversation is difficult with a bloke, whose eyes are constantly on the prowl, looking for signs of a response from every fecund female in the locality, attempting eye contact or a casual word.
We did a bit of a crawl, me drinking halves to his pints, though we were barred entry into a couple of places because of my sandals. Bars are big, most have live bands, and all have bouncers. Bar staff add up nothing, all having personal zappers which read bar codes on every product. Easy, but other staff are constantly collecting trays of empties, as it is illegal to re-fill a dead glass.
I eventually leave Pete chatting up a large woman.
Monday 30th December
Up at 8am, check out & walk the mile to Underground Backpackers on the other side of Northridge, the 'fun' area. On the way I discover a nice coffee bar and eat toast with coffee, served by a foin Oirish Colleen, one of the hundreds from Ireland working here.
Underground B'packers is the business. Newly refurbished with beds for 200, singles, doubles and dorm rooms, bar, video lounge, kitchen, pool and table tennis as well as an excellent reception/travel desk, permanently staffed. Thankfully I have a bottom bunk in a 6-bed dorm but the toilet is along the corridor and the door squeaks so I'm dreading waking up my fellow guests as I am going to the loo at least 3 times a night.
My original itinerary means I'm here for a further 2 weeks so I could spend time exploring this SW corner of WA, but, I decide to bring forward my flight to Melbourne and the next one to Cairns in the NW so I can spend longer on the popular east coast trek down to Sydney. For this I had to wait 2 hours in the Quantas office but for 30 pounds I manage to make the rebooked dates I wanted.
Returning to Underground I find John Grisham's "Street Lawyer" on the free bookstall, settle and read by the pool with a couple of cold VB's (Victoria Bitter).
Met a nice bloke, Harry from up North (Yorkshire). He is 56, a young 56 and his wife, Sally is 40 and a fine chatty lass. He is a retired fireman, fit & healthy and Sally still works and they are having a whole year off travelling the world. They have a mortgage-paid house at home and enough dosh to enjoy life. Nice couple, and it's nice to chat to people of my generation, as most guests here are youngsters.
I had a phone call from Pete who wants me to do some paid work helping him paint a house exterior so we met at Rosie O'Grady's, another Irish Bar, to discuss arrangements. I have to be up at 7am to meet him at Perth Central to train out to Leaderville, a few stops out of town. As tomorrow is a biggie I go to bed at 10pm.
Tuesday 31st December
Despite my early night I only slept for 4 hours, not much fun for my roommates who were all awoken 4 times by the squeaky door as I made my visits to the loo.
Spent 8 hours painting in 36c and get home at 6pm intending to have a short nap. However, Paul and Emma, a nice young couple from Newcastle, are in the room and I feel a bit of a spoilsport so leave them 'to it' for half an hour while I take a long hot shower. They are on a tight budget and cannot afford a double room, which means they don't get much privacy. What a considerate chap I am, but when I return a new girl is there on the bunk above mine, so maybe nookie was denied after all.
I did enjoy the painting, a bit of a 'Zen' thing for me, a chance to reflect and I also phoned Christine who promised to give me a day out tomorrow, a bit of a local tour.
A free 'Sausage Sizzle' and beer at Underground followed by a shave/shower and dug out my more respectable desert boots not wanting to be barred from anywhere tonight. This is the 1st time in over 2 months that I have not worn my trusty sandals.
Met Pete at Rosie O'Grady's with Dave, another chap from Salcombe who has just bumped into Pete and they know each other from back home-amazing. Dave is a mortgage broker who, like Pete, also takes 4 months off each year and, like Pete, is RANDY and would bonk absolutely anyone female, the only condition of his curriculum. Probably destined to always end up with the ugly one he is the ideal partner for Pete.
The streets are packed with diners, revellers, tourists, and backpackers and there is excited anticipation in the air. There are also armed, bulletproofed police politely relieving any one of their glass or bottle and not in a bar.
I have spent the last 16 years generally in a state of sober detachment on New Year's Eve, working in a bar, but here for the first time I am free. Nevertheless, I am alone and cannot shake off the feeling of being a detached observer, a non-participant.
Live bands everywhere, stages set up at various corners and people are partying but I end up at my now local coffee bar chatting to the Irish girl and the proprietor, a lovely Chinese lady, 40ish, from Hong Kong......hmm. I end 2002 with a plate of chips, a Jack Daniels and coke and I'm abed by 1am. Happy New Year Al.
Wednesday 1st Jan 2003-New Year
Up at 8am for phone calls home, New Year just kicking in there and in California it's still yesterday afternoon-weird.
Chris picked me up at 10.30 and we headed south, about 100km, to Mandurah, Rockingham and taking in the little Pearl Winery where I purchased an $18 Red Wine, at least 20 quid in the UK. We ate fish'n chips, drank coffee, beer and reminisced. It seems we are kindred spirits, because of school, Bristol, a teenage romance and now, cancer.
After a great day out we returned and met Chris's boyfriend, Hayden, 48, a bank manager. She has another close friend who is 35. Lucky Christine, wish I had a 35 & 48 year old in tow and she has many others who have given her great support over the last 2 years. She confides that they would all have her gravestone inscribed, "She was a good Friend" but, her choice would be, "She was a Great Shag".
A good day. An earlyish night for me.
Thursday 2nd January.
Another day's Zen-Painting, Knocking off at 4.30, early but the boss has gone off surfing
Tonight The Star Bar Backpackers Night. Every night some bar or other has special offers to tempt in the 1000's of backpackers, free food, cheap drinks, and prize competitions for their hard saved or hard worked dollars.
The Pool Knockout offers $100 prize of beer and I am one of 32 entrants. Paul & Emma from my room are also there and we have a laugh till our turn comes round. First round I beat a Dutch guy, Franz, also from our room and go on to the semi-final at midnight, 3 hours after the start-these bars know what they are doing-captive audience. It's a rather pissed Paul who beats me and then he wins the final, after which we play a friendly, beat him, 7-balled him, typical.
1am bed.
Friday 3rd January
Popped along to the cafe, Lake Street Cafe, where I met the nice Irish girl, in fact, all the staff are friendly, particularly the Chinese lady, the boss.
It's Pete's birthday so we finish at 3.30, again, unbeknown to the boss who has already paid us at lunchtime before he left for his surfing. $250, not bad, cash-in-hand for 20 hours work and it's home to freshen up early. Checked my lottery numbers-$28million--along with 27.99999million others, I came 2nd so once more to The Shangri-la food court for my $6 meal before meeting Pete and Dave at Rosie's.
Did the rounds ending up at The Elephant & Wheelbarrow with a superb live band and it's heaving with 30/40 something’s all on 'the pull’. Divorced, Separated, Adulterers and the just plain Horny. No rave, dance or disco, just good old 60-80's Rock.
I watch a lovely Thai woman rope in 2 blokes who both plied her with drinks and attention while she diplomatically kept them both apart and very interested. Pete and Dave are only after the same thing so I thought I was holding them back. Making 'tired old git' noises I retire early, though it's gone 1.30.
As I get into bed there is something in it---Paul left me a dozen bottles of VB beer, some of his winnings, before taking off today.
Saturday 4th January
E-mail from Chris Bawn, the chap I met in Malaysia and then Thailand. He's arriving in Perth from Japan tomorrow. Chatted to Trevor, a new chap in my dorm. He's a Geordie and a specialist nurse and is working his way round Oz, after a long road trip across the States.
Met Pete at Street Cafe and we ate a full-cooked breakfast, the Works, $10. Elena, the owner is very chatty today---Does she fancy me?
I took a train to Cottesloe Beach, $1.10, read, ogled and snoozed, cloudy but hot. On the walk back to the station the trees were full of bright white, shrieking Cockatoos. Back at Underground I met Gary and Kath from London, whom I'd met in Ko Samui, 2 months ago
Again at Street Cafe I had a coffee. This time Elena actually sat & chatted at my table. We seem to get on well & easily. Moving on to Rosie's where Pete & Dave are already feasting their eyes on anything female. Dave missed the last train home to Freo last night and had to walk the 10 miles, arriving at 7am.
Pete is with Diana from Brighton. He confides that he hasn't bonked her yet, but she's almost ready! Well, she is NOT ready yet because she left so we moved on to Novak's where John Henry has his weekly night of entertainment. A local legend, 60 and going strong. He's Billy Connolly, Jasper Carrot and a bit Bernard Manning, but not enough of the latter to be unfunny and he's a brilliant guitarist, raconteur and singer, razor sharp and insults everyone.
Tonight he has forgotten /lost his guitar pick but manages just as well with a credit card, Rock, Pop, anything, he can play it with ease.
Pete and Dave reckon there are 2 women back at Rosie's who are 'gagging for it' so off they go and I mosey on along to Elephant & Wheelbarrow. It’s a Saturday and out of 500 people I am the oldest, invisible also. Another brilliant band is on. The boys return alone but immediately they are leering, prospecting and hoping. Leave them to it. Back at Underground I play 4 drunken lads at table tennis, easily beating them all.
Sunday 5th January
Street Cafe, Sunday papers, coffee and sandwiches, outside on the sunny street-perfect, listening to the old Italian men reminiscing. They all meet here & discuss the old country, the new country, whatever, in that continental gesture-ridden way.
Pm. Back to the pool for reading & dozing and drinking my beer stash. Also contemplating the idea of asking Elena out one evening but she seems to be working here from 7am-10pm every day and apart from that I fear the possible rejection and embarrassment that is likely to happen.
Met Pete & Dave at Elephant & Wheelbarrow. Their intended dates didn't turn up but worry not. Dave has met 2 girls on the train from Freo and persuaded them to come here. On holiday from Essex they are staying at a posh hotel and Angie, 47, married but undeterred as she ties to tickle Pete's tonsils with her tongue. Caroline, 44 and single is getting all the treatment from Dave, copious drinks and lounge -lizard chat. Once again I feel a wallflower and idly observe the goings-on around me. The lead singer out-Robbies Robbie,out-Freddys Freddy and out- Jaggers Mick--- a sure Pop Idol winner.
Hang on! Caroline keeps trying to pull me into the conversation, touching my leg, smiling---all the signs--- and when Dave gets up to leave he nudges me & gives the knowing leer, whispers conspiratorially, 'She's yours, mate, really fancies you!'
Panic! What do I do now? Well, on the pretence of having to nip back to see if Chris has arrived from Japan I, in fact, pop a Viagra (just in case) and return to Caroline's invitation back to her hotel.
Pete & Angie are tongue wrestling and I am carrying Caroline who, after hitting fresh air is legless, thanks to Dave's 'loosening-up' drinks. Good fun earlier she is now virtually comatose, blotto. The doorman takes over from me and I am left with false start syndrome. Angie joins her mate and Pete, far from undeterred, heads back to the pub where a 'dead cert' awaits. Turned on by his bald head, neat beard, muscles and sexual innuendoes she is welcome to him---I go home wondering if my pulling days are over.
Monday 6th January
Street Cafe, routine, chatting to Elena, tap on the shoulder--It's Chris--amazing and we spend a pleasant hour filling in the gaps since our last meeting in Thailand, 2 months ago.
We arranged to meet tomorrow and take a boat out to Rottnest Island.
He's down to Factor 15 now.
Today the American Aircraft carrier,’ Abraham', comes into Freo, recalled as the likelihood of war increases. Generally the Ozzies don't like the Yanks and they are currently very upset at their Prime Minister's decision to support and supply the War effort.
Phoned Paul Wallen and booked Christine & me into his Essex Restaurant but first arranged to meet Dave in his local bar. He did not turn up and I was an hour late for Christine but we had a great meal. Huge garlic prawns with bread, followed by tender fillet steak, scallops, fluffy mashed potatoes and salad, coffee and wine. The bill was $85 but was waived by Paul, who said he'd retrieve the money from Harry, his cousin & a mate of mine back home. My last time with Christine, who has been great company. More hugs/goodbyes. Took the train back into Perth and everywhere there are cowboy-hatted and booted young, drunk American sailors. Bed 11pm.
Tuesday 7th January
Up 5 times for a pee last night--bit of a worry, but at Street Cafe Elena has noticed my very small feet. Hmm...Has she been appraising me, or does she always look at feet? Told her about last night's meal, "Why you not take me for meal?" wow!
'Well, you seem to be working every night!'
'Well, Monday-Tuesday my night off' wow!
Now I had just been looking through the horoscopes and under 'Capricorn' it said,'an invitation from a friendly stranger, later on today' or words to that effect, so I asked, 'When is your birthday?'
'I am Capricorn', she looks embarrassed, '.... why you ask?'
I show her the horoscope, and mine says something like 'tonight will bring sweet surprises'
'Well! Today Tuesday, your night off, so........'
'Oh No! Today is my birthday so all family come my house for meal.....very sorry....I would like...'
Bugger! And she seemed genuinely disappointed. Bugger!
Met Chris at the Bell Tower and we set off by ferry to Rottnest Island, down the Swan River to Freo where we take a 100 or so on board.
This river really is majestic and lined with luxurious homes, mansions, villas, millionaire pads, but in the water, in their trillions, are jellyfish from tennis ball to football size. We are assured they are harmless but I would not have dared to swim in it, like the frolicking dolphins alongside the boat.
During the 20km trip we passed the US Carrier and were awed at the sheer size. 8000 live aboard and I imagine, for some reason, the cost of feeding that many away at sea for weeks. Perth’s bars will do very well out of 'this could be our last chance to get drunk' philosophy.
Rottnest, or as the Aussies call it, Rotto, was originally named because of the high numbers of large rats which turned out to be Quokkas, benign marsupials. Perth people flock here each weekend and it is popular for its timeshares and chalets and the 40km cycle circuit around the island.
We first stopped for a cold beer each, hired some fins (flippers) and snorkels, walked 2km up the white beach and swam around seeing only a few tiddlers. It is very hot and even my worn in tan does not stop me burning. Needless to say Chris is still pale, though a little blotchy, and it has been great meeting up with him again after 2 months. Home at 6pm, knackered.
Wednesday 8th Jan
Up four times to pee.
Coffee with Chris then a $1 dollar ferry across the river to Perth zoo, a very clean, well-laid out place where we saw many species including my first kangaroo. I have not yet seen a wild one.
Back to Underground for a swim and some poolside BG, my first game in Oz. Gus, my age, works here, originally from Lebanon, plays a mean game. He runs the social nights here, pool, table tennis, barbies and various competitions at the many venues vying for backpacker's dollars.
Tonight it's the Mustang Bar, where very fit female dancers perform on raised stages and where the disco crowd flock. For $5 we get steak, sausage, salad, bread plus 1 beer and entry into he $100 raffle as well as the table tennis and pool tournaments. On top of this jugs of beer at $6 are served. A very reasonable and generous offer but when you see the hordes of people here it is well worth it for the Mustang Bar.
Chris, Trevor (the Geordie from my dorm), Pete the painter, Dave and Foxy (a local painter) and I had a few drinks, some good laughs and then we all moved on to 'The Office' nightclub, pounding music, flashing lights and drunk revellers going through to 6 am.
I stayed for an hour, the oldest by 20 years....... and, therefore, invisible so no one noticed my absence.
Thursday 9th January
Last night I drank more than usual but was only up once for a pee - makes no sense. The chap in the bunk above me, another Bristolian, fell out at 3 am - CRUMP! And didn't even wake up.
Arose at 10.30, a good lie-in. Met Chris at the cafe, chatted to Martina, the delightful colleen from Dublin and to Elena (bugger!) On to Singapore Airlines office to change my flight dates and organise a week's stop in California, with Barbara, a lady I met on the Internet playing BG.
38c again and as testament to the sun, the lack of ozone layer and factor 10 lotion, Chris is actually turning a pinky-red hue. After a swim my book and BG with Gus I slip back to Street Cafe to say goodbye to Elena and muse on what might have been.
Tonight at the Mustang it's the weekly Table Tennis Knockout. The place is full of brash Americans; many of them too young to drink at home in the US. I did rather well in the tournament and end up in the semi-final with a crazy, hyped-up Japanese chap and lost 21-19. Just before the final he tripped and suffered cramp and ended up losing 21-16 (I would have beaten him in the final). I really enjoyed the tournament and was impressed with some of the players though I'd never actually played with spotlights flashing, music pounding and drunk Americans lurching everywhere.
Bed at 12.30. Awake at 4.40 for the taxi to the airport, extremely tired.
Friday 10th January
Arrived Melbourne; there is a 3-hour time difference here. Took the shuttle to Spencer St station, a landmark and popular meeting place across the river into the city.
Vibrant, multi-cultural, Victorian buildings, parks, gardens, leafy suburbs, food, sport, the arts. Australia's second largest city.
Tried 3 or 4 places, all full except for a couple of top bunks which I did not fancy climbing down from every night for a pee. I had been told that Viagra is very useful for top bunks, i.e. it stops you rolling out of bed!
I ended up at 'Pint on Punt', a large pub/restaurant with backpackers’ accommodation above. Trevor, the Geordie, had recommended this place. $24 a night, nearly 10 pounds, in St Kilda, the weekend beach and play area of Melbourne. I am in a 4-bed dorm, but there is only Steve, a Tasmanian fisherman visiting his family here and me.
I feel the familiar sense of bewilderment again in a new place, unknown and knowing no one. It's chilly, only 22 c, certainly not shorts and t-shirt weather than I had been used to. I had a $10 pasta meal in the pub and found another 'Elephant and Wheelbarrow' also packed, where the 'Neighbours' cast appear each week and you can take photos and chat to the likes of Harold, Toady and Dr Carl Kennedy, at a price, $30. Might try it on Tuesday.
Back at 'Pint on Punt' there is a fairly good singer/guitarist but there are only 7 of us in the bar. Meredith is a Canadian, 22 yr old psychology student looking for work here. She is 4 feet 4 ins short and has a tiny voice to match that inspires you to say 'pardon?' or 'what's that?' after every sentence she utters.
Saturday 11th January
Took the tram into town over the Yarra River, the 'Upside Down River', muddy on the surface, apparently clear underneath. Burke, Swanston and Elizabeth Streets all in the classic grid pattern, lovely trams up & down the middle of the thoroughfares; China Town, the bizarre Gaudi-like facade of the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology, the new futuristic Federation Square with its galleries, exhibition halls which has been described by Dame Edna as a modern urinal, badly designed and arousing fierce pro-con discussion. Either way impressive and already a major tourist must-see attraction.
32c today so a walk across the bridge to King's Domain with its parks, gardens and Government House, an exact replica of Queen Victoria's place on the Isle of Wight. The Royal Botanical Gardens, the finest in Australia and among the world's best with its trees, shrubs, birds, lakes and bridges-an arboreal delight and a tranquil afternoon finished off with a fresh mango & ginger iced soda.
A 20-minute tram ride back to St. Kilda down Fitzroy to the Esplanade of coffee bars, bistros, boutiques and quaint shops. The beach itself is not a classic but is still packed with weekenders engrossed with sun worship, walking, jogging, cycling and roller skating, strutting their stuff.
Oh yes, and this on a plaque in King's Domain,
"The land speaks rivulets of light.
Listen to my breath.
Rest awhile and listen"
There are big tourist hotels here too, just a short hop from the city centre. Backpackers, old and new collectable sports cars parading, bijou eateries, street cafes, junkies and Bohemians.
The Esplanade Hotel, the Espy, is a fine old Victorian Building no longer housing guests bur several bars and halls loud with live bands. This 'arvo' is no different with a great old style R & B band and avid crowd stomping along.
Walking back to Pint on Punt, just outside the fashionable area, I see many gorgeous Thai girls, but they don't see me.
Booked a day trip on The Great Ocean Road, Monday, and after a quick cheap bite at 'Pint' returned back to The Espy where 4 excellent bands were playing at the same time in various parts of the building. There seems to be great respect for live music all over Australia and I can remember Duggie saying that he played here several times during his 25 year career as a rock guitarist.
Finally back to 'Pint' where yet another fine band is performing and met Meredith, the mini-Canadian and Dominic, a pleasant young Swiss-German. I sank a few Wild Turkies too.
Sunday 12th January
Strange. I have no notion of time passing, just the places change. I am past the half way point but there is no sense of it ever ending.
Slept till 11am, no one else in the dorm last night.
Strolled back to the beach and , incredibly, I bump into Chris, AGAIN.On to the Sunday market along the Promenade, a 100 or so arty-farty craft stalls, very relaxing, especially over a pizza & 2 or 3 'pots', known as 'middies' in Perth, half pints in England. Swam, read and ogled all afternoon. At one point 100's of gleaming Harley-Davisons trooped past, their riders suitably leathered up, most entertaining.
Last night Meredith was being extra friendly with all the men, even me, but she eventually stuck lucky with Jeff, the Backpacker manager here. He is twice her age and almost twice her height and as I walk into the bar, there they are, he at 6ft 6ins, sitting on a high bar stool and she, at 4ft 4ins standing between his spread-eagled knees. Everyone coming into the bar does a double take just to be sure that he is not a paedophile with his 10 yr old girlfriend and he does not look comfortable either.
Monday 13th January
The 'Go-West' bus, a 21-seater, picks me up at 8.15 and I am the last pick-up. The driver, a happy, go-lucky Aran, life and soul type, says 'Alrightie!' at the beginning and end of every sentence.
So, westwards through Geelong, Torquay Beach and Bells Beach, the latter being a popular surfing reserve. Golfers and Grey Kangaroos lolling about everywhere share Anglesea Golf Course. Their droppings, like rabbit poo, are larger and also everywhere.
Accompanying Aran's light-hearted banter is a musical backing tape that he has put together and naturally, as we leave the golf course 'tie me kangaroo down sport' by good old Rolf Harris but the politically incorrect verse about lazy ado’s is discreetly turned down. Onto Fairhaven and the Great Ocean Road, linking Melbourne to Adelaide. There are many beautiful houses dotted along here and few are older than 20 years because in 1983 the Great Bush Fire wiped everything out. In fact, as I write, a huge fire is raging around Canberra. One house is built at the top of a 2 metre diameter, 30ft high concrete tower and is reachable only by a concrete bridge across from a cliff top, supposedly as protection against the next uncontrollable fire.
Next, Lorne, where years ago the local publican offered a free drink to the winner of a race down to the end of the pier, dive in and swim back to the pub. The 2 first challengers happened to finish in a dead heat, thus ensuring a free drink each. Now, 4 thousand take part in this annual event and drink the pub dry. Cue song, 'a pub with no beer'.
Here we drove up a little way into the bush and saw Koalas, several nursing young. They sleep for 16 to 18 hrs a day, eating only eucalyptus leaves, a poor source of carbohydrates, so they are not, as is generally thought, 'spaced-out' on this stuff, merely shagged out most of the time, apart from a daily 3/4 hour feeding frenzy.
Walking ahead of the group I come across the wonderful sight of a spiny anteater, the Echidna, one of only 2 egg-laying mammals, the platypus being the other. About twice hedgehog size with a long cylindrical nose, he/she duly posed for a fine close-up shot.
Appolo Bay, a popular and busy sea-side town for a barbie lunch by Alrightie Aran and then the Otway National Park, a temperate rain forest of towering Myrtle Beach, Giant Eucalyptus and primeval looking towering ferns.
Port Campbell National Park, home to the 12 Apostles and the second most popular attraction in Australia after Sydney Harbour Bridge. They are precipitous blocks of weathered limestone cliffs just off the mainland. Loch Ard Gorge, also of limestone, is an inlet into the rocky cliffs and is named after a ship, which sailed from London in 1873, capsized and left only 2 survivors. At these 2 last places there were no cafes, bars or souvenir shops - nothing - which was nice, preserving the naturalness of the scenery - but I could have slaughtered a beer and I ran out of film.
Port Campbell for pees and drinks and finally to London Bridge, which was a narrow cliff jutting into the sea with 2 arches beneath it. In 1990 a film crew, having just finished shooting a car commercial, ended the day by all 50 of them jumping up into the air and being photographed. Next morning
The inner arch collapsed turning the promontory into an island, with only 1 arch.
A couple were left stranded and when the news-teams arrived in their helicopters but the 2 refused to be interviewed, filmed or rescued. It later transpired that the bloke was on a 'sickie' and the woman was someone else's wife. Their embarrassing situation became public property as it was broadcast nationwide.
Cue song. 'London Bridge is falling down'.
Aran tells us that originally this road, following the meandering coastline, was dug out of the steep, rocky cliffs by pick, shovel and donkey.
Cue song 'long and winding road'.
There were several rockslides and cliff falls and eventually the whole road had to be re-built.
Cue song 'Slip-Sliding Away'.
Get the picture?
This promotes inner thoughts as the song continues... 'The nearer your destination the more you're slip-sliding away'. Hmm!
A McDonalds lunch at Copac, where a 24-hr road race takes place each year around the small central park area. The winner this year was a 60 yr old farmer who, when asked about his training regime, replied, 'chasing me bloody cows round the bottom paddock in me fackin' gumboots'.
Home at 9.30 pm accompanied by 'Go West' (Village People) the company's theme tune. I've missed 'Neighbours' night, but I have had a long, tiring, fulfilling day. Good value. I spent most of the day walking and chatting to Stephanie, an amply built Canadian blonde from Ontario, most pleasant.
Tuesday 14 January
I awake to find 2 large Glaswegians and a Canadian in my dorm. Later Meredith offered to cut my hair and again I end up with a 5cm furrow of baldness up the middle of my head and now look as if I've just come out of brain surgery, Thanks Meredith.
Cloudy today. Walked down to the beach and found Luna Park, a delightfully dilapidated amusement park, the entrance of which is a sinister looking clown's face. There's the usual range of gravity defying rides as well as the more gentille, sedate things for us older folk.
On to Acland Street full of the quaint, the seedy and the garish, a mix of shops with Victorian facades and as I sit drinking coffee several down & outs approach me for spare cigarettes to which I comply, much to the derision of the people at the next table.
Pint on Punt for an evening pasta meal and Quiz Night. I team up with Dave, a 35 year old Brummie who was made redundant a year ago and has been working his way round various sporting events on his redundancy money. The World Cup in Japan and now here to join the Brit Barmy Army cricket crowd.
What was 'Mork & Mindy' a spin-off from? (Happy Days)
Which historical figure had a horse called 'Morengo'? (Napoleon)
Who produced 'American Graffiti'? (Paul Lucas)
Which Hitchcock film was based upon agoraphobia? (Vertigo)
Which comic strip character married Tess Trueheart? (Dick Tracy)
If we had answered any one of these we would've won the $50 1st prize but settled for 2nd with $25.
Wednesday 15th January
First Malaysia, then Thailand, Perth and now Melbourne, I meet Chris Bawn again and once more we exchange tales. We arrange to meet later after another city walk.
I was told that 'The Greyhound' was a great place for live music so I hoped to meet him there. 2 leather-clad, skinheads, tattooed and pierced young ladies on the door, confronted me. Looking past them I see several big, butch blokes in wigs and dresses-It's 'Trannie Night' at the Greyhound and it appears that I am the only 'straight' here and as Chris didn't show I beat a hasty retreat back to 'Pint', where I found a very miserable Dave, my quiz partner.
He has been under the vague impression that he had 1500-2000 pounds left but after phoning his UK bank he has just discovered he has only 300 left. He has 2 weeks more in Oz and was hoping to go on to South Africa for the Grand Prix.
Come to think of it, my own cash situation is looking dodgy. With accommodation, trips, fares, food & drinks I'm getting through 30 quid a day, quite modest really, but with only 900 left that's only a month's money and I have nearly 3 months to go. Problem.
Thursday 16th January
Used my phone card to phone home, 10p a min. brill ! Met Chris, chat, coffee, book, my 2nd Chris Ryan SAS book and started Nicki French's "Red Room".
General ogling/fantasising on the beach, wondering if I'll ever have a 'relationship' again. A slow realisation, a coming to terms with my age and the effects of my treatment. But I could really do with a cuddle right now.
Over to Acland St again, laid back, Victorian art deco, kitsch, cake shops, bars & bistros. Fell in love with a 'Zen' shop, a retreat full of sights & smells and lovely staff, in particular a slim, dark and beautiful Chinese girl. If I ever win the lottery I will fill my abode with stuff from here.
Met Chris and Dave at Pint. Dave is still in shock. Basically he has been on the piss for a year. During the Test Match here, with his mates from UK, he has been seeing off $200 a day on beer without keeping account of his money and not knowing how to access it by the web.
One more fond farewell to Chris with vague arrangements to meet in New Zealand in a month's time.
Friday 17th January
4.30 am taxi to airport, $15, straight onto the plane, a whole row to myself so a kip for the 3-hour flight. Clocks go back an hour for Queensland, that's a N/S change--why can't we do that with Scotland and have the extra hour in summer?
A free minibus to Captain Cook's B'packers & it's only $10 a night (4quid) for an 8-bed dorm, a fan, 2 pools, a games room & bar but it's a 20 min walk to town--I can stand that.
So this is Cairns and it's raining gently but very humid. This is one of the top tourist destinations in winter but this is summer. I could go further north to Cape Tribulation and the superb rain forests of Daintree or the historic Cooktown. I could explore the cooler Atherton Tableland to the west or east to the Great Barrier Reef. I am here for the Reef and it is the most convenient starting point for the trek south to Sydney.
Cairns is a compact centre full of interesting shops, galleries, and bistros with a hectic nightlife of music, clubs and bars. No beach, just Mangroves. I've seen Pelicans, Minahs, Mini-Doves, Pied Crows & Jackdaws and stroppy little Wagtails whose tails go from side to side rather than up & down.
This is also a major destination for Japanese tourists and they are everywhere, always in 2's or 3's, all 5ft 2ins tall and all the girls have a bag over the shoulder & resting on the opposite hip. There appears to be a definite mould.
The hinterland reminds me very much of Thailand, especially Ko Samui's densely wooded hills.
Capt. Cook's is hard to miss, as there is a 30ft high statue of the man himself on the roadside.
I ate the special Shepherd's Pie, $6, and then took the free bus into town, to the Fox & Firkin, where I supped a few pots of beer. I also noticed a stunningly attractive & apportioned blond woman, about 40, wandering around alone, first sitting at the bar, then a table, and then another table. A noisy gang of Brits are enjoying live cricket on the giant screen above, then she sits by me.
I made some clever, derisory comment about cricket but she didn't understand, so I had to explain---I'm in!
Her name is Gro, 40 and Norwegian, married but alone, visiting her sister who lives here and staying for 3 months in the penthouse suite of a big hotel.
Obviously out on the prowl I can't believe she would settle for a small (ish) 54 year old git but she seems interested (morbid curiosity?) and asks if I'd like to go on to a nightclub with her, Jonno's Blues Bar where an excellent soul band are playing complete with a red-hot mamma belting out all the classics.
The place is buzzing and I gallantly pay the $30 for us both to get in. That's 3 night's accommodation but at this point it seemed like a good investment.
Even more so after a couple of cocktails and 2 close/ huggy dances and an invitation to come & spend a day or so with her at the hotel. Things are looking up.....but will my ravaged member?
By midnight she can hardly stand up herself so I order a taxi and she falls into it, mumbling something about tomorrow. 'When? Where?' I shout at the departing taxi. Par for my course.
Saturday 18th January
Up at 6.30am And down to the jetty for 'Conquest', a $65 day trip out to the Reef.
The first people I meet on the boat are Harry & Sally, who I last saw at Underground B'packers in Perth, the older couple- another 'small-world' wonder moment! The driver of the taxi bringing me here was from Salisbury and discovered that we had common acquaintances there.
Off we set for the Reef, 2 and a half hours, during which time we were instructed in the use of snorkels, fins and wet suits. Some are here to dive, serious stuff, but I am content with a snorkel & mask, a. it's cheaper and b. all the stuff worth seeing is just under the surface anyway.
An incredible array of fish and coral, such diversity of colour, shape and size. Giant Buffalo Wrasse, a metre long and deep, chew off lumps of coral and we hear them scrunching it. As they swim slowly past much poo-ing is in evidence, great, cloudy ejections sink slowly down. A Moray Eel, as thick as my leg, great jaws agape as it hangs, drifted half way out of his tight crevice.
Every few seconds, just as you think you've seen it all, along comes a new shape or colour and it keeps happening. Everything you've seen on great TV nature programmes- here it is-you are there. Fantastic.

A nice buffet lunch and on to an even better reef. Volunteers for the dreaded 'Boom Net'. The idea is to cling onto a net from the rear end of the boat and the speed is gradually increased until only one is left, the winner. A dinghy picks up the losers as they eventually tire or run out of breath in the strong bow wave.
I took a few snaps but Harry had a go and made me glad I didn't.
A great day. Fatal error.
'When Harry & sally met Alan’. We stopped off for a coffee at 6pm, then a 'quick' beer at O'Briens. At 11pm we are all pissed but have had a good laugh. 'Arry has a similar sense of humour and Sally is a lovely, chatty and warm Doncaster lass.
A long and winding walk home.
Sunday 19th January
Bumped into 'Arry again and also walked just over the road to 'Palm Tropical' where Dave is staying, Dave the skint Brummie from Melbourne. He had to come here on his pre-paid itinerary and has borrowed 500 pounds from his Dad, but his heavy, riotous drinking days are sadly over. We drank a couple of cold beers; another humid 36c day, and watched England lose to Australia, cricket, then played some pool. Dave is paying $40 a night for his room and I pay $10 for my dorm.
Sam has paid the 500 quid he owes me into my account, or rather, Ben has lent him the dosh to pay me, so pressure is off for a week or two.
There's a nice gang of Swiss French blokes, in their 20's in the dorm and we play cards each night before their forage for willing females in the Cairns night-scene. They are out till 5/6 am and sleep till 2/3 pm.
Pity about Gro.
I think I may start the journey South tomorrow, but have not really thought about how? 'Greyhound, McAfferty's and 'Oz Experience', all similarly priced offer various options of journeys and stop-offs all the way South around the $400 mark. I had not really bargained for this. The same distance in Thailand/Malaysia would be $10 or $20. Maybe I could try hitching.
Monday 20th January
Up at 9 am and after a 20 min wait hitched a ride with a young English couple who took me 2 hrs or so to Mission Beach on the Cassowary Coast, a popular laid-back retreat. It was originally named after an Aborigine mission founded in 1914 and destroyed by a cyclone 4 yrs later. On the way we passed through Innisfail, the Sugar City and home to many Italians. Miles of sugar cane, bananas, lychees, fruit farms. Then Tully, the wettest place in Australia with as much as 4000 mm of rainfall a year. Many of the houses are raised on stilts.
Booked into Mission Beach Retreat for $18, A/C and I am the only one here at the moment. It is very clean, good kitchen facilities, common room and a pool with a waterfall.
White water rafting, sea-kayaking, bush walking are all popular here as is the trip out to Dunk Island, famous for its kaleidoscopic and hallucinatory sunsets and 150 species of birds.
It's off-season for sea swimming November to April, not at all advisable, in fact, as the large warning on the beach states:
IRUKANDJI - less than 3 cm across, tentacles up to 1 m.
TAMOYA - the 'Fire Jelly'
PHYSALIA - 'Blue Bottle', better known as the Portugese Man O War
CATOSTYLUS - 'Blubber'
CYANEA - 'Hair Jelly', 'Snottie'
Irukandji causes severe backache, swelling, sweating, muscle cramps, dreadful feelings of anxiety and ill health. Finally:
CHIRONEX - 'Box Jellyfish' - these kill.
The day is boiling hot, the sea warm and inviting, but swimming is only permitted within the special stringer-net. Even so I found it not at all relaxing, especially when an innocent piece of drifting seaweed wrapped itself my leg. My imagination gives me raging Heebie-Jeebies!
In the hostel a Yellow Bellied Sunbird, smaller than a wren, has built its pendulous nest from the overhead light in the sun lounge. Wallabies browse each morning at the rear of the post-office. Geckos and mosquitoes are everywhere and this is the first time I have been bitten since Thailand.
Out of 752 bird species in Australia, 380 are here in Queensland. Cassowaries, now numbering only 50 are here, weird, ostrich-like and very, very stroppy. There are nesting turtles on the beach.
More people have booked in. Christian, a German, Sarah from London, Michael from London and Jan, another German chap. We all seem to get on well, there's no one else here anyway and after a game of contract whist we all nipped over to the local Mexican take-away.
Tuesday 21st January
Up early, in time for the Sunbird feeding its tiny young but too late to catch the Wallabies at the post office.
On the road again and after a 5min wait I'm on the way to Wongalin and back to Tully to hitch a good lift. 2 hours later and I'm still here, by a garage, with storm clouds looming and my destination is Townsville, 210km away.
It's raining; I'm despondent and suddenly, "Toot!”
My driver is Kevin, 40, from Redhill, London. An ex-punk/biker (!), he has a bleached, white Mohican cut and his otherwise bare skull is tattooed all over. His ears, nose, lips & tongue are pierced and everything else as well, he informs me. On his shoulder,'FTW'-Fuck The World. With past convictions for GBH, Burglary, Arson, Drugs & car theft (I don't think I'm exaggerating) he obviously has problems at borders but somehow blags his way through, in spite of his appearance.
With his loud, coarse 'Saff' London accent he tells me that he sold his flat and buggered off giving himself 2 years to do a lap of Australia. Starting at Sydney he travelled up to here, bought a decent car and has just started his full circuit. So chuffed at finding & buying this car only half an hour ago he resolved to pick up the first person he saw hitching. Me.
A leisurely 100kph drive to Townsville. What a great bloke! His bad days long behind him, he assures me and we chat the ride away. Arriving at Townsville we book in & do a mini-crawl around the pubs. Having not smoked at all in the car I was surprised when he proceeded to roll a big spliff, a 3-skinner and 100% pure grass, my first smoke in Australia after which I am rendered silent, smiley, content and have a long pee-free sleep till 9am.
Wednesday 22nd January
Townsville.pop.130, 000, is the largest urban centre in the tropical north, with a sweltering 300+ cloud-free days a year. I'm sure there's lots to do here but I am taking the ferry out to Magnetic Island and it's at the ferry side that I say goodbye to Kevin Lunatic and wonder whether I'll ever see him again---great bloke.
Magnetic. A $7, 20 min. ferry and I get chatting to a very pleasant Canadian, 26 year old, female teacher.’ Maggie' Island has a population of 2500, rare as most islands here are only inhabited for the main tourist season. This island caused Cap.Cook's compass to have a funny turn in 1770, hence the name and it has a nice 'community' feel to it, rather than being a place just to attract tourists. 20km of paradise beaches, a koala colony and loads of water sports. We book into 'Arkies', a purpose-built, highly recommended B'packers at Arcadia Bay. A luxury 8-bed dorm, A/C, fridge, en-suite shower & toilet, $18 a night (7pounds).
Essentially it's a holiday camp, nightly videos, disco, pool tournament, restaurant, bar and casino (slotties i.e. slot machines).
It's a beautiful island and again I am reminded of Ko Samui, huge granite boulders strewn about and dense forestation. Rock Wallabies, Possums and Koalas. Two thirds of the island is National Park and the surrounding reef makes the water calm and almost lacelike.
Whenever I met Aussies in Thailand they never seemed that impressed with the beaches and all said they had better beaches 'back home'. Now I understand.
Had a dip in Arkie's tropical pool then went for a swim in the sea. Officially it's still Stinger Season but the local kids are in the water so I guess they know best.
Tania, the Canadian has sorted her room out and is now preparing for a walk to 'The Forts', the old wartime gun-placements on top of the island. Would I like to come along?
At first it was quite pleasant walking along behind her and, yes, her posterior was worthy, but after a good hour, steeply uphill and 7km in the noon heat I was sweating, wheezing and unable to speak through my panting and desperately trying to appear relaxed, cool and fit. Her legs had done 30years less walking than mine, but when we reached the summit the panoramic view was well worth the effort. As well as getting here we had also seen Koalas, Sea Eagles, Kookaburras, Sulphur Crested Lorikeets and Flying foxes. In particular we saw a mother koala with her young cub, right up close in a tree.
The walk down was far easier.
After the cheap B'packer's meal at Arkies we watched some Toad Racing. These are no ordinary toads, but big buggers, Cane Toads. Apparently if you catch one it's an offence to let it go. They are official pests, not indigenous and we bet on the one to make it out of the 10m-chalked circle first---all money to local charities.
Pulp Fiction was the video tonight, I enjoy it more with each viewing and as we watch a large Bushtailed Curlew walks nonchalantly past the screen, then a Possum. Played pool, had a few drinks and chatted around exchanging travellers' tales, sights worth seeing, good hostels etc.
In my dorm is a young Swedish guy who has only been here 3 months and already speaks with an Aussie accent. There's a girl from New York and 4 slim, Swedish blondes who all, because of the heat, tend to lie around in their bikinis, knickers and thongs. One of them has discovered that, if she lies back on her bed with an ice-cold bottle of lager resting against her thong-clad crotch, legs akimbo, the effects are quite cooling. Cooling for her maybe but not for the old perv on the next bed.
You can hire mini-mokes, scooters, bikes or horses to go round the island and even, with the horses, swim in the sea.
These big B'Packers are big, big business, well organised. They will book your next days/weeks itinerary, up or down the coast, arrange trips, courses, cruises, visits, coaches-anything you want. There are brochures, pamphlets, magazines, special offers alluding to every part of this coast as well as info on your next destination, possibly New Zealand, Fiji or Tazzie (Tasmania).
Cigarettes
In Malaysia and Thailand I smoked Tailor-Mades at 50p a pack, or less. Here the average price is $10 a pack (4 pounds) of 25. There are also packs of 30, 40 or 50 because of the long distances between towns or villages. Smoking in Thailand cost me 30 pounds in 2 months. Here, for the same period, 240 pounds, not to mention the health costs. Bloody Fags.
But, this time away has probably been my fittest period ever, no coughs, colds or wheezes and no physical/mental hassle at all.
Food
Still not cooking for myself I have slipped into a routine of maybe a roll/sandwich at lunchtime and a smallish meal in the evening, no breakfast.
Drink
Usually lager or beer with Jack Daniels or Mount Gay Rum (or 3). If I did not drink or smoke I could probably extend my trip by 6 months. If I didn't use my mobile phone (texts), send e-mails or take photos it would be 9 months. Still, I'm having a great time.
The young French/Swiss chaps I was with in Capt. Cooks, Cairns, 2 weeks ago have just turned up here.
Thursday 23rd January
Actually had a cooked breakfast, and then did my laundry. All hostels have them and it costs $2 for a load, $2 a dry. Here it's dry anyway on the line in about 10minutes. Time it right, fold it right-perfick!
A beer, a swim, some reading and a long chat with Tania, who is moving on up to Cairns today.
The BIG news today-an e-mail from cousin Carol, the executor of Auntie Dot's will-she has left us all 5200 pounds each!!!!! Thank you; thank you, thank you Auntie Dot. I have more money now than when I started, enough for the rest of the trip and a good reserve for my return to UK. Where's that? Cancer. What cancer? More news from home-the local newsagent died of a heart attack, a local woman tried to kill herself by jumping off a motorway bridge, life goes on.
Time for a treat-thanks to Auntie Dot. I booked a 3-day trip on the Whitsundays and then another to Frazer Island. These two seem to be the most popular on everyone's list.
I feel Good and tonight it's Arkie's weekly pool tournament. There are 2 tables and opponents start together on their table and the winner is the one who pots all their balls first-Speed Pool.
All the young dudes were there, but the old git wins easily, all those years playing in my pub pay off and I have $50 which means a heavy night laughing, drinking and chatting to a gang of middle-aged Scousers, a chap from Swindon and one from Oxford. One of the Scousers has had 3 heart attacks, has angina, smokes 40 a day, drinks and when he's done Australia he's heading back to Thailand where he has a 30 year old dusky woman who dotes on him (and his money). Why not?
Friday 24th January
Clothes clean, folded and packed and enough dosh to book a coach down the coast with 5 stop-offs, enough of hitching. For $200 on a McAfferty's Bus I can get on/off where I want and enjoy A/C, toilets and videos on the trip down to Sydney. Ferry back to Townsville and my first stage to Airlie Beach takes 4 hours and I will now be 640 km from my starting point, Cairns, down the Bruce Highway, passing miles & miles of sugar cane plantations
Sugar
The industry is highly mechanised here. Transported to the mills, often by narrow gauge railway the cane is shredded and crushed, the juice heated, cleaned & evaporated to form a syrup, reduced to molasses & load grade sugar, refined and finally exported. The crushed fibres are burnt as fuel, the impurities used as fertiliser and the molasses produces ethanol or stock feed. Further south is Bundaberg, home to Australia's own dark rum.
Airlie Beach, which is not noted particularly for a beach, is a real party place. Basically a few roads lined with bars, backpackers, bistros, dive shops and the boat crowd, the gateway to The Whitsunday Islands, discovered and named by Capt. Cook.
I'm already booked into Magnum's, a huge party place, 200 beds, non-stop action, and live music, tournament, nightclub and slottie hall. My chalet is an 8-berth, 4 bunks, $12 a night but included in my package. Tonight is wet t-shirt night.
I went to 'Tallarook', my sailing company, to pay my balance, an extra $18 for a full stinger suit and $20 reef tax. I turned down the offer of an underwater disposable camera for $20--I've seen the results-crap.
After a McDonald's burger I entered the pool tournament but lost in the final to Kyle, but there are 8 tables, so it wasn't too long a wait.
Lots of silly team games, usually culminating in someone undressing or swapping clothes with someone else, or challengers in compromising lewd positions, or didgeridoo playing. This really is an 18-25 resort. On my way back to my room it started raining and I stepped on a cane toad, bigger than my foot and, Hey! What happened to the wet t-shirts.....? Can’t be bothered to wait up-old git.
Saturday 25th January
Stored my big pack at Magnums, as only one daypack permitted on the boat, the 'New Horizon', a wooden tall ship and schooner of Tasmanian hardwood, newly renovated. Not boarding until 4pm I spent some time with Jan, the German I met at Mission Beach a week ago. Confirmed my stops with Mcaffertys, 5 more stops before Sydney and still a huge way to go-I'm only about a quarter of the way down.
New Horizon is 97ft long and there are 32 of us on board + crew of 4. We are issued with our gear, given the safety talk and shown to our bunks. I am right at the pointy end. It is still wet, windy and overcast. There is a mixed bunch of Canadians, Americans, Swiss, French, Germans, Koreans and English, me being the oldest, again, by 20 years.
Hard sailing out to the islands, choppy, sea spray and rolling, very glad of the seasick pill I took earlier. Bit worried about the 'head' situation i.e. the toilets-there are only 2 and quite a way from my bunk.
Bonding over a meal of steak, spuds, broccoli, carrots & bread, followed by hot custard & apple pie; shiver me timbers, we all get on well. We anchor for the night in the lee of Hayman Island, a rich, exclusive resort costing around $2000 a night.

I taught Amanda to play backgammon. She is 18, travelling alone on her gap year and is a dark-haired English rose, sociable with a sense of fun and a well screwed on head. Kirsty and Mac from London, in their low 30's, led the silly games, or rather, Kirstyworsty did-great laugh. Teu Yong, or Kim, as he prefers, is one of 3 Korean lads on board and they are all so willing to chat, listen and join in even with very poor English, unlike the Japanese.

Sunday 26th January
Very tired. Some were revelling till 3 am and after 1 coke at 4pm, 1 beer at 7 pm and 1 at 9pm I had to get up 4 times in the night and now we are rudely awakened at 7 am to set sail for Hayward Island and blue Pearl Bay where we get to snorkel and have our 'free' half hour diving lesson. I had always assumed I would be good at this but got into a bit of a pickle with my air. I could either not get down or get back up because the instructor kept messing up my ballast, or something. Whatever, I did not take up the offer of further (expensive) lessons.
Midday and the sun is out, the clouds have gone and we sail onto another island to snorkel and once again, the memorable sensations of being among myriads of colourful fish smack my gob! Over the side huge Butterfly fish fight over our left-overs.
Ship's Log 26/01/03. The ship's crew and passengers are bonding well i.e. every one is inebriated, drinking heartily into their chosen supplies of booze. The skipper plays Backgammon and the captain plays guitar so we exchange a game and a tune or two. The Captain, my age, has also recently separated and this is his 'escape'-not a bad life. This is still only early evening and after a Sunday Roast dinner the drinking continues into silly games mood again. Kirstyworsty and Amanda are the ringleaders and even the shy Koreans end up arseholed.
Looking overboard I see packs of orange/pink squid hunting/stalking the shoals of smaller fish attracted by the lights on board.
I ran out of booze, just as well given the poor state of my bladder so I play Chris, our dive master, a couple of BG's and marvel at his body which is covered entirely by a panoramic Red Indian scene, apparently over 40 hours of excruciatingly painful tattooing-whatever turns you on.
Rather a late night/early morn, 3am.
Monday 27th January
And up again at 7am. After breakfast, on to Whitehaven, not probably but definitely the most beautiful beach I've ever seen. White, quartz sand, soft and squeaky and crystal clear shallows, pure postcard. Swimming without a suit is inadvisable but I'm sure there's a bullshit factor, too. No one has seen a single stinger yet and they have reaped over $600 extra from us for the hire of these things. Anyway, I cannot resist the warm, turquoise sea and take a dip amongst large rays gliding around me. Wow. Back to the boat and it's still only 10.30, but, it's also 38c and I feel my skin tightening under the glaring sun. That's it and we head back to shore, what a trip, an absolutely must-do, superb.
Back at Magnums I again meet the Swiss French lads I met on Magnetic and Cairns and Michael, whom I played cards with at Mission Beach. I also discovered a tropical man-made lagoon here in town, making up for the lack of a decent beach. It is full of topless totty-not that I am at all interested.
Our group now has to take part in the silly games along with all the other just- returned groups, competing for yet more drinks in the process.
Tuesday 28th January
This month seems to be twice as long as any January so far. Up early for my bus and a 13-hour drive to Hervey Bay, arriving at 1.30 am tomorrow morning.
Today I finally jettisoned my 2 spare toilet rolls, which have been in my bag since Thailand where it is all too easy to get ‘caught out’. Toilets here in Oz are clean, but I must say that the paper is extremely thin and needs to be folded 3 times before use. Beds vary in comfort: in some places there is an extra charge for top sheets and pillowcases. I’m still sleeping on top the bed, wearing my trusty pyjama bottoms, more for modesty than warmth. VIP card. When I booked my bus ride I bought a VIP card, $30 and I wish I'd bought one back in UK. It allows a $1/2 discount at most B'packers, which mounts up over time and I also saved $30 on the journey straightaway. A discounted phone card is also provided as well as a compact guide for New Zealand and Fiji. Highly recommended for any traveller, anywhere out this way. Pee and food stop at Mackay, itself an interesting place with lush rainforests, gorges, fertile plains and unspoilt islands. Michael gets off here and we continue on to Rockhampton, 'Rockie' of course, dead on the Tropic of Capricorn, the Capricorn Coast, the beef capital of Australia on the big lazy Fitzroy River. It occurs to me that Karyn in Ko Samui comes from here and gave me her number. I did try it but there was nobody in and I am booked in for Frazer Island anyway. National Parks are all around, Great Keppel Island, Finch Hatton Gorge, Emu Park, so much to see and do.
Past Bundaberg where I could have stayed with the brother of a friend back home but it's on through fields of sugar cane, pastures, eucalyptus unbroken by boundaries except for the occasional river creek punctuating the landscape. Finally arriving at Hervey Bay, 1.45am and there's a chap waiting at the terminal to take me to 'Frazer Escape' where I am pre-booked. I am shown to a 6-berth dorm, 3 bunks, and a sort of semi-mobile chalet, one of 20 or so. The other bunks are full of sleeping travellers just returned from their own Frazer Island trip.
Wednesday 29th January
My first night without alcohol so far and still I was up twice for the loo (50m away). Walked into Hervey (Harvey) Bay, not much of a beach, which makes a change and met a few returnees from the island who are all raving about their experiences, but they warn of the fact that there has been no rain here for 2 years and that there are restrictions re open fires, also that I WILL get stuck in the sand. We'll see.
Back to 'Escape' for a 2pm briefing and to meet my fellow campers. There are 18 of us, split into 2 groups each with a 4WD truck and my party of 8 consists of 4 boys and 4 girls. I use the term loosely of course, as I am older than any 2 of them put together. I don't know the girls' names yet but there are 2 young English gap years and 2 from Switzerland, although one of these is Spanish and the other, French/Swiss.
The boys-2 Germans also on their gap year, Jochen (Joe) and Ludwig and Patrik Pistol (honest), a Swede.
Our guide informs us first of all the ways we can die out there-poisonous snakes, spiders, sharks and fire hazards and then explained the techniques for driving on deep sand as well as the ways of a 4 wheel drive. We then plan our route, our food rations and of course, our booze rations. Aware now that there are 10 species of toxic snakes and spiders and Tiger Sharks that come here to breed in these waters, we are also told that there are no toilets on the island so we have to dig our own 50cm deep holes. This is so that the Dingoes will not be attracted to the delightful, tempting smell of our protein rich excrement. Soap, shampoo and detergent are also banned
We put in $20 each for food, $30 for insurance and a total bond of $300 returnable only if the truck is returned unscathed.
Returning to my room I discover that the other travellers have awoken and it is none other than Kim and the other 2 Koreans from the Whitsunday trip.
This is starting to take on the feel of a real adventure and I hope my young group are not intimidated by my seniority and also that they don't expect me to take charge. We all meet in the bar after a free barbecue and get to know each other while those just returned from their safari are getting drunk and, yes, playing silly games. I’m off to a good credible start when I beat the boys 12 consecutive games of pool.
The girls - Laura and Vicky from Eastbourne, Sonya, the Spanish girl from Switzerland and Caroline, the extremely nubile French Swiss girl.
The other group of 10 have loads of beer and wine. My group, however, buy none as Laura and Vicky, at the end of their travels, are skint, Ludwig and Joe are typical efficient/proficient Germans who do not wish to be impaired by alcohol and Patrick, I discover, is a born-again, non-drinking Christian and I am sharing a tent with him. I did invest in a 4-litre box of red wine as well as several beers. The rest of my party are in bed by 9 pm but we do have to be up and away by 7.30 am to catch the early ferry to Fraser Island.
It is one gigantic 120x15 km foliated sand bar, 98 per cent sand in fact, the world's largest and a world heritage site. Despite the sand it has an enormous variety of trees and plants, many of which are only found here. There are 200 or so fresh-water lakes, 40 types of mammal and more reptiles and insects than you want to know about. The Dingoes are the purest strain of Australia's native wild dog. It ranks along with the Barrier Reef in terms of ecological importance. A near perfect haven for fisherman, walkers or just plain exploration. There are no paved roads, just a network of sandy tracks criss-crossing the island. Swimming in the sea is not a good idea as it is the main breeding ground for Tiger Sharks and the strong under-currents can be lethal. The sand-blows, large drifting inland dunes, are magnificent amid the dense forests.
The ferry is full with walkers, supply vehicles and a dozen or so 4WD trucks like our own, full of groups of back-packers and some I recognise from the various stop-offs during the last few weeks.
Off we go, Patrick at the wheel, and our first stop is Basin Lake. I have never seen a fresh-water, inland body of clear blue water surrounded by pristine white sand of pure silica, which turns out to be a perfect jewellery-cleaning compound. All our silver and gold rings, bracelets etc come up cleaner and brighter than new, glistening.
There is a knack in driving on this difficult terrain and Patrick does not yet have it as twice we all have to get out and dig our wheels out of the deep sand. The process, however, serves as a good icebreaker and bonding experience. We are all in this together. Several other parties are having similar difficulties. After, a lunch of bread, cheese, ham and salad, along with copious amounts of water and squash. Yes, it's bloody hot. The half hour walk to Basin Lake involved a hard up and down trek through ancient Eucalyptus forests and walking behind Caroline's bikini clad body made the experience a very enjoyable one for me.
Next, we moved on to Lake Mackenzie, probably the best and biggest, most picturesque of all the lakes here. This meant a walk through another forest of Picabean palms and a wonderful, privileged meeting with a fully-grown Dingo and her 5 small pups, all totally oblivious to our presence. We stopped here, sunbathed and swam in the warm, perfectly drinkable water. Freshwater Turtles and Terrapins also swim here.
We eventually arrive near the Southern bend of the island on the East coast and prepare our camp. Our other group are here already and are amused by our attempts to erect tents and unload our kitchen.
After much palaver we eat a well-earned steak with mushrooms, onions, potatoes and salad. Everything has to be packed securely away again and the inevitable silly games begin. The others have copious booze provisions and now my group suddenly want to drink too, so my 4-litre box of wine is all but drained.
Another group arrives, Israelis and they have obviously not been as well briefed as us. They have 2 flat tyres, no fresh water and little in the way of food provision. They do, however, have Jack Daniels and several wine boxes and with my nubile group of young girls the partying begins. Ludwig, it turns out is an excellent guitarist and knows all the old classic rock numbers 'Sweet Home Alabama' was his party-piece.
Demonstrating further their lack of concern and respect the Israeli camp next morning is littered with cans, wine boxes, fag ends and party-poppers. Their mess has been made worse by nocturnal maraudings from the Dingoes. At worst they will be fined heavily by the vigilant wardens or, at worst, will be ejected from the island. As we eat, a lone Dingo wandered right into our area. No panic. We all just stare, stand our ground and eventually the wild dog submits to our silent stares and slinks off into the bush.
Friday 31st January
Another month finally ends and I have a severe red wine hangover and it is difficult the hapless task of finding a solitary spot, digging a hole and squatting at the same time as looking out for hungry Dingoes and swatting at huge voracious horse-flies and blood-hungry clouds of mosquitoes. My tent partner, Patrick, he of the new-born Christian bent does not have a hangover and is in fact up reading his bible at first light. The 2 Germans have been up for an hour, have been for an exploratory walk and now have breakfast ready. By 8 am they have everything tidily packed and stowed and we are away up the 75-mile long beach, me at the wheel, to India Heads.

Here, the rocky outcrop breaks our drive and we have to detour 100 m or so inland over deep, soft sand. Into 4WD, second gear, foot right down I gun it with a 100 m approach and just about make it. This is where most groups have to get out and dig. 2 people approach me from another group, recognising my panama hat. It is Dean and Julie whom I last saw months ago on Phi-Phi Island in Thailand (beating him at BG). Small world again.
On to Champagne Pools where the surging sea breaks over and foams into large effervescent rock pools where we take a welcome break and refreshing swim safe from Stingers and Tiger Sharks, but not from pervy thoughts re Caroline. Back down the beach now, Joe at the wheel, we stop off at Pinnacles and Cathedral Rocks, multi-coloured and wind-eroded towers of sand, a revered place for the local Aborigines. Another stop-off point is the wreck of the Maheno, a rusting shell in the shallows. Built in Glasgow 1905 it came here as a luxury vessel and was eventually bought by a Japanese company in 1937 and towed up the coast until it broke off and was shipwrecked here.
Just down the beach was Eli Creek where we walked up-stream a 100 m or so and floated down in cool, fresh, clear water, meeting up with several other groups. Here I met up with 3 English chaps who were rather taken by the sight of my 4 young bikini-clad fellow truckers, as the girls in their group were not quite as fecund. I did have some unfair sport with them when they asked what the girls were like. I 'confessed' I had only slept with one of them last night and was working on Caroline for tonight. Contrary to what I believed to be an obvious lie, pure bullshit, they took it all in and I must admit I felt complimented that they even believed this old git.
We finally set camp again near Lake Wabby and were immediately plagued by the horse flies. Caroline, Sonya and I walked to a nearby camp of Swiss, French and English who are enjoying themselves, and happily share a huge spliff with us. Meanwhile Ludwig and Joe have found a quiet place to sing and play guitar, Laura and Vicky have joined our other younger group and Patrick goes off to pray.
Saturday 1st February
7am.Clear up, load up, lock up and the walk to Lake Wabby which involves a 1km walk through a recently burned Eucalyptus forest and then a final 3 km trek across a 'sand-blow'. This is where the wind has found gaps in the forest and piled up mountainous dunes throughout parts of the interior.
Mid morning, 35c and as we reach the summit of one dune there's another, then another....and another. When we finally reach the lake, a cool, inviting green below us, the boys just roll down the steep slopes & plunge in. I walk and sedately lie in the shallows as several fish nibble at my toes. After 2 hours of 'chill' we trek back to the truck, baking in 40c via this desert landscape, eat the last of our provisions and finally head for the ferry.
On board I am amazed again 'small world-wise' as I bump into Kirstyworsty and Mac from the Whitsundays as well as the 3 English chaps who had asked me about the young girls in my group. They look at me, leery and inquisitive, but I don't have to say a thing because, forewarned & advised, Caroline sidles up to me, slips her arm around me and whispers, just loud enough for them to hear, "Thanks for last night, Alan"
Their expressions were priceless. Mind you, I do have fond memories of Caroline myself, of her sitting opposite me in the back of the truck. The rough terrain and deeply rutted tracks often caused us to be thrown up & down and side to side and the sight of her scantily contained, perfect breasts jiggling uncontrollably more than compensated for any discomfort.
Back at Frazer Escape, unload, shave shower and use a proper loo, without dingoes and horseflies and prepare for, yes, the booze-up. This began with the group voting for 'Best Driver', 'Best Cook', 'Best Leader' etc. I was 'Best Driver', unfairly I feel, as I'd done the easy bit up the beach. Mind you I was also 'Best Shag' which did attract some unbelieving looks from the other group. Really, nothing happened and I was the obvious choice for the girls, as they didn't want to embarrass the 3 younger chaps.
A drunken Karaoke session develops, giving Ludwig free rein for his 'Sweet Home Alabama' and me, extreme artistic licence for 'New York, New York!' and 'My Way'. Caroline ended up on a table deep snogging a (young) bloke from the other group, dashing my menopausal fantasies. Oh well.
The owner of 'Frazer Escape', Dave, is celebrating his 65th birthday. He chain smokes roll-ups, drinks copious Bundaberg rums and has an interesting history. As a young man in the 50's working on sheep farms and cattle stations he earned Big Money during the 'Big Drought' by shooting kangaroos that were eating all the vegetation and threatening the livelihood of the farmers. At 20 cents for each pair of ears (proof of a kill) he earned $120 a night, over 600 shot, which gives some idea of the massive numbers of hapless ‘roos. At that time $20 a week was a good wage so Dave invested all his money into 'Frazer Escape' and now is the most respected and experienced of all the guides. Despite his wealth and opportunity he has never ventured outside his beloved Queensland.
Apparently, despite this massive cull, there are even more kangaroos today.
Tonight I was presented with another amazing sight; the Bat highways. At sunset the fruit bats migrate across the skies, rather like the ones I saw in Broome but here there are hundreds of thousands all flying together in dense formations towards the sun. Mind-blowing! I also spent a nice half hour with Patrick who was preparing to move on northwards, with his bible. He is so devout, totally wrapped up in Jesus, but, whatever, I hold Caroline's breasts in a similar regard. Whatever turns you on!
It's February and time to move on. These last 2 episodes; Whitsundays and Fraser Island have been memorable highlights.
Sunday 2nd February
Pleasant breakfast with Sonia and Caroline, one last hug (down boy!) and it's bus time again with Noosa next stop. Needless to say Ludwig and Jo were up and away at 6am in their hire car. It's strange how separate lives cross, touch and on you go, maybe occasionally treasuring the memory or relating the tales, never to meet again.
Down the Sunshine Coast to Noosa, pop.30, 000, Surfers' Mecca since the 60's but still a fairly low key resort. Nevertheless it is fashionable and touristy and popular on the 'trail'. Fine Cafes, stylish designer shops, good surf and beaches and just to the north, Cooloola National Park, with its walks, waterways and beaches.
Today, however, it is pissing down in a very determined manner, but the locals are happy, as they have had no rain for many months. Despite the rain dozens of wet-suited blond surfers are around as I await my free pick-up for Koalas B'packers up on the hill. The first two I meet are Ludwig and Joe and a lad from Leeds, Chris Clayton. I tell him that my son is in Leeds to which he replies, 'It's not Ben Dainton by any chance?'. I am astounded.
Monday 3rd February
Such was the deluge that several of the dorms are flooded but there is a blue patch in the otherwise uniformly, grey sky. Sitting in a cafe on the front I think of all the beds I have slept in since leaving the Coopers Arms 18 months ago.
From the day I left the pub, end of August 2001, I bed-hopped around friends' houses, hospital beds, more beds and count 14 before this trip. Starting at Singapore then:
BED PLACE COUNTRY FRIENDS
1 Singapore
2 Johur Bahru Malaysia
3 Kuala Lampur
4 Pangkor-1 Tom & Yana
5 Pangkor-2 Hiro
6 Penang Peter & Yoss
7 Langkowi-1 Chris, Peter & Yes
8 Langkowi-2
9 Krabi-1 Thailand Rendell
10 Railay Beach
11 Phi-Phi Chris
12 Ko Lanta Romi & Christian,
Martin
13 Krabi -2 Sam, Sasha,
14 Ao Nang Sam, Sasha, Lola
15 Ko Samui-Lamai-1 Peter, Ryan, Jamie
Duggie, Justin
16 Ko Samui-Chaweng SAM
17 Ko Pha Ngan-1
18 Ko Samui-Lamai-2 Duggie & Justin,
Peter, Ryan, Jamie
Karyn & Laurens
19 Ko Pha Ngan-2
20 Ko Samui-3 Duggie, Justin
Sam departs
21 Phuket Town
22 Phuket-Patong Peter, Jamie, Ryan
Nang, Gai, ?,Les
23 Perth-Christine's Western Australia Christine, Cindy
24 Broome-Cable Beach
25 Broome-Roebuck John, Ian
26 Perth-City Backpackers Pete, Dave, Chris!
Christine,Elena
27 Perth-Underground 'Arry & Sally
28 Melbourne-Pint on Punt Victoria Chris!Meredith,
Dave
29 Cairns-Capt.Cooks Queensland French-swiss boys,Gro
30 Mission Beach Kevin Lunatic!
31 Townsville
32 Magnetic Island Tania, French-swiss boys
33 Airley Beach-Magnums Amanda, Kirstyworsty, Mac
34 New Horizon-the boat
35 Hervey Bay-Frazer Escape Ludwig, Joe, Caroline, Patrick, Sonia
36 Frazer Island -the tent
37 Noosa-Koalas Ludwig, Joe, Chris

51 beds in 18 months--For the first time I do not have a bed of my own and I also no longer have a key to anywhere.
11am-still raining. After the driest January for 150 years the locals are happy. Instead of the usual 150mm annual rainfall there has only been a paltry 5mm this past year but with 10mm falling in the last 24 hours the drought is hopefully over.
4.30pm-still raining but the bar is open for Happy Hour and pots (half pints) are $1 so Chris, Justin (Wakefield) and I pitch in, play pool, enter the quiz and join in the saucy games. At midnight I lurch through the deluge to my room.
Tuesday 4th February
Onward again, with Chris who had gone on to a club last night till 4am with the resulting 'incommunicado', to Brisbane two and a half hours away, although he is going further to Byron Bay. We pass through the Gold Coast, a 35km strip of beaches and the most commercialised area of Australia, virtually a continuous development culminating in the glitz and, to me, the crassness of Surfers Paradise. Once a little hideaway, a huge eating/shopping/clubbing complex of high-rise hotels and apartments has swallowed up the original Surfers Paradise Hotel of 1936. The allure comes not so much from the sand and surf but from the shopping and nightlife. It reminds me of tourist France, Spain and Italy.
Bed 38. I pre-booked into Tin Billies, recommended by Kevin Lunatic, Brisbane's newest B'packers, purpose built, busy travel desk, lifts and swipe-card locked rooms, en-suite shower/toilets in 6-bed dorms. I even have a duvet. After settling in I walked across The Brisbane River with its meandering loops. We are about 25km upstream from the coast. It feels strange to be in a cosmopolitan city again with a lively street cafe atmosphere, big stores, people in suits and malls. Some call it 'Bris-Vegas'.
Originally a dumping ground for the worst of the New South Wales convict colony, at the time it seemed a suitable place for banishment. Now it is very scenic, surrounded by hills and several impressive bridges and the climate is considered perfect. The Gold and Sunshine coasts are only a bus-ride away and the islands of Moreton Bay, the inland Great Dividing Range and the Darling Downs are all easily accessible.
Just wandered and watched, soaking up the throb of Australia's 3rd largest city, 1.6 million. It was weird watching the Ibis birds in the centre, on the scrounge, just like our pigeons.
Dying for a pee I nipped into a mall, up 2 floors, along a corridor and bumped into Kirstworsty and Mac from the Whitsundays, another mind-boggling coincidence.
At 4pm it's still raining and strolling back I bump into Dave, the Dutch guy I met in Mission Beach, Airley Beach and Frazer Island.

To top it all as I reached Tin Billies in walks Karyn, the girl from Lamai Chalet who had invited me to call in to her home in Rockhampton. Amazing. She is looking for work here with her boyfriend, Steve and a mad Brummie, Dean Warren, accompanies them. Sitting opposite me is Yioung, a Korean girl I met back in Noosa.
Today I buggered up my mobile phone. Warned to watch out for thievery I locked my keypad with a pin code and within 5 mins, naturally, I had forgotten it. Panic as I phone the UK to unlock it, at quite a cost, and renew a more easily remembered 4-digit code. What rigmarole! What a techno nerd!
Wednesday 5th February
Dry and warm. I walked Brisbane's South Bank across the bridge, an area of Museums, exhibition areas, galleries, theatres, entertainment complexes and arenas. There is even a free form man-made lagoon with a sandy beach amid tropical gardens.

A word on Dean Warren, the Brum from Kidderminster, who has been here at Tin Billies for a month supposedly looking for work. I asked him if he'd travelled much. "Oh yes! See that pub up the road about 50 m? Well I've been there and about the same distance in the other direction.' Pissed every night he takes full advantage of the happy hour half price tinnies which he stocks up with every night.
He had a birthday party shortly before coming out here, his 25th and managed to drink 20 pints of lager and a bottle of Southern Comfort before getting home. Understandably, next day he remembered very little of the frivolities of the previous night, but 3 days later an official letter arrived, addressed to 'Lord Dean Warren'. Apparently, in a near comatose state he had purchased his title on the Internet for £400. The next day brought another letter granting him sole legal ownership of 1 sq metre of the moon's surface, at a cost of 250 quid. HA HA !
Still feeling flush with Auntie Dot's money I've decided to go in for a digital camera. So far I've gone through 15 films and the purchase/development of them has cost well over 100 pounds. With a digital I can snap away 150 photos minimum with a 64meg memory stick, review and delete the crap and store them all on a CD for under $10. This also means getting this old luddite head round a new bit of modern technology.
Tin Billies has a large and loud bar/restaurant area, the usual promotions, games, screens all geared up for the younger crowd but I stay for a delicious pumpkin soup before heading to the pub next door with Renee, a lady of about my age, half Tahitian, half Maori who is here looking for work. She seems quite friendly and glad of some grown-up company. Lord Dean is also in attendance and is hard work, although he means well.
Her claim to fame is that she made the hobbits' feet for Lord of the Rings and with her generous pay cheque has been travelling/working here in Oz for 8 months. She is also staying in my room. A handsome lady, rather statuesque (i.e. Bigger than me) but is she looking forward to bedtime? Fortunately another chap has just booked in and unfortunately he proves to be a snorer of epic stentorian proportions and we have to nudge/kick him several times in the night.
Thursday 6th February
Dry, warm and overcast as I depart on the 9am bus for Byron Bay. Yioung is also aboard, as is Hashmick, another girl I've met 2/3 times on the journey down from Cairns. As we cross the border from Queensland to New South Wales the clocks inexplicably go forward an hour.
Byron Bay is an unusual oasis in a lush stretch of the East coast. 80km from the Queensland border it's a far cry from the swank of Surfers Paradise and a lively alternative to the generally tranquil New South Wales' little nooks and Queenslands balmy beaches. Since the 70's it has steadily nurtured a worldwide reputation for excellent surf, laid back living and a sweaty groovy nightlife. Its magnetic appeal has become legendary on the backpacker trail. Certainly, I have not yet met anyone who has uttered the words, 'Byron Bay' without an accompanying knowing smile.
Bed 39
The top-recommended B'packers are full so I end up at Belongil Beach House, tucked between the main road and the dunes of the beach and just 200m from town, perfectly adequate with free bikes & Boogie boards. I'm in a 4-bed dorm and on the top of one of the bunks, no en- suite either.
I've tried phoning Doggie’s ex-wife but she apparently moved only 2 weeks ago so my hopes of meeting him again are dashed. I wander into town, to a bar where the door lady told me that all the locals meet at 'The Rails' pub, but she hadn't heard of a 'Duggie'. Feeling hot and dry after the bus ride I walked past her into the bar and there, on a stool, with a pint, is Duggie. I couldn't believe it! Fantastic!

After several cold beers and reciprocal tales we retired to his abode round the corner, where he is living with Justin, the son I'd met in Thailand with him. He showed me into a partly junk-filled garage, which was, in fact, his home temporarily until he sorts himself out, having only recently returned from his travels. The junk around was the property of the last 'tenant' who was in the process of moving out. After the intros out come the spliffs and tinnies and a very mellow 2 hours passed sedately by.

Almost drunk, we walked to the Rails (Railway Tavern) and had a ‘scags 'n mash’ dinner (sausages) accompanied by a throbbing band. This really is a railway station and through the dooris a platform and facade, which are so evocative of a 50's English country railway station. People come here early and get tanked up for the long 10 hour train trip to Sidney.
Eventually I get back and bump into Chris again, the lad who knew Ben in Leeds. 'By the way,’ he asks, 'where do you and Ben come from?'
'Pewsey!'
'Oh! I've got a mate there, William Boxall, and there's a great little pub called the Coopers Arms'.
When I told him that William Boxall was in the same class as Ben and that The Coopers Arms was my old pub, well-gobsmacked!
Friday 7th February
There are no buildings over 2-storey here, no MacDonalds, no Hungry Jacks and Club Med's application to open here was turned down. There are no traffic lights. They call it the 'Shire' and the lighthouse is Australia's most easterly point which hosted the first demonstrations over French atomic tests in the Pacific. Last night I ended up at 'Beaches', a huge complex of bars, restaurant, screens and concert halls. It's owned either by Paul Hogan (Crocodile Dundee), or by his mate in the film-I never quite got to the bottom of that one. Even so it is the biggest, consistently full place I've ever been in, 1500 or so every night of the year and in prime position on the corner, as the main road reaches the beach.
This morning however I find 'Fresh', a bistro on the right just before 'Beaches’. As I read my book, drinking coffee, along come Joe & Ludwig, typically, just returned from a 6am hike out to the lighthouse. They leave for Sidney today--how many more times will I see them?
There is also a Sigourney Weaver look-alike waitress and she's giving me the eye. Ha Ha.
On Main Beach I lounged, read, perved and swam in my new baggies, so trendy compared to my trusty, now cremated Speedos. No zips or buttons, only velcro fly that I cannot fully trust and which are rather ruthless on any stray pubic hairs. I also meet Kirstyworsty on the beach-nice to see her-Mac is off scuba diving and then I bump into the French Swiss boys yet again, 2000km away from Cairns, where I shared a dorm with them.
Walking back I notice the shops & businesses, very arty and stylish and a plethora of alternative stuff, therapists, spiritualists, healers and the usual bead/knickyknack stalls or street sellers.
Met Duggie at the Rails with his mate Greg and from there we went to Beaches where 3 live bands were performing. Later back at Doggie’s out come the inevitable tinnies, spliffs and guitar. Greg is a brilliant country/blues man and it was great to hear Doggie’s mellow, laid-back style again. Rather incapable Justin drove me back to Belongil.
Justin now has a wife in Thailand, the girl I'd seen him with when I was there.


A good night's kip, relatively unbroken, i.e. only up twice in the night - not bad considering the empties left behind.
Saturday 8th February
Booked a day's trip to Nimbim for tomorrow, with Kirstywursty and Mac and then played BG on the beach with her as Mac was diving again. She is 35, bright and friendly and, of course, I start fantasising the usual 'what ifs'.
Flirting is the greatest pleasure. Consummation, after all, is quite likely in my case to be a let down for both parties. The sex that never happens will always be the best because it cannot be proved otherwise. I console myself with this and almost believe it. With this in mind I say goodbye to Kirsty and head for some more mind sex with Signourney Weaver, but it turns out it's her day off. Just as well as I am not sure that at my age I can do it (mind sex) twice in one day!
So nip back to Belongil and take one of their free bikes to explore the lighthouse and headland. The light itself is the brightest in Australia.

Also a fantastic view towards Tallow Beach a long, wide, sprawling expanse with lazy, white foaming breakers, popular with surfers but today totally desolate.
Upon my return I just happened to be passing the Rails when Duggie and Greg invite me in. Here we go again. Back to the garage to help clear rubbish and hey-ho we deserve a spliff or two and wine and barbecue and more guitar.
Afterwards, a lazy walk into town. We meet Kirsty, Mac, Dutch Dave and Hashmick again. And again I am pissed; I seem to have slipped into a bit of a routine here. It feels as though I am on holiday here and have stopped travelling but I cannot think of many places I would prefer to end up in.
Sunday 9th February
Today, an hour or so trip to Nimbim; a place originally infested and eventually taken over by hippies. Seemingly, the local police turn a blind eye to what happens here. Practically everyone on the street is a dealer and this is where most 'aware' travellers come to stock up. The whole area is a sort of alternative centre. There's even a feral community in the forest composed largely of retired and middle class professionals living in trees, huts and wigwams. The local Sunday market has numerous new age/alternative stalls and there are old 60's types, now in their 60's sporting their original tie-dyes, beads, tattoos and dreads (grey). 'Feral' children sing, perform, and tell riddles - all for a small contribution, of course. I was told to look out for the lady with a white t-shirt and a baseball cap and there she as and yes she could do me 3 hash cookies for $10 and yes, that bloke over there can sort you out with a bag. I only wanted $20 worth but $50 was the smallest deal. I suppose I'll use it up before my next flight. On our return journey we stopped off for a barbie in the forest - kookaburras, skinks, goannas, beautiful tree-clad mountains and secret valleys. There in the distance is Paul Hogan's 7 million dollar pad. Apparently Mike Tyson had made a recent offer, which was turned down, because of his recent shady past. Nice day with Kirsty and Mac.
Back in Byron I spent the evening with Duggie at Beaches. I am amazed at the size and sheer numbers here. Byron's population is 5 thousand but there are 30 thousand tourists/travellers every single night. Understandably, Duggie feels that his birthplace has been stolen from him and he wants out; maybe live in Thailand with his son and new wife.
Monday 10 February
Met the 2 German farming students that I had a Mexican meal with way up, way back in Mission Beach. Had my usual coffee at 'Fresh'. Signourney Weaver has left. A bit cloudy today but as I walked to the beach I was met and greeted by Mr Wonderful who is mid 60's white hair, ponytail, plaited white beard, a pink & yellow sarong and sunglasses. He is here every day and greets everyone. There are felt-tip small placards on the grass 'you are beautiful’ 'love everyone - even Americans', 'Krishna was a Spunk'. He tells everyone that they are 'wonderful', 'beautiful' 'I love your colour', I love your face' as he dispenses multi-coloured petals around you. He belongs to a local church described as 'the slightly Sirius Church of the Occasional Giggle'. He asked me why I don't stay here in Byron Bay. 'I can't afford it'. His reply, 'you have everything brother, limitless potential'.
I moved on, convinced that he was right.
Checked out my e-mails and it seems strange to hear of the usual normal comings and goings of my old home and I've been away 4 months now. Two to go and it still seems ages away to the end of my trip. Yet another coincidence - there is Amanda (Whitsundays) on the beach and we swapped tales since our last meeting, over a drink or two and shared a spliff (from Nimbim). Very, very nice - and so was the smoke.

I took her back to Duggie's who was impressed and cracked open some more. Are you getting the picture? - Time to move on I think.
After a shave, shower and my laundry I again met Amanda and Duggie at 'Rails'. On to 'Beaches' and then the 'Northern' where I first met Duggie. There's a band on and a skinny red-haired lady in full evening dress was performing a self-possessed ballet routine. Duggie explains that she is away with the fairies and that there are loads of similar oddballs, vagrants and spaced out lost types here in Byron Bay. Many are on social security and many make ends meet by selling nick-knacks, drugs, beads, and bangles or busking. It occurs to me again I have still not seen an Aborigine legitimately working anywhere in the country so far.
It also strikes me that short, denim ra-ra skirts are in again.
On the beach Mr Wonderful is telling us that 'we are what we've been searching for. We are fabulous' and further up the coast 750 obliging local ladies have posed naked as the giant words on a hillside - 'No War'.
Americans are not liked here and they know it. I have heard stories of them posing as Canadians, with the Maple Leaf stuck or sewn on their backpacks. Most of the ones I've met seem okay; after all they are the 17 percent of Americans who actually have a passport so at least they're seeing some of the real world.
I recall some of the events at Nimbim 'The Hemp Olympics' - spliff rolling, bong throwing, best weed, and biggest bud. 'Splendour on the grass', 'the Mardi Grass'.
Was intending to call in at the cinema for the new 'Lord of the Rings' epic but got waylaid at the 'Northern' pub by the 4 Scousers I met up with in Magnetic Island. Danny, Tommy, Mick and Jed. An afternoon of yarns, jokes and yes, drinking and a takeaway Fish and Chips before Duggie's, where I rested up before my 8 pm, 14 hour final bus leg to Sydney. One last drink at the 'Rails' with Duggie, and Amanda, who was there with a young lad from Salcombe in Devon. Weeks ago in Perth Dave Taylor had given me a postcard of Salcombe Harbour with his phone and email numbers. The boat in the middle of the scene was this lad's Dad's boat - another miracle.
Armed with my faithful backpack and 3 hash cookies, fond farewells. I leave on the largest, single journey yet. The cookies (2 of them) did the trick and I must have slept because I didn't see the sunrise. Stopped 6.30 for half an hour breakfast break and then 4 hours more to Sydney.
Wednesday 12th February
It really feels as if 3/4 weeks have passed this month. Dropped off at the main bus station with 2 German lads who have spent 2 weeks in Nimbim. What could they possibly do in Nimbim for 2 weeks? (Ve do not know! Ve cannot remember!) Serious tokers.
Bed 40
The usual feeling of disorientation somewhere in a big city but I remember Kevin Lunatic mentioning 'The Globe' B'packers in Kings Cross so I share a taxi with the Germans. The Rough Guide says it's cheap and cheerful and as I climb the steps to the 1st floor reception I hear a raspy voice punctuated with 'Fackin'' and 'Cants' and 'Bleedins'. Incredible! It's Kevin Lunatic, in the Spliff Lounge-yes-an actual room especially for smokers-now there's service! Kevin, with a huge grin and a huger spliff, has been here for weeks having driven almost non-stop from Townsville where I last saw him. He has found all the local dealers who were more than willing to re-stock his dwindling Nimbim stash.

I'm in a 2bunk, 4 bedroom, $17 a night, or $90 for the week, about 36 pounds. Cheap and certainly cheerful as most people here are working travellers and are long stayers so everyone knows everyone else and there seems to be a real feeling of belonging & camaraderie. Apart from Kevin I am the oldest by 30 years, although there is a 32 yr old woman, Nina, in my room. She is a Kiwi working as a masseuse in the club next door.
Took the 20 min walk to the city, the Bridge, Opera House and Harbour. The QE2 was also in town. A massive sprawl of a city, it exudes maturity with a cosmopolitan and organic feel.
Kings Cross, however, is Sidney's underbelly, with its live sex shows, strip joints and the touts are everywhere cajoling and coaxing for business. There are fashionable places too, alongside the tawdry and seedy. Spent hookers, drug addicts and crazy people struggle by. All life is here. Within 3 minutes I was accosted and promised a really good time by worn out, near-skeletal women aged somewhere between 40 & 60.
Back at the Globe I spend half an hour checking E-mails. As I sit a message from 'Arry and Sally appears, telling me that they are in Sidney and If I'm heading this way to check them out. Their place is 50 yds down the road and imagine their surprise when I knock on their door just 5 mins after they sent the e-mail.

Celebration time again over beer and wine. I've met them in Perth, Cairns and now here, 3 of the 4 corners of Australia, 1000's kms apart.'Arry and Sally!
Finally returning to The Globe I find Nina sitting alone in the spliff room. She is beautiful and slim, a Kiwi (in my dorm!) and it turns out that she is not really a masseuse, but the top female star in the live sex show next door. Incredibly she has been doing this for 12 years. Although she is friendly she tells me that she would never trust a man and never have a relationship having seen too much of the worst of men. She earns double here than in New Zealand and works for only 3 days a week. This is all she can manage, as the 'work' is physically exhausting. She could be an infants teacher, a doctor, even a librarian, she is so nice, quietly well spoken, not at all what I would expect. She tells me that a young girl, next door, is doing this for 7 days a week and she is only 18 but needs to work daily to satisfy her serious heroin addiction. How long will she last?
Thursday 15th February
Having emailed him 2 days ago my son's friend Mark phoned me today and we arranged to meet in town at noon. I have also heard from Pete the painter (Perth) that he is also here in Sydney and will be around at that time.
Wherever I go I have a need to pick out a coffee bar as a routine base. Here it is 'Krave' just over the road and each morning I take my seat outside and watch pure urban theatre. It is open 24/7 and today I am sitting next to a 60'ish chap wearing a loud Hawaian shirt and shorts. He has a college lecturer look about him and he is holding a deep philosophical conversation with himself.
Last night there were 2 very drunk Aborigines lying on the pavement near my seat. Regular Salvation Army officers patrol this area to lend a hand, give comfort or provide shelter and they obviously know these two. A gang of ageing leather-clad grizzled bikers are sitting in the steps of The Globe for several hours each night. 5 mins later 2 people, one female and one obvious transvestite propositioned me. Minutes later he was savagely beaten up by a raving man. The police arrived swiftly, just as another skirmish broke out a few yards away. I walked down through Hyde Park into the bustling city and met Mark and Pete for coffee. Mark is an old mate of Ben's but came out here a year ago and now never wants to leave. Pete is leaving for the England tomorrow, back to his building job in Salcombe for another 9 months before his next adventure. He finds time to fill me in on the many bonks he's had since our last meeting. Testosterone on legs. Wish I had some.
After coffee and goodbyes I walked on to Darling Quay, to the Aquarium where I was encased in a sunken glass tunnel, surrounded by sharks. Impressive, but not the same as 'being there' on the barrier reef.
Back at the Globe I win $4 off Jason (BG). He is 37, from Birmingham but accentless and he has retired. He sold his successful jewellery business for a million, after realising the decadent loop he was in. Every year a flashier car, a bigger television, a better Hi-Fi so he took the money, put it into a high interest bank account, no fancy investments and lives well on the interest alone travelling the world backpacking. Mind you, he has his own room wherever he, not needs to rough it at all. On the same Backgammon site as me, his title name is 'Bottle beach' after the legendary beautiful beach on the north coast of Ko Pha Ngan, the one that Sam & I were originally aiming for (when Sam's stomach had had enough of rough seas and perilous driving). If he ever finds his magic mate he hopes to buy a property there and settle or do what the hell he wants. Not a bad existence.
'Arry came over and I gave him a No.4 haircut with my clippers, resulting in my missing of the Globe's free ice cream night as well as hostile looks later from Sally. The three of us moved onto World Bar, a popular travellers' place with special cheap offers for drinks nightly. All the Globe gang were there and a very interactive night was had .At 1am Kev and I nipped across to the strip joint opposite. Free entry but double priced drinks though they didn't pester too much to buy more. Two round stages, with poles and a non-stop display of dancing and flesh with close up appraisals offered to the high paying tippers. It did nothing for me, apart from purely aesthetic appreciation of course, and there were a couple of crackers there, too.
Friday 14th February
A rare hangover so I took it easy today. At lunchtime I went over to McDonalds and whist eating watched a bizarre drama unfold between two women. A lady & friend came in and one of them had a piece of sticky paper stuck to the bottom of her shoe. As she passed another woman tried to put her foot on the piece of paper, thus freeing it, but missed and partly stepped on her foot. The first woman, not knowing about the offending paper, took umbrage and said something, accusingly and the other started to shout, swear and gesticulate threateningly. Then the manager joined in and a mini-riot was almost borne from such a tiny beginning.
Back at Globe almost everyone can now play BG courtesy of Al's easy lesson plan and competition is fierce. My fold-up set is in constant use all day. We also play 'shithead' a strange b'Packers'card game played everywhere I've been. I'm beginning to feel that I am a student again and that I am back in a college dorm. Most of them have been here working, some for months raising money to continue onward or just enjoying.
Yona, a lovely Finnish girl, and I head back early from World Bar at 11pm, just as the others are all heading out, and play BG, at which she has become very accomplished. After midnight we sit at the window looking down on the little dramas of the street. We watch an ordinary looking bloke in shorts and t-shirt with a German shepherd dog, which is sniffing strongly at the pocket of an unsuspecting young traveller. Within seconds two more blokes have materialised and the young traveller is spread-eagled up against the wall and searched for drugs, thanks to the trained nose of the police dog. We see sad looking men hooked by equally sad looking tarts, leery bouncers trying to get punters in to the sex clubs and a strange bewhiskered chap, just like Uncle Albert of Only Fools & Horses. He walks warily for a few yards then stands to attention, back stiffly to the wall, before he moves off again in the opposite direction to repeat the procedure. I then spot 'Arry and Sally at Krave coffee bar so nip over to have a late coffee with them before bed.
Saturday 15th February
It's the famous Mardis Gras here in a week or so and 3 black- attired, pierced and skin headed lesbians have booked in today to enjoy the festivities. They are English and I am pleased and surprised at how nice and sociable they are.

A $5.60 train from Kings Cross, just 50m down the road, straight to Bondi Beach station followed by a short bus-ride to the famous beach, the grand dame of Sydney's finest. There are, surprisingly, no flash tower blocks but quaint shops and buildings, trendy cafes and eateries. There is a strong Jewish and Italian community here, working travellers, Kiwis and Aussies and, of course, the resident surf rats and today at 35c it's packed with bronze and beauty. The sea is superb and refreshing as are the views, but at 4pm it's clouding over, so I headed back irresistibly to some serious BG with Jason. However, after an incredibly bad run of dice and 10 games I owe him $30. Still enjoyable but, steady on Al, he can afford it!
Finally to World Bar with a fist full of half price vouchers and 'Arry and Sally. After many Wild Turkeys & Coke a 4am lurch home to bed.
Sunday 16th February
Ruefully regretting last night's over imbibance I get up at 11am but I don't want to miss the Peace March which starts at Hyde Park, about 500m down towards town. What a day! Thousands of people are there already, old, young, placards, posters, slogans, bands--all peacefully displaying their common concerns and demonstrating against their government's choice to support America's ill-thought out crusade. The Americans here must be feeling uncomfortable with all the overt expressions of anti-USA sentiment. The locals are very upset with their Prime Minister Howard, too. An old guy in his 80's brandishes his placard,’ Out with the Arse-lickers!'
The problem is that there are so many here and nobody knows what is actually happening, or which way to go. I keep hearing distant speakers over PA systems, applause or singing and there are several helicopter news crews hovering overhead. Everyone is milling about and the park fountains are full of revelry, children and weirdoes and a loud group of protesting drummers persistently pounding away. Sydney is very soon at a total standstill with up to half a million people and I'm almost moved to tears with this amazing show of solidarity, which might yet change things. Fat Chance.
'Poofs for Peace' proclaims the large banner of several dozen scantily clad’ Village People' types.’ I don't hate America-I love Marge Simpson' announces the placard of a straw-boatered, plump granny.
Today is also the official start of the Mardis Gras with a huge Picnic in the Park event in Victoria Park but the onset of rain and the precedence of the Peace Rally meant a bit of a damp squid start for the fraternity.
Late, back at Globe I manage to win back $10 from Jason. The gang are all back from work, or the rally, so it's spliffs, cards and drinks again. On the corner outside is a regular lost soul. All his possessions, a coat, a tablecloth, a radio and a water bottle are carried in a plastic milk crate and he makes a display of emptying it out on to the pavement. He spreads his coat over the crate, then the tablecloth, on which he sits listening to the radio and juggling his bottle from one hand to the other. He has no shirt. After 10 minutes he theatrically packs his crate and moves 5m away to repeat the process, at the same time ranting at the world in general and every passer-by in particular. Occasionally someone stops to check up on him, give him a sandwich, a drink or a few coins without any acknowledgement at all.
Didn't drink tonight as I'm hoping to take a trip out to the Blue Mountains tomorrow, so a quiet evening in, chatting, BG etc. Yana is working as a waitress, Ben is a TEFL teacher, Duncan works at Krave, Lucas, an American, is working for a tree surgeon. Jason provided us all with some entertainment by showing us a 30 sec movie on his camera. He had visited a tart in Bangkok and unbeknown to him she had recorded a very revealing personal striptease as a souvenir. Beautifully slim, dark and sexy, longhaired and provocative-it still did nothing for me, not even a twinge.
Monday 17th February
Quick 5min train to Central and then an hour out to Katoomba in the Blue Mountains. Here is the world's greatest concentration of Eucalyptus, over 75 species making up 100's of sq.km of dense forest, which has a fine blue mist of the light tree oil, giving the mountains their name.
As I arrive so does the rain, forcing me to hire a brolly from a charity shop to walk to the scenic rail terminal, 2km. I took the 200m, almost vertical drop, down into Jamiseon Valley Wilderness, towering cliffs, gorges and spectacular views--apparently. Everything is wreathed in thick mist and I see nothing.
Despite Sally's instructions I get lost and very knackered, walking for miles in the wrong direction. The famous Three Sisters rock formation also eludes me. When I finally arrive back at the terminal I chat to 3 blokes from UK, 'Whereabouts you from?' they ask. "Wiltshire'. 'Oh! We’ve got a mate in Wiltshire--George Lewis--Don't s'pose you know him?’ 'Well, he was my next door neighbour for a year, before I came away!' Can you believe that?
Home on the 4.30, a quietish night, book, BG and just a little booze.
Thursday 18th February
Legs stiffening up, I hobble over to Krave for coffee at 10. The madman is on the pavement verbally abusing the world. Another is wandering up & down has a fluffy toy tiger under his arm, like a ventriloquist, waving a paw and talking to passers-by. Worn out tarts, the desperate ones are already looking for business.

BG has taken over at the Globe--I really should try and get out more! A ferry from the harbour took me over to Manley Beach and also gave me picture postcard views of the Bridge and Opera House as well as an appreciation of the size of Sydney and its sprawling suburbs. From the docking point it's a 10 min. walk down through a wide, open mall lined with the usual array of bars, bistros and gift shops to the beach, less trendy than Bondi but probably as popular for the same reason, among the older family types at least. I lazed, read and swam before returning for Globe's Special $5 Curry Night, after which I gamely lost another $20 to Jason. I am beginning to doubt my game, is he luckier, or simply better than me?
E-mail from Meemee in New Zealand informs me of pick-up time in Aukland. Blimey! Only 2 days to go in Oz!
Later, one of the down & outs on the Globe steps claims he was one of the original Beatles and has a photo to prove it. He shows us a rather faded A4 black & white photo from 1961/2. His name is John Simons and he was an unfortunate casualty of an IRA bomb in London, 1962, which left him in a coma for 2 years after which The Fab Four had moved on and lost contact with poor old John. I tell him that I am a friend of Cynthia Lennon but this caused suspicious reticence on his part and he shut up. Sad ol' world.
Back in Pewsey Jan is having her first of two cataract operations and she has also invited all our old friends to a house warming. I feel so far away, in all possible ways.
Nina, the kiwi porn star left today after a row over working conditions (!) and she returned to New Zealand to her sister and two nieces-I bet she's a great Aunty, too.
Wednesday 19th February
Slept in till noon today, must've needed it, then over to Krave for coffee and a bite. Sitting in my usual seat a skinny blond, t-shirt'n jeans, chats to me and after 10mins I know about her mental breakdown, her medication, her endocrine levels, thyroid troubles, blood pressure, as well as her cat's toilet habits. She also works in Playgirls opposite and tried to sell me the idea of Emma, her beautiful Thai friend who loves short Englishmen and would give me the time of my life for $200. Actually, she confides, Emma only gets $100 and the bastard boss takes the fuckin' rest. I gracefully decline and I actually cannot really afford it. So then she tries a special knock down one on me herself. 'Actually, I don't always look like this (no make-up) and I'm ‘clean’ (no drugs or H), working girl, 12 years, veeerry experienced (nudge-nudge)'
As we talk another girl stops, whispers and moves on. This thin longhaired girl is a 'shopper', who regularly steals from the department stores and supplies all the local working girls with clothes, costumes or specials.
'So! Are you coming along with me luv?'
Again I repeat the ‘skint’ line-’don’t worry darling, we can do special deals to suit you'
It feels like I'm being sold a time-share or loan; anyway I politely decline.
Train into Central to check out Chinatown and Chinese Gardens, wandering through the hustle-bustle. There's also a Spanish Quarter, though I'd say it was more of an eighth. Yum -Cha for lunch, Gau Gee (steamed prawns in pasta parcels), with spring roll and a custard tart to follow.
Chinese Gardens, donated by a rich oriental businessman, is a real haven of peace and tranquillity in a busy metropolis, with manicured flowers, shrubs and trees, water features, bridges, lakes, arbours and interconnecting pathways. Difficult not to feel peace and reverence and my walking pace almost slows to Thailand speed. Also had an hour in the huge interactive and innovative Powerhouse Museum before returning.
My time here has not been so much about the ‘where’, more about the 'who'; the Globe gang, Ben, the TEFL teacher, Jane-Irish, Lucas-Canadian, Dai-obvious, Suzio-Japanese, Yona the Finn, Jason and, of course, Kevin Lunatic, still smoking. Duncan, a Kiwi who works at Krave is today sporting an eye that resembles a ripe’ split plum. Last night at World Bar he picked up a wallet and tried to return it to its drunken owner who mistakenly thought that Duncan had just stolen it and acted accordingly.
Over in Showgirls a beautiful Londoner, 32, looks 22, gives us a great show followed by a friendly chat. Travelling around Oz she ran out of money here in Sydney and has been working here for 2 months earning $200 a day stripping and teasing drunks and cajoling them out of extra cash for an extra flash. Who's exploiting whom? After 3 hours BG with Jason I win back another $20 and fall into bed at 4am.
Thursday 20th February
An e-mail informs me that John and Jackie are getting married back home--something to look forward to, but at the same time it forces me to think of my return, still 2 months away. A pleasant morning, warm, so I took off with my book to the little park round the corner, sunbathed, read and returned to winning a further $24 off Jason, reckon we're about even now, confidence restored. Also played an intriguing game of 'Mafia' and 'Shithead', which I still don't understand. Quiet John, from my dorm, asks me for a No. 3 haircut after which we nipped over to Showgirls with Dai for a cheap leer (and only 1 beer each) and more chat with Jo, the ex-punk stripper from Essex-told her all about Kevin-I know they'll get on well.
A humid evening, the whole gang out on the rear terrace at Globe bantering/laughing. They all have weird and wonderful tales to tell. A fitting last night for me.
Friday 21st February
Once more, girding the backpack, shuttle to the airport for the flight to New Zealand .Two months in Malaysia/Thailand and two in Oz, still two to go but I have distinct 'last leg' feelings. I have not really made any plans for NZ, only that Meemee will pick me up and house me for a few days. I met her only once, in Pewsey a year ago, a sister of an acquaintance and she moved back here 6 months ago. I know she has 2 lodgers so I'll probably be on the couch, or floor.
Arriving at 11pm I took the shuttle to downtown Aukland, which is alive and buzzing, as expected of any capital city kicking off its weekend. Waiting on the Princes Harbour where the America's Cup is in full swing, though not today as the race was cancelled due to inclement weather. Meemee arrives at midnight and it's a half hour drive to her home on Upper Harbour. A leafy, sedate suburb and all the homes here are million dollar properties. Meemee's large wooden house also has an attached annexe with tenants and is set in large gardens on a creek. As I thought, I am on the floor, but with cushions
Bed 41. Of course we chatted into the early hours. Meemee is very independent and multi-talented. She plays violin in an orchestra, is an al-fresco artist, speaks mandarin Chinese, Japanese, Spanish & French, is a handsome 58 and is deep and psychoanalytical, and nice to be with.
I'm cold. At only 15c this is the coldest I've been since leaving UK and I have no suitable clothing for this temperature.
Saturday 22nd February
Still February. A delightful lie-in till noon with only 3 nocturnal visits. At least I'm not wetting the bed!
Meemee had a few things to do around the house so I relaxed in the garden with my book. Daytime temp. about 22c. We went to a party in the evening. Nice people, somehow more sociable than the Aussies, but maybe I am generalising. A distinct ageing hippyish group; a sculptor, an artist, a glassblower and almost everyone is a sailor, too. There are hanging bones, driftwood, water features, lights and plants but everyone is discussing the Race and the fact that NZ will almost certainly lose this time to the Swiss team, as their top man defected to them last year and has brought them, the Swiss, to victory.
Average age here is 50-ish, a welcome change again to be among peers, but I still feel closed in, like I did at Christine's in Perth, missing the camaraderie of The Globe. As night fell so did the thermometer, like an early evening April evening in England. I really must buy something warm (but cheap).
Sunday 23rd February
Meemee is concerned about the cost and amount of work that needs doing in her garden, so when I arise at 10 am I offer to pitch in while she's away for the day. I downed 6 small trees, logged them up, weeded and cleared and by noon it was 30c and my efforts disturbed the myriads of mozzies, which took to me avidly. When Meemee returned she cooked fillet steaks with salad, red wine and then took me into town
Bed 42. I ended up at the Kiwi B'packers, with a 30 m walk to the loo, no smoking and for the first time, no fan or A\C and it's bloody freezing despite pyjama bottoms, two t-shirts and a towel over me.
Monday 24th February
Checked out and walked 300 m down Queen's St, the main city artery of Auckland. For 100 m I did not see a single European face, they were all Asian.
Bed 43. Booked into Auckland City B'packers but had to wait 2 hrs for a bed to become vacant. It's a huge modern building, several floors, lifts, and security codes, sleeping about 400 people a night. The Internet room has 30 computers; there are 2 laundry rooms, 2 TV rooms, huge kitchen facilities, a large common room and travel agent.
As I wait in the queue I meet Paul and Emma from Perth, the couple I shared a room with who left me the beer after the pool competition!
I really am totally unprepared for New Zealand, without an itinerary and frankly, the low temperature has caught me out. At the travel desk I booked a 'Magic Bus' trip down to Queenstown at the bottom of South Island, with several stop-offs on the way and I leave at 8.15 am tomorrow.
I walked down to the harbour, teeming with people for the Cup. The private yachts here are mega but alas - race abandoned again, no wind. NZ is 3 - nil down to the Swiss team and it's the first to 5.
There are 2 chaps in my room and we all descend to the basement bar, The Globe, no relation, a massive cellar bar, pounding music, strobes, Karaoke, pool and throb. They must coin it in here. Later I logged on to BG and hey presto! I am playing Jason, my erstwhile adversary in Sidney - and beat him!
Dai, also from the Globe, is sitting at the next terminal from Jason and I play him too. Technology! My room here is 40 m from the loo and I felt very embarrassed waking up my roommates 4 times due to an extremely squeaky door (which I reported to the desk).
Tuesday 25th February
The Magic Bus is there at 8.15 and after several more pick-ups we're off. The green buses of 'Kiwi Experience' run the same journey at about the same price but are more popular with the younger 18 - 53 set. For fairly obvious reasons it is also known as the 'Fuck Truck'. My bus generally seems to attract an older, 30 - 35 group. We drive out to Mount Eden, an extinct volcano and just one of 63 around Auckland. The Maori translation means, 'smelly mountains', which they apparently were 1000 yrs ago when still active and when the Maoris first arrived here. Despite the drizzling rain it is still a wonderful view over the sprawl of Aukland and its waters. From here too we looked down on Eden Park, the home of the All-Blacks. We walked up to the cone itself, now extinct and full of grazing cattle and a very different smell.
Our driver is Monkey and he takes us further South to Waitomo. The Glow-Worm caves. The word 'Kiwi' does not refer to the bird, but to the 'Kiwi' boot polish used in WW1 by the soldiers.
The topography here, the whole area, is little bumps and hillocks, ups and downs and valleys - typical limestone karst scenery.
Wai-maori for water, Tomo-maori for hot. $22 for a tour through the caves, partly by boat. Galleries of limestone, stalactites and mites, cathedral-like formations and millions of glow-worms. The entire roof of the cave seems to be diamond-studded, a huge vista of pinpoints of light, like the view of a large city at night from an overhead plane. Interesting.
Next stop, Rotorua. Half the group choose the wet-suited, rubber-ringed cave tubing down through the system. There was also black-water rafting, just typical of the many thrills available everywhere in NZ - the land of the Adrenalin Rush.
Bed 44. At Rotorua we stop off and stay at Cactus Jacks, an odd place done out like a small Mexican cowboy town. Tonight there's a special optional Maori greeting ceremony, food, drink, and dance - $70. I forego this - I just could not eat all that food in one go. My appetite seems to be diminishing weekly and 1 modest meal a day and maybe a sandwich or fruit seems to suffice. I did wander around the town though, taking in the various hot, steam and mud pools, museum and a couple of bars.
NZ, Monkey informs us, has 4300 earthquakes a month but most are inconsequential. Now and again however there is a 'Doozie', as he puts it, and we see evidence of quite recent massive earth movements.
A week ago I chatted to Brendon in a cafe in Aukland and here he is again in Rotorua. He has hired his own car to travel around NZ. We shared a meal, a few pints and I wandered back to Cactus Jacks where I am sharing a room with Kyle, a Canadian, who is not happy. He is sure that he will score tonight with one of the girls and is not happy about sharing a room with me. Looking at him I would say 'fat chance' but he moves to a more expensive single room.
There's a huge hot-tub here heated by natural springs so I have a lascivious half-hour soaking.
I still feel a little lost here and wish I had bought the Rough Guide and planned ahead. There's just so much to see and do here and I only have 2 weeks. I am very glad of my second-hand thick suede windcheater, bought in Aukland for $5 in a charity shop.
Wednesday 26th February
Wake up to a pongey/eggy smell-sulphur-the town's normal condition, and it's pissing down. There's lots to do: whitewater rafting, bungee jumps, sledging, sky rides, luges, car racing, golf, trekking, climbing, fishing and zorbing. This last one is for the truly mad thrill-seeker. They lock you in a large transparent plastic ball and push you off down a long, bumpy hill. To make it madder they throw in a bucket or two of water and maybe another person. Despite all this action the town itself seems quite sleepy, as well as smelly and all the activities are a mile or two outside.
The gang from Cactus Jacks took the shuttle out to the local sky ride, a cable car to the top with a choice of 3 routes down by luge, a small, heavy plastic sled on wheels. The routes are graded and the steep, winding advanced one, in pouring rain even with a crash helmet deters most of us. Even the No.2 route is breathtaking enough and racing competitively with my hung over friends proves rather dangerous and scary.
We follow this up with a few pints at the Pig & Whistle. John, 28, has a 1st in Fashion & Design and he's heading for the Phillipines to start a business with his love, a beautiful Phillipino girl. The other John, 35, is a consultant electrician and Ben, 22, has just qualified with a 2-2 in Genetics. They are all away for a year. Back at Cactus Jacks one of the Johns brings out a 1.5 Vodka bottle, 2 litres of Orange juice and with a large bag of pistachios we managed to make a fine mess and had a great time, despite the rain.
Thursday 27th February
Magic Bus arrives at 8am, a few are staying on here but there are new friends aboard and we drive further south to Lake Taupo and another bed at Tarangi.
Bed 45. Here is Wai-O-Tapu (sacred waters), a thermal wonderland of glop-glopping mud puddles, gurgling streams & rivers and smelly green sulphurous pools. We sat with a hundred or so others, all gathered (courtesy of several tour buses) to witness the Lady Knox Geyser. As we wait for the prompt 10.15 deadline, a man comes out with a bucket of soapsuds and tips it in to the cone. So it's not that accurate, but it goes off about this time every day and the suds release surface tension and the geyser erupts impressively up to 30 ft high for 15/20 mins before dying down to rest for tomorrow's performance.
On to Huka Falls, a powerful mass of surging water which provides 15% of NZ's annual power. We stopped off here for a choice of activities, jet-skis, horse riding or a (free) riverside bush walk, my choice, culminating in a dip in hot natural springs. I must say that this was enjoyable and interesting especially as some of the younger female travellers took this option, too! We then stopped off in Taipo where I booked my ticket for the ferry to South island, $43--about 16 quid-single.
The 2 Johns and Ben stayed here to do the famed Tongarino Crossing, a full day's awesome trek across the mountains, not for the unfit.
Lake Taipo is NZ's largest , 165km round and, in fact, a caldera- a huge extinct volcanic crater.
Our new driver is Rachel, an all-smiling all-kiwi girl, 29 and she runs, swims, bungee-jumps and skydives at every opportunity. She is up 2 hours before us to do a 6-mile run every morning, pretty scary. She loves New Zealand with a passion as many of the kiwis do, although they are a nation of ardent travellers. Apparently, up to a fifth of the country are away at any one time.
Tonight she cooks us all a $5 barbie and our little gang end up playing Killer Pool and cards. Caspar, a German and Andrew are moving on with me tomorrow for the 6-hour leg to Wellington.
I am a little perturbed. For 2 weeks now I have been getting up 4 times a night to pee and recently I have been having 'twinges' in the prostate area and I could not be further from home. I am concerned also that most of the travellers here have at least 4 weeks in NZ and I have barely three and I feel I'm 'seeing' it rather than 'doing' it.
Friday 28th February
Wellington. The Windy City at the southerly tip of North Island is the governmental capital. Surrounded by hills but dominated by water development has spread out along the various shores and the view from Mt Victoria, towering over the city, demonstrates this perfectly. Peter Jackson's home is here. Peter Jackson is God, the Messiah, having brought so much interest and employment to the whole country. 'Two Towers' is showing here and we drive past the cinema, over which a giant Gollum reaches out for a suspended, slowly turning ring across the street. The impressive museum has extended its run of the highly popular 'Lord of the Rings' exhibition, which I do not have time to stop off for.
Bed 46. Downtown B'packers, an ex-hotel converted, it has good, clean rooms, and bar/restaurant, Internet etc. I'm sharing with Caspar, Andrew and another John. Rachel has today off and will spend it running 10 miles, followed by a little advanced rock climbing.
E-mails from Kirsty Worsty, who is working awhile at Christchurch, South Island and one from Chris, last seen in Melbourne, who is in Santiago, Chile, before moving on to Los Angeles.
Wandered the streets, window-shopping, coffee bars, and bars with the boys. Tomorrow -the ferry.
Saturday 1st. March-finally-March
9.30 am crossing, two and a half hours. Next to me in the queue is a very interesting looking woman, who looks every bit the intrepid traveller with her sturdy boots, battered pack, 'pro' shorts, cool gear, very hairy, taut legs and skinhead cut. Without make-up she has a classic shaped face, simply beautiful and tanned but what is totally mesmerising is her 6inch long beard.
Well. Not a full beard. She has one of those fertile, hairy moles on one side of her chin, about a half-inch in diameter. Rather than having it removed or hidden she has chosen to let the hairs grow, dreadlock plaited them, dyed it a rich red and finished it off with a small silver pendant. Chatting with her proved difficult as this unique phenomenon did tend to transfix the gaze somewhat and I imagined her as a woman who would stand no crap from anyone. I mumbled and wilted to her confidence.

The crossing was calm, waters placid and clear with wonderful views of the cloud-fringed mountains. This was the Tasmin Sea and as we approached Picton we sailed up the Queen Charlotte Sound, several miles of pine forested scenic waters. As we disembark a new Magic Bus awaits to take us on to Nelson on the northwest tip of the island, a Mediterranean climate and gateway to the Abel Tasman Nat. Park. Picton itself seemed small considering that it's the main link between the two halves of NZ, just a transit town.
30c again as we drive across the Marlborough plain, the famous and main wine growing area. Our driver informs us that only a thousand years ago this was a coastal estuary until a 'Doobie' quake uplifted the whole caboodle above sea level. Geographically Nelson is the centre point of NZ and has the highest recorded hours of annual sunshine. Very picturesque in a sort of 'arty-farty' way, tree-lined streets, hanging baskets and nice shops.
Benjamin, the driver, is a mine of information on the geography, geology, flora and fauna and talks non-stop as he drives. Unfortunately he is not at all amused when the young foursome at the back start chatting amongst themselves. He jams on the brakes, screaming tyres, pulls over and turns to face us all.
" I appreciate that you must all like my country, that's why you are all here, and that you all want to learn more about it, that's why I'm here and when I am passing on my knowledge to you all I don't like being FUCKING INTERRUPTED, right!" For the rest of the journey even the four at the back sat in avid, doubtful silence, wondering if our initially pleasant driver is in fact, a psycho.
Bed 47. Paradiso, a warm outside pool, hot tub, deckchairs, pool, table tennis, 4 berth chalets, we could be on the French Riviera. I'm sharing with Conny from Sweden and Chris from Nebraska, both seasoned travelling 'vets'. The inevitable $5 barbecue, around the pool, followed by a few tinnies, table tennis and pool, the other sort, and an early bed, as it's up at 7am for the next leg to Greymouth, further down the rugged west coast. Several of the group are staying here to enjoy the trip to Abel Tasman Park.
Sunday 2nd March

Israel, Canada, USA, Denmark, Sweden, UK and Germany are all represented on today's bus and 75% of them are natural blondes supposedly on account of the N. European contingent-just an observation. First stop Westport, following the course of the Buller River in steep, glacial and forested valleys, an old coal mining area. I got chatting to Chris, an Indian/Canadian psychiatrist and a very softly spoken, courteous man who introduced everyone to everyone as a natural bonding technique.
Ben, the possibly psycho driver is on his last trip after 8 years of the Magic Bus. This could account for his initial outburst as for him it was his last trip on his old patch and therefore, I guess, a little nostalgic for him hence his determination that we should all enjoy this last journey and NOT GO TO BLOODY SLEEP as he has so many interesting anecdotes to relate! Touranga Bay and Cape Foulwind (referring to the force, not the smell I assume). Ben drops us off for an hour’s trek along the harsh granite and weather-beaten coastline, home of the Kekeno, NZ's fur seal, several of which we see lounging precariously on the rocks. We also see the Western Weka, a flightless bird closely related to the Kiwi and proper little scroungers they were, too.
Capt. Cook's 'Endeavour' was hammered by persistent rain and gales here in 1770, hence the name. Harakeke, natural flax is everywhere and weird Ti-Kouka trees, cabbage trees with a, what looks like a fully formed brassica on each branch. We stopped at Punakaiki Beach with its Pancake Rocks, weird, volcanic layers towering above the sea.

Bed 48.Greymouth, a remote and, yes, grey town on the west coast but we stay at Noah's Ark, a lovely old, colonial type place owned by Steve and his wife from Northants. Each room is adorned in different animal styles-the Tiger Room, Zebra, Snake, Leopard, Penguin and Kiwi with appropriate hand painted designs and the curtains and bed linen to match. I'm sharing with the noisy foursome at the back of the bus, 2 teenage English lads, and a 30 yr old American and a young English girl who is highly fancied by all three. It is grey, wet and windy and my cheap suede jacket is permanently on, despite the awful American golf club motif emblazoned upon it.
Ben advised us all to try the 'World Famous Barbecue' at the Railway pub, a meal for $3, a cheap chop, sausages, mash and salad-bargain! Later, over a game of pool with a huge Maori I questioned the odd NZ rules, which seemed illogical.
'But!' I posit, 'Using that rule I could foul deliberately and gain an advantage. What happens then?'
'Well, that's when I wrap this fuckin' cue round yer fuckin' ‘ead!'
This, I told myself, is the perfect moment for the diplomatic, convincing bad shot tactic.
Monday 3rd March
Up at 7am again. These early starts are proving difficult but it's on again to the Franz Joseph Glacier, only 6 km from the sea and around these parts you can hike, heli-hike, ice-climb, sky dive, kayak and white water raft. Chris and I are determined to just walk the 3/4 km to the glacier face, but it's raining again.
As I write I am wheezing at the mere thought and determine, yet again, to knock off the fags. I've only had to get up twice during the last couple of nights, but I have been drinking a lot less because of the early starts. Hint-hint, Al. I have also given up all thoughts of sex.
Wherever we stop off on S, Island it is difficult to avoid feelings of isolation and remoteness and each community seems quite insular and a little 'frontiersville', but in a comfortable way.
Panic! I can no longer access my e-mails. AOL have shut me down for some reason so I text my brother Brian and son, Ben, for advice, as well as my mate, Pete. It seems so normal now to rely on your mobile phone, you're never alone with one but, you can just turn'em off, too.
Today, the mad Ben plays a mean trick. As we drive along some road in the middle of nowhere he keeps up his constant commentary. We are driving parallel to a railway line and in his 'I hope you're bloody listening at the back!' mode he tells us that because there's so little traffic here there is no need of proper rail crossings and if anyone sees a train just shout out and he'll pull over. We're doing 60+ and a train appears gaining fast at the rear of the bus and the crossing point is up ahead about 300m. 'TRAIN !' shouts one passenger at the back but Ben is chattering about trees or something. 'TRAIN !'-Louder now, but Ben is oblivious, ‘TRAIN! TRAIN! TRAIN!' screams our look-out and then we all laugh embarrassingly as the now apparent level crossing gates come down and Ben stops with a really evil grin from ear to ear. I'm sure it was one of the best, perfectly timed incidents on this, his last trip.
We stop off at Pukikara, the site of the 1875 Gold Rush but the last mine closed down only 2 months ago after mining 10 tons of gold over the last century, including a 99oz nugget, worth $5 million which ended up in the ownership of King GeorgeV. Today it is still the centre for Greenstone, more commonly known as Jade, here as Punamu. We visit a Little workshop making and selling all manner of the smooth, green ornaments. The bloke in charge is an old mate of Ben's and he has only 1 leg, the other being a metal stump from the thigh down and he has represented NZ in the last 2 paraplegic games as a swimmer. We all purchased something here and it made me realise that business would be difficult without the regular Magic Bus visits. I imagine that the drivers must do quite well out of the appreciative kickbacks.
Never buy Jade for yourself and if you buy it for someone else you must wear it for a week before giving it. A nice little bit of Jade Lore for us all to take back.
Bed 49. Montrose B'packers, and it's pissing down, mist at ankle level and Chris and I set off for the glacier. After 100m we gave up, 'Bugger it!'And found a nice coffee bar and then buggered off back home. The three bad lads in my room have decided to go blond and on a whim I joined them and spent the next few hours looking in the mirror or window reflections and coping with amused looks from my fellow passengers-silly old git!
Messed about, drinks, cards, Barbie with Sean, Chris & Barbara (German), Hanne (Dutch) and 2 jovial German frauleins, during which the clouds cleared to reveal the surrounding snow covered mountains for the first time.
Still without e-mail and I start having feelings of distance and remoteness from 'home'.
Tuesday 4th March
Ben really enjoys getting us up early and we're away by 7am to Makarora via the other glacier, the Fox. Several new faces on the bus, some of whom are here for the famed Glacier Trek-The weather looks far too changeable to even consider it that is if I really was considering it! We stopped for photo ops at Matheson where the lake reflects perfectly Mt Cook, the snow-topped peak, the highest point of NZ.3700m.
On down the coast to Haast River via the Haast Pass Highway, another World Heritage site-huge mountains, impenetrable forests, steep valleys, spectacular waterfalls. Lunch at Wanaka, a wonderful lake and a bijou little town. Also, the Aspiring National Park.
Checked e-mails and brother Brian has put me on hotmail and Pete has gone through my old AOL addresses and informed all of my new address. Thanks guys.
As we stopped at Kowarua I met 2 Swiss girls who had stayed at The Globe, Sydney. Here is the original Bungee Site where the drop is from a narrow bridge, 40m into a narrow river bottomed gorge. One of the new blond boys, Alex, did it but this blond boy, who likes to think he would have, didn't as Ben, bless him, said we did not have time. We watched several do it, accompanied by screams of terror/delight-pretty scary but those who had come here from all over the world with this as one of their big highlights were orgasmic/ecstatic with their feat.
We finally arrive at Queenstown, the last big town deep in the south and the furthest southerly point I have ever visited. Situated on Lake Wakatipu it has become known as the Adventure Capital Of The World. Every madcap thrill sport invented is here amid the picturesque mountains, made newly famous by Lord of the Rings.
Bed 50.We are all split up into different places but all arrange to meet up for drinks tonight. I am at Makarora Retreat. It is Ben's last night with the Magic Bus; mine too come to think of it. We all arrived at Red Rock, the most popular place, packed with travellers and generally had a chatty evening, especially with Ben whose nostalgia is now getting the better of him.
How can I forget? I now recall yesterday's, or was it the previous day's jet boat ride. In a small flat-bottomed boat, 6 of us crammed in, with the sadistic driver in command of a powerful engine, which could attain a speed of 80kph. We spent an hour, almost continuously at full throttle skimming up and down a fast flowing flat riverbed strewn with rocks. He aimed us suicidally straight at the bank and just feet from collision would wrench us into a velocity-defying turn seemingly beyond the point of no return. Every turn we took meant that the other 2 passengers on my bench were thrown into my side thus pressing me with such G-force that my rib cage was thrust violently on to the side rail. It felt like I broke a rib, but it was the most exhilarating, breathtaking ride- very nearly a 'brown trouser 'job.
Still trembling, and aching we returned to a barbie & beer night and a barrel of beer was up for grabs via a pool comp. Met Joe, a Spanish-Canadian who, at 57 was a dead-ringer for an ageing John Travolta and yes, he did 'that' dance, Saturday Night Fever and then proceeded to charm all females present, a fine Casanove. Sausage, lamb, beef, spuds & salad, much beer and some interesting sultry tales of Fiji, from Joe. I'm going there!
Wednesday 5th March
Near Wanaka we stopped off at a place called 'Puzzleworld', a popular tourist attraction full of mazes, puzzles and illusions. Weird rooms set at 30-degree angles where you can ride up stairs on a seat fixed to the banister. Really you are going downhill but the whole angle of the place makes it seem otherwise. It was also very disorientating for some people, even to the point of head curling nausea. There is wooden, steel, paper and plastic puzzles, impossible pictures, even a room covered with death masks that appear to look and follow you with their eyes and faces as you walk through the room. This was right up my street, an entertaining hour.
Bed51. Pinewood Lodge.
Thursday 6th March
Awoke at 10am to, what would be in England, a lovely crisp mid-May day. At a lakeside cafe I sat and watched the tandem hangliders sweeping down the cliffside. I took the old git, sedate gondola ride up to the top, rather than the far too fit for me trekkie route. I could've bungeed, hanglided or luged down too, or even walk, but my return was by cable car again. The view was sublime, perfect across the lake to the distant peaks.

Back at ground level I met up with several of the past week’s Magic Bus lot who had all stopped off to satisfy their lifelong adrenaline needs at various places. Ben was about, too, and he's almost ready to depart to Denver for a multi-sport trip with American friends-Surfing, flying, fishing, hiking, sailing etc. His parents have a language school in Taiwan and he'll be there working for a while. Ben boasts 500 conquests during his 9 Magic years but on the last trip he found 'The One'. After living in B'packers for all that time, he had no home, no base and travelled with all his possessions, his clothes, a surfboard and his skis, Good luck to him.
A Jack Daniels night and, for a change some very silly card games with a gang of drunk Swedes and Danes. My rib is killing me and my feet, after 5 months of wearing sandals, my hard, calloused feet are also killing me.
Friday 7th March
Just a month to go-but, Hey! -That’s still twice as long as I have ever been away. Booked a bus to Christchurch and then ambled round this lovely little town all day, bumping into various people I've met over the last 3 weeks. My shortest entry yet, lots of thoughts but rather introspective with foreboding thoughts of return-but to what?
Saturday 8th March
Once again I come to a 'goodbyes all round' moment to people I've been with for days or weeks, people I've got along with and, in a way, it's heartening to know there are so many nice individuals about, everywhere. A cloudless day and a long drive through impressive scenery. It's as if someone has taken all the best scenery of the world and dumped it here on this relatively small, out-of-the-way corner of the globe.

Driving directly up through the spine of South Island we take in the superb views of Twizel, Lake Pukaki, Tekapo and Mt. Cook-3762m and the 2nd highest peak, Mt. Tasman at 3492m. One of the lakes was blue, not a sky reflection, but bright, sky blue, caused by some microorganism. Through the Ben O Hau range, the Hunter Hills and everywhere seems so empty. Once again the driver informs me, that NZ, the same area as UK, has a pop. of 4.9 million but there are 6million passport holders. I was given figures like this several times, not sure of the accuracy but the general implication was that a fifth of the country were away travelling, all of the time.
We turn eastwards to flat plains, sheep and cattle country where the occasional house/farm punctuates the landscape and long 30/40 ft high lines of Leylandii trees form windbreaks and shelter everywhere. Driving into Christchurch I could be in any provincial English town.
Bed 52.Another huge, soulless B'packers, or so it seems on this 1st night alone again after nearly 3 weeks of companionship. A lonely meal out, Thai with spring water, no booze--I want a good kip, also my feet are badly cracked and painful. AOL is still holding back my e-mail address. I have hotmail but several friends are still sending to AOL and I spend an expensive, fruitless 2 hours trying to retrieve messages.
Found a café and spent a while with the owner chatting about recent concerns over immigration, especially the high numbers of Asians (Chinese, Korean, Japanese etc} which seem to be invading the local culture/heritage. Because of this the government have lately raised the English language standard requirements. This has led to higher demand for language teachers throughout Asia (and good pay}- a thought for the future, perhaps. Walked back to Charlie’s, read my book in the garden, 28c-just hanging around really, waiting for my flight back to Auckland. As I read two fully kilted Scots Pipe Bands in Latimer Square, entertain me across the road, only 200m from the city centre.
Bed 53.Shuttle to airport, flight to Auckland and it should be easy finding a room now that the America’s Cup is over-or so I thought. After lugging my pack from full place to full place, several phone calls there is no room anywhere in the city. I end up, with 15 or so others, getting out on a bus to Dominian Rd, 6km out of town to ‘Rocknasium’ where our bed is the floor of a rock-climbing gym -grim. Coffee, juice, no booze but still had to get up 3 times to tiptoe over several sleeping bodies to find the loo, in darkness.
Sunday 9th March
Dominian Rd is a typical ‘transition’ zone, full of cheap shops, charity shops, takeaways, and video rentals, all run-down. All the taxi drivers are Indian, the first and sometimes the only job on arrival here, so my driver informs me as we approach the centre again. I was queuing at the desk of Auckland City B’packers by 9am but still had to wait 4 hours to book in as beds became vacant, I’m here for 2 nights.
Bed 54. Coffee at the Skytower, the highest in the southern hemisphere and at 320m it’s 8m higher than Eiffel tower. I could do a rope dive straight down but at $190, pardoning the pun, a bit steep. At ACB’s travel desk I booked a Fiji Experience tour round the main Island leaving me with a choice of get-on-get-offs. I also looked in on Skytower’s Casino, a huge US-style complex of slotties and gaming rooms to suit all tastes and pockets. I lost my $5 chip in 30 secs and called it, wisely, a day. If all taxi drivers are Indian, then all tourists are Japanese and all the gamblers are Chinese, or so it very nearly seems. I met Phil, still here, same room, different girl, same problems and still looking for work.
Wandered up Princes Street to the ultramodern Imax centre housing shops, bars, eateries, entertainments and 12 or so cinemas. I finally get to see Two Towers, glorious effects, superb scenery (I’ve been there!) though dialogue was rather simple I felt. Back in the basement bar of ACB’s I met 3 lads I’d last seen in Perth 7 weeks ago, the ones’ I thrashed at table tennis. After one more drink with Phil and Danny, a Slovakian who was also in my dorm.
Monday 10th March-noon.
The reason? Because there is no window in my dorm, somewhere in the inner core of the building, and unaware of this I eventually get up for a pee to discover that outside my pitch black dorm daylight is streaming through the corridor outside and it is, indeed, midday. Pouring down again so an hour spent catching up with e-mails, back on AOL with 20 messages to answer. Trouble is that now I am on Hotmail as well I have to let everyone know that this is to be my permanent address. Wandered in the rain, met Phil and Danny, played pool.
It would be my mum’s birthday today, if she was alive and I wonder what she would’ve thought about my new predicaments, none of which were even on the horizon when she died. I am also aware that my current international spasm is coming to an end, but I am looking forward to Fiji and to being in a less modern environment again.
Tuesday 11th March
Checked out at the obligatory 10am deadline but stored my pack and strolled up Princes St. to the Imax Centre, which is just like Dr Who’s Tardis, seemingly much bigger on the inside, all open plan, stairs, escalators, rocket lifts, shops, entertainments, bistros, bars and at least 12 cinemas.
A grey, dismal and overcast autumnal day but Gadzooks! I espied a spare volume of William Makepeace Thackeray’s esteemed ‘Vanity Fair’, a most elegantly and eloquently conceived masterpiece, which impressed me from the outset, as you can probably tell. The first soap opera.
‘Which one of us is happy in this world?
Which of us has his desires?
Or, having it, is satisfied?’
I enjoyed 3 hours of this, taught an Irish chap to play BG and played 2 Israelis (beat them 2-0}. There are loads of Israelis here, as they understandably feel threatened in Asia.
I nipped outside for a fag and was bowled over, almost literally, by Ludwig and Joe, my 2 German friends from Frazier Island and Byron Bay. In 2 days they return to start University, both on the same engineering course and it’s great to see them, two old ‘new’ friends. They had 3 weeks touring NZ in their hire car, which included 2 very difficult weeks travelling with two German girls who preferred to sleep till lunchtime and have a breakfast with Free Range eggs ONLY! This grated with the up and away, well-prepared regimes of the boys. We enjoyed a few half-price middies and a few games of pool; they still play a crap game and are impressed with my superior talent (honed daily for 16 years in a pub). Also met Matt, a big, fit type from Bristol with the West Country, unmistakable twang. He is off to Fiji, too so we arrange to share a taxi to the airport.
Wednesday 12th March
Very little sleep and up at 4am, having dossed on the couches in the common room, arriving at the terminal and discovering that we had to pay a $25 departure tax, which we thought had been included in our original round the world tickets. Having us by the short and curlies we had little choice, despite the vociferous protestations of Matt. We played BG and he had a Chinese Checkers board, which was a nice change. Matt is an outward bound instructor, a real SAS type who canoes, climbs, hikes, caves and has all his gear with him, including a tent and sleeping bag. His pack is almost 3 times the weight of mine and his sense of humour is quirky.
Arrived at 7.40am to yet more rain. It’s the fag-end of a hurricane but it’s still 30c and talking of fags, my chest hurts to buggery and I convince myself that it was all down to the cracked rib I sustained a week ago, nothing whatsoever to do with smoking a pack of tailor-mades every day for the last 4 months. Cigs in Oz and NZ cost almost as much as in UK.
‘Cheers, Matt!’ and I get straight on to ‘Fiji Experience’ bus where the guide and driver make their intro’s. Including them there are just 12 of us and, apart from the staff, I am the oldest again by 25 years or so. Oh yes! Bed 55-a night on the plane-does that count?
We start with a quick tour around Nadi, the airport town and the 2nd largest after Suva, the capital. I am immediately surprised by the 3rd worldness and much of my subliminal imaginings absorbed by books, films and travel agents are instantly dashed. This seems to be another poor country and there are the usual high numbers of redundant young men, the tatty, overstaffed shops, ramshackle dwellings and I am amazed at the high number of Indian-Asians. Walking along the street for a pee break I am approached three times and offered a ‘really good Fiji smoke’. I turn down all three, mainly because of my rib and partly because of my newness here, not knowing the score.
Off we go, south down the west coast of Vita Levu, the main island of the group. To the north is the quieter, remoter Vanua Levu and to the northwest is a long string of bounty bar islands, the Mamanukas stretching out to the even more unspoilt Yasawas. Here it’s raining with poor visibility, muddy rivers, mango swamps and mangey dogs. We discover that this meagre party of 10 is, in fact, the largest yet for Fiji Experience, having only been in operation for 3 months and so it might be a little ‘experimental’. Day 1’s itinerary says we will sunbathe on a beautiful beach, play touch rugby and sand-board down huge dunes but thanks to Hurricane Erica we cannot see the beach. Palm trees are bent over like inside-out umbrellas while coconuts and debris litter the roads. I say ‘roads’. This half-decent road goes right round the island but all roads off are dirt or gravel and many have been transformed into raging torrents. A coral reef, some 400m offshore bears the brunt of it and inside the waters are calm, but very silty from run-off.
We divert to Samason, a rather primitive shanty village where we are entertained by the locals in their community hall, which is rely just bigger than the shanty homes surrounding it. It’s ‘Bulas’ all round, the familiar hello, welcome, how are you sort of thing. The chief and his attendants perform the Cava ceremony as we sit cross-legged in a circle. It is a daily ritual for all Fijians. The cava root, ground into powder, is wrapped in muslin, soaked and squeezed out into a ceremonial metal bowl while the chief incants. A half coconut shell containing the brew is passed round. The light brown liquid resembles the stuff you take for diarrhoea, or is constipation? The recipient takes the cup, shouts Bula! Three times, down in one, passes it back and finally claps three times, hands cupped. We then introduce ourselves whilst wondering what the hell we’ve drunk. After two or three cups the tongue starts to tingle and feel numb. The locals swear by its mild soporific properties, but it didn’t do much for me.
All the men and children are shaven-headed while the women all have big Afros, and all the women are big. They show us cheap trinkets and baubles and the men bring out guitars and ukuleles. They all sing, beautiful harmonies, Hawaiian-style and then the dancing starts with us all taking part in a sort of congo routine, snaking round the hall, hands on hips of the person in front. I take the lead and start hopping on one foot. As strange as it may seen I apparently was introducing a new step into their routine, never before seen or imagined. They thought it so funny that some started to fall about in fits of laughter and when I started to introduce more new moves you’d swear they were witnessing the funniest comedy act of all time. It’s a rare thing for me to have such an audience, in the palm of my hand, so grabbing a guitar I led some songs and went on to demonstrate some simple tricks. Honestly! You would think that David Blane himself was here and I am thinking that there’s more to the cava than meets the eye.
After this impromptu rave we realise how hot it is, 35c and bloody humid. A consensus of, probably cowardly, opinion elects me as ‘chief’ and I have to ceremonially thank them all for asking us into their village, eating their food and taking cava with them. ‘Naka! Naka! Was the general response, which I think means ‘thank you’, short for Feenaka, and away we go. The food-lamb, chicken, fish, bread eaten cross-legged. Most of the dwellings were poor garden-sheds, corrugated iron, rickety and faded. The one toilet a roofless and flushless tin hut, a toilet over a hole. Goats, cows and dogs wander willy-nilly. 3rd world indeed.
Bed 56. Beach House. All wooden, 4/6/8 bed dorms, a small eating area/common room and a bar. The loo is 50m away-bugger! My dorm reminds me of Thailand, the same musty smell, mosquitoes and geckos galore so it’s back out with the repellent spray. There is even a rusty old fan creaking. Met two sisters from London, both in their 40’s, both divorced and sharing a world trip and I showed them a game of contract whist and finished up with an infuriating card puzzle.
Thursday 13th March
Up early for a 7.30 start. Must have been a rough night as all the chairs tables, bins and boats are all over the place. As I get on the bus the two sisters approach triumphantly, they solved the puzzle though they were up till 5am doing it! Perusing the itinerary again I note that we should have enjoyed the Toga Beach Party and Bonfire Nite last night. Oh well.
We pass hectares of sugar cane, tamsin fruit and guava. Minerals are mined here too, and the high quality water is exported big-scale to America. Although tourism is increasing most of the people still live in tribal enclaves, growing yams, fruit, breadfruit and spinach. Traditionally fish are caught by hand but more recently nets have been introduced.
Right, today’s plan looks like happening. Five of us go off with the guide and trek for 3/4 hours along the humid banks of the river through dense rainforest while the other five, with the driver, sit in a longboat and motor upriver, loaded up with old inner tubes to float back with the current. No guesses as to which party I elected for. Unfortunately the river is so full they think it’s too dangerous to do this. The ride up through steep gorges was spectacular and we stopped off on the bank, about half way, to pick fresh guavas-delicious. Our driver returned with 2 sackfulls-good for jam. We also stopped off to assist several men and women across the fast flowing 50m wide swollen torrent. Normally they cross on their own long bamboo poles, 3 or 4 strapped together to make a simple raft. Even this means they end up soaking wet although it only takes half an hour to be totally dry again.
Long stretches of the banks were covered in a plant whose name escapes me, it could be Mimosa, but as you brushed by them or just touched them they would instantly recoil, a real knee-jerk reaction. How do they do that?
The hardy trekkers arrive knackered and soaked and we all pile precariously into the 8m long, 1m wide boat, with all the inflated inner tubes to cruise back downriver. Very pleasant, especially when we stopped to swim in a perfectly round pool at the base of one of the many waterfalls cascading into the river. Cool and fresh. Another half hour and we’re back at the bus and hungry. We eat fish and chips at a small café, $3 (£1} and head on to Suva, the capital, where we are shown all the sites and told much of the history by our guide, Linga, a lovely chap, gay I reckon, who also hosts a local TV show, unpaid. Our driver, Ramon, is Indian, as again all of the drivers are, and he tells us that 48% of Fijians are Indian. We, the Brits, started it all by importing Indians to work on the sugar cane during the 19th century and there have been racial conflicts though today they live in relative harmony. I notice that the native Fijian men and boys wear the traditional skirt-the Sulu. I notice, too, that there are big, classy hotels and resorts here but feel that we are seeing the ‘real’ Fiji. I am so glad I came here.
Bed 57. Raintree Lodge. Just on the outskirts of Suva and in a lovely setting-a lake-filled quarry surrounded by trees- it has big, airy dorms with an excellent bar/restaurant and at $18 (£6) a night, reasonable. My lamb lasagne was a good filler, to start our night out on the town but Linga’s idea of a good place was O’Reilley’s, a bloody Irish bar, loud, dark and pounding with 80’s disco. At midnight Ramon ran a couple of us back and the rest returned at 4am, having finally persuaded Linga to take them to a more local-type club. Unfortunately it was full of drunk, testosterone-filled local cowboys too and the group ended up huddled in a corner, protected by a concerned Linga.
E-mail from Pete informs me that Jan is recovering from her 2nd cataract op and also has the flu. The weather is atrocious back home. Kevin Lunatic is STILL at the Globe in Sydney, spliffed out and ‘Arry and Sally have apparently just left Fiji and are somewhere in the mid-Pacific en route for Santiago in Chile.
Friday 14th March
Another early start at 7am with 4 new people on the bus and our first stop as we head up the east coast from Suva is Nausuru, a dilapidated, ramshackle, black concreted town, over 90% Indian and seeming like an actual town in India. This is definitely not on the normal holiday package trail. Here, at Linga’s request, we all buy cheap sulus, about %5, before another fish ‘n chip lunch. After this Linga enjoyed showing us the various male/female modes of the sulu, taking great delight demonstrating the more fashionable creations to the girls. Today’s itinerary includes a session building and using our own Bili-Bili rafts, the simple 3 or 4 bamboo poles lashed together and once again the flooding river prevents this so Linga decides to detour up to a small hill village. Before arriving we hold a vote to elect our chief, Ratu, and yes, in deference to my age I become Ratu and have to formerly lead the group to the home of the village Ratu, their chief. I introduce every one and again we have a cava ceremony, sitting cross-legged in our sulus, followed by a meal of papaya, breadfruit, spinach, plantain and freshwater mussels. The latter I decline on account of my projectile vomiting tendency after eating this type of shellfish. There followed more cava, more Bula’s! And a final thank you speech from yours truly before we can ‘fall-out’ and relax on his humble veranda. Ratu Sabay is my age and over a smoke and a beer we get on well enough for him to actually offer me a home here in return for some extra teaching of the village children. This would include, of course, a hut and a woman. He is serious!
The village is amid dense foliage. There are exotic flowers and plants, a few cultivated patches and to the rear is a towering cliff at the base of which is a cave system where they shelter during the roughest storms. It was remarkably cool here and it is home to a colony of large bats.
It is strange as we all sit there in our traditional sulus while the locals are all dressed in jeans or shorts, with Man. Utd. Or Arsenal t-shirts. Old coke cans have been flattened and cut, old crisp packets have been folded and all hang as decorations from the roof. An old transistor radio and cassette player have pride of place so there is electricity and there is one flush toilet. Apparently there is a new scheme whereby the Office of Tourism grants an allowance for villages like this to entertain travellers and tourists-good idea.
Passing cigarettes round to the local lads, 16-18 year olds, I surmise that this way of life is not good for them. They all want to move into the city to work, smoke, drink and be ‘western’, finding the daily routines and rituals boring. A problem the world over.
Linga decides on another detour and we drive to a primary school where we arrive, unannounced in pouring rain, to witness a rugby game. The field is knee-deep in mud and water and opposing sides are undistinguishable, no shirts, no boots and all the young boys are caked from head to foot. They are just as thrilled to see us, as we are to see them, the novelty/rarity value high for both sides. We are shown into the top class and it was like walking into a little village school in England in the 40/50’s, very basic. The children sang for us and their teacher seems so caring, softly spoken and dedicated but he confides that he has had enough, the salary being very poor and he has applied for a job as a flight attendant. He wants to see the world, too.

Wandering outside I take a few pics with the digital camera and they all scream with utter delight when they see the instant images. They have so little but seem so happy and keen and I am tempted-who knows? A very humbling experience.
We drive on to the north-east tip and take a small outboard boat out to a small island, Nananu-i-Ra – wasn’t that in ‘Mork & Mindy’? We had the choice of kayaking the 4km but as darkness was imminent nobody took the offer. Drenched by spray we arrived on the island which had a population of about 10 people + travellers spread amongst three isolated places.
Bed 58. I have my own bungalow, a double bed in my own room and there’s a lounge, kitchen and veranda, shower and toilet so I might tarry here awhile at Nananu-i-Ra Lodge for just $20 a night. Tonight there is a special Bolognese meal for the newcomers, $6, and I get to know Rune, a 26 year old Norwegian, blond, tall, slim, perfect English and a screwed on head, and he plays BG. A Kiwi couple runs the lodge with 2 young children, an old golden retriever and Aqualamb, a tame house-sheep. The previous group have their last night, before catching tomorrow’s bus and it’s Simon’s birthday party. Silly drinking games, cava, booze and Simon ends up very drunk and we end up singing, accompanied by guitar and ukulele. What a grand day! It seems the perfect place to hang out and I can have as many pees as I want without disturbing anyone. Went to bed reading Vanity Fair.
Saturday 15th March
Sunshine! A cloudless sky. Free coffee and toast, then BEACH. It’s so nice just ‘stopping’ to do basically bugger-all, well nothing but reading, lazing and swimming in clear, calm and tropical reef-protected water. I also indulged a little in BG, not having played much in the last month. Rune played a good game, as did Shannon from Nova Scotia. Everyone here cooks their own food, apart from the introductory Bolognese for the new groups. There is a small shop in the office for basics and I bought a lamb chop, one potato and a tin of sardines. They have a tab system and you pay when you leave but this is dangerous when buying booze. Having run a tab at my pub I know that people often forget just how much they have purchased, especially when pissed. Next morning they will never believe that they drank so much.

The main man here is Joe, he does everything and, of course, he plays ukulele, guitar and sings, entertaining us all. When I eventually retire to my bungalow, a 100m down the beach, large, scrabbling crabs and fat cane toads accompany me. This would be the perfect place to be with that perfect woman. Oh well.
Sunday 16th March
There are 11 guests here. It peed down all night but by 11am it is 38c. I have no food but cadged some bread and jam from an Austrian couple, Chris and Sonia. I did buy a packet of biscuits and cracked open a recently fallen coconut. I kayaked and snorkelled and marvelled at the reef which starts at the shore and shelves out into the bay. Everywhere there are bright blue, hand-sized starfish. A pair of cormorants fish at the water’s edge. It is a Bacardi adman’s dream scene and a Bacardi-coke would be perfect but I settle for a hammock and my book.
Later I walked up the hill behind the beach to the other side of the island where I met Rune who had energetically kayaked round. 40c and scorching, even through my t-shirt and arriving back sweat-soaked I showered, read and kipped, without a single disturbance. I dined at Rune’s, who also has his own spacious room. Sauté Potatoes, baked beans, scrambled eggs and biscuits washed down with orange cordial and BG. It is not hard imagining that we are Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman in Papillion.
Moses, Joe’s father, is on a brief visit from another island way out in the Cassawas and they both entertained with guitar/ukulele. No booze, just Cava and after several cups the soporific effects kick in, or have I simply had too much sun today. Either way I am bushed.
Monday 17th March
I try to console myself that with only 3 weeks to go I still have longer to go than any previous holiday. I decide to revel in this tropical paradise-yes- a cliché- but the weather, the sea; the setting could not be more idyllic than this. On the Barrier Reef it was a $70, 3-hour trip to see this. Here I just walk to waist depth and the reef is there, bountiful and beautiful, fish & coral, I even saw a shark. Okay, it was 1m long but had all the attributes of Jaws, not quite as threatening but a shark nevertheless. It is so hot today, my skin is taut and burning so I get back to Vanity Fair, in a hammock, under a tree. Today I ate 2 biscuits, half a coconut and drank a coke and I am bloody starving. I really feel like a castaway. Moses, today, caught a Stonefish, ugly, brown and warted, not to mention poisonous, but a real delicacy when prepared and cooked correctly.
There are 332 islands, only 115 of which are populated. Here, there are Mynah birds everywhere all singing different songs.
The next bus arrived early so several of the new group opt for the kayak journey but still arrived in darkness- a Swiss girl, Olly (English), 2 Dutch girls & Ronda, an Ozzy all did the trip. I enjoyed another cobbled meal with Rune before we joined the new lot round a bonfire on the beach, more Cava, more booze, a balmy night, full moon-just perfect.
Tuesday 18th March
Rune has decided to stay on-I don’t blame him-but time for me to boat over to the mainland, to a new bus, a new driver and a new guide, Davita, who is just as courteous and informative as Linga. He tells us that our Robin Cook has resigned and that war is imminent- what is going on out there?
We stop off at the town of Ba, an all-Indian community famous for its curries, which we duly sample, a delicious meal for $7. In near darkness we trudged across head-high sugar cane fields to plunge into a hot mud pool. It was hot, or so the younger, wilder members of the group said i.e. all of them, but not me. I don’t really want to get dirty before booking into my next place, Travellers Beach on the outskirts of Nadi.
Bed 59. Right on the beach and gateway to the more distant islands, all the boats stop here and I am in a 3-bed dorm, $16, with Chris from ‘oop north’ and Yoni, a young American from San Francisco who was on the bus with me a week ago. Tonight in the bar the movie was ‘Bend it like Beckham’—nice little feel-good movie.

Wednesday 19th March
Into town via taxi with Chris and Josie, a Swiss girl and found a cheap Internet place-loads of e-mails to reply to. There is only one café that serves latte coffee and it has great air-con but I choose to sit outside in stifling heat to assuage my nico-caffeine cravings; there is nothing quite like that first fag of the day with a cuppa. Here outside though I have to put up with several offers of ‘the best smoke in the world, man’. I also write, stamp & send my usual batch of 6/7 postcards very aware that I have probably spent £150 doing this since the start. My old mate, Chris Bawn had the right idea by writing directly onto his own website including all his digital photos. I have seen his site and it is brilliant. I am even included on a photo or two when I was on Langkowi with him, Peter and Yoss. You can click on to a world map, then click on any country he has visited and there it all is. Although he has saved on cards he does spend about an hour every day or so typing it all and this would take me a lot longer (and cost me a lot more). Anyway, a good idea maybe, for next time---next time?
Back at Travellers Beach a chap my age, John, makes his crust by shimmying up Palm Trees, knocking down young, green coconuts and selling them to us travellers for $2, after holing them and sticking a straw in. Delicious! Nothing like the juice from a mature coconut, cool, refreshing and thirst-quenching. I think this meagre income is supplemented by a little dope dealing, but that’s our secret as the hotel barman is the ‘main man’ who would be most upset if he knew that John was in humble competition.
Drinking my juice, lazing by the pool I chat to an Irish guy who tells me that there is a strong possibility of the US cancelling all incoming flights if war breaks out. I had better check my flight tomorrow-I’ll be off to California in a week or so. I also booked my next boat out to Mana, 3 nights at $45 each inc. meals. Barbara Finch has e-mailed to tell me that she will pick me op at LAX airport in Los Angeles. Blimey! I met this lady a year ago, on the Internet, playing BG and we discovered through our little conversations whilst playing, that her husband, Mike, also had Prostate Cancer. She is 50. He is 66 and she has invited me to stay with them both for a week before finally returning home. We have never met and she is driving 4 hours from Fresno. I could be an axe murderer and, so could she! And what about her husband-what does he think? Oh well.
I join Chris, who is a fine-arts graduate from Cumbria, on the patio with a few cold beers chatting as well to an English couple who have just arrived from America and are doing the same trip as me, but in reverse. Here I also met Anna, a local who lives next door. She is about 32/33 and originally comes from Gilbert & Ellis islands, which now goes by another name. She describes herself as Gilbertese and she is attractive, slim and very sociable. Her husband runs the local Beach Sports and Dive School and is probably mid-70’s. I get the impression that he ‘rescued’ her from her backward lifestyle when he was a lot younger and now spends more time on his boat than with her; hence her frequent solo visits to the bar. She seems to be very popular with the local boys, if you know what I mean. I impressed her with a coin trick but she actually became angry accusing me of sorcery and black magic, though she did buy me a double rum and coke. This local rum is the business at 58%abv, very palatable and heady. Spent the rest of the evening eating a meal and drinking and idly watching large cane toads, attracted by the lights, devouring flies around the tables whilst 30 or so geckos were similarly occupied on the walls. Two large crabs scrabbled around scavenging food scraps, too.
Thursday 20th March
Nice e-mail from Rich & Deb, looking forward to my return. I just cannot get my head round the fact that I will soon be ‘home’. Home?
8am. Waiting for the boat out to Mana in the Mamanutha group. There are 10 of us piled aboard a small craft and it’s less than 2 hours to the island. On the boat I met Vanessa and Phil from Swindon and it turns out that they are close friends of the chap who sold me my last but one car-a little tenuous but a reasonable coincidence.
The usual welcome party awaits, greeting us with garlands, guitar and song as we disembark i.e. jump overboard into warm, waist-deep water, while 2 lads carry all 10 rucksacks between them with enviable ease. Bed 60. Dorms here are BIG. Ours is 16 bunk beds and the price per night, $55 including 3 meals and it’s lunchtime right now. Rice, salad, bread, watermelon and weak squash-plenty of it but not satisfying.

It is an odd place. Where once there was one hostel there are now two because the 2 sons could not agree how to run it and so split it in two, right down the middle with a waist high wooden fence. It’s difficult working out which staff work in which half. On the other side is a 2m high chain-link fence protecting a private Japanese resort from which we are barred entry. Fortunately they cannot bar us from their stretch of the beach.
Outside the dorm is the village school, church and Mission room and I spent a while watching the senior class, just 3 of them, with their teacher conducting a lesson on a bench under a shady tree.
Well I met a few people, chatted and drank 2 or 3 Bounty rums (58%) and retired, but still had to get up 5 times in the night, scrabbling round several bunks to find the loo. My chest is better but still wheezing bit-cheap fags
!
Friday 21st March
War has started. The one TV in the bar is tuned all day to BBC world news and the same repeated views are on constantly; the darkened city, an occasional flash, smoke and the same captions again and generally nothing appearing to happen. The local staff are transfixed by it all but the backpackers merely murmur or shake their heads at the folly of it all. Breakfast- porridge, bread, cake, banana and coffee- not a gourmet’s delight.
Today I opt for an island- hopping snorkel trip. $35 we were told. Ah! But!
$5 snorkel and, oh, $3 flipper hire, so, that’s $43 then. Right!
First to Malamo then Plantation Island which is very up-market with a splendid restaurant, luxury chalets, bars and water sports but it’s still only $55 but you pay for (expensive-but top quality) food. Talking to my fellow travellers I discover that we have all paid different rates-it all depends on where, when and who you book with and how well you can haggle. We stopped on the tiniest isthmus of sand for a barbecue and there was the perfect round, thatched bar—an advertiser’s dream.
The snorkelling was fair, a little murky but I was fascinated by a family group of Clown Fish defending their little patch of adopted anemones with surprising ferocity. One of them nipped me on the leg, enough to scare me off. He must have been all of 6/7cm long. On our return journey the outboard motor gave up & we were left drifting in an open boat, under blistering sun for over an hour-real ‘Mutiny on the Bounty’ stuff!
After shave/shower and boring dinner it’s ‘Party night’. After traditional dances, songs, fire eating and torch swinging we have to join in with the inevitable embarrassing games. In fact I won the dancing ‘spot’ prize and the coconut swing earning the grand prize of 3 bottles of Fiji beer, which I shared with Sean and Martin from Dublin who, in turn, shared a bong with me. Hot, humid, pissed, stoned but undeterred we discussed classic films & TV, comedy moments from Fawlty Towers, BlackAdder, Airplane, Red Dwarf, Naked Gun and Blazing Saddles. And these guys knew their stuff and could quote all the lines and remember all those classic moments. A chilled and humorous 2 hours. Bed 2am.
Saturday 22nd March
Took an early morning walk with the local bitch, a weird looking hound with extremely bandy front legs, deformed at birth. She knew where she was going and despite her demeanour had to keep waiting for me to catch up. She took me across the Japanese beach, through thick trees to the northwest tip of the island where there was an empty, to-die-for beach, white sand and a few gnarled shady trees. We just sat there, had a couple of dips and she led me back, taking in 3 lovely English topless girls who had also discovered this paradise. There were dozens of lonely hermit crabs, various sizes, making their solitary way along the waterline occasionally stopping for a ‘sniff-chat’ with any other of their kind coming in the opposite direction. Went back to my book and did sweet f-a until I met an avid Israeli BG player. It’s almost a national sport there. We chuckled over last night’s entertainment, both having observed that the ’Samoa’ night with its songs and dances was identical in all but costume to the ‘Fiji’ night.
After another full but boring meal Sean, Martin and I lit a bonfire on the beach with Bong and Bounty and reminisced again, nostalgic film stuff. To be here slightly stoned, lightly drunk with 2 laid back, similarly afflicted soft-spoken Dubliners is an experience worth every penny, and more.
Sunday23rd March
Off again. Drag my bag to reception, pay and wait for the boat to return me to mainland Nadi with about 10 others, back again to Travellers Beach. On the way we dropped 3 off onto ‘Beachcomber’ -the Party Island.
A palm-clad 200m diameter, almost perfect sand fringed, hedonistic paradise and at $77 a night (£25)- cheap when you consider what this would cost in Europe or America. Matt, a Kiwi I met a week ago, swims to our boat to say hello. And there was Brian, an accountant from London who was at Mana with me for a couple of days. Brian could actually be Bob Monkhouse, a dead-ringer. He is 57, has been travelling for 6 months with 3 to go. He works just 3 months each year and lets his property for the rest of the time. He does everything he can-bungee jumps, free falls, scuba-that’s the way to do it!
Bed 61. One more night at Travellers Beach. Chris is still there but he’s off to Vancouver tomorrow and this makes me think of my own return. Who will meet me? Where will I live? What will I do? Only 2 weeks to go!
After a trip into town to check e-mails I come back to the bar and entertain with a few party tricks. Irish Brian and Jenny, Maffy and Vinny (staff), Mon and Jim. I hear the story of the Two Annas.
The first Anna is the young one with the old husband who lives nearby. The other Anna is a rich, eccentric English woman, a little ‘hippyish’, in her 50’s, who comes here for a few months each year to rent a house. This Anna is the kind of woman who might make a circle of burning nightlights on the sand and sit topless and meditate as the sun sets over the ocean horizon—you get the picture.
One night out together, after drinking far too much Bounty rum, they moved on to a bar/disco in town, not a little drunk. Anna 1 goes to the toilet; meanwhile Anna 2 slips on her CD Walkman with its tiny earphones unnoticed under her long hair, closes her eyes and dances to the music – which happens to be an old number ‘Kung Fu Fighting’. As she gets into the music she adopts the Kung Fu, on guard, position and starts dancing to the beat. Anna 1 returns from the loo, Anna 2, really into the music now, eyes closed, jumps in front of her. Anna 1 drunkenly assumes that Anna 2 is pushing for a fight and gets her retaliation first with a swinging right hook right on Anna 2’s nose and there then ensued an almighty comical cat-fight much to the delight of the locals.
We then partook in a quaint custom. Mon, Maffy’s husband, has a bottle of beer and a small shot glass, which he fills and then passes to each one of us in turn. As there were 10 of us it took rather a long time and each one of us contributed a bottle. Ten bottles, one small glass – what would health and safety say! Still, a very sociable ceremony not unlike the Cava ceremony.
Monday 24th March
I signed up for one more island trip which involved a bus ride to the South West tip of the main island, about an hour’s drive from Nadi (pronounced Nandi).

All aboard a flat-bottomed boat with an awning for a brief 10-minute ride down river, then a 500 m to Robinson Crusoe Island.
Bed 62. This island, no more than 200 m x 70 m,
yet another perfect palm-fringed beach and again a welcoming, singing, guitar-playing party as we wade ashore. This time a 56-bed dorm, bar, eating area and many inclusive activities. After sorting out our beds I opt, with 8 others for a fishing trip out to the reef, just 1/2 km away.
Armed with hand lines, books and fish scraps we cast about for expectant nibbles. One chap caught a red snapper and it was obvious that one of us knew what the hell to do next. Our ‘captain’ proceeded to hit the poor fish with a hammer until it stopped its spasms. The chap next to me nearly lost his fingers when a turtle took his hook and bait and dived deeply. The line was tight around his fingers and he was very lucky not to lose them. Apparently it is very rare for a turtle to take a line like this.
Back for a shower. This involved filling a bucket with cold water, hoisting it up by pulley and standing under the several dozen holes punched in the base. No hot water here and if you’re skinny you have to run around to get wet. Limited to one bucket each meant rather a quick wash. I walked up the beach and had a pleasant smoke of the Fiji weed with Daniel and Kareem, two young London boys of Asian origin. In fact, one of them spoke exactly like Ali G.
The all-inclusive food, this time, was both quality and quantity, much nicer than Mana Island and excellent value at $55 per night, given the free activities available.
After our meal the staff, all locals, put on a show for us. The stage was an area of sand, surrounded by a semi-circle of thatch under which were the benches and tables. Jack, the head boy here led his team in a classic show of music, singing and dance, traditional folklore mixed in with modern dance rhythms. The night was starry and warm and oil lamps set around in the sand provided light. The choreography, the music was absolutely brilliant, so professional and it would have passed muster on a London stage. This was one of the most memorable highlights of my trip so far.
Jack, the MC and main star, is statuesque, fit and sociable, a talented singer, dancer and musician straight out of ‘Fame’ – a true star unlikely ever to be discovered and he has never been outside of Fiji. Mind you, all of them performed exceptionally and gave it there all – I simply could not believe the high standard.
Tuesday, 25th March
35c but raining gently so we take a boat out to the reef. We snorkelled and as usual it was amazing> How nice it is to say ‘as usual’? A large turtle swam majestically beneath me and again I am assailed with colours and shapes.
A new group arrived today so we all had to go through the Cava welcome ritual. Sitting in a circle on the sand Jack asked us all, in turn, to say our name, country, job etc and to finish with whether we were a ‘cat’ or a ‘dog’ person.
When it was my turn I could not resist, ’My name is Alan, I am English, I am dyslexic and I love gods’. Now there was a language barrier here but I did get a few chuckles, after a minute or so anyway. Today, after snorkelling we sought out old coconut shells from the surrounding undergrowth and Jack instructed us in the art of making cava cups and bangles from the shells. This involved some sawing and a hell of a lot of rubbing/polishing.
Jack is amazing. He is up at 6am to do his personal and vigorous keep-fit routine before helping out at breakfast after which he takes a group fishing and then boats across to the mainland to pick up a new party. On his return he takes another trip out snorkelling before the coconut class. Finally, after dinner (which he helps serve) he organises the silly games and prizes. This includes a long drawn-out limbo competition in which we all have to join in and attempt the lower and lower level. Naturally, no one can beat Jack who then spots a potential epic sunset and takes us all in the boat up the setting sun’s reflection. We take along a few drinks and Jack entertains with guitar and folksongs as well as all the modern stuff. Back onshore we all sit round a bonfire on the beach chatting and singing which just about rounded off a perfect day—my last one here.
Wednesday 26th March
Jack organised a fish drive, the newcomers played volleyball, others weaved coconut palm baskets and I observed from my hammock awaiting the 11.30 boat for my final return to Travellers Beach. A Japanese girl translated the health warning on her Japanese cigarette pack.
‘Please remember to follow good smoking manners. As smoking might injure your health try not to overdo it’. They are so polite and diplomatic about everything.
Bed63. Back for the third time where the staff all know me and I bump into several people that I have met over the last fortnight. As I sat under a palm tree, sipping Bounty rum & coke and watching a magnificent sunset develop,
‘Fucking’Ell! Alan Dainton! Whatthefuck you doin’ here?’
Tina Baker-from Pewsey-the girl who used to be in my gymnastics club aged 7-the girl who used to come to my house to cut my hair, my boys’ hair and Jan’s-the girl who has been a regular at my pub for years-it is she! John, her husband from Bristol is with her and, of course, a hearty 3-hour nostalgia session ensues including travel tales, laughs and more drinks.
The other John, the coconut man has been moaning about the poorly lit roads and paths so I gave him my travelling Maglite torch, which I haven’t used at all. To buy one here would cost him a week’s coconut wages and he showed his great appreciation by proffering a matchbox, which contained enough for just one final Fiji smoke.
Thursday 22nd March
Brian, the older chap from London, has returned from Beachcomber, the party island and now looks even more like a deeply tanned Bob Monkhouse. His next foray, to the interior of Fiji, begins tomorrow and next month he returns to his accountancy practice for 3 months before jetting off for a new jaunt. We chatted round the pool with John and Tina
Fiji has been a delight though it’s a pity that I did not get out to the more distant islands. My time here was ‘crowned’ with that one night on Robinson Crusoe-that fantastic show!
I’ve been working out the next leg of the journey. Up at 7.30am-airport, 10.15 flight to Auckland, and wait for 3 hours before the flight to Los Angeles where I will land at 8.45am THIS morning-before I left! Where do those 20-odd hours go?
Finaka Fiji!!
Friday 28th March
Taxi. Airport. Flight. Blasé now about all this and after the 3-hour wait at Auckland I finally finish ‘Vanity Fair’. It’s all there.
What more could a man want? Ah, Vanitus Vanilatum.
‘Which one of us is happy in this world?
Which one of us has his desires, or having it, is satisfied?’
Yesterday History
Tomorrow Mystery
Today, A Gift.
Bed 64. Well not actually a bed but the plane and what a flight up and over the Pacific. Eleven and a half hours and difficult to sleep but I did watch ‘Starship Nemesis’ and the latest ‘Harry Potter’
What will Barbara Finch be like? Was this a mistake?
First though I have another problem. They won’t let me into America because I do not have an onward address and the authorities here are rather ‘touchy’ to say the least, especially with the war on.
They took my bag and my passport and I was left for over an hour. What if I had given them an address, say a hotel that I was heading for but hadn’t booked or even a fictitious one. Still, I searched through my notepads and various papers and eventually found her phone number which they dialled and then were forwarded to her mobile in the car which was on the way down to meet me.
Temperature, a pleasant 23c and sunny, a nice contrast to Auckland’s dreary, dull day but here, everyone is speaking Spanish, seemingly all the staff, passengers and public, even the first announcements over the speaker system.
After a 3 hour wait she arrives, Barbara, medium height, brown hair, glasses and typically sociable, welcoming and pleasant to talk with. We drove 250 miles, four hours up through America’s ‘bread basket’, flat and fertile to Fresno. The house was a bungalow, big with perfect gardens, swimming pool and large rooms. The 5ft high TV screen was imposing. She introduced me to Mike, her husband who is 66 and like me, recovering from prostate cancer treatment. He had Brachytherapy, a treatment that involves inserting up to 100 radioactive chips in to the prostate and thus attacking the cancer from the inside rather than from the outside by external beam therapy which was my treatment. He admitted that his sex life was, as yet, non-existent and recognising his vulnerability I did my best to assure him that mine was the same. It turns out that as well as this place they have a farm up in Oregon, a cabin in Columbia and he has his own small plane. He is a senior partner in an accountancy firm but has a down-to-earth attitude and they are both so hospitable.

Bed 65- and a good one with duvet and pillow-once again back in the 1st World. Barbara ran me round to the photo shop where they took my camera stick and downloaded 180 pictures onto a disc- ain’t technology grand! And just $10. We visited a friend of hers, Joanne in her beautiful home straight out of ‘country home’ and a millionaire’s pad for sure.
Back at Barbara’s I sunbathed by the pool and got acquainted with the 2 dogs, an old poodle and Buster, a big lollapy Pyranean/Rottweiler cross.

I e-mailed from her computer and it was weird that I was sitting here at the keyboard I’d played many a BG game over the last year.
Tonight we had a dinner party here, 9 of us. Mike and Barbara, Tom, a property developer with his lady, Sue, a paediatric transplant surgeon of world renown, Ursula, an escapee from communist East Germany but now an out and out Republican with her husband Mike. He was known to the others as the ‘Pope of Dope’ being a keen subscriber to Californian Grass. He and Tom have obviously already partaken as they are both rolling around on the floor, hugging and giggling and the meal has not even started yet! Will is an ex-General from the Viet Nam era and retired from Pan-Am airlines as a pilot. Finally, Joe, also ex-army, and a pilot. So all the men here play golf and fly together. Their wit and irreverent humour, easy company, all of them, surprised me. I held my own on the jokes front, or at least Tom seemed to think so with applause and guffaws after almost every one. However, the strong grass could have had something to do with it.
There was almost an embarrassing moment when Will, the ex-general, proposed a toast to me and Tony (Blair) for our all-out support in the war and I was impressed with my response, ‘Thank you, Will’. The conversation moved on to the ‘frogs’ and their lack of support. French wine sales here are now well and truly finished, as are ‘french fries’, now called ‘freedom fries’. Sitting round a table, mellowed out, it is difficult to actually think of the harsh reality of any war. At one point Tom became very upset, leaving the room for 5 minutes to compose himself. Barbara explained that he was a helicopter pilot in Viet Nam and had lost 5 close friends and colleagues in an attack. Isn’t war grand! And I hate to say that these nice people here tonight seem very naïve as to the outcome of this ill-thought out war. They think it will soon be over when it is obvious to me that it will go on for years. Will Bush get in again?
Still, an enjoyable evening but Mike did seem a little quiet at the end- stoned? -Or my paranoia?
Sunday 30th March
Slept till 11.30, jet lag and comfortable bed. Barbara took me for a drive and 1000’s are out and about i.e. in the malls, browsing, eating, shopping. Nobody walks here, everyone drives and there are free car spaces for all. Some of the roads have no sidewalks anyway. We had a drink in the Sports Bar and there are 18 big screens all showing different sports and moved on to a dollar store, nothing more than a dollar but mostly cheap tat. Back at the ranch I flopped by the pool, read my book and played some real BG on a board with Barbara. Before retiring at 8pm had a chat with mike-prostates, guns, planes and war.
Monday 31st March-just 1 week to go!
A 2-hour drive through the Sierras to Yosemite Park. I thought New Zealand’s scenery magnificent but this is, too; pine forests, gorges, waterfalls, granite boulders, and here be bears, rattlesnakes, bobcats, cougars and coyotes. This is ‘Ansell Adams’ country.
The famous 40’s photographer spent most of his life in this area and his work can be seen now the world over.
We stopped off at the ‘Ahwanhee Hotel, an old, well maintained resort of Kings, Queens and Presidents.
In the grounds we saw Squirrels and Crested Bluebirds and as we drove we saw cascading waterfalls with their own rainbows, Indian villages and craft centres but the wide vistas across the gorge were the most inspiring. Unfortunately we did not get to see the Big Trees, as the roads to them were ice and snow bound. It is pretty chilly up here, the coldest I’ve been for 6 months.
Back for take-away pizza & wine. I still feel that Mike is a little wary of me. I am 11 years younger than him and he has impotence and I’m sure that they both must have had a difficult time discovering cancer, going through the treatment options and living with their effects. It must try even the soundest of relationships.
Tuesday 1st April-hmm
Today we set off early for King’s Canyon, Sequoia Park that involved a 2-hour drive ending in a steep 8000m climb with a hairpin turn every100m or so for an hour. There’s snow up here still.
I had the privilege and pleasure of touching the world’s oldest inhabitant, General Sherman, a tree-Sequoia. We also saw a bear, just 30ft from the 4WD, a rather thin and scruffy example but still-a real bear! All the trees here are old, majestic and silent. A great day out.
Tonight is Sushi Night, the three of us with the two Toms. By American standards it’s a tiny place but intimate with superb cuisine and service. I cannot remember what I had apart from many servings of saki.
Thinking back to today’s drive- mile after mile of orange, lemon and peach groves, almonds and vineyards interspersed with small folksy villages, quirky houses in national parks and all this in a tiny corner of America. Okay, yes, there are McDonalds, Burger kings, KFC, Taco Bells, Do-Nuts, Biscuits and Ice Creams and every town/city you drive through you see them all, the logos, the malls-and they are all the same wherever you are, ubiquitous, the American corporate dream. I suppose it’s comforting for people to know that their favourite shops and eating-places are on the doorstep wherever they may be. Security with familiarity- what happened to the frontier spirit? Why the homogeny? The inevitable pitfalls of progress. I think one of the main reasons of the war is the need to protect this insulated (and insular) way of life. The cars. The guns. But natural America! So big, so scenic and so diverse.
Wednesday 2nd April
Yesterday we walked to Fig Village (the local mall), about 300m away and when we got there Barbara was out of breath. She confided that this was the 1st time in 10 years that she had actually walked here. We had coffee listening to an old jazz band with senior citizens playing and dancing and what a pleasure being the youngest there, apart from Barbara.
Barbara’s house has 5 TV’s. On Monday the gardeners come, Tuesday the cleaner, Wednesday the pool guy, Thursday the shrink. I can’t help thinking that we in the 1st world have too much time on our hands. In Malaysia, Thailand, Africa and India people spend all their time just surviving. Few people actually ever use their pools or work on their gardens and on the walk to the mall we saw nobody walking.
Sent a few e-mails, read a new Carl Hiasson by the pool- Basket Case (the name of the book!) A lovely evening meal in; barbecue shrimps, broccoli, noodles and wine. Barbara and Mike have been so hospitable, though Mike is probably a little relieved at my going. What would anyone think if their spouse invited someone from another country into their home without really knowing anything about them?
Barbara has been such a good friend and formidable BG opponent and that is how we spent our last evening together, outside, by the pool over a drink or three, playing the game which brought us here. It also enabled her to have a crafty smoke but I’m sure Mike knew anyway. I am glad I came here. I feel I understand America and Americans better.
Thursday 3rd April
Breakfast and, ok, one final game before Barbara took me to the bus station, another new, strange place, as I am the only ‘white’ man here among Hispanics and blacks. $23 for the 4-hour ride to Los Angeles. Goodbye Fresno.
Yozzy.
The bus is full and I am sitting next to a 20something, dark haired chap called Yozzy, a Navajo Indian. He politely asks me where I’m from, where I’m going and when I reply that I have been away for 6 months he smiled and said he’d been away for 48 months- in the Californian State Penitentiary for attempted murder. How does one reply to that? He had just been let out, free. They had taken him by car to the bus station, given him 2 tickets, one from Fresno to LA and an onward ticket to the reservation in New Mexico and I was the first person he had spoken to ‘outside’. He had no money, no belongings but a few documents and he was amazed at everything and not a little ‘freaked’ at the space around him, the people, women, children, cars, colours and clothes. This was the first time in 4 years he had been outside the walls. I asked him about his life there and his only answer, ‘Man! There’s some crazy people in there!’ On our first stop I bought him coffee, a do-nut and a pack of cigarettes. I asked about the man he had attacked-would he be there on his return?
‘Yep! He’ll be there-but he won’t recognise me-on account of the brain damage.’
‘Oh!
Sitting behind us on the bus are 2 very loud, brash and oafish men, the sort that, if you were behind them in an airport queue you wouldn’t get on the plane. Yozzy explained that they too were ‘just out’. Apart from these two, who were obviously aiming for one hellova night out in LA, the rest of the bus are all black or Hispanic-the poor, the powerless, the invisible.
We arrived at the downtown Greyhound bus depot and here, surrounded by people, I feel more unease than at anytime in the last 6 months. Sad, down-faced people wander around, some queuing and some distinctly dodgy. All announcements are again in Spanish first, as I wait half an hour for my shuttle bus into town. I re-checked the timetable, waited another half hour before discovering that this shuttle service had been cancelled 2 weeks ago. I saw Yozzy still waiting in his line, still looking lost and he seemed to enjoy my chatting with him and gratefully accepted half of my jerky sticks. Wishing him well as he departed a large man introduced himself explaining that he is here for his mum’s funeral and needs money for a phone call. I gave him my phone card, which had $5 credit. Another man asks for a cigarette. As I gave him one he asked if he might have one for later and took my brave refusal with a resigned smile.
Yozzy had told me that he was paid $6 a month. What did he spend it on?
Well, they made their own hooch from strawberries, tomatoes, potatoes-anything really and it cost $30 a bottle to buy-5 months wages. For a small fingernail sized piece of grass-$100. Not easy to save, not cheap for a little escapist recreation.
A bag lady rummages in the litterbin beside me, her supermarket trolley full of her little bits, clothes, rags and empty bottles. Meanwhile I’m doing my best to look cool and streetwise, as it gets dark. Two older ladies helped me use the phone and I book 2 nights at the Adventurer. It’s close to the airport and costs $88 but I have 2 rooms a TV and it includes a free taxi to the hotel and a ride to the airport-bargain! Slightly upmarket but what the hell! My last 2 nights.
Bed 66. Hey! The price also includes a free, basic evening meal and a cheap breakfast.
Almost dark and the taxi arrives so I try to engage the driver but realise immediately that this is not a man to have small talk with. During the 15 minutes ride to the hotel he hit a bollard over and mounted the kerb twice.
My room is comfortable, heated and has a good shower/bath. There is a heated swimming pool, outdoors and ‘heated’ means it’s hot-jacuzzi hot. After food, beer and marguerites at 99cents I booked for the Grand Tour tomorrow, the whole day out-$57, which takes in Hollywood, Walk of Fame, Chinese Theatre, China Town, Rodeo Drive, Beverly Hills, Marina Del Rey, Venice Beach. I’m really looking forward to it and I’m only 15 mins from the airport. I spent the evening chatting to a Scottish couple and an English couple all on the last leg of their long journeys like me. Despite the good value of my room it occurs that this would be 2/3 weeks accommodation in Thailand.
Friday 4th April
Ben’s birthday today so phone him. He’ll be on his way down from Leeds to greet me, setting off tomorrow. 10 hours ahead there—very confusing!
The coach awaits and takes 6 of us to VIP Tours where several others are already with Jack, our driver and larger than life guide. I sit in the front passenger seat, up with Jack, who turns to me,
‘Are you CRAZY, man? Hell, it’s Friday in LA and you wanna sit up front!’ He turns to the rest, ‘Are you READY TO GO?’ To which we all say ‘YEH!’ but we have to respond with three increasingly louder ‘Yehs’ before he is satisfied with the volume and we’re off.
Los Angeles. 4000+ sq. miles, 11 million people. California. America’s richest state and the 5th largest GDP in the world. Hang on-first we have to pass the microphone round and introduce ourselves finally passing the mike back to Jack who exhorts, ‘PARTY-TIME-WE’RE OUTA HERE!’
1st stop. Venice Beach and Marina Del Ray, the world’s biggest man-made harbour, 10,000 boats moored here. Venice…named after, yes…Venice and lined with small canals lined with bijou houses (only 1100 sq ft floor space) at $1.6 million minimum and there’s Arnie’s house. Jack tells us that the man himself often nips out to meet his tour bus, but not today! I team up with Thelma, a rather nice 20 something, dusky, slim lady as we stroll along Muscle Beach-we’ve all seen it in films and TV- but no skateboarders, joggers, bikers or muscles yet today-rather early and chilly for the sun gods. There’s Angela Houston’s place and over there, a Dog Park, dog sitting at $10 an hour and on up through Beverly Hills and there’s the original sign made famous in the opening shots of ‘Beverly Hillbillies’.
A Dog Hotel offering its canine guests their own rooms or luxury suites with TV cable and coiffure. Through Santa Monica where Baywatch is filmed and from the song Hotel California, the original place in which the Eagles stayed to pen it. 3rd Street Promenade, a mile and a half of clubs, bars, restaurants and cafes, past the Simpson Building, not from ‘The Simpsons’, no, this is the building that Bruce Willis was trapped in for ‘Die Hard’. We drive along the very stretch of road that OJ Simpson fled from the police, filmed by a police helicopter.
It’s early Friday morning but traffic is still light. In an hour or two there will be near gridlock and top speed drops to under 15mph.
Aaron Spelling’s little pad, 60 MILLION sq ft at $65 million. In the basement, a 250 seat Imax cinema, a bowling alley and a 45-car garage. No wonder Spelling is known locally as King of LA. His daughter just moved out because, amazingly, she wanted her own space!
Playboy Mansion, Hefner’s place, 22 bedrooms where at every party the bunny girls outnumber the men 4:1.
Janet Jackson’s home, originally Betty Grable’s place. Alfred Hitchcock’s old house. And there’s J-lo and Ben Fleck’s new home, still under construction. The word on the street, despite their ‘undying love’ for each other, is 6 months max, so Jack confides.
Wesley Snipes, Sandra Bullock, Richard Gere and George Harrison’s ‘February’ home, occupied by him for February each year. Roy Wiseman is here the other 11months. Barry White, Dan Ackroyd, Leonard Nimoy, they are all here.
The local school, Harvard Westlake-fees starting at $39,000(primary) and $52,000(high school) and security screened daily. Back through Beverly Hills, Tree city, as it is known. LA Golf Club-fees $95, 000. Around here Rollers and Bentleys can park anywhere, by law.
Invitation only shops where, if you don’t have $25k credit cards you don’t get in. Remember the shop in ‘Pretty woman’ where a snobbish manager mistreats Julia Roberts? Jack relates that the actual shop went bankrupt 2 months after the film came out because people would no longer use it.
Hard Rock Café, lunch, chatting to Thelma. She is Panamanian, 27 and married to an American/Japanese pilot who is in Oman. We snapped each other sitting on Elvis Presley’s last Harley Davidson and marvelled at the guitars of famous dead musicians.
The new Disney building, as yet unfinished but ready for a final polish:
I marvelled at Thelma’s perfect body.
Santa Monica Boulevard, Sunset Strip—all these places are so familiar through a lifetime of American movies, serials and comedies. ‘House of Blues’- made of rusty old iron panels from Muddy Water’s original home, owned by Dan Ackroyd and purchased after the fame of ‘Blues Brothers’.
Jack tells us about the ‘HOLLYWOOD’ sign on the hillside and how it was saved from decrepitude by Alice Cooper who appealed to Howard Hughes and other stars to each sponsor a letter and donate it to the City.
Off the bus to the Chinese theatre where all the famous footprints and handprints are on display in the sidewalk. Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford were the first. The original builder apparently slipped in the wet cement and the idea was born, the ultimate autograph book. When your footprints appear here you are rich, famous, you’ve made it and you are quite probably dead, too. Betty Davis had a size 3, not surprising as she was only 4 ft 11 ins and despite John Wayne’s size his feet measured a paltry 8, which could account for his famous swagger. I do admit to a small thrill as I stood in Gene Kelly’s footprints. There are several in-between-job actors here too, posing as Homer Simpson, Jim Carey, two or three Marilyn Monroe’s, all ready to pose for a picture with you for a dollar or two.

Back to the hotel, goodbye everyone, goodbye Jack…goodbye Thelma! My last night, 6 months, wow! It feels longer, I’ve seen great things, met great people, my health is good although I have missed 2 psa tests but I’ve hardly given cancer a thought – maybe I’ve been running away from that too. In literary terms perhaps mundane but it’s been really interesting getting all this down.
Bugger! When I spoke to my son Ben today he said it was 6 pm in the UK. I cannot possibly be arriving at 10 am tomorrow! I think I must be 24 hrs out. I checked with New Zealand airlines and they confirm, yes indeed there is a small printing error on my ticket; I am not arriving on Saturday, but Sunday. I must now text my brother re pick-up time and also realise that I will miss my sons Ben and Sam who will be there, family meal waiting at Jan’s a day early. Bugger!
Chatted at the bar, free Margueritas with Fiona and Mike from Inverness heading home after 12 months travel. They have no jobs and no home- they sold it for this trip, but they are still young. I’ve noticed a woman here who is a dead ringer for old Scottish comic, Stanley Baxter, in drag. She’s been flitting about, no shoes, clutching a handbag, hairy legs, 5 o’clock shadow. She has stereo earphones, unconnected. She sidles up to me asking me to help her with e-mails as she obviously hasn’t a clue and wanders off to stare for a few minutes at each electronic game consol, before heading back to the bar. She is wearing a 50’s style dress and cardigan – weird – but people like this are commonplace here and nobody bats an eyelid.
Saturday 5th April
The shuttle bus arrives. The driver is huge. 30 stone minimum and looking as though he is an integral part of the bus. I cannot imagine him getting in or out but as I leave the bus the inevitable, ‘you be sure to have a good time now’.
A beautiful blue, cloudless LA day. At the airport there is a Security orange alert and a large notice informs me that guns, knives, bombs or scissors are not allowed on the plane – so that’s alright then. I find a copy of the US immigration questionnaire:
‘Are you a terrorist?’
‘Have you ever been involved in genocide?’
‘Have you ever held a child against its will?’ etc etc
Are they serious?
There’s also the SARS scare on but, fortunately, this does not affect departure.
400,000 people work at this airport.
There is nowhere to smoke so I have to go out to the car park, which means I have to suffer again the cold, humourless searches by serious staff at the main entrance. I share a few minutes with Paris, also out for a smoke. From Hawaii he takes tourist photos on the beach for 4 hours a day, $400, and now he is visiting his wife in Australia, whom he met only 3 months ago whilst she holidayed in Hawaii. Now pregnant she is awaiting for the complicated intricacies of the immigration bureaucracy to unfold before she is allowed back in.
That’s it. The flight was an hour late and was further delayed on landing. My brother is there.
‘How was your trip?’ Great!
How are you? Fine!
There is so much and so little to say.
I feel I am waking from a dream.
THE END

















































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