I can do it! Lombok & Gili Air.

Lombok is an island to the east of Bali. I left Candidasa at 08:30 took a bus back to Padangbai and then a 5 hour ferry. It's not actually that far, it's just the ferry was sloooow!




At Padangbai, I got off the bus and a man that appeared to have emerged from the Perama office grabbed my bag and said, "I'll take it for you!". A little later whilst waiting at the port, my brain clicked into gear and I realised this was another porterage scam. When the time to board came, I took charge of my bag and marched away. The "porter" ran behind me shouting, "I take your bag... oh, you don't want to pay?!" No, I thought, given a choice, I probably would have but being bamboozled into it, I was having none of it! I can't say that I didn't regret this when I had to haul it up the narrow, steep staircase to the passenger deck...



On board, I settled into a space for four, hell everyone else was marking out their territory! Food sellers came and went and we were on our way at a snail's pace. Several hours later, we arrived at Lembar port, I dragged the bag back down the staircase and boarded the Perama bus bound for Senggigi.





Senggigi was rather like Ko Lanta, the beach with a main road of hotels, bars and restaurants running along it. I left my bag at the Perama office and went looking for a place to stay. It was hot, I walked up, I walked down and around and eventually chose the Lina Hotel...... opposite the Perama office!

The Lina Hotel was described in my guidebook as shabby, clinging onto a former glory. What it lacked in style it made up for with it's beachfront location. I chose a room with aircon and seaview. The beach being 2 minutes from my door.




I dumped my stuff then ventured out in search of sustainance. I stopped at the Square and chowed down on the finest seafood cap cay I've ever eaten and was delighted to find they had wifi. In the evening, I befriended a couple from Somerset (UK) on the hotel terrace and we swapped traveller's tales over a few Bintangs.

The next day I found a cafe, with wifi, in which to have continental breakfast with a cheese omelette on the side. Then I decided to brave the beach. As Lombok is predominantly Muslim, I wanted to see if anyone was beachside in a bikini. There was no one on the beach. I looked one way and then the other, it was deserted. I pondered the time, nearly 17:00, well past the hottest part of the day. Where was everyone? No matter, I headed for the shoreline to take a walk. The sand felt quite warm, as I walked a little further it began to feel quite hot. With the soles of my feet burning, I danced like a chicken across the sand and into the sea. I laughed outloud at myself!




I paddled along until I found a spot narrow enough to cut back to the hotel without burning the remaining skin from my feet. Back at the hotel, I took a seat at the bar and ordered a small beer, having forgotten to specify Bintang, I was served an Anker, I do not have words to describe how bad it was.

I proceeded to meet Jonas (Norway), Kevin (US but lives in Korea) and Irma (Holland). All four of us travelling alone we chatted over beers then reconveened for dinner at Bambu where I had a delicious fish risotto and a happy memory invoking avocado juice.





The next morning, Irma and I left for the tiny island of Gili Air. Here was when I made one of the wisest decisions of the whole trip thusfar! The night before I had consulted my oracle, yet often inaccurate, guidebook. It stated that like Ko Lipe, boats would dock in the sea and it was necessary to wade out to the island.... with your luggage. Na-ah! I thought and had promptly packed everything I needed into my flight bag and day pack. So in the morning, I hotfooted it over to Perama and asked if I could leave my big bag with them. "No problem" said the man behind the desk, "When will you be back for it?". "The 23rd!" I yelled as I skipped out the door.

I was taken by bus for 35 minutes along the costal road and deposited in a bar near to Bangsal port. There, I met 2 couples from the Czech Republic but Irma was nowhere to be seen. After an age, we were pointed in the general direction of the port. We dodged the offers of cidomo (horse & cart) transport and headed for the sea.

We were ushered onto a kind of longtail boat along with local traders, plants, eggs, bags of rice and I swear I saw some chickens! The journey took only 25 minutes over the clear blue sea. On arrival we jumped into the sea, me with my mini bags, and flip-flopped onto the beach. There, we were inundated with offers of accommodation and transport. The Gili islands have no motorised transport and, incindentally, no police prescence.

I was trying to look out for Irma, dodge the touts and get my bearings when one of the Czech guys called me over. They were looking at a flyer a tout was showing them. "It looks nice" said one, I agreed so we all followed the man out to the property. Clearly, the flyer had been printed 15 years previously. We consulted our books and fled the scene taking the coastal "road" a sandy dirt track that circles the island.

The Czech guys opted for a modern aircon, Habitat kind of place. Me, I went for a jungle hut at Gili Air Santay. I made my choice based mainly on the reviews of the restaurant, fabulous Thai food! Also, I reasoned that I could have Habitat type style anytime in Europe and as I was on a barely inhabited island, should therefore make like Robinson Crusoe. This state of mind wore off after nightfall and upon discovering that my neighbours were cows.




I stuck out the two nights I had booked but something was very wrong. I couldn't sleep, I felt miserable, I was being attacked by all kinds of creepy crawly things. I longed for aircon, hot water, hell, fresh water! It's sea water here. I wanted Ikea, Habitat and Pizza Express.... I was homesick.




Having met some cool people, a couple from Cornwall, a Belgian magazine editor and having found Irma again I decided to stay longer on Gili Air. The next day I found myself a bungalow complete with aircon, hot water, designer tiled outdoor bathroom, TV, minibar and they bring breakfast to your door!!!! I also invested in the strongest anti mosquito spray I could find and began to feel more like me.




Otherwise, I and my new friends had settled into small island life. Our days are punctuated by meal breaks and siestas, it takes at least 40 minutes and sometimes a vote to decide on either! We watch the boats come and go, smile and say hello to our neighbours as they pass by on their/our 90 minute round the island walk. "Hello Sharon!" shout the staff at the Santay as I arrive for lunch, dinner, drinks. We wait out the power cuts, I take a cidomo to the internet cafe...








We were also involved in an impromptu "lock in" i.e. it started to rain so no one could leave the bar!


Save for transit stops in Legian (Bali) and Bangkok my time in south east Asia is over, for this trip anyway.

I look in the mirror, I am so tanned I barely recognise myself, my hair is sunbleached several shades lighter. I think about how far I have travelled, literally, several hundred kilometers and figuratively, I have bathed in sea water, used many a squat toilet/bush, dealt with all kinds of bugs, worn clothes several times before considering laundry, seen monkeys and elephants and eaten all kinds of curried, chilied or stewed fish and seafood.

I've made some new friends and I'm looking forward to catching up with some old ones.



Next stop: Sydney, Australia.


- Posted from my iPhone

No puedo creer! Padangbai/Candidasa

Padangbai is a small fishing town and also the main port for ferries to neighbouring island, Lombok.

Brasileño Madrileño (BM) and I rumbled into town in going on for 40 degree heat. The bus was met by various reps from different hotels. I chose the guy who said his place was new and we followed him up the road. He took us up to one of the rooms with sea view. Simultaneously, we turned up our noses and consulted our guidebooks. Being a believer in the idea that life/god/the universe gives you signs along the way, I suggested we head to the Kerti Villas, afterall, I've a mate called Kierti!

Sorry mate, but we checked out a room and it was a bit sad. Back on the road, we went through the whole proceedure again at the Padangbai Beach Inn. We were shown into a shiny new room, there was still plastic on the headboard. It was huge, there was aircon and the balcony looked straight out over the beach you can't use because boats moor there. No matter, we were feeling a bit of luxury and agreed to the elevated price.

Starving, we consulted the oracle guidebooks again and set out for Depot Segara. We got lost, asked several people for directions and then stopped at a warung that was full of locals. We filled our bellies with grilled tuna and yes, another fish curry!

As we left and turned the corner BM noticed that Depot Segara was actually the "international" place nextdoor. It was clear we'd made an excellent mistake.



Next we asked directions to the beach you can use we were told to head for the post office and then take the new road. The "new" road was in fact a dirt track created as access for a building site that has since been halted.



On the beach you could easily forget the busy, rundown port area. It reminded me of Ko Lipe. There were only 3 makeshift warungs after everyone was closed down when the bulldozers moved in. When I say makeshift, I mean tarpaulin suspended between two bamboo sticks over a plank or two serving as tables. Need the loo? pick a bush!


BM and I were loving it! Even the two women selling sarongs and massages were friendly rather than imposing.

Over a coconut and a few beers we got talking to a guy from California who lives 6 months of the year in Ubud. He enquired as to our plans, I told him I was heading to Lombok. "You don't wanna do that!" he said, "it's all changed now". He suggested I take a 4 day island cruise that included Komodo island, home of the Komodo dragons. Reading my mind, BM said, "You have to do it!" It was a plan.

BM purchased a beautiful batik sarong and thus we parked ourselves on a patch of white sand. We drank beer, smoked (incidentally, the same brand of) cigarettes, told stories about our families and made up Spanglish words.

We returned home via the dirt track, slipping on loose rocks and nearly killing ourselves several times. Showered and dressed we headed to the Ozone bar, it was empty so we kept going. Eventually, we stopped at a cosy looking place and sat cross legged on some cushions on an elevated platform. Both being fond of avocados we went for overkill, avocado juice followed by guacamole and pizza. What possessed us to order pizza, we'll never know but when I felt queasy later "It was excess avocado!" said BM.

Across from the restaurant were ajoining reggae bars, Babylon Bar and Kinky Reggae Bar. Feeling Kinky, we entered and ordered a g&t and a Cuba libre. Served in wine glasses and with the competing sound systems the thinly disguised arak didn't taste too bad.

The next morning after discovering I had been bitten on my ass twice by mosquitoes, we checked out of the hotel and headed for the Perama office. We were bombarded with offers of transport, got lost, bumped into the American guy, then just as we were actually considering the logistics of us two plus our bags on the back of a moped, we came to our senses, realising it was only around the corner.

At Perama, we/I organised BM's mission to the airport via Kuta to pick up something he'd left behind. Then I asked about my cruise, I was so excited! "One moment" said the Perama man through one of the gaps in his teeth. He made a quick phone call then shook his head, "It's not running, start again in March".

Just like that, my dreams were dashed! "What will you do?" asked BM. "I don't know" I replied, "but I can't stay here". The transport hawkers had become just too much for me and the hike to the beach was fun in a second date kind of way but not on my own, besides, who'd keep look out when I had to duck behind a bush?

"Why don't you go to Candidasa?" said BM. It was as good a plan as any and only 30 minutes away, I booked a ticket.

We wandered off to the Zen Inn to grab some brunch. A fish burger and Jamaican spicy beef, "Is it authentic?" asked BM, "They put mango in it." was all I said. Much more subdued then we had been we joked awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. BM broke the ice, "I wish I'd met you sooner, I wish I didn't have to go." "Me too" I replied.

Our buses left the Perama office at the same time on the same road out of town we waved each time one overtook the other until mine turned off towards Candidasa.



I'm not quite sure what Candidasa is supposed to be, the drive in takes you through rice paddies and a residential area, then it becomes restaurants and bars with the sea on one side. Sea, not beach.

Candidasa seems to have been a failed experiment in coastal town planning. Along the road there are various access routes down to the rocks but I didn't see any beach as such. From the Perama office, I headed down the road to the Temple Cafe/Seaside Cottages. At reception I chose a cold water fan cottage. From the path leading to my room I could see the waves, good enough for me!



I booked for two nights, long enough to get my laundry done, eat some good seafood, get my postcard posted and drink a few beers with a crazy Italian who may or may not catch up with me in Lombok!




Thanks to BM for a fab few days, maybe we'll cross paths again in Spain, Cuba, Montenegro..... who knows?!

Next stop, Lombok, Indonesia.





- Posted from my iPhone

How can it be? Ubud, Bali.

I was so relieved to be leaving Kuta and had high hopes for Ubud. Nestled in the hills in the south of Bali, Ubud is described as the cultural heart of the island. A home for many local and international artists and the place to experience the best of Balinese ethnology.

I arrived by bus in the middle of a torrential rain storm. This didn't put me off. I smiled and nodded with the other passengers as we all sheltered in the bus company's office until the rain subsided.

Whilst in Kuta, I discovered that the hostel I had booked in ubud was on the same street as the Perama office, bonus, no need for a taxi!

Easy-peasy, my bag has wheels, no? Well, on the plus side, Hanoman street has pavement, however, it is made up of removal slabs allowing rain water to drainaway. So I'm on my way, feeling confident and capable when first, I encounter a slab that hasn't quite been replaced properley and then several that had not ben put back at all. This left great gaping holes in the middle of the pavement and meant having to walk into oncoming traffic in order to arrive at my destination.

I got there eventually, sweating profusely and somewhat out of breath. Jati Homestay was a typical Balinese losemen, a residential complex centered around a Hindu temple with guest rooms at the back. Given a choice, I chose a room on the top floor overlooking some rice paddies.

I settled in i.e. gave them my laundry and checked out the wifi. Then went out in search of food on the famous Monkey Forest Road. Along the way I saw boutiques, juice bars, antiques shops, craft markets, bars advertising reggae open mic nights and restaurants serving imported obscure Europen beers and Indo-Mediterranean fusion tapas. It was like a giant Moseley Village (Birmingham, UK).

Unperturbed, I decided to stop at the Sagittarius restaurant and induldged in two ginger & lime tonics and a delicious ikan kari -fish curry.

I left there and headed to Kafe near to home. My guidebook recommended it as a good place to meet people. It was a typically Moseley type place serving coffees, organic juices and a menu that featured hummus and feta cheese salad. I sat down and ordered another ginger and lemon based thing. I smiled, I tried to look interesting and approachable. I spotted a few other solo people, a woman who was engrossed in her novel and a man who was concentrating on chewing his dinner. Tomorrow is another day, I thought as I headed home at 21:45.






The next day was spent wandering around, saying "No thankyou" to the incessant offers of transport. When it looked like it might rain I ducked into a cool looking bar with free wifi. I ordered lunch hoping that once it did rain I'd be able to strike up conversation with others who were stranded there too. It didn't rain. I finished my fish burger and coconut juice, and ordered a Bali Hai beer. All I can say is Bali Hai is to Bintang as Chang is to Singha - crap.

After that find a friend plan failed, I hatched another one and scanned the bars for happy hour notices on the way home.

When dinner time came around, I headed to the Kanje bar & restaurant for the last round of happy hour. I could have chosen the Lebong Cafe where along with happy hour they were screening James Cameron's "Avatar". Instead, Kanje was white, minimalist, playing funky R&B, my kind of place, it was also empty.

I ordered a buy 1 get 1 free caiprinha and picked at my plaintain chip/crisp things. Eventually I was joined by a French Asian family, who spent ages ordering wine. My two drinks came and went so I decided to go elsewhere to eat.

Heading towards home, I came across the Laughing Budda restaurant and had a brief nasi goreng and half a pint of Bintang. I may not have spoken to anyone but I was joined by a dog who decided to lie down next to my table, then roll about on the floor.






I gave up and went home, besides, I had an early start the next day as I had booked a motorbike and driver to take me on a trip. Dang, I thought, I should have booked a seat on a bus tour, at least I would have met some other people!






The next day, Ketut picked me up at 09:00, sharp. I donned the provided helmet and climbed on the back of the bike. After driving for around 30 mins we stopped at Batubulan. I paid the 80,000 rupiah entrance fee then settled down to watch a Barong & Kris dance. The story is of the eternal fight between good and evil spirits.

Since I had first arrived in Bali, the constant twinky-twinky music of the gamelan (traditional orchestra) had began to cause me to twitch significantly. However in the proper setting and accompanied by the dance, it was quite hypnotic.

Next we were off to the water temple at Tirta Empul. The Balinese are mainly Hindu with a few Muslims here and there. People take their religion very seriously and huge ceremonies are held weekly, there are mini temples in every shop, bar, restaurant and home and daily offerings are left at the temples, in the middle of the street outside all types of business.






Now, those readers who know me will also be aware that although I have the utmost respect for others people's beliefs, I have a certain contempt for organised religion.

Knowing I was going to visit a temple I had worn culturally appropriate clothing, jeans and a long sleeved top. This meant it was only necessary for me to tie a yellow ribbon around my waist. That was after Ketut had enquired as to whether or not I was menstruating as you are considered unclean and therefore can't enter the temple if you are. "What's the ribbon for?" I asked and was told it was to stop bad things in your guts escaping into the temple.






The temple has a natural spring and devotees go there to bathe in the waters that they believe have magical powers. We rounded a corner to find a group of people giving offerings to the gods and praying with a priest. "Don't you want to take a photo?" asked Ketut. "No" I replied, I felt invasive enough watching, let alone snapping away at what I regarded to be a private moment between them, their Gods and the priest.

Back on the bike, the next stop was a coffee plantation cum botanical garden. Ketut became a little exasperated when I repeatedly replied yes when asked if I'd ever seen a cocoa/vanilla pod, mango/avacado tree. He had already asked me about my family history, professed to know of Jamaica and if I had been there, so what did he expect?

I was encouraged to try snakeskin fruit, once peeled it looked and tasted like an onion to me. Ketut told me everyone else thought it tasted like apple. Then rambutan which I had already eaten in Kuta thinking it was lychee. Also there were the coffees and teas, I gagged on the ginseng coffee but drank down the ginger tea. I was taken to a woman roasting coffee beans, "Take a photo" said Ketut, "Why?" I replied, looking at the old lady who was grinning toothlessly at me.





I did however take a picture of the bats, managed to shake of the saleswoman in the gift shop, "I don't have space in my bag for 2 kilos of snakeskin fruit" and quizzed Ketut about Sharon fruit - they didn't have any.

Back on the bike and off to some functioning rice paddies, unlike the one outside my hostel window.





The view was breathtaking and there was a row of artsy, trinket shops along the road which I would have been inclined to have a mooch in had it no been for non stop barage of postcard and wood carving hawkers. I'd had enough and instructed Ketut to take me back to Ubud.






At "home" I showered as I was covered in exhaust fumes and lord knows what else, then headed out for lunch. I stopped at Bendi a low key place and had a fab off menu fish curry.

On the way back I spotted a sign for reggae night at the CP Lounge featuring a performance by Freddy Marley. Who? I thought, but still it was as good a plan as any for my evening.

For dinner I had an uninspired gado-gado, vegetables and tofu in peanut sauce with rice. I left when the band started a random version of a random Bob Dylan song.

21:30 said the poster for the CP Lounge, I arrived at 21:55, I was the only person there and Freddy and band were only just starting the sound check. Great, I thought but decided to give it a chance and ordered a beer. I got chatting to the owner who invited me to a beer as I was the first and only person there. Once Freddy started up and the place began to get a little livelier, I got chatting to a guy from South Africa and as the show came to an end he offered me a lift on his bike to another hotspot. I, clearly not of but in the end very much of sound mind, said yes.

Thus, I was transported sans helmet on the back of a bike by a partially drunk long haired hippy South African pomologist to Onzigo bar.

There was also a (better) reggae band playing and a group of French youths dancing around like loons. I got talking to one girl, Sophie and will feature in many of her photos from that night but I very much doubt she'll remember me through the Bintang fog.

The pomologist bought me a beer and I vaguely shaked a leg with the French girls, pleased I had finally made a friend although I think he was hoping it might be more. Any romantic inclination he may have had was soon crushed, out on the terrace and out of ciggies he stopped a guy to crash a fag. "I don't have any either" replied the guy in the sort of Spanish accent I have come to know and love.

"De donde eres?" I asked, "España" he replied his brown eyes looking at me incredulosly, "Claro, que parte?" I asked wondering if I had made a terrible mistake and he was feebleminded although good looking. "Madrid" he replied pulling up a chair. No way!

I proceeded to tell him my Madrid story, in Spanish. Turns out he lives in the same neighbourhood. We joked, we laughed about all kinds if Madridleño things. He explained his family were from Brasil, explains the good looks, I thought.

Then he remembered he had a friend and I remembered the South African dude, they were both sitting at the same table.

His friend suggested they find their driver and the pomologist was making homeward bound noises too. Seizing the moment, the Brasileño Madrileño and I exchanged email addresses unable to recall the exact location of our hostels. We later discovered we were staying 5 mins apart on the same street.

Like a true gentleman, the South African dropped me back home and as a valient last attempt gave me his phone number. I skipped back to my room.







My last day in Ubud was spent checking my email, using my now infamous Mystic Meg foresight to pack, spending an age in the bathroom beautifying myself, skipping the banana pancake breakfast at the hotel instead heading to Juice Ja Cafe for a breakfast crepe, crepe filled with scrambled egg with an avocado salsa, the place also had wifi so I could check my email. It started to rain so I popped home to pick up my pack-a-mack and check my email.

I then headed to a salon for a Balinese massage, they use coconut oil which leaves your skin glowing and another French pedicure. I left the salon feeling a little woozy so returned to the Laughing Buddah for a ginger and lemongrass tonic and some wontons and more seafood fried rice. "What?" I said when the waitress told me that their wifi was only available until 18:00, it was now 18:30.

I chowed down and hotfooted it back home to use their painfully slow wifi. Eventually, I got into my email, and there was what I had been waiting for! Brasileño Madrileño (BM) had written inviting me to a reggae concert near to Monkey Forest at 20:30. Dang, it was already past eight!

As quickly as the crap wifi would allow, I replied saying I'd meet him at 21:00. Like superwoman in a phonebooth, I showered and changed in the blink of an eye! I headed out onto the street looking good, feeling great. Then I stopped dead, his email had said near Monkey Forest. Now, in Ubud there is Monkey Forest a forest full of monkeys and Monkey Forest road, the road that eventually leads there full of countless bars and restaurants. Where exactly did he mean? I found a man in the street and told him the WHOLE story, you know that way I do when nervous/overexcited. He looked at me like the clearly love struck fool that I was and clarified that I knew the way to Monkey Forest road and was able to carry my emotinally intoxicated self there.

I turned the corner to take Dewi Sita street down to MF road. Who should be walking up the road none other than the BM himself! "What are the chances of that?!" I said, "Ya, I realised I didn't tell you any place to meet" he replied.

We flitted from bar to bar laughing and joking especially when we decided to try the local liquor, arak, even mixed up in our cocktails, it still tasted like petrol. As places began to close we decided to head back to the Onzigo bar.

Dear, Ubud, why is it that all day long when one is clearly capable of walking one is inundated with offers of transport. Yet now when we wanted it, there was nothing but tumbleweed. Eventually we found a couple of guys to take us up the hill.

The bar was full of the typical Ubud freakies as we called them. For example, the girl with a crucifix tattooed between her eyes and Christ tattooed on her back who always wore an outfit of white hareem pants, white bikini top and white snood, talking inappropriately about sex to barely legal American guys. There were more but you get the idea.

Remember the previous transport issues? It was even worse to get back, eventually, we found one guy, but we were 2 people. The three of us rocketed down the road on the back of the little moped.

The next morning barely awake, BM was lamenting the fact that I was leaving for Padangbai in less than two hours and he would leave Bali the next day. I sighed and then my brain clicked into gear, "Why don't you come with me?" I said.

Padangbai is an hour away on the coast, BM was heading back to Madrid after nearly 6 years of travelling and he wasn't sure when he would see a beach again..... He needed no further persuasion and flew out the door, I'm sure with only one flip flop, as I shouted, I'll meet you at the Perama office at 11:00!

That was that, thanks Ubud.

Next stop Padangbai/Candidasa.




- Posted from my iPhone

Could you be loved? Kuta, Bali.

I arrived here somewhat dazed and confused after leaving Bangkok at stupid o'clock.









Denpesar airport was cool and calm apart from the twinky, twinky music and the occasional dragon like statue. Then there was the visa on arrival thing, having planned ahead I had my 25$ (US) ready, however I had filled out my paperwork in purple gel pen but it was all I had to hand on the flight! Anyways, it was all good and I was allowed into the country.

Next I needed cash, I found a cashpoint and roughly estimated the amount of cash I would need for the next few days, 150€, here, I was a multimillionaire!

I followed the signs for the official taxi tank, gave the controller my address and paid the fare. A man magically appeared at my side and I, rather foolishly, assumed he was my driver, he took my bag and lead me out to the parked taxi. Inside was the driver who confirmed my destination whilst mystery man demanded payment for escorting me across the carpark. I'd been scammed, goddamnit, my bag has wheels, I can do it myself. Anyways, I begrudgingly gave him 20,000 rupiah (1.50€) I've since found out this is double to going rate for porter services!

Finally I was on my way to Kuta on the south coast. Living in Europe, I have often heard Bali described as Mallorca for Australians. Having lived in Mallorca, this didn't put me off, there's more to it than just Magalluf.

Was it the reverse culture shock of returning to the city or just pure snobbery but as my taxi crawled along Legian Street (traffic here is atrocious) my heart sank. Remember the chavfest of Phuket airport? This was it on a massive scale offering them every crap tshirt, hair braiding, happy hour service they could possibly need.

Now, anyone who knows me is well aware that clothes shopping is my main raison d'être, however, if that's what I wanted to do, I'd have gone to New York. There were shops, upon shops selling clothes of varying quality and dubious authenticity.

Then there were the billys, farangs, giris, whatever you want to call them, sporting their Bintang (local beer) branded shirts, shorts, bandanas, babies.

Thankfully, my accommodation, Tanaya Bed & Breakfast was an oasis of calm. I had purposely booked it as this was my first stop alone, I wanted something stylish and central that would appeal to people like, well, me!

My first night alone, I ventured out feeling brave and adventurous. I trawled through the surfer guys and gals in search of some local food. I dined in a low key place on Poppies Gang 2. Avacado salad followed by crispy noodles with shrimp and vegetables and a Bintang were served by the surly waitress.

After avoiding the stares of the "transport, transport!" guys, I continued down the road to the sea front. I saw the biggest, glitziest McDonalds I've ever seen and a mammoth Mini Market (like a 7-11).

I passed a string of fancy looking but overpriced bar/restaurants and decided to stop and treat myself to a cocktail. I don't remember the name of the place, it had a nice terrace and rattan chairs with big red cushions, lots of couples dined by candelight inside.

Seated outside, I perused the menu to find that my budget would stretch only to a cocktail of the non alcoholic variety, no matter, I am on my own and should probably keep my wits about me. It was a blue mango -mango, blueberries, guava and lime, very nice.

The next morning breakfast at the hotel was fruit, pastries, juice and coffee. After which I went exploring to find the Perama tour office to book my onward journey and to see the beach by day.










The beach, according to my guidebook, makes it all worthwhile. I'm afraid I beg to differ. Pale yellow sand stretches a far as the eye can see, trainee surfers bobbed about in the sea, peaceful, yes?No!!! Every step I took I was ambushed by offers of massage, manicure, transport, marijuana, sarong and all other kinds of shit I neither wanted nor needed.







Vexed, I headed back to my hotel, on the way I stopped at the Rainbow Cafe, according to my guidebook this was a good place to meet people. I drank my beer cringing at the loud mouthed Australian "A fucking cold beer, mate!" his submissive wife and overweight teenage daughter sat behind me. "That poor girl is sat there all alone, think she wants to join us?!" he yelled at his wife. I downed my Bintang and made a run for it.

By now I'd got to thinking about the original Bali plans, I wasn't supposed to be here, I was supposed to be in a villa with private pool outside of the resort. By the time I got back, my vexation was tangible.

I chilled out in my room, took a few deep breaths and set out again when the hunger pangs became unbearable. Earlier, I had spotted Crusoe's restaurant, reasonably priced, near to the hotel and with wifi.

When I got there, there was a group of PR girls who ushered me in. Inside were two guys and a couple at another table. Normal, right? Wrong. The couple left, leaving me to overhear the guys colourful conversation. I ordered a large beer and nasi goreng - fried rice with seafood, prawn crackers and a big fat fried egg on top. When my beer arrived it was wrapped in a cooler that bore the slogan, "Crusoe's bar, the coolest beers and the hottest girls!" Where the hell was I?!

The best course of action I thought was to chow down as fast as possible and get out, not difficult portion sizes here are on the small side. I flipped away my fried egg and dug in, as I did, from the corner of my eye I saw a heinous apparition coming towards me. He, drunk and swaying, salmon pink shirt open to reveal hair covered pot belly, sat down next to me leering and wheezing. Fortunately, as I had discovered earlier at the hotel when I accused my neighbour of using the wrong bathroom, my hearing is not always the best, thus I couldn't hear a word he was saying over the fan and music. Thankfully, one of the girls came over and moved him along.




I chewed, swallowed and gulped down my beer. No sooner had I put down my fork than my friend was back. "I'm from Belgium but I was born in Cameroon." he told me in broken English, "Where are you from?" "England" I replied in my best teacher voice. He repeated his sequence again, this time with arm actions. "I was born in England, I am from England." I replied. He started again looking somewhat exasperated, "Je suis anglais!" I said through gritted teeth. Staring at me like I was some sort of imbecile, he was about to start again when his mobile rang, he walked away to take the call and I took the opportunity to pay the bill and literally run out the door.

Throughout the trip thus far and living in a country that is not my own I have often been asked, "Where are you from?" "England" I reply and at my discretion, "My family are from Jamaica." I was born in England, I hold a British passport, when I go to Jamaica, I am not regarded as a Jamaican. Jamaica is a huge part of my life but it is not all of it.










The next day I wandered around aimlessly then stopped at the Apache Surfer Bar for lunch, it happened to be happy hour and after 2 beers and the Bob Marley soundtrack I began to feel a little better.









I'm not the only person who has felt aggreived by what goes on here, however I shall not resort to terrorist violence, I'll just leave you to it.

Kuta, you are what you are, for the thousands of visitors who come here each year a heavenly week of sun, sand and Bintang. They keep coming, you're doing something right, just not for me.

Next stop, Ubud - Bali.


- Posted from my iPhone

Can you feel it? Ton Sai bay.

From Phi Phi we took a ferry to Krabi, then a crazy ass open sided bus which was full to overflowing causing TC to have to sit at the back, clinging on for dear life and inhaling exhaust fumes and then a longtail boat to Ton Sai. All this with a heinous hangover and minimum sleep.







We arrived on the beach and decided breakfast was far more urgent than locating our accommodation. I opted for scrambled eggs on toast and was not peturbed when mother of former eggs and two siblings were shooed out of the restaurant by the waiter.

With no map to guide us, TC went off to search for our hotel and I stayed with the bags.







She returned with the hotel owner and van and we and bags were transported up the hill and into the jungle, no I am not over exaggerating. Xarini was in the jungle and had to hike to get to/ from reception to room, hotel to beach, there were Beware, naughty monkey! warnings.








We dined that night on some delightful curries but shockingly sugary ginger ice tea at the nearby Dream Valley Resort.

You're maybe wondering why this edition seems somewhat brief, a little thin on the ground? That's because I'm eager to cut to the chase! Heterosexual male readers, stop now.


"Hello boys..."

When you arrive here it's not easy to tell if the soupy closeness of the air is caused by humidity or pure testosterone. There are men, everywhere. Let me rephrase that, half dressed, super fit, adrenaline junkie, men..... EVERYWHERE!!

Photos? No, that would be blatant objectification and wrong, however perving from behind your sunglasses/magazine whilst sucking on the straw in your coconut milkshake is positively encouraged!

There are short ones, tall ones, tanned, blonde, dark, shaved, bearded, tattooed, you name it they got it AND muscles.

You can spot the single girls they are the ones distractedly walking into furniture, tripping over their own feet or leaving the sea with a sway of the hips and winning smile only to find that if you follow the gaze of the hot guy who was staring at you so intently, you'll find that it's not you he's eyeing up but the rocks behind, above, beside you. If you do indeed follow his gaze you'll find a load of half naked men hanging on and swinging from said rocks causing you to swoon. Not bad if one of the above happens to be a rather intense Australian doctor you befriended earlier.

TC and I were quietly having lunch, vegetable pad thai and a spicy papaya salad when we were adopted by a group of Dutch sailors. One being the new owner of Maremagnum complex in Barcelona, another a shareholder in our favourite hangout, Bed Supper Club. They joked, we laughed they bought more Singhas. Then it was time for them to leave before the tide went out and stranded them.

Before we'd had time to draw breath we were joined by the Australian doctor. "I've just arrived" he said, "Can I hangout with you guys?" "Sure!" cried TC, I mumbled something unintelligible.

Now, those that know me would not use shy as a word to describe me but right now I was struck dumb like a 14 year old at a school disco having just been asked to dance.

When I finally regained the power of speech, we chatted, we joked, I wanted to break my leg just to have him fix it. The opportunity did indeed arise as he and TC agreed it would be a great idea to climb over the rocks to the next resort, Railay. I turned to TC and remarked on the amount of beer we had drunk, "C'mon, it'll be fun!" yelled the doctor as he bounded off tigger style.







What is usually an 80 baht longtail boat ride can be done by foot at low tide, says the guidebook. They fail to mention the slippy, spiky rocks that are exposed after the water receeds.

Was it the beer or the doctor that propelled me onwards? All I know is I did it without falling and beamed with pride when I got to the beach on the other side. "Nice footwork" said the doctor, I stared at my toes.







Ton Sai is a hippy, climber's jungle haven wedged between chavtastic Ao Nang and as the doctor would say "shiny" i.e. posh, Railay.

On Railay, there was a main walking street and string of 5 star resorts. The three of us headed up the road when TC decided she'd rather stay on the beach and wandered off leaving me with the doctor.

What is it with these climber dudes they don't drink, they don't smoke, they're all bouncy and smiley and...nice. In such a way as to make you feel like the whore of Babylon for wanting to, erm, get to know them. At least that's how I felt especially as I had ascertained he was a few years my junior.

Anyways, I began to behave a little more normally as I reckoned my hedonistic self would be repugnant to him so therefore had nothing to lose, and agreed to accompany him to Tham Phra Nang Nai (Diamond Cave). Wooden walkways weave through the limestone stalagmites and stalactites, the jewel in the crown being a softly lit dusky pink quartz waterfall.

We wandered back to the beach to collect TC before heading back to Ton Sai. The sun was setting so I had thought the three of us would take a longtail back. However, TC was nowhere to be seen. After a quick text, I discovered she had already returned. Before I could even begin to consider the implications, the doctor had suggested we take the slippy, rocky route back, in the dark with the the added risk of the tide returning.








Having already pushed myself far out of my comfort zone on this trip e.g. wearing flip flops outside the house and wet shaving my legs, I thought, what the hell! Surely my travel insurance would cover it and I was with a bonafide doctor. I made it without assistance or injury and to this day I'm still feeling very impressed with myself.

We had been due to move on to Khao Lak but after some discussion, TC and I decided we'd had enough of packing/unpacking, ferries et al.

Thus our last few days together in Thailand were spent mooching for gifts in Ao Nang, where I was tempted to purchase a fake Tiffany bracelet until TC pointed out it would indeed turn my wrist green, so I settled for a Louis Vuitton lighter! Lying on the beach putting the world to rights, drinking beer and talking to the boys.








One bar we frequented had a tightrope strung between two palms. Daring climbers could be found bouncing on it until upstaged by the young Thai guy from the restaurant nextdoor.

Since day one, TC had wanted to try it, on our last night in Ton Sai, fuelled by Chang beer and with the help of the Thai kid, her wish came true. She beamed like a child and despite my being hanging from the night before, I was happy for her.

The next day we had tickets booked for a ferry/bus to Phuket and flight to Bangkok. We were at the meeting point, second palm on the left in front of the Viking restaurant and we waited.

Not much happened and the gathered longtail drivers didn't look too bothered. Finally, one began to yell "Phuket, Ko Lanta!!!!!" We leapt onto the boat like experts, the trick, you see, is to fling your flip flops in first. When exiting the boat be sure to fling them far enough inland or have to fling yourself into the water to catch them before they float away...

The boat headed out to sea and then stopped. I considered there maybe some sort of traffic jam as longtails zipped around. I even quipped, "What would be really bad was if we had to do do some sort of mid ocean boat to boat transfer, what with the bags and all."








It was as if I had summoned some evil jinx for no sooner had the words left my lips than two ferries loomed into view. "Phuket." was all I said.

We and bags made it, on arrival in Phuket we had to cross, not two but three ferries to get to land and I managed all of this during my "lady days" as TC calls them.

There is nothing ladylike about my days, each month I am struck down when my body commits a heinous crime against itself, causing anemia, severe pain, trips to A&E and often being unable to walk. Enduring all this, I made it from the jungle, through the mid ocean thing, a 2 hour ferry journey, a 45 minute bus journey and then to Phuket airport.

Oh my sweet Jesus! Where do I begin? Living it up in the jungle, we had clearly forgotten about the outside world, hell, you only get electricity between 18:00-06:00!

Phuket brought us back to earth with a bang! It was like an international chavfest and amongst the dodgy hair braid/beads, Evisu jeans and caps were the sad, seedy couples of older, unattractive western male and much younger and prettier Thai girl.

Eventually after a few gate changes and much hilarious people watching we boarded our Air Asia shiny new A320 back to Bangkok.

Our last night in Thailand, our last night together was spent eating yellow curry, getting lost and being chased by a dog.

Just like that, Thailand was over and I'm on my own. My brain still hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that I'm here let alone that this stage is over.

Thanks to TC for easing me into the whole travelling thing, the laughs and watching my back.








Next stop, Kuta - Bali, Indonesia.







- Posted from my iPhone

How was it for you? Ko Phi Phi

Oh my darling, Phi Phi! I'd heard such bad things about you, been warned against visiting by so many, even told that Ko Lanta was better - eh???!!! I'm so glad I heeded none of it and only wish I could have stayed longer.

We arrived by ferry a tad hungover and me somewhat weirded out by the stalker French dude from the night before.

This island hopping, water transport thing is indeed fab but can be a little tricky when toting a 19kg pack. I had planned ahead making things as easy for myself as possible by employing a switch pack, a wheelie bag that converts into a backpack. To date, I have not used the back straps and do not intend to! TC however is hardcore and staying true to the traveller ethos by sporting more traditional luggage.

At Phi Phi pier we plus packs were required to pass from not one but two ferries before reaching dry land. Whilst I was blinking with a slight pout pondering how, TC had swung her load on to her back and was marching away. This was the fatal mistake which would trigger a chain of events causing her to throw a temper tantrum when we finally arrived at our hotel. She had made herself look too capable.

Now, I am not usually in the habit of using my feminine wiles to coerce men into doing things for me, not purposely anyway. However, when I finally roused myself from my reverie having confirmed with self that I was not using the straps come hell or high water. I turned around to be greeted by several offers of assistance by male passengers and staff alike.

Thus, me and my baggage were carefully lifted and bouyed across and onto dry land. Whilst TC looked on, dumbfounded and sweating.

I then proceeded to flash my winning smile put my wheels in gear and head for the hotel porter. I could hear TC puffing and wheezing behind me so I thought it best to take charge of the situation, giving her chance to catch up. Mistake number 2, as I got to the porter first, checked our names on his list, he promptly picked up my bag and beckoned us to follow. So we did, TC still carrying her pack and starting to turn purple in the face.

We rounded a corner where the porter had a trolly for the baggage, he swung mine in then walked off to confer with a colleague. Mistake number 3, TC could take no more and let out a howl of anger, and jettisoned the cursed pack onto the ground next to the trolly.

"What am I, invisible?!" she screamed, "Do I look like as if I don't need help?!!!" she continued. I realised now was not a good time to answer, "Well, yes, actually. You need to stop looking quite so, capable".

Instead, I muttered something about the porter being a bit rude and tried to avoid her laser scowl. You'll be pleased to know, when he returned he hoisted TC's pack into the trolly and we were on our way, "FINALLY!!!!" thundered TC.

This was all soon forgotten when we got to our bungalow. Jungle living had been taking it's toll and were ready for some modern amenities. AC, hot water, tea & coffee making facilities and a full length mirror! To us, this was the Ritz.

As we basked in the electronically cooled air our hangovers resurfaced with a vengance and we headed out for some breakfast.

Now, since I have been in Thailand, as promised, I have been gorging myself on all kinds of curry, noodle, soup and other such spicy local thing. However, now was neither the time, nor the place as I slowed to a crawl outside the Little Britain cafe.

In my defence, can I point out, I do not live in England so for me a full English is a rare treat as was visiting Boots in Bangkok.

I could barely control my salivation as I chowed down on hash browns, beans, mushrooms, scrambled eggs and proper wholemeal toast.

Sated, we returned to the hotel for a siesta, we only reemerged when hunger forced us out again. I won't tell you what I ate, ok, it was a pizza but I had had dodgy guts since Lanta and couldn't face any more chilli, ok?

Still feeling a little worse for wear, I headed back to the hotel and TC went for a massage. At the hotel, I discovered there was trouble in paradise, mosquitoes, loads of them in our room. I doused myself in Avon's Skin So Soft dry oil, a layer of Autan deet spray, some Johnsons anti mosquito baby oil and as a final touch donned an insect repelling wristband. War was declared as I employed and perfected my grandmother's age old technique of clapping and thus killing the critters between my palms.

Eventually I dozed off but awoke a little while later with a burning sensation all over my body. I turned on the light and went to the mirror, to my horror, I was covered head to foot in angry red bumps, heat rash. I downed an antihistamine, went back to bed and hoped tomorrow would be a better day.

It was, breakfast was a huge plate full of fried rice then TC and I headed to the beach to visit the tsunami memorial garden.




It could be all too easy amongst the disco bars and pizzerias to forget the tragedy that occured here on Boxing day 2004. Many lives were lost and there was total devistation when this tiny island was attacked from both sides by 5 metre waves. Let's pray it never happens again.




I then parked myself, as usual in a shady spot on the beach, this time with a hotel supplied towel. TC went off for yet another stress busting massage, after yesterday, she needed it!

I had been warned that Phi Phi would be rammed full of drunken twentysomethings and hordes of daytrippers. I hate to disappoint but the beach was quite peaceful the most disturbing thing being the amount of glowing honeymooners who insisted on asking me to take their photos.





Ao Lo Dalam beach is small but perfectly formed and when the heat got too much, I headed out into the sea. I walked and walked some more and then some but the water only ever came up to mid thigh. No chance of me doing a Halle Berry-esque exit then.

I splish-splashed back to a deck chair under an umbrella at a bar and ordered my favourite fresh coconut, yum! That was followed by a Singha, surely TC should be back by now? There was no sign of her and when I could take no more of talking to myself, I returned to the hotel to find our room key at reception, so where was she?

Nevermind, I took the opportunity to have a super long shower and with Mystic Meg type foresight packed up my stuff as we were leaving the next day.

Still no word from TC so I left her a note and went off for some dinner. I enjoyed a soup like yellow curry in a low key place then headed to Carlito's, 90 baht for a Singha and 10 baht to use the loo! I was not impressed.

After several random texts I was reunited with a very jolly TC. When I asked her what she had been up to it transpired that after her massage she had fixed herself in a bar for some free wifi but this also included drinking several beers followed by a few margaritas.



I was determined to catch up. A few beers and a huge glass of wine later TC and I were given a flier for the Apache bar, offering a free bucket at 23:30, bonus!

Off we trotted, their free drink offer was effective and the place began to fill up nearer the time. I fought my way to the bar, claimed my prize and took a great gulp of..... Sprite. At least that was all it tasted of to me.

By now TC and I were in full holiday party mode, dancing like loons to 90s house. I sat out the Spice Girls and laughed hysterically as TC ambled through the Macarena.

Then, I was quite literally swept off my feet as I did my usual trick of walking into people. I was suspended mid air by an Australian rock climber.

We danced, we laughed and were the last to leave. As we did, we found TC outside talking to his Thai friend. I had also befriended a crazy girl from Hong Kong who had stolen a coconut from the beach and was encouraging people to kiss it for good luck. I did, and so did he.

TC, the Thai guy, the climber and I headed to the 7-11 to grab some beers before heading to the beach. Afterall, it was a full moon, hence all of the chavs and frat kids were out of town preferring the mega full moon parties of Ko Pha Ngan.

It was like something out of a movie, the beach was flooded with moonlight, fairy lights twinkled in the trees.

TC retired early as she had yet to pack. I hung out with the guys and then the Thai guy left too.

Then it was just me and the rock climber. Girls (& some guys I know!) if you have ever been here or ever do, do not be sucked in by the eye candy blondeness of the divers, it's all about the climbers!

I flip-flopped, glowing back to our hotel around 09:00. I grinned at TC who was not coping with her hangover or packing and jumped in the shower.

We were ready just in time for the same porter to take our bags back to the pier and our 10:30 ferry.



Next stop, Ton Sai on the mainland which according to my guidebook is a climber's delight...mine too!





- Posted from my iPhone