Time lapse travel blog

A blog recording a backpacking trip which lasted from June 1990 until the end of May 1991, visiting India, Hong Kong, China, Thailand, Indonesia, Australia, New Zealand, the USA, Venezuela and Brazil. Posted online 30 years after the adventure took place!

Day 1 – Sunday June 3rd 1990 – Delhi

It’s 4am British time, 8.30am Indian time, but Delhi doesn’t seem to have woken up. After a stressful (I have a fear of flying!) but relatively smooth eight-hour flight from Heathrow, we arrived weary and apprehensive at Delhi Airport. What awaits us but huge queues to get through passport control. What on earth were the officials asking people that could take so long…?

A need for the ladies’ room meant I was ushered graciously into the only cubicle in the toilet area with a bowl rather than a hole in the floor (no toilet seat, but never mind) by a small, elderly Indian lady who began beseeching me for English money when I emerged. Hard-hearted, I held onto my pounds and pence.

More than an hour and a half later, we’re about to go looking for a cab when it dawns, we don’t have any rupees. This results in another 45 minute wait. Matthew changes £100 (to cut the red tape, I will change some later), and once we leave the booth we discover we are 100 rupees short.

I’m tired, I need a bed, it’s 4.10am and we haven’t left the airport yet. Ah well, we have a year to get it right.

_________

It’s now almost 7pm British time, 11.30pm here, and fortunately bed beckons. But first I will enjoy a duty free brandy and Thumbs Up, the very un-Indian name for (interruption, a huge beetle has just climbed across the counterpane towards me!) Indian cola. I am finally beginning to relax after an unbelievable 15 hours. The taxi journey, in a black and yellow pre-paid cab, paid for by a Dutch guy on business (119 rupees) was an amazing experience. They drive on the left, but there the similarities to British driving end. No one gives way to anyone at roundabouts, everyone drives in the middle of the road, indicators don’t exist – you just point a finger and go, and if someone’s in your way you blare your horn.

We got out at a post hotel with our fellow traveller, but while he headed in for a bath and a rest, we haggled with the taxi driver and ended up walking in the direction of Connaught Place. And the heat…. After haggling (again) over two bottles of Thumbs Up (they got quite annoyed when I wanted to walk away drinking from the bottle), we were picked up by a rickshaw driver who watched us, not the road, drove straight through red lights, and tired to persuade us to stay in a hotel in a really decayed area near New Dehli Station. We decided 225 rupees was too much for a room which was a bit of a dive, so we continued our search for accommodation on foot, in the sweltering city heat.

Constantly approached by people asking for money, hoteliers and rickshaw drivers, we passed animals walking and starving in the streets, and eventually came to a hotel which, though cheap, was even less appealing that the first one we visited. Depression and exhaustion were kicking in, so we got into another rickshaw and headed back to Connaught Place, heads stuck in the Lonely Planet Guide. We decide to head to the Hotel 55, which, at 250 rupees a night should be habitable… It costs 450 per night, but we are tired and just want to get some sleep in a half decent room, and this does the job. We eat a couple of omelettes in our room, and sleep. At 8.30pm we walk in the square where we seem to be the only non-Indian people around. We eat enjoyable dhal in a restaurant designed like an American burger bar.

Back at the hotel, insects are out in force. but the air conditioning and huge ceiling fan are fantastic. Tomorrow will be another story. Welcome to Delhi!

Day 2 – June 4th 1990 – Delhi

Jet lag is proving a bigger problem than we anticipated, so we overslept and, as Hotel 55 was beyond our budget for more than one night, ended up once again trudging through the choc-a-bloc streets of Delhi, rucksacks on our backs, in search of another room.

We found a cheap guesthouse, but the man sitting outside assured us it was full, and we stupidly allowed him to lead us to a plush place. We had told him we were looking for something cheap, but he said we looked rich – fair enough, as our shiny new backpacks probably cost more than several months of his earnings.

He then took us back to the Natraj, one of the hostels we had rejected yesterday. Now 225 rupees seemed reasonable. We unpacked and took our first ride on an Indian bus. It was terrifying! After a big scramble to get on, we found one free seat, so I sat on Matthew’s knee. I was soon hassled by a hand coming from the crowd and grabbing at my money pouch, which held all my travellers’ cheques and every plane ticket between here and home – 12 flights away! Thankfully a kind man noticed my anxiety and let me sit beside Matthew.

As I was attempting to get off at what we hoped was our planned stop, the bus drove off! It seems to stop for virtually nothing, including other traffic. Our destination, the International Youth Centre, out in the suburbs, had gone up in price, so we didn’t book, but braved the bus ride back to the centre. At least this journey was rather less traumatic.

Strolling through the main bazaar, we were intrigued by the droves and droves of people selling their wares, but couldn’t stop and look for too long or we would be hassled to buy. We saw the occasional western face, which momentarily eased the feeling of isolation in what was proving to be a very foreign land. I did buy a pair of (uncomfortable) sandals for 45 rupees and Matthew ordered a pair of hand-tailored trousers. [He bought sandals too and they have just snapped. He plans to take them back. Hmmm].

We rest up in our tiny insect-infested room, then head to the Light Vegetarian Restaurant [did I mention I was a vegetarian?] for dinner – the first food of the day. Ten rupees (33p) for a delicious vegetarian thali seemed like a bargain, though admittedly my appetite waned when a huge cockroach sat on my foot. Another scurried across the floor soon after.

It is hard to get used to being stared at. I was the only female in the café, where everyone seemed to find me intriguing. It was actually good to get back to our little room, even if you could see all the bugs scuttling off the bed the second we switched on the light!

I am finding India challenging. I feel the need to really hold on to my belongings, people are constantly staring or pleading for money, even basic accommodation is more pricey than we had expected, and – though I had been warned – India is proving a very dry country. Not a beer to be had all day!

[2020 postscript: I can’t quite believe our obsession those first two days in Delhi seemed to be finding a room that was both cheap and ‘nice.’ But we had only so much money to do us for a year, and counting the rupees (and all later currencies) was vital. We got better at the room finding and/or became less choosey as time went on!]

Day 3 – June 5th 1990 – Delhi

On the move again – this time into a 70 rupee a night room in a hostel with a window that opens into a corridor and a fire escape blocked by old bedframes and other bits of furniture.  No worse than last night’s room, and a heck of a lot cheaper. Today we had breakfast for a change. An omelette, horrible toast and tea in a café.

We chatted with a Canadian girl who has been travelling alone for two years, but hurrahed when she said she was leaving Delhi tomorrow after only two days. She advised me not to wear shorts in India, advice I have no intention of following as it’s sunny and I want tanned legs. [2020 postscript – this was genuinely my reason…]

We took a rickshaw to the Red Fort which I didn’t find very stimulating.  I was constantly being stared at by the inordinate number of men there and was even followed by some, despite being with Matthew. A couple of men even asked to have their photos taken with me. My shorts and t-shirt are perfectly respectable, I am not blonde – maybe it’s my white skin. I am actually beginning to get used to it, but still find it a bit threatening.

Back in the main bazaar, Matthew picked up his handmade trousers which are a brilliant fit (137 rupees).  A snack, a snooze, a snack and an incredible couple of beers in Connaught Place has left us ready to hit Agra tomorrow. We booked our train at 5pm today, and are hoping not to return to Delhi. At 7.05am we will be on the Taj Express and from Agra we hope to travel on to Simla, and then to Manali in the foothills of the Himalayas for some trekking.

Let’s hope we won’t need a fire escape in the night!

Delhi is an experience not to be missed, but best enjoyed in small doses.

Day 4 – June 6^th 1990 – Delhi to Agra

The dusty streets of Delhi are different at 6am.  The bazaar is quiet, but on either side of the narrow streets, men and women sleep on thin mats beside their stalls. Rickshaw drivers, and in one case a whole family, sleeping in a rickshaw. The cows have free range. The silence is surreal, the distinctive smell of Delhi as pungent as ever.

I had a very hot and sleepless night, so it was good to be comfortably seated on the Taj Express as it made its way out of the city, slums and shanty towns close to the tracks a depressing reminder of the poverty so many live in. Soon we were speeding towards the town famous for the Taj Mahal, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

After around three hours on the train, a rickshaw ride brought us to the Tourist Rest Home, a cheap ‘haven’ after the challenges of Delhi. We got settled in, but had to move rooms when a dose of Delhi belly (me) made us aware that the toilet wouldn’t flush. Poor person who had to sort that one out…. We slept the rest of the day, had a meal in a reasonably priced restaurant, and slept all night.

Day 5 – June 7^th 1990 – Agra

Woke refreshed for a busy day. After breakfast, we hired a rickshaw for the day with a driver who must be aged about 17, but did have all his clothes and all his teeth! We headed to the GPO and even there we were hassled, but I haven’t a clue what for.

Agra Fort was a delight after the Red Fort. Lots of families and only a few stares. I treated myself to a set of shell bangles for 25 rupees. I had bartered these down from 80 rupees and was proud of myself for having driven such a hard bargain, until someone later offered me the same for 10 rupees! I should have heeded our rickshaw driver’s advice.

We headed back to the hostel for a rest and a huge banana lassi (yogurt drink), followed by a trip to Clarke’s Hotel – very posh and pricey (830 rupees per night to stay) but it was only 60 rupees for a swim and a lie by the pool, plus another 48 rupees for a Limca (fizzy lemon drink) and a mineral water. But boy was it worth it. I actually felt like we were on holiday!

Back at the Tourist Rest Home we discovered someone, probably the man who waters the air conditioning, had flooded our room. The carpet was saturated and the smell was rancid. We had no time to worry as our rickshaw driver was taking us to the Taj Mahal for sunset.

Such an experience. A truly beautiful place, exquisitely designed in marble, and testament to a tragic love story. It was designed and built by Emperor Shah Jahan as a mausoleum to his wife who died giving birth to their 13^th child. The whole place has an awe-inspiring aura of calm about it, despite being overrun by tourists. There were very few people dressed in ragged clothing begging for money – instead, there were droves of respectable families with respectable children, all wearing shoes, getting ‘official’ photos taken by licensed (?) photographers. Images of photobooths and ‘Kiss Me Quick’ hats on Brighton Pier came to mind.

The sunset was something of a disappointment – ie, it didn’t happen because a/ it was hazy/cloudy and b/ they kicked us all out before night fell.

But there was time for obligatory photo on the bench at the end of the long pool leading to the front of the Taj. [2020 postscript: The same bench the late Princess Diana posed on, alone, in February 1992. Wearing a cool, loose Indian outfit I had picked up in the bazaar in Delhi, this shot should have been one to treasure, but sadly, I had my eyes closed in it. No digital camera, only 24 shots on a roll of film, only one chance to get it right!]

Though he was young, he was as enterprising as any other rickshaw driver we had encountered, so on our journey back to the hostel we were taken on a detour to a marble factory. Here, we admired some beautiful craftsmanship, but I was not too patient when it came to the over the top friendly persuasiveness of the salespeople. Matthew spent the equivalent of £46 to have two plates shipped home to his parents and sister. I wondered if they would ever reach the UK. [2020 postscript: They arrived in Kent, in perfect condition, more than 10 months later! Oh, me of little faith…]

Back at the Tourist Rest Home we had to change rooms for a second time. Tonight, we discovered a really refreshing new drink – fresh lime soda. Lovely. The only black cloud now is that in order to travel north to Simla (or Shimla), we have to return to Delhi at 7.30am tomorrow and catch a bus for a 10 hour trip get there. Who knows when we will find another bed…

Day 6 – June 8^th 1990 – Agra to Delhi and northward bound

The train journey to Delhi from Agra was uneventful. At New Delhi Station we tried to get information about buses, but to no avail. We did find there was a train to Kalka at 10.45pm tonight, and from there we could take a narrow gauge train to Simla. The ticket cost only £2.50, so we decided to go for it.

It meant carrying our backpacks all day, or abandoning them in the station’s left luggage department. Before we could leave them, officials made us empty everything from the side pockets of the rucksacks. There was no room to squeeze anything more into the main part of my backpack, so I bought a cheap zip up bag to carry everything that had been in the pockets.

We passed a long day in Delhi. We ate in Nirulas, where we had enjoyed dhal on our first night in the city.  I could have sat all day in the air conditioned bar drinking Kingfishers, but at 45 rupees a bottle it was just too extravagant to buy more than one. We changed travellers cheques with difficulty, not having realised the banks closed at 2pm. We spent an hour or so in a park in the centre of Connaught Place, being pestered by numerous people offering drinks, massages, shoe cleaning, smokes and more, before seeking refuge in an upmarket coffee shop. Eventually, we took a rickshaw back to the station, where, for a heart-stopping moment, we could not see our backpacks. Thankfully they were just out of sight and fully intact.

Our first venture through Old Delhi was in a rickshaw, darkness falling around us. As we choked on fumes emanating from lorries and rickshaws, the poor people of Delhi prepared their beds for the night – at the edge of the road, or in small, tent shaped straw huts, 3ft tall, with roofs of polythene, open out onto the street and the suffocating fumes. The poverty was again apparent and distressing.

Old Delhi Station was a treat, as it was much cleaner and somewhat less busy than its ‘New’ counterpart, although by now it was late evening.

The train was a three-tier sleeper, ie there was a top bunk above the bench seat below. This was extremely uncomfortable as a seat, having limited padding and a completely straight back, but was designed to fold up into two bunks, one on top of the others. So three passengers could sleep on the three tiers. Clever, even if not comfie.

Faced by a family of six and several single men, we worried that we would not be able to claim our births. However, after several people got off, the seats were transformed and we settled in for the night. The family looked quite offended when we insisted on pulling all our baggage onto the bunks with us – in my case my backpack and the zip bag I had bought earlier. It was hot, and I didn’t want to wear my money belt all night. [2020 postscript: This was not a pouch or bumbag, but was worn close to the skin and hidden under clothes.] I debated putting it into the zip up bag, but decided instead to tie the strap of the money belt, which was a type of ribbon, to my bra strap and wrapped it in my towel which I used as a pillow, along with my book. The rucksack was at my feet, and the zip up bag just behind my head. We tried to sleep.

Day 7 – June 9^th 1990 – north to Shimla

I wasn’t really conscious of sleeping, but I must have dozed off, and at one stage thought I felt something brush my hair. I sat up and checked – only to find the zip up bag was gone. Panic set in. It was 4.10am and we were stationary in Chandigarh Station. I woke Matthew, then felt around in my towel for my money belt. It wasn’t there. My passport, flight tickets, money, travellers’ cheques…! I became almost hysterical.

Then I saw it hanging, somewhat precariously, but hanging all the same, from my bra strap. Relief flooded through me. There hadn’t been anything valuable in the stolen bag, just the stuff from the rucksack side-pockets. Ok, there was the flash for the camera, but it was weak and we hadn’t really been using it, and the films for the camera, but they were replaceable, bar the two we had used to take photos in Delhi. [2020 postcript: I had wondered when looking through our albums why we had so few pictures from Delhi and Agra. Now I know].

Then Matthew reminded me. My diary – the personal one, not the log book – and my contacts book, and my driving licence, my health certificates (I might never get back into the UK without my Yellow Fever Certificate!), my YHA card,  and my glasses prescription. I felt utterly sick and just wanted to get the hell out of India. I felt violated, cheated and very vulnerable. Losing my diary was the worst, and also all those contacts I had been collecting for months of names and addresses of people around the world.

What use are these things to the nasty person [2020 postscript: Expletive was used] who nicked them? None – yet they meant so much to me.

We woke everyone up and asked questions. We woke the snoring guard in his top bunk, but no one saw anything. And my bag… Well, someone was probably cursing himself for picking the wrong mug. What did he want with three bottles of sun cream, a leaking Vaseline Intensive Care bottle, Immodium tablets and who knows what else. My main worry now is that they might turn my diary into a best-seller!!! [2020 postscript: Yes, I really wrote this, but a good 24 hours had passed between this experience and my writing it down. I can only assume I had rediscovered my sense of humour in the interim].

We continued our journey, changing trains at Kalka, where we climbed aboard a very quaint, but uncomfortable, narrow gauge train. The carriage was small, with wooden slatted seats, and it was packed with people. They were all very smiley, apart from one man who just stared and stared at us both. It gave me the creeps – you would think I would be used to it by now, but after the events at Chandigarh, I still felt very insecure.

The scenery was magnificent as we wound our way slowly up lush green hills and valleys, passing through and under 96 tunnels and bridges, until we reached Shimla, which sits at 7,000 ft above sea level.

We arrived at 2pm, having been travelling more than 15 hours, and were very tired, somewhat depressed and incredibly dirty and smelly. My St Christopher necklace has turned black.

All we want to do is find a bed and a shower, but that is easier said than done.  We refused the services of a ‘porter,’ and carried our rucksacks uphill for about 2km to the YMCA. Shimla is a town created by the British. Many of the houses and buildings are very British in character. The Mall was a haven, as traffic is virtually banned. When the British ruled India, Indians were banned from the Mall too.

The porter, who was apparently ‘going our way,’ refused to leave our side, and when we reached the YMCA to find it was full, he insisted – very forcibly – on grabbing hold of Matthew’s pack and refusing to give it back. It was very hot and we assumed, like the rickshaw drivers, he would be asking for just a few rupees. We had run out of the energy to argue any further, so we gave in and he hoisted my backpack into the air as well.

All around, small, shabbily-clothed men in flip flops or bare feet were bent double under huge bundles or suitcases. They were there to skivvy for the rich Indian holidaymakers and tourists like us. They sweated and toiled while the wealthy of India, all escaping to the hills from the hot, dusty plains, strolled around as if they were walking along the promenade in Newcastle [Co Down] on a dusky summer’s evening.

We tried several hotels without any luck. Someone suggested the White Hotel might have rooms, but our porter, who doggedly held onto our bags despite our insistence that they were too much for him, took us past the White Hotel to another place, which was again full. Despair really kicked in. I had visions of us bedding down in the street.

So we slogged uphill back to the White Hotel where, miracle of miracles, we were able to get a good room with a fantastic view for 215 rupees! Delivering our bags into the room, the porter then asked us for 50 rupees. We were furious, as he had forced himself onto us and practically rugby tackled Matthew for his rucksack when we had neither wanted nor needed his services. We gave him 20 rupees and had to close the door in his face. I hated doing it, but why should we be ripped off? Because we are white?  [2020 postscript: I feel shame when I read this as 50 rupees was less than £2, but as backpackers we were obsessed with not letting anyone ‘rip us off.’]

The air in Shimla is cooler, the sky is bluer, the town only stinks in some places, not all over. There are still people begging, but nothing like the numbers in Delhi. The view from our window is breath-taking, but after gulping down bottled water and taking a shower, our minds will allow us to sleep.

____________

At 8pm we queued at the GPO to phone my mum. There was no answer, which was frustrating, I was both excited and apprehensive as I prepared for my first contact with home since leaving the UK.  But maybe it was for the best, as I am so tired and depressed after being robbed I might have cried and that would have worried her. [2020 postscript: These were the days before mobile phones, internet, or social media. The only way to let people at home know you were alive – and check they were all well – was to book an international call at a central post office. We did of course write letters and cards, and picked up mail from home at various Poste Restantes – but the post was not exactly fast].

We ate in a nondescript restaurant and were asleep again by 10.30pm.

Day 8 – June 10^th 1990 – Shimla

After a good night’s sleep full of wonderful dreams of home, we headed back to the YMCA and yes, they would have a room, we should come back at 11.30am.

More relaxed, we had breakfast and a wander around Shimla. While many of the streets are narrow, littered and not surfaced, the smell and the poverty, while still unmissable, are nothing like Delhi.

The room at the YMCA is great. We’re only guaranteed it for four days as the place is solidly booked for three months. We are very lucky. There is no attached bathroom (Matthew is quite happy, the so-called en-suites we have ‘enjoyed’ to date tended to be cubby holes with a tap and a hole in the ground, and generally smell quite mature). The communal bathroom is large, clean and private, with individual shower rooms.

I was quite red after two hours on the peaceful terrace overlooking the hills – why did they take all our suncream? I devoted the remainder of the day to writing postcards and reading. We tried to phone home again, and this time 200 rupees allowed me to chat to mum for all of two and a half minutes. It was so lovely to hear her voice.

Sitting here, I feel we should be out doing things, but we still have five weeks left in India, Matthew is dosed with the cold, we are permanently tired, and part of me is nervous about leaving the sanctuary of the hostel. I will just have to get out there – walking, trekking, shopping and sight-seeing, but just now it is a daunting prospect. India is a huge and frightening country for an Irish girl who has travelled no further than Europe on two-week package holiday. Five weeks seems an awfully long time…

Day 9 – June 11^th 1990 – Shimla

The sun is shining, a breeze is blowing, the view is beautiful, and suddenly things seem okay again. We gave our dirty washing to a wee man who came knocking at the door at 8.30am, but did some of the underwear sneakily in the shower. At 5 rupees per item, we didn’t feel we could stretch to having our knickers carefully laundered!

After breakfast (six rounds of toast and marmalade, it was against regulations to have just two!) we headed up to the Jakhu Temple, which is home to lots of monkeys. It was a steep climb to 2,455ft and Matthew, with his cold, was struggling.

We made it to the top, along with hundreds of other tourists. The temple was colourful, though somewhat gaudy. The anticipated spectacular view was spoiled by the numerous, very tall conifers rising out of the side of the mountain. But that’s nature, and they had a powerful beauty of their own.

I was again photographed with many young Indian men – I should really get commission! On the return walk, we sampled Chat Masala – a mix of potato pieces, banana, apple, tomato, chilli and various other spices. At only 3 rupees a plate it was a bargain – if a little hot for me!

We lay out on the terrace, fully clothed of course, before posting the postcards and leaving in a film for development. The developing process was expensive, and the results disappointing, so I think we will post films home in future.

I finished ‘Rivals’ by Jilly Cooper. A class bit of ‘light entertainment,’ but it had kept me amused for many hours. I was sorry to close it, but found a Sydney Sheldon for 30 rupees. Matthew got another copy of Rudyard Kipling’s ‘Kim’ to replace the one he lost when my bag was stolen on the train.

We were rather piggy today – chocolate, crisps and ice-cream. We have met two fellow travellers, Mike and Helen, from Yorkshire. They have been in India for 11 days and have both had diarrhoea for seven of them. [2020 postscript: Information shared with permission as this friendship, which began in the YMCA in Shimla, continues three decades later]. This is why I first witnessed Helen sending her boiled egg back to the YMCA kitchen to be properly hard boiled. They were also stuffed with the cold, and said they had been to a chemist in search of a cure for they fear may have turned in amoebic dysentery. They have my sympathies – so far I have been very lucky health wise.

Tonight, England and Ireland play each other in their first matches of the 1990 World Cup in Italy. We plan to watch it in the TV room, though whether I can stay awake until the 12.10am kick-off remains to be seen.

Day 10 – June 12^th 1990 – Shimla

Ireland and England drew 1-1 last night. I was only able to stay awake long enough to watch the first half, but although they were losing 0-1 when I left, I’d definitely say Ireland was the better side. And I’m not biased!

We got our laundry back this morning. It smells a bit like it’s been dry cleaned, but looks great, all for 72 rupees. It is nice to have a towel again!

Armed with fresh tomatoes, cucumber and an onion, plus water, chocolate and crisps, we headed for The Glen, an apparently popular picnic spot 4km from Shimla. All downhill, it took us an hour and a half to get there. We could have been in leafy Devon or in the Glens of Antrim, the forest we passed through was so lush and green.

We hardly saw a soul until we reached the shady Glen, where an Indian guy, well dressed and well spoken, caught up with us. After welcoming us to India, and saying he hoped we had a good impression of the people here (we made appropriate polite noises and didn’t mention the theft on the train), he went on to tell us how wonderful he was – sports, languages, friends across the world etc. Yawn. After about half an hour of one-sided conversation, we had yawned so much he left. It was rude of me to be so disinterested, I know, but it was just so lovely to be alone and we were really ready for our picnic. He was very friendly though, which makes a nice change.

After the exhausting climb back to the YMCA, we ventured into the Rendezvous Bar and Restaurant, which was something similar to a pub as we would know it! We had a bottle of beer in the dark interior and headed back outside on weary legs, only to be followed by a rather drunk (which is very unusual) Indian man who grabbed Matthew’s arm. “We have a bet,” he said. “Is your female 19 or not?” Huh! [2020 postscript: For some reason I think I was offended by this. I was 25!]

Day 11 – June 13^th 1990 – Shimla

Today, we experienced our first monsoon-type storm. Torrential rain and low cloud completely transformed the town. We sheltered and ate in a restaurant on the Mall, joined by a girl about to head back to Delhi that evening, before leaving India for home. She was not happy that, having paid to stay in the YMCA for previous five nights, she was being asked for 10 rupees to leave her luggage at the hostel for a couple of hours after check-out time and, even more shocking (!!!), she was told if she need to use the loo after check-out, it would cost her 20 rupees! [2020 postscript: That fury at being ‘ripped off’ was not exclusive to Matthew and me].

Mike and Helen from Harrogate have decided to travel on to Kullu with us, so we have booked 2^nd class tickets for the bus leaving on Thursday.

The rain had dried up, and we spent the afternoon wandering around the bazaar where we came across a man who had only stumps where his arms and legs should have been. He had no fingers or toes. He was lying on his back on a thin mat, wearing only a pair of trunks, in the middle of the main walkway through the bazaar. He was pushing a metal tin containing a few coins with his right arm stump. With each push, the coins rattled in the tin. We gave him some change, but walked on, stunned and feeling quite ill. How can it be that a man so badly disabled has to crawl on his back in a street to get money on which to live? Who carried him to that place to beg each day, for he certainly could not move any distance of his own will? And how can he have survived this long?

Later, we enticed Mike and Helen to the Rendezvous (our local!) where we join a couple of honeymooners for a drink. India is one place, out of many, that I would not choose to come to on a honeymoon – give me County Donegal any day! The craic was good, but I am finding the beer (Golden Eagle) isn’t great – and I am no connoisseur.

Day 12 – June 14^th1990 – Shimla to Kullu

Today was spent on a very uncomfortable bus. It took nine hours to cover the 235km to Kullu, a small town set in the Kullu Valley. Squashed side-by-side in the fanless bus, the journey down through the hills as far as Mandi was particularly unpleasant, made worse by the fact that I needed a wee!

When we stopped in a village boasting a sign for a ‘Laedies’ I leapt out. But on entering said Laedies, I almost retched. The floor and toilet bowl were covered in faeces, flies were everywhere and the smell was gross. I had to get out of there and hold on.

When I could hold on no longer I ended up having to do my business in something even worse. The bus stopped by some stalls and shacks on the roadside, and I was directed down the hill a few yards towards a concrete structure with no door. Inside, there was no hole in the floor and no washbasin – just concrete completely covered in excreta. This time I had to hold my breath and get on with it. There is no shortage of water in this area. I cannot understand why such sickening and unsanitary conditions can be allowed just yards from where stalls are selling food to passing buses and drivers.

It poured as we began to climb through the valley alongside the Beas River, but in spite of the rain, the scenery was spectacular. Excitement rose when we came upon two minivans which had bumped into each other going round a bend. Within minutes, six busloads of people, plus dozens of locals, were crowding round the two vehicles. It took far longer to clear the road of people than it did to move the two vans!

A few kilometres further on, a brightly coloured ‘Public Carrier’ lorry was lying on its side in the road, but this time we just drove on past.

Tired and hungry, but exhilarated by the beautiful surroundings, the four of us headed to the Prem Dhabar restaurant where we were told we could not drink alcohol on the premises under any circumstances. Quite incredibly, we had met Ralf at the hostel in Kullu. He is the Dutch guy who shared the taxi from Delhi Airport with us when we first arrived in India, and we had also run into him at the Red Fort in Delhi!

Ralf joined us for dinner, had a word with the waiter – though what he said I don’t know – and soon we were all drinking cold beer subtly concealed in a metal jug and metal tankards. It was all very clandestine! The amusing thing was that, when the waiter brought us a second jug, it had a head that would have done a Guinness proud, frothing over the top! [2020 postscript: Apparently Guinness doesn’t froth, but I expect you get the picture].

Marijuana grows wild in the Kullu Valley [2020 postscript: It was not classed as an illegal drug and everywhere you went there was a fug of marijuana scented smoke from roll-up cigarettes]. It is everywhere and was quite intriguing to us naïve westerners – or to me at least. We picked a couple of leaves, thinking a quick nibble would give us the same happy feeling as three bottles of beer. Ralf, clearly a man of the world, told us not to be so daft, as the leaves were useless until they were dried. He then disappeared and came back with a stick of something black and crumbly. Roll-up cigarettes were prepared but, as a non-smoker, I had no intention of touching the stuff. “Nibble it,” someone said. Inquisitiveness and a desire to do something naughty and a little bit daring encouraged me to try a few crumbs. With the salted crisps you could barely taste it.

At midnight I felt nothing, and was giving off that the stuff was useless – I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.

At 3am I was awake, shivering, unable to focus, so dizzy I was afraid to stand up. The room was spinning, I felt I was talking incoherently, and my mouth was so dry that my tongue felt like it was sticking to the roof of my mouth and I couldn’t talk at all. I was afraid to go to sleep in case my mouth dried up so much I couldn’t breathe. I ran out of bottled water and had to fill a bottle with water from the tap in the bathroom and add purifying tablets, brought from home in case we got stuck in a jungle and had to drink from a stream. The purified water made me want to vomit [2020 postscript: Imagine drinking a litre of swimming pool water] and I was convinced I was dying. “Tell my mum and dad I love them,” I told Matthew, who – knowing exactly what was wrong with me – for the most part ignored my dramatics and tried to carry on sleeping.

I couldn’t understand how I could feel this way. I had only had a couple of crumbs of the stuff. I didn’t sleep at all until dawn had broken and the terrors of the night had eased. [2020 postscript: I never did another naughty thing again in the course of my travels. Reckless – yes; dangerous – yes. But naughty – no way!].

Day 13 – June 15^th 1990 – Kullu

I felt completely out of it all day. Shaky, like I had a bad hangover, but without the headache. Never again. Ever.

We went walking up into the hills. As we passed one isolated house, a 69-year-old man, wearing a colourful Tibetan-style hat which is very popular here, invited us onto his veranda for tea. He showed us pictures of his family, and changed into a suit so we could take photographs of him. “Freedom is a gift from Heaven,” he kept saying. [2020 postcript: Sadly, I don’t seem to have a photo of the man I am talking about, though I can picture him in my mind, posing on his veranda in his best clothes, as if it happened only yesterday. Perhaps Mike or Helen took the picture. But he did give us an address on an envelope (right – edited for data protection reasons) to post it to. Apologies to Mr Akers for failure to send on his picture. Updated Postscript. Having established that Mike and Helen did not take the photo of Mr Akers, and having, Sherlock-style, searched through my ‘mind palace’ going back three decades, I think there is a possibility I did post the photo to Kullu. So a happy outcome after all – perhaps!]

Day 14 – June 16^th 1990 – Kullu

Fully recovered today, which is just as well as we went white water rafting on the Beas River, and one of the rules was that participants should not be under the influence of alcohol or drugs!

We got a lift to a campsite 5kms from Kulla with the guy from Snow Leopard Adventures who has organised the rafting. After tea and a safety talk, we were kitted out in life-vests and safety hats. Valuables, cameras etc locked away, we hoisted ourselves into the boats and we set off down the rapids.  We had to paddle hard as for the first 5kms, as there were only six of us in the boat, including Mojo, our main man. It was hard work, and quite frightening because we did get flung about a bit as we went through huge waves and currents, and over big rocks – but it was absolutely wonderful at the same time.

Helen was flung against a wooden box and grazed and bruised her shins when we went crashing through an enormous wave – I thought we were all goners then!

We pulled in for a pit stop and some ‘Frooti’ (mango juice) and here we were joined by three others. After a silly ‘prayer’ (we had to run around 15 times with our chins resting on our paddles looking up to the sky), we were back on the river. It was a huge disappointment to get to the end of the 16km run – it had been so exhilarating – but lunch back at the camp (we returned by jeep) was probably the best meal we have had in India so far.

We hung around the river for two hours, sitting on the rocks, paddling, enjoying the sun – total relaxation – until Ajeet from Snow Leopard drove us back to the town – all with very red arms, red noses and red knees. It was such a beautiful day.

Day 15 – June 17^th 1990 – Kullu to Naggar

Matthew and Mike watched England draw with Holland late last night, while Helen and I stayed in and slept. Mike and Helen left at 3.30am to catch the bus back to Shimla and from there they were getting a train to Delhi. I didn’t envy them the journey as I went back to sleep.

After breakfast, Matthew and I caught – with some difficulty – a bus to Katrain, about 13km from Kullu. It was crowded and hot. We then trekked (!!!) 5km, or a little more, up a steep hillside on the east bank of the Beas River to the village of Naggar. We were headed to the historic Naggar Castle where we had booked a room. A friendly little old man pointed out a shortcut, which was great as our packs were getting heavier, our water supply lower, and while the sun was blazing, huge thunder clouds were rumbling not too far away.

As we climbed the almost vertical road through Naggar, no castle was to be seen. Surely it wasn’t that structure that looked like two sheds on top of some stonework on the brow of the hill? It was.

Our basic room opened onto a covered outdoor walkway. The view was amazing, but the rains came on soon after our arrival. It was spectacular – I don’t think I have ever seen such heavy rain, small wonder the land around here is so rich and fertile.

We have since rested, showered (or rather tapped ourselves down as there is no shower head) eaten, and got someone to fix the bolt on our door which was broken. Now I have finished writing, I think I will sleep. It’s a pity the room is full of flies and some dog won’t stop barking.

Day 16 – June 18^th 1990 – Naggar

Matthew was very ill in the night with a bad headache, vomiting and diarrhoea. He couldn’t sleep because his limbs were aching and shaking. He has had a fever and no energy all day, but as I write this I think I can see a bit of an improvement.  It is worrying when you don’t know what is wrong – I keep imagining malaria, pneumonia or worse, but hopefully it is just a bad case of Delhi-belly.

I spent the day sunbathing, reading and sitting with Matthew.  Naggar Castle isn’t the worst place to pass a day – the scenery is magnificent. Unfortunately the toilets smell, the staff could be more friendly and the food is expensive. We are in bed by 9pm. Fingers crossed for a good night.

Day 17 – June 19^th 1990 – Naggar

Matthew was much better today, thank goodness. In fact, he said he actually felt fit, so we strolled (with strolled being the operative word) down to the bottom of the village to check bus times to Manali tomorrow. The sun was shining and it was lovely.

We had a quick lunch at the Poonam Restaurant next to the Castle, and made the mistake of returning for tea, when it took two hours from getting there until we were given our bill. The food was awful, it was late coming, and they got it wrong. We won’t be back, as they say! I did manage to down a beer – Matthew wasn’t up to joining me – but it didn’t taste much better than it did in the metal cups in the Prem Dhabar in Kullu.

Back to the day. After lunch we rested and listened to the thunder rumbling over the nearby mountains as it seems to every afternoon, before setting out on a ‘mini-trek’ to a village about 2km away. It was a lovely walk through really spectacular scenery. The village was a revelation – like stepping back a couple of centuries in time.

The houses were made of wood and raised on stilts, with the animals sleeping below. The people farmed the very fertile land by hand and carried the fruits of their labour on their backs. There was no road, and hence no cars.

We met lots of children, all calling ‘Alloo, alloo’ in their beautiful voices. They are all very Tibetan in appearance, attractive and, though their clothes were scruffy, they looked well fed and healthy. The children were quite intrigued by us, demanding photos and paisos. They called us ‘Ippies’ – I wonder if they believe us to be those European ‘freaks’ the guidebook keeps mentioning? [2020 postscript: That word probably won’t appear in today’s guide books I don’t imagine, but at the time was used to refer to the ‘hippies’ who spent extended periods living in and around Manali].

As usual, the marijuana grows everywhere, the thought of it just makes me feel ill. We had a hairy moment when a dog in the village ran at us growling ferociously, but he watched us warily from a distance – just guarding his property.

Now, after that horrible dinner – and spotting the largest, most turquoise butterfly / moth I have ever seen – we are preparing to hit Manali tomorrow.

Day 18 – June 20th 1990 – Naggar to Manali

There are days when any traveller is bound to feel homesick and a little depressed – in fact, very fed up, and this was one of them. By 5pm I was ready to give up – well, almost. I am just sick and tired of the dirt and stench, of not being able to find a clean bed or a flushable toilet. [2020 postscript: I do like to whinge, don’t I!]

The bus from Naggar to Manali arrived half an hour late. It was a real boneshaker. There were cracks everywhere, the seats were all askew and wobbled precariously at every bump and bend, and the door kept flying open. More and more people got on the closer we got to Manali, until I was buried in a rear corner underneath two rucksacks, a sunhat and a bottle of mineral water!

On arrival in Manali, we were greeted by a man offering us a room – ‘very clean, only 60 rupees’ he assured us. The room was in the much talked about Western haunt of Old Manali, only 10-15 minutes’ walk.

The town was packed with people, cars, ponies and donkeys. It was dusty, smelly and hot. The 15-minute walk with backpacks took half an hour. The promised room was dingy and dirty, with a trunk and two mismatched dirty beds, plus a million flies. Depressing.

We needed to eat to restore some energy. Because of the number of white faces around, I was quite excited to find a café offering a veggie burger – visions of Wimpy’s wonderful spiced bean burgers had my mouth watering. Sadly, this veggie burger turned out to be fried vegetables between two slices of bread. I was so disappointed!

With tomorrow night in mind, we decided to have a look around and see what other accommodation might be available, but everything nice was too expensive, and everything cheap was disgusting. We walked miles, and eventually came across a peculiar little wooden building, quite newly built, up a hill beside a forest and some paddy fields. The room in the quaintly named Asha Cottage, at 75 rupees, was small but clean and even had a little verandah overlooking the fields. We paid for it there and then and rushed back to Old Manali to grab our gear. Then the great escape! We made it without having to do any explaining to the guy who had led us there. [2020 postscript: This Asha Cottage in Manali is likely to be the same place we stayed, but there has been some upgrading done since 1990 – including ensuite rooms].

Things were looking up, but we were very tired. As we walked up to Asha Cottage, Matthew fell and went floundering in the mud, and I caught my backpack on some barbed wire running along the handrail (?). We then discovered that the communal toilet was in a hut down some very muddy, slippery steps.

More devastating was finding out that it would not be possible to phone home from Manali. Knowing there was no way of making contact with family once we were trekking, we had planned to call from here. The thought of heading into the mountains not knowing how things are at home, or being able to tell them we are both well, was awful.

I broke down in hysterics for half an hour before pulling myself together. We later went for a thali in town with a British couple staying in the room below us.

Day 19 – June 21^st 1990 – Manali

As usual, the bright light of day makes everything okay, and as I gazed out of our little room, onto paddy fields being ploughed by two lumbering oxen and an impatient man (fields that were fully planted by that evening), at huge pine forests stretching up the hillsides, topped by the snow-capped Himalayas, I could not help but appreciate that India isn’t that bad.

After a lazy lie-in, we set off in search of trekking possibilities. All organised treks were very expensive, and the trek we had set our minds on – the Baralacha Pass – was not recommended at this time of the year due to snow. We left a notice at the tourist office, so hopefully someone might be waiting to meet us tomorrow. [2020 postscript: I am not sure what the notice said – perhaps just an appeal for someone prepared to take the two of us into the mountains].

We had a couple of beers on our veranda and ate vegetable biryani in a funny little open air café where all the cooking was done outside. Many of our fellow diners looked like the stereotypical hippy – in fact Manali, in particular Old Manali, is swarming with hippies. They have communes around here – something to do with the excessive amount of marijuana, I guess.

In order to make contact with home, and assure our families that we are alive and well, but will be disappearing off radar for a couple of weeks, we have sent a telegram (yes, a TELEGRAM!) to Matthew’s parents. Hopefully it will reach them soon, as we do not want them to be worrying about us. [2020 postscript: How fantastic were our parents letting us disappear for a full year!]

The meal was ‘yuk,’ but the setting was interesting. There were a lot of bugs in our room tonight – I will definitely be zipping myself into my sleeping bag rather than lying on top of it. [2020 postscript: Matthew’s mum sent us off with a net curtain each,  which seemed a little odd, but proved to be a Godsend, particularly on hot, sticky nights in airless rooms. The bedding (often there was just a sheet) in most cheap hostels didn’t always look the cleanest, so we slept on our sleeping bags, and the net curtain provided a cool but comfortable barrier to mosquitos and other bugs that generally shared our sleeping quarters. A simple, inexpensive mosquito net really].

Day 20 – June 22^nd 1990 – Manali

No-one was waiting for us at the tourist office at 12 noon, which wasn’t really surprising as our notice was barely visible. We headed to one of the agencies we had spoken to yesterday, and sussed out a trek with a group from Sweden. We were just getting cash from the bank when we saw a couple we had noticed in the tourist office yesterday looking at details of the trek to the lake at Chandra Tal, which goes via Baralacha.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, so we got talking to them [2020 postscript: The couple were from Australia. I have changed their names as they never gave permission for me to write about them online – online of course being an unheard of term in 1990! – so I will call them Jane and Paul]. After a weighing up various pros and cons, we decided to go with them on the trek we had originally wanted to do. It would cost us 3,000 rupees each, but should be worth it.

We ate with them later, and shared some Aristocrat Whisky (which tastes like brandy) back at Asha Cottage. But I have a dreadful headache and the heat is going to make it difficult to sleep. Our trek leaves, by bus, the day after tomorrow.

Day 21 – June 23^rd 1990 – Manali

Well, the headache was a bad omen. At 5am I woke feeling very unwell and rushed to the loo. On my second visit to the hut down the slippery, muddy steps, I ended up [2020 postscript: Trying to come up with a way of saying this politely] vomiting at the very same time as having a non-solid bowel movement. [2020 postcript: How did I do?!] It is fortunate the hut had a ‘proper’ sit down toilet! This was to be the pattern for the rest of the day.

At 8am Matthew went into town to get me some tablets. Paul, who is joining us on the trek, is a doctor, and he said they were good.  I wasn’t able to keep them down long enough to find out. I visited the hut 10 times during the day, but at 6pm I had convinced myself it must just be a 24-hour bug, so we decided planning for the trek should go ahead.

Matthew, Paul and Jane left the belongings we did not intend to take on the trek with us in Vashist, a nearby village where the trek organiser is based. Meanwhile, I had a craving for cold orange juice, which I took to be a good sign. Sadly all we had in the room was warm Frooti. I gave it a go, and miracle of miracles, it stayed down!

Matthew headed to a café for some food. He was gone two hours and I got very worried, sitting on the veranda waiting for him, especially after hearing lots of gunshots. It transpires these were probably in the hills, but I had visions of a bloodbath in Manali, with Matthew in the middle of it. Clearly the dehydration was giving me hallucinations! Thankfully, I was feeling much better when I went to bed, having enjoyed another Frooti – this time nice and cold!

Day 22 – June 24^th 1990 – Manali to Darcha

I felt much better today, thank goodness! Had a ‘tap down’ at 6.30am and met Paul and Jane, as well as the trek organiser and our guide Nank in town, where there was a Jeep waiting to take us to Darcha. Although it is only 80-90km away, the road, which took us over the spectacular Rohtang Pass, billed by the Indians as the highest road in the world, was rough and full of bends.

We rarely got over 30km per hour, and it was very hot in the Jeep. But although the roads were heart-stoppingly scary, the views were brilliant. We stopped off several times for tea – Chai, which is made with ginger, sugar, condensed or powdered milk and is a real pick-me-up. I had an omelette and a couple of sandwiches which stayed down okay, although after all yesterday’s vomiting etc, my stomach is very bruised and sensitive.

The road up to the Rohtang Pass (where we took the photos – shorts and snow!) was walled on both sides by ice, 20 metres high. The sky was bluer than I have ever known it, the puffy clouds blindingly white, and the sharp, snow-capped peaks all around were breath-taking.

As we continued, the road conditions deteriorated – the Jeep got stuck in the mud at one stage – and when we reached the outskirts of Darcha, the road disappeared – literally! A huge river fuelled by melting glacier ice washed over the bridge to the town. It was time for our first adventure.

Backpacks on, boots in our hands, we stepped into the raging rapids. The water was absolutely freezing, it made me feel quite faint. The stones from the river covered part of the road, which was rough on bare feet, and the knee-deep water was literally rushing against our legs. The trek organiser took my arm at one point, support which I was very thankful of.

Boy was it a relief to get to the other side and feel the blood again coursing through my frozen toes. Camp was only a few yards from the river and there we were met our four porters. Tents (A-frame – think Boy Scout or Girl Guide camp) were quickly put up, and we prepared for an evening of chat. That was about 6pm.

Nank relaxed with a roll-up (marijuana), the cooks started to rattle up something which smelt wonderful in their tatty tent, and darkness fell – first gradually and then dramatically. Suddenly, the sky was ablaze with millions and millions of stars, more than could ever be seen in the UK or possibly anywhere in the world. In the jet black beyond, we could see the occasional satellite picking its way round the orbit of the Earth.

And over the looming silhouettes of the mountains, weird lights flashed continuously, like lightening – only there were no storm clouds and no thunder. This continued throughout the night. Paul said it had something to do with static electricity. I must admit, I found it a little frightening.

Mannu, our cook, is the only porter who speaks English and has already been nick-named ‘Mad Mannu.’ He talks incessantly, sings and dances and seems to be a very happy person to be around. He also cooked pretty impressive Dahl, vegetables, rice and chapati!

We learned a lesson (yet again) – namely put your sleeping bags out before, not after, it gets dark. We went to bed (if that’s what you call a roll mat and sleeping bag) by candlelight at 10pm – we should have remembered to bring more batteries for the torch. Flashing lights and gusty wind woke me a few times, but it was reasonably comfortably. I will have to get used to the idea of ‘popping outside’ into the darkness for a middle-of-the-night pee as we will be sleeping under canvas for 10 nights!

Day 23 – June 25^th 1990 – Trekking

Woke at 5.30am feeling lively and ready to go – unfortunately I dozed off again and had a real job extricating myself from my sleeping bag at 7.30am. What is it about warm sunshine on a tent?

It was a beautiful day and already very hot. After a pretty horrible breakfast of chapatti stuffed with potato, with tomato ketchup on the side, and two cups of chai, we started walking at 9.15am. The first part was steep and dusty. Fortunately our packs are light, but the porters, who are walking in flip-flops, are struggling to keep pace under huge loads including tents, paraffin, food for 10 days, cooking equipment etc. I felt pangs of guilt when I looked across at them, but basically I know I could not walk with much more on my back than I am already carrying. [2020 postscript: In relation to the food – there was supposed to be sufficient for 10 days – but was there? You will have to read on!]

Once over the rough section (about 3km) the next 9km was along a seldom-used road which leads to Leh. Like the road we drove up yesterday, this road was in very bad condition and was extremely bendy. Nank pointed out the remains of an ill-fated army truck in the river, a couple of hundred feet below the road. Apparently – and hardly surprisingly – several perished in that accident. I am amazed we don’t see more wrecks like this.

We stopped regularly, and as it was so hot we ended up drinking a lot of water from streams. It was clear, delicious and – hopefully – safe. At around 4pm we reached a beautiful little lake, Deepak Tal, which was surrounded by glaciers and had several icebergs floating in it. The boys played skimmers and Mannu entertained us as we rested.

We had to cross a couple of rivers which overflowed the road, but only went barefoot once. The second time we kept our boots on. As expected, the water was icy cold.

At 5pm we arrived at a very pleasant, green area and got the tents up just before it started to pour with rain. I emphasise the ‘green’ because this is a very barren, dusty area – brown rocks, lots of shale, dirty glaciers around an even dirtier river. [2020 postscript: This is very natural dirt. Apparently the river water has a dirty appearance because it is formed from glacier ice, which moves down the valley towards the sea, melting somewhat along the way, and picking up new layers of ice and dirt as it grows from the bottom up]. Despite the landscape, the mountain peaks in the distance keep it beautiful.

The evening so far has been spent writing, playing cards, washing at a nearby stream, doing a little rock climbing and now, as darkness falls, we are getting ready for dinner. After half a chapatti and one slice of bread all day, I need it. Then bed. There is a new moon tonight, but no doubt there will be more of those weird flashing lights in the sky.

Later: We did have a spectacular light show, illuminating the clouds, soon after dark. It was even more amazing, and more eerie, than last night. But it had stopped when I exited the tent facilities to use the facilities (ie a rock big enough to crouch behind) at 2am.

Day 24 – June 26^th 1990 – Trekking

When we signed up for this trek we had anticipated being back in Manali in 11 days, but Nank tells us it is more likely to be 14, which is fine – just as long as we get to Delhi for our flight to Hong Kong on July 13. Nank also warned us that we will have to wade across two waist-deep rivers in the next few days – something to look forward to!

We were up bright and early after a good night’s sleep. The scenery is still rather barren and we spent a long lunch-break beside a peculiar little ‘café’ in the middle of nowhere. Here, we met a group of Indian trekkers who were nearing the end of their hike – they were doing the same route as us, only the other way round.

We faced a few steep climbs. I found it easier to steam ahead at my own pace, which was quite pleasant – if I had gone more slowly, I think might have fallen over backwards with the weight of my pack. We set up camp on rough, flat, ground beside a little temple, or shrine, at around 4pm. Putting up the tents proved difficult because the ground was very rocky.

We then attempted to do some washing in the freezing, silty river water. So far, I haven’t had the chance to have a decent wash, and walking is so dirty, dusty and sweaty, but I guess being dirty is part of the adventure. And we all smell equally bad!

It’s pretty chilly now, so I’ll probably stay snug in the tent until dinner time. The evening meals so far have been lovely, but otherwise the food is disappointing – chapatti, honey and/or peanut butter for breakfast and dry bread and honey for lunch. The porridge we were promised for breakfast has not materialised and we gather from Mannu that the sack of porridge was inadvertently left in the Jeep when we got out to cross the river at Darcha.

We did buy some eggs at the ‘café,’ so I am looking forward to an omelette tomorrow, which should set us up for what promises to the a tough climb to Baralacha Pass.

Day 25 – June 27^th 1990 – Trekking

Camping at 16,000ft poses quite a few problems. At present (6pm) I am sitting shivering in my sleeping bag with a stinking headache which would do any hangover proud. During the four and a half hour uphill hike, my legs were weak, I felt shaky and dizzy, and at times was so short of breath I wasn’t sure if I could go on.

By the time we reached Baralacha Pass at 1pm I was feeling quite out of everything. As I had only eaten a tiny omelette all day, Paul said I could be hypoglycemic, or something like that – all to do with hyperventilating, CO2, blood sugar levels, etc. My headache came on after lunch (noodles in spiced tomato soup), but everyone has bad heads and painful cracked lips. The former we think is a result of altitude sickness – even Nank and one of the porters is suffering. [2020 postscript: What a pity we couldn’t have dipped into the NHS website to check this out before climbing so high so quickly, but of course, it was 1990!]

Although tough, it was an interesting 15km. We left at 8.20am and on several occasions had to walk across icy glaciers. The worst was a steep uphill of about 50m. Jane and Paul adopted a side-step, while I went for the old herringbone style. Boy was it knackering!

We tried to flag down a lone passing truck in the hope of walking a few more kilometres beyond Baralacha to save a day or so at the end, but the truck drove on past. Fortunately, the porters got a lift in an army ambulance and had their tents pitched and tea on the boil when we reached the Pass. En route, we passed another lake, again afloat with icebergs. Because we arrived so early, we did consider trekking on, but stayed put, as everyone is suffering from exhaustion, headaches and, very probably, hunger!

Day 26 – June 28^th 1990 – Trekking

Altitude sickness gives you more than just a minor headache. Had I woken anywhere else, after a virtually sleepless night, feeling the way I did, I would probably have spent the day in bed with a damp cloth on my forehead, as overnight my headache seems to have morphed into a fully-fledged migraine.

But when you are trekking in the Himalayas, that option doesn’t exist. Although we were up at 5.15am, we did not get organised to leave until 7.15. For six and a quarter hours, we trudged across a plateau of mud and slushy snow, several feet deep. We also crossed two rivers – boots on, trousers rolled up. Our feet were so saturated by the snow it didn’t really matter.

Everyone is still suffering headaches. We set up camp in a pleasant green spot close to some streams, but so far I have felt too ill to venture from the tent. At least it’s much warmer here than Baralacha, but the temperature is dropping as night falls.

Day 27 – June 29^th 1990 – Trekking

Another night of poor sleep followed by a tough day.  My head is still aching and the porters had to relieve me of my pack when I threw up soon after setting out this morning. Walking was exhausting, even without a backpack.

At one stage we had to cross a wide, raging river. We walked along its bank for a couple of kilometres trying to find the best place to cross. There wasn’t one, so we ended up crossing all in a row, holding onto each other’s shoulders. The water was over thigh-high and freezing cold, and the current could easily have swept a single person downstream. One of our courageous little porters crossed earlier – he nearly went over, but thankfully he made it to the other side.

It has been a very hot day. Again the landscape is barren and most of the walking is over rocks and shale. Not easy. Once at camp, I managed my first food of the day – two bowls of veg soup and noodles. I actually dragged myself to a stream to wash my hair and as many other places as I could modestly manage.

The headache and nausea are easing off a bit. [2020 postscript: Hallelujah! Sad to say, that feeling of recovery was short lived. It is quite shocking to look back and see how unwell I was for so much of this trek but, if like me at the time, you are about to give up, please don’t.  I promise that once we descend a few thousand feet, each day won’t start with a sentence containing the word ‘headache’ – though the challenges will continue. If truth be told, they continue until we leave India, but after that there are lots of cheerful days to come, I promise!]

Day 28 – June 30^th 1990 – Trekking

We reached the lake at Chandra Tal around 5pm, after a challenging nine-hour walk, covering 20+km.  My head is still sore, and we didn’t have any lunch, bar finishing off the last packet of biscuits. Most of the walking was up and down along a track on the edge of a cliff, no more than a foot wide. It was hair-raising and took a lot of concentration.

We had to cross another fast flowing river at the start of the day, and over the next nine hours I fell into two more, so was permanently soaked. As we ploughed on, a thunderstorm surrounded us and for a while we struggled under a barrage of stinging hail.

Around us, a huge valley stretched for miles and miles. Chandra Tal was reputedly at the bottom somewhere. But where?  My legs kept giving up, breathing was hard, and finally at the top of a steep hill three hours from the lake, I had such a fit of breathlessness and tears Nank took my pack off me again.

Matthew stayed to the rear with me as we staggered into our lakeside camp some time after the others. The beauty of Chandra Tal was dissipated by the rain and low-hanging clouds, which seemed to reflect my mood perfectly.

Tonight we have company – the group of Swedes who we had originally considered joining are here and in buoyant mood. They ploughed naked into the lake, their antics almost raising a smile  – almost! My first bowl of soup and noodles didn’t stay down for long, but later I managed another bowl. Apparently, we have run out of food! The potatoes and cabbage we had the other day, plus the eggs, were bought out of Nank’s own pocket. Matthew is angry with the trek organiser, sitting pretty back in Manali, because he has not provided us with decent food – which is one of the reasons I am sick and not getting better. Nank agrees. He said this is the worst food he has ever had on a trek he has guided.

Day 29 – July 1^st 1990 – Trekking

‘Mad’ Mannu, whose spirits are always so high he makes me feel like a right misery guts, took a bath in the lake this morning wearing fluorescent green and purple boxer shorts. He then offered to carry my pack for the 15km hike ahead.

I trudged along, keeping up the rear. Once again I fell into two rivers, banged my shin and knee quite badly on some rocks, and my Achilles is bruised and clicking because of the rough terrain. What’s more, one of my laces is about to break!!! [2020 postscript: Could this be the last straw…?]

The weather has been horrible (it’s pouring on the tent as I write this) so we can’t do any washing or get anything, including boots or socks, dried. What kept me going on today’s walk was moaning, which I did frequently (I think Matthew has about had enough), and the knowledge that we were camping in a village where there was a shop – with the possibility of Frooti and Bournville chocolate – AND hopefully a bus or a lift back to Manali. I was determined this would be my last day walking.

Some chance! The ‘village’ was one ‘café’ run by a very sweet couple. They made us black tea, and we all stuffed our faces with biscuits. It was amazing how much better I felt after that!

But the road has not been open for nine months, which meant no chocolate, no Frooti, nor any kind of fresh produce. And the nearest bus is three days walk away so I will have to keep trekking. It is just as well the biscuits have perked me up and hopefully restored some of my energy.

Incredibly, the boys have got hold of some spuds, so, if Mannu has understood my request, it will be plain boiled potatoes for tea – yum. [2020 postscript: Mannu indeed made me plain boiled potatoes, beautifully sliced and despite being served cold, they were possibly the most delicious, nutritious thing I had ever tasted!].

The Swedish group is here too, including a couple we had nick-named Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee back in Manali, because they wore the same clothes, were rather rotund and held hands continuously. If they can finish the trek – so can I!

And tonight, if I feel up to it, I might join the others in the café for cards and ‘local wine’ – but that’s a big if.

Last night, a horse ran into our tent. It was very exciting. I shouted and he ran off, but I woke everyone else in the process. Then I checked to see if our rucksacks had been tampered with but they hadn’t – clever horse.

[2020 postscript: I am not sure when exactly on the trek the photo below was taken – I suspect it was over the course of the next few days as we appear to be dry, the land is green, and we look happy! I am including it now because I am very relieved that the tone of my writing have finally gone a little upbeat and sneaking a look at tomorrow’s blog, I actually use the word ‘pleasant’ in relation to our walk. Please keep reading – it’s all downhill (in the literal sense) from here on!]

Day 30 – July 2^nd 1990 – Trekking

Looks like we will have another two days walking after today, which was actually a pleasant 16km stroll, mostly downhill, along a road which at times gave way to huge glaciers and landslides. Nank was in bad form, suffering from a hangover after drinking loads of that awful local wine last night – we had a good evening in the café, scoffing biscuits. The others ate Bombay mix and fried potatoes and onions, while I was more than happy with my boiled spuds.

My ankles are sore today, particularly my left Achilles tendon, but Paul says it is only bruised.

On our route, we met ponies, some local men and a thousand sheep and beautiful goats. The shepherd begged us to send him a photo so we took his name and address. He was very sweet. Then his assistant (do shepherds have assistants?) also stopped for a chat. So much socialising was quite a shock to the system!

The road was skirted by beautiful waterfalls, and the sun popped out occasionally. Unfortunately, neither us nor Nank have any money left – the provisions we bought at the café yesterday have already run out so basically we have practically no food left!

We did our washing (at last) in a stream and it seems to be drying okay. Now there’s only ourselves left to scrub!

Day 31 – July 3^rd 1990 – Trekking

The big news today is that I actually needed the Jobby Rock for real ‘jobby!’ What a thrill, after not having done a single pooh since my bad dose of the runs in Manali in June 23^rd – that’s 11 days! I can’t understand why others are not sharing my excitement.

We covered 16km today along a rough road to a cosy little ’village’ named Chhatreo [2020 postscript: Probably spelt wrongly as I cannot find it on a map. Or perhaps it is just too small]. Seated inside a rather larger, but very quaint, café, we enjoyed tea and biscuits, but these were limited because Paul is the only one with any money left, and we need to hold on to most of it to pay for the bus back to Manali!

I spent the rest of the afternoon reading and part of the evening sampling more noxious local wine. Mannu used the last of our reserves to cook delicious chow mien for lunch and potato subzi for dinner.

Day 32 – July 4^th 1990 – Trekking

Our final day walking is over, thank goodness. We set out at 9.45am for a pleasant walk down, and up, the striking Spiti Valley. Hindered by my aching ankles, I appreciated a one-hour stop in another funny little café [2020 postscript: These cafés are really just a room a small roadside house]. Two beautiful girls with Tibetan features served us with chai and local beer, the colour of milk. We took photos, and it was all very friendly.

Mannu covered his face in ash and worshipped the fire – why, I have yet to find out. Further down the road, as the rain fell in sheets, Nank and Mannu helped some baby lambs and goats over a stream running through a large glacier. Another perfect photo opportunity!

We got to Gramphu village at 3.30pm, just in time to see a bus leave for Manali, but we were too tired and hungry to get on. We have pitched tents on a very windy hillside (or clifftop might be more appropriate). Our little tent is suffering badly – Matthew is trying to tie it together as I write.

Gramphu isn’t what we expected – two tiny shops with no chocolate! But at least there’s a bus and, fingers crossed, it leaves here at 9.30am. By tomorrow afternoon we should be back in Manali or in the hot baths at Vashist – clean at last! Despite the fact that my trek has been hampered by ill-health virtually from beginning to end, I can truthfully say I have enjoyed the last 11 days [2020 postscript: I really wrote this!]. Of course, it was hard work, and it is fair to say that we set out each morning with the sole aim of reaching our next campsite as quickly as possible. But along the way there were sights to see and people to meet, inner strengths to be found, patience to be tested and, at the end of it all, a remarkable feeling of self-achievement. What’s more, I might actually have lost some weight!

Day 33 – July 5^th 1990 – Gramphu – Manali

Today I experienced the most terrifying bus ride ever! For two hours, we wound uphill to the Rohtang Pass, virtually able to see Gramphu the whole time – something like this… [2020 postscript: Sketch from my log book, alongside a Google map version of the same road, below – Gramphu in top right corner].

It got worse once we got over Rohtang, with the bus virtually free-wheeling around all the hairpin bends on the descent on the other side of the Pass, with no barrier to keep us on the road should the driver misjudge a bend, meet an oncoming vehicle, lose his brakes, or anything else! What’s more, we had to stand for the full five hours. I have never been so relieved to get down to relatively flat land. Flying will be easy after this!

Back in Manali, we faced the tour organiser at his office in Vashist, Matthew demanding money back for lack of decent food. He was backed by Nank and Mannu, although Paul and Jane said little – their mantra to date had been ‘we’re in India.’ Matthew’s persistence earned us a 600 rupee refund each, and the organiser also refunded the money we had spent of food. He explained that a full sack of food, which contained the porridge oats that he had talked a lot about before we set out, had come back on the bus from Darcha.

We all got rooms at the third hotel we tried – 75 rupees for a large room with an attached bathroom and a HOT SHOWER!!!  It’s amazing how much prices have fallen in the past fortnight. A hotel we looked at last time which had cost 250 rupees per night for a room has now come down to 100 rupees.

After the most fantastic shower – it’s great to be clean again for the first time in 12 days – we met Paul, Jane and Nank for a delicious meal in a quaint Tibetan restaurant before going for a beer and meeting our other porters,  except Mannu. The smallest of the porters, who had said little during the trek but always seemed to be cheerful, had obviously enjoyed a few drinks or smokes and was chattering away very happily in Hindi.

Later, it was wonderful to lie down on a soft bed with a full stomach. My jeans are about three sizes too large, but if I continue to eat like I have this evening, they won’t be large for long!

Day 34 – July 6^th 1990 – Manali

A pleasant day spent eating, booking the bus to Simla, eating, shopping, eating, and more eating. Bought Diana [my sister] a good money belt, Dad a Tibetan hat which I hope will give the boys at golf a laugh, and a lovely shawl for Mum.

It was sunny today, which makes a change. Because it is the Dalai Lama’s birthday, the Buddist Monks were out celebrating, and there was some kind of music and dance festival going on in the park. Unfortunately, the Tibetan restaurant was closed in honour of the occasion, so we ate a (disappointing) curry in the Monalisa Hotel restaurant.

Day 35 – July 7^th 1990 – Manali to Shimla

One thing you can be sure of about public transport in India – it is never predictable or boring.  It all started well. We left Manali at 9am, bound for Shimla on a relatively empty ‘semi-delux’ bus, Matthew and I enjoying the luxury of three seats between two. At Kullu we were made to changes buses – apparently there was something wrong with the first one. We had a half hour stop at lunchtime and seemed to be making good progress until we came upon an accident on a relatively quiet part of the road at around 3.15pm. When I say accident, I mean a car and a truck had bumped bumpers. But, of course, they could not be moved until the police arrived (probably from Shimla).

We sat on the ground outside the bus for two hours, getting back onboard when it started raining, and continued to wait until the accident was cleared and the bus could pass.

Then we got caught in an electric storm – the torrential rain was blinding – and this was followed by a real pea souper of a fog. As dusk fell, the driver had to slow right down as the road was yet another series of bends around the side of a hill. Being of a nervous disposition, I was (again) absolutely terrified.

Less than 10km from Shimla, we ran into another hold up which delayed the bus for 45 minutes – an apple pickers’ demonstration! Patience was wearing thin. It was dark, foggy, pouring with rain, and we had nowhere to spend the night.

Getting absolutely soaked, the four of us (Paul and Jane were still with us) trekked up all those hills and steps to Shimla YMCA where, as expected, there were no rooms to be had. Jane and Paul met up with their friends from Australia who had a room, and they disappeared to sleep on their floor, but Matthew and I had no choice but to head back out into the bleak, wet night.

Although the head said we should go to a cheap hostel, the heart led us back to the reliable White Hotel, where we got a wonderful room with clean, cosy duvets, and a great bathroom, for 215 rupees. The hotel would not let us back out to phone home (it is after 10pm after all!) but we were able to buy some biscuits and chocolate – we have eaten nothing but junk food all day. Matthew now away to watch the football (World Cup) in the TV room.

Day 36 – July 8th 1990 – Shimla

We were able to phone my parents and Matthew’s parents today, which was a huge relief and thank goodness all is well at home. Great news – I have passed my  Journalism Proficiency Exam!!! [2020 postscript: I sat the very tough and stressful exam just a few weeks before setting out for India]. I am finally qualified. I am so happy as I was not at all confident, but it will make it easier for me to get a job when I return home – or even when we reach Australia.

We walked through the bazaar and had lunch in the Sheree Punjab which was very nice, but as it is Sunday, everything is very quiet. We managed to get a room at the YMCA for two nights, and amazingly, its good old room 19 again! We met Paul and Jane and their friends in the dining hall. They are planning another trek – I think I am happy to take it easy!

I got robbed today, by a small hairy duo. There I was, walking up the Mall contemplating the number of monkeys there were around (honest) when one of the little blighters grabbed the plastic bag I was carrying. He must have spotted our bananas! I let out a scream as it ripped at the bag, pinching the bananas (we saved two) while an accomplice took off with our 6 rupee bag of Bombay Mix. The whole incident seemed to greatly amuse the large number of men strolling along the Mall.

The apple pickers were out in force again. Dozens of them walking chanting through the streets, surrounded by equal numbers of truncheon-carrying policemen. After demonstrating, the pickers were bustled into buses, with police escort – all very exciting.

The monsoon is well and truly upon us. Lots of heavy rain showers and the fog is unbelievable – you just can’t see in front of you, which is a little perturbing when we have a bus trip to Delhi ahead of us. I’d like to celebrate my proficiency exam results tonight, but the beer in this place is so awful, I don’t know whether to bother…

Day 37 – July 9^th 1990 – Shimla

I didn’t bother celebrating my results. Instead, I had an early night while Matthew watched football. West Germany beat Argentina in what was apparently a disappointing final. Stefan Edberg beat Boris Becker in five sets to win Wimbledon. We were watching the game live, but the Indian broadcasting channel saw fit to end transmission as they began the final and crucial game! We had to listen to the news to get the result.

We gave our huge pile of washing to the dobie whallah (or laundryman) this morning. After breakfast, we wandered around and sheltered from the pouring rain in a restaurant before coming back to the YMCA to do some reading and writing, having finally found some decent cards to send as birthday and anniversary cards to Diana and Mum and Dad.

I wrote a lengthy article for my local paper – there are lots of things I would like to include but there is just not the space. We did consider going out for a drink, but Matthew is feeling dizzy and nauseous so we just gobble down our really interesting thali in the dining hall, and stay in our room.

We are booked on the overnight bus to Delhi tomorrow, a daunting prospect as Shimla is still swamped in thick cloud. Although I am not terribly enamoured to return to Delhi, I am very excited about moving on to Hong Kong – although the thought of venturing into China, again unknown territory, is a little frightening.  

But I haven’t been missing home comforts – like bottles of Muscadet; a night by the TV; home cooking; a pint down the pub; a hot bath – half as much as when we were trekking.  It’s amazing the small things that you miss when you are feeling deprived.

Day 38 – July 10^th 1990 – Shimla to Delhi

The fog had dropped into the valleys this morning, but crept back, along with violent storms, during the course of the day. We spent as much time as possible in our room, but had to vacate it at noon. I discovered later that I had stupidly left our very handy little travel washing line behind.

We had a lovely pizza for lunch and spent the afternoon pottering around the Mall and in the YMCA dining hall. We booked a room for tomorrow night at Delhi YMCA (40 rupees for the phone call) and paid 100 rupees to have our flight to Hong Kong confirmed by Telex.

After tea, we boarded the bus to Delhi. It was not a bad journey, although it is impossible to sleep on one of those buses. Matthew had chained our rucksacks to the rails on the roof, and we had to get out and check them during the couple of half hour stops the driver took. There was no fog and remarkably the bus was making good progress.

As we came closer to Delhi, the stifling heat of the plains took over, and about 10km out we were sure we could smell the city. When we got to the bus station at 4.30am and inhaled the hot air, there was no doubt about it – we were back in delectable Delhi!

Day 39 – July 11^th 1990 – Delhi

Hot and exhausted, we paid a rickshaw driver 40 rupees to take us to the YMCA. He did his best to convince us that there would not be a room and promised to take us to a ‘good and cheap’ hotel –probably one of the grotty ones we had stayed at first time round.

We arrived at the YMCA at 5am, but had to sit around the foyer and dining hall until 9.45am before we could check into our room – otherwise we would have had to pay for an extra night. The prices have gone up – 205 rupees for a room, plus tax, and the prices for food and drinks in the hostel are ridiculous compared to its Shimla counterpart. There is a much vaunted swimming pool, but it won’t open until next year!

However, the rooms are clean and comfortable and the toilets and showers spic and span. There is no hot water, but that is not something you miss in Delhi. After a rest, we headed out for dodgy food and a long walk to the Poste Restante, arriving 15 minutes after it had closed. We ate dinner in the dining hall, and I went to bed at 9pm feeling decidedly unwell.

Day 40 – July 12^th 1990 – Delhi

Despite being sick all night and day (yes – again!) I spared a thought for the folks back home doing whatever they normally do on The Twelfth. Not that I am homesick – I would much rather be dripping with sweat and chucking my guts up in the ladies’ loo at Delhi YMCA!

Matthew, bless him, has been to the Thai Embassy and dropped off our passports (a very naked feeling) and to the Post Restante where he had two letters and I had none. Apparently those addressed to Delhi rather than New Delhi go to Kashmere Gate GPO, and that means a rickshaw ride there tomorrow, our last day in India.

It’s 5.15pm and I am feeling relatively better, so I think we might venture to Nirula’s for tea. I am eating spiced peanuts now without any adverse effects, so fingers crossed!

Day 41 – July 13^th 1990 – Delhi

Our last day in Delhi!

We took an auto-rickshaw to Kashmere Gate GPO, Old Delhi, a round trip of an hour and a half, to pick up my letter from home. It was a welcome read, and included an amusing cutting about my trip published in the Banbridge Chronicle just after I left home.

Later, we walked around the main bazaar, taking lots of pictures, feeling much more confident than we did when we first arrived in Delhi last month. Panic set in when we realised that we had neither money nor passports (still at the Thai Embassy), but fortunately Matthew’s driving licence did the trick for cashing in travellers’ cheques. We treated ourselves to lunch in the Park Hotel and spent the afternoon by the pool where I swam 100 (short) lengths.

Matthew picked up the passports and Thailand visas without any problems, and we had a delicious last meal, paid for by ACCESS, our flexible friend, in the Gaylord restaurant. [2020 postscript: Matthew, who is not a vegetarian, ate meat for the first time since arriving in India]. The décor in the restaurant was lovely and I had a fantastic paneer tikka – why couldn’t we have done this every night?(Easy, no money). We even sampled a bottle of Indian wine. Rough, but relaxing!

The taxi from the YMCA to the airport cost 100 rupees and guess what – it broke down. Yes, right by a set of traffic lights. Hardly surprising, he must have been doing at least 50km/h! We had to leap into another taxi.

Then there was a long wait before checking in at 2.45am, followed by hassle when we found ourselves with worthless money (ie rupees) in the departure lounge. Matthew had to negotiate to be allowed back out into the main airport area and change the rupees into US dollars.

Trying to get a ‘Lil-Lets’ [ladies hygiene product] through security was a challenge. The security lady thought it was a battery!

The plane for Hong Kong was due to leave at 5.35am [2020 postscript: Technically, we are now on day 43 of our travels], but a technical fault delayed it until 8am. Even at this stage, things were disorganised – they sent half of us out to the plane, but at the aircraft doors we were told to go back, then they refused to allow us back into the lounge.

Finally we were on board and bound for Hong Kong.

Goodbye India!

Below: Some shots of life in Delhi taken by Matthew on our last day in India.

Day 42 – July 14^th 1990 – Hong Kong

Belinda Carlisle sings that ‘Heaven is a place on earth’ – right now it’s an island in the South China Sea. Here, beautiful women wear short skirts and sleeveless tops. People drink in pubs selling British/Spanish/Aussie beer. The buildings are skyscrapers and there are lots and lots of huge neon signs. Luxuries everywhere – clean toilets, loo rolls, roads that are crossable without taking your life in your hands. Welcome to Hong Kong!

Although Hong Kong doesn’t look to be so far from Delhi, it took us eight hours from take-off to landing, including an hour-long stop in Bangkok. Not good for someone of a nervous disposition, but I managed it – without any alcohol too! No food either mind you, my stomach was not quite up to that. Matthew kindly ate my dinner – and his own. Both smelt lovely. For information, I only went to the loo four times (on the flight from London to Delhi it was eight times!)

We arrived in Hong Kong at 6pm local time (seven hours ahead of GB), tired but exhilarated. Passport control, baggage, bank, all efficient and quick. We rang the YMCA to check they had received our Telex from Delhi to discover they hadn’t, but they did have one free room. An $8 (Hong Kong dollars) Airbus dropped us outside the scaffolded building in Salisbury Road, just behind the harbour. Everything was posh. It cost $544 incl tax (£40+) for a room, so we paid by ACCESS. We had planned to treat ourselves – why not now!

The room was completely luxurious, though not what you would call a typical YMCA hostel. Luxury bathroom with a bath (yes, I had one), beautiful carpet, a bowl of fresh fruit, a room safe and a stocked fridge. As we collapsed in front of the colour TV, cans of freezing San Miguel in our hands, we thanked the YMCA. That was before we realised we would be charged extra for these. What odds…

At 9pm we hit the town. I had veg soup and Mathew had chicken fried rice before going to a very English pub – old oak bar, beams, Carlsberg, Bells Whisky, decent loos, the lot! We had a couple of delicious pints of San Miguel (so different from Golden Eagle). The pubs here, and there are a lot of them, stay open until 1am or later, but we left at around 11.45pm – Matthew having fallen asleep, literally, on the bar stool at the bar. [2020 postscript: I was clearly scintillating company!]

We headed back to the YMCA, stopping off at the Harbour en route. It was absolutely beautiful. Looking across at Hong Kong Island, complete with partially-lit skyscrapers and huge neon advertising hoardings is simply an indescribable experience. It was very moving. It is impossible to express how beautiful these tower blocks across a lapping expanse of water can be. We later re-visit the view from the 13^th floor of the ‘Y.’ Spectacular.

A word about flying into Hong Kong Airport. I’d heard that the plane comes in to land in the middle of the skyscrapers and it’s true! The buildings seemed to be just metres either side of the wings. You could see people in their apartments! It was a little cloudy, but still amazing – it even beats Belfast Harbour Airport for the amount of sea around it!

Day 43 – July 15^th 1990 – Hong Kong

I have to keep pinching myself to make sure I really am in Hong Kong! After India, the place is just magnificent, and already Delhi, and its many hassles, seems oceans away.

I woke at 10am after a beautiful night’s sleep. I enjoyed a very luxurious shower, and we used the telephone to book a room in the Club Hostel, recommended by a guy behind the Macau Tourist Desk at the airport. We paid for our drinks and the phone call and left our luggage (for free!) at the YMCA to go get sorted.

Heading for something to eat, we met an old guy in the Chungking Mansions shopping arcade who showed us a double room for $120. As the Club Hostel room had been described – by the man promoting it – as ‘very, very tiny with two mattresses on the floor,’ we decided this room had to be better. It even had a colour TV! After delicious omelettes in the Chungking Café, we collected our stuff and headed back. En route, we were accosted by a couple of hoteliers and we did look at one room [2020 postscript: Fickle or what!] which did have its own loo and shower, but was extremely small and had no TV. There were a lot of men standing around the corridors outside the room which also put me off.

We spent the afternoon reading, writing and dozing. Our window looks out onto a small open space, like a chimney or funnel reaching to the sky, the four sides formed by the many floors and windows of the maze that makes up Chungking Mansions – there was washing hanging out of windows here and there, and down at the bottom, on the ground, sad socks and other items of clothing that had lost their grip on the window washing lines. But the sun filtered down this funnel and into our room. It was very relaxing.

The Hong Kong newspaper is a much easier read than The Times of India. Nick Ridley (‘not in my back yard’) has resigned as Trade and Industry Secretary. More problems for Maggie! We watched the UK Top 20. Elton John is no 1, while some clever clogs has brought out a ‘Thunderbirds are go’ megamix. Brilliant!

We ate in a veggie restaurant which was interesting although the food wasn’t that tasty. It was expensive (£16 for two). I had real difficulties with the chopsticks, and looked a bit silly when I mistakenly began eating my food from my teacup instead of my bowl. Fortunately Matthew pointed this out and the situation was rectified.

We popped into The Lion’s Head before heading to bed. We are on the seventh floor of Chungking Mansions. B Block. New York Guest House. I am glad I’m not on the 16^th floor as the fire exits don’t look too good. But the hostel is great, they have even given us flip flops to wear to and from the bathroom.

Day 44 – July 16^th 1990 – Hong Kong

We went in search of a post office this morning. Walking around the streets is just dazzling – they are so clean and tidy. The fashions are amazing, beautifully tailored clothes at half the price you would pay in Britain, and the Hong Kong ladies are so pretty and petite (jealous!). There are hundreds of camera and hi-fi shops and the sight, sounds and smells of affluence are everywhere.

Our sole purchase was a large ‘post pak’ envelope, and we returned to Chungking to sort out what I planned to post home.  As well as presents for Mum, Dad and Diana, I included a couple of films to be processed, the India guidebook, and my Tibetan jacket (there’s no way I’m going to wear it here!) [2020 postscript: I never did find the right place for the grey felt jacket with multi-coloured trim – I think it ended up in a charity shop many years later. But it seemed a great idea when I bought it in India!]

It cost $199 to send the parcel by Airmail – a small fortune but I want it to arrive before Diana goes to Brazil on August 4^th [2020 postscript: My sister was heading to Vitoria, Brazil, to teach for 10 weeks].

The remainder of the day was marvellous. A 4.30pm we caught the Star Ferry from Kowloon to Hong Kong Central, on the Island, and from there we walked among awesome skyscrapers – the new Bank of China Tower being the most outstanding – to the Peak Tram. This took us up several hundred metres to Victoria Peak, overlooking much of Hong Kong and beyond into the South China Sea.

The tram has been running since the mid-19^th century, but this one has only recently been installed.  It is modern, plush and goes uphill like a Big Dipper rollercoaster – ie at an incredible angle. The ride in itself was worth the $8 single trip ticket – and the view from the top made it even more worthwhile. Skyscrapers gave way to a harbour full of boats, large and small, fast and slow, modern and ancient. Beyond them, the buildings of Kowloon and the hills of the New Territories and, to either side, the hazy islands which form the lesser known Hong Kong.

Powerful telescopes meant we could see buildings at close range and even read the names of the airplanes on the airport runway! We stayed on the Peak until dusk began to fall, before taking the ‘Big Dipper’ down. As the neon signs lit up around the harbour, it felt like we were literally falling into a black abyss full of multi-coloured stars.

Once on solid ground, we took our first (horizontal) tram ride to ‘Poor Man’s Nightclub’ – by day a carpark, by night a thriving mass of food and market stalls. [2020 postscript: Sadly no longer in existence: Sheung Wan Gala Point was the most popular night bazaar, emerging as the “poor man’s nightclub” in the 1840s. Not only did it serve as a significant recreational spot among locals, it was also one of Hong Kong’s most popular tourist attractions between the 1970s and 1980s. The site was permanently closed in 1992 because of redevelopments in the area – Wikipedia].

In the course of the evening, I watched live crabs going through the torture of having their legs pulled off, and live eels stuck in boiling water for seconds, pulled out, dunked in cold water, still alive, then having their blistered scales rubbed off before being put out of their misery by having their heads chopped off.

As a vegetarian, I found this extremely disturbing, but had to concede that this form of cooking goes on all round the world. And there was no doubt about it, it plate of shrimps (huge) put in front of Matthew (costing 70p), looked excellent.

Fortunately, one man spoke English, so I had a delicious green veg in garlic (lots of garlic!) dish. The meal – Matthew also had rice and beef – plus four large bottles of San Miguel, cost $84 – a bargain after last night. What’s more, the hustle and bustle of the cooking, serving, washing, chopping etc made for a colourful and full evening’s entertainment.

We walked back to the ferry at 11.30pm. At $1, the seven-minute ride with great views must be one of the cheapest and most spectacular in the world.

Day 45 – July 17^th 1990 – Hong Kong

We went on a day trip to Lamma Island, taking the Star Ferry to Central and then another ferry (40 minutes) to Lamma’s main port. The sun was beaming, the scenery on the boat ride was fantastic and everything was made even better by the discovery, thanks to the weighing machines on the Star Ferry, that I now weigh 8st 9lbs – the lightest I have been since my early-mid teens! That means I have lost a stone since I left home. [2020 postscript:  Sadly those figures are now just a distant memory!]

The little port was quite some contrast to Hong Kong proper. Small, low rise buildings, lots of seafood restaurants and little shops. No cars are permitted on Lamma, so the ‘main street’ was little more than a footpath.

Half an hour’s walk along a concrete path through lush green vegetation brought us to the beach, which seemed quiet and clean, until we looked out at the water. It was teaming with rubbish, mostly plastic bags – and kids were swimming in it!

So, given the heat, we had to swim too. We both got past the worst of the rubbish – Matthew by diving off the rocks – and had a good swim, but it was rather unpleasant. [2020 postscript: Rather unpleasant! Bit of an understatement surely? My stomach is turning just thinking about this now].  There were people going into the sea every five minutes or so with large wickers, filling them with the rubbish, but very quickly the shallows were as bad again.

As I lay sunning myself on the sand, there was a terrible commotion, and people came rushing out of the sea. My first thought was ‘shark!’ and Matthew, who has something of a phobia of sharks, was swimming! I just got up in time to see a 3ft long black, shiney eel/sea snake (???) shooting up the beach from the direction of the sea and then being pummelled on the head by a lifeguard wielding a big stick!

As the sun began to disappear, we showered ($3 each) and walked across the island to the south side village. Some sections of the walk were sub-tropical, with banana trees and other jungle vegetation along the route. I had to keep an eye out for snakes and huge (and I mean huge) spiders lurking in gargantuan webs.  I was relieved to reach the village as dusk fell. It was again a mass of seafood restaurants, lining the front. We watched people select their dinner from a fish tank, to see it served up exotically minutes later. Matthew went for clams and a couple of other dishes, while I had fried mushrooms in sweet and sour sauce. The food was good, but neither the meal nor the atmosphere were a patch on ‘Poor Man’s Nightclub.’

We caught the ferry back to Central at 10pm, then on to Kowloon. It has been another excellent day.

Day 46 – July 18^th 1990 – Hong Kong

Today we did what everyone does in Hong Kong – we shopped! After much searching through numerous camera shops, we decided to get a zoom lens with a range of 35-200mm. It cost £72, paid for on credit card, but we think we got a good deal, and hopefully it will help make our photos better. There is no point in spending a fortune on films and developing, only to be disappointed with the end result.

We got our washing done, left our bags at the Tourist Hostel on the 16^th floor of Chungking Mansions (they have a left luggage room even for non-residents), and enjoyed a beer in the Waltzing Matilda. After buying tickets for the ferry to Canton, China, which leaves at 9pm, we had a snack in Beefy’s (English) pub.

The tickets for the 10-hour boat trip, including dorm beds, cost $120 each (well under £10) which was excellent value. The ferry terminal was large, air-conditioned, immaculately clean – just like a good airport. We checked our baggage in and went through customs. We were on our way to China!

We found our way to a bar [2020 postscript: We seem to have been good at finding bars!] on the top deck and fell in with an English couple going to Canton for just one day! We stayed in the bar until midnight, then had biscuits in the dining hall, courtesy of Joe and Fi, and made our way to our bunks. Clean, comfy little beds in a room with about 20-30 others. They even provided a towel. And so to sleep…

Day 47 – July 19^th 1990 – Canton, China

Arriving in Canton (Guangzhou) was hot, sticky and a little slow, though not compared to India. Canton is the main city in Guangzhou Province but, while it is a long way from the affluent splendour of Hong Kong, there doesn’t seem to be anything like the poverty we found in Delhi. I worry that China could be another big challenge, but I hope that it won’t be as tough as I fear, and though much remains to be seen, it looks promising so far.

Once off the boat, we changed £100 for 845 Foreign Exchange Certificates (FECs), worth 845 Chinese yuan (¥) – Chinese currency is known as Renminbi. Foreigners are supposed to use only FECs, but we found we could exchange 100 FECs for ¥120 on the black market, and did so. Following fellow travellers who have a Lonely Planet Guide to China (something we have yet to find – all the bookshops sell books written in Chinese only), we ended up at the Ghangzou Youth Hostel, where we got a , fairly large room with a hat stand and mosquito nets for ¥40 (£5).

After a couple of hours rest, we ventured out. Canton is a large city, very busy with traffic and millions of bicycles which seem very vulnerable on the packed roads. We discovered that restaurants shut from lunchtime until evening time, and also realised that Canton is an hour ahead of Hong Kong, making it eight hours ahead of the UK.

Nothing is written in English, so we couldn’t even find the youth hostel dining hall/restaurant as is isn’t signed in English. We did manage to buy some tea, as hot water is supplied in flasks, as well as mineral water and orange juice.

Lunch, a vegetarian casserole for me (weird veg but very tasty) and pork liver with chives and ginger, plus tea, cost ¥17 ie about £2, which is even cheaper than Hong Kong. We are both very tired, so will stay here a second night, which will give us time to suss out the ferry to Yangshuo, near Guilin, and get out an about tomorrow to explore Canton and its colourful inhabitants.

Day 48 – July 20^th 1990 – Canton

It’s Diana’s birthday today and Mum and Dad’s wedding anniversary. Mum and Dad are currently on holiday in Greece, but I phoned home this evening (it would have been 3pm UK time) so wasn’t surprised to find no one home.

We have had a very busy day. After breakfast in the hostel we decided to risk it and hire bikes! Our first destination was the Guangzhou Ferry Terminal to buy tickets for tomorrow’s ferry to Yangshuo. The terminal is located several km along the river, so it took ages to get there, and although provision for cyclists is excellent, with railed off cycle lanes most of the way, it was still somewhat nerve-racking, jostling with cars, pedestrians and other cyclists at junctions. My worst experience, however, was trying to cross a road on foot – the green man never appeared and it became apparent that you should just walk out and take your life in your hands!

Drivers, particularly motorcyclists, seem happy to run the lights, which means cyclists and pedestrians are very vulnerable.

We had trouble finding the ferry terminal, again because everything is written in Chinese.  It is very difficult for us ‘Gailos’ not to get lost. We got assistance in a hotel where a man wrote our request for two tickets to Yangshuo out in Chinese, which proved very helpful at the ticket kiosk.  I attempted to go to the loo at the terminal, but decided against it as they were almost as bad as in India!

Tickets purchased, we cycled to the Memorial Garden for the Martyrs of the 1911 Revolution, a beautiful park with a dome-shaped tomb holding 5,000 bodies (apparently), and an impressive stone sculpture of a hand holding a rifle. After an hour in the park, we cycled further north of the city to the Mausoleum of the 72 Martyrs, the centrepoint being an arch topped by the ‘Statue of Liberty’ and containing slabs from Chinese organisations worldwide, including one from Liverpool, England.

Over the arch, in the handwriting of the revolutionary leader Dr Sun Yat-sen ‘The spirit of the martyrs is immortal,’ (in Chinese, of course).

By now, we were hot, dirty, tired and desperately in need of a guide book, so we cycle on in search of the Guangzhou Tourism Bureau. No luck. We did find a hotel with an ‘English bookshop,’ but it had just one pretty useless Chinese guidebook written in English. It took another 45 minutes cycling to get back to the hostel – the map of Guangzhou certainly gives no real indication of the distances involved!

In the evening we had fried eggs (I had four eggs!) and bread for dinner, before my attempt to contact home.  The ferry leaves tomorrow at 12.30pm.

Day 49 – July 21^st 1990 – Canton to Yangshuo

‘As the prison ship set sail across the bay…’ I felt just like the character in the song ‘The Fields of Athenry’ as we cast off on the river ferry from Guangzhou, all lined up in bunks, side by side, row by row. We shared a taxi with a Swiss girl who had been in China for two months, but said goodbye once we reached the boat as she was sailing first class.

There were several Westerners on the boat. Next to us were a New Zealand girl and an Irish guy from Galway, so we whiled away the hours chatting and taking in the flat and not very interesting scenery from the window at the head of each bunk. We ate a reasonable and cheap meal in the dining area in the evening.

Day 50 – July 22^nd 1990 – Wuzhou to Yangshuo

Maddie (NZ) and Luke (Ireland) almost made an early exit this morning when, at 7am, packs on backs, they headed off the ship. As we began to set sail again, I thought we might have missed our stop, but the other two came back rather sheepishly – we weren’t due to arrive in Wuzhou until 9am!

Then it was straight off the boat onto a bus which almost rivalled an Indian 2^nd class bus for lack of comfort. The seats were better though – padded and at a more comfortable angle, and the bus didn’t rattle quite as much.

After 20 hours on a boat, the last thing we really wanted to do was spend 10 more on a bus! There were two travelling in convoy. Maddie and Luke were on the other one. Although the scenery became more and more spectacular the closer we came to Yangshuo, we simply wanted to get there.  On Maddie and Luke’s bus, virtually all the Chinese were chucking their guts up – yuk (witnessed at one of our stops!)

Eventually we could see the limestone peaks the area is famed for. The land is amazingly fertile, with people hard at work in the fields as we drove through. It is extremely hot – the sun shining clearly in the sky, whereas in India it often seemed to be behind a bit of a haze.

We reached Yangshuo at 6.30pm – the bus dropping us all off at a hotel claiming (in a sign written in English) to be the ‘Hotel for Foreigner!’ It wasn’t listed in Luke’s Lonely Planet Guide, but seemed okay. Dorm beds were ¥10 each, but we took a double for ¥30.

After a much-needed shower, we met Maddie and Luke at a café very much aimed at a Western market, and I had a delicious Spaghetti Napoli full of lots of veg for about 20p. We sampled a few local beers too – at 14p a pint it’s pretty good stuff! [2020 postscript: We drank a lot of beer in China. It was cheaper than bottled water and Coca Cola etc, and was really good!]        

Day 51 – July 23^rd 1990 – Yangshuo

This is a beautiful town full of friendly people who go out of their way to make sure life is easy for us Westerners.

After breakfast, we set out to try to get information about cycling around different villages and staying there overnight, but we had little success. There is no such thing as a detailed local map, and apparently there is only one village with any kind of hotel.

Disappointed, we walked through a local market selling live ducks, all bundled together in baskets and nets; weird looking meat and entrails; wonderful, fresh fruit and veg; clothes; and lots of tiny, stiffly padded bras. It was a great opportunity to take photos of old men and women with wizened faces, and beautiful little kids. The younger children all have slits in the back to their trousers, they don’t wear nappies!

It was so interesting sitting drinking a Sprite and watching the world go by.

We moved to a different market, along the road parallel to the beautiful river. Here, dozens of stalls were selling what could only be described as ‘tat,’ and expensive ‘tat’ at that, but it was eagerly snapped up by the hundreds of Japanese tourists who arrived by bus and boat. The various groups followed their guide who walked in front holding up a coloured flag.

We made a bad choice of restaurant this evening, the food wasn’t great, and when Matthew had a plate of hot runner beans poured over him the waitress just grinned!

Day 52 – July 24^th 1990 – Yangshuo

Moved hotels this morning – found a good clean room for 8¥ each (ie under £1 each!). After much thought we have decided to go to Beijing after all. We both really want to – when will we be in China again? – and as cycling around different villages doesn’t seem to be an option, it seems daft not to. It will cost about £30 each and it means 31 hours on a hard seat/sleeper, but I feel it will be worth it.

At 1.30pm we set out on bikes on a back road devoid of traffic in the direction of Puyi village.  We went 11km along that road, the 10km across to the main road. It was hot and sunny and the countryside was beautiful – I really felt like I was on holiday. The local people stared at us, but appeared to be simply interested and I never felt intimidated.

We stopped for drinks in a village where the market seemed to sell nothing but meat and watermelons. The little shop we sat at wasn’t far removed from some of the cafes we were in when trekking in India – although in fact the shop was just one room of a fairly large house.

Most of the houses and villages seem well built and quite large – some appear to be big farmhouses. The land is so fertile and everything is clean – okay, not the public loos which often drop into the gutter leading to the paddy fields (well fertilised tea and rice!) But so far there is no evidence of the poverty we encountered in India.

Once on the main road, we took a photo of the famous and very beautiful Moon Hill, and stopped off at the 1,400-year-old Big Banyan Tree, where we again encountered groups of Japanese tourists. Dozens of local women were trying to get us to put on traditional clothes ‘for our photos.’ In the end, I gave it a go, just for a laugh. Unfortunately it used up our last picture. [2020 postscript: No digital cameras or smartphones in 1990!].

After cycling back we joined Luke and Maddie for an excellent meal at Lisa’s Café (very Chinese, I don’t think) next door to our hotel. The menus here are huge – they make just about everything, and the portions are huge too. Any worries I had about not being able to get vegetarian food have proved unfounded – there’s so much choice I will be getting very fat!

Day 53 – July 25^th 1990 – Yangshuo

I spent an hour and a half writing postcards over breakfast in Lisa’s Café, before we headed off on bikes in the opposite direction to yesterday. The main road was boring, so we turned off along a side road which was little more than a dirt track and kept going up, up, up, yet it didn’t seem to lead anywhere. After much pushing, shoving and an unbelievable amount of sweating – the humidity was ridiculously high – we gave up and rattled our way back to a village on the main road. It was damn painful on the old posterior!

We cycled on, but, totally drained by the heat, opted to turn back. We encountered three accidents, all fairly serious, in the course of around 5km.

1. A cyclist apparently hit by a bus – ie mangled bike, shattered windscreen, ambulance.
2. A car and truck in a side-on collision – the front seats of the car were totally crushed in and it looked like it might have just happened but there was no sign of injured people or police.
3. A truck had inexplicably careered off the road into the ditch.

An amazing number of accidents considering there is so little traffic!

I began writing articles which I am hoping might be of interest to the News Letter (Northern Ireland newspaper) and Trailfinders’ magazine. I hope they use them, otherwise it will have been a wasted effort.  [2020 postscript: We booked all our flights through Trailfinders. Sadly neither article was published!]

We met Luke and Maddie for dinner at Lisa’s. Our last night together as they leave Yangshuo tomorrow.

Day 54 – July 26^th 1990 – Yangshuo

My bottom was too painful to go cycling today, so we just hung around, writing, eating and generally resting. In the afternoon we walked through Green Lotus Peak Park and caught a little junk across the river (5 mins) to the opposite bank. We watched the world go by, seeing how the boat people live and work, then walked back through the little village and over the bridge to town.

Animals, children, boatmaking, a pool in a disused factory, early evening haze, all made the walk perfect for photography [2020 postscript: Unfortunately while the subjects and settings were perfect for photography, the photographers were not so perfect, and the pictures – which we did not see printed until we got home in June 1991 – were not great].

We had a snack at the Zu Hang Hotel where we asked Lea, the very friendly Chinese guy with the excellent English, to book our ticket to Beijing for Sunday/Monday – 1.30am departure – 31 hours on a hard seat!

We bought some more stamps and, much to my irritation, discovered that the six cards I sent yesterday will probably never make it out of China – the stamps I licked, in front of the girl who sold them to me, had no gum on them!

I have finally finished my two articles, so am resting before going out for more food and beer!

Day 55 – July 27^th 1990 – Yangshuo

We met two East Germans last night, and I have just interviewed them over dinner. Prior to the breaking down of the Berlin Wall last November, East Germans were not permitted to visit China. They were very interesting – Kris spoke excellent English and thankfully my shorthand was not too rusty. I am hoping to produce an article that might be of interest to a national newspaper. [2020 postscript: No takers for that story either, but at least I had aspirations. Also, the humidity was very high, and after showering and before meeting the two guys, I had patted my face dry with tissue paper. It was only when we returned to the room I discovered a couple of bits of tissue were stuck to my face. How professional…!]

Earlier, we cycled to Moon Hill and climbed to the top. The humidity was unbearable and we were half-way up at noon – ‘mad dogs and Englishmen (and Irish women!). My shorts, teeshirt and everything else were saturated.

We had wondered what the dot of red was above the gap in the hill and when we got there discovered a local man sitting under a red and white umbrella with a cool box full of soft drinks to sell to walkers. He must lug that box up and down every day! Not only were we about the only people on the hill today, but another vendor had set themselves up in the arch of the ‘moon’ and would have been first to catch any thirsty climbers.

We gave Lea in the hotel money to buy us Chinese tickets for the train to Beijing [2020 postscript: As foreigners, we should have been buying tickets using FECs (Foreign Exchange Certificates), but these would have been much more expensive.] The tickets cost 79 renminbi plus 10 renminbi commission.  Let’s hope they allow us on the train!

The heat and the mossies are making life uncomfortable. They say it is cooler in Beijing – I do hope so.

Day 56 – July 28^th 1990 – Yangshuo

A difficult night last night due to the heat and stuffiness of this room. I am certain we have bed bugs as there is definitely something biting me in my bed.

We were up at 8am and after fried eggs, headed to the ticket office where we paid 16¥ each for passage with bikes, including insurance, for a three-hour ferry ride to Xingping. We sat on the bow for most of the trip, which was very peaceful, with beautiful scenery all the way, but it was also exceptionally hot.

In the village we had lunch at the only café with an English menu. Poor food and very expensive. A toddler was playing with two ducks – how sweet! I took a photo, realising afterwards that the ducks’ legs were tethered and they were in a poor state. The child was pulling at their wings, grabbing them by the necks and poking their eyes. The adults around all thought it was very amusing. I found it quite distressing but my exclamations of horror were ignored.

We cycled the 25km back to Yangshuo through the scorching afternoon heat, and about 10km from the town a family called us into their home. They offered us food and water, fans and sugared wheat. We stayed on their steps for about an hour, and as Matthew tried to communicate using an English textbook belonging to one of the lads, more and more people joined us. They were extremely kind and friendly though it felt quite surreal to be the centre of such attention.

Back in Yangshuo, we collected our tickets to Beijing from Lea, and returned to our room to find the washing we had paid to be done was dumped on the dirty floor outside our room.

This morning, waiting for the boat tickets, an elderly Chinese man asked me where I was from and what I worked at. I repeated the old lie, I’m a teacher, and it turned out so was he. Help! I intensely dislike having to lie, but to tell the truth could cause problems and I don’t want to be kicked out of China! [2020 postscript: We had been advised that I should not say I was a journalist when in China as apparently this was not a profession the Government welcomed when they opened up parts of the country to foreigners].

Day 57 – July 29^th 1990 – Yangshuo to Guilin

One of those uneventful ‘waiting’ days. We moved out after breakfast, left our bags at the Zhu Yang Hotel, wandered around the shops, sat by the river, ate in Lea’s place, had a few beers and caught a bus to Guilin (around 84km) at 6.30pm.

We couldn’t quite believe it – the driver was stopped by police, using a radar gun, for speeding! He paid an on-the-spot fine but continued to fly the rest of the way to Guilin.

The train didn’t leave until 1.42am, so we spent the early part of the evening in a cheapish restaurant, then went to an air conditioned hotel where we hoped to have a meal. We left after one beer which cost 5¥, four times the cost for the same in the Zhu Yang – the prices were ridiculous.

We got to the train station and joined a seated queue at midnight.  I had a hairy experience when, close to departure, I went in search of a loo, finding one on the first floor of the virtually empty train station. The toilets seemed clean, each had its own cubicle. Happy days!  Until I went to try and unlock the cubicle door, which refused to budge. I shouted for help, but the place was silent and empty. I knew the train would soon be boarding, and realised that Matthew might not know exactly where to find me. Panic set in. Eventually I managed to stand on the toilet seat (thankfully this was not a squat toilet as most are) and haul myself over the top of the cubicle door. The drop to the stone floor was painful on my feet. But I made it back to the waiting area before we began to board. Big sigh of relief.

[2020 postscripts. 1/ It was in this waiting room that we finally got hold of a Lonely Planet Guide to China. A couple who were on their way to Canton and then back to Hong Kong gave us their copy. What a Godsend. 2/ Even 30 years later, when I am having trouble sleeping, I remember trying to sleep spread across two plastic seats in the brightly lit waiting room at Guilin Train Station, knowing I would be on a train for the next 31 hours, and say a big thank you that I am in a comfortable bed instead – sometimes it helps me doze over!]

Day 58 – July 30^th 1990 – Guilin to Beijing pt 1

The train left Guilin on time at 1.42am and we had no hassle when we presented our renminbi tickets. I was delighted to find that the hard seats were, in fact, well padded. The backs were completely upright, like on Indian trains, but because there is no third tier, it is much less claustrophobic. And there was plenty of room to chain the packs onto the overhead rails.

For the first 15 minutes, we had three seats each and were able to stretch out, but we had made a mistake. If we’d taken a two seater, we would not have been joined by a group of four and might have had two seat each to ourselves all night.  As it happened, we were stuck in an upright position for almost 24 hours (the foursome got off at 12.30am on Tuesday).

I hardly got any sleep that first night and the man opposite me kept clearing his throat and spitting on the floor (like most men and some women on the train seemed to be doing). He also kept sticking his horrible burgundy stockinged feet (no shoes) with which he wiped up the gob, on the seat beside me!  At 6.30am, loudspeakers playing marching music, opera (horrendous), comic strips, news and train announcements began to blare out, and the food trolley – rice, meat and veg in plastic containers – came around the carriages.

The four with us ate huge amounts and continued to do so for the rest of the day. All the rubbish went out the train windows. I spent most of the time reading, looking out at flat fields and a few built-up town. There were no slums alongside the tracks like there were in India. And it seemed all the scenery had been left behind in Guilin and Yangshuo.

I embarrassed myself by losing my temper quite vociferously and struggling unsuccessfully to open the window after the guy opposite me had inexplicably closed it. I thought the older women in the group was telling me to go and sit somewhere else, but what she was actually trying to explain was that all windows had to be closed as we crossed the bridge over the massive Yangtze River (third longest in the world). I felt something of a fool when it dawned, but I seemed to give all the passengers – and the steward – a good laugh.

My ankles have swollen so much I look like I have elephantiasis. Trying to get some sleep early on was impossible as all my body parts went to sleep before my mind.

Day 59 – July 31^st 1990 – Guilin to Beijing pt 2

The older lady (who I thought had been telling me to go and sit somewhere else during the window incident), very kindly insisted that we take their seats when her group of four got off at 12.30am. Wonderful – I had what you could almost call a good night’s sleep with three seats all to myself. I didn’t actually ‘get up’ until 7am.

We arrived in Beijing at 9.15am – 31 and a half hours after departing from Guilin. We spent almost an hour trying to locate a number 20 bus. It was very hot and humid and I was completely stinking – the dirt and fumes coming in through the train windows left my skin filthy and my clothes and hair thick and smelly. My ankles were still horribly swollen. We finally found the correct bus stop. For a supposedly international city, Beijing seems to have virtually nothing in the way of tourist information or signage – in English or even pictorial.

We got off at the end of the line, just 10-15 minutes on, and wondered lost around Yongdingmen Station until we met four Germans who sent us in the direction of the backpackers’ hostel, the Qiao Yuan Hotel. It was huge and looked good. We had decided we needed the luxury of a double room tonight and it cost us 50¥ for a real nice room in the ‘new’ block, with TV, radio, bathroom with a bath, soft beds and clean sheets!

After a freezing shower, we had lunch at one of the many English cafes lining the canal which runs beside the hotel. Prices seem to be two or three times the price of food in Yangshuo. After an afternoon nap, we braved the rain (!!!) and had dinner (delicious eggplant) in another nearby café.  We watched half an hour of very interesting Chinese adverts on TV. Many were for drugs – eg how to recover totally from a heart attack before the doctor even arrives. Weird. We were both very tired so fell asleep quickly in the first real bed for three nights!

Day 60 – August 1^st 1990 – Beijing

The air con in this room (which incidentally has gone up by 10¥ to 60¥ overnight) is not working and there is hardly any hot water. It meant a rather sleepless night because it was stiflingly hot and there is no fan. We kept the windows open, and were invaded by mosquitos from the canal. While my body fared ok under its net curtain, my face and neck are covered in bites.

After breakfast we caught the no 20 bus to Tiananmen Square. I was full of anticipation – of what, I don’t know, but I expected to feel or see something that revealed the tragic events which happened in June last year when the Government massacred hundreds of protesters in this Square.

Instead I found a large and very beautiful open space, packed with Nikon-bearing Chinese holidaymakers. Among them were dozens of young servicemen, obviously on holiday despite their uniforms, taking photos of each other. Everyone was smiling. It seemed like the events of June 4 1989 had already been forgotten. I found this sad, as I scoured the paving slabs for shadows of blood or bullet holes. Of course, there were none to be found, but the numbers on each stone had almost disappeared – as if they had been vigorously scrubbed.

It is an impressive Square though – very clean and spacious. We paid 5¥ each to get into The Great Hall of the People, where the Chinese Parliament meets. We expected to see an auditorium with 10,000 seats, an elaborate dining hall, various rooms decorated so as to depict the states of China. What we actually saw were several corridors lined with junk souvenir shops, a few empty rooms with rolled up carpets, and empty dining hall which could have been a school gymnasium, and that was it – no auditorium! It is a huge building and we just got to do a tiny circle. I can only surmise that since last year’s events, the Government has decided to keep even more under wraps.

We wandered through Tiananmen Gate to the perimeter of The Forbidden City, but decided to keep that visit for another day. We also decided not to pay the 30¥ to go up Tiananmen Gate.

A visit to the theatre with others from the hotel to see Chinese acrobats started a good evening. The acrobatics included tumbling men; graceful girls with amazing balance and muscle control; a woman who balanced and twirled a parasol on her feet; and (low point) a woeful musician who killed a fish when it and several others got caught in the shaft of his ‘fishing rod’ during his ‘mind blowing’ (not) act.

The show only lasted an hour and was over by 8.30pm, but the theatre was a pleasant cultural experience. We were in the middle of the front row too – I kept kicking myself for not bringing the camera. It was pitch black and pouring with rain when we left. The roads were flooded and the sky kept lighting up with beautiful quivering flashes. Walking to the restaurant was more like going for a paddle!

Day 61 – August 2^nd 1990 – Beijing

We braved the Beijing bicycling community today. Only saw one accident – a bike under a car but no sign of injured bodies. As usual, I got panicky when trying to cross a major junction – there just doesn’t seem to be any real system. If you think a red light means stop, ignore it, but beware if the light ahead is green. I was getting in such a fluster one of the traffic policemen started coming in my direction, so I got on my bike!

We spent the afternoon wandering around the various bits of the Temple of Heaven. It was very beautiful, but spoiled by the number of tourists. At the famous Echo Wall, at least 50 people were yelling all round its circumference, their ears pressed to the wall as they waited for an answer from the other side (of the wall!) How anyone could hear a whisper in all that palaver I don’t know.

The same with the Echo Stones. You are supposed to be able to hear your clap echo so many times depending on which stone you are standing on. Of course, with so many people having a go, it sounded like applause!

The artwork, paintings and carvings in the various temples are very beautiful, but I was feeling a bit like once you have seen one you have seen them all – not a good attitude for a world tourist I guess.

We cycled to the Long Tan Hotel, about 6km away, on the opposite bank of the canal. It took quite some time to find, but was an interesting cycle along a little-used street lined on one side by the canal where people were fishing with huge bamboo nets, and on the other side by small, brick houses with little courtyards full of potted plants. These little back streets look much cleaner and more homely than any of the back streets we came across in India.

The dorms at the Long Tan (five beds per room) are very cool and seem clean, so we decided to move tomorrow. The staff at the Quai Yuan are not particularly friendly and we don’t want to continue to pay for air conditioning that doesn’t work. We can’t afford to anyway.

Day 62 – August 3^rd 1990 – Beijing

Spoke to Mum, Dad and Diana today which was really nice, and everything at home seems fine. Diana leaves for Brazil tomorrow. We were quite annoyed to learn that the parcel I had posted home had burst open and a roll of film lost. That’s two sets of pictures of India gone. I was also fed up when they charged me for four minutes when my call was only three minutes 20 seconds – they didn’t tell me they rounded up – I could have talked for another 40 seconds for the same price! [2020 postscript: Sounds like a bit of a moan, I know, but those calls home were rare and precious and we always wanted to make the most of them].

We braved Beijing public transport today. First a minibus/taxi to the Long Tan Hotel (15¥). We are in dorm/room 725 on the seventh floor. Already installed was an English lad listening to the BBC World Service.

We got a bus to the International Post Office, a very cool, clean, posh building, before walking to the Friendship Store – a funny name for a shop which does not admit people of its own country, only foreigners are allowed to shop here. After our visit, we sat outside the shop (literally) and had a picnic of bread, baked beans and cottage cheese!

Then it was off to the Beijing Hotel via bus and tube (much cleaner than the London Underground) in search of Cathay Pacific Airlines. It was here Kate Adie (one of my heroes) and the BBC crew stayed during the Tiananmen Square protests. The hotel was very posh, but we had no luck locating a Cathay Pacific office and had trouble finding a number 40 bus to get back to our own more modest hotel.

We headed down for dinner at 8.30pm only to find the hotel dining room closed. The Chinese eat between 5pm and 8pm, then close up. We walked around 2km to a local restaurant where absolutely nothing was in English. With the help of a local who spoke English pretty well, we communicated that I was a vegetarian and was told by the waitress that ‘We have no vegetables, only Beijing Duck.’ We ended up eating three plates of cold pickles. The cook had gone home and the restaurant doors closed a minute after we got in.

[2020 postscript: Being a vegetarian in China was not easy once we left Yangshuo behind – the Chinese had some fantastic vegetables, but nearly every dish had a little bit of meat of some description in it. It was particularly frustrating for Matthew as we often passed street stalls selling a variety of delicious smelling dishes for very little, because none had anything vegetarian and we often ended up with something not so appetising – like cold pickles!]

Streetlife is very popular in the evenings. The locals all pile outside, sitting, chatting, walking and waving their fans to stay cool. Under a bridge, a large group had gathered. A man played a harp, and different people got up to sing, though perhaps singing is rather too generous a term for it! It is a different way of life than in pub-loving Britain, though it did make me think a bit of the street entertainment in Covent Garden.

Day 63 – August 4^th 1990 – Beijing

Our first night in a dorm went okay. We turned the lights out around midnight, but now, 6pm, we are sitting with Alex (the English lad) and Swiss [2020 postscript: From Switzerland] in a rather uncomfortable atmosphere. I can’t really relax when sharing my bedroom with two quiet, male strangers. What’s more, is seems unlikely that either of them will move on before us.

We located Cathay Pacific in the New China World Tower after lots of searching, bussing and walking (no bikes left for hire!) We changed money and ate lunch back at the Quai Yuan Hotel as there is nowhere near the Long Tan Hotel to change money, in fact, there is really nothing around here at all.

I want to wash my hair, but the hot water doesn’t come on until 7pm. Most of the local restaurants are only open from 5pm-7pm. We are considering bussing it to town to go to a Sichuan restaurant, but it closes at 8.30pm and it could take us a while to get there and they probably won’t have any vegetarian food. The other option is to eat downstairs and spend a long evening in our dorm with the lads – there is not much chance of an early night – no doubt the boys will sit in knitting (Swiss) and listening to the World Service (Alex) all night. Yawn…

[2020 postscript: We did go to the Sichuan Restaurant – I recall how it looked from the outside but not what we ate, although pickles (again) do come to mind!]

Day 64 – August 5^th 1990 – Beijing

Much deliberation this morning about the pros and cons of staying in this cheaper hotel with its basic facilities. We spent two hours looking for somewhere to have breakfast and ended up having a very dry cheese sandwich for 4¥ in the Beijing Hotel [2020 postscript: No slumming it then!] I had to drink tea as we didn’t feel we could stretch to 5¥ for coffee. If we move back into a 60¥ a night room at the Quai Yan Hotel (something of a backward move) we would only have 33¥ left between us per day – a bit of a daunting prospect as we plan to pay 25¥ each to visit the Great Wall tomorrow.

With the big decision still hanging in the air, we tackled the crowds at The Forbidden City, so called because for hundreds of years the public would have been killed for entering its beautiful gates.  The price of entry to the Imperial City, home of the Ming and Qing dynasties, their concubines, eunuchs and servants since the early 15^th century, is no longer a death sentence, but 18¥ (FEC, not reminbi, of course)! Portable cassette players featuring Peter Ustinov dictating a guided tour cost 20 ¥ so we decided to go without – sorry Peter.

What is indeed a beautiful, impressive and surely unique cluster of buildings enclosed behind a moat and high wall was spoiled to some extent by the thousands of people milling in. The high arches of the Meridian Gate and the Supreme Harmony Gate were like bridges over a river of human bodies – drinking coke and mineral water, eating buns and ice creams and – despite warnings to the contrary – gobbing.

The place is very overgrown. Looking through the windows of the three great halls, including the Hall of Supreme Harmony which houses the stunningly ornate Dragon Throne, was like trying to catch a glimpse of a rare animal at a zoo on a weekend.  You were simply carried along by the crowd. As usual, the heat was stifling.

The exhibition we felt would be most interesting – that depicting the life of the last Emperor, the boy Puyi – cost an additional 10¥, so we gave it a miss. We did see some indication of what life in the Palace was like when we passed the Emperor’s living quarters – The Hall of Mental Cultivation! The décor and furniture was very basic, but dignified and beautiful, although again we had to peer through windows to see into the gloomy interior.

We spent almost four hours in The Forbidden City, and there was more to see. The number of tourists had decreased considerably as we were leaving, and it was much more tranquil. I could almost visualise little Puyi running to the edge of the steps leading to the courtyard where 100,000 courtiers were bowing their heads. Of course, the image was helped having seen the film The Last Emperor.

Not wishing to hurry back to the dorm, we had beer and corn on the cob in a real Chinese restaurant. It was interesting. Diners all pile in from around 4.30pm, they sit around huge circular tables, with turntables in the centre of each table, order dozens of dishes (including in one case a full Beijing Duck which was mutilated and the remnants chucked on the floor in seconds). They eat quickly, and leave minutes later, with no time wasted socialising!

We are still trying to work out how they can afford to eat like this, or even buy food and clothes, because according to an article in China Daily, the average wage is 120¥ per month, and most of the dishes on the menu were about 10-12¥ each!

We ate in the hotel, where omelette was the only meat-free item on the menu, and were delighted to find we had the dorm to ourselves when went upstairs – only to be joined by the lads 15 minutes later.

Day 65 – August 6^th 1990 – Beijing

We are having a night in to write, if I can get inspiration, and save money. Swiss is knitting and Alex is listening to Radio Moscow.

I am thrilled that we have now seen two of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World (Taj Mahal was the first).  We climbed the Great Wall of China today (I didn’t buy one of those teeshirts everyone else is wearing!) and also visited the Ming Tombs.

We almost missed our bus from the Quai Yuan Hotel – public transport from here to there took an hour and 10 minutes. We were not best pleased when we found that we had to pay extra to go into the Ming Tombs, an impressive underground ‘palace’ where an emperor and empresses are buried in a huge vault. It lay undiscovered for almost 400 years and was undoubtedly an exciting find for some archaeologist.

The bus then took us to the Wall at Badaling. This was a very touristy part, but the Wall, originally built for protection in 700BC, has been beautifully restored. It winds over the hills, with watchtowers interspersed along its five metre-wide walkway. We struggled through the photo/video taking crowds beyond the closest high peak, where you could have had a photo taken dressed as Marco Polo, or sitting on a bored but remarkably dignified camel.

Past that tower, the crowds filtered out, and after a pretty steep climb we spent 20 minutes admiring the scenery, the masterpiece that is the Wall, and enjoying a cooling breeze.

Back in the city, after tea at a café beside the Quai Yuan, we arranged to get tickets for two ‘hard seats’ to Canton for Thursday with a guy in the Great Wall Bar – we paid 50¥ each deposit and he is charging a total of 115¥ each for the ticket – initially he asked for 155¥ and seemed quite taken aback when we said we knew someone else who could do it for 120¥. We are clearly getting better at haggling.

And now we are back with the lads. Beijing nightlife at its best!

Day 66 – August 7^th 1990 – Beijing

We visited the famous Chairman Mao this morning. He was looking sadly waxen. We queued up for probably less than 10 minutes before being ushered through a fairly impressive mausoleum along with a group of several hundred Chinese tourists. The Chairman was lying in the centre of a red carpeted room. We didn’t have time to get a good look. It was like being on a conveyor belt and anyone who slowed the system down (like Matthew) got a few harsh words from the security guards.

Afterwards, we bought some Chairman Mao cigarettes to send to people at home. [2020 postscript: I sent a packet to my Mum. She later wrote to me saying she had received them but, after discussing them with a friend, had decided it was best not to smoke them in case they contained some sort of drug – aside from nicotine, that is!]. We could have bought Mao thermometers, keyrings, badges and more from the numerous souvenir stalls cashing in on the chairman’s death 14 years ago – he’s embalmed!

While Chinese history is undeniably very colourful and interesting, four hours in the History of the Revolution Museum just off Tiananmen Square was a little too much! Lots of battles between northern warlords, Japanese, British and more.

History in China seems to end in 1949 with the founding of the Great People’s Republic and the hero Mr Mao. There were no references to the extremes of the Cultural Revolution and certainly nothing about the events of June last year.

The museum was made up mostly of poor quality black and white photos, Chinese documents and letters and faded ornaments and clothes with such enlightening descriptions as ‘A soup bowl’ and ‘A jumper.’ But I shouldn’t criticise – the explanations in English were excellent – it was just there were so many of them and the print size was a little hard on my contact lenses!

On our way home tonight we met an Iranian man who bought us a warm beer, asked if I was married, paid me extravagant compliments, then asked if he could come to our room. Needless to say, we said no!

Day 67 – August 8^th 1990 – Beijing

We hired bikes and cycled to the Military Museum where we spent three hours. It was neither boring nor exciting. There were no English subtitles – otherwise we would have been there all week!

We cycled back through the busy (and frightening) traffic to the Foreign Language Bookshop near the Beijing Hotel, where Matthew bought a book to read on the train to Canton. Then we headed down Quianmen Lu via a veggie restaurant to the Quai Yuan Hotel where we expected to pick up our tickets for the train. We were told the guy selling them wasn’t there and would not be around until 10pm!

We left the bikes and caught a bus to the Gong Le Din Restaurant where we had and expensive (27¥) meal served by a very miserable waitress. Back at the Quai Yuan, we drank beer, collected the tickets, then cycled home at midnight along virtually empty roads. The little road along the canal was particularly peaceful. A very busy day.

Day 68 – August 9^th 1990 – Beijing to Canton part 1

After a relaxing morning in the dorm, we bussed it, packs on backs, to Beijing Railway Station where, after some searching, we found the left luggage room in the Foreigners’ Waiting Room. Very nice indeed, but not sure if it was really worth a couple of hundred FEC (Foreign Exchange Certificates) to leave our luggage in a ‘nice’ place.

Relieved of our bags, I had my last eggplant at the café beside the Quai Yuan, and wrote up my edited ‘Kris in China’ article. At 4pm we headed to the Friendship Store to stock up for the journey – tinned zucchini, baked beans, luncheon meat, mackerel, three loaves of bread, jam, two packets of noodles (which we can reconstitute using the boiling water provided free on board), two peaches, two oranges, six bananas, coffee, tea and two packets of biscuits – we didn’t intend to starve!

Getting on board the train to Canton was no problem, although at first it looked completely packed, but we found our pre-booked seats were empty. As we unpacked our food, we got quite a lot of attention from fellow travellers, all Chinese of course – we saw no westerners on the journey – who seemed amused at our stockpile. As we got each item out it was picked up and scrutinised!

The early part of the journey went okay. Sleep was impossible, being packed in so close. We swapped to a two-seater with a woman and a baby – we had been sitting beside her husband – but really there was as little room there as in the six-seater. The two men opposite us smoked a lot, but thankfully did not gob on the floor or even out the window. Unfortunately, they were sitting on the draught side and kept the window down. When the fans went off, it was like trying to sleep in a smoke-filled plastic tube – not very pleasant.

Day 69 – August 10^th 1990 – Beijing to Canton part 2

The day went in fairly quickly. We were able to swap seats with the two smoking men midway through the morning and so had the draught on us all day. We read, ate, drank coffee and listened to Irish music.

The early morning mist gave way to a pleasant sunny day and the countryside with its red, red soil and fertile land was beautiful in many parts. Though we must have passed through closed areas as well as open China, we saw no evidence of extreme poverty. Houses were sturdy and in some places quite large and everywhere appeared clean.

Our window was hit by a soil missile at one station, and at another, the train was bombarded with bottles by a group of shabbily dressed kids who just seemed to be hanging about the lines.

The men opposite left the train at 9pm, and we had two seats each for the rest of the journey. Sadly, they were not comfortable and sleep was hard to come by.

Day 70 – August 11^th 1990 – Canton

Back on solid ground again. I barely slept, although I may have dozed a couple of times before a creaked neck or squashed limbs ached so much they forced me to change position. I also had to use the loo a lot, which meant climbing over lots of prostrate legs and bodies and getting stared at by the droves of men in the carriage.

We arrived at 5.45am – the journey had taken just under 36 hours. A taxi, after haggling, to Guangzhou Youth Hostel cost 15¥. We waited an hour before being given a room which had not been cleaned. We managed to get the beds changed by a very grumpy attendant who tried to get away without changing the pillow cases! Took a shower (wonderful, but I still smell) and slept for five fabulous, sticky hours.

Canton Market, a sight to be seen, but not one to be lingered over, was almost as bad as I had heard. Terrified animals were squashed in tiny cages, watching as others of their species were chopped up, skinned, gutted, their flesh still warm, blood gushing everywhere. Killing methods were not exactly humane. And it wasn’t just ducks and chickens, though there were plenty of those, but frogs, badgers – one (pictured below) had a mutilated paw and was lying trembling and no doubt in agony in his/her cage – monkeys, pigs of some description and worst of all, cats and kittens miaowing and terrified. They were being well fed and watered – I guess they wouldn’t be so tasty if they were skinny.

It was distressing. In the past, the Chinese ate these animals because they had to, but now they are a delicacy. The one relief was that I didn’t see any dogs – maybe they had all been sold earlier.

The market also did a big trade in fish of numerous varieties. Tanks full of large, live fish, eels, shellfish etc swimming, or rather, struggling to stay wet inside. Occasionally one made a leap for freedom, but it was to be short lived. He would be swept back into the tank to await his fate. The fish were gutted on the side. So much blood! Eels were sliced lengthwise without being killed first.

In some parts the smell was putrid, but despite the sweltering heat there were very few flies and generally it smelt, and looked, a lot better than parts of Delhi where the drains ran with sewerage and rotting food, not fresh blood.

We spent the evening eating and chatting with an English lad who was in China for just a week and had decided just to stay in Canton. He seemed a bit lonely. We bumped into the students we had chatted to in the Quai Yuan Hotel in Beijing on August 2 or so – it’s a small world! They had gone to Xi’an to see the Terracotta Army but said it hadn’t really been worth it. Too many of the soldiers were covered up.

Day 71 – August 12^th 1990 – Canton to Hong Kong

We biked it to Guangzhou Ferry Terminal where we could only get second class tickets on the boat tonight. Although we changed more money, we didn’t have enough to pay all in FECs (Foreign Exchange Certificates) – we were 9¥ short and the woman refused to take renminbi to make up the difference. It looked like we were going to end up sitting up all night, probably on a seat in the boat café, when I (pat on the head) offered the difference in Hong Kong dollars and yes, they were prepared to accept that! Thank goodness we still had a few left.

The afternoon was spent writing in the Youth Hostel café before walking to the boat via a restaurant for veg and rice. The guidebook and my ‘I am a vegetarian, I do not eat meat,’ carefully written out in Chinese for me by ‘Mr Logic‘ during the boat journey to Wuzhou on July 21, came in very handy. I have used it quite a lot actually [2020 postscript: And, as the photo shows, I still have it 30 years on – for my next visit to China maybe?]

Second class turned out pretty much the same as what we had come over to Canon in, only not quite as nice. We met a Neolithic New Zealander and had soup, beer, coke and coffee before bed.

Day 72 – August 13^th 1990 – Hong Kong

Back in the land of money – and the land of Chungking Mansions! We got off the boat at 6am after a good night’s sleep to find Hong Kong still sleeping soundly. Chungking Mansions were no exception.

After breakfast, we spent the next hour trying to find a decent room. The room we stayed in before was something of a goldmine – it was not available and the owner couldn’t offer us anything even close, nor could anyone else. We ended up in a tiled cupboard with attached toilet and showerhead for $130 (around £10).

We pottered around – bookshop, lunch, post office and chemist, where I finally found some hair dye. Matthew phoned home but there was no answer. A three-minute call would have cost the equivalent of £2.50 which is great. You pay in advance and they tell you when your time is up. And to think I paid £9 to call home from Beijing!

We planned to go the Poor Man’s Nightclub [see day 45], but after a couple of drinks in The Blacksmiths Arms (great air-con!) we craved an Indian and ended up in the Delhi Mess on the third floor of Block B of Chungking Mansions. The food was excellent and reasonably priced.

Day 73 – August 14^th 1990 – Hong Kong

The water in our ‘cupboard’ (ie bedroom) is working, but we have been ordered not to use it. This meant walking down eight floors to the reception at the ‘London Guest House’ on the seventh floor to wash the black hair dye out of my hair. [2020 postscript: Even at the tender age of 25 I was turning grey and had to put a colour in to hide my white roots. I must have looked a treat using the lift with my head covered in runny, stinky black dye!]. When I got there, the water hardly worked down on the seventh floor either!

The manager said he had another room for us, so we packed up and waited an hour. At which point he told us we would have to pay more for the new room. We refused, and they eventually took us to another ‘guest house’ on the floor below where again we had to wait before being shown a smelly, small room – bigger than the cupboard, but not as clean.

It was a cheaper room than what we had paid for, so Matthew read the riot act – again! The guy tried to convince us that walking down and up eight floors to shower and go to the loo was no hassle and that because there had been water when we first moved in (before they started work on the plumbing) we had actually had our fair share. We got a $55 refund in the end, but only after a fairly noisy showdown.

Morning wasted (but at least my hair was restored to its raven colour!) we picked up some photos we had left in for development and again they have been cropped considerably which was very frustrating. We headed to the post restante where Matthew got six letters and I got only one, so felt hard done by on what was turning into a miserable day. We read the letters in a wine bar on Central, where I enjoyed my first decent glass of dry white wine since leaving home. A bit pricey though!

We hit Poor Man’s Nightclub in the evening, and it was just as good an experience as last time. We met two Scottish students in a café back in Kowloon, and as they were staying in Chungking Mansions they ended up helping us finish our duty-free Scotch (appropriately enough) as we fly to Bangkok tomorrow and can’t take it with us. Downside of a good night was we didn’t get to bed until 4am!

Day 74 – August 15^th 1990 – Hong Kong to Bangkok, Thailand

The flight left Hong Kong at 1.40pm and arrived in Bangkok on time. Unfortunately our bags didn’t!!!

It is the sort of thing I dread each time I arrive at an airport, but actually you rely on the system to the extent that you entrust it with your life in a bag, and don’t expect lost luggage to happen to you. It probably would have been worse if I hadn’t had to rush to the loo before going through passport control, meaning we had to join a huge queue on the way through. When we reached the conveyor belt, virtually all the people and all the bags from our flight had gone, with no sign of our pink and blue backpacks.

We waited a bit longer and still nothing. Amazingly, I did not panic. If only one of our backpacks had failed to show, I would have worried that someone had grabbed the other, but with two bags missing this seemed an unlikely scenario. Also, our packs had been deemed a ‘funny shape’ and did not go with the other luggage at Hong Kong Airport. Instead they went on a security trolly, but were were assured by airline staff, to quote, ‘Don’t worry, they will be on the same flight as you…’ Fateful words!

Technology is an amazing thing. Using a computer, a very helpful Thai Airline baggage security lady was able to trace our bags to 35,000ft above the ocean on a Cathay Pacific flight from Hong Kong to Bangkok which would arrive at 6pm. Big sigh of relief. At least they were not lost or on a flight to Iceland or Delhi or somewhere equally out of the way. As it was 4pm, she said our bags would be delivered to our hotel when they arrived. That sounded okay.

We paid 190฿ (Thai Baht – £1 = 43฿) for a taxi into the city where we had booked a room at the Merry V Guest House. The Thais appear to drive like maniacs – it seems acceptable to swap lanes continually; to overtake at speed on the inside lane or even the hard shoulder; to hog the middle lane if in a slow van; to shoot up behind someone, then jam on your brakes; to pull out in front of someone in the hope that he jams on his brakes… need I say more. The drive was an absolute nightmare.

It was almost as bad as the plane ride when, as I was dozing, the captain put on the seatbelt signs because of turbulence, and I jumped up, grabbed Matthew, had a hot flush and nearly passed out. All I saw was the ‘life vests are under your seat’ flashing and thought this was it. [2020 postscript: I think I mentioned at least once before that I am a nervous flyer!] A good job they gave us some excellent free wine (very good service on board).

Back to the taxi – it took us an hour and a quarter to reach the Merry V because the driver ‘got confused.’ The hotel looks nice on the outside, but is like a prison inside. Each room is furnished with metal framed beds – nothing else. The walls which divide the ‘rooms’ are made of plywood, and there is a 2ft open gap between the wall and the ceiling, so privacy is completely out. We enjoyed some good food, though it was a nerve-wracking wait for our backpacks which finally arrived – amazingly in one piece – at 10.30pm!

So I can’t say much in relation to first impressions of Bangkok as we have seen little but the airport, the back of a taxi driver’s head, and the café at the guest house.

Day 75 – August 16^th 1990 – Bangkok

We moved from one ‘cardboard box’ to a cheaper, smaller (110 ฿) cardboard box, and then spent the day finding our way around. We posted books, posters and films to Matthew’s parents from a nearby post office, which cost around £12. We picked up some information from the Tourist Authority of Thailand (TAT) and planned our next couple of weeks.

This evening we had dinner as a reasonably priced but posh restaurant by the river. It was pretty, but not quite as spectacular as Hong Kong Harbour. [2020 postscript: Let’s face it, where is!] We watched Top Gun at a café next door to our hostel before getting an early night.

The sun beamed for most of the day, and although it is hot, it is not nearly as humid as India or China. There are a lot of suntanned Westerners around too, which is a bit of a shock to the system after the last two and a half months!

Day 76 – August 17^th 1990 – Bangkok

You can’t visit a capital city without going to see at least one sight, and you shouldn’t really come to Thailand without seeing Thai dancing or Thai boxing – guess where we spent our evening? – yes, in the cheapest seats around a boxing ring!

The main part of the day was spent tackling Bangkok’s unbelievably complicated bus network. We got to the Reclining Buddha Temple okay – a half hour walk, and paid 10฿ each to get in, plus 80฿ for a guide. It was money well spent, otherwise the visit would have meant a lot less. The Buddha himself was beautiful, 47m long, gold plated, with mother of pearl inlaid feet. There were lots of other smaller buddhas to look at as well.

We then attempted to get a bus across town to sin and sex city where we planned to have a drink before heading to the Thai boxing. We waited half an hour before getting on board a no. 47 bus, only to find it was going the wrong way. Then another half hour wait before getting the no. 47 going in the right direction.  It took ages due to Bangkok traffic, and was packed and very fumey.

Once in sin and sex city – where the most sinful thing that happened were two different men offering Matthew the opportunity to watch 10 minutes of an erotica performance for free – we had time for a KFC (chicken was served with mashed potatoes and gravy rather than fries) before walking to the boxing arena, again choking on the fumes which fill Bangkok’s streets.

It certainly was an interesting night. The boxers, mostly young lads in their late teens, dance in time to a lovely but repetitive beat played by live musicians. Before boxing, they perform religious rituals, which are very graceful, with the music still playing in the background.

They then lay into each other – kicking, kneeing, and holding. Punching seems to be a lot less important than kicking, though we did see one knock-out. We were virtually alone in one part of the arena – most of the local people chose to be crammed into another section as that is where they could easily get to the touts.

We didn’t bet, but I did pick four winners out of six! The bus back to the hostel was thankfully fairly painless.

Day 77 – August 18^th 1990 – Bangkok

We spent the first part of the morning trying to determine the time of the buses to Chumpon on the east coast, where we had decided to stop off on our way to Phuket, and phoned the Poste Restante to see if a letter Matthew was expecting had arrived.

We had no luck either way. No one seemed to agree on when, and from where, the buses would leave, and the man at the Poste Restante spent five minutes telling Matthew he did not have the time to check the ‘B’s. We were successful when phoning Garuda though, and were able to confirm our flights to Java and Bali.

We paid for one more night, deciding to get a 6am bus tomorrow, then realised we were ‘copping out’ – in India or China we would not have thought twice about a night bus arriving somewhere unknown at a ridiculously early hour, so we asked for our money back. There was no issue with that, and I packed my stuff quicker than I have ever packed before.

We set about filling in the day before (hopefully) getting the bus to Chumpon at around 10pm. First we took the river express ferry (fast) to the GPO to find the Poste Restante had closed at 1pm (something the man Matthew spoke to failed to mention!) After a roadside snack – or rather Matthew had a roadside snack, they seem to eat nothing but dead animals here – we caught the ferry as far as it would go, had a drink, retraced our route and got back to the Merry V guesthouse at 6pm.

The river trip was cheap and interesting – numerous houses on stilts lining the water’s edge, all with pretty window boxes.

We spent the evening biding our time in the restaurant next door to the guesthouse, wishing we didn’t have to catch a bus. The confusion over which terminal – the Southern Regular or the South Air-Con – continued. Popular opinion seemed to be that we should go to the Southern Regular but, unbeknown to me, a man on a bus persuaded Matthew that we really wanted to go to the other.

Confused, struggling under the weight of our backpacks, we changed buses three times and when we got to the terminal [2020 postscript: Which one? I don’t remember] it was shut! I cursed and swore at the Tourist Authority of Thailand – we were by now already late – and then we determined that we were indeed at the wrong terminal, thanks to the ‘know-it-all’ on the bus!

Next came a huge row in the middle of the street, with raised voices and all sorts of language, I’m sure the locals were not amused. [2020 postscript: Matthew and I have been married almost 29 years, and we still recall this row quite clearly – one of the biggies!]. I was ready to go back to the hotel, but miraculously a correct bus came along and we secured two of the last four seats on the 10pm bus to Chumpon!

Just one of those days….

Day 78 – August 19^th 1990 – Chumphon

The air-con bus was cool and comfy and we even got served a bun, a roll and orange juice at the start of the journey. We both slept pretty well, but panicked when we woke at 5.30am as we were meant to have reached Chumphon at 4am! Then Matthew spotted a sign saying ‘Chumphon 19,’ so we relaxed for the last half hour.

It was much better arriving at 6am than 4am, and we found the road where most of the hotels were located quite easily. We booked into a huge double room with a sink (90฿) in the first one we came to and slept for the rest of the morning.

After lunch, we tried unsuccessfully to find a map of Chumphon; gave up on going to the beach; I got my hair cut (Matthew not impressed); and we ate dinner in an okay restaurant which actually had a menu in English. We sampled the local Mekong whiskey which was pretty good and spent the evening playing cards in our room.

Day 79 – August 20^th 1990 – Chumphon

We checked out, left our bags in the hotel reception, and spent the day at Chumphon Cabana, a beautiful beach 14km from the town. We got there and back by minibus – well, a van with two benches in the rear. [2020 postscript: The link to the Cabana shows an upmarket resort – I don’t remember anything like that – just miles and miles of palm-fringed empty beach].

The weather was dull initially, but the sun came out in the afternoon and when we caught the minibus back at 5pm we were both completely sunburned.

As we did not have to make any moves until 10pm when we were due to get a bus to the boat leaving for Koh Tao island at 12pm, we showered, ate good food in another restaurant with an English menu, and went to the cinema.

What an experience! All the trailers were full of sex and violence – not the sort of thing that would be shown on British screens (at least not legally!) The one exception was an advert for a dubbed ‘High Spirits’ – no sex or violence, just good fun, so I bet it won’t be a sell-out in Thailand. Anyway, best of all were the rats, running along the back of the seat in the row in front. Aargh!!! [2020 postscript: I can’t recall what we did see, but I am pretty sure it was a Thai language film so we didn’t grasp the plot.]

We were completely fed up when we arrived at the tourist office to get the minibus to the port, only to be told the Koh Tao boat wasn’t operating tonight! We had to go back to the hotel and pay 120฿ for a large double, double room with a smelly toilet!

Day 80 – August 21^st 1990 – Chumpon

A memorable day. The noise of the demolition work going on within the hotel drove us out early. We left our belongings at the tourist office, but decided not to go back to the beach because our sunburn is quite bad. The man at the tourist office took pity on us and gave us a free lift to a cave beside a little monastery. There, in a glass case, they have the preserved (though not very well) body of a supposedly 85-year-old monk who died in 1982. In front of it is a gold leaf statue of him, and a large photo.

Behind the building is a huge cave, full of ancient Buddhas, all from India, an image of a reclining Buddha, hundreds of really impressive stalactites, all beautifully lit by red, green and blue lights. It is very impressive and apparently quite a tourist attraction, but as we are off season, we were the only tourists there.

The jeep ride gave us a chance to see a little of the countryside, which is very green and lush, not heavily farmed. There are thousands of palm trees, many leaning heavily to one side. Apparently a typhoon last year did a lot of damage. We asked about going to see the National Forest Park, but the response suggested that, thanks to the typhoon, it is no more.

We were back in Chumphon by 1pm – only nine hours to wait for the Koh Tao boat! We ended up drinking Mekong and chatting to a local girl (who turned out to work in the place) in a bar-style restaurant where singers were practicing for their evening session. It was a very pleasant afternoon until a group of drunk local men arrived. One in particular was very badly inebriated. He eventually lost his rag and overturned the table the group was sitting at, sending glasses and plates everywhere.  Then his mate began arguing with another man who appeared to be trying to keep the peace. Suddenly all hell broke loose!

Chairs and tables went over heads, glasses smashed, fists were thrown. I got out as quickly as possible. A waitress dragged Matthew and our bag out. We both had to hold onto Matthew who was sure he could go in and talk to the mad guy (it would have been the Mekong talking, I think!)

When the situation finally calmed down, there were several people covered in blood. The drunk’s mate was the worst. With blood pouring down his face and shirt, he drove off on his motorbike. The police arrived and the pissed guy was eventually led away – arrested, I presume.

Our table had been virtually demolished, our drinks gone. The funniest thing was the girl we had been chatting to all afternoon rushing out with our bill. “You pay, you pay,” was all she could say, terrified we were going to do a runner. We said we shouldn’t have to pay for a full bottle of Mekong when we had only drunk half of it, and she actually went and retrieved it off the floor – it must have been the only glass thing that hadn’t broken.

We took ourselves to a real (but cheap) restaurant, where I had a dinner made up of only chillies and sauce. It was hot!  With several hours still to kill, we actually returned to the cinema where the film for the evening did not feature any sex (unlike last night) but plenty of gratuitous violence.  Good job we had the rats to keep us entertained!

At last we caught the minibus to the boat, along with a couple from South Africa, Terry and Lisa. The boat was small and piled up with supplies, mattresses and people. Both bottom decks were packed with bodies and we ended up trying to get comfortable on the roof.

The toilet was a bit of scaffolding sticking out from the deck at the rear of the boat. You just stood on two planks and did your business in the sea. But at least it had a door. I had to visit it three times during a sleepless night. [2020 postscript: One of the most surreal memories of my year – clambering down from the roof, over sleeping people, to the wooden door (no walls either side – the door itself was the only form of privacy). Going through and closing the door, clutching the two ropes at either side, turning around with one foot on a plank, lowering clothing while trying to keep my balance and not fall into the sea and disappear forever – all for a wee. And as we were towing a boat at the time, I could imagine the people on board saying: “It’s that Irish woman with the big white butt walking the plank again. Must be the Mekong!!!]

Day 81 – August 22^nd 1990 – Koh Tao

At least it didn’t rain last night. We got our sleeping bags out. Matthew lay on top of his and I curled up with mine alongside the safety rail (about 10cm high). It got quite rough after the first couple of hours and I did feel a bit seasick.

We pulled into a beautiful palm-fringed bay on Koh Tao shortly before 7am. We could see some bungalows on the shore, but didn’t fancy staying there as this is the main ‘port,’ so when a guy with a longtail boat turned up and showed us some photographs of bungalows in a bay seven minutes round the island by boat at only 40฿ (less than £1) per night, we said: ‘Let’s go!”

Terry and Lisa came too. The little bay was absolutely gorgeous. Clear blue sea, rocks, a white sandy beach, lots of palm trees and little bamboo bungalows on stilts just at the back of the beach, set amidst the palms.

There was a little restaurant up the hill, and some bungalows on the rocks, but we opted for one on the beach. Basic isn’t the word. The floor is bamboo strips with inch wide gaps. The walls are thin woven bamboo with lots of cut-out holes. There are two ‘windows’ which you close by pulling across a piece of plywood. The bungalow has a mattress, two pillows, a plastic mat on the floor and a hanging mosquito net. In short, it seemed like we had found paradise.

The illusion was quickly shattered when we discovered a huge lizard (Gecko) on our wall. We had to call in a local man to remove it, and it put up some resistance. In the end the poor thing was quite bashed about. The Geckos don’t touch humans, in fact they eat mossies and other insects, but I just couldn’t have slept with it in the room.

We finally lay down to sleep for a couple of hours, waking to find we had been infested with ants. Again, someone had to be called in. It turned out we had left a chocolate biscuit wrapper under the mattress. One clever little ant had discovered it, told his mates and hey presto – an invasion!

Out came everything – mattresses, bags, clothes, sheets etc and we laid down ant powder. By 5pm the hut was clean. As we waited, we did some washing in a big tub, after drawing water from the well. We also washed ourselves using well water, until Matthew broke the ‘bucket’ used to draw the water. [2020 postscript: Thereafter we did all our body washing in a hut containing what we were told was a ‘mandi’ – a large concrete trough from which you scooped the water using a ladle to pour over yourself. It was quite effective].  

Sunset – an incredibly beautiful affair, full of pinks, oranges and deep purples – happened around 6.30pm, as we swam in the sea. Darkness fell very quickly. We ate at the restaurant on the hill which was nice but quite expensive – the owners also own the bungalows and have something of a monopoly as there is nowhere else nearby to eat. We went to bed by the light of a tiny lantern at 9pm.

Day 82 – August 23^rd 1990 – Koh Tao

Sitting on the little veranda of our hut, looking across the grass and white sand, through the palm trees, to an undulating blue sea carrying a small, chugging ferry, with a warm but strong breeze blowing in your face is a rather awesome experience.

Sleeping last night was traumatic – I imagined ants, lizards, even bogey men invading our hut, but in the morning all was well. We slept in a little late, then took a long time over breakfast, before walking the 2km to the ‘port,’ a quaint little place with a good selection of shops. We ate at a seafront café, where we watched a dead, extremely bloated snake or eel, washing up on the shore. He was pretty big – 5ft long at least.

My burnt chest (from Chumphon Cabana) is still red raw and blistering, so we spent quite a lot on Nivea aftersun and factor six protection. We also bought potatoes to barbecue on the beach, as well as tomatoes, onions, apples and crisps.

We chatted to Terry and Lisa when we got back, and they’ve now headed to the restaurant. I am sitting writing this, sipping beer (unfortunately expensive) and considering lighting the fire as I wait for sunset.

Later: We lit a fire, swam in the sea as the sun set around us, baked our potatoes and onions and ate them with tomatoes. All delicious, even the charcoal potato skins.

Day 83 – August 24^th 1990 – Koh Tao

My sunburn has blistered and oozed, so spent my third day on a tropical island ‘covered up.’  Today we just relaxed, swam and took a little, leaky boat out for a short row. We had a Thai curry at the restaurant at lunchtime. Fabulous. When we gave our order, the man walked a short distance into the palm trees and we watched him speedily climb up one, cut off a coconut and take it into the kitchen for our curry. Fresh or what!

In the evening, as we sat on the beach drinking Singha Beer, we were approached by a guy (who makes a thing of swimming nude with his girlfriend), brandishing a very strong smelling dope cigarette. He was completely off his rocker!

Day 84 – August 25^th 1990 – Koh Tao

Another day just lazing around swimming and eating. Entertainment on the beach was provided by our fellow travellers – not Terry and Lisa, they went to a ‘picturesque’ island frequented by numerous tour boats today – no, it was all the others flitting around the beach, all the women topless and a couple of the ‘druggie’ guys totally naked. Have you ever seen a naked man struggling to bail out a tiny boat? One large, nude female proudly flaunted her wares.

At 5pm we headed across the island to the ‘market’ where we bought some cheese and spuds and had a drink as we watched the beginnings of the sunset. Then it was a mad scramble back over the mountain before it got too dark to see the track. I would not like to get caught up there after sunset. We made it with a few minutes to spare.

We didn’t bother to light a fire when we got back, but shared our Mekong with Terry in the café.

Day 85 – August 26^th 1990 – Koh Tao

The beach was boringly quiet today, no nudies. [2020 postscript: Oh to be on a boringly quiet tropical beach, regardless of the number of other folk, or the state of their dress or undress, instead of sat at a computer all day meeting deadlines. I didn’t appreciate how lucky I was this day 30 years ago!]

Again, we just read, swam and ate at the café above the bay. I am really enjoying these Thai veg curries – really sweet, coconutty and spicy. As the sun began to set we lit a fire, which unfortunately didn’t burn so well, so we stuck our spuds in and returned to the café for a snack. When we got back, the spuds were well and truly done, so we ate them with our cheese, tomato and onion, by the light of the lantern in our hut. Very pleasant.

Day 86 – August 27^th 1990 – Koh Tao

I did a proper piece of sunbathing today – first time since arriving on the island. One hour, to be precise. We had our usual very relaxing and enjoyable pre-breakfast swim, then our usual fried eggs and toast, then the sunbathing, before braving the heat to walk across the island to the Market. We bought postcards, a fishing line and had another delicious Thai curry.

We got back – having gotten a bit lost by trying to follow a different track over the mountain – to find the sky brewing up for a storm. There was an incredibly strong wind, but it only lasted about 10 minutes before blowing (literally) over.

The sun failed to reappear, and the wind got pretty strong again as we were sitting eating rather horrible, greasy, fried noodles in the café, with NO beer because, sadly though unsurprisingly, our money is running out!

Day 87 – August 28^th 1990 – Koh Tao

Well, the storm that didn’t happen yesterday arrived with full vengeance today! It was most impressive – typhoon-like gales which blew a perfectly healthy palm leaf from a tree [2020 postscript: Oooh, dramatic!], driving rain, black, black skies, stormy sea and stinging sand.

Matthew and I stood out in it for quite a while – my only disappointment was that it was too windy for me to put my contact lenses in to witness the drama fully. Lisa could not quite believe that we were posing for photos at the height of the story. I personally thought it was fun!

She and Terry have decided to go and stay in the town tonight as she would prefer to wonder around the shops than ‘sit trying to salvage their clothes in a leaky hut.’ But they are getting the same boat back to the mainland as us tomorrow.

We sat reading and writing on the veranda this evening and were joined by Adam who talks really slowly and can’t remember what day it is. He was drinking Mekong and had been smoking dope all day. He’s also had a large dose of Valium and had given his girlfriend a double dose because she has a sore ear. Drugs are okay, he slurred. After my experience in India, I beg to differ.

Day 88 – August 29^th 1990 – Koh Tao to Chumphon

The boat trip back to Chumphon this morning must be one of the most exhilarating experiences I have ever had. First we got on the roof – the boat was larger than the one we had come to the island on, but not a lot. After about half an hour, as I was beginning to feel a bit ill, the captain suggested we come down into the boat as it was getting a little windy.

I lay down flat on the roof and felt better so stayed where I was. [2020 postscript: I can’t believe I was so arrogant as to ignore the captain’s request, although it was maybe just a suggestion, not an order, as I am normally a fairly obedient person!]

About two hours later, as I was beginning to frazzle in the sun, it was getting really rough and Matthew manage to climb over the edge and get himself onto main deck. As I was contemplating following him, the captain appeared again to say it was too dangerous, and to stay where we were.

For the next hour and a half or more, two couples and I lay flat on our backs, clutching the low safety rail. We were thrown about as the boat lurched over big waves, buffeted by strong winds. I had Matthew’s straw hat on my head and it provided some protection each time my head was boshed against the rail.

Although there were others on the roof, the noise of the sea and the wind, staring straight up at the sky, made me feel totally alone. It was wonderful…

And draining. When we got to Chumphon around 4pm and heard the bus to Hat Yai didn’t leave until 10.30pm, we (mainly me) decided to stay the night and catch the 7.30am bus (100฿). We found a quiet, cheap hotel, and after okay food were asleep by 9pm.

Day 89 – August 30^th 1990 – Chumphon to Songkhla

After the best night’s sleep in days, we hit the bus station, bumping into Terry and Lisa who are on their way to Bangkok. Although the bus was not air conditioned, it wasn’t too bad, especially after we discovered – an hour and a half into the journey – that the seats went back.

The driver was a bit of a speedy Gonzalez, but we got to Hat Yai by 4pm and caught a bus straight to Songkhla, where we found our way to the Songkhla Hotel.

Despite what the Lonely Planet guidebook says, this seems to be quite a vibrant town, with lots of people, shops and stalls, though we had trouble finding a decent restaurant. I settled for friend veg and rice (just for a change) and it was another early night.

Day 90 – August 31^st 1990 – Songkhla

We had a hot, bad-tempered morning searching for breakfast – which we finally found at 12 noon, but the rest of the day turned out very pleasant. We walked through the bustling streets to the beautiful white, deserted beach where a battleship was anchored offshore (did he get lost on his way to the Gulf?)

After a brief swim and a coke, we found a little row of market stalls right on the beach where I had more fried veg and rice before heading back to the hotel which unfortunately stinks of fish!

After a good read of my trashy novel, we headed to a seafood stall to eat (yes, more fried veg and rice). Horror of horrors, we were surrounded by huge rats, climbing in and out of the open drains! Aargh! Fortunately, I kept my screams quite low pitch, and we made it back to the hotel in one piece.

In the middle of the night, we were both woken by a strange noise. At first we thought it was water running outside, then Matthew uttered those dreaded words: ‘It’s in the room…’ I screamed and tried to get out the door, and closed my eyes tightly as Matthew switched on the light, envisaging dozens of rats crawling all over the floor.

Instead, a little mouse which had been nibbling at the paper of a boiled sweet scampered into a hole in the floor! Poor thing! Matthew blocked the two visible holes with the Bangkok Post, but I didn’t get much sleep for the rest of the night…

Day 91 – September 1^st 1990 – Songkhla to Hat Yai

We checked out buses and trains to Kuala Lumpur. Looks like we will have to go tomorrow. After breakfast, we wondered around the absolutely stinking fish port, taking photos until my stomach could stand it no more.

We had a look into a weird temple where candles and incense burn for presumably dead people and where a chair with feet, seat and armrests made of nails (sharp ones) looks ominously like a much-used instrument of torture. [2020 postscript: Could this be where George RR Martin got his inspiration for the Iron Throne?]

Then it was a share taxi (10฿) each, to Hat Yai, where we booked into a pretty okay hotel which even serves breakfast. We checked out the Post Office but it was shut so we couldn’t phone home. Food problems continued in the evening when we walked around for an hour and a half before finding me food that wasn’t fried veg at stall with lots of rats (running around, not on the menu!). Poor Matthew must be incredibly frustrated, but I am mad – what country doesn’t know how to cook vegetables other than fry them!

Day 92 – September 2^nd 1990 – Hat Yai – Malaysia – Singapore

Had a relaxing morning before setting out on our first really mammoth (24 hour) bus ride – costing less than £5 each, all the way down through Malaysia to Singapore. We got a bit of a fright at the travel agents when the minibus which was to take us to meet the 12 noon coach didn’t arrive until 12.05pm. But we made it and the coach was air conditioned with nice, soft, reclining seats. A real bargain.

We had to get out when we exited Thailand, and again 10 minutes later when we ‘entered’ Malaysia (great, more stamps on the passport!). From the bus window, Malaysia looks like an interesting country, covered by millions of rubber trees, all in neat rows, tall and tidy.

They use the English alphabet, and many of the signs are in English. On a stopover for food, I got three types of veg and rice for 2 Malaysian dollars [2020 postscript: Malaysian currency is now the ringgit] ie, not much. The food was delicious, even though I had to eat it with my fingers.

The homes of the Malaysian people looked for the most part to be fairly solid, roads were wide and clean, and many of the towns we passed through had housing estates built along western lines – detached and semi-detached, very few terraces.

It got dark around 6.30pm, and as they didn’t turn any lights on, we had to sit in darkness and were again subjected to another US film dubbed in Thai, the second of the journey, before trying to sleep.

Day 93 – September 3^rd 1990 – Singapore

Singapore – fairly clean, the traffic is heavy but well organised and cars stop for you at pedestrian crossings. The architecture is a mix of modern tower blocks and quaint old buildings. This is a shopper’s paradise, with masses of ‘everything under one roof’ centres and it is reputedly the food capital of South East Asia.

After a degree of hassle, we found a good room in a hotel being renovated after a fire. There was still plastic on the pillows and the never-been-used-before towel turned me green!

Showered, clean and green, we headed out to eat and collect our letters from the Post Restante. I got seven this time, including one from my friend Treez who is coming to join us in Australia!!! We then phoned home to say thanks for all the letters and everything seems fine. My sister Diana is well, though she had a terrible time getting to Brazil. The line was clear as a bell and it was wonderful to speak to Mum and Dad after so long.

We read our letters in a hawker’s pad on Raffles Quay, with a couple of drinks and a snack. We worked our way back home via various eating and drinking establishments, ending up in a poky little bar where I asked for wine and got a little bottle full of some revolting liquid which was 49% proof!

[2020 postscript: Sadly I cannot find any photos of our journey through Malaysia or Singapore. Perhaps I will read later that yet another film was lost in transit.]

Day 94 – September 4^th 1990 – Singapore

Forgetting to put the alarm clock back an hour meant we left later than planned and ended up ‘breakfasting’ at Pizza Hut which cost a fortune.  Immediately afterwards, we found loads of hawkers doing lovely cheap food by the supermarket in the basement!

We bought a French stick, some cheddar cheese (wow!) and some real French red wine, and spent the afternoon scouring hifi shops for the best bargain in a portable stereo [2020 postscript: I can hear a whole generation going ‘a what?’].

Back at the hotel we listened to the radio and drank our wine (heaven) and ate our bread and cheese (equally heavenly) before eating at an Indian vegetarian restaurant that night (excellent cheap thali). We stopped at a ‘midnight lounge’ for a nightcap. It was dark inside and full of women. A bottle of beer cost $26 (Singapore dollars – normal price $5!). Apparently you could pay an extra $21 for the women to talk to you. No thanks.

Day 95 – September 5^th 1990 – Singapore to Jakarta, Indonesia

No matter how much time you think you have to catch a flight, it always flies by! [2020 postscript: Was that a deliberate pun? Also, the visit to the ‘midnight lounge’ may have contributed to the tardiness in the morning!].  We bought a litre of duty free Bacardi for £4 [2020 postscript: Clearly no hangover then – those were the days!] at the airport. The flight to Java, with Garuda, took one hour 15 minutes and was only a little bumpy. I didn’t enjoy it of course, but managed to guzzle two glasses of delicious white wine. [2020 postscript: See what I mean…].

We changed money at the airport and dumped one rucksack containing some of both our clothes in left luggage and held onto just one rucksack as we will be back at the airport to head to Bali in six days.

The airport bus took us to the main train station in Jakarta, where we bought tickets for the 7.30pm train to Yogyakarta in the centre of the island. Money here is ridiculous – 3,300 rupiah (rp) equals £1, so 1,000rp = 30p. The bus cost 2,000rp, leaving our luggage cost 9,900rp, and the train tickets were 12,500rp each. Talk about complicated. You think you’re rich, but the notes in your hand are worth very little!

Despite what we have heard about Jakarta, the little we saw of it seemed okay. The traffic is very busy, but that is not unusual. There was quite a nice park and monument in the centre, and a funny little train station. We had dinner on the budget travellers’ street before catching the train. For second class, it was pretty good. Large, fairly soft seats, slightly tilted backs, cushions, and you didn’t have to sit opposite other people because the seat backs moved either side, so it was much more private. We even had our own little table!

The Chinese like to practise their English, but they were nothing compared to the Indonesians.  “Where do you come from?” If I hear that one more time I will scream! Fortunately, the crowd of would-be English MAs who gathered around us on the train jumped off as it pulled away.

After a lot of starting and stopping, we pulled off into the night.

Day 96 – September 6^th 1990 – Yogyakarta

We expected to arrive in Yogyakarta (Yogya) at 5.20am, but the journey took two hours longer. The sunrise and early morning sun was gorgeous as it chased the mist away, revealing Java to be incredibly green and fertile, with palm trees and other tropical plants covering much of the land. In many places, the trees had been cut away and replaced with acres of paddy fields. But the palms did seem to be fighting back. It seems a very beautiful island and I wish I could stay here longer.

The cheap accommodation area of Yogya is just by the station, which was handy. We were latched onto by a very spiffingly dressed lad who led us round various losmen (hostels), which were all full! We eventually found one which was not luxurious, but okay, and at £1.25 per room per night, what can you expect!

After breakfast and a welcome sleep, we set off on bicycles to visit the Hindu temples (or rather ruins of) of Prambanan. It is 17km away, but once we got round the one way system out of Yogya and cycled past the temples to the cycle park, we must have done at least 20km each way.

We reached the site at what must have been the best time of day, in the early evening light. There are actually 224 temples in ruins, with stones strewn everywhere, but the main Shiva Temple (memories of our trek chef Mannu in India), and two others have been beautifully restored. The temples contain statues, the most impressive and eerie being that of Ganesh, Shiva’s son, with an elephant head. There are many hints of India here.

It was dark soon after we began cycling back to the town, but as we were on a cycle route this wasn’t a problem, in fact it was very pleasant. The bikes, however, are similar to those we hired in China, so it was pretty hard on the old bottom!

After a tiring and busy two days we had yummy food (where there are westerners, there’s veggie food) and hit bed.

Day 97 – September 7^th 1990 – Yogyakarta to Kaliurang

The most momentous thing we did today was make a decision to climb Mount Merapi, a 2,911m high, very active volcano. We had no intention of doing this when we set out on the public bus (more than one hour to get 26km) from Yogya to Kaliurang in the hills, but when we saw the maps, photos, and spoke to two guys who have done the climb, our minds were swayed.

It means setting out at 12.30am tomorrow, aiming to reach the treeline at 5am in time for sunrise. Mad, but you have to be a bit mad every now and then!

We spent the afternoon wandering around the little town, visiting the fruit market and the park, and Matthew even had a swim in the outdoor public pool. We were joined for the afternoon by a rather serious young English man with a severe dose of sunburn.

We had a rest and ate tea, during which time we read accounts of previous climbs which stressed that this would not be easy. Then we had a talk from ‘local hero’ Christian, who made it sound daunting, but doable. We sorted out torches, batteries and sandwiches and went to bed at 9am. Three hours sleep – help!!! Are we sane?

[2020 postscript: Merapi is very active. Here you can see it erupting in February this year, and again in March this year (2020)].

Day 98 – September 8^th 1990 – Kaliurang and Mount Merapi

I’d love to say that the hardest part of climbing Mount Merapi was getting out of bed at midnight, but it would be untrue – it was THAT bad!

Along with two guys named Chris, one British, one Austrian, and the charming Franz (Dutch), Matthew and I set out at a brisk pace at 12.30am. We had to follow the map through the park to a dirt track, and then on to the village, our last link with civilisation. The moon was bright, although we needed our torches climbing up the rough steps through the park. It was very mild.

It took 55 minutes to reach the hut in the village where we had to register. Austrian Chris had done it before, so fortunately he knew which door to knock to wake the wee man up. 300rp to climb the volcano!

This first section was not too difficult – steep in places but with a few downhills as well. The next section, an hour and a half to the ‘Bomb’ went fairly quickly. It was all uphill, but it was an easy path to follow and not too rough underfoot. Austrian Chris had taken up the pace a little enthusiastically, but we all stopped to photograph Mount Merapi when it first came into sight – it was enormous, not only incredibly high, but also a very long way off!

British Chris (later affectionately named the Human Avalanche due to his lack of balance) then took the lead, but soon dropped to the rear, and the pace was quite a lot slower.

The ‘Bomb’ was a welcome sight (the ‘Bomb’ is actually a monument to peace), but we ploughed on without stopping. It was beginning to get steeper and climbing was hot, thirsty work. The litre and a half of water we each carried had to be drunk sparingly. My teeshirt was soaked with cold sweat and my hair damp with dew.

We reached the ‘Black Sands,’ a 40m stretch of volcanic sand which was very difficult to climb, at 3.30am. It was far too early for sunrise, so we sat and rested for 40 minutes. Now it was freezing cold. Franz loaned me his cap and Austrian Chris his batik wrap, but I couldn’t stop shivering.

It had been a wise move to rest. The next part was not just steep – in places it was almost a sheer rock face. You had to pick your way up using hands and feet, hauling yourself over slippery mud using tree roots as grips. I did fairly well in this section, keeping up with Austrian Chris, while Matthew kept an eye on the Avalanche at the back. It seemed like we would never reach the treeline.

And then it was there. The sky was just beginning to grow lighter, so we attempted to climb onto the ridge to get a good view of the sunrise. The ridge was made of basalt – many pieces of rock gave way underfoot or in your hand. One slip could – or rather would – have been fatal – not only was it a very steep drop, but you would have been ripped to pieces on the sharp rocks.

Finally, we sat down and finished the rest of the sandwiches and waited for sunrise. What a disappointment! Just as it was getting good, the clouds got in the way. Nonetheless, sitting on the ridge, looking down on a blanket of cloud lit up by the rising sun, was just something else. It was like looking down from an aeroplane but 100 times better, because I had actually climbed this height by myself – in the dark!

The darkness, in fact, hadn’t been bad at all, although I did use my torch to pick my path. The moon cast many shadows, but I was never scared. It was extremely calm and beautiful – a unique experience.

Scrambling up to the smoke hole was also something of a unique experience. Two steps upwards, three steps backwards! It was incredibly dangerous and frightening, rocks were flying everywhere, and it was extremely hard on a pair of already weary legs.

We reached the smoke hole at 6.30am. I had expected to look down into a hole full of molten lava, instead there was just this smelly sulphurous smoke pouring from various rocks. The others wandered on a little further around the crater, but I stayed put and enjoyed the perfect silence.

No birds, no trees rustling, just peace – perfect peace. Until, that is, I heard a rumbling!

Panicking that it was Merapi about to erupt (which wasn’t entirely impossible) I began yelling for the others. But it was just an aeroplane somewhere in the distance.

The climb down was even more terrifying. It was difficult to keep your feet. I fell over lots, and cut my hands and legs on the sharp rocks. At times I had to virtually sit, and lower myself over the shale and shingle. I was very relieved, once again, to see the treeline. Because there is no path to the summit, it would have been easy to lose our way and hit the treeline at the wrong place. Thankfully we were spot on and reached the trees at 9am.

Going down the ‘Black Sands’ was much easier than coming up, we were just able to bounce along, albeit on legs that were just about to give up! Then we were in the village where we stopped for a drink and it was plain sailing after that.

We reached Kaliurang at 12.30pm – 12 hours exactly. Not bad! The guys went to cool off in the outdoor pool, and I cleaned of the dust, ash and dirt by pouring water over myself from a mandi. After dinner and a beer to celebrate, we slept for three hours, had tea and went back to bed exhausted.

It was a rewarding climb. Despite my aching limbs and scratches, I feel really good. And the camaraderie with Chris, Chris and Franz is something warm and memorable. We all got each other through.

Day 99 – September 9^th 1990 – Kaliurang to Jakarta

I thought anyone who had completed 31 hour and 36 hour train journeys in China would know the pains and agonies of such a journey inside out – well, 36 hours on a hard seat was virtual luxury compared to the nightmarish trip we have had today.

We were up at 5am to get the bus to Yogyakarta and the train to Jakarta. There were no seats on the 7am train, and we had to take the 7.30am, which only had seats available in 3^rd class.

It was disgusting – cramped and claustrophobic, dirty and crowded. There were no fans or air conditioning, the windows only opened a crack, and the heat was stifling. The toilets had no doors and were in fact being used as seats by passengers (with whole families crammed in the toilet cubicle).

After three hours, the train broke down and remained stationary for a full two hours. Rumour had it we would not reach Jakarta until 2am. We had already had a shock when we heard the journey would be 14 hours, not the 12 we had been expecting.

We finally got going again, but it was slow. We stopped for at least a quarter of an hour every 10 minutes. At around 6pm, a group of lads moved in near us and kept talking to Matthew. I found it really irritating, I don’t know how he had the patience.

All day long, people selling weird food, drinks, cigarettes, fans and squeaky kids’ toys and hooters walked up and down the carriages. The food looked horrible so other than some peanuts, we had nothing to eat all day. I could only take tiny sips of water because I was terrified I might need the loo and there was literally nowhere to go if I did! At one stage during the two hour break-down, I was ready to get off, go back to Yogya and cancel our flight. We could have got a boat to Bali from Surabaya or somewhere. But we persevered.

We reached Jakarta at 11pm after 16 hours on that horrible train. A tuk tuk (rickshaw) took us to Jalan Jaksa where someone led us to a real nice room (7,500rp). We had our first food of the day and a cold beer at a café at midnight. After the sheer exhilaration of our climb up Merapi yesterday, this felt like a real waste of a day.

Another early start tomorrow, with a 9.50am flight to Bali.

Day 100 – September 10^th 1990 – Jakarta to Bali

After a smooth 9.50am flight, which surprisingly took an hour and a half, we arrived on my dream island – Bali, and caught a taxi straight to Kuta, the Aussie’s Torremolinos.

It took a while to find somewhere to stay. Bungalows cost 28-50US$, or 50,000rp – and Bali was meant to be cheap! We eventually found a really nice ensuite room with a balcony for 10,000rp. We left a pile of dirty washing at the laundrette next door and headed to the beach!

What a pleasant surprise, the beach is long, clean and white. The waves break powerfully just offshore, creating great surf. There were no beds or umbrellas, and not too many people as this is off season.

We had a swim, though swimming is not quite the word – it’s more a case of trying to keep your feet, as the undercurrents when the waves sweep in and out are very strong.

I lay / sat on the beach as Matthew waved to me every now and then from the water to let me know he was okay, and felt quite emotional. It was probably 10 years ago that I looked at a brochure about Bali and decided I wanted to come here. I didn’t realise quite what a big tourism island it is (perhaps it wasn’t, all that time ago).

And, while thus far it has not been deserted white beaches, it is still a dream come true for me. And when dreams come true, it is something to savour.

We watched the beautiful sunset from a bar at the back of the beach. Hawkers trying to flog bikinis, bangles, watches and wood carvings called to us from afar – they are not permitted on the beach or in the bar, so they weren’t a hassle. Their stuff looks to be excellent and really cheap – I feel like buying everything!

We had a good meal in a restaurant and decided not to hit the town tonight. I don’t think we have recovered from our train ride and ascent and descent of Merapi yet. My legs are still killing!

Day 101 – September 11^th 1990 – Kuta

We got bananas and tea for nothing at the hostel, which did us perfectly fine for breakfast. After a couple of hours on the beach Matthew got bored, so we spent the rest of the day walking around and being generally lazy.

Again, we strolled down to see the sunset and after dinner ended up in a lively pub named the Casablanca. We were still there when the bi-weekly’ ‘Peanuts Pub Crawl’ came bopping back. They all staggered upstairs for the drinking competition, which was impressive as some of the participants could hardly stand! Then they staggered back downstairs and out to their waiting buses. And while they were there, the staff tried to charge us more for our drinks. ‘Pub Crawl Prices,’ the claimed. We argued our case and won!

Day 102 – September 12^th 1990 – Kuta

The waves were really powerful and dangerous today. I got quite panicky when I got whacked by a big one, especially as Matthew had swum further out to try and get to where the waves were breaking. He got hit and tumbled over by the same wave, so decided the better part of valour was to stay in the shallow water.

We bought some tapes and I treated myself to a ‘little black number’ for 20,000rp (around £6).

This evening we headed to Fat Yogis for some home-made pasta – it was delicious and excellent value.

Day 103 – September 13^th 1990 – Kuta to Ubud

Trying to get from A to B in this country is something of a laugh. We got a public bemo to Denpasar, then another to Batabulan and finally a third to Ubud. It’s probably only 20km from Kuta to Ubud, but they appear to want to make it as difficult as possible, and rip us off as much as possible too. We spent ages at Batabulan bartering over 100rp (3p) – it’s not the money, it’s the fact that you know they are ripping you off. You have to haggle on a point of principle.

In Denpasar, we walked for an hour and a half, packs on backs, first to the post and telecommunications office where they told us we could not phone Jakarta [2020 postscript: Why?]. Then we walked on to the Garuda offices to discover someone had messed up our booking. Instead of flying to Sydney on October 1, we have been booked on a flight to Melbourne on October 2. It took us over an hour and is still not sorted out. We have to ring again tomorrow to check.

We walked on to the other side of Denpasar, which isn’t a particularly nice city, with lots of traffic and open drains, to the bemo terminal to carry on towards Ubud. Quite an exhausting morning.

We reached Ubud around 4pm and were greeted by an old man and a little boy offering us a room for 10,000rp. Too much. He said he would take 8,000rp, with breakfast included. He looked harmless in his long sarong, flip flops and ancient motorbike crash helmet, with his barefoot little grandson at his side, so we decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Fortunately his place (in the garden of his own home) is new, excellent, and has a lot of character, although it was a very long walk from the bemo.

Ubud seems like a pretty place. Food is also reasonably priced. They say they have successfully retained the cultural character of Bali here. I’d argue against that – there are a heck of a lot of tourists!

Day 104 – September 14^th 1990 – Ubud

We spent over an hour in a telephone place trying to get through to Garuda in Denpasar. Collect calls to the USA went through in a matter of minutes. Getting a line across those 10km to Denpasar took a lot longer! Eventually we were able to confirm that we had two seats on the October 2^nd flight to Sydney.

After lunch, we set out, map in hand, to walk through the countryside in a circular route throught the paddy fields, villages and Monkey Forest.

It was very beautiful. Like Java, the land is lush and green and, particularly along the river banks, quite tropical. It was very peaceful and everyone we met, with the exception of the westerners in the Monkey Forest, was very friendly. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the dogs.  Apparently, Bali is infamous for its dogs – dog fights are frequent and Ubud is where there is the greatest problem.

We were woken by a dawn chorus of dogs howling and barking at 5.30am. They are everywhere, guarding their property, baring their teeth and howling long after you have passed, setting others off of course.

Many of the dogs are really manky with scabs and deformities. One chased after us as we walked through a village, nipping at Matthew’s ankles. It was quite frightening, especially as rabies still exists in Indonesia.

We probably walked around 8km, and for the most part it was very pleasant. In one village, a man, very kindly it seemed, climbed a tree and picked us a fresh coconut, encouraging us to drink the milk and take it with us to eat. We thought he was just being generous until he insisted we pay him (which we did, though not as much as he was asking for!).

The monkeys in the Monkey Forest were very different to those at the Monkey Temple in Shimla, India. They were large and grey and looked like someone’s Grandad – even the suckling mums! They also gave the impression that they would be quite vicious.

This evening, we decided to sample a bit of this Balinese culture they do so much talking about so along with dozens of bemo-loads of westerners, we headed to a small village to watch a Kecak Dance. It was quite spectacular. A choir of 100 men in gingham sarongs, with a few characters thrown in, took to the floor. Their voices provided the unusual but excellent music.

Then beautiful girls and men in fantastic traditional costumes acted out three scenes from the Ramayana – the only part I did not enjoy was the bit of comic relief they threw in. After that, two little girls, supposedly in a trance, danced in time to a chorus of chanting, their eyes shut the whole way through.

Next up was the fire dance. A boy (in a trance) dressed as a horse walks through and over a fire made of coconut husks. Again, it was quite spectacular, but made my eyes water just watching it! The show was all over by 8.15pm then it was back to Ubud for dinner and an early night.

Day 105 – September 15^th 1990 – Ubud

Let’s cycle the ‘long way round’ to Tampaksiring turned into a form of masochism! Firstly, the mountain bike I had was completely the wrong shape for me – I was straining my neck and arms just to reach the handlebars! Then the back road to Tampaksiring was all – and I mean all (about 20km) – uphill. Even with eight gears, and mine weren’t working too well, it was tough, sweaty going.

And of course there’s the really friendly people in every village who shout hello every 20m, as if expecting an answer. “Hello! Where go you?” If I heard it once, I heard it 200 times, and when you are sweating, exhausted and in a degree of pain, it’s hard to reciprocate their friendly greeting. [2020 postscript: Grumpy mood clearly, if I don’t even trust people who say hello. I seem to have forgotten we were doing this for pleasure!]

It had begun as a reasonably pleasant cycle along the main road which wasn’t too busy, to the Elephant Cave, a Hindu temple in a park-like setting. The cave itself was fairly impressive, a bit dark – nothing like those Buddhist temples we visited in Thailand. We had to wear sarongs (green sheets) over our shorts in respect to Balinese religion, which was fair enough, but local men in shorts weren’t wearing sarongs, and we had paid 250rp each to hire them.

Having said that, the rules are fairly strict. In a temple near the Monkey Forest, a notice advises that women who are menstruating, or anyone bleeding or wounded, is requested not to enter the temple.

After a while in the cave, we set out for an archeological museum, which appeared to be shut, then on to Bitara and a back road to Tampaksiring. As I said, it was really hard work. I don’t think my legs have recovered from Mount Merapi yet, and I’m really not much of a cyclist.

The final straw came when we were looking for a smaller road to the left which would bring us to Tampaksiring. Everyone, and I mean everyone, told us we could not take bikes over the track withut carrying them – cheers for not telling us 15km earlier! The option was to cycle another km via the surfaced road. No chance. [2020 postscript: Only 1km more – I detect I was a little weary as well as grumpy].

The path was really awful. Holding on to the bikes, we slithered our way down a steep, muddy bank to a river. On the way down, I could see lots of naked men bathing in the river. By the time we got to the bottom, the men had gone, and the women, young and old, arrived to bathe. They weren’t in the least perturbed by the presence of Matthew and myself as we cooled our feet in the water, and so we weren’t embarrassed either. One of the women was hunkered downstream having a pooh – but we’ve seen that in rivers before.

They had a good laugh as Matthew carried the bikes across the fast-flowing river, and shook their heads in amusement when they heard where we were trying to go! Matthew carried his bike on up and I puffed and panted, hyper-ventilated and cried as I struggled to get mine up the steep bank – refusing (for a while) to give it up to Matthew (memories of the Himalayas!). In the end, he carried it over the steepest parts, and together we made it to a road, Tampaksiring, and a much needed drink.

It had taken us four hours to get there. We had planned to cycle to some burial grounds in paddy fields, but couldn’t face even another 2km uphill. It was 4pm, so we decided to head back – darkness falls very quickly at 6pm.

The ride back was great. We went on the main road, but it was pretty quiet, expect for one bus which missed Matthew by inches because the driver didn’t have the patience to wait behind him for 10 seconds until the vehicle coming the other way had  passed.

We knew we had to turn off at Sembar, about half way, but the first main junction we came to was only half an hour away. It seemed right, but we began to worry when it was all uphill. All the cheery locals told us we were going the right way to Ubud, but I was extremely relieved when we saw the craft shops and, surprisingly, the top of our road.

Consulting the map later, we found out that we had not only flown past Sembar, but also past Ubud, which is why we had to go back on ourselves (ie uphill) again. Och well, it was good exercise!

And we had an excuse (as if we needed one) to have a good night out!

Day 106 – September 16^th 1990 – Ubud

After the excesses of yesterday, we had a really restful day with lots of writing and wandering around the shops and cafés. I bought a bag for Mum for her birthday, and we bought ourselves a large batik picture [2020 postscript: Still hanging above my bed!] and two smaller ones for friends who are due to get married.

I phoned home collect this evening. Initially we were told that this would not be possible by the man in the phone place because they don’t have Northern Ireland on their list – I don’t think they had ever heard of it. In future, though I hate to do it, it may be simpler to say Banbridge, England.

Everyone is well, which is great, but with the bad line and the delay made chatting naturally a bit difficult, and at the end I was left with a feeling of emptiness, and a need to say so much more. I guess that’s what happens when you are missing people who are so far away.

We had a ‘cheap’ night, so just ate in the market and chatted to an English family – mum, dad and teenage daughter – who are travelling for a year, which is quite unusual and therefore interesting.

Day 107 – September 17^th 1990 – Ubud to Padangbai

We had lots of fun with bemos and buses again today, but got where we wanted quickly and easily, ie a bemo to Gianyar, a bus to near Padangbai, and a bemo into the town.

It really is a lovely place – strange sand, a bay framed with rocks and palms, loads of brightly painted shark-like trimarans on the beach, coral, and a pier from which the big Lombok Island ferries come and go.

We looked at a good room for 7,000rp, but I wanted to be closer to the beach, so we took a thatched bungalow for 8,000rp including breakfast (that’s £2.40!). After lunch in a really nice and cheap beach bar, we walked along the beach and over the rocks to the headland. There were loads of crabs, tiny fish, lizards, sea anemone etc, not to mention some spectacularly coloured coral.

The dropping sun sparkled on the water and in the distance, smoke puffed up from behind the palm trees. Clouds, clearly defined in the late afternoon light, scuttled across the hilltops bordering the bay. It was really gorgeous and so peaceful. We stood for ages on a rock, just looking at the swirling aqua marine waves – until we got soaked by a couple of particularly large ones!

In the evening, we chatted and ate with a middle-aged Italian ‘stud’ type character who lives in India. Sadly, the bungalow (hut) was a bit of a disaster – cockroaches crawling out of the woodwork and drains and drowning in the mandi! What’s more, the bathroom stank. It didn’t make for a pleasant night. Definitely a move is on the cards tomorrow.

Day 108 – September 18^th 1990 – Padangbai

We moved to the first place we had looked at yesterday. It is infinitely cleaner than the dump we stayed in last night.

We went for a swim, the water is incredibly clear, but we had to be careful what we stood on because apparently several creatures with spines lurk in the seaweed and rocks and can give you a nasty prick on the foot. We sunbathed for about half an hour, before a little local man came along shaking his head, pointing at our skin and telling us how ‘panas’ (hot) it is. I appreciate his concern, but we are not completely stupid – we had no intention of lying there unprotected all day!  [2020 postscript: Oh, the arrogance of youth!].

Anyway, even after another hour and a half sunbathing after lunch, I still hadn’t changed colour, which leads me to reflect that factor six is a little too high. [2020 postscript: Factor 30 was only for namby pambys I guess, although I don’t think it existed 30 years ago!]

A quiet evening writing, then dinner in a really nice restaurant overlooking the sea. Here, everyone rises with the sun and goes to bed with the sun. The place was completely deserted, apart from the dogs, as we walked back to the losman (hostel) at 10pm.

Day 109 – September 19^th 1990 – Padangbai

Between us, we posted 10 cards and three letters today, resulting in a great sense of achievement. We then hired snorkels, masks and flippers (2,500rp each) and walked over the headland and found, to our delight, the most gorgeous little sandy beach, hemmed in by rocks, blue sea and fringed with palm trees and all sorts of tropical vegetation. There were only a couple of people there.

It took me a while to get into the water with my flippers on, as the waves kept knocking me over onto the rocks below the surface. But eventually I got going. The mask and snorkel worked fine, and although the mask did steam up a bit, it didn’t let water in and I had no problems with my contact lenses.

The underwater world was stunning. Coral, dead and alive, in all colours and shapes, covered most of the bottom. Myriads of fish swam in and out, nibbling at the coral, chasing each other, digging their noses into the sand. [2020 postscript: Having watched Extinction: The Facts with the inspirational David Attenborough earlier this week, I wonder if such abundance of life still thrives in this little part of the sea around Bali].

The sea was clear, though the rays of sunshine breaking through the surface made it a little hazy. It really was excellent. With your head under the water, all is strangely silent. There is only the sound of your own breathing through this man-made blowhole. I found it all quite moving.

We snorkelled for three quarters of an hour, then rested in the sun. Matthew sat in the shade learning Brazilian Portuguese for two hours, I really admire his willpower. Then we headed back into the sea.

This time the tide was further out. All went well until we started to come back in along the rocks at the other side of the bay. Matthew spotted a deep channel and sensibly swam up it. Muggins, of course, was so busy marvelling at how clear the coral and fish were when they were only 3ft below you, realised too late that she (me!) was actually boshing off the bottom!

I tried to pull my feet up under me, but the waves kept knocking me off balance onto the sharp coral. My mask and snorkel filled up, so I pulled them off, coughing and spluttering. Then I realised I was almost standing up and my bikini top was not where it should be, but was somewhere around my waist instead (having pulled the straps off to avoid a racer back suntan mark). I tried to haul it up, hold onto my mask and snorkel and keep my balance, all at the same time. The end result was me splashing around precariously on the rocks, two fluorescent white boobs wobbling for all too see – in my haste I had hoisted the bikini top up too hard and pulled it right over the top, failing totally to conceal my modesty. [2020 postscript: How exciting can this blog get – you were probably expecting a shark attack or something along those lines, rather than a wardrobe malfunction!!]

With a great deal of effort, I sorted myself out and struggled into the deep channel to swim to the beach. Was it my imagination, or was everyone who smiled at me as I walked across the beach trying to conceal their amusement?

Back at the main beach, we found bemo-loads of men, women and children in Balinese costume arriving back from who knows where. It appears to be a religious day, which may be why many of the restaurants are closed. We ate Nasi Goreng (Indonesian fried rice but for us no meat) in the main part of town – less dogs to attack you on the way home.

Day 110 – September 20^th 1990 – Padangbai

Bali is certainly a beautiful island and – like everywhere else – this is much more apparent once you get off the beaten track. Today, we went for a walk in the general direction of Candidasa Beach [2020 postscript: I am not adding a link because, rather like Chumpon Cabana on day 80, it seems to bear no resemblance to the beach we headed for 30 years ago]. Although we didn’t walk far, the going was steep in places and rough and slippery in others.

First we crossed through terraced, but abandoned, paddy fields to another headland where the path disappeared and we ended up making our way around a ridge along a rough, slippery track. It was a nasty looking drop to the sea below.

But the water was quite spectacular. You could see completely through it – layers of coral in all sorts of colours gave way to stunning aquamarine blue, and then to a deep blue. In the distance, white horses bobbed on a choppy channel. There were a few of those ‘pond skater’ boats out at sea, dropping snorkelling persons off here and there, and a larger boat whose passengers waved madly as we rounded the cliff.

We eventually reached a little village (well – 2 huts!) where we were again persuaded to buy two coconuts fresh from the tree. The guy cheated this time – he used a ladder to reach the coconuts! We strolled along the beautiful palm-fringed beach where there were no tourists to be seen, just the occasional local.

In the sea, men stood chest deep, pushing triangular nets through the waves. They were trawling for little transparent fish – one man showed us his catch. The sea was clear and warm and the bottom was sandy. We stayed in the water for half an hour, and after attracting a crowd of interested children as we dried off on the beach, we headed back to Padangbai on the same challenging track.

Day 111 – September 21^st 1990 – Padangbai to Sengigi, Lombok

We bought tickets for the Lombok ferry at 7am and were on the boat at 8.45am. Despite this being an enormous car ferry, I reckon the little boat to Koh Tao was more comfortable! We were with a Swedish couple, Steve and Jo, and although there were loads of seats, all were taken, so we ended up squashed against the rails on the top deck. It got pretty rough out at sea, and I felt pretty rough.

We made it in four hours. Then it was bartering for a bemo and a mad race (terrifying driving) with two New Zealanders and two Germans to Senggigi.

This is a beautiful beach shelving steeply into a blue, blue sea, and Pondok Senggigi where we are staying is lovely, though the room is very basic. The restaurant is good, and there is music.

After a beautiful sunset swim, we enjoyed a few beers.

Day 112 – September 22^nd 1990 – Senggigi

It seems that the two Germans and Doris, the New Zealander, are coming up Mount Rinjani with us, so we have put it back a day.

After breakfast, we lazed around in the sun, and after lunch joined Doris and Greg snorkelling further up the beach. We borrowed masks and snorkels from the Swedes Steve and Jo, who have returned after a night on Gili Air (the smallest of three tiny offshore islands which seem to be Lombok’s main tourist attraction). They said it was dirty and horrible, though that seems to me to be harsh judgement after spending just few hours in the place.

Snorkelling is good fun. Greg is afraid to go more than just a few yards from shore. He did follow us out once, but took fright, and hot-tailed it back to the coral at the edge of the shore. We all had a bit of a scare when we saw this huge black thing underwater, which could potentially have been a shark. I was the brave one who inspected it more closely to discover it was a black bin bag caught in the coral! [2020 postscript: Backing up the observation in my postscript on day 110].

As it was getting late in the afternoon, the waves were becoming more powerful so we eventually had to give up.  We wandered over the headland, past the posh hotels, to a clothes market on the next beach. The stuff was so cheap I just had to buy a sarong, and we bought a ‘Lombok Primitive’ teeshirt to share. The sunset here was stunning.

When we got back to our own beach, we had a swim in the now quite turbulent sea, then ate with Steve and Jo. The band was playing some pretty good music, but didn’t stop until quite late. Back in our room, we spent a good three quarters of an hour trying to catch a horrible flying cockroach – lots of squealing – mostly from me!

Day 115 – September 23^rd 1990 – Senggigi to Senaru

We were woken by the two people in the room next to us moving about at 4am. He said something to her about the noise, and she started giving off about the fuss we had made about the cockroach last night – oops!

As I had expected, the two Germans have decided not to climb the volcano with us after all – the girl has a bladder infection, she says. Fortunately Doris is still coming.

We set out, packs on backs, at 11am. A bemo or two later, we reached the supermarket, only to find it closed. Cheers for telling us. Eventually we found a small shop and stocked up with noodles, noodles, noodles, chocolate (loads), biscuits, crackers, cheese, Milos (hot chocolate powder), orange juices, sweets, corned beef for Matthew (Doris is also a vegetarian), matches and a torch. It cost 35,000rp (just over £10) to feed three of us for three days – not bad!

We found an express bus to Bayan without any hassle. The journey took two hours, the scenery en route was beautiful, we had comfy seats and all was well. Sadly, our welcome at Bayan was not so pleasant.

Everyone we spoke to in the village told us there were no bemos to Senaru and that we would have to go on the back of motorbikes. Looney drivers and backpacks – you must be joking!!! There were lots of aggressive looking men standing around and we all felt rather threatened. One guy was wearing a balaclava which covered most of this face and carried a backpack and a big stick, which could have been a machete.

Finally, a couple of people told us there was a public bemo, but then they changed their minds and decided there wasn’t (threatened by bikers?). One guy who could speak English told us (in a whisper) to trust him and wait. It was a good job we did, as an open bemo did pull in. He said afterwards that he would have got into trouble if he had told us when the bemo was coming. Nice neighbourhood!

In Senaru, we got rooms in the ‘Teacher’s Place’ for 4,000rp per room, including tea and breakfast. We chatted to a couple of Germans who had just returned from Rinjani. They said it was hard work but worth it. After a few traumas with spiders (Doris’s phobia and these were enormous and in a nest literally glowing with purple eggs in the corner of her room!) we set out 1km up the road where some local ‘dancing’ was taking place. Everyone there was well on their way to getting drunk. The men paid 200rp to dance with pretty, traditionally dressed, young girls. Very interesting… but the locals were all having a great time. Got to bed (horrible place) at 11pm.

[2020 postscript: Why had we come to this odd place, you may ask. By way of explanation, I share below some images taken from pages from the Garuda Airlines in-flight magazine which we read on the flight from Jarkarta to Bali. It tells of the traditions and history and challenges of Gunung (Mount) Rinjani (3,726m high). In its massive crater lies a huge lake, Segara Anak. After our experiences on Mount Merapi on Java, we could not let this opportunity pass by. Unfortunately, when our film ran out as we set out for Rinjani, we replaced it (unknowingly) with a slide film, which we have never been able to turn into photographs, and the slides are now missing. So, sadly, we have no photos of our adventures on this magnificent volcano].

Day 113 – September 23^rd 1990 – Senggigi to Senaru

We were woken by the two people in the room next to us moving about at 4am. He said something to her about the noise, and she started giving off about the fuss we had made about the cockroach last night – oops!

As I had expected, the two Germans have decided not to climb the volcano with us after all – the girl has a bladder infection, she says. Fortunately Doris is still coming.

We set out, packs on backs, at 11am. A bemo or two later, we reached the supermarket, only to find it closed. Cheers for telling us. Eventually we found a small shop and stocked up with noodles, noodles, noodles, chocolate (loads), biscuits, crackers, cheese, Milos (hot chocolate powder), orange juices, sweets, corned beef for Matthew (Doris is also a vegetarian), matches and a torch. It cost 35,000rp (just over £10) to feed three of us for three days – not bad!

We found an express bus to Bayan without any hassle. The journey took two hours, the scenery en route was beautiful, we had comfy seats and all was well. Sadly, our welcome at Bayan was not so pleasant.

Everyone we spoke to in the village told us there were no bemos to Senaru and that we would have to go on the back of motorbikes. Looney drivers and backpacks – you must be joking!!! There were lots of aggressive looking men standing around and we all felt rather threatened. One guy was wearing a balaclava which covered most of this face and carried a backpack and a big stick, which could have been a machete.

Finally, a couple of people told us there was a public bemo, but then they changed their minds and decided there wasn’t (threatened by bikers?). One guy who could speak English told us (in a whisper) to trust him and wait. It was a good job we did, as an open bemo did pull in. He said afterwards that he would have got into trouble if he had told us when the bemo was coming. Nice neighbourhood!

In Senaru, we got rooms in the ‘Teacher’s Place’ for 4,000rp per room, including tea and breakfast. We chatted to a couple of Germans who had just returned from Rinjani. They said it was hard work but worth it. After a few traumas with spiders (Doris’s phobia and these were enormous and in a nest literally glowing with purple eggs in the corner of her room!) we set out 1km up the road where some local ‘dancing’ was taking place. Everyone there was well on their way to getting drunk. The men paid 200rp to dance with pretty, traditionally dressed, young girls. Very interesting… but the locals were all having a great time. Got to bed (horrible place) at 11pm.

[2020 postscript: Why had we come to this odd place, you may ask. By way of explanation, I share below some images taken from pages from the Garuda Airlines in-flight magazine which we read on the flight from Jarkarta to Bali. It tells of the traditions and history and challenges of Gunung (Mount) Rinjani (3,726m high). In its massive crater lies a huge lake, Segara Anak. After our experiences on Mount Merapi on Java, we could not let this opportunity pass by. Unfortunately, when our film ran out as we set out for Rinjani, we replaced it (unknowingly) with a slide film, which we have never been able to turn into photographs, and the slides are now missing. So, sadly, we have no photos of our adventures on this magnificent volcano].

Day 114 – September 24^th 1990 – Trekking Mount Rinjani

After a Nasi Goreng special (fried rice and egg, memories of the Himalayas) we set out at 7.15am. We registered (500rp each) in the little village at the end of the road, 1,500m from the Losman, and off we went.

It seemed to take ages to get to the forest – we were walking along a dry track through bushland. We had seen Rinjani, clear against the azure, cloudless sky, when we set out, and surmised that it wasn’t really that big – probably, we realised later, it seemed small because it was so far away! It was extremely hot, and although it was early, there was little shelter from the soaring sun. Our packs, weighed down with food and water, were pretty heavy, and before long my teeshirt was literally saturated.

From the start Doris seemed to find it tough going. She said she hadn’t slept last night, and complained of a bad head and stomach. I didn’t find this early stage of the walk too bad, although we had a lot of short rests while we waited for Doris to catch up. We had a lengthy rest as we entered the forest, then on, on and on, up, up and up.

The track was easy to follow but literally kept going up, there was never a break from the incline. Steps had been cut into the soil in many places, but this really made it more difficult as I seemed to hoisting myself up on the same leg all the time.

We reached position two after about four hours, when we had an hour’s rest, some bread and cheese, and a Milo for energy. We were really stinking already! We met a group of four people we had talked to last night, but they headed on soon after we arrived. Well, they have porters and a guide!

It was a struggle, but we ploughed on, aware that position three, where we planned to set up camp, was only two hours further. First, we met a British guy running (yes, running) down. He told us that if we kept going for an hour after position three, there was a better place to camp beyond the treeline. One more hour walking today – was it worth it?

Soon, we came upon his fellow climber – a STRANGE guy. Tall, bronzed, large chested (obviously a body builder), he was wearing a purple shirt unbuttoned to his waist, a matching headband, and had long hair in a ponytail. He was in jeans, moccasins which looked brand new and clean, and had an ethnic necklace. Not your average hiking attire! He looked at us with intense brown eyes and told us that up there we would find a…. (we waited with baited breath) …presence (monkeys?!). Then he added: ‘I thought I was fit but (throwing his head back) THIS MOUNTAIN KICKED MY ASS!’ Weird…

We carried on. It was hard, my legs were tired and I felt the beginnings of a blister, but really I felt surprisingly good. Finally, we heard the sound of voices – we had reached our base camp.

As had been predicted, it was pretty dirty. The rest house, where the other four and their porters planned to stay, was a wooden hut with only two and a half walls! However, we decided not to carry on, and pitched our tent on a relatively clean, dusty bit of ground. We took water from a nearby stream (it was green, so we boiled it for a while before adding our noodles. Nonetheless, the noodles ended up green!) We cooked over a fire, adding cabbage, garlic and Nasi Goreng flavouring, and talked about disturbing things like the Friday the Thirteenth films, Saddam Hussein and World War Three. Doris went off to her tent first, and we hit the sack soon after. By 8pm, we were all asleep.

Day 115 – September 25^th 1990 – Trekking Mount Rinjani

What a night! Because the (non-green) water supply at position three had dried up, we only had one bottle left. It meant going to bed dehydrated. As a result, I kept waking up with a really dry mouth and had to make lots of noise trying to stimulate some saliva. Every time I dozed off, I dreamt about water, which made my mouth even worse!

When the alarm bells rang at 3.30am, the other two were bright and breezy, while I was adamant I was not going anywhere. In the end (nothing else for it), I did get up, dressed and packed, and off we scrambled into the dark forest. It was 4.15am.

It was pretty rough going, particularly once we got above the treeline. The ground was steep and slippery in places, and the surface loose, with a lot of dust. We walked in single file. I was in the middle, holding the torch. Soon after 5am, the sky began to grow light, and, once he could see without the torch, Matthew steamed ahead, determined not to miss the sunrise. I stuck with Doris until I too could see fairly well, then left her with the torch. ’F**k the sunrise,’ was all she could say!

It’s so difficult when you know you’re near the top, but aren’t sure how near. When we thought it was 10 minutes away, a camping Frenchman said it was probably an hour.

It actually took half an hour. Matthew went ahead with the water. ‘Shall I leave it for you?’ he shouted from 100ft up. ‘Only if you are nowhere near the top,’ I shouted back. Optimistically? Pessimistically? He left it.

Up and up. We had to be almost there. The sky to my left was glowing orange. The track over the rocks was hard to follow, especially with my eyes out. [2020 postscript: By that I meant that, unusually, I hadn’t bothered to put my contact lenses in at 3.30am. These days, I wouldn’t be able to see the torch in my hand, let alone the path ahead!].

Suddenly, the path levelled out, veered to the left, around the crater, to the rim. I began to run, inspired by the fact that I had made it and the view lay ahead. I stood on a hillock with Matthew and a small group of other trekkers who appeared from I don’t know where, and stared dumbfounded as this huge ball of fire rose between the peaks of the craters. Below us, a very long way down, lay the lake, stunning, majestic. I almost cried.

When I popped my contact lenses in, I realised I could see the cone of a volcano on Bali (Mount Bromo?) piercing the clouds. In the distance, beyond the Lombok coastline, lay the three Gili Isles, tiny pinpricks on a lazy horizon. It is truly one of the most breath-taking sights I have ever encountered and one I will never forget.

[2020 postscript: Something else I won’t forget from this time on the rim was that the group we met told us about the awful night they had had before setting out on their Rinjani trek – apparently some annoying people in the room next to them in Pondok Senggigi kept them awake for ages chasing a cockroach of all things! Neither Matthew nor I ‘fessed up!]

As the sun rose higher, the lake changed from deep blue to deep green. We sat for a couple of hours, resting, eating and just drinking in the scenery.

The climb down to the lake was much harder than we had expected. A rocky, steep and slippery path, it took two and a half hours to get to the bottom, but we took it easy – we did not need an excuse to simply stop and stare at the beauty surrounding us.

Once at the lakeside, we argued about where to camp. Doris and Matthew wanted to head straight to the famous hot springs so, after a brilliant swim in the surprisingly warm lake, we staggered for 25 minutes to the famous spring. It was amazing – lots of steaming hot water full of sulphur plummeting down the rocks into pools. We had read that lots of local people come all the way up here to worship their Gods and bathe in the springs’ healing waters.

We stripped off and sat in the springs for 20 minutes or so. I sat in a fast-flowing torrent, getting massaged by the hot water, it was excellent after two days’ walking. But it was really hot, and the stone were sore on the old bottom, so we had to get out.

We met the other group, and headed back to the lakeside to camp near them. After pitching the tent and gathering firewood, we struggled to get the fire lit. Eventually Mal, the human bellows, came over and helped us out. We made lots of cabbage, with noodles, garlic and Nasi Goreng flavouring. It took about two hours to get to that stage, but it was delicious!

We returned to the hot springs as dusk began to fall. The three of us sat in a pool looking across at the swirling clouds folding themselves around the mountains, watched by a group of monkeys who had gathered nearby to have a good stare! We refilled our water bottles from a natural cold spring, and headed back to revitalise the fire and drink coffee.

Before darkness fell, the mist and cloud licked across the lake, shrouding some peaks, isolating others. It’s true what they say, the scenery here does change every 10 minutes.

Day 116 – September 26^th 1990 – Mount Rinjani to Senggigi

We were up early again – 5.30am! We sold the other campers our torch as they were climbing to the summit (treacherous and bloody hard) starting at 2am the next day and only had one pen torch between five! [2020 postscript: Sold!!! Couldn’t we have just given it to them out of the goodness of our hearts? But we were stingy backpackers I guess].

After a breakfast of crackers, cheese and chocolate, we set out at 7am to climb back up to the top of the crater. Although it was hard work, dodgy underfoot in places, it was not too exhausting. We all enjoyed it. Doris seemed to be steaming ahead, and the view again was magnificent. We have been really lucky with the weather.

We reached the top in two and a half hours, rested for half an hour, then started the long haul back to Senaru. The rim to position three didn’t take too long, but my boots have rubbed two blisters on each heel, so every step grew more and more painful. Position three to position two took an hour. You couldn’t really look around you, as your legs just kept going down and down, so to stop concentrating on the path meant you could easily lose your balance. I fell over twice, both times on the rocks near the top. Carrying a backpack makes it more difficult to keep balanced.

Position two to the village seemed to take an eternity. It became monotonous, just down, down, down, seeing nothing but your own feet. But then some excitement! Doris and I thought we were being chased by a wild pig, which turned out to be a black monkey. So Doris’s theory – that we should climb a tree – was somewhat wrong. Mine – ie grab a stick and run like hell – seemed the best move. It worked!

Like hiking down Mount Merapi, I kept thinking, ‘I couldn’t have walked all this way up, could I? How did I do it?’ When we finally reached the village, we patted ourselves on the heads, had a beer at the coffee shop, and I put on my flip flops – huge relief!

But all was not over. The next stage was getting a bemo from Senaru. We chartered one with three Germans and eventually got all the way to Senggigi within three hours for 6,000rp each. The driver was great – the only hairy moment was when one of the Germans (a taxi driver apparently) took the wheel. Doris and I kicked up such a fuss he had to relinquish control. He hadn’t even had the decency to ask us if we minded him taking over the driving.

Just our luck, there were no rooms at Pondok Senggigi. The Swedes, Steve and Jo, were still there, and offered us the floor of their room for the night, but after three nights with no comfort or privacy, we needed a room of our own. We followed a guy 1km up the road where he assured us he had a good room. We hobbled along with our packs on our backs to find a corridor with two crap beds! After an angry row, we headed back to the pondok next to Pondok Senggigi where we got an excellent room with two double beds, lots of space, private balcony, sea view, comfy chairs and a large clean bathroom.

After a really good scrub, we had a great meal (omelette and chips!) and several beers, chatted to Doris and Greg, listened to the band and finally went to bed.

Day 119 – September 27^th 1990 – Senggigi

We both felt completely knackered today, so put off travelling back to Bali until tomorrow. After breakfast, we did all, and I mean all our washing, in a bucket outside the back of our room. It took two hours, but it was actually fun! The dirt that came out of our trekking gear – my Winnie the Pooh teeshirt will never be the same again!

Lunch at a warung (local shop), a restful afternoon, then sat on the beach debating a swim and watching the beautiful sunset. I felt very relaxed and very self-satisfied.

In the evening we had a row with the staff in a restaurant when I refused to pay for my mixed veg meal. It came out with chicken, so I asked them to change it, and it came back with most, but not all, of the chicken picked out!

We spent the evening with Doris and Greg, listening to the band (great musicians with a penchant for UB40) at Pondok Senggigi. I will be sad to leave this place and say goodbye to Doris and Greg. But tomorrow it’s back to Bali.

[2020 postscript: Here I reach the end of log book one of three. This one came with me from Northern Ireland back in June].

Day 117 – September 27^th 1990 – Senggigi

We both felt completely knackered today, so put off travelling back to Bali until tomorrow. After breakfast, we did all, and I mean all our washing, in a bucket outside the back of our room. It took two hours, but it was actually fun! The dirt that came out of our trekking gear – my Winnie the Pooh teeshirt will never be the same again!

Lunch at a warung (local shop), a restful afternoon, then sat on the beach debating a swim and watching the beautiful sunset. I felt very relaxed and very self-satisfied.

In the evening we had a row with the staff in a restaurant when I refused to pay for my mixed veg meal. It came out with chicken, so I asked them to change it, and it came back with most, but not all, of the chicken picked out!

We spent the evening with Doris and Greg, listening to the band (great musicians with a penchant for UB40) at Pondok Senggigi. I will be sad to leave this place and say goodbye to Doris and Greg. But tomorrow it’s back to Bali.

[2020 postscript: Here I reach the end of log book one of three. This one came with me from Northern Ireland back in June].

Day 118 – September 28^th 1990 – Senggigi to Kuta

After changing bemos and boats about 10 times, we finally reached Kuta at 7pm – not quite early enough for the sunset, but in time for food. The bemos proved less problematic than usual, until we almost had a fight trying to get from Tegal Station in Denpasar to Kuta.

The boat was rather more traumatic. The swell had us lurching from side to side, but it was much less crowded that on the trip over and we got a fairly comfortable seat.

We saw a different Padangbai when we docked. A cruise ship bearing dozens of elderly, wealthy, American, was in port. The local sellers were having a whale of a time – it made me want to run a mile! When we arrived in Kuta, we went straight to the Komala Indah Losman where we got a room without any bother for 7,000rp.

Day 119 – September 29^th 1990 – Kuta / Sanur

After a late breakfast (with the surfer boys in the Kempo Café) we spent some time relaxing on the beach before changing and catching a bemo to Sanur to meet Simon and Claire. [2020 postscript: A family friend from home and his new wife – on their honeymoon!]

Sanur is certainly a little different to Kuta, and the luxurious Bali Beach Hotel is a far cry from the Komala Indah! We were surprised to see a multi-storey block as we had understood that building laws forbade constructing anything above the level of the palm trees. We found out later that this law was introduced after the hotel was built in the 1960s – when it was clear how out of keeping it was.

I won’t write much about our evening – basically it was excellent, but our hosts were very generous with the booze and we crashed out on their couch at who knows what hour.

It is worth recording that among the birthday cards Simon and Claire brought out for us for the imminent 26^th birthday, I received a £10 note from one of my lovely aunts!

Day 120 – September 30^th 1990 – Kuta

The old head was somewhere else this morning, so spent the first half of the day watching overweight, white westerners in weird clothes slob around the pool at the Bali Beach Hotel, and the rest of the day in bed in our less luxurious losman. [2020 postscript: So yes, in my severely hungover state I was being very pass remarkable, which is funny as 30 years later I myself am an overweight, white westerner wearing weird clothes (sweatpants, we are still in Covid-19 partial lockdown after all). And I know reading about someone’s hangover(s) isn’t really the point of a travel blog, but warts ‘n’ all – that’s real life!]

Too unwell to leave bed for dinner, Matthew had to go out and bring back a Nasi Goreng take-away for himself and two cartons of orange juice for yours truly.  Tomorrow is another day!

Day 121 – October 1^st 1990 – Kuta

Obviously we didn’t disgrace ourselves too much the other night, because Simon and Claire spent the day with us at Kuta Beach and the night in Fat Yogis – even taking a shower in our communal bathroom!

Simon and Matthew surfed for over an hour, giving up when Matthew grazed his chest and Simon, a strawberry blonde Irishman, had turned bright red. We treated them to an embarrassingly bad lunch, then headed back to the beach where something of a cultural event was in progress.

There were loads and loads of men and women in traditional Balinese costume, singing and dancing to traditional music. Bamboo offerings were everywhere, and they eventually offered (ie threw in) all these items to the sea, where they then tried to drown three ducks. Only one survived, but I don’t suppose it was for long. Apparently, this was a mock cremation for Shiva (Hindu god).

Day 122 – October 2^nd 1990 – Kuta and onward

Our final day in Indonesia. Leaving brings a mixture of emotions. Nerves, as usual, because of the prospect of a six-hour flight; excitement – I’ll finally see Australia, a country I have been hoping to visit for many years; and sadness, because these last three weeks have been amongst the happiest of my life.

Today we just did the usual. I also bought some sandals and treated myself to a back massage from one of the ladies on the beach. Flat out under a bamboo sun shelter, no complaints!

The airport was chaotic. First we had to queue at baggage check-in; then the tax kiosk; then customs. We just about made it onto the plane and were seated right at the back. At least our reorganised tickets were okay. The flight was smooth, but I failed to get to sleep.

Day 123 – October 3^rd 1990 – Sydney, Australia

Another airport, another day, another country, another pair of exhausted travellers. We were cornered by a middle-aged man offering us a lift to his hostel where he promised dorm beds for $12 (Australian dollars) each. We were too tired to haggle or search around for something else, or deal with the intricacies or hassles of public transport, so we went with him.

The hostel, close to the ‘world famous Bondi Beach’ [2020 postscript: Let’s face it, who hasn’t heard of Bondi Beach!] was okay. The bunks were comfortable, with a large shared kitchen, washroom and garden. But it’s costing us at least three times as much as anywhere we have been so far (except the YMCA in Hong Kong) – and this is as cheap as Australia gets.

We spent most of the day sleeping, then watched some brilliant skaters and surfers on Bondi Beach. What an anti-climax – it is just like Bexhill on Sea, only colder! (Yes, it’s jumpers and coats weather here in Sydney). We witnessed a very thin, very cold girl in a tiny bikini, presumably a model, posing for shots by the rock pools. Probably not the weather she had been hoping for when she was hired!

In the evening, we headed to the Bondi Beach Hotel for steak, salad and potatoes. I ate nothing, as I was told salad and potatoes alone would be more expensive than the set dish with steak.  With us were three guys who were sharing our dorm and who had also arrived today. Two had flown Aeroflot and had some stories to tell!

Day 124 – October 4^th 1990 – Sydney

A friendly German gave us a lift into town this morning in his 20+ year old Falcon station wagon.  We collected mail from the GPO and tried unsuccessfully to rebook our flight with KLM (computers down). We wondered around Circular Quay and took snaps of the Opera House and Harbour Bridge.

Next we went in search of camping equipment and eventually found a great, second hand (but only used once if you believe that) dome tent for $100. We got a trangia cooker, small backpack, roll mats for sleeping and plates thrown in for $200.

Our plans to spend a couple of days on Matthew’s friend’s floor have fallen through as when we called, we found she had already gone home to the UK.

Day 125 – October 5^th 1990 – Sydney

Mum’s birthday. I rang home twice but to no avail. We got practical things sorted out today – like our washing, arranged to get tax file numbers so we could work, and posted lots of stuff to Adelaide [2020 postscript: Matthew’s relatives live in Adelaide so we planned to visit later in our trip. As chance would have it, later came sooner than expected. All will be revealed…]

This evening, we headed to the notorious King’s Cross, swarming with prostitutes and strip joints. Interesting. It also happens to be the main backpackers’ area in Sydney.

Day 126 – October 6^th 1990 – Sydney

We headed back into town today planning to go to the post office and KLM. Sydney city centre is even more dead on weekends than the ‘city’ part of London. Nothing was open, though we did get the chance to wander around inside and outside the Opera House. We also went to the not-very-impressive Rocks, site of the original European settlement in Australia.

The Hyde Park Barracks, where the convicts used to sleep, was closed for renovations, but we did see the Old Mint, formerly part of the Rum Hospital (paid for by rum), and now a museum.

The trains here are great – double deckers, always plenty of room and fairly regular. Tickets, or course, are very expensive. In fact, everything here is expensive – chocolate is 40p a bar, baked beans are 50p a tin, coke is 55p, bread, cheese, everything – we are going through money like mad!

For this reason, we spent the evening trying to suss out the cheapest and most convenient way to travel up the east coast. We juggled our figures and offered to pay one of the guys at the hostel for his car, but he has decided not to sell it yet.  We plan to go to King’s Cross in the morning to look for either a car, or a lift.

Day 127 – October 7^th 1990 – Sydney to Bundeena

After three hours of prodding, poking, listening and ‘testing’ a white 1968 Holden Kingswood station wagon, we sealed a deal which was later to prove a disaster.

There was no excuse for it. We were a couple of mugs. We couldn’t afford to have the car professionally tested, so we agreed to buy it, guillibly thinking the fellow traveller we bought it off could be trusted.

We left excited and full of anticipation, with the intention of returning tomorrow to pay the full amount.

We camped (illegally) in a national park in the bush just back from a beach in Bundeena, south of Sydney and Botany Bay, using our last few dollars for a bottle of wine which we drank to christen our wonderful new tent.

Day 128 – October 8^th 1990 – Sydney to Berowra

East coast here we come! We got our money out on credit cards, took a train to King’s Cross, paid $900 for the car, including stoves, jerry can, airbed, maps etc. We searched around for someone to give a lift to, eventually locating a Danish guy named Hendric, and headed north to a national park at Berowra, filling the car up with $30 worth of petrol and adding air fresheners at $3.80 en route.

The gears, which come out of the steering column, gave Matthew a few problems, but he coped well and we made it over the Harbour Bridge and 25km further north to the park where we were told camping was not permitted.

So we paid £12.50 to pitch our tent in a very posh caravan park. Not as cheap, but the facilities were good – better hot showers than in the bush for sure!

Day 129 – October 9^th 1990 – On the road (and off!)

We packed the car all neatly and set off cautiously. We picked up quiet, headbanging Hendric at Berowra Station (he had been waiting an hour) and set off bound for Port Macquarie. Three kilometres up the road, the problems began. Going downhill, the car popped out of gear and the engine stalled. It happened several times, and in places it was difficult to pull off the fast-moving freeway to start her up again. Also, the brakes were really dodgy.

Our first thought was we would get to Newcastle and have the brakes checked, but in the end we drove into Gosford, less than 40km north of Berowra… and there ended our car. We hadn’t even got round to naming it properly!

The garage said they would look at it that afternoon for $25, but it probably needs a new gearbox ($600) plus the work done on the breaks, and it would likely take 2-3 days.

We put Hendric on a train to Newcastle (oops, bet that’s one lift he wishes he had never agreed to) and booked ourselves into a campsite. We grabbed all our belongings from the car and sat down to consider our future. After lots of deliberating over a box of cheap Australian red, we decided to cut our losses and sell the car for scrap.

Day 130 – October 10^th 1990 – Gosford, New South Wales

We waited for two and a half hours at the garage for a wrecker who didn’t bother turning up. Eventually we drove the car to the nearest auto-breakers – stalling all the way. The breaker gave us $150 for the car which still had ¾ of a tank of petrol. It broke my heart.

We walked, two strays, back to town and got the bus to the campsite and our little tent. At least it is okay.

Two real mugs. Next question is where now? Adelaide?

Day 131 – October 11^th 1990 – Gosford, New South Wales

My birthday!

We were kept awake for part of last night by a naughty possum who kept creeping around our tent. Having been told they would rip your tent to get at food if you had any inside, we had to bring our box of goodies in and smother it in clothes. In the end Matthew chased the possum away into the caravans.

We had decided last night to spend today in Gosford, so after breakfast we did some shopping then headed to the Australian Reptile Park, founded by the world famous Eric Worrell. Here, we learned that possums aren’t really likely to raid our tent. We saw the world’s deadliest spiders and snakes (all native to Australia); got our first glimpse of wombats; saw a couple of koalas stuffing their faces and touched a friendly kangaroo. It was really interesting.

While the animals were kept in confines, they seemed much more pleasant than in a zoo, although poor ‘anti-social’ Eric the crocodile seemed a little bored! For the first time since arriving in Sydney, I felt I was seeing something of Australia.

In the evening we splashed out and had a meal at an Indian restaurant down the road. Tomorrow, we start hitch-hiking to Adelaide. [2020 postscript: A mere 854 miles!]

Day 132 – October 12^th 1990 – Hitching (sub heading: The kindness of strangers)

Matthew had a huge chop for breakfast [2020 postscript: Lamb or pork?] before setting out on the long and weary road to Adelaide. We caught a train to Liverpool, south of Syndey, then had a difficult 55 minute walk, packs on our backs, to a garage we had been told was the best place to hitch a ride.

Contrary to this advice, there were no truckers in having lunch. We arrived at the garage at 2pm and at first, despite the number of cars going past, it didn’t look like we would be on the road anytime today.

Then someone offered to take us ‘down the road to Camden’ but we declined as this was not far enough [2020 postscript: What happened to beggars can’t be choosers, I wonder?]. Twenty minutes later a man stopped and said he would take us 135km down the road to Golbourn.

We reached a campsite on the main highway at 4.20pm. Boy was I glad to get out of the car. He was probably a nice man, but was unashamedly racist and talked incessantly. And for the first half hour and last 15 minutes I was being eaten alive by his 10-week-old Ridgeback pup! On the redeeming side, he was a coach driver and stayed within the speed limit.

As we stood on the edge of the road in the rain in this freezing town in the middle of nowhere, I was fairly certain we’d end up camping here, but to our joy a man with a car full of stuff – as well as a trailer – doubled back and picked us up. He drove us all the way to Wagga Wagga, 500km from Sydney.

David is a 46-year-old RAAF (Royal Australian Air Force) engineer with a six-year-old son he dotes on.  He chatted all the way, pointed out all places the of interest en route, and took us to see the ‘Dog on the Tuckerbox, Five Miles from Gundagai.’ Funny things these Australians chose to immortalise in historical monuments.

We were overwhelmed by the kindness of David and his wife Janet. They took us into their home, gave us dinner, showers and a bed for the night, and even made us sandwiches to see us on our way.

I am not sure if two waifs hitching on the side of the road in the rain would receive this kindness and hospitality at home. People in the UK are too suspicious, I think. Almost everyone we have met in Australia (with the exception of a couple of bar staff) has been very friendly. All the people at the campsite in Gosford were really nice – sympathetic to our plight without laughing at us or making us feel like mugs.

The sunset driving through the bush this evening was spectacular. The clouds and unusual bush landscape made it so. It took at least an hour for the sun to finally disappear. And when the sky was dark, David even stopped the car so we could get out to look at the Southern Cross.

Day 133 – October 13^th 1990 – Hitching (sub heading: The kindness of strangers pt 2)

David kindly dropped us about 12 miles down the Sturt Highway at a spot he thought would be best for hitching. Unfortunately hardly any cars went past. Those that did either ignored us or shook their heads, including truckies. One had Adelaide written all over the front of his cab, but he just shook his head and thundered past.

Just as I was contemplating spending another night at David’s, a yellow campervan doubled back. “Fancy a ride?” said the female driver. “You bet!” I replied. We had been waiting for two hours and 20 minutes.

The couple (Diane and Wayne) drove us all the way to Adelaide (570 miles). En route, we saw dry, flat, barren land, huge sprinklers in irrigation areas, fruit orchards and vineyards. There were very few towns. We encountered a few live kangaroos – including one huge one standing in the middle of the road, silhouetted by the setting sun (where’s the camera when you need it). Sadly we also saw dead kangaroos who been hit by traffic.

We stopped at a pub for an hour which was quite pleasant, although a little awkward when they asked if we could help with petrol money. They were very understanding when we explained that we were hitching all this way because we literally had no money.  We reached Adelaide at 11pm local time (half hour behind Sydney). Again, we feel hugely grateful for the kindness of Diane and Wayne.

Matthew’s cousin met us in his car and drove us 15 minutes to his aunt and uncle’s home. There, we were given a bed in the games room, with its own fridge and kettle and Uncle A has just about finished work on the ensuite bathroom.

People are so kind it is hard to conceive.

Days 134 and counting – October 14^th 1990 and beyond – Adelaide

A typical home Sunday. Do the washing, have lunch, settle ourselves into our new room, phone home to learn all is well, eat a big dinner with wine, and watch TV with a couple of bottles of freezing beer. Sheer bliss. Who wants to travel anyhow!

2020 postscript: I won’t be updating this blog on a daily basis for the next few weeks because for this period we are back in the real world to some extent – get up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed , get up, go to work… etc. But of course there are some adventures along the way – we are on the other side of the world after all, so I will be reading my log book daily and adding all the juicy bits!

Day 138 – October 18^th 1990 – Adelaide

Matthew’s birthday. At 9am he had an interview with a timber firm who want someone full time. At 10.30am we were both at Postel Marketing to be ‘trained’ as telemarketers. What a disaster!

My experience was this: You have to be false, tell lies, be condescending, put the phone down on lonely pensioners and the unemployed and compete with others to sell the most of your product – in our case a set of ‘stainless steel kitchen knives, edged with a lazer beam and guaranteed for 25 years.’ Wow!

This was in aid of a charity, and supporting the charity is fair enough, but phoning people out of the telephone directory (literally, we had a page each to go through) and trying to persuade them to part with their money was horrendous. The worst thing was they put us on the telephones for an hour and made us work for free. Matthew sold a set. The other ‘trainee’ sold four” I sold absolutely none, in fact I was the worst telemarketer in the world!

Tonight we got The Last Emperor on video – we have been wanting to see it since we visited The Forbidden City in Beijing. I was surprised, but delighted, to see they hadn’t actually hoed the weeds out from the cracks in the paving stones for filming!

Day 140 – October 20^th 1990 – Adelaide

Did a spot of wine tasting in the Barossa Valley today. Matthew’s aunt and uncle took us to five different wineries. It was great – you just name the wine, or type of wine, you want to try and you get a taster. Only a little one, but when you had had a few, it all adds us. And my conclusion – Australian wine ain’t half bad!

Day 142 – October 22^nd 1990 – Adelaide

Well, I’m a journalist again! My interview at the Messenger this morning went quite well, although I was very nervous. The editor was a nice guy and the news manager very like my old editor at the Informer group in London. I start on November 5 and should have work until late December. Matthew looks likely to have a labouring job in Wingfield, en route to the Messenger office in Port Adelaide, so everything is looking up.

I called at CES and applied for Grand Prix bar work – a chance to see Cher in concert at the same time. We then delivered pamphlets for more than two hours. The weather was beautiful and the addresses were all in fresh, green, suburban Adelaide, just around the corner really, so I enjoyed it. We walked miles and have another lot of pamphlets to do tomorrow.

On the down side, Matthew’s cousin’s car was stolen on Friday night and found at 3am this morning (Monday). Car theft is apparently a really big thing in South Australia at the present time.

Day 147 – October 27^th 1990 – Adelaide

Time for some sight-seeing, and boy did we see some sights! We attempted to drive south to Victor Harbour, where there is an old horse drawn tram, Australia’s first railroad. After two hours of traffic jams in scorching heat, we were only half way there, so we decided to head for the nearest beach.

[2020 postscript: For context, a comment from my log on October 25 reads: An even hotter day – it’s incredible how the weather can go from being really wintry. I tell you, it’s as hot as India without the humidity].

We had brought a picnic, so ate it at the top of a crumbly cliff overlooking the sea, before walking along the cliffs for 45 minutes to get down to the beach.

What a shocker! Lots of naked bodies! We had accidentally stumbled across one of Australia’s nudist beaches. We later learned that Maslin Beach was the first and only one in South Australia. There were lots of men strolling around proudly. At least most were wearing hats (JR Ewing or Crocodile Dundee style) and some even had sunglasses on. I just didn’t know where to look!

Day 155 – November 4^th 1990 – Adelaide

Grand Prix Day! Caught the bus into town. It was a scorcher of a day and there were people everywhere, drinking and eating loads. We wandered around and found a spot to watch the not-so-fast BMW celebrity race, then sweltered as an overhead parachute/acrobatic display took place – the fighter planes flew terrifyingly low and were incredibly noisy.

Mind you – so were the Formula One cars. The race was very exciting, though we had difficulty getting a good view for the first hour.  We then moved to a different spot and were by the chicane for the end.

Senna crashed out 20 laps from the finish. England’s Nigel Mansell had been on his tail for ages before spinning. Mansell drove brilliantly and caught Prost, then made up eight seconds in two laps to trail Piquet, but he didn’t have the time to make it past him. [2020 postscript: For a considerably more detailed and no doubt more accurate analysis of the race, click here].

The Cher concert lacked the same spark and was a bit of a disaster. It was difficult to hear her, everyone was sweating and straining to see, and she was only on stage for 50 minutes. We caught a bus back to Ridgehaven without any problems and were home by 8pm.

[2020 postscript: We took lots of photos at the Grand Prix, but sometime later, when we reached what we thought was the end of our film, we had trouble rewinding it (younger readers – your parents might be able to explain this). So the photographer at the newspaper office where I was working took it into his darkroom to ascertain what the problem was. It didn’t take him long. We had no film in the camera in the first place! Another lesson learned.]

Day 167 – November 17^th 1990 – Adelaide – Tanunda

We decided to head out of Adelaide for the night, so drove to a camp site at Tanunda in the Barossa Valley. We pitched our tent, had lunch in a pub, shot a couple of games of pool, wondered through the quaint little town and did a spot of wine tasting at a local winery. We went right through the list which fortunately (or unfortunately) wasn’t too long.

Then it was to a tea room for a full ‘Devonshire Tea’- scones, jam, cream, the lot!

We cooked our dinner back at the campsite, using saucepans on an electric barbecue to cook a pretty impressive vegetable curry – though it did take quite some time!

Day 168 – November 18^th 1990 – Tanunda

We were up and on the road at 10am to take in the view from a very chilly Mengler Hill before wandering around the unusual but interesting Barossa Sculpture Park (ie a blustery field). We drove to Nuriootpa to ask in the tourist information office about walking trails, but as it is fire danger season, most of the walks are closed.

The weather brightened up, so we headed to the Whispering Wall at the Barossa Reservoir. It worked – it was incredible, a little different to the Echo Wall in the Temple of Heaven in Beijing [2020 postscript: Day 61].

We headed on to the dusty South Para Reservoir. The drive back, via the ‘Chain of Ponds,’ was lovely. The hills are rapidly turning from green to brown – it is easy to see why fires happen so regularly. We got back to the house at 3pm to do our washing, some housework, make dinner, and prepare for another week at work.

Day 173 – November 23^rd 1990 – Adelaide to Melrose

Time to see Australia. We packed the car last night, giving up on the idea of packing a gas cooker and taking our faithful little trangia instead. We left Adelaide straight after work, driving along the number one highway for almost 300kms. There were no traffic lights beyond Grand Junction Road. We just put the foot down and kept going – no need to even touch the brakes.

But even at 100km/hr it took a long time, and when we reached Port Augusta we had emptied a full tank of petrol and dusk was falling. We had a coffee and debate, and decided not to keep going the 150km to Wilpena Pound, the most famous part of the Flinders Ranges, but to double back to Melrose at the foot of Mount Remarkable, in Mount Remarkable National Park.

Leaving the main road and driving into the South Flinders Ranges was great. In the evening light, the hills were a moss green velvet, unusual in both colour and texture. We drove through the Hurrock’s (??) Pass, coming out on the other side of the mountain range, where vast desert plains stretched to the horizon. It was quite a contrast. Now this is the real Australia.

A straight road took us through Wilmington to Melrose where we pitched the tent in a nice like car park, reheated our veggie chilli, cooked our spuds, had one drink in the local pub, and got to bed about 10.30pm.

Day 174 – November 24^th 1990 – Flinders Ranges

It was pleasantly cold all night, but when the sun came up and hit the tent it became unbearably hot. We were up and breakfasted by 10am. The sun was out, the park was almost empty and we were surrounded by trees. It’s the kookaburra mating season, so the kookaburras were chuckling hysterically in the trees. Very nice.

We drove the short distance to the foot of Mount Remarkable. Although it is only 995m high, it was a pretty rough climb – steep and very slippery underfoot – not easy in trainers. It took about an hour and a half to get to the top, but we stopped a lot to admire the views. You could really see what a huge country Australia is – just miles and miles of nothing, roads straight as a die fading into the horizon. It is stunning – in a different sort of way.

We met and chatted to a middle aged couple on top. They had walked all the way from the caravan park, which put us to shame. We had our picnic on the summit and sat for half an hour. It was really pleasant, before climbing down a different route. It was supposedly easier, but it was still pretty slippery. We saw lots of huge fat ants and a couple of anthills – I’m glad I didn’t fall on any of those!

Driving back to the park we were impressed to see the middle aged man jogging down the road, and when we got back to the tent he invited us round for a couple of beers. It was really nice, and we had a good chat, before going for a walk around Melrose to see the Cathedral Rock, War Memorial and the old copper mines. After dinner, we visited the two local pubs, both equally empty. It seems all the adults were at a play being put on by the local schoolchildren in the church hall. We even stopped in to sneak a peek at the end!

Day 175 – November 25^th 1990 – Flinders Ranges

We were forced out of bed again by the heat, so we packed up and drove to Alligator Gorge in the Mount Remarkable National Park. This involved an 11km drive along a steep, winding dirt track. Nerve wracking – and I was driving!

We had a nice walk to the gorge, where the rocks are patterned with marks apparently left by lapping waves. One part of the gorge is really narrow. It was quite beautiful, but the area is only beginning to recover from a fire two years ago when all the big trees exploded. On our walk, I came across a live green adder – exciting!

We cooked some beans for lunch before heading back to Adelaide for another week at the timber mill (Matthew) and the Hills and Valley Messenger (me).

Day 178 – November 28^th 1990 – Adelaide

[2020 postscript: Having availed of Matthew’s relatives’ hospitality in their home in the Adelaide suburb of Ridgehaven for the best part of six weeks, and as we were both now earning, we felt the time had come to move out and look for a flat for the remainder of our stay in Adelaide. We began the search today.]

Well – that didn’t take too long. We’ve got a one-bedroom flat near the beach in Semaphore. I phoned about a few caravans, but the cheapest was $160 per week, so I considered flats instead. We went to look at this one this afternoon – it is five minutes from my office, 15 minutes or so from Matthew’s work, close to the beach and has a small but good kitchen and bathroom. Rent is $100 per week, and for $10 more they will change your sheets and clean the floor. Not bad!

The property is owned and run by a hostel which specifically provides accommodation for people with mental illnesses, but is open to all. After our visit, we walked along the breezy jetty and saw a penguin swimming in the sea.

Day 182 – December 2^nd 1990 – Semaphore

We were up at 5.45am to drive to Adelaide Airport to collect our friend Teresa who was flying in from London. She landed on time at 6.20am, 10 minutes after we got to the airport.

After 18 and a half hours in the air, plus two hours at Singapore Airport, we expected her to be tired, but she was really lively, so we planned something to do.

First, I did our washing by hand (wrecking my hands in the process – too used to the luxury of a washing machine these past few weeks) before heading for a drive around the Lefevre Peninsula [2020 postscript: Matthew’s aunt and uncle had very kindly allowed us to continue to borrow their car once we moved out of their house earlier in the week]. It was only a short drive, but we were afraid to go too far as the car wasn’t at its best. We stopped for lunch at a kiosk at Larg’s Jetty before heading back to the flat where Teresa finally succumbed to sleep.

Jughead in the flat below was playing ridiculously loud music. We woke Teresa, as requested, at 6pm, and had some champagne to welcome our visitor, lasagne, garlic bread and wine – a lovely evening.

Day 205 – Christmas Day 1990 – Adelaide

A wonderful Christmas morning on the beach! Matthew, Teresa and I headed down after breakfast, carrying our pressies in pillow cases. The weather was gorgeous. We drank champagne and orange juice, played Scrabble, sunbathed and had a swim. [2020 postscript: The photos above seem even worse quality than usual. This is because by some incredible chance, we had inserted Teresa’s already used film of her travels up the east coast to Ayers Rock into our camera. So we seem to have two images in one. In some others it looks like I am standing in front of Ayers Rock which, due to our car disaster, I never actually visited!]

We had to leave the beach around 11am to get ready to head to Matthew’s relations for a family Christmas – which was much more akin to what we would normally have at home – big dinner around the table, decorated Christmas tree, Carols in the background. We headed out for a walk around 6pm, and left at 8.30pm with a mad taxi driver. We attempted to call home, but only Teresa managed to get through.

Day 206 – December 26^th 1990 – Adelaide to Melbourne

Our last day in Adelaide and we are back on the road! Matthew did the laundry and Teresa and I headed to the beach to top up our tans and have a swim. Settling the finances with our landlord, we were left disappointed when he returned our deposit and nothing more – we had hoped he would give us something extra as we were moving out earlier than originally planned, and as the promised ‘servicing’ (or cleaning) of the flat hadn’t happened.

After dinner we packed, which wasn’t an easy task after so long living in one place. Matthew’s aunt and uncle came to Semaphore to say goodbye, before we caught an overnight bus to Melbourne at 8.45pm. It stopped five times through the journey, which was just as well as there was no loo on board!

Day 207 – December 27^th 1990 – Melbourne

On first impressions Melbourne appears to be a bigger, less sterile, more alive city than Adelaide. Matthew loves it already! We caught a train to Caulfield where Paula and Mark picked us up, and had a couple of hours sleep. [2020 postscript: Paula was one of my lovely colleagues at the Messenger newspaper, and she invited us to stay at her and her boyfriend’s house in Melbourne when we were in the city.]

We caught a tram into the city centre. The trams are excellent, cars have to give way to them, and they trundle up and down the sky scraper-lined streets, covering most areas. However, Melbourne seems to be covered in graffiti – swamped in it in fact! Only the trams seem to have escaped the graffitists – probably because they are of the old school – conductors etc.

We spent the afternoon sorting things out. Teresa changed her flight home from Sydney to Melbourne, and got her money back on the coach ticket she had bought to get her to Sydney. We bought train tickets (costing $76) to Shepparton where we hoped to visit cousins of Matthew, but had to get these refunded when we discovered it would cost us $140 each to get the train to Sydney – everything cheaper was booked up! Eventually we found a cheap coach, but would have to travel overnight on the 29^th. Matthew would have liked to stay longer in Melbourne, but it is not to be. En route back to Paula and Mark’s, we called at the address of Sean, an old friend from Teresa and my days at university, who was now living in Melbourne. I had tried calling him on his work number, but hadn’t had any luck. When he opened the door to find Teresa, Matthew and I standing there, he was dumbstruck! [2020 postscript: From letters we had exchanged, Sean knew Matthew and I were travelling, but had no idea we would be in Melbourne or that Teresa would be with us. His face when he opened the door…!] After an hour or so of catching up, Sean drove us back to Paula and Mark’s, with a loose promise that he might join us on a night our tomorrow.

Day 208 – December 28^th 1990 – Melbourne

We headed into town this morning with Paula and Mark to see the sights of Melbourne. First a river trip along the industrial banks, then the art gallery which had quite an interesting collection of Aboriginal art – very distinctive in colour (natural browns etc from the earth) and style. Much is based on ‘Dreamtime.’

The Old Melbourne Gaol was really fascinating, like a real prison, with moulds taken of the heads of hanged prisoners – gorey! The gaol closed at 4.30pm so we headed back to get ready for our big night out.

We took a tram to the Regent Hotel where we visited the bar on the 35^th floor. Very posh with a brilliant view across all of Melbourne, especially from the ladies’ toilet which had floor to ceiling glass. We were joined by Pam (another Messenger colleague), her boyfriend and four of his mates. We then headed to a Malaysian restaurant where the food was good, but I had a dodgy stomach, so prawns probably weren’t the best choice!

Sean had been in touch to see he would meet us in a club called Bobby McGees. When we got there about 11pm (eight of us) they wouldn’t let us in, but a friend of Sean’s was ‘in the know’ and before long we were admitted. The music was not my scene, but the craic was mighty and everyone (apart from me with my dodgy tum) let their hair down. We left in a taxi at 1.15am – a lovely night out with good friends.

Day 209 – December 29^th 1990 – Melbourne

A lazy recovering day. Teresa and I went shopping in the afternoon. Our most exciting experience was a big fight on the train. So much for rushing in and helping – I actually climbed over the back of a seat to get away – what a wimp!

We said goodbye to Paula and Mark, then to Teresa at the bus station as she flies back to London tomorrow afternoon. Then we began our journey north east. The overnight bus to Sydney is comfie with video, good reclining seats and a loo!

Day 210 – December 30^th 1990 – Sydney

We found a great hotel near the city centre (half hour walk) and took a double room with TV, fridge and kettle (just $30). It is very hot outside.

In the afternoon, we headed into Darling Harbour and the Powerhouse Museum. Also went to the bank to buy travellers’ cheques to keep us going for the next few months – we now have US$1,100 in each of our money belts. Not a lot to get by on!

Picked up a Lebanese take-away for dinner which we ate in our room in front of the TV.

Day 211 – New Year’s Eve 1990 – Sydney

Did lots of shopping today – mostly on Matthew’s credit card. We got a bit of a shock when we went to a doctor’s clinic for our Malaria tablets and were told we were expected to pay $30 for a consultation – we had been assured by friends in Adelaide that the doctor would be free as we are British citizens! No such thing as a free malaria tablet!

Matthew has had a sore eye, so he had that checked and was given some cream along with our malarias – $89 all in.

Back at the hotel we watched The Good Life on TV then headed to a jazz club close to the Harbour. The place was thronging with people. As we walked towards the silhouette of the city skyline, the most spectacular firework display was going on behind the skyscrapers. As we neared the Harbour, loads of inebriated people were milling around wearing fluorescent headbands. At the Rocks, street parties were in full swing outside the pubs. It was all very exciting.

The jazz club was virtually right under the bridge and wasn’t too packed. After taking in the music over a few drinks, we strolled back outside to watch the boats going past on the water, full of lots of wealthy New Year revellers. We sang Auld Lang Syne under the Sydney Harbour Bridge at midnight and left the Harbour at 1.30am to walk back to the hostel through streets still full of drunk people – some collapsed, some walking round shouting ‘Happy New Year’ at the top of their voices.

We finally got back around 3am. Welcome 1991!

And – if the news is anything to go by – the next World War is only 15 days away – how nice to end the year on a cheerie note! [2020 postscript: The Gulf War had been ongoing since August].

Day 212 – January 1^st 1991 – Sydney

Spent the morning nursing a bad headache while Matthew did our washing. We headed to the Natural History Museum after lunch. They have some nice Aboriginal artwork and an enthralling exhibition tracing evolution and ending with the statement ‘Evolution is fact.’ So there!

At 6pm we went to see the movie Cyrano de Bergerac (in French with subtitles). The film was excellent but the cinema was absolutely freezing. Another Lebanese takeaway for dinner.

Day 213 – January 2^nd 1991 –Sydney

Our last day in Australia after almost three months. Tomorrow we fly to Auckland.

We wanted to go on a day trip to the Blue Mountains but everything was booked up. So we sorted out our KLM flight home. We leave Rio de Janeiro on May 30^th, arriving at Heathrow at 12 noon on the 31^st. It just doesn’t bear thinking about.

Day 214 – January 3^rd 1991 – Auckland, New Zealand

It’s fantastic to be on the road again, and what a nice surprise when what you believe to be a six-hour flight turns into a two-and-a-half hour one! Driving into Auckland with a guy we met at the airport who happens to know someone who runs a hostel, and I’m much reminded of home – green, rolling hills, smaller cars and a wonderful chill in the air!

The hostel was a bit of a dump – we were offered a double mattress with dirty sheets and a lone, used sock in what was basically a shelf over a corridor. It was in a room with two other double beds. The hostel had a bar, and the partying went on for hours… Fortunately, after an Indian meal and a few beers after our 7pm arrival, I slept well in spite of the noise, our co-inhabitants, and the fact that the ceiling was about three inches above my nose.

Day 215 – January 4^th 1991 – Auckland

We rang another hostel, organised a room and a lift, and packed our bags once again! The room at the Georgia Hostel ($35 compared with $28 for the shelf) was one big room divided by a wooden partition – we even had to share a window and noise travelled easily between rooms, but was clean, roomy and (for now) quiet.

By the way, NZ$1 = 78 Australian cents or £1 = NZ$3 approx.

We spent a relaxing afternoon wandering around the city, seeing the Harbour Bridge with its ‘Nippon Clippons’ (two more lanes), and the Harbour, where two huge Japanese whaling boats were docked, which is confusing as it is banned and NZ is very anti-whaling and pro-Greenpeace etc.

Looking at the shops, sussing where to go, life seems to move at a slower place. It is so much cooler than Australia. I love it already. Had an early, quiet(!) night.

Day 216 – January 5^th 1991 – Auckland

Spent the day again looking around the city. We booked tickets for the Westcoast Express, leaving Nelson on January 13 and arriving in Queenstown six days later. [2021 postscript: This is the only reference I can find online to the Westcoast Express – perhaps this wonderful backpackers’ service no longer exists – happy to be advised otherwise if anyone knows?] We sorted our bags, and as we plan to go trekking, we put non-essential stuff aside to leave at the hostel until we return to Auckland.

We considered going to the cinema tonight, but it is too expensive, so played Scrabble instead!

Day 217 – January 6^th 1991 – Auckland to Rotorua

Back to hitch hiking again – somewhat against my better judgement, but knowing at the same time that it is the only way to see New Zealand. In the end, we had a pretty good day.

We picked a poor spot to start, but someone gave us a lift to a roundabout; a maniac female driver took us 20 minutes further; a family (the father of which claimed to be the grandson of an IRA man) took us to a place 40 minutes from Rotorua; and a local man dropped us off at a campsite by a lake in the town. Not bad going!

It is a beautiful spot, and it feels great to be back in the countryside again. We walked into the town for a drink, and on the way saw a lake of smelly steam. Quite incredible! I would not have liked to live in the houses nearby.

Rotorua was like a ghost town, but admittedly it is Sunday night. Luckily, after a half hour walk, we found a pub open so we could celebrate achieving our first objective!

Day 218 – January 7^th 1991 – Rotorua

A beautiful sunny morning. We hung our washed clothes and wet towels out to dry and set off to walk the 4.5km to the Whaka [2021 postscript: Whakarwarwa seems to be the correct name today] Thermal Reserve. Huge geysers, hot springs and boiling mud pools – brilliant, beautiful and incredible.

We also went to see a Maori concert which was absolutely worth the extortionate amount they charged to get in. The songs, like folk songs, were cheery, and the men’s defiance (tongue out) and poise dances would have impressed any rugby fan!

Leaving the reserve craft centre, the weather had completely changed. It poured all our miserable walk back to the campsite, where we found all our clothes and towels lying saturated on the grass. And no money to dry them! We attempted to salvage the situation before watching a mini-series in the TV room. Back on the road tomorrow.

Day 219 – January 8^th 1991- Rotorua to Whakapapa

Walked two hours to get to a good spot to start hitching a lift with the hope of getting to Whakapapa. An elderly lady on her way to do a course in Economics and Politics (relevance???) took us to Taupo where we had lunch in a café overlooking the lake, the largest in the southern hemisphere.

We walked a bit more, then chanced upon a van carrying a group of lads home from work, and they took us to Turangi. A really friendly couple saw us stood at the side of the road and decided this was an opportunity for them to ‘go for a drive,’ so they took us to Whakapapa village, detouring to a scenic lake for our benefit en route. They said we could stay with them in Auckland when we returned to the city! The people here have just been so nice.

There isn’t much in Whakapapa but the scenery is beautiful, which bodes well for our planned trek into Tongariro National Park tomorrow. We had a drink in a hotel overlooking Mount Nguaruhoe. [2021 postscript: Apparently today it is also known as Mount Doom from Lord of the Rings, which of course had not been filmed in 1991].

Day 220 – January 9^th 1991 – Tongariro National Park

It was a miserable morning and many fellow campers we spoke to were not ‘risking’ the crossing [Tongariro Crossing], but Matthew and I headed out regardless. We took a detour to some waterfalls, then rejoined the main track leading to the Mangatepopo Hut.

It started to rain, then the wind came in, bringing hail, and it was absolutely freezing. We took our fleecy trousers off, walking in shorts, so that at least they would be warm and dry when we got to camp. The result was our legs were stung by the hail and whipped by all the scrub and grass we were walking through.

The track was a mudbath, and the estimated two and a half hours to the hut seemed like an eternity. What a relief to see a smoking chimney!

The hut was lovely and warm inside, so we were able to dry out our clothes and boots, but there were no bunks available, so we had to pitch the tent outside. We cooked, then took a little walk as the sky had cleared at sunset, then hit the sack. Where we go tomorrow will depend on the weather.

Day 221 – January 10^th 1991 – Tongariro National Park

The sky was azure and Mount Ngauruhoe an ice-topped conical. The surrounding mountains, which yesterday looked so ominous, were green and tempting. As experienced volcano climbers, there was no way Matthew and I could say no to an ascent of Mount Ngauruhoe, which was clear for the first time in a week.

With dozens of day-trippers and would-be volcano conquerors, we set off along the track leading to the foot of Ngauruhoe, and on to the rest of the Tongariro Crossing. The path leading up to the saddle was rocky and hard going. It took an hour and a half to get to the bottom of the volcano, where we left our packs and began to climb.

Before long, the patches of snow and ice were getting bigger, but it was easier to walk in the snow which packed underfoot, rather than the shale and rocks which were very unstable. Ninety minutes later we reached one part of the crater, then had a chilly, rough walk to the summit and the crater’s edge to look down into the smoking rocks below. But it was too cold to stay long. The views in every direction were magnificent – it is rare to get a clear day at Ngauruhoe so, especially after yesterday, we were very lucky.

The warden of the Mangatepopo Hut was among the climbers at the top, and he gave us each a ginger nut biscuit, which was the best I have ever tasted! [2021 postscript: My abiding memory is the ginger nut and how welcome it was after all that climbing!].

Coming down was pretty easy – just a 20 minute slide down the shale – bounce, bounce, bounce – although tough on the legs. The next three and a half hours to the Ketatchi Hut were, according to the guide book, an ‘easy’ walk, although ‘easy’ isn’t the word I would use. But the scenery was fantastic, especially the amazing colours of the Red Crater, the Blue Lake, and the little emerald lakes. Sadly we cannot drink from the streams because of the disease Giardia which is spread in faeces and is allegedly a problem because of travellers relieving themselves in the water. It is a terrible shame.

We reached Ketatchi at 5.30pm, exhausted, but very glad to see the hut. We ate noodles and soup (yum) and attempted to go for a hot spring at 9pm, but it was getting dark, the steam was incredible, and it would have been dangerous, if not impossible, to locate the springs. When we got back, the hut was in darkness and we had to head to bed in the tent without our coffee…

Day 222 – January 11^th 1990 – Tongariro to Wellington

After a really pleasant two hour walk to the carpark near State Highway 47, we had a great spot of luck as the people walking down at the same time happened to be driving to Wellington and gave us a lift. We stopped for petrol, food, and later some fresh fruit, but it only took three and a half hours in the lad’s old Viva, with its dodgy battery. It gave up the ghost twice in Wellington, but he didn’t have far to go and we were able to push / jump start it.

We found a good room in a hostel for $28 and hit the town. Wellington which is compact and surrounded by hills – seems really nice.

Day 223 – January 12^th 1991 – Wellington to Nelson

We caught the ferry to Picton by the skin of our teeth! We were standby numbers 46 and 47, and they took 50. The tickets, at $33.60 (just over £10) seemed a bit steep. The boat (journey was more than three hours) was pretty good. We sat in the bar area on the top deck and chatted to a couple of Kiwis and Aussies who were on holiday.

Once in Picton, we contemplated hitch-hiking to Nelson, but found a backpackers’ bus which would take us for $14 each. The driver was a jolly little man who took us on the scenic route (Queen Charlotte’s Drive) so we got a good look at Marlborough Sounds – beautiful. It was a lovely day, and the driver stopped so we could get out for ice-creams.

In Nelson, he dropped us at a motor camp where we were able to pitch our tent in the backpackers’ (hippy!) section for just $5 each. We did our washing and got an early night in preparation for tomorrow and the Westcoast Express.

Day 224 – January 13^th 1991 – Nelson to Westport

I think I’m going to enjoy this trip. Lots of people the same as us, doing the same as us. Danish, Canadian, American, Japanese, Austrian, Swedish, Swiss, Dutch, Israeli, South American – the list of nationalities on the Wescoast Express is endless…

We were travelling in the original old Bedford today, but sadly have to change to a newer model tomorrow. Our guide is an entertaining guy named Sean, who demonstrated that the only way to eat a Kiwi fruit was whole, hairy skin and all!

There was quite a bit of driving, but we stopped in a village for lunch and later at a seal colony where we had a 45 minute walk across the clifftops. We bought fruit and veg at a shop en route and on arrival at Westport all helped to cook some sort of veg, rice and fruit salad dinner. A case of too many cooks as they say, but it tasted pretty good!

We were allowed to pitch our tent in the garden of the hostel ($8) and although it was a Sunday night, the local pub was open, so all the Westcoast Expressers headed for a drink, play darts and chat and get to know each other.

Day 225 – January 14^th 1991 – Westport to Blackball

An excellent day, though I took my life in my hands canoeing on a river near Punakaiki. The water looked passive enough, and only a few people didn’t take part. In many places, we even had to get out of the canoes and pull the boat upstream over the shallow rocks. It was painful and cold on bare feet, and the rocks were very slippery.

It was a different story on the way back downstream, when we found the current, even in the shallows, turned the waterway into what felt like rapids. It was difficult and dangerous, especially with no life vests or helmets. I turned upside down once, in a fast flowing rapid. I was moving fast, side on, out of control, and could see a rock sticking out of the water ahead. There was nothing I could do to turn round, so the side of the canoe hit the rock full on, toppling the canoe. Thankfully the water was deep enough to avoid hitting my head on the rocks below, and to give me space to get out of the boat. The water was freezing and flowing very fast. I managed to swim/scramble to the shore where I was quite violently ill – probably due to the cold and shock.

Matthew retrieved my canoe and someone else picked up my paddle, but it took a while for me to recover myself enough to carry on. One of the guys really did get into difficulties as his canoe went over in shallower water, and he found himself trapped between the boat and the rocks on the bottom of the river. His girlfriend, who was in a real state, said it took a long time before he managed to get to the surface. I think most people thought the whole experience had been pretty dangerous. [2021 postscript: I think health and safety regulations today might forbid putting a bunch of amateurs on a fast flowing river in canoes without life vests and helmets, but clearly things were more lax 30 years ago].

We drove on to Pancake Rocks, where we enjoyed a good lunch and some excellent scenery, and then to the former mining town of Blackball where we stayed at the famous ‘Blackball Hilton,’ a gorgeous little hotel in this town whose population which once numbered 7,000, has dropped to 400. [2021 postscript: Hotel now rebranded Formerly the Blackball Hilton].

As camping was not permitted, we were forced (!!!) to afford ourselves the luxury of not only a room, but a shower and a SAUNA! We washed our clothes through and were very uninspired (our dress) for attending the Bad Taste Party at the Blackball Working Men’s Club! A great night’s entertainment.

Day 226 – January 15^th 1991 – Blackball to Fox Glacier

Today is the deadline for Iraq to withdraw from the Gulf, but as NZ is so far ahead, it doesn’t expire in Iraq until tomorrow.

I spent $42 on a jade and silver ring in a jade factory – that can be my souvenir of NZ. We travelled to the Franz Joseph Glacier, an impressive stretch of packed ice which has hung on in the valley for many years, although it is now retreating. We walked up the ice but were not allowed to touch it. Apparently it is too dangerous. We then journeyed over the hill to a hostel near Fox Glacier where we pitched our tents in the rain after an argument with a receptionist who tried to charge us $8.50! It poured down all evening and we only had one cooker between about 10 of us, so didn’t get cooking until 10pm. Then it was back out to our very soggy tent.

Day 227 – January 16^th 1991 – Fox Glacier

The deadline for Iraq’s withdrawal expired at 6pm New Zealand time, and as a group we sat and watched it on the news, but as yet no action has been taken by the US. We wait with baited and anxious breath. [2021 postscript: Currently in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic, when the UK and Ireland, indeed much of the world, is in lockdown, I was amazed to hear stories about backpackers getting into trouble for partying on beaches in Australia over Christmas. I wondered why these young people weren’t whisked home by their parents when the pandemic began to spread. Yet 30 years ago, the world was on the brink of a major war and did Matthew or I contemplate coming home? No. Did our parents suggest we might think about it? No. Did they worry about us? As a mother of young adults, I am certain we gave them many sleepless nights…]

It was still pouring this morning but we left at 9am to see the famous ‘mirror lake,’ Lake Matheson. We walked around it, which took an hour, and it was quite impressive, but far too cloudy to see Mount Cook in the background. We had to admire it instead in a postcard Ana Maria, one of our fellow travellers, had brought with her, and imagine!

It was so wet we spent most of the rest of the day inside, but headed out at 4pm to visit the Fox Glacier. It is advancing 40cm a day, and it was a brilliant experience. Because of all the rain, the river was furious and huge blocks of ice were being swept down. We all got absolutely saturated, but it was well worth it!

We all went to the pub to dry out and warm up in the evening, and after a few beers we trotted to a little tree-lined grove to see the glow worms – very nice. It was still raining when we went to bed.

Day 228 – January 17^th 1991- Fox Glacier to Makarora

America and the allies began blitzing Baghdad today (Operation Desert Storm). We heard the news on a very crackly radio in this place in the middle of nowhere. Early reports suggest the allies are having great success, but who knows? Israel is supposed to be okay, but again, who knows?

We stopped to admire the scenery several times, but drove quickly to Makarora where some people went flying, others went jet boating, and others walking – we just did the washing and splashed in the pool.

In the evening we had a barbecue (lovely food) and a rather noxious talent competition. I downed a quarter jug of beer as quickly as I could. [2021 postscript: When at university, I prided myself as a ‘boat racer,’ ie downing a pint at an impressive speed – in my case it was a pint of Purple Nasty – cider, lager and blackcurrant!] It was a pretty good, riotous night, and no rain!

Day 229 – January 18^th 1991 – Makarora to Queenstown

A late start this morning – 10am – but had to clear up last night’s mess. The bus stopped a couple of times en route, once at a maze and puzzle house, then for lunch, when we crowded around a TV having heard that missiles had landed on Jerusalem and Tel Aviv – so much for the accuracy of yesterday’s news. Everyone felt for the two Israeli lads, but Erik phoned home and all is okay. Their families live just 60km from Tel Aviv. They say they plan to go home and will fight if necessary. What a sad end to their holiday.

But life on the Westcoast Express continues, and it was onward to Queenstown and the original AJ Hackett bungy jump. About 10 of the group went for it, including poor Tomo who just kept shaking his head and covering his eyes. I was impressed with them all – leaping from a bridge 43m high with nothing but an elastic band and a towel around your ankles keeping you from plunging into the raging river!

Several people opted for the ‘dunking’ option – and got one, the elastic set so they would break the surface of the river before bouncing back up. Mad or brave, I’m neither, but what a quick way to spend $77, plus $20 for photos. I was allowed to walk across the bridge to the jumping platform – that was quite terrifying enough for me!

We reached Queenstown around 5.30pm and arranged to meet Rob at lunchtime the next day. [2021 postscript: Rob and his friend Delwyn are Kiwis who worked with me in a pub in London, then spent Christmas 1986 in Northern Ireland with my family before they headed home. We arranged to meet them both in New Zealand, and Rob was now based in Queenstown].

We have reached the end of the Westcoast Express experience, but the friendships continue. Set up camp at a convenient and very well-equipped motor camp (kitchen and TV room!), then headed into town with the Expressers for a delicious pizza and a great night’s craic at Eichardt’s Pub, then onto Albert’s Penthouse for a disco. Not back to the tent until 3.30am….

Day 230 – January 19^th 1991 – Queenstown

Queenstown is situated in a beautiful location. A gorgeous lake, mountains, snow-capped peaks, greenery. There are lots of commercial enterprises including flights, boat cruises and paragliding. We got together with some of the others from the Westcoast Express and arranged to go and do the Routeburn Track, starting tomorrow. A bit earlier than we planned and sadly I think we are going to have to miss out the Coromandel Peninsula as we just don’t have the time.

We caught up with my old friend Rob for lunch (back to Eichardt’s) before he drove us into the hills around Queenstown, then back to his house (a lovely flat with a great view of the lake and only £25 rent a week!). We looked back at some of his old photos of our time in the Railway Tavern in London and Christmas with my family in Banbridge.

We stocked up on food for our trek tomorrow and headed back to camp for an early night. On the war front, Jordan has stated it may come in on the side of Iraq, which would undoubtedly escalate and prolong the conflict.

Day 231 – January 20^th 1991 – Routeburn Track

Boy did we do a lot of walking today! Up at 6am to catch the bus at 7.30, after a very disturbed night (some couple having a loud domestic in the early hours). We (accompanied by Ana Maria, Jacques, Rich, Scott, all from the Westcoast Express) reached the Routeburn Shelter by 9.30am and carried on to Flats Hut and Falls Hut. There was no camping there, so after warming up in the hut and a good lunch, we all decided to continue another five hours to the Mackenzie Hut.

The scenery from then on was quite spectacular. Although the sky was not clear, the mist-like clouds were very atmospheric. It was, as described, a real ‘rainforest and alpine walk.’ An hour and a half on, we reached the Harris Saddle, where we had spectacular views over snow-capped rugged peaks, with the patchy clouds moving fast both above and beneath us.

We thought it would be downhill from there. No chance! We kept climbing up and round the mountain with steep ascents and descents thrown in. It was hard work, especially for Scott who had hurt his ankle. It began to rain and the mist became thicker. We struggled on, our packs heavy, in search of the elusive Lake Mackenzie.

Suddenly, the clouds parted, and there it was – a beautiful emerald vision, surrounded by trees – and beside it a little hut. A sight for sore eyes! It took us the best part of another hour to get down through the thick rainforest, but it was a stunning walk. There was moss everywhere. Everything is so damp and green.

By the time we all got down, the sun was out and Rich and Jacques had been in for a quick swim. We squeezed our three tents onto the remaining two pitches in the camping area, paid $4 to use the hut facilities, cooked dinner which we got to eat around 8.30pm, and strolled down along the shore to see the lake in the setting sun. A very tiring but rewarding day.

Day 232 – January 21^st 1991 – Routeburn Track

Our three hour stroll to the next hut at Lake Howden turned out a little less easy than anticipated. Although it only took two and a half hours, it was extremely muddy and slippery. We didn’t set out until 11.30am, and I was so busy looking at my feet it was difficult to remember to take time to look at the scenery. Occasionally, however, we would get a glimpse at the beautiful peaks around us, towering out of the forest below.

The sun came out when we reached the hut, and after lunch we had a 20 minute walk along the Greenstone Track to a free campsite, complete with running stream and smelly toilet.

We spent the afternoon dozing in the sun surrounded by mountains, and in the evening, as the pink light from the setting sun worked its way down the side of the mountain, we cooked over an open fire. On the last trek we had done, Matthew and I hadn’t taken enough food with us. This time we have loads! I feel a bit sorry for the others who only had bread and cheese. Scott had done the shopping for him and Jacques – a kilo and a half of Weetabix, a jar of honey, a jar of peanut butter and some powdered milk! I don’t think Jacques was too happy, but it gave us all a laugh. [2021 postscript: I do hope Matthew and I shared some of our plenty with those who had little!]

Day 233 – January 22^nd 1991 – Routeburn Track to Milford Sound

There doesn’t appear to have been much change in the news from the Gulf while we have been out of contact with the world. Israel still hasn’t retaliated and King Hussein of Jordan is calling for a ceasefire, saying it seems much more effort has been put into a military solution than a diplomatic one. Syria and Egypt said they too will remain neutral if Israel only retaliates against the Iraq attacks.

We had a short walk today, just 20 minutes to the hut for a cup of tea, then an hour up and down ‘The Divide’ by bus. This was a spectacular drive through the Alps to Milford Sound, taking us through the Homer Tunnel. Unlined and hewn out of rock, the tunnel descends 200m and is lit by multi-coloured glow worms!

The weather was dull when we arrived at Milford Lodge, and we were attacked by sandflies as we pitched the tent – millions of them, swarming around my head. Somehow, they managed to get into the tent and we had to borrow some stinking spray to kill them. Now the tent smells awful and is full of dead sandflies!

We walked down to the Sound, but from here it doesn’t look anything special – you need to have the money to go flying or cruising to see it in all its glory. Maybe tomorrow we’ll go walking.

Spent a relaxed afternoon, eating, reading and relaxing in the lodge, before heading out to the tent at 10.30pm. We woke at 4am to really heavy rain, which soon began to seep in through the bottom of the tent. When we scrambled out we found we had pitched it in a dip which had turned into a huge puddle. The other campers were also abandoning their canvas, so we dragged any belongings that were dry and spent the rest of the night on the floor of the seating area in the lodge. Our poor wee tent nearly drowned!

Day 234 – January 23^rd 1991 – Milford to Queenstown

Spent a lazy day drying everything out – especially the tent! We didn’t see much more of Milford Sound as it continued to pour all day – just dozens of beautiful, misty waterfalls.

The bus ride back via Te Anau wasn’t too spectacular because of the weather. We reached Queenstown at 8pm and hopped off the bus close to Rob’s flat, then spent the evening in a couple of pubs with a group of Westcoast Expressers who were still in town. We slept at Rob’s (on a waterbed!).

Day 235 – January 24^th 1991 – Queenstown

Our beloved and faithful sleeping bags have finally got a much-needed and well-deserved wash today! And all our other clothes. It was great drying weather with no rain!!! We also got our hair cut, cashed more travellers’ cheques and enjoyed a tasty barbecue with Rob. Basically, a very relaxing day. Back on the road tomorrow.

Day 236 – January 25^th 1991 – Queenstown to Christchurch

Hitching again – what an unfamiliar feeling! We did pretty well – it only took nine hours to get 487+km to a motorcamp north of Christchurch. Rides comprised a local delivery van; a fruit picking couple looking for bargains in Cromwell and finally a broke American in a very clapped out Toyota!

The scenery was pretty bland after Cromwell – hard to believe this was the same New Zealand – but we are told the beaches on the east coast are pretty good.

We attempted to get a bus into Christchurch, but the service is really bad, so just decided to eat locally. We won’t stay another night – I have no real desire to be in a city.

Day 237 – January 26^th 1991 – Christchurch to Motueka

I just cannot believe our luck when it comes to hitching! We caught a bus to BELFAST! Yes, they have a Dromore here too, but no Banbridge [2021 postscript: My hometown in Northern Ireland]. We said goodbye to Scott from the Westcoast Express, who we bumped into at the campsite last night, and began hitching just before the start of the motorway.

A guy stopped after around 20 minutes and said he could take us to half an hour short of Nelson, which was great, but it turned out he was going north of Abel Tasman National Park, and was able to drop us in Motueka , near the start of the track. We drove through the Lewis Pass and Blenheim, and the scenery was a vast improvement on yesterday, but the countryside is much less green than down the west coast. The yellowness of the grass was reminiscent of Australia – but in a small way – and there were plenty of bush fire warnings.

Our lift took us to a campsite 3km out of town, so by the time we had pitched out tent and walked into Motueka, the big foodstores were closed. We needed to stock up for tomorrow’s trek, but had to make do with what we could get from small shops. We did manage to cook yummy baked spud and veg chilli for dinner though!

Day 238 – January 27^th 1991 – Abel Tasman National Park

We think we’re so clever. Oh yes, we think we know all the things you need to know to go trekking! Yet we almost missed the bus, didn’t bring enough water (major discomfort), didn’t know which end of the track we wanted to start at or where we really wanted to go and the time it would take to get there!

Basically, we didn’t have the time to psychologically or physically prepare ourselves, especially after walking Routeburn, which we only started this day last week. So we spent most of our seven and a half hours on the track today stumbling along and moaning: ‘It wasn’t well enough signposted’ – hence a one hour detour at Torrent Bay, not actually due to the lack of signs, but because we really hadn’t taken the time to read our literature – which we had in our hands!

‘It’s boring. Northing to see but trees.’ Partly true, the glimpses of coastline were beautiful, but infrequent.

‘My pack’s too heavy.’ ‘I’m gasping.’ All small things, but not conjucive to happy tramping. It was a huge relief to finally see the hut and camping ground. As we had paid $4 per night each for use of the park facilities, including bunks in the huts, we decided to sleep indoors rather than in the tent. It was a good call as I enjoyed a much-needed soft matress after a day hiking.

We had a quick swim, and then did what we do best – cook a good meal. Pasta with mushrooms, onions and garlic, Italian style. At least we got something right!

Day 239 – January 28^th 1991 – Abel Tasman National Park

We wrote postcards and read this morning to put off more walking, but left the hut at 10.30am for a gruelling three and a half hour hike to the Awaroa Hut. Similarly disappointing scenery en route. After a half hour stop for tea and sandwiches, as the rain and wind howled outside, we made our way across a very muddy bay. It was low tide, but still very soggy, before pitching our tent in an obvious (though possibly not official) campsite, close to the beach but well sheltered. It continued to rain, but we were able to cook dinner and chat to a nice US guy. Went to bed with a large, not-so-friendly, possum making himself known outside the tent.

Day 240 – January 29^th 1991 – Abel Tasman to Nelson

The possum and the rain kept us awake for quite a while, so we were pretty alert when an EARTHQUAKE shook us at about 2am! We were terrified! Cautiously, we peered outside expecting to see a huge crater in the ground and the trees shaking violently, but there wasn’t and they weren’t. Although it only lasted a few seconds, it was a weird experience. So much for terra firma!

We lay awake for ages, imagining cracks in the earth, a tidal wave (we were very close to the sea) etc. Matthew tried to reassure me that it hadn’t been an earthquake, but was in fact the possum shaking the tree roots. To reassure him, I agreed. But it must have been a heck of a big possum!

There was another quake at 7am, but it was daylight, and therefore not so frightening. [2021 postscript: The local press at the time reported the two earthquakes were both 6.7 in magnitude. A visit to my friend Wikipedia indicates one was 6.1 and the second was 6.3. The epicentre was the Paporoa Range – not too many miles from our camp!].

After all the drama, we had a nice breakfast on the beach, and walked through the improving scenery to Totaranui Beach where we sunbathed for an hour before catching the bus to Nelson. After some hassle, we got a room at Tasman Towers, and had an early night. The walls are paper thin as I discovered to my embarrassment when the couple in the next room got a bit fruity – and loud!

Day 241 – January 30^th 1991 – Nelson to Wellington

Up early to start hitching again. An nice elderly man took us to Picton in his ute, stopping off at a mussel factory to get Matthew some mussels and have a cup of coffee – he was, needless to say, a mussel farmer! [2021: The Pelorus Mussels came in a cute plastic jar, which we kept for many years after returning home from our travels].

We reached Picton in time for the 12 noon ferry. It wasn’t too busy, and we passed the time by watching a video – Pretty Woman – which was quite good. In Wellington we walked to Maple Lodge where we had stayed when we were here heading south and were given the same room as before. Matthew got his sunglasses back – they had kept them in case someone came looking for them! Made yummy tea and spent the evening in front of the TV. This is a very relaxing place.

Day 242 – January 31^st 1991 – Wellington

Did absolutely nothing except write postcards, buy dinner and wash clothes. Outside, the winds were gusting at 140km/hr as Sri Lanka slaughtered New Zealand at the Basin Reserve, just down the road!

Day 243 – February 1st 1991 – Wellington to Auckland

We did it, hitch-hiking 649km in one day! Bloody hard work though. Journey was as follows:

1/ Train to outskirts of city; 2/ Rugby player whose mantra was ‘Nuc Saddam Hussein;’ 3/ Successful TV career woman; 4/ very sweet couple in a Chevrolet; 5/ Gun maniac (he opened his car boot during a stop to show us his stash of arms) who maintained a steady and terrifying 140km/hr!

We made it to Auckland at 8pm and Delwyn and her boyfriend Rog met us outside the Queen’s Head Pub. [2021 postscript: I had worked with Delwyn back in the Railway Tavern in London’s Liverpool Street in 1986 and, along with Queenstown Rob, she spent Christmas that year with my family]. They drove us back to their very nice flat for a welcome dinner.

Day 244 – February 2^nd 1991 – Auckland

Delwyn and Rog took us to collect all the gear we had left in storage at the Georgia Hostel before heading south, then we spent the day shopping, relaxing and later barbecuing with Rog’s mate and his wife. The food was great – I had vegetarian sausages which were loudly abused by the Kiwi men who did not have a lot of time for people who don’t eat meat!

Day 245 – February 3^rd 1991 – Auckland

Early start as Rog and Delwyn drove us north about 150km to a beautiful beach where we enjoyed the sun and had a picnic – and ice cream! Our last full day in New Zealand.

Day 246 – February 4^th 1991 – Auckland

I will be very sad to leave New Zealand. The people have been so friendly, and while in some ways it is very different to Ireland, it is also very similar [2021 postscript: All the rain perhaps?!].

We picked up letters from home at the post restante, and spent our lunchtime reading these in a pub with a couple of drinks. Back at Delwyn’s house, we made a lasagne for dinner, which we ate with our hosts – and another couple of drinks. I used the time before heading to the airport to write postcards, though I can’t quite remember what I wrote – hopefully not too much drivel!

Rog and Delwyn drove us to the airport and – after a half hour delay on the tarmac – we took off for Hawaii.  Proceeded to drink rather too much, but at least I slept for some of the eight hours.

[2021 postscript: In the interests of honesty and transparency, this is a very diluted record of this particular flight. My fear of flying, combined with the ongoing war in the Gulf, had me convinced that our flight to the USA was quite likely to be targeted by terrorists. So I drank to relax… In the end, I was so relaxed I think I conked out. This was after Matthew had actually moved to a different seat on the plane when I had given him abuse after he suggested perhaps I had had enough. And that was when I insisted that the air steward should serve me a Baileys Irish Cream as I was in fact Irish, as was proved by my teeshirt which had a Gallagher’s Pub, Dublin, logo on it. Evidence indeed. My request was obviously acceded to – when I woke before landing, the teeshirt was liberally splashed with Baileys! This was not my finest moment. But, as I say – honesty and transparency!]

Day 247 – February 5^th 1991 – Oahu, Hawaii, USA

It took us a couple of hours to get out of Honolulu Airport, which was not appreciated given the fullness of my hangover. Left Luggage was closed because of the war, and because of the war, no one is permitted to take luggage on a bus. We also got an intense grilling coming in through US Customs – again, because of the war.

We eventually got a cab to a hostel just a couple of kilometres from the airport and they agreed to hold our luggage until the next day. We caught a public bus across the island to the north coast, where we found a room in a three-bedroom house in The Backpackers Hostel complex, Waimea Bay, just across the road from the sea and a lovely sandy beach.

Needless to say our first day in Hawaii was spent sleeping after our overnight travel and, in my case, self-induced headache. We got up at tea time to find we had fellow housemates – a guy from Oregon and a couple of teeny trendies from Sydney. Outside the sun was shining, and we found a nearby foodstore for a lovely shopping spree, only to discover the fridge in the house isn’t working. Apart from that it isn’t bad at all – we have a cat and a tank full of fish!

Days 248-253 – February 5^th-10^th 1991 – Hawaii

[2021 postscript: In my 1991 diary, I rather dramatically headlined this section of my blog: The States – A Country at War. I think I was also suffering ‘logitis,’ otherwise known as laziness, and every now and then would write a longer diary entry (the word blog didn’t come into usage until the late 1990s) after a number of days, rather than writing daily. I will stay true to that format here.]

Our stay in Hawaii was relaxing and enjoyable and a gentle introduction to the USA. After the initial problems at the airport, everything went fairly smoothly. Most of the days were spent relaxing on the beaches or in the house, and the evenings lazing in front of cable TV where, amidst a load of crap and adverts that rivalled Australian TV for unwatchability, you could usually tune into a decent film or five!

Highlights of the week included a trip to Sunset Beach with Len, our fellow housemate from Oregon, where we saw the ‘beautiful people’ of Hawaii. They included a very painted Cindy Crawford (who???) signing her name on the bare chests of surf competition entrants. Apparently she is a top US model.

A visit to Pearl Harbour caused me great sadness for the thousands who died when the Japanese bombed the harbour on December 7^th 1941. Looking down through the water at the hulk of the Arizona where more than 1,000 bodies still lie was particularly emotional. Unfortunately, the ‘We love America’ hype surrounding the tour was a bit nauseating, and the memorial site was in the heart of a war museum – glorification of war etc. But it was an informative and moving visit, and I am glad we made the journey.

Afterwards, Len took us to the Byodo-In Japanese Buddhist Temple, a beautiful building in a gorgeous setting, but again rather commercialised. I found myself comparing this a bit unkindly to the peaceful Buddhist Temples we had visited in places like China, Thailand and Indonesia. You could buy food to throw to the thousands of fat, greedy Carp in the lake and rivers.

The surf is something else I won’t forget about Hawaii – and I thought the waves in Bali were big! At one stage on the supposedly safe Waimea Bay, a guy had to be rescued by lifeguards, one on a surfboard [2021 postscript: I don’t think I had seen an episode of Baywatch yet, so this was all very dramatic.] The guy was okay but it was quite frightening to witness.

On one occasion, I really struggled to get out of the water in our little bay having been hit really badly by a wave. I saw it coming and despite my terror began swimming in the direction of the shore in the hope that I could ‘ride’ it. Instead, it just tumbled me over and over and over… Another time I had to get out quick because a wave knocked out a contact lens. Thank goodness I caught it before it fell out completely. [2021 postscript: How in the blazes did I manage that?!!!]

Finally, I won’t forget the whales. We took a catamaran trip out from Haleiwa for two hours of whale watching, and boy did we see some big ones! Shoots of water gushing from their blowholes; large sleek backs; perfect tails breaking the surface of the water! One even jumped right out of the water for us, incredible. They are so beautiful, so huge, and so free – the way it should be.

Driving back to Honolulu Airport in the hostel minibus at 5am to catch our next flight to Los Angeles was quite a revelation – five lanes on either side of the road FULL of traffic including numerous Army trucks (even more than in Belfast) moving in first gear – welcome to America!

Day 254 – February 11^th 1991 – Hawaii to Los Angeles

A five hour flight – totally sober! Smooth for the first two hours, bumpy for the last few, but we made it. We didn’t have to go through customs, so there were no delays at LA Airport. The descent was amazing – numerous concrete grids, tower blocks, houses, houses and houses as far as the eye could see. The concrete jungle of LA.

Auntie Sadie was in arrivals, ready to transport us through the wide city streets in her ute. [2021 postscript: Sadie was an older relative on my mum’s side. Unmarried, she had lived in LA for many, many years and was a private nurse. Her patients, it was rumoured, had included Elizabeth Taylor, though Auntie Sadie never actually told any of us that!]

Sadie lives in a nice little Spanish style one-bedroom flat in West Hollywood. She said you used to be able to see the iconic ‘HOLLYWOOD’ letters from her widow until some plonker (my word, not her’s) stuck a huge, ugly house directly across the road.

Sadie took us for a visit to the Farmers Market before dinner, and we met Sadie’s friend Bill. Her cat is hiding in a desk drawer. [2021 postscript: Where it was to remain for the entirety of our stay]. Bill and Matthew are sleeping on the floor in the lounge, Sadie is sleeping on the bedroom floor and I am alone in the kingsized bed which seems a bit daft as Matthew and I could easily sleep on the lounge floor. [2021 postscript: You can take auntie out of Ireland, but you can’t take the Irish morals out of auntie!]

Day 255 – February 12^th 1991 – Los Angeles

Hollywood – the place of stars and heroes, where the world’s most famous film industry has its roots. I had to see it so Sadie drove us to Universal Studios where the highlight of the day turned out to be the derailing of the tram which was taking us on our tour of the studios. Going round and over the collapsing bridge (the oldest film set in the world) the second carriage (our’s) slid to the right, the third and fourth followed. They mounted the siding and the driver only stopped when the third carriage was at a 40 degree angle! Had it overturned, it could have been quite serious – there were 49 people in the carriage!

After about half an hour they put us on another tram, but insisted we took our original seats, even though none were designated and they all looked the same! Then the tour continued.

The simulated earthquake in an underground station, the avalanche and King Kong were brilliant. The sets, such as Psycho and the Pacific Ocean, were very interesting, and the Jaws set was wet. All good fun.

We then saw Miami Vice, Animal Stars and Conan the Barbarian before Sadie picked us up – we are not allowed out after dark!

Day 256 – February 13^th 1991 – Los Angeles

Sadie took us on a tour of the richer parts of LA today, starting in the Hollywood Hills where we walked to get a closer look at the Hollywood sign. Then Boulevard, Sunset Strip, Bel Air, Beverley Hills, Rodeo Drive, Downtown LA and Malibu.

It was a very enjoyable day. Such wealth in this country. Huge, beautiful houses all displaying ‘Armed Response’ warnings.

The smog is unbelievable – it was impossible to see more than a few metres around us when we were in the hills – caused by the volume of traffic, the hills themselves, the heat, and who knows what else. At times it was quite unpleasant.

Day 257 – February 14^th 1991 – Los Angeles

Hollywood Boulevard – I pictured druggies, fast cars, prostitutes, pimps, hard boozing joints – something like I had seen in the movies. We spent the afternoon there and found it pretty low key. No prostitutes, pimps etc, just lots of stars on the sidewalk (footpath to you and me), trashy souvenir shops and many, many groups of Japanese tourists. We joined their hoards outside the famous Mann’s Chinese Theatre to scan all the celebrity footprints and handprints. [2021 postscript: Who remembers Champion the Wonder Horse? A favourite of my childhood].

We left the Boulevard as it was growing dark and walked to the trendy Melrose Avenue for an Indian meal before walking back to Auntie Sadie’s at 9pm. We felt very bad when we discovered she had sent Bill out to drive around and look for us – but we had not encountered any problems. I expect there are dangers on the streets of LA, but so also are there dangers on the streets or London or any big city.

Day 258 – February 15^th 1991 – Los Angeles

The war in the Gulf continues and the Americans pray for their fighting men and women. There are yellow ribbons everywhere – on doors, car aerials, the tower at the Farmers Market, jacket lapels – all indicative of the desire to bring the troops home safely.

There are also Desert Storm t-shirts, baseball caps and more, which make me somewhat nauseous – this is not a game. People are dying.

Today we visited Auto Driveaway and sussed out our transport to Chicago. [2021 postscript: We used this to get from LA to Chicago and later from Chicago to New York. Basically, someone moves from city to city and doesn’t want to drive all the way. So they leave their car and people like us – wanting a free mode of transport from one place to another – drive it there for them.]

You come all the way to LA and imagine you might bump into some celebrities. Well, today we did! As we were walking into the Auto Driveaway office, a young man was leaving. He nodded and we said hello, as you do. Turns out, according to the man behind the counter, we had just spoken to British pop sensation Rick Astley. We didn’t recognise him – he just looked so normal!

Day 259 – February 16^th 1991 – Los Angeles

Bill took us into the bush to see the real California today and very nice it was too. We hiked through a canyon and onto the top of a ridge, looking down on a Disney set, a freeway and a ranch where Auntie Sadie keeps her ponies. We later called into the ranch to meet some of the animals.

At times it was almost like we were literally in the middle of the bush, if it weren’t for the endless pylons, the road below us and the motorbike cutting up a track just beside us. Bill led the way, cutting through the bush and scrub with a large machete as he tried to find a trail he’d cut 14 years ago leading to some goldmines, and which he hasn’t been back to since. At times it was reminiscent of a scene from ‘Boy’s Own’ as we continued on this seemingly futile quest, but when we reached the bed of a dried up stream, Bill dug out the spade and other tools he had left there 14 years earlier!

We carried on to a dam Bill explained had been built to provide a water source for miners. It was pretty dry too. Apparently the Gold Rush in California started right here!

Our estimated one hour walk took five and a half, but we made it back to the city in time to catch the excellent Silence of the Lambs on Hollywood Boulevard. Afterwards, we tried to ring Auntie Sadie to let her know we were ready for home, and got quite stressed when there was no answer. I realised that, as Matthew had been sleeping in the living room, we had turned the phone to silent, so she couldn’t hear it ring, and no doubt was worrying about us again.

We quickly got a cab home, but the Boulevard was pretty quiet. Just the usual splattering of weirdos. [2021 postscript: I wish I had expanded on that observation as I am intrigued as to what ‘usual weirdos’ might be, but sadly I didn’t].

Day 260 –February 17^th 1991 – Los Angeles

The Tar Pits of La Brea were fascinating.  Incredible pre-historic skeletons millions of years old preserved in tar. Later we visited the Farmers Market where we thought we saw Kirk Douglas, but then heard he was in hospital after a helicopter crash, so obviously not him.

There was an awesome wind and dust storm as we walked back to Auntie Sadie’s.

Days 261-267 – February 18^th-24^th – LA to Chicago via Interstate 40 (Route 66)

No point in trying to pretend – I’m way behind with this log, so I’m summarising again. When I reach a motel at night after a full day driving, the last thing I want to do is write – instead, I just want a meal, a drink, and to sprawl in front of some film on cable TV. [2021 postscript: Actually, all the driving fell to Matthew, I was just the passenger. My driving licence was among the stuff stolen on the train in India early in our travels, and Auto Driveaway wouldn’t insure me to drive without it].

Our drive along at times literally Route 66 (where Chuck Berry got his kicks) was fantastic. We saw, in my opinion, a much nicer USA.

Our Ford Taurus 1989 was excellent – clean, comfortable, roomy, smooth and equipped with cruise control. [2021 postscript: Though it gave me an electric shock every time I went to open or close the door from outside!] First day, after a bit of a queue on the LA freeways, we headed into the California Desert. Spectacular scenery, miles and miles of rock, scrub and dry land. There was little traffic, so the driving was easy and not stressful. With the cruise control, it was easy to stay at 65mph. We had lunch at a quaint little diner off the freeway and spent the night in a Motel 6.

The second day we hit the Grand Canyon, an incredible natural beauty carved by the Colorado River. We wanted to hike down into the canyon a bit, but it was 4pm before we got there and so incredibly cold. We drove to several different viewpoints and watched the sun going down before returning to a lodge for a horrible dinner.

We slept in the tent close to the canyon rim – or rather lay awake in the tent, it was just so cold. The next morning, I discovered my contact lenses, which I had left in the car, had frozen. We were shocked to find it was much warmer on the canyon floor – it was -11 degrees on the rim.

After a look around the museum and a last glimpse of this spectacular canyon we headed on to another canyon of sorts – Meteor Crater in the Arizona Desert. This is a huge, circular hole in the ground made by a meteor which hit Earth 49,000 years ago. Nice, but the entrance fee of $6 a head was a bit steep, and the so-called Space Museum was something of a non-event. [2021 postscript: I’m sure it is much better now!] I was glad to have seen the crater though.

Further down the road was the Petrified Forest, in the Painted Desert. Colourful marble-like rock, rimmed with something that looked like tree bark, formed from trees thousands of years ago. We got as far as the information office before deciding that there were really too many things to see in one day and we didn’t have enough time as we have a deadline to get to Chicago, but at least we saw several examples of the petrified trees and learned how the forest had formed. After our bad night at the canyon, we booked into Motel 6 again.

Day four, and the scenery was getting less interesting. Not so much desert, but dry grassland. An accident on the freeway ahead forced us to detour through some backroads. [2021 postscript: However did we do this without satnav?!] We saw salt lakes (dry); low flying planes; smog (a nuclear base??? This is New Mexico) and a smouldering forest.

Next day we passed through Texas (where the accents are excellent!) to Oklahoma. The scenery was okay, but mostly farmland. In Oklahoma we found a cheap ($21) motel beside a real Southern pub, where real cowboys wore real Stetsons and cowboy boots and tapped their capped toes in time to country music! Fabulous…

We drove through 470 miles of uneventful countryside on day six. Very flat and fertile, and lots of beautiful wooden farmhouses, with huge wooden barns and grain silos. There’s money in this area.

We are feeling the cold, especially when we stopped in Springfield. Chicago is even colder. We reached Matthew’s friend Lewis’s house at 2.30pm and the car owner agreed to pick the Taurus up from us at 9.30pm, which is very convenient. Chicago is beautiful. We walked to the shores of Lake Michigan where the beach is frozen and the sky scrapers stand where the palm trees ought. A stunning contradiction. Wealth abounded as we walked down Magnificent Mile, with fur coats everywhere – but it is cold. It looks like the train system is going to take a little working out!

Days 268-272 – February 25^th-March 1^st – Chicago

I’ve been in cold weather before, but this is incredible – it freezes your ears, nose, cheeks, fingers – in fact just about every part of the anatomy! On Tuesday evening we had a flurry of snow which made the streets really pretty and us very cold but exhilarated.

Earlier that day, outside the GPO and Federal Building, we came upon a march against the war in the Gulf – this is a rare event. Pro-war marches are much more commonplace. There weren’t too many people there. Most of the speakers were women, determined to get the troops home.  It was at this march we heard the news that Saddam Hussein had ordered his troops to withdraw from Kuwait, five days into the ground war. Could the war be over? Not yet. The UN hadn’t been officially informed, so we had to wait until then next night when, at 8pm, George Bush finally announced a ceasefire. The Gulf War looks to be at an end.

The war cost many lives. On a personal level, it caused sleepless nights. I remember watching the TV in New Zealand, straining to hear the crackling radio on our last night in Mount Aspiring National Park, my terror of flying into the US, my fears for everyone at home, in fact for the future of the planet,  and I wonder had it all been worth it?

War and peace aside, other highlights of our five days in Chicago were a pizza pot pie in a restaurant opposite the spot where the St Valentine’s Day Massacre occurred; a terrifying ride up and down the world’s tallest building, the Sears Tower, in the world’s fastest lifts! Although visibility was only five miles when it can be up to 60 in the right conditions, the view was still pretty good. [2021 postscript: Now the Willis Tower, today this is the 22^nd tallest building in the world – a midget by 2021 standards!] Lewis took us to the Kingston Mines, a Chicago Blues Club in Halsted, where, among others, we enjoyed the voice of the brilliant Barbara Le Show, who had to put her handbag on stage before she started singing! Tomorrow we drive to New York, transporting another car thanks to Auto Driveaway.

Days 273-275 – March 2^nd-4^th 1991 – Chicago to New York

Our three-day drive from Chicago to New York City was a far cry from the joys of the drive from LA across the deserts. Mostly fairly busy freeways and farmland and motels that got progressively more expensive.

The highlight of the trip (it rained virtually all the time) was a diversion along some Pennsylvanian backroads to Penn Caves. We arrived late and missed the last boat into the caves, but as we continued along some back roads, we saw some wonderful wooden farmhouses, engulfed by interesting barns, and to top it all, a couple of Amish buggies trotting along in the rain.

This was quite important to me. I’m intrigued by the way these people have chosen to live, but feel that if they want a quiet, private life, then that’s what they are entitled to. So I wouldn’t deliberately go and stare, but it was great to see them on the open road. [2021 postscript: I think my knowledge of the Amish community was based entirely around what I saw in the 1985 film Witness, so I probably couldn’t have deemed myself an expert!]

Our arrival in New York was something of an incident. We drove through the Bronx to Long Island where we had to deliver the car (a Chevy Celebrity 1989). It looked easy enough on the map until we missed a junction, took a side road and couldn’t get back onto the freeway. We found ourselves in a very run down area which made me pretty nervous. [2021 postscript: At this point I was probably remembering the opening scenes in The Bonfire of the Vanities, a 1987 novel which begins with a wrong turn in the Bronx]. I was very glad when we eventually found our way back onto the freeway.

A plan to stay for the weekend at a hotel we had sussed out on Jones Beach, Long Island, and commute in and out of New York went awry when we saw the place – a dump and nowhere near the beach. We drove there after checking in with the car’s owner, who went over the Chevy with a fine toothcomb, but was good enough to give us a lift to Rosslyn on Long Island, where we stayed in a motel costing $72 for the night.

First impressions of the Big Apple not so good…

Days 276-279 – March 5^th– 8^th 1991 – New York City

Never in my life have I met so many unfriendly people as in New York. No smiles, no greetings, no thank yous, no help. Nothing. True, there was the odd soul who was pleasant and helpful, and we sang their praises afterwards, for such people were few and far between, like the very elderly lady working in a diner where they did excellent spinach pie and 16oz cans of Bud for $1.10!

It’s a busy city with some gorgeous buildings and potentially a lot of atmosphere. Having to spend three nights in segregated ‘dorms’ (which for my first night meant a mattress on the floor) didn’t make things any easier. The hostel, which cost $10 a night, was overcrowded, dirty and busy. To be fair, the staff were quite friendly, but really the only good thing about it was that it existed!

Central Park was pleasant, and just a stroll from the hostel. There were people walking dogs, cycling, roller skating, children playing baseball and it was a pleasant place to sit and watch the sun go down over a chilled New York skyline. But we were very conscious of the warnings – don’t go above #100, don’t stay out after dark etc.

We travelled by bus and subway. NY buses felt safer.  I found the subway frightening – the trains seemed to go too fast. The worst trip was that initial journey up to the hostel on West 88^th, from Madison Square Gardens’ Station.  We were carrying our backpacks and I felt vulnerable and awkward and was certain everyone on the train was watching me.

Otherwise transport was okay. A little expensive, but we walked a lot. Like most American cities, NY is built on a criss-cross grid system, so it would be difficult to get lost.

After two days we almost arranged an Auto Driveaway to Dallas, but changed our minds when we were told we wouldn’t be able to pick up our deposit unless we went to San Antonio or Houston.

We did a few touristy things of course – the ferry to Staten Island past the Statue of Liberty (which was surprisingly small); the Daytona Building where John Lennon was shot and where the Strawberry Fields Memorial is; and the top of the Empire State Building – another frightening lift ride – after dark. It was pouring with rain, the wind was wild and the observation deck at floor 102 was shaking. We went back down to the 86^th floor to go outside. It was quite spectacular and the weather really made it. The lights were great!

The streets of New York do have a character all of their own, particularly with the steam pouring from footpaths and drains – apparently it’s something to do with heating the tower blocks, and there are plenty of those around!

We visited the Natural History Museum which was fairly standard [2021 postscript: It is wonderfully portrayed in the 2006 film Night at the Museum, but clearly didn’t come to life for me back in the day!]. The United Nations Building was interesting and worth the $5.50 entry feel

For me, the highlights of New York were the Empire State Building and the pub crawl of Irish bars on 8^th Avenue – great music, great craic, great characters and great gin!

But by Friday March 8^th, we just wanted to get away. There was no-one needing a car transported to Miami, so we booked Greyhound bus tickets. These are valid for 60 days, allow several stopovers and cost $26 each. The bus departed that evening, so we spent the afternoon at the cinema watching The Doors, before heading to the New York Greyhound Terminal. The plan is to hop on and off the bus, and take our time getting to Miami for our flight to Venezuela on March 27th.

Days 280-283 – March 9^th – March 12^th 1991 – New York to Miami

Our plans to travel slowly to Miami over 2½ weeks, stopping off at lots of interesting places along the east coast, got dumped when our first stopover was a complete disaster!

After a sleepless night, we got off the Greyhound bus at a place called Henderson, North Carolina, roughly 450 miles south of New York. [2020 postscript: I have no idea why we chose Henderson, but from an online search today, it seems it is a city steeped in history]. We spoke to a policeman, who told us the best thing we could do would be to leave the town (not in a threatening way!). Failing that, he suggested we could avail of a Salvation Army hostel for the night. 

We opted instead to walk a mile and a half with all our luggage to a hotel, where we got a nice room with a good bathroom, and slept all day. That evening we went shopping for food, with a plan to camp at a lakeside campsite for the next three nights.

In the morning we caught a cab to the campsite which was really lovely, but deserted and very cold. We lit a fire to cook on, and keep us warm – the expensive stove fuel we bought proved lethal on a trangia, so the fire was our only option. There was really nothing to do at the campsite, except sit around and cook, so we headed into the tent to sleep at 8pm. It was baltic! The thermals we had bought earlier were not helping much. In the end we squeezed into the same sleeping bag to keep each other warm.

We were up at 8am and got the fire going again. As the campsite was in the middle of nowhere, and there was no one around, we had no way of getting back to civilisation. Thank God for the park ranger, a lovely, friendly man who turned up bearing blankets because he suspected we might have need of them. But by that stage our minds had been made up. The ranger gave us a lift back into Henderson where we caught the 5.05pm bus going all the way to sunny (!!!!) Miami.

The bus was packed and we weren’t able to sit together. I did feel bad for the guy next to me. I was absolutely filthy from all the smoke and lack of washing, and was also stinking, although woodsmoke might have overwhelmed any other body odors.

We disembarked for a short break in Jacksonville Bus Station at 3.30am, and were astounded to meet a Swedish couple who had shared our West Coast Express experience in New Zealand. Anna, the girl, looked stunning as always. The same could not be said for myself…

The bus reached Miami North Station at 11.30am, but we had to wait another two hours for a bus to Miami Beach. It was pretty hot, although not sunny. We lugged our stuff around for a while getting money changed, and were on our way to a hotel when two English guys who had been working in the Antarctic [2021 postscript: Don’t think this has any relevance!] pointed us in the direction of the Youth Hostel.

This is a nice building in the Art Deco area, and we booked into a cheap twin room with a shared loo and shower. There is a reasonable kitchen, so we cooked a good meal and had a couple of drinks at a local bar before getting a decent night’s sleep.

Days 284-298 – March 13^th – 26^th 1991 – Miami

Two weeks in Miami Beach, Florida – bliss for some people, boredom for us. [2021 postscript: Thirty years later and in a never ending lockdown due to Covid-19, what I wouldn’t give for two weeks at Miami Beach!] The first week was uneventful, cloudy skies, time spent wandering the streets, looking at trendy second hand shops, sitting on the empty, wind-swept beach watching huge container ships queue to get into, and out of, Port of Miami.

The second week was heaps better. We moved from the youth hostel, which was pretty dingy – the loo stank and half the time we couldn’t get in because the guys in the six bed dorm on the other side of the interconnecting bathroom kept forgetting to unlock to door to our room once they had finished their toileting. The kitchen was okay, but in the evenings it was always crowded and there weren’t any utensils worth talking about. It was a great hostel for a couple of days, but not for a two-week ‘relaxation’ period.

We spent week two in the Haddon Hall Hotel [2021 postscript: Delighted to see the hotel is still there! as recommended in the guide book. Okay – every other guest (I think some of them were permanent residents) was well over the age of 70, but for $170 a week, we had a full kitchenette in our room, a double bed, TV, air conditioning and a swimming pool. I did 120 lengths a day and it felt great. We spent most of this week sunning ourselves by the pool, attempting to learning Spanish, and joining our elderly fellow residents for movie nights in the lobby. Not bad at all!

Miami is a nice place, but we didn’t find a lot of tourist attractions. The Art Deco area is interesting, but I missed the adventure, excitement, splendour and ‘different-ness’ of the Asian countries. I felt as if we were on a UK package trip, but didn’t have the spending money to go out and enjoy ourselves as you would if you were on holiday.

There were some highlights though – most significantly – Matthew proposed to me. Fair enough, it wasn’t the rings, roses and sunset (a beach in Bali maybe) that I might have envisaged, but he was on his knees, and of course I said yes! [2021 postscript: There is of course more to this story, it involved a fair amount of Jim Beam whiskey at the end of a wet and very emotional day (Holocaust Memorial, see below), a visit to the kitchen by me to share my good news (no one was interested) and a night spent on the floor – but that’s for another day!]

A visit to the Holocaust Memorial Centre was excellent and very moving. Centrepiece was a brilliant sculpture representing the Jewish people of all ages, reaching up from the gas and fires.

St Patrick’s Day, or rather Saturday March 16, was another interesting experience. A gaudy, green, un-atmospheric parade down Collins Avenue and a ‘festival’ ie lots of food stalls, in the park at South Point. Still, I guess it was a better show than any I have been to back in Northern Ireland. And the Dublin City Ramblers – live! – did provide some pretty great entertainment.

A few final observations about the States before we head south. Telephone communications are crap – it’s extremely difficult to make a long distance call, and the phones always seem to break down when you are using your last quarter for a local call. As for trying to call Auntie Sadie (in LA) collect – I still haven’t succeeded.

The post seems to take ages. We got our Poste Restante mail in Delhi, Hong Kong and Adelaide, but nothing, not a bean, has arrived in Miami yet, which is very depressing, especially when I know people have taken the time to write. And it cost us $77 to send our parcel home.

We had to get jabs on March 26 for Hepatitis and Cholera (there’s an outbreak in South America). It cost $130 for both of us, and Access refused to give me money! Help!

Bye Bye the USA.

Day 299 – March 27^th 1991 – Miami to Caracas, Venezuela

SOUTH AMERICA – THE LAST CHAPTER

Goodbye Miami and Western civilization. A bumpy flight with Viasa, whose vegetarian meals consisted of ‘vegetables,’ brought us into Simón Bolívar International Airport, Caracas, which we found very civilised. It sold camera film cheaper than in Miami, customs were the quickest we have experienced yet and we had no bother getting a bus, which drove – mainly through a tunnel – from the coast to the city.

It was fairly humid, but not too hot, as Caracas is 960m above sea level. The bus dropped us across the street from a hotel recommended in The South American Handbook so, with the help of an Italian guy who also speaks Spanish and English, we got a basic double room. Definitely back to third world standards, but cleaner than anything in Delhi. Cost was $8, ie Bs400 (Bolivars). Exchange rate: $1 = Bs53.6.

Driving in, we saw many houses built into the steep green and red (clay) hillsides. Some looked about to fall down. There were plenty of cars, lots of fumes, rubbish and street vendors.

Tiziano the Italian showed us Plaza de Caracas and Plaza Bolivares (after Simón Bolívar, hero of the independence in the 19^th century). There are not many people around as it is Easter and a public holiday. Many of those who were out and about were dressed in purple robes, some even carrying crosses with thorns around their head. The Catholic Church is very powerful here.

We ate pasta in an Italian restaurant – until our Spanish improves it is unlikely we will find much success with vegetarian food. Bed early as pretty wrecked after the flight.

Day 300 – March 28^th 1991 – Caracas

Tiziano joined us on a tour of the centre of Caracas today. All bar a few shops were shut because it is the Easter holiday. We walked past lovely, balconied, middle-class apartments to a park which wound up and up to a small church from where we had a fantastic view of the city – many tower blocks and even more slums, washing hanging out to dry, crumbling houses, stray animals, people with disabilities begging in the streets, chaotic traffic – it’s good to be back in a different culture!

We visited one very beautiful, very crowded church and walked past several others, through the shut and virtually deserted shopping area, to the dirty, busy, and not a little frightening bus station where, in the midst of many of the city’s poorer population, we came upon a guy whose face had been recently slashed.

Apparently the wealthier folk of Caracas have all gone to the beach.

Photos above: Out and about with Tiziano.

We didn’t get back to the hotel until 5.15pm, so rested for a while before going to the cinema with Tiziano to see The Godfather. It was so late when it finished, we weren’t able to get any dinner. We also had to borrow Bs1,000 from Tiziano and none of the banks will open until Saturday morning. [2021 postscript: I am not sure what day of the week we arrived in Caracas, but we were definitely very fortunate to meet Tiziano who acted not only as tour guide, but money lender too!].

Caracas is certainly set among lovely hills and countryside, which I am looking forward to exploring.

Day 301 – March 29^th 1991 – Caracas

The city is pretty dead yet again. We decided not to join Tiziano on a trip to a German settlement – four hours on a bus and just one hour there didn’t really appeal. Instead we walked through the poorer, then posh streets to the Caracas Hilton, where I tested my ‘donde esta los banos?’ in a search for a toilet. [2021 postscript: Which, I might add, was successful, although Matthew reckoned my adopting a sitting on a toilet pose and making a streaming water noise was the key to getting me pointed in the right direction, rather than the brilliant delivery of my Spanish!].

Emboldened by this experience, we spent a while sitting in a pretty, green park trying to learn more Spanish. [2021 postscript: We bought ‘Madrigal’s Magic Key to Spanish’ as in the photos, in Miami for poolside reading and it sits on bookcase in our house to this day!]. After lunch we walked back to the hotel along Ave Universidad. En route, we drank plenty of fresh fruit juice – batidos – which is made with milk. It is a little sweet, but very nice and just as expensive as beer!

After a doze (our hotel was quite a little oasis, lots of green plants as the pictures show) we had dinner at one of the few restaurants open – salad and chips for the vegetarian, wow! – and met Tiziano to make arrangements for tomorrow.

Day 303 – March 30^th 1991 – Caracas

The Exchange Office was supposed to be open today but wasn’t so thank goodness someone was able to point us in the direction of a place to exchange money which was open – we had only Bs10 left!

There is a little more life about the city today and a few, though not many, shops are open. In Plaza Bolivar, people were milling around, children were ‘busking’ with a variety of instruments and tunes, and Tiziano showed us some slides of a village in Colombia which we may visit if we get that far. It looked very Indian and very beautiful.

He brought along a 24-year-old married girl who has two kids and we headed to the cinema to see Dances with Wolves (or Danza con Lobos as they say in Spanish). They have a strange system in the cinemas here – rather like a car park, you go in when someone comes out, regardless of what stage the film is at. [2021 postscript: Or like a supermarket in the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic!].

Tiziano felt compelled to educate us about women in Caracas – at least to tell us what he thought about women here.  According to him, many women, from the age of 15 are prostitutes. I don’t know if there is any truth in that, but what is apparent is the number of very young women with children. The population must be really exploding.

Tiziano’s young companion from earlier in the day stood him up this evening, so we trailed around the streets in a bid to find a decent, inexpensive restaurant. In the end, my vegetarian option was fried potatoes and garlic, but it was tasty.

Day 303 – March 31^st 1991 – Caracas to Maracay

Our first experience of Venezuelan buses. In common with buses in many other countries, they go too fast and are so rattly you cannot help but worry about the brakes etc, but we did get to Maracay in one piece!

Tiziano sorted us out at Nuevo Circo Bus Station in Caracas, but the system is like that in India – the route is written on the front of the bus. There was no shortage of buses heading to Maracay and it was only Bs60 each. The countryside is quite beautiful – hills and valleys and lots of green – but we were on a motorway which just went down and down and down and was full of sharp bends – not good for one’s nerves!

Maracay has been something of a disappointment so far. It is Easter Sunday, so virtually everything is shut, but we wandered around the empty streets, both business and residential, rich and poor, and watched the evening clouds come in and shroud the mountains surrounding the town. It is a beautiful setting – Maracay is in a basin 400m above sea level, so it is pretty hot and humid.

Pictures: Around Maracay.

Our biggest shock on arrival was finding a room in the supposedly cheap hotel cost Bs700 – that’s Bs400 more per night than we paid in Caracas! We will either move on to Coro tomorrow, or just change hotels.

Day 304 – April 1^st 1991 – Maracay to Choroni

Today Maracay was fully opening – all bustle and heat. We debated heading straight to Coro, for unless you have a car it is hard to fathom where Maracay’s attractions are, never mind get to them! We got some photographs developed, and decided instead to head for the ‘beautiful colonial village’ of Santa Clara de Choroni.

We had to wait for the bus (yes, really!), but the ride was worth it – an old, painted North American schoolbus which cranked and creaked its way over a 1,830m pass to the coast. The road was bendy and narrow as it wound its way through the lush, green hills of the Henri Pittier National Park. The higher we got, the cooler it got, and just over the top of the pass, the clouds closed in so it was pretty misty. Then, as we started to come upon some hillside communities, it began to rain.

Two and a half hours after setting out, we reached the outer village of Choroni – and it really is beautiful. Narrow, narrow streets, shuttered windows, tall doors in little whitewashed houses. It is quiet and very peaceful with few people around.

The bus took us to Puerto Colombia, just beyond the village, where we joined forces with a Spanish speaking German and his Peruvian wife. The place recommended in the guidebook was much more expensive than advertised and pretty crap, so we found somewhere else across the road. Still cost Bs500 and has a communal bathroom, but seems a little better.

We walked down to the harbour, where there were pelicans sitting on the blue, blue water, prehistoric looking birds hovering in the sky, palms and other tropical trees on the nicely landscaped front and ancient canons from colonial days pointing out to sea. It is just lovely. There are lots of restaurants but most are shut – Choroni is having its Semana Santa this week, as apparently the village was packed out with Venezuelan tourists last week, but as I write, we have have food, a few drinks and a very good evening.

Day 305 – April 2^nd 1991 – Choroni

Santa Semana has taken its toll on ‘La Playa Grande’ – a lot of fag butts and other rubbish lying around – but it is still a beautiful beach, lined with palm trees behind which are only mountains. There are no high rise buildings or anything to spoil the scenery. The Caribbean is a stunning colour of blue, clear and warm, the sky azure and the sun hot. So guess where we spent the morning!

After lunch in a little restaurant, we just sat at the harbour and watched the bronzed, muscular fishermen at work, before walking to the outer village. There was hardly anyone about, but Matthew was told off for sitting in Plaza Bolivar with no shirt on as it’s against the law. One of the Germans we met (there are many Germans here – unbeknown to us, Choroni is on every German’s travel itinerary!) said the same policeman had told him off this morning for lying across a bench in the plaza. That policeman mustn’t have much to do!

Laws aside, this place is quite a paradise. Had our tea in the hotel (or pension really, there only are four rooms) and watched a video – in English!

Day 306 – April 3^rd 1991 – Choroni

A rather nasty dose of the old ‘Delhi Belly’ today – not so good when the toilet is just off the communal gathering area, which I had to walk through in my pjs many, many times in the course of the night – embarrassing to say the least.

We spent a few hours on the beach, and in the evening climbed the high hill between the village and the beach. It was tough, especially in the heat and in my condition, but it was worth it for the view from the top, which was just like something from a tropical island travel brochure. And just a tiny village nestling between huge green mountains and the deep blue sea. Another evening watching a video in the ‘Costa Brava Hotel’ and hoping for a less disturbed night.

Day 307 – April 4^th 1991 – Choroni to Coro

I have always known it is not a wise idea to travel with a bad stomach, and today just proved the point. We left Choroni at 7am for Maracay on a faster, smaller bus with poor visibility, so I felt travel sick on top of the stomach cramps the whole way. We collected the bags we had left at the hotel in Maracay, bought a hammock for Bs525, the caught a local bus to Valencia. Talk about stopping at every hole in the hedge – it took two hours to do less than 50km.

We walked a kilometre past the obligatory fairground to the bus station. This is in a posh part of town where they ignored Matthew’s request for a regular club sandwich, instead bringing a large one and charging us double what we intended to pay, even though he only actually ate half of it.  (I didn’t eat anything due to not wishing to have the runs on public transport!)

We had no problem locating the bus to Coro. It was reasonably comfortable, big windows which opened allowing plenty of air circulation, and room for our packs up the front, but five hours of non-stop Spanish music is just too much – even if you are healthy and I was far from it. It really felt like we were back to third world transport.

Reached Coro at 6pm. The cheap hotel we tried had no rooms ‘con bano,’ but we agreed to take a shitty one [2021 postscript: Great pun] without a bathroom. It only cost Bs200, but the stinking shared toilet, really wrecked old camp beds and abundance of particularly large cockroaches in our room as we were going to bed have forced us to plan a move tomorrow – sometimes it really isn’t worth it to save £4-5.

Day 308 – April 5^th 1991 – Coro

I got some tablets from the farmacia this morning and felt much better by lunchtime. The smell of the communal toilet and the two packets of sex aids in the bin decided the moving issue – we are now in a 2* hotel recommended in the guide book with TV, bathroom, air con and a decent bed for Bs600.

We spent the day getting our bearings. We are very close to the town centre, so took a walk around the residential areas. It is very quiet with not many people around. There were several market stalls along the main road but hardly any customers. I feel sorry for the sellers – if they make two sales a day they are probably doing well.

We went inside the Cathedral, which was built in 1531 and is the oldest in Venezuela. A beautiful building, with white walls, wooden pews, a dark beamed ceiling and not too much décor. Solitude – a place to sit and think.

The remainder of the day was spent trying to find a bank to get a cash advance – the money just isn’t lasting. No luck – we have to wait until Monday.

At 7.30pm, we went to see Home Alone translated as ‘Mi Pobre Angelito.’ The film was in English, with Spanish subtitles, which was great, but half way through the film the sound system failed so it was a good job it was not a heavily dialogued film! Matthew had to pay and extra Bs20, otherwise they would not allow him into the cinema in shorts!

Day 309 – April 6^th 1991 – Coro

We walked to the famous Coro sand dunes and back (about five miles). The sun was hot and humid as we scrambled over the impressive dunes, getting powdered with sand which skimmed the surface thanks to quite a strong wind. If I hadn’t been able to see the mountains, town and road, I could have believed myself to have been in the middle of the desert!

Bought garlic cheese, crackers, yogurt and avocado in a very western / American style supermarket – you wouldn’t find one of these in India or Indonesia – and ate our lunch on the patio / kids’ play area outside our room. This hotel is designed just like a USA motel, I wonder if US influence is as strong in other parts of South America as it is here in Venezuela. The people seem to have a pretty good quality of life from what we have seen so far, yet we read in the paper that the minimum wage is only Bs4,100 a month (£40.10).

The language is a pain because the local people just don’t bother listening or trying to understand us Gringos attempting to communicate in our poor Spanish. We had trouble finding somewhere to eat tonight, there don’t see to be many restaurants around which is strange as this is the provincial capital (population 80,000).

Day 310 – April 7^th 1991 – Coro

The place was completely dead today (Sunday). We couldn’t even find a café to have lunch. A percentage of the population was at the cinema, another percentage in a very passionate Evangelical Meeting Hall. The rest of the 80,000 people???

Day 311 – April 8^th 1991 Coro to Barquisimento

Talk about making a mountain out of a molehill – a crow could have reached Barquisimento quicker than we did! The journey could have taken two and a half hours but instead took six and a half, via Moron (ie retracing most of the trip from Valencia) to San Felipe, then another change for Barquisimento.  The scenery was pretty uneventful, but at least none of the buses had ear-shattering music on a continual loop.

It was a day for day dreaming and contemplating the future. I find I am increasing thinking about ‘when I get home.’ Matthew says it is healthy to look forward to it – it would be sad if we were dreading the return to ‘real life.’ But I am a little concerned – back to no money and no job, but I guess it will all work out.

We reached Barquisimento at 7.15pm, so just got a taxi to a Bs400 hotel. (Before leaving Coro, it had taken us two hours to buy $500 with travellers’ cheques in the bank – in the States it would have taken 15 minutes – very frustrating).

Day 312 – April 9^th 1991 – Barquisimento to Valera

Plans to arrive early in Valera and take a bus trip to Trojillo (meant to be very beautiful) went awry when we couldn’t get a bus to Valera until noon. The journey, rough in all senses, took four hours. The scenery was fairly bland at first, but improved as we drove into the misty hills. By the time we reached Valera it was pouring with rain, so we headed to the hotel nearest the bus station with plans for an early start tomorrow to Merida.

The Motel Valera – very (North) American, is a 3* and costs Bs750 + tax, but it has no TV, the bedspread doesn’t fit the bed, and there’s a dirty sticking plaster in the shower. One good thing – the air conditioning is relatively quiet – bliss after the last four nights!

Day 313 – April 10^th 1991 – Valera to Merida

We finally made it to a very wet Merida. It began to rain soon after we arrived, the steep narrow roads turned into rivers – literally – and the mountain peaks surrounding the town were shrouded in a heavy mist.

But by 6pm the rain cleared, and it was obvious why Merida is such a tourist attraction – the Shimla of Venezuela one could say.

Our journey through the Sierra Nevada of Merida (the Andes), which peaked at 4,200m on Pico el Aguila, was quite spectacular – a windy road through lush green valleys where we passed small but well maintained little communities. The local people, with darker, South American Indian looks, wearing ponchos and hats, farmed vegetables at most peculiar angles and at amazing heights. Above the mist-like clouds, the view behind us was spectacular, mysterious and very beautiful though unfortunately, the thickest mist was on the peak.

Of course the taxi driver made us wait 45 minutes until he had a full quota of passengers, went too fast and overtook on the bends, and got a puncture on the way down, but we survived and for Bs250 this ‘por puesto’ trip was definitely value for money

Photos: Around Merida.

We reached Merida before noon and took the advice of Klaus (our German friend from Choroni) to go to the San Pedro Pension. This was a good tip – the hotel is a modern, bright building with clean rooms, en suite bathrooms, a full kitchen with all facilities (brilliant), blankets and no air conditioning as we won’t need it up so high in the mountains – all for Bs400! I am going to have to work on Matthew to stay three nights. When you spend so much time and energy, both nervous and actual, getting somewhere, you want to be there long enough to relax and enjoy your stay!

Day 314 – April 11^th 1991 – Merida

We rode the world’s longest and highest cable car today! Stunning views, dizziness from altitude, dramatic temperature changes and sheer terror all got the adrenaline flowing! [2021 postscript: The Merida cable car no longer appears in the lists of world’s highest and longest, as these seem to relate to single stop cable cars; whereas the Merida cable car has four stops along its 12.5km length. But in my books that still makes it the longest cable car journey from point A to point B. In the world.]

We shared cable cars (four different cars as there are five stations on the way to the summit) with pleasant Germans and loud but jolly USA fishermen – 40 in a car – over valleys, forests, rocks and show. At the highest point, we were more than 460m above the ground. Top stop is Pico Espej, just short of Pico Bolivar, the highest peak in Venezuela.

We could see Pico Bolivar and its glacier clearly as the cable car ascended – we were lucky and only hit clouds as the neared the very top, 4,765m above sea level.  The cable car covers 12.5km, the journey each way took an hour and it only cost £3! Well worth it, although it was bitterly cold at the top (Matthew was in his shorts) and we also felt quite dizzy and headachy. After the obligatory photo shoot, we headed back down to Merida – it was good to be on solid ground again.

We had a good set lunch in a vegetarian restaurant, and checked out the cinemas, but nothing of interest on. We did pass some very posh, expensive shops.  It took 45 minutes to change travellers cheques, then we realised that if we were hitting Colombia on Saturday, Bolivars were useless, so we spent another 25 minutes changing Bolivars into US dollars.

This evening we chatted to a guy who had spent eight months in Brazil and afterwards we weighed up the pros and cons of travelling through Colombia and Ecuador to Brazil, or going straight from Venezuela to Brazil. The latter won. Better to spend our last weeks seeing more of Brazil. [2021 postscript: Our flights ‘home’ to London were out of Rio de Janiero, so final destination had to be Brazil. If I remember correctly, there were also some security issues about travelling in Colombia at the time, which perhaps influenced our decision to head directly to Brazil].

We also phoned home tonight – back to third world communications – 35 minute wait while  Merida connected with Caracas and Caracas connected with Banbridge. But it was all worth it to hear everyone was okay and delighted to hear we were engaged!

Day 315 – April 12^th 1991 – Merida (Jaji)

Another stunning journey into the Andes, this time into the mountains high above Merida in a rattley ‘por puesto’ bus. The 34km journey (30 uphill, 4 downhill) took one hour. The scenery was fantastic, and the altitude enough to give me a headache again. Our final destination was Jaji (pronounced Hahee), a gorgeous colonial village comprising a cobbled square with four narrow streets off it, a beautiful old Cathedral and a school

Virtually all the little shops sold souvenirs, but the pottery was particularly beautiful and really cheap, for example a huge soup tureen and ladle for £5 – but there is no way we could transport something like this home – a real shame as those are the sort of things I would love to start collecting [2021 postscript: Thank heavens I didn’t or there would be even more tat in my roofspace today!]. We ended up buying a little mini-tureen for mustard or sugar.

We walked 3km uphill and reached a café just before the rain began. From here, we expected to get a bus back to Merida, but we waited ages and no bus appeared. Then a kind Venezuelan lady gave us a lift all the way back to Merida in her orange Beetle – they’re still making them in Brazil!

It was 7pm before we got back, so we cooked some food and headed out in search of music. First we sampled La Mamma (good but not great), then left at 11.30pm and found some excellent Lambada music across the road. We had a drink and watched the locals (part of a posh wedding group) dancing, but didn’t take to the floor ourselves.

Day 316 – April 13^th 1991 – Merida

Rain stopped play today, but we did manage to fit in some shopping and I bought a pair of ‘Texas’ shoes (£20 but I’m sure they’re worth it). [2021 postscript: I have a vague recollection of tan shoes that looked like cowboy boots but didn’t go above the ankle and I believe I actually did wear them back home – for a time anyhow!].

We spent most of the day eating, sheltering and waiting to go to the terminal. Having abandoned plans to go south west from Merida into Colombia, we are now on the express bus heading north east back to Caracas. It’s okay – there is no air conditioning or leg room but the seats (especially the one in front of me!) do recline.

Day 317 – April 14^th 1991 – Merida to Caracas to Puerto La Cruz

Arrived in Caracas at 7.15am after a virtually sleepless night which passed surprisingly quickly, and caught an express bus to Puerto La Cruz 45 minutes later.  It was cold at that time, but got much hotter as we descended to the coast.

We reached Puerto La Cruz at 1.15pm and were able to walk to the hotel, just opposite the beach. Food here is much more expensive, as are drinks, and many of the menus are in English, but it is described as a ‘package tour resort.’

The beach was fairly empty and quite dirty. After pizza and a beer, we headed back to the hotel at 4pm for a doze, but slept right through to 8am. Who said travelling was easy?  [2021 postscript: I don’t think I have ever slept this long continuously since then. I recall waking, seeing that it was 11pm, feeling hugely relieved that it was too late to go out for dinner, and going straight back to sleep. We must have been quite exhausted!]

Day 319 – April 16^th 1991 – Puerto La Cruz

We managed to get stamps for our postcards today. Three huge ones on each card – they would have covered all the writing, so the lady stuck them on top of each other so only the amount of Bolivars paid for each stamp was visible. She had to put Matthew’s on the picture side, he had written on every available space on the other side!

We bargained over the fare for a boat ride to the farthest island and Bs200 each bought us a return trip on a little wooden motor boat (crew included two very sweet young boys). We sailed past a tiny island inhabited by families who appeared to live on little shacks on the beach, which looked across the water to oil refineries where a number of super tankers were filling up – this community would be ruined if there was a spillage.

That aspect of the vista was not particularly attractive, but Chumanis was out of eyeshot of the refineries. It is a tiny island with a lovely beach of red sand, fringed by rocks leading down to a choppy blue sea – very pretty.

We saw a huge lizard with a spine of spikes on his back, rather like a dragon. Through the water we could see the rocks and lots of colourful fish, and it was really safe and pleasant for swimming.

Back in Puerto La Cruz, we sampled a Chinese meal, Venezuelan style, but the amount of MSG and the price left a lot to be desired.

Day 318 – April 15^th 2021 – Puerto La Cruz

After a 16-hour sleep we were refreshed and ready to do battle with breakfast, banks, buses and beaches. All went okay although the bank took an interminably long time as usual and the bus we caught to take us to a beach turned out to be a non-registered ‘por puesto’ driver. He charged us double what he should have done to take us the 30km, but did stop to buy himself, and us, a beer en route. I had to drink it, because if I hadn’t I am sure he would have guzzled it himself!

The beach was pretty if a little dirty. There were loads of palm trees and birds’ nests, and the water was calm, warm and clear. Very relaxing.

We had no problem hailing a ‘por puesto’ on the road back, and are now relaxing before hitting the town – Matthew now has new shoes and new trews to break in!

What they say about Venezuelan post could be true. [2021 postscript: Don’t recall what that was but I guess it wasn’t complimentary!] We entered the Post Office for the first time this morning to buy two stamps for postcards and they told us they didn’t have any, but to come back after 2pm!

Day 320 – April 17^th 1991 – Puerto La Cruz to Ciudad Bolivar

The Orinoco Flow, not quite as romantic or beautiful as Enya would have us believe, but Ciudad Bolivar is pretty nice all the same. The river is lined with grassy banks and trees, sandy beaches, and on the other side, tiny, brightly painted houses looking out onto the murky waters.

But what a boring journey to get here. A bus with no suspension, a driver who rarely passed 40km/hr (very rare!) and who stopped, literally, every time we hit a bump. He also spent a tedious hour at a fume filled petrol station where two unpleasant people not only failed to listen to / understand my attempts to ask for a ‘jugo giava’ but decided to ignore me altogether! [2021 postscript: Can’t work out myself what I was asking for, guava juice perhaps?] This made me very angry.

For six interminable hours we drove through flat cattle grazing land, until we reached the bridge over the Orinoco which finally brightened up the day. Finding a decent hostel overlooking the river was also a boon.

We strolled up to the Cathedral on a hill, then along the river banks as darkness set in (as the guidebook said we should!). It was very nice but there were lots of bats. I hope they aren’t the vampire kind that bite your feet when you’re asleep and give you malaria! I saw the Gloria Estefan Spanish compilation album I want, but rejected the temptation to buy it – I don’t think carrying a vinyl LP home in my backpack is a good idea.

I have a bad dose of the shakes tonight – and it isn’t down to alcohol, so feeling a bit concerned.

Day 321 – April 18^th 1991 – Ciudad Bolivar

The shakes persist, combined with dizziness and general lethargy, rather like I felt after my marijuana experience in India. I also had a really dry mouth all last night, again a bit like I had in Kulu. These similarities allowed me to dispel my fears that I might be stricken with malaria after my 10 mosquito bites in Choroni, and consider instead that the cough mixture I got in Puerto La Cruz might contain some dodgy drug.  This seems like a logical explanation. So – NO MORE WORRYING!

We visited the old fort (Fortín El Zamuro) on the hill this morning. We took a taxi there, but it was actually quite close to where we walked yesterday. It was small and beautiful, built into the rocks, nicely landscaped with trees and busts of heroes of the Independence. We could not read their names as someone had recently stolen the plaques from each bust. There was a beautiful view of the city from this tiny red clay and stone fortress, so small it was like a play house.

The ‘gate man’ asked us to sign the visitors’ book, and we were saddened to see that most names in it were local. This place seems to attract few foreign visitors, despite the numbers that come to the city. The guide was very friendly and wants us to send him some photos of the fort for his scrapbook. [2021 postscript: Something I don’t think we ever did unfortunately].

In the afternoon, our attempts to find an engagement ring met with no success. There was nothing we liked, definitely nothing we could agree on. And the venture ended in a deep discussion seated on a rock on the banks of the river as to what purpose there was in a ring. Is it simply something society dictates you buy when you decide to get married? Questions, but no solutions.

In the distance, the sun was setting pink through the stratus clouds behind the metallic beams of the bridge over the Orinoco. And in front of us, spraying crystal teardrops from the grey waters, two tiny dolphins jumped and flipped and played together. An uplifting sight.

Day 323 – April 19^th 1991 – Ciudad Bolivar to Santa Elena

Travelling can be exhausting, boring and frustrating – and the journey from Ciudad Bolivar to Santa Elena on the Brazilian border must rate as one of the worst bus trips – if not the worst – yet. Up at 6am, bus station by 7am, bus at 8am. This one had suspension which was a plus, but the windows didn’t open and it was packed, hot and sticky.

Drinking coffee in the terminal café, we had tickets to El Dorado (where stands Papillon’s prison) in our hands, but on further consideration we decided to give El Dorado a miss and go straight through to Santa Elena – a 12 hour journey.

We stopped for 20 minutes at 11am, and the only other stops for the remainder of the journey were brief ones in towns and at army checkpoints. We had the same driver all the way – stupid – I felt wrecked, what must he have felt like? We reached El Dorado at 3pm and were glad we had decided not to stop off as there didn’t appear to be much to see.

However, lots of others were getting off and the bus emptied. As we climbed through thick, lush rainforest, it began to rain – a heavy, tropical downpour – and the air cooled and cooled until it was pretty damn chilly! As we entered the Gran Sabana, a sudden change from jungle to moor-like marsh and the occasional hill, dusk began to fall. There were a few Indian villages with small, straw-roofed dwellings, but these were spread out and there were no large communities.

Then something happened to make the discomforts of this journey all worthwhile. Some people, most in fact, never see an aurora. We were lucky to see the most spectacular one in India, high in the Himalayas, then again in China – less spectacular perhaps, but still stunning as it lit up the limestone peaks in Yangshou. But we didn’t anticipate seeing our third aurora through the windows of a cranky bus in the middle of the Gran Sabana in Venezuela.

But there it was, surrounding us, illuminating the clouds. Not as striking as in India, but awesome all the same. As we moved away from the dancing lights, the stars unfolded from the mist and clouds, and there we saw the Southern Cross, as bold and clear as it was that chilly night we fled Sydney to Wagga Wagga. Then, on the other side of bus, fireflies began to appear, hundreds of them, inches above the grassy verges, darting furiously, beautiful against the black horizon.

If all these sights and wonders had raised our spirits, our arrival in Santa Elena soon knocked them back. The bus dropped us in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. We walked around dingy hotels, either with no rooms or expensive, horrible ones, until at 9.30pm, an hour and a half after arriving in town, when in desperation we agreed to take a room for Bs250 without seeing it, and sat and waited until it was cleaned. (At that time! Who had been using it in the day?) It was dingy and cobweb-ridden. At least two large cockroaches appeared during our waking hours. Why is it that when you arrive somewhere late, tired, hungry and dirty, you can’t find anything, but when you arrive somewhere early, refreshed and with loads of time and energy, finding a room is no problem? [2021 postscript: When I wrote this I think I had forgotten all those sleepless overnight bus and train journeys which delivered us somewhere in the early morning and we were definitely anything but refreshed and full of energy!]

It had seemed a good idea of travel on a public holiday (today is the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, lots of Venezuelan flags everywhere, few restaurants etc open – one of two it seems, there is another in July) but because most things are closed, it was actually a bad idea as the more touristy places are full of Venezuelan holidaymakers and prices also go up.

Day 323 – April 20^th 1991 – Santa Elena

Today I worked out that we have 40 days left before we head back to the UK. As this is day 325- in 40 days time, we will have been travelling for 365 days exactly – a full year to the very day! We did gain a day in Hawaii, but only one we lost before and after. Incredible eh!

A frustrating morning. No lie-in because of the cockroaches etc, so after breakfast we went in search of a better hotel. We finally found a cute little house with an okay room and bathroom. There are probably a few roaches, but the loo flushes, the shower works and you can’t feel the springs through the mattress, as we have done for the last three nights.

Major money cock-ups. We discovered that trips to the Gran Sabana cost at least US$40 each for one day. We really must see it as we are here, it would be stupid not to, but the only person here who takes credit cards is a gold seller from the Midlands, England, who emigrated here 15 years ago. He would only sell us Cruzeiros (Brazilian currency) – of course at a very tidy profit to himself. (He refused to sell us dollars. ‘Why would I sell you dollars?’ – to help us out of a predicament A****le!). We also changed a $50 travellers’ cheque (our last) for only Bs48 (the bank rate would have been Bs54.7). So now we will pay our Gran Sabana expedition ($44 including food and drinks) with Bolivars and our last $50 note.

We have only Bs1,500 and 22,000 Cruzeiros left, but we are not in a good position to bargain. Mr Midlands is laughing all the way to the bank.

Santa Elena is quite a pretty town, small, low houses, lush hills in the distance, and plenty of very heavy rain showers in the afternoon. There is a fair splattering of expensive restaurants. Here, you pay Bs24 average for a small (very small) beer, whereas in most other places, like Coro and Merida, it would have only been Bs12-15.

Tomorrow at 8.30am, Frank takes us into the Gran Sabana proper.

Day 324 – April 21^st 1991 – Santa Elena

An excellent day ‘feeling nature,’ as Frank our guide kept telling us. And we really did feel it, for our excursion into the Gran Sabana was quite an experience. As Frank had spent the previous night with his family camping by a river, he hadn’t prepared my promised lunchtime salad, so after breakfast we had to drive around the town in seach of vegetarian food, finally setting off proper (also equipped with 24 cans of Cardinal beer!) at 10am.

Our first visit was to a silent lagoon, which looked like an oasis in the middle of a green, velvety desert.  Then it was on to a small waterfall, on steps made of jasper, colourful and very beautiful in the morning light. To my distress, we saw a man chasing electric butterflies with a net.

Next, we went to check Frank’s family at their camp by the river, then back to a brilliant waterfall which we were able to walk behind – in swimming costumes of course – after wading through the yellow water to get there. Getting through a curtain of water wasn’t easy with my contact lenses, and doing the first section twice so Frank could take a photo for a brochure he is putting together didn’t help! So, after walking and posing some, I remained alone for a time behind the liquid curtain while Frank and Matthew  walked and crawled behind the full length of the waterfall. They eventually emerged at the other side to swim back across the river.

Standing alone behind the fall was quite a unique experience – the noise and the sunlight dancing through the flowing water made me feel like the torrent was about to come down on my head, rather than a couple of feet in front of me. I then enjoyed a rather lovely 15 minutes of solitude lying on my back in the river beyond the fall waiting for the others to swim back.

This adventure was followed by lunch in an Indian village (not salad, but spaghetti and cheese!) before a longish drive to another waterfall – Khama Falls – which are 75m high. Again we were able to swim in the warm pools outside the curtain of water, in which rainbows danced in the afternoon sun. Frank didn’t join us in the water – electric eels, piranhas or what?? – just how far will a photographer go to get a good picture for his brochure! [Some of our not-so-great photos of our day below].

After retrieving Frank’s family and their 10 tons of luggage, we drove back to Santa Elena through a spectacular aurora. In the course of the day, Frank had drunk 10 beers (that we know about) and assured us that drinking and driving isn’t an issue in rural Venezuela!

For the second night in a row, the disco across the road boomed loud and late.

Day 325 – April 22^nd 1991 – Santa Elena to Boa Vista (Brazil – the final leg)

Brazil is going to cost us a fortune! Even the bus to Boa Vista cost 4,000czs (Cruzeiros), or Bs1,000 (over twice as much as the express from Merida to Caracas) and this journey was only six hours. We left Santa Elena at 8.30am, but military checks and customs meant it was actually 10am before we were properly on the road – if you could call it that.

At our first stop on the Brazilian side of the border, I was immediately thrown by the change in language, and daunted by my failure to make myself understood when asking for an orange juice. Just when we were getting on comfortably with our Pigeon Spanish, we were thrust into a country which speaks the Brazilian variety of Portuguese. [2021 postscript: Matthew was at an advantage over me here, having done a course in Brazilian Portuguese in London before we started travelling. Although he says he had forgotten most of it after a year!]

The road was more of a dirt track and the bus, designed with narrow wheels and high suspension, leaned and bumped and swayed its way through flat sabana-like land. After a drinks stop in a tiny village, where hens and piglets and lambs roamed free, something hit the bus windscreen, smashing it to smithereens and showering glass all down the bus. Matthew adopted ‘brace’ position – I followed suit. We imagined the driver would be bleeding and blinded. No – he just kept on driving, saved, we think, by his Raybans!

The bus terminal in Boa Vista was a way from the centre of town, so we shared a (very expensive) cab with a Dutch guy and a French Canadian ‘correspondent.’ The first cheap hostel we tried was full, the next one, not so cheap, had rooms.

We looked into the cost of getting to Manaus. The bus would cost 9,500czs, and a night flight would be 17,000. We did toy with the idea of flying, but we need to save money. All flights seem incredibly pricey, but we should be able to afford to fly from Manaus to Salvador (£70 each) if we bus it to Manaus. Had horrible pizza for tea and on the plus side discovered Brazilian beer (70p for a 600mm bottle) and very nice it was too. Early to bed joined by only one cockroach!

Day 326 – April 23^rd 1991 – Boa Vista

Banks are a pain in the backside. We worked out how to buy Cruzeiros and at what rate and were told to come back in the afternoon. When we did, the bank was shut, which left us destitute once again and stuck for another day in Boa Vista.

After the rain stopped and the sun broke through, we headed for the river where we found the slums and what felt like the real heart of the city. Wooden shacks built on stilts barely holding together, lots of bars, people washing clothes and ‘panning’ in the murky but still beautiful Rio Branco (for gold?). The banks on the other shore were lush and green, behind them hills and a 3D sky.

We saw little boys playing football, little girls playing volleyball and animals digging in bins. The sights and sounds were all very interesting and makes the prospect of staying longer in Boa Vista not so drastic after all. We have bought our plane tickets from Manaus to Salvador (a six hour flight – yikes!) for May 1^st.

Some thoughts on the animals we have encountered recently. There are many very ill and starving dogs here and in Venezuela. One was rubbing itself on the street, a huge open sore on its face. Today we came upon a dog scavenging in a bin, ribs sticking clearly through matted and broken skin. It is painful to look at these poor animals – flea bitten, constantly scratching, never comfortable. Then I think of the horses in India, the ducks and cats in China, and wonder how humans can be so cruel, so unthinking, in their treatment of these defenceless creatures who cannot speak for themselves.

Day 327 – April 24^th 1991 – Boa Vista

We finally got some money and were able to buy our tickets for the bus to Manaus, leaving at 8.30 tomorrow morning. It takes 20-22 hours, which means we arrive in Manaus at a ridiculous hour in the morning. Why don’t they put the departure time forward a few hours?

We walked from the rodavario (fancy name for terminal) across the river bridge which must be a third of a mile long at least, to the other side of the river where we sat and had a picnic of crackers, cheese, sweetcorn jam (I thought it was cream of sweetcorn) and peanuts, washed down by very warm bottled water. Afterwards, Matthew got right in and I had a pleasant paddle. Although the water looked murky, I think it was more mud and sediment than pollution.

The weather was gorgeous – very hot – but there was a good breeze so we walked back to the hotel via the cobbled streets. Some children trying to catch a calf got a lot of attention. A man spoke to us in English. It turns out he’s from Guyana (former English territory). The funny thing is he described himself as English.

There must be plenty of fish in the Rio Branco – we passed about 20 men on the bridge, no rods, just very long pieces of plastic string. Admittedly none seemed to have caught anything.

Brazilians are very friendly – today we also chatted to two apparently lonely males, one a teacher from Sau Paulo, the other a divorcee who just moved here from Recife. Although he doesn’t drink, he had bought two bottles of – would you believe – Guinness, at 600czs each, as a as a souvenir!

It was interesting to learn that the minimum wage here (fixed) is 17000czs a month. Yet inflation this month is eight per cent. While there is no doubt many, many people earn well above the basic wage, what about those who earn only that? How do they survive? Send their kids out to clean shoes and sell sweets to bus passengers is probably the answer.

Day 328 –  – April 25^th 1991 – Boa Vista to Manaus

What a journey! Terrifying, spectacular, exhausting, educational, depressing and above all, incredible! Through the outer edges of the Gran Sabana and the flat state of Roraima, along the banks of the Rio Branco to Caracarai, across the river on a tiny ferry, through the thick jungle of the Amazon Forest, desecrated along huge tracts beside the muddy road. Tiny settlements, semi-clad children, oxen and cows, some dwellings now abandoned – the destroyed forest could not provide sufficient living.

The bus, like that which brought us to Boa Vista, sat high up on tiny wheels, swaying precariously from side to side like a 2CV cornering at 50mph. The first part of the journey was okay, but then came the mud and roadworks, causing numerous wobbly detours along muck tracks that were far from smooth. As we passed trucks and other large vehicles, the bus moved to the side, floundering at times in thick mud, lurching horribly, threatening to roll. But the unique suspension held, and its powerful four wheel drive and engine surged forward each time until we were back on solid ground.

Crossing the Rio Branco was quite an experience. A tiny ferry, big enough to carry two lorries, or a bus and a lorry. We stood beside the bus, safer than inside it. The ferry driver wore a sailor’s hat!

After lunch in a little village, we ploughed, literally, along the road. The forest grew more dense, but man’s hand was very obvious. So much devastation along the roadside. Naked, blackened trees stood dead and lonely where once and jungle with all its life and vegetation thrived. In places, the raped land had been flooded, leaving a calm and solemn lagoon in which the scarred trees stood majestic and dignified like funeral pyres.

A nuclear landscape.

Yet the jungle was never far away. At times, it popped through the window as the bus hit a canopy of trees as it wound and swerved its way along the unkind road.

The bridges across the tiny – and on occasions large – rivers and tributaries were quite something else. Wooden affairs that rattled and wobbled as we crossed, inches to spare either side of the bus, they looked none too safe. Once, we couldn’t get over the ramp at the other side, twice we rolled back onto the bridge, but the bus didn’t let us down.

We passed several settlements where people pulled water from wells, and lit their homes with oil / gas lamps. In the middle of nowhere, on a mud track, I wondered what sort of life they must have.

At one stage we almost skidded to a stop. No emergency. Just a tortoise innocently crossing the road. But we hadn’t stopped to ensure the bus didn’t flatten him. No, we stopped so someone on board could take the poor thing home with them. For tortoise soup? A pet? Who knows? Seeing the driver stomp towards him, the poor creature tucked his arms and legs into his shell, but to no avail – he was thrown unceremoniously into the luggage hold. So cruel.

We could stop for a tortoise, but we couldn’t stop when the windscreen got sheeted in mud from a passing truck, at least not until we reached a river where the co-driver made three trips up and down to the water with two plastic cups. A bus in the middle of the Amazon Jungle and it doesn’t ever carry spare water for maintenance! I don’t know…

Darkness fell slowly, and as dusk settled, so did a mist, sitting in layers below and above the tops of the trees, creating a mystical yet eerie atmosphere.  The moon was bright, and even when it was fully night, it was still possible to make out the silhouette of the jungle.

After a final stop at 8pm for more ‘prato frito’ (rice, spaghetti, beans or meat), I removed my contact lenses and tried to doze through the night. The road must have improved, though it was still simply a dirt track, for the bus didn’t lurch quite so often. I didn’t sleep, but had maybe the odd snooze, as we prepared for an early morning arrival in the jungle city of Manaus.

Day 329 – April 26^th 1991 – Manaus

Furious when the taxi driver taking us from the bus terminal to town ripped us off – he charged 7,000czs when should have been 4,500czs but we had no choice as he threatened to call the police when we complained. Then all the hotels in our guidebook appear to have been closed because of bad sanitation, so we spent ages walking around, hot, dirty and desperate to find somewhere to sleep.

Finally found a room with air con for 3,200czs and slept until noon before going in a vain search for a vegetarian restaurant. First impressions of Manaus not good – dirty, cracked streets, lots of cars stinking of alcohol – just another big city, although I am falling more and more in love with the VW Beetle, especially after seeing loads of yellow Beetle taxis!

Lunchtime proved interesting when we were joined by a drunkish English-speaking Peruvian who later gave us gifts – shorts and shirt for me and much-needed swimming trunks for Matthew. Bought cheese and wine in a supermarket for our tea and cut Matthew’s hair.

Day 330 – April 27^th 1991 – Manaus

Our first lie-in in a long time meant we were eating breakfast (a very nice omelette) when an English couple came into the café for a lunchtime drink. They were very lively and friendly. They are doing most of Latin America in six months, although the guy claims he has had enough of the jungle – he is covered in mossie bites.

We were then joined by a German couple who want to do three days in the jungle proper. We asked about a trip back at the hotel, but the organiser wasn’t around so we left and headed down to the markets on the docks. Dirty, smelly and all life was there! Not a healthy place though, especially with the increasing threat fo cholera coming in from Colombia and Peru. Fantastic fruit and veg on sale!

We were in a shed when the sky suddenly opened and everyone cheered! I am again tempted to say once again it was the heaviest rain I’ve ever seen, but it was definitely a tropical storm. Water poured into gullies from the tarpaulins covering the market stalls, kids, dressed only in shorts, darted through the rain, the market people laughed and drank and laughed and drank.

We had a lot of difficulty finding mosquito repellent, but eventually succeeded. Back at the hotel around six, things started to happen. Gerrard, the German, took us to an agent who promised a good jungle trip, three days, leaving tomorrow, for $100 each. [2021 postscript: Why am I thinking at this juncture about the Daniel Radcliffe film Jungle!!!]

This sounded good, but we didn’t have the cash, so we got a bus to the airport where the Banco de Brasil would be open. It wouldn’t take my Mastercard which caused me a major panic, but Matthew was able to buy 50,000czs on Visa (crossed fingers worked). We headed back to the agent to seal the deal. We depart for our real Amazon experience at 5.30am tomorrow.

Back at the hotel, we found that the clothes we had scrubbed on the hotel roof this morning are still soaking, but never mind, we headed out with the others for food and a few beers, staggering back at 12.30am, mind too active and excited to sleep.

Day 331 – April 28^th 1991 – Amazon Jungle

4.30am rise. OMG. Hungover and dehydrated – what a way to start a jungle safari!

The bus from the Rodavario took us along a paved (surprise) road to a cute little village and church where we had cake and hot milk for breakfast. We are a bit annoyed because our guide, Francisco, speaks only Portuguese and Spanish, yet the tour organiser promised an English-speaking guide. Fortunately, the fifth member of our group, an American, speaks Spanish, and the two Germans speak some Portuguese, so someone generally fills us in on the gist of what is being said.

We caught a launch with a very noisy engine up a tributary of the Amazon River. It was hot and the scenery very beautiful, although we travelled mostly in the middle of the river which was pretty wide, so couldn’t see much of the wildlife. We headed upstream, but in some places there was hardly any current and the glass-like surface of the water reflected the trees in perfect mirror image. The journey to our camp took an hour and a half.

Camp was more like a simple shelter – a kitchen and shack at one end and a platform and hammocks at the other. Two tourists were already there – one English girl and a German lad we had met briefly in Santa Elena in Venezuela.

Lunch consisted of the usual – spaghetti (cold), rice, salad (washed in river water), chicken and potatoes for the vegetarians (there are three of us).

Then it was time to hit the jungle – me causing some considerable consternation because I didn’t have trousers. So I bunged on loads of mossie repellent, and didn’t have a problem. [2021 postscript: I was wearing shorts. Because I used so much lotion, I actually fared better with bites than some of the others, who found the little skitters had flown up their trouser legs to do their worst.]

Under the canopy of trees, the ground was soft with dead and dying leaves and was marshy in places. Many dead trees stood sadly alongside live ones. The sun penetrated this green canopy in some places, but for the most part it was fairly dark, making it difficult to get photos.

This was when I most noticed the language problem. Although the others were very helpful, we missed a lot of detail in Francisco’s commentary. As a guide though, he was great and obviously very knowledgeable. He cut a slither from a tree which smelt of cloves, made a gash in another which wept white milk which turns elastic on the fingers and forms the basis of bubblegum. Another tree also bled white liquid, but this is rubber – not to be licked!

We drank water from yet another tree, constructed a bridge and Franciso demonstrated the art of camouflage, but while we saw plenty of plant life, animal life was non-existent. Francisco explains that living creatures have all been chased into the interior. Funnily enough, our tour organiser didn’t mention that either.

After the walk into the jungle, we were very hot and sticky, so four of us took a small boat to the centre of the river for a swim. On the surface, the water is very black. When you are in, your body goes a reddish brown. It was very warm on the surface, lower down I hit hot and cold patches, and very calm. Not a bad experience at all, especially when we didn’t bump into any piranahas!

After tea, which was the same as lunch, we went on an ‘alligator hunt!’ In reality, we went down the river for about 20 minutes to the local farm where fat man Jose, in the midst of rotting fruit and surrounded by a lot of young boys, has a fridge containing beer, which he sells at 250czs a small bottle. As we neared this farm, the racket of a generator got louder and louder, and soon we could hear the beat of Merengue and Lambada blasting across the jungle.

We found that Jose had cleared some land, built a house, strung up his stereo, TV aerial and yes, satellite dish, cleared a road through the vegetation for his jeep, and was in the process of building a church. A mechanic by trade, he and his huge belly chopped down parts of the jungle for wood to build houses in Manaus, though the American guy tried to assure that he didn’t do it for profit. Some chance.

Jose also hunted, and showed us a freshly detached pig skin, blood and flesh still fresh on one side, and he was also keen that we look at photos of a jaguar he had slain. His casa (house) stank of rotting fish and food. Men and boys hung around looking bored and the music continued to blast. No wonder there is no life in this part of the forest! It was also somewhat threatening.

We were forced to hang around while Francisco drank a beer, thankfully then it was back to our boat and camp. No alligators were spotted.

This was my first experience of sleeping in a hammock and it was really good. I woke with a cricked neck a couple of times, but it was quite comfie and cosy if you excused the scent which indicated it had been used by many humans before me. Needing the loo twice in the night was a pain, but I admit I didn’t go to the real baniero – it stinks and is too far away. The smell wafts down to the sleeping area and even to the river below which isn’t too pleasant. There also appears to be a lot of rubbish dumped around this clearing and in the river – not good.

Jungle sounds at night are relaxing and seem to consist mainly of crickets, frogs and someone snoring in another hammock!

Day 332 – April 29^th 1991 – Amazon Jungle

I woke for sunrise, but watched it from my hammock through blurry eyes and cloudy skies. We were all up around 7am and after breakfast of fruit and bread, headed off on another jungle walk. We were out for over four hours, at least one of them saturated as we got caught in a tropical story – even the thick canopy of the clouds wasn’t enough to provide shelter.

Although the lushness of the jungle is quite unique and beautiful, the absence of animal life made it seem rather like a ghost town. We did see a lizard, a humming bird and a couple of fast, brown furry animals (monkeys perhaps) but nothing awesome, large or scary. The most beautiful creatures so far are the stunningly coloured parrots (macaws???) and the very tiny monkey they keep as pets at the camp (below).

A crowd of wealthy Germans arrived at lunchtime and caused a lot of noise as we all dozed after the tiring, sweaty walk. Afterwards, we went so-called piranha fishing in the little boat. Poor Francisco spent ages nailing two pieces of wood into the boat to make seats as our new campmates had taken both the better boats. Grrr.

We failed to catch anything, but enjoyed the beautiful sky as we sat on the water and watched the sun set – lightening flashing in the distant clouds. Matthew did go in for a swim, but I declined, deterred by the fact that we were there to fish for (man eating) piranhas!

After dinner (the usual), the others drank quite a lot of caninha (sugar cane spirit). Two sips made my head spin, so I gave it a miss.

Around 8.30pm we went for a genuine alligator hunt, and although we only found a baby after a lot of effort by Francisco, the experience itself was unmissable. Floating on calm, calm water on tiny tributaries off the main river through half submerged trees, the almost full moon appearing every now and then through the canopy of leaves and the clouds along with the stars casting an eerie light across the stunning landscape. So peaceful and so close to nature and the night noises of the jungle.

After two hours on the water, I was glad to spread myself across my hammock and drift off listening to even more snoring than last night (camp is very busy!)

Day 333 – April 30^th 1991 – Jungle to Manaus

I had my camera at the ready and my glasses on at 5.45am because I figured there was going to be a great sunrise as all the wealthy Germans had got up very noisily to see it. Unfortunately mist and cloud meant it was once again elusive.

I am very proud of myself for spotting, then catching, an alligator with my bare hands. Fair enough, he was only a baby, lying between the two row boats sound asleep when I pounced, but I was pleased with myself and the other group were very keen to take pictures of the wee soul. [2021 postscript: After the photoshoot, my scaly little friend was returned to his resting place totally unharmed and unfazed].

We spent a peaceful morning in two boats on the river, swimming and sunbathing before a final (usual) lunch. No noisy launch to take us back to Manaus this time, just a little motor boat with no roof. It was just our luck to get caught in the longest, heaviest, tropical rainstorm ever! It began just after we left camp and continued almost constantly until we reached the village.  We saw it coming across the river – incredible, like someone was moving a hose in our direction.

But we were totally soaked and freezing, and there was no warmth to be had until we were back in Manaus. We did change a little in the café in the village – not much use when you don’t have any dry clothes to put on!

Back in the city, we tipped Francisco 2,000czs between the five of us, found a hotel with a room with a fan and gathered again for an okay meal in a pizza place before saying goodbye to our three friends. End of jungle adventure.

Day 334 – May 1^st 1991 – Manaus to Salvador de Bahia

We headed out to see the sights this morning, but it was a quick tour as everything was closed because it’s May Day. We saw the exterior of the beautiful opera house – Teatro Amazonas – and the exterior of the Cathedral which was also locked.

We had a wander around the docks, where the interesting looking boats tied to the Scotsman’s Floating Dock left us wishing we were going somewhere on one. We missed seeing the Meeting of the Waters – Rio Negra and Solimões – but I have looked at the postcard and will maybe see the real thing another time eh!

The flight to Salvador was delayed three quarters of an hour. The first leg, to Brasilia, was quite pleasant with good music on board. Then we had a mad dash across the tarmac in the dark to a plane waiting for us to carry on to Salvador [2021 postscript: When I say ‘mad dash,’ I really do mean mad dash. Someone was waiting for us at the bottom of the steps of the first plane and had us jog the couple of hundred yards to the waiting Salvador flight. I expect this was one of those times when we wondered if our backpacks would have any chance of joining us on board!]

We got in around 9pm and caught a bus to a hotel in Campo Grande – a lovely colonial building where we got a really nice, big room and bathroom. Although is it 3,500czs a night, we might just stay here as some space and comfort would be nice when we plan to be in Salvador for a week.

Day 335 – May 2^nd 1991 – Salvador de Bahia

Salvador is described as the most African city in the world outside of Africa. It is also described as dangerous and prime territory for robbers – not the place for naïve tourists with money belts. [2021 postscript: Hard to believe I still considered myself naïve after almost a year – but in truth, I was, as events will prove over the next week!] Needless to say, I felt very apprehensive as we walked into the centre through a crowded, bustling street lined with stalls selling jewellery, clothing, food, leather, gems and everything under the sun.

We finally reached a square overlooking the sea – huge cargo ships suggesting a busy port, then down to the lower town in the Lacerda, a lift linking the upper and lower sections – 10czs a ride.

Photos above: Around Salvador (not all taken on the same day).

We didn’t have a problem finding a bank where I was finally able to use my Mastercard to buy £400 worth of cruzeiros, and walked back to the hotel without any issues. Matthew baught Canina, the local very cheap spirit, along with lemons and sugar (although he didn’t do a very good job of mixing in). I stuck with not-too-good red wine.

Day 336 – May 3^rd 1991 – Salvador de Bahia

Spent part of the morning in jewellery shops finding out just how expensive emeralds really are. [2021 postscript: I wanted an emerald to ‘match my eyes’ – a bit delusional as they are more a grey, but never mind!]. Then we headed off in search of English books and were advised to go to Casa de Jorge Amado (who?) and so ended up in Pelourinho, the famous no-go area of Salvador. Jorge turns out to be a very famous Brazilian author who was born in Bahia, but although the shop was full of his books and posters etc, there was very little in English.

We felt quite at ease as there were many tourists at the Casa, and a few wandering through the narrow, cobbled streets, though most were with guides.

We walked back, careful to leave Pelourinho before dark, and had dinner outside a very busy restaurant where music (I think live) was being relayed outside through big speakers.

A couple of things worth mentioning – Salvador is full of snogging couples – everywhere! In the squares, bars, restaurants, and streets. Secondly, the traditionally dressed Bahian ladies who sell their wares (food) on the streets look amazing – all in full regalia, their uniform for the job I guess.

Day 337 – May 4^th 1991 – Salvador de Bahia

We took the camera to the old town (Pelourinho) today – it really is a beautiful place. Very picturesque, stunning architecture which is a real mix of beauty and decay. The steep cobbled streets really add to the atmosphere and probably the danger.

But we were safe by day. A few locals stopped us to chat, but didn’t seem to present any problems. We visited the Slave Church, built by slaves, and another lovely church where they have a brilliant sculpture of the crucifixion made by an untrained slave, using real whale blood, with hundreds of rubies representing the droplets of blood. [2021 postscript: I should have taken note of the names of the churches, but unfortunately I didn’t. But it is one of these!]

We also found another couple of gem shops and had a look, but everything is still very expensive and we didn’t see anything to our taste. As we entered the largest of the shops, we found ourselves in the middle of a bus load of wealthy tourists, and got a free glass of orange juice! This evening we walked down to Barra in search of nightclubs, but were very disappointed. The supposedly lively place was virtually dead, and the highly recommended club was shut. We still managed to stay out to 2am before walking home without any problems.

Day 338 – May 5^th 1991 – Salvador de Bahia

Headed to the packed beach today – we were the only westerners to be seen. The same was true later in the day when we went to our first Brazilian football match where the atmosphere in the crowd was amazing. Carole, a Dutch girl staying in our hotel, joined us for the match, but there were no other tourists in sight.

The 100,000 seater stadium was a simple affair, with concrete seats and a great view from everywhere. We got there two hours early which was a bit of a mistake as, although it started filling up 20 minutes before kick-off, there would have been plenty more tickets.

The match itself, between middle of the table teams Bahia and Porto Alegre, was pretty uneventful. Bahia scored an early penalty, and then the visitors had two guys sent off but managed to equalise in the last few minutes.

In the crowd, there were lots of people selling food, sugar cane drink, cigarettes, fire crackers, fireworks and kites. The best part was the drums, beating out an almost tribal rhythm while the people danced and sang in a frenzy, brilliant! [2021 postscript: Anyone who watched the 2014 World Cup held in Brazil will know the sound of those drums!]

We walked back to Campo Grande in the midst of a crowd that was no different to any leaving Wembley after a game, and had an early night (for a change!)

Day 339 – May 6^th 1991 – Salvador de Bahia

We almost got into a lot of trouble tonight, but manged to escape unscathed. The problem came at the end of a really good day. We visited the Afro-Brazilian Museum which was really interesting if not terribly informative, then a jewellery shop by the Sao Francisco Church where we described the engagement ring I would like, selected a single emerald and two tiny diamonds from bags of gems, priced these, then left to consider whether to go ahead.

After lunch we went up to the big gem shop and found they were charging almost twice as much for gold, and getting a ring made-up would be no cheaper than picking one off the shelves. So we headed back to the Sao Francisco Church and paid a visit. Inside, the church is plastered in gold leave – very spectacular and quite beautiful, but such wealth in contrast to the poverty outside.

Then we returned to the small jewellery shop and ordered my engagement ring!

On the way back through Praça da Sé, we met two Rastafarians and another guy we have spoken to a couple of times. We joined them for a beer and agreed to meet them again at 8pm. A mistake? They seemed friendly – intelligent, educated, genuine. And I felt that to decline their invite would suggest that we distrusted them.

Carole came back to Pelourinho with us, and one of the Rastafarians and the other short-haired guy (Robinson) were waiting as arranged. We had a couple of drinks, then headed to the depths of Pelourinho for music. There was none to be found, except at a house where they were selling beer in the doorway. The place was fairly quiet and we were the only white faces around, but I didn’t feel threatened as we were with two locals.

Suddenly the situation got tense. The Rasta guy asked Matthew for 5,000czs to buy marijuana. Matthew said he didn’t have that money and didn’t want anything but a drink and a dance – maybe another night. Both the big guy and Robinson got quite angry, and I thought they were going to become violent, but not only did they refrain from violence, they accompanied us up to Praça da Sé, where we caught the bus back to Campo Grande. The Rastafarian guy did storm off, clearly in a bad mood. Robinson was too interested in Carole to cause a scene.

Day 340 – May 7^th 1991 – Salvador de Bahia

Last night we were just simmering in the frying pan of Pelourinho – tonight we leapt into the fire with both feet first. [2021 postscript: What follows is a lesson in why you should pay heed when you are told to avoid no-go areas].

We all wanted to see Olodum, the band Paul Simon used on his last album. And they were playing somewhere in Pelourinho as part of the annual Bob Marley Festival.

We left at 7pm – Matthew, Carole, an Austrian named Jon, and myself. Safety in numbers, I reassured myself. What a joke that turned out to be. The bus deposited us at Praça da Sé. It was pouring with rain. We walked to Tierra de Jesus and down the narrow cobbled streets into the heart of Pelourinho. There were people everywhere, excitement was high. We saw no other white faces.

I felt vulnerable as we passed Casa de Jorge Amado and up what is considered Pelourinho’s most dangerous street towards Casa de Olodum. Faces lining the streets, sheltering in doorways, stared at us without inhibition. We were foreigners on their pad, that was obvious.

But once inside the brightly lit Casa, things changed. We asked a Rastafarian guy and his female friend where Olodum were playing. They pointed out a dark alleyway full of people, but said we should stay with them for a bit as Olodum would not be starting for a while yet. They were really friendly and spoke good English. Dawit, the guy, accompanied Matthew each time he went to buy beers from the stall across the street. His friend Edeline was great company and they were happy to share their table and chat. During the hour we sat in the Casa, a television reporter interviewed Dawit, and we went upstairs to watch a short piece of entertaining but incomprehensible African theatre performed by a group of young people.

Then we headed to see Olodum. Without Dawit and Edeline we would probably not have made it. We pushed and shoved our way down that steep alleyway, past a heaving crowd, fished out 300 czs each at a little gateway, then fought like mad to get into a walled enclosure. All the time our friends guided and protected us. They were so incredibly kind.

Inside we bought beers and pushed our way to a side wall close to where the band was drumming. There were around 30 in the group and the sound was amazing. Brilliant music, loud and rhythmic, almost sensual. Everyone was dancing, the place was alive, the atmosphere hot and sweaty. Totally indescribable. No-one paid us a second glance.

There is a price to pay for all that beer, so Edeline led Carole and I to what we thought would be a toilet, but was in fact two tarpaulin sheets hung in the corner of the enclosure. We waited until one tarpaulin was pulled aside and a group of men channelled out. It was our turn. Another couple of girls who were waiting joined us behind the plastic sheets, where we all squatted to pee on the floor which was steaming from the guys who had just left, urine mingling and running into a pipe, through the courtyard wall and out onto the street below. The smell was hideous and we had to hurry –  already another crowd of men had gathered outside and were rattling the tarpaulin. What an experience! We could only laugh.

Back out into melting pot of bodies, rhythm and music – oh the music….

It ended all too soon. Olodum didn’t hang around for encores, and we waited with Dawit and Edeline until most people had left the enclosure. It was 11.30pm, but the party was still going strong in the streets of Pelourinho. We walked to the Casa de Reggae, exhilarated by the evening so far, our fears diminished.

We weren’t worried when we saw one of the Rastafarians we had spoken to a couple of days ago (not the guy who had wanted money last night, thankfully he was no-where to be seen). Dawit and Edeline were still with us when the guy came to talk, doing the friendly ‘You’re my bro’ routine with Matthew that was now becoming familiar. Matthew knew how to respond.

Unfortunately our Austrian friend Jon did not. Unbeknown to us, Jon, who spoke some Portuguese, was annoyed that this guy had spoken to him in English and turned away. As the rest of us were dancing, the big guy went face to face with Jon, who then joined us, telling us the Rastafarian wanted to sell him cocaine. Soon the guy, and he was well-built, demanded Jon’s attention again and they argued, but I kept on dancing, staying out of the drama until Jon came up to talk to us again.

The big guy followed him and tapped him on the shoulder. Jon turned and the big guy punched him in the face. Jon went down. As we helped him up, we could see Dawit and the big guy shouting at each other. Our friend was trying to protect us, and looked ready to fight if necessary. Then, suddenly, Dawit turned and ran from the building. The big guy gave chase.

Edeline had been watching everything, and was in a state of panic. The big guy was now chasing her friend Dawit. We headed outside and tried to get Jon to come away. Edeline in tears and desperate to know what was happening with Dawit, went back into the Casa de Reggae to see what she could find out about the big guy. Matthew and Jon went after her, and she told them she had seen that he had a gun, which is why Dawit fled.

Carole and I had begun to walk in the direction of Praça da Sé, where there would be cars, street lights and with those came relative safety. But as we passed Casa de Jorge Amado, it became apparent we had made a mistake. We were two white girls alone in what had now become an antagonistic world. The faces in the dark doorways were still there, laughing menacingly.

Thank God the others caught us up. But as we made our way through the menacing streets, we realised someone was following us. It was the big guy. Edeline disappeared down a sidestreet in search of Dawit, hoping he was safe, fearing the worst.

Our pursuer caught up with us as we reached Tierra de Jesus. He headed straight for Matthew and Jon. Carole and I hung back – we did not yet know that he had a gun, but his eyes were angry. He was wanting to get to Jon, but Matthew intervened, and tried to talk a way out of the situation. Jon disappeared into the darkness. We walked, the big guy walked with us, not taking his eyes off Matthew. I felt sick with fear for Matthew, but somehow we reached Praça da Sé and, in the distance, a taxi rank.

But he wouldn’t let us go. To run would have been a mistake, but I was furious that we were having to grovel and feign friendship (yeah bro’) with this horrible man. And as hysteria set in, I began to attack him verbally. What I said, I don’t recall – all it earned me was his face two inches from mine, as he leaned forward to intimidate and eyeball me. If I had been male, I think I would have been a punched or worse (I still didn’t know about the gun).

Matthew intervened again, asking the guy not to hurt Dawit as he was also our ‘friend.’ That prompted a tirade about how Dawit was not a ‘real’ Rastafarian. On and on he ranted. He was psychotic.

Finally, we made it to the taxi rank. There was still no sign of Jon, we could only hope he had reached the square before us and was already on his way back to the hostel.

Back in the safety of Campo Grande, we were stunned at what had just happened. No Jon, but thankfully there was a rap on the door later, and there he was. He said he had gone to a Police Box for help but had been turned away. His face is badly grazed, but otherwise, he is in one piece.

Sleep was a long time coming as I worried about Edeline and Dawit. They had been so good to us, yet look at the trouble we had brought their way.

Day 341 – May 8^th 1991 – Salvador de Bahia

After a breakfast post-mortem of the previous night’s events Jon, with grazed rather than bruised face, was able to ring Edeline and learn that, to our relief, both she and Dawit had gotten away unscathed. That’s the last time they’ll befriend four white strays in Pelourinho!

We had to return to Praça da Sé and the jewellery shop as we were due to pick up my engagement ring, so took at taxi there to find it wasn’t ready. We got the bus back, getting away as quickly as possible and didn’t run into any of our ‘friends.’

But we were back in Pelourinho later this afternoon, again in a taxi, which took us via Casa de Jorge Amado (bad memories) to change a book for Carole. We kept the taxi waiting, then had him take us up to the jewellery shop.

My ring is absolutely gorgeous! I was so happy I almost cried. To be honest, it isn’t really anything like the picture we had selected in the catalogue but I think it is even nicer. It looks great! [2021 postscript: Still wearing the ring today of course, and it is certainly unique – I have never seen another like it. Having handpicked the emerald and diamonds, it is very special. I should say, however, that I didn’t actually put it on in public until we were in departure lounge at Rio airport heading for home. While there are gems aplenty in Brazil, a Western tourist walking around with a sparkling gold and emerald ring might be a target for robbers].

We left the shop feeling very happy and almost went for the bus, but then a taxi passed and we hopped in. Thank goodness we did, because as we drove slowly in front of the cathedral, the big guy who last night chased us with the gun was sitting on the steps. Our eyes might have met for a brief second, but I don’t know. He didn’t show any sign of recognition and didn’t come after our taxi – a little Beetle with open windows and no front seat, he would have had no problems swinging a punch at us!

Our final evening in Salvador was a complete contrast to the past two nights. After much deliberation, Matthew, Carole and I took a bus round the bay to Rio Vermelho where Carole reckoned there might be some ‘life.’ There wasn’t, so we climbed the hill to a posh hotel which had a music bar. There seemed to be a function on, and who should be at the door, but the nice girl from the jewellery shop!

She let us in to a room full of rich Brazilians here for a tourism conference. Carole met a woman she had stayed with somewhere else in Brazil – a painter whose work was on display at the conference. It’s small world.

We went up to the music bar where the one guy who was singing stopped as soon as we came in, and bought an expensive drink (290czs for a beer and 180czs for a mineral water). As there wasn’t anything happening, we headed back down to the tourism function because the musician Gilberto Gil was supposed to be playing. He was there, but not making any music. So instead we had three (complimentary) very large vodka/lime/sugar drinks (caipirinhas) and a few hors d’oeuvres – Matthew and Carole even managed to get a plate of beef stroganoff each! We got quite tiddly, had a great night, and were the last to leave.

Day 342 – May 9^th 1991 – Salvador de Bahia

A quiet day after the week’s excitement. We packed our bags and took an hour-long bus ride to the Rodavario where we bought bus tickets for Porto Seguro, had lunch, and said goodbye to Carole.

We wandered through the city streets for the last time before waiting in the hostel kitchen until it was time to get a taxi (yet another wild driver) back to the Rodavario. Our nice, comfie bus left at 9pm – there is a toilet on board so no stops for disembarkation overnight.

While Salvador was certainly an experience, I admit to breathing a sigh of relief as we left the city behind.

Day 343 – May 10^th 1991 – Arraial d’Ajuda (near Porto Seguro)

I slept a bit on the bus and we arrived in Porto Seguro around 8am and took a taxi to the ferry which took us across the river, then a minibus with a German and two Bahians intent on selling us jewellery to a pousada (hostel) in Arraial d’Ajuda.

The owner tried to make us believe he was doing us a favour by fitting five people into one room (two on the floor), but we said no thanks, and found somewhere else for 3,000czs with breakfast. It’s a small, cobwebby room with bathroom, but it’s got character, and the two lads who run it did give us breakfast when we arrived.

We are not far from the beach where there are many little bars, golden sand and warm sea.  We spent the day sunning ourselves and swimming, and the evening drinking beer and wine and eating sandwiches while swinging in the two hammocks outside our room. [2021 postscript: Take me out of lockdown in the UK and back to Ajuda PLEASE…!]

This is a pretty little village, but virtually every building is a pousada, a restaurant or both. It’s not peak season though, hence a lack of tourists and excess of empty rooms.

We have left our money belts with our passports, travellers’ cheques, plane tickets, money and my ring, with the guys who run our pousada. They seem trustworthy, although they admitted they don’t have a safe. We are the only guests here, and I don’t think they would steal from us, but we can’t be sure how secure their house is. I guess it is going to be safer than leaving our stuff on the beach.

Day 344 – May 11^th 1991 – Arraial d’Ajuda

We walked further down the beach where it is quieter and better for swimming. Lovely sun and an abundance of beautiful bodies, male and female, being exposed to the very limit. Buttocks everywhere! I realised just how faded and lacking in elasticity my trusty bikini has become, so, once out of eyeshot of the masses, I hoisted it over my very white bum in preparation for the new bikini I am going to treat myself to when I hit Rio! [2021 postscript: Definitely no photos to share here!]

We hung around the town in the evening and discovered how expensive food it. We waited for the Lambada Bar to open and when it finally did, around midnight, there were only a few punters. They were all excellent dancers. All of a sudden, I was the only female left in the vicinity of the floor, and two guys, one very good and one a bit slimy, tried to teach me the steps. I tried very hard, but as my mum would say, I have two left feet. We gave up and went home, Matthew suffering from a bad stomach – probably the result of the expensive dinner!

Day 345 – May 12^th 1991 – Arraial d’Ajuda

Matthew’s stomach still bad so I went into town to get some Lomotil which proved as effective as it had been with me in Coro, and we were able to head back to the beach for another lazy sun-filled day. We ate at a cheaper café on the way back to the pousada (500czs for the dish of the day rather than 2,000czs elsewhere). The prices here are really extortionate! We chatted to an American and an Israeli who raved about the lager in England and Scotland and told us Rio was a dodgy place.

Spent the night reading and writing in the hammock before heading to bed (that damp, musty-smelling bed in that musty and dusty room, attached to the doorless, now-beginning-to-smell bathroom!)

Day 346 – May 13^th 1991 – Arraial d’Ajuda to Porto Seguro

Stupid bus times and even more stupid banking hours mean that instead of sitting on bus to Belo Horizonte we are now stuck in a different pousada in Porto Seguro. We slept until 10.30am, had breakfast, retrieved our valuables, thankfully intact, and walked to the village. Waiting for the bus, the very sexy, barely clad ‘waitress’ who had failed to charge us for lunch on our first day at the beach, and who has kept popping up from time to time – in our pousada, on the streets and on the beach – came over to say she was coming to work in London (she named a café in Campden High Street), and maybe we would call in sometime and get another free lunch.

I do admire her friendliness, work ethic, desire to learn English and her wish to travel, all of which are taking her to London. “It’s beautiful, is it not?” she asks pleadingly. “It’s London,” Matthew answered.

The bus took us to the ferry and the ferry to the edge of Porto Seguro, from where we walked to the Banco de Brasil, and were politely told we could not change money as it was 1.20pm and the bank shut at 1pm.

Not happy, we eventually found ourselves in a travel agency where we discovered we could not change money anywhere today and the buses for Belo Horizonte left at 9am and 1.30pm. Frustrated, we checked into a 3,000czs (no breakfast) pousada – at least it is clean and doesn’t smell, before eating a tasteless lunch in a vegetarian restaurant which obviously has not yet discovered spices. We walked a mile along the front in search of a beach and as the sun was going down, found a patch of dirty sand large enough to sit on. Shivering with cold, we sat looking out at the murky, fierce, sea. What a day!

We headed back to the veggie restaurant for dinner (tasteless pizza) and were served by a 12-year-old dressed in a pyjama top. Back at the pousada, we found our room had another one of the uniquely Brazilian showers, ie lots of electrical wires leading into the shower head. So far, they’ve been safe enough, but I’m sure something sparked when I turned it on this evening. You can’t be too careful…

Day 347 – May 14^th 1991 – Porto Seguro

Stuck here for yet another day when Visa refused to give Matthew any money – Why? Why? Oh why? Of course, no one would let us buy cash on Mastercard, so had to settle for a crap rate of 375czs for each of our £40. The woman in the agency stared at it, shook her head and waved it away like it was used loo roll. Sterling means nothing in this country – the US$ says it all.

Off to the Rodavario – why do they always stick them as far away from town as possible, especially when local bus services seem few and far between. Our dilemma – do we spend all but 1,000czs of the money we have left on bus tickets to Belo Horizonte and not eat for two days with the guarantee of cash in BH – was resolved when we found the 1.30pm bus was full. In desperation we booked onto the 9.30pm bus to Vitória which was half the price, and put in the day looking around the pretty old historical town, where it poured, walking by the harbour, and sitting in the hotel where they kindly allowed us to stay on at no extra charge. We are/were the only guests.

Ate dinner in a poshish restaurant run by a woman who had lived in the US for 20 years, and told us that the post would take 30 days to reach the UK. Tragic when both Matthew and I has just written mega letters home. Thankfully we were able to pay for dinner by Mastercard.

Matthew not feeling great – he now has a cold and seems pretty run down.

The bus to Vitória was similar to that which brought us to Porto Seguro, but swayed from side to side more and had airplane-style lockers. I think Diana [my sister] stayed near Vitória for two months but I don’t know where. And with a telephone call to the UK costing more than £4 a minute I don’t know if I will get the chance to find out.

Day 348 – May 15^th 1991 – Vitória

In about 8am. Vitória is a big, busy, trafficy town, although the centre is on an island and there are some quite nice hills around. Breakfast, then bus to the Europa Hotel which is, as the book says, ‘cheap (1,800 czs) and noisy’.

It took us ages to find a bank which accepted Mastercard. Several had Mastercard signs on their doors, but denied all knowledge of it when we went in to ask. We finally found success at the Banco Mercantile do Sau Paulo where the cashiers were most impressed that we could speak Portuguese (they included me in that!)

Back in our hotel room on the third floor we managed, by some miracle, to sleep for a couple of hours despite the noise of the traffic honking, dooting and roaring outside. Matthew watched Man Utd beat Barcelona in the European Cup Final – well played Bryan Robson! (I watched a replay of the goals).

We phoned Matthew’s parents – £2 a minute and they charged a full £2 extra when we went two seconds over! But we didn’t have to wait long to make the call, and all seems okay across the Atlantic. It sounds like they got all our cards, letters and the parcel from Miami, so hopefully than means Mum and Dad have received their letter too.  Matthew still feeling a bit fluey, so went to bed early with a plan to spend tomorrow sightseeing, and get an overnight bus to Rio de Janiero.      

Day 349 – May 16^th 1991 – Vitória

Matthew woke in the night with a burning temperature, aching all over and not very well at all. Then he couldn’t get back to sleep and I was a bit worried that he might be getting delirious. But he did doze off eventually, and woke at 7am soaked in sweat, but with a reduced temperature. He moved into the third bed in the room (lucky to have this) and I dosed him with Aspirin.

During the day, after bread, juice and fruit for breakfast, he wasn’t getting any better, but at least he didn’t seem to be getting any worse, so at 2.15pm I headed off alone to explore the old town.  The only things of interest were the cobblestones and the odd building – basically it seems to be where the rich of Vitória have their posh apartments. At least it was quieter traffic-wise.

When I got back after an hour, Matthew’s temperature was up again, so I found a chemist and asked in pigeon Portuguese for something to lower the temperature. The guy gave me four tablets, but when I didn’t have the correct change he disappeared into the back and came out with a glass of water and one table for me!!! So I took the tablet (he didn’t charge me) left the water and returned to the invalid who seemed to be getting worse.

I asked the hotel lady where there was a doctor, she gave me directions to a hospital, I got Matthew up and dressed and we set out. She sent her little old husband to show us the way, which was really kind. We had to pay 6,000czs for a consultation, which was conducted in Portuguese as the doctor didn’t speak any English. We suggested malaria, and he assured us there was no malaria in Vitória, but he didn’t seem so confident when we said we had been in Amazonia, Roraima and Salvador.

Matthew still pretty hot this morning, but had slept well so at 10am we decided to go for it and get the bus to Rio. Paid 1,000czs for a taxi to the Rodavario as Matthew was too weak to walk in search of buses.  We were lucky to get seats on the 12.10pm bus.

The countryside en route was very pretty. Lots of green fields and hills which reminded me a little of the limestone peaks in Yangshuo, China in their interesting and unusual shapes.

I have still to decide whether Rio Harbour is as striking – or more so – than Hong Kong Harbour, but the drive in was certainly beautiful – miles of bridges over water, the statue of Christ on the hill, lights, tower blocks, ships, stars – really stunning.

We arrived at 8pm and got a taxi to a good hotel with a radio in the room, quite near the city centre. We hadn’t eaten anything all day except chocolate and crisps (me) so had some food (omelette for me and soup for Matthew) before another early night.

Day 351 – May 18^th 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

As we will be in Rio until we fly home on the 30^th we decided we should rent a flat rather than stay in a hotel. But finding a flat was not so easy. We rang the ‘English spoken’ agency advertised in the newspaper, only to find no one there spoke English.

The hotel receptionist telephoned another agency in Copacabana for us, and before we knew it, we were on a bus to the famous beach! We got out a bit early, so walked through streets lined with very expensive shops to the agency. First, they showed us a real dump, in what was admittedly a nice looking apartment block, with cockroaches crawling all around the door. They were letting it for 4,500czs a day, but even the girl who showed us it was not impressed.

Then it was on to a luxury flat – gorgeous, but 9,000czs a day.  The next one, at 6,000czs, wasn’t so nice. After negotiation and much deliberation on our part, we agreed to take the top tier flat for 7,000 per day. A kind couple with a child, who were also in the agency looking for a rental, gave us a lift back to our hotel to collect our bags and then back to the agency. But while we were gone, they discovered the flat we had agreed on was not actually available, so we sat there for another hour or so waiting to see if they could come up with something.

Eventually we caught a taxi to an okay flat, with one bedroom, a little TV, and three gas rings in a tiny kitchen (pictured above, along with the outside of the apartments), for 5,500czs. We said we would take it, but when we returned with our bags, the place stank of gas, which seemed to be coming from a lethal looking heater in the bathroom. Back down to ring the agency, and wait (angrily) for another 45 minutes for a maintenance guy. It turns out the gas on the heater is on and the pilot light had blown out. He sorted everything out, and we have decided to stay on in what is really a very comfie little 12^th floor flat – very secure.

We got to the supermarket in time to stock up on groceries and cooked a lovely pasta dinner.

Day 352 – May 19^th 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

The traffic noise from Avenida Nossa Senhora de Copacabana never stops, even on the 12^th floor (view from our apartment above), so we are going to have to get used to it. We spent a restful morning washing clothes and eating before walking to Ipanema via Copacabana – both beaches are stunning and not too crowded. Clear blue water, whitish sand and, best of all, islands stretching into the distance.  From Copacabana, Sugar Loaf Mountain stood impressively looking over the bay. The sun came out and it was really nice.

We visited the hippy market at Ipanema, looking mainly for a bikini for me, but there were none to be had. We did get a couple of gifts for people back home. The market wasn’t crowded, and there wasn’t the pressure to buy from stallholders as there was in the market in Salvador de Bahia.

Walking back, we came upon ‘The Crazy Gringo’ bookstall, run by an American guy with a great selection of books. He has been there 18 months and is open every day and was very friendly. We were able to pick up a couple of intact Jorge Amado books for 600czs each – a third the price of the books in Casa de Jorge Amado.

There were no veg shops or supermarkets open, so had to make a meal with what was left over from yesterday.

Day 353 – May 20^th 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

We got our money (Visa said yes this time!) and paid the remainder of the rent at the agency, walked to our flat and waited… and waited… and waited. For what?

The sun, of course. We are both rundown and tired, Matthew is still feeling ill and taking his tablets, I am pasty faced and grumpy, I’ve got a skimpy new bikini and I’m all ready to bare my ‘white bits’ and there’s no bloody sun.

Add to this the realisation that we have just over a week of our backpacking adventure left and I am mega depressed. Looking out at the grey skies, I could be back home. I have no energy or enthusiasm to go so sightseeing.

So I took a shower and am about to watch Sleeping with the Enemy on our little TV. Good job Rio has MTV to keep us entertained.

Day 354 – May 21^st 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

Copacabana and/or Ipanema beaches. Pity about the quality of the photos
(and the clouds!)

The sun looked like coming out, so we hit the beach. There were few others there. We sat and watched the sky (me with crossed fingers). It opened up around us, but the sun stayed persistently behind the clouds and haze. Matthew made it into the very rough sea, I was too cold to venture in, so spent the day saying ‘No obrigada’ to sellers of drinks, ice-creams etc who ploughed up and down the beach non stop. I bet they were wishing the sun would come out every bit as much as me – then they might have some punters!

We went back to the flat for lunch, returning at 3.30 as the sun had finally broken through, to find the tall buildings running along the beach blocked it completely! Ah well. Matthew went off and bought a Pro Kadima set and we had a pretty energetic game on the now almost deserted beach.

Before heading home, we watched four guys play volleyball using only their heads and feet, no hands. They were really skilful. As Matthew is finally finished his course of tablets, we headed out for a drink in one of the quiet, none-too-cheap, cafes on the front at Copacabana.

Day 355 – May 22^nd 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

The sun finally made it out today and Copacabana Beach was transformed into a mass of semi-naked bodies of varying shades. The drink sellers were numerous – and happy! Karen was also happy, and made it into the shallow water on several occasions. We played an exhausting game of Pro Kadima and were back at the flat for lunch, walking via the veg shop.

At 3pm we caught a bus (yes, the bus drivers here are the worst / fastest / most careless I have come across yet, worse even than in India) to Av Pasteur and the Pão de Açúcar (Sugarloaf) cable car. We had to wait 25 minutes for a car to Morro da Urca, the halfway point. From there the view was stunning, and it was even more amazing from the top of Sugar Loaf Mountain itself.

Far away, a black starlit sky, around us distant hills silhouetted by the red of the setting sun, the lights of Rio city reaching up the hills with grappling fingers. Far below, the traffic crawling along the harbour road. The small airport, planes taking off below us, switching off the ‘no smoking’ signs as they came near Sugar Loaf, its peak still 100m above them. And, in the distance but clearly visible, Corcovado Mountain, the iconic statue of Christ the Redeemer glowing on the hill, awesome.

There was a little breeze, but it was a warm, balmy night. Copacabana, now deserted, and the streets of the city were a long way below us. On the mountain, there was a creperie, a bar, and a jeweller’s, but it was quiet and very beautiful. We had a couple of beers before getting the cable car down and the bus back to the flat for dinner. It was nowhere near as exciting as the Merida cable car, but still nerve wracking!

Day 356 – May 23^rd 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

Another gorgeous day, so spent the morning on the beach. Came back to the flat for lunch, did some exercises (!!!), had a shower and by the time we were ready to go sightseeing it was 4pm. So we just walked around the streets, looking for shoes for Matthew (none big enough) a drum (they only had tiny ones, or ones painted red and white) and an Olodum tape (ended up buying a record as they had no cassettes). [2021 postscript: CDs had been invented, but not sure if they had reached Brazil in 1991.]

As dusk fell, the poor families, mainly mother and/or granny and two or three kids, were making their beds for the night on cardboard in the doorways of expensive shops. It is so sad to see such poverty amidst such wealth – and the kids – no home, no school, no bed, no hygiene. One big difference is that, unlike in India, they do not look to be starving. But then there is so much more wealth here than in Delhi.

Since moving into the flat we’ve hardly spoken any Portuguese at all, probably because we aren’t eating in restaurants, talking to locals in hotels etc. In some ways it doesn’t bother me, but I think I am just getting lazy because we are going home in a week.

Day 357 – May 24^th 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

A beautiful day, but guilt made me forego the beach in order to explore more of the city – after all, it’s not like I’m on holiday!

We took a bus to the centre to the National History Museum to see a ‘module’ on colonisation and independence. It’s been there for five years, and there are three more modules still to come! It was fairly interesting, and pleasantly short!

After lunch, it was on to the Sao Bento Monastery which we found was shut for a two-hour lunch break, and would not have allowed me in in shorts anyhow. The view, described by the guidebook as ‘intimate,’ did not appear, so we headed back towards the centre and the Candelária Church which was beautiful but far from peaceful – it looked like they were preparing for the arrival of royalty – flowers, red carpet, the lot! Then it was on to the Museum of Fine Art. We debated going up Corcovado, but Matthew was feeling tired, so bused it home.

This evening, equipped with 7,000czs, we walked to Jazzmania in Ipanema, where we found it was 6,000czs each to go in, plus 2,000czs each minimum consumption. Instead, we called into a couple of local bars, but no one knew where there was any live music on.

Would you believe, we ended up drinking caipirinhas and listening to a group playing Beatles’ cover songs! Decided to walk back rather than get a taxi and had no problems on the way.

Day 358 – May 25^th 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

We spent the morning on the packed-to-capacity beach and the afternoon looking for a market, which proved to be very disappointing, at the far end of Copacabana. In the end, we passed an hour watching guys (full skip, referee, etc) playing a very serious football match, barefoot, in the soft sand. Impressive, although a lot of them had bandages on knees, muscles etc.

This evening we headed to the cinema to see Gerard Depardieu in ‘Green Card’ which was really good and cheered us up. Then we found maggots in the aubergines from the ‘fresh’ fruit and veg shop which was very sad.

Day 359 – May 26^th 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

Ipanema Beach was very busy this morning. After a swim, we walked up to Leblon and watched some girls play no hands volleyball. Very impressive. We headed to the hippy market to buy presents. Almost bought Diana [my sister] an ecologically sound t-shirt, decided against it, then came back to found the seller had gone. I bought Dad a leather whiskey bottle, as if he’ll ever use it. [2021 postscript: I can assure you he never did use it – ridiculous item that it was. I have never been too good at choosing gifts for others sadly…]

Futebol is big here, so we headed to the Maracana Stadium, the biggest in the world, for a 5pm kick-off between Fluminense and Bragantina.  Arrived at 5 to find the place, which seats 200,000, was packed to capacity. The atmosphere was incredible! So much noise.

We found ourselves among the Bragantina (Sao Paulo) fans which was good as they were the better team, scoring a great goal in virtually the last minute. Quite an evening -samba drums, crackers, flaming kites, a stunning purple sunset around the Maracana bowl – and an incredibly long bus ride back home (our mistake).

Day 360 – May 27^th 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

Spent the morning alone on Copacabana Beach as Matthew went on a successful mission to buy a drum. The waves were crazy, they ate up half the beach – no shallows bathing for me!

This afternoon we took a long bus ride to Cosme Vehlo to get the tram/railway up to the top of Corcovado and the statue of Christ the Redeemer. Again, we made it up just as dusk was falling. It is a beautiful, simple yet impressive sculpture, huge, but smaller than I had imagined considering how he dominates the skyline in virtually any part of Rio. The view in all directions was breathtaking, the sunset stunning.

An even longer bus ride back, via Leblon, then headed out to the Churrascaria restaurant where we were quite embarrassed by the overly-polite waiters. But Matthew had loads of meat – three course and he could have had more if he had wanted! It knocked him out, quite literally.

Day 361 – May 28^th 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

Finding a bank that does Mastercard doesn’t get any easier, even in Copacabana. And yet again KLM’s computer was down so we weren’t confirm our flight to London or order a vegetarian meal.

It took until 12.45pm to get money, and our plan to go to Petropolis looked to be out, especially as the bus ride to the rodavaria was long and frustrating. But we got the 2.15pm bus and reached Petropolis at 3.30pm after a gorgeous drive through the lush, green mountains (to see grass and fields again – what a joy!).

We headed straight for the beautiful Imperial Palace, former home of Don Pedro II and his wife Teresa Marie, one of the (Portuguese) monarchs of Brazil. It is a very beautiful, well maintained building and admission was only 100czs! Visitors are asked to wear felt slippers over their shoes to keep the floor polished.

We found the Cathedral was closed, so stocked up on food in the supermarket and got the bus back to Rio and Copacabana for a late tea. Fortunately Matthew was finally able to get through to KLM so all systems are go. We will land in London at 12 noon local time on Friday!

Only two nights left! I’m so nervous. What about, I don’t know – I keep pinning down the fact that I don’t have money or a job to go to – help!

Day 362 – May 29^th 1991 – Rio de Janeiro

Spent the day on the beach aiming for that last minute tan top-up. We played a few games of Pro Kadima and had some great swims – the sea has turned calm and was gorgeous to plunge into. In the evening, we had a good meal and then headed to a live music bar just up the road after a couple of cheap caipirinhas in ‘Tony’s.’

There was no charge to get into the music bar, but they did charge us 1,700czs to get out! We had a good time, getting somewhat merry and dancing to cover songs and even a little jazz and lambada, not rolling home until after midnight. It was an enjoyable last night in Rio.

It is hard to accept that this is also our last night of our whole year on the road. I am very excited about going home and seeing everyone, a little nervous about the long flight and what might lie ahead in terms of work, sad about having to say goodbye to Matthew, but so happy in so many, many ways. [2021 postscript: Matthew was going back to his parents’ home in Beckenham, Kent, after we landed in Heathrow, and I was flying straight to Belfast to spend time with my family in Banbridge. How long we would be apart remained to be seen].

Day 363 – May 30^th – Rio de Janeiro and homeward bound

We got up fairly early and headed to the beach for the very last time. We didn’t sunbathe, but sat and looked around, taking in the sea, the beautiful scenery, the bronzed bodies, the hawkers going up and down on the sand. It is so hard to believe that we will be home tomorrow.

We packed, showered, ate lunch and tidied the flat. All set to go when the manager asked us for a 3,200czs cleaning fee. This led to an argument as this had not been something stated in the rental agreement [2021 postscript: When you have been travelling for a year and keeping an eye on every penny or cruzeiro, a reaction to being ‘ripped off’ or ‘diddled’ is automatic, even if you will be back in home comforts in a matter of hours!] In the end we paid him 2,000czs and departed Copacabana in a taxi.

Our final drive out of Rio was terrifying. We sped through the hot, sunlit streets, past the lake and the mountains, through tunnels under the statue of Christ the Redeemer, past the favelas and the docks, the harbour and the bridge, to the airport. The driver went far too fast and was careless in the extreme – but if it were any different, it wouldn’t be Brazil.

And finally – after 12 international flights and only a couple of minor delays over the past year – we found our last and most important flight to Amsterdam (with a connection to London) was delayed by three hours. Disappointed, we phoned home to break the news.

But time passed. At 8pm Rio time, the huge Jumbo 747-400, carrying its full capacity of 410 passengers, revved up and lifted off from Rio de Janeiro, en route to Amsterdam via the huge Atlantic Ocean, Tenerife, Spain and France. Ten and three quarter hours non-stop, our longest flight yet. From Amsterdam, a 40 minute flight to London, then an hour to Belfast, and at last I’ll be home.

A year of discoveries and excitement, of upsets and revelations, of joy and love.

One chapter ended. Time for another to begin…

The End.