March's Caption Competition

This months prize gives you the chance to win 3 previously unseen photos from the hidden vault of The Adventures of James Peel. These pictures have remained out of the pubic domain for some time now but if you are the lucky winner of this months competition they could be all yours. (Please note these photos are not necessarily of a professional quality and could well be photos of my finger covering the lens)

All you have to do to win this fantastic prize is think of an amusing caption for the following picture:

 

Normal rules apply......

Please send your entry's to:

jpeel@live.co.uk

• Entries must be received before 7th April 2009

• Applicants must reside in the UK or Australia

• Multiple entries are welcomed

• Please include you full postal address with each entry

• The winner will be announced when I get round to it

A Day at the Races

Yesterday I was lucky enough to attend the 20th Australian Grand Prix in Albert Park, Melbourne. The day started off with some fantastic weather so I met up with an old friend from uni, Lee "Spuffer" Dore, and had a stereotypical Australian BBQ with Steaks, Shrimps and pretty much the full works. Spuffer has lived in Melbourne for the past 9 months and now knows the area quite well. This has been a real god send for Rory and myself. He has taught us how to navigate the city, introduced us to a few of his friends and has pretty much been our guide for the past week. One of his main warnings about the Melbourne GP was that the price of everything within Albert park gets inflated 10 fold. A small can of beer was selling for around £10 and a portion of chips was around £5, in my current financial situation that was just not an realistic option. He also advised that we could not take our own drinks into the arena, which was even more frustrating. This called for emergency action, so I devised the newly patented "bottle of whisky in a loaf of bread" trick and it worked brilliantly. So for around the price of 2 x F1 beers, Spuffer and myself were fully set for the days proceeding with plenty of liquor and a freshly baked crusty snack for when we got hungry. To make things even more exciting, British driver Jenson Button qualified in pole and stood a fairly good chance of winning the race. I obviously jumped straight on the bandwagon and was now the biggest Jenson Button fan in the whole of Australia. The race itself was very exciting with plenty of incidents. Even Lewis Hamilton managed to grab himself 4th after starting 15th and there were a few good crashes (He has since been promoted to 3rd due to disqualification of 3rd place). As soon as the GP finished we climbed the fence and ran to watch the winners ceremony and the spraying of champagne above the pit lane. Jenson inevitably won so we got to hear the British national anthem whilst standing on the finishing straight. This was all very exciting and made for a great day out, especially for a Brit.

Just as a little bonus, the GP ticket included entry to The Who's gig after the race. So, as soon as we had finished climbing fences and hunting for F1 memorabilia, we made our way to the concert arena and got ourselves as close to the stage as possible. On route we bumped into ex-Westlife singer Brian McFadden and his Australian girlfriend, Delta Goodrem, but they didn't really want to speak. Apparently we weren't supposed to be the VIP area in the first place, so we were soon ushered out despite my strong "I'm famous in Wymondham, Norfolk" argument. Seeing The Who live was an experience in itself. Witnessing Roger Doltrey and Pete Townsend rocking away in their sixties is something quite astonishing. With their lifestyle choices I'm surprised they can still talk let alone sing and play complex guitar solos.

Sadly, I'm still in the market for a job and in desperate need of employment. But on the bright side, yesterday's activities highlighted a new potential career path that I had previously neglected. I could be quite a good secret agent if I put my mind to it. I've got Foreign associates, smuggling contraband experience, I've infiltrated multiple restricted areas and to top it off my first name is James. Her Majesties Secret Service here I come.

Rory the Builder

Organisation has been a hobby of mine for some years now and I have been indulging in it passionately over the past few days. I have already obtained my national tax number, opened a bank account, signed up for a football team, viewed 6 apartments, applied for 50 jobs and became a member of Melbourne Library. Pretty good going considering I've only been it the country 5 days. The annoying thing is, job hunting isn't going exactly to plan.  Although Australians haven't been that effected by the credit crunch, they are now starting to take precautionary measures to prevent it effecting them any more than necessary. In doing so they are cutting back on employing foreign workers and sadly that includes me. However, yesterday Rory secured a job as a builder and made his first steps towards becoming a Melbournite. For the next few days, until I land myself a job, I'm going to play housewife and ensure he has a good healthy meal waiting for him on the table when he get home from a hard days graft.

The Jungle Crooks

A month ago I was sad to be leaving India and wished I could have extended my stay. Despite the two experiences being so wildly different, I was sat in Bangkok airport yesterday thinking the very same about south east Asia. It was nothing like what I expected, it was clean, the people were friendly and there was a general efficiency about everything. I had an image in my head of dirty little, crime filled alley ways and canals filled with the corpses of mangled dogs, but I was very much wrong. I will admit we didn't stray far from the tourist and commercial areas, so we only witnessed the more attractive sights, but I was still expecting things to be far worse than they were.

The pinnacle of cleanliness and efficiency was Singapore. It had everything you could ever desire all in a neatly presented and user friendly format. The disappointment was that, to so much as survive there for more that 3 days, requires a disposable income equivalent to that of a premiership footballer. After escaping moments before bankruptcy was imminent, the next leg of the journey took us through Malaysia and we got our first real glimpse of the Jungle environment. Singapore's concrete had sheltered us from the wilderness but the moment we crossed over the boarder to Malaysia there it was, densely packed shrubbery for as far as the eyes could see. It was while we were in amongst the foliage that one of my fondest memories of Malaysia occurred, our DIY jungle trek.

The village people of the Cameron Highlands were about as friendly as they come. So friendly that instead of charging us any money for a guided jungle tour the organiser printed us two maps and advised, that as we were fit young men and appeared worldly wise, we could do the trek ourselves. We couldn't believe our luck, not only did he provide us with the routes to take but also didn't require any form of payment. It backfired spectacularly. After around 5 hours the route led us through an aborigine village in the middle of nowhere. We got so lost, we had to ask for advice from local children to put us back on the right track. How we would have found it without them I will never know. The path eventually continued through somebody's back garden in between two chicken coops and between a gap in the foliage around the length and depth of an ironing board. Things got even worse about 2 hours later when we discovered that the route we were taking had been hit by a major landslide and the path was now around 200m below us. Needless to say we were impossibly lost. We had to make a diversion, of roughly 3 miles, out of our way before we rediscovered another route to safety. To top it all, our only provision consisted of 1/4 of a bottle of water that had accidentally been left in our travel bag. I kept thinking "What would Ray Mears do?" and looking back the simple answer was that Ray Mears wouldn't be daft enough to enter a jungle with nothing but a dribble of water and James Peel for company. Poor Rory had to put up with my Jungle Book medley that lasted around 3 hours and my constant nagging. "Oh go on let me drink it. If you get thirsty ill drain you some fresh water out of a bamboo tree. I've seen it done on TV, honest."

We eventually returned from the jungle, somehow without Rory pushing me off a bridge, and started islands hoping. This section of the journey was brilliant for making friends. Everywhere we went, we met new people. To be honest I'm getting sick of all the Facebook friends requests, I just can't keep up with them. It was also where I decided to curb my spending and become Mr. Thrifty. It's in my blood to be careful with money. My Father is one of the finest financial-accumulators ever to have lived, yet remains wonderfully generous. Recently it occurred to me that I was haemorrhaging money at an unsustainable rate and would be heading back to England long before planned if I didn't alter my lifestyle. I've gone down to 2 square meals a day, unless breakfast is included with accommodation, and started carefully considering each and every purchase. Yet again this hasn't always paid off. An example of this was when I visited a pharmacy in Chiang Mai to get some new deodorant. I was wondering around the aisles searching for the cheapest option available, when I discovered a multi-pack of Thai Ultra Deodorant. The can was plain white à la Tesco basics and was wrapped in packs of 3 by cellophane. 3 cans for the price of one was just what I was looking for, my father would be proud. The other information on the can was written in Thai, a language I'm far from fluent in, so I just picked it up and walked to the counter. My basket contained the deodorant along with a couple of other items, moisturiser for my sun burn and "party feet" blister plasters, required for my sore trekking feet. As I paid the cashier was looking at me in a slightly odd and over friendly fashion but I thought little of it and walked back home. It turned out I had just purchased three cans of what can only be described as prostitutes perfume and it suddenly dawned on me, the items I had just purchased were hardly masculine.

For those unfamiliar with the Lady boy culture in Thailand, they are everywhere. I had just been to a shop and purchased female deodorant, some softer-skin moisturiser and a set of plasters designed to prevent blisters when wearing high heels. When in Rome......

Buses

For the past month, each and every time Rory and I have moved location we have had the pleasure of bus travel. Bus travel in south east Asia tends to come in two main forms, the A/C mini bus or the A/C coach. The first hurdle you have to overcome when arranging travel is to work out which of these modes of transport you will be taking. The advertisement board will read "Chiang Mai to Bangkok - A/C Bus - BT180" and without a working knowledge of advanced interrogation skills or a medieval torture rack to hand, you have little chance of discovering the type of vehicle you will be issued until it arrives to collect you.

We have experienced both versions of the A/C bus several times and they always share one thing in common, The A/C does not mean it will be pleasantly air conditioned. When I think of the term air conditioning, firstly I think of my friend Glenn Pitcher as he's practically a doctor in the trade, secondly some sort of device that circulates air around an enclosed space providing a form of thermal comfort. This could not be further from the case. So far we have endured 6 hours of a mini bus hot enough to bake bread and shivered on a coach for over 150km in temperatures roughly equal to that of a frozen food aisle in a supermarket. The second scenario would have been slightly more bearable if I wasn't wearing flip-flops, shorts and a vest, it was 30 degrees Celsius outside when I embarked and didn't feel a jumper and long johns were entirely necessary.

The other thing they share in common is that for each ticket you purchase, you are guaranteed to change vehicles at least 35 times. For example, you could be picked up by a taxi from your hotel and taken to a an entirely new travel agents premises 3 streets away, from here you are joined buy 10 other backpackers and shipped to a bus depot on the edge of the city. Here you jump on a coach with 50 others to travel to the ferry. At the port you are provided with a small colourful sticker for a ticket and told to jump on the boat. After a trip across the sea a man with the eyes of a hawk spots your sticker and shepherds you onto the roof of a pickup truck. You are then taken to a local car wash where you meet you next driver and together with 65 others you are crammed into a minibus, made to travel 100km in conditions that a channel crossing illegal immigrant would not be pleased with and dropped off about 2 miles short to your final destination, requiring one last Taxi before you finally arrive. That's a fairly typical journey.

The reason for this post is that last nights journey really took the biscuit. The overnight bus from Chiang Mai to Bangkok, a ten hour journey which we were promised would be on a coach. After the mandatory swapping of vehicles to begin with, we arrived at the bus station and discovered the bus was already three quarters full. By the time we managed to get our bags sorted and fill in the paper work we were the last two people to be seated. We were left with the choice of 2 seats, one next to a young, reasonably attractive female, with a reclining chair, arm rest and ample space or the middle seat on the back row. Knowing that Rory is more selective about his sleeping conditions than the princess and the pea, I let him have the comfy seat and I walked to the back row. As I got closer I could see that I was sharing the back 5 seats with only 2 others, so things were looking up. My new company consisted of the two grumpiest old German females I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. Within 10 second of me sitting down they had passed various cooked meats to each other, through me, over 200 times, all without so much as a "Danke". Although I was sat in the middle of them, it wasn't too bad as as it meant I had practically 2 seats, mine and a half of the spare seat either side. This didn't last long, for some reason that I still can't comprehend, they decide that as there was space on the seats they would move there bags from the floor, where they were perfectly happy, to the little spare room available. In doing so they now occupied the three seats to the right which, left me and one of the frauleins the two remaining seats to the left. Its still making me angry now. To make the situation worse the man in front decided to recline his chair until he was practically horizontal. This left his head uncomfortably close to my groin, so close that under other circumstances I would have pressed charges. So there I was in between the German versions of Tweedle dumb and Tweedle dee, in a seating arrangement that filled 95% of my field of view with the loose perm of the man in front. Needless to say, I got little sleep. I attempted to read my book but the strip lighting stopped 3 yards short on the back of the bus, meaning that to see the small font I had to tilt the book 45 degrees toward the light with the books bottom edge towards my chin and curl over it as if I was about to use it as a sick bag. I didnt get an awful lot of reading done either. Trying to remain positive I told myself "Only 8 hours to go"

After a short while the lady next to me decided it was bed time. She removed a travel pillow from her bag, like the ones you get on posh planes, and started puffing away. Once it was fully inflated she popped it round her neck and within 10 minutes she was asleep. After experimenting with various positions for comfort she finally found a winner and much to my delight it included me. She was now facing sideways looking towards the window, had her left knee raised next to her on the seat, her right knee outstretched beneath the chair in front and was using my shoulder as a back rest. At that moment in time I would have given almost anything to be in the possession of a pin. The only thing keeping me mildly amused was the reoccurring mental image of the pillow slowly deflating and her wakening to find me deep in a fake sleep. Luckily for her there were no pins in my vicinity, or anything even remotely acute for that matter, so she remained in her dreamy coma until we finally arrived in Bangkok. In my haste to get out of the vehicle I left my newly acquired trilby on the back seat, I had developed a cold overnight and was suffering severely from the effects of sleep deprivation. I don't know how Cliff Richard does it. I can honestly say I've not had 1 seconds worth of "Fun and Laughter" on a bus since I began this little holiday.

The Modern Monk

Yesterday, whilst visiting one of the many Buddhist temples in Chiang Mai, I bumped into the gentleman pictured above and I now have my own spiritual and morale advisor. My own personal Monk.

Speaking to the monks in Chiang Mai is reasonably common, they like to sit in the gardens of the temples and talk to the foreign visitors as a way of practicing their English. Over the last few days I have spoken to several monks about my life and asked questions about theirs. I get the impression they are just as interested, possibly fascinated, by my lifestyle as I am with theirs. For example, Christianity has the 10 commandments, 10 strict rules that should be abided throughout life. Buddhist monks have to adhere to over 23o similar rules. Their lives have two main purposes, to purify, train and learn their own minds and to use the knowledge and wisdom they gain to benefit society.

Yesterday's encounter introduced me to Phra John Janpen, an English language graduate and Monk from Chiang Mai University, who has studied here since he left Burma at the age of 14 (Phra is Johns title - Much like Mr, Mrs, Dr..... It roughly translates to Father or Monk). John was far more talkative than the other monks I had encountered and his English was extremely good. He had a wide range of interests some of which came as quite a surprise. Firstly, John was a bit of a film critic. His favourite genre was historic dramas and he loved the work of Ciara Knightly. He also had a wide taste in music and enjoyed almost any pop or rock from the last 50 years. His favourite artist at the moment is James Morrison, it was Brittany Spears but since her breakdown he had gone off her considerably.

John was very down to earth, as are most Buddhist monks, and lives his life by the teachings of Buddha but adapts them to suit modern society. The ethics and principals remain the same but the traditional practices are made more suitable for living in the 21st century. Upon departing he asked if he could offer me some advice. This came in various forms, rules on entering temples, points of interest in Chiang Mai, film suggestions and fashion tips. However, he then provided me with a small business card with his contact details on and said "One of my duties in life is to benefit society regardless of religion, colour or background. If at any point you need advice on any subject, whether it's your love-life, your career an important decision or simply just to talk, send me and email and I'll be pleased to help. "

I looked at him in surprise and said "You even have e-mail?"

He replied "Of course, I'm a modern monk"

The Comical Way Round

Today Rory and I were at a bit of a loose end and didn't really have any idea on what to do with our day. We are currently in the village of Kanchanaburi and are staying in the Jolly Frog Inn. This place is the location of the famous Bridge Over the River Kwai and, as we discovered upon arrival, an extremely popular place for sex tourists. Because we weren't overly keen on the idea of hanging out Garry Glitter's mates all day, we thought it best to go for a little outing. We discussed a few options and the best thing we could think of was to hire a motorbike.

We went to the bike rental shop just down the road and the woman in charge asked us what we wanted to hire. As designated driver I informed her I had ridden bikes for many years, and therefore had bags of experience, but I hadn't hit the road recently so could be a little rusty. This was not technically a lie as I had indeed clocked up many miles on two wheels. I had one of the longest paper rounds in the whole of Wymondham and held it for nearly 3 whole years before my retirement at 16. As far as motorbikes go, I'd never done more than a few laps of my grandad's farm.

The Lady obviously saw that I was talking pure rubbish, so suggested I went for something small and automatic. By this point I knew I wasn't going to get the Harley Davidson that I had my heart set on, but I thought id still retain some street cred if I got a nice little Lambretta with 2000 mirrors and popped a little Parker on. This was also not to be. How she kept a straight face when she wheeled the tiny little scooter onto the road, I will never know. It was a light blue, Yamaha hairdryer covered in limited edition Pokemon stickers and had a handy little basket on the front for keeping comic books, computer games, football stickers, etc. She then equipped us with helmets that provided about as much protection as egg shells and sent us on our way. After I sat pressing buttons and twisting levers for around 12 minutes, she realised her assumption was correct and I was indeed a complete novice. She provided me with the most patronising 30 second demonstration I have ever witnessed and gave me one more chance. The start was a little shaky but after 4 hours of driving at a cautious 7kph, I finally mastered it and Rory & I set of with the wind in our hair.

We didn't have any plans so we just drove around the small country lanes of Thailand, taking in the scenery. It was a roasting hot day so it was a great way to keep cool. On our trip we saw quite a few little attractions, a community of floating houses, a 2nd world war cemetery and a Buddhist temple located within a cave. We then decided to be a little more adventurous, Erawan national park was around 65km away along good roads so we decided to get going. En route we bumped into 2 French boys who were making the same journey and decided to follow them as they knew the way. Skid-lid Pete, as he was called, lead the way and after about an hour we decided to stop for some petrol but couldn't attract their attention for toffee, so they continued alone. It was here we read a leaflet on the park and discovered it closed at 4pm, the time was now 4.15pm. Skid-lid Pete and his friend would be arriving in 25 minutes to a closed national park, served him right for ignoring me. This was a bit of a disappointment, it meant we had travelled around 40km only to turn back and head home. By this point Rory had built up a little confidence so I gave him a go. The road was clear for miles in both directions, so he headed off down the hard shoulder with a steady wobble. After about 50 meters he slowed down and started to perform a U-turn. As he turned, for some incalculable reason, he twisted the accelerator to speed up. As my face dropped he headed, with increasing speed, towards the ditch on the opposite side of the road. Luckily, with about a meter to spare, he slammed on the front break, preformed a rather impressive front wheely and with that returned in my direction and said "I think you better drive back". The drive home was getting a little tedious so we passed the time singing a collection of Jeremy Clarkson's greatest driving tunes, taking it in turn to do lead guitar then vocals. My personal favourite was our rendition of Stepping Wolf's Born to be wild which looped between first verse and chorus for about 25 minutes of mumbled screaming. We returned the bike safe and sound that evening after having a really good day, but I think it will be some time before I apply for my Hells Angels membership.

Happy Birthday

I'd just like to say a big Happy Birthday to my mother!

I have sent a card, but that could be sat in a Bangkok sorting office for all I know. So I thought id go for something a little more reliable and post you a personal message on the old website.

Hope you have a lovely day,

With lots of love,

James

X X X

Full moons, Fun & Flip-Flops

After the growing anticipation of the last few days, the full moon party finally arrived and didn't disappoint. Preparation for the event has been carefully considered by both locals and tourists alike. The visitors have been experimenting with various quantities of intoxicating beverage to perfect the fine balance of merriment and endurance, while the locals have been stocking up on the contraband that will allow them to do this. Throughout our travels we have picked up quite a few new acquaintances and are our current gang consists of around 15 members. Mostly Scandinavian (In fact id say around 75% of the Swedish population must be currently residing in Thailand) but the odd Canadian and Australian. As a collective we had been conjuring plans for the last few days and come the main event we were all well fed, had plenty of sleep and ready for the long night ahead. The party started around 8pm and I can still hear the noise from the beach now (Its currently 11:34am the following morning).

Id strategically sculpted a full moon moustache out of the recently sun bleached facial hair on my upper lip and Rory had painted himself with so much neon paint that I believe he is still suffering from the effects of radiation poisoning. Between us we looked like a dodgy 70's porn star and a evil character from a comic book that had just emerged from the toxic waste in sewers. By the time the whole gang had assembled, painted themselves with the scribbles of small children and crafted french looking moustaches, we all looked truly ridiculous. But we were certainly not alone, everybody who was crammed on the island had made a jolly good effort and it made for quite a sight.

The beach itself was completely rammed and it was difficult for us to stick together as a collective for any longer that around 2 seconds. People were dancing, singing and generally having a good time everywhere you looked. On the sand, in the sea, on tables & chairs and even in the trees on the edge of the shore. The downside to this mayhem was that I lost my flip-flops on around 12 occasions and seemed to spend the entire night tracking them down. After a while I discovered there seemed to be a general flip-flop exchange system in place where people would loose one shoe then just pick up the closest one they could find and continue on their way with a new pick'n'mix set. At one stage I had the lovely combination of a flip-flop with a slight heel and replica diamond strapping and on the other foot, a roman gladiator style sandal. Very fetching if I say so myself. Lucky, I ended up with a better set than I went in with so I've no real complaints.

The event was described by my companion Mr Mills as "Toooooo good" and I have to agree. I've never seen so many people, in such a confined space have so much fun. There was a really good atmosphere and if it wasn't for my commitment to at least 5 hours sleep a night, I would probably still be at the beach now. But its now all over for another month so I'm off to put Rory in the recovery position, visit the aftermath at the beach and get a black coffee. If you do happen to be in Thailand on the night of a full moon, Ko Pha Ngan is well worth the visit. Even if your a little too old for the party itself, watching the tomfoolery of others would provide equal entertainment.

P.s. I apologise for any grammatical or spelling errors in this post, my sleep was some what hindered by 5 hours of thumping Techno music.

9 to 5ers

We have now been in Ko Pha Ngan for 2 days and its quite apparent that we have landed in the party capital of Thailand. Once a month, on every full moon, this tiny Island gets filled by hoards of party-seeking youths from all over the world. I read yesterday that on average each full moon attracts around 10,000 people and in the same very informative article that Ko Pha Ngan only has 3000 beds. Which partly explains why Rory and I are having to snuggle up together each night, but its mainly because our budget isn't lavish enough to afford better.

The annoying side of this attraction is that the island entices a fair few members of a social group I have affectionately labelled "The 9 to 5ers". This nickname was developed after a conversation with a rather dislikable moron from Wales who said something along the lines of "I work from 9 to 5 in my sh**y little job, 5 days a week. Then at the weekends I go out, get right tw**ed and do it all over again on Monday". What a wonderfully fulfilling life that must be. Whereas I am yet to meet a fellow backpacker that is not friendly, welcoming and polite, my few encounters with the 9 to 5ers have been somewhat unpleasant. You can spot the average 9 to 5er from a mile away as they are normally sporting a textbook lobster tan, have a bottle of cheap European larger hanging from their lips, are tatooed around their nipple with their ex-girlfriends name and are driving a hired quadbike in nothing but a pair of Port Vale shorts. Its sad to say it but nearly all the members of this privileged group are British and I cant imagine they are doing an awful lot of good for our reputation abroad.

Yesterday we popped out to a noodle stall for tea and while we sat their a shaven-headed lout walked over and shouted in a northern accent "Do you do noodles?". As if the large wok, bean sprouts and Thai vendor wearing a Mr Noodle T-shirt wasn't enough of a hint. A little worried, Mr Noodle quickly nodded and pointed to the blindingly obvious noodle preparation apparatus in front of him. After the penny dropped the lout continued "Ok, ill have noodles and pork. Just noodles and Pork mind. None of that vegetable sh**e". Never before has it been so evident that a healthly diet provides a healthy mind. After Mr Noodle had set off cooking, the 9 to 5er then belched "I'm just of to grab some cigs", just loud enough for everyone in Thailand to hear, and departed in the direction of the 7-11. This gave Rory and I just enough time to leave the establishment without anybody noticing we were born on the same Island as the idiot and avoid further embarrassment.

The Results of Februarys Caption Competition are.....

Again, many thanks for all your entries to the caption competition. There were many amusing suggestions but sadly there can only be one winner. (If you recognise this its because it's a Copy and Paste job from last month)

So, in reverse order, the two runners and winner of February's caption competition are:

3rd Place - "No.81 was disqualified from the Delhi handicap sprint hurdle for a second false start." - Mark, Birmingham

2nd Place - "Hey guys, thought we were all doing the face paint?" - Amy, Attleborough

And this months 1st place winner is - "You wait hours for a bloody elephant, then 10 arrive all at once" - Rory, Mulbarton

Islanders

For the last week we have been island hopping along the western coast of Malaysia and after securing visas have now moved up into Thailand. We are currently in the truly spectacular island village of Ko Phi Phi and pretty much enjoying every second. We have met a bunch of guys from Scandinavia and have recently been spending a fair deal of time with them. One of them has even decided to travel with us for the next few days so Rory and I now have a new comrade, Jukka "The Fish". Jukka earned his nickname after demonstrating that, much like a fish, he could drink a vast amount of liquids over a considerable period of time. This demonstration turned out to be a rather painful one for all involved, especially Rory. So much so, that it confined the poor little feller to his bed for an entire day, leaving me to go out to sea on a boat alone.

In a way, I wish I had of been alone. I discovered, upon arriving at the port and having already paid, that my shipmates for the afternoon consisted of England's poshest couple (Charles and Kathleen), 2 female's from Essex with the combined body mass of the moon and a middle aged french man and his wife, who both sported swimwear that left very little to the imagination. After boarding the small wooden boat (Which was a story in itself, considering the physics involved with buoyancy and large female objects) we set sail for Ko Phi Phi's sister island which was about 3 miles offshore. En route we stopped to do some snorkelling and I got my second chance to try and spot sharks. I was pretty gutted as the previous day Rory and I had hired equipment and tried to hunt them down ourselves, but only Rory managed to see one. To add salt to my already seasick wounds, on the second occasion they still managed to evade me. I think it may have been because there were two life forms with considerable physical presence in the near vicinity which possibly intimidated them and made them keep their distance.

We then made our way to the second Island and entered a small cove which was slightly sheltered from the tide. This allowed for coral to grow in abundance on the seabed so out came the snorkels and in we jumped. The guide failed to mention that the fish bite until me and Pierre (I think that was his name) were in the water. Luckily it tickled more than hurt so I just carried on snorkelling with the weird sensation of being sucked by fish all over my body. Being underwater was like watching Finding Nemo with the sound turned off. There were thousands of tropical fish of various shapes & sizes and covering a magnitude of colours, all swimming around pecking at the coral, Pierre and myself. The pecking was enough to put the others off but it did mean that Kathleen was free to very kindly operate my camera while I was messing around. When I jumped back on board I discovered she was rather trigger happy and that she had taken around 500,000 pictures of me while I was swimming. My suspicions, that she was rather keen on me, were confirmed when she said "James dear, your looking a little on the red side, would you like me rub a dab lotion into you back?" I would have preferred it if she was a little younger as 70 year olds do very little for me. However, I was feeling a little burnt and she had done such a wonderful job with the camera, I decided to let her have her cheap thrill.

We then followed the coastline a little further and entered another bay carved out of the rock. This one had a small sandy embankment along one side and was the location where "The Beach" was filmed. Probably one of the most naturally beautiful places in the world, or as one of the girls said "Iz right bloody gorjus ere init? Iz like one of them things you write on the bak of". I'm guessing she meant a postcard, but she worded it so poetically I thought id pass it on in its natural, unaltered form. We sat here and watched the sun set a little before returning just before dark. The whole trip was amazing and well worth the money, I got to see so many interesting and beautiful things. When I got back to the hostel I showed Rory the photos. At first he wondered how I managed to take so many pictures of myself and then wondered how the vestal kept afloat with such weight aboard, but was genuinely gutted about missing the trip. I tried to make him feel better by saying "At least you have seen a shark", but in my head I was smugly thinking Rory 1 - James 5432.

The Sand Witch

We have now reached Langkawi and for the first time since we started this little adventure, we have really been able to relax. Langkawi is an Island right at the north of Malaysia's western coast and is covered in long white sandy beaches and surrounded by clear water. Today has been the first day that we have literally accomplished nothing. We are normally busy busy little bees, whether its sight-seeing, climbing mountains, arguing over footware or just organising the travel and accommodation for our next destination. We are just always busy.

Today we just sat down on the beach with our books in hand and spent the day slowly cooking under the sun in the style of rotisserie chickens. Occasionally, when we could no longer stand the heat, we would go for a quick paddle in the sea then settle back down for another chapter or two. A word of warning to anybody that ever travels to a beach with Rory alone - Do not allow him to rub suntan lotion into your back, I'm losing at least 75% of my epidermis each day. Where as I take every precaution to remove the sand from my hands before gently applying the cream, Rory practically ensures every millimetre of his palm is covered in sand particles then with the diligence of an electric sander rubs your back with enough force to extract all the air from your lungs. Each time I feel the need to reapply, I thoroughly asses the long and short term, pros and cons of malignant sunburn against the ordeal that Rory will undoubtedly put me through.