TravellingTale.com

Welcome to TravellingTale.com

2008-08-05T18:38:00.000+01:00

If you want some travel ideas or just want to read some travel tales then you have come to the right place.

Plenty of adventures can be found in the archives section.

From Australia to Sri Lanka you can check them all out.

Perhaps you are off to these worldwide spots yourself, so have a squint at what I found there.

Get in touch using the comments sections if you have any questions or want to share some advice or stories.

If you want to follow my lead and hostel it about the globe then find them all using the search thingy below. I used it and it certainly does the trick.

Enjoy

Taking a break

2008-06-18T23:50:00.003+01:00

"Someone who has taken a long break, needs to take a break, before he can take another long break."

I think that was an old Chinese proverb I heard in Karate Kid 3.

Be back soon.

Plenty of travelling tales to read about in the archives if you have just stumbled across this composition.

Try to enjoy.

Toronto or Vancouver? YOU decide!

2008-04-16T22:11:00.010+01:00

I am off to Canada. I have decided that much.
Which is pretty good for me.
Just don't know whether to head to Toronto or Vancouver first.
I'm not indecisive, I'm just a bit shit at making my mind up, or I make it up, and then I change it. Twice.

Ducking the responsibility
Therefore I have decided, to make the decision, not to make the decision.
You can instead.
I am going interactive.
It's all the rage.

You can control me, as if it was 1987, and you were playing Knightmare, or for the French, Le Chevalier du Labyrinthe.
I'm afraid I can't stretch to solving riddles based around dragons, spiders and goblets, but I will walk round with a bucket over my head, and hang round with a medieval bearded maniac.

"How can we decide?" I hear you enquire.
Well, it's simple really. Just click on the comments bit at the end of this guff. It's just above the bit where you can enter your email address.
Then in the 'leave your comment' box just stick in either Vancouver or Toronto. Click on 'Name/URL' below and stick in a name, or 'Anonymous' if you are shy or don't want the blame. Then clicky on 'publish your comment,' and that's it. They won't appear straight away so don't go sticking them in again, unless you are as bad as me and want to vote for both. (update- they might appear straight away now as I have removed the moderation. Its a f**king free for all)

Jazz distracted while casting her vote.

You don't have to know me (probably a bonus for you that you don't) or have a reason. Just cast your vote. Then again maybe you have a tremendously valid reason or know something about these places. I am slightly incapable of thorough research towards wherever I am going so any advice will be welcome.

If this works then I will continue the 'game.' I can yield a few options for each ongoing destination, and YOU can cast your votes and decide where I go each time. I could leave it open, but you would probably end up sending me to the Congo, or Birdlip.
YOU will all be completely responsible for my destiny. Entirely accountable for my excursion.
Tidy.

So get involved.
Hell, it could really take off. You could end up making all my travel based decisions.
Coco pops or toast?
Pea Museum excursion or shopping for socks?
Blond or Brunette?
10 beers or 15?

My site sponsoring has paid for most of my first flight which is rather good, but you can help get me tons more wonga, and you can be the difference between the standard of sock I can purchase, with a simple click on my wonderful adverts. I shouldn't favour any, but them google ones at the top pay nicely, just with a simple click on them.
I couldn't give a shit if I'm selling out.

So if you are visiting this site for some average entertainment, then you must cast your Vancouver or Toronto 'vote' and visit my lovely sponsors.

We'll give it a few days and see if I get any votes at all. If not, then maybe I will go to Birdlip.

Where do I go?

YOU decide.

EVENING POST!...............FINAL!

2008-04-09T19:36:00.021+01:00

You can now read my first article for the Evening Post online. It should help fill the gap until I fly off across the Atlantic, like a migrating goose.

Based on this very websites writings, it is a Christmas special starring Kelly and Yours Truly.

Dylan Thomas started his illustrious career with the very same periodical. Though, if you have seen my attempts at metrical composition, you will realise I have only one thing in common with the heavy drinking poet.

Click this link to have a squint.

Alternatively you can go to the Evening Post homepage and click on their link while it is there. You can currently find me between Kevin Johns, and a baby with two faces.

That's one of my life ambitions ticked off then.

This will be a monthly feature. Something to look forward to!

Gower

2008-04-06T13:29:00.048+01:00

I've been travelling a bit. Sort of.
Just because its all on my doorstep shouldn't render it void and unworthy of a mention.
I've written all about the distant places around the globe, so I thought, while I had the chance, I would describe the delights of my home city and its rather smashing Gower peninsula.

Then all the millions of people who are reading this around the World, can come and check out this little part of our planet, while I'm checking out theirs.
I've also got to play with my new camera before it is utilised for real on my next travels. Its got more buttons than Cadburys so extensive training is essential.

Just a few minutes drive from the centre of Wales second biggest city, and you are on Gower. Spoilt for choice with beaches, and cracking countryside, you won't get better in the whole of Britain. I have got to know it like the back of my foot, due to driving around it about ten thousand times with my last job, and the dog making me take her down the beaches every other day for a paddle, and a bark at bearded ramblers.

Famous for its surfing (I went all the way to New Zealand to have my first surf) and its Horse trekking (I went all the way to New Zealand to have my first horse trek), there is plenty for you outdoor type travelling people.

The craziness of the Welsh weather can be summed up in a matter of days. Last Thursday, when the above picture was taken of Three Cliffs Bay, it was like a summer's day. I shit you not. It was a scorcher. People were wearing shorts, constructing sand castles, and even swimming in the sea. There were hosepipe bans, ice cream shortages, wasp attacks, and handkerchief headed men frying eggs on the bonnets of their Ford Capris. If we could somehow keep this weather forever then this place would easily give New Zealand and Australia a run for its dollars.

Today, just to ruin any hope of that, and only three days later, I wake up to a blanket of snow. We have really broke the climate this time. I'm doing my part. I use roll-on deodorant and always recycle my socks, though due to the size of my feet, I can't help my massive carbon footprint.

We'd better start with Three Cliffs Bay, which does seem to be getting more and more national recognition recently. Katherine Jenkins endorsed it on national telly, and it came second in the ITV vote for Britain's favourite view. I think Katherine Jenkins herself came first.

Only the other day I saw Gavin and Stacey's Uncle Bryn (why is he always drinking drinks with a straw), using the very same panorama, to show that Wales wasn't all bad. Maybe it would be even more popular if someone came up with a myth for the Three Cliffs, similar to what the Australians have done for the Three Sisters in the Blue Mountains. OK, we wouldn't be able to say they were once Aboriginal teens, petrified for eternity by a yeti, but they could have been three welsh blokes (all conveniently called Cliff) who were so stunned by the amazing view, they never wanted to leave, so they turned to stone, and have been forever staring out across the bay. Magical bullshit, that will have the tourists fighting each other to get a butchers.
A superb beach then. Where else would you need to go?

Well, when I turned round 180 degrees on the cliff top, from where I took the above picture, I was greeted by another rather agreeable view.

Tor Bay, right below, leads round to the magnificent sweep of Oxwich Bay and some more nifty beaches. Oxwich itself was recently voted Britain's best beach by The Travel Magazine. Nestled in between the both is my favourite sandy Gower bit. A local beach for local people. When I was little, the trek to get there from the car park (well a farmers field) seemed to take forever. Its only in Swansea that the locals would call a beach, Crawley Woods! Fair do's you do have to go through Nicholston Woods to get to the beach, but when people refer to a day out at Crawley Woods, their ultimate destination is the beach, as they ain't packing their deck chairs, sun lotion, and bucket & spade to sit in a forest.

The woody trek down takes about five minutes (not forever, unless you are under sixteen) and is well worth it. There is even the famous rope swing on the way, if you fancy breaking an extremity. You'll usually have the beach to yourself, if it isn't the height of summer (that's usually one day in June in Wales). Then again, when my legions of readers have read this, you might not be able to see the sand for bodies.

There are three new YHA hostels in the Swansea Bay area so plenty of room to stay and explore. Talking of exploring too, there is a Gower Explorer bus which goes from central Swansea to all corners of Gower. You can't miss it. It's big and green. I have used it.Kelly and I were attending a Ghost night at the excellent Gower Heritage centre, and we wern't going to do that without indulging in a few gallons of booze. Hence the utilisation of public transport. I hate to compare the driver to those met while travelling Australia and New Zealand, but while they were amongst the most friendly and helpful beings in the Universe, this guy was amongst the biggest sour-faced moaning sods, this side of Saturn. I, you see, made the inexcusable mistake of checking the destination of his bus.

'Is this bus going to Parkmill?,' I enquired of the rat faced git

'NOOOOOO, THE NEXT BUS GOES TO PARKMILL. NOT THIS ONE. THE NEXT BUS.NO,' replied the bellowing buck-faced bastard.

I stood corrected. I scoured my brain for a quick witty response. What is commonly known as a 'put-down.' Nothing came to mind in time, so he suitably pissed me right off. He is singularly responsible for getting people back in their cars in Swansea. Don't let that put you off though. It all adds to the local experience.

Didn't see any spooks by the way, but my vision was severly affected by vast amounts of local lager.

Plenty more to tell you about Gower, including the Geologists dream at Port Eynon and the nudist beach experience. So be back soon.

April Fish

2008-04-03T10:05:00.005+01:00

I must announce with great sadness that Simon's reign as the first genetically modified ice cream man, has come to a premature end.

He was found lying on the floor of his van covered in hundreds and thousands.

Police say he topped himself.

No, no, no, no! If you haven't realised by now, my last story was a hoodwink. A hoax. A ruse to acknowledge April Fools Day.

It wasn't all a complete fabrication. The history was all true, with Brian really existing and behaving just as I extensively documented.

To be honest I'm a bit gutted. I almost convinced myself I was gonna be an ice cream man. So the jokes on me. Apologies to those who got excited at the prospect of me handing out feasts and calipos round the Swansea suburbs. Perfect weather for it at the moment too.

I had to mark the tradition of All Fools day. It came down to me either becoming the ice cream man, or a Franciscan Nun.

I hoped it would better the other April fools stories of the day which included flying penguins, Catherine Zeta-Jones's face on some Mumbles cliffs, and Cardiff in an FA cup semi-final .

Just be thankful you are not French. They have the tradition of 'Poisson d'Avril.' This involves the sneaky attachment of a picture of a fish to someones back.

People then shout 'Poisson d'Avril' or April Fish at this unfortunate sole. when they discover they have been 'had.'

Bastards.

To make amends with you all, here is a totally unrelated, but smashing picture of Swansea beach I took with my new camera.

Mr Whippy

2008-04-01T11:28:00.006+01:00

Since I have returned form the first leg of my splendid journey, I have acquired a new confidence that was admittedly slightly dormant beforehand. I find myself talking to people on the street like I think I'm in bloody New Zealand, where it is common practice.

It would probably be common here too, if we all gave it a go more often. Try it. Next time you are passing someone in the street say, 'Lovely day. I hear Homebase is having a sale next week,' or words to that affect.

The rewards could be unbounded, as I found out when I conversed with Brian, while walking the dog on sundae.

'Cracking day. They say parsnips are supposed to be the new super food.'

'Do I know you? Nice hair by the way.'

'Good Lord, its you Brian, the ice-cream man. I didn't recognise you without your Funny Feet.'

And it was. It was Brian the ice-cream man, still alive and well after all these years. Brian used to do the local round when I was a young boy, and was without doubt a bit of a nutter. He was a few 'hundreds and thousands' short of a Fab to be honest.

I remember once, back in the day, playing at the bottom of the road. About five of us were sat on the pavement, probably melting ants with magnifying glasses, when Brian in his ice-cream van came tearing round the corner in stealth mode (he'd turned his Greensleeves music off). He mounted the pavement and tried to mow us all down for a laugh. I recall throwing myself over a garden wall, as the yellow modified transit bumped over the kerb, with Brian inside, absolutely pissing himself.

Happy days!

He knew us all well, as we spent a daily small fortune purchasing his chilly goodies. We were such good customers, I had the amazing honour of him parking right outside the house. Our cheek and abuse granted him the permission to try and run us over from time to time. Some of the boys also used to hang onto the back of his van as he drove off. They were on skateboards at the time, so would be propelled at speeds you would expect to make the wheels explode. If he saw them in his mirror he would go even faster.

Anyway. This chance meeting with Brain has provided me with an opportunity, most young lads could only dream off. He still does his rounds (though he says all this modern politically correct heath and safety shit, prevents him from attempted murder on the pavements these days) but was off into hospital for a couple of weeks to have his cones removed.

I told him I was about to head off for Canada, but wouldn't be going for a few weeks, as I have to wait for my mother to return from her travels (we are like a family of gypos) so I can leave the dog with her. Then and only then can I sod off again.

'So are you working at the moment?' he enquired.

'Well, technically no. But if someone clicks on an advertising banner on my website I do get paid. I made 15p yesterday. Does that count?'

'You could have bought a Mini Milk in the good old days for that. So you are free for the next couple of weeks?'

'Again, technically yes. But I have to look after the dog.'

'The dog will like it in my van'

'You are gonna take my dog in your van?'

'No, you are gonna take your dog in my van. How do you fancy doing my rounds while I am at the mercy of the NHS'

'ME? An ice cream man. You are f##kin joking Bri? Alright then.'

So, before you could say Neapolitan, I had become an Ice Cream man.

'Do you still sell Benson & Hedges from under the counter Brian?'

'Nope, that particular diversification ended after I got caught outside Olchfa.'

"So, I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin by. See now all my flavours are guaranteed to satisfy."

Who would have thought it ay? You never know, Brian might not recover and I could become a permanent purveyor of 99s. Its a ruthless business though. Who can forget the ice cream wars in Glasgow. Lolly Gobble Choc Bombs, Zooms and Orange Maids being used as lethal weapons. Several killed. One by a well aimed cornet.

A brief tour of the van and I'm all set to go. I sometimes think I was born without ambitions. Just happy to be alive like. But a long lost ambition re-surfaced on seeing the magical vehicle. I always wanted to go in the back of an ice cream van. They would look so amazing from outside, but as mere mortals were also kept at bay by that sliding glass window.Nowhere else will you see the unique and magical wallpaper you get on the inside roof of an ice cream van. Tremendous. I distinctly remember recreating the magic of being an ice cream man as a child.

I used the street sign. I would stand behind it and my customers would choose which frozen delight they would like by pointing to a letter, reconstructing the selection of a lolly on a real ice cream van, when you would point at the sticker on the glass window. The 'W' was always popular. But, the 'Howells Road' sign never lasted long, as it was frequently broken off and used as a ramp or a club. They gave up replacing it in the end. This only gave me the excuse to upgrade to a new 'van.' There was a new selection when I got behind 'Cyncoed Close,' and my customer loved it.

I have a worrying feeling there is something more to being an ice cream man than meets the eye. Something mystical. I could almost be selling my soul to the devil. Never ever being able to leave my van, until I pass it on to some unsuspecting stranger on the street. I thought Brian was looking well for his age. As if he had been kept in a cryogenic state due to spending most if his life in a mobile freezer.

Frozen in a perpetual purveyance of upside down daleks, with bubblegum at the bottom. Trapped between the four Walls.

What have I done?

Well stop me and buy one anyway and as the sign on the back says look out for cross children. They'll be the ones I've tried to run over.

Grand National

2008-03-31T21:24:00.005+01:00

Yep I am now running in the big race the weekend seen as I have a bit of spare time. The tallest jockey ever.

My mysterious expert nag tipster, 'Frank Butcher' has been in touch again. After saying 'Rickay' and 'runaround' a lot he eventually told me Chelsea Harbour is the latest hot tip for the Grand National.
So have a flutter.
You'll be thanking me. Either that or wishing I'd hurry up and leave the country.
Easy money.

A Moving Story

2008-03-29T10:00:00.008Z

Remember these magical days.

Remember reading these exotic tales of banality every day on the net, wondering whether Wales most notorious travelling turkey is gonna get his arse in gear and head off again.

Because you'll be able to say, I was there, when this malformed collection of guff becomes a best selling book for the world to read.

Yep, I am taking deluded advice and seeing what sort of book can be created from this carcass of travelling life.

I checked out several other similar travelling yarns, which have somehow been published, and I don't think I'm being too kind when I say they read like utter shit.

Mine therefore should fit into the genre perfectly.

Nothing to lose really with it all mostly written, and with a whole lot more to come from the next stage of my adventure, there will be tons of material to unleash on the world.

This time next year, you could be walking in 'The Works,' and there before you in between 'Fishing with Keith Barron,' and 'Cooking with Monks,' will be, "Moving Story- An Abnormal Account of Travel."

If I can get a foreword by Windsor Davies then the road to success would be all but guaranteed,

'A Lovely book, by a lovely boy.'

There we are then. You saw it here first. This time next year I could be book signing in the Walsall branch of John Menzies.

And there's me always wanting to be a big rockstar, living in a hilltop house and driving fifteen cars.

Oh well.

Canada soon then (sort of). I have been doing a bit of research this time, as I learnt from my previous travelling, that a little knowledge can go a long way. When I am conversing at a bar or by the pool, I can share my accumulated wisdom.

The name 'Canada' for example, comes from the Huron and Iroquois word "Kanata," which means "village." A perfect name for the world's second largest country.

It is home to the planet's largest Bison herd, and well known for its beaver.

The national anthem is called "O Canada," which sounds like someone is trying to get their attention to me.

They also have Aboriginal people, which I didn't know.

Every Canadian I met travelling had their flag sown on their backpack. This is because they hate being mistaken for Americans. Who wouldn't? This can be illustrated by this collection of famous Canadians, who most assume are Yanks. These include Dan Ackroyd, Pamela Anderson, Willliam Shatner, and of course Alexander Graham Bell.

And did you know the harmonica is the world's best-selling musical instrument. Irrelevant but true.

On that musical note, I will leave you to it. Don't forget to click on an advert. Most of them are more entertaining than this dirge. A recent one was for bodyguards. Could just get one for a laugh. Come in handy on the weekly shop to Morrisons.

I have added a lot of photos to previous entries that didn't have them. What better way to read over the blog again and peruse the pics. Make the most of it before it becomes one of Richard and Judy's least favourite reads.

And as an added bonus this week for all my regular readers I will share an exclusive tip on the Grand National from my number one mysterious tipster, known only as Frank Butcher.

The nag to put all your money on is relevantly known as "Simon."

Get all your bucks on the beast.

Oh, and before I go, if you want an email to tell you when the blog has been updated then just type your email address in the box that has magically appeared below each tale. Cosmic.

Rough Guide

2008-03-05T20:42:00.006Z

Just when you thought it was safe to log back on....

The Travelling Twonk is back...

Coming soon....

Another dose of utter shit

And this time he's taking less pants and more photos

Swansea, Wales

2008-03-02T19:54:00.011Z

My plan worked.

I sneaked back home without anyone knowing.

I did it solely to see the look on my Mum's face to be honest. That did mean not telling anyone else in case my arrival was leaked. There would be press everywhere, and I didn't want to put peoples lives at risk, like Prince Harry had done.

As always a select few had to know. Kelly and my brother were the chosen few.

Kelly, because she might have wondered where I disappeared too while she was teaching Thai children to speak English, with a Treboeth accent, and my brother cause he lives fifteen minutes from Heathrow airport and could come and pick me up at half six in the morning.

I managed to get a bargain flight in Bangkok off Tony (he definitely liked my hair), who had upgraded me to first class when I was in Sydney. As I had to go somewhere after Thailand, I enquired where he had some cheap flights too. The fact that he instantly came up with London for next to nothing, seemed like fate so I accepted his offer and here I am.

Shows how bloody easy it is to pop home. A few hours on a plane and your back in our lovely country.

Its always nice to come home. I'd never been on a holiday longer than about 10 days apart from my trip to the USA, in my whole life so five months was something a bit different for me. The majority of them holidays were in a caravan in Cirencester, so to end up halfway round the world was a slightly new experience.

You can only take so much in before, I suppose you start to take things for granted, and feel you are a wasting some experiences.

I didn't feel homesick. Not sure what that should feel like. Do you start retching your guts up?

Anyway, after staying in Addlestone and re-adjusting to Britain it was time to head back to Cymru. As we drove through the Surrey streets, I looked on amazed at British number plates, Wilkinsons shops, and tracksuit wearing, moustached, baseball hat wearing pedestrians.
It was good to see the women hadn't changed. Felt right.

Hearing the Welsh accent on the train home was strange.

Nice I thought at first until some ponce got on and started up on his mobile,

'Hi Baby, its me. I'm on a train.'

Already I was wishing he was under it.

'Its a lush day dos you wants to dos something this evening baby.'

Obviously I could only hear his side of the conversation. She (or maybe he) must have proposed a great plan for their evenings entertainment, and he concluded with a line that had me thinking those yanks weren't so bad after all;

'That sounds lush babe. I fancies that, almost as much as I fancies you.'

I folded the table down and bit into it as hard as I could to alleviate the sheer attack of irritating cheesy crud.
I wouldn't have minded so much, but he was bellowing at the top of his voice, as they always do.

So I battered him to death with a First Great Western ham & tomato baguette, and threw his corpse out the window as we passed Pyle.

After being on trains for over 10 hours as a norm, it was amazing how quick we got to Swansea. I realise now my brother only lives up the road in relative distances. Must make the effort to see him more than every seven years.

I'm not joking but as I emerged from the station (I really couldn't include the station) everything seemed really clean. Like someone had polished all the buildings and the roads and the people. Even the cans of Special Vat the tramps were holding shone in the Welsh sunshine Obviously someone knew I was coming the place looked so tidy. Its as if the Queen was coming to visit soon or something.

Maybe everything is a bit cleaner than other places around the world, and now I was noticing it. We don't know how lucky we are.

I walked round the corner to get a taxi and I was spoken to, no shouted at by my first Swansea person on my return.

'MATE, OH MATE. MATE. HERE, MATE. NOW HERE, MATE '

To be honest I thought he was trying to get the attention of someone in Fforestfach, such was his volume, so I ignored him.

He caught the attention of the lady behind me though, and it turns out he wanted his picture taken with his girlfriend outside High St station.

A simple, 'Excuse me my young friend. Nice hair by the way. I was wondering if you could spare a minute of your time to capture a photograph of me and my good lady before we depart for Barry on the 15:34?' would have sufficed.

No, I got someone bellowing MATE in my face, with a fag hanging off his lip and a box of carling under his arm.

They eventually got their photo done, after his good lady, had straightened her baseball cap and adjusted her moustache.

Home sweet home.

I'd instructed my Mother to be by the computer at the rough time I would arrive back in Dunvant. This meant she would be in and I wouldn't have to spend a couple of hours in the shed, as I had no key.

I rang her on my mobile from the top of the road where I had got out of the taxi. The taxi driver didn't say a word to me all the way home by the way. Very peculiar.

She thought I was in a Bangkok internet cafe and wondered why I was ringing her on the house phone.

I didn't want her to see me walking down the road as this would have ruined the surprise, so I told her to go on the computer, where I knew she would be out of the way at the back of the house.

She couldn't do this as the house phone was now only downstairs and attached to the wall, as they are.

I was gonna tell her to answer the door and then knock it but I could already hear the great confusion on the other end of the the line, so I just told her to open the door and look outside.

She couldn't do that as the dog would run out.

So I gave up and booked the next flight back to Bangkok and left.

No, I stood at the end of the drive and the door opened. She looked out.

Straight up in the air, not even noticing me.

She would later inform me that she thought I must have booked a plane to fly past with a message pulled behind it for Mother's Day. Now you know why I'm like I am.

Then she spotted me. I had considered I might cause her to have a heart attack, feint or headbutt me full out, but I wasn't prepared for that sort of language. She wouldn't be out of place on the old north bank.

Her screams must have had the neighbours thinking there was another murder in the street!

Then the dog came form nowhere like the Hound of the Baskervilles and attacked me.

Welcome home.

Fair do's the dog remembered me and her onslaught was entirely friendly. After the Air ambulance had left and my Mum was revived she put the kettle on and kept pinching me to see if I was real. My, 'Piss off, that urts,' confirmed I wasn't a figment of her imagination brought on by overdosing on Richard & Judy, and QVC.

I think she was rather pleased to see me.

I will spend most of my time on my second leg travelling round Canada, trying to think of a better surprise for my next return. It will have to be something good and original.

Maybe I'll break in at about 4 in the morning and shout 'SURPRISE,' dressed as Thora Hird.

That couldn't have been done more than a couple of times before.

Addlestone, England

2008-02-26T10:17:00.004Z

Birthday On The River Kwai

2008-02-25T03:43:00.004Z

Kanchanaburi next then.

Easy for you to say.

Headed back on the train south from Chiang Mai. Left just before 3 in the afternoon. Wasn't getting to Bangkok till half 5 in the morning so still had a bed.
Met Clare from Milton Keynes, who had the seat opposite me and her two friends were in the seats behind. Bon was a Thai guy and I never did get the other girls name.
Wayne?

I seem to meet people in Thailand when I am on the trains or walking about. Not so much in the guest houses, as they ain't like the hostels in other countries, where people mix more.
Clare had been living in Bangkok for three years so she knew the place pretty well, and she did attempt to teach me some basic Thai, which I have completely forgotten now.

Didn't take long for the beer bucket man to come round and for us to get involved. Should have got more money out as mine was gone after three rounds. Not to worry, Clare kept buying the booze.

Joined by a couple of monks opposite then. One spoke perfect English so he didn't stop chatting to me, telling me what each town we were passing was called, and how long he'd been a monk. He said we would be going in a big cave soon and it would be amazing.
Well it was just a long tunnel, but I humoured him, and used my amazed face.
Monks don't get out much.

Health and safety doesn't seem to be overly popular in Thailand. When anyone wanted to smoke, they just opened one of the outside doors and sat with their feet dangling as we flew along at top speed.

The monk started telling me how is father was blown up in the shower in Vietnam. It must be British sick humour but I nearly burst out laughing in his face, and I could sense a smirk from Clare.
He started reconstructing the scene. Pretending to wash his hair in a shower, and then going 'boom.' Head and shoulders were probably in different rooms after that.
Shouldn't laugh.
He has invited us to meditate with him for 10 days. Apparently there is no talking, very little food, and not much of anything else.
Sod that.

Did try some crisps that Clare had, that either turn your tongue green or blue. Mine seem to go blue. Those crisps have got to be really good for you!

When everyone started retiring to their beds, we found the restaurant car and carried on our booze fest there till last orders at 11.
Did manage to get some sleep then until we were woken up at 5 as we approached Bangkok.
Said my goodbyes to yet more people met on the road, and grabbed a tuk-tuk.

Had to get to another train station in Bangkok to get to Kanchanaburi. This city was just as hectic at half 5 in the morning as rush hour. Once again laughing my bonce off as we tore through the streets, bouncing around in the back.
That woke me up.

My train left for Kanchanaburi at quarter to 8 and it was another couple of hours there. Kept dropping off and dribbling on myself.
Was heading for the Death Railway.
Built by the thousands of POWs during the war for the Japanese, and made very famous by the Bridge on the River Kwai.
Was picked up from the station by yet another form of transport. A bloke on a bicycle.
Poor sod. He was only a small bloke, as they are in these parts. By the time my massive backpack and me were sat in the back he was struggling big style. Lucky there weren't any hills as he would have had no chance. I could have got out and walked faster.

So we crawled up to some lodgings. He'd got quite a sweat on by then. Fair do's he waited for me while I checked for vacancies. The first one was full, so the poor git took me to another. A very nice looking place right on the River Kwai.
And that's where I ended up, right on the River Kwai. The only room he had was floating at the back of the hotel. A house boat sort of thing. Nice though. Might even have a change of scenery when I wake up, if someone unties the rope.

So after seeing all the horrible things the Germans did in the war, when we were in Berlin, it was time to see how nasty the Japanese were over here.
As expected they were cruel little bastards.
Visited the massive war cemetery for all the allied soldiers who died constructing the railway. Most were younger than me.
Row after row of headstones.
They look after it perfectly though.
And would you believe it, up turned a massive tour bus, and spilled a load of Japanese camera wielding gaupers out.
Cheeky.

Big museum nearby too, telling the story of the horrific goings on. Cheers you up no end.
Wasn't so nice to be British in these parts then. Wasn't that long ago really.

Dined later at the Jolly Frog. Asked the waiter to recommend something spicy.
Wow he didn't disappoint. Nearly blew my head off. Lovely though. I managed to eat it all. Had to guess where my plate was, cause my eyes were streaming after a few mouthfuls.
Did feel like someone had tried to remove the inside of my mouth with a flame thrower, and I ordered an ice cream for afters to quell the inferno.
Try that again though.

An interesting but good nights kip. The floating room didn't rock, as not exactly the high seas.
Paul McCartney would have been proud of the frog chorus that piped up though.
Bloody racket.
All sorts of funny noises. I suppose I am on the edge of a jungle.
Woke up about seven then to the strains of a Thai popstar crooning across the water. Massive songs blasting out. Not really sure the purpose of that but that went off in time for the bombs about eight.
Well. They sounded like bombs. Massive explosions in the distant.
I thought Rambo must be in town.
Thought I could hear machine gun fire too, but that might have been tuk-tuks.
Who knows what all that noise was about either. Could ask someone, but it took me half hour to order a strawberry milkshake earlier, so can't be arsed.
The town hasn't been evacuated, so can't be too serious.

So for a birthday treat it was off to the Bridge on the River Kwai. About a fifteen minute walk from my floating abode.
Surrounded by tacky markets they were obviously making the most of all the tourists. As per usual with these landmarks, when the bridge came into sight, I thought, that's a bit small.
Looked like the right one though. Most of the original built by the poor wretches, tortured by the Japs, was blown up near the end of the war. I think most of those wretches were made to stand on it when the planes bombed it. Stinkin Japs.
However they re-built it and I had a ride over on the train. Also walked over it later. No safety rails, and massive gaps down to the Kwai, but that just added to the fun.
And yes, the train was full of camera wielding, laughing Japs. Cheeky shameless sods ain't they. I'm sure if it was the Welsh who had treated the POWs like absolute scum, and starved and tortured most of them to death, I wouldn't go near the place, let alone take pictures, and giggle like a bastard.
I gave the bird in the background of a few of their pics so I hope they got the message the little yellow nutters.

Don't really remember the film so will have to watch it again. I do know it had Obi Wan Kanobi in it, they whistled that song about Hitler having a mono testicular situation, and they actually filmed it in Sri Lanka, not at the real place here. Maybe I won't bother.

Timed by birthday just right in Thailand. There is an alcohol ban all weekend cause of some elections. Bastard face!
Got a curry in anyway. Felt like burning my head off some more so tried Ali Bongos. Ordered his fiery vindaloo, but it was no match for last nights gob burner.
Showing premier league footy live all evening then so what more could I want.
Well, a large bottle of Chang would have been nice, but I made do with coffee.

Taste of Thailand

2008-02-21T04:23:00.002Z

Day 147

'In a traditional wedding ceremony, seven-year old tribal girl Pushpa married a stray dog yesterday. Village elders said the girl had to be married because she had a tooth rooted to her upper gum which is considered a bad omen by the tribal community. By marrying a stray dog, the tribals believe it would rid her of any evil spell.'
Has to be my favourite story from today's Bangkok Post as I take a rest from my Chiang Mai exploring.
Wish I could show you the picture as the hound was quite a looker.

No surprise here but they ain't half a lot of single western middle aged men wandering the streets. Can't see me strolling around in 20 years looking for Ting Tong but you never know ay. Sad bastards.

Got my bartering skills sorted and managed to get a tuk-tuk ride for next to nothing. Can't help laughing my head off when I'm in the back of one of those things. Flying round the streets, giving way to no-one. Better than any rollercoaster ride. Glad I don't wear a wig or it would have been in the gutter.

Staying at the Whitehouse guesthouse now in the centre of Chiang Mai. My posh hotel was good, but it was on the outskirts and full of old farts, so I decided to downgrade my accommodation and upgrade my location and house mates.
Jimmy who runs the place can't do enough for me, and I even have skysports in the room so just saw highlights of the Swans losing to the MK Dons. Always thought Willy was amazing. They obviously only lost cause I was watching, the swines.

Investigated the Night Bazaar here, which is basically a big market, but in the dark.
Didn't take me long to get annoyed by another yank. He was bellowing at his mate to get him a raspberry frappucino, sunny side up, on the rocks or some cheesy American shite.
His mate was less than a metre from him, but he could have heard him if he was in Vietnam.
I actually stared at him, with a look of severe loathing, hoping he would turn my way, but he failed to glance in my direction, and therefore missed my stare of doom.
In case you hadn't realised of all the species I have encountered on the road its the bloody yanks who have caused by far the most irritation. Not only are they louder than a motorhead concert, they talk such utter cheese and shit, I would gladly melt their faces with a paint stripper.
Good, got that off my chest.

The Whitehouse is a very friendly place. The owners are nice and even their little puppy has taken to me. She keeps curling up on my lap whenever I sit down for a beer or a coffee. I'm one for attracting the mutts.
Don't have a dodgy tooth though so I won't propose just yet.
The peppermint café just up the road is also cool. One of the waitresses is insane and for some reason we keep talking about chicken sandwiches. She is very nice though.
Popped in for breakfast this morning before my train ride back to Bangkok, and then towards the River Kwai and its well known bridge.
She shouted chicken sandwich at me as I walked past so I had to go in. Pancakes are nice too.

Chiang Mai

2008-02-19T11:23:00.002Z

Day 145

Well, that's Bangkok for now anyway.
Uh, yeah.
Interesting place.
Head back there I reckon.

Caught the night train to Chiang Mai and cracked open a beer the size of a wine bottle, for the price of a wine gum.

More importantly I had just managed to watch the new Rambo film that isn't even out in the cinemas yet, in a dodgy Bangkok bar.
It is, as expected, pretty shit, but I laughed a lot so was entertained. Fair do's its well gory. Limbs and guts going everywhere. Left nothing to the imagination.

The train (or at least my carriage) was full of British and Australian backpackers so the beers are flowing as usual. It doesn't help that this geezer just keeps coming round with a bucket full of Chang beer.
Surrounded in my folded down bed by two southern English sorts.
They do have accents like the secretary from Steve Coogan's Saxondale(maybe Essex or Kent), so not all good.
Tidy Aussie guy too who now lives in London. He has been travelling 6 days and has already lost his wallet in Dubai, and his ipod in a taxi.

As for the bathroom facilities.
Oh shit.
Just a massive hole onto the track.
I can handle that.
But, I timed going for a wee pretty badly.
We pulled up to a station just as I was about to go, but they don't seem to go for the frosted window in these parts.
In fact they don't bother with the window in these parts.
So I was poised, just as we crept up to an audience of several dozen on the platform (mainly women).

Busting I was too, but all I could do was stand there, until the bloody train moved.
Come on!
I'm sure they were all waiting for me to go.
Maybe that's why they were there, cause they weren't getting on the train.
The relief when we chugged away and cleared the station, and I could clear my bladder, cannot be described in mere mortal words.

Then the second test. Trying to brush my teeth without lodging the brush in either nostril.
The train felt like it was derailing on a constant basis so this was quite some achievement.

Fair do's though, the bed was cosy as hell. I was on a lower bunk with a big curtain pulled across, a little light, and comfy mattress and pillow. A bit like being in a coffin, but a bloody top of the range one like.

Woke up several times during the ride. Which is a good thing, cause it shows I managed to get to sleep.

Eventually arrived in Chiang Mai. And for the first time in my life there was a guy standing at the station with my name on a big card.
Should have taken a photo.
Managed to keep a straight face as I walked up to meet him.
Turns out he was waiting for another Mr. Simon Tuckett.

Not really, he was my ride to the hotel I had booked.
The Chiang Mai Gate Hotel. Very posh too. Up another notch on my Bangkok room, and just as cheap.

Trekking time then.
Up bright and early ready to be picked up for my adventure.
Kiki eventually turned up for me, and was joined by six others; a mixture of Dutch and Canadian French.
Had about an hours drive then north of Chiang Mai, and by this time I was firmly known as Mr.Simon.

Elephants first. They came with like a park bench on their backs to ride, but these only held two people, and there were seven of us.
Therefore I volunteered to ride one of the beasts, shotgun.
This basically meant sitting on his head, with nothing to hold on to. So I tucked my legs behind his ears, and used my basic horseriding skills to grip onto his skull with my thighs.
No sooner had I got 'comfy' than his trunk was in my face after some goodies. I had to watch where his snout was heading, and was luckily armed with bananas to keep him happy.

We plodded on then through the undergrowth, the Canadians sitting behind me as I drove. It wouldn't last long till the nosy trunk returned. Like something out of War of the Worlds, it would curl up in front of me and 'watch' me with its two nostrils, demanding a nana or else. Well, I had a big bunch to go through, so he got more than his fill.
The jungle course went on and on, and I did have to hold on pretty tight on some steep up and down hill bits. He didn't help when he would decided to turn his head, so I would tap him on the nonce, informing him he should keeps eyes to the front, otherwise I was gonna go flying. He was a very good boy and a nana always helped.

Got round safe then and completely out of bananas. Was sad to leave him, but they wouldn't let me keep him. Could have used him to see the rest of Thailand.
But, we shook trunks and went our separate ways. He'll never forget me apparently.

Rafting next on some big bamboo's tied together. Not exactly white water but got a bit wet all the same.
Not as wet as our driver at the front though with the big pole. He tried to 'rock the boat' to make us fall in. He obviously hadn't seen my great surfing based balancing expertise.
He needs a few lessons though, as he went flying in himself, much to my amusement.
Loser.

So with only a couple of wet bits it was off for lunch. Served from a scummy shack, the nosh was amazing. Loads of it too.
A bit of trekking then. Saw some traditional tribes who tried to sell us some tat. Mainly scarves for some reason. Just what I needed in 32 degree heat.
Got to the waterfall then, where we could have had a swim, but the water was a bit nippy.

Through another traditional village on the way back. Lots of dogs about in this one, and all of a sudden I was surrounded by about 7 puppies.
They must have caught a whiff of my socks. They decided to follow me all the way back to our van, which was a good 20 minute walk. Their mum must need a bath if she niffs anything like my socks.

A good days outing then. Well worn out afterwards.
Marvellous.

The next day I decided to investigate Chiang Mai itself. An ancient walled city, surrounded by a road of constant insane traffic. I had my Sri Lankan road crossing skills to fall back on, which basically mean you just walk out in front of something and they stop.
Has worked fine so far.
So a good stoll around. Lots of temples, and cheap places to scoff and booze.
A lot quieter than Bangkok, as its a lot smaller, but in both cities I have had blokes walk past me in the street and say,
'You are lucky man.'
They don't stop or seem to want anything, and my flies weren't undone so very strange.
Nice though.
The first guy that said it was an Indian guy with a turban.
'You are lucky man'
'Thanks butt!'
As I was a few metres down the street, he then shouted after me in a very strong Indian accent,
'And so's your wife.'

Both amused and baffled me in equal amounts.
Better go and find a casino and put this luck to the test.
Might win myself an elephant.

Was approached by two young girls later on looking lost.
They asked me 'What was down there?' Meaning where I had just come from I hoped.
Not much I informed them, and then we got chatting. No sooner had I finished a couple of sentences they were asking me where I was from.
After informing them of my origin, they laughed with disbelief, as they were from Cardiff.
Well I never.

So we had a stroll and some drinks and they headed for the station where they were catching the next train to Bangkok.
They came on the bus to Chiang Mai and had money and stuff stolen, so I'll give that a miss.

Trying to watch some Thai Kick boxing, and there is some happening tomorrow evening, so will hang around and hopefully check that out.
Should be a laugh.

Bangkok

2008-02-13T13:28:00.004Z

Day 139

It was goodbye to Australia after all this time.
I will miss it, but I have so much more of it to see. As Arnold said once.
Or was it 47 times?
'I'll be back.'

So it was off to the airport again. I've gone through more flights than Eric Bristow.
My amazing charm (or is it my new haircut) managed get me an upgrade to 1st class. Yes 1st class, me! They would never have let me in there, when my hair was down my back.
Tony obviously took a liking to me.
Oodles of leg room, comfy seat, and plenty of drinks.
Cool flight then of around 9 hours. Think I watched Alan Partridge for most of it.

In Bangkok about 11 at night, so my body clock was all a bit messed up, and I can never sleep on planes.
Met a couple of other backpackers waiting for a taxi, so shared one into town. It must have taken nearly an hour cause the traffic was mad, let alone the drivers.
Used to it from Sri Lanka though, so wasn't all new to me.

The driver was very nice, but didn't really know where he was going, so he just dropped us off where it was all happening.
The others found their hotels, so I just walked up the main drag, trying to spot mine.
Was busier than the middle of the day, and even though I expected to be hassled to death by street vendors and tuk tuk drivers, it wasn't happening.
I spotted a couple of young western looking girls so thought I would ask them directions.
They couldn't have been nicer (must be the hair). They were from Slovenia, so when I said I had been there, they were more than impressed.

They weren't overly sure where my lodgings were, but they said they would walk with me and try and find them. They said their 'motherly nature' was kicking in (Jeusus, my hair style must have taken years off me) and didn't want me wandering the streets of Bangkok all night.
How nice.
One of them went in a shop and got directions and they took me right up to the door.

I checked in and was taken to my room.
Luxury. Double bed, en-suite, air-con, tv, and a weighing scales.
Compared to all the hostels I had stayed in, this really was amazing, and cheaper. Reminded me of my Sri Lankan digs.

Didn't really have a good nights sleep the night before in Sydney, as there was a guy from Taiwan who thought he would try out for the national snoring competition. None of that here though.
Lovely stuff.

I did go for another wander round the streets before bed as is was so lively, I didn't want to miss out.
So with jet lag, and lack of kip, I must have passed out about 2ish, but it felt like 5ish.
No surprise I woke up at about 4 the next afternoon. Yes 4. I did try and get up before, but all my powers were drained.

Had some chicken and rice for breakfast/tea. Everything is so ridiculously cheap.
Went for another wander round the streets. Thronging like mad they were. Again no one hassled me. Bought some new sandals off a street market. Somehow I doubt they are real 'Diesel.'

I'm right where all the backpackers stay, so all happening. Especially with the price of the booze.
Managed to bump into my Slovenian friends again. They were off to Chang Mai, which is up north like.
Still totally knackered,(this travelling takes it out of you, I have realised) so will take it easy, until my body starts working again, and then I will sample more of the cheap beer, and see if I can tell which are the lady boys. Hope I bloody can.

Maiden Voyage

2008-02-11T06:17:00.006Z

Day 137

Maiden clad hairy people everywhere.
Found a guy from Pembroke in the local boozer wearing the ubiquitous t-shirt. Its just a licence to chat and meet fellow mosh faces.
Joined him for a pint and then headed to the Olympic park.
Straight for the merchandise stand where my plan was to buy a t-shirt myself to commemorate this splendid occasion.
Got talking to more guys who all seem to have done the gig the night before too. Can't blame them as Maiden ain't been in Oz in 15 years.
One of the German guys was a member of the fan club. To be honest they were all very nerdy.
Geeks, but very nice.
He offered me a 'golden ticket' if he could get one, which was nice. Basically this was a first to the barrier ticket. Perfect for getting crushed and spat on by the singer. I accepted obviously, but he was foiled in his attempt to upgrade me, by the ticket vending bastards. Nice of him to try though seen as I'd only known him funf minuten.

Had the assembled metal heads in awe, when I told them I had seen the original Maiden singer, Paul Di'ano (now bald) live at the Patti Pavilion.
Had them in stitches, when I told them my good friend Mr. Thomas 'Cheesebox' Jackson, was ejected from said venue, for getting up on stage and shaking the afore-mentioned vocalists hand during a classic Maiden song.
He makes a habit of such behaviour after invading another hair free stage, and introducing himself to the members of Right Said Fred in Stoke.
He is banned for life from all Sinead O'Connor and Elton John concerts.

I failed to get a t-shirt anyway and ended up with two. They are half the price as back home, so I couldn't help it.
Another thing that has more than surprised me is a lot of these so called hard rocking amigos wear earplugs.
C'mon. How gay is that?
I have been next to a lot of blasting loud metal speakers in my time.
Deaf as a bloody bat now, but earplugs?
Give me strength you Aussie ponce squad.
Surprised they don't wear blindfolds incase the nasty flashy lights melt their peepers.

Got talking and drinking with a few member of the fan club, and they were all very nice. Think most of January's quota of booze was being consumed.
During one of Maiden's classic songs, 'Heaven Can Wait,' a lot of the crew run on stage and join in with a singalong bit. Well, two of the lads I was talking too, had won a draw to get up there also.
They wouldn't let me have their ticket, but it was worth asking. I would finally have been a rock star.

Anyway the gig was great. I had a brilliant seat and view, and they played all their old classics (I'm sure you all know them). Must admit the Aussie audience wasn't quite as loud and mental as a British one. I was standing, singing along, brandishing the devils horns (the beer helped), while most around me sat with their arms folded.
Laughed at the guys running on stage (I waved but don't think they saw me), and at other parts of the show where you ain't supposed too. At one point the singer (Bruce) donned a feathered mask during the song Powerslave.
I burst out laughing.
He looked like a sodding bearded lady.
Think he might have seen me in stitches, unless the mask was over his eyes.
Must get one.

All over too quick though. Didn't manage to catch up with the fan club dudes afterwards, though I think I remember signing up to join.
An army of Maiden t-shirt clad yetis headed back to central Sydney, rammed on the train.
I thought I'd treat myself to a kebab (funny how beer does that) and was all ready to call it a night about 12ish, when, would you Adam and Steve it, Jess who I met on the trip to the Blue Mountains came walking past with two mates.
They asked if 'I wanted to go down Scruffy Murphy's,' for a couple, so I finished the chicken kebab and did just that.

Several more beers later, dancing, and watching Man U lose to Man C, we finally called it a night just after 4 I think.
Well, it was my last weekend in Australia, so why not ay?
That's definitely January's and possibly February's alcohol quota gone.

Had a very good time of it, and had nice people in my room too, who had also gone down Scruffy Murphys.
Was woken up by a lass with a North eastern accent, saying its half bloody one. It was too, so I joined in,
'Half bloody one?
We all blamed the dark curtains in the dorm, for making us sleep in so long. Nothing to do with the late night and booze and partying, I can assure you.
I didn't feel so guilty, as I can afford to waste a few hours, as my days in Oz end. A couple of others in the room were job and flat hunting, and they had missed half the day.
Naughty curtains.

I don't have a hang over to speak of, but do look and feel like the undead.
Just doing some aimless wandering round the City, re-hydrating in coffee shops.
Might catch the ferry to Manly later if I feel like. If not, I won't.