Bali HaI. As the Air Asia jet circled to land, my first view of Bali was not shrouded in volcanic ash, rather it was of a mountainous lush island with swaying palms and wave washed beaches. It was the island from South Pacific but the grass skirted dancing girls were not there to meet us. The tourist areas of Seminyak, Kuta and Legian teem with groups of lobster pink back packers, older people who fell out of the rat race decades ago and have never found a way back in and white girls who for some reason think that having corn braids In their hair will make them as cool as the black girls who just are cool. The horrendous sun burn between the rows of braids really does nothing to enhance their overall appearance. The only saving grace is that most of these women are not letting the UK down as they are Aussies. Kuta beach is a magical place to watch a South Pacific sunset. Sitting on picnic chairs with an upturned beer crate as a table, sipping an ice cold beer is pretty much as close as you can get to an imagined scene of tranquility. The sun glows a deep red as it dips below the horizon and lesser frigate birds wheel in the sky to complete the magic. In the middle of Bali is the town of Ubud, the place was the ancient seat of power and is the cultural centre of the island. Narrow streets are filled with art galleries, museums, spas, temples and yoga schools; despite this, I still like the place. Everywhere you meet people trying to “find themselves”, mostly they are middle aged, slightly earnest types. The women wear loose fitting hippy style flowing frocks, and carry yoga mats over their shoulders in patterned carrying cases. The men have annoying little goatie beards. There is the unmistakable smell of patchouli in the air; unmistakable at least to those of us who lived through the seventies. Maggie informs me the shopping is brilliant. I in turn inform her that the spas are working wonders on my aching torso. This was of course an error because I can longer use the excuse of ‘don’t buy that because my back can’t cope with the extra weight in my pack’. Today we went to the famous Ubud Monkey Forest. The first thing I must say is that it is not a misnomer. The long tailed macaques are everywhere and they are naughty little buggers. We saw one man get robbed of his water bottle and another get his pocket picked. Now, all trip Maggie has had an affinity for things that bite, mainly mosquitoes but also ants and other bugs. Well, we can now add monkeys to that list. She got bitten whilst trying to protect her handbag from one of the beasties. Fortunately they are not rabies carriers and her tetanus is up to date. Sadly I was not the knight in shining armour she required, I didn’t laugh but I just stood there and did nothing. Our last stop in Bali is in the fashionable resort of Nusa Dua. Our hotel is in the orchards a mile or so from the beach. It is beautiful with a lovely pool but it is slightly odd. Something like a cross between Fawlty Towers and The Shining. We are at present the only guests and have a top floor suite that is massive. We were served breakfast today in the roof top restaurant. it consisted of fried rice, egg, chicken, chilies and fresh fruit; we actually ordered toast! The decor is bizarre with ornate Hindi style carved furniture and elaborate statues. The lift is glass and goes up the outside of the hotel. Bali is a wonderful place to visit and once you arrive, it’s so cheap. I recommend it to anyone, and Maggie and I will be going back for sure.

La Isla Bonita The Gili Islands sit just off the coast of Lombok. They are geographically the first islands in Australasia despite being in Asia. The Wallace line divides them from Bali and the flora and fauna is Australian not Asian. They are tiny specks hardly worth the name island but they are beautiful. No cars, only push bikes and cicomos (horse and carts to you and me). The seas lap against golden sands and divers and snorklers tell tales of tropical fish and of course turtles. The pace of life is almost stopped, Gili Trawangen is a truly wonderful place. On the main street the hustle of cycles, horses and backpackers gives Gili T a busy feel. There is a turtle hatchery with tiny baby turtles preparing for their first oceanic sojourn. Stalls selling fresh fruit juices from the familiar banana and mango through to the exotic red dragon fruit and papaya. The small barbecue stands produce succulent satay and the aromas pervade every inch of the street. The sun beats down, bronzed beauties ( we have seen the beautiful girl in the world) ease along the beach and lobster pink first dayers just marvel. The island has a slightly strange idiosyncrasy, there are lots and lots of cats and no dogs at all. The cats however are almost all cross eyed and have either a small stump, shortened tail or bent tail. They are very friendly but very odd. Being stared at by a hungry cross eyed, bent tailed cat is slightly unnerving. I borrowed a bike and cycled around the island. It took about an hour and that included one stop to watch a long tailed shrike and another to watch a white breasted woodswallow. I found sunset point and later in the day we walked back to see the sun sink into the ocean. I even took a photo of a sailboat silhouetted against the setting sun. I would love claim artistic talent but I know it was actually a fluke. As the idyllic days slip by one becomes aware of the enormous amount of work the poor ponies are required to do. They pull carts full of tourists, haul beer crates from bar to bar, transport water and are integral to the building boom. All of this in temperatures that seldom drop below 30C. They are not well treated and it is very sad to see. I am not sure what the answer is but I can only hope that as more and more western tourists visit the island the plight of the ponies will be continually questioned and eventually things will change. Today we read in the shade of a thatched beach hut, and tried hard to spot turtles in the azure waters. We snorkled and for someone PE trained I am shocking at this. In the afternoon we hired a glass bottomed boat and headed for the reef, we were accompanied by a charming German couple also on a turtle hunt. Once again my inability with a snorkel meant that not only did I not see anything but I also nearly drowned. Having struggled back to the boat a massive turtle swam beneath our glass viewing window it was so graceful. It arrived just as Maggie jumped out of the boat to go in search so she sadly missed it. The late afternoons follow a similar pattern each day. We return to our well appointed beach hut style room and drink Darjeeling tea whilst catching up with emails or reading. These Kindle things are one of the few pieces of technology I really like. After showering we head out for supper. The air has cooled but not significantly and there is certainly no formality about evening clothing. We always eat local food, it is delicious and so cheap. This evening we shared a simple starter and then Maggie had a chicken curry and I had nasi lemak. We each had a drink and the final bill with tip was just under £5. We strolled home in total darkness led only by my headtorch as there was a power cut. The clouds build each afternoon, the rains are two weeks late and everything is parched dry. So far the clouds have been filled with sound and fury but signified nothing. Today has been the same, heavy rains in distant Lombok but only waterless rumbles in the Gilis. This morning we took the fast boat back to Bali and to a different pace of life. The sea was flat and the sun shone as we left our Isla Bonita.

Everything stops for tea.

Our first day in KL, well darlings that’s what us Brits like to call it.  My God,  it is hot and humid until the thunder arrives at about 2.30 then it cools for a while. We are in a lovely hotel on the edge of China Town so the food choices are incredible but you do have to guess what they are.

We visited the Petronas Towers this morning and they are spectacular, I am a bit of a fan of high rise architecture and these did not fall short of my expectations.  KL in general goes upwards not outwards and a new world’s tallest building is under construction. 

Maggie still has not fully grasped the concept of long term travel and seems to be under the impression that the more you buy, the lighter your baggage becomes. Which may be the case for her of course,  as more and more seems to find its way into my back pack. I’m dead pleased I booked accommodation right next to the KL central market. (she is in the market as I write).

Breakfast shocker for me today:  I ordered what I thought was a perfect breakfast given that I wasn’t at my best this morning. Two soft boiled eggs and a toasted sandwich with cheese. The picture on the menu looked lovely.  I was served a bowl of nearly raw eggs which had probably been in luke warm water for about a minute. Still, I thought if I added the soy sauce that was supplied it would taste OK…….. Hmmm fish sauce! So I tucked into the sandwich which actually contained no cheese, just thick slabs of butter. The cup of tea was excellent. Maggie had a delightful chicken and potato curry.

We took a coach to the Cameron Highlands which are the tea growing centre for Malaysia. You can see why the Brits of the 20s and 30s came up here. It is cooler and less humid and incredibly beautiful. T he plantations remain,  as do the remnants of  British rule, Tudor style houses, afternoon cream teas, golf and Malay waiters who speak perfect English. We had a cream tea served by “Jeeves” in a wonderful old colonial hotel and to make it just like home it was pissing down outside.

The other big attraction in the Highlands are strawberries, there are dozens of farms selling strawberry juice, ice cream, smoothies and flavoured coffee and tea. What a result, me being allergic to them!

Those of you who watched Indian Summers on the box will know a lot of it was filmed in Penang. Well that’s where we are now but there is no sign of Julie Walters as yet. Penang Island is beautiful with stunning colonial buildings dotted around George Town, delicious local foods, many colourful murals on the sides of houses and Penang hill with its English coffee shop and crown green bowling green.

We are getting ready to fly to Bali at the weekend but there is a bloody volcano going off in Lombok the island next to Bali. This means an ash cloud has grounded all flights. However the Presnells are thinking of changing our names to the Marco Polos and doing the trip overland through Java.

More exciting food options in Penang this evening;  oyster porridge, claypot frog porridge, fish stomach soup, pork trotter rice and fish head curry, I may well go burger.

Well we reached Bali an hour ago, having cancelled our Jet Star flight which was grounded.  Instead we flew in with AirAsia.  Better than an overland trip but we did have to pay for two lots of airline tickets.  

Lola

Well we are back in Thailand having last visited with Mariela some four or so years ago. The first few days are in Bangkok and we took the bull by the horns and went straight to the Khao San  Road where ” it all happens”.  We ate great Pad Thai for just over a quid but passed on the deep fried tarantula and crunchy scorpions both freely available on the street. 

There are some amazing deals in the tailors’ shops,  49 euros for a jacket, shirt and trousers all made to measure. I purchased an off the peg beater and although I say so myself look jolly fine in it.

The overnight sleeper train from Bangkok to Surat Thani was our next adventure. It was cheap, air conditioned and food was available so in all honesty it was OK. There is of course a but! We were allocated upper berths rather than the larger more accessible lower berths. Well you just had to be there, I managed to scale the tiny metal ladder to my berth but sadly Maggie failed. In fact she failed three times amidst laughter from the carriage and indeed from herself and was left stuck with nowhere to sleep. Bravely I climbed down and by allowing Mags to use the ladder whilst giving her a boost from behind with my shoulder she was unceremoniously dumped in the bunk. After the train came a bus journey to Phuket Town and eventually on to Patong Beach.

Those who have been to Patong will know the lie of the land, those who have not will not understand how this place invades one’s senses. The beach road is a mix of fat old men with young Thai women on their arms, ageing hippies, thongs,  posing pouches and the most wonderful aromas from the street food sellers.

Running inland from the Beach Road is the Bangla Road or walking street. During the day it is a colourful collection of stalls selling everything from t-shirts to wooden carvings. At night, oh my word, does it change. The stalls  are still there but brightly lit bars with pumping music overshadow everything else. Scantily clad girls wrap themselves around any male in the street trying to entice them into a drinking establishment as the evening wears on.   Sellers approach you as you walk: you need tuk tuk?, you wan see nice girls papa?, massaaaaage papa!, best food in Patong velly cheap and papa mama you wan see ping pong show (we declined as neither of us like table tennis).. Then of course there are the lady boys strutting along the street. As Ray Davies said “girls will be boys and boys will be girls, it’s a mixed up muddled up shook up world”. Some are obviously male but others simply blow your mind, it is impossible to Imagine that the girl in front of you is a man. You can take photos but the minders are quick to demand cash in return, Maggie is good at not getting caught. The Bangla Road is in your face and is hectic and to be honest I am not sure that I like it. 

The food in Thailand is wonderful and so inexpensive. All of the dishes we try out at home, green curries, red curries, tom yum soup and pad thai but somehow they just taste different. The only problem is all of the dishes are impossible to eat without covering yourself in food drips. Tonight, I may well go for a red curry after all I will be wearing a yellow t-shirt so red splashes will go well with it.

We are staying in a lovely quiet hotel at the end of the strip and it is very good. Also here is a man we have christened “the stomach”. He is totally round, a cross between a weeble “they wobble but they don’t fall down” and Mr Blobby and he looks ready to burst. He seldom moves, speaks or does anything. I would love to stick a pin in him just to see if he flies around the pool area going phurrrrp like a punctured balloon.

Our next stop is Malaysia, a new country for both of us and our seventh so far.  

Motorbikin’

The first impression one gets of Ho Chi Minh City is that everyone is on the move all of the time and all on scooters and mopeds. Traffic lights hold back scores of bikes all ready to move as soon as the lights change. Crossing the road is a cross between a game of chicken and attempted suicide. You simply have to walk and hope that the mass of bikes will part and flow to either side of you. So far Maggie and I have only been brave enough to walk around the block.

Having been brought up to watch the BBC news my late teenage years were filled with footage of the Viet Nam war. Saigon,Da Nang, the Tet offensive, My Lai, agent orange and napalm. Then the innumerable films, Platoon, Full Metal Jacket, Apocalypse Now, Deer Hunter etc. All of this from an American perspective, well today Maggie and I saw the Vietnamese side of the story at the War Remnants Museum. The photos and texts gave an Insight into the psyche of a nation that had been at war since the 40’s, firstly against the French and then the USA. How do you win a war against a people who can live underground, know the jungle so well and are fighting for their freedom. The simple answer is you can’t.

I am no lover of US foreign policy but every American should see this museum and get an understanding of what they sent their young men to face. GI’s did not choose to go, the politicians sent them. Maybe if the next generation had a greater understanding of what went on they would think twice before getting involved in unwinable wars.

At the Cu Chi tunnels we saw another aspect of the Viet Cong’s fight to thwart the US. Tunnels some 250 km long under the jungle. These tunnels were up to 12 mtrs below ground and were dug in ground that was 70% clay. The irony being that as the napalm bombs fell the extreme heat  baked the earth like concrete creating  even better protection. 10,000 Vietnamese lost their lives in the Cu Chi area but they did not surrender. The locals lived underground for years in a complex that allowed movement, storage and surprise attacks. The area was booby trapped and mined by the local rebels. Add to this temperatures in the 90’s, 100% humidity, mosquitoes, and snakes and it must have been a living hell for the US troops.

A first for me today: I have just had a manicure although I stopped short of coloured nail varnish. I did feel like a bit of a pillock but one has to look after oneself! Cost of a 20 minute treatment? £2.50. Maggie also took full advantage of the price.

We flew to Da Nang and then made the short journey to Hoi An. The old town is a world heritage site and is famed for Japanese and Chinese architecture and gastronomy. Well,  if lunch today was anything to go by, the second part is no myth.  I’m afraid the architecture will have to wait until tomorrow. If we can reproduce food with such wonderful flavours on our return you will be queuing for dinner party invites. Hoi An is one of the most unique and enjoyable places I have ever visited. 

Maggie and I spent a day on a cookery course on a small island outside Hoi An. We cooked four dishes each, learned about local rural life, travelled to the village on a local boat and met Grandma who is 90 and still helps with daily chores. If you ever visit Hoi An book a day on My Grandma’s Home Cooking course.

Hoi An: the play.
Scene 1: small river front cafe overlooking the river. Alex and Maggie sit drinking beer. A tiny Vietnamese girl street seller approaches.
Girl: where you from?
Alex: (rather proudly) we are from England, near London.
Girl: oh! lovely jubbly. Where your hair?
Alex: I shave it off.
Girl: why you do that?  (she pauses, then pats Alex’s stomach) when baby come?
Laughter from Maggie and girl.
Scene ends.

Cambodia

A one night stop over in Singapore, never a bad thing as it is a remarkable place. So clean you could almost eat supper off the pavement.

Just back from the temples at Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom. Amazing morning and one that will remain a highlight of our trip. Everyone carries the image of Angkor Wat in their head and it does not disappoint. We did not go for sunrise as the weather was cloudy but we explored the temples and having visited the outstanding National Museum yesterday had a good understanding of what we saw. After the last temple we bought a king coconut and drank the chilled coconut water as we walked back to our tuk tuk driver. 

Taking a shower in our Siem Reap hotel is another very different experience. Firstly with specs on I checked the buttons and dials and was happy I knew what to do. I aimed the shower head and 
pushed the buttons, nothing happened. After a second or two a dribble of water splashed onto the floor, I removed the hand held shower head at the very second the water power returned. The piping hot water now gushed at the slatted door and soaked the bedroom. I dropped the shower which then behaved like a cobra sitting up and soaking the whole bathroom,towels, toilet paper, my clothes everything. Then slipping all over the place on the tiled floor I regained control of the shower head just as the water ran out. Oh joy!

Beer is about 35pence a glass; that more than makes up for the shower.

Maggie and I went back to Angkor to see the sun set, the light during golden hour gave the temple an almost mystical aura. Even a cynical old git like me was moved, it was incredible. The reflections in the lake changed colour as the light faded until finally the building returned to being a dark shadow in the jungle.

Yesterday was a top day, birding in the morning (05:00 start) 45 species and half a dozen life ticks, then a local cultural show in the evening. This included a buffet meal which was excellent, apart from the chicken’s foot on a stick I chose by accident. Most of the audience were Chinese who either ate and left,  even in the middle of a performance,  or shouted at one another throughout. 

 In between we visited the Siem Reap killing field. It is smaller and less well known than the one in Phnom Penh but nonetheless is horrific. A small building  with over30 paintings tells one man’s story in quite graphic detail.  The experience leaves you feeling very hollow and I fear that S-21, the site in the capital will be even more chilling.

Bizarre sight from the bus to Phnom Penh; driving through a small village we came upon a moped pulling a flat bed trailer, nothing odd so far. On the back of the trailer were two seven feet long live crocodiles, admittedly securely bound. Oh well that’s Cambodia for you.

The Genocide Museum at the school, that became S-21 stands as a lasting reminder of the darkest days in Cambodian history. Classrooms were turned into torture chambers and tiny airless cells in order to rid the country of the intellectual classes. Education was banned, Phnom Penh peoples evacuated to the fields and over two million people, a quarter of the nation, murdered by the Khmer Rouge. The photos and testimonies of the dead will haunt this country for generations. Then the killing fields add a dimension of horror that I have never before experienced. I have not been to The Nazi death camps but have been told how pure evil hangs in its buildings. The killing fields are the same and no words can fully convey the horrors unless they come from the mouths of the seven survivors of S-21. 

The killing tree stands at the rear of the site, it is bedecked with friendship bracelets. It was used to smash the heads of children as they were swung against it. This saved valuable bullets for other uses. The mass grave next to the tree held over 1000 tiny corpses.

How can humans behave in such a way? I am at a loss to comprehend the savagery of Pol Pot and his henchmen and will never understand man’s inhumanity to his fellow man.

We  leave Cambodia in a day’s time with images that will remain with us forever.

The tide is high.

How many people can you fit in a train carriage? Well southern region try hard every morning but they have nothing on these guys. Our £1.07 ticket took us from Colombo to Weligama some three and a bit hours. We stood the whole way in temperatures in the high 90’s. The ceiling of the carriage was lined with fans , none of which worked. The fact that everyone was sweating so much did make it easier to cram people in as we just slipped past one another. It is a very strange noise that occurs when you become unstuck from the Sri Lankan standing next to you, a little like unraveling cling film. Oh my god what a journey!

Still we are here now in Mirissa beach for a week of doing bugger all except eating tiger prawns and tuna steaks, reading and relaxing.

The beach is crescent shaped bounded at one end by a headland covered in coconut palms and large villas, and at the other by a small island joined to the beach by a causeway when the tide is out. The waves that roll in are not big enough for surfing but are fine for the scores of body boarders who bob up and down in the water waiting for the perfect roller, which they then miss with a skill that only Europeans possess.  The locals on average get four or five rides to the tourists one.

The shoreline is dotted with small eateries and bars and the smells are amazing at around 1.00 when the cooking starts. Beer is of course essential in the heat and when accompanied by a delicious roti or a dish of garlic prawns it is hard to beat. 

We while away the hours reading, me a Susan hill novel recommended by Soro, and Maggie the glass painters daughter. Plus we try to assess whether passers by can “do beach or not”. Some people just seem born to spend time by the sea and it’s not an age thing. They move along the sand or into the ocean with an elegance that defies the strength of the waves. I, on the other hand scuttle like a crab as the hot sand burns my feet and then stumble and fall as each wave seems to catch me at just the angle I was not expecting. I am however not alone and countless hours can be spent in this admirable pursuit, if only I had a cam-Corder I could finance this trip from clips on “you’ve been framed.” 

The No 1 Dewhini Roti house sits back from the beach but is a must while in Mirissa. The small establishment is run by a team of charming women who scurry around with a smiling efficiency which certainly marks out Sri Lanka as a very different country to it’s larger neighbour. I chose a chocolate and fresh mango roti with vanilla ice cream, Maggie had a banoffee roti and a glass of chilled mango juice. Who knows what we will choose tomorrow?

The dry season is increasingly beginning to look like a misnomer as we are now into our third day of almost continuos rain. The locals do appear somewhat shocked by the deluge and bearing in mind most are under 5 feet tall a little worried. Sales of arm bands are at an all time high and 
the Sri Lankan rowing team is being bussed into Mirissa for extra training. If the rain continues for much longer the whales that make Mirissa famous will be able to visit us rather than us going to sea to find them. 

We move to Galle on the 30th before flying out to Cambodia via Singapore at the weekend. Travel days are never relaxing, and can be hard work especially as more and more of Maggie’s  belongings seem to be finding their way into my backpack!!!

I was going to stop this blog here but I must mention Galle Fort and the old town. It is a wonderful place to spend a day. Tranquil and unlike any other place we have seen in Sri Lanka. Great restaurants, boutique style shops, fantastic Dutch architecture and superb views. You must go!

Long train running.

The journey from the Fort station in Colombo to the hill station at Kandy is one of the classic rail journeys. The flat paddy fields gradually give way to the more rugged central highlands. We pass through small villages linked to the outside world by the train. Children wave and washing hung by the track flutters as we pass.

The rice paddies are empty in September save for Asian open billed storks and hoards of egrets. The harvest comes later in the year but it would be wonderful to witness. The track is also a pathway and after the train passes scores of brightly dressed women walk on to the track to go about their business. They are joined by children walking home from school and workers at the end of a day. The railway track is far more than a transport link is is a artery into the heart of rural Sri Lankan life.

As the light fades and evening draws in a second loco hitches up and we begin the climb to Kandy.
The temperature drops and rocky outcrops climb steeply on both sides of the track. Out to the left bible rock stands proud like a mini table mountain, sacred to the buddhists and Christians alike.

Kandy is altogether slower than the capital; people have time to smile and say hello. Our lodgings for the visit are perched high on a hill in Hanthana just outside the city. The Eagle’s Rest could not be more aptly named. What a charming homestay and a lovely family. Breakfast on the balcony overlooking Kandy was a delight. Fresh paw paw and pineapple, passion fruit juice, eggs, sweet potato, avacado and chilli coconut with toast and coffee. All this to the musical accompaniment of the morning birds.

The Sigiriya ancient hill palace, Dambulla Buddhist hill temples, the Hindu temple at Matale plus a wonderful lunch was a splendid day out. Lunch was rice, chicken, dhal, potato curry, caramelised vegetables, coconut curry, fish cakes and ginger beer for 3 (we had our driver for the day, Walter) for the grand price of £3.20 inc tip.

The Buddhist shrine of the Temple of the Tooth sits proudly beside the Kandy city centre lake. A magnificent building holding one of Buddism’s most sacred relics. Today tourists were shocked to see me wear a sarong, many are still in shock and the local TV news team was called to witness this phenomenon. Personally I just felt like a prat.

Hidden away behind the temple is the British garrison cemetery. One grave is to a soldier who survived the battle of Waterloo in 1815 only to die of fever in Kandy in 1817 he was 26 years old. Hard to imagine the hardships this young man must have endured in his short life.

Bizarre event today in town, I took my shirt  off briefly to cool down and before I knew what was happening people were falling at my feet and showering me with garlands. People were screaming buddha is back! Clearly the diet has yet to fully take effect.
 
Maggie and I have discovered ginger beer in a big way and at less then 30p a bottle I could get totally hooked. It looks good , tastes good and by golly it does you good.

One final thing from Kandy: a new personal best on the pint of beer: 80 pence approx.

Like a bird on a wire

Ashoka duly arrived at the appointed hour and off we set on the three hour journey to the a small area of what is known as the wet zone in southern central Sri Lanka. The term wet zone and rainforest should have given us clues to the likely weather but innocently we ploughed on.

We checked in at the rock view motel, (well worth googling), and then hit the forest. Ten minutes later the heavens opened and it rained to the extent that I actually gathered wood to build a bloody ark. Maggie started to arrange the animals in pairs and trust me the third leopard to arrive was pissed off.

However in the break between showers the birds did their best to dry off and this fortunately for me meant perching on exposed branches to catch the sun. The scarlet minovet is a little cracker even the chestnut backed owlet popped out from cover to say hi. These little beauties are very hard to see. So 19 life ticks later we headed back to our digs for the next two nights. For the uneducated a life tick means you have never seen one before hence you are ticking it off the list for the first time in your life. I am now on 1268 and counting.

After a healthy breakfast of papaya, pineapple and a banana (I left the banana) and added a fried egg and toast, I left for the rainforest again (without a relieved Maggie).  More heavy rain brought out a pleasant little surprise, leeches by the hundreds. I escaped totally unscathed for a few  hours or so. During this time I saw red fronted malkoha, malabar trogon, the very rare Sri Lankan thrush and about 10 more lifers. As we finished the day a guide beamed and said he had found a Serendib scoops owl. This bird was new on the world list in 2001 and hardly anyone outside Sri Lanka has seen one. Well this was too good to miss but would mean a 500 metre scramble through the jungle. To say I gave blood to see this bird would almost be the understatement of the year. Oh my god I got drained by leeches and fell in a stream but I saw the little bugger and made it back to tell the tale.

En route out of the forest we crossed paths with a near two metre long monitor lizard and saw the little Sri Lankan village children begin their walk home from primary school. They were all in smart uniform, mostly in bare feet and many faced a five kilometre trek into the rainforest area. I could not help of thinking about our kids at Cranbrook who will not even walk in from jockey lane, mummy must drop them in the school even if it causes traffic chaos. I’m not saying I would have wanted Mariela and Camilla walking through a forest but it did make me realise how Important an education is in some parts of the world.

Just in case you were wondering it is now1282 and counting.

Greased Lightning

Buses bully big cars and the big cars bully the little cars, everything bullies the Tuk Tuks,  and they are the only way to see Colombo. Now I’ve been to many theme parks when the girls were young but nothing compares to a ride in a Colombo tuk tuk. You sit squashed into the back of a sewing machine powered vehicle as it dodges through the traffic ignoring road markings, oncoming traffic and pedestrians who scatter like vampires from the light. Each driver carries a bottle of fuel clipped to the frame next to the battery so in fact you are riding in a Molotov cocktail.

Colombo is exciting, Galle Face to watch the sun set, preceeded and followed by beers in the “In on the green”. Oh and they had happy hour, less than £1.10 a pint,  the cheapest so far on the trip. Fast food Sr Lankan style consisting of a medium chicken curry in a beach side tent. For medium read very hot and for beach side tent read tarpaulin draped over a few bamboos. All this in a thunder storm which lasted no longer than five minutes but deposited more rain than we get in an English summer.

We visited the shopping arcade which is new and exciting. It is housed in a building from the British rule that was once an asylum. Not entirely sure of the purpose of such a mall as no Sri Lankans appeared to visit it but hey ho.

I then watched a school rugby lesson for ten minutes or so and it made me realise that I was actually a good coach after all.  If you ever need a confidence boost as a P.E teacher come out here.
Maggie, as you can imagine was captivated by this short interlude but even she as a non P.E person could see this lesson was on a par with listening to a Weeds assembly. The most interesting part was watching a boy explain he could not run aimlessly up and down the pitch as he had a serious case of inner thigh chaffing. His explanation was crap but the actions accompanying it were hilarious.

Supper tonight, bit of a change from Sri Lankan we went for an Indian. We waited for the pubs to kick out to see if the place filled with pissed locals but sadly that seems to only happen at home.

Tomorrow we are off to the rainforest bird watching if the guide turns up. News to follow…..