Baguettes and happy shakes

Back to Laos, the land of sticky rice, fresh baguettes and perpetual relaxation. Onto the place where the Laotian soul has been taken, stripped of its features and sold to the marijuana-smoking tourist dollar. The place is Vang Vieng, a convenient stop between Luang Falang...sorry Prabang and Vientiane. We could not decide whether or not to visit Vang Vieng; we opted to do it for two reasons, firstly to spend a few extra days with Stu and Flo, a lovely couple we've been travelling with since Luang Nam Tha. And secondly, because a country's identity is an everchanging rather than crystallised reality; many tourists who avoid VV say 'It's not real Laos'. Perhaps it would be better to say 'it's not traditional Laos'. Laos in 2010 is a backpacker's haven, and Vang Vieng is the centre of it. Friends bars and happy shakes are as Laotian as wats and monks, just of a more recent origin.



I expected to hate Vang Vieng, but I rather liked it. We opted to stay out of town, amid the limestone karsts and the now dissipating smoke. Travellers were first drawn to Vang Vieng because of its natural beauties, and I suspect also because it makes a convenient stop between LP and the capital city. One guesthouse bred another, one happy shake created more... now Vang Vieng is known as the Lao Khao San Road. I have to disagree. It's not as hectic as the Bangkok's backpacker mecca, the pace is still slow and the atmosphere sleepy. Maybe it's helped by certain drowsiness-inducing drugs?



Ask many, and Vang Vieng means tubing. Being the flagship Vang Vieng activity, we decided to give it a go, also because the smoke prevented us from any other scenery-appreciating pastimes. Armed with a tube between two and those telltale marker pen squiggles, we jumped in. We spent an afternoon lazing on the tubes, drinking Beerlao, laughing at getting stuck in the rocks and trying to fit two people in one tube. A nice, different, enjoyable afternoon. After the string of bars we continued for an extra 2 kilometres, where we floated next to water buffaloes, children playing and women washing, and provided some entertainment for a Chinese group on a sunset tour.



Many others consumed several helpings of happy shakes and hash brownies, enjoyed the free joints offered with meals and the 10.000 kip buckets. I have pointed the finger at this populace for a long time, accusing them of spoiling all that there is to be spoilt with their drunken antics. I may have been in Asia for too long, now I no longer care. Let them be. If it helps the locals, bring on the brownies I say. Just a word for you, Australian-British-Swedish or whatever teen or twentysomething; always show respect. Cover up, don't piss in the street. Respect the country where you are, respect the people. The number one lesson that travelling taught me is respect. We are all brothers, we should all love and respect one another, disregarding race, colour and creed. Seems very Seventies barefoot hippy, but that's how I feel. I have a great love for mankind within me, that grows stronger every day I spend on the road. Every day my worries for the past and future, the anger and frustration I have felt in my life become less and less, my joy for simply being part of this world becomes stronger.

Kebab, guinea pig and the 'Real Arequipa'.

From one of the most beautiful Southeast Asian cities to one of the nicest South American cities, Arequipa. I am just starting to appreciate what a mistake I made not writing this blog as soon as I visited the destination I am writing about. Although my memory allows me to remember what happened throughout the trip, I am having trouble reliving the emotions I felt whenever I was somewhere. When I write in retrospection the result is probably drier than it would be otherwise. On the other hand, writing after some time allows me to think about certain episodes and places, and perhaps analyse them and present them in a less 'involved' way. I don't know what is the best option; I will present a little bit of both.



Arequipa, la ciudad blanca. For those of you not familiar with Spanish, the name translates as 'the white city', on account of sillar, the white volcanic stone in which most of the city is built. Arequipa was the first place in which the Andean soul of Peru became alive, after the beaches of the North and Lima. The ride to town allowed us a view of El Misti, the towering snowcapped volcano looming around the city like a saint protector and a potential foe at the same time. Arequipa is simply beautiful. Wide plazas are surrounded by sillar colonial buidings and churches, Andean women walk around town in traditional costumes. The Monasterio de Santa Catalina was, for me, one of the gems of Peru; a colorful yet sombre walled city within a city. Arequipa felt more authentic, less heavily touristed than Cuzco, retaining a soul that has not yet sold itself to mass tourism.



However, as most travellers will know, the real soul of a place is not to be found in the polished-up historical centre. Cities like Arequipa live and breathe in the slums, in the barrios, not in the boutique B&B in the historical centre. We took the Real Arequipa tour, a half-day excursions to discover the other face of this spectacular city. I have already commented on pros and cons of this type of tourism in my Rio blogpost (Steak and Chips). To make it brief, I support these initiatives as they attempt to provide help to the most neglected parts of cities. Real Arequipa supports a children daycare centre and a soup kitchen as well as providing quarry workers with food provisions.



The day started with a minibus ride; we saw the city change, from the dazzling beauty of the white centre glistening in the morning sun to residential neighbourhoods, that become poorer and poorer the furthest we got from the centre. The poorest resembled huge sprawling expanses of low buildings; built with the same shining white stone that makes the colonial centre so unique.
The first stop was a quarry. We saw a man carving stone bricks from the rockface, a task which takes him one hour for approximately 20p payment. The white volcanic stone is so abundant here that the price quarrymen are payed is rather low. They work for themselves, getting payed per number of bricks they can produce. The man we spoke to was over 60 years of age and worked 10 hours a day, six or seven days a week. These people are in such dire need for money that is not unusual seeing them at work on Christmas day. He looked me in the eyes as I handed him a tip, shaking his hands roughened by years of work. I felt hollow, ashamed of the inequalities between human beings.



El Misti is closer to this part of town. It seems right, as the people who inhabite the area retain some of the animistic beliefs which regard mountains as the seats of gods. The cemetery is closest to the mountain. It was one of the most colorful cemeteries I visited, the atmosphere lighthearted rather than sombre. Tombs are built resembling little houses, some with painted images. Empty plots of land house the tombs of suicides, who do not have any decoration. I was astounded by the number of suicides. Our guide explained that many people came from the mountains to the city in the Eighties, escaping the brutalities of the Shining Path. Many of these refugees form the population of urban slums, many decided to end their own lives as thay could not fend for themselves in the cities.



After the cemetery, we visited the daycare centre and soup kitchen. It was nice to see two examples of interventions in favour of disadvantaged people. The children daycare centre had the Quechua name Wawawasi, meaning children's home. It provides a place for mothers to leave thair children when they go into town to work, allowing at the same time the children to receive a basic education. Five children were there when we visited, aged between two and eight. They smiled, played and sang for us. The smallest one kept falling asleep, we were explained he has to walk a few kilometres every morning in order to get there. From the gift of instruction to the gift of food. The soup kitchen is a community-run establishment providing hundreds of children, elderly people and in general everybody in need with a free or extremely cheap hot meal. Groups of women took into turns to cook, when it's their turn, themselves and their families receive free food. At all other times, the charge is minimal, barely enough to cover the ingredients. The flavours wafting from the kitchen were heavenly, I looked into the pots but did not dare to ask for a taste.



Throughout the trip our guide presented us with a picture of contemporary Peru. In his mind, it is a land where people have time for little hope. The education system is geared towards the affluent classes, with the poorest barely able to learn basic literacy skills. Although education is free, the 'hidden charges' such as books and stationery prevent indigent classes to send their children to school. As a result, they take the streets. We saw swarms of children playing hide and seek behind the white houses. They seemed happy, but what will the future offer them? So I cherished this opportunity of knowing the Real Arequipa, knowing that my ticket charge will allow a few more children to attend the Wawawasi, or a few more hot dishes to be offered to those who are hungry.



And what about Santa Catalina, or Juanita, the mummy of an Inca girl hosted in Arequipa. I guess if you've been reading this blog long enough you'd know by now I do not usually bother with all that. Read the Lonely planet, or read one of the countless copycat travel blogs. Here you won't find info on sightseeing, restaurants or nightlife. You will find emotion, feelings and memories. Words that evoke atmospheres rather than telling facts. The Real Arequipa was my Arequipa. If you're ever around that area, I suggest you go and experience it too. It's a far more fulfilling experience than yet another plaza.

Khua maak kheua gap moo (Fried eggplant with pork)

A good percentage of travellers coming to Laos can be divided into two categories; those who head for Vang Vieng, and those who prefer Luang Prabang. Whilst Vang Vieng is a mellower version of Khao San Road, where drugs and booze and shirtless 'fun' are the norm (but more on VV later), Luang Prabang is the quintessential Laotian town. Set on a peninsula surrounded by the mighty Mekong and the smaller Khan river, Luang Prabang ticks all Lao boxes; temples, monks, mellow atmosphere, street market. It is undoubtedly the moust heavily touristed place in Laos, yet, it mantains a chiiled-out atmosphere. There are no touts or hawkers in sight, and a wide choice of accommodation and eateries, from street food to falang (Westerner) friendly, overpriced restaurant. I needn't say what was our pick.


Amongst the attractions in Luang Prabang, one which stands out is the Tak Bat, the alms giving ceremony. We firstly became familiar with it during our retreat in Chiang Mai. The theory underlying the ceremony is that monks are not supposed to cook for themselves; as such, they have to beg for their food. So monks exit the monastery at dawn, holding their alms bowl, and walk around town where devotees congregate to offer them food. In most towns where I have witnessed this ceremony, the atmosphere was solemn and holy. In Luang Prabang it seemed a blockbuster tourist attractions rather than a sacred ritual. On account of the high number of monasteries around town, a sizeable number of monks takes on the streets at dawn. Rows of devotees (or tourists) gather on mats offering food, whilst others watch and take photos. Once again, is taking pictures wrong? If it's done with discretion, I don't think so. Most monks I met and spoke to said they are not at all bothered by pictures.



Moreover, it's easy to point a finger on the falang when, I have to say, most inappropriate behaviours are performed by Asian tourists. I have witnessed busloads of Korean tourists interrupting the monks' queue to hand each other things and holding cameras at about an inch from the monks' faces. Most Westerners behaved with respect, taking photos from a distance with no flash and generally following the ceremony in silence. I did not offer food for two reasons; firstly, I did not want to fall into the trap of the hotels and guesthouses who argue monks can only consume certain types of rice and sell guests an 'alms set' for around 50.000 kip when a portion of sticky rice costs about 3000. Secondly, I did not want to buy rice from the morning vendors who get their rice from the children begging from the monks. Maybe I should make this point clearer; in theory, devotees offer food to monks who in turn give their surplus to children and beggars. However, those sell the rice back to street vendors, who in turn sell it to tourists to give to monks. So the poor monks end up eating the same old rice. Plus, the food is supposed to be cooked by the giver. As I was unable to cook, I just witnessed this ancient ceremony, sadly spoilt by the behaviour of many.



My day continued with a cooking class. For those who are not familiar with Laotian food, these are the basis; staple food is sticky rice, accompanied by a variety of dishes (mostly soups and stir-fries), and one or more kinds of chilli chutney-sauce. There are some specialties who have a distinctive French influence, such as baguettes and salads with creamy dressings. We prepared Luang Prabang salad, a concoction of lettuce, watercress, tomatoes, cucumbers, boiled egg, minced pork and a French-Laotian mayonnaise with the tang of vinegar mellowed by sugar. We started the class by shopping at the local market, where the teacher introduced us to Lao specialties such as buffalo skin (for chewy!), congealed blood (good for soups, reminded me of good old curry mee) and paedak, a fermented fish sauce.



When we went back to headquarters, to my disappointment we discovered the recipes we were going to learn were not the orignal Lao dishes but rather a watered down falang versions. No buffalo skin or paedak for us, bother. However, I was not to be disappointed; we prepared two noodle stirfries, one with sticky rice noodles and chicken and one with choko, woodear fungus and minced pork, a 'Lao Casserole', sticky rice and jeowbong, the Luang Prabang chilli paste. Plus the flagship Laotian dish; Laap, a salad made with minced chicken, a variety of herbs and toasted rice. A great symphony of Southeast Asian flavours, fish sauce and lemongrass, coriander and kaffir lime leaves, with the crunchiness of banana flowers. My favourite was khua maak kheua gap moo, fried aubergine with minced pork fried in oyster sauce and garlic. Excellent in its simplicity.



What's my verdict for Luang Prabang? It was a great place to visit. I was saddened by the sight of how sheer B-grade tourism can influence the soul of a place. It's hard to wage judgement on this matter though, locals need the tourist dollar desperately in a place like Laos. In my opinion the answer is sustainable tourism, staying in locally-owned places, talking to the locals and trying to read and understand the destination visited as much as possible. And please, avoid package tours. The world isn't a big scary place. Not everybody is there just trying to rob and rip tourists off, especially not in Laos. And if your choice is to have transport and accommodation arranged, try to get out and breathe the soul of a place, rather than just 'ticking boxes'. The rewards will be immense.

Coca leaves

Once again, back a number of months... to October, when we were travelling around Peru. I have already covered our adventures overlanding in Northern Peru, now it's time for the south. For us, as for many others, the highlight of this section of our travels was the Inca Trail, the famous 45 km walk that terminates at the ruins of Machu Picchu. But let's proceed in order. The gateway to the trail is the magnificent city of Cuzco, twice capital of Peru; of the Inca empire first, and centre of Spanish colonization afterwards. It truly is beautiful; although the Spanish destroyed most Inca buildings it is still possible to see remnants of walls, intermingled with the beautiful Baroque architecture. It is a city of stunning plazas, panoramic views of the surrounding mountains, imponent churches hiding colonial treasures.





However, as all beautiful places, Cuzco has long since fallen pray to mass tourism. Children and old ladies in traditional costumes holding baby llamas wander around offering 'a picture for 5 soles', hawkers promote restaurants and guesthouses, mass produced souvenirs are found at every street corner. And as the light fades Cuzco becomes a haven for sweaty backpackers guzzling overpriced Cusquena and dancing cheesy pop tunes. I have met people who spent a week or more in Cuzco and saw absolutely nothing, enjoying instead the internet cafes and ubiquitous cafes serving Western food. Each to his own.



But let's start walking. I was looking forward ti the Inca trail, but with apprehension. I wondered if I was going to make it. The trail is 45 km long, with an average altitude aroud 3000 m and a highest point of 4200. I had no experience trekking at altitude and didn't know how I was going to cope. After the mandatory pictures at the start of the trail, we took off. Day 1 is easy enough; 11 km of mostly flat terrain, with a few ups and downs. It is known as the 'introduction day', the trail snakes through the mountains allowing views of valleys and ruins, all in a calm, Sunday-stroll fashion. The general mood around the campsite was 'is that all?'; little did we know what was going to come.



Day 2 is 'suffering day', with a good reason. In the space of 5 km the elevation goes from 3000 to 4200 m. There is only one way to put it; the trail goes up, up and up some more. I was soon gasping for breath, finding myself unable to enjoy the walk. All I was thinking of was reaching Dead Woman's Pass, the highest point. I started chewing coca leaves using the catalyser known as 'black cheese', which enhances the effect. Each lot would allow me to breathe freely and gave me a boost of energy. Coca leaves do not produce a 'high', the main side effect is numbness of the gums and mouth. I kept chewing, despite the numbness; however, when it reached my chest, I stopped and handed my leaves to the nearest porter. By then I could see the pass, it looked like a mirage. It looked close, but as I advanced the pass seemed to remain always at the same distance. And the trail kept snaking up. At the final ascent to the pass I had to stop approximately every 10 steps. But once we reached Dead Woman's Pass I was proud of myself for making it. There was no great views, only a bone-chilling wind and clouds rolling in and out of the pass. The was back down to the campsite was like a walk in the park after the ascent.



After the huge workout, everybody was looking forward to day 3, when the views of Inca ruins and the cloud forest are at their best. The trail for the day started with a 2 km climb, followed by a further 14 km of easy, panoramic hiking. As we woke up, we had the first bad surprise; it was pouring. I found climbing under the chilling rain even harder than the ascent to Dead Woman's Pass. The rain kept falling, down my neck and back, sending chills down my spine. I was in a frustrated state of mind, I just wanted everything to be over. I was hating every minute of it; the ruins just seemed like piles of rubble, and the stormy clouds were blocking the view. After 2-3 hours we got some respite from the rain and were able to complete the day enjoing some views and sunshine. The day, though, was all but ruined for me.







So far, I would've lied if I said I enjoyed the experience. As a matter of fact, I hated it. The last day was just about to change my opinion completely. The group raised at 3 am to be the first going through the checkpoint, with the aim of being the first at Sun Gate, the viewpoint where it's possible to catch the first glimpse of Machu Picchu. We were indeed the first, and at opening time we all sprinted through. Some people pushed and shoved those who walked slower, I just concentrated on walking as quickly as possible. I wanted to arrive at Sun Gate before the masses, to have a minute of peace to take in my first glance of Machu Picchu. I did the 6 km to the Sun Gate in just over half an hour. Once again I gasped for breath, but I did not give up. At Sun Gate one of the most amazing sights of my life unfolded before my eyes. I saw Machu Picchu, nestled through the mountains, bathed in the early morning light. The rocks of the building seemed to complete the mountains, a sight so familiar yet so breathtaking when you actually stand by it. It was my highest moment, when the beauty just filled me completely I broke into tears. I had about 15 minutes before the hordes came and I just sat there, gazing at the valley. It was a truly beautiful moment, unspoilt by the masses of people that were already making their way to the ruins below.



Afterwards we toured Machu Picchu. The site was impressive, although for me nothing could give me the same thrill I experienced when I first saw it. We wandered around, I felt like I was walking in a dream. I was exhausted yet excited. I do not remember much of the visit, though. What remained with me was the first glance from the Sun Gate.

The Red Centre and Broken Hill: a reflection on Aboriginal Culture

From Asia to Australia; following my thoughts rather than time. Visiting Khmu tribes in Northern Laos made me think about another country, which I love dearly (indeed, I have a Southern Cross on my right ankle) and its cultural heritage. I know very little about Aboriginal people, but I have seen enough of Australia to notice that Aboriginal culture is grossly underestimated.

I travelled Australia with European eyes. My first reaction seeing Aborigines around Sydney has been one of reject. They appeared so different to me. I experienced the gut-feeling that perhaps the pioneers felt; they are so different, they must be bad. Talking to people, I noticed many Australians seemed torn between two feelings; willingness to discover Aboriginal culture, at the same time wariness, maybe even fear of them. I did not need to wonder as to why; that's what I also felt. I laughed at racist jokes, couldn't find the term 'ABO' offensive, quickly moved if I was approached. For all intents and purposes, I was racist. I found naive and politically correct those who declared to cherish and love Aborigenal culture. I laughed at them, full of my White superiority.

A trip to the Red Centre was going to change my mind, radically change my feelings about Aboriginal people, and make me profundly ashamed of what I previously felt abou these people. Seeing Uluru rise from the red desert is an emotion which cannot be expressed in words. It truly is one of the greatest places on Earth. Although overrun by tourists, the sheer size of the expanse and of the rock itself allow anyone to have a corner where it's possible to cntemplate this wonder in peace. The lend itself felt different; alive, almost charged by some sort of ancestral energy. We walk around Uluru in the light of dawn, looking at the grooves and folds that inspired countless Dreamtime stories. I could imagine being there, roaming the desert, and suddenly find myself in front of this majesty. Seeing the wonders of nature allows one to understand why our ancestors thought mountains, rivers, oceans and forests were gods.

I found myself deeply saddened seeing so many Aboriginal people in Alice Springs, sitting on street corners, their eyes avoiding my gaze. Some were drinking, some weren't; nearly all of them looked like they wanted to be left alone. There was no integration between Whites and Aborigines; I don't know if that was because of racism from White people, I guess Aborigines also prefered to be left alone. Maybe the horrors of the Stolen generation are still too close for them to trust other Australians. I read to find out more about Aboriginal culture and their beliefs.

Now, I won't dwell on what is right and what is not. Whether Aborigines should get special rights, allowances and whatnot. All I want to say is that as people thay deserve respect. There should be no question on the issue of land rights; Aborigines do not own land, the land owns them. At the core of their beliefs is a holistic relationship between man and land, and all things which are part of the land; animal, plants, sticks and stones. They are one entity. Their land lives, breathes with the spirits of the departed who become part of the Dream, which I understood as force, energy pervading all things. Take the land away from the man, he ceases to exist. His soul, his essence is taken away from him. He becomes worthless.

Fast-forward a month. We are now in Broken Hill, visiting the sculpture park. For those who don't know, the sculpture park is set in the middle of the desert; it was created after a symposium in 1993, when sculpturers coming from several countries gathered up to create 12 sculptures, all with a story to tell. I was there for sunset and I found some pretty stones. Knowing the area was not protected national park, I quickly pocketed them. I was overcome by a feeling of unease. I understood; I had just taken something way from the land. Those pretty stones in my pocket were removed by their source. I had taken wawy their belongingness. I had acted in a way that broke the harmony of the land. We drove back up at sunrise, and I put the two stones back to where I found them. I looked up to see two kangaroos, about 2 foot from me. I had not seen nor heard them coming, it was as if they appeared. They looked at me and were gone. I like to think they were spirits coming to thank me for my gesture. Whatever it was, I felt great. I was filled with joy and felt at peace. I was happy to be there, proud to be part of the land.

Sticky Rice and warm Beerlao

Another week has gone by since I wrote last. We travelled from our heaven on earth in Pai to Chiang Rai, and then onto Laos. The contrast with Thailand was evident straight away; no meore 7-Elevens at every street corner, no more touts and hawkers plying their trade. Laos seems like a land lost in an eternal state of drowsiness. Instead of the yellow flag of Theravada Buddhism, in Laos the sickle and the hammer are usually displayed alongside the national flag. Everything seems to be moving slower in Laos. As one Lonely Planet author put it, "if Southeast Asian countries were tuk-tuk drivers, the Thai would take you to your destination via a silk-shop, the Vietnamese would almost run you over for your custom, on the other hand, you'd probably need to wake the Laotian up and convince him to take you to your destination".




After crossing the mighty Mekong at Huay Xai, we headed onto Luang Nam Tha, which was described to me as 'the Chiang Mai of Laos', on account of it being a departure point for hill-tribe trekking. What a silly comparison! There was none of the cut-throat competition found in Chiang Mai; only a handful of agencies advertising different treks and listing how many people had already joined. To give an idea of how quiet the place was, an agency had a board boasting "GOOD NEWS! WE HAVE 1 PERSON JOINING TOMORROW!". We chose Green Discovery, the pioneer of eco-friendly tourism in Laos. This was the main reason why we decided to trek in Laos; unlike Thailand, in Laos hill-tribe trekking is organized to have a lower impact on community life, with small groups and rotating the hosting villages, giving more of a 'real' experience rather than a human zoo. In addition, Green Discovery gives 35 per cent of the money paid to the villages, plus another 10 per cent is used for community development projects.

And off we were, 8 of us (the largest group size), bound for the first destnation, a Khmu village. The Khmu are the largest tribe in Luang Nam Tha province, and are believed to be indigenous to Northern Laos, although some argue they migrated from Cambodia. They live in villages, practising mostly swidden, slash-and-burn agriculture. The impact of this type of agriculture is clear immediatly to anybody travelling in northern Thailand or Laos during March-May period. What I described in a previous blogpost as an 'eerie and otherwordly mist' is in fact smoke, product of this type of agriculture. Villages have three sets of rice paddies, one is cultivated, one is left to rest and one is burnt, and ashes are used for fertiliser. It may work amazingly, but it is also detrimental for people's health; I have had some sort of hayfever since we entered slash-and-burn territory, some villagers have chronic cough. Moreover, landscape photography is hopeless. We walked for the whole day through rice paddies and forests, with no other tourists in sight. The trekking was easy, and the weather not too hot. We had a delicious picnic of grilled fish, sticky rice and stir-fried vegetables, on banana leaves laid on the ground.

Sticky rice is the staple food for most Laotians, in the cities and in the hills. It is glutinous rice which is steamed in bamboo baskets, receiving a 'sticky' consistency. It is then rolled into balls and used to scoop up whatever is served alongside it. It is lovely, but rather heavy on the stomach; we were all going to have our fill during the next 3 days. It was served at breakfast, lunch and dinner! Arriving in the Khmu village we were surrounded by dozens of children, smiling, shaking our hands and willing to pose for pictures. Most were under 8 years of age, the older ones were either working or at school in a nearby village. We spent the evening walking around the village, looking and photographing people pounding rice, small children looking after their baby siblings, old ladies smoking tobacco in silver pipes.




Khmu people struck us as very friendly. Entering their houses is taboo for foreigners, but most were sitting outside anyway and were happy to show us what they were doing and have their picture taken. There were lots of smiles and giggles at our attempts to speak Lao. We spent the night in a large hut, set aside for visitors, where we slept all huddled up on mats lying on the bamboo. It reminded me about when I was studying life in the Middle Ages as a child, hearing about how people had to sleep all together I was considering myself so lucky to have a bedroom just for me and my sister. And now, we were paying to sleep in those conditions! Of course I didn't mind, I just found it funny.




Day 2 was spent trekking, once again. The treks were rather unremarkable, nice enough but not spectacular. I believe the lack of views had something to do with it. We found out our plans had changed; we would spend the second night in another Khmu village, as the Lantan village we were meant to go to was closed for a religious ceremony. This second Khmu village did not have a separate hut, so we were going to sleep in people's houses. This village was larger, next to a road and a larger river. Something else that amazed me about village life is the fact that bathing is a communal experience. There is no plumbing in houses, so people bathe in the river, at sundown. It seemed like an occasion to catch up on the day's gossip; women on one side, sarong-clad, men on the other, just in their underwear. Rather odd for us, used to bathing in private. After more warm Beerlao and sticky rice, we headed for bed in the chief's house. I cherished this experience, as it gave us a chance to stay in a real house. The house was built in wood, on stilts, in the highest place in the village. The main room has a fireplace used for cooking plus a living-sleeping area, and a small table on the outside balcony. Khmu people have animistic beliefs, one of the most important spirits is the house's protector. For this reason, it is taboo to enter unaccompanied.




We spent the last day kayaking down the Nam Tha river. I will not dwell on the kayaking experience; just imagine me and Nick, sitting on an inflatable kayak, on a river, trying to go straight, having never done this before. Needless to say, it was really difficult, hard work, and we nearly divorced. Anyhow, the landscape around the river was beautiful, it would have been a fantastic ride had we known how to control a kayak. We visited a Lantan village, the one where we were meant to stay. Lantan people appeared more closed and less extrovert than Khmu. Lantan are a much smaller community, coming from Yunnan in China; there are 12 villages in Laos. They are known as 'the indigo people' for their traditional clothing; a long tunic for women over tight trousers, a shirt for men. The mood in the village was more sombre, solemn. Perhaps this was due to the fact that 3 days of animal sacrifices had just ended; indeed, one could still see traces of animal blood on the ground and on the bamboo gateways to the village. Children were playing quietly and seemed uninterested in us. Only two ladies we met outside the village agreed in having their picture taken, everyone in the village refused. They offered us some handicrafts for sale and refused to lower any price. There was a great difference with the happy and curious atmosphere in Khmu villages. I wonder if it's possible to talk about a 'collective personality' in the case of these tribes. If communities develop as close-knit societies, with traditions and customs and set rules, I wonder how much space there is for individual differences.



After the whole day kayaking, the experience was over. We returned to Luang Nam Tha with new friends and a new understanding. Not the usual spiel 'they have so little but they are so happy'. Rather, I felt privileged to have been able to witness a lifestyle unchanged in centuries, perhaps even millennia.

Char kway teow, curry mee, hokkien mee, nasi lemak, roti canai, ais kacang...

Penang was the Malaysian destination for me. Partly due to the fact that we have a great friend there, who helped us experience the real soul of the island. Partly because 3 weeks after our first visit we went back, this time with my family. Penang was a place where I felt at home, where everything, from the food to Georgetown's architecture and cultural scene, was just right. Many travellers overlook Penang, heading straight to Langkawi or other beach resorts. In my opinion, Penang was the place that better presents Malaysia's melting-pot and its cultural richness, although the island has a unique soul. For those who don't know, Penang is the Chinese heart of Malaysia. The population of the island is around 40 per cent Chinese; walking around the streets of Georgetown, surrounded by incense smoke coming out of red Taoist temples, the Chinese heritage becomes instantly clear.

We visited in occasion of Thaipusam, and we were back 3 weeks after for the 7th day of Chinese New Year. After the reunification dinners and family gatherings of the first few days of the new year, on the seventh day the Chinese community organizes a street party to celebrate their cultural heritage. There are lion dances, dragon dances, Chinese opera and other shows, plus various handicrafts and food stalls. The street show celebrates Penang's Chinese culture as a whole, as well as cultural tradition typical of the various Chinese communities (mainly Hakka, Hokkien, Cantonese and Hainanese). The atmosphere was vibrant and busy, the streets lit by red lanterns and food stalls whipping up delicious specialties.

Penang's street food is the best I have ever tasted. The type of food that I have found myself missing, alongside the Italian food I grew up with, every time I am somewhere where the culinary produce is not instantly appealing (read: Khmu villages in Northern Laos). Hawker stalls are found at every street corner in Penang. Most offer only one specialty; chances are it will be excellent. If you are in Penang, follow the crowds. That's where the good food will be. We were lucky, our friend and his driver knew where to go and took us to the best places to savour authentic Penang food.

I will attempt to take my dear reader on a culinary tour of Penang. I know I will fail miserably, but I want to give it a go. We should start with char kway teow. It's a typical Penang dish of fried noodles, not dissimilar to a pad thai in look. In taste, it's miles superior. None of that Khao San Road nonsense; char kway teow is a delicious, multilayered dish that reveals itself with every bite. One bite, you get the noodles and the tofu, then cockles, Chinese sausage, the crunchiness of beansprouts. All infused with a delicious salty-spicy sauce. That is probably my favourite dish. You could accompany that with fragrant coconut, sugarcane juice, or maybe ais kacang, which is something in between a drink and a dessert. Imagine a mountain of shaved ice sitting atop colorful jelly cubes, sweetcorn and sweet beans, drizzled with palm sugar syrup. Sweet yet refreshing, it's the perfect relief to the heat of Penang.

And now let's get onto soups. In order to celebrate the Chinese heritage, it's essential to talk about soups. Noodle soups are staple food in Chinese culture. I chose two soups to present to my dear reader. The first one is Hokkien mee. To be precise, the same term is used across Malaysia to denote a rather bland dish of stir fried noodles in thick soy sauce. That's not what I'm talking about. I am talking about a huge bowl of steaming prawny stock, enriched with the chilli paste which is almost always served on the spoon (so you have to add it in order to be able to use the spoon to eat). A mixture of yellow noodles and thin rice noodles, prawns, boiled egg and pork falling from the bone. The second one, curry mee, represents a good marriage between Malaysian and Chinese culinary traditions. Once again, thin and yellow noodles are mixed together, alongside prawns, tofu, squid and maybe others; all is swimming in a curry-coconut soup reminiscent of Malaysian laksa, but rather spicier. And there's another ingredient to tantalize courageous souls; congealed pig's blood.

But how can we forget Malaysian and Tamil heritage. I chose to present two breakfasts, perhaps not unique to Penang itself but more representative of the whole of Malaysia. One is roti canai, essentially South Indian roti with some curry sauce for dipping. My friend said the price for roti canai is controlled and cannot be more than RM1 per piece; that's pretty much all we ate on Langkawi. Perfect in its simplicity; the moist, ghee-infused roti mixing with the deep earthy flavours of curry. The traditional Malay breakfast couldn't be more different; the flavours of nasi lemak are sweet and spicy. A portion of rice cooked in coconut milk with a side of fiery sambal, a boiled egg, together with peanuts and crispy anchovies.

And with a belly full of food, I suggest you head up to Kek Lok Si, my favourite place in the whole of Penang. It is a Chinese temple with a towering statue of Kuan Yin, the goddess of mercy, and a towering tiered pagoda. You could wander around the grounds, have a picture taken next to the animal of the year of your birth (I am a Pig), look at the turtles in Liberation Pond or simply climb the pagoda, saluting the Buddha at every floor. And if you're there for sunset, or during Chinese New Year when the temple is lit by a myriad of red lanterns, I am sure you will love Penang as much as I do.

Barbecued seafood and orangutans under the shadow of the great mountain

A series of circumstances took us to Borneo at the beginning of February. My family was due to come to Malaysia around mid-Feb, so we found ourselves with some time to kill. A visit to Langkawi, however enjoyable, renewed our dislike for western-oriented Asian resort islands. So we headed to Borneo in the hope to catch some glimpses of the island's elusive wildlife. We didn't know what to expect from Borneo. We visited Sabah, the northern Malaysian state, which is famous for its wildlife and for being home to Mount Kinabalu, south east Asia's highest mountain.
Kota Kinabalu was our gateway to Sabah. A modern city, poor in terms of sightseeing but with a great food scene and a gorgeous waterfront, with four beautiful islands 15 minutes speedboat from town. One of the best meals we had in Asia was in KK, at the night market. The city is home to a sizeable Filipino community, due to its vicinity to the archipelago. Most Filipinos are fishermen, and sell their catch fresh or cooked at the night market. We had a huge red snapper, grilled and covered with chilli paste for RM 18 (£3.50), and barbecued squid with lime, honey, soy and tomato for RM 12 (£2.50).

We really played it day by day, in Borneo. We wanted to see wildlife, so the Lower Kinabatangan in eastern part of Sabah was our main destination. However, we could not miss Mount Kinabalu. We opted not to climb, on account of the fact that we are on a budget and the climb would've costed about £200 each for two days. We thought instead we'd stay somewhere outside the national park boundaries and just hike around the base. When I saw how majestic Mount Kinabalu was, I regretted the decision. It was too late to climb though, so we promised we'll come back to Borneo and climb the mountain. From the base, Mount Kinabalu is impressive. It rises more than double in height than its neighbours in the Crocker Range, such a sight that it can be unmistakeably spotted from a plane (so we were told). It was easy to see how this mountain was considered sacred by the local Dusun people, who named 'Akinabalu' (the place of the dead), as they believed it to be the place where the souls of the departed gather up. Hiking around the base was easy, the temperature was around 25 degrees and the humidity rather low. We stayed in a cute A-frame bungalow with a great view on the mountain. Seeing the sun rise and set behind it was a spellbinding sight. Just imagine how it would be from up the top.

After this brief stint, it was time for wildlife. Our destination was Sandakan, the departure point for 3 days at Uncle Tan's Wildlife Camp. This plce is something of an institution in Sabah, first and foremost because of the dear old Lonely Planet, but also because it is possibly the only place in Borneo which targets the backpacker crowd. And now another small rant is in order. For what I've heard from my grandfather, who lived in British Malaya, and for what I've seen travelling Malaysia for a month 5o years after, Malaysia doesn't really want backpackers. In Sabah, luxury rainforest lodges abound, but Uncle Tan is the only way to experience the Bornean Jungle on a budget. Wonder if perhaps they'd rather leave the backpackers market to neighbouring Thailand. Whatever the reason, I'm glad we ended up at Uncle Tan. The place was fabulous and excellent value. The atmosphere is happy and relaxed, with the young staff playing guitar and singing at mealtimes, it feels like a school summer camp.

The forest itself was nothing special; patches of secondary forest interspersed between palm plantations. Nothing like the majesty of Taman Negara or the Ecuadorian Amazon. However, this is the reason why the Lower Kinabatangan river is so rich with wildlife, as heavy logging has pushed all the animals into relatively small areas, making spotting wildlife easy. Something between an eco-crime and a photographer's paradise. We didn't need to hike and sweat for hours in the rainforest in the hope of catching a glimpse of a monkey. Twenty minutes on a boat down river and we saw proboscis monkeys, long and pig-tailed macaques, orangutans and gibbons; plus hornbills, kingfishers, the ubiquitous egrets, crocodiles and monitor lizards.

I am fascinated by primates. Never before was I able to appreciate several species all at once, and to notice their temperament. Long-tailed macaques are 'cheeky monkeys', the ones who steal your food. Pig-tailed macaques are aggressive and territorial, several travellers have been bitten when venturing too close. Proboscis monkeys are playful and love to show off, whilst orangutans are shy and elusive. These apes stole my heart. Never before I had seen great apes in the wild. We saw a mother and baby, cuddling up and feeding. The eyes of these marvellous creatures are sweet and inquisitive. Looking an orangutan into their eyes makes one appreciate how close these creatures are to us, and wonder why are humans destroying their habitat. Loss of habitat is the main reason why orangutans are considered endangered. Sounds like the same old story, but never before have I been so touched by a wild creature, the sweetness of their eyes nearly bringing me to tears. That single moment was worth the 6 hours ride from KK, two nights sleeping on the floor in an open-sided jungle hut with 5 fellow adventurous souls. Indeed, that moment was worth our whole time in Borneo.

Thaipusam

Devotion, strength, mortification, faith. This are some of the adjectives coming back to my mind when I think about Thaipusam. We travelled to Penang especially to attend this Tamil festival, which happens at various locations around Malaysia at the end of January. Originating from Tamil Nadu, the festival is now banned in India, considered brutal and inhuman. It survives only in some rural villages. Our dear friend in Penang, knowing about Nick's photography, suggested we didn't miss it. And he was right; Thaipusam is one of the most graphic and gruesome displays of faith anywhere on the planet.

The name Thaipusam refers to Thai, the Tamil month correspondent to January-February, and Pusam, a star which reaches its highest point when the festival is held. The festival commemorates the occasion when Parvati, the Hindu goddess who is Shiva's wife, gave a spear to Murugan, the god of war who is also her son. During the festival, devotees carry kavadis, physical burdens, as an offer for thanking for a received grace. In the month prior to the ceremony devotees cleanse themselves through prayer, meditation, abstinence and a vegetarian diet. The festival takes form of a procession, from a temple in the centre of Georgetown to one on Penang Hill, with set stops en route. Kavadis can be anything, from images of gods to jars of milk or other types of food-related offerings. However, the festival is famous for its examples of self-mortification. Most kavadi-bearers will have spears through their cheeks and tongue, to commemorate the spear given to Murugan. Others will have hooks through their backs, tied to ropes which are then pulled as the devotees walk. The highest degree of mortification of the flesh is perhaps performed by four young men which pull a chariot with an image of Murugan by a double-row of hooks on their backs. The general belief is, the greater the pain, the greater the grace received, or the merit earned.

The ceremony at the beginning of the procession when hooks and spears are inserted is captivating. Devotees lie on the floor, surrounded by incense smoke, in a state of trance, whilst their bodies are pierced and medicated with only a little ash. Watching this happening under the blistering Penang sun was making me think how much a body can endure. Faith can increase one's resistance a hundredfold. Teenagers no older than 15 carried kavadis with spears and hooks through their backs, whilst people of the same age around the world cry after a bump on the head or a grazed knee. The prayers and fasting in the month previous to the ceremony allow the kavadi-bearers to separate themselves from their body.

After watching the morning ceremony, we returned in the afternoon to see the procession going along the main thoroughfare to the temple where kavadis are offered. The same guys were dancing to the same Tamil techno, walking up a hill to the temple. The show of devotion was unlike anything I had ever seen. Also, what I liked was appreciating the medley of cultures in today's Malaysia. Not only Tamils carried kavadis, we saw also Chinese and Westerners. Up on the temple, several Chinese families were present to receive blessings. At the same time, we saw several Hindu families in Buddhist and Taoist temples over the next few days. A lesson in religious tolerance for the rest of the world.

After hours under the sun, kavadi-bearers looked exhausted, but still able to bear the weight of their devotion. Their eyes had a strange look, empty and otherworldly. They just kept going, their trance enhanced by the techno music playing incessantly, the beats growing faster and louder as the sun went down. And when the piercings were removed, we saw no blood. Whether or not there was scarring, we don't know. At the same time, we don't know whether bearers feel pain, or whether their pain threshold is increased by their devotion. Thaipusam was a rare glimpse of how our body can be seen as a fleeting entity we can detach ourselves from, through the power of prayer and faith.

Tinned mackerel on kaya buns

After Singapore, we went back into the jungle. And what a change it was. From a well-kept, tidy city to the wilderness of Taman Negara. Taman Negara means national park, , the main national park in Peninsular Malaysia. 8 hours on a Malaysian train took us to Jerantut, from where we caught a riverboat and reached the village of Kuala Tahan, the gateway to the national park, where we stayed in the cheapest chalet with squat toilet. Once again, a bit of a change from Singapore facilities.

Taman Negara is supposed to be one of the oldest rainforests on Earth. The main draw here is spending the night in a hide in the middle of the jungle to see wildlife, obviously we went for it and chose the furthest hide from park headquarters. It was supposed to be a 11 km hike, lasting 5 hours. Mind you there was no guide. We asked the rangers at the beginning of the trail if it was going to be easy to follow the path and they said 'yes yes very easy, no problem so far'. So we set off. The jungle was awesome, really dense vegetation and lots of monkeys, birds and bugs. And leeches! The place was crawling with them. It was great walking around with no guide, just us and the sounds of nature. We were able to stop whenever we wanted to try and spot some wildlife, or have a break. It was really hot and humid and I was carrying a big pack, so we stopped every hour or so for about 5 minutes. The trail seemed easy and safe enough. There were all the ingredients for a wonderful day.

All went well, until Nick almost stepped on a 4-foot snake which was right in the middle of the path and was poised ready to strike. With the aid of his tripod Nick was able to guide the snake into the bushes, after having taken a picture of it to show to the rangers. So we kept going. The heat was unbearable and the big backpacks full of camera equipment and the stuff for the night were getting heavier and heavier. Around 3 pm it started raining, and we were nowhere near our destination. We were starting to feel the unconvenience of having taken so many breaks. We probably weren't going to make it. The rain was a problem because we had to wade through a river to reach the hide, and rain could make the river swell quickly. So we ran for a while. As we crossed a creek we noticed the trail finished, all we could see was shrubbery, trees and fallen logs. And the rain kept falling heavier and heavier, we were soaked to the bone and my trousers were ripped all over the place, plus we were covered in leeches. We could not find the trail. We spent an hour frantically looking for it. We kept going back and forth from where we lost the trail, adventuring into the shrubbery, where rattan palms scratched and other spiky plants dwelled so deeply into our flesh that we were being pulled back as we walked. The forest which looked warm and inviting only a few minutes before now appeared looming and daunting, a mass of darkness where light was getting less and less by the minute. After two hours, the option of spending the night out was sadly starting to become real.

As it was getting close to 5, we decided to go back the way we carme and spend the night in another hide nearer to headquarters. We set off and walked as quickly as possible, but we were a long way away and probably wouldn't have reached shelter before nightfall. It was frantic, one of those moments where thoughts come out distorted and irrational. For a few minutes I honestly thought we were going to die. The forest is home to elephants, tigers and various kinds of poisonous snakes. Spending the night out, without shelter, all of the above would've been a serious possibility. At some point I tripped over and fell face down on the mud. I wasn't hurt, as the rainforest floor is softer than a mattress. I just got a glimpse of my life, I sudden urge to see my family, plus the realisation I have to become a writer. I want to tell people about the world, this welcoming yet daunting place; help people overcome the fear of all that's foreign. Help people find out that for travelling you don't need lots of money or special skills, that you won't be robbed, kidnapped or ripped off stepping out of a plane. It was rather surreal, sitting in the impending darkness of the Malaysian rainforest, contemplating the idea my life may be coming to an end, that I was having these thoughts. It took me a minute to realise, I just had to keep going. In travel as in life, one has to keep going. So I got up, confident we were going to find our way.

After about an hour we reached a river. We panicked because we didn't pass any river before. Then we found a sign which said the hide we were bound for in the first place was only 500m away. We found our way. I was so tired and happy I could not stand up. The hide looked like the most beautiful 5 star hotel that night. I felt relieved, everything turned out well. Sadly, after a dinner of tinned mackerel on kaya buns, which were all the supplies we brought with us, we collapsed with exhaustion. We saw no animals besides civets and leopard cats. The following day we caught a boat back to headquarters and showed the snake picture to the rangers. Guess what! It was a fire viper, very poisonous. Just a reminder.

Durian and Aunty Margaret's seafood delights

Singapore is Asia for beginners. The first stop for many visitors to the continent, it is as mellow an introduction as one could possibly wish. English is spoken, things run smoothly, public transport is great, rubbish nonexistent... At fist glance, it appears as a Western town which just happens to be in Asia. And indeed for us it was the gateway to Asia, our first stop before a pilgrimage lasting an undisclosed number of months and taking us to Malaysia, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, India, Nepal and perhaps more. Although Singapore doesn't offer much in terms of adventure, or cultural challenge, for me it was perhaps THE city par excellence. It encompasses all features which come to mind thinking about 'city'; busy yet vibrant, modern and traditional at the same time, avant-garde, culturally stimulating and never, never boring. Oh yes, we had a great time there.

Although expensive by Asian standards Singapore is relatively cheap, and it is a foodie haven. As you could imagine, I was jumping with expectation of trying the delicious food on offer. After 4 months in South America, where with a few exceptions the food was along the lines on 'meat rice 'n beans combo', and Australia where we had a few charcol barbies and LOTS of deep-fried club fare, the prospect of luscious curries, stir-fries and satays sounded like heaven to me. The real soul of Singapore food is in the hawker centres, the open-air food-courts with seating in the middle of a circle of stalls. We had Hainanese chicken rice, which we were later to discover is Chinese version of comfort food. Steamed chicken on a bed of rice, with a small bowl of broth. Ca be found also in duck, roasted or barbecue pork versions; creative cooks will add five spice or star anise to the broth. We had several types of dim sum and noodle soups, steamed coconut sweets and dragonfruit shakes. In a market in the vicinity of Bugis Junction I had some of my beloved durian. For those of you not familiar with durian, I suggest you take a trip to Singapore, Thailand or better still to Penang, during the June-August durian season.

But then again, you'll probably hate it. My father and I are rare examples of Westerners who like durian. Most people hate it, put off by the peculiar smell of the fruit, which has been described as 'rotten pork and sour milk', 'dirty socks and rotten onions' or more simply 'poo'. I don't find the smell off-putting; it's probably a challenge to separate those who are worthy from those who are not... I enjoy durian's creamy texture, its custard-like flavour. Although I have to admit the smell is rather unique, and may not be everybody's cup of tea. Enjoying durian in Asia is better than in Europe; it's fresher, so it didn't have the chance to ferment and enhance the peculiar smell.

Singapore food originates from three main backgrounds; Chinese, Malay and Tamil. In addition, there are some Singapore specialties, manly seafood. We went to Newton food court and randomly chose to order from stall 78. That's where we met Auntie Margaret, and her delicious seafood specialties. the food was glistening fresh, crabs still alive prancing in their cage. We wanted to try what is perhaps Singapore's most popular dish, Chilli Crab. But we ended up trying many more dishes over separate occasions; black pepper crab, grilled chilli stingray, shark-fin soup and crispy squid rojak, a sweet and sour salad made with crispy squid, tamarind sauce and fruit. Digging into a plate of crab covered with chilli sauce, in a steamy Singapore evening, with an icy-cold Tiger is one of those moments we felt was just right. And indeed, that will remain with me as my memory of Singapore.

Long-necks, fishing and organic delights

After Chiang Mai, it was time to brave the legendary 1864 curves to Mae Hong Son, close to the Burmese border. Although the distance between the two cities is only 200km, the bus took over 6 hours. Mae Hong Son is a sleepy little town on the edge of a small lake, nestled in a valley. The dry season is the time for burning the fallen leaves, apparently to prevent larger firest spreading incontrollably. These small, controlled fires nevertheless produce a haze, the landscape looks eerie and dreamy, but unfortunately not green and luscious. Mae Hong Son is the best place to visit tribes on the Burmese border, including the famous Long-Neck tribes.



Now, the decision on whether or not to visit these tribes is one open to debate. I personally wanted to see these women, so I made my research. Contrary to popular belief, the women do not feel pain. The village charges an entry fee which is collected by the Karenni National Progressive Party, a party fighting for the independence of their territory from Myanmar (Burma) rule, which in turn pays the women a monthly salary. I thought it was a fair agreement. The Long-Neck tribes call themselves Kayan, although the terms Karen or Padaung are also used. The custom of wearing neck rings stretches back centuries; various reasons are given. Some say it's to enchance beauty by emphasising a slender neck, or perhaps the exact opposite, the rings are worn to make women less attractive to neighbouring tribes, thus reducing their chance to be captured as slaves. Another explaination can be traced back to the legend of the origin of Kayan people. According to the legend, women are descendents of a female dragon; hence, neck rings are worn to resemble their ancestor. To read the legend, go to http://huaypukeng.com/legend.htm.



Whatever the original reason, neck rings are worn nowadays for cultural identity, and to generate income by attracting tourists. However, I must admit that the village did not have a 'human zoo' feeling. It was indeed touristy, with women weaving scarves and bags to sell, but it did not feel as we were intruding. Unfortunately our guide spoke little English, and the villagers could only say 'want to buy?'. I guess it's the heritage of khaki-clad package tourists, which come, take a picture and buy a bag at an inflated price. I visited because I wanted to know more about their life, but I had to resort to read up by myself. Sorry, a little rant is now in order. Many people think the behaviour of taking photos is gross and disrespectful. In many cases, it is not. My husband travels the world portraying people, animals and landscapes with the aim of creating something beautiful, and educating others on what is 'out there'. Please tell me what is gross or disrespectful about this. An inage of a Kayan woman can be used to illustrate the wonderful legend of the Mother Dragon, or to raise awareness on the brutality of military regime in Myanmar, reason why these tribes have fleed to Thailand.



Fast-forward a couple of days and we're in Pai, at Bueng Pai Farm. After 8 months of travelling, this place comes as a little slice of paradise between the hills and the paddy fields. Imagine a small lake surrounded by bamboo-thatched bungalows. Imagine a little restaurant serving delicious food with home-grown vegetables. Imagine silence, the possibility of fishing from the deck of your own bungalow, contemplating the peace and stillness of the moment you're living. We are here now, and we do not want to leave... the beauty of travelling, finding a nice little place where everything is just right. Not being tied by the '3 days, 2 night' thing, or an impending flight back to Europe. So we might stay an extra day, to wake up for a day of fishing, relax and total idleness.