Off to Laos

I take the air conditioned bus out of Chiang Mai, the beautiful mountain scenery it passes through is well worth the 145 Baht (£3!) fare by itself.  After three hours I'm in Chiang Rai, a pleasant little place, there is a noticeable French influence here.  The night bazaar has a sign 'marche de nuit', and there is even an hourly son et lumière show at the gold clock tower that is the town's major landmark.  I end up eating some highly spiced pork followed by a much needed ice cream sundae at the night bazaar, while a series of musical acts perform and go through fabulous costume changes.  Is awesome.  I could spend longer in Chiang Rai, but next day it's time for another bus, this time a whole 65 Baht to get to Chiang Khong on the Mekong river.  In fact it turns out that it goes all the way to the border post by the new bridge, for another 35 Baht anyway.  Then after a degree of queuing and bureaucratic hassle I'm in Laos!  Also I am now a multi-millionaire, turns out you get quite a few Kip for your Baht, and my pocket is stuffed with a wad of 50,000 Kip notes.

The mighty Mekong.

From the border I get a quick tuktuk to Huay Xai, a one horse town where I nonetheless find a decent hotel and a nice meal overlooking the river, service is a bit lacking here mind.  I get a beer in one restaurant, wait some time for the dirty plates from previous diners to be removed, and eventually give up on getting food, never mind.  Is very hard to spend money here, my room is 100,000 Kip (£8), a big beer 12,000 Kip, dinner 45,000...  Next day, the adventure continues by boat.  I have a ticket for the two day slow boat to Luang Prabang, former capital of Laos and one of the highlights by all accounts.  I mess up a little by getting the wrong bus to the pier, apparently I didn't buy a ticket as such, and only the right tuktuk driver will convert what I do have into a ticket.  It is sorted easily enough... shame about the ninety minute wait on the sweltering and increasingly packed boat before it leaves.  When at last it does we get a bit of a breeze, and the journey is never dull thanks to the incredible views from the mighty Mekong river, Thailand to one side and Laos the other.  Turns out the best thing is to abandon my cramped seat and head for the back, either the engine room or the 'smoking section'.  They even sell beer!

Bamboo bridge at Luang Prabang.

If Huay Xai has one horse, then Pak Baeng, halfway stop for the slow boat, maybe merits a donkey.  Still I find another 100,000 Kip room, eat buffalo curry, drink some Beer Lao and have a nice chat with a couple of Thai tour guides.  Then back on the boat in the morning, this one is smaller, and the engine room is closed to tourists, and at regular intervals we stop at random bits of shore to let more locals onto the already crowded boat.  It is at least cooler today, and the views remain fine.  Luang Prabang is not a big place either, more than one street maybe, but pretty much only one with restaurants.  Classy cuisine though, that French influence I guess.  I go to La Casa Lao and eat Laos style tapas while rain hammers down outside.  Blue sticky rice!  Next day I have a good wander around, cross a bamboo bridge over one of the bigger tributaries of the Mekong - Luang Prabang is built on a peninsula between the two rivers.  I visit a couple of temples and ascend Mount Phousi at the heart of the city.  Then time to head to the current capital, Vientiane, on the 'VIP sleeper bus'.  At least the Swedish guy I end up sharing a bed with is slim...  and I have a bottle of Lao whisky (15,000 Kip!), with the help of which I sleep well enough.

On Mount Phousi.

Vientiane!  The bus drops us off a few miles from the centre, so I have an interesting walk in.  The road is terrible, vehicles weave right across it to avoid the massive potholes.  At least it has some tarmac, every side street I pass is just packed earth.  There is clearly some money here, I see new houses going up, still in the French colonial style... noticeable that the scaffolding is just sticks tied together though.  Eventually I reach the centre, seems to be mainly palatial government buildings and embassies, and there are red flags with the hammer and sickle everywhere - even the apple store.  There are enough sights to fill my day or so here, and even a little tourist area with some nice French restaurants, and some music, although Chiang Rai it is not.  I read about the terrible events in Paris, seems particularly poignant here in this former French colonial capital.  Time for me to leave Laos though, turns out not to be easy what with the huge queue at the immigration point.  Then another night train, much like the first, and one day to recover a bit in Bangkok.  And then off to even further afield...

I saw a lot of the Buddha this week.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Back in Chiang Mai

Elephant feeding.

Right, doing the travelling thing in earnest now, and where better than Chiang Mai, a real hub for people travelling around Southeast Asia, and somewhere I liked a lot last visit.  This time rather than flying, I take the night train from Bangkok, it is rather fun... After I've eaten a tasty dinner, the staff come around and fold my seat and the one opposite into a bed for me, very much like in a campervan, while a second bunk folds out above.  It is perfectly comfortable, and after a few cans of Chang I drop off.

Dawn in the mountains.

At 8am the train gets to Chiang Mai, it's a short walk into town, and after a quick coffee I head to a tour office.  No hotel for me today, rather I want to do a longer version of a trip I did last time I was here.  Sure enough they book me onto a two day trek, once again with elephant riding - this time we are an odd numbered group so I have to ride on the beast's neck which is, interesting.  Speaking of the group, turns out they're all French except me, so I spend the day dusting off my French.  It is still just about there...  After fun with the pachyderms and lunch we hike up, and up, eventually reaching a hill tribe village at over a thousand metres, this is home for the night.  Rather cool too, we have a dormitory cabin on stilts, with mattresses and mosquito nets.  And after a fine green curry dinner our hosts light up a camp fire... which attracts the English speakers from downhill.  We sit shirtless around the fire and a Canadian guy plays the guitar and sings - very badly.  Well it is the authentic travelling experience I suppose.

King and Queen pagodas.

Next morning we head downhill through fantastic surroundings and eventually reach a familiar waterfall, then down the river to catch a raft over the white waters, and then back to town.  I find a hotel and have a relaxing bath, listening to the sound of monks chanting at the temple next door.  Next day I take a rest from trekking, pretty much, with a bus trip to Doi Inthanon, Thailand's highest mountain - nice to cross off another of those, my count now stands at three.  American style, there is a road almost to the top, nice though, there is even a peat bog up there.  We also check out the King and Queen Pagodas, a fantastic array of gardens and Buddhist architecture, all above two thousand metres.  Then an excellent and huge lunch and a couple of awesome waterfalls before heading home.  Last day here, has to be more trekking then... Well, the other one day option I find is not too different to what I did before, still fun though.  I ride on an elephant's neck again, this time through a river, swim under another waterfall, and float along on a bamboo raft, is most cool.

Wachirathan waterfall.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

'Resting' in Tenerife

Right, festival madness is over, I was going to have a rest of some kind yeah?  Well what better place than Tenerife, scene of a couple of previous entries involving the volcano at the centre of the island.  These days I am fortunate enough to own an apartment there, so, six weeks in the sun it is then.  Highlights follow :

Back to school for Timmy.

I do three weeks of Spanish classes, it is really rather fun, my classmates are pleasant company and I make reasonable progress.  Fluent I am not but I can just about get by, which is good - I really don't want to be one of those expats who demand the locals speak English to them.  There is even a free surf lesson thrown in - I am very bad.  Probably should stick to swimming, which also has the advantage of being free.

This is generally a good place to be.  Any night I can wander out to one of many nearby bars, generally I head past the little 'Playa Chico' and along the seafront as far as Crab Island, where there is decent live music, and even a disco if you're willing to wait for it to get going (usually around 1am!).  Everybody here is on holiday, most of them are having a good time, and it is all rather fun.  The huge choice of restaurants means I eat out every other night, rarely more than once at the same place - there is an awful lot of good fresh fish here, but I think my favourite is actually the nearby German place.

Signing in for the 'Subida a Tamaimo'.

One Friday afternoon I come back from school to find the road in front of my apartment has become a carpark for various souped up cars, BMWs, Mitsubishis and indeed fully custom kit car style things.  Turns out there is going to be a hill climb event starting in Puerto de Santiago on the Saturday.  So I spend much of the next day watching fast cars zoom up the hill, indeed as they do two runs I'm able to watch the start of one, and then walk up the hill in time to see the same cars finishing their second run, in Tamaimo.  It is all rather awesome.

This is a paradise for hikers, it has been popular with Germans for years and so the island is criss crossed with well maintained and signposted paths, through a variety of terrain - albeit, almost always up or down steep slopes.  From my flat I can walk a little way through the old town of Puerto de Santiago and then up a lava flow to reach the 'camino real', the old road leading up to Tamaimo and Santiago del Teide, and there are various diversions possible from that, for instance to one of many 'Cruz de los Misioneros' on the island, this takes you via a ridge with spectacular views of the sea and nearby La Gomera on one side, and the volcano on the other.

Teno.

Taking the bus further afield - or for one week I have a car, as getting up at 7am so I can take the bus to school becomes a bit trying - there are many more walking options.  The famous Barranco del Infierno is now open so I do that, the waterfall at the blind end of the valley is certainly rather cool.  I visit the lighthouse at Teno, and walk up from there into the high country, finding goats in shelters carved from the volcanic rock, and indeed goat's milk cheese.  The 'Cuevas Negras' route down from Erjos to Los Silos could almost be in England, I pass locals picking blackberries and then walk down a damp path through woods, with lichen-stained limestone walls to either side.

I make it a mission to find a way to walk to Masca from my apartment, turns out there are various ways, but the simplest is just to walk up the camino real to Santiago del Teide and then along the road, while there are a lot of cars, they're more or less going at walking pace on the narrow switchbacks so it is not a problem.  It takes around four and a half hours, from Masca I walk down the scenic valley in time to get the boat back.  Bit of a shame I manage to fall into one of Tenerife's few ponds and get myself, and worse yet my phone, all wet.  Fingers crossed it can be dried out, at time of writing it is all working except the camera.

Goat.

For the future - well, I have also discovered at least five tunnels through the Gigantes cliffs, each around a kilometer long, these were dug in order to channel much needed fresh water to Los Gigantes and the nearby farms.  Nowadays you can walk through them, which I tested by walking up to Tamaimo, through a tunnel to a deserted valley, down that as far as the see, up again and through a different tunnel which emerged half way up the cliffs - there followed a somewhat terrifying mile of walking until I got to Los Gigantes.  And I reckon that if I got there in time I could walk the other way along the little beach, up a different valley, and then through yet another tunnel to Masca!  But that is for another day...

The plan now?  Well I have a week back in the UK, among other things for my birthday, then two weeks for a whistlestop tour of South East Asia, and then off to New Zealand.  Where my intention is to walk the three thousand kilometre long Te Araroa, which winds from the Northern tip of North Island, right down to the far end of South Island.  Watch this space.

Up on the caldera wall with El Teide behind me.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Bestival

On the coast path.

OK, one last hurdle and then I can stop living in a tent.  Er, I mean one last festival to enjoy... specifically, Bestival on the Isle of Wight, well, somewhere I've not been at least.  Seems like a pleasant place, though finding where I need to be to sign in proves tricky, and quelle surprise, I'm not working until Friday again.  Well, off for a walk on the Thursday then, I'm able to walk straight out of the site and into fields, and the island not being a terribly big place, it only takes a couple of hours to get to the coast, at Seaview.  From there, I follow the coastal path around, past Ryde where a hovercraft turns up to disgorge festival goers, who then get in a huge queue for shuttle buses.  Obviously my plan to walk back via East Cowes is better, well... it turns out that going all the way to Osborne House was not worth it, as English 'we're not bitter about the National Trust at all' Heritage want £16 just to see the outside of it.  Still it is a pleasant route inland along the Medina estuary to Newport, sadly from there I have a mile or two along the very busy, verge-lacking road to the festival.  At least there is a pub I can stop at before going back in.

Boutique camping.  You can stay in an actual hutch.

To work on the Friday morning, I have drawn 'boutique camping' where people have paid extra for more showers and actual flush toilets, or in some cases much, much more to stay in tipis and the like.  They are not a lot of trouble to steward, I mainly have to politely inform the non-boutique customers where the nearest showers they're allowed to use are.  Then into the festival... hmm.  Turns out Bestival is not for the faint hearted, they have many kinds of music here, including thumpy, shouty, and indeed thumpy and shouty.  Seems to be the sort of thing they play on Radio 1.  Slightly out of place are Duran Duran on the main stage, still they are pretty cool, and I find an oasis of music with actual instruments at the unpromisingly named 'Pig's Big Ballroom', the Caravanserai is nearby, as is the People's Front Room.  Just for a change, I watch the Men That Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing, and then make the long walk back to my just about upright tent... has been a long day.

In the lovely Caravanserai.

Feel kind of broken on Saturday, don't really do much before my shift starts at 4pm, same place, even less to do now as the punters mainly know where stuff is.  At least my fellow stewards are pleasant company, and time goes quickly enough, and at midnight there is still plenty of festival going on, albeit mainly of the shouty and / or thumpy kind.  Worse, I struggle to find beer, there is a crew bar, but frankly it is rather horrid, being, surprise, the home of an ear destroying DJ, and also a bunch of people queuing to buy cocktails.  I find myself paying £5 for a can of tuborg in Club Dada, recognisable as the Pussy Parlure that was, I decide to knock it on the head after that.

The Jacksons!  Only four of 'em, but four out of five ain't bad.

Sunday, my shift starts at midnight, yay, so I have a largely sober day.  Turns out there is more of the festival that does not suck, up the hill towards the pub there are various cool things, I wander around in an actual maze (the always turn left thing works), and watch a string quartet doing their thing.  More music in the Big Ballroom (it is not big), the Caravanserai for the Woohoo Revue, a look into Club Dada (the Ohmz, they are local), and then to the main stage.  It's the Jacksons, again a little out of place here but they've still got it.  And then the rain, which has defied the forecasts and held on 'til now, starts to come down.  Well I had to get back to the Oxfam field to eat (shout out to Nuts Cafe), but after that I lurk in my tent and hope the rain stops.  It does not... well, I at least am well prepared for my all night shift in the wet.  My younger colleagues aren't so well equipped with waterproofs, but to their credit they build a serviceable shelter from a discarded and broken looking gazebo.

I manage a few hours sleep the next morning, before being woken by gale force winds that try to blow my tent away with me in it.  And then, off to get a ferry, and that is it, no more festivals.  To be honest I could do with a rest... not sure if I'll do this again, if I'm in the UK next summer maybe I will do a festival or two.  But not one every week I suspect.  And not one in a poxy camper van.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Yorkshire Wolds Way

Start of the Yorkshire Wolds Way - more or less.

The festival season is almost over, and after that I have other plans - which will be revealed in due course :)
Before that, I have a few days free, so, time for some proper walking.  Seem to have got quite a few odd days in over the summer, but I want to actually complete one of the long distance trails end to end.  Thus I find myself staying with Chris in Sheffield again - when will I learn that a curry from his local takeaway is not ideal preparation for a hike?  Then up bright and early the next morning, to ride along the M18 and M62 to Hessle, just outside Hull, and at the northern end of the really rather impressive Humber Bridge.  This is the starting point for the Yorkshire Wolds Way, which at seventy-seven or so miles long should be just about doable in three days.  Of course, by the time I've parked up the bike, had a coffee and so on, it is nearly 11am, not ideal as it is a twenty-six mile day.  Time to get a shift on then.  Well it is pretty flat walking along the Humber estuary, although the bit where you have to walk through the mud slows me a little.  Then the route turns away, off into farmland, can't say it is terribly exciting, but it is nice to be out by myself, no responsibilities, no goal other than to keep walking until I've done the distance.  In the event I get to my evening stop for 8pm, pretty good with a full pack, the owners say I must have run.  Then in to the village, seems the pubs have all shut, but there is more of the ideal hiker food, curry.  Hmm.

A glaciated valley.

Day two, a 9am start, but I'm moving a bit more slowly I confess, body seems a little annoyed about yesterday's exertions.  Today I begin to see why this route was chosen, as I walk into a unique landscape.  The ground here is chalk, much like the South Downs, but up here they were beset by glaciers during the last ice age which cut easily through the soft chalk.  The result, an array of steep sided valleys, dales in the local parlance.  With no rivers running through them, they look like nothing so much as railway cuttings, all rather interesting.  The route sometimes leads through them, easy enough, sometimes up and down the sides which is, um, tougher.  And this is a long day, maybe as much as twenty-eight miles.  By the time I reach the abandoned medieval village of Wharram Percy, I'm not really feeling much excitement, not least it is raining.  But I press on, reach the campsite for not much after 8pm, it doesn't look too inviting though - I can see a few caravans, but the only sign says I'm on CCTV.  I press on to the village of North Grimston, where thankfully there is a pub, the Middleton Arms.  At first they say food is over, it is just me, the landlady and one old guy in there to be fair.  But she relents and provides a sandwich and chips, and even better lets me camp in the beer garden.

Archeology at Wharram Percy.

Day three, and I have about the same distance to do again, pleasant enough going to start with through a series of forest tracks.  I'm not seeing so much glaciation today, rather a lot more agriculture, though as with the previous days the route doesn't go through much in the way of towns and villages.  I don't know if I've passed a pub even... still, the miles roll by, after a while it becomes pretty much a straight line towards Filey, so when I do meet a valley it is straight down into it and up the other side.  Nonetheless I make decent enough time, reaching a couple of huge caravan parks a mile or two outside town by 7.30pm.  Had rather hoped given the size of these things there would be a bar and restaurant, but no such luck.  And it is raining of course, using my phone to find a pub is a bit tricky, and in fact I'm not terribly pleased to have to walk all the way into Filey to find something to eat.  Oh well, at least the beer is cheap, four cask ales on at £2.50 a pint cheers me up rather.  Less good is when I return to the campsite, pitch my tent during which process the howling arctic gale which is what passes for the climate of Filey snaps my remaining undamaged tent pole in two.  Oh well, the tent still refuses to die.

Carved acorns and twisted benches / in these ways shall ye measure the wolds.

I knock the last few miles off the following morning, turns out the route finishes a mile or so outside Filey along the coast, obviously this means climbing up and down the cliffs a few times.  Well, this was all fun, insane pace notwithstanding.  No messing about here though, I have to get to Birmingham for, ahem, a music festival.  Don't think I'll bother blogging about Moseley though, not sure the world needs to hear what I can remember of the drunken / hung over adventures of Austin's 40th celebrations.


Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Shambala

The festival site, seen from over the lake.

Another weekend, what shall I do.  Oh yeah, joy, yet another festival.  Not really feeling it after last week's fiasco, but I turn up nonetheless at the 'secret location', which turns out to be Kelmarsh Hall near Market Harborough.  Of course, while I have to be there on Wednesday, my first shift is not 'til Friday afternoon, ho hum.  At least I find a pub for some beer and fish and chips, then on Thursday I bugger off to Birmingham for pizza and pub with Austin.  Nice to be somewhere with normal people who live in houses and cut their hair...

But I have to go back and work of course, still, it goes pretty smoothly, manning fire towers, info points and so forth.  Seems like a nice vibe here, lots of hippies, lots of families, all having fun.  Before long it is midnight, I can have a beer or two, and find some music in the 'Social Club' - a band plays disco tunes, all decked out in huge afros.  Oh, festivals, I can't stay mad at you.

Stage, in a tree.

Same shift on Saturday, well I'm free until 4 then, time for a wander around site.  Seems pretty cool, lots of little stages, Chai Wallahs is here and seems to be stage 3.  I watch some bands that seem familiar from the green fields at Glastonbury, then check out the 'Enchanted Forest', where there is a stage in a tree, and kids run around dressed as foxes, trying to steal rubber chickens while other kids with red coats chase them.  Back to work, mostly involves watching the festival go by, wow there are a lot of costumes here, people have gone to town with the Space theme, I feel rather umderdressed.  Again my shift goes quickly enough, and as I don't have to work tomorrow I may as well party - dancing until the early hours in the Social Club ensues.

Return of festival mojo.

Sunday, and it rains a bit, but no matter, plenty of indoor venues here.  A girl playing at Chai Wallahs can make the sound of a trumpet with her mouth... a wander through the forest where a keyboard and violin duo are playing up the tree... to the rather cool Sankofa's, basically a bunch of huge tipis stuck together, to hide from the rain, where I sit through an hour of self-help twaddle / eastern mythology, there is talk of chakras and the third eye.  Poverty is desire apparently, or not as a paper aeroplane landing near me says.  I hang around Sankofa's most of the day, they have a South American theme going on, some rather excellent bands from Colombia and Venezuela, then three part harmonies from Voices.  Watch the fireworks over the lake, shame that there is no set time for them so me and the rest of the crowd have to listen to a pretty terrible DJ first.  Then off to spend my last meal token, I get a tasty pizza and eat it in the People's Front Room, probably the smallest music venue here.  Then a last look into the Social Club before bed - work at 7.45 tomorrow.  The less said about the Monday morning shift, during which the rain does not let up at all and I need all my layers on a typical British 'summer' Bank Holiday, the better.

The People's Front Room.

Beautiful Days. Again.

Here be dragon.

No let up to the schedule, this week I'm at Beautiful Days in Devon - which I stewarded last year as well, and indeed wrote a blog entry about.  That festival finished up on a somewhat sour note with a crane accident, and doubtless as a result of that, this year I have to sit through a twenty minute health and safety induction before being allowed on site.  At least when I do get to the campsite I have a bit of luxury, as for this festival only I have borrowed my brother's campervan, so I have a proper bed and even my own shower, oh yes.  Nice to have a refuge for the Wednesday and Thursday, as there isn't a lot going on at the festival other than rain.

Friday, and my shift starts at 10am, guarding the beer of all things behind the main bar.  It is safe in my hands.  Then I shift over to the main arena, which is rather cool, not really anything to do other than, I assume fill a requirement for so many stewards per paying customer.  And I get to watch the bands, starts off with Kim Churchill (male, Australian), and then Coco and the Butterfields (none of them seem to be called Coco).  Then off to party, I watch the Moulettes on stage two, then I quite fancy the Circus of Horrors in the theatre tent, but it is full.  Good news is 3 Daft Monkeys - well, two of 'em - are playing an unscheduled set on the bandstand, most cool.  Of course I end up in the Bimble Inn, watch Flight Brigade and Land of the Giants, then generally jump about.  All good fun.

Monkeys!

Saturday and I'm feeling a bit worse for wear, good thing my shift doesn't start until 6pm.  Well, I have a book to read... eventually I emerge from the van, go watch Hobo Jones on stage two (includes playing of guitar with a hammer).  Then to work, again mostly on the main stage, so this time I get to see Hudson Taylor, Hoffmaestro and Idlewild.  Then just as the Dropkick Murphys are starting, disaster strikes.  I realise that I have managed to lose the keys to the van somewhere.  The spare set is in Surrey... this is really not good, and now the fact that it is chucking it down with rain changes from something I can cope with to a bit of a problem given I have nowhere to sleep and all my dry stuff is in the van.  I retrace my steps, but really it is impossible, so I call the RAC who eventually answer the phone, and promise to send somebody to try to break in.  But then looking at the van, I realise I can get in through a loose window, just about.  Cancel the RAC, still have the problem of getting the spare keys to me though.  Oh and the window I opened won't shut again... oops.  I try a bit harder, maybe it is just a bit bent, oops again.  With various popping noises the hinge breaks on one side, and one of the plastic window panes breaks.  At least I can shut the damn thing now and try to get to sleep, with little success.

The lovely Bimble Inn, with Flight Brigade.

Next day, and more bad news as I realise the awning at the side of the van is also broken.  Sigh.  At least I get in touch with my brother and he reckons he can get the key to me via UPS.  A little worrying leaving the thing unlocked while I go to work for Oxfam, but I get away with it.  Also kind of hard being the 'smiling face of the festival' today.  I watch Katzenjammer, Gogol Bordello and the Levellers of course, I am on the main stage again.  It provides some distraction from my woes I suppose.  Less good is when Dan phones to say UPS don't guarantee twenty-four hour delivery, so I could be here until Wednesday.  Aargh.

Gogol Bordello.

In the event my sister in law Donna heroically drives all the way to Devon with the key, which does mean we can spend the evening and next day around Lyme Regis, which is nice.  There is even a funfair...  Of course it would be better if we didn't get soaked to the skin while walking down to the sea on the Tuesday morning, but obviously it has to rain every single day.  Well, I hear on the radio that it isn't the wettest August since records began, just the wettest in a hundred years.  So that is OK then.


Photos to go with this post can be found here.