Category: Uncategorized

No power, dubious plumbing & cheap beer.

I suppose it’s something of a cliché that travelling is a wonderful and life changing experience. ’Oh it’s amazing’, you hear people say ‘you’ll have an incredible time, I loved every minute of it’. A suspiciously high proportion of these people though appear to have smoked a little too much weed or read one too many guardian articles (or both…probably both). Truth however is that, unless these people have some perverse love of spending hours and hours in sweaty, cramped vehicles bouncing around on roads and railways of variable quality, what they really mean is that the bits in between travelling are amazing. Travelling itself is a tedious necessity that bookends the ‘incredible time’ with a lengthy intermission of boredom punctuated by occasional acute frustration.

Our last day in Chiang Mai had sadly proven to be a bit of a right-off owing to my finally succumbing to the consequences of my adventurous palate. We had intended to visit Doi Suthep, supposedly a very pleasant temple complex on the hills over-looking the city, but alas it wasn’t to be. Ah well. If there’s one thing South East Asia isn’t short of, it’s very pleasant temple complexes.

The first leg of our journey saw us off bright and early to make our way south back to Phitsonaluk, where we had booked ourselves in for a night in an unremarkable, but cheap, guest-house near the river. A meal and a sleep later we were on our way again, this time catching a bus through the mountains to Khon Kaen. We could have done Chain Mai to Khon Kaen in one go, but it was a 13hr bus ride. See any of our South America blogs to see why that wasn’t going to happen.

Khon Kaen is Thailand’s 4th largest city and lies about 3 hrs drive south of the Lao border. It’s railway connection to Bangkok and road connections to the centre and west of the country makes it something of a hub for the east of Thailand and for traffic heading north to Vientiane or east inn the direction of Vietnam. It also has a surprisingly large expat community as well as some tourist attractions in its own right, so we decided to stay for a few days and use up the rest of our Visas.

We booked ourselves in to the ‘Khon Kaen Residence’ a relatively new hotel a little way out from the centre right next to a large, scary looking prison. This proved something of an issue as, like something out of ‘The Great Escape’, the prison’s PA system would pipe-up about 7am every morning admonishing the inmates for…god knows what, being a disappointment to the King maybe? It seems that whoever was operating this PA system was very dedicated to their job of telling other people how naughty they are and how benevolent the state is as this went on all throughout the day until about 8pm (at time of writing were in Laos, so I feel we can push the envelope a little more)

The hotel also turned out to be in something of a tourist blackspot, a fact that wasn’t apparent to us at time of booking. There were no restaurants, shops, other hotels or even tuk-tuks waiting to bother us within a good mile or so in every direction, so we ended up having to call a grab taxi every time we wanted to go anywhere (yay more travelling). Having spent 2 days pretty much constantly on the move our motivation to do anything on the first day in Khon Kaen was very low. We instead made bookings for Vientiane and double checked that we had everything we needed for crossing the border into Laos. In aid of this, I went for a little excursion to a Bureau de Change to swap some of our Baht for USD. Laos tourist visas can be paid for either with 35USD, 1500THB or an unspecified amount of Lao Kip. At time of writing, 1500THB is closer to 50USD so even with the small commission for exchanging Baht, you still get a much better rate paying in dollars.

Remember earlier when I mentioned ‘acute frustration’? Well let’s just say we’ll be re-visiting the subjects of US Dollars and Lao Visas in the near future.

So anyway, the following day (our last full day in Thailand☹) we decided to make up for our rather lackadaisical day the day before and head out to see some sights. Our first stop was Wat Thung Setthi, a much more modern Buddhist Temple completed in 2012. This temple is rather unique amongst those in Thailand, both in terms of its design as well as its use of imagery and iconography to convey its message and meaning. Architecturally, the building is predominantly white, but with a rounded golden stupa highlighted with turquoise decorations. The central stupa is surrounded by two tiers of walkways, the lower of which is quite broad and features mosaics of the Hellenistic zodiac and small statuettes of buddhas, lions and dragons each carefully inlayed with thin rectangular shards of mirrored glass. In each of the 4 corners are smaller stupas separated from the walkway by a triangular pond with steppingstones leading across it. The upper walkway is overhung by the roof of the main stupa and features a large mosaic mounted on the wall explaining that this site is believed to be a gateway between this world, the heavens above and the underworld below.

Whilst Katy made friends with the local dgs, I went to chck out the central stupa, a tall octagonal building with a single, marble floored room inside. The large wooden door leading into the space is engraved with the symbols of the Chinese zodiac and opposite a large obsidian-black Buddha with gold accessories sits atop a marble altar. On the sets of 3 windows to either side of the Buddha are intricate etchings depicting the three poisons of the Buddhist belief system, those being; Greed, Aversion (Anger or Hatred) and Ignorance. The etchings make use of both traditional and modern iconography to illustrate these ideas, with the designs including characters from Star Wars, numerous Disney franchises and even Walter White.

Accessible via a small staircase just outside the main stupa is a large room which sits directly underneath it. In here is a stone pillar surrounded by statues of dragons in the centre and a series of 4 massive murals along the outer walls. Unlike many of the other temples we have visited in Thailand, what is striking about this temple is that it has been built with the knowledge that it is going to attract numerous foreigners and non-Buddhists. As such the descriptions of the artwork and explanations of the iconography are all in Thai, English and Chinese and the iconography is much more explicit and accessible to somebody not already familiar with Buddhist teachings. To do this whilst not cheapening the beliefs or making the site seem like a tourist attraction first and a religious site second is impressive, and as we left we both agreed that this was probably the best of the temples we’d seen in Thailand.

We couldn’t leave Wat Thung Setthi just yet, though, first we had to go to hell! A short walk over the land-bridge from the temple and down past the Monks dorms is a small park set aside to depict Naraka, the Buddhist interpretation of hell. Here there are absurd and larger than life fibreglass and concrete statue of sinners who have accumulated too much bad karma in their lives being tortured in manners most befitting their indiscretions. There are seven sins in Buddhism (sound familiar) and there are seven groups of statues being tortured in various different ways  depicting the fate that waits sinners in the afterlife; liars get their tongues pulled out, thieves get their hands smashed with clubs and sexual deviants get…well anyway you can look at the pictures for yourselves.

Following our education on what may or may not be awaiting Katy and I in the next life (no comment)  we headed back in to Kohn Kaen and went for a walk around Kaen Nakhon, a large semi-artificial lake (semi as in it’s only there during the rainy season, during the dry season it routinely needs topping up) just south of the city centre which has a number of large model dinosaurs on its banks. As you do.

For our last night in Thailand we thought we’d push the boat out and go somewhere a bit special for dinner, as we had loved the food here so much and as it was the last chance we’d have to have Thai food until we returned in October , we went for Pizza. Over a surprisingly good pizza and a few beers we took stock of out time in Thailand. It’s really easy to see why so many tourists visit this country every year, it’s big without being too big, the people are friendly without being overly friendly, it’s cheap, it’s easy to get around (for the most part) and the culture is incredibly alive. In the west, there is a real tension between the past and the future, yet here Thailand seems much more at ease with the strains of the globalising world, incorporating modernity into the existing culture without losing its sense of uniqueness. No doubt if you lived here for any length of time you’d begin to see the issues and divisions in the society and the things that don’t work would become more apparent and grate on you more, but for the month we have been here Thailand has been wonderful and we’ve wound up both loving the country more than we expected to.

Onwards to Laos then.

So, despite our previous experiences with the trains we wound up using them one last time to get to Nong Khai, the Thai town which sits on the border. Getting to Nong Khai from Khon Kaen by bus proved surprisingly complicated and as the railway station in Nong Khai is right by the border control point it was the most logical choice. Fortunately this worked out fine as the train was running a mere 15 minutes late and the journey up to Nong Khai was only about two and a half hours, over an hour quicker than the bus would have been.

Khon Kaen station was recently upgraded and has only been open a few weeks now. The new station is absolutely gigantic, seemingly way bigger than the city warrants and build over two levels with the freigh line on the ground level and the passanger platforms 20 meters up in the air. Later research would reveal that Khon Kaen sits on the planned route for the Chinese led Trans-South-East Asian Railway network which plans to connect China with Singapore via Bangkok, Vientiane and Hanoi (yes that’s right, I’m the sort of sad person that would notice when a train station is too large for the town it serves and look it up several hours later). Chinese money in Southeast Asia is very noticeable, as it was in South America, and the bulk of it is going into property and infrastructure. Changing winds…

Once we got to Nong Khai it was only a short walk up to the border check point for the Thai-Lao friendship bridge, which would take us across the Mekong River in to Laos. After getting our exit stamp we waited (technically in no country) for the bus to take us across the bridge. You can walk it but it’s almost 2km to the other side and it was now about 12:30, otherwise known as sweaty o’clock.  On the other side the road bears round to the left where a pair of criss-crossing chicanes swaps the traffic (with the help of lights I might add) on to the right (wrong) side of the road. Shortly past this point is Lao immigration where we jumped off the bus and were immediately surrounded by taxi and tuk-tuk drivers offering us rides to Vientiane. We hadn’t even got our visas yet but that didn’t seem to matter to them. Part of me wanted to take them up and see if they would actually wait around only for us to get refused entry, but I didn’t want to tempt fate.

We went up to the window for Visa papers and were each handed (or rather, were slung) a pile of forms to fill in. By now sweaty o’clock was in full swing and in the blazing heat we both attempted to concentrate on filling in vague, confusing forms without dripping on them, hoping that we had correctly interpreted the questions it was asking us about residence (In Laos? In Thailand? In England? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM US?!?). Forms filled in we went back to the window and handed them over along with our passports, our passport photos that we had diligently brought with and the 70USD. Within seconds the friendly, helpful and smiling immigration officer was throwing the dollars back at us for being too old or beaten up or for having the tiniest of imperfections. Of the around 130USD we had on only about 10 met his exacting standard so we ended up absolutely stuck. I tried to ask how else we could pay, but he decided he’d had enough of us he told us to go to the next window over and shut his in our faces, our passports and the sole, acceptable 10USD note still in his possession

The officer in the next window was a tad more helpful and said we could combine dollars and Baht if we wanted to, but after my lengthy escapade to an exchange in Kohn Kaen for the SOLE REASON of getting dollars to pay for the visa, we now no longer had enough Baht left. The officer then told us to get the money changed for ‘better’ dollars at the exchange around the corner, however they also wouldn’t accept notes that weren’t hermetically sealed and plated in gold. By this point I was getting very worked up but Katy helpfully pointed out that this was all going to make an excellent blog post, so it wasn’t all bad. Eventually we had to make use of the over-priced ATM “recommended” to us by the customs officer who most definitely was not getting any kick-backs from the ATM provider  to withdrawer some Kip to make the payment.

About half an hour after starting the process and (once I’d worked it all out later taking into account withdrawal commissions and exchange rate differences) paying about £15 more than we had anticipated, we finally got our visas. We agreed a price for a taxi from a nice man who had been hanging around whilst we trying to get everything sorted, helpfully smiling and pointing us in the direction of the different windows, the exchange booth and the ATM machine. As we set off the heavens opened and so our first experience of Lao was trying to make out the road in front of us in monsoon conditions.

We made it to Vientiane about 20 minutes later and got dropped off around the corner from our hotel, arriving to find that the heavy rain had taken out the power and preventing them from taking card payments, instead we had to use the rest of our recently withdrawn Lao Kip. Katy withdrew 2,000,000K and we’d spent it all in the space of about 30 minutes. I don’t think we’ve ever spent two million of anything on anything before, so that’s something. For the record, 2 million Kip is about £180, but it’s not quite as impressive when you put it like that.

Thoroughly exhausted we crashed out on the bed and after about 20 minutes or so the power came back on so we could finally get some precious, precious internet. It also came to our attention that the toilet fills constantly, and the drainpipe was disconnected from the sink meaning that the bathroom floor floods every time you run the tap. After a quick plumbing adventure wherein I fixed the sink but made the toilet worse and I pretended I hadn’t touched it, we headed out for a well-deserved beer for the princely sum of 90p. No power, questionable plumbing & cheap beer. Yep, this is the southeast Asia I was expecting.

Chiang Mai

So far, our route planning for South East Asia has been considerably less structured than South America. We sort of have an idea of where we’re going but if somewhere looks interesting along the way then we’ll stop there for a bit (see Ayutthaya and Sukhothai). Having had quite our fill of the trains (we were starting to understand why the locals avoid them), we decided to take the ~6-hour journey north to Chiang Mai on the bus. We took our seats at the back and as the tour company had helpfully decided to remove the seats in front of us for some unknown reason, we were rewarded with ample leg room, something severely lacking in other parts of Thailand. As we neared the city, we twisted through the mountains and the jungle stretched for miles like a lush green carpet, peppered with “Attention: Elephants” signs. All in all, it wasn’t too horrendous and as Dave has previously mentioned, the Thai people seem to be more than capable of driving coaches around corners without causing the passengers onboard to fear for their lives. As with all the others we’ve encountered so far, Chiang Mai bus station is a practical but tired building, offering just enough free WiFi for us to be able to order a Grab (like Uber) and head to our hotel in the Old Town.

 

The Old City is a 1.5km square and was once surrounded by moats and walls to protect it. Some of the old walls still stand (although refurbished) at various entrance points but the majority were destroyed centuries ago. Still, there’s something about Chiang Mai that makes you never want to leave. Having said that, our first night here we weren’t sure we’d made the right decision, walking out to get some dinner we were confronted by what I’m told the kids call “banging tunes” and people trying to get us to come into their club. Pah! Don’t they know Dave and I are at least 65 on the inside?! It must be hard at this time of year to turn a profit, most of the bars we walked past were dead and in our week here we were rarely joined in restaurants by more than one other occupied table. Once we got past the “phat beats”, we were pleasantly surprised to find a street full of bars and restaurants far more suited to our curmudgeonly ways. Things are a lot more chilled out here, the whole city feels like everyone has just got out of a nice long bubble bath. We quickly tuned into the laid-back feel of the place and spent most of Sunday not really doing much at all. In the evening however we went to our first proper night market. All of Ratchadamnoen Road, running through the centre of the Old City, is closed off to vehicles and is chock-a-block with street stalls, musicians, monks, tourists, locals, food vendors, textiles, souvenirs, anything you could possibly imagine. Squeezing our way through the crowd, we were totally overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and smells, spotting everything from edible bugs to cheesy chips to tuk-tuk models made out of old beer cans. We also quickly discovered that one of the perks of being ‘not from round these parts’ is that even in a tight crowd, you can see over the heads of mostly everyone else, making for a much less claustrophobic and enjoyable experience. After wandering for a while, Dave, as is quickly becoming tradition, found another middle-aged woman to chat up and managed to find some shorts in his size, employing his flirtation skills to acquire a discount, and I found a bag. We spent a princely sum of around £12.50 in total – a real splurge.

Chiang Mai mentality thoroughly absorbed, and given that we’d pretty much been going non-stop since Bangkok, we decided to take a much more relaxed approach to the city, enjoying a late breakfast before heading down to Nong Buak Hard park, Kindles in hand, ready for a long hard day of not doing very much at all. It’s really exhausting all this travelling business you know. We also found that all the local museums are closed on a Monday, so we had to find something to pass the time! Located in the South West corner of the Old City, it’s quite a small park, with palm trees, fountains, fishponds and lots of tiny little black flies that get in your face, hover around your legs and make it difficult to read. I think at last count Dave had killed 82 (don’t tell the Buddhists). Tired of swatting, we headed off out of the park, stopping momentarily to buy some fish food and feed the fish (and also maybe the pigeons), before pausing  for a nice cold drink in a café inhabited by various different cats who came and went as they pleased, totally non-plussed by the farangs trying to fuss over them. Once again, we were the only people in said café, which was fine by us, we didn’t come all this way to MEET people for heavens sake.

In general, our time in Chiang Mai was considerably less action packed than our previous excursions into various Thai towns and cities. This boiled down to the fact that most of the things to do are temples and we are desperately attempting to avoid #toomanytemplessyndrome. In light of this, we spent most of the following day trotting around Chiang Mai’s 3 historical museums which are largely overlapping and don’t really have that much cohesion to them – it was just like being back in Cusco! We did learn about ancient Lanna culture though and the museums were good when taken as a whole; besides, aside from the overuse of the word “auspicious”, they had air conditioning, so who are we to complain. They also offered us plenty of opportunities to view our most favourite of cultural displays – textiles! Just when we thought it couldn’t get more exciting than the 9000 displays we saw in South America, we were treated to a rip-roaring adventure into the world of ancient Thai skirts. Our fave.

 

 

Having ascertained that we found the ancient ruins/temples much more interesting than the new ones (especially as they seemed less fussed about offensive shoulders in the older ruins), we decided to pop along to Wat Chedi Luang. Built some time between 1385 and 1402, the peak measured 80 metres from its base but was partially destroyed by an earthquake is 1545, leaving it at around half of its original height. It’s still incredibly impressive and once housed the Emerald Buddha, one of Thailand’s most sacred religious relics. We also happened to turn up half way through Inthakin festival so the place was  buzzing with monks and people coming to pay respects, it also meant that entrance was free – woohoo! There seems to be a festival or holiday every five minutes here in Thailand and we were beginning to understand perhaps why the French had decided this was a part of the world they wanted to get involved with, just think how many days off they could have! Inthakin is a festival unique to Chiang Mai and is a chance for citizens to offer tributes to the guardians of the city, focusing on the City Pillar, previously used in the construction of the ancient city. As we wandered around the ruins, we were totally enthralled with the celebrations, with various donation points dotted around the Wat, offering visitors a chance to donate to their birth year animal (Dave’s the tiger, I’m the chicken, boo.). Animal statues and buddhas were covered in flowers and we also observed people sending water up to the top of the Wat and pouring it onto the ruins. As we sat in the shade and enjoyed the cool breeze, a group of school children walked past and a few of them eagerly said “hello!” and waved at us, before one plucky lad decided he was going to get a high five from the two very white chunky people sitting under the tree. Before we knew it, he’d started a stampede, and Dave and I were inundated with pre-pubescent children eager to slap their hand against ours and offer us a hello. It was absolutely charming. If there’s one thing we’ve noticed here in Thailand it’s that people are a. incredibly eager to practice their English with you and b. always happy to help, even if it means they have to resort to charades.

 

In the afternoon, I had somehow managed to convince Dave that a trip to the cinema to see Godzilla: King of the Monsters, was in order (I still owe him for Mary Poppins Returns), so we headed off to the Central Festival Mall, located a few miles outside of the Old City. The Central Festival Mall is a bit like Lakeside, if Lakeside was 3 times as pleasant, had 1/3 of the people, and had an ice-skating rink in it. It also had a Marks & Spencer so we spent a few minutes mooching around their food hall, delighted to find Percy Pigs, Custard Creams and red onion chutney, before deciding that perhaps we could settle in Thailand after all. Thailand has very strict Lèse-majesté rules, which basically means that any negative comments regarding the monarchy can get you locked up. Tourists have often fallen foul of this law, even for blogs written outside of Thailand, therefore I shall simply say that having to stand for the national anthem and a short video praising the King before the film started was certainly an experience I will never forget and  truly a great honour. Should anyone wish to find out just how stellar a chap the new King is, they need only Google him. Moving swiftly on then…

bty

Apart from a trip to a slightly more disappointing night market where we acquired two fantastic beer coolers which seem to be all the rage here, the rest of our time in Chiang Mai passed relatively uneventfully. We did find some rather lovely kittens next to our hotel and as such I now carry a small supply of cat treats wherever I go but it was nice to have a bit of down time. The city’s relaxing vibe seems to seep from every crevice, and I think we probably could have spent several weeks drinking and reading in bars without noticing how quickly the time was passing. But, we didn’t spend all this time saving to drink ourselves into a stupor (well, at least not every night) so onwards to Laos we headed…

What? What wat!

Our trip to Sukhothai was somewhat more straightforward than the one to Ayutthaya, consisting of a train to Phitsonaluk and then an hour’s bus ride to Sukhothai. Owing to the timetable, the only train that both left Ayutthaya and arrived at Phitsonaluk at remotely reasonable times of day was an express train (that joke is funny in both Thai and English) costing us the relatively extortionate price of £22. After arriving in Phitsonaluk only 40 minutes later than scheduled, we got a tuk-tuk to the bus station and bought our tickets for the bus to Sukhothai, which turned out to be a minivan that doubled as a rapid postal service.

No matter though, we got to Sukhothai in good time and after another quick tuk-tuk ride we made it to our home for the next 2 nights, TR guesthouse. Sukhothai is split in to 2 towns, the new town where we were staying is on the banks of the Yom river, whist the old town is about 10 miles to the west. As we had been very good and as we had been in Thailand for over two weeks without having one, we went for a pizza that evening at a very reputable pizza place just around the corner. Like so much of Thailand outside of Bangkok, we had the restaurant to ourselves. It’s amazing just how ‘off’ the off-season is here, unlike in South America where things were, say, about a third to a half as busy as they would have been in the high season, in Thailand it’s absolutely dead. A couple of times now we’ve been the only people staying in guesthouses or walked past rows of restaurants all with no customers. Makes you feel for the business owners here. No doubt they rake it in during the high season but balancing such an erratic cash-flow must be difficult.

After a good night’s sleep in a HUUUGE bed we set off early to get the bus to the ruins in the old town. The bus was essentially a giant tuk-tuk made from a converted truck, ‘bus’ is seemingly a very loose term in Thai. After about 20 minutes we arrived in the old town and were dropped off by the ticket office for the historical park. Unlike in Ayutthaya where the temples and the town were mixed up with each site having its own entry gates and fees, Sukhothai old town is dominated by the central Historical Park with a single-entry fee. Again, owing to the off season the park was nearly deserted and the lack of vehicular traffic made for a much quieter and thoroughly enjoyable few hours as we explored the ruins hardly seeing a single other person.

Sukhothai, which means ‘dawn of happiness’, was the capital of the first independent Thai Kingdom, creatively named the Sukhothai Kingdom. The city was founded as the capital in the early 1200’s after the Khmer empire which had used the town as a small outpost, went into decline and withdrew from the region. Sukhothai served as the capital for around 140 years until it was superseded by Ayutthaya. The runs today have been partially restored and are a UNESCO world heritage site.

We started by walking around Wat Maha That which, like its namesake in Ayutthaya, is the largest and most important of the temple ruins. Owing partly to its considerably less violent demise as well as the more extensive restoration work, the ruins in Sukhothai are generally in better condition than those in Ayutthaya, most notably in the form of the myriad sizeable Buddha statues around the site which still have their heads.

We worked our way steadily down to Wat Si Sawai, a 3-pronged Khmer style temple in the south of the complex and then north through numerous smaller ruins up to a Wat Sa-si, a huge stupa in the middle of a large artificial lake. After that we were suitably templed out, so we made our way out of the park and across the street for a late lunch, arriving just in time to avoid an epic downpour. We made our way back to the new town on the ‘bus’ and relaxed in the hostel for a few hours before heading out for Dinner at the wonderfully named ‘Poo Restaurant’. ‘Poo’ is the Thai word for Crab, tough normally it is written ‘Phu’. There’s a lot of English usage in Thailand where it is genuinely hard to decide if the author was accidently amusing or deliberately so. We decided in this instance it was probably deliberate.

And that’s about it. Hmm. That was short.

We’re off to Chiang Mai next, but Katy can tell you about that.

Delays due to trains on the line.

Back when we first arrived in Thailand and started making plans on where to go and what to see (yes, that is the order we do things in) we established pretty quickly that at some point we would head to Chiang Mai, the largest city in the north of the country and the major hub for tourists visiting the region. During one of my stupidly early morning awakenings, as established in a prior blog, I’d taken the time to look into getting from Bangkok to Chiang Mai and found that there were 3 options. Flying, a 12-hour bus ride or a 15-hour train ride. Flying with Katy is, unless there really is no alternative, not an option, and after our experience with South America we were determined to avoid long-haul bus journeys wherever possible. That being said, much of Thailand is essentially a giant river delta so it’s largely pancake-flat and therefore has lots of nice long straight roads. Also, the driving here is considerably less manic (maybe because, like all civilized countries, they drive on the left), which all told makes for a damn sight more comfortable a prospect than being driven around winding mountain roads by lunatics with a death wish.

So that left trains, and whilst our journey to Kanchanaburi had been a pleasant experience, the thought of spending 15 hours in such conditions (assuming that the train runs on time… not that this is foreshadowing in any way…) was not a particularly appealing at all. Night trains are also an option, considerably more expensive than the day trains (not prohibitively, prices start around £20 each) but they came with a fully flat bed compartment and you can upgrade to a cabin with a double bed if you so desire.

Whilst researching all of this though, I was looking at other places to go in Thailand, places we could potentially use to break up the journey a bit. Thailand, in no small part due to its favourable geography, is a pretty populous country. With 69,000,000 people it is one place up from the UK on a list of countries by population (fine, I’ll close the Wikipedia tab) and so, unlike South America, you don’t get vast swathes of countryside with nothing in it for hours at a time. Fortunately for our ever-evolving seat-of-our-pants travel plans, the railway line from Bangkok to Chiang Mai is brimming with towns and cities, several of which offer great tourist sights to see and an opportunity to break up the journey. With 6 months still ahead of us in our travels we had time to spare so decided to make stops along the way in Ayutthaya and Sukhothai, both cities built around the ruins of former Thai capitals*.

*So far, dear reader, I’ve written 458 words and am only now getting to the part where I actually tell you about what we did. Before coming out to Asia my Dad gave us the advice that we should be briefer with our blogs, writing little and often. I genuinely tried to stick to that advice at first but after just two weeks old habits have crept back in. Ah well, I’ve gone 32 years not listening to my Dad’s advice, I was hardly going to start now.

After waking up at the crack of dawn, we checked out of our hostel and begrudgingly trudged our way up to Kanchanaburi Station for the 7:20 train back to Bangkok, having packed the night before so as to allow ourselves a precious extra few minutes in bed (our forward planning may not go that far forward but will always stretch far enough to account for Katy Boyce and sleep). We got back to Bangkok around 11:30 and took a taxi across the city to Hua Lamphong Station, the city’s main railway station and hub for trains to the north and east of the country. We killed some time in a coffee shop and acquired our tickets for the journey to Ayutthaya for the princely sum of 30THB (about 75p). That’s 75p for both of us! 75p. Yeah, I’m looking at you National Rail! Sure, the trains aren’t in great condition, they’re slow and the tracks are pretty bumpy, but hell, for 75p to travel 50 miles you could strap me to a wooden plank bolted on to a set of wheels and I’d still be happy.

Our train was quite a bit busier than the one from Kanchanaburi and we happened to end up in a carriage with several other farangs (Thai word equivalent to ‘gringo’) who got very unsettled when the section of the train we were on suddenly detached from the rest of the train and was briefly shunted on to a different platform before being put back on the same platform again. Soon enough though we departed (from the correct platform), working our way through the suburbs of northern Bangkok, stopping frequently at the numerous stations lining the route, and equally as frequently between stations for no apparent reason (So far, so National Rail). Pretty quickly the train began building up a delay, but that was OK, we had read that the trains usually departed on time but would often begin running late en-route and so we had left ourselves plenty of time for such eventualities. Arriving at your final destination at the scheduled time on a Thai train, it seems, happens about as frequently as there being a winner on Takeshis castle.

After a particularly lengthy stop at a station near the old airport, word came down that the train had broken down and that we needed to get off and wait for another one. This meant jumping down on to the neighbouring tracks and waiting at the platform opposite. We only knew of this because one of the Farangs on our train spoke enough Thai to get the gist of the announcement being made from the tannoy. Otherwise, who knows where we would have ended up!

During our time in Bangkok and Kanchanaburi, many of the Thais we had got chatting to had asked us about our travel plans. When we told them we were planning to get trains, without fail they would say ‘you know there’s a bus you can get?’ We’d tell them we knew that, but that we liked trains, plus they are generally quite a bit cheaper than the buses, so as arrogant know-it-all westerners we decided to stick to our plans. They were always too polite to push the issue, but there was always a subtle look of ‘well, it’s your funeral’ on their faces. I guess this was why; the trains breakdown, nobody tells you what’s happening, you’re required to jump on to active railway lines and the delays are so frequent and so large that each station has a dedicated screen just for telling you the delay times.

Still better value than National Rail.

Along came our replacement train (or rather, just the next train coming along that was heading to Ayutthaya) and we crammed ourselves on, arriving in Ayutthaya just over an hour and a half behind schedule where we were met by Mr Vann (who picked us up in his van, his joke, not mine), the owner of the hostel we would be staying at for the next two nights. After a short ride we arrived and Mr Vann sat us down in the attached coffee shop for a spirited, enthusiastic and somewhat lengthy guide to all of the historical sites in the city. After this he showed us to our room where he proceeded to show us how the shower works, where the sink is, where the light switches are, how the TV works, were the holster for the air condition controller is, how the door works, how the curtains work and so on and so on. Having been travelling all day, our typical British patience for and politeness towards a very nice man who is trying very hard to be helpful and hospitable was wearing a little thin, and the frequency of our ‘thank yous’ and ‘khop-khuns’, intonated with a  ‘we’re fine, bugger off’ tone, was increasing exponentially but unsurprisingly being lost in translation. I don’t want to be unfair here, Mr Vann and his wife are absolutely lovely people and clearly very passionate about their business and their home city and he was, after all, kind enough to wait around at the train station for over an hour until we arrived.

We headed out for dinner and a well-deserved beer in a restaurant around the corner where we could watch the sun set over the ruins of a sizeable stupa before retiring for the night, intending to get up and out exploring temples before the sun overpowered us.

The following day we made an early start (by our standards) and got out of the door shortly before 9:30am. After a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast (yeah that weaning us off of western breakfasts thing is still coming along quite slowly) we headed over to the large temple complex in the heart of the city. Ayutthaya was founded in 1350 and was the capital of the Ayutthaya Kingdom (the second Siamese kingdom after Sukhothai) until it was sacked by the Burmese army at the end of the Siamese-Burmese war in 1767.

The ruins today are preserved largely as they were when the city fell, whilst work is done to ensure the ruins do not deteriorate further, no restoration work has been carried out and so the ruins strike a fascinating contrast to the modern wats, temples and palaces in Bangkok. Thai architecture has not changed dramatically from the Ayutthaya period to today, so even seeing the ruins without the roofs, plasterwork, fittings and decorations it wasn’t too hard trying to imagine what the place would have looked like in it’s hey-day. What’s left today are columns, stupas and raised platforms built from millions of thin red and brown bricks held together with thick layers of mortar. Around the towers of brickwork can be found many hundreds of Buddhas, near all of which have been decapitated or completely destroyed.

During the height of Ayutthaya’s power, it was home to almost a million people and its very open attitude to foreigners and trade had made it internationally renowned and incredibly wealthy. One of the many ways that the Kings stored their wealth was by having the cities’ gold melted down and placed inside the head of the Buddha statues around the temples and palaces in the city centre. When the Burmese sacked the city, they decapitated and destroyed the Buddha statues in order to retrieve the gold from them.

After spending a little while walking through the grounds of Wat Maha That, the largest single structure in the complex, we headed further into the temple complex along a long path between several small lakes, flanked sporadically with trees and small temple ruins and walls. Large bodies of water are often incorporated into the construction of temples and palaces as, according to Buddhist belief, water is a purifying substance, so surrounding holy sites with bodies of water helps to maintain their sanctity (Stagnant water and the associated swarms of mosquitos apparently are not a threat to said sanctity). At the far end of the path we crossed a small bridge and joined a pathway around another large temple ruin before succumbing to the intensity of the early afternoon sun and ducking under the awning of a small outbuilding.

After sweating and the replenishing a gallon of water each and with a little more cloud cover rolling in, we proceeded up to Wat Phra Si Samphet, a long, thin temple complex cantered on a trio of 3 massive stupas with their thick, grey plaster layer still largely intact. Around the central 3 stupas are numerous small stupas, temples, columns and statues, all of which have a notable lean towards the centre of the site. This isn’t intentional, but the soft soil has subsided over the years under the massive weight of the 3 central stupas and thus the surrounding structures have begun to lean in.

Despite the forecast of cloud and the possibility of rain, the sun was unrelenting so after Wat Phra Si Samphet we gave up on walking to any of the other sites, most of which were considerably further out and headed back to our nearby hostel to bask in the glory of air conditioning. After a few hours of cooling we headed out again to the nigh market a few streets down, unlike some of the night markets which are heavily touristy, the one in Ayutthaya is a bit more bare-bones and authentic. A single run of food stalls and clothes sellers occupies one side of the street whilst the traffic still runs as normal on the other side. We walked down and back up taking in the sights, smells, sounds and leisurely chaos of the market, Katy even plucked up the courage to try a tuna ball and a cheese ball from one of the venders; our first foray into genuine Thai street food.

We had dinner up the road at another restaurant which clearly wasn’t expecting any customers that evening and had to frantically jump in to action when we strolled in (It was, of course, delicious, and cheap, we’ve established there is a roughly inverse correlation between the cost of food and its quality here) and we set off back to our hostel bellies full and happy with our days exploring of Ayutthaya.

Off to Sukothai next.

Making the most of it

Bangkok’s Thonburi station is certainly no Paddington, in fact it’s barely a Dorchester South. A sheltered platform runs around 50m alongside the tracks, with some benches dotted about the place which were definitely not made for our Western sized bottoms. There’s a yellow line and signs warning you not to go past it but the rather cavalier attitude to health and safety is both refreshing and unnerving. There seems to be an ongoing mentality across Thailand that if you’re stupid enough to do something that puts your life at risk, then you probably deserve to have something bad happen to you. The Darwin award would do exceptionally well here. In fact, the train before ours was situated on the next set of tracks over, with the only way to access it being to cross said yellow line and walking over the tracks themselves – brilliant. The trains themselves are wonderfully old fashioned, with the engine carriage being added separately just before departure. They’re a step up from steam trains, but if Poirot had suddenly sauntered across the platform, he certainly wouldn’t have been too out of place. Our destination on this wonderful anachronism was Kanchanaburi, a town around 90 miles West of Bangkok and home to THE Bridge over the river Kwai. We took our seats on two blue padded benches (again definitely not designed for Western bottoms, nor Western height) under the cooling breeze of several fans. There is only one class for the Kanchanaburi train and rather than air conditioning, it has huge open windows which can be pulled closed in the event of rain. Our train set off around 2pm and before we knew it we were rushing through luscious green fields, banana farms and small towns. At times it was rather reminiscent of home with the flat green landscapes in the rain, though the train ran on time and we both got a seat so perhaps upon further consideration it wasn’t like trains at home at all. Around 2 hours into our journey, the heavens opened and along with our fellow passengers, we hurried to close the windows. In our carriage were two other Western couples but the majority were Thai, wholly uninterested in the landscape and often bemused by two huge Westerners pointing out things that must be everyday features for them. I like trains. Arriving in a grey haze to Kanchanaburi around 5:30pm, we trudged through the drizzle to our new temporary home: The Nine Guesthouse, a medium sized hotel with various rooms surrounding a garden area in the centre, also home to a lovely white Cockatoo and several very skinny and very skittish cats. We were pleasantly surprised to find an enormous bed with a comfortable mattress, sufficient pillows AND a TV with Fox Sports, meaning we were all set to watch the Formula 1 over the course of the weekend, without having to attend one of the English/Aussie bars around town. Not that there isn’t a time and a place for getting rekt and watching TV surrounded by other Farangs, but we’re not here to eat a Sunday Roast or “get drunk for 10 Baht” (about 25p), as one bar proudly advertised; at least not yet anyway.

Our first stop the following morning was the Kanchanaburi Death Railway Museum and Research Centre to learn a bit more about the history of the place, and to set us up for a trip down to The Bridge a bit later on. The Museum, set over two floors, sits alongside the POW Cemetery and offers visitors a comprehensive, and sometimes rather harrowing, explanation of the Death Railway and the POWs held there during World War Two. Founded by an Aussie chap named Rod Beattie, who curated the majority of the museum’s pieces, exploring much of the abandoned railway himself as well as contacting the families of the POWs. It’s really incredible how much effort has been put into this place, with many original uniforms and medals on display, as well as various items recovered from the POW camps themselves. The majority of the POWs who died during the construction of the Death Railway were British, and throughout the museum people have placed poppies and crosses, commemorating the sacrifice of family members. It’s incredibly moving. As we reached the end of the exhibits, the heavens opened once more and so we sat on the second floor and enjoyed our complementary cup of tea and let everything sink in.

Soon after the rain stopped, we stepped back out into the heat. We both commented on how awful it must have been to have been forced to do heavy labour in this weather. We can barely walk down the street without breaking into a sweat. Having seen on the map that it was about 3k to The Bridge, we decided to make use of the hotel’s offering of free bikes and cycle instead of walk. We soon discovered why the bikes were free however, as mine had a decidedly flat tyre and neither of them had any gears, making what was supposed to be a breezy trundle down to The Bridge, a rather more arduous affair – nevermind. We arrived to a throng of tourists taking pictures and a small amount of street vendors and market stalls, set up to cater for the aforementioned tourists. Often when you read the reviews of historically significant places, people seem to be outraged at the fact that the locals are attempting to capitalise on the presence of large numbers of tourists, and perhaps unsurprisingly, these also tend to be the types of people that complain when there isn’t a coffee shop at The Killing Fields – you can’t please everyone I suppose. So off we went, to cross The Bridge over The River Kwai. Interestingly enough, it’s not actually the River Kwai, its proper name is the Khwae Yai but in true Western fashion, we’ve managed to bastardise the pronunciation. Maybe if we said it louder and slower… As you set out further onto the bridge, the tourists thin out and we were joined by a lovely dog, who happily trotted alongside us for a while. Reaching the other end of the bridge, the train tracks descend into thick jungle and there is a sign informing you that the bridge is the River Kwai bridge – thanks sign! There is also now a bar where the old POW camp used to be, down by the river. We were trying to decide whether it was offensive or incredibly fitting that you can sit and have a beer where so many young men lost their lives. We decided in the end that it was probably a suitable tribute as we could imagine nothing better on a hot sweaty day than a nice cold beer, especially as so many Aussies were there as well. All in all they’ve done a good job of making the place as accessible to tourists as possible, without selling out the soul and significance of The Bridge and Kanchanaburi as a town. The bridge itself is the original, apart from a small middle section which was replaced after it was bombed during the war, you can even see some of the original bomb damage on the concrete pillars. As we headed back towards town, there was a small amount of commotion behind us. We turned to see a train heading over the bridge – eek! Luckily along the bridge are small metal outcrops, designed precisely for this purpose, and once we realised we weren’t about to be flattened, it was really quite exciting to see a train going over THE Bridge over the River Kwai. Trains are one of those things which, alongside dinosaurs, are cool all the time, forever, no matter how old you are or where you are in the world.

Upon returning to the hotel, we decided that the following day we needed to do something a bit lighter and decided upon a visit to Erawan National Park, about 65km up the road from Kanchanburi. As well as the opportunity to spot some more wildlife, Erawan park is home to 7 tiers of waterfalls, offering visitors a chance to swim in its crystal-clear waters, and also enjoy a free foot nibbling from the resident fish. Rather than restrict ourselves to the sweltering confines of public transport, there is of course only one way to see Thailand as it is meant to be seen, and that is of course, by scooter. Our hotel offered 24h rental for 200 Baht (£5) so it was a no brainer really, especially as entry into the park for both of us was going to cost 600 Baht (£15). So the following morning we got up bright and early, and headed off for Erawan National Park, eager to beat the crowds. Whilst I can certainly see the appeal of mopeds/scooters/motorbikes/whatever you want to call them, I wasn’t quite prepared for the fact that after around 15km, you start to get an enormously numb bottom. It’s difficult to shift your weight without upsetting the balance of the bike so you are forced to sit quite still, leading to a somewhat unpleasant journey for both myself and Dave. We stopped about halfway for a brief respite but quickly got underway again when we realised how hot it was once you haven’t got a lovely cool breeze washing over you. Arriving at the park at around 10:30, we decided to stop for a bite to eat before tackling the climb up to the falls. I pause here to mention that Dave has, rather usefully, been teaching himself a bit of Thai in an effort to gain favour from the locals. As I spoke more Spanish when we were in South America, he has taken it upon himself to be our voice for Asia, which is absolutely fine by me. Thai is a tonal language, meaning that you can say exactly the same words but with two different tones and they can mean entirely different things. Having said that, the only thing Dave has managed to do so far is make middle aged Thai women completely besotted with him, once they discover that he can speak more than the rudimentary “please”, “thank you” and “hello”. As we stopped for lunch just outside the park, he once again proceeded to chat up the woman serving us lunch and all was going very well until he produced a 1000 Baht note to pay for our ~150 Baht lunch. It wasn’t our fault, the machines rarely give out anything below 1000 when you’re taking out large quantities, but her face was a picture when he produced it. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing and Dave’s innate charm (*eye roll*), she eventually decided it was ok and ran off to find change from somewhere.

 

Climbing to the 7th tier of the waterfalls takes around an hour, but it’s all uphill, through the jungle, in the heat, so we decided upon reaching the 5th tier that that was good enough for us. The waterfalls are truly impressive and though we’d seen pictures, the clear blue waters were even more inviting as we reached them sweaty and tired from the climb. As soon as we entered the water, swarms of fish nibbled at our toes and legs. It’s a really bizarre sensation as some of them are quite big and they will not get the hint when you try and brush them off. They seem to enjoy toes the most which, if you are ticklish like I am, is intolerable after more than a few seconds. Still though, we sat and enjoyed the serene surroundings and the cool clear water for a good few hours. A well-deserved break from the heat and the chaos of Bangkok. Originally our plan was then to head to Hellfire Pass but funnily enough, the beautiful cool jungle paradise won over the 1.5 hour numb bum drive further up the road. As the pools became busier and the afternoon ticked by, we decided it was about time to head back to the hotel and were slightly perplexed by the “please don’t feed the monkeys” signs dotted about the place. We hadn’t seen any monkeys so either it’s all a bit of a joke, or the signs have done their job and the monkeys don’t bother coming anymore because no one feeds them. As much as it would have been great to see them in the wild, hopefully they no longer rely on humans for food and are off doing monkey things somewhere else. Following a necessary ice cream stop, we begrudgingly climbed back onto the scooter and numb-bumingly headed back to Kanchanaburi, rather sad to be leaving the cool waters and beautiful surroundings behind.

Suitably relaxed and refreshed by our trip to the Nature Park, we decided that the following day we’d head off back out on the scooter to Wat Ban Tham, a local temple atop a hill that involves climbing through a large dragon. This was only 12km away so not quite enough time for the scooter’s lack of comfort to set in. We arrived around 10am and set about climbing the 701 steps to the top. Once the initial entertainment of climbing up through a dragon’s mouth, followed by a short spiral staircase up through a cave structure, passed, it became hotter and harder to proceed. We had climbed Machu Picchu mountain some 3 months prior so were quite surprised at how difficult the steps proved to be. It just goes to show how much more difficult it is to do anything in this heat and we quickly depleted the 2 litres of water we had brought with us. Luckily about 2/3 of the way up there’s a lovely open-air temple where you can sit and cool down, enjoying the cool breeze as well as the endless view over the lush green fields. The river widens and winds its way into the distance, punctuated sporadically with hills that burst out of the ground like huge anthills, such is their juxtaposition with the paper flat landscape. We reached the top shortly after but as there was no shelter, we quickly descended again, welcoming the ease at which we descended, counting the steps as we went and offering encouragement to those on the ascent. Reaching the bottom, we couldn’t help feeling a sense of accomplishment at having not only climbed one of Thailand’s hills, but having done so dripping with sweat and almost giving up more than once. We stopped briefly at the POW cemetery on our way back and were once again moved by the sacrifice of these poor lads, the vast majority of whom were younger than both Dave and me.  Arriving back at the hotel, we found ourselves to be absolutely exhausted and after a brief foray out for lunch, both collapsed onto the bed and did not much of anything for the rest of the afternoon before enjoying a junk food dinner and a beer with the Monaco GP.

Our time in Kanchanaburi had been a real mixed bag, with harrowing WW2 history, beautiful waterfalls and a big dragon temple on a hill, all of which has been thoroughly enjoyable. As I sit and write this on the terrace of our hotel room, a thunderstorm has rolled in and flashes of lightning flicker across the cloudy grey sky every few minutes, oddly enough, all without any rain. The next stop on our trip is Ayutthaya, the old capital of Siam, but I’ll leave Dave to tell you all about that.

Chairman Cat

Day 4 dawned with Katy and I both finally starting to get over the worst effects of the jet lag and beginning to function on a daily rhythm somewhat in sync with the local time zone. For the past couple of days Katy has been waking up around 11-12 am -understandable given the 6-hour time shift from the UK- whilst I have been my usual self and made a point of being different, waking instead at any time between 3 and 5am. Whilst this has had the positive side effect of giving me an opportunity to do more planning for the day ahead or for further in to our trip, or merely to try and improve my terrible grasp of Thai, it has ultimately meant me sitting around in the hotel room for 6 hours getting hungrier and hungrier until Katy wakes up. And no, swapping a sleeping happy Katy for a half-asleep grumpy Katy is not a good trade.

Anyway, today I woke up at about 6:45 and Katy about 9:15, so at least we’re both steadily converging on a reasonable time to awaken. As today was set to be another scorcher (Joy confirmed that it’s hot even by Thai standards at the moment) we decided it would be a good idea to get out a little earlier ahead of the worst of the heat, especially as our firs stop involved a climb to Phu Khao Thong, the Temple on the Golden Mount. We had intended to walk down the road and get a bus, but Joy, eager to help as ever, suggested we’d be better off with a taxi and so commandeered my phone to order one through Grab (the local equivalent of Uber) and take the opportunity provided by the waiting time for the Taxi to make more jokes at my expense. Much to Katy’s amusement.

At 40 Thai Baht to the pound, the currency value is not quite far enough away from Sterling that you stop intuitively thinking of Baht’s on the same kind of scale (unlike, for example, Lao Kip, where £1 will buy you almost K11,000), so instinctively, paying 110 Baht for a 20-minute Taxi ride feels like a lot, until you work it out and realise it’s £2.75. Thailand is called ‘the land of smiles’, ostensibly because the people here are always smiling (and this is true, they are, except for the ones who work on the water taxis), but it is also because every time you buy something and work out what it is in pounds you can’t help but get a cheese-eating grin on your face.

With our budget only slightly dented then, we jumped out of the Taxi and set off in search of some breakfast. Thai cuisine doesn’t really have separate breakfast foods like we do in the west; they’ll happily eat noodles, rice, soup and the grilled and marinated carcases of whatever animal takes their fancy at any time of day. Whilst we have thoroughly enjoyed indulging in the local cuisine, we haven’t yet weaned ourselves off of the western need for good-ol’ hearty bread, egg and/or cereal based breakfasts. To that end, we settled upon a small, French style café in the lobby of a hostel near the temple for some scrambled eggs on toast and a tuna melt.

Stomachs appeased we set off back to Phu Khao Thong through a district of Bangkok specialising in the production of ornate wooden doors, picture frames and clumps of mushrooms. The Temple on the Golden Mount is a large, wide structure built in to 4 distinct tiers; the mount, the base, the temple and the stupa. As you enter the gates, the temple immediately before you is a striking sight; simultaneously inviting and imposing. Amongst the other more conventional wats and temples in central Bangkok, Phu Khao Thong is rather unique appearance-wise and has an almost Arabic look to it.

Built upon what appears at first to be the strange sight of a natural hill in the centre of the otherwise flat Bangkok, the mount upon which the temple sits is in fact the crumbled remains of an earlier attempt to build a huge stupa on the site. Owing to Bangkok’s soft clay soil, this original Stupa collapsed in on itself near to completion and wound up being left derelict for several decades. Today, the mishmash of mudbrick, earth and stone which forms the bottom half of the temple mount is overgrown with trees and vines and decorated liberally with statutes, waterfalls, golden buddhas and small shrines.

This section of the temple mount is perhaps the most enjoyable to climb. When you first set off, a small sign cautions you that there are over 300 steps to the top (Pah! Not exactly Salkantay is it!) and you quickly find yourself surrounded by the canopy of the trees overgrowing the mount from which hangs myriad thin, spindly vines. Along the route the path follows are numerous mist jets to assist with keeping the tourists and monks cool on their climb. Combined with the tranquillity of the waterfalls, statues and shrines, the luscious vegetation and the ringing sound of the bells and gongs which line the path and are merrily rung by each passing tourist, the ascent is an almost heavenly experience. No doubt this is the intended effect, but as a died-in-the-wool atheist, rarely at a religious monument have I found the intended effect to be so all-encompassing and potent.

The second tier of the temple is the base; a wide, conical shaped retaining wall which occupies the central quarter of the structure. The wall is painted a brilliant white, save for a small amount of red detailing which follows the stairways that spiral steadily up the perimeter. The base is elegant in its simplicity and nicely juxtaposes both the chaotic beauty of the mount below and the opulence of the temple above.

Atop the base sits the Temples 3rd tier, a relatively simple square building with intricate gold trim and an awning which overhangs a broad, sheltered walkway around the heart of the temple and from which hundreds of small bells and wind chimes are hung. In the heart of the temple, connected by 4 small passageways, is a small and, by local standards, very modest statue of the Buddha around which incense is burned and monks offer their prayers.

The final tier is the roof, a smaller walkway around a large stupa with a thin, domed base and a tall spire protruding from its centre. The stupa alone accounts for perhaps a quarter of the total height of the temple and is painted solid gold and indented with multiple layers of geometric shapes. It’s a genuinely impressive feature of Buddhist architecture and design that they can make such liberal use of gold yet never make it look gawdy or tasteless. I can think of at least 1 world leader who should take note. The walkway around the stupa, some 150ft high, also offers fantastic views of the city. The Vista of Bangkok from this temple is a microcosm of Asia at the start of the twenty first century, a chaotic and vibrant fusion of old and new, innovation and tradition, wealth and poverty. The foreground is dominated by corrugated roofs, low-slung concrete dwellings and the leisurely chaos of busy market streets peppered with the brilliant golds, greens and reds of temple roofs jutting out from every other block. In the distance the skyline is dominated by huge steel and glass skyscrapers; the visual manifestation of the huge wealth flowing into this developing economy and to which a new building seems to be being added every time you blink; such is the pace of growth in this part of the world.

Stunning though it was, the view from the top could not win out against the strength of the sun, and we soon had to retreat to lower levels for shade and some water in an attempt to cool down (as if such a thing were possible). One we had sufficiently rested we proceeded (slowly) across town to have a late lunch and let the worst of the middays sun pass, stopping en-route in Saranrom park near the royal palace for some much-needed shade. As we finished lunch the clouds started to thicken bringing in a precious few degrees of coolness to the air. Rejuvenated we set off across the river to Wat Arun, the Temple of Dawn, which is named for the way it catches the dawn light on its ceramic surface (suffice to say, we never got up early enough to see this).

The temple is a series of five stupas laid out like the 5-side of a dice and dominated by its central stupa which stands a good 150ft tall. Each of the stupas is decorated with millions of hand-crafted ceramic tiles of various colours, chiefly dominated by green, blue and white. The tiles are laid out to form intricate geometric patterns as well as flowers and animals and several statues of elephants and buddhas crown the steep upper slopes. The temple site is fairly small though and by the time we arrived  it was swarming with tourists (yes, I know) and so we decided to make our way back to avoid the steadily darkening crowds. There was, of course, time to stop off and say hello to some cats that had made the temple their home though.

As an aside, in Thai, the word for cat is ‘Maow’ like the noise they make. This leads one to suspect that maybe sheep are called ‘Bah’ and dogs are called ‘Woof’ but sadly that is not the case. It does however mean that the name for the brutal Chinese mass-murderer in Thai was ‘Chairman Cat’, so that’s fun.

And that more or less finished off our activities of note in Bangkok. With the exception of getting absolutely hammered on the Khao San Road, the only major tourist attraction in which we had not indulged was visiting the Royal Palace. The Palace, however, has a very strict dress code which calls for long sleeves and trousers. Given the weather we thought it better to save a visit until our return trip in November, when the temperature may even be as cool as the high 20’s! We opted instead for a day relaxing in a riverside bar enjoying a beer (just one) and then spending the rest of the day on the roof of our hostel with our kindles.

For our last day in Bangkok we intended, on Joys advice, to head up to the outskirts of the Royal Palace in the evening where apparently a light display in celebration of the recent coronation of the new king was taking place, but a fierce storm soon put pay to that plan and we again wound up on the roof of the hostel reading and enjoying a beer (just one) before retreating from the torrential downpour and lightning that rolled in in the late afternoon.

After dinner we took stock of our time here in Bangkok. It’s safe to say that the city has left a far more positive impact on us than Lima did; Bangkok is an accessible, inviting, vibrant and joyously chaotic place. The food is amazing, the sites spectacular, the people are as warm as the climate and the city has, despite its status as he worlds most visited city, not sold out its character to the tourist trade. You really feel like a guest here, rather than a walking ATM fit for a swindle. That said, it is still a capital city, and like all capital cities it has a character and dynamic distinct from the rest of the country, so  it’s with great excitement that we look forward to exploring more of Thailand, starting with the small town of Kanchanaburi, roughly 80 miles west of Bangkok and home to the Bridge over the River Kwai.

Here we go again…

So then! Here we are in Bangkok, our home for a week or so. The antipode of Bangkok is about 350 miles off the coast of Lima so we’ve almost literally come to the other side of the world from where we were last time.  Leaving sunny England behind, we were feeling a lot more relaxed than we were the last time we waved bye to Mum at the airport. I don’t know whether it was the fact that Dave has been to Asia before or that we’ve been travelling for a while now, or perhaps it was those lovely tablets I got from Superdrug, but there’s definitely been a lot more of a chilled out vibe heading into these next six months, as well as a lot more room in our backpacks.

 

Fully anticipating to be knocked sideways by the heat, it was a pleasant surprise when we stepped off the plane to find that it wasn’t THAT bad; comparable to when we first arrived in Lima. We shuffled down to the taxi rank, took our number and showed the nice taxi man where we wanted to go, having been given the advice from some friends we met travelling to have the address in the local script as well as Latin characters, which proved to be the right thing to do. Despite this we didn’t quite manage to get right to our hostel (U-baan Hostel run by the delightful Joy) but got close enough that the final 50m or so walk wasn’t too much of an issue, even in the 33° heat. We were greeted by Joy and quickly shown to our room on the 4th floor (EUGH); a basic double room but comfortable and with that all-important air-conditioning. By this point we’d been travelling for over 24 hours and with Etihad’s in-flight meals not being nearly as good as United’s, we hopped along the road to a restaurant recommended by Joy as being easy and quick, exactly what we needed. Our first meals in Thailand were fried fish with various vegetables/salad and was probably one of the best things I have ever eaten. Off to a good start. Accompanied by two very cold beers, we were two very jolly, but very tired, westerners. Stopping at the local Tesco Lotus on our way back to the hostel for some much needed giant bottles of water, we quickly fell asleep on our unexpectedly hard bed. Upon closer inspection, the mattress seemed to be made of very hard foam with the sort of material that PE mats at school were made of, around it; not ideal, but it would do for the next 7 nights.

There are 7/11s everywhere in Bangkok, they seem to be the life blood of the city, providing not only lovely lovely AC but also wi-fi if you have the right sim card. Public wi-fi isn’t so much of a thing here as it is in other places but I’m sure we’ll manage. Our first day I awoke around 9am to find that Dave had been up for hours (thanks jetlag!) and had already planned our first day – woohoo! Having learned from previous trips that trying to do too much in one day is a recipe for grumpiness, our first task was to obtain breakfast, then head up to the Museum of Siam, grab a late lunch and then head back to the hostel via the water bus and the Metro. We’ve heard that as long as you eat right and walk a lot you should lose weight in South East Asia so that’s part of the plan, as well as avoiding too many banana pancakes and coconut ice cream. Naturally this meant we had milkshakes, waffles and honey toast for breakfast – exceptionally not healthy but really really yummy. To be fair as well, we were planning to walk 40 minutes in the midday heat for some unknown reason afterwards so we’d surely burn it off. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ll know that Thailand is hot, really hot. It’s not until you get here however that you realise why when you tell your Hostel host that you’re planning to walk half way across the city, she looks at you like you’ve just told her you eat only nutmeg and live in a shoe. Put another way, I can see why there are no walking tours here. As any *ahem* larger person will tell you, sweat is a common occurrence when faced with heat of any kind and normally you just learn to accept it, but flipping heck, I think even a skeleton would sweat here.

DSC01496

We arrived at the Museum of Siam to find our good friend air-con in full force and took a minute to bask in its glory (All hail the AC). Established in 2007 in the old Ministry of Commerce building, the purpose of the Museum is to explore Thailand’s national identity and what it means to be Thai. According to their website, their philosophy is play + learn = plearn – no really – so apart from exploring what “Thainess” is, it also appears that they have invented a new word. Armed with our audio guide which promised to “tickle our curiosity gland” we were led through various rooms and presented with different facets and salient debates regarding Thailand’s identity. Credit where credit is due, the museum was highly interactive and it’s interesting to see how much of Thailand’s culture is a real mishmash of different parts of the world. It also explains why they are completely unfazed by foreigners, as people from all around the globe have been coming to Thailand for centuries. As well as their devotion to the Royal Family and the prevalence of Buddhism, it’s a real melting pot of cultures and influences, which makes it a really interesting place. We also discovered that they take their calendar from the year of the Buddha which, in hindsight, we should have anticipated, but as it was we stumbled in blindly with our Occidental mindset, standing puzzled as the date was listed as 2562, a minor 543 years ahead of the Gregorian calendar. We spent a good few hours attempting to decode “Thai-ness” but there’s something about 36° heat that doesn’t lend itself particularly well to in-depth analysis of cultural identity, even with a large fan and a cold drink to hand. Did I mention it’s really hot here? Anyway, to lunch!

We stopped at a small place called Manee near the river and had some more delicious Thai food (Shrimp Pad Thai & Stir Fried Vegetables), costing us less than £5 for two huge portions and two cold glasses of coke, before deciding to head back to our hostel for a good cold shower and then going out to dinner. By heck were we going to walk back, so we decided to take the river bus and then the metro – simples! Except we were on the wrong side of the river for the bus and there were no signs explaining this, just a rather long queue and lots of signs explaining it was 4 baht (10p) to get a boat to the other side. This brings me to a tactic which I feel is going to be employed a lot over the next 6 months, namely standing around looking confused until a matriarch comes and tells you what to do – wonderful. As it transpired, we would need to get the boat to the other side of the river in order to catch the boat to where we needed to go, but of course there was nothing explaining that! Nevermind, we saw some kittens while we were queuing so that made everything better. It turned out to be quite a laugh in the end actually. There’s something about speeding up the river on a boat that feels particularly exciting and it’s a much cooler (temperature) method of transport than sitting on a bus in Bangkok’s notorious traffic jams for 3 times as long. It’s also incredibly cheap, costing us just £1 for both of us to journey half-way across the city. The Metro proved to be surprisingly simple, the staff are happy to help and understand our terrible pronunciation, so we arrived back at the hostel feeling pretty pleased with ourselves! It is noticeably cooler from around 4pm, when a haze descends over the city, shielding it from the hot sun, so moving around later in the day is much easier. Showered and suitably refreshed, we headed out for dinner at a place called Jack Diamond’s for, you guessed it, more delicious Thai food. We forgot to order rice as we had assumed it came with it, but you know what assume makes! So, we won’t be making that mistake again.

 

Our second full day in Bangkok and our plan was to go and visit some of the temples around the city, going via a bar or two for a drink and to cool down along the way. May 18th this year is Buddha Day for many South-East Asian countries and Thailand is no exception. This day celebrates the significant dates in the Buddha’s life – his birth, his enlightenment and his death. Buddhists will go to the temples to pray and make offerings but most importantly of all, alcohol is prohibited from being sold or purchased. So instead of an ice-cold beer, we sat in a ramshackle wooden hut at the end of a pier and had two soft drinks instead. We also couldn’t help but notice that several of the locals at this bar were drinking beer, but maybe they knew something we didn’t, or had suitably bribed the waiting staff. We shall never know. Feeling refreshed, we headed off to cross the river in search of lunch and Wat Pho, a temple complex whose main feature is a huge reclining golden Buddha. Standing at 15m high and 46m long, the statue is intended to represent the Buddha’s entry into Nirvana, at the end of all reincarnations and is one of the largest Buddha statues in Thailand. We particularly enjoyed dropping coins into the 108 jars lined up along the left side of the hall which are intended to bring good luck and future happiness. Why would anyone be a Christian with a religion like this!? It being Vesak (Buddha day), many of the temples open much later into the evening and it was our intention to pop along to the Golden Mount Temple to watch the sunset. As evening approached however, it became more and more clear that as we were very hot and our feet were very hurty, walking a further 30 minutes definitely wasn’t going to happen, especially as we couldn’t even have a beer at the end of the day. We were also faced with another problem in that because our hostel is in a residential neighbourhood, many of the local restaurants had closed early so that the owners could go and pray, meaning we were left with no other option than to visit a burger place called “Sorry, I’m Hungry”. A phrase which often finds itself passing from my lips, but not one I’d have personally chosen as the name of a burger restaurant.

Now starting to get the hang of this whole ‘existing in the ridiculous heat’ thing, we decided that our 3rd day would largely consist of hanging around in a lovely park doing nothing much other than reading and taking pictures of the various wildlife. Our host Joy directed us towards the number 72 bus and off we went. I want to pause here for a second to talk about Joy. Joy is 38 but looks about 15 and runs the Ubaan hostel where we are currently staying. She has a delightfully dry sense of humour but this is often juxtaposed with a somewhat outdated twist. For example she maintains that the mantra “happy wife, happy life” is one to be adhered to at all times, and seems to particularly enjoy poking fun at both our laziness, our eagerness to walk places, the fact that Dave and I are quite big, and has a general, albeit self-confessed, distrust of English people. She’s certainly an interesting character. Exceptionally helpful and keen to offer suggestions for transport and restaurants but definitely an acquired taste, especially as we tend to be the sort of travellers who like to go off and do our own thing and make our own mistakes. Anyway, we arrived at the park to find a resident population of Water Monitor Lizards, ranging from around 1-4ft in length. Coming from a country where the most exciting thing you might see in a park is teenagers drinking cider or perhaps a seagull stealing someone’s food, this was particular enjoyable. We were also rather envious of them swimming about in the lovely cool water of the park, but as a breeze picked up into the afternoon, it became quite pleasant, both of us sitting there reading and enjoying some down time. Stopping off at a local shopping mall (AC – woohoo!) for a bite to eat, we headed back to the hostel and began to plan where we were going to go next, after all, we only had 3 days left in Bangkok…

Boobies. Lol

It’s safe to say that, by now, we’ve had more than our fill of night buses in South America. Thankfully, the one from Puno to Arequipa was the last one we’d have to endure as our journey to Huacachina, nearly 400km to the north, featured the ever so slightly less tedious prospect of a 12-hour day bus. Far from being done to save my heavily strained circadian rhythms though, this seems simply to be a result of timetabling constraints imposed by the need to get buses back up to Lima as quickly as possible.

But anyway, whilst the nuances of trans-continental transport logistics may be of interest to me, I doubt anyone else cares. Least of all Katy, who stood in the courtyard of Flying Dog hostel at 5:45am stewing over the need to be up for a 5:15am pickup which, of course, did not happen at 5:15am. We’ve resigned ourselves to the fact that Peru runs on GMT (Greenwich Maybe Time), but we still haven’t managed to work out how exactly anything is able to function when there is such a lackadaisical approach to time-keeping. Perhaps this was just more irksome this time because every minute that passed was another minute that we had unnecessarily dragged ourselves out of bed.

Shortly before 6am, our guide turned up at the hostel and escorted us to our bus for journey ahead, a single-deck, semi-cama coach. Fine for a day-time trip, but as we got on, the bus was still offloading very cranky, sleep deprived Hopsters  (‘Hopsters’ being the collective noun for Peru Hop customers that the company insists on using at every opportunity, Marketing’s invisible hand is slowly working its magic in Peru) who had just arrived after a 10 hour overnight ride from Cusco. Poor sods.

The bus made its way through the streets of Arequipa, picking up and dropping off passengers as it went, including our Kiwi friends from the Colca Canyon tour. Our guide for this leg of our journey was a young, curly haired and fresh-faced Peruvian called Joao, who was surprisingly enthusiastic for someone who had was slap-bang in the middle of a 22-hour shift. After a quick pit-stop at a garage just outside of the city, Jaoa handed out a packed breakfast to each of us and sent a menu round for our lunch for later in the day. Breakfast consumed, we bedded ourselves in for the first leg of our journey to the small coastal town of Chala.

On top of not screwing up your sleep patterns for several days, the day busses have the advantage of giving you something to look at. After leaving Arequipa the bus descended quickly through the Peruvian Desert, a patchwork of red and brown chasm and vegetationless golden dunes stretching uninterrupted as far as the eye can see. 3 hours after our departure we dropped down through a deep, rocky ravine following a dried up river bed which led us down to on to a large roundabout overlooking the Pacific where we joined Route 1, the Peruvian stretch of the Pan-American Highway. Despite its lofty title, the road is a poorly maintained single carriageway which meanders along the clifftops overlooking the sea, providing an exciting rallying opportunity for our driver who had a keen interest in the back-ends of the numerous trucks on the road

We headed north for a further 4 hours, arriving at Chala at about 2pm where we were treated to a surprisingly pleasant lunch of fresh Ceviche and Fried Trout in a sea-front restaurant. After a short break we boarded the bus again and headed inland through the Nazca desert, one of the driest in the world and home of the renowned Nazca Lines. The southern end of the desert is a baron, sandy plain which stretches from the coast to the foothills of the Andes about 30 miles inland.

After heading through Nazca City, we worked our way through the rocky northern section of the Nazca desert which is covered in a layer of deep-red oxide coated rock and sand atop of a greyish subsoil. It’s this area of the desert which hosts the Nazca lines, a network of enormous glyphs, figures and anamorphic shapes up to 370m long. The lines were created by the Nazca civilisation roughly 1500 years ago, each consisting of trench about half a foot deep dug through the top-soil. Even today it is not fully clear why or how the lines were created, and theories range from the more rational – they were religious symbols drawn to appease the gods – to the stupid – they were landing pads for alien spacecraft. Today, with the exception of a depiction of a lizard which had a Highway ploughed through it, and a depiction of a hummingbird permanently scarred by idiots from Greenpeace, the lines are remarkably similar to how they were when first constructed; preserved naturally by the arid conditions and surprisingly consistent temperature and humidity in this costal desert.

The Nazca lines are dotted around the desert over an area of about 20 square miles, and the only way to see them properly is from the air by taking a bi-plane out of Nazca or Ica. The tour operators who offer these flights are poorly regulated though, and fatal crashes involving tourists are all too frequent, so we opted instead to stick with the free trip Peru Hop do to one of the viewing towers overlooking the site. It was pretty late in the day when we got to the viewing tower and there was quite a large queue of tourists waiting their turn to climb to the top. As the sun set it was our turn to climb, making it to the top to look over the lines with just enough time to spare before the light faded too much. From our vantage point we could see the tree, the hand/frog/thing and the Lizard, cut in two by the road. Along with the zoomorphic shapes we could see numerous other lines and large geometric shapes stretching off in to the distance. It was really cool to see these lines up close and to get a sense of their scale, but to be perfectly honest they are best off appreciated in a photo gallery where you can see them in their entirety. Its impressive that the ancient Nazca people pulled off drawing these huge shapes without being able to see them from above though.

The sun set across the desert as we set off again for the final few hours of our drive to Huacachina, the small Oasis just outside the city of Ica. We arrived about 8:30 in the evening and were dropped off in a large, sparsely developed plot of land about halfway between Ica and Huacachina where we checked ourselves in to the Huacachina Desert Hotel.  A little confusingly the hotel didn’t have a sign outside, so we ended up ringing on the door of the only building in roughly the right location. Luckily this turned out to be the right place and we found ourselves in an exceptionally pleasant, clean and well laid out little hotel with a pool, a kitchen which was free for guests to use, a bar and dining area and a 2-story block of 10 rooms at the back. After a long day of being on a bus we were fully ready for bed so stuck on the industrial size fan the room was equipped with and went to sleep.

The following day we woke to gorgeous sunshine, blazing heat and huge sand dunes towering over the walls around our hotel. Ica and Huacachina are on the edge of a vast sandy desert filled with towering dunes, it’s the picture postcard image of the typical desert you might imagine as a child. But having not been able to see the dunes when we arrived the previous night seeing their imposing presence so close caught us by surprise. We’d earmarked the day to be a relaxing one where we didn’t get up to much so after a quick trip to a supermarket we spent the rest of the day lounging by the pool reading and taking the occasional dip. It’s a hard life all this travelling.

Monday rolled in and we spent another morning and early afternoon being rather unproductive, before setting off to Huacachina for the Dune Buggy and Sand Boarding tour we had booked on to with Peru Hop. We walked the 20 minutes or so to Huacachina through the sandy verges of the road until we dropped down the short hill in to the Oases. Huacachina is a small lagoon surrounded on 3 sides by restaurants and hotels with the 4th side being a sandy beach stretching straight onto a dune. The permanent residency is only about 100 people with the whole town geared up solely for tourism. We’d heard before arriving that Huacachina was a bit of a dive and a tourist trap but were pleasantly surprised to find that, whilst certainly not the world’s most amazing place, the lagoon and its surroundings are really quite pleasant. A wide, bench-laden stone promenade lined with trees and rustic Parisian-style streetlamps encircles most of the lagoon, the town is clean and the restaurants and shops overlooking the promenade are pretty much what you’d expect to find in any tourist district in South America.

We got to the meeting point about 3pm along with around 150 other ‘hopsters’ and were slowly and chaotically organised (there’s no translation for this word in Peruvian Spanish) in to groups before being led up on to the dunes and assigned to a buggy. The sand buggies are large, open sided vehicles with broad, deeply grooved wheels, huge suspension springs and a reassuringly beefy roll cage all around the passenger compartment. The seats are arranged in 3 rows of 3 in a stadium like layout with the front seats nice and low down towards the centre of gravity. Katy and I ended up in the front seat with the driver and the gear stick stuck in to Katy’s leg.

Our seatbelts as tight as we could make them, the driver jumped in, turned over the engine which coughed up a plume of sand from its previous adventure and we were on our way, steadily heading out of the make-shift car park and up to a small control point where our driver handed over our entry tickets to a customs officer of some description. Only the Peruvians – a people with an incredible imagination for arbitrary taxes – would bother to have a ticket control point to entre a desert. It was like the scene in Blazing Saddles where there is a single toll gate in the middle of the Utah desert and nothing to prevent you going around it. Once through the control point the driver stamped on the throttle and the buggy bolted up the massive dune in front of us and Katy, as if physically linked to the throttle pedal, dug her hands in to my leg and buried her head in my shoulder.

The buggy tore over the sand at break-neck speed, bouncing over bumps and hurtling down the valleys between the dunes. I loved it. Katy hated it. The driver, a big jolly fellow who had enough confidence in his own driving to not wear his seatbelt seemed to get off on the screams of the gringos, finding particular amusement in the moment Katy grabbed his leg as we went down the side of an especially steep dune. After 20 minutes or so of bombing around we congregated with a group of other buggies atop a trio of ridges to do some sand boarding. The driver handed out the boards from an open storage cage at the back of the buggy (somehow, they hadn’t been flung free) and we took it in turns sliding head first down the dunes. Piloting the board took a little bit of skill and there were more than a few who took a tumble on the way down, but the forgivingly soft dunes ensured that nobody suffered anything worse than a grazed knee and a mouth full of sand.

After taking on the 3 smaller dunes the driver took us to the top of the tallest dune for miles around and we had the more daunting prospect of a much longer and steeper run. Katy and one of our fellow buggy buddies (I know! I should have thought of that sooner as well!) egged each other on to go down. Another smaller dune and then a final really steep dune later we were done, but not before I managed to fall off on the last slope, diving shoulder first in to the dune and completely smothering myself in sand. The sun was setting as we made our way back to Huacachina where Katy had decided that after our ordeal, we needed a sizeable amount of booze to soothe our frayed nerves (for the record, I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to argue). We headed to a restaurant down on the shore of the lagoon and made full use of the happy hour specials. Several beers and cocktails later, we got back to our hotel and decided that the best way to get all the sand out of our hair, ears, toes and all the other places sand can get to when you’ve spent the day sliding through it on your stomachs, was to go for a late night swim.

Our final day in Huacachina was an early start as we’d booked ourselves on to a tour of El Catador vineyards just to the north of Ica. The region of Ica is renowned for its Pisco production, regarded by many as the best in the country. At El Catador they still make the Pisco using the traditional production methods developed during the colonial era. The grapes used for Pisco are descendants of the grapes originally brought across by the Spanish in the 16th century when they began setting up vineyards for wine production. The hot, dry conditions in Ica cause the grapes to grow small and sweet, the high sugar level making them produce very sweet wine (way too sweet for the export market but popular here) and also makes them perfect for distilling in to the much, much more potent Pisco, typically between 40% and 45% proof. After a brief tour around the production facilities we were led down in to a basement bar for an opportunity to sample the products of the vineyard. We sampled the Rose and a couple of Whites produced on site, all of which were too sweet for our taste, as well as 3 varieties of Pisco including a creamy liquor made with maca root that tasted surprisingly like Baileys. Sampling complete we merrily staggered back on to the bus and headed back to our hotel to spend the rest of the afternoon again lounging by the pool, letting the effects of the Pisco steadily wear off.

For a renowned tourist trap, Huacachina had proven rather pleasant and we enjoyed our time there a lot more than we had expected to. We were sad to leave our lovely little Hotel the following afternoon to make the next leg of our journey with Peru Hop to Paracas, a small coastal resort on the other side of the desert built around the bay formed by the large, mushroom shaped Paracas Peninsula. We arrived in the early evening and headed to our hotel in what had been described by one of the reviews as being ‘in the ghetto’ (presumably by someone who had never been to a developing country before, by local standards it was a perfectly normal street). Hungry, we headed out to one of the restaurants recommended by our Peru Hop guide, a 5th floor rooftop fish restaurant which received our business only because we were hungry and didn’t know until we were up there how expensive it was. That’s how they get you.

An underwhelming meal later we headed back to our hotel where we both had a terrible night’s sleep owing to the noisy fan and plastic mattress protector which we had to unpeel ourselves from every few hours. Ho Hum. At least we were only staying there for 1 night owing to it being the Easter weekend and every hotel in Paracas being full.

We woke up involuntarily early the next day and trudged down for breakfast, groggy and irritable. We did at least have something to look forward to though, a boat trip out to Islas Ballestas Nature reserve, a small chain of islands about 10km off shore that hosts thousands of sea birds including pelicans, cormorants and humboldt penguins as well as being a breeding ground for sea lions. We spent about an hour on the boat working our way around the island and watching the mass of wildlife, the highlight being the infant Sea Lions only a few weeks old frolicking in the water on the gravelly beaches. The mass of wildlife on the rocks was incredible and as we made our way back to shore a vast swarm of blue footed boobies (lol, boobies) was making its way back to the island from a fishing expedition, all flying in formation close enough that they appeared almost like a black blanket floating across the sky.

Back on land we went for a spot of lunch at a small bar that served the tastiest smoothies ever in giant glasses shaped like fish bowls. Our adventures for the day continued with a bus ride around Paracas National Reserve, a national park covering the Paracas Peninsular as well as a small stretch of desert further inland. The bus stopped at several vantage points overlooking the sea and the rest of the reserve as it worked its way back up the coast. Not a great deal to see, but the sparseness of the landscape has its own charm and the jagged rocks along the sea front had the familiar feel of the Dorset coast, albeit without the vegetation.

Our short tour finished and we headed back to Paracas to board our final Peru Hop bus, a 5-hour ride to Lima, stopping en-route at Tambo Colorado, a set of Inca Ruins named for the red colour the buildings were painted, some of which can still be seen today. The site is a large and fairly impressive complex used, rather mundanely, as an administrative outpost overseeing the coastal trade routes.

The sun set as we left Tambo Colorado, setting too on the final stretch of our South American adventure. Next time it rose, we’d be back in Lima with just over a week to go before flying home.

I hate night buses

Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you that if sleeping was an Olympic sport, I would get gold every time. I slept through an earthquake in La Paz for heavens sake. I could probably fall asleep now as I sit at a small Ikea style table overlooking the pool just outside of Huacachina. Anyway, I think you get the idea that if you look up “Katy Boyce” in the dictionary, it would say “main occupation: sleeping”. Night buses in Peru however have proved to be somewhat of my Achilles’ Heel. Perhaps this is revenge for me claiming that I can sleep anywhere, ‘ha ha!’ thought the bus, ‘I’ll soon show you!’. The seats are not made for ample Western bottoms and if you’re anything over about 5’6 then good luck! Also they seem to insist on making the leg rests out of this awful plastic which isn’t ideal when you’re travelling in heat, as you find yourself having to repeatedly unpeel your sweaty legs – YUM!

 

We were picked up in a timely fashion from our hostel in Puno and headed out to the suburbs to meet the larger bus which was to take us to Arequipa. In true South American fashion nobody was telling anybody what was going on and so all the people going to Arequipa and all the people going to Cusco found themselves in front of just one bus, but planning to go in completely separate directions. As it transpires, when we got onto the bus it was then that the guide decided to inform us that the bus would go about 4 hours towards Cusco (away from the road to Arequipa), and then those travelling to Arequipa would change buses and go all the way back down. Fantastic. So now not only would we be able to get no sleep but we would also get to be interrupted half way through our journey! It turns out that reason for this is that those travelling to Arequipa meet the bus that has departed from Cusco and so it means they only have to run 2 buses rather than 3. I’ve had only good things to say about Peru Hop up until now but honestly for the price we paid, it hasn’t been half as good as it has claimed to be. The seats recline just not quite enough for you to get comfortable (not like our lovely El Dorado bus in Bolivia ❤ ) and there aren’t always USB chargers on every bus like they claim. It’s nice to have an English speaking guide on board but I think knowing what we know now, we wouldn’t use them again.

 

Arriving in Arequipa our lovely AirBnb host Rosa-Luz had advised us that checking in at 5am wouldn’t be a problem, for which we will be eternally grateful. Once again however, Peru Hop had other plans. We stepped off the bus, groggy and grumpy and ready for a nice long kip, and were promptly shown to our minibus and taken to our AirBnB. Just kidding, we were made to wait 45 minutes in the dark with no apology and no one telling us what was going on. One of the guides did seem to be getting arsey with someone on the phone but at no point did she stop to communicate with us just what was going on. When a minivan did eventually turn up, the driver and his companion spent a good further 10 minutes chatting away outside the van while we got more and more frustrated. This wasn’t helped by the woman next to me saying “this is just how it is in South America, just calm down”. I’m not sure that ever in the history of someone telling someone to calm down has it ever actually resulted in that person calming down, in fact it often, as in this case, has the opposite effect. The rage was palpable but as I am a calm natured person and rarely lose my temper (*cough*) I chose not to punch her in the face and we were soon underway. We dropped off a few of our fellow travellers and then the driver decided to stop at a random doorway, get out of the van and proceed to have a further 10 minute discussion. Anyway, we finally arrived at the AirBnB at around 6:30am, a good 1h30 minutes after we had arrived in Arequipa. Not great. I fired off an e-mail to PeruHop to complain and to their credit I did receive a response from one of the owners but it was very cut and paste, oh well, enough complaining, time to enjoy Arequipa!

 

As is tradition post-nightbus, Dave went for a well needed nap and I stayed up and tried to get the TV to work. Our AirBnB was located to the North of the city just outside of the main tourist area next to a beautiful green park and with cracking views of two of the city’s Volcanoes: Misti and Chachani. Luckily both are closely monitored in case of eruptions so we felt very safe. Following Dave’s awakening we popped down to the town centre for a mooch around and discovered the beautiful Plaza de Armas, with towering palm trees and the white volcanic buildings, it firmly shoved Sucre out of the way, claiming the top spot for most beautiful city (sorry Sucre, still love you for dinosaurs though.) Groceries acquired and still feeling a little worse for wear we headed back to the flat, settled down with a mountain of nachos and spent the rest of the evening exploring exactly what there was to do in the city.

The answer is, not that much really. The main pull of Arequipa is the nearby Colca Canyon, the second deepest Canyon in the world and one of the best viewing points for spotting the endangered Andean Condors in the wild. We did however manage to find a free walking tour and so normal service resumed. We popped along to the Las Gringas restaurant meeting point and were greeted by our delightful guide whose name has unfortunately escaped us (Dave thinks it was Juan, I said that was racist). He was certainly one of the best guides we’ve had in our time in South America, with exceptional English and a flamboyant style, he took us round the city and explained the history of Arequipa. With almost year round late spring/early summer temperatures, it attracts a lot of Europeans and there seemed to be French people everywhere. The upside of this is that we consumed a lot of tasty crepes during our time there. We also found out that evidence supporting the Big Bang Theory (the space one, not the awful TV show) was uncovered in the Boyden Observatory just outside of the city, so that’s pretty darn cool! We finished our walking tour at a rooftop bar just before sunset and spent a bit of time taking it all in before heading back to Las Gringas for a pizza and a beer. Or at least we would have ordered a beer if it was possible to have anything but craft beer in Arequipa. As an aside, they do have various different ciders which are brewed locally so that was a nice treat, but to be perfectly honest, sometimes you just want a beer. A normal pilsner with no frills and no inflated price tag. Sorry it seems this is turning into the agony aunt blog post, I’m not ungrateful I promise, I fully appreciate just how wonderful an opportunity it is that we have to be travelling like this…….but……beer!

Aside from a beautiful main square and excellent walking tours, another of Arequipa’s main tourist attractions is the fabulous Mundo Alpaca or Alpaca World! I think the use of the word World here is probably slightly hyperbolic as it’s more of a shed with a small field filled with llamas and alpacas. The guide gave us a quick tour in v-e-r-y s-l-o-w and v-e-r-y c-l-e-a-r Spanish and we had a chance to feed the llamas and get up close and personal with the machinery used to process the wool, which was really interesting. We could have taken the opportunity to see yet more traditional weaving patterns but if I never see another one of those, it will be too soon. After visiting Alpaca “World” we one again trotted off into town to see another one of Arequipa’s claims to fame: Juanita. Juanita is a perfectly preserved ice mummy, killed between 1450 and 1480, when she was between 12-15 years old, as a human sacrifice to the Ampato volcano god by the Incas. Her skin, teeth, hair, organs and blood are remarkably well preserved. Sadly for preservation reasons, we didn’t get to see Juanita in the flesh (sorry) but we did get to see another equally impressive mummy – Sarita. She’s not quite as well preserved as Juanita but it was still really interesting. Our tour guide spoke very good English and explained all about the different artefacts that were found surrounding her before we finally stepped into a freezing cold room to see Sarita herself. I think I probably could have stayed there all day staring into those empty sockets but we were soon ushered out by the guide. It’s definitely worth a trip if you’re in Arequipa, especially if you’re there during the high season when you get to see Juanita herself, and there’s a short film at the start all about the discovery and the conditions surrounding it.

 

Feeling suitably peckish after our visit to Sarita, we headed off back to the AirBnB to do a bit more research about Colca Canyon tours. We booked with the Peru Hop recommended company, hoping that their tour group recommendations would be better than their ability to organise minivans and luckily for us we were correct. Paying around £40 for a 2D1N tour, we were picked up just down the road at around 7:30 and began our long drive through the Arequipan landscape, stopping at various points along the way to be sold tourist rubbish but also to see some more volcanoes. The landscape around Arequipa is almost prehistoric, the volcanic nature of the terrain provides for some excellent photo opportunities. Our group consisted of ourselves, a handful of Israelis, a Spanish couple, an older Swedish couple and a young family from New Zealand travelling with their 10 year old daughter. We got quite friendly with Rachel, Stu and Isabelle during those two days and were grateful for their company. Stu set up a pest control business that it turns out sold its products in the garden centre Dave used to work at – small world eh! Continuing on our journey, our guide Flor pointed out the mountain where Juanita was found and also the volcano just next to it which erupts on average around 24 times a day. The air was noticeably hazier and it was clear just how much the ash lingers and why when that volcano erupted in Iceland it proved to be such a big problem. We reached a high point of 4910m that day, not quite the highest we’ve been but close enough that we were starting to feel a little wobbly from the altitude. We quickly headed back down to the town of Chivay at around 3500m and headed to our third hot springs of the trip where we got chatting once again to Rachel and Stu about life, the universe, and everything. They were going to spend ~2 years travelling all around the world before probably heading back to New Zealand. Apparently 10 is the perfect age to do it because children still like their parents at this age, are old enough to appreciate it all, and haven’t turned into horrible teenagers yet, so that gave us some food for thought with regards to future plans.

After the hot springs our guide told us that during dinner we’d be treated to some more examples of local traditional dances and songs. ‘Oh goody’ we thought. It’s not that we’re heathens and can’t appreciate the subtleties of tradition and local culture but dear reader please understand that at this point this was about the 15th time we’d been ‘treated’ to these dances, and often they’re by bored looking teenagers who have obviously been bribed into it by the prospect of tips from the gringos. However, I have to say that on this occasion we were pleasantly mistaken. The couple performing the dances seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves, or at least doing a very good job of faking it. The food was also really nice, especially as it was evident that this place exists solely for tourists. I even got to hit Stu with a bit of rope so I can’t complain. Isabelle was adamant that we get involved at every single opportunity but unfortunately as we are boring grown ups and would rather have a conversation she was often left to her own devices, twirling around the dance floor and generally having a jolly good time. After this we headed to our hotel which, given that we’d only paid £20 each for the whole thing, was better than expected. There was the usual 1 pillow, twin beds, no TV remote situation and Dave did manage to leave his fantastic flamingo swimming trunks behind (add that to the list of ‘things Dave has left in South America’) but it was clean and warm which is all you want really.

 

Up bright and early the next morning for our 5am departure, we were finally off to see the thing we’d come all this way to see: the condors. There’s a particular point along the Colca Canyon called the Condor Cross which is the best place to see them as they sit lower down in the Canyon waiting for the thermal currents to be warm enough to lift their huge 3m wingspan 15kg bodies up into the air. Before arriving to the cross, we took a short hike to a point slightly lower down to appreciate the full depth of the canyon, we also saw some dead cows which I thought was exceptionally cool but which Isabelle thought was gross. and was much more interested in asking us what our favourite brand of sock was, or what our favourite mythical creature was, or what our favourite colour was, or if we were a dog what breed of dog we would be, (Marks and Spencer, Dragon, Green, German Shepherd, in case you were wondering) before promptly dismissing our response and telling us what hers was. Kids are great. We then finally headed up to the Condor Cross where we only had to wait a short while before the flight of the concords (not the band) began. We saw about 10/12 in total which is really good luck as some people come all that way and don’t see any of them. In fact several groups arrived about an hour after we did and didn’t see a single one. It’s really very impressive to watch these huge great birds fly around and we were completely mesmerised as they flew incredibly close straight over our heads. They didn’t seemed to be fazed by the tourists at all and it’s clear why they attract so many visitors. After about an hour we made our way slowly back to the bus, but not before stopping to introduce Rachel and Isabelle to the wonders of the Granadilla, and managing to convince Isabelle that the seeds inside are in fact frogspawn and that we were eating baby frogs. I’m now starting to understanding why my older siblings and parents (ok, my Dad) spent all that time winding me up when I was younger, it really is quite fun. And so began our long drive back to Arequipa, we stopped in various places to take more pictures and look at more of the same jumpers/scarves/condor keyrings/penis masks that you see everywhere else in Peru but after the Condors, nothing really came close.

Arriving back in Arequipa we said our farewells to our Kiwi friends. We were going to be getting the same bus to Huacachina in a few days time so it wasn’t goodbye forever and Dave and I were particularly looking forward to more opportunities to answer Isabelle’s relentless questions. Our final day in Arequipa was fairly uneventful, apart from some particularly good pasta and a cracking pizza, there isn’t much that stands out as being particularly memorable. There was also a cat that looked remarkably like my brother’s cat Spock so I called him Spocky Dos (Spocky Two)  and also a lovely ginger cat. Yes ladies and gentlemen I did come all the way to South America just to talk about the cats I’ve seen. You should think yourself lucky, I think Dave’s going to strangle me if I stop to pet another dog in the street. Anyway, on to Huacachina…

An Englishman, a Kiwi and a Bolivian go out in to the desert.

Apologies for the delay in this blogs publishing, we’ve been staying in a series of places with very unreliable internet connections.

If there’s one thing that we’ve learned during our time in South America, it’s to never take the UK’s small geography for granted. This is a lesson that was going to be hammered home very hard over the coming week.

Our bus to Uyuni from Sucre, winding westwards through the Andes to the vast Plain which hosts to the Bolivian Salt Flats took just over 8 hours. After the steep slopes on which most of the towns we’ve visited in South America sit, the pancake-flat Uyuni was something of a welcome change. That’s pretty much Uyuni’s only redeeming feature though, it’s a small, dirty and dusty block-layout town known, even amongst the locals, as something of a ****hole. The town used to be a hub for exporting the regions rich mineral deposits but now serves primarily as a jumping off point for tourists visiting the salt flats. The strong winds that blow off the salt flats through the city strew rubbish everywhere and cover every surface in a thin layer of grey-brown, salty dust.

After spending half an hour waiting for the receptionist to show up we finally checked in to our hotel for the night, a somewhat underwhelming twin room (we’d asked for a double, but this is South America; sometimes you just have to settled for a rough approximation of what you asked for (further note on this; this can go either way. At time of writing we’re sitting in a suite room where we’d only booked a double. Six of one…)) which looked like it was last renovated in the late 80’s. It was the best we could get for a reasonable price and for just 1 night it served its purpose. Due to Uyuni’s remote location and the high salt content in the soil, there is no agriculture or fresh-water supply and consequently the cost of living is very high; a cost reflected in the price of hotels, restaurants and other amenities.

The following morning, we headed over to the offices of Quechua4WD, our tour operator for our 3-day salt flats tour. Here we met our guide Nando, our Driver Daniel and Saatchi, a Kiwi of Sri Lankan heritage who now lives in Canada and spent much of the first day of our trip seeking my approval for the numerous (he claims) sexual conquests he’d made during his time in South America, and largely ignoring Katy.

We departed Uyuni about 10am, stopping first at the ‘train cemetery’ 3 miles to the south of the town. Back in the late 19th and early 20th Century, Uyuni was a major rail depot en-route to the Pacific, but with the collapse of the Bolivian mining industry in the early 1940’s the line fell in to disuse. The majority of the engines and rolling stock were dumped in sidings on the outskirts of Uyuni where they quickly fell in to disrepair, and were scavenged for any easily removed valuable parts. Today, the nearly 100 trains slowly rusting in to the desert landscape with the salt-filled winds whistling through them are covered in gravity and an unrelenting swarm of tourists. There’s a plan to turn this place in to a museum; the sooner the better.

After half an hour of wandering around the train cemetery, we jumped back in our 4×4 and set off towards the small village of Colchani, one of several towns on the shore of the Salt Lake where the locals are permitted to mine and refine the salt. As well as packing salt for wholesale and retail, the locals use densely-packed blocks of salt from deep within the salt flats to construct buildings and make ornaments and statuettes to sell to passing tourists. After a quick tour around one of the many family-run salt refineries we headed out on to the salt flats.

The Bolivian salt flats (Known as the Uyuni Salar) are the largest in the world, covering an area of over 4,000 square miles, or about half the size of Wales. The elevation change across the entire Salar is less than 1 meter, meaning that satellites use the large, flat reflective surface for calibrating their altitude sensors. During the rainy season the Salar is covered in a thin layer of water, turning it in to the world’s largest natural mirror, whilst in the dry season, the water evaporates leaving just the crystallised salt deposits. In the centre, the Salar is about 50cm more elevated than at the edges, meaning that as the wet season ends, the centre is dry but the edges are still submerged in a few centimetres of water. This makes March the optimal month to visit the Salar as you get to see the Salar in both states. Lucky Us!

We drove out about 3 miles on to the Salar, stopping at a small outpost made of salt bricks, inside of which is an expensive hotel and restaurant. The outpost also serves as a staging post for the Bolivian Leg of the Dakar Rally, which has been coming through the Salar since 2014. Whilst we had a mooch about attempting to identify all the flags on small outcrop by the outpost, Daniel prepared lunch for us. Refreshed, we set off again deeper in to the heart of the Salar. Once we found a spot without any other tour groups too nearby, we stopped to take advantage of the Salar’s unique landscape for ‘perspective’ pictures. Nando showed off his creativity with the perspective shots, having us climb wine bottles, ride llamas, walk along our own shoelaces like tight-ropes and hold miniature versions of each other.

After an hour we continued further until we found the edge of the area still covered by water. According to Nando, at this time of year the water recedes at a rate of several hundred meters a day. The plan was to stay out on the Salar until sunset taking photos with the reflection, but sadly the high winds negated the mirror effect. To kill the time, we popped on some wellies and set off in the direction of some Flamingos we could see in the distance, deciding after half an hour that that was probably a pretty dumb idea and making our way back. As the Sun began to set the wind dropped off and we were treated to an utterly awe-inspiring scene with the mountains in the background, the red and pink clouds and the setting sun reflected off the now perfectly tranquil water.

In the twilight we headed back to Uyuni, stopping off at a small local restaurant for a meal where Saatchi informed us of his genius plan to control the human population by banning vaccines. That night our accommodation was a charmingly decrepit hostel with a surprisingly comfortable bed. It would have been a perfectly good night’s sleep were it not for the loud Americans banging on the door to the hostel at 2:30am. Owing to political disagreements between Bolivia and the US, Americans have to pay about $160 to get a Bolivian Visa. Evidently this is not enough.

Groggy, sleep deprived and cursing the USA we staggered down for breakfast with an irritatingly refreshed Saatchi who hadn’t been bothered by the commotion in the night. Nando turned up soon after to pick us up and we jumped back in to the 4×4, this timed joined by a Japanese couple who were travelling with us to the Chilean border. I’d tell you what their names were, but I can’t remember. They spoke little English and no Spanish (Goodness knows how they’d made it so far through South America) and spent much of the day asleep in the back of the 4×4.

Our adventure for the day took us south from Uyuni on a long trek through the epic Bolivian Altiplano towards Eduardo Avaroa National Park which occupies the southwestern corner of the country by the Chilean and Argentinean borders. The journey took us first along paved roads for a couple of hundred kilometres before heading off-road in to the desert. For hours upon hours we meandered through valleys and ravines, past lakes and mountains, stopping every few hours or so to take stock of the breath-taking landscape. With each valley we went through the geology and wildlife changed dramatically. One moment we’d be in sandy desert, the next surrounded by Quinoa fields or massive, chaotic rock formations shaped by volcanic activity and sandstorms. We passed several lagoons filled with Flamingos, including the aptly named ‘red lagoon’, given a deep crimson colour by the high concentration of Algae fed by the hot springs pouring in to the lagoon from the surrounding mountains. This is a really beautiful part of the world, and its remoteness means it is largely untouched.

Towards the end of the day we climbed to nearly 5000m (but not quite over 5000m, which is good because our travel insurance isn’t valid above 5K), the weather closed in and it started to snow. We made our way through the mist and snow to the Sol De Manana fumerals; boiling pools of grey volcanic mud that give off a constant stream of thick, sulphurous gas. The snow, mist and high winds combined with the fumerals created an utterly other-worldly locale, truly like nothing else on earth.

Our final stop for the night was a small, remote village on the shore of large lagoon where we would be staying the night. Our accommodation was a simple shared dorm with the mattresses propped up on breeze-block bases. Comfortable enough, but at 4400m, the prolonged effects of high altitude made for a difficult night’s sleep. Before bed though, there was time to head down to the hot spring by the edge of the lagoon. Our remote location, complete lack of light pollution and high altitude meant that the sky was more densely packed with stars that any night sky we’d ever seen. The ark of the Milky way stretched over the lagoon in front of us all the way to the horizon and for over an hour Katy and I just lay there in the hot spring, gazing up at the stars, more relaxed than we could remember being in a long time.

The final day of our tour started with a trip south to the Chilean border to drop off our Japanese friends. The car park for the Bolivian immigration office is on the Chilean side of the border meaning that, technically, we entered Chile. Yay! The border between Chile and Bolivia marks the frontier between South America’s richest and poorest nations, despite this the border is marked only by a small ditch that is easily stepped over. Nando couldn’t help but make sly observations regarding border walls. Our business concluded we set off back north, following a similar pattern as the day before, stopping off at natural beauty spots as we worked our way back up to Uyuni. The final stop we made was at Laguna Negra on the edge of an ancient lava field. The lagoon is surrounded by tall, jagged orange rocks jutting out at all angles from lush green grasslands, grazed upon by flocks of Llamas. Nando said this was his favourite stop on the whole trek, and it was very easy to see why.

After a long day in a 4×4 we arrived back at Uyuni and, having been without internet for 3 days, desperately caught up on the Grand Prix results. As if we hadn’t spent enough time in vehicles already, we now had a 10-hour night bus to La Paz ahead of us. Goody. As is tradition, I didn’t sleep a wink, meaning that by the time we got to our hostel in La Paz I’d been up for about 26 hours. We didn’t do much with our time in La Paz, I mainly slept, and Katy wrote the previous Blog post. We ate at the hotel restaurant and got an early night’s sleep as we had to be up at 5:30 the following morning to catch our bus back to Copacabana.

Up early but well rested, we departed La Paz for the final time, arriving in Copacabana about 11am. We checked in to La Cupula again, where we’d pushed the boat out a bit and treated ourselves to one of their suites complete with Jacuzzi, Chimenea and view over the beach. Despite the luxury, it was still a good deal cheaper than a night at a Premier Inn. The next day we took the boat out to Isla Del Sol, the only real Activity in Copacabana which we were unable to partake in on our previous pass through the town due to illness. Isla Del Sol is the birthplace of the sun in Inca folklore, and today is home to about 3000 people across 3 communities. Disputes between the communities over income from tourism spilled out into violence a few months ago, resulting in most of the island now being inaccessible to tourists and ruining it for everybody.

The boat ride out was about an hour and a half in to the wind and over choppy waters. Once at the Island we went for a short walk up past some ruins, north-west across the island before heading back down to another port in the village of Yumani. With most of the island closed off there wasn’t a great deal to see, but it was a pleasant enough walk.

We got back to Copacabana about 5pm just in time to catch our bus across the Peruvian border to Puno, arriving at about 8pm. It was sad to wave farewell to Bolivia, a country we’d both enjoyed greatly, and more so than we thought we would. Whilst on the bus we booked ourselves on to a tour of the floating Islands near Puno for the following day, which meant another early start for a 6:45 pick up. The minibus picked us up at the surprisingly prompt 6:50 to head down to the port where we boarded a riverboat with about 40 other sleep deprived tourists. To wake us up we were serenaded by the delightful combination of out of tune guitar and off-beat panpipes covering a medley of western pop songs. The offending musician then rounded the boat for tips (What’s Spanish for ‘guitar tuner’?)  before being replaced by Alex, our guide for the day.

The floating islands are home to the Uros people, an offshoot of the Aymara who live on a network of floating islands made of reeds which have to be constantly replenished to prevent them rotting away. In total, there are about 5000 people living in communities across Lake Titicaca on both the Bolivian and Peruvian sides, but by far the largest of their communities is the one near Puno, located in the centre of a large series of reed-beds and frequented daily by fleets of tourist boats.

In this community there are around 90 islands straddling a wide natural channel through the reed beds. Our first stop was at a small island in the channel approaching the village, here the village leader assigned us to a particular island to visit. This way the tourists are distributed evenly around the islands, allowing each island (typically home to 2-5 families) to share equally in the revenue from tourism, as well as controlling the footfall on each island which can accelerate the rate at which they wear down. We were assigned to ‘Condor Island’ about two thirds of the way up the western row of side of the channel. The islands inhabitants helped bring our boat in and we jumped down on to their home. The Islands are about 3 meters thick and 2/3rds submerged, they have the feel of a firm mattress, giving way slightly under foot and gently swaying with the movements of the lake. Our group was gathered around in a semi-circle and one of the Islands inhabitants who gave us a short demonstration of how the islands are built and how the locals go about their lives, complete with dolls and toy boats.

Our little show-and-tell complete we were invited to look inside the homes of the locals, take pictures from the islands watch-tower and, of course, to buy tourist toot. As we departed, we were given the option of riding on one of the large catamarans fashioned of reeds that they locals refer to as ‘Mercedes Benz’s’. Large and unwieldy, they exist purely for the amusement of the tourists. We couldn’t resist though and climbed aboard on to the upper deck for a ride across to the large capital island on the side of the channel, but not before the local’s sang us some farewell songs, including a rendition of ‘row row row your boat’.

On the capital island we had the opportunity to get our passport stamped with a ‘Lake Titicaca Islands’ stamp (bad idea) and buy more tourist toot. The floating islands are genuinely interesting and seeing the unusual way of life of these people is fascinating, but as with so many rural communities in the developing world the population is dwindling fast as the young depart for better opportunities in the cities. What’s left of the population is now totally dependent on tourism and the Islands have a gimmicky, almost theme park like vibe to them. It’s lamentable that the islands have lost their authenticity but were it not for the transition to capitalising on tourism, this is a way of life that may well have disappeared entirely by now… Half a dozen of the other.

After the floating Islands we set off for the island of Taquile, about an hour and a half’s boat ride away just outside of Puno bay. The experience here was much like the Isla Del sol the day before, without the disputes dividing the island. After an hour of walking along the north of the island we arrived at a rustic, rather charming little town square, much of which was unchanged from the colonial era. After regrouping we headed down to a small restaurant in the garden of a local family home for a very tasty meal of Quinoa soup and trout fresh from the lake (The trout is an invasive species here, so it’s guilt-free meat!). There was, of course, the usual demonstration of local textile production and traditional dances to accompany our meals and Alex gave us an explanation of the unique dress customs of the Islands communities with a suspicious focus on identifying who was unmarried. Like the floating islands, Taquile’s population is also in decline. Perhaps they hope to get more than just money from the tourists…

We headed down to the harbour and boarded the boat back to Puno, this time opting to sit up on deck with a Dutch woman called Ava and an Ausi called Paul who we’d struck up friendships with over lunch. We got back to Puno about 4pm and headed back to our Hostel to ready ourselves for yet another night bus, this time to Arequipa, Peru’s second largest city. But that’s a story for next time.