A pretty horrendous journey takes me to Bali. An early flight makes me think of sleeping in the airport meaning I won't have get ealrly expensive tuk-tuk and can save on a hotel room. I'm in the airport and at midnight it closes ... ah. A dodgy night commences ending in a very dodgy hotel room near the airport. But I get back there safe and on time for my flight. And now I am in Bali, Ubud. I find a lovely homestay with Madi - my hostess - who is an angel! And it's been an incredibly week spent here so far. Exploring the heat filled city during my days and filling up my nights with dances. This city is beautiful, it's calm and friendly, nearly everyone says hello and those who can speak mild English ask where I'm from and what I'm doing and explain how hot it is and how it should rain at this time of year. But it doesn't, it's incredibly hot in the day, and I just have to accept that I'm going to be sweating buckets walking in te sun, and sweating in the shade, and sweating at night time. It is hot. My first few days are spent doing Batik at a little artists house that I find in my explorations. It's lovely and quiet and hidden and I'm the only student for those couple of days. I draw a design in the first morning and me and my teacher sit in the shade, making broken English conversation while I attempt a skill that he is a master at. He is patient with me and even congratulates me. The smell of the boiling wax takes me back to when, as children, we did this very thing. It's a lovely smell and I sit in heaven for a couple of days, calmly working away at my piece. I proudly finish and say a warm goodbye to my lovely teacher, who I think is impressed by my work. On one of my days I find the Bianco Museum, an art gallery celebrating the work of the 'Dali of Bali'. - Bianco. There's a lovely bird garden that welcomes me into this serene place but the longer I'm there the less I like it. He talked of women as 'goddesses', (something that immediately sticks out to a feminist). And seems to be rather hypocritical as the museum opens to you with the giant religious-like statue of a male figure, where you have to walk under his buttocks to get into the museum. And nearly everything has his name on it - Bianco, Bianco, Bianco! I think I know who he thought the god is. While inside he paints women as eve - doesn't sound much like a goddess does it. And the kicker, every painting of a woman, and that is the majority, it a young naked one. Now I'm not a prude here, I don't shy away from a painting of a naked lady, but this is picture after picture of it. Standing, sitting, lounging, next to an apple, with a pot, even dancing, and I can tell you they don't dance topless! It's clear what part if women he liked best. So I leave pretty quickly thinking that this 'Dali from Bali' is a bit of a self-obsessed prick - sounds the original then. I take some time to go to the Monkey Forest - a 'must-see' in Ubud. I make my way in, and yes there are lots of monkeys, and lots of tourist buying bananas to make wonderful photographic memories with the monkeys. Looking past that, it is a pretty beautiful place and it has a very beautiful open theatre space looking out onto the forest. I sit for a while in the centre taking in the nature and slowly monkeys get rather friendly. Apparently I'm part of the furniture now and make a good seat. I spend the rest of my days exploring the streets, arts shop after arts shop, and walking up to the beautiful rice fields that surround the city. They are quiet and calm and all I can hear is the trickling of water, the wind in the trees and the lovely bamboo tunes that spill out from the wind chimes. Each direction I go in this place I see beauty. And that is the spirit of Bali, it's in the people that ask questions and smile at you, it's in the religion, it's in Madi, it's in the offerings (which are made daily around the city), it's in the art (most of it anyway), and it's in the dance. Oh, the dance! Utterly beautiful, every night is crowded with performances in temples and villages and museums. Every night the sounds of the orchestras spill out into the streets. Every night the dance fills my eyes and heart. It's entrancing. It's as strict and beautiful as ballet and yet so different. The make-up loud, it frames the dancer's incredible eyes - which are just as much a part of the dance as their incredible fingers that bend backwards and flicker like butterfly wings. There's different types, teens working in harmony (yet with their eyes closed). There's Lagong acting out scenes of brothers fighting or lovers flirting. There's young girls showing off in their mastery. There's scenes from the Ramayana, the beautiful Sita, and the faithful Rama, and the evil Rawana, and the spritely White Monkey take life in front of me. They prance about and enrapture everyone. One night there's two sisters and a brother, the older sister holding the little sister on her lap. They remind me very much of another trio of siblings I know. As they watch the older two giggle at the youngest who is entranced, she throws her arms about, copying the dancers, she tries to move with them, nearly falling over and being steadied by her sister. I can relate to that! There are trance dances where men sit in circles and circles, surrounding the Ramayana that is acted out. They chant along with the dance, 'Chaka-Chak' they chant, while a lone voice wails above there trance inducing drone. It's incredible. I take dance lessons to learn and get a fantastic teacher who plays Rama in some of the performances that I have seen. She's lovely and I find it hard to follow, being so different than anything I have been taught, but I just about keep up with her. One night I catch a ceremany that makes its way through the city. Crowds of locals follow the orchestra and giant puppets through the Main Street to a temple where they settle. I find myself a spot and take it in. Locals everywhere: some sit and watch the ceremany. Some sit and watch the music. Some sit and chatter with friends. Kids run about, others play on iPhone games, a few pull around their fathers demanding to be shown different parts of the madness. Old men sit smoking. Young men sit messing around with flood lights, giggling like the children. Women sit and pray, wailing and putting flowers in their hair. Some sit holding new borns that others coo over. Some wave at their husbands. Clouds of incense hover above us. Clashing of cymbals fill my ears. I walk home in wonder. Yesterday was full-moon, and me and Maria, a spanish lady that I've met, and Michelle, and American volley ball trainer who come along as well, make our way with a lovely driver and guide to the Holy Springs Temple. We go to be clensed in the natural water spring that makes it way up from underground and flows here. The full-moon, being a rather special day, means it's utterly crowded. Now this would be no problem, but part of the ceromany is that we bathe in the multiple fountains. To do this we get into the pools and wait - there is a huge line for these holy fountains. The first pool has fourteen, but you skip number eleven (otherwise you get too cleansed and loose your memory) and twelve (which will take you too hell - a formidable coincidence means that snakes come out of the wall at this particular fountain). The huge queues wouldn't be to bad at all. I don't mind waiting in water for two hours to be clensed. The only difficulty is that it's absolutely freezing. By the end my lips and fingers and feet are a different colour to usual, and the rest of the night is felt feeling pretty chilly despite Bali's hot temperature (see above in sweating section). But the cold doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would when first jumping in. That's because we are surrounded by excitement. Children are shivering, holding onto each other like little monkeys and screeching like them too when they are splashed. Couples cuddles. Elders laugh at our shaking. Family's giggle and wave. People ask us where we are from and what are our names. They tell me I should be used to the cold. The atmosphere is one of fun and beauty. Colourful flower petals float around me, sticking to my skin and sarong. And when it gets to the fountains, and having to dunk my head under freezing water, which until this point has only been up to my waist, I don't mind. It's lovely, the spirit of this place take precedence over the temperature of the water. It's warm with laughter and friendliness. As is Bali.
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4:45 and we're out the door and onto a tuk-tuk to take us to Angkor Wat. It's dark and chilly and the city is weirdly quiet - the Night Market's all closed up - and the only people out are tourists... Onto the main road and we pass a tuk-tuk with some travellers in. We give them a wave - happy and excited to be going on this journey - and they wave back, sharing the feeling. And then we pass another, And another, And ... We get to the ticket station and here is a mass of tourists. We whip in and out weaving around the tours and off we go again to what I believe is a lake. I can just about see reflections and would no way be able to find my way to the temple if it wasn't for the pilgrimage of sightseers. We walk along with the crowd, which must be the blind leading the blind and end up in front of a lake that looks onto Angkor Wat. It's sight and reflection are a thing of beauty and I could probably stand here for hours in a calm and meditative state taking in the scene, but I can't do that, I can't fall into a state of calm because what surrounds me is not the tweeting of the morning bird or the rushing of wind in the trees or even settled quiet murmurs of onlookers in wonder, but camera clicks. Hundreds and hundreds of camera clicks. And flashes. And more bloody clicks. We were early getting there so happen to be close up to the lake but when I turn around five minutes later the lines have expanded into a horror film of a crowd with people with screens instead of faces. I attempt to endure the sound for the view but it becomes to much and we decide to skip any more sunrise and go into the temple. It's the best thing we could have done. We should have done it sooner! We should have completely skipped that lake photograph point. The temple is completely empty. It's silent with minor disturbances of a crunch on the grass outside or the skip of a young monk in a corridor. It's overwhelming beautiful to the point where I can feel my heart swelling in my chest and tears filling my eyes. The stone walls radiate spirit. The air is full of life. It's thick and I feel I'm moving through something more than a simple atmosphere. We step through this maze, up staircases and through window frames. I see beautiful flashes of pinks and yellows in the sunrise that we manage to see privately this time. After wondering about its empty wall we leave happy hearted and in awe of this stunning place. We go onto to the other temples of which there many and explore the wonders of these buildings (unfortunately never quite standing up to the experience in Angkor Wat Temple). I get rather jealous of Lara Croft (or Angelina Jolie - not sure which one) who can run about these beautiful places with ease and agility. By our last temple we are soggy and being bustled about by pink poncho wearing guides with their precious lambs. We make our way back to Siem Reap still feeling satisfied with our morning, even if it did slightly fizzle out. In the night we catch the market again, where I manage to replace my sad sandals which I mistaking left in a bag and have gone mouldy. And then we catch the Aspira dancing in a club down the road. It's silly and the girls can't stop laughing. Their hands are amazing, bent into mad positions, but what is more entertaining is what's happening between the dancers and musicians. Clearly some behind the club curtain scene leaves them in fits of giggles. It's silly and funny and nothing more than I can expect and that's our last night in Siem Reap. An overnight 'hotel bus' carries us away from the beach and back into the heart of Cambodia, our stop being Siem Reap - the home of Angkor Wat. It's a long and claustrophobic journey, with plastic mattresses and little bugs I won't name that Ollie kills with my flip-flop. The bus driver devotes his time to his horn (the bus horn that is) and the beds are not quite long enough for my legs, leading to a nice wake up call of cramp in the morning. But it does it's job and after a surprisingly sleep filled night we arrive in Siem Reap. After settling into the hostel and waking up a bit we take ourselves out to the Old Market. It's fringed with tourist stuffs - elephant pants and wooden spoons and sunglasses and knock off beats headphones. But as we make our way into the heart this dissipates and we find arteries of materials being sold and bought by locals and finally in the centre we have the chambers. The right ventricle is the cooked food and the left ventricle the wet food. It's the beating of the market, full of the locals picking up goods and paying and being pumped around and on their way. It's life. The best bit is finding our beloved coconut candy. A gem we bought only one pack of in Vietnam, only to realised how fantastic and how impossible to find it was once we had left. Lots were bought. After a stroll, a look into the craft making hub of the city, and a change, we plan to get some dinner in the Night Market and see some Aspira Dancing. The Night Market is beautiful and sprawls all over the centre of this small city - making it unrecognisable to is daytime counterpart. It's loud and its different sections have their own charm from the chic calm 'original' market to the mad 'pub street' and everything in between. After a meal it is to Pub Street we go to find the dancing and, alas, are turned away. There's a VIP in tonight - apparently we aren't cool enough to merit sitting with the VIPs. I think my traveling trousers and sweaty top are rather cool, thank you very much, security guard man! No matter, onwards we go trough the cocphany and back to bed readying ourselves for the early start to welcome the sunrise at Angkor Wat. Otres Beach is stunning. It's hard to resist just not leaving. We find a little bungalow on the beach and just relax. The water is literally footsteps away from us. And I wake up to the sounds of the waves and nothing else. It's quiet here - the atmosphere is chilled and the pace is slow. Electricity comes and goes - resulting in unknown light and fan patterns in the evenings. Everything shuts down around ten and the most party like thing to happen here is the Tuesday Trivia Night and the amazing Italian run pizza place. (I really didn't think I'd find some of the best pizza to be eaten in Cambodia - just beaten by Salisbury's Number 10 pizza) The days are filled with calm - bathing in the warm sea and strolling to the amazing food place about a mile and a half away, which happens to be in the tiny and only supermarket here. It's baking hot. My body just runs at a slower pace - it can't go any faster - like a hot computer. Everybody's the same. You ask for a drink - expect it to show up in forty five minutes. I asked for my charger (which I had left behind the bar) and ended up musing with a Grecian about the benefits of citronella oil for half an hour, I didn't get my charger in the end. The slow days turn into calm nights. Linked together by beautiful sunsets that are perfection. We just happen to be facing the perfect direction for a perfect sunset. In the evenings we find somewhere to eat along the beach front and watch the nightly storm. It's stunning. Lightning lights up the deep dark and shows us small boats and far away coastlines. The waves lull us to sleep. It's heavenly here. Checking in, I am currently sat looking out to a beautiful sea, open and clear, I've got a cool breeze in my face, and the waves in my ears. Before this I made a stop off in Cambodia's capital Phnom Penh. Comparing it to Saigon, Phnom Penh comes out on top. Despite it's dirty streets it has a charm to it. It's busy like Saigon, but it hasn't been as westernised: less flashing neon and free beer signs. After arriving my companion and I stroll around the city, catch a drink or two and make our way to the night market. A locals favourite, selling fake designer brands and pirated DVDs. It had two gems. The first a stage for performances, a strange set up ranging from traditional dance to crummy pop covers. We are welcomed with a rather lovely Aspira dance by some young girls and are serenaded by pop as we eat. And that is the second gem - the food section. A big square lined by food vendors - you take a basket and pick unusual looking things on stick which they will fry up for you. I'm unsure of what I eat and all I can do is hope for the best. In the middle of the square is a mass of mats. Here you abandon your shoes at the side and huddle around a condiments and napkin section. Food arrives and what ever it is it's fantastic. It's amazing here. Broken lights flash above us and a buzz surrounds us. Locals; young familys, groups of friends, and new couples huddle around their respective beacons of condiments and eat and laugh and look at us. It's a satisfied walk back to the hot hostel room. The next morning is spent having breakfast in and exploring Central Market. It's a spiders web of different a products. The centre selling jewellery and watches, light shines down illuminating our journey. Next layer out is art and garments, and odd mix of original paintings and copy-cat clothes. And then finally food. I'm surrounded by smells, fresh fish hang around me and slabs of meat fill counters that I avoid. Fruit and nuts line the outside. Dragon fruit, bananas, rambutan, bowls and bowls of jack fruit, and bags of almonds and kashews. And then the eating stalls. Oodles of noodles, and soups ready for eating, we founds these little sweet cakes, absolutely delish. We make our way to our final visit in the city and get caught in an ATM in terantial rain. It quickly wears off though and soon we get to our destination. The genocide Museum. It is astonishing what recent history has completely past my radar. A most recent genocide - one easily comparable to the halacaust, only it was about 40 years ago. This high school turned prison and torture house is pretty horrific and and it truly makes me wonder at human nature. The place wholly represents the spirit of this genocide, the mass destruction of the intellectual and skilled, schooling became complete prohibited and one third of the population of Cambodia was killed. A whole generation. On top of that a whole generation uneducated. Pol Pot was a destructive force and not even babies were out of the regimes reach. Pictures of torture, toture machines, head shots of victims, skulls, and vivid descriptions fill this creepy place. The fact that I can walk around and accept that one person has done this to another - not just a government giving orders, or leader making a decision, but a human doing this to another human, is incredible to me. I won't describe the sort of things they did. But it is eery walking round. It is astounding that this can happen. That humans can do this. Can act out these crimes. It is in-human. We leave quieter and heavy hearted and rush to our bus that whips is on a journey to Otres Beach (a suggestion by a excited couple we met - Ana and Veleros at the bs station the day before). The journey lifts our spirits. To see this beautiful country can do that! And although we arrive in the dark it's still calm and serene. Well ignoring the storm that is - it's stunning and bellows above, lightning forking out at sea. It's wonderful. Cambodia is. After journeying great lengths almost every day in Vietnam, my last leg takes me out of it to Cambodia. I leave Vietnam (accompanied by my glam assistant Oliver) with mixed feelings about our chosen route and have no idea what to expect while on my way to Sihounakville via Phnom Penh. We choose a tour to get through the Mekong, this is the most advisable way (which usually I would ignore) but it is also by far the cheapest way. However I must give you an idea about what this tour thought appropriate and interesting things about Vietnam's rural south. A crocodile farm, whose entrance welcomes you with possible gifts. A hand bag for you, miss? 100% real crocodile skin. We are pointed in the direction of the crocodile pens, tiny for the amount of crocodiles and Kananga style in security. Stepping in, the first thing the small tour and I see is a smallish croc flopped belly down on a tilled floor. It's not moving and it's eyes hardly follow me. I look to my left and there is a medium sized pen holding a hundred of them. Belly flopped and docile like the one before. But now on top of each other, or bobbing in the water. Larger crocodiles fill the 'larger' pits. Huge things who really shouldn't be confined like this. We find the baby pen with hundreds, (a bit more lively), floating around. They'll be sharing those cages for a long time. Then I pass the worst of it. Singular cages, small enough they can't turn. It's sad leaving that place and seeing these animals (ones I am particularly scared of) docile and resigned. I make this tour sound like a horrific show. But for the lost part it was lovely traveling through this beautiful place. I guess they had to show us part of Vietnam that I didn't want to see. I now sit on a beautiful Cambodian beach, but more on that later. A quick blog shout out to my amazing sister Phoebe! Happy Birthday you wonderful person!!! Xxx I travel from Bangkok to Saigon (now Ho Cho Minh City). From one capital to another, both with similar reputations. In a way that Bangkok did not live up to that reputation, Saigon definitely did. I arrive in the airport and happen meet a nice young man called Ollie. It's decided that we travel together so we make our way to the city centre. This city has 11million people and about 8 million motorbikes. So scooters are everywhere. They fill the streets. And they stop for nothing and no one: not a red light, not a police man and certainly not a jumpy tourist. To cross a road you just have to hope for the best while they swarm around you. In the day Saigon is full of confusing maps, sellers with cheap sunglasses, and heat; and at night its is a jumble of neon lights, free beer signs and - you guessed it - scooters. The city seems to be constantly changing. A street disappears, an ally leads you the same way out as in, building works jump from corner to corner in a matter of hours so that what was once a reference point is now a misleading beacon. Our first day is spent going round the city to museums and sights. A rather pretty but uninteresting cathedral is followed by a sit in the park, where every few minutes Ollie is asked if his trainers need shining. Next is to the Women's Museum where we are confronted with two very different subjects: history of women's dress, and their roles in the American war. The second part is most interesting although I am rather taken with the 'Ao Dai'. In that section I read about the half of the world that is so often overlooked in its history. Here they celebrate 'heroic women' who killed the Americans. And they are very cool. Then its off to the War Museum, where I learn about history that I feel should be documented in a non 80's-American-movie-we-were-the-ones-who-suffered sort of way. What was committed was almost an act of genocide, completely illegal, and utterly inhumane. This country was almost completely destroyed. Through illegal entering with armies and weapons, biological warfare and acts of barbarism to a point of horror. But I still don't know enough about it. These people seem uncommonly forgiving, in a way that I think westerners would not be. A bit of a jump takes us on to the water puppet show, a 'must see' in Vietnam! It's sweet, with music and marionettes, and invisible puppeteers. It's quite amazing how they can move these dolls from underwater with such artistry. Another day takes us to the Cu Chi tunnels. A place where a village of Viet Cong held off the Americans via their underground tunnel system. I crawl for just under ten minutes in this, legs doubles over, neck strained and in darkness, claustrophobia can't be an option here. I try to imagine what it would be like to be here for hours. I wonder if it felt safe. Knowing it so well and knowing the enemy can't and don't want to go near you down there. We see the traps, originally created for wild animals, which must have instilled utter fear in the attackers minds. Traps with bamboo spike covered in motorcycle oil. You can fall into them, just in a pit or a rotating system. Or you can trigger them, up so they pin up to your leg, or worse, up to your armpits. Some are simple, some complex, all terrifying. Today we've thankfully gotten out of the city, and make our way into the Mekong Delta, on the way tasting honey and orchard fruits and listening to traditional southern style music. Rather lovely. And rather a lovely change from the madness of Saigon. Today was not a very usual start to my day. I headed out to the biggest tourist attraction in Bangkok, The Grand Palace. I catch a boat up the river to the closest stop and make my way there. Sure enough it is streaming with tourists. You can imagine me, I'm sure, carving through the crowds; eyes twitching at every shout from a guide, holding a panda on a stick to show the way; fists clenching every time I have to move out of the way because someone is taking a selfie (you know how I feel about selfies!) I even got jumped: I am strolling along and suddenly I'm grabbed and told to smile. It's just a local who wants a picture with someone who blends in with the Palace's white-washed walls. Not a good day then, you must be thinking; but oh, no; you think wrong! Yes, the buildings in the grounds are beautiful, covered in gold leaf and jewels and coloured glass mosaic, and, yes, they are surrounded by budding amateur photographers; but encasing these buildings (and the photographers) is a wall. And not just any wall. This wall is covered in a mural, a stunning set of 178 connected paintings telling the story of Ramayana. It's painted to the minutest detail, full of gold figures and landscapes. It takes me two hours to go around this beauty. And even better: no one seems to have noticed or cares about it. It is near empty and when people do look they are quickly shepherded on by their guide, who are trembling in fear that they might want to take 178 photos. It's vast and intricate. It tells a story, multiple stories. It has humans and gods and demons and a hero. It's filled with life, with battles and death, with lovers, and families, and truth. And no one is looking at it, apart from lucky old me. Wonderful, just wonderful. After that I make my way to 'Section 5' of Wat Mahadhatu and take in a meditation class from a Monk. And then onto the Ratchada Night Market. Now I've had my fair share of markets at this point, full of antiques and elephant trousers. But this is something else! This is a modern Bangkok market. It's a mixture of Brixton and Brick Lane, with pop up restaurants named 'Shrimpy' and 'Grill and Bar' surrounding the entrances. It's full of young Bangkok hipster, and my rucksack and over warn travel clothes stick out here. But it's great. The street food is as good as ever but feels new and different. I stroll through the shopping part of the market, a mix of music surrounds me, bassy hits blare from the trendy bars that line the edge, fighting the ones who have live jazz bands, while Taylor Swift and someone who I should know sings out from the stall's speakers. Pop up nail parlours and barbers sit next to perfume makers and opticians. Clothes shops are everywhere. No elephant trousers in sight. This is fashion! And most of them have baby versions of their ranges. It's unusual and great. I do some window shopping - if it can be called that - and head back. I've heard not such good things about this city. People have winced when I've told them I'm coming here. Stories of crowds of tourists and everyone trying to sell you everything. But my experience here has actually been quite lovely. People have been kind and this city has surprised me. Thanks, Bangkok. |