Day 76 to 88: Koh Samui, Koh Phangan, Koh Tao and mushroom shakes

My eyes spring open. I need at least a minute to register where I am.

Make that 5.

After the revelation that I am in the bed of the hotel room that I’ve been staying in for the last 2 nights, a welders torch flares up inside my head and starts attacking my brain.

Hanging pathetically from the ceiling, the elusive fan above me offers no protection from the heat of the day – already in its prime –  as I lie sweating in my plastic sheeted, single bedroomed sauna.

What the hell happened last night?

I need clues.

I raise myself out of bed. I check my wallet. Its saturated, wet through. And devoid of funds.

Not a good start.

I check my camera. It’s also wet. I try and switch it on. Nothing.

Bollocks. Thats the second time I’ve broken it.

Sudden urge for toilet for post night dispensing. Where are my Flip flops?

No flip flops. Not again – that’s the 3^rd pair I’ve lost in as many weeks.

Plant feet on ground. OW!! Check under foot. Find big hole in foot. Just under the ball of my heel. How the hell did I do that?

Limp over to shorts – wet and covered in sand.

Seriously – CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENNED LAST NIGHT????!!!!!!

There is a resolute fog clouding my mind that refuses to engage with anything past the beach. Oh yeah! I was on the beach. With the friend I’d met. And I was drunk. And she dropped her bucke-

Buckets. Hang on – were we drinking buckets? Ummm… yes. How many? Errrr… wouldn’t like to say even if I remembered. So why did get so drunk last night?

Then it dawns on me.

I check my mobile. It’s already 2pm.

Its 2pm, and its Christmas day.

Jesus Christ.

The islands of Thailand are supposed to be the crowniest jewels in its pretty impressive armoury of crown jewels.

Sprinkled liberally across clear blue water, skirting the country’s long southern arc, they effortlessly typify the standard view of paradise.

Having chosen the 3 islands (Kohs) off the southern eastern coast – Samui, Phangan and Tao – I was looking forward to the blend of isolation and party that the Thailand tourist board do so well to promote.

All I found after 2 weeks, was a LOT of tourists, a LOT of drinking, a LOT of noise and mere snippets of isolation and – to be brutally honest – very little relaxation.

I made several grave errors. Firstly, in my research. Lonely Plant circa 2007 is not as up to date as Lonely Planet 2010 (durr!) – and Thailand moves fast. Very fast. As soon as picture postcard beaches, untouched Backpackers paradises are found, the powerful engine of Thailands awesome tourist machine springs into life, to prevent anything from being untouched for long.

And every year more and more salivating, marauding, pillaging tourists steam roller in from December onwards and need satisfying. Koh Tao, in particular, was once a quiet diver’s escape. Now, like Phangan and Samui, the tones of tourist pandering echo from virtually its every pore.

Secondly, I wasn’t as mobile as I should have been. I only rented a scooter once on Ko Phagnan (and lo and behold, what did I find? An empty beach).

And thirdly, and most crucially, I’m weak and predictable. I didn’t plan to spend the 2 weeks getting pissed, but by some incredibly rare quirk of fate…

…I just spent 2 weeks getting pissed.

But before I sound like an old, cynical hack waiting to bemoan the ruination of the world’s natural wonders by the juggernaut of international tourism, let me say this.

I had fun. Sometimes I had wicked fun.

But before I sound like a young, energetic party animal, reveling in the islands’ tolerance towards carnage, let me say this.

I’m glad I’ve left. And all in all, the experience was a little unsatisfying.

Koh Samui – or more specifically its beach resort of Llamai – especially. It took me just 2 days to realize it wasn’t for me. Its stunning beach (and it really is cracking) and glamorous hotels are unfortunately backed up by streets dedicated to sleaze. Old men, from across the Western world, revel in their freedom to walk down the street with their young Thai bit on the side. Mcdonalds, KFC, Burger King, Subway are all in attendance. Tacky bars play host to shit music and high pitched, screeching Thai girls who are so eager and vocal to establish that:

a)      I’m handsome boy

b)      I want be loved long time.

If I was I an ugly, fat, balding, single 62 year old, then maybe it’ll be great.

But I’m only 32.

So the dirty spectre of Koh Samui was shed.

And so to Koh Phangnan. Via a Catamaran that bounced up and down on the water so much that the sick bags were being deployed at will.

Me? Don’t be silly. I didn’t need a sick bag…

…I just ran out the back and projectile vomited into the boat’s wake. Much to the delight of the 2 pissed up Brits standing nearby.

Still, Koh Phangan was to prove a very different proposition to Samui.

“Can I have a mushroom shake?”

“Certainly miss. 500 baht”

The Israeli girl who ordered looked a bit put out. “I thought 250?”

“No miss. 500”

She obviously wanted the shake, as she didn’t put up much of a fight for the extra fiver. As I watched, beer in hand, a couple of metres down from them leaning against the bar, I couldn’t help wondering: Why would anyone want a mushroom shake? And at such an extortionate price? It sounds disgusting.

So once the lady had departed, I said as much.

“You want try?”, the smiling, nodding, cheery barman said, seemingly keen to get my endorsement on his creation. He evidently had a lot left over,  and poured out half a glass. About 250 Baht’s (£5) worth by the sounds of it.

I agreed, and, grimacing, I finished off the remaining shake. Surprisingly it didn’t taste horrendous. He had mixed it with strawberries and a hint of sugar, to combat the overpowering umami nature of the mushrooms.

But though I finished it off,  it wasn’t great. I still wasn’t happy with the whole concept. Why would anyone genuinely want a mushroom shake?

“I’m still not happy with the whole concept. Why would anyone want a mushroom sha-“

His smile gave it away.

“Hang on. When you say mushroom, you mean MUSHROOM??!!!”

“Yeah, mushroom”

 How much had I just had again?

Koh Phangan plays host to the ‘legendary Full Moon Party’, on its beach resort of Haadrin. Immediately the differences to Koh Samui are obvious. The buses of young eager, teenagers and 20 somethings flooding in from the boats tell its own story. Sign everywhere promote Happy Hours and English Breakfasts in Ozzie bars. Lounge bars with huge cushioned sofas show movies all day to soothe the hangovers over grease and Chang. They’ve even got a typical British pub.

This island is for partying. It’s a simple brief that it sticks to very well.

But the reason my naivety with the magic mushroom shake sounds a bit stupid, is that it no longer promotes itself as having a drug fuelled rave scene a la Acid House days. Its policed heavily, and the horror stories of clueless young party goers smoking joints on the beach and being led off to jail (or the nearest ATM depending on the copper) are rife. So to be presented by what was a legitimate bar, supplying illegitimate hard drugs (as hard as shrooms can be) looking over the beach was a little surprising (and the only bit of anti-establishment that the Island really has).

Because the main drug of choice for these young scamps is the Bucket.

A Bucket, fully loaded with your spirit of choice, a can of pop and Thailand’s lethal Red Bull.

 And the damage they cause overshadows any effects from the special shake.

Tens of ‘Bucket’ stalls line the beach, calling out to whoever passes within earshot.

Hundreds of tourists stagger round swinging theirs along the streets trying to negotiate tricky challenges like ‘walking straight’ and ‘speaking coherently in their own language’. And Thousands of buckets are left abandoned on the beach, as if a bomb threat hit the international Sand Castle Building World Cup.

Until Full Moon hit (3 days into my stay on Phangan), I had stayed away from buckets – deciding that I would save them until the big night.

I had no idea what to expect from my first Full Moon, and while it was a great party, it wasn’t the spiritual event its name suggests. On the contrary, it’s a mix of the Dome, White Lion and Global Gathering on sand.

My dalliance with the Buckets on the Island was brief. The toxic concoction hadn’t got its claws into me. Yet.

I had to wait to Koh Tao for that.

After leaving Koh Phangan exhausted, thinking Koh Tao was going to a bit of peace and quiet, I relaxed on the boat across (no Catamaran this time) happy in the prospect.

Until Christmas Eve.

To be fair to Koh Tao, it’s the best of the 3 by a country mile. In fact it’s a really quite beautiful, laid back and relaxed. Tiny in comparison to the other 2. And if you want to do your Open Water diving qualification, it’s cheap, professional and its rich, clear blue waters are full of fish and coral.

However its still been done over by the tourist machine, and as I only opted for a one day dive (stunning mind) it left the rest of my time dedicated to one thing.

Hanging out at Lotus Bar.

This crazy little bar with cushions on the beach, had spectacular fire dancers every night, pulling off awesome tricks sometimes within a gnats pube of your face.

Unlike Koh Phagnans tourist torture chamber (their fire dancers would subject willing watchers to ‘skip rope’ and then raise the burning rope, whacking the fiery trail of molten string into a pissed up idiot’s thigh)...

...Koh Tao’s was about performance – and these guys were good.

The skipping rope came out, as well as other staples, but it was never about humiliating the tourists (though I did enjoy that about Phangan), but just putting on a great show and having a great night.

But it is a shame, that, having seen some of the ‘recommended’ islands of Thailand, my highlight was hanging out in one bar. And its not as if I haven’t seen firedancers before either.

I’m not massively into sunbathing and doing nothing. And though I loved diving and took to it pretty easily, the money – for now – is better spent on my Visa’s for other countries, leaving me a little devoid of options in these places. I’d happily come here again with friends or partners, but on your own, they don’t appeal to me.

People come for a week, and stay for 3 years. I get bored after 5 days.

Although I will remember fondly the people who I spent time with there. And one thing that Thailand does provide in the midst of the thousands of pissed up British, Israeli, Ozzie wankers…

…are some thoroughly nice boys and girls.

And also, from seeing the difference in personalities of the Islands I did visit, I know there’s plenty more to see, and in no way does this reflect what could be in store on the other islands.

In fact, returning to the mainland from Koh Tao, to the pier at Chumpon, my boat (another Catamaran, but  this time I kept my dinner firmly in my belly) passed a multitude of tiny lonely islands, small uninhabited beaches – the kind of isolation I had hoped to find, but never did.

So with not so much heavy heart, I’m back in Bangkok for NYE.

And back in BKK, and this time FAR from the Khao San Road, it feels like I’ve come home a little. This town – though filled with tourists, travelers, backpackers and ex-pats – is still principally Thai rather than a tourists playground.

You can find them all – the Israelis, Brits, Ozzies, Scandinavians – stumbling along, swinging their buckets. But unlike the islands I visited, its quite easy to stay far away from them. And this town has its own identity, crafted from its years of history and evolution, not from the culture of the Bucket.

And so to the New Year and 2011.

Let’s hope the bad times of the past year means that the next will be filled with the promise and hope we deserve.

I’ve learned some valuable lessons – not all Bucket related – and I can’t wait to learn a hell of more about life, love and the world through the next 12 months.

Like what the hell happened to my foot on Christmas Eve.

Anyone?

Happy New Year x

Day 70 to 75: Bangkok and flying ping pong balls

It really is a different ball game

A game of meticulous dexterity, passed down through a generation, combining idiosyncratic talents with a controlled head for accuracy, that unfolds centre stage in front of a hundred probing, judging, unforgiving eyes poised to applaud the success or decry the failure of the single solitary player.

A darkness wraps them all, confining them to the ritual that has persisted to define the hot, sordid metropolis they now inhabit.

The game?

Shooting a ping pong ball out of a vagina into a glass bowl.

Welcome to Bangkok

Sprawling out as far as the eye can see, Bangkok lures you in within seconds of leaving the airport. Leaving Kathmandu, polarizes the two far more than I would ever have given it credit for.

Wide, expansive freeways dissect a neon paradise of skyscrapers and supersize hotels where huge LED screens pour out advertising slogans in a malicious attempt to distract the driver from the road ahead.

I gave Nepal credit for its attempts at turning the impoverished tide of its past. Its not that I take it all back, but you can only classify poverty , when you see the riches that eclipse it.

And we’re definitely not in Kathmandu anymore, Toto.

As a typical unimaginative traveler, I headed straight to the tourist comfort blanket of the Khao San Road. The lights of 7/11, Mcdonalds, Burger King, Subway shine down on the bustling street, full to bursting with wide eyed (and hammered) holiday makers and travellers, gawping at the stalls packed with T-shirts, tattoo designs, phone cases, glo-sticks, artwork, deep fried insects, fresh coconuts, and salivating by the wondrous array of food that rejoices the most fussy of palettes.

Thais, Nepalese, Indians and Burmese deny you the freedom of making your own decision by insisting upon you their services.

White men with their Thai partners walk the streets hand in hand, while well-to-do Thais enjoy the carnival that their own city has cultivated.

Come with one philosophy: as long as your stamina holds out, sit back and enjoy the ride.

And I was no different.

My first night I ate locust (peppery).

 My second day was spent in the juggernaut of shopping that is the MBK department store (Bullring, move over – you’re small fry) and the delights of it food centre.

My third night I was watching a ping pong show, and the pantomime of the red light district.

The fourth I was losing money on the fights at the Thai Boxing (and bumping into Bryan bloody Robson!).

But Bangkok isn’t a one, two or even three trick city. And it would definitely be an insult to define it by its sex industry.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s still plays a big part.

Stunning ladies saunter down all the main tourist traps, and only when they speak, or you sneak a glance at their Adam’s apple do you realize their true biological make up.

In the red light district, girls still line up on catwalks, with numbered labels on them waiting for their Western sugar daddy to pick out theirs.

But there’s not the desperation about it that I had predicted. The whole thing has a real sense of performance about it, as if it’s there to tick a box of one the ‘must-sees’ of the city, but they give out an air that they don’t really mean it.

It’s true that many a white man has bagged themselves a nice Thai bride, but with so many of them still living in the city, the dreams of being their betrothed’s great escape seem a little antiquated.

In fact the Thais are really quite self absorbed. While the Indians and Nepalese are at pains to please you at every step, the Thais really can’t be fucked sometimes.

After the bargaining bouts on the streets of Kathmandu, many Thais are more than happy to flick their hand at you and leave you to it if the price is not to their liking. Compromise sometimes seems way down on their vocabulary.

The taxi and auto-rickshaw drivers especially.

They seem more content to laze around, enjoying the sunshine and people watching rather than take to from A to B, at a reasonable price.

That is unless you have something to offer them of course.

Shops all across Bangkok offer rickshaw drivers commission should they bring an unsuspecting gringo over their doorstep – regardless of whether they buy anything. A friend of mine had given me a handy bit of advice to exploit this. So having been the victim of some serious spending already, and with an evening to kill, I spoke to the nearest auto rickshaw driver and gave him a proposition.

I would be his stool pigeon with these commission stops they so persistently tout, and we split the profits 50/50. For the first time, I had a driver smiling at me with something resembling mutual respect.

And sure enough, it worked like a charm. After 2 hours driving round Bangkok, seeing the sights this behemoth of a city offers, I had made over £8. May not seem like a lot, but it was a proud moment to turn the tables on a place that willfully wants to drain you of funds with every step.

With my winnings I paid for nice new T-shirt, and a slap up feed. And I cannot stress enough how mouth-wateringly delicious the food is here. After a disappointing culinary journey in India, and only the occasional triumph in Nepal, Thailand just offers delight after delight with wonderful ease. Succulent, duck, chicken, pork loin hang in street stalls calling your name, and you’re never more than 2 metres away from a bevy of fresh squid and king prawn.

Unless you’re a vegetarian (there’s always Papaya salad) this is paradise. And if you get of the Thai cuisine bored, there’s always the Double Big Mac at a nearby golden arches (guilty as charged).

And alongside Bangkok’s heaving, hedonistic itinerary there’s still a nice slice of religious history to enjoy.

Huge, sparkling temples. Gigantic golden Buddhas. Hawkers dodging traffic (and Bangkok does traffic with a vengeance) to hand out Buddhist garlands to taxi drivers… the Thais love their religion as much as they love their king.

And boy do they love their king. His image is plastered on almost every available wall space this city hasn’t filled with corporate messaging, pictures of food, Thai-script (or marijuana eulogies).

And that’s why to define this overwhelming, tiring, busy, glorious, sumptuous city by its sex industry would be a huge crime.

Its no place to linger for those of little stamina, but getting out of the glare of the bright lights of the Khao San Road can offer you wonders enough to stick around.

It never seemed a place to escape from – and talking to the girls who smile on the stages, and wiggle their wares to entice, they have no plans to leave either.

Why would they?

Bangkok offers everything any aspiring modern Global city should yearn for.

And then some.

I’ll be back soon. To dodge the traffic (and the lady boys), to revisit the Commission scam with my taxi driver mate Woody, to shop till I’m broke, to fatten myself with its dazzling cuisine… (and more practically  get my Visa for China).

But it can wait.

There’s one thing that Bangkok doesn’t have, but that elsewhere in Thailand has kudos on any other place in the world.

Beach.

Next stop: the golden sands and clear blue water of Ko Samui.

It’s a tough job.

But then I was never one to shirk a challenge.

Day 55 to 69: Kathmandu, Pokhara, Chitwan, Lumbini and playground politics

Nepal is going to kick off

Honest.

Its standing in the corner of the playground, smarting at the taunts of its peers, but knowing in the back of its mind that when it grows up, it’s going to be a big cheese.

Oh yes, when it gets noticed - stand back. Cos this little guy’s going to explode

Okay, before it all gets a little too Columbine, let me explain.

Nepal has everything to become a huge player on the tourist map, and in turn flourish as a country.

Where else can you get phenomenal mountain ranges, pulsating rivers, laid back lake resorts, national parks playing host to major safari favourites and genuine powerhouses of religious significance?

Well, suppose in quite a few countries, but Nepal has these in spades. And its slip of a figure means you don’t need to go very far from one little gem to the next.

All it needs (he says flippantly) is a modicum of infrastructure. In fact make that 5 modicums and 3 big slices.

And someone in power would be a good start.

Unlike India, where everyone and their Punjabi aunt wants a piece of the political cake (leading to coalitions of 34 parties), no one really wants it in Nepal.

And the population, tired of the broken record of corruption, simply don’t care. They don’t care who leads them, who makes the decisions or who litters the country with its alarming bureaucracy.

With no one stepping up to the plate, Nepal kind of drifts along of its own accord. Which considering whats its carrying in its locker, is a massive waste.

And to rub salt into its wounds, the police flood the streets at midnight, like some country in the middle of a coup d’etat – sending the tourists to their beds and the unlucky street vendors who get in their way, home with bruised thighs.

However, as its tourist industry goes from strength to strength, there are signs that the Nepalese are starting to learn from its Western visitors.

The old segregation between its ethnic groups has petered out, leaving the Guruks, Sherpas, Lamas and Hindus to mix freely, share ideas and work together. And the upshot is that in the places that Nepal gets it right, it really gets it right.

Back from Lukla, Operation Base Camp  camped up in the tourist quarter of Kathamndu – Thamel – and celebrated its success. The guest list of me, Ryan, Thomas, Craig and Steve were joined by fellow trekkers Irish Phillipa and French Julien - whose unrequited love for Phillipa provided the rest of us with the kind of gossip mongering reserved for girls.

But Thamel is not a place that offers much in terms of relaxation, so me and Ryan – bidding farewell to the others – left to Pokhara.

Pokhara is nothing like Kathmandu. Thank god.

Its centre piece is the huge lake of Phewa Tal – a vast expanse of water in the shadow of the Annapurna mountain range. It offers the same bucket load of adventures that the Kathmandu valley promises – rafting, trekking, climbing – with the added bonuses of paragliding, parahawking and other such expensive luxuries an impoverished backpacker like me can only miss out on

We found a lovely hostel, run by the lovely Kumar family and spent 3 days in, around and on the lake, tucking into the local street food and sampling the beers at Pokhara’s strip  of bars. We even indulged in a little Open Mic at the town’s Jazz Club – me on the bass, Ryan freestyling, its owner on the drums and some local whizz kid killing it on the bongos. It was reassuring to see Ryan’s talent of entertaining verbal diarrohea put to good use.

I even found time in my busy schedule of bugger all to visit the local barbers, where – armed with a razor blade and steady hands – my crop of facial hair (and my token Movember tache) was cast to history.

Enjoying the lazy life, we conjured up a plan to head to Chitwan National Park, 4 hours South East of Pokhara by road.

It took us 2 days. But not because of delays, but because we rafted there.

This is part of the Nepal experience that makes you realize exactly what it has to offer. For 2 days, with fellow Brits Chelsea and Nicky, Japanese flirt Misa, dowdy Austrian Dagmar (for some reason, Nepal is FULL of Austrians) and our guide Gobi, we boated down the Seti River, through occasional lively rapids, passing stunning scenery the River Wye can only dream of offering.

We camped overnight on a white sandy beach, sleeping outside under the stars, with only the raft, propped up by its oars, as shelter.

It sure beat the hell out of walking.

But the river couldn’t take us all the way there. So back onto road, the rest of the journey to Chitwan was spent on the roof of a local bus, holding on for dear life, as the curse of Nepalese roads made up for the sedate rapids we had enjoyed.

Chitwan National Park is a real must see on the Nepal map – a sizeable area of unspoilt lowland, naturally cut off by water, that entertains 54 species of mammals, with its VIP cast list including the likes of Rhinos, elephants, tigers, deer with special guest Crocodiles and reptiles up there with the leading men.

Even birds get in on the action with Kingfishers, storks and herons among the flying extras.

One word of advice though, is don’t go in November. Some of the grass grows up to 8 metres tall – so unless you’re armed with a machete (and escape the attentions of the local army presence there to catch poachers) then you ain’t gonna to see much.

But in the end that didn’t matter to us, because of a once-in-a-lifetime find that will stay with me forever:

2 had become 4, with Chelsea and Nicky joining me and Ryan. We had found rooms in nearby Sauraha – over the water from the park, the jumping off point for the park. Its bumper load of agencies, sit neatly next to the array of restaurants, shops and barbers. It’s real selling point though are the elephants who stroll up and down the high street – part of the ‘Chitwan Experience’ giving you the chance to ride them through the park. They are kept at the end of Sauraha’s main strip near the river where they dip and cool themselves off daily.

On our 3^rd day, we took a full day Safari which started off with a canoe trip, a walk through the park, and finishing off on Jeep.

However after the canoe and walk, we hadn’t really seen much so were feeling a little disappointed. Sensing this, our guide, Mandhu, told us that sometimes one of the rhinos from the park crosses the river to feed near the elephants enclosure. As we had a good 2 hours to kill before our Jeep safari we agreed to see if our luck would change.

And boy did it change.

After scouting the said area, but not finding any rhinos – making do with sitting and watching the elephants bathe - we thanked Mandhu for his help and left to grab some lunch. To speed things a long, he took us back into town via a little short cut he knew.

We had barely walked a minute, before a huge grey backside stuck out of a bush to our right. We had found the rhino. And it was MASSIVE.

We stood staring at its arse for ages (not something I care to admit too freely) until it disappeared deeper into the foliage. It wasn’t enough for us – we wanted to see more. So we crept round the other end of the bushes, to see if we could head it off.

Me and Nicky, feeling brave – and in retrospect rather foolish – tip toed deeper into the foliage than the others. Nicky climbed a nearby tree, leaving me on terra firma. Not something that would have been a problem, until the rhino, who had been munching away a few yards from us, turned and faced me.

And started to walk towards me.

I was stuck between fear and awe, knowing that any noise or sudden movement could trigger a bad reaction – but then all you want to do is just stand and stare.

Whether he liked the cut of my jib or not, this giant of flesh, bone and ivory chose not to charge me – he just carried on eating. Maybe he didn’t feel threatened alongside a fellow trougher.

 I crept one way around a small bush, he went the other, and at one point barely a metre and a few twigs separated me from this beast. Sod the Universal Studios ride – this is the closest to being in Jurassic Park anyone’s going to get.

The rest of the day offered up little in terms of animal finds, but then I’d had its crown jewel in my hands and that was enough.

Our time in Chitwan came to an end, having spent 4 wonderful days chilling, eating, drinking, playing scrabble and watching elephants play football.

I only had 3 days before my flight to Thailand left from Kathamandu, and a list of stuff to sort out. So I did what any other sensible person would do.

Buggered off further south.

Lumbini, near to the Indian border, is a tiny little town, with a scruffy high street, caked in dust, and monstrously hot during the day. But internationally and religiously, its one of the most significant places in the world.

Because under a tree, in 623 BC, Siddartha Gautama was born – the man who would be more commonly known as Buddha.

Buddhism is the dominant religion in Nepal, but compared to countries like Japan and China, its small fry. Hordes of Japanese pilgrimages flock here week in, week out. Gradually, out of the dust and dirt, luxury hotels are emerging. New monasteries are being built, as fine and grand as they are anywhere else in Nepal.

The site of his birth itself, though marked by quite an innocuous building and pillar, is set amongst a beautiful ‘secret garden’, (shit secret if I knew about it) whose ambitious blueprint is still being finished off to this day – even though the project was started in the 70’s.

Its all a fitting tribute to a faith that, in a society where religion is increasingly becoming a dirty work, promotes a peace and harmony that seems lost on others.

But let’s not meditate on this chapter for too long. I couldn’t. In fact, barely had I arrived, than I had booked my ticket back to Kathmandu for the next day.

Me and Ryan said goodbye to Chelsea and Nicky (who had stuck with us) and left to go back.

Wierdly this was the 3 time I had returned to Thamel, and by now it was beginning to feel like home.

After the Indian experience of rushing from place to place, trying to take in as much as one can in a matter of days, Nepal has been far more grounded, and the better for it.

I’ve made Nepalese friends, felt the beat of a town, cherished what it offered and was made to feel at home. And with Ryan, I had an ever present, with whom I could share my experiences as well as a room bill.

India at times made me lonely.

Nepal at all times made me comfortable – even at plus 5000 metres.

It’s a poor place full of riches – and that makes for the best kind of travelling.

But on I go, and I write this in a hotel on a road in a city that stands just a 3 hour flight from Kathmandu, but a million miles apart.

Thanon Khao San.

Its Bangkok baby – and this is a whole different ball game.