Brand new stuff

From curious soups to spikey pigs to big, fat, friendly elephants; it's all been happening over the last few weeks.

The last page left off with me in Malaysia so this one must start with me in Thailand as, after taking my leave of the Petronas Towers, I headed north along the snakey little strip of land upon which the two countries meet. The above museum label made me think I might have a hard time in Thailand and have to spend all my time fighting off locals armed with stout wooden cudgels, intent on turning me into some kind of pudding. Thankfully, there were no such encounters in Bangkok which, as the grungy travellers' ghetto it is, was great fun for about a week before my brain started to seize up. Possibly the most intriguing thing about the city was the Hundred Pipers 'scotch' whiskey, which claimed to be bottled in Scotland. Where the stuff is bottled I do not know but I can assure all you Thais out there that the contents bear no relation to anything produced by my country. It tasted like it was made from rice, was almost undetectable in soda water and slipped down rather too easily.

Above: I was warned the mosquitoes got bigger nearer the border but I wasn't expecting this.

Travelling across Thailand to Ubon (to see my brother rather than any of the wonderous sights in Ubon, like... er... never mind) involved use of the Thai trains. After 9pm, the seats turn into bunks and you get a little curtain to preserve your modesty. Trying to get your trousers off while the train lurches from side to side, sending your curtain on a free-flowing, potentially buttock-exposing ripple is a nerve-shredding experience. Trying to get them back on again in the morning without tucking half the bedclothes into your shorts and causing a scene when you leap down from your bunk followed by a cascade of linen is a great way to start the day with a challenge.

Once over the border it was a different story. Travel in Cambodia was to be by pick-up truck along bumpy, rubble-strewn, dusty tracks. Initially, I thought speeding along on the back of a truck might be quite good fun and set my backpack up in a central position to use as a cushion. My hopes faded with the arrival of every new passenger until, with 21 people in the back, the truck set off with little but my head and shoulders visible above the Cambodian tangle. The only relief from the cramped conditions was when the truck hit a particularly deep pot hole and threatened to roll over, allowing everyone to re-arrange their aching limbs as we were thrown into the air. The only other danger seemed to be the threat of being married off to one of the truck's younger passengers, something many of the old Cambodian women were quite keen on arranging.

Above: Cambodia at last and time to try the famous Khmer cuisine. Oh, good grief...

No I'm not going to make any crappy, local newspaper style puns like 'Wat's all this then?' or 'Wat a great temple'. Nor, tempting as the challenge is, am I going to attempt to beat Abbot and Costello at their 'Who's on first' routine.

The temples at Angkor Wat, near Siem Reap, in Cambodia, are tricky things to write about and pictures would do the job much better than words. Then again, people don't come to this site to spend ages looking at pictures of old temples thousands of miles away. So, bearing in mind that the above picture is the only one that really matters, we can get on to the big question:

Angkor Wat vs. Machu Picchu

It's the clash of the titans, a one-time-only face off between the two meccas of the travelling world. Which one has more atmosphere? Which one has more stones? Which one is best for clambering around? And, most importantly of all, which one makes people the most painfully boring and self-indulgent once they've been there and are telling everyone else all about it?

Only kidding. After all, what could possible compete with the Au p'Kya-ya temples built on the rim of a seething volcano on the border between two countries - one whose name cannot be pronounced by western tongues nor replicated in our script and the other which I have been sworn on pain of death not to reveal. After a three-month trek on pigback, you reach the bottom of the volcano which, according to ancient tribal rituals, you must ascend by pogo stick wearing nothing but a feathered vest and... I've said too much.

Above: I know I said I'd spare you loads of pictures but this one was just too pretty to leave out.

Above: Things at the temple site got a bit frantic at 6pm when the temples closed and everyone and his dog tried to get back to Siem Reap at the same time. Regardless of how crowded the place got or how frustrated the motorists became, a path was always cleared for the elephants, coming back down from the hill where they had been giving people rides all day.

It wasn't until I'd gone down the river to Phnom Penh that I actually got up close to one of the beasts. This is Sam bo; a good-natured elephant who gives people rides around a hill near the centre of town. He is also rather partial to bananas, which his handler sells at distinctly more than market prices. However, it was worth it to see him grab the whole bunch in the crook of his trunk before flipping them over and catching them with the suction of his nostrils before scarfing the whole lot.

After a few days trying and failing to find the charm in Phnom Penh, I scurried back across the border and headed for Chiang Mai, in northern Thailand; a place where they practically check you passport before you leave to make sure you've taken a course in something whether it be massage, meditation, Thai language or cookery. Keen to find out what Thais eat when they feel like a pie, I enrolled for a three-day course at the Chiang Mai Thai Cookery School. I can now say with confidence that I can whip up any one of a number of mouth watering Thai dishes in a matter of minutes as long as I have a little Thai lady with a wooden spoon standing over me shouting 'Now add water! Stir, stir stir!'. Also, if I ever have an hour or two to spare and feel I'm bored with having ten fingers, I can carve a tomato into the shape of a rose. All in all; excellent fun and with such vast amounts of fantastic food that much of the rest of my time in Chiang Mai was spent lying down and digesting.

Above: Despite the wonderful food available everywhere in Chiang Mai, there were still a few things I decided I could live without sampling.

Above: Yes folks, it is the cutest thing on Earth. But what's that thing he's stroking? Teehee.

Just before leaving Thailand, I found one of the only things cuter than an elephant - a baby elephant. This one was four months old and surprisingly hairy. It had a little skinny trunk that couldn't reach the ground so whenever it dropped a piece of sugar cane it's mother would snatch it away with her trunk (which could reach just about everywhere). The mother would devour large pieces of sugar cane and whole bunches of bananas with a sobering crunch while the baby would wander around sucking on the same piece of cane until the handler came along to break it into little pieces.

Above: I think this is my favourite photo ever. The writing on the building reads 'store house for elephants' food'.

Delhi; like one neverending scene from a post-apocalyptic movie, swarming with people, packed with traffic and with the kind of air quality you'd expect to find inside a gas chamber, feels like a city at the end of the world. The place is hellish to arrive in, exhausting to be in but somehow, you still manage to miss it a little when you leave. Everyone's your immediate best friend; guiding you towards dodgy 'government approved' information centres or trying to interest you in a trip to peaceful Kashmir. Half a day in Delhi feels like a week in most other places. The most peculiar thing of all, however, is the way cows roam freely on the streets, going their own way, hindered by no-one and seemingly without anyone keeping an eye on them. To see one of them plod calmly into the frenzied whirlwind of traffic mayhem that fills the city, causing everyone to stop and make way, is a majestic sight indeed.

Above: Groups of spikey-haired, wild pigs roaming along railway tracks and through towns eating all the rubbish lend the sub-continent an element of charm. I think they're rather cute.

The train system in India made me long to be back in Thailand contending with the dodgy, swirling curtain. Buying a ticket takes some time and no small amount of self-control to stop yourself from strangling the officious bastard behind the counter when he sends you to the back of the queue for the third time. The trains, like the Thai ones, have seats that convert into bunks but this time there is no curtain, or sheets, or pillow or anything other than what can best be described as a shelf. It is upon this shelf that you try to grab some sleep while, around you, people continue getting on and off at stations throughout the night. Indian families have many virtues but silence is not one of them. The arrival of a new group invariably leads to a lengthy and loud exchange, more often than not involving the entire carriage. To add to the misery, people are allowed to pass through a carriage, many of whose occupants are children, selling rattles which double as whistles.

Above: Will I ever tire of pointing out rude-sounding place names from other countries? Probably not. This one is right up there with Wanaka, New Zealand.