Should we stay or should we Gringo?

After an awe-inspiring journey through Peru, with our hearts tuned in to the Latin beats and Castellano rolling freely off our tongues, we realised just how quickly we had grown to love this intriguing, inviting and edgy continent. And with six weeks to go, our distant homeland and the voices and faces of much loved and missed friends and family seemed closer than ever. It was time to wrap up our big adventure and journey through Argentina and Southern Bolivia, ending with a week on the beach in Copacabana, Rio.

Argentina was very much what we expected: a big, brash, confident nation, less than a century ago one of the richest in the world and after much economic and political turmoil, more determined than ever to succeed on the global stage. With an excellent infrastructure that towers over its South American neighbours, this is a comfortable country to travel across, and the quality and value of the food is astounding - some of the most succulent red meat we are ever likely to taste and coffee so rich and full-bodied that it rivals an espresso in Rome. Needless to say, the lure of all these comforts led us to stay in the bustling capital Buenos Aires for almost a week. We wandered around the barrios of Retiro & Palermo, sampling the delights of the confeterias, paradillas and cafes, remained mesmorised at the beautiful Recoleta cemetary, strolled nervously through the gritty backstreets and dockside of famous Boca with its coloured houses and opportunistic thieves, and even made it to the River Plate stadium to see Argentina vs Colombia in a 2010 qualifier. Argentina narrowly won, but had previouly lost 6-0 to Bolivia and would go on to lose 2-0 to Ecuador. I always enjoyed talking to Argentinians about their national team. They had that kind of resigned embarrassment we had when England failed to qualify for the last World Cup. Messi was off-key and Tevez barely moved. One guy I spoke to was convinced that Maradonna is like the players´ drug dealer but can currently only afford low quality cocaine. ´This is why they play so bad!´ he asserted. And watching the great Maradonna trying to command his players on the pitch at half time...well, he might as well have been David Brent. It comes as something when the look-a-like Maradonna we met seemed somehow more ´real´than the actual man himself. A national hero rapidly becoming a national joke, a national disgrace. Serious stuff aside, it was a great atmosphere and we certainly picked up a few more colouful Spanish phrases and the odd futbol chant:´ Ésta noche tenemos que ganar, a estos putos tenemos que cacar´ was our favourite - simple and straight to the point. Screams of ´horrible´ and ´burro´ (donkey) also had us in fits of laughter.

Anyway, after all this metropolitan mayhem, it was time to stike out to the provinces once again and a 22hr bus journey led us to the northwest corner of Argentina and the beautifully set city of Salta. We spent several days exploring the surrounding countryside on tours and in hire cars. The landscapes we took in were amongst the most stunning and dramatic we had seen all year. As we drove across the puna (high altitude deserts 5000m above sea level) we encountered a series of multi-coloured grandiose mountains - red for iron, green for copper and yellow for Jackoryte - where the Nasca and N. American plates had collided thousands of years ago, pushing the bottom of the ocean to the top of the mountain. Huge mounds of encrusted sand, all testament to the power of nature and the passage of time.

Everything was in 3D, just like in New Zealand, and every landscape gave us the sensation of being on another planet - a tough, desolate, fiery-red earth - the odd adobe abode that we did come across left us astounded as to how anyone could survive such a remote existence. And as we concluded that these people had more in common with their Bolivian neighbours - in wealth, dress, food, custom and look - we decided to make the journey across the border and see for ourselves what the so-called land of superlatives had to offer. It would be the poorest, coldest and highest country of all of South America.

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After a ´brief-ish´ 7 hour bus ride to the Argentine border, we had the slightly strange experience of simply walking into Bolivia. However, although it was only a matter of a few 100 feet, we might as well have been crossing into another world. Bolivia was a far cry from the majority of Argentina - the people, the clothes, the food, the smells - we were immediately intrigued.

Heading straight for the town of Tupiza, the starting point for four day trips across the coloured lakes and mountains of this SW corner of Bolivia, we experienced our first taste of Bolivian time-keeping - waiting until 3.30pm for the so-called 2pm bus to leave. ´Wow, we´re going to have to be really patient here´, we thought sagely. It was a couple of days later, after lots of frustrating waiting, that we found out Bolivia was actually an hour ahead of Argentinian time. Doh!

Once we had sorted out our watches, we headed off with two Israeli guyes (uncle and nephew) in our jeep, replete with driver and cook Lydia, for our four day ´South West circuit.´The scenery was out of this world - weird rock formations at over 5,000 feet above sea level, the brightest coloured lakes - emerald, red and blue - and of course, the highlight of the tour, the vast salt plain of Uyuni. Getting up at 5am, your feet crunching on layers of salt, to watch the sun rise over this remote, eerie landscape was truly breathtaking, like nothing we had ever seen before, almost like being on the surface of the moon.

The trip was also memorable for taking the dubious prize of ´coldest nights we have spent anywhere during the whole year´. Even a sleeping bag, four blankets and every scrap of clothing we owned wasn´t quite enough to keep the cold out in the basic mud huts we slept in. Despite this, it was a lot of fun and the pictures do not do the scenery justice - on the last night, we even slept in a salt hotel, made almost entirely from blocks of salt taken from the Salar - talk about blending in with your environment!

Once safely back in the windswept frontier town of Uyuni, we sorted out yet another bus on to Potosi, the highest city in Bolivia at over 4,000 feet, travelling across beautiful, desolate landscapes to this once mighty mining town, perched dramatically across it´s hillside setting. In need of a lower altitude and a few days to warm up and chill out, we carried on to the former capital city of Sucre, a white-washed gem of a place, filled with beautiful churches and the spirit of revolution. This was where Bolivia was founded once the Conquistadores were finally driven back to Spain, and the place retains an air of pride and verve. We spent several days just taking it all in; the fabulous market filled with fresh fruit and vegetables, every kind of food you can imagine and the most interesting faces. Once our batteries were recharged, it was all too soon time to move on to the capital proper, La Paz. First glimpses of this vast city take your breath away - masses of houses crammned into every space imaginable, clinging precipitously to the sides of the valley, with the sparkling, snow-capped tip of Mount Illimani in the background.

The city was a vibrant mix of shops, stalls, food markets and people - really friendly and bustling, it was a true melting pot of Bolivians from all over this spectacular country. All too soon, it was time to head back to Salta in Argentina and on to the spectacular Igauzu falls. Our time in Bolivia was brief, but memorable, and our taste of this fascinating place was enough to ensure we´ll definitely be coming back for further exploration in the not too distant future.

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And so as we returned to Argentina, passing through Salta and on to another 22hr bus journey to Puerto Iguazu, we soon felt that feeling of comfort and re-aquaintance with a familiar friend. Puerto Iguazu is of course the town that borders one of the seven wonders of the world: the jaw-dropping Cataratas de Iguazu, the Iguazu Falls. From the Brazilian side, the panoramic views showed the falls in all their glory - thundering, crashing, gushing cascades racing off cliff edges as far as the eye can see. And back in Argentina, we were treated to close encounters with evey section of the falls from all sides, best seen close up from the Isla de San Martin. For all the expectation, anticipation and prior knowledge of the falls, nothing can prepare you for the real thing. A life-affirming display from Mother Nature leaves you with that one single sensation we had felt on so many occassions in the previous year: God, we love travelling!.

But, with each journey comes an ending and with one eye on London, we jumped on a 26hr bus to Rio for a final week of sun and sand.

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So, we finally come to the end...or is it just the beginning? It´s hard to sum up the best year of our lives, the lists and numbers below make some attempt at that. But suffice to say that it wasn´t the walking with lions, exploring the Great Wall of China, jumping off a plane at 15000 ft or reaching Macchu Picchu after an exhausting four day trek. It wasn´t experiencing all of these magical moments just for the sake of experiencing them. It was the fact that we experienced them together - that we stood together as lions passed by in the South African bush, that we shared a strong embrace after reaching the top of the Great Wall in China, that we gave each other one last look as we rolled out of an aeroplane and that we walked alone together for the final two hours to reach the sun-drenched Inca citadel of Macchu Picchu. Call us soppy, but that´s what we´ll remember. Not that we experienced it. But that we experienced it together. That was the year.

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The year in numbers:
5 continents
16 countires
32 flights
94 localities
112 accommodations
21 forms of transport
1 wife/husband (...the one we left with)

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Top 10:

-Top archeological wonder - Pompeii, Italy
-Top wildlife experience - Mala Mala, Nelspruit, South Africa
-Top culinary adventure - China
-Top memorable activity - on land) sand buggying in Huacachina, Peru. in the air) skydiving in Taupo, New Zealand. on water) sea canoeing in Southern Thailand
-Top unexpected treasure - Laos and the Laos people
-Top night under the stars - Kangaroo Island, Australia (SA)
-Top self-drive - the Garden Route, South Africa
-Top awe-inspiring journey - Yangtze River, China
-Top rewarding multi-day trek - Inca Trail, Cusco, Peru
-Top stunning landscape - Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia

Overall winners:
1. Most yeared-for country - China
2. Most enjoyable city - Rome
3. Single favourite location of the entire 12 month adventure - a morning bush walk in Kruger National Park, South Africa.

Deepest, darkest...

During our exhaustive flight across from Auckland via Santiago to Lima we were full of giddy excitement - our first time in South America. What could we expect? Our mate Rich describes it as ´like Spain in the 70s´- so we were half expecting beefy sideburns, tight leather jackets and miniscule miniskirts...but no such luck. What we did find however in Peru, was a country of magnificent diversity: vast and sweeping deserts, lush alpine mountains and brooding jungle. Since we had used up all our superlatives during our time in stunning New Zealand, I had to consult the thesaurus for synonyms of the word ´amazing´. It gives: awesome, fascinating, incredible, marvelous, stunning, shocking, surprising, unbelievable, wonderful. If I could create one hyperlative from all of these words, it would only just about come close to what it is to see, experience and travel through Peru - a beautiful, life-affirming country - landscape and people. What´s more, we had our great mate Carolyn with us during the whole adventure - what a treat to share this time with such a dear friend.

After spending a couple of days in Lima recovering from the 17 hour time difference, we headed down the coast to Pisco - a small town and the jumping off point for the wonderful ´Ballestas Islands´. Given our preference for the Rough Guide over the Lonely Planet, our information was a few years out of date and the fact that the town had suffered a devasting earthquake just over a year ago had not hit our radar. It was both fascinating and sad to see such a destroyed corner of Peru - eighty per cent of the town had been affected, several hundred had been killed and only a few buildings (including our hostel) remained. We will never forget wondering around the local cemetery and seeing the crushed concrete stacks that housed the dead - all untouched (the Peruvians are very supersticious about death) - with some coffins smashed open, decaying corpses left visible. A lack of government investment and will and the reluctance of aid agencies to pump funds into an area that sits on fault lines meant that little had changed since the day the earthquake had struck eighteen months ago. A community in limbo.

After finding out what we could about Pisco and its story, we headed on a tour to the Ballestas Islands - a kind of mini Galapagos. We spent an amazing few hours by speed boat, spotting birds, penguins, pelicans and seals - it was an avian extravaganza and a great return for our ten dollars spent. Back in Pisco we gorged on a ´menu del dia´, knocked back a couple of the local tipples and indulged in the first of many gloriously gaudy cakes - bright pink and purple everywhere - we were truly sugared up by the time we hit the sack.

Once safely on land again, we headed further down the coast to Ica - a town famous for bodegas (wineries) and mountainous sand dunes. We stayed in the very surreal ´resort´of Huacachina - a small settlement carved into the bottom of giant sand dunes and existing purely for the purpose of travellers so that they could indulge in various sand dune activities. And indulge we did - face curling, hair-raising, eye-watering buggy rides up and down the giant dunes, the driver spinning, swerving, jolting, turning for maximum effect and crazy injury-inducing sand boarding down the dunes...it was a minor miracle that only one of our party suffered facial injuries on these kamakazi runs. After all the adrenaline, we chilled in the glorious sunshine by the tropical oasis that had formed naturally from the undeground water and indulged in a bottle of Pisco Sour. Talking of which, the following day we enjoyed a much gentler experience, touring the local bodegas - sampling the borgoño wine (insanely sweet and rather head-numbing)and the many varieties of the local Pisco spirit (kind of like Grappa but a little sweeter) - followed by a visit to the regional museum to see pre-Inca mummies preserved in foetal position and elongated skulls...freaky.

We also had the opportunity to go to the ´Pueblecito de Brujas´- the witches town. One of the most bizarre ´experiences´of our trip so far. Basically, they drive you to one of the dodgiest areas of town (to quote the driver - ´you´re not allowed to leave the vehicle here as there have been several tourist kidnappings recently´), drive you around the area and show you a statue of a ´witch´(apparently several centuries ago a mute child was brought to the local witches to cure his inability to speak - the head witch deemed that this child would go on to acheive great things for the country. The child eventually became President, sealing the witches infamy in Peruvian history forever.) How much of this was actually true was hard to fathom, as the guide could barely mask his laughter whilst recounting the tales of the witches sorcery, finishing his story by pointing out the only remaining son of the witches - an insanely senile octogenarian flailing in his wheelchair half-shouting, half-muttering obscenities in our general direction. How did Father Jack make it to Peru??

We were to see more skulls and bones at the next town of Nasca - famous for the Nasca Lines - giant figures etched into the sand hundreds of years ago by the Nascas - including a humming bird, a spider, and a lizard (whose hand is cut in half as the Pan American Highway runs through it - they hadn´t realised this when they built the road!). We took a tour of ancient citadels, aqueducts and open burial grounds - many of whose graves had been pilfered by robbers searching out ancient treasures - it was truly amazing to see such well preserved bones (skulls, teeth, spines and hair even) from bodies that were buried over eight hundred years ago scattered in the open sand...some of them had more hair on them than I do now! And of course, we flew over the giant enigmatic figures - a fantastic experience witnessing the etchings in all their glory spanning over many kilometres and only visible in full from the air. The mystery remains as to how and why the Nascas created these lines - a map to underground aqueducts? An offering to the Gods for water in this parched land? Or as Carolyn would have us belive - blatant evidence of alien life!

After all the heated discussions and debate it was time to head down the coast and inland to the wonderful city of Arequipa - high up in the mountains at over 2500m above sea level. The bus journey there was terrifying - not just for the dodgy martial arts film, but for the death-defying driving and hair-raising hairpin bends. We were sat at the top, at the front and on the right hand side. Less than a couple of metres from us was a sheer drop several hundreds of feet down into the crashing, unrelentless ocean. The driver's tactic was to take each corner at maximum speed, getting more and more daring every time. As the bus swerved dangerously from side to side, he went for his final audacious move - overtaking a lorry on a tight corner - the revs screamed up, the bus swerved to the left and then sharply to the right, the counter-swerve jolted us right on the edge of the cliff and lifted the left hand side of the bus up - passengers screamed, yelped and gasped - we clutched each others hands as tighly as possible before the bus reajusted back to the centre of the road. This terror continued for another hour. It was genuinely the closest we had come to death in the last 10 and a half months - a fine effort considering we had survived the Chinese roads!

Anyway, once we arrived safe and sound in Arequipa - we were delighted to find a beautiful, charming, self-assured city with stunning mountains as a backdrop - we fell in love with it instantly. We then headed on a two day tour to the wonderful Colca Canyon - driving over the highest road in Peru (almost five thousand metres), spotting vicuñas, llamas and alpacas along the way, marvelling at soaring Condors as they circled gracefully around the canyon´s chasm, and enjoying our first true taste of both Andean and rural Peruvian life - wonderful garments, story-board faces and a simplicity that warms the heart.

With a tinge of sadness, we left Arequipa, heading for even higher pastures in the shape of Puno on the shores of the famous Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world. Arriving in a blaze of sunshine, we headed straight for the most important thing on the list - lunch. Having satisfied our growing Alpaca steak addiction, we sorted out our tour for the next few days, then headed straight for yet another great cake shop - this was becoming a problem.

The next day we set off for two days of island-hopping, Peru style, starting with the floating Uros islands 20 minutes from Puno port. The islands are constructed entirely from reeds, which have to be replaced every ten to fifteen years, and still house whole communities, who use their reed boats to hop across to neighbours and barter goods in Puno city for everything else they need. Of course, tourism is the main income now, but jumping up and down on the reeds, climbing the watch towers and chatting to the families cooking lunch was a lot of fun - and we got to ride on a reed boat, the helm scuplted into the shape of a cool puma head!

Next stop was a more substantial three hour boat ride to the fixed island of Amantani, our home for the night. Met at the port by our smiling host Marlene, dressed to the nines in beautiful traditional embroidered skirts, we were led to the house and our first home-cooked lunch. After a great bowl of hearty quinoa soup, we were slightly fazed by the dish of ten huge potatoes and a slab of fried cheese, but we did our best to eat it all up, gratefully slurping the herby muña tea as a dessert.

A successful game of football (locals vs tourists) was played at almost 4,000 metres above sea level, during which B scored a memorable goal, helping restore tourist pride, but certainly needing a short rest afterwards! The evening continued with some ridiculous dressing up for Carolyn and I in traditional dress for the evening´s dancing. We did our best, but were no match for our sweet host, who was the catch of the island and a great dancer. Making our excuses early, we spent a while gazing at the stars in the fabulously clear night sky, even spotting a shooting star - it was magical.

The next day we awoke to clear skies and headed for the neighbouring island of Taquile, probably one of the most beautiful spots in Peru: fantastic walks, beautiful views, friendly locals and a plentiful supply of Inca Kola - which most Peruvians seem to drink gallons of. It's a yellow-coloured, tartrazine-filled, sweet pop and we loved it!

After the delights of Puno, it was time for one of the highlights of the whole trip - a memorable train journey on the ´Andean Explorer´through stunning countryside to Cusco and the start of our Inca Trail adventure. The train was like something from the thirties era of glamourous train travel, with beautiful wood panelling, upholstered armchairs as seats, a sumptous bar and observation carriage and complementary Pisco Sour cocktails - we were in heaven! We gorged on a la carte food, gazed for hours at magical scenery, waved at countless enthralled children (hardly any trains run in Peru currently aside from the tourist ones)sat back and enjoyed the luxury for the day.

Once in Cusco, we took in the fabulous churches, imposing plazas and multitude of well-preserved Inca ruins in preparation for the Inca trek - and enjoyed the countless good cafes and restaurants the city had to offer. After a few days of acclimitizing, we were ready to head out on the four day Inca trail, delighted that our group would be just the three of us and a lovely Swedish student, Maria. The first morning started with no hot water and a late pick-up, but improved from then onwards, as we got our first taste of the breathtaking scenery that would accompany us for the next few days - the turbulent Urubamba river, imposing glacial mountains and giant cactii. After a manageable first couple of hours, we stopped at the temporary camp for lunch and were in awe at the scenes of frantic organisation from the crack teams of porters and chefs accompanying each group of walkers as they prepared the first of many amazing meals - a fabulous three course lunch, that wouldn´t have looked out of place in a swish London restaurant, appeared magically from the small cooking tent, each course better than the last. We were well and truly stuffed, the pain coming only when we tried to start walking again, the lack of oxygen for both walking and digesting a major problem!

After a tough second day of almost 1000m ascent, followed by almost the same downhill, we had a gentler third day, on our own as a group on the trail for much of the time, a fabulous way to enjoy one of the most beautiful hikes we've been on without a doubt, camping in almost unbelievably picturesque sites. Rising at 4am on the final day for the last push to Macchu Picchu, we were excited and tired, but the views of the stunning Inca citadel as the sun rose over the mountains, did not disappoint. The ruins we had visited along the way were magnificent, but nothing could compare to the scale and beauty of this place, perched on the top of a mountain and surrounded by protective peaks, it was stunning. We spent several hours taking hundreds of photos and exporing the well-preserved ruins, before heading back, tired but triumphant, for our final couple of nights in Cusco.

Back in Lima, we reminisced over our time in Peru, struggling to find words to best describe our experience. Suffice to say...Peru is simply hyperlative.

Good for the soul...

As we flew over the Tasman sea, getting a final glimpse of Sydney harbour, we were full of excitement and anticipation - we were after all heading...for New Zealand!

Ever since we conceived of this trip, NZ was always high up on the list and we were desperately hoping that we would not be disappointed. At times it is difficult to match up your prior perceptions of a country with the reality once you are there: we could have put money on the fact that we would be thrilled by Japan yet we left a little underwhelmed, we were unsure of what to expect from China but we were totally blown away, and Laos - a country we didn't even originally plan to visit- still holds a special place in our hearts. So how would NZ fair?

...it was simply stunning! or as Murray would say in Flight of the Conchords: 'New Zealand...rocks!!!'

One traveller we met neatly summed it up: 'other countries you visit have beautiful vistas, sweeping coasts, snowy mountains and gorgeous beaches. New Zealand has all of this - and whats more, it's in 3D.' As we travelled through both the South and North islands it was one stunning landscape after another - once you learn to close you mouth through the gawping at the sheer beauty, it becomes more viceral and you connect with the landscapes around you. All we could keep saying was: 'wow, this place is good for the soul'. An Indian taxi driver we met said that when he left Delhi for NZ and first got a glimpse of Queenstown all he could think was: 'if there is a heaven, it must surely look like this'.

After chilling out in Wellington for five days (we realised we hadn't stopped in one location for more than four days since mid-November!) in a homely flat overlooking the harbour, it was time to hit the South Island. We travelled through sunny Nelson, coastal Abel Tasman, the breathtaking Marlborough Sounds, the picturesquely set Queenstown and sublime Milford Sounds before heading back to the North Island to take in the lake towns of Rotorua and Taupo and the alpine climbs of Tongariro. And as ever, we had much fun along the way...

Super Furry Animals:

Unsurprisingly, New Zealand has offered us ample opportunities to continue feeding our near-obsession with all forms of funky wildlife. I (SB) in particular have fallen in love with the national emblem of this wonderful country, the Kiwi bird. In Wellington, we went searching for these shy, nocturnal flightless animals on a night walk in the Karori sanctuary, a huge forested area where the Kiwi, once close to extinction, are protected from predators like stoats and possums, allowing the population the chance to get back to normal levels. True to form, while everyone was stumbling around, a Kiwi was spotted standing nonchanlantly watching us by B, ensuring us the best view of one of these cute creatures, which most New Zealanders haven't been lucky enough to see in the wild. Things got even better during our visit to a conservation project in Rotorua, when we met a brand new Kiwi chick, hatched only an hour before we arrived, a bundle of damp feathers, a ridiculous beak and huge feet - honestly, very cute! So it's offical, we have become twitchers...there is no hope for us.

I believe I can fly...

Some of you have enquired whether the adrenalin sports bug has bitten us since we arrived in NZ, given the ample opportunities here to throw yourself off pretty much anything you want. You'll be glad to know that we have taken advantage of almost everything dangerous we could get our hands on. We started in Nelson, in the South island, with tandem paragliding - an awesome experience where you get to look like a Top Gun extra in your jumpsuit, clip on a big harness (and on to your pilot), walk off a very high hill and you're in the air. It was magical, as close to flying as it's possible to get. Gazing over the oceans and forest, the world looked beautiful and we were hooked. What could we try next?

Arriving in Queenstown, we jumped straight on the Shotover Jet - a water-propelled jet boat that you whiz up and down a very narrow river on at ridiculous speeds, the driver twisting perilously close to the canyon walls and spinning round 360 degrees, several times. I would describe it as a rollercoaster ride on water and one of the most fun things we have done. Not content to stop there, we splashed out on a long-held dream and went up at dawn over Queenstown for an hour long flight in a hot air balloon, rising through the eerily quiet cloud cover to see another world of mountain tops glistening in the early morning sun. It was truly brilliant - very civilised and very cool, finished off with a great champagne breakfast, which B took full advantage of, polishing off enough to feed several overweight Americans - well, we had paid for it!

Surely that was enough, but no, we had one last big flourish left - the ultimate: a tandem skydive from 15,000 feet over Lake Taupo, the glistening cone of the Tongariro volcano in the background. More jumpsuits, an even better harness and a fantastic plane ride later, we found ourselves sat on the edge of the plane, legs dangling and then woosh!, we were in freefall, the power and intensity of the wind blasting against your face, the world laid out in technicolour before you - it felt fantastic, and as we floated gently down to the ground, celebrating what we had just experienced, we knew we would be doing it again - one day!


A world in 3D:

It would be a crime not to spend a few minutes eulogising about the absolute insane natural beauty of New Zealand. The South Island in particular is stunning - snow-capped mountains, vast lakes, deep fjords, it really has got it all. Our favourites were: a horseride through Paradise, the venue for much of the filming for the LOTR trilogy, gazing out over the river plains in the sunshine, half-expecting a hobbit to run out from behind one of the trees in the beech forest; a spectacular cruise past majestic waterfalls, playful seal pups and staggering mountain peaks on Milford Sound, the most accessible of the fjords in the southern-most tip of the South, bathed once again in sun (we have been so lucky with the weather); and marvelling at various geysers, multi-coloured lakes, hot springs and plopping mud pools in the active geothermal areas of Rotorua and Taupo in the North Island.

Wine not?
After sampling the delectable wines and scrumptious winery cuisine in both South Africa and Australia, there was no way we were going to pass up the chance to get our lips around some cheeky Pinot in NZ. We visited small family productions in Nelson (we had one of the best wines we have ever tasted - 'Tom's Block' - at Neudorf), explored the famous Marlborough wine trail, and delighted in the 'trust the chef' menu in the Central Otago Amisfield winery overlooking Lake Hayes close to Queenstown. It's true: we have put on some poundage, enjoyed a tipple or two and are officially obsessed with tasty reds.

Take a hike!
Many people know New Zealand for its famously accessible and jaw-droppingly beautiful hikes - reputed to be some of the finest in the world. In preparation for our Machu Picchu trek next month, we thought we had better get in some training. We tackled some of the awesome 'Great Walks': Abel Tasman coastal track (25km of beech forest overlooking stunning beaches, alcoves, bays and inlets; and the Queen Charlotte Track (25km hiking along an undulating mountain ridge with the stunning Kenepuru Sound on one side and Queen Charlotte Sound on the other). We loved the lake and beach walks in Nelson, Wanaka, Te Anau and Taupo and took on some steep ascents in Queenstown (Bob's peak) and Milford (mountainous Key Summit and a scramble to the alpine Lake Marian). All in all, we really enjoyed the hiking here. We loved the feeling of reward and refresh you get on completion and the opportunity to breathe in the scenery and share the experience together.


After all this adventure we headed back to Auckland for a final couple of days. Our penultimate night was spent with some of S's cousins who left mighty Blighty for the kiwi lifestyle. We had a wonderful time sharing family stories, travelling tales and kiwi anecdotes. It was such a fitting ending to our time here. New Zealand feels like a distant cousin - a place you know of, feel immediately familiar with and easily enjoy.

So, after all this 'visiting' it is time to hit the 'travelling' circuit again. New cultures, different languages, new foods, drinks, smells, sights, tastes. It is time to head for South America - the final leg of our year long adventure.

What you gotta do, to catch yourself a roo?

After six months in Asia it was time to bid this beguiling part of the world a fond farewell. It had truly worked itself inside of us - permeating our thoughts, emotions, senses, feelings. We only truly realised the full impact of this after a few weeks in Australia. Working your way around a developed country feels more like 'visiting' than 'travelling' - the culture shock, frenetic energy and assault on your senses just isn't quite there. That's not to say Australia isn't an astounding country to visit - it is, it's just that it feels scarily like home - and that kind of messes with your head.

So, with our heads slightly frazzled, we decided to see what this great land had to offer...

After a couple of days in Sydney hitting the sights - ok, yes the Opera House and Harbour are amazing, the Manly ferry is a great trip, the coastal walks are breathtaking, Bondi is good fun and the burbs have a great character all of their own - we hired a car and headed out of the city, as we had come to the conclusion some time ago that adventure was best found outside of the main conurbations.

In true B&S fashion, the best antidote to the bustling city was to head to the Hunter Valley - one of Oz's premier wine regions - we gorged on delectable food, sipped, swallowed, gargled and drank our way through several fine wines and stayed in a gorgeous countryside lodge - complete with complementary cheese and port - it was heavenly! After larding it up, we drove three hours south west to the stunning Blue Mountains National Park - what a glorious, majestic place - great walks and astounding scenic lookouts - what a soul-cleanser!

After a swift plane journey we soon found ourselves in Melbourne - a sophisticated, easy-going, cultural, livable city with plenty to offer. We hung out for a few days and then headed on a tour of beautiful Phillip Island - a wild and stunning island with fascinating and comical penguins providing great entertainment as well as the opportunity to feed orphaned baby wallabies. The recent wildfires had destroyed so much of beautiful Victoria - it was shocking to see and unfathomable to comprehend what it must have felt like to be confronted with such a ferocious natural force. In true Aussie spirit, things were being rebuilt, reinvented and reinvigorated but the threat of worse fires in years to come is very real.

Our time in Melbourne was wonderfully rounded off visiting friends Jag and Shane and their beautiful three children. It had been five years since we last saw them but it was like picking up from where we left off. They have a beautiful home and a wonderful family - it was a priveledge to be part for it for just a few days.

Next, it was time to venture off to drive the famed Great Ocean Road on our way to Adelaide. The drive was fantastic, bringing back happy memories of a similar sojourn down Highway 1 (also known as the 'Big Sur' coast road) in California a few years ago on our honeymoon. We made several stops along the way, but the highlights included: a beautiful, desolate beach at Wye River Creek which we stopped at for lunch on our first full day, superb views over lovely Apollo Bay from a viewpoint shared with a majestic white horse (we also got to stay in one of the most amazing 'hostels' there - a purpose-built YHA costing a million dollars with all mod cons, resembling a Philip Starck-inspired cube - we couldn't quite believe our luck!), the awe-inspiring rock formations of the 12 Apostles and London Bridge, and of course, the powerful Southern Ocean crashing on to the beaches below all the way down the coast.

Leaving the coast road behind, we drove on to Adelaide, stopping en route to visit the picturesque Barossa Valley (yes, more wine...), home to many of the wineries which produce the lip-smacking New World wines so popular across the globe. We stayed in a cozy little cottage and sampled some great reds, along with some waistline-expanding food - glorious! Arriving in Adelaide itself, we further indulged our growing caffeine addiction, then headed straight for a two-day odyssey on Kangaroo Island, one of the last remaining truly untouched areas of Australia, with world-renowned wildlife. Arriving at the ferry port, the sun burning our skin, we headed straight to see fur seals frolicking with their pups on the beach, spotted koalas up in their gum trees, indulged in a spot of sand-boarding, and watched rare Echidna (like a punk porcupine) work their way across the open pains. We camped out overnight at the tour company's cottage set in miles of natural vegetation, spending the time dodging kangaroos and wallabies, tucking into a proper Aussie BBQ, replete with kanga burgers, then went to spot penguins coming home at night and fell asleep watching the stars twinkling above us. It was fantastic - a real getaway and more fuel for the soul.

Returning to Sydney, we spent our last night in Oz reminiscing about the best bits over a glass of wine in the Sydney Opera House bar, looking out over the sparkling lights of Sydney Harbour and it's famed bridge - for all our lauded musings about 'visiting' versus 'travelling', perhaps after 8 months on the road, turns out this visiting lark is actually rather good.

Next stop, New Zealand - time to be blown away by breathtaking landscapes...

Lao-Lao.

So elusive were the monkeys however, that we never got to see them...two days before we were due to fly out, an email informed us that our trip was cancelled due to severe flooding and road damage in Sabah, Malaysian Borneo. Checking the local paper reports online, we discovered several villages had been airlifted to safety, with several more still cut off. It was clearly not meant to be. We had to come up with a plan and fast - it was too expensive to fly to Oz early, and with Malaysia well and truly explored, we considered several options, finally settling on Laos.

Having heard so many positives about this mystical country from fellow travellers in Thailand and Cambodia, amazed we hadn't included it in our original itinerary, we were excited to see what the 12 days we had to spend in the country would bring - and we weren't disappointed. Laos was more naturally beautiful than either Thailand or Cambodia, with stunning rivers, lush vegetation, misty, tree-topped, hills and mountains and windy roads revealing a multitude of lively, small villages filled with straw huts, populated with a huge range of ethnic groups, each with their own traditions and dress, and what seemed like hundreds of small children, often grubby, but nearly always smiling and playing happily, despite having almost nothing. The people we found to be very laidback and gentle, the language was similar with some words and phrases easy to pick up, the effort always rewarded by a positive reaction. They seemed to have accepted the relatively recent influx of tourists and backpackers with interest and lots of genuine warmth and hospitality in the vast majority of cases.

We explored as much of the country as we could in the short two weeks we had. We took in numerous memorable, but incredibly long and windy, bus journeys, accompanied by - amongst other things - a mixture of rabbits, chickens, sacks of rice and on one 3 hour journey, 35 stops! We opted mainly for the cheap public buses alongside the locals, who ate 'snacks' along the way which included whole roasted spiders, grilled frogs, and various 'mystery' meats and then proceeded to try desperately not to throw up, apparently suffering from motion sickness!

We explored the riverside and historic sights and temples of ancient Luang Prabang, the country's second city, and spent a day kayaking down the nearby beautiful Nam Ou river, braving some fun but fast rapids, frequently greeted by local children screaming 'Sabaidee! (Hello!)' from the riverbanks where they stood panning for tiny scraps of gold still present in the waters. Stopping by the riverside at a convenient point for our lunch of sticky rice, accompanied by a variety of scrummy concoctions of vegetable and meat dishes, all served on a huge banana leaf, we were watched from a safe distance by a group of children from a nearby village. Once we'd stuffed our faces, the guide asked whether we were happy for the kids to come and eat what was left. Once beckoned over, the beaming faces neatly and speedily finished every morsel, with no fuss but much enjoyment - it was a lovely sight.

We then headed north where we taught twenty 4 - 6 year old children in the village we stayed the night in, the lyrics to 'Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes', 'Old MacDonald', 'Hello' by Mr Lionel Richie, Wham's 'Last Christmas', Take That's 'Never Forget' and Guns and Roses' 'Paradise City' on one memorable afternoon during a trek deep into the protected forests of far northern Luang Nam Tha. B was in his element, responding to the constant demands of 'Sing a song!' with vigour and the finest pop songs he could muster. The smiling children also tried patiently to teach us an old song in their Khmu dialect, with varying degrees of success, but much hilarity. The warmth, intelligence and vivacity of these lovely kids is something we won't forget in a hurry. Neither are their cheeky faces and shared giggles when we turned up to see them in their village school the morning after, along with the fantastic group of trekkers we shared the two days with, from places as diverse as Amsterdam and Tel Aviv, via Walthamstow and Dublin - they made it a lot of fun.

So what else to say? Laos was a country not of 'must-see' sights at a hectic pace, but more a place to savour things at a Laos-style pace, to soak up the atmosphere over a cup of Laos coffee, some of the best we've tasted on our travels. It's best remembered in the hidden delights of small villages and beautiful scenery we came across walking on long dusty roads, warm welcoming smiles from villagers living a lifestyle little changed in over 100 years, browsing the beautiful silks and loom-woven materials in the colourful, buzzing nights markets and watching the world go by on one of the many rivers. There was much we didn't get the chance to see in our time there, but we were well and truly hooked and hope to re-visit this tranquil, alluring country in the near future. For now, it's back to bustling KL, followed by a bus ride to Singapore and the start of the next chapter of our travels.

Asia says 'goodbye' and Oz says 'hello'.

Truly Asia!

As we said a sad goodbye to Cambodia, it was time to move onto Malaysia. A short flight from Phnom Penh to KL, a bus ride up the west coast and we soon found ourselves in vibrant Georgetown - a bustling melting pot of a city in the heart of Penang Island. And what an introduction to Malaysia: a microcosm of the finest elements that make up this wonderful country: crumbling colonial buildings, lip-smackingly tasty food (the best south Indian banana-leaf curries outside of India, a myriad of inventive Cantonese dishes easily as good as those in HK or mainland China, and adrenaline-pumping spicy Malay cuisine - deep rendang curry, nasi lemak and kangkong belechan) and highly visible, distinctive religions practiced day-by-day, side-by-side (on one corner of downtown Georgetown stands a huge mosque whose golden tops shimmer in the searing afternoon sun, an impressive white-washed Catholic church, an elaborate Chinese buddhist temple and an amazingly intricate Hindu temple whose outside walls and rooftops are adorned with statues depicting a whole host of deities and fables). 'What a wonderfully tolerant society!' we thought.

This utopic thought was soon shattered in a brief encounter with a fierce looking Chinese lady in her mid-fifties. As we climbed up the hill in workaday Ayer Itam district to reach the Kek Lok Si temple, the Chinese lady struck up conversation:

'You're very adventurous!' she exclaimed.
'Why's that?' we replied.
'You don't get many tourist this far out of town.' she confirmed.
'OK' we responded non-plussed.
'How long you been in Penang?' she enquired.
'Two days.' we said.

Silence. She leant in.

'Too many muslims!' she barked.

Where the heck did that come from?! Out of nowhere! Nothing we had done or said vaguely suggested that we wanted such a discussion. Yet, she felt we could be trusted with, or perhaps that we needed to be informed of, this vital piece of survival info.

'They are all violent!' she continued. 'they will snatch your bag and run you over!. They not even care if you die!'.

Just as we were about to counter-argue this blatant display of religious intolerance, the weirdest thing happened...

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a spindly, dark, muslim man with crazed eyes and a raggedy demeanour walked right up behind us and started growling.

'Roar.' he whispered. 'Roar' he growled. 'Roar!' he shouted. 'I am a werewolf! I am a werewolf!' he motioned with his hands a pair of ferocious claws shredding his prey. 'I am a werewolf!' he shouted and ran off into the dense forest. I will never forget his eyes - steely, intense, maniacal - pure lunatic.

Well, that kind of destroyed any counter-argument we were about to fire back at the biggoted Chinese lady. Strangely enough, she was totally oblivious to all of this and I guess that sort of summed up her blinkered view of the world - completely unaware and bound by her own beliefs. Well, at least we can say we met a werewolf!

After several days in Penang, we embarked on a long bus journey to the Cameron Highlands - a cool hill-top station retreat created by British colonials eager to escape the tropical Malaysian climate. And what a retreat! - within one hour of arriving we were sat down sipping the best tea we had tasted since leaving London last year and gorging on dreamily soft scones filed with oozing cream and fresh strawberry jam. Heaven. During the next few days we explored the surrounding dramatic countryside landscape - endless lush-green rolling hills covered in immaculately preened tea plants tendered by expert Indian farmers shipped over on five year contracts. We toured the Boh Estate Tea Plantation, ventured into the magical mossy forest (it was straight out of Midsummer Night's Dream - we half expected to feel the shadows of Bottom, Puck and Titania floating past us) and embarked on some tough but rewarding countryside hikes. All this was rounded off by the wonderful guesthouse we stayed in. It felt like home.

Tired of long bus journeys, we treated ourselves to a minivan ride to Kuala Tahan - a small fishing village that nestles alongside the protected Malaysian jungle - Tamen Negara. The journey was made a lot more fun by a lovely English couple we met - they had a refeshingly open attitude to traveling and a great sense of humour. We chatted, debated and laughed all the way. Once we settled into our hut for the night, we were ready to tackle the next few days ahead. We explored as much of the jungle as we could on our own. We set off armed with Malaysian rice dishes wrapped in banana leaves, purchased from the foodstalls that lined the river and a very vague trail map. We walked for hours and hours without a single sole on sight. We came across monkeys, wild board, monitor lizards and loads of creepy crawlies: fat ones, thin ones, long ones, ugly ones, beautiful ones, tiny ones, huge ones, hairy ones - it was like nothing we had seen or heard before - like being in a wildlife documentary. Shame our camera couldn't capture the magic - it finally get crushed in my pocket as I crawled through a narrow cave full of bullfrogs, snakes and hundreds of bats flying straight past my head.

We left the jungle by motorized sampan and traveled two hours upstream to the town of Jeruntut where we caught a connecting bus to KL. As we arrived in this huge and hectic city, we got that same feeling we had in Hong Kong and Bangkok. Something so reassuringly familiar about the bustle, the noise, the volume of people, the sounds and sights of everyday life that made it feel instantly like home. We stayed a week.

After taking in the old Portuguese port of Melaka and the rather uninspiring Singapore, it was soon our last day in mainland Malaysia after a wonderfully varied four weeks. It was time to fly to Borneo. Our mission: to find the elusive probiscus and wild orang-utan. It's all about the monkeys.

Heartwarming smiles...

Our next stop was Cambodia - so close to Thailand in distance, yet so far away in developmental terms. While the hardened Thais have consumed modernisation at a rapid pace - with some positive effects (cheap and accessible) and some negative consequences (vast coastal areas overrun by rampantly developed, unsympathetically designed construction) - Cambodia remains in recovery mode.

The more you travel, the more you question the role of development. A total paradox: so many times you look at the limitations of a developing nation (lack of clean water, intermittent electrical supply, poorly constructed or non-existent road network, poor housing, sporadic and often dangerous transportation), marvel at the ingenuity of people as they get through their everyday lives and ultimately aspire to all those ailments being remedied. Yet upon reaching this utopia, your heart sinks at the anti-climactic realisation that the end result may just be a totally homogenous world - where everything looks the same, feels the same and works the same. Perhaps it is the broken, the malfunctioning, the oddities and the all too temporary solutions that define the essence and character of a nation. We felt that Japan was an example of a country that has lost a big part of its national identity in favour of over-zealous over-consumption, modernistion and americanisation. The end result: a population that seems overworked, regimented and rarely satisfied. For now, Cambodia is a million miles away from Japan. The first thing that hits you about this beautiful country is its fragility. Its naivety. The second is the sick feeling you get when you realise that people purposely target this vulnerability for their own means, their own pleasures: corruption is rife, drugs are openly sold and children are physically and sexually exploited. With a life expectancy of 55 and an average annual income of under 300 pounds, hope for these children seems at times so futile. Like when you see a half-naked infant screaming on the filthy pavement (helpless like a beetle on its back) not a guardian in sight; or when a toddler in tatty, dirty threads raises their hand to you and in a lifeless drone simply says "money?"; or when you see a young girl sat at a cafe-bar table with a middle-aged western man with grey hair (they all look the same - that same preying stance) with that all too familiar glassy-eyed look (where the eyes speak of an internal prison, a childhood lost) something I had seen so many times before in my African travels.

But all said and done, you do feel hope for Cambodia. Because despite what it has been through, their tragic recent past (in the 70s, aided by American bombing over the Cambodia-Vietnam border, Pol Pot's brutal Khmer Rouge took control and subsequently tortured and massacred over one fifth of the entire population - anyone of intellect or who could be accused of being an 'enemy' was callously slaughtered) and despite the fact that those who committed the attrocities and those who remain victims, live side by side, this is a nation of remarkably resilient and optimistic people. The warmest, friendliest welcome we have ever received and the broadest of heart-warming smiles at every corner.

So...what did we see and do in Cambodia?

We explored ancient, crumbling majestic temples, constructed over 1000 years ago. The Angkor complex is as awe-inspiring as the travel brochures would have you believe. We even saw some fantastically cheeky monkeys swinging on the branches of the kapok trees that surround and encroach upon these wonderful ruins ...(our aim is to see monkeys in every country we visit!). We took long, bumpy,meandering tuk tuk rides deep into the Cambodian countryside along the border with Vietnam - like the most beautiful film you have ever seen, or the most amazing series of paintings brought to life - a beautifully real collection of countryside vignettes: young children cyling out of school gates on adult bikes - teetering precariously but joyfully exclaiming "hello!" as you amble past; the toothless granny at the side of the road with a forrest of logs strapped to her back, stopping in her tracks to acknowledge you - with the gentlest of head movements but the warmest of connections; or the young calf that stopped to suckle his mother in the middle of a busy country road - oblivious to all around him. He had what mattered: food, security and a loving mother.

We also explored the capital - a crazy, densely populated, poor city with some good bars, foodstalls (the fish amok curry is mouthwatering) and excellent displays of their recent history (the visits to the Killing Fields and the S21 torture prison are something we will never forget. Yet it continues to happen: Zimbabwe, DRC. History repeating). B also particularly enjoyed the theatre of bargaining at the local markets - everyone's an aspiring stage actor there - feigned gestures, over-dramatic sighs and telling smiles. He was scarily good at it.

We took in the beautiful coastal town of Sihanoukville (imagine the beaches of Thailand, just less developed and more laid back), soaking up the sun and getting very boozy on S's 32nd birthday with some lunatic Aussie girls; strolled around the old colonial town of Kampot (buildings of faded decadence lining the tidal river); and visited the 60s French seaside resort of Kep - a great place to eat crab. You order it, they walk into the sea, grab it and cook it. Now that's what we call 'from source to plate'!

It was indeed an emotional, thought-provoking, amazing thirteen days in Cambodia. We didn't take many photos ('yipee!' we hear you cry) - Cambodia seems a place of privately shared memories. Memories we will never forget.

Canoeing into the sunset...

As we reflected on our time in the north, we realised we had totally fallen in love with Thailand - welcoming people, lush countryside and delicious food. A twelve hour train ride later and we were back in Bangkok at our cozy guesthouse that was starting to feel like a real home from home. The next day we hit some of Bangkok's key sights: a long and meandering boat trip down the Chao Phraya river (the romanticism slightly shattered as bags of trash rain past you, thrown off by people at almost every bridge you pass under - food, plastic, waste and other garbage...I guess the Waterways Environmental Unit may not yet be established - or perhaps they were on a very long lunch break...); wandering in awe through the ornate, over-elaborate Grand Palace, ancient structures weighed down by glistening gold - an amazing sight but that same sense of uneasiness you get at almost all Buddhist temples in South East Asia - a destitute population struggling to survive, juxtaposed by the vast quantities of gold that are poured into sights of religious worship - even after our time in China, we had quickly come to the conclusion that Buddha was a capitalist - a master businessman - every prayer, every trinket, every offering - all cost money. Bartering was the order of the day at the market stalls along the vibrant travellers district of Kao San Road (imagine the stalls at Glastonbury plonked in the middle of a random part of a sprawling Asian city and you'll get the picture) - you can get anything there - clothes, household goods, furniture, food, drugs and fake I.D (my favourite sign was 'Birth Certificate only 5000Baht!' - bargain!). All this interspersed by some great food as always - curries of every colour (red, green, yellow) and some delicious stir fries.

Still, our time in Bangkok was shortlived as we headed off on an early morning bus for the six hour road journey to Trat on the east coast - the jumping off point for the ferries to the island of Ko Chang. All manner of people were crammed into the rickety bus - farangs, holidaying Thais, some Asian tourists, mates of the driver that he picked up along the way and the most unconvincing lady boy I think I'm ever likely to see - imagine Martin Johnson in drag complete with appallingly-applied make up. Still, before we knew it we pulled up at a food stop two hours into the journey, S stayed on the bus while I hopped off for my latest chocolate fix. After perusing the sweet treats on offer, I ambled back to the parked bus only to find to my great surprise that the bay was empty, 'mmm' I thought - 'not quite six months into our trip and I've already 'misplaced' my wife'. Perhaps they've gone to get some food somewhere else, or some petrol or they're picking someone else up, perhaps they're being robbed or maybe S has asked the driver just to drive onto the coast without me - after all 24/7 with me for 6 months is bound to take it's toll on even the most devoted wife. Eventually - 30 minutes later - the bus pulled up again and to my relief there sat my grinning wife, relaxed as ever wondering what the worry was - they had just gone to get some petrol at a cheaper stop down the road! 'Perhaps we should leave the bus together next time?' I suggested. S just sat there, still grinning.

Three hours later and the stifling bus abruptly drew to a halt. 'Bus station!' the driver shouted and a frantic Thai lady ran up the stairs into the bus shouting 'ferry ticket! ferry ticket!'. Like moths drawn to light, we gingerly emerged out into the open, only moments before getting that increasingly familiar feeling when you're just about to be scammed. The bus zoomed off and we were stuck in the middle of nowhere in a town we knew nothing about. Skimming a portion of costs each, the local lady re-selling the ferry ticket, the bus driver and the eagerly awaiting songtheaw driver all took a cut as each farang paid marginally over the odds to get to our final destination. Occupational hazard I'm afraid. Things didn't get any better when it soon became apparent that we were sharing the ride with some lunatics from Barcelona utterly high on whatever concoction of drugs they had managed to score and a positively maniacal septarian driver with eyes like marbles - well, at least that's how he drove.

Ten hours after setting off, we eventually arrived at our wooden bungalow - six pounds a night and an awesome location. As we released our coffin-like rucksacks to the ground, we started chatting to a perma-traveller (one of those guys who took a gap year before going to uni and never quite found the right moment in the last decade to return home). He was from Nottingham and continually raved about how great the accommodation and staff were. Five minutes later the owner returned - an arrogant English guy in his early forties, tight curly hair and a long rubbery face. 'No, there's no booking, I sent you an email four days ago. I don't want people staying in my place for just one night the day before New Years Eve'. His tone was sharp and defensive. He had obviously messed up. We had received no e-mail and it was 6 pm on a very full island on 30th December. This was not good. I thought S was going to rip his head off or crush his elongated smug-face. But, we tried to adopt a more positive attitude and asked to use his phone to ring around or whether he could offer any recommendations. 'No! I'm too busy. Don't bother ringing, just start walking. I've got some very important posters to print!'. Go on S, kick his arse! But no, we just turned around and walked away. Fortunately the perma-traveller offered us a lift and within an hour we were in a cozy bamboo hut for 3 pounds owned by a lovely Thai family who didn't speak a word of English. How utterly, disappointingly embarrassing then that the one idiot we met in Thailand was English. Bloody English. Anyway, two hours later, we had a large, cold bottle of Singha in each hand and were enjoying a rich and spicy green curry. The next morning we were up bright and early and on a wooden boat for two more hours to a very remote island Ko Mak - home to only a few hundred people. We had a lovely four days chilling by the beach, sipping cold beer, swimming in the sea and planning the next leg of our travels. As we laid in our hammocks on the stroke of midnight on New Years Eve, with a glass of wine in our hands, we realised that things were going pretty well.

On our return to Bangkok, we met a lovely couple from London and had a fun night out with them in the capital (marred only slightly by the rat the size of my foot that was running around between the tables of the road-side food stall) before heading off to Phuket for some more beach fun. After splashing out in a posh resort for two nights we returned to the traveller circuit in Ao Karon and hit the clear blue waters for the next three days. We canoed around remote islands, lunching on a wooden boat and swimming with the Thai crew in between our paddling (it was great fun hurling ourselves off the top of a huge wooden boat!), we explored isolated sea caves (hongs) in the late afternoon, followed by a sunset dinner and a night time exploration into the lagunas, lying flat in the canoe the current drew us into the caves and we lit candles on ceremonial offerings made from banana leaves and bright flowers which we floated away after making a heartfelt wish. We really hope it comes true. On the last day we travelled three hours by car and speed boat to get to the remote Ko Similans and experienced some amazing snorkelling - startlingly clear, a myriad of vividly coloured fish, and gleaming coral - a beautiful, calm, life-affirming ocean spectacle.

Thailand - we will certainly be back.

No Thai like the present...

We last left you in Tokyo, reminiscing over our Japanese experience. Our final night was very happily spent with a certain Mr David Rae, who happened to be over in the land of the rising sun for the Man U Club World Cup game. Despite the ridiculous Japanese prices, we managed to get through a rather hefty amount of Jack Daniels and coke/lager in an Irish bar in Roppongi Hills, catching up on all the latest news from Blighty and putting the world to rights. It was a great night, and a fitting way to end our Japan leg - big thanks Dave! It was only when we realised we had no choice but to leave just after midnight to get the last train back to our hotel (taxis were out of the question!), a good hour and a bit across town, that the reality of the situation set in.

Through the whiskey haze, we managed to negotiate the train journey in one piece, but luck ran out when we got hopelessly lost trying to find our hotel the other end. We finally found the shopping mall it was located in (Japan is weird like that!), but couldn't find any way to get in, all doors seemingly locked for the night. After what seemed like hours traipsing round the huge perimeter of the building, we finally managed to sneak in a staff entrance following behind a kindly staff member, who took pity and pointed us in the right direction. We crawled into bed, managing to set the alarm for three hours later, as we had an early flight to Bangkok to catch later that morning!

Things seemed even worse when we awoke at 5.30am, as the worst hangover of all time kicked in with full effect. To add to our woes, we then realised we had managed to spend pretty much all of our remaining cash. Not a problem in most cases, just pay another trip to the cashpoint, I hear you cry. Not so easy in Japan unfortunately, where the only international ATMs don't open until 9.30am and the public transport system doesn't accept card! We had to get to the airport though, so ended up spending a fortune on the limousine airport bus which left from the hotel, which to our relief happily accepted the Visa we waved desperately at the bemused hotel staff.

We made it to the airport in time, hangover still kicking in vigorously, and on to the plane, but the alcohol gods weren't yet done. To add to our misery, it was the smallest plane yet for economy, a matter made worse by the gentleman seated 'next' to me (SB), a portly Japanese chap, who proceeded to get through four bottles of the cheap red plonk on offer, then fall fast asleep on my shoulder, dribbling and snoring away. A kindly hostess rescued the situation, but safe to say, it will not go down as one of my favourite flying experiences...

Leaving the hangover behind, we turned our attention to our new home for the next few weeks, Thailand. For once, we found the guesthouse in Bangkok no problem, and it was absolutely brilliant. Named 'Cozy Bangkok Place', it was owned by a lovely Thai couple, who were so friendly, helpful and welcoming, you could have stayed there for weeks. After a good night's sleep in a great bed, we hit the city, which we instantly felt comfortable in, meeting friendly, genuine people all over town, from the hustle and bustle of Chinatown to the shopping frenzy of Siam Square. The first couple of days were also a great introduction to real Thai food - fantastic Phad Thai noodles, spicy whole white fish grilled in front of you and delicious green curry to die for, all at rock bottom prices. Surprisingly enough, we were like pigs in muck tucking into the best nosh Bangkok had to offer.

After a couple of days, we headed up on the 12 hour train to Chiang Mai, in the far north of the country, promising to come back to Bangkok for another taste later in the trip. The journey went surprisingly quickly, helped along by the complementary fantastic food, drinks and home-made banana cake (Virgin have got nothing on these guys) and offered unmissable views through the ever-changing countryside. Huge, gleaming Buddhas sat serenely high up in the hills, smiling down benevolently as we chugged past; beautiful children ran along, smiling and waving at the train from a multitude of small, colourful villages, which looked as though they hadn't changed much in 50 years; all alongside a range of cows, pigs and other animals and miles and miles of the obligatory rice fields, grassed over until the growing season hits later in the year.

Arriving in Chiang Mai about 8pm, we hopped on to our first 'share taxi', which many people will probably recognise as another way of saying 'cheap ride in the back of a truck', and whizzed past the lights and buzz of the city to our guesthouse for the night. Unsurprisingly, we were hungry and headed straight out to the nearest spot, a friendly, English-speaking cafe, for a great plate of noodles and a good old curry.

The next day we headed over in eager anticipation to Eagle House, the guesthouse with whom we had booked a three day hill trek through the remote villages of the local hill tribes. Looking over the pictures from various previous trips, we felt a mounting sense of excitement. Meeting up with our guide, Det, an impossibly skinny and cheeky guy, and the other trekkers we were to spend the next few days with, confirmed this was going to be a lot of fun. The party consisted of an American couple (Hollywood agents!), two other Brits (...from Hull) and four Germans (three boys and a girl).

We set off at 8.30am the next day, sparking up instant conversation whilst clinging on to the handrails in the back of the pick up truck (the huge strapping guy from Hull stepped out of the vehicle and hung onto the roof for fun as the driver veered round corners at 90km/hr - the Hollywood agent leant over to me and whispered 'If he falls off and dies, he'll ruin the trip for everyone!' - classic!).

We eventually stopped by the roadside for our first meal of the day - a fantastic portion of fried rice with vegetables, beautifully wrapped in a banana leaf parcel, the first of many top notch meals to come. Fully fed, we soon started walking through lush green and brown fields, with only the sounds of birds and cattle for company, bar our first few meetings with local villagers, answering our questions with a smile , happily posing for photographs, all the while looking slightly bemused at our bulging knapsacks, full camping outfits and expensive walking shoes, as they ambled past in age-old flip flops carrying massive bowls of rice or huge bamboo sticks, without even breaking a sweat!

After a couple of hours, we reached the village we were to spend the night in, high up in the hills and seemingly isolated, though still possessing five TV sets between 30 or so inhabitants, a fact the welcoming, smiling villagers proudly relayed to us via our guide. They showed us to the 'hotel', a large bamboo hut on stilts, complete with mosquito nets and large amounts of blankets, and we set up camp for the night.

We managed a few hours of sleep, helped along by some fantastic woolly balaclavas we bought at the market (much to the amusement of the other trekkers who thought we looked like a couple of bankrobbing misfits). In the morning, we sat around a pot fire in our host's hut, surrounded by yet more platefuls of rice, we were offered what was described as 'deer' curry to try, which was interesting since there were definitely no signs of deer up in those mountains! Our host then unveiled the wonderful second course still sizzling away in a huge metal bowl - a big load of fried insects. Not wanting to offend our hosts, we accepted some to try. After being taught how to peel the wings off, we chomped away at our oily bugs as quickly as possible, thanked our hosts and made a hasty get-away.

Later that day, as we trekked through a farmers field, we were stopped by a cheekily grinning Det. He rummaged around in a huge cowpat and produced with delight a dung beetle. Looking at us with great satisfaction, he said, "This is what you were eating this morning!". "Why didn't you tell us?!?" we replied. "You would never have eaten it then", he laughed back. We had been done, no two ways about it.

The rest of the second day passed in a haze of sunlight, beautiful forest and cheery villagers feeding their livestock, sleeping in the sun or catching tomorrow's meal. We walked for about 7 hours, mostly uphill, with a break for lunch by a cool stream. When we reached our second night's lodgings, a spacious hut by a river, everyone was delighted to get into swimwear and have a short dip in the cold, but refreshing water. This was followed by the best meal yet - crunchy spring rolls, sweet dipping sauce, tasty curry, vegetables, rice and of course, a few cold beers, and more silly stories round the fire.

The next morning, we were raring to go on the last big adventure - bamboo rafting down the river. The locals make the rafts each time by hand - eight, twelve foot bamboo poles, tied together with thin strips of bamboo, enough to hold the weight of four of us standing, plus a local steering the raft. B got the job of steering from the back, which he made his own, even passing for a gondolier in the right light, singing 'O Sole Mio' as we whizzed downstream - this was made a lot more complicated by the fact that our local guide at the front of the raft shouted 'left!' when he meant right and vice versa. The river was fairly gentle, with some faster Grade 2 rapids, which were great fun to whizz through, the sunshine dappling through the trees and all of nature around us. It was spot on.

Once off the rafts, we walked for a couple of hours, chilled by some stunning waterfalls and headed back to town for the night.

After a day resting, we were ready to go again, and spent Christmas Day amongst our favourite thing of all time - food! We were in a comfortable villa in the countryside on a cooking course making and scoffing green curry, phad thai, hot and sour soup and several other dishes. We were each given a book of recipes and all the secrets to take home, so hopefully we'll be able to recreate some of them once we get back to London. Christmas day got more surreal as we spent the evening watching a muaythai (Thai boxing) competition (including a hilarious blindfolded bout - the referee was inevitably knocked out much to the amusement of the crowd).

Boxing day was a totally different experience as we headed to a wonderful Elephant conservation park - an inspiring sight created by an inspiring woman who has dedicated her life to rescuing some of the most abused Elephants in Thailand. Considering this is such a revered animal in Thailand's history, the stories of abuse are horrific - young eles caught, caged and 'broken' (a four day submission tactic in which the elephant is tortured with bamboo sticks with sharp metal nails prodded into their eyes and inner ears until they can no longer take the suffering and live a life in fear, totally submissive) and used to beg on the streets (even in central Bangkok!) or forced to paint in tourist shows!. Some of the elephants were blinded, maimed, had broken backs or psychological issues - it was heartbreaking. I was totally in my element - feeding, hugging and washing some beautiful creatures. After such a humbling experience, it was time to leave Chiang Mai.