The Vagabonds

Although ‘The Asylum’ in Cairns had a strangulating effect upon our travels, eleven days following our arrival we broke free from its malevolent trance and continued our tour of Australia.

Aboard the Greyhound bus service again, we commuted towards Airlie Beach which provided a base for exploring the Whitsunday Islands. The journey there however provided a story of true human valour as Pepe, dehydrated, starving and exasperated, hitchhiked, ran, stumbled, fumbled and navigated his way to a supermarket within 35 minutes (in what would normally take twice as long), carrying not only his own stack of replenishing foods, but two bottles of water for Jakey, during a 40 minutes stop-over in Townsville. During this, Jakey was engaged in the noble task of watching our bags.
Triumphantly ebullient after the aforementioned facade, we visited the Whitsunday Islands the following day via an ‘Ocean Raft’ – an inflatable banana boat fully contained with seats and an engine. The pinnacle of this excursion was the ‘Whitsunday Island’ itself whose icy white, crystalised sand and rich blue surrounding sea was the idyllic epitome of a plush paradise. Paradise Found soon reverted back to Paradise Lost as we departed frmo the island back to Airlie Beach however, particularly because Pepe, in desperate need of emancipating his bladder, had to boldly ask the driver to stop the boat before his organs capitulated. To his surprise, Pepe was followed by a line of men queing up behind him, empathising with his toil and subsequently joining him in an intimate simultaneous urination.

One empty bladder and day later we departed Airlie Beach for Harvey Bay. Inauspiciously , the journey’s duration was elongated by five hours because our bus broke down at 2 a.m, resulting in it lasting 17 hours in total. Isolated in the pervasive abyss of Australia, another coach with limited seats came to offer a refuge to those who needed transporting immediately. This eventually left two seats available. Jakey, with his shrewd intuition, impulsively pounced on the opportunity to seize the coverted prize, but two women, one English, on Canadian, demanded them too.
The compromise: the flick of a coin to determine which party should obtain the only method of transport until the original moribund bus was fixed. Jakey picked heads, they retorted “tails”.
The result: We had to wait until the mechanic arrived.

Two days alter we were on a three-day-self-drive jeep safari of Fraser Island with nine other people. Unbeknown to us at the time, two women in our group, one who happened to be English, the other Canadian, named Hel and Mel respectively, were those who swindled us out of a premature evasion of the debilitating broken bus. Nevertheless, even after this revelation emerged, our relationships were destitute of animosity. During the tour itself we visited the emerald ‘Lake Wabbi’, the jovial ‘Airlie Creek’, the disappointing ‘Champagne Pools’ and the pristinely lucid waters of the renowned ‘Lake McKenzie’.

After Fraser Island we entered the ‘Sunshine Coast’. Our first destination, Rainbow Beach, was so intriguing and captivating that we left the following day for Noosa.
In Noosa, before we met up with the guru’s (the guru being Anthony Jacobs, of course) girlfriend, Gemma Basger, and her travelling partner Caroline, we visited Noosa’s National Park with Daniel Weintraub, which, in the stifling heat, was an assiduous experience. As an ensemble comprised of the two girls, Pepe and Jakey, the motley gang visited the prestigious world famous ‘Australia Zoo’, which is owned by Australia’s chief cultural icon; the erratically vivacious Steve Irwell who has devised more quintessentially Australian maxims than years they can boast independence. Unfortunately, not only was the zoo sparsely inhabited by animals, but the weather was as sullen as an old decadent Victorian edifice. Nevertheless, for only an extra $15AUD (6 pounds sterling) we managed to have a photograph with a koala which was so ineffably elated by the whole affair that it decided to shit all over Gemma.
Back in Noosa’s youth hostel Pepe also met a youthful American teacher from Chicago. Despite frivolously frightening him with nostalgic stories from our high school, Pepe also indulged (finally!) in several memorable stimulating book discussions ranging from Kafka to Salinger.

After departing the Sunshine Coast we arrived in Brisbane, the capital of the Gold Coast. Brisbane is most aptly described as a humble city; whilst possessing all the quintessential traits of a thriving, aspiring metropolis – complete with salient skyscrapers – it is bereft of the perpetual tumult found in even the smallest of integral cities. The Brisbane Bridge which dominated the landscape, acted in absolute synthesis with the adjacent river that salubriously shimmered the reflection of the lugubrious skyward towers located behind it. We saw the city, walked along the riverfront boardwalk and then soon left, visiting Surfers Paradise – a contemporary, clean and cordial Australian alternative to Blackpool – for a day before arriving in the esteemed Byron Bay.

A liberally lethargic atmosphere permeated throughout this bustlign town where your daily activites are essentially limited to to surfing, eating, surfing, drinking and sleeping. That we could not surf provided an intrinsic problem. Nevertheless, we still tried as Jakey overcame his crippling fear of Jaws, but to no avail.
Fatalistically, during our first complete day in Byron Bay, we saw Matt and Sabrina – two French-Canadians who we met in Koh Phag Ngah, Thailand – whom we spent the night (which happened to be ‘Australia Day’) with. Initially, when we sat by the beach-side, nonchalantly talking and drinking, a hippy-ensemble gratuitously played percussion instruments for the inebriated crowd to enjoy, which epitomised the Byron Bay lifestyle.
After we had grown wearisome of attempting and subsequently failing to surf, we indulged in other activites. One day we went on a three hour walk up the nearby hills surrounding Byron Bay, reaching, a lighthouse. This landmark however was the most Easterly point in Australia!
Another day we participated in an interhostel five-a-side tornament where our team, ‘The Pommeys’ won the $100 bar tab, primarily due to Jakey’s consistently astute footwork and Pepe’s final, critical goal.
Our final day in Byron Bay was actually spent in the deranged nearby town of Nimbin. Here, although any act of soliciting drugs is illegal, it is widely accepted, and as soon as we stepped off our ‘Happy Coach’ tour bus, we were surrounded by masses of hopeful, determined, honest and geinal drug dealers, offering the lastest “hit” or “cookie”. The general inhabitants of this village were still embedded in their own archaic paradigm from the 70′s, with the conventional attire comprising of flared jeans and exuberant scarves and draping, multicoloured vests.

Following the regressive hippy experiences of Nimbin and Byron Bay we stopped off in Newcastle, primarily due to the novelty, which was dirty, decadent, grimy and repugnant. After Jakey was mercilessly confined to standing on the table when he saw a rummaging mouse navigating its way through the kitchen in our youth hostel, we both realised that the one day we spent in Newcastle was superfluous and therefore we soon left for a small unknown city named Sydney.

In Sydney we thoroughly explored the city centre, four suburbs, four beaches, the opera house and habour bridge. We could write a thesis on each one of these experiences, plus many more.

But we won’t.

Somewhat propitiously, we stayed in an apartment located near Darling Harbour with Sophie Statman; a girl Jakey knew from Leeds. This enabled us to experience what it is like living in Sydney, allowing us to inhale the uniquely dynamic atmosphere of the city.
To Jakey’s frolicsome glee we visited Palm Beach a.k.a Summer Bay, where ‘Home & Away’ is filmed. Being British we inevitably also spent a day on Bondi Beach which was glum, morose and sullen, yet it still contained its own disparate identity to the rest of Sydney due to its suburban ethos.
As for the rest of of Sydney, we will allow the photographs to exude the fundamentals of experience, while reserving our numerous interminiable stories, ranging from the Blue Mountains to the return of ‘The Asylum’ in Kings Cross to watching the sun gracefully drift behind the Opera House at sunset, for our return back home.

Two weeks following our arrival in Sydney we boarded the bus again which drove to Canberra. This adroitely crafted city where the streets interweaved to deftly supply a matrix of tangible viewpoints was destitute of the habitual enunciatory presence usually associated with a capital city. Nevertheless this disposition immediately recedes as you enter the ‘New Parliament Building’ where we watched a session of ‘Question Time’. The political pandemonium presented in this hour was rancorous and primitve as the elected officials sinisterly marked their perceived ideological territory, refuting all claims that the opposition made, even they were akin to their own.

From the South-East of Australia we accumulatively commuted for approximately 40 hours to reach ‘The Red Centre’. Here we saw Ayers Rock (Uluru) which is a capacious monolith staunchly standing alone. The sunsets in this region were transcendingly lascivious with the delicate, ethereal sky transforming its radiating spectrum of colours several times. ‘The rock’ itself was so self-imposing that we both had to invariably climb it, which was a prolonged requisite that that allowed us to view the varying array of excavations and contours which make it such an egregious sight, At night we slept under swag – a spacious sleeping bag, complete with matress – in the remote isolation of a desert where the efflorescent stars appeared like raindrops, saturating the whole sky. In the ‘Red Centre’ we also engaged on two treks – one of Kings Canyon which had a plethora of rippling totem-esque rock and ‘The Olgas’ which open up like the ‘Red Sea’.

Via the journey back to Melbourne in the South-East, we resided in Adelaide for three nights. Auspiciously, the day we arrived was the beginning of the ‘Adelaide Fringe Festival; a conspicuously subordinate Southern Hemisphere alternative to the Edinburgh Fringe. Despite this, the opening ceremony’s night parade was loud and flamboyant with an abundance of processions promoting their shows. Whilst Pepe watched two shows in Adelaide (a Chekhov and an Ionesco), Jakey visited Gleneld Beach which found mediocre.

Finally, we arrived in our last Australian destination – Melbourne. When juxtaposed against Sydney’s turbulent and spendthrift milieu, Melbourne has a distinctly European atmosphere with trams gliding through the city centre and a surplus of quaint independent cafes bespeckled across the streets.
Altruistically, Mel and Hel from Fraser Island, who were now residing in the city, allowed us to sleep in their apartment for the duration of our stay.
Jakey completed his indulgent Australian-Soap-Opera voyage by visiting Ramsay Street where filming was underway. To those of you who fervently watch this mundane and senseless sitcom – BOYD GETS MARRIED!!!11!
We also embarked on two organised trips – one to Phillip Island, the other to the Great Ocean Road. The former offered us a ‘penguin parade’ at night which was uninspiring and meagre. Jakey’s polemical refutation of the rules by taking a flash photograph of the fumbling creatures however, which consequently resulted in a pervasive gasph of shock and horror from the onlooking crowrd, did provide some light entertainment to the night. The latter trip ultimately took us to visit several protruding rock emerging from the ocean, which have recently been named ‘The Twelve Apostles’. Although the sun was submerged behind the grey, gloomy clouds, the contrast between the azure ocean and the milky pinnacles was unique and panoramic.

And now, we have abandoned the warm comforting climate of Australia for the brisk, windy plains of New Zealand…

Following our succinct flight from Singapore to Perth and several obtrusive quips by the airport staff pertaining our exposure to bucolic animals in Asia, we arrived at the ‘Comfort Hostel’. Such two words juxtaposed together would normally be inferred as an oxymoron, but to our elated delight, for budget accomodation, the Comfort Hostel was clean, warm, efficient, equipped, homely, hospitable, fun, affable, vivacious and…comfortable! There, we met the vacuous Martin Drue from Exeter – a recovering drug addict who decided to tour the gaping coasts and ruddy inlands of Australia with the intention of overcoming his tumultuous past. Now, seven weeks later, he is still in Perth. Furthermore, the pernicious influence of Jakey’s malignance transgressed him into absolute delirium. At least Martin’s vivacity (or absence of it) was equilibriated by our other dorm room-mates: Phillip, Phillip and Lars. All German, but all right. During our stay in Perth we briefly visited the quaint city of Freemantle and the desolate town of Kalamunda in the Perth Hills.
Due to several missed transit buses amd Perth’s stagnation on Sundays, it took us seven days to escape what seemed to be the ineluctable most isolated capital city in the world. Moreover there was a deficit of activities to indulge in at night bar surf the internet. Whilst the Comfort Hostel offered a free one hour internet session per room booking, we knew that this would not suffice. Subsequently we formulated an elaborate concoction whereby we checked out of the hostel, only to return minutes later, thus securing a new booking and free internet session. To our delight, the ruse was successful!

Once we finally booked our mode of transport – the Greyhound bus service – we left for Cervantes. There, with the aid of a philanthropic Swiss named Steffan, we visited ‘Cervantes National Park’ which was comprised of a vast landscape of protruding limestone pinnacles and other eclectic rock formations.
Next, we visited Geraldton which we had been forewarned was the last moderately sized town on the West Coast until Brome which was thousands of kilometres away. Consequently we stocked up on our rations at the local Coles (an Australian equivalent of Tesco) and meandered around the proximate area before departing to Kalbarri.
As Kalbarri is renowned for its contiguous sand dunes which reach heights of up to 100 metres and inclines of 45 degrees, we decided to embark on a sandboarding trip. Although gliding down the sandy hills was exhilarating, the subsequent assiduous ascension back up the steep slopes was physically dehabilitating. Furthermore, when Pepe was hurled headlong following a collision with a jutting rock during his audacious descension standing up (something which Jakey never quite managed), we both harmoniously agreed that it was no substitute to skiing. On this sandboarding trip however, we auspicously met Mark Crayford from Brighton whom we visited ‘Natures Window’ – an excavated rock formation which ‘frames’ the surrounding area – with following an excursion around the town on two decrepit bicycles.
With Mark and his rented car we drove up to Denham where we rented an apartment comprised of five rooms for $20 AUD a night (eight pounds Sterling). Compared to the intrusive and public domain of dormitories, this was a liberating change. In Denham we drove to ‘Monkey Mia’ where a school of obseqious wild dolphins swim from the open ocean to the shore each day for a public feeding. Whilst we could not touch them, their close proximity fully revealed their glistening, smooth supple bodies, which is accentuated by their immaculate design. After Monkey Mia w edrove to an adjacent lagoon (which Jakey refused to swim in due to his fear of sharks) that was isolated, silent and bliss. Mark unfortunately had to depart the next morning due to an impending job interview in Perth, but the altruistic manager of the apartments allowed us to extend our stay for another day at the same price of $20 AUD each (resulting in a total of $40 and opposed to $60).

Our next destination, Carnarvon, was like King Henry VIII; large but uncultured, unruly and ugly. So we left on the next available bus travelling to Coral Bay.

The aforementioned town had celebrated beaches with lucid, pristine water that were transparent like translucent panes of glass. Also, an Italian couple named Sara and Luce who we had met at several prior destinations augmented our stay due to their genial and affable personalities which resulted in an abundance of discussions and chats on wordly facets. With a looming flight from Darwin to Cairns in less than two weeks however, we truncated our stay and soon moved to Exmouth – another beachside town renowned for its voluptuous waters.
To our exasperation, when we arrived in Exmouth at 4 am no youth hostels were open to accomodate us. Faced with such an abaiting conundrum, the intrepid travellers had to rest outside in a secluded park area, surronuded by enigmatic (and potentially pugnacious) emus.
Jakey slept.
Pepe, instilled with apprehensive vigilance, remained awake, semi-conscious.
When the sun rose, dirty and dejected, we walked to the beach (or to be more precise, stumbled, before resorting to hitchhiking), saw that it was entirely unimpressive, subsequently returned back to the central street in Exmouth (which was nevertheless despondently dull), surfed the internet for 90 minutes, fortunately managed to watch ‘Happy Gilmore’ as the compassionate proprietor of the internet station saw our dilemma in having nothing to do, and then waited a further eight more hours by the Vistor Information Centre for the Greyhound Bus to arrive.
The eighteen hour bus journey to Broome fluttered by with relative ease, primarily because it allowed us to replenish and eradicate our fatigue. A vivid, transcending sunset in Broome’s Cable Beach which comprised of an abundance of contrasting yet emollient colours which were as distinguished as an artists palette was the most eminent part of our short stay.

Then we engaged in a further twenty five hours of commuting to reach our final destination on the West Coast of Australia – Darwin.
After being transferred and then changing rooms respectively in our youth hostel in Darwin, we met an Irish-American aptly named Sean O’Connor (click here to view his travel blog). With Sean we visited ‘Litchfield National Park’ where Pepe swam in the cool, natural brooks procreated by thunderous waterfalls, whilst Jakey, afraid of fish, was resigned to sunbathing. We went on short treks under the humidly mitigating sun, saw long stretches of verduous tropical scenery and explored the park to its full potential. At night, under a starlit sky, we ate dinner in darkness from a viewpoint adjcent to a ravaging stream of water whilst talking about intriguing, fascinating and enlightening topics, before returning to the car where Jakey and I slept, whereas Sean opted to camp outside. This will undoubtedly be one of the most memorable and poignant Christmas Eve’s of our lives.
When we returned back to our youth hostel in Darwin, Sean had a flight to Singapore the following day, so the brief but fruitful contigency departed.
In contrast to the freedom of visiting Litchfield ourselves, we proceeded on an organised two day tour of Kakadu National Park. Our group, which consisted of eight people including ourselves, comprised of five Germans, one vivacious Japenese man named Nobuja (who we later renamed to the all-encompasing ‘Johnny’), and ourselves. The was eventful, initially visiting an aquatic crocodile farm where the ghastly beasts emerged from the waters in search of their prey which was conveniently placed on a dangling string from our boat. Following the crocodile farm and a further three hour drive we arrived at Kakadua where we once again walked over rocky terrains, sawm in hydrating pools and water and Pepe ate the popular local delicacy – Kangaroo steak – which he maintained tasted like decomposed bacteria laced with bleach.
After Kakadu we returned to Darwin’s city centre where we had a flight the following morning. As opposed to squandering money on a brief nights sleep, we visited the airport prematurely where, again, Jakey slept like a weary, elderly feline cat, whereas Pepe contentedly slept in intermittent periods of nocturnal discomfort.

Before leaving England on our gap year, due to demand for rooms around the New Year period, Pepe booked a youth hostel in Cairns which operated under the dignified name ‘Cairns International Youth Hostel’. When we arrived, the hostel had undergone new management since this booking, and a new name; the eponymous ‘Asylum’. Such was the condition of the rooms, and equipment – it was saturated with grime and dust and dirt. Unfortunately our room was booked for seven days, so we had to persevere and bide our time until the start of the new year.
During our stay we visited the exalted Great Barrier Reef which was unfortunately overshadowed by sea sickness. Nevertheless, Jakey, armed with a foam float and his sheer determination entered the ocean, where after two minutues his capitulation resorted in the bemused lifeguard throwing a rubber ring to aid him back to the boat. Pepe on the other hand went scuba diving twice where he saw the luminous expanses of the egregious reef. Following Jakey’s battle with what his insists was a “fierce” ocean, he resided on the boat for the remainder of the trip, devising his will, confusing sea sickness with death.
Before we finally left the verduously tropical region of Cairns we embarked on a brief visit to Cape Tribulation via Port Douglas. The former was a minute town under the vast canvas of looming, domineering trees and wildlife, whereas the latter was an affluent port vicinity, complete with illustrious hotels.

Although this is a fairly extensive entry, many facts and stories have been omitted due to time constraints and the necessity to be relatively terse. Likewise, a plethora of our experiences are simply ineffable but we can nevertheless assert that they are irreplaceable in our hearts and minds.
Remember to view the new photographs and videos!

Nineteen days, four countries and one hundred & twenty nine hours in transit later, we have finally completed our circuit of South East Asia. Whether it was just a local farmers cattle truck or a decadent bus bereft of air conditioning, we managed to commute with a turbulent frenzy from country to country, city to city and bus to bus.

First, there was Laos.
The pristine condition of their capital city, Vientiane, epitomised the genial nature of the country. Although our visit was brief and untimely, it was one, surprisingly, of pacifying comfort. Outside the capital we also explored the cavernous region of Vang Vien which had salient, verduous mountains, protruding from the fertile earth. Our means of transport from this agrarian town was the mobile, yet afflicting ‘Tuk Tuk’. Such a vehicle is apt for the bustling streets of Bangkok, but around such narrow, winding crevices, it lacked the robust durability needed to create the illusion of safety.

Then there was Vietnam.
Knowing that the duration of the bus journey from Vientiane to Hanoi (the Vietnamese capital) was twenty-two hours, we both prepared by purchasing the necessary commodoties – comprised primarily of food and water – to endure such an austere journey. That the bus had no air conditioning did not help, nor did the absence of toilets or the vast quantities of goods that were being imported into Vietnam and the obese bus driver lying alongside Jakey, which subsequently unduly restricted our already meagre sitting space. It was however, the elongation of the journey which concluded at twenty-seven hours that mitigated our vibrant souls into sullen desolation. Once we exited the coach neither of us could walk with conventional cadence we were nurtured with. Three weeks later, today, we have still not recovered.
Ultimately, Vietnam was disappointing. By catering to tourists like ourselves, they have abandoned their Asian heritage in substitute for avaricious gains. The pinncale of our experiences was the visit down the notorious Ho Chi Minh tunnels which the surrounding citizens inhabited during the Vietnam War. Although the tunnels were damp, dark and murkey, they were modestly spacious for a concotion built by plebian artisans.

Following Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon) and several subsequent voyages around the encompassing area – which included a boat trip down the Mekong River Delta where we visited a coconut candy manufacturer and indulged in devouring tropical fruits, and a tour around the ‘Reunification Palace’ where the last American bureaucrats were flown out of Vietnam – we went to Cambodia. Whilst the aforementioned country recently embraced capitalism, it is still recovering from their dissonant past, which was conspicuous via the permeating street poverty. The locals were determined and amicable, intrigued by Westerners and the inconsequential jargon that bellows from their mouths. In Cambodia’s capital, Pnom Penh, we both fired a round of Ak-47′s at a shooting range, whereas Jakey apprehensively threw a grenade into a small pond (although, he will no doubt devise a contrived facade of his masculine and meticulous complexion). In that same day we also visited the ‘killing fields’ and ‘S-21′ security prision of Pol Pot’s tyrannic Khymer Rouge regime. This invoked the perpetual human dichotomy of sadistic intrigue and fervent repugnance in both of us. After Pnom Penh we travelled to Siam Reap where the revered ‘Angkor Wat’ is situated. On the night of our arrival we watched the radiating sunset from the peak of an archaic temple, which, despite the looming clouds, was exquisitely bliss, yet solemnly euphoric as the verdant plains of Cambodia dimmed before us.
Throughout our trip so far, every traveller was have conversed with who had visited Cambodia forewarned us of the assiduous and abrasive bus journey back to Thailand; and now we know why. The bus dilligently ebbed up and down and shook left and right as it moved through the pot holes and over the abundance of rocky mounts, implated into the ground. Initially, this was a frivolous delight, however, after it failed to wane after twenty minutes, this lure transformed into lamentation, and then again, after a further thirty minutes, this developed into nausea. The journey lasted three hours. Furthermore, the two hour delay for the noble and necessary cause of waiting for the Cambodian King (yep) to bless the dismal road before this segment of the journey began, also depleted our hope for a swift and smooth journey.

After two days of stagnation is Bangkok and a disappointing visit to Kanchanburi (where the Bridge on the River Kwai was built), we took a brief transit journey through Singapore. There, the streets appeared to made of plastic due to their unblemished, clean condition. Our three day visit sufficed despite the artificial beauty of this ultra-contemporary metropolis.

And now, finally, we have arrived in Australia.

Bus Timetable

Total = 129.5 hours over nineteen days

P.S. The final Asia photographs and video’s have been added. View them.

Three islands later and we have finally returned to Bangkok:
- Koh Phag Ngah had panoramic beaches and winding roads
- Koh Samui had a stir and an airy buzz amidst its plethora of bars and diverse array of prostitutes (all HIV positive, of course)
- Koh Tao had…well, Koh Tao had nothing really.

The succinct bus journey to our first destination, Koh Phag Ngah, comprised of only 11 hours, followed by another 2 hour boat journey. Although the duration was nearly unendurable, it was appeased via the whimsical entertainment provided by the obscure and polarised couple from…France.
According to the atomic family, two most important facets are the mother and father; the former who is dainty, timid and quaint; the latter who is strong, robust and masculine.
Forget this preconception immediately.
‘Winston’, who was the man (we use this term solely in the scientific pretence) of couple was as fragile and efemminate as a pink vase, whereas ‘Lurch’ (the man-woman-thing) was, as Jakey put it, “built like a brick shithouse”.
Their relationship was nevertheless one of absolute adulation, only being restricted by Winston’s affinity for his beloved teddy bear. Whilst Winston had his embodifying toy, Lurch on the other hand had her rather conspicuous t-shirt which prominently stated that “YOU DON’T KNOW ME!”
And thank God for that!

In Koh Phag Ngah, the ocean was shimmering, the beaches were golden, the island; small, yet without being unobtrusive. To epitomise this wholesome beauty, the weather was dull, morose and overcast whilst being complimented by intermittent rainfall. Despite this however, neither of us exulted in this setback and our time on the island was tumultuous.
For the first time this trip we rented a motorbike and once we adapted to this sacraficial death trap, we explored the island. Most notably, the ‘Hat Rin Hills’ which had a 20% incline, were and arduous and demanding endeavour for our great lump of metal, even in first gear. Jakey almost almost crashed whilst rancorously climbing up them, but fortunately he dived of f the bike before any extensive damage or wounds could be inflicted upon him. Similarly, since then, Jakey has incinerated his leg twice on the exhaust pipe, resulting in two conspicuous life-long scars.
Now, envisage this: Chirping birds, buzzing mosquito’s, isolated roads, absolute darkness and two young buffoons unable to navigate their way back to their beach huts. The unspoken word is often the most powerful and both of us, although silenced with apprehension, mutually acknowledged that we might be spending the night out in the wilderness. One hour and one newly purchased map later however, we located our destination and fortunately found it.
Koh Phag Ngah also hosts the worlds largest beach party. Approximately between 12,000 – 30,000 people partake in this monthly event and expectedly, our experiences were drunken, eccentric and extensive.

The scuba diving sessions in Koh Tao were, for Jakey at least, very terse. In fact, he took the primary training session which partook in a standard swimming pool with such courageous perserverance, that he capitulated after fifteen minutes. Nevertheless, Pepe continued and completed the course before we both left for Koh Samui.
Here we watched Thai boxing, played a game of soccer with 22 Thai adults and went on a cable zip ride through the verduous jungle areas of the island. Samui, being the commercialised sister island of Koh Phag Ngah, had a surplus of other activities to observe. The most anticipated of these was the perceptibly acclaimed ‘football golf’, which, as the blurb ingeniously asserted, “was like golf, but with a football.” This aforementioned blurb enticed us due to the vivid descriptions of the “picturesque scenery” and the gaping plains which helped comprise the course. Consequently we were aghast with bitter resentment once we discovered that it was in fact no larger than a domestic British backgarden. And so it goes in Thailand…

Tomorrow we are taking a brief visit to Laos before having a prolonged stay in Vietnam.

Adios senioritas