The Nullarbor

From Perth to Adelaide

The train journey on the India pacific from Perth to Adelaide is one of the great railway journeys of the world It is the only way to see the Nullarbor desert. This enormous plain is inaccessible by sealed road and even the Eyre highway from Perth to Adelaide only skirts the bottom of the Nullarbor Plain.

The journey starts at East Perth station which must be one of the ugliest buildings in the whole city. The full train is about 25 coaches with various grades of traveller – gold, red-sleeper and red non-sleeper. Gold is quite luxurious with two berth compartments and all meals provided while red-sleeper (ours) is quite comfortable but the sleeping accommodation is “compact" and you eat as you need to in the dining car. Non-sleeper tickets are much cheaper but it would be an ordeal to sleep in the seats for two nights that is best avoided if you can afford it.

[Actually the red sleeper is a miracle of modern engineering. It is amazing that it is possible to fit two full size bunks, two small lockers, a washbasin, storage rack into a space measuring two metres by 1.5 metres. Unfortunately they seemed to have forgotten that you also need to put people into that space as well. Luckily we are not too fat. ]

The Indian-Pacific in Perth

We leave at mid-day and the train trundles slowly along the Swan valley, which then becomes the Avon Valley as it rises up onto the ridge of the Darling Range east of Perth. You travel through wooded hillsides until you reach the plain at Northam where the landscape changes into wheatfields bounded by small shrubs and trees. These wheatfields were already harvested in some places but where you could see the full grown wheat it was surprisingly short and not very close packed. Compared with English wheat the yield must be tiny, but then there is so much land that it is no doubt still profitable.

We pass through several small 'towns' usually consisting of just a few homes and a grain storage depot where grain can be loaded onto the trains. The mountains of grain resemble the heaps of sand and gravel from the gravel beds near our home in Cirencester – created by conveyor belts with pointed tops. Road trains – trucks with two or three huge trailers – deliver the grain and are tipped up to ditch their load by the conveyors.

Meckering, Cunderlin, Tammin, Kellerberrin.... sometimes the train stops and we peer out of the window to see if we can identify the reason. Perhaps they are dropping off goods for the local community or we are waiting for the single track to clear ahead. The pace is very leisurely. We are tracking the Great Eastern Highway (a rather fancy name for an almost empty two-lane road) which we flirt with as it as it approaches the track and then moves away again. There is also the water pipe that was built around 1900 to supply water to the Goldfields at Kalgoorlie which doggedly hugs the road. This is a marvel of engineering carrying water 900km from a dam near Perth to a desert town, but without it Kalgoolie would not exist

The Kalgoolie pipeline

As we press on eastwards the landscape slowly changes and the wheat looks even shorter and more sparse. There is more scrub land and soon it is mainly small shrubs and small trees that dominate. By the time we reach Southern Cross - a tiny settlement but with big letters on the map – there is little evidence of farming of any sort.

Southern Cross

Although it is drier here we have been chasing some rain all journey and we finally catch up with it at this point. The track turns north away from the highway and passes through huge salt lakes, some of which are completely empty.

Salt lake in the distance

Salinity is a big problem in Australia. We have seen lakes like these close up and you can find huge salt crystals on the edges. After a while the direction resumes eastward towards Kalgoorlie

The place names on the map seem to have no physical counterparts – or if they do they are too small to recognise. Koolyanobbing, Darrine, Jourdi, Walleroo ... It begins to get dark and there is no light other than the setting sun and eventually we cannot see outside the train at all. At 9:50 we arrive in Kalgoorlie – a real frontier town that we remember well from a previous visit. It is still a major gold mining town with truck-loads of miners arriving on a Saturday night to spend their pay. There is a scheduled 3-hour stop here so we rush off to see if we can find somewhere that will still serve us a meal. Nearly everywhere is shut except for a couple of noisy pubs which we think we should avoid, but finally we find a pace that is open 24 hours and manage to fill our stomachs. Just as we leave the rain has caught up with us and there is a torrential downpour. The town has large storm drains, but the downpour is so voluminous that even these are overflowing. We try to wait it out under shelter but eventually we have to make a dash for the train and arrive soaked through. It is all rather ironic in a desert town short of water.

The next morning we wake up to see the Nullarbor under a dull, cloudy sky. There s no growth more than a couple of feet high and as we progress even these small shrubs gradually disappear. The land is completely flat with lots of stones sitting on the red sand and some very small shrubs. It is just wonderful. Emptiness for hundreds of kilometers in all directions (well only about 100km south before you reach the coast). There are no springs, lakes, streams rivers – no open water – in the Nullarbor; no trees, no shelter of any kind. And yet up until the railway was built, Aboriginal tries lived here.

In the middle of all this we stop at a 'station' at Forrest. This is an airstrip in the middle of nowhere at which large jet aircraft can land if they get into difficulties – it is the largest runway in Australia outside the major cities. The airstrip also serves as a refuelling point for light aircraft and is manned by two people. We stop to deliver their post.

This stretch of railway track is the longest straight track in the world. No curves, no cuttings, no bridges or tunnels, for 478km. We wonder why it is not smooth! The train bumps around like the old British Rail trains of our youth. But the railway was built by a British engineer of the same vintage so that might explain it.

Nurina Station - the view was the same on the other side of the track

The big event of the day is a one hour stop in Cook.

The locomotive at Cook

This was, until 1997, a small settlement of a couple of dozen houses including a school, swimming pool and a hospital. When the railways were privatised circumstances changed and the number of inhabitants has since dropped to four. There is a sign saying 'Save our hospital – get sick”. We emerge from the air-conditioned train into a dry heat of 32 degrees with completely the wrong clothing. Why the train is so cold I have not yet worked out but it has been the same on many other trains that we have travelled on. A strong wind is blowing the dust around and dried shrubs tumble around.

The children's playground at Cook

Whilst this train is not as sociable as some of the others we have been on, we still manage to meet people and listen to their various stories. There is Alex, aged 85 who explains the benefits of internet dating, except that the last woman he met died about a month after they went on holiday together; there is a young Finnish man who explains how he has done one degree in Finland but did not graduate so that he could do another degree in Perth, but not graduate so that he can commence a third degree in Edinburgh. We meet a couple from Yorkshire who have decided that reclining seats were not such a good bargain after all. Jeff manages to bore a couple of passengers by talking about global warming. We then catch up with the rain again and have the strange experience of seeing the Nullarbor covered in puddles.

The train's PA system congratulates us on having completed our traverse of the Nullarbor. Perhaps we will get a certificate. Despite having crossed the Nullarbor there is still another eighteen hour (i.e. another night of trying to get undressed in the smallest space imaginable – surely smaller than the NASA astronauts have to manage with) before we get to Adelaide.

After we emerge from the Nullarbor we see, on the north side of the track, the signs for the Woomera atomic bomb test site. This area is still radio-active but its OK because they put up warning signs every now and then to keep people out. (I'm not sure how the wildlife read these signs.)

Woomera - you can see the warning sign in the distance

We finally arrive in Adelaide - with the rain.

Albany to Adelaide

Albany

We lived in Albany for a year (97/98), so returning here was “coming home” in a sense. Right from the start things seemed familiar. Driving the 500km along the Albany Highway did not seem to have changed. There was still no traffic; from the edge of metropolitan Perth to the beginning of Albany we pass through three towns. Williams has a population of 1000, Kojonup has a population of 2000 and Mount Barker has a population of 2500. I think we saw about five cars going in the same direction as us. There is a lot of space in WA.

The town itself hardly seems to have changed (and the friends we left behind do not seem to have aged either). It is real small town Australia, with big wide streets and a laid back charm.


















York Street - the main street (view north)

















York Street (view south) on a Saturday afternoon

In the centre it has an old world feel (well for Australia) since many of the houses are early 20th century. The climate is described by West Australians as “cold and wet” but for us temperatures in the mid 20s and a very occasional shower were perfect. (I think we used our rain coats once). The setting is magnificent with granite hills and white sandy beaches set amid grey-green bush. We caught the end of the wildflowers, missed out on the whales who left about two months ago and decided that its still too cold to swim in the Southern Ocean. In Albany the next land to the south is Antarctica. Both the beaches and the bush are also empty – may be its because its still school term here, but even at weekends it would be rare to see more than a dozen people on the 3km long Middleton beach.

















Middleton beach

There are spectacular coastal and bush walks and that is how we spent much of our ten days whilst not socialising. We have had ten days of good meals with old friends, including Moray and Jenny with whom we swapped houses and jobs in that year away. In fact despite our intention of cooking for ourselves we found we only did that once.

We gradually re-acclimatised to Australia and now say things like “She'll be right” or “Stick it in the eskie mate”. However we still shudder when shop assistants say “Catch you later – or phonetically – “cadge yer lader” which brings out a desire to say in our best English accents “I'm so sorry we won't be around later to meet up with you”. We decided to consolidate the acclimatisation by going to the cinema to see the new Australian blockbuster, called “Australia” . Its billed as a big screen epic romance. However to us it seemed more like “Carry on up the Kimberley” rather than “Out of Africa”. I won't say its the worst film we have ever seen ... I could say something about turkeys at Christmas.

And yes we are running up to Christmas. We went to the Albany Christmas pageant, which contained floats with Surf Life Savers in their “bathers” (translates into English as swimming costume) and the Albany Philippino Club in their sarongs.



















Christmas pageant - led by olympic medallist



















Christmas pageant - scottish pipers (?!)
It was a warm evening, so we finished off with chilled glasses of alcohol – a very different experience from an English Advent Market.

We head back to Perth for a few days before setting off on another train journey – after being land based for so long we are missing the trains.

Here is a view from the boardwalk - just a little way out of town

Java to Australia

Tues November 13th: Day 42

We arrived in Tajung Priok at about 7 p.m. and found a taxi to take us into Jakarta. The half-hour journey was one of the most nerve-shattering rides of our lives and it is hard to dwell on without breaking into a cold sweat. But we did arrive at Gambir Station in one piece, this being the starting point for out train journey towards Bali.

Booking trains in Indonesia is much like booking ferries. You can't do this except from the station from which the journey starts. If the train is full you just have to book seats on the next one. Our train was full so this meant a night in Jakarta. Meg, ever enterprising had noticed an Ibis Hotel on the way in. I had my eyes closed by that time. So we got a taxi, asked for the Ibis and off we went. The driver began very slowly, not seeming to know where he was going, and then seems to come up with a plan. We discovered later that there are 3 Ibis hotels and he has chosen the most distant (well, why not?). This hotel was full. We eventually found somewhere nearby which was just perfect and felt very relieved. Jakarta is not the kind of place for two naive white tourists to be seen hiking their bags around after dark.

By morning the legacy of the ferry journey had reached Jeff's stomach. However, with tickets for the 'Exzecutif' class train (air con, reclining seats, etc) we thought we could cope. Although it was a 12-hour journey it was not as bad as it could have been and we saw a lot of the countryside and small villages en route. The train passes through the rice paddies and we have learned quite a bit about growing rice now. The flooding of the fields is mainly to keep down the pests. Unfortunately the flooding also increases the amount of methane produced and this is a potent greenhouse gas. Virtually all the work is done by hand - apparently there is very little mechanisation that can be used on small paddies such as the ones we saw.

We arrived in Surabaya somewhat the worse for wear and quickly found a hotel near the station for the next days train. Meg went off to but the tickets while Jeff positioned himself within easy reach of the toilet. It was 9 p.m. and the station was apparently locked, although there were signs of life on the other side of the track. Meg saw a security guard slip into the station through a locked gate (and not re-lock it). So undaunted, braving the jeers and cat-calls from taxi drivers, she let herself in the gate, crossed the track, found the station master and purchased tickets. Colonial'

officials are still apparently in awe of mem-sahibs. (And it says a lot about station security).

Surabiya from our hotel

This train turned out to be a class down from the previous one but was only 8 hours to Bunyawangi – the ferry terminal to Bali.

Surabiya station

The scenery across East Java is much more interesting and sometimes quite spectacular.

The train climbs slowly up over the hills, through thick vegetation, and there are some excellent views of the mountains in the distance.

It is clear that the people living here are very, very poor.

It was a great relief to get to the bus station and stretch our legs. We were crowded onto a small bus and driven off to the ferry. While waiting for the ferry to leave we watched kids swimming in the harbour next to the ship. Passengers were dropping 1000 Rp notes into the water (about 6p) and it was a bit like feeding the ducks as they all rushed to get there first.

More worrying was that we had noticed a large brown organic object floating in the same water just a few minutes before ...

Seeing the island of Bali ahead of us with the Sun setting, was quite magical.

There followed a three hour bus journey – now upgraded to a slightly larger coach (the ferry fee is less for a small bus) through the dark to Denpasar, the main town on Bali. Without a toilet and without stopping this is something you needed to prepare for but we have learnt the ropes now.

We arrived at our hotel in Sanur at 10 p.m. and felt we had at last reached somewhere 'safe' where we could sleep, eat and rest without needing to look over our shoulders all the time. The hotel was excellent and after three days our wobbly tummies had pretty much settled.

Our stay in Bali was divided into two parts with three days by the coast and four up in the hills at Ubud. This turned out to be a good choice. Ubud is completely different and gives a much better insight into Bali life than the more touristy coastal resorts. We explored Ubud on foot and then took a 'tour' which involved a trip to the volcanic area where you get above the clouds and can see the various craters. Gunung Agung is the highest point in Bali and is an active volcano and this was easily visible in the distance.

View of the volcano

Our tour then provided us with mountain bikes and a downhill ride of some 40 km.

With only four on the tour (plus our guide, Made) we descended via back roads through villages and farms, and he was able to answer virtually every question we had – really good value. We saw a school – and went inside to meet the pupils on their lunch break – and stopped at a 'typical' Bali house complete with its temples (all Bali houses have temples!).

After about 10 km of descent the heavens opened and we continued through some of the heaviest rain we have ever experienced. But the rain was warm and once you are completely wet it no longer matters, so we continued along roads that became rivers until we reached the steepest parts. Without any functional brakes these were impossible to ride down so we walked (through the ankle-deep water). It was great fun but nice when we finally stopped.

A Bali Village School

Ridge walk in Ubud

One evening we met an English couple, Geoff and Sue, who had been travelling for some weeks around Indonesia. Their story confirmed, and reinforced, our view that Indonesia is not really a place for the inexperienced 'mature traveller'. Sue had contracted Dengue fever early on and how she had coped so well was a mystery to us. We would both have run for home. On our last day in Bali we shared a car with our new friends and toured the north of the Island.

Wild monkeys

And so on Saturday 22^nd November we took our flight from Denpasar to Perth just 52 days after leaving Cirencester. We stayed with friends where fine wine, good food (not a grain of rice in sight) and sunshine reminded us of why we wanted to come to Australia. There followed three wonderful days on our friends' farm in Nannup where we worked on the vines, planted trees (and were re-aquainted with Australian flies). Jeff even got to drive the Landrover. And whilst we ate breakfast we watched the kangaroos and listened to kookaburras.

The farm.

After a good rest and back in Perth, we were once more overwhelmed with the beauty of this city and the friendliness of its inhabitants.

Perth from ferry

The light in WA is of amazing clarity and everything is sharp, and vivid, with the colours perfect for an artist's palate. We walked around grinning from ear to ear, almost unable to believer our luck in just being here. Just looking at the sea overwhelms us, the white of the sand against the aquamarine sea .... this sounds like a travel ad.

After a few days we drove down south to Albany where we lived for a year back in 1997/8. There followed 10 days of catching up with friends, visiting old haunts and plenty of exercise and good food.

View from Mt Clarence.

Albany is a town of about 20,000 inhabitants which serves an enormous rural farming area and provides the port facilities for exporting woodchips and logs. It has wonderful natural beauty and is somewhere well worth visiting if you ever reach W.A. We love the place and would happily live here.

Little beach

Indonesian Ferries

Indonesia is a country consisting of about 15000 islands, only half of which are inhabited. Travel between the major islands is mainly by ship – at least for the Indonesians, most of whom would not be able to afford air travel.

There is a national ferry operator called Pelni which runs a fleet of 23 ships – several of which are large passenger ferries plying the routes between Java, Sumatra, Celebes, Kalimantan, etc.

We wanted to travel from the island of Batam, just off the coast of Singapore, to Tajung Priok – which is the port of Jakarta on the island of Java. The journey takes about 25 hours. From there we intended to travel by train to Surabaya and eventually to Bali. The ship we needed was one of the newer German built vessels – called the Kelud (after the regularly erupting volcano which has killed many of Indonesia's inhabitants over the years).

Now Pelni is a fascinating organisation. It has a website which, in advertising its ships, suggests that you would be embarking of a semi-luxury cruise should you choose to go first class. There are four classes on the Kelud:

1. First class – double cabins, air conditioning, lockable doors and all meals provided
2. Second class – four berth cabins (not lockable)
3. Third class – dormitory accommodation below decks
4. Economy class – find a bit of deck space, stair well, etc. and set up camp.

First class is only about £50 per person so we decided to go for the 'cruise'.

The Pelni website is tantalising. You can find out most of the above information with a little perseverance, but the timetable is several years out of date. The Kelud sails every 4 days from Batam but there is no way to know the actual dates and Batam is not somewhere that you would want to stay any longer than necessary.

Trying not to fly, we had set our hopes on Pelni. Many hours on the Internet had yielded telephone numbers of various Pelni offices. Meg had tried phoning the Pelni head office from England but no one spoke English and Megs Indonesian is a little weak. We sent emails without reply. We decided that we would have to wait until we were nearer – perhaps Malaysia where there are several ferries to Indonesia. We tried in Penang, Port Dickson and Melaka without success. Travel agents were only interested in selling us air tickets. We tried all our phone numbers. The response was always the same: the number is no longer in service.

In Singapore we again tried the number of the local Pelni agent but still no luck. Eventually we tracked down the address, down near the Harbour Front, and decided to pay them a visit. During a torrential storm we finally found it – and arrived, somewhat bedraggled, at a little room on the second floor of a rather unobtrusive building.

The office was in chaos – piles of papers everywhere – but the woman there was very nice and was able to tell us the dates when the Kelud sailed. She explained that it was not possible to book from Singapore but did try to phone the office in Batam to 'reserve' a berth for us. Unfortunately this too was not possible. We left with a map of Indonesia and a photograph to prove that the office really existed.






















So, off to Batam ...

















We took the Penguin Ferry from Singapore to Sekupang and arrived at the reasonably swish International Ferry Terminal. A taxi took us to the Pelni Office which was about a mile away. This has to be seen to be believed.

















Set back off a minor road, the office has one ticket window, and behind this is a large, gloomy empty room except for one ticket vendor and a desk. He speaks no English, but we managed to work out the cost of the ferry (first class) - ah, no credit cards – cash only - ah, not US dollars. After a one-hour round trip to the local ATM we returned to the office, millionaires.

First Class clearly was quite unusual. We were greeted by the Office Manager who spoke a little English and we were invited into his office, round the back of the building. We sat in front of his desk and surveyed the scene. Outside the windows the rain was falling heavily while inside the ceiling fans slowly stirred the humid air. There were three desks, one aging computer, a couple of typewriters and several filing cabinets rusting quietly in the corner. It was straight out of a Somerset Maughan novel. We were beginning to understand the root cause of our problems so far - we were in a different century.

Our friendly manager confirmed the price and we handed over the money (1,600,000 Indonesian Rupias). He then checked our passports and discovered that, at 61, I qualified for a 20% discount – wow, £10 off! Unfortunately he needed a photocopy of my passport, and there was no photocopier in the office. No problem! They have a photocopier at the local hospital. He disappeared for about 20 minutes, with the money and the passport, but finally returned with tickets, additional photocopies (should we ever need them) and our change. We imagined that some cash had disappeared in the process (but later found this was not so) but with tickets in hand we were very happy. We took his photo, shook his hand, wished him many healthy grandchildren and left.

We have the tickets!

















A little wiser than before, we decided to find out more about the actual ferry trip and began another trawl of the travelogues and blogs on the Internet. This was most fruitful – but not encouraging. At the end of 2007 three ferries sank in one week and many passengers died. That seemed quite a lot. Also, the ship's departure time is 'flexible' - give or take a couple of hours. This goes for the time of arrival as well.

We arrive early. The Executive Lounge is not available – but it doesn't make much difference as it is simply an empty hut inside the 'hanger' that passes for a waiting room. We are waved through security – but on closer examination the baggage scanner has a clearly not worked for some time.

















The ship has arrived but nothing seems to be happening. We realise that there is some unloading of passengers and cargo.

With the mid-day sun blazing down on the roof and a thousand people waiting it gets quite hot and sticky. We wait, conspicuously white- faced amongst the crowds. Wisdom has it that you don't use the toilets. I should have taken note.

All around the 'dock' there is a market offering food and drink, toys, newspapers, etc.

















People are generally good-tempered, docile and wait quietly. They are saving themselves – they know what comes next.

We have been waiting for two hours but now something seems to be happening - people are picking up their baggage. We all begin to compress towards the gate. Nothing happens, but we are now a lot closer to each other. Some passengers go down the outside of the queue and start pushing in nearer the gate. No one takes any notice. The gate opens and some of the crowd squeeze through to the dock and move towards the boat. The gate shuts for a while and then opens again. This process repeats several times until we are through. But why? On the other side there is no 'order'. Everyone is crowded around the chained-off gangplank but who goes first when it opens?

The answer is - everyone. As the gangplank is opened the crowd surges forward. Some are pushed over; they trip over baggage that can't move. Porters carrying enormous loads press forward but there is no space. The porters who do get through have to return down the same gangplank and this takes the chaos to a whole new level. The 'security guards' begin to lash out at porters who jump the queue (what queue?). Eventually the whole process seizes up, so they raise the gangplank. Those already on it get through but now they can't lower it because the crowd is underneath.



















Eventually they beat back the crowd enough to lower the gangplank but immediately the chaos resumes. A returning porter offers to take our bags for us. This seems to be the only way that we will get on board. He is huge and he puts both bags on his back. We follow him as he forces his way through. But others are equally ruthless and his progress grinds a halt. We find ourselves ahead of him and after much pushing and shoving we finally squeeze on to the gangplank and emerge on the deck. The crowd already on board have been watching our progress with much amusement and there are lots of smiles and a few cheers as we arrive. It has taken about 40 minutes.

Suddenly we are recognised as 'First Class' and are whisked away to our cabin. It is unbelievable. it is vast, has two good beds, a toilet, a shower and a T.V. Everything works – almost. A steward brings us towels and toilet paper. Heaven.

















I return to the deck to find our porter. He is quite near the gangplank but is clearly struggling. I can't see his face under the top bag but what little I can see of him is drenched in sweat and he looks like he staggering and is about to collapse.

Our's is the big bag just above the blue check in the centre. Our porter is somewhere under that with a similar sized bag on his back.


















Now a new twist is added to the game. They close the gangplank and open a new point of entry to the ship. Why didn't they do this in the first place? - perhaps because this would have deprived the crew of much entertainment. Our porter, who was almost there, is now at the back of the new queue. The poor man. I begin to feel that he might die and it will be my fault - and we will never get our bags on board. But, as the crowd thins he eventually gets to the new gangplank and arrives on board. I think he has lost a lot of weight. I pay him generously – he is crying. He gives me a hug and we shake hands.

It then dawns on me. If we had waited until the end we would have got on anyway. We had a cabin booked. But then, what an experience!

The whole process of loading the ship takes about 2 hours. With reasonable organisation it would have taken 30 minutes. As Meg says, let's hope the Indonesians never get nuclear weapons.

The journey itself was comfortable and pleasant. The journey took us south through innumerable Small islands until we hit the open seas. In the night we crossed the equator. Considering the problems embarking the ship was to surprisingly empty and it was easy to roam about without treading on people.

















As the only white people on board we became minor celebrities and Meg wandered the deck somewhat like the Queen, saying 'hello', shaking hands and having her photo taken. I followed (much like the Duke of Edingburgh, nodding and smiling). Meg had the cheek to ask if we could visit the bridge (I cringed) but this was arranged. We inspected the charts and just checked that we we on the right course.























In the morning we were awoken by the call to prayers (at about 4.30) and counted the cockroaches ( only a handful)

We met a very nice Indonesian couple, Sidan and his wife, who helped explain a lot of what was going on such as Tannoy announcements and meal arrangements. The food was 'interesting'. One meal contained baked fish heads followed by the rest of the fish the next meal, fried in batter.

We eventually arrived in the port of Tajung Priok but waited for a free berth at the ferry teminal for a couple of hours and disembarked in a relatively orderly fashion just four hours late. As we waited we chatted to the chief steward who described the ship as a floating hotel - and so it was (an floating Indonesian Hotel).

Meg with the Chief Steward and our friends:

















The whole journey was one we would not have missed.

Singapore

The word for Singapore is – stylish. It is a smart modern city, more modern than anything else we have seen in SE Asia. The streets are broad, often with nice flower beds, grass borders, or large shady green trees. The buildings are a charming mix of glass and marble palaces, interspersed with colonial buildings; small white churches, and rather pompous civic buildings like the old fire station. The glass and marble palaces are hotels, bank, hospitals but mainly malls. There are so many malls. Each is full of smart well stocked shops. All have exceptionally clean toilets with no squat toilets, and toilet paper. Jeff postulates a theory of economic development based on toilet paper – the thicker the toilet paper, the higher the level of economic development.

Getting to Singapore had been reasonably easy. We dropped the hire car at Johor Bahru and then caught the bus – simple. We actually caught the wrong bus, not because it did not go to Singapore, but because it was the local shopper bus rather than the 'express'. This meant that what should have taken less than a hour took more than two. But the up side of it was that it only cost 35 pence - and we did get to see a lot of Singapore.

We found a hotel on the edge of Little India. The area is full of Indian shops, businesses and migrant workers. It actually felt like a street in India particularly as the decorations for Deepwalli (their spelling) were still up. There are few Indian hotels - in this area they are mainly run by Chinese (as ours was). But the migrant workers live in boarding rooms. These cost about 450 Singapore dollars per week, but include access to a washing machine. At night you can see the workers sitting around in any public space, such as a childrens' playground; it is simply too hot to sit in their rooms, which I suspect contain beds for more than one person.

Little India ...

Getting around Singapore is easy, there is a modern efficient Mass Rapid Transport system, which is relatively cheap. However using it does feel a bit like something from Brave New World. You walk along these half empty corridors while soothing voices direct you were to go. “Alphas, please move to the front of the train; Betas, please use carriages ten to fourteen...” Well that's what it felt like. They also say everything in three languages.

Singapore offers a range of eating experiences from dirt cheap to jaw-droppingly expensive and boasts that it can offer any food cuisine in the world. We saw Russian restaurants, Scandinavian smorgasbords, Korean cuisine. And what did we eat ? – fish and chips. We saw it on our first evening and a chord was touched in Jeff's soul which meant that nothing else would do.

On the second night we ate in Raffles Hospital. Yes that is not a spelling mistake; it was the hospital, not the hotel. We are not quite sure why but the hospital has a food court on the ground floor that is open to the public; you go in and turn left for ear nose and throat surgery, straight on for orthopedics and turn right if you want to eat. Our theory is that with city centre premises being so expensive that anything which turns a buck is good news for hospital coffers.

We did experience some fantastic rain. In the UK we could have made this storm last a couple of weeks.

Our favourite building was the new National Library of Singapore – if anything would make you want to go to a library, this building was it. Our favourite shop was a book store at the Harbour front which was one of the biggest we have ever seen, and certainly the only English stocked book shop since Waterstones in Cirencester. No Guardian, but we did get a Scientific American.

After about six weeks of travelling, Singapore has felt a haven of safety and organisation; whilst much of this is due to the industry of the current citizens, we could not help thinking that some of the infrastructure and attitudes left by the British must have given it a head start over other countries. We were left with lots of questions : how vulnerable is the water supply, (imported from Malaysia); why is there now a policy to encourage more than two children (when previously there was a policy to limit the population). We did not manage to meet up with anyone who could help us with these questions.

Penang to Singapore

Penang to Singapore (3 - 9 Nov)

Having a car changed things enormously, despite its age and the difficulties it had reaching the speed limits before they changed. Our aim was to explore Peninsular Malaysia a little. But we spotted our favourite site just as we were leaving Penang – Tescos. We now understand why Tescos has such a huge Value range – it is to capture the vast Asian market. We allowed ourselves a short retail opportunity.

From Penang we crossed the 13 km bridge back to the mainland and headed south on the motorway. This is a good road that stretches the whole length of the country and it is an easy journey down to the turn off for the Cameron Highlands. This is a region at about 5000ft up in the range of hills that runs down the spine of the country. The climate here is still pretty warm by English standards but there is a lot of rain and the air is much fresher than at sea level. It was “hill station” country of old. It is famous for it tea plantations but we were amazed by the variety of other crops that we saw, 'pick-your-own strawberries', cauliflowers, beans, tomatoes, etc. There are enormous numbers of polytunnels and what appear to be hydroponics farms.

As we entered our hotel Jeff 's comment about a passing through a worm hole in the space-time continuum was somewhat upstaged by Meg's “Its bloody Brigadoon!”. The hotel was a 'Mock Tudor' building furnished like a 1950's Scottish country house but run by Indians who seem to still be working under the Raj. “We do have a dress code for dinner Sir” (eying our somewhat casual attire). We ate out. The maids wore little white lace caps and had broderie anglais aprons; we slept in a four poster bed with mosquito nets.

However, I suspect that now having ditched the Empire and gained air-conditioning, the good citizens of Singapore prefer jacuzzis to Olde English nostalgia.

There are lots of jungle treks which are no more than narrow tracks through the rain forest. We found one that went up to the top of one of the hills, Gunung Jasar, at 1650m and set off early in the morning. The map is what we now describe as 'flexible' – i.e. almost useless - and the track is difficult to follow, but since this was a tough climb, it was quite helpful to have some problem-solving tasks on the way. Like trying to work out how to get over the landslip. The view from the top was quite spectacular and well worth the effort, and we saw some huge butterflies. There were also some wonderful orchids, but when we lost the path we did reflect that a group of British solders got lost in the Malaysian jungle about five years ago.

We also went to see a tea plantation. These are utterly beautiful. Seen from afar it appears as if the hills have been draped with a soft emerald green chenille table cloth. The bushes fold gently round all of the contours of the hill, and because they are all about 3 feet high (imperial measures) they generate this wonderful site.

This shows a tea plantation - the picture hardly does it justice.

The tea is still picked by workers passing individually around the bushes, choosing tips which are 15 days old. We visited the factory – a shed which took up less space than two school gymnasiums. It is amazing that such low tech operations can produce such quantity of material. And we enjoyed the local food speciality – scones with strawberry jam and a pot of tea.

Working our way down the country was fascinating. Most of our route was covered by enormous plantations of Oil Palms which have replaced the original tropical rain forest. We by-passed Kuala Lumpur and eventually ended up in Melaka (Malacca from colonial times) where we had arranged a stay with a family.

This city has a lot of history and we spent time wandering around the old town.

The view of Melaka from the observation tower by the port

There is a vibrant night market and some old dutch churches. Having just been awarded World Heritage status there is a lot of work going on to 'tidy up' the tourist areas. We thought Melaka was more worthy of its World Heritage status than Penang. This has given us an idea for future careers – we intend to apply to become the people who decide what should be World Heritage sites. Apparently the UN gives out jobs such as these.

We saw several huge iguanas on our city river tour (this one was about 1.5m long and was in the heart of the city)

The stay with the family was a highlight – we were charmed by their daughters and enjoyed learning about schools and general family life.

Where we stayed ...

We ate the local specialties for breakfast and learnt a bit about Nyonya/Baba culture which is the local culture of the Malaccan straits Chinese. On the Saturday night we were taken out for a local speciality – a sort of fondue where the group sits around a table with a boiling pot of spicy stock and dips skewers of food in to cook. This was followed by a trip to a bar; here the management decided to make us feel at home by playing “God Save the Queen” - we stood up,it was expected. The remainder of the evening was spent in happy company, with the locals occasionally joining the stage to sing a Malay version of karaoke. Great fun.

Our friends in Melaka ...

The Malay population is a real melange of races and religions. The native Malays (about 60%) are Muslim, the Chinese (about 30% are Buddhist) and the Indians (about 10%) are Hindu. There are

some Christians in each of these groups but we could not work out what proportion these are. The religious sites of each of the groups are wonderfully different. The Buddhists flame in red and yellow, the Hindu temples are intricately crafted in sugar candy blues and pinks, the mosques are plain and unadorned in mainly white and blue. On a previous visit to Malaysia we were impressed at how integrated and accepting these groups were of each other and what an example of racial harmony they presented. This time things seem slightly different. We may be picking up the wrong signals but there are signs of some tension arising; a leading Muslim cleric has called for a fatwa on yoga; the law has now determined that if a parent converts to Islam that the children can

also be converted against the wish of the other parent or of the children themselves; the Chinese were expressing concern about the emerging talk of Muslim supremacy. We shall see – but now on to Singapore.