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 You can find out most of the above information with a little perseverance, but the timetable is several years out of date.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.

Bangkok to Penang

Vientiane to Bangkok Because the train saw full we booked a VIP bus. This is air-conditioned, reclining seats (with toilet on board) and takes the same time (about 12 hours). We ahd arranged to be picked up from our hotel and were somewhat surprised when our transport arrived.


















Thankfully this was only a transit to the bus station. There, a somewhat dilapidated coach takes you to the border. After the normal formalties and the reassuring sound of rubber stamps on passports, we transferred to the VIP bus. The Thailand road was excellent and you clearly are in a more prosperous country from the moment you leave the border. We arrived an hour early.

Bangkok

If Beijing was vibrant, and Vientiane was calm then Bangkok was hustle.

There is also bustle, but it felt as if there was more pressure in Bangkok. Pressure to take a tuk-tuk or taxi, pressure to buy, pressure to have a massage. The poorer environs are quite grubby and coupled with the pressure it felt a bit seamy. (no doubt we will have floods of emails saying we got it wrong and missed the good bits, but this is our opinion).

A typical food vendor - this type of food is very cheap and usually excellent.

We have seen many 'strange' examples of English. This was just one ...

We did like the Grand Palace – very very sparkly - and the Emerald Buddha.

We did like the river boats – surely the best bargain in Bangkok. For about 25 pence you can have a trip on a boat that goes so fast the waves splash you. It is a good way to view Bangkok without effort. The breeze is a nice change from the humid heat (or air-conditioning). It is interesting how the passengers all go for one side of the boat until you realise that all the empty sets are on the sunny side.

We saw people bathing in the river (the Chao_Praya) but it looked about as mucky as the Thames at Wapping. We did like the enormous number of “wats” (temples) and reclining Buddhas, but became overwhelmed by the sheer numbers.

What did impress us was the way people actively used the shrines in the streets, or shopping malls. These are not in extravagant tourist locations, simply somewhere holy right on the street. You often saw people leaving offerings of fruit, or flowers and there were lots of places on the side streets where women made marigold garlands to place on the alters.

The Thais are also enormously respectful of their king. Each public building has a huge photo of him or the queen smiling beatifically. Some of the grand boulevards or roundabouts.

But in the side streets we saw lots of sweat shops with women working on sewing machines making up things to sell in the nearby shops.

Now if you like shopping Bangkok would be heaven on earth; we have never seen so many retail opportunities of all shapes and sizes. We saw acres of shoes in the Siam Centre, Jeff did not believe that there were enough women on earth to wear all the shoes we saw. (He IS pretty innocent).

In one mall we were swept along by a group of determined women, who were buying wholesale to take back and resell at their beach stalls or small out of town shops.

All in all, not our favourite place. But we did make it to the train station about 2 hours before the train was due, and watched the orderly waiting of Thai families preparing for a journey under the watchful gaze of their king.

The journey to Butterworth was second class but it was a delight. The carriage was open plan with double seats that converted to bunks at night, (and were made up for you by the carriage steward).

The toilets were a challenge – it takes some skill for a female to use a squat toilet on a moving train.

In the berth opposite us was Juliet; she is also on her way overland to Australia. She was following a similar route to us, having done Cambodia, not Laos; but it was good to compare notes. She was much more organised than we were and was knitting a Shetland shawl as a way of passing the journey. We shall follow her blog.

Sleeping was not really open plan as each birth had little curtains around it. What did make sleeping difficult was the temperature. Whilst it was 30 degrees C outside, inside the air conditioning must have been set at near zero. We slept with our fleeces (and socks) on.

The next day, just after we crossed the Malay border, a party of school children boarded the train. It was like a swarm of ants. They surged forward, ignoring their teachers and gradually a seat was found for all of therm. They looked at these white people with some concern. But within ten minutes the “Billy Bunter” of the party announced he was hungry; we shared our crisps, which did not go far amongst 30 children, but we made a lot of friends. Then out came the photos of Cirencester and the wedding, and we became celebrities.

More and more children wanted to see the photos; we held simple English lessons. They shared their lunches. Things got a little out of hand when they asked to see English money. Then one bright spark asked if we would swap ringgits (the Malaysian currency) for our money. We ran out of 20 pence pieces fairly quickly and had to call in the teacher to stop them wanting to change up £20 of ringgits at a time. Mind you she was interested in the money changing and the English lessons as well. By the time we got to Butterworh where we disembarked, we were being asked for our autographs, email, blog address ...

Penang

From Butterworth we took the ferry to Penang, a Malaysian island. Here we have had four days R&R in a beach resort hotel (the Shangri-La Rasa Sayang) - which is like paradise. We will forward details to all interested, but the hotel is truly out of this world. Staff appear to anticipate our every need; buffet breakfasts to die for; thick white bathrobes; fruit and 'iced' towels are offered as we lounge by one of the three pools. Even the scales in the bathroom read low. As a sign of where we have come from Jeff's first remark was 'look! toilet paper!)

The view from our room ...

Here is our beach - somewhat lopsided

But Georgetown ( the main town on Penang) despite being a world heritage site seems a bit run down; Cirencester has more history and beauty.

Today we picked up our hire car which we will drive down to Johor Bahru at the foot Peninsular Malaysia. This will enable us to see more of the country, visit the Cameron Highlands and visit a family in Melaka.

Beijing to Vientiane

19^th - 26^th October Days 19 - 26

The last episode of this thrilling saga ended with Jeff and Meg just making their train from Beijing with minutes to spare....

We found ourselves ushered to a compartment containing 4 teenage Chinese girls and every square inch taken up with their baggage was something of a surprise (particularly as there were only four berths). The carriage attendant also seemed a little bemused. No English was spoken by any of the occupants and we smiled a lot and introduced ourselves. The girls smiled back, giggled a lot and got out their mobile phones and started dialling all their friends presumably to tell them they were sharing a compartment with an OLD MAN. After a while the train manager arrived with two Mongolian women – one of whom spoke English. After a lot of hand-waving and loud talking we eventually exchanged compartments with the two women (who were, understandably, not very happy with the situation) and we settled down to the prospect of a nice uneventful 36-hour journey.

We were sharing our compartment with Quan, a young Vietnamese...

who turned out to be quite good at communicating with pen and paper and we learned quite a lot about him. (As well as some very basic Vietnamese). Our pictures of Cirencester and Tom's wedding were a great success. The Chinese girls were quite taken with the photos of Amelia with her blonde curls, and Rebecca's wedding outfit caused great excitement. They invited the whole of the rest of the train to come and see the 'weird travellers' with their funny photos.

As the journey unfolded the countryside gradually turned to rice crops and paddy fields and it became increasingly warm outside. We had come with little food and got worried when we saw that the girls' luggage consisted entirely of food, shampoo and hair gel. It was therefore a relief to find there was a restaurant car and food was also available from the trolleys at the stations (but no hair gel). Our first night passed uneventfully, (what is the dress code for bed when you share a room with a 24 year old Vietnamese man?)

We trundled on through the day. The train was less deluxe than the Trans-Siberian. Hot water was available from the attendant at the end of the compartment (electric not coal this time), but the washing facilities were shared (three basins in a room) and only cold water. We ate some of our meals in the restaurant car pointing at things that looked vaguely like food we knew. This has been a standard practice since we entered China and so far has proved a very reliable means of eating well. There has only been one incident of Jeff finding bones in what he thought was a fried egg. The stations in China are vast marble palaces that are a contradiction to the rather small houses we see by the rail side. The fields are mainly empty, usually only one or two people working there at any one time and very, very little machinery. The day moved into evening and we settled down for a disruptive night. We knew we crossed the border at about midnight and were expecting the same sort of delays we had had when we crossed from Mongolia into China.

At about midnight we pulled into Nanning and were all made to get off the train and wait in a lounge whilst something happened. No one was sure what. Eventually we all got back on and drifted into a fitfull sleep.

At about 3:00 a.m., at the Chinese border, everything was checked and stamped and the train them moved on to the Vietnamese border where we took all our luggage to the station waiting room and filled in the appropriate immigration and customs forms. After a short time we were 'invited' into a back office where we were informed that our visas were not valid – they were dated from the 26th of October, not the 20th – 'you must go back to China'.

There seemed no way around the situation. It was pointless to try to explain that the Vietnamese embassy in London must have made a mistake. We we were escorted back onto the train and returned to the Chinese border at Pingxiang where the guards were unsure what to so with us. They explained that we would have to wait until the 26th, or travel to Nanning (about 190km East) where there was a Vietnamese Consulate and we could arrange for new visas there. By now it was 5:00 a.m. and the guards, who were wonderfully courteous throughout (the Chinese obviously respect old people), took us to a small hotel and we booked in (for an hour). This hotel was clearly not in the Michelin Guide but at £3.50 a night what could you expect? It had the ambiance of a prison cell, but the sheets were clean, and as Meg pointed out she had slept in worse in Tajikistan. Note the bars on the windows ...

At 6:15 a.m we set off for the bus station having no idea where we were or where the town centre was! Our kindly hotel owner hailed us a tuk-tuk (motor bike taxi a bit like a rickshaw - see below) and we hurtled off into town. That was because the first part was downhill and the driver needed the momentum to get up the next part. ten minutes and fifty pence later (we were robbed) we were at the bus station and found there was a bus to Nanning in 10 minutes.

All attempts to ascertain how long the journey would take failed but suggested 5-6 hours .With tickets in hand were led to the bus stop and were amazed to find the bus was modern, air conditioned and very comfortable. Even more surprising, the route was an 'expressway' which meant that it could go flat out – 90km/h – most of the way, and the journey took less than 3 hours .

By now were were the only westerners in a non-tourist Chinese city, with no signs in English and not speaking any Chinese except "please", "thank you" and "chicken". But Meg did not spend a long time working on problem solving for nothing. We found a left luggage store, bought a map, and pointed to the only recognisable symbol (it was in Chinese) on the map - the train station. The taxi driver knew where to take us. When we spotted we were down town, (not at the station) we got the taxi to stop. We then went into the nearest 5-star hotel, figuring that if anywhere in the town would speak English it was there. We had got one of the train staff to write 'Vietnamese Embassy' in Chinese and e showed this to the desk staff .. who got a manager .. who phoned a friend and the address of the Embassy was duly written in Chinese on paper with a mark on our map. The next taxi driver knew exactly what to do (drive us round in circles clocking up a reasonable sum on the meter before arriving at the Embassy from the other direction). So by 11:30 we were in the Vietnamese Embassy, which turned out to be a consulate, trying to explain the situation. Eventually a very helpful English-speaking "boss" was found and he explained that the only way to remedy the situation was to purchase new visas. It would cost 76 pounds but they would waive the express fee. We should come back at 6 p.m.

So we spent the day in Nanning, wandering round, being impressed by the marvellous floral decorations which were in place because the ASEAN summit was being held in the town and watching cavalcades of very expensive black limos streaming along as the police closed the roads for them.

At lunchtime there were several 'dancing classes' held in in public squares in the centre of the city.

We ate in a local market, again pointing at plates on tables, and paid one pound equivalent for about three times what we could eat.

Later that afternoon we decided to treat ourselves and went to a Western ice cream parlour where Jeff had a wonderful looking concoction that contained - er - lumps of jelly and aduki beans. Well, you can't win them all. We sought out an internet cafe to try to tell the children we were OK. There were lots of policemen around because of the summit, and rather than try to explain to us where the cafe was one of them took us there in his car. Jeff wanted to have the siren on but - again - we didn't have the language.

You can imagine the euphoria when we got the visas. Taxi back to bus station and bus back to Ping Xiang, the town we had arrived at at 5 a.m. We had initially thought it might be a one-hotel town, but found it much grander than we imagined. We settled on a hotel called New Century, and were only a little taken aback when we found that as well as daily rates there were hourly rates. Some very nice young women kept phoning Jeff to see if he was alright. There were no phone calls for Meg,.

That night we ate in a small family restaurant and by the end of the evening we thought the family might have adopted us. They enjoyed having their photo taken ...

The next day we trundled our bags to the bus station and amazingly bought a ticket to Hanoi for £8 pounds each.

We had a couple of hours to kill so we took in the local market. There were all sorts of foods for sale - including live animals. We only show the ducks here as the cats and dogs might upset some of our more sensitive readers.

The bus journey to Hanoi was a doddle. The coach was large and air-conditioned, we were escorted through customs in an electric golf buggy. Three and a half hours later (and twenty four hours later than planned) we were in our hotel. It was wonderful. The staff spoke English and seemed to be able to sort any little problem. Jeff's bag had ripped and they arranged for it to be mended and returned within an hour and charged 75p.

Hanoi. 22nd - 24th October

The motorcycle is king in Hanoi. They are everywhere buzzing around like flies. Crossing the road is an even greater art form than in Beijing. The technique which worked for us was to walk slowly out into the road and keep walking. The traffic seemed to melt away around us. We began to realise that the motorbikes do not have brakes and traffic management is by driver anticipation not road rules.

The main railway line passes through the centre of the city with no level crossing barriers. Could you imagine this in London?

I won't go on about the touristy bits in Hanoi, except to say that the Vietnamese must all have a gene for commerce and selling. They seem to be able to sell anything to anyone. There are many peddlers in the street like this one viewed from our hotel window.

This is a street market in the old quarter.

Our hotel in the old quarter was described as "boutique" which I think means small. As you can see it had wireless internet ...

But when you saw the size of the living quarters of the Vietnamese what we had was pretty palatial. Whole families seem to live in one room, sleeping on tiny beds, cooking on fuel stoves and living alongside their chickens, even in the middle of the city. Just how the Americans came to be defeated by them is a mystery. We gained great respect for the Vietnamese people, and learned a lot about the suffering brought about by the war. We also experienced an exceptionally high level of service, but you have to haggle for anything you want to buy. This is counter intuitive to Jeff who clearly would hand over the kids inheritance before negotiating.

Vientiane, Laos. 24th - 26th October

For the next step of the journey we had already planned to give up our moral high ground and had booked a flight. The alternative was a 26-hour bus journey in a non-air conditioned bus with no toilet stops (well, only when the bus breaks down which is often sufficient). Despite this being a gap year, it did not seem sensible to travel back-packer style for this section. So we took to the air (175kg of CO2 for the 50 minute flight). Flying was really boring after all our ground based travelling. It was all too easy. Even applying for the Laotian visa on entry seemed to be a doddle.

Vientiane, the capital of Laos, seems a world away from Hanoi. It is calm and ordered where Hanoi is frenetic; the roads are wide; there are more cars, mainly large SUVs. Like the Vietnamese these people seem to smile all the time. They practice their English "hello" and we practice our one word of Laotian (which is thank you).

The town is on the banks of the Mekong and one of the memorable moments of our trip will be of sitting in a bar on the bank of the rive, with beer in hand, watching the fishermen throwing their nets as the sun slipped down into the water.

This is a tuk-tuk, pretty much universal in all the Asian countries we have passed through. The ride can be a bit hairy (no seat belts) but quite efficient.

There are many many temples, with much restoration of them following the bombing by the US.This is a typical Buddha in one of the temples

Laos has the dubious international reputation of being one of the most bombed countries in the world. It is also one of the poorest. It has poor economic development because it is landlocked, with limited education. Meg once again thought of Tajikistan. There are saffron-clad monks wandering the streets seeking alms. The Laotians seem to have incorporated a respect for a king, a reverence for Buddhism and remain communist. It seems to be a very laid- back form of communism.

This is Patuxai which is the National monument - allegedly built with the money given by the USA (to build an airport).

The museum is full of pictures of visiting communist dignitaries. But alongside this there is the evidence of growing westernisation. There is clearly a trend for the young to dress western style and the status given to "coffee bars". We somehow managed to get into the background shots of a documentary being made for Lao television on 'good restaurants in Vientiane': look out for it if you get a chance. Meg is the one with the big grin. We also went to a pop concert being sponsored by a mobile phone company. All I would say about the Laotian pop-stars is that they should not anticipate a large recording contract just yet. I think they do it much better in South Cerney.

Next stop - Bangkok