'Paradise on Earth'

I wouldn't go as far as saying I had home sickness, but after six weeks of travelling I was definitely missing the sea.

It's one of those things I take for granted being in North Devon - as well as the rolling hills and green fields, living next to the beautiful coastline is such a privilege. I know that at home you have been experiencing just how mighty the Atlantic Ocean can be. We have followed the news anxiously whilst we've been away; watching reports of powerful waves and big tides smashing into the Southwest - hoping and praying that everyone was okay. At some stages it sounded as though the region might be underwater by the time we returned. But even when it's angry, there is something about the sea that draws me to it. I get a bit restless, almost agitated, if I don't see it for a while. So I was excited when the next leg of our journey took us away from the Phnom Penh, south to the seaside town of Sihanoukville.

We'd decided to travel to this beach resort as it was home to a Vietnamese Embassy which would allow us to finally get a visa and head into Vietnam. The process would take a couple of days, which meant that we would have to relax and lie on a beach for a few days. It would be a real chore.

Instead of staying in Sihanoukville, a town rapidly growing as Russian billionaires build big hotels and erect 'Irish' pubs, we got on a boat and made our way to the little island of Koh Rong.

The journey there took a couple of hours - although it wasn't as stomach churning as taking the Oldenburg out over the Bar, I still kept an eye on the horizon to avoid feeling ill. Despite my love for the sea I still feel I have a 'landlubber's' tummy - lying on a waterbed can be enough to make me feel queasy! Many of my childhood camping holidays to France were bookended by my Dad and I turning green on board one cross-channel ferry or another - usually whilst my darling sister grinned and ate a Mars Bar in front of us.

To my relief we arrived stomach in tact and found our bungalows. Perched above the dozens of small bars and restaurants that lined the sea front our lodgings were very basic - we shared them with the rats who used our beams as a highway and there was only electricity for a few hours a day - but they made us feel like we were a little more removed from civilisation, which was nice. 

We wasted no time running down to the beach and diving into the small breakers that washed on to the pristine white sand. As we did, we bumped in to Clem, the French girl who had endured our company in Siem Reap. She seemed genuinely pleased to see us (or at least feigned happiness at the encounter) and introduced us to her countrymen, Antoine and Paul.

The next few days we spent our time exploring the island and enjoying the sunshine. We all managed to develop a nice red tan and, despite using a large percentage of the aftersun cream, I'm pretty sure that I could still see Steve and Nick glowing when the lights were switched off.

On one of the days, we joined our French friends and walked though the jungle to the otherside of the the island. Peculiarly, our pathway was marked using flip flops, perhaps, we thought, left by the victims of the snakes this sign warned us of...

Undeterred, we march through thick forest and then down a very steep path to Long Beach. At the bottom we realised our trek had been well worth it; Clem described the view that greeted us as, "Paradise on Earth!" Which wasn't a bad description.

Long Beach stretched as far as the eyes could see - 7km of the white sand and turquoise sea, with barely a soul on it (picture Westward Ho! without the pebbles!).

We spent a glorious afternoon there, swimming and trying to take in the beauty around us.

Later, after the sun had set over the water, we got a boat back to our side of the island. Only when we had all waded through the water and paid our fare did we realise that the boat's crew appeared to be made up entirely of children under the age of twelve. All I could think, as our captain sailed round the headland, was that Chris de Burgh had often warned me as a child, "Don't pay the ferryman 'til he gets you to the otherside." And now I had foolishly ignored him. 

Thankfully, Mr de Burgh was wrong this time and our very competent sailors got us back safely, before, presumably, heading home for hot milk and a bed time story.

Our last night was spent challenging Antoine, Paul and Clem to a card game called Tarot. Despite only learning the game recently we recorded a victory for England - it couldn't make up for our defeat in the Six Nations rugby, but any victory over the French is always satisfying.

Not for the first time on our trip, the three of us were reluctant to leave such a beautiful place. Everything about Koh Rong, despite the rats, had been idyllic. But we had a feeling that the rest of the journey through Southeast Asia would present us with a few more glimpses of 'Paradise on Earth'.

The Killing Fields

This entrance will be relatively short. Not because I don't want to bore you, but because some times there just aren't words to describe what you see or how you feel.

We spent a relaxed Sunday in Siem Reap; Nick sampled the delights of the food market, whilst Steve and I found an English speaking church to visit. After visiting an icecream parlour for the third time in as many days, to purchase their delicious passion fruit sorbet, we got an early night. There was more travelling ahead of us.

It only took four or five hours to travel down to Phnom Penh. The minibus journey should probably have been longer, however, our driver was determined to beat the landspeed record - even if there were other vehicles or rather large potholes in the way. We knew our time in Cambodia's capital was limited, so once we were there, we dumped our bags at the hostel and went to visit a place called Toul Sleng.

Toul Sleng, or S-21 as it became known, was formally a high school, but in 1975 when the Khmer Rouge drove citizens out of the city and made Phnom Penh a ghost town, the building became a high security prison for the regime. Here Pol Pot tortured and killed thousands and thousands of innocent people.

For obvious reasons, I won't go into details, but I was rocked to my core by the things we saw and heard that day. The three of us barely said a word to each other as we walked amongst the haunting photographs of victims staring back at us, we didn't need to.

The next day we learned more about the Cambodian genocide when we journeyed to the Choeung Ek Memorial. In this rural town, about 15km southwest of Phnom Penh, lies a place infamously called 'the killing fields'. As we walked through the peaceful former orchard, it was hard to imagine the brutality that led to more than seventeen thousand people being executed here.

I knew visiting these places would be difficult - but nothing can prepare you to hear about atrocities like this. Conservative estimates place the number of Cambodians killed during the Khmer Rouge's three and a half year reign of the country, at 2 million. 2 million, or in other words one third of the county's population. 

During my travels around this region I have been amazed by the generosity of the people we have met. Everywhere we have gone we have been greeted by smiles and kindness. It was a shock to be reminded just how dark human nature can be as well.

Angkor Man

"You pay peanuts - you get monkeys!" Someone once said. This, I've come to realise, is never more true than when buying an plane ticket. Having flown to Spain with a company, which shall remain nameless (but rhymes with Bryan Flair), a few years ago, I have been wary of opting for the cheap airline option since. We were so cramped in on that flight that I felt like I was eating my meal off the head of the passenger in front of me. That's after I'd paid about £300 for the privilege of eating. I think I used the loo a record number times on that journey, not because I needed to use it, but because it offered more leg room and a slightly more pleasant smell than the cattle lorry I was in.

With this in mind, I was a little apprehensive when we arrived at Vientiane Airport on Thursday morning. We'd spent the previous evening wandering around the riverside of Laos' capital, exploring the night market and hoping that the delicious street food wouldn't repeat on us. Now standing in the modern departure terminal we searched for the check in desk for our flight. We became slightly concerned when we realised there was no sign of a flight to Pakse - that was until a kind lady explained we were in the wrong building and pointed us in the direction of the domestic terminal.

In contrast to the clean, sleek lines of its internationl counterpart, the domestic departure terminal was, um, basic. Peeling paint and plastic chairs took me right back to the assembly hall at my comprehensive school. The handwritten departure board just added to the quaint feel of the place. Still, this was doing little to alleviate my fears that we'd be sat next to chickens on a cargo plane held together with gaffer tape.

In actual fact, the plane was great. On both the journey to Pakse and our onward flight to Siem Reap, Lao Airlines provided lovely vehicles. The second of which was a propellor plane - we had plenty of leg room and were provided with a free meal. Result.

We had chosen our hostel in Siem Reap as it would serve as a good base for us to explore the famous temples of Angkor. It also had a swimming pool, which was a bonus. Another plus was that our room came with its very own gheko, who we named Graham. Graham, we decided, would protect us from the nasty mozzies. He was part of our gang.

We spent our first night exploring the vibrant downtown area of the city before heading home for a dip in the pool. I got out first and went for a shower - as I opened the door I stepped over something writhing around on the floor. What was it? I wondered. A snake? A worm?

Oh no.

It was Graham. Oh more specifically, Graham's tail. Graham lay motionless beneath the door I'd just come through. "Why would you lie there?" I asked Graham, before remembering he was a gheko and probably wouldn't be offering a reply. 

I thought about leaving him where he was and blaming Steve or Nick when they returned. No, that wouldn't be fair. Maybe chucking him over the balcony would be a better way - no, I needed to face up to what I'd done. I was a killer. I scooped Graham up and placed him on the window sill and tried to wash my guilt away in the shower.

Then I lay on my bed and waited for the boys to return, trying to find the words to tell them what I'd done. They'd be devastated. "I killed Graham," was what I settled for as they walked in.

"What?"

"Graham. He's dead. I squashed him with the door." 

I think it was about five minutes before they stopped laughing at me.

We dedicated two days to go and visit the dozens of temples that make up Angkor. You might have thought that we would've been bored of temples by now, after all, our first month and a half has been spent travelling between Buddhist pagodas and Hindu shrines! However, Angkor is somewhat different - Lonely Planet introduces it to visitors by saying, 'There is no greater concentration of architectural riches anywhere on Earth.' A vast area of land is covered with hundreds of temples that allude to the once mighty city that stood on the site. At its zenith, Angkor was the capital of a huge Khmer empire - boasting a population of one million people when London was still a town of 50,000.

I won't bore you (any more than I have already) by giving you a detailed description of each of the temples we visited, but they each had their own unique feel. Some had been lovingly reconstructed and others had been claimed back by nature.

On our second day in Angkor we rose at four thirty a.m. and wearily boarded a tuk tuk. We had been joined by a French girl, Clem, who looked just as grumpy to be up so early. The reason for our early start was that we were off to watch the sunrise over the largest religious building in the world - Angkor Wat.

We arrived in the dark and battled our way through an ocean of Chinese tourists to find a spot where we could view the spectacle. Nick, Steve and Clem were served a dubious substance by a man called Tiger Woods, who claimed it was coffee, and then we watched as the sky changed colours - from a pinky purple through to a yellowy orange - revealing the five lotus flower towers of the majestic royal temple.

After spending a few hours exploring the courtyards and long corridors of Angkor Wat, we made our way to my favourite temple - Ta Prohm.

You might know Ta Prohm, even if you think you don't, as it's appeared in a few Hollywood movies, including Tomb Raider and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. So in tribute to the latter, I played the Indiana Jones theme music on repeat for my entire visit!

Ta Prohm is famous because, unlike the  meticulously preserved Angkor Wat, this temple has slowly been reclaimed by the encroaching jungle. Giant tree roots strangle crumbling walls and give the place a real fantasy feel.

Thankfully, every now and again there was a tiny break in the onslaught of Chinese tourists to grab a photo - although, to be fair, I'm sure we photo-bombed more than a few of theirs too.

At the end of our two days we were exhausted. It turns out Lara Croft and Indi' were in tiring lines of work. As I lay in bed, trying to take in some of the sights we'd seen in Angkor, I was pleased to read that gheko shed their tails when they are threatened. Somewhere in Siem Reap, Graham - the tailless gheko, lived to fight another day.

 

    

Flappy Feet

There are some things that you shouldn't mix. Water and electricity, for example, are not a great pairing. Steve can pay testimony to that fact - I remember when we were younger, playing on my uncle's farm, and both of us were caught short. Being miles away from the house and being boys, the natural thing to do was to go in the hedge. As I happily mowed down the stinging nettles and long grass that lay in front of me, I witnessed something I wasn't expecting: Steve breaking the long jump world record. Unfortunately, in our haste to go to the toilet, we hadn't realised that behind the hedge was a fence. An electric fence. Poor Steve.

Another thing that didn't mix too well, we discovered as we travelled between Luang Prabang and Vang Vieng, were windy mountain roads and a bus driver who thinks he is Sebastian Vettel. By the time we'd reached half way, I think ninety percent of the passengers were looking fairly green. The other ten percent clearly had stronger stomachs.

What made the travel sickness bearable was the fact we were winding our way south through some more incredible scenery. Tall limestone pillars, covered in thick jungle, lined the road all the way to Vang Vieng. They broke up the otherwise flat horizon with silhouettes that resembled jagged shark teeth. These limestone karsts also provided the backdrop for the town itself. 

Tired from travelling, and very relieved to have arrived in one piece, we spent an hour or so recovering in a local bar, where we alternated between playing pool, snoozing and admiring the stunning view. Every now and again we would be covered in large shadows as big hot air balloons blew effortlessly across the picturesque town.

We enjoyed it so much that it was difficult to drag ourselves away, but we needed to find our guesthouse.

It turned out that our guesthouse was just as spectacular. Our home for the next three nights was a bungalow on an island in the middle of the river. The only way to reach it was down some rickety steps and across a bridge that looked like one somebody had made as a college woodwork project. Thankfully it was stronger than any of my efforts at school and held our weight.

The next few days we spent exploring the surrounding area. The most relaxing activity was when we went 'tubing': we hired three rubber inner tubes, were taken 3km upstream and spent the afternoon drifting back down the Nam Ou river towards the town.

Dotted along the riverbank were a number of places you could stop and have some food or drink. Helpful men, armed with a coke bottle full of sand and some rope would pull you in to shore and, providing you could negotiate the slippery rocks, you could spend some time getting refreshments. It was at one of these establishments that Steve's latest 'incident' occurred.

Now to be fair, it had been a good few days since Steve had had anything unfortunate happen to him. He'd not left any t-shirts drying in hotels, he'd finished his dose of anti-biotics and he had steered clear of petrol for a while. But as we enjoyed a game of volleyball in the sun, I noticed Steve limp off. "I think I'm out!" he said as he hobbled towards a seat.

"What's up?" Nick and I ventured, half expecting it was Steve being intimidated by our incredible volleyball skills.

"Um, my foot," Steve replied.

Stuck to the sole of Steve's right foot was a big brown leaf, flapping around. I could only imagine that a nasty thistle had dug itself in. I winced in sympathetic pain. And then I looked again. It wasn't a leaf flapping - it was the bottom of Steve's foot!

Resisting the urge to vomit, I quickly ran to the bar and asked for some 'tape to stick my friend's foot back together'. Steve cleaned the blood off before we wrapped it - it wasn't quite a professional job, more a Key Stage 1 cutting and sticking exercise, but it seemed to do the trick.

We walked, or hobbled in Steve's case, back to the river and continued to float back to Vang Vieng. Thankfully, Steve was not in much pain and even managed to dive, in vain, after a pair of sunglasses when they came off his head.

We met a nice couple from Finland who we spent the evening with, and then returned to sway in our hammocks and dose up on mosquito repellent.

The next day, Nick and I decided to go on a bike ride. It wasn't that we were excluding Steve because we thought he was some sort of bad omen; he had decided that he needed a rest day. So off Nick and I went in search of the 'Blue Lagoon'.

We had had a late breakfast that morning and set off at around midday. The cycle to the lagoon would have been hard enough as it was over back breaking bumps and through clouds of dust, but Nick and I had chosen to add to the difficulty by completing the 7km ride during the hottest part of the day. ("Mad dogs and Englishmen....", hey?) By the time we had completed the journey it felt as though we were melting, so we spared no time jumping into the refreshing lagoon.

In the afternoon, we climbed two hundred metres up what felt like vertical steps to a cave. It was worth the effort as we were greeted by a cathedral-like space, filled with stalegmites and stalactites. Every time we ventured around another corner the cave expanded deeper and darker into the limestone cliff. After ten minutes or so I half expected to bump into Gollum.

The sun was low in the sky on our return journey, which meant it was only the chronic asthma and spinal damage we had to contend with. The ride seemed much quicker as we watched the black cliffs turn purple in the late evening light.

The following day we boarded a bus bound for Laos' capital, Vientiane, where we would catch a flight to Siem Reap in Cambodia. We hoped that we would enjoy Cambodia nearly as much as we had enjoyed Laos.

We also hoped Steve would stop trying to audition as an extra on casualty.  

Cock-a-doodle-don't

If you looked up Luang Prabang in a guide book or on the internet you'd be informed that it is 'one of the most sophisticated towns in Southeast Asia' filled with French colonial villas, riverfront restaurants and more smiling Buddhist monks than you could shake a stick at (although I'm not sure why you would shake a stick at a Buddhist monk, they're fairly chilled out by nature). And they'd be right - Luang Prabang is a Unesco World Heritage site, so it has to be doing something right. What they won't tell you, however, is that the place is infested by cockerels! Loud, very annoying cockerels who are unaware of their duty to crow at dawn. Not 1am. Or 2. Or any other hour before sunrise, for that matter.

There is either an infestation of cockerels or just one very persistent rooster that followed us around! We spent three nights in Luang Prabang, each of them in different hotels but each of them with air conditioning, en suite and our very own cockerel sat outside the window.

The town did offer us the opportunity to eat some of the best food we've had on our travels so far. Needless to say I ate chicken every night, hoping it would take care of our malfunctioning alarm clock.

We loved our time here. It was a charming, laid back town that offered us great food and even better sunsets.

One day we rented bicycles and explored the local area. They were brilliant, old style bikes, with a fixed gear, curved handle bars and a basket on the front. I felt like Jessica Fletcher as I whistled the theme tune of Murder, She Wrote.** Thankfully though, this wasn't Cabbat Cove and I didn't have to help any inept sherifs solve a case. Instead, we cycled out through the surrounding villages in search of a waterfall, which, despite our best efforts in the midday sun, we couldn't locate - much to the amusement of some local boys. The next day, however, we did find a waterfall - and it was well worth the wait.

'Find' is probably a strong word for what we did - I'm not sure being driven to the waterfall on a tuk tuk can be described as finding. Nevertheless, the Kuang Si waterfalls were incredible. They spilt over cliffs of various sizes, creating dozens of beautiful turquoise pools to swim in.

Steve and I had stopped on the way to the waterfalls to purchase some new swimming shorts as we had accidentally left ours drying next to a pool in Bangkok! But now, as we stood on the edge of the water alongside half of the Chinese population who seemed to be here too, we realised we should've tried them on before buying them. Steve's were so tight I was worried that if he moved he might be indecent and mine appeared to have been tailored by a blind man with little or no experience of a sewing machine.

Despite the shorts, it was a great swim.

Later that evening, Steve and Nick played football with our tuk tuk driver, whilst I tried to find some wifi to sort out the next day of our journey. We'd decided to change our plans and head south through Laos to Cambodia. Previously we thought that we'd head east to Vietnam but when we turned up at the Vietnamese embassy it transpired that they were on holiday celebrating their New Year and so we wouldn't be able to obtain visas for at least a week. Not very considerate of them!

We found an Aussie Sports Bar and watched Wales scrape a win in the Six Nations rugby, before heading back to get some sleep before our early coach trip the next morning. 

As we lay in bed we discussed what time we thought we should set our alarm. Just then a chorus of our feathered friends reminded us that we didn't need to.

**In case you are not old enough to remember - 'Murder, She Wrote' was a TV show in the 80s. It was about a lady who solved lots of murders - except she wasn't a policeman - she was a writer. I was always confused as to why so many people died when she was around - I have now come to the conclusion that she must have been an evil genius serial killer.

Meandering down the Mekong

This area of the world has experienced more than its fair share of turmoil in the last century. Its people have witnessed unimaginable brutality in wars and revolutions. Thankfully, peace now reigns in the majority of lands that the Mekong River runs through.

The Mekong itself snakes down through South East Asia from its origins in the foothills of Tibet. The mighty river has sections that plunge down spectacular gorges and whip up powerful white-water rapids before it empties into the South China Sea. But as we floated along it on Friday morning, it too was in a more peaceful state.

We were travelling across the border into Laos. The previous night, after our escapades on the mo-peds, we had driven to the border town of Chiang Khong. There we would rest for the night before bidding Thailand farewell and hopping on to a slow boat bound for Luang Prabang.

Unfortunately the accommodation that greeted us in Chiang Khong wasn't quite what we hoped for. Don't get me wrong, we weren't expecting the Ritz or the Hilton - just a place to rest our heads, but as we got off the minibus just before midnight we were faced with a scene that bore more resemblence to something from a low budget horror movie. Had we been able to see the walls of our room in the dimsy light, we probably would have been staring at 'help me!' pleas written in blood by former cell mates.

After braving a trip to brush our teeth we lay down on what felt like mortuary slabs, which were, in fact, polystyrene mattresses and tried to sleep. Our bus left for Laos at 7 the next morning.

Surprisingly we actually slept quite well. Not that I'd recommend a polystyrene bed, of course, there are slightly less rigid mattresses on the market. We were woken by the sound of the rest of our party waiting outside our room. It appeared that our schedule was incorrect - the bus left at 6:30am.

Mild panic ensued as we gathered our belongings and race outside. As it happened, we needn't have bothered as the bus that was sent didn't have enough room for all of us. We sat for another forty -five minutes alongside the dead flies, cockroaches and other incumbents of this fine establishment.

Once we finally got to the border crossing, we had to deal with queues. Lots of them. A queue to pick up the departure card, a queue to give in the arrival card, a queue to pay for our visas, etc. As Brits we were quite happy to queue - it's in our DNA to find lines and complain quietly as we wait. We were in our element. The Chinese, however, were not. This was made most apparent to us by one man we nicknamed 'Shiny Coat Man' (a genius nickname as he was wearing a shiny coat. And was a man). Shiny Coat Man, who didn't really understand the concept of personal space (at one point I think he may have actually rested his chin on my shoulder) became more and more agitated as we waited for our passports to be checked. Every now and again he would try to push in but we held firm and were happy to get our visa first. We'd won the battle, but the war was far from over. 

Somehow, this man seemed to be one step ahead of us for the rest of our journey down the Mekong. Every bus we got onto, every boat, every hotel we stayed in - there he was, two minutes ahead of us.

In contrast to our hectic morning, drifting down the Mekong on a long boat was a serene experience. Our journey would take us two days, but I could've spent longer watching the dramatic scenery pass by. It was like looking at the land time forgot; jagged limestone cliffs towering over thick, untouched jungle. Small villages perched next to pristine white beaches - this was the sort of landscape I had imagined when I dreamed of coming to South East Asia.

We stayed in the little town of Pakbeng for the night before continuing our journey towards the cultural capital of Laos, Luang Prabang. It was a long, lazy day spent reading books, listening to music and marveling at creation.

I was sad to get off the boat, apart from a few annoying Englishmen who had been loud and rude, it had been a very relaxing few days.

What made it better was that, as we queued for a tuk-tuk taxi into town, I spotted Shiny Coat Man's boat arriving.

We won.

Easy Riders

Our first full day in Chiang Mai was a chilled affair. It hadn't started that way for poor old Steve who had had a fever during the night and alternated between being hotter than a thousand suns and shivering in his sleeping bag. Understandably, his main priority that morning was to find a doctor who could prescribe him some strong medication. Meanwhile, Nick and I headed off to do some research about our onward travels into Laos.

The afternoon we spent exploring the dozens of wats (Buddhist temples) that were scattered sporadically around the city. Although each one was similarly adorned with more gold than Fort Knox, each of them had their own unique feel.

Steve got his haircut in a place that appeared, on closer inspection, to come directly from the set of the 'Grease' movie and then Nick, John Travolta and I had some food and an early night.

The next day was altogether more eventful.

I've always wanted to ride a motorbike. When I was little I spent hours riding around French campsites on my Raleigh Activator pretending I was Carl Foggarty. The only time I came close to fulfilling this dream was when I was about 12 and I had a go on Steve's old Honda CB100. I say 'a go' but my ride lasted about 5 seconds as I let the clutch out too quickly, wheelied the bike and promptly fell off the back.

Since that moment I have not trusted myself to get on anything I could throw myself off. But that Tuesday morning I sat astride my very own Harley Davidson ready to face my demons.

My 'Harley Davidson' was, in fact, a 50cc mo-ped. A pink 50cc mo-ped, with leopard print detail and a foot rest that bore the images of Lilo and Stitch. Steve and Nick chuckled as they chose their more elegant, suave looking vehicles. But I was already slightly attached to my bike, or Tracey, as I now called her.

Our thorough CBT consisted of a rather rotund lady showing us our meager supply of petrol and explaining, in broken English, that Nick's key was a bit dodgy. With that sound advice ringing in our ears we wobbled off down the road, only causing a minor traffic jam as we pootled along.

Two hours later, though, the wobbles had disappeared and we were winding our way up some brilliant mountain roads. We stopped to admire views but, to be honest, this was all about being 7 years old again. I was finding the racing lines and hitting apexes as we traversed up towards the temple at the top. The only slight interruption to me being Valentino Rossi came when I forgot to put my foot stand up and tried to turn left. Needless to say I didn't turn left. Fortunately, Tracey's 50cc engine wasn't pumping out enough speed for me to go very far and I corrected my error before I found myself in a grass verge.

We visited the temple but were too late to see the royal palace perched on the very top of the hill. Reluctantly, we decided to turn around and return to the city. Our bikes were due back at 6 and we had a minibus to catch at 7.

As we descended I could feel that Tracey's engine was misfiring. Then, as we stopped to look at the panoramic view of the city, Tracey stopped working altogether. I'm not a mechanic, but I think it was probably something to do with the fact I didn't have any petrol left. Nick was dangerously low too. Thankfully, gravity enabled me to freewheel the bike to the bottom of the hill - but that was as far as we could go.

We now had two options. Nick and I thought it would be best to send Steve to get some more fuel. Steve, however, was sure that we would be able to siphon some of his surplus petrol into my fuel tank. Knowing this was dangerous, Nick and I attempted to convince Steve it wasn't a good idea - but Steve had gone all Bear Grylls on us and was in the hedge searching for a pipe. So when he came back seconds later with a tube we thought that it must be fate and reluctantly let him attempt the procedure.

Never ever siphon petrol. This is always sound advice. Especially if your recovering from a chest infection. There is a certain sense of inevitability about the story I'm telling - it's the same feeling Nick and I had as we watched Steve place the hosepipe in his petrol and suck. 

Incredibly, it worked and the liquid began to flow in to my bike... for all of a second. And then it stopped. So Steve tried again - this time, however, he sucked too hard and we watched helplessly as Steve got a mouthful of petrol.

The next few minutes were spent watching Steve wretching by the roadside as we occasionally offered a particularly helpful, "Are you alright, mate?" Of course he wasn't. He just used FourStar as mouthwash.

Only now, a week later, is Steve able to eat or cough or breathe without tasting petrol.

We couldn't stand and sympathize with Steve for long though - after sending him in search of a petrol station it was now 5.40pm. We had twenty minutes to get through the city's rush hour traffic and get our bikes back to the rental place. 

We weaved in and out of queues, narrowly avoided being side swiped by vans and prayed that traffic lights stayed green. Which they did. We felt like we were in a movie - racing through the streets was exhilarating. It was only when we were overtaken by a girl in school uniform that we realised we couldn't have been going that fast!

Later that evening, as we sat on the minibus heading northeast to the Laos border, we were able to smile and reflect on a brilliant day. Even Steve was smiling - or was it a petrol induced grimmace? I couldn't tell.