Sonoma - Santa Cruz - Highway 1 - Los Angeles

The end is nigh...

So to Sonoma, 1.5 hours from San Franscisco, 2 days fast-tracked wino tour. Of course, slightly hindered by the need to drive everywhere. Many an hour spent sobering up in the pub - me fashioned with a glass of water and bag of crisps.

We found the most amazing restaurant completely by accident in Santa Rosa, called G&Gs Earth and Surf. A brand spankingly new place with an amazing menu (chickpea chips no less) and a policy to source food from no further than 150miles away. The same went for alcohol. Not only all this, but it catered for my exact diet - vegetables and fish. This place was so good that we insisted on a three course lunch and went two days in a row...so much for that budget.

For wine tastings we found ourselves in Heraldsville, a sleepy, quaint little town with all manner of tasting options. Most fun was the Toad Hollow winery from which we purchased a bottle of rose and a bottle of bubbly...did someone say budget?

Probably a good thing we only had 48 hours here, but in reality it would have been grand to go the whole hog with a wine tasting tour. It's certainly on my to do list.

Next stop: Santa Cruz. Three hours of driving sees us in Santa Cruz, just before sunset. We are here following a recommendation from the man who sells jewellery opposite ferry terminal 4 in SF. Less than 24 hours to do the Board Walk. Our hotel is a motel and I'm excited. It's pink and floral, clean and spacious, but a 25 minute walk from the beach. Bit of a shame with limited time, still we hit the off-licence opposite for some choice picks for local beer and head on down to the beach in time for sunset.

The Board Walk is primary-coloured, tinny musical, fried food wonderment. According to budget we stick with things like the "make your own Santa Cruz Board Walk penny" machine and "Collect these Vintage Car Postcards for a dime" machine. The one thing we hadn't thought of is that there is no alcohol on the beach, so the 6 bottles of carefully chosen local beer we'd lugged all the way down, were lugged all the way back up again.

The hours worth of walking was rewarded with a midnight tryst at the local ice cream parlour, and boy was this place awesome. Marianne's late night ice cream parlour - it had to be done.

Next stop: Highway 1 to LA.

The longest drive of the West Coast excursion, 9+ hours and I think I stopped counting at 9 anyway. This drive was no without stops however, and on such a beautiful day as it was these stops were well worth the additional hours it took to arrive in LA. First pit stop was Monterey. This place felt proper seaside, with a proper sea breeze to help that feeling along. We stopped for brunch in this restaurant called First Awakenings which makes me hungry now at just the thought of it. After a quick wonder along the promenade we hit the road again, back to Highway 1.

The pit stops along the way consisted of serves into small roadside cubby holes, where we'd briefly leave the car to stand on the precipice of the road, look down to the turquoise blue Pacific Ocean and breathe in the vista that surrounded us. Quite simply put, this drive was breath-taking. We later read that highway 1 is one of the most dangerous roads in California, at the time I didn't consider it but there were a couple of white-knuckle moments: the lanky bridges spanning cliffs, the hairpin corners and the bottomless drop into the ocean made for some interesting driving.

Beat poets, red woods, humming birds, waterfalls, beaches full of seals, crashing waves, campsites, forest trails and wine...I would love to do it again, but this time with a whole month to spare.

So sunset passed behind us, twilight edged in, my eyes began to cross over and coffee was required. Following a small hiccup with getting lost in LA, we arrived at our hostel at midnight. Touted to be the best room in the house, we dragged our weary bodies upstairs to our private room and crashed out in preparation for a hectic last two days.

San Francisco and bringing it home

So to the last two weeks of my trip. San Francisco was an amazing city, there were all kinds of trips and events on offer - though I was acutely conscious of my fast dwindling budget so opted to do only free things. This meant I scaled almost the entire city by foot. I did not once take a subway/tram/bus/taxi or the like. As it goes, I was not only incredibly lucky with weather in Seattle but also in SF. Someone was smiling on me for once.

I did a lot of window shopping.

I walked the length and breadth of Market Avenue, with no particular agenda other than to see as much as humanly possible on foot. I found an amazing old arcade near Fisherman's Wharf which provided all manner of entertainment all for the price of a quarter or two. I experienced some impressive street art, saw (and smelt) seals, enjoyed the sea, took in the bridges, ports and boats. I had considered hiring a bike to cycle over the Golden Gate Bridge, but at $25 for the day it was well out of my price range. I was lucky (again!) enough to be in San Fran on the free museum days so got myself to the MOMA for an afternoon.

The hostel I was staying in had a massive communal area up front, which was pretty nice considering; so my evenings were usually spent hanging out here with a few tinnies from the corner shop opposite. Keeping it cheap there.

On my third day in SF Tyler arrived from London at around midnight, so we found ourselves in a 24 hour 1950s diner called Lori's eating veggie burgers and onion rings and drinking beer.

The next day was spent at an incredibly bizarre exhibition by Nick Cave - think all-in-one knitted body suits crossed with Sesame Street on acid - and finding our hire car. Having had a break from behind the wheel (for approximately 5 years) I was glad that cars in the US do all the gear shifting for you.

The highlight of that day was driving over the Golden Gate bridge at dusk, on the way to the Sonoma Valley to drink some of that Californian wine you always hear about.

Pulling my finger out...

Well, given that I've now been back in the UK for over a month, it really is time I tied up the end of my blog. So I'm pulling my finger out, it has literally been up my arse.

My three nights in Seattle were great, not only because the sun came out and stayed there. I was taken on a guided tour by a proper local and a very good new friend. We did the tourist thing and went on the underground tour. In fact, Seattle has a very interesting history and (although touristy and seemingly full of drunken women on hen weekends) was well worth the $15 I paid for it.

There was talk of heading up a tall building (I forget what it was called now, but I remember it was white and once was the tallest building in the US), but then we found a happy hour, so such plans were held off until happy hour had been well and truly taken advantage of. The rest of Seattle was hanging out in Calyn's garden, trialing public transport, views over the Bay (whichever one is closest to the famous market - also worth a visit), trips to the marina to see the boat makers, a drive along to see Lake Washington and admire the prim and proper, a gimsp at the radio tower, the Japanese gardens at the arboretum and a lot of appreciation of the beautiful weather.

My next West Coast destination was San Fransisco. I'd originally planned to try overland travel to San Fran, due to my over-exposure to air travel throughout the rest of my trip. This was partly an environmental decision, and partly the fact that I really dislike travelling by air. However, when I began researching the options they weren't looking too appealing. A train from Seattle to Fisherman's Wharf SF would have taken anywhere between 22 and 24 hours and cost approximately $90. Greyhound was a similar amount of time, and coming in above $80. So, I chanced the flights: a flight with Virgin America took 2 hours and cost $65. Despite my declaration upon leaving Costa Rica: "no more air travel until my flight out of LA" it would've been stupid not to.

So, off to San Fran, courtesy of Virgin America.

Victoria BC (UK)

My trip to Victoria was the traditional go-it-alone travel (aside from the lift Jen gave me the bus terminal). I purchased an all-inclusive bus/ferry/bus ticket (C$40) and headed off. The journey took just under 4 hours and the bus dropped me off a brief walk from the HI Victoria where I was staying. This hostel had an enormous dorm of over 20 beds, only 4 of which were occupied making it feel a little weird and unfriendly. The weather and atmosphere of Victoria reminded me the most of home than any other place I'd visited: overcast, drizzling and cobbled streets.

That night I wandered around the streets of downtown Victoria and treated myself to a rather pleasant Italian meal and glass of wine in the restaurant opposite the hostel. The following day it was still raining (the rain featured throughout the remainder of my time in Victoria) so I did what all good Brits do and tracked down a cup of tea. I found my salvage from the rain in Murchie's Tea and Coffee shop which quite simply rocked (their tiramasu was amazing) and pretty much spent my morning(s) in this shop. I walked the length and breadth of Victoria, saw the oldest China town in Canada, explored the market place and walked the harbour. In the evenings, I did what all Brits do and went in search of a pub; I got myself a local ale and I was happy.

All in all I found Victoria to be very quaint and easy to navigate, but probably best enjoyed in the summer as the drizzle and cold were a little limiting. My next destination was Seattle. I had considered going to the San Juan islands to do a spot of whale watching, but I was informed that this was not the best time of year for it, so off I went to Seattle. My first boarder crossing on the open seas. I had to get the ferry from Victoria to Port Angeles on the West Coast of America in the Olympic National Park. This cost me the princely sum of US$13. The ferry took around 2 hours and I even saw a seal bobbing around in the ocean, so worth every cent.

I'd booked a place on the Dungeness (namesake of the local crabs) line bus service to get to downtown Seattle (US35) and this took 4 hours through some really picturesque countryside. I arrived in a slightly less picturesque Greyhound station and waited for Calyn (my travelling buddy from Panama) in a cave of a Thai restaurant attached to the station. Naturally it was raining in Seattle. Upon being picked up we headed to a local bar called The Comet which was a very fine introduction to the City, despite the continued rain.

And then the dog peed on my leg

The Overnight Greyhound Experience was...well, all other Greyhound buses I'd taken were half-empty so I had the seat next to me for luggage, feet and for general relaxing/stretching purposes. Not only was the bus half an hour late, it being dusk in Banff the temperature had dropped considerably, but it was packed. So, the only option I had was an incredibly cramped space next to a complete stranger. Suffice to say, not much sleeping happened and all the reading lights got turned out at 9:30pm meaning reading wasn't an option either. So all I could so was stare into dark space, occasionally getting kicked accidentally by people on the way to the toilet, for about 6 hours until finally someone got off the bus and the very back seat was free.

I was utterly ecstatic about this as I could now lie horizontally and I no longer had to stick my legs into the aisle to be vaguely comfortable. What I discovered about the back seat was the lack of a reclining chair feature, this meant every time the driver applied the breaks I was flung forward into the chair in front. The driver (who had chastised me previously for apparently "waking up the entire bus" at a stop because the previous driver hadn't asked me for my ticket - I'd been on the bus for 7 hours by that point and, I hasten to add, he'd just turned on all the lights and announced the stop so I fail to see how it was my fault that people were awake) was driving like a loon so the flinging was a frequent feature of my so-called sleep. I arrived at Vancouver dazed but simply happy to be off that bus.

I was to meet a gent named Neale on Granville and Robson, and so the Vancouver adventure began. I spent a few hours wandering around the sea wall, then Neale drove me to Commercial Drive for lunch and introduced me to the dog, Q, who later showed his appreciation for my company by relieving himself on my leg in park. Finally Neale dropped me off at Jen's. That evening Jen and I ate veggie Chinese and drank Cools Light into the smaller hours, then she was off to do her 12 hour Paramedic shift!

The rest of my time in Vancouver was a blur of Juno awards parties, Vancouver fashion week, Juno gigs (most notably a Canadian band named Scatterheart), the aquarium, Stanley Park, chats with homeless guys ("I love rock and roll, prettiest girl I ever saw, see her on the movie screen...") sushi and drinking. I met some great people in Vancouver and I was shown a jolly fine time by all concerned.

Next stop: Victoria, Vancouver Island.

The Greyhound Experience

Due to a slight mishap with my driving license - it potentially ending up at the dump - the only other option was to Greyhound it over Canada (trains being very expensive and often slow). The Greyhound's not horrendously expensive, then it's not cheap either. The Greyhound from Saskatoon to Edmonton was about $50 per person, six hours of snowy landscapes and one stop for a bran muffin. The Greyhounds also seem to stop off to deliver mail along the way, this is when all the smokers dash off to suck down a fag to keep them going for the next hour or so.

Arrival at the Greyhound station in Edmonton, we went to get a taxi and lo and behold the hotel - The Sutton Place - could be seen at a slight distance. Therefore, the taxi drivers suggested we walk it...right across an icy car park with my lungs already stretched to capacity. We made it in the end, cursing the taxi drivers as we stepped through the doors.

The hotel was in a shopping centre, but you wouldn't notice it unless you knew. It did alright and was $100 for a double room which isn't bad. That evening was spent eating sushi at mikado (which was amazing) and heading around my friend Paula's place for late-night (Canadian) wine and chats.

The next morning, nursing a hangover with a $25 brunch from the hotel (which was lavish but utterly worth it - buck's fizz and the most amazing pastry selection I'd clapped eyes on in a while). We checked out of the hotel and I headed round to begin my stay with Paula.

Five days doing Canada the Canadian way once more: I hung out at the Junque Cellar where Paula worked; ate in an authentic Canadian diner; pounded the streets scrutinising all the vintage second-hand stores on Whyte Avenue; the West Edmonton Mall experience; made the Cargo and James teashop my temporary home for a couple of days; and made a delightful day trip to Elk Island National park to search for bison (though there was more s*** than actual animal).

Next Greyhound up - 6am trip to Jasper Alberta. I only had a matter of twelve hours here, staying at the Maligne Lodge due to all the hostels being seeming locked up and without power and water at this time of year. The hotel was ok, though the door didn't shut properly so it was somewhat cold and the promised 'hot tub' was a little manky looking, so I avoided it like the plague. Jasper was a really sweet little place, and it was all blue skies and views of the rocky mountains around me, being a national park and all it was quite something to behold.

I'd booked a trip with Sun Dog Tours (CD$69), to go from Jasper through the Columbia icefields, past Lake Louise to Banff. The bus picked me up right outside the hotel and off I went with Boards of Canada for company, admiring the view every inch of the way. It took 4 hours to get to Banff, and one lady on the bus, Ali, was staying at the same hostel as me: HI Alpine Centre Banff. This turned out to be one of the best hostels I've stayed in so far, aided by the great group of ladies in my dorm.

Banff was a lovely place. I went to the local museum. Up Sulphur Mountain (expensive at CD$29 but worth it for the incredible views) where I made friends with an older British couple who brought me tea and told me stories of the world. On an icewalk to see frozen waterfalls. And to the Banff hot springs with Ali where we kicked back in hired swimsuits and took in the views of the Rockies surrounding us.

There was only one problem with Banff, and that was the loss of all my photos - of Edmonton and everything else also. The second time I've lost my travelling photos, I feel I am photo doomed!

I was a little sad to leave Banff, I would've loved to do a day of snowboarding but budget and needs must. I was off to Vancouver, to stay with another of Ty's friend's (Jen) and to experience: The Overnight Greyhound Journey (play scary, ominous violin music here).

Two seasons, twenty four hours

My short time back at hostel 1110 was as relaxed as can be. The staff at this hotel were great, especially Pao who was so lovely to me and complimented me on my improved Spanish (which was pretty kind of her considering it was still pretty dire). Before I left I was sure to acquire her contact details.

Leaving San Jose, I didn't really consider I was leaving behind summer. Frankly it just didn't occur. That is until I was on the plane from Dallas Fort Worth to Calgary, sat next to an older Canadian woman totally dissing Canada. "What the hell are you doing going to Calgary in March?!" she exclaimed at me on the plane ride over, "I wouldn't be going except my daughter's about to give birth, so I've got no choice. I'd rather be in my holiday home in Florida." Well very nice too. Still, with all this bitching, I was excited about getting to Canada.

I arrived around 10 at night, and seeing my aeroplane companion off with a congratulations-on-your-grandchild and a raised eyebrow or two, I met Christy (Ty's friend from Calgary) at the airport.

Now, I can't say I've had a "travellers experience" of Canada as such. In fact, I've been extremely well looked after by some established friends and some brand spanking new ones. This has given me an altogether different outlook on Canada than if I was navigating this country on my todd, and one that I am extremely grateful for.

First thing's first, the cold. And it was cold. I went from plus 30 degrees to minus 20 in one day; this kind of temperature is fine to look at from the safety and confines of a house but to actually walk around in is another thing altogether. I got a new kind of burn: windburn, and it's just as sexy as sunburn and tends to feature mostly on the nose and cheeks. Calgary was apparently warm (we're talking minus 3 or 4 warm) the week before I arrived, when suddenly temperatures plummeted and stayed that way for the duration. My first excursion out my finger's were colder than I'd ever known them and I experienced frozen snot for the first time in my life - it's a very odd feeling.

I did all necessary tourist things on my list (compiled by Matt the Canadian who I'd met in Panama) and went to the Glenbow museum, wandered Steven Avenue, up the Calgary tower and down to Kensington to drink tea - which sounds remarkably British. I think I would've enjoyed my time a lot more without the minus 20 odd wind chill, which made me work harder than I truthfully wanted to. Still, despite the chilly weather, I had a fantastic time hanging out with Christy, her boyfriend Emmanuel and his little girl Anaelle.

Next for my first Canadian road trip, North on the trans-Canada highway with Ty, Christy and Emmanuel to Moose Jaw - yes really - to catch a ride to Saskatoon. It was a beautiful day blue skies as far as could be seen, but those Canadian's ain't kidding when they say of this journey "it's a spot-the-hill" road trip; prairies all the way. 6 hours later and we've made it to an A&W to catch our ride to an even colder part of Canada.

The one thing that will always make me think of my time in Saskatuwen is a blues song: One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer. That's the epitome of my time there, that and BBQs fired up in minus 47 degree chills and my first taste of bison and elk (I know I'm supposed to be veggie, but I figured: when in Canada).

For culture's sake, we made it to a Joni Mitchell (she is Canadian after all) photography show and saw some very cool kinetic artwork. I was intrigued by the frozen, steaming river which looked a lot like it would be steaming hot but I was in no rush to prove that theory. I was driven around in huge vehicles, lived with more cats than my lungs could handle, and appreciated pilsner like it was my heritage. I know the Edmonton Oilers, the Detroit Redwings and I can appreciate a game of curling. All in all I consider my time in Saskatoon a Canadian initiation, and overall I rather liked it.

Santa Catalina's narly man

So the one initial problem with Santa Catalina, was it's lack of food. Even the local restaurants were closed, aside from one fried chicken joint that didn't like Westerners. We'd be told by a girl at the Lost and Found to take some water and snacks because the local shop usually sold out pretty quick. When we arrived it had sold out completely and for 2 days after as well. I learnt to appreciate rice and tomato puree as a staple for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Calyn was leaving the following afternoon as she had a plane to catch from Panama City, but we spent the morning in the blistering heat wandering around on the beach before I saw her off at 2pm, on the last of three buses that left the town for Sonar, with promises to catch up in Seattle (her home town and one of my last destinations on this trip).

Rolo Cabanas, and the rest of Santa Catalina, is predominantly a surfers hang out; so there were some real dudes in this place with surfer dude language to match: narly, sick, dude and so on. Matt and I had planned a snorkeling trip, however, this was not meant to be (and also was expensive at $100+ a pop).

So after a day spent trying to find the beach - I managed to get us well and truly lost - Matt had resolved to get up early and collar a fisherman to take us snorkeling. A fine plan, but this man had slept in until the afternoon (the reason why we missed the first snorkeling trip) and was touting such plans around 1am to get up at 5.30am. I could see there were flaws here. The snorkeling didn't happen, but after a change encounter with two Dutch guys on the way to a surfing lesson, surfing did.

Our "teacher" was the epitome of a surfer dude, fully equip with the curly blond hair and quicksliver attire: we were ready to surf. Or not. After totalling it about one hundred times, losing my glasses and getting into trouble: "Charlie, stop doing your hair and get out of the break zone" (I hasten to add, any of you that know me will know this is an unlikely interpretation of the situation; I had in fact been wacked in the head by the surfboard after coming off and losing my glasses, sod the hair I was giving myself a second or two to get composed and check for concussion).

It was a great day though and at $30 for the lesson and hire of the board, a cheaper one than snorkeling. I surfed until I could surf no more and got burnt like an Englishman: this burn was much to the wonder of all the surfer dudes at Rolo's (who tan in their sleep) and I oft felt like a freaky science exhibit - wow man, have you seen how red you are?!?! Yes, thank you, I have.

Matt left that afternoon and I had one more night in Santa Catalina, resting my laurels in the hammock outside my room. The following morning I was up early to head to David, which was basically the journey from Lost and Found to Santa Catalina in reverse. The journey was relatively easy, though there were some odd goings-on on the bus from Santiago to David between the bus driver and a group of men. One being unceremoniously left on the roadside, and the other being taken by the police during a passport/ID check.

I was happy to arrive at the Purple House (yes it's all purple) backpackers lodge in David. There isn't much of a tourist pull to this place, aside from it's a hub for buses going all over Central America; I was here to catch one of those to San Jose the following morning. Because of a small delay getting to David, the ticket office was shut, so I was going to have to leave extra early the following morning, as there was only one bus per day and I was told they can fill up fast.

There were some great people at the hostel, and a friendly dog (named Cutie of all things) with a penchant for guest's toothbrushes and razors - in fact, the dog was so fond of the things the hostel owner had to keep a stockpile for if any should become a play-thing and need replacing.

The evening was spent with a few rums in good company, as is always when you just meet people in this communal atmosphere, passing the time watching films (though having lost my glasses in the surfing incident, the only way I could see the tv was using my wacky pair of prescription sunglasses) and chatting.

Up early, purchase tickets, "yo escribo mi nombre en el libre por la frontera" (check it out) and helped an elderly American gentleman out with some Spanish (it was basic, but I was so happy about this it was almost stupid) and headed off for the 10 hour journey back over the Panamanian boarder to San Jose. I was sat next to a Panamanian guy for the journey home who I'm pretty sure had been partying it up for Carnival because he stunk of beer; he wanted to practice his English and showed me pictures of his wife and little girl. He worked on a boat, but had trouble explaining what exactly it was he did and the conversation dried up a little due to both our lack of language skills.

Ten hours later and back in San Jose back to hostel 1110 and very glad to be there (even though I got conned by the taxi driver from the bus terminal, which gave me an anger to the point where I had to tell myself to "take deep breaths"). I had the following day to do all the souvenir shopping I'd planned and to simply take it easy before my flight to Calgary to greet winter.

Lost and Found

The journey out of Bocas was straight-forward enough, we got the water taxi over to Almirante and jumped in a land taxi for $2 (clearly over-priced for tourists) to get to the bus stop (about 2 minutes away, but the taxi driver seemed to stop at the local pool hall to take his next shot in a game). We needed the bus to David for about 3 hours ($7 each), and the instructions were that the needed to get off by the three yellow rocks. The bus was utterly rammed, I literally had one bum cheek on a seat and taking corners was hard going. Calyn had spoken to the driver and told him our destination, and so we were off.

To my relief, the bus emptied along the way and I managed the luxury of a whole seat with enough room for both bum cheeks. Three hours later, and desperately looking out of the window for the big yellow rocks, the ticket gent sat next to us motioned for the bus to stop and we were apparently arrived. Whilst musing at Calyn about these mystery yellow rocks that I hadn't seen anywhere, the bus pulled away and there they were: three rocks on the side of the road, each about the size of a large dog, painted yellow right near the sign that read: “Welcome to lost paradise!”. I have to say, it's a good job the ticket man knew where we were going, because there's no way I would've spotted those rocks.

I had been informed by Calyn that the hostel was a 15 minute hike from the roadside, until we arrived I hadn't really considered this a challenge. It was up a meandering hill, which was quite steep. Not being at the peak of my physical fitness, this really was a challenge and I was glad when we both reached the top. Upon arrival we were met by a number of people dressed for hiking, which is certainly more than I could say for myself.

The hostel was pretty amazing. 1200 metres above sea level, you were actually above the clouds. The only thing was, the temperature very much reflected this altitude and I was a little nippy. Having only strappy tops and flip flops on me, I was lucky to be with Calyn who provided me with socks and a shawl to keep the wind and drizzle off. Quite a change from Bocas (though obviously the rain was a common theme). That evening was spent chatting and deciding what to do for the next few days. I really wanted to go on the local organic wine and coffee tour, but because of Carnival starting that week, all tours were off in preference of partying. So, if you can't go organic, go to Carnival. And that's what we opted to do the next day.

The other great thing about this hostel is the double dorm room beds – quite a treat for the average back packer. I got a great night's sleep, even with the driving wind and rain at the windows. I was also glad of the need not to go to the toilet, as they were positioned a good 400 yards away, down a path marked out with the odd rock here and there. I made sure I'd squeezed out every last drop before retiring to bed. The Lost and Found is an eco-hostel. So when going to the toilet, you don't just put the loo roll in the bin (you are advised not to flush any loo roll in Central America, or most of South East Asia for that matter) – you put it in the bin and burn it. Your very own bathroom-based bonfire, so each toilet cubical has it's own lighter for convenience. Jolly good fun.

The morning of Carnival saw us up reasonably early to jump in the car with all the other carnival goers, and head off towards David. A couple of hours driving and after picking up Andrew's (the Canadian hostel owner) Panamanian wife Stephanie we were almost arrived. The Carnival reminded me a little of a school fete, except with scantily clad ladies and 3 giant water hoses for hosing down the drunken, dancing crowd. This hosing did not stop, and if you weren't soaked to the bone you weren't there. After drinking a number of Panama beers and dancing my arse off, we left damp to return to the hostel. This did not mark the end of the Carnival celebrations though, and when back at the hostel all the guests got into Carnival spirit and we all drank well into the night.

My stinking hangover the following morning, was quickly appeased by the sight of a double rainbow from the viewing platform. The first time I've viewed a rainbow from above, and a pretty exciting event for me. And the hangover was gone, well almost. Still Calyn and I were feeling a bit delicate, and after a while sitting in the sunshine (it was a beautiful day) by the fire pit, we resolved to go to the shop and get some food to cook in the evening. After receiving directions, off we went. Almost two hours later, we returned. The shop was quite a exertion, so feeling virtuous from the “hike” to the shop we were happy to pass the evening watching films, drinking a couple of beers and hanging out with the all the wonderful people at the hostel.

The next morning, we'd decided on a early rise to make our way to Santa Catalina on the Pacific coast; meaning I would've travelled from coast to coast on my trip. We'd picked up a Canadian gent named Matt, convincing him that he needed the coast after the drizzle of Lost and Found. This journey was not straight-forward. We had to head down to the road and hail the bus that was coming from Bocas and ride it the entire way to David ($7); then we needed to find a bus to Santiago ($5) about 3 hours away from David; at Santiago we needed a smaller bus to Sonar ($2); upon arriving at Sonar we needed a local bus to Santa Catalina. In total about 6 or 7 hours to get there.

The first bus we got was packed, so we had to stand for an hour - this wasn't so bad for me but for 6ft Matt it meant and hour spent with his head at a rather awkward angle. We also missed the last bus from Sonar and had to share a taxi with another couple who were on the bus, which cost us $5 each. After an extremely long day, we landed up at Rolo Cabanas equipped with hammocks for chilling out, and began the search for food...

"Bocas del Clos" – an adventure in cheap wine and tomato salsa (and Spanish lessons)

Upon arriving at the Spanish school (escuela in Español, just to prove that I learnt something) I met Philipp and introduced him to one of my beers. Soon Franzie, Jane, Philipp and I were off out for dinner. This would prove to be one of the most memorable weeks of my trip so far. My classe consisted of Franzie, Philipp and I. Though their spoken Spanish far exceeded my skills, and the mix of Swiss-German and Spanish being spoken was a heady mix and certainly enough to confuse my already stretched brain, my Spanish was improved at the end of the five days.

The best thing about the Spanish school was the people I met. I was glad to have the opportunity to improve my language skills, but five days is simply not long enough and there is not enough opportunity to practise (¡praticar!). Also, in my head I had a vision of the school; rightly or wrongly, I considered the “Spanish by the Sea” school to be just that: by the sea. And I guess it was, except I couldn't see the sea from my cave of a room (no joke, no windows, no light) and the beach was really a bit of a walk away or a boat trip. I realise that on the website, it says nothing of sitting on the beach whilst you chat idly away in Español, I added all those bits myself. Still, I could not help being slightly disappointed.

Bocas the town was busy, lots of tourists as Carnival was fast approaching. Meaning that each evening whilst I was there, locals gathered in the streets in all manner of wacky costumes and began whipping men with sticks. It was quite a spectacle. It was hard to explore the neighbouring islands to any degree during the week, as our Spanish classes ran 1pm – 5pm. Most of the good islands were about a half hour or forty five minute boat trip away, sometimes costing as much as $10 per person return. Spending that you really need to have the whole day on the island.

One day we made it to Bastimentos, the fabled island of the Red Frog and Wizard beaches that everyone at the escuela had been talking about. A group of us took the boat to Red Frog beach and arranged our pick up for a few hours later. The only other thing to mention about the Caribbean coast is the unpredictable weather: beautiful sunshine one minute, downpours the next. Philipp and I had hired a body board and a surfboard to give it a go. The tide was tough going though and I gave up pretty soon, but Philipp stuck it out for a few hours – probably because of the atrocious weather. It absolutely chucked it down. We found shelter, with a number of other tourists and locals alike, under a small shack on the beach. Nothing much to do but wait it out for the weather to improve or for our boat to come pick us up.

In total about one hour of sunshine was had, and with just that one hour Franzie and I managed to get burnt to Biblical proportions, despite being sat in the shade with factor 25 sunscreen on. Thank goodness for the foresight of aloe vera gel to cool our toasted skin.

The rest of my time in Bocas was mostly spent drinking the infamous “Clos” (the cheapest wine in Central America which can be purchased in a 2 litre tetra pack and all for the princely sum of $5) cooking (my tomato salsa went down a treat and featured in a number of our meals) and eating with some very fine people, and learning a little bit of Spanish on the side. But after 7 days, it was time to leave Bocas for other Panamanian climbs.

I left with Calyn, a lady who'd also been studying, and together we headed to a hostel in the clouds. And that really is as much as I knew about it, aside from that it was somewhere near Boquette and South of Bocas (which isn't really hard to be, if you look on a map you'll see). Next adventure ahoy!

Central America and me

So, off to San Jose I went: via Dallas Fort Worth from Tokyo Narita. Over the date line once more; a very long and tiring flight, not helped much by American Airlines (no vegetarian food despite having made a request for it, and no in flight entertainment). I arrived at 11pm, a little late and was picked up by the hostel I'd booked with. My first opportunity to speak broken Spanish came with the driver, I think I understood about 15% of what he said to me, and some of the conversation almost certainly involved football (made clear to me by the references to David Beckham). The ride cost me $28 which is more than a regular taxi, but I was a little uneasy about taking a taxi by myself in San Jose at night - have you read the dangers and annoyances part in the Lonely Planet?!

Driving through the streets it also became clear that a local football team had been playing, with crowds of people dressed in stripes and colours in the streets. Upon arriving at the hostel it turned out that they'd been celebrating a local win there too. Although the hostel owners were hitting the town with some of the guests, I declined in favour of some sorely needed sleep.

The next day, having resolved to make no plans whatsoever for my trip to Central America, I decided some research was in order. I spent the day researching Spanish schools and deciding which border to cross - the Nicaraguan or the Panamanian. After much deliberation, I'd made up my mind to cross the boarder into Panama and head to the Isla Bocas del Toro to attend the Spanish by the Sea school there. My temptation lying in the idea of learning Spanish on the beach!

I spent a day exploring San Jose with a guy from the hostel named Jimmy; he was a ball of broken-English speaking, stream of consciousness nuttiness. I have literally no idea where we went but managed to sample an ice cream before heading back. In the evening Jimmy took me and another girl from the hostel out for dinner but we ended up wandering around the coca cola bus terminal for about half an hour looking only at fried chicken. Things got a little confusing and Jimmy began to accuse me and Suzuki of only eating "gringo" food when we travelled and how we had no idea about local food in San Jose. Time to head back to the hostel and cook some food there. I was actually happier to cook my own food, most of the street food in San Jose seemed to be chicken based as well as this it was far cheaper to cook.

San Jose was interesting for a day, but it's a city and is mostly shopping, museums and the odd nice looking building. Having just been in Tokyo, I'd had my fill of cities and was looking forward (but not without some trepidation) to heading to Panama for my week of Spanish lessons.

Now without going into too much detail, I researched my journey to Bocas del Toro as though I was going to write a dissertation on it. There is one bus a day from San Jose to a place called Changuinola, from here you can get a local bus or taxi to a small town called Almirante, from here you can get a water taxi to Bocas town. The bus left San Jose at 9am, so (after a brief spell being locked in the hostel and some missing keys) I headed to the Coca Cola. Upon arriving I tout-dodged a man trying to tell me the bus had already left and that he'd drive me in his taxi to the next stop for a nominal fee, and joined the queue.

I'd packed only a small rucksack worth of stuff for my trip to Panama, and the bus wasn't full so I had plenty of room. The trip was pretty straight-forward and comfortable and only cost $9. I met a friendly local called Lenny who helped me with some of the language barriers. This was my first overland boarder crossing and I was a little apprehensive about it. Upon arriving at the boarder, I made one mistake: I forgot to get stamped out of Costa Rica. Now this wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to therefore walk over a very rickety old bridge, with big gaps between the boards and a 40ft drop below. Being a little nervous of heights, this experience was one I was glad to get over and done with.

To get the stamp into Panama I needed to buy a return ticket which is of course at a premium here being tout-central. There were a number of touts swarming around me and another Dutch guy who was on my bus, prophesying that we were going to miss the last water taxi to the island if we didn't go with them in their taxi. I make a point of not trusting anyone who stinks of alcohol and is offering to drive me somewhere. I convinced the Dutch guy we should just get back on the bus and stick with our original plan, and (despite a hairy moment when a herd of cows escaped onto the road) we made it to Changuinola in plenty of time.

I bartered a taxi for us to Almirante and we made it well before the last water taxi. It's a 45 minute boat ride to Bocas town and it costs $4. The currency in Panama is the Balboa and the American dollar. Dollars are widely excepted, but not Costa Rican Colones (as the Dutch man found out when he tried to pay with them and had no other currency).

After a pretty scenic ride in a very cramped boat I was arrived on Isla Bocas. We two were met by a gentleman who was asking where we were staying, my tout-alarm bells began to ring but turns out he was just a friendly representative from the tourist office and he walked us both to our respective destinations. So I arrived at the Spanish by the Sea school, utterly shattered and gagging for a beer.

Speed Tokyo

Having only 5 days to explore Tokyo city, there was a lot to be done. The first morning I was woken promptly at 7am to the sound of the guy in the bed above me snoring loudly. This is one of my pet hates of dorm rooms - I am simply unable to sleep if someone's snoring (even with earplugs). Still, it got me up bright and early and I resolved to head to the markets with this bubbly Aussie girl named Kat. After gearing myself up for the Tokyo chill, I set off with this lady however I didn't end up spending the day with her - she had to head to the other side of the city and suggested we meet "somewhere" around Harajuku. This would be basically the same as saying: "ok let's meet somewhere in Piccadilly"; I knew from the off that this day I'd be exploring alone.

Tokyo is easily navigated once you've had a couple of hours to study the underground map, which is slightly mind boggling on first viewing. I bought a day ticket to use on the main service for 750¥. It was a beautiful day, crisp but sunny and perfect for inane wandering and I was in the business for just that. So I started out at Harajuku station near Yoyoki park, observing the spectacle of the various Japanese girls and boys dressed as Pikachu and other wacky things, offering free hugs and seemingly just hanging out to be photographed by tourists. I of course obliged, but did not get a free hug as I had hoped.

I next wandered into the nearby park, along a tree-lined park up to Meiji Jingu Shrine. This was the first Shinto shrine I'd seen, and there were many serene "shrine maidens" delicately pacing the ground with young girls in tow dressed in the most amazing attire. The shrine was intriguing. Around one tree there were a number of small wooden boards with notes written on them, you could buy these for 500¥. There were also large ropes hung between some trees, with what looked like cut out paper lightening bolts hung from them. Also, before you enter the shrine you are supposed to clean your hands and mouth in a small out-building equipped for just that.

After this I was beginning to get a little hungry, and after fashioning myself with a iced green tea from one of the numerous vending machines throughout Tokyo, I resolved to find some food. I stumbled across some street food and bought what looked like an omelet but with seafood, mayo and sweet soy sauce. It was incredibly tasty and cost (a slightly pricey) 600¥.

One thing I almost forgot to mention, after a couple of cans of green tea I felt a call of nature. Quite conveniently, a public toilet was located close by and, on a freezing cold day, you'll never guess the kind of luxury I encountered; heated toilet seats no less. Thank you Tokyo (and possibly the rest of Japan too) for treating my buttocks to some comfort on that cold day.

What happened next was "Kiddy Land" a place I considered to be quintessentially Japanese. Complete with miniature versions of food you could collect, all manner of fluffy stuffed things, all colours, all sorts. I took an hour to appreciate this wonderful place, not to mention make a few choice purchases.

Not having any plan for my day, I decided to stick on the Ginza line which gave me an easy route back to the hostel. So next I headed for Ginza, the Oxford Street of Tokyo with one refreshing difference: no cars. The whole place was shut off to traffic so you could wander nonchalantly down the street without a care in the world. Here I found another thing that pleased me no end; a stationary shop. The reason for this appreciation is simply this: I remember when I was younger we had Japanese students who were studying English living with us and they always had amazing pens. I was initially disappointed upon entering the shop, at the distinct lack of pens; that was until I realised the shop went up 5 stairways and I found the floor dedicated solely to pens. Glorious.

After such a packed day, I returned to Asakusa and got myself some discount sushi (that's right, I was treating myself) at the supermarket and waited for Simon's arrival. I had begun a dusk excursion of the Asakusa area and had wondered up to the nearby shrine, however the biting wind soon got the better of me and I returned to the comfort of the hostel. Upon Simon's 9pm arrival we promptly left the hostel to the local 24 hour sushi restaurant (famed for it's appearance in the directions to the hostel). As I had already eaten, I let Simon doing the ordering and of course the sushi was great.

So as not to waste the evening, Simon and I did a little exploration of the local area including a trip to the late-night gaming arcade where we warmed up playing a drumming game. This involved two large drums attached to a screen, and in the manner of "guitar hero" you drum along to various Japanese songs, my favourite being all the tunes in Mario World 1 (even if that makes me a bit of a geek). Last call of the evening was to an underground bar where I had some warm sake and enjoyed the company of my new friend.

The next 3 days are a blur of activity. We visited the electronic district of Tokyo, Akihabara, where you can buy every electronic thing imaginable and I oogled the hi-tech Japanese phones through which you can watch the television. I should mention, no phone will work in Japan unless it is Japanese - they have a special system that I am at a loss to understand and therefore tri-band or whatever, it simply ain't going to work.

In Akihabara we climbed the numerous floors of the wackiest shopping centre I've ever laid foot in. There were floors dedicated to: arcade games and photo machines; a maid cafe (a cafe were all the girls are dressed in the same costume and serve you coffee and lunch - we went to one of these after); all manner of strange and wonderful costumes and fancy dress options (I was so tempted to buy one); toiletries of course; a lot of fancy tights. Suffice to say it was an eye-opening experience, though not as eye-opening as the 5 story "adult" store. Less said here the better.

After this, and a light lunch in a maid cafe, we were off to the entertainment district of Shibuya, where people are everywhere but everything is somehow ordered. I agreed to go into a Starbucks because it promised a great view and also a warm beverage.

Naturally, a karaoke stint was on the cards. If I wasn't with Simon I'm not sure I could've figured it out on my own; first up you have to get a membership (I can't remember the cost of this, but I don't think it was too much) and then you pay for however many hours you want to sing for. I believe we were in the karaoke place featured in "Lost in Translation"; you're given your floor number and head on up the lift to a corridor of doors with various dulcet tones emitting from them. You get your own little space; a couple of drinks; an inexhaustible book of songs; some disco lights and you're off. Two hours later, grinning from ear-to-ear I'd had a jolly good sing song, and had decided that this kind of karaoke should feature everywhere in the UK. Come on Britain, sort it out.

Next off to Roppongi and Roppongi Hills for a view of the Tokyo tower by night and some darned nice (if expensive - thanks Simon!) Indian food.

Tokyo saw me get probably the most unique souvenir you can get (a tattoo), all thanks to Horizaru for some cool traditional artwork to show the kids. I met him at a station just outside of the centre of Tokyo and after a trip to his house, a quick look over the design and an hour later I was done. All for 15000¥. It was that or a shopping spree, and I thought what the hey.

After skip-hopping it across town, we made it to the Shinjuku's Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building (Tochô) for a free view of Tokyo at sunset. Unfortunately, the clear skies of earlier in the day had departed, so we didn't have a clear view of Mount Fuji - but at least we knew it was there somewhere behind the clouds. Right?

My last day in Toyko I made it to Ueno park for a stroll before heading to the National Museum of Toyko for a spot of culture. Then to Imperial Palace (Kokyo), is the residence of Japan's Imperial Family, for a wander around the gardens. We'd also popped to the controversial Yasukuni Shrine close to the Imperial Palace. Then back to Asakusa to collect our luggage, chill out in a cafe where an elderly Japanese gentleman nattered away to me in Japanese (the whole conversation was a complete mystery to me but the man was so jolly I just smiled along), and then I headed off back to the airport to make my way to San Jose for the next adventure. Simon certainly sorted me out a whistle stop tour of Tokyo, and it was superb.

Konichiwa Tokyo

My last day in Manila was spent nursing the hangover from the previous evening´s excesses. I joined Becky for lunch in a street food stall just around the corner from the hostel. They had a number of pots laid out on a table; you simply lift the lid of each one, decide what you´d like and it´s served up to you with rice.

Shortly after Becky beckoned me into a hairdressers to enquire about prettying myself up a bit, though as I was a bit short on cash (and as mother had insisted I do just that not one week before) I declined and headed back to the hostel. I spent the evening researching for my trip to Costa Rica, doing the usual admin of booking hostels and checking what the currency is. That night Bing´s wife cooked me a great rice dinner with corn on the cob and mango for dessert. I was being well looked after.

6am the following morning, and continuing on the theme of drizzle and rain from the day before, I woke up to make my way to the international airport - to Tokyo! I was very excited about my trip there, and even getting up at 6am to rain didn´t dampen my spirits (no pun intended). The flight from Manila with Japan Airways was amazing, I was in a smaller part of the plane upstairs and there was loads of space and the food was great. I was later told I must have been ¨bumped up¨because I was in ¨the bubble¨- which is the fancy part of the plane apparently.

Upon arriving at Narita airport, the journey to Asakusa was fairly straight-forward, this was vastly aided by the helpful lady at the tourist information stand. I paid my 1000¥ (approximately 8 pounds) and got the express train to Ueno, which took just over an hour. I then had to transfer to the underground and get the Ginza line to Tawaramachi station. This was all very easy, as I didn´t really have to think too much about directions and so forth. It was when I was on foot I got lost. The directions were simple: walk straight out of exit number 3 for five blocks; turn left at the 24 sushi restaurant; go past the shrine on your right; take the next right and it´s there.

Half an hour later, dark setting in and beginning to panic a little, I plucked up the courage to gesticulate at a Japanese couple and they pointed me in the right direction. Much to my relief I finally found the place. The directions to the hostel would've been better interpretted by an ability to read Japanese - this is a skill I do not possess.

The Asakusa Toukaisou hostel ($20 per night and the cheapest I could find) was really rather nice. According to the Japanese tradition you take your shoes off before entering; the place was immaculate and the common area very nice. This first I went on the hunt for food, I found myself in what must've been the Japanese equivalent of a fast food restaurant eating noodles, deep-fried dumplings and drinking a Kirin. There were many other lone diners in the restaurant, so I didn't feel as uncomfortable as I had lone-dining in Malaysia and suchlike.

I had a little wander around the local area and resolved to head back and get an early night to prepare myself for a day of exploring the following day.

Back on the road

After just over two weeks, an inordinate amount of flying and some confusing time changes, I returned to my trip. It was waiting for me in the Islas 8817 guesthouse in Manila. The climate here was quite a contrast to the snows and ices of London, in fact it was decidedly warm. Approximately 28 degrees C, which did nicely to nurse the nasty British cold I`d picked up the day before I was due to fly. The day before I was due to fly was fraught with snot and worry that there would be no flight. However all worked out, aside from the cold - I had to deal with that over 14 hours and sleeping on a plane with a cold and 4 screaming children simply isn`t possible.

Thus my first day in the Philippines was spent trying not to sleep all day, I wanted to adjust to the time difference. This proved difficult as I had effectively lost 8 hours and hadn`t slept a wink in 24. Thus, despite being offered all manner of options to fill my day with from the owners of the guesthouse, I drifted out of a sequence of dreams until around 6pm when I slapped myself around the face and thought it best time for some food. I hadn`t been too sure of the streets around the hostel when I first arrived, Manila reminded me a little of the streets of Delhi; I could see there was a lot of poverty here and I had heard certain areas were unsafe at night. As it was now dark, I opted for home cooked food at Islas, which was darned tasty.

Having met a lovely lady called Becky from London, Spain, Australia and the Philippines (seriously) and two Swedish guys, Kristian and Patrick, the evening was passed in good company. The next day it was decided to explore Manila together, and at this I felt some relief.

In the early hours of the morning a group of guys arrived, 2 Americans and 2 Canadians, and before long we were all resolved to hit Manila together. So, seeing morning the 7 of us went out into the traffic and smog of Manila. Suffice to say we stuck out like a tee-totaler in a liquour store, there weren`t many other large groups of white people walking around. After standing about on the street corner for a while, looking a little lost and confused, we resolved to cross the road. Upon doing so we were presented with a number of options for taxis. We agreed a price (35 Philippine Pesos per person) and off we went.

We must have gotten in what is known as a FX taxi; this means it crams in whoever it can fit (not within reason) along the way. Quite an experience. We evetually arrived outside the American Embassy and made our way to Rizal Park. The first vision of the park was of many homeless people taking naps under the trees; slightly eyebrow raising. The main part of the park was pleasant and traquil (and colourful). There were two guards "guarding" a statue at the entrance, I can only assume they were both incredibly bored as they put on a show of spinning their guns in sequence. The rest of the park was plastic swans, loud music from speakers in various positions and themed gardens.

We walked from the park down into the walled city Intramuros, which felt very Spanish and stumbled upon most unlucky church with a plethora of unfortunate histories and then off we went to Fort Santiago. In this prison building the Philippine's national hero, Jose Rizal, was confined before he was executed on Dec. 30, 1896. And I tried to get my head around Filippino history.

Following this we tried to get the Markati shopping district. We must have picked the Manila rush hour to do this, because after an hour of Jeepney swapping (the open-backed vans that pick up people along the way - similar to the ones in Chiang Mai), a serious amount of car fumes and a whole heap of confusion, we found ourselves lost on a roadside desperately pouring over a map. A kindly Filippino woman helped us out, and it turned out to get to this place would take quite sometime to reach. So we resolved to head to the "Mall of Asia" (the biggest shopping mall in Asia, if not the world).

This was a bizarre place; there was a marching band continually circumnavigating the mall and a number of fairground rides as well as an ice rink inside. As shopping wasn't actually on the agenda we soon made our way back to the hostel, narrowly avoiding being ripped off by some opportunistic taxi drivers - 7 white people equals beacon for rip-off merchants.

Upon arriving home everyone hit the beer - we all felt we deserved it after all the time we had spent sitting in taxis. Too right! I also felt the need to hit the beer after a petrifying story from our taxi driver about motorcycle gangs who store weapons in their bikes and hold up tourists travelling at night in taxis. Suffice to say I locked the door.

I was happier to venture the streets around the hostel after dark with a group, so we went out and sampled some of the street food and sang along to karaoke in one of the bars. The drinking went on well into the evening, and certainly helped me get a good night's sleep. Overall Manila can be done in a day, it's a vast city that is not easy to navigate but with a bit of effort you can see all the main points of attraction. The Islas guesthouse is a great location for getting flights, as it's only a short, cheap taxi ride from the Ninoy Aquino International Airport and the owners are fantastic. The people at the hostel were headed to a number of amazing sounding destinations throughout the Philippines, for that reason I intend to go back there in the future.

Happy Year of the Ox

Singapore round-up and back to Blighty

Much to mother's amusement, I'm sure, the remainder of my time in Singapore was orientated around food and drink. I did go to the National Museum of Singapore, where I lost Oscar in the "History of Singapore" exhibit (it was a darkened maze of information). I also had a small bank-related incident (banks seem to thrive on making it difficult for me to get money out) which was threatening my ability to eat lunch, which is enough to drive any reasonable human being to distraction. After remedying this infuriating and reoccurring problem, I headed back to the hawker centre in China town to sample some more of Singapore's amazing food offerings.

That evening was spent in the company of Nina and Ant, as well as a whole bunch of other people in the game for some serious cocktail action. This motley crew headed out to an Indian restaurant to once again eat off banana leaves (though for a fraction of the price of the first one) and then we all adjourned to the famous Raffles for a Singapore Sling. Knowing only a little about Raffles itself, I was convinced that there was a dress code so I grabbed the fanciest thing I had in my compression sack and even put on a bit of slap. When we first arrived I was glad of it too: this place was fancy, though most of the fancy things I clapped eyes on were for "guests only"; it was a hotel too you see.

The bar appropriate for the riff-raff on the streets was quite a trek past all the posh bits, up the stairs, round the corner, down the corridor and then we were there. The Long Bar. And it was so vastly different the the rest of the establishment I had to laugh. It was like a proper pub, complete with monkey nut shells thrown all over the floor - which is the way to do it here I'm told. The cocktails were really expensive - £12 each! I wasn't staying here long, that's for sure. The Sling was rather nice, and a little potent (although not potent enough for £12 in my mind). After witnessing some very bizarre dancing from the locals and being treated to the sounds of the resident covers band (Baker's Street thank you very much), we were off to sample some more of Singapore's night life.

We headed down to Clark Quay, where the drinks prices did not dwindle (£7 for a pint of beer no less - seriously, no less anywhere). After drinking a so-called black Russian for an extortionate amount of money, Sonia (a German girl who lives in London who had joined for the evening) and I decided we simply couldn't afford this lavish drinking and that we needed to get swiftly to a 7/11 to buy cheap(er) beer. This we did and passed the rest of the evening sat on the bridge next to the expensive bars. Much more my bag. Before long it was 3am and time to head back to the hostel.

After a very last-minute decision to fly back to the UK the next day, instead of to Manila and then onto the UK, I had a whole 24 hours left in Singapore that I wasn't expecting. I was very chuffed to bump into Alison, the Aussie girl I'd met in Penang. We spent the day in China town, shopping and generally pottering around the city. That evening I shared a beer (courtesy of Alison) with the lady herself, Oscar and Christoph, and then headed off to the airport.

Approximately 17 hours later I found myself at Heathrow airport, slightly bemused and extremely cold. I was thankful to be met by HQ, who brought me a coat, scarf, socks and jeans to replace the t-shirt, linen trousers and flip flops that were not befitting to the bitter UK weather. So I am back in the UK now and I haven't left the house for two days because it's too blooming cold.

It would be a huge untruth to say the last two weeks have been easy; it has been very stressful and I can tell you for nothing that insurance companies, travel agencies and suchlike are not necessarily that sympathetic when you have to come home for a bereavement. I was told by the gent at STA travel that my nan had died too close to the start date of my volunteering so he couldn't help me get any money back, but if I wanted to spend any more money just to get in touch with him. I-to-i volunteering said I couldn't claim any of the £650 back either, and to get in touch with my insurance company, who have in turn proved to make things very difficult. Still, I am home with my family, where I want to be and I wouldn't have it any other way despite the financial consequences. I will be rejoining my trip on the 4th February and will be heading to Tokyo on the 7th to meet up with Simon (who I met at the Red Palm in Kuala Lumpur). I'm really looking forward to finishing my trip, no matter what other challenges it decides throw at me.

Cool stuffs - a small photo montage

The Merlion and Singa Pura

After two wonderful days spent with Sofie and Siti at the Red Palm, chatting about Kuala Lumpur, growing up, jobs, people, life and sharing food and tea I was off to Singapore. I'd opted for a flight as Air Asia had some cheap seats - as it turns out I would have preferred to take the bus as in Malaysia they are easier and cheaper than flying as well as far less hassle. I'll know for next time. It takes about an hour to get to the airport from central KL and the taxi ride costs around RM70 (more than if you're coming from the airport into KL) and is another cost to add to the price of flying. I also got an excess baggage charge from Air Asia for being 1kg over-weight.

It only takes 50 minutes to fly to Singapore from KL, and once in Singapore it's straight-forward to get into the centre. The hostel's instructions for getting there were overly complicated, and a kindly Singaporean lady told me a far easier route. I headed off to the MRT, purchased a tourist pass at S$8 per day, as recommended by the hostel (I later realised I needn't have bothered as you can walk most places in Singapore and don't need to spend that much on the MRT) and went on my way.

After arriving at Bugis station, I orientated myself using a map (yes ladies and gents, that's right I managed to navigate, all by myself, the ten minute walk to the Footprints hostel) and went on my way. It was blisteringly hot, and I was very glad to be at the hostel and near a shower. The dorm room was mostly empty, and there weren't many people about.

I went for a little wander around Little India, which was basically where the hostel was located, and stumbled across a small hawker centre full of locals. After some confusion I ordered some kind of meze of curries, rice, chili soaked chips and other such fanciful things - I also thought I had ordered a beer but was instead presented with a crysanthinum tea. As they say in Thailand: same same but different.

After the meal I was feeling decidedly exhausted and headed back to the hostel and started reading up on what I ought to be doing in Singapore. After meeting and chatting with a few other travellers, it was time to turn in. This was all fine aside from when I got to the dorm it had completely filled up and some kindly person had simply put all their stuff on my bed and I had to move and re-make my bed. Clearly the bags and the sheet hadn't been enough to signify that someone else was sleeping there. Still, not to worry. After an intriguing chat with a Canadian lady about the wonders and pitfalls of Latin America, I fell into a wonderful, undisturbed and simply blissful sleep.

Next morning I was first up and to breakfast. I headed out that day with Christoph, a German guy who was doing a spot of travelling after studying in Australia, and Oscar, a Colombian guy who was studying in Switzerland and was taking a break from the weather. Both spoke impeccable English and various other languages, this always makes me feel somewhat guilty in that so few British people speak any other language than English. I don't think we have the motivation, terrible as it may sound. It makes things very easy when travelling, perhaps too easy sometimes but I shouldn't complain.

The Merlion, by the way, is the national symbol of Singapore and is just as it sounds - a cross between a mermaid and a lion. This symbol hails from Singapore's humble beginnings as a fishing village, "Singa Pura," or "Lion City." According to legend, a visiting Sri Vijayan prince saw an animal he mistook for a lion and Singapore's modern day name was born.

I spent a very pleasant day with these two guys, we walked most of Singapore in a day and I managed to get a typical British tan (bright red nose and glowing arms). It's a remarkably easy place to get around on foot (one of the reasons that I didn't need to buy the tourist pass), we ended up in China town in one of the notorious hawker centres to eat something called Carrot Cake which is comprised of mainly radishes and, rather oddly, no carrot at all. I also tried some sugar cane juice, which was pretty sweet even for me, they offered it with lemon as well which I suspect is the better option.

That morning at breakfast I'd met a jolly fine British couple, Nina and Ant, who I spent the evening with sharing a rather confusing, but tasty, dining experience in Little India. We went for curry served on banana leaves; it was good although a little pricey, so after we adjourned to one of the cheaper food courts to pick up some beers and chat about travels.

All in all the day was fun, and was only slightly sullied by the dorm experience that night: three men snoring; one pair of very sensitive ears; ear plugs not helping; MP3 player cranked right up; a total of about 1 hour's sleep before finally giving up entirely. Move me to the all-female dorm please!