I should have brought a kidney belt. Then again I should have brought a lot of things. Bouncing around in the back of a Tata jeep on precarious Indian roads, dodging cows and overtaking trucks laden with apples. This was a morning like any other, if you are on your way to the Indian Himalayas.

Our Himalayan adventure had started a few days earlier. After managing to convince ourselves to leave the backpacker’s oasis at Rishikesh, we took an early morning taxi to Roorkee station – roughly 30kms from Rishikesh. Being India, this was to be an eventful trip, where the mundane – such as waiting for our train – turned into the strange – having university students ask to have a photo taken with us.

I am however, getting ahead of myself. We hired a taxi to take us to Roorkee Station which took two hours from Rishikesh but to be safe, we left at 4am to catch our train at 6:27. If I had ever had aspirations for driving myself around in India, this little trip crushed them completely. The road was quiet and dark. Our driver knew better though and took it slowly. The reasons soon became apparent. After baking in the midday sun, the road is a comfortable warm place for the myriad cows to sleep on. Add to that the many prowling dogs and you have a regular, Indian-style game drive. The elephants on this game drive come in the form of giant sand trucks. Although brightly painted, they have no form of rear lighting whatsoever. To top it all off, everybody drives with their high beams on. The Indian traffic department also leaves their “traffic calming” signs in the middle of the road. This makes spotting cows, dogs, donkeys, trucks and signs virtually impossible.

Despite all this, we got to Roorkee Station safely — palms sweaty and sphincters exercised with the driver’s bizarre cellphone alarm ringing in the back of our heads. (I suspect it kept going off to keep him awake.)

We stepped carefully over the sleeping rickshaw drivers through the entrance of the station as we had arrived a full hour before our train was scheduled to come in. So far so good, apart from the fact that it was now reported to be 30 minutes late.

The route we had to take to get to Shimla was thus. A taxi from Rishikesh to Roorkee. Train from Roorkee to Chandigarh. Then change trains at Chandigarh to get to Kalka in time for the toy train to Shimla.

The train did eventually arrive at Roorkee a full 45 minutes late which was roughly the time we had between trains in Chandigarh. Fortunately, when we reached Chandigarh the train to Kalka was late too and before we knew it, we were in Kalka aboard the Himalayan Queen — eating chapatis and lentils out of a box while waiting for the tiny train to pull out of the station.

In case you don’t know what a toy train is or you have never heard of the Kalka to Shimla train trip, let me fill you in. The British had set up a hill station at Shimla, a small village in the mountains, early in the nineteenth century. The trip on horseback was arduous, to say the least. Shimla is at 2200m above sea level, in the foothills of the Himalayas and Kalka is almost at sea level. So at the turn of the 20th century they began a massive construction project to connect the two towns by rail. The track is 70km long and winds up the sides of very steep mountains. It has over 100 tunnels and is a narrow gauge track. Hence the name, toy train as the train is a lot smaller so as to fit on the narrow rails.

Our car was about half full and we had a group of overly excited students, on their way to Shimla for the weekend. They took a keen interest in us and eventually the stares led to group photos and handshakes. Even when we weren’t looking we caught out of the corner of our eyes taking photos of us while pretending to take a photo of a friend. The train took nearly six hours before it pulled into Shimla station. All-in-all it took us 13 hours to cover the distance.

Shimla is a charming city perched high up in the mountains. The centre is located on a ridge and is characterised by its British architecture. During the sweltering summers in India the British Raj would move their administration to Shimla to avoid the heat and it effectively became their summer capital. One third of humanity was thus under their control from this picturesque little town.

I like Shimla. It has a peacefulness about it. Largely due to the fact that no cars or motorbikes are allowed on the Main Mall. This means no hooters, rickshaws, cows or diesel fumes. It is also well looked after, with very little litter. In fact, the state of Himachal Pradesh has banned plastic carry bags and the result is clearly evident in Shimla.

If you get tired of the sanity of the Mall, then a flight of stairs down is all you need to take to enter the Middle and Lower Bazaars. Here you will find hundreds of traders and chai shops, it is a bit more frantic but very interesting and definitely a great way to immerse yourself in the many cultures of this area.

The only thing we didn’t like about Shimla was the touts. They hassled and followed us the whole way from the train station and up onto The Ridge. In the end, we had to get quite rude and chase them away as some of the hotels we tried to look at wouldn’t let us in with a tout behind us.

If we had any doubts about Shimla being an Indian city, they were soon put to rest. On a calm Sunday afternoon we were caught in a procession to mark Krishna’s birthday. The Mall road heaved with thousands of onlookers while brightly decorated cars and vans, covered in speakers passed by – a cacophony of Bollywood and devotional songs blasting out from them. The color, the frenzy and mass of people made it a rather heady experience and we soon had to leave as it became a little claustrophobic.

Shimla was the first city in India we really started to enjoy and we can thoroughly recommend it to anyone, especially after the chaos of Delhi. It is also a fantastic place to organise trips into the Himalayas and this is where our journey led to next.

While taking photos of the 120-year old Christ Church in Shimla, Margarét was approached by an Indian man called Bilal. At first, I thought he was just another pesky tout but it turned out that he organised treks, jeep safaris and transport into the mountains of Himachal Pradesh, Ladakh and Kashmir. After he answered a hundred of our questions we decided to trust him and go on a 12 day jeep safari starting in Shimla and ending in Manali, the main town leading off into Ladakh.

We left Shimla at 8:30am and promptly got stuck in rush hour traffic with our guide, Bilal’s brother Hassan, and Bobby our driver in his brand new Tata jeep. When the traffic eventually cleared we were bouncing along the rough roads, overtaking trucks packed to the brim with apples. Our Himalayan adventure had begun, we were unsure where we were heading but that is what travel is about sometimes. You just need to dive in, enjoy the journey and work out what to do when you get there.

It starts with a rumble. A faint imperceptible rumble. Before you know it however, you are doubled up over the big white telephone. A ball of nausea and pain. Our heroic/stupid efforts to eat in local restaurants were now catching up to us. Margarét had been sick through the previous night and now it was my turn. I don’t want this post to be about poo, but so much of India is. Walking through the streets of Delhi, the state if the railway line at train stations and the inescapable traveller’s diarrhea. We had been very lucky over the last 3 months in South East Asia to completely avoid it and this gave us a false sense of security.

Being sick in a foreign, third-world country is no laughing matter. Being sick in India is even more frightening. Add to that, Haridwar isn’t the most tourist friendly town and there are very few places that appear to serve clean, bland food. Every time you order food off of a menu, you don’t wonder how good it is going to be, you wonder if it is going to make you sick. It is delicious though, and did I mention cheap? A Chicken Korma, Matter Paneer, some Chapatis and rice in a nice restaurant costs about $6 and it is better than any Indian food I have eaten back home.

We managed to escape Haridwar to Rishikesh. Escape from the hordes of pilgrims, the aggressive rickshaw drivers, the filth and squalor. The trip was no less eventful though. Our rickshaw dropped us off outside the main bus station in Haridwar, which is an odd set up to say the least. There is a low roofed structure in the middle that shelters all manner of life, including the ubiquitous fly, beggar and cow. We knew a bus left for Rishikesh every half an hour so the next one had to be here somewhere. Now imagine the scene: the buzz of hundreds of people, about 30 buses honking their horns and rushing passed as they leave the station, piles of rubble, puddles of mud and flies, flies flies. It’s utter chaos and we didn’t know where to go.

I asked the first decent looking person where the bus to Rishikesh was. He didn’t speak English. We walked up to an elderly Indian couple and asked them. They told us on the other side of the main building. We trudged with our backpacks in that direction. When we got there we asked another man. He looked confused, looked around and then told us it was back where we had come from. Arrrrghhh! Doesn’t anybody know what is going on in this place? We walked back through the building. It has to be noted at this point that the names of the buses aren’t written in English and neither are their destinations, so it is impossible to sit in one spot and wait for the right bus. There is also nowhere to sit unless you count the dirt.

Eventually after asking the passengers on several busses we found the Rishikesh bus, just as it was pulling out of the station. We shuffled with all of our stuff to the last 2 remaining seats right at the back next to a Japanese hippy and behind some rather dirty looking tourists. Yep. We’re on the right bus.

In case you haven’t heard of Rishikesh, apart from Goa it is probably the biggest hippy destination in India and they have been coming here since the 60′s when the place was made famous in the western world by the Beatles. George, John, Paul and Ringo moved there for a bit to study meditation and learn yoga under Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. They brought their wives and girlfriends and their music and although they eventually left due to an altercation with the Maharishi – some say he was hitting on their partners, others say he asked for money – a few of their songs on The White Album were written here. Nonetheless, tourists have flocked to this tiny town ever since on the banks of the Ganga. Besides the tourists, Rishikesh is more famous among the Hindus as a very holy place due to its proximity to the holy river. It is set in the green foothills of the Himalayas and is very beautiful.

Our bus took 1 hour to get from Haridwar to Rishikesh, a distance of 17km. When we arrived, it felt like we were still in Haridwar. It was still dirty and busy. A rickshaw driver hustled us into his rickshaw and took us to the backpacker commune in the area called High Bank, up on the hill, overlooking the river. When we arrived, we walked into the first guesthouse we came upon, booked a room and crashed on the bed. Dirty, exhausted, drained. Both physically and mentally.

We had come to a really difficult point in our trip. We had had enough. We spent a fortune getting here, not to mention the time wasted waiting for our visas in Malaysia. This wasn’t fun, this was downright exhausting and stressful and our health was deteriorating. Our first instinct was to go to the nearest Internet café and change our flights to get out of the country as soon as possible. In the end we decided against it. Perhaps we had had a bad run of luck, or we weren’t prepared enough, both mentally and physically. So we decided to give Rishikesh a couple more days before making up our minds.

Turns out, this area is the place to come to if you need to recuperate. Yes, 5 days in India and we already needed to recuperate. Without sounding clichéd, the culture shock when arriving here is the hardest thing to get over and many travellers that we spoke to experienced the same thing.

High Bank, as the name suggests,is set up on the hill above the river. It is a backpacker enclave with lots of cheap accommodation, restaurants and Internet cafés. We had avoided such places in South East Asia, but in India they are small oases of calm and to a large extent you can trust the food won’t kill you and that you won’t be hassled by touts. For the five days we were in Rishikesh, we ventured out of High Bank twice. Once to find an ATM – which was an experience in itself as we had to dodge yet again the rickshaws, the pilgrims and the cows and the second time to check out the area of Laksman Jula. If you have seen photos of Rishikesh, it is the area with the big footbridge over the Ganga and huge Hindu temples in the background.

I don’t know if it was the time of day that we visited Laksman Jula or whether it is always like that, but it was calm and serene. It also has a lot of character with many ashrams, temples and shops. There are also a lot of monkeys in the area, hanging about on the bridge waiting to steal food from passers by.

We felt like staying in Rishikesh until it was time to fly back home but with our health back to normal and the memories of Haridwar and Delhi fading in our minds, we decided to make the most of our 3 weeks and head north to the Himalayas. Since most of the roads in the state of Uttarakand (Rishikesh is in Uttarakand) leading into the Himalayas had been damaged or destroyed by the monsoon, we made plans to go to Himachal Pradesh, home of The Great Himalayas.

Delhi. Hot. Sweaty. Polluted. Frantic. Nothing can prepare you for this place, not even after spending a good deal of time in big cities in South East Asia — Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok. We thought that hanging around Kuala Lumpur’s Indian neighbourhood would give us a taste, but no two places could be so different. It felt like getting a heavyweight’s uppercut to the jaw. Everything presses down on your senses. The traffic is brutal and the diesel fumes make you feel light headed and short of breath. There are cows, chickens, dogs and horses on the streets. One moment you are marvelling at the efficiency of the brand new Delhi Metro service, the next you are standing ankle deep in what only can be described as shit, mud and garbage — dodging rickshaws, trishaws, motorbikes and cars. Not to mention touts. Everything is a surprise and you are continually shunted from feelings of loathing it to loving it.

It took us roughly two hours to get from Indhira Gandhi International Airport to our hotel in Paharganj, 25kms away. The driver from our hotel constantly leaning on his hooter while serenading us and chattering non-stop about cricket. “Hansie Cronje, very good batsman but gone. Jonty Rhodes, very good player.”, “Crazy driver!” he then proceeded to rattle off every single player in the Zimbabwean cricket team, in 1999. This isn’t an over exaggeration.

The mixture of jetlag and sheer bewilderment when we left the hotel to get something to eat only added to our loathing of the area we were in. It was about 10pm and there were many people making ready to go to sleep on the street. We walked into a streetside vegetarian restaurant. Our trepidation matched by the stares of surprise from the waiters and cooks. In fact, they were so surprised we caught them a couple of times taking photos of us with their cellphones — a head waggle when they saw me staring back at them.

The meal was delicious. The restaurant was as filthy as the food was good. Tasty vegetable curries and dhal, served with freshly made chapattis. The meal, it has to be said, had no ill effects.

We stumbled back into our hotel over rubble, passed horses and the already sleeping homeless. Too exhausted to care about the suspicious looking marks on our sheets and the scurrying cockroaches at the bathroom door.

The next morning we headed out in the rain to find the nearby New Delhi Train Station. Touts, crooks and people “practising their English” in tow. When you come to Delhi, expect every person on the street to suddenly walk up to you, start a conversation and then try to steer you to a tourist office, shop or hotel. All with a head waggle and a few comments over how much they love cricket or how dangerous the direction in which you are walking is. If you want an idea of what it looks like on the main bazaar in Paharganj, look at photos of Berlin after the Second World War. Entire blocks of buildings have their street-facing walls missing, the rubble lying in the street below, all in preparation for the Commonwealth Games in 45 days. This state of chaos doesn’t deter the people though. We could see men cooking breakfast in the bare-walled rooms and streetfood stalls next to the piles of rubbish and rubble. The roads are tricky to negotiate as there is no sidewalk, never was, never will be. The heavy rains mean all the faeces, dust and garbage has been reduced to slippery ooze that you feel could melt bare skin.

The train station is nuts. The crush of people rushing to catch trains, buy tickets or just sleeping at the entrance is quite an experience. You have to be vigilant, keep your head down and ignore anybody who isn’t sporting a khaki army uniform and a giant automatic weapon. We found respite in the Tourist Booking Office — upstairs above the main platform and not across the road or down the road or next to the station as many “helpful” men had pointed out. One random guy tried to block our path while asking for us to display our ticket. His jeans and t-shirt gave him away and like anybody in India, asking for something, we just pushed passed him.

I don’t know if anyone could like Delhi. Traveller’s and inhabitants that we spoke to all said they had a great dislike toward the place and I have to say that I agree with them. It is however, a very large city and we only bothered to see a very tiny piece of it. Partly due to the heavy monsoon they were experiencing, partly because it was such a harrowing experience getting anywhere from our hotel through the crowded streets and scam artists.

Getting out of Delhi. It couldn’t have happened sooner. Our spirits lifted as soon as the train started moving. We got on the Janshatabdi Express to Haridwar — a very special place to Hindus alongside the holy Ganga. The weight of the last 48 hours in Delhi lifted with the thick black clouds and we caught our first glimpse of the Indian sunshine and electric green countryside — one of the benefits of visiting during the monsoon season.

Indian trains run like clockwork. Our train left the mayhem of platform 13 on the minute. The only reasons for bringing a jumper to this part of the world is for the air-conditioned coaches. It gets positively freezing.

Escaping the Haridwar station is an experience in itself. If you’ve been to an Indian train station you will know what I am talking about. The floor is covered in people sleeping, sitting, eating and and what looked to be dying. The colours are as bright as the smells are pungent. The noise is overwhelming and the rush of passenger traffic is frantic. Outside, the station is no less chaotic. Piles of garbage, cows and taxi touts crowd the entrance and there is the omnipresent Indian music blaring from a car radio or street-side shop.

After haggling with several taxi touts we eventually managed to secure a rickshaw to our hotel on the other side of Haridwar. Haggling with the people here is not fun. Westerners are seen to have an endless amount of money and as bewildered as you are when arrive in a chaotic place such as a station, you need to keep your head on straight, pick a price you are willing to pay and be patient. Somebody will eventually take your offer and more often than not it will be a lot more than the local price.

That night, Margaret came down with a bad case of Delhi belly. This was inevitable. Every traveller we have spoken to has had a case or two. Fortunately, we had brought a whole medicine cabinet along with us and had plenty of fluids.

The next morning while she was resting in the hotel, I decided to do a bit of sightseeing. After a cup of hot chai, I set off down the road toward the main ghats. Haridwar is a very sacred place to Hindus and is the location of the Kumbh Mela. An event held every ten years on the banks of the Ganga. It is the largest gathering of human beings on earth and quite often reach into the millions. Pilgrims from all over the country come to bathe in the river and perform Puja (prayers and offerings) at the riverside. When my trishaw stopped above the main ghat, I was shocked at what I saw. Thousands of Hindus swimming and washing in the fast flowing Himalayan waters. The crush of humanity is gobsmacking and there are crowds in every direction. The sick, the decrepit, the poverty stricken line the steps along with saddhus (holy men) and cows. Everything is covered in flies.

I took a few photos, got blessed by a suspicious looking holy man — who put a red mark on my forehead, barked like a donkey, hit me on the head and shoulders with a stick and then proceeded to ask for 100 rupees (I gave him 5 as that was all I had and I knew real saddhus never ask for money).

Haridwar is not a place that I would recommend traveller’s visit unless they have an interest in Hinduism. There is not much to do apart from walk around the ghats and on the busy main road. The place is filthy and there very few places that offer respite from the heat and crowds. It is an experience nonetheless and while I don’t think I will ever return, I am glad I came here. Watching and briefly connecting with the people and their religion has given me an insight into how deeply spiritual these people are.

The last time I slept on a train was over 10 years ago, in South Africa, to participate in the annual Derby Day at my high school. The train headed down from Pretoria to the Natal Midlands and I remember it being a rather fun experience. Then again, our school had hired the whole train out and had used 1st class sleeper cars. I thought it would be good practice for India, if we tried out this mode of transport in Thailand and it was the only other cheap alternative to buses (if you’ve had to sleep on a Thai highway you would understand why I wanted to avoid these). We got dropped off at Surat Thani train station four hours before our train was due to arrive. It was raining, there was little seating and very little to do. Our train turned out to be 2 hours late but when it eventually arrived we settled down in a very cramped 2nd class, fan-cooled car at about 10:30pm.

We had the worst possible position on the train. Upper berths, near the door. It was loud, bumpy and the lights were on the whole night through. Add to that the incessant hooting of the train and stop/starting as we pulled into the 13 stations along the way and you have a recipe for no sleep. The other problem with an upper berth is that you can’t sit if you can’t sleep. So the only thing I could do was lie there and wait it out. Fortunately, the trains are very clean and safe. Being Thailand there is no shortage of snacks and drinks, even at 3am. The lower berths were all occupied by grannies. Or at least, we had been booked into the Granny Car. Thankfully, like my own Grannies, they have little need for sleep and the granny sleeping below my bed was awake at 5am. This meant that the attendant could pack away our beds and I could sit and watch the sunrise. AS opposed to standing next to the loo and peering out from the attendant’s window.

The scenery was stunning. Green rice paddies, jungle clad hills, rivers and villages. I soon forgot my exhaustion and stared out of the window all the way to Bangkok.

I was last in Bangkok 7 years ago and I was excited about having the opportunity to see a little more of the city this time around. The first thing that struck me about it, was how much better the quality of air was, partly because it was the rainy season and partly because there has been a major drive by the government to improve the quality of it in the city. The next thing that struck me about Bangkok was the incredibly tight security, especially at train stations and shopping malls. Your bags are searched and you have to walk through a metal detector. This is all due to the recent violent protests that left a number of people dead and the city scarred. We experienced no problems while we were here and apart from the heavy military presence, everything seemed to be running like as per usual.

Every subsequent country we visit seems to get hotter and hotter and Thailand is no exception. Bangkok was a searing 34ºC with 100% humidity. Walking around during midday is impossible and we found ourselves more often than not inside shopping malls at this time of day. The shopping malls are no less frantic than the streets outside. Thais take their shopping seriously, but be warned it isn’t the cheapest place to go shopping. We found a lot more bargains on clothes and books on the side of the road in the old parts of Bangkok than in the shiny shopping malls of Siam Square and MBK.

The first place we stayed in while in Bangkok was in the trendy area of Thong Lo. It was well situated near a Skytrain station but was rather dull, so we ended up moving into the old part of Bangkok and stayed in a small, charming hotel in a backstreet, 15 minutes walk from Kao San road. This is a much better place to stay if you aren’t interested in shopping malls and you want to do some serious sightseeing. Most of Bangkok’s big temples and palaces are around this area and since it was around the time of the queen’s birthday, the streets were lit up like Las Vegas in the evenings.

My favourite experience in Bangkok was getting lost in Chinatown and wandering around a really huge wet market. The smells and array of foodstuffs is mind boggling. It really is a heady place to be – somewhere you can get completely caught up in. Other highlights of our stay in this area were visiting Wat Phrao, Wat Phra Kaew and the Grand Palace. Even though these places are packed to the hilt with tourists, it doesn’t really take away from the splendour of them. Wat Phra Kaew with its giant golden pagodas is quite a sight. Especially when you see that the gold on these pagodas is made up millions of tiny golden tiles each reported to be worth a dollar.

While in Bangkok we manage to figure out what had happened to our Indian visas. Most annoyingly, they had been ready for us all the time we had been out of Malaysia. Since our stay in India had been cut short now by about 2 weeks, we hopped on the first flight out back to Kuala Lumpur to collect our visas in time to get our flights to Delhi.

Thailand would have to wait yet another year before we get a chance to explore it properly. We did contemplate just not going to India, but we had already bought our tickets home from Delhi and changing them would mean we would lose out. I think we were also ready for a change from SE Asia. While the cultures and people are very different from one place to the next, each country does have a similar feel – especially Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia. We most certainly will be going back to Indonesia. If not to revisit Bali, then to see Java and more of the islands east of Lombok. The place has a mystical feel to it and the rawness and beauty of some of its natural wonders is unmatched. Malaysia is a really easy place to be, in most places people understand English and it has some ‘nice’ attractions but if you are a hardened traveller and want a bit of adventure then head on over to the jungles and rivers of Borneo. On the other hand, if you want to eat really well – and I mean really well, then Malaysia is probably the best place to visit out of the three. I think the best local food we have eaten on our trip so far was in Kuching. Don’t get me wrong though. Indonesia has its spots and Thai food is still my favourite, but it is hard to find a place in Thailand that will serve you genuine Thai food and not a watered down, tourist version of it. And since the people don’t speak much English, and all of the writing is in Thai, it is almost impossible asking the waiter to bring you their speciality or figuring out what IS on the menu. Thailand’s strong point is how easy and cheap it is to get around in and the culture is incredibly interesting. Just mind those lady boys!

We are anxious about India though. We have read books, watched movies and heard from friends that it is not a place to be taken lightly. Especially since we are landing in infamous Delhi. Wish us luck!

Green, lush and bursting with natural beauty, Sarawak’s natural wonders are definitely worth visiting. We took the local bus to Semmengoh Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre to see the feeding of the Orangutans in the afternoon. This part of the world is famous for its orange primates and Semmenngoh is a good place to see them in their natural habitat – even if they aren’t completely wild and still dependent on humans. We were lucky enough to be there just before feeding time and before the tourist hordes arrived. Delimah and her young baby were hanging around the small garden near the ape pens. The rangers here refer to Delimah as ‘Hot Mama’. Mainly because she has a tendency to lose her temper on humans every now and again. If I had known this, I wouldn’t have gone so close to her and moved further back when the ranger told me to. In any case, she kept her cool and we got some decent photos of her.

Another great place we visited near Kuching in Sarawak was Bako National Park. The park can only be reached by boat but it’s simple enough as catching a local bus to the boat jetty and then sharing a boat with others to the main landing beach for the park. It feels like stepping onto the set of Survivor. The boat drops you on the most stunning beach with total strangers and just behind the treeline, out of site, are the park buildings and lodges. This is a really awesome place to come and stay for a few days but it was unfortunately fully booked and we had to make do with seeing it on a day trip. We chose to do a four-hour trek which would allow us to see four different types of vegetation found in Borneo. The trek started out in thick rainforest where we spotted Macaques feeding on the jungle floor. Being in a rainforest is an awesome experience. There are sounds of wildlife all around you but it is very difficult to spot any of it. Loud calls from monkeys and birds, the incessant drone of Cicadas and the occasional crack of a smack against the ankle to kill hungry mosquitoes. We were really lucky on this trek to see Proboscis Monkeys – big red-furred monkeys with unusually huge noses (they remind me of Barry Manilow – I think he might be one).

The trek then climbed up a hill and onto a plateau where the vegetation changed dramatically to become more dry and arid. We had been walking quite fast, so we decided to shoot down a section to one of the beaches in the park. The beach was deserted and stunning. Since it was the rainy season, the water was choppy and a bit brown but it was refreshing. We then made our way back through a swamp and some mangroves just in time to catch the boat back home.

Borneo is now quite high up on our list of places to revisit. It is reasonably unspoilt. The people are very friendly and it’s a doddle to get around on. It is vast though, being the 3rd largest island in the world after Greenland and New Guinea. So it probably requires a good deal of time to really experience it. The bits that we experienced were fantastic. Kuching is laid back, clean and the food is excellent. The parks are well managed and there is always something to do. The homestays with the Iban people are expensive if you go through the tourist office or a travel agent, but we were told that if you have a bit of time you can just pitch up in a town nearby and hang around until somebody invites you to come and stay in the longhouse with them. The main thing I will take away from this place is how laid back and serene it is, but at the same time there is a ton of things to see and do.

We left Kuching on a one and a half hour flight to Singapore where we were to see our friends Louis & Lorna. If Walt Disney had based his theme parks on South East Asia, then Disneyworld would have looked like Singapore. It is really, really, really clean. Everything runs like clockwork. The people look a little like drones. And it is horrendously expensive. A beer in a bar costs about S$12 – roughly 70 South African Rand and a bottle of very average wine in the supermarket costs about S$30 (R165). It does however, have pockets of places to visit that are both inexpensive and really great. One of the highlights of our stay in Singapore was seeing the rehearsals for their National Day celebrations. With much pomp and ceremony (something learnt most definitely from the British), we watched army troops march into the purpose-built, temporary stadium, including tanks and other machines of war. We were also buzzed overhead by helicopters and fighter planes and got to see a rather impressive fireworks display over the marina in front of the spectacular Marina Sands Hotel and Casino ($5 billion project).

We had to decided to visit Singapore and Borneo for these 2 weeks so that there was enough time for our Indian visas to be processed. Little did we know that our trip would take an unexpected and rather annoying turn. They were meant to be ready within 5 working days. 2 weeks later and they still weren’t ready. The Indian Visa Centre, where we had applied in Kuala Lumpur, told us that we just had to be patient. We couldn’t stay with Lorna and Louis indefinitely so we decided to change our flights to India and head to Thailand. The decision was partly fueled by our previous experiences we had had there and partly because it was monsoon in the south west and there were great specials on four and five star hotels. Afterall, I think it was safe to say that we weren’t exactly going to experience the same luxurious accommodation for the same price in India.

Southern Thailand is beautiful. Especially the area around Krabi. It is also heavily touristed – even in the rainy season. So we picked a hotel a bit further out of town on a beach called Haad Yao. The beach wasn’t so great but the hotel was fantastic. The staff were incredibly friendly and helpful but the real highlight of this area was the single restaurant, 2 kilometers down the road, which we had to reach on bicycles. The restaurant is set on a river bank, next door to what can only be described as the smelliest fishing operation I have ever experienced. Saldanha or Hout Bay on a hot day has nothing on this place where they offload jellyfish. Giant, semi-opaque jellyfish. It is a very tiny operation. A few huts, a makeshift crane and a small shelter from the sun. My first impression was that they were making fish sauce here. I could see a man throwing salt onto something inside one of the huts. The huts were basically just covered tanks where the jellyfish is first offloaded from the fishing boats, sorted by women – sitting waist deep in the ooze – and then packed thickly with salt. The smell is indescribable. It gets into the back of your throat and makes your gag reflex kick in. How these people sit in it all day is a mystery to me. Yet they were all laughing and chattering amongst each other during the hottest part of the day.

Fortunately, the little restaurant where we ate was just far enough away not to be ruined by the stench. The food is probably the best I have had in Thailand since. Staffed by two Thai women, it was little more than a shelter over a concrete floor with a few water tanks round the side. The water tanks contained Blue Crabs, Mantis Shrimps and Giant Sea Snails, some as big as a rugby ball. We ate every day in this restaurant, the best dishes being “Spicy Squid Salad” and “Crab in Black Curry”. The food was genuinely spicy and I didn’t have to ask them to make it so – which is something I find really annoying in a country famed for its flamingly-spicy food.

We stayed for 4 days at the Sea House in Krabi and then caught the overnight train to Bangkok.

“You like Lady Gaga?”, came a heavily accented voice from the front seat of the airport shuttle.
“Ummm, well, not really”, I replied, unsure of how to answer the question without offending.
“Sarawak loves Lady Gaga”, he replied. Very strange indeed.

This was the last place on earth I would have imagined I would have been asked this question. So far, with little idea of what to expect, Borneo has shredded any misconceptions I had about the place.

We left Bali feeling a bit gloomy with a bitter taste in our mouths due to being charged a $20 airport tax and then having to sit in an overpriced, dreary departure lounge. When I say overpriced, it makes any other airport I have been in look really cheap and it is only compounded further by the fact that Indonesia is considered a poor country. On arrival in Kuala Lumpur, and after a hellish bus ride from the airport, we checked into our hotel and immediately hit the street for something to eat. It was midnight and the only open places to eat were a small cluster of street vendors selling Tom Yam – the Malay version of the popular Thai seafood soup Tom Yum. You know you have arrived in Malaysia when you have your first meal – it was hot, spicy and full of flavour – simply delicious.

My memories from the last time I visited Malaysia started to flood back. If you don’t consider it one of the best food destinations in the world, then you are wrong. During our 2 days in Kuala Lumpur, we ate like royalty. Chicken rice for breakfast, the biggest Chinese buffet for lunch and to top it all off, a superb traditional Chinese meal from a well known restaurant down the road from our hotel near KL Sentral. We met up with our friend Chee Ming, who is Malaysian and we just let him order the food. It was incredible. Steamed fresh fish in ginger sauce, salted pork sausage with tofu and a really amazing noodle dish of which I cannot remember the name. Accompanied with a strong Chinese tea and Guinness Extra Stout. The food in Indonesia was dull and overpriced in comparison. Although, I don’t think I could eat this every day as it is rich and very fatty.

You are probably noticing the Chinese theme here. The reasoning behind it is that we will be spending a lot of time in India in the coming months, so we are avoiding Indian food in Malaysia and we were a little tired of the Malay staples of Nasi Goreng and Mee Goreng, which is in abundance in Indonesia.

We were only in Kuala Lumpur to apply for our Indian visas and to see a potential client, so our stay was fairly short. Before we knew it, we were on our back to the airport to fly to Borneo. I know very little about Borneo. Images of virgin rainforest, sweltering heat, muddy roads and misty mountains are what I had expected. Instead we were greeted by an ultramodern airport and a bustling city – the city of Kuching, the capital of the state of Sarawak. Borneo is divided up into four sections, the largest of which is Kalimantan, a state of Indonesia; Sarawak in the west and Sabah in the east are both states of Malaysia, with the tiny country of Brunei wedged between them. Kuching is set a little way inland on the Sarawak river. A brown, fast flowing mass of water that is quite impressive from the air. It is a modern, bustling city with high rise buildings, wide clean roads and a reasonably affluent population. It is quite laid back with a large Chinese population. Especially around the waterfront area.

The main tourist attraction in Kuching is the waterfront and this is obviated by the multitude of luxury hotels in the area. As I write this I can look up out of the window from my budget hotel at the 15-story Hilton. Despite this, the area does have a lot of Old World charm. There is a lot of evidence of the White Rajahs in the colonial buildings and forts. The roads are lined with old-style, Chinese shophouses, most of which are either selling curios, Chinese goods or are Kopitiams – coffee shops. We stopped in one to have a traditional breakfast of Wonton Mee and Beef Taiwan Mee, accompanied by strong, creamy coffee. We are definitely getting used to having noodles and chilly for breakfast of which this was one of the best we have had so far. It is very weird how every now and again you notice something so out of place, it makes you stare in disbelief. On the wall of this kopitiam, chock-a-block full of Chinese diners was a dog-eared, old poster extolling the virtues of Dr. Nortier’s Rooibos Tea – all the way from none other than the Cedarberg in South Africa. I don’t want to even start to try and figure out how Rooibos gets all the way from the mountains of the Western Cape to the island of Borneo, let alone how it can cost less in a café (R3.50 a cup) than in the country of its origin.

If you ever visit Kuching, then you are in for a culinary treat. It has some of the freshest, most delicious seafood I have ever seen. On our first night here, we made our way to the Topspot Food Centre. Perched on top of a 4-story parking lot, you will find a buzzing set of outdoor seafood restaurants selling the freshest seafood ever. Everything from Black Snapper, through to Stingray through to giant Tiger prawns (at least a foot in length!). There are cockles and crabs all cooked with fresh vegetables in giant woks. In comparison with the more rudimentary hawker centres in Kuching, it is a bit more expensive, but the quality shows. Feeling adventurous we tried Umai, a Sarawakian version of Ceviche – raw fish mixed with chilli and lime juice. The mixture was divine. We then had a plate of fresh King prawns, grilled in butter and garlic – probably the best prawns I have ever eaten!

Over the weekend, farmers and fishermen from the areas surrounding Kuching descend on the city to sell their wares. The market is huge and the quality and freshness of the goods is unrivaled. You can buy just about anything, from Leopard sharks to eels to lamb to every kind of vegetable you can think of. There are pet shops selling puppies and goldfish and in one corner of the market exotic orchids and jungle plants. You can pick up cheap Chinese knifes, toys and clothes, even antiques. The market buzzes with the ebb and flow of people searching for their favourites or a bargain. The market starts on Saturday afternoon and ends roundabout midday on Sunday. If you want some great food then the hawker stalls on Saturday evening are a must, where you can get a whole spit-roasted chicken for RM14 (US$4) or a whole fish, roasted on a stick for RM10 (US$3)!

So you are probably wondering why I envy the people of Kuching and Sarawak? I think it is because life seems so much simpler here. It is fairly remote but not completely cut off. The food is incredible, the atmosphere is laid back and there is a general feeling of content.

Next week we head off to find a jungle and experience a bit of the nature of this mystical island. Hopefully, we’ll see and get to photograph some Orangutans and some other interesting wildlife.

Frank Sinatra couldn’t have sung it better. Bali has that exact effect on you. Some people say that it’s easy to enjoy Thailand but Bali you need to earn. When we arrived here it was exactly that. It reminded me strongly of somewhere I had been before, which had the wrong effect on me. I didn’t get the sense that I was visiting somewhere exotic – like Thailand – nor did it feel like I was visiting an island paradise. It was all a bit hum-drum to be honest. It was busy, it was hot, it was certainly different from the cold and wet Cape Town we had left the day before, but somehow it didn’t feel new and exciting. I didn’t get that rush that I had gotten when I walked out of the airport of other countries for the first time.

I wasn’t disappointed, just a little deflated. Maybe it was the jetlag or the fact that everywhere in the southern parts of the island, you can’t walk around without bumping into a red-necked, speedo-clad, overweight westerner. Or get asked if you want transport or a massage. Maybe it was because I had too-high expectations which I had been building up inside of my head.

A week or so later we hired a car in Padang Bai, a small coastal town in the eastern part of the island, which is famous for being the main ferry port to Lombok. Unsure whether my driving skills could take on the maniacal truck drivers or the kamikaze scooters, we took the quieter route out of Padang Bai and headed along the coast, in the direction of Amed – a popular part of Bali for diving and snorkelling. It was along this quiet, narrow road that passes through tiny villages and crosses streams coming down the mountain that we saw what ‘Old Bali’ must have been like. Just about every person we passed stopped to wave and stare, their bright white smiles and yells of ‘Hello!’ disappearing behind us as we went around another bend. When we reached Lipah, the first main village before Amed, we caught glimpses of the colourful fishing boats (Jukungs) neatly arranged along the black-sand beaches. The area was quiet, laid-back and beautiful.

Reflecting back over my last 7 weeks here, I can pinpoint the exact moment I really started to really enjoy myself – the moment I got that feeling of excitement of being here. Arriving in Amed, in the hot afternoon sun, with views of the Jukungs sailing out for an evening of fishing it dawned on me: we were completely independent, we could sleep, eat and go anywhere without a care in the world. We stayed in the Amed area for 8 nights, and were invited to a Balinese baby-ceremony where we were treated to local delicacies. We sat on the floor around a large plate filled with satays, blood sausage, meat from a pig whose death screams had woken us up that morning before sunrise, vegetables and the Balinese staple, rice. To say that I ate a lot of mystery-meat that day is an understatement, but it was delicious and it was handed to us with such generosity and goodwill. The father even sat down with us and had his second fill, eating more than both of us combined!

This is why I love Bali. The Balinese are proud enough and friendly enough that they want you to experience their culture with them. That they display it everyday with their offerings at just about every building, temple or business. That they invite you into their homes to experience something new and different, but something very close to their hearts. So if you ever get the opportunity to visit this beautiful island, don’t come here only for the beaches or for the restaurants or for the nature, come here to meet the people.

There are very few places in this world that are so beautiful and so wild and untouched. Kuta, Lombok couldn’t be more different to Kuta on the neighbouring island of Bali. Azure water, deserted white-sand beaches, very few tourists, even fewer tourist facilities, bad roads and a surfer’s paradise. We decided to head to Kuta in the south and avoid the crowds on the Gili Islands, off the northern coast of Lombok. I managed to get a cheap, wreck of a Suzuki Jiminy in Sengiggi after nearly an hour of haggling, waiting and arguing over deposits. Two and a half hours later, after negotiating the chaos of Mataram’s cars – the motto being: “keep driving, if there isn’t enough space they will make some” – and we were pulling into the dusty, dry village of Kuta.

To say the least, it didn’t look like much: windswept and clouded in the smoke from villagers burning their rubbish, children playing in the streets, teenagers whizzing by at high speed on scooters and horse carts – Cidomos – transporting people home from work. (For every 2 cars in Lombok, there is a horse cart.)

The vegetation is completely different too. The land is covered in hardy grasses and there are very few trees. The people are also a lot poorer and many along the coast live in straw huts and are subsistence farmers.

Our little Suzuki Jimny felt like it was going to give out any moment while we were driving on the roads. The odometer read 189 000km, which is insane considering Lombok island is only 70km across! It ground, groaned and bounced around on some atrocious roads (if you can call them that), but in the end it got us the 18 km west we needed to go to get to the most incredible beach – Selong Belanak. The drive took us approximately an hour.

The beach appeared to be over 10km long and the sand is bright white and incredibly fine and silky. There is a tiny village on the corner of the beach that we were on, a few fishing boats and a 2 small snack huts. It was a special place and a sight hard to forget.