Crocodile Dunrobin

Perth to Sydney

The heat is constant, a searing, blinding heat with the surrounding scrub and bush providing little in the way of shade. I swat away a fly but another takes it's place, then another and another. How many constitute a swarm? The sand stretches away on all sides, brilliant white in the middle of the day, a subtler shade of beige now that the sun is lower in the sky. How long have I been out here? 2, 3 days? Check my watch - it's still working. Christ, it's only been 4 hours. When did I last eat? Not hungry anyway, must be the heat. Some days, I've been living on coffee and nicotine. Must drink water. Only a drop or two left now at the bottom of the bottle, warm and stale, enough to coat the back of my throat but no more. What's that in the distance, a hint of green? Oasis? Shade? Mirage? Rub my tired eyes. Try to focus again. Definitely something. Must find the strength. What'll it take to get there? Did I say that out loud? The answer comes...

"Just one more good five-iron, two putts and we'll be sipping a cold one in the pool before you can say Woolabonga mate!"

Yep, life sure is tough down under, playing golf without a cart.

I've been in Australia for almost two weeks now but in truth, I've only spent one night out in the outback. First stop was Perth on one side of the country and have just spent my last night in Sydney on the other side.

Perth is a warm, welcoming, windy city with a relatively small downtown area and a large and very neat suburban metropolis surrounding it, hundreds of Ramsay Streets fanning out in every direction. In fact it reaches the neighbouring port of Fremantle (or Freemo, as they say here) a place famous for producing the first boat ever to beat the USA in the Americas Cup back in 1983. In order to defend the cup in 1986, millions of dollars were poured into the community and it's now a very smart, laid back town with markets, museums and coffee shops galore. And while we're on the subject, how come Switzerland is the current holder of the Americas Cup? I mean… Switzerland?

My one venture out into the wild was an overnight camping jaunt north to a geological oddity called The Pinnacles, a round trip of some 300 miles. I booked it through one of the many backpacker travel agents that abound here and was assisted in this by one of those energetic, over-enthusiastic guys who look like they've jumped out of a plane and wrestled a crocodile before breakfast.

"OW'RE YOU GOIN' MATE?" he screams at me as I cross the threshold.

"Well I'm using my legs and feet to get around on… you know… FOOT and later on I'll be getting a train home," I reply dryly.

"Eh, right. Nice one," he continues, regardless. "So what's your name then?"

After telling him he says, "Aw great. Good English name, that."

"Scottish," I correct him coldly as my fist connects with his jaw releasing a torrent of blood... or would have done had I been able to release my arms from the straps of my backpack.

The trip itself is very good and includes a visit to a brewery/winery, sunset at The Pinnacles (tall sand and limestone pillars jutting out of the desert sands), tents and songs by the campfire, sandsurfing down some huge dunes and swimming in the Indian Ocean. It's all conducted by Terry, a huge bear of a man (more grizzly than koala), who drives his four wheel drive truck with a passion and is never shy to tell us that he needs to pull over "cause I'm bursting on a shit." He also thinks that the best way to rouse us from our slumber at 5.30am is to march round the campsite belching and farting. Strangely though, if you listen quite closely, there's a haunting, melodic quality to it. Must be an aboriginal thing!

It's only when I get back from what seems like quite a long trip and check the map that I start to get a sense of how big this country is. It's absolutely huge! Imagine getting into your car in Glasgow and driving to, say Rome, only you'd not see many people and you'd pass through only a handful of towns on the way. That's like driving half way across Australia.

Sydney has a different feel to the laid back atmosphere of Perth. Bigger, obviously with a real buzz about the place, as Paul McStay used to say. It's more like London or New York; continually on the go although like Perth (and most great cities I suppose) it does its recreational spaces very, very well. Lovely waterfront full of bars, restaurants and shops and some beautiful parks only a short nine iron away from the city centre skyscrapers. I've been on the harbour ferries and travelled out of town to see the Blue Mountains but there's nothing to beat just wandering around Sydney, stopping for coffee (or anything else you might be "bursting on") and drinking in the views. I was tempted to do the 150 dollar Harbour Bridge climb but settled instead for the zero dollar Harbour Bridge stroll.

So, I hear that Christmas is coming. I know this because I've finally started to see decorations and trees and slightly sweaty Santas in the street but it doesn't FEEL like Christmas at all. That was until I went to see 'Christmas With The Sydney Symphony' in the concert hall of the Sydney Opera House. This is really something. Outside, the harbour waves lap up on the rocks, the clink of champagne glasses ripple the air and the building is beautifully illuminated against the night sky. Inside, the Symphony play a variety of classical pieces (some of which I actually recognise), a solo sopranoist sings a selection of arias and a huge choir of children sing Christmas carols, old and new. (I was tempted to insert a Cliff Richard lyric here but thought better of it.) I come away from the concert thinking that if there's a more simple or beautiful melody than 'Silent Night' then I've yet to hear it.

It's a great concert and is almost as good, not quite, but almost as good as seeing Robbie Williams two nights later at the Aussie Stadium on the last night of his world tour. If there's a better opening song to a gig than "Let Me Entertain You" then I've yet to hear it. Answers on a postcard please. He's got two bands supporting him, Machine Gun Fellatio (OUCH!) who are crap and Duran Duran who are excellent. They've got all the original members back and despite being in their mid-forties, can still get away with singing 'Wild Boys' without much embarrassment.

Anyway, now that I can feel Christmas coming I've had to rethink my Christmas card/greetings strategy. I had such a simple yet brilliant plan. I was going to have my picture taken on Bondi Beach in nothing but my skimpy Speedos and a Santa hat (I even bought the hat) and after five minutes on the pc, I could dispatch Christmas greetings to you all and return smartly to the beach without missing a beat. No stamps, no post office visits, not much writing... the definition of efficient, 21st century communication. However, I realise now that that kind of misses the point - misses it, in fact, by some considerable margin so I'll be revamping the strategy to ensure that Christmas greetings have a far more personal or individual feel.

And yes, okay, I admit it. This George Bailey sentimentality was further fuelled by going to see "Love Actually" at the movies... the absolute definition of a twenty first century chick flick. It's over the top and ridiculous at times (Hugh Grant is Prime Minister for God's sake) but it caught me with my usual, cynical guard down.

And now to local news. Since I've been in Australia, there's been quite a debate gathering in the media as to whether politicians should be subjected to random breath tests, not while they're in their cars, but while they're at work! This follows an incident where the leader of the Democrats in the Senate verbally and physically assaulted another Senate member on the floor of the Senate itself. He is currently taking time off "to seek help in addressing personal health issues". I would have let this stereotypical Aussie incident slide if I hadn't been bombarded with advertising for what looks like being the top cd stocking filler this Christmas - "The Absolute Best Beer Drinking Songs Album In The World... Volume 2"! Classic!

Anyway, later today I fly north to tropical Queensland, Cairns to be exact and the Great Barrier Reef. I'm going to find out how to surf, find out how to explore the reefs and then find bloody Nemo.

And finally, in case you're wondering, Dunrobin is the ancestral home of the Sutherland clan and is located near Golspie in the north of Scotland. Come for a visit some time and I'll make sure my people (clan brethren and the help) look after you big style. It's well worth it.

http://www.clansutherland.org/FrDunrobin.htm

Till next time.

Love, Neil x

The Beach

Koh Chang to Singapore

MONDAY: Wake at sunrise. Open my bedroom door. Step out on to the beach. Lie in the sun. Swim in the sea. Drink at the bar. Watch the sunset. Eat under the palm trees. Go to sleep.

TUESDAY: Wake at sunrise. Open my bedroom door. Step out on to the beach... you get the idea!

One of the things I definitely wanted to do during my time in Thailand was visit one of those idyllic, picture postcard islands that I'd read about and seen in movies. Only trouble was, I couldn't decide which one to go to because everyone I spoke to about them had good things to say about them all.

Koh Samui? - Original backpackers paradise, now much more tourist-centred?
Koh Pha Ngan? - Full moon party every month… unsurprisingly?
Koh Phi Phi? - where 'The Beach' was filmed?
Koh Tao? - Tiny, remote outpost with excellent diving opportunities - rumoured to be favoured by most Rangers players???

Eventually I said to myself, "Phuket! I'm gonna go to Koh Chang" so I slung on my backpack and headed for the beach.

Throughout my month in Asia, I've wrestled with the issue of whether I'm a tourist or a traveller on this trip. I've got a backpack but does that make me a backpacker? I don't seem to have many of the trappings of other 'travellers' I see around me.

No dreadlocks, no shaven head, no scrawny beard, no bandana, no piercings, no (new) tattoos, no fake Diesel t-shirt, no decent sandals, no sarong, no flappy linen trousers and no Lonely Planet guidebook - can't stand them, I'm a 'Rough Guide' kinda guy.

Instead I've got nice comfortable gutties (sneakers for you Americans), too many socks, a floppy golf hat, a Celtic strip, a blue Brazil strip (to annoy the England fans cause let's face it, a Scotland strip isn't gonna do it), baby wet wipes from Boots (greatest invention of the modern age) and a bright green, rain poncho from Universal Studios with Fred Flintstone on the back and yeah, okay, I lied about the scrawny beard!

I arranged all my travel and some of my accommodation throughout Thailand and Cambodia through a travel agency in Bangkok and came away with a heavy sense of guilt that I wasn't exactly winging it or enduring long, arduous, overland journeys interspersed with hectic border crossings and the bribery of customs officials. I even flew to Koh Chang, or to be more accurate, to Trat on the mainland which has the prettiest airport in the world - two large bamboo huts set in perfectly landscaped surroundings, one for arrivals and one for departures.

But now, after a week or so of doing not very much at all, I couldn't really care less what category of traveller I fall in to. It's my party and I'll fly if I want to (NOT this week's song lyric) and after reflecting on the quality of some of the roads I saw in Cambodia, I'm very, very happy not to have spent 12 to 14 hours on the back of a bus/truck/donkey in the baking sun.

Koh Chang is Thailand's second largest island (after Phuket), about 25 miles long and eight miles wide and it's absolutely gorgeous. One main road winds round almost all of the shoreline and the centre is made up of towering, rain forest covered mountains. It's one of those places where you expect to see Ursula Andress (or Halle Berry for you youngsters) emerge mermaid-like from the surf and strut confidently on to the pristine white, sandy beach. I'm pleased to report that every night, she does!

"Nighsh to shee you," I call out, suavely, from the mango trees but then I wake up before she can reply.

There's one or two up market, 'resort' type hotels sprouting up here but in the main, accommodation is predominantly of the beach hut/bungalow variety. It's basic but more than adequate. Every night, I fight a running battle with the mosquitoes in the bathroom, me wielding the shower head like it's a lightsaber, and every night I hear the slightly disturbing, shrill cackle of a creature that lives in my roof. I'm sure it must be one of the little gecko lizards you see running around everywhere but to me, it sounds like a velociraptor!

Next door to me, lives a 62 year old Australian who, for the purposes of this story we'll call Jim, because that's his name. This man can swear to Olympic standard but curiously it doesn't sound offensive when he does it, just very colourful. Still, the following is sanitised for those of you with Big Brother IT departments at your place of work.

He tells me that he's going back to Bangkok for "a bitta business" at the end of the week but before that, he's going to have a couple of nights in Pattaya for "a separate bitta business, if you know what I mean, mate?"

I tell him that I don't (even though I do) and he goes on to explain that there's "50,000 f#cking prostitutes in a f#cking 10km square radius, mate!" This number seems awfully high to me as I quickly try and calculate a myriad of trivial statistics. How many to the square metre? How many can you get in a phone box if there's a phone box every ten metres? How many can you get in a Mini if there's two nuns in the front?... that kind of thing.

He asks me if I've been to, or am planning to go to, Pattaya and is dumbstruck when I tell him that I haven't/am not. I just know it's the kind of place where years of dormant, Scottish Presbyterianism would resurface and I'd be hopelessly out of my depth. Picture the scene, I'm sitting at a local roadside restaurant in Pattaya and get approached by a smiling, eager woman.

Woman: "Hey Mista, you wanna fock?"
Neil: "No thanks. I'd really like to try and master these chopsticks."

See, hopeless.

Jim is invaluable though when I ask his advice about whether I should consider signing up for one of the local cruise, snorkelling, diving packages.

"F#ck that mate! F#cking friend 'o mine wasted his f#cking money on one of those f#cking trips last year. No f#cking fish mate! They f#cking dynamited the f#ck out of this place f#cking years ago!" Informative, educational and to the point.

Instead, I rent a motorcycle and am immediately transported back to Ibiza 1984, the last time I drove one. It's the same exhilarating feeling - no helmet, no insurance and no long trousers to protect my legs from the scorching exhaust pipes... and sadly, no pal Doug (greatest drummer in the world) riding on the back asking me when its going to be his turn to drive every 2 miles. As I pull away from the rental place, the "Easy Rider" soundtrack is pulsating in my head. 5, 6, 10 miles an hour and I'm gone baby, a blur of green in my spanking new, fake Diesel t-shirt. Nothing between me and the Swiss border but 1,000 German troops and a big f#cking wire fence mate, as Jim would say.

It's amazing to me how much time you can spend here doing absolutely nothing except enjoying simple things. I've been on beaches before but have always been restless to do something different every ten minutes. The other night, I sat on the beach for two hours watching the tide roll away, watching the sunset change to twilight and then change to stars and moonlight... two hours... in exactly the same spot... in exactly the same position... just staring... and I'm only smoking Marlboro Lights, mum!

But here's the thing. I'd strongly urge you all to come to a place like this before it gets over commercialised with McDonalds or Starbucks (much as I love Starbucks) but when you do come, come with someone you know. Could be a best friend or a family member or a partner but ideally it should be with someone you love. Take it from me, to experience this beauty, this peacefulness, this level of relaxation and not have someone to share it with is a crime.

Anyway, I left Koh Chang at the weekend and have spent the last three nights on the small island state of Singapore. Singapore reminds me a bit of Hong Kong and Bangkok but there's more affluence, more humidity (it's very close to the equator) and more trees and greenery than I've ever seen in any big city. It's clean, safe and the shopping opportunities appear to be endless - Gucci, Prada, Top Shop, they're all here. They have some strange laws though that attract big fines if broken such as no jaywalking and no chewing gum and God help you if you leave a public toilet unflushed... although I haven't worked out how they enforce that one!

I've been staying in a dormitory style hostel for 6 quid a night, my first experience of such a place since the second year Latin trip at High School (year withheld to protect the old). Like then, it has creaky bunk beds, the lingering, stale aroma of sweaty feet and some world class snorers. These people really are so inconsiderate!

And tonight I fly to Australia, Perth to be exact, to discover another new continent for the first time. Asia, even the very little that I've seen of it, has been fascinating. It can assault all of your senses, overwhelmingly so at times, and is an extreme contrast of the old and the new. Happily, the most consistent aspect of it though has been the friendliness, politeness, humour and level of service of the people I've encountered. Some, especially the taxi drivers in Cambodia, can't seem to do enough for you and offer two or three extra services in addition to just transportation.

"You want nice smoke? Nice girl? Go to shooting range?" I presume he's inviting me to his ranch to meet his sister and share a Hamlet, no?

My favourite though, is one of the kids I met at Angkor, a little girl selling 10 postcards for a dollar. After asking my name and where I come from she meticulously lists the capital, main cities and population count of Scotland. I'm so charmed and impressed that I generously hand over the dollar without a hint of bargaining and tell her that she's very sweet. Just as I'm climbing back into my motorised rickshaw, she runs after me and gives me a little pen drawing of a house and flowers that she's sketched herself. Now for all I know, she's running off 100 of these an hour on her colour photocopier back home but all the same, I was very touched.

Anyway, before I cross that fine line that separates Santa Claus from Michael Jackson, I'll say bye-bye for now. Till next time.

Love, Neil x

Apocalypse Then

Chiang Mai to Phnom Penh

"Whatever you do Neil, don't miss the temples at Angkor in Cambodia."

So said my much travelled and much admired cousin, Murray, when I asked him where in the world I should go earlier this year. "Cambodia, you say?" I reply with a gulp and a sudden overwhelming urge to pee. "Eh, okay then."

To me, Cambodia has always been a mysterious and dangerous sounding country, often linked with the Vietnam war and ruled in the late 70's by a brutal regime led by the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot. Seems he wasn't as laid back as his name would suggest cos I've seen "The Killing Fields" and there's not many hilarious outtakes at the end of that movie. The description of the current health and safety situation in my guidebooks does little to ease my overactive bowels.

On snakes... "by the time you see them, it's generally too late." WHAT?
It goes on... "If you are bitten, stay calm, try to kill it..." presumably by using whatever appendage is free of venom " ...and bring it to the nearest doctor." Why? Is he a collector?

On the countryside... "Cambodia is one of the most mined countries in the world. Don't pick up or kick anything that you can't identify." Don't eat the grey coloured pineapples then?

On crime... "Gun crime is actually more frequent in Phnom Penh than anywhere else in the country..." Yeah, that's because everywhere else is MINED!

So I arrived in Siem Reap, tourist gateway to Angkor, with more than a little trepidation but that's quickly dispelled by a guy at the airport holding up a sign with my name on it. He's there to take me to the hotel I booked from Bangkok and actually transports me around for the rest of the day. Will talk more about the people and customer service in this part of the world at a later time but safe to say, I started breathing a bit easier.

Just before I left Thailand, I was considering purchasing some jungle camouflage gear for this 'tour of duty' but just in time, I came across an article in a magazine that suggested that this may not be met with universal hilarity or approval. Close call on that one but I've had a hell of a time trying to conceal my bazooka!

I've seen a good few temples in the last three weeks but they've been of the more 'modern', pagoda variety, all sharply peaked roofs and shimmering with red and gold decor. They're impressive in their own way I suppose, but they've left me fairly unmoved. To me, they look like the kind of things that Michael Jackson might buy three or four of and then scatter aimlessly around his Neverland ranch!

The temples at Angkor, on the other hand are breathtaking. Some are over 1,000 years old and are in remarkable condition, others are crumbling and are being swamped by the jungle and these, if anything, have even more character. Initially, I had a romantic notion that I would be crawling and hacking my way through the vines and mangroves to actually discover the temples for myself. Instead, on that first late afternoon visit to Angkor Wat, I'm crawling and hacking my way through hordes of Japanese tourists and local hawkers to squeeze in a few sunset photos. There's more people here than attended Ghandi's funeral!

Thankfully, I bought myself a three day pass and on the second day I hired Mr Dany and his motorised rickshaw and went exploring the more remote temples. I'm there early enough to stay one step ahead of the tour buses during my clockwise sweep of the area but still end up seeing the same people everywhere, even a couple that I saw on the underground in Hong Kong!

It's hard to grasp just how big an area we're talking about here. Angkor Wat, the most popular and complete example of Khmer temples, occupys the centre of a site the size of Central Park in New York... and it's not the biggest. Angkor Thom, or 'big city' was once home to a million people and streched over a vast area. My favourites though, are the smaller temples which you actually do approach along jungle paths and only see at the last moment when you're really up close.

Make arrangements with Mr Dany to collect me next morning at O5.00 (quick movie quiz - what does the 'O' stand for? First reply gets a prize!) so I can see the sunrise over Angkor Wat. Initially, it seems like hundreds of headlights have the same notion ("if you build it, they will come"!) but after a spectacular sunrise, the place actually feels deserted as I wander about. This is opportune because one of the best things about roaming the temples is to find yourself a nice, quiet corner, preferably in the shade, and take a moment to have a right good scratch.... eh... sorry.. I mean, take a moment to contemplate the world as a whole and your place in it.

All in all, nowhere at Angkor disappoints, from the largest ancient city to the smallest, hidden ruins and I'm grateful to you Murray for pointing me in this direction. If you want to get a feel for the place, check this out:-

http://www.asiaphotos.net/gallery/Angkor/

After three nights in Siem Reap, I leave on the early morning boat for a five hour trip down to the capital Phnom Penh. In my imagination, this is going to be a hazardous and hairaising voyage down a claustrophobic river with me having to dive under a tarpaulin with the livestock every time a Vietcong gunship approaches for a spot check. In reality, we zip down on the Mekong Express, a modern, sleek, fast ferry with air conditioning, widescreen televisions and complimentary lunch. To be honest, I'm a little disappointed with all the modern trappings... but only a little!

Phnom Penh is another busy, bustling place, a smaller version of Bangkok, and it's hard to imagine that this city was all but emptied when the Khmer Rouge came to power in 1975. A million people occupy the place now and every one of them seems to own a motorbike. Watching the traffic here is mesmeric. Haven't quite figured out on what side of the road they drive - let's just say they seem to favour the right - more of a whim than an actual rule. Nobody's going that fast but they effortlessly weave in and out of each other like some expertly choreographed dance, with little regard for stop signs, red lights or junction/intersection etiquette. Somehow it all works though and I quickly deduce that the best way to cross the road is to just step out into the traffic and walk casually across - they just avoid you.

Only have a couple of nights in Phnom Penh and spend my one full day visiting the Toul Sleng Genocide Museum, and the Choeung Ek Genocide Centre, the 'killing fields'. These are stark, haunting, sobering places, particularly the museum which is a former high school that was used as a prison and interrogation centre by the Khmer Rouge. It's hardly been altered since 1979 and doesn't pull any punches displaying images of hundreds of victims and the instruments of torture. Twenty thousand people passed through this place between 1975 and 1979. Only seven survived.

The 'killing fields' site, 10 miles south of town, is surprisingly peaceful, serene, picturesque even. Shallow, overgrown depressions in the ground give evidence of the mass graves and it's not until you get close to the central memorial and see rows and rows of human skills and blood stained clothing that the place really hits you for six. On a lighter note, a bird shat on my leg on the motorbike ride back to the city!

So now It's Sunday and I'm back in Bangkok. Can it really only be three weeks since I arrived in Asia? When I spent June and July in the States, the summer seemed to last forever but these last three weeks have felt equally as long.

Bangkok has changed though, something's different. It's only when I overhear an animated, bar argument, do I realise that I've clearly travelled back in time to 1966 because England have apparently won something. Better be careful not to alter anything in this timeline in case they win something else in the future. Damn, I just stood on a bug!

Anyway, finally, my top, top tip when you visit Bangkok - do not, under any circumstances, casually flick your cigarette butt into the gutter like some Western, litter terrorist. Like me, you may find yourself getting a tap on the shoulder and being faced with a thin but athletic looking policeman demanding to see your passport and then leading you off to his buddies and making you a pay a 1,000 baht (15 pounds) fine for your misdemeanour. I tell you, for the first time in my life, the health warning "Smoking Can Seriously Damage Your Health" on the side of my cigarette packet took on a whole new meaning! So from now on, no smoking (in public), no spitting, no swearing, no littering, no loitering, no chewing gum, no jaywalking, no running with scissors, no running by the pool, no bombing and no trying to walk like Shaggy from Scooby Doo - that's just asking for trouble!

Tomorrow I travel to a Thai island paradise to stay in a beach hut for a week and give my six pack a nice tan... although I suppose that'll make the beer inside warm. Oh well! Tune in next time to discover which island. Till then.

Love, Neil x

Right, where's my 'Braveheart' video?

Thai A Lellow Libbon Anyone?

Bangkok to Chiang Mai

Before you all start chastising me for my blatantly, disrespectful, subject title, I'm just relaying, albeit phonetically, what I heard last week in a bar here in northern Thailand. Was wandering about looking for a beer and heard the unmistakable sound of this Tony Orlando & Dawn classic drifting down the narrow streets from a corner, karaoke bar. Superb! And no, it isn't this week's song title!

And so, Bangkok -
Charming gateway to Southeast Asia through the ancient land of Siam?
Shopping paradise with towering four, five and even six star hotels?
Backpackers crossroads for the mutual exchange of stories, advice, bodily fluids and maps to mysterious islands?
Sprawling urban metropolis with traffic hell and rats in the alleyways?

Bangkok is all of these things which is why, when I spoke to people who had been here, half of them loved it and half of them hated it? Me, I'm glad I saw it but I'm equally glad to have moved on after four nights. I thought Hong Kong was hot, humid and non-stop busy. This place is ten times as big, ten times as busy and it feels ten times as hot. It continually pulsates with the noise of impatient drivers - every third car is a cab - and loud, bass driven music in any and every type of bar you can imagine... and some you can't!

I've done a couple of touristy things (the Grand Palace, a ride in a tuk-tuk, visit to a snake farm) and a couple of shopping things but the single best thing for me about Bangkok, hands down, no question, is the food! Flat noodles, thin noodles, sticky rice, seafood, poultry, soups, all stir fried or boiled or steamed to perfection with a touch more spice and colour than I saw or tasted in Hong Kong, although fried ducks blood was a first for me! There're 58,000 restaurants here and I'm only sorry that I couldn't have visited more.

I'm not ashamed to say that I was more than a little apprehensive about leaving the relative familiarity of the ex-British colony that is Hong Kong before coming here. I'm thankful therefore, that I followed the advice given on Page 5 of my 'Rough Guide - First Time Around The World For 30 Something Dummies' which says,

"Don't be afraid to look up that childhood pen pal in Ghana or your third cousin once removed in Hungary..."

I manage to get accommodation with - now concentrate here - my sister's, husband's, cousin's, work colleague and I am eternally grateful to Al, Iain, Yui, Wee and Damien for their help, kindness and hospitality during my time in Bangkok. Don't know if I could have done it without you.

From Bangkok, I caught the overnight train north to Chiang Mai, Thailand's second biggest city but much more relaxing and a lot less humid. I'm here primarily to see more of the Asian countryside so being the fit, adventurous, outdoor type (!?), I signed up for a three day mountain trek to the nearby... eh... mountains. It went a little something like this...

Day 1
Get collected by the minibus on Wednesday morning and there are thirteen people in total plus our English speaking guide, Nan. It feels a bit like an Agatha Christie novel as everyone tentatively checks out everyone else, each one wondering who's got a dark secret or emergency cigarettes or a secret stash of toilet roll. In summary, there are two Spanish couples, three English girls, two French guys, two German guys, an Australian woman (spiritual earth mother called Sheila, I kid you not!) and a strapping, blond, handsome Scottish guy. He has to cancel to meet a friend so I take his place.

Nan's breaking us in gently as our day is punctuated with stops at markets, cafes, waterfalls, hot springs, geysers and we trek a total of two and a half hours, albeit up and down some severe climbs and descents, ending up at a tiny village in the jungle occupied by the local Karen hill tribe. Most of the hill tribes are pre-literate societies (imagine Govan without electricity or Burberry baseball caps) and they live very simply and basically. We're all sharing a not so large, one-room, hut on stilts so during the night, we very quickly become accustomed to the different tones and pitches of international snoring.

Day 2
Woken by the dawn chorus of Asian roosters except it's not bloody dawn - it's 4.30am! Subconsciously, everyone ups the decibel level of the more familiar snoring so eventually get back to sleep. Had a little mishap during the night when I tried to find the outside "toilet" hut without the aid of a torch and ended up face down in the mud (at least I think it was mud) so need to wash some clothes in the "shower", an elevated piece of guttering at the nearby stream. Head down there around 6.30am just as everyone's waking only to find that the Germans have laid their towels by the riverbank. No, not really, but it would have been funny. Actually, the German boys are titanic and polite and funny (no, seriously) in everything that they do. No physical labour is too strenuous, no meal has enough chilli in it and they generously offer round the deep fried crickets that they bought at the local market. I decline.

Trek all morning, some 9 or 10 kilometres in all, up and over peaks with great views north across the mist covered valleys towards the mountains of Burma and Laos. Arrive at an elephant camp by lunchtime and spend the afternoon meandering through and along side a river on the backs of these great animals to the village of the Lisu hill tribe, our stop for the night. By comparison, this appears to be a slightly more "modern" place with a real shower and greater numbers of children, filthy but happy, running around the place. Everyone's more relaxed at night and it's fun trying to communicate in broken speech, hand gestures and sound effects. However, it's particularly embarrassing and shaming to watch everyone make such an effort to speak English, mostly very well, and it instils in me a desire to learn a new language when I get home. I just feel that my two native languages, English and body, are just not going to get me very far everywhere in the world!

Day 3
After breakfast of Nan's (eggy) bread, we spend the morning on bamboo rafts travelling down the river. The scenery is lush, green and very peaceful and there's enough small rapids to make the trip invigorating as well as relaxing. I'm on the Anglo-Saxon raft (me, the English girls and of course the two Germans steering at the back) and the trip turns into a race at one point as the rafts come together. I can almost hear Stuart Hall's (from 'It's A Knockout') hysterical commentary in the background, "..AND HERE COME THE SPANIARDS! HA, HA, HA!" but German efficiency sees us through. After lunch, we take a bumpy jeep ride to an orchid/butterfly farm and all too soon I'm getting dropped off back at my guest house in Chiang Mai.

"I have returned from the jungle," I announce, Indiana Jones-like, to two dogs lying in the shade who don't seem as impressed as I am. Feel a bit like Richard Gere at the end of "An Officer And A Gentleman" when he's watching the new recruits, as I smugly observe two new arrivals reading the trek literature and debating which one to book. Decide to let them make their own choice since they can probably tell where I've been due to the dirt, grime and unique odour that I'm omitting. All in all, it was a great three days, probably not the toughest challenge in the world, but an unforgettable experience.

The best way to recover from a strenuous jungle trek, I always find, is to indulge yourself with a Thai massage. This is a particularly vigorous way to spend an hour especially when the massage is delivered by a woman who's clearly just retired from the WWF circuit. Haven't had my body contorted into such unusual positions since Mrs Evans, my primary 4 teacher, told me to assume the shape of a crab during music & movement class.

Later today, I begin my journey to Cambodia - dark, mysterious land with a troubled history or vastly underrated Kim Wilde single from the 80's? Tune in next time to find out.

Sawat dii khrap

Love, Neil x

PS Sorry this note is so long, especially for those of you receiving it at work. Will try and make future ones shorter and sharper. Just got a bit excited about the whole jungle thing.

Hong Kong Phewee

Hong Kong to Bangkok

Okay. Let's start with a challenge. Thought it might be interesting to try and keep you all motivated to read my tales over the next weeks and months so from now on, every e-mail will have a line from a song interwoven oh so subtly within the revealing cultural insights and witty stories from everywhere I go. The challenge then, is to keep a record of each song and the relevant artist and the person with the most correct answers next May will win a fabulous prize, yet to be acquired. We'll start with an easy one so see if you can spot the famous song as we go along.

Arrived in Hong Kong, or to give it it's relatively new, proper name, the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (SAR), early on Sunday morning (Nov 2nd) after a long 11 hour flight and checked into my hotel on the Kowloon peninsula which lies north across the harbour from Hong Kong island itself.

Have explored most of the Kowloon and Hong Kong Island areas and it turns out to be everything I've seen and read about. By day, it's warm, humid, slightly polluted (weatherman says we need rain) and non stop busy. By night, it's Blade Runner, illuminated by buzzing neon with the aromas of all types of exotic cooking, sizzling and steaming from what seems like every doorway. Have actually been out for Chinese food on three of my four nights here, although here, of course, they just call it... 'food'! (Joke © Chandler Bing)

Peaceful gardens and temples lie serenely between the skyscraper canyons and the whole things feels like someone's thrown San Francisco and New York together and then tossed it across the Pacific. One of the main differences, however, is that I'm one of the tallest people here! In fact, I've found it really surprising when I see another western face. Dropped in to the historic Peninsula Hotel on Sunday to experience some British Empire opulence and then found out later that Sting was upstairs at the same time holding a press conference for the launch of his new album and singing a few songs. DOH!

On Monday, got the Peak Tram to the top of the... eh... Peak for spectacular views of the city and also visited Lantau Island to see one of the largest Buddha statues in the world called, appropriately enough, The Big Buddha. This involved a hair-raising bus journey through the mountains with a driver who had a love affair with his accelerator and only a fleeting but abrupt relationship with his brakes. Approaching one village, we pass a sign saying "Slow Pedestrians" which I read as if it has a comma in the middle. Feel a bit stupid at not understanding the nuances of the language however, when I find out that this clearly means put your foot down smartish before any ambling pensioners or disabled people can think about crossing the road.

Interactions with the locals have been interesting. To date, I've had about 73 Indian gentlemen approach me asking "Suit Sir? Very cheap!" and one elderly Cantonese woman ask me if I would like a "message". Her hand gestures suggest something very different so before she can spit out the word "thleesome?", I'm running in the opposite direction. Not daft me, I've heard about those triad gangs! Strangest approach I've had though was from a man/woman in a bar who came right up face to face with me and whispered, "Scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do the fandango?" Very, very frightening, I can tell you!!!

Also got fleeced for $100 (about 8 quid) by a Holy/Con Man who accosted me at a coffee shop, did some slight of hand with bits of paper containing lucky numbers and colours and told me that I MIGHT (not WILL) have some good luck between 2004 and 2006. He actually wanted $1000 for this stunning news and was insisting on accompanying me to the ATM to withdraw it. I told him that he'd get the balance in the next life or between 2004 and 2006, whichever comes first!

Was going to go to the famous Happy Valley racecourse tonight to give away the rest of my Hong Kong dollars but just found out that it's the one week of the season that they move the meeting to a Tuesday because of the Melbourne Cup. Oh well, will just have to have a starter AND a dessert with my dai pai dongs, whatever the hell they are!

Tomorrow morning, I fly to Bangkok for nearly four weeks touring around Thailand, Cambodia and Malaysia. I've heard so many diverse stories about these places, some good, some not so good, that I'm expecting nothing but the unexpected. Till next time.

Your No.1 Super Guy

Neil x

P.S. Well, did you spot it?

From Sea To Shining Sea

Austin to San Francisco

Question: What is the most overused word/phrase in the vocabulary of America, do you think? Lawsuit? Big Mac? Are you from Germany, sonny? No, the most overused word in the vocabulary of America is 'AWESOME'. Now awesome is a great word but it's used all the time here for things that clearly aren't. Such as...

Girl 1: "I was... like... shopping the other day and it was SO.... like.... crowded. I had to reverse my car to....like... park it!
Girl 2: "You REVERSED your car to park it? That is...like.... SO AWESOME!!!!!"

I'm sorry, but this just won't do. If you're going to use the word, find an appropriate subject matter. Last week, I visited/passed through five of the greatest National Parks between Texas and California. Now THOSE were f#cking AWESOME!!!

One thing I swore I wouldn't do during this trip would be to take any internal flights. I always thought I'd want to hitch, drive or take a bus or train to see as much of the country as possible. Mind you, I also swore that I'd lose two stones (28 pounds for you Americans) and give up smoking during the trip and that hasn't quite happened yet!

After a fantastic last few days in Austin which included seven rounds of golf, boating on the lake and lots of drinking and eating, I just couldn't face the prospect of trying to drive from Texas to California in four days. So I cut out 1,200 miles and flew to Las Vegas instead. Picked up a rental car (or jeep to be more accurate) and set off on a whistle stop tour of the deserts and mountains. A big landscape needs a big soundtrack and I know it's obvious but there's nothing better than "The Joshua Tree" by U2 to give the dramatic miles some suitable dressing. As a quick aside, here's my top five cd's acquired on this trip.

1. "Trouble No More" by John Mellencamp. Greatest living American rocker puts his own spin on some traditional US songs.
2. "Smile" by Lyle Lovett. Austin's finest (and Julia Roberts' ex) with a collection of songs he's recorded for movie soundtracks over the years.
3. "Hootie & The Blowfish" by.. eh... Hootie & The Blowfish. First band I ever heard on American radio eight years ago and still going strong.
4. "Breakfast In America" by Supertramp. Finger right on the musical pulse with this one!!!
5. "Born To Run" by Bruce Springsteen. No road trip would be complete without it.

First up in the desert then was Zion National Park in southern Utah. Zion Valley was named by the early Mormon settlers (Osmonds?) from the Hebrew word "Zion" meaning "a place of refuge or sanctuary". Good thing their vocabulary wasn't as colourful as some of my fellow tourists or it would have ended up being named Holy Shit, That's F#cking Awesome Valley. Nice use of the adjective though! I don't linger at Zion because I really want to get to Monument Valley by sunset.

Monument Valley straddles the Utah/Arizona border and has been the backdrop for many wild west movies, primarily featuring John Wayne. I have very high expectations of this place but they are exceeded ten fold! Huge, red, sandstone... eh... monuments rise over 1,000 feet from the desert floor and I sit there for two hours watching the sun go down while listening to the local Navajo residents playing the theme to The Good, The Bad & The Ugly on their musical pipes. No, really! My Rough Guide says that "the majesty of the place will take your breath away" and frankly, it does.

After I leave the valley I do quite a bit more driving at night because I'm aiming to be at The Grand Canyon by sunrise. This means sleeping in the back of my jeep for a few hours in the desert which sounds a lot more rugged and Indiana Jones like than it actually was. A few years ago, I took a two hour flight over the Grand Canyon which pales in comparison to actually being there when the sun comes up. There's only a handful of tourists around and everyone is very quiet and reverent as the vastness of the canyon is revealed by the ever changing colours of the sunrise. Absolutely stunning!

Drive the rest of that day back to Las Vegas for a one night overnight stop. Las Vegas is hot... damn hot! It's also much busier than the last time I was here but apart from the gamblers, most people seem to just wander about aimlessly gazing up at the outlandishly themed resort hotels. There's every type of person from every walk of life and I'm pleased to note that most of the residents of Mullett, Michigan are in town, no doubt attending an international hair convention! By the way, in case you think that the Mullet has been forever cast back into the deep, dark chasm of the 80's, think again!!! (www.mulletlovers.com, www.ratemymullet.com, www.mulletjunky.com)

Last Friday morning, I left Las Vegas around 9.00 to drive to San Francisco. I'm aiming to be there by 8.00pm that night to have dinner with old high school friend Irené and her husband Graeme but as soon as I turn into Death Valley National Park, I know I'm not going to make it! Death Valley just drops from the landscape as if some giant has stamped violently on the mountains. There's nobody there except the wee, old woman at the Visitor's Centre who's obviously pleased to see somebody come through her door and she launches immediately into her speech.

"Death Valley is THE hottest place on earth which makes it THE most inhospitable place on earth, sonny!"

"Eh?" I reply eloquently. "Have ye no been in The Burns Bar in Falkirk when The Signals are playing? Now THAT's hot!!!"

As my solitary laughter echoes and fades across the tumbleweed strewn valley, she looks at me with a curious mixture of confusion, sympathy and hate. I hastily get back in the jeep before she can call up her, no doubt, gun-wielding grandsons on the CB radio. My Rough Guide says that the ground in Death Valley can often reach boiling point so a few miles further on, I decide to test this theory. Sure enough, the remnants of the previous night's Budweisers are soon hissing and steaming on the desert floor!

The elevation changes to get in and out of, not one, but two deathly valleys are dramatic and sudden. My ears are popping more frequently than a Las Vegas stripper's bra clasp (so I'm told) and the jeep's temperature fluctuates violently despite me acknowledging the signs to turn off the air conditioning. Eventually I emerge hot, sweaty and relieved and continue on to Yosemite National Park.

Yosemite is just gorgeous. Mountains, trees, valleys, waterfalls, canyons - it's got everything. I drive through it all in two and a half hours and feel like I've offended someone for doing so. This is a place you need to come to for a while and just linger so one day I'll be back.

So, here I am now in San Francisco, most laid back city of them all. I did a lot of the touristy things the last time I was here so this time, I'm enjoying just wandering about the different neighbourhoods, visiting various coffee & alcohol shops and sitting on the dock of the Bay. Went to the Haight Ashbury area the other day to see where the hippies all hung out in the 60's only to find that most of them are still there! They welcomed me warmly as one of their own!

Tomorrow, I'm coming home, I've done my time (as Tony Orlando would say) and I have three flights with two small children and Irené to fill the 19 hours of travelling time. I predict lots of alcohol, bribery and games involved in the journey home and I may even have a drink too. All in all it's been.... oh, what's the word?.... it's on the tip of my tongue.... eh.... that's right, AWESOME!

Adios amigos, Love, Neil x

P.S. By overwhelming popular demand (thank you cousin Pascale) here are some of my top travel tips for the USA. You'll have to buy the book to read the rest!!!

1. Before you leave, pack what you think you need and then put half of it back in the wardrobe. This is America for God's sake and you don't really need that 12th pair of boxers when you can do laundry wherever you go. Remember, you get at least four wearings out of underwear, back to front and inside & out!

2. Mind your language!! Different words mean different things over here so no need to punch a guy out if he says he likes your "fanny pack".

3. Always, always keep an eye on the gas (petrol) gauge! It's no fun in Death Valley wondering whether you really can squeeze an extra 30 miles out of an overheated car when the needle is hovering in the red zone!

4. If you're going to drive in the desert at night, don't listen to any of those cheery Leonard Cohen or Morrissey cd's you brought with you. Find a radio station, ANY radio station! It's amazing how a human voice doing a cheesy commercial or an unexpected but familiar song can stop the desert night messing with your head. For me, it was Phil Collins singing "Two Hearts"! I know, I know but I have to tell you that my toes were a-tappin’.

5. And finally, if a hippy war protester in San Francisco yells at you, "DO YOU HATE BUSH TOO?”, think about your answer very, very carefully!!!

Don't Mess With Texas

Texas

Well, I've been in Austin now for nearly two weeks enjoying the delights of yet another very laidback city and the capital of Texas. It's set in some beautiful, hilly countryside with lakes and golf courses galore, very reminiscent of the best parts of southern Spain but without the Union Jack swimming trunks or any lost and unconscious Celtic fans. To be honest, I haven't really done much except play golf, lie by the pool, swim, eat and drink a lot. Bummer, eh?

I'm only slightly ashamed at my lack of activity though. If I'd been writing up my journal it would have been a bit like that way you used to write diaries when you were young. You know the kind of thing...

Monday: Got up. Went to skool. Came home. Watched Blue Peter. Had tea. Went to bed.
Tuesday: Got up. Went to skool. Came home. Watched Scooby Doo. Had Campbell's meatballs for tea, yummy! (Sometimes you threw in a bit of exotic detail.) Went to bed.

...and so on. Or was that just me?

One think I did do however, was take a little trip down to San Antonio to see what's left of the famous Alamo. Now the phrase 'Don't Mess With Texas' started some years ago as an anti-litter campaign but is used often on t-shirts and bumper stickers as a statement of pride in the state. I was all ready to go down to The Alamo and have a good laugh at how the Mexican army severely "messed with Texas" back in 1836 but ended up being quite moved and impressed by how 189 men held off an army of 5,000 for nearly two weeks. The Alamo is stuck right in the middle of downtown San Antonio and although it was swarming with tourists, the letters to home from men who knew they were going to die removed any thought that this was a cheesy, over patriotic sideshow. What really struck me was how many Europeans, including Scots, were among the Alamo volunteers and it was slightly unsettling to note that a William Sutherland was among the fallen.

Texas reminds me a lot of Scotland. The people are very friendly and funny, although lacking the always attractive pale blueish skin tone of the natives at home, and Texas itself used to be a self governing Republic. The Alamo is their Culloden/Bannockburn/Braveheart all rolled into one minus the dodgy, "I love ye, cobber" Australian accent! You get the impression that Texans are not always happy with being part of a bigger country and would be quite content using their oil and agriculture economy to go it alone. Having said that, they know how to celebrate the 4th of July. Barbeques, parades and 100,000 people watching a massive concert and fireworks display in the local park.

One of the other things I considered doing while in Texas, was making a 400 mile round trip to Dallas to see the place where John F Kennedy was shot. A bit morbid perhaps, but a place of significant national importance in this country. When I mentioned to Keith's girlfriend Kathryn, that I was thinking of doing this she said,

"It's really not worth the journey. Dallas only has girls with big hair, big teeth and big breasts!"

My flight to Dallas the next morning was the earliest available...... no, just kidding. Was content to watch Victoria Principal strutting around Southfork on tv instead.

I'd actually seen Dealey Plaza, the place where Kennedy was shot, during my 24 hour train journey from St. Louis to Austin. The Amtrak station in Dallas is very close to the fateful site, so I got a good view as we pulled away. For you conspiracy theorists who want to see what the alleged lone gunman saw that day, click on to http://www.earthcam.com/jfk.

I can't imagine what 24 hours on a British Rail train must be like (although I'm sure some of you commuters can) but my trip was fairly luxurious. I didn't have a sleeping compartment but the train was a double decker and the seats were big and wide and reclined like the seats in the first class section of a plane (I've seen pictures). They also had a fairly neat dining car in which I imagined I was surrounded by a host of Orient Express murderers. The view could have been better though. Rather than the towering Alps or the French countryside, I had a couple of hundred miles of Arkansas (pronounced 'Arkansaw') swampland to look at.

Not much of a pancakes update to relay this time although I have been savouring the tasty breakfast tacos they have here in Austin. It's a small (yes, small!) omelette looking thing containing whatever ingredients you desire, all wrapped up in a flour tortilla. Wash it down with coffee and a few shots of tequila and you're all set for the day with the breakfast of champions!

Next week, I'm heading west across the deserts of New Mexico, Arizona and California although I'm not quite sure how I'm going to travel yet. I'm sure something will turn up. Before that however, I have six rounds of golf planned over the next four days with Keith and Bob, the guy I stayed with in Detroit, who just flew into town tonight. It's serious stuff with pride, honour, money, beer and perhaps a big shiny trophy at stake. Game on!

Finally, for those of you planning a visit to Disney World sometime in the future, here's something that caught my eye that might be of use. Read in the paper the other day that Christians in South Florida are reacting to the prohibition of prayer in public schools and the proliferation of sex and violence in popular culture by engaging in alternative pursuits such as working out at the newly opened, 'The Lord's Gym'. Bare midriffs and thong leotards are forbidden as are cussing (swearing) and chewing gum (presumably because it's difficult to do both at once) and the walls feature images of Jesus carrying the burden of the cross and Samson breaking free of his chains. I'm curious to find out whether these are workouts than can be re-enacted at The Lord's Gym but the article doesn't say.

Interestingly, there are also alternative Christian theme parks springing up, Lazarus like, including The Holy Land in Orlando. "Red Sea parted ten times a day" and "Buy 5 loaves, get 2 fishes free - it's a bloody miracle!" are how I would attract the non-believers. Anyway, something to think about including in your holiday schedule I'm sure.

Until next time...

Love, Neil x

P.S. Will definitely do Neil's Top Travel Tips For The USA in the next thrilling installment once I've endured the nights in Las Vegas and the days in Death Valley!!!

...Head Out On The Highway

Detroit to Austin

So, there I was in Detroit having played a little golf, drunk a little beer and visited a museum or two. Luckily, the car company had a Toyota that needed to go to Chicago so I booked it up and headed off across Michigan on Thursday 12th June. Had stayed up late the night before so decided to stop at a nice little harbour town, St. Joseph, which looks west over the vast expanse of Lake Michigan. Getting there, I drove through a not so nice little town called Benton Harbour. Two days later, this town went up in flames after a black motorcyclist was killed in a high speed car chase with the police. Riots, looting and the National Guard followed but I was long gone.

The next day, I drove to Chicago but decided to take a slight detour past Olympia Fields where the US Open Golf Championship was being played. Managed to get a ticket from a tout and had a fabulous day wandering the course, giving psychology tips to the pros on the range, drinking beer and heckling Colin Montgomerie! He took it with his usual good grace and dry sense of humour! Stayed there till they kicked me out then went to visit yet another golfing buddy, Brian who stays 35 miles west of Chicago.

Chicago is a very, very cool city with a fantastic public transport system (quite rare over here), splendid architectural skyscrapers (including the second tallest building in the world, Sears Tower), great sporting events, jumping jazz and blues clubs and plenty of quality shopping for all you ladies! Spent a lot of time there just wandering about, soaking up the sun and watching people. Got a little weak at the knees on the Skydeck of Sears Tower, though! Hey, did you know that the Tower contains 43,000 miles of telephone cabling and 25,000 miles of plumbing? No, me neither but I am a more complete person for having that knowledge. I've actually got a couple of other plumbing stories to tell but there's a time and a place....!

While we're talking about facts and figures, here's a few more for you stat lovin' geeks:-

3,030 - No. of miles I've driven to date.
26 - No. of pancakes I've eaten to date. (Not at one sitting!)
37 - No. of Starbucks coffees I've drunk to date.
11 - No. of States I've visited so far on this trip.
39 - No. of States that are left to visit!!!
73 - No. of mosquito bites I collected in Florida. (I was bored one night so counted them!)
159 - No. of times I've had to repeat myself to have my accent understood.
159 - No. of times I've felt like punching someone who doesn't understand my accent.
1,265 - No. of country music radio stations I found driving to St. Louis.
1,266 - No. of evangelical, God-fearing radio stations I found driving to St. Louis.
0 - No. of rap/hip hop radio stations I found driving to St. Louis.

Having bitched and moaned in my first update about not having a pick-up truck in Tennessee and Kentucky, the Chicago office of the car company had one that needed to go to St. Louis. I snapped it up and headed down there on Thursday 19th June but not before enduring a strange encounter at the car collection office. There's a fellow traveller there, the first I've met doing the car driving thing, and he's an old guy with a greasy looking vest and one of those tall fronted baseball caps that only real truckers wear! After chatting for a couple of minutes about places we've been he obviously susses my accent and says, "So sonny, you from Germany?"

I resist the urge to shout "JA" whilst snapping my heels together loudly and instead, correct him politely. Clearly embarrassed at his mistake he changes tack and tells me that he's a born-again Christian and is hoping to travel the world with a like-minded soul.

"Have you asked Christ The Saviour to come in to your heart yet sonny?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah," I reply with a sigh, "but he never answered my e-mail so... what can you do?"

He pauses for a second, frowning, probably wondering why he doesn't have Christ's e-mail address but then continues relentlessly. "Well, when we die, we're either going to heaven or hell and only those without sin are going to heaven, you know." "Are you without sin, sonny?"

I choke and splutter loudly on my Starbucks coffee and furiously try to recall any murders or international frauds that may have casually slipped my mind. He seems to know what I'm thinking by interjecting, "Don't matter if it was a small lie, cheating on a test or wearing short leather jackets in the 80's - it's ALL sin sonny!" Okay, he didn't really say the leather jackets thing but thankfully at this point, the clerk returned with his paperwork and he headed off out the door with a firm handshake and a cheery, "Take care on God's highway sonny!"

God's highway turns out to be Route 66 to St. Louis although the old, romantic notion of Route 66 seems to have long since disappeared under the concrete of big interstates. Cross the Mississippi into the city and spend a couple of days seeing the sights. It's a close run thing as to which spectacle I enjoyed more - the splendid 600 foot, man made, stainless steel memorial arch, the Gateway to the West or the City Museum displaying the biggest pair of underpants in the world! Any more breakfast buffets and I could be shoehorning myself into them soon!

Despite the invitation from the city to head out west, I travel north on my first greyhound bus trip back into Illinois. I would encourage everyone to find themselves at a greyhound bus station at 7.00am on a Sunday morning to experience the rich diversity of people on this planet, most of whom are at different stages of the evolutionary ladder!!! As I queue for my bus which says "Omaha" on the front in big, black letters the father of a small (almost midget) family of four approaches me and shouts, "HOWDEEEEEE! DO THIS HERE BUS GO T'OMAHA?" Without speaking, I raise my eyebrows in as condescending a manner as possible and point to the sign on the bus. He says thanks and bundles his wee family aboard. I consider swapping my ticket for a one way to... well... anywhere really but they all fall asleep as soon as the bus gets going so it's peaceful enough.

Three hours later, the bus drops me off in a seemingly deserted town called Quincy. My Dad's brother Hamish stays here with his family in the middle of a golf course so safe to say, I haven't wandered far from the homestead this week

So, four weeks gone and four weeks to go. Tomorrow, I'm getting on an Amtrak train and traveling 23 hours to Austin, Texas for some sizzling barbeque action, some rodeo riding, some tobacco-chewin' and even more golf.

Until the next time, happy trails pardners!!

Love, Neil x

In the next thrilling installment...

1. Neil's Top Travel Tips.
2. Pancakes update.
3. Those plumbing stories in full, perhaps.
4. I've seen the fateful car, now I'll visit the grassy knoll in Dallas for a conspiracy/assassination exclusive!

Get Your Motor Runnin'...

Key West to Detroit

Well, I've been over here in the States for two weeks now and am enjoying a heady mixture of heatwaves in the South, thunderstorms in the middle and pretty coolish Scottish summer weather in the North. This in turn is complemented with excellent breakfast buffets in the South, fine sports bar dining in the middle and multiple beer and pizza in the North!

Started off by visiting an old friend, Robin and his family in Key West, Florida. It's a very warm and laid back place (so I fitted right in!) and the sea temperature was so hot that I considered expanding my morning three mile swim to five or six miles! It's a very unique experience driving 100 miles over bridges and thin strips of road to get there and it genuinely feels like the end of the world when you arrive. Stayed there from Thursday through to Monday and enjoyed some bike riding and kayaking with the family as well as making the intimate acquaintance of most of the mosquito population. They can spot the fresh, white meat a mile off!

On the Monday, I drove north to Orlando to drop off my rental (hire) car and picked up a minivan that needed to be delivered to Detroit. I'd found a company on the internet that move vehicles around the States for people who have moved house or jobs and they 'hire' tourists to do the driving so they can see more of the country. I don't get paid for doing it but I only need to pay for the gas (petrol) which is dirt cheap compared to home. Stayed in Orlando on the Monday night and then headed to Detroit on the Tuesday morning, after a mighty helping of pancakes, eggs, sausage, hash browns, coffee, orange juice, wheat toast and a muffin to go!

Driving on the interstates (motorways) in America is a pretty boring experience when the land is flat and featureless. However, once I crossed the state line into Georgia, I turned off and drove through some lovely "Gone With The Wind" country to reach a little college town, Athens. As you know, this is the home of top rock & pop combo REM and I was genuinely amazed not to run into them! The town itself though was lovely, very warm and laid back so guess what, I fitted right in!

Going to Athens, meant that on the Wednesday, I could head north through North Carolina by way of Great Smokey Mountain National Park. For you stat lovers, this is the most visited national park in America with some six million visitors a year. It crosses the Appalachian Mountains and the views from the peaks were breathtaking. The mountains cross into Tennessee and after visiting this state's highest point (6,660 feet, stat lovers), this was quickly followed by what must be its lowest depth on the other side - DOLLYWOOD! Not one, but two theme parks devoted to the worship of country music's finest(!?!) and surrounded by the tackiest strip of motels, eating places and cheesy musical theatres I've ever seen.

I'd planned to stay in Tennessee that night but couldn't get out of the state quick enough. "Let's go to Kentucky instead," I thought, "That'll be nicer!" In truth, the countryside was fine but I felt quite inadequate without any dungarees and a pick up truck containing a scruffy dog and a shotgun. Luckily, I found a motel, double locked my door and avoided any late night banjo-duellin’!

Slipped out of Kentucky early on Thursday morning and headed for Columbus, Ohio. This is another smart looking college town and home of Jack Nicklaus (greatest golfer ever) whose museum I visited on Friday morning. Arrived in Detroit on Friday afternoon, delivered the minivan and met up with a golfing friend, Bob who used to work with my brother Keith. Played three rounds of golf at the weekend, did absolutely nothing on Monday except sleep and visited the Henry Ford museum yesterday, primarily to stare gruesomely at the car in which JFK was shot! Found a bullet lying underneath! More golf today (40 holes!)

So, so far so good although I've no idea yet what my next move will be. Will probably go to Chicago next but then again.... maybe not! Anyway, drop me a line with any news if you get a chance and I'll send more tales from the road soon.

Have a real nice day now!

Love, Neil x

Coming Soon...

... a new blog that used to be an old website which will try and use retrospective dates or, if that doesn't work, won't!