In accordance with the fundamentally cyclical nature of travellers everywhere I travelled to the south coast of Cambodia last week and a town entitled Sihanoukville. I went there expecting sun, surf, white sandy beaches and interesting people.

What I saw was: MONSOON!

In a way it was a blessed relief. Phnom Penh has a kind of permanent cushion of humidity surrounding it. Every night I've spent in Cambodia's capital has featured a thunderstorm on the horizon but never above my head. So to travel to underneath the storms was nice in that I could sit, in one place, and not find myself drenched in my own sweat. In Sihanoukville I soaked up the weather like a person used to the cold might soak up the sun. I had gone to the coast and I was rain bathing. It was not what I had expected but that was just fine.

I do like Cambodia; the people here are so chilled out. As you might know if you have been following my travels, I have come here via Vietnam. In Vietnam, if a local approaches a tourist (us Westerners stick out somewhat) with goods or a service to sell and receives the answer "no", that salesperson would continue to follow you. I get the impression that "no" is seen as a bartering step, meaning "yes, but not at tht price". Here in Cambodia, "no" means "no" - which as a tourist is much more pleasant. While Vietnam could feel seedy and with a few dodgy characters, Cambodia has none of that. Even the chaps at the shooting range - where you might expect it to be a bit dodgy - were the salt of the Earth. I'll be sad to leave here as the pace of life is so relaxed and the people so happy, even despite the poverty here and the recent history of this country.

Seventy five per cent of the Cambodian population is under 25. The future of this country will rest almost entirly with this generation of kids; and it looks to my untrained eye like the future will be alright. There appears to be no adolescent revolution against the older generation, the teenagers are savvy, clever and friendly; and the society is increasingly liberal and content (although some parts of the culture is conservative, like attitudes towards couples kissing in public, or nudity - definitely both frowned upon, I know this due to books rather than any bad experiences).

Tomorrow I leave Phnom Penh (again) to travel north to Siem Reap and the site of the most furious period of temple construction anywhere. This includes Angkor Wat, the biggest religious building in the world. Angkor Beer meanwhile is the most cheap and delicious beer in the world. 28 pence per glass? Yes please...

Here I am in possibly the world's hugest adult adventure playground. Not that that is necessarily a good thing. Somewhere in this land resides Gary Glitter including his desire for young children - and I bet he can get them here too. Not that I've seen any of that sort of thing, but the law here is just a word - actually I don't even know if there is a Khmer word for 'law'. Anyway, should one drive down the wrong side of the road at night with your headlights switched off and a huge reefer billowing pungent smoke everywhere, you might solicit a smiling wave from the police - but probably not any hassle. The pizza restaurants here serve "happy" pizzas. Pizzas are inanimate so as such aren't happy, but the consumers of them certainly will be after half-an-hour or so...

Now most politicians might have you believe that such a situation is a recipe for crime, murder and general mayhem; however Phnom Penh is a laid back and friendly city where the locals smile and say hello but occasionally try to dislodge monkeys from the trees around Wat Phnom by shaking the trees and laughing. Which isn't very nice. But at least they aren't shooting each other which is pretty good news for any philosophical anarchists as the sheer amount of weaponry left over from the years of the Khmer Rouge is huge (so I'm told).



The average wage here for many is $20 a month so some creative military types have used that military surplus to their advantage by setting up shooting ranges for tourists to try hand guns, M15s, Rocket Propelled Grenades, and various other miscellaneous weaponry. I can't remember the prices but one chap who has already visited it told me that RPGs are $200 and that the cow is an extra $50... Shocking. I've yet to meet anyone who thinks that murdering a cow or chicken for a laugh is actually funny or fun - but I don't speak to the hunting types who populate Britain's countryside. The most visited range is near the Killing Fields - and anyone who's seen that cannot possibly relish the idea of bloodlust. I will take in this horrible scene of human suffering on Monday or Tuesday.

Backed by the Chinese and the Thais, the Khmer Rouge murdered two million Cambodians in a period of radical Communism starting from 1975 until 1978. In Cambodia in 1975, Pol Pot declared the calendar should start again at year zero. If one spoke a foreign language or even wore glasses you would be for the chop. Which is almost literally true as the cost of the bullets was beginning to get too costly. Babies would frequently get bludgeoned to death because they were not born into a peasant family. Thankfully the Vietnamese invaded and overthrew the Khmer Rouge at the end of 1978. And so bitter were the Americans towards the Vietnamese that they actually helped the most extreme Communists in world history maintain a guerilla war through the eighties merely because it was Vietnam who had brought it all down. The British backed the Americans through all this of course, and the Chinese as usual were throwing money towards the cause of evil as well.

Elections did not return to Cambodia until 1993 and the Khmer Rouge did not disappear until as recently as 1998 with the death of Pol Pot. Murders from the years of Pol Pot are estimated to be as high as three-and-a-half million. Cambodia is now an up and coming country, which is youth dominated and which wears a smile. It is really uplifting to see the people getting back onto their feet and enjoying life. That is why Phnom Penh is one of the most exciting places I have ever been to.

There is a definite cycle to this traveling malarky. It goes: city, mountains, beach, city, mountains, beach, and so on. And so it came to be that after descending from the peaks of north-west Vietnam we should head for the near-coast town of Hoi An and all its associated tailors.

Halong Bay was both beautiful and enjoyable. Firstly because it consists of thousands of separate island and caves and secondly because Vietnamese people trying to hawk me stuff don't generally get out to sea much. Halong bay is a World Heritage Site, which means it gets all sorts of special protection; but that doesn't stop ships captains' tossing their plastic bags of rubbish into the water. We went as part of a tour with six other travelers - I would definitely recommend such a thing as it is a great way to meet like-minded individuals from across the world.



And meeting such people in the days since Halong have caused me to realise how ridiculously expensive my home city of London really is. During my only day back in Hanoi I got chatting to a local who was studying English at university. Now remember folks, to work out a price in Vietnamese dong one must multiply the British pound by 27,000. 27 is a bastardly awkward number to work with. Also bear in mind that a long distant bus takes 12 hours might cost about 50,000 dong. And furthermore I ask you to consider that I am not doing the patronising phonetic representation of my Vietnamese chum's attempts at English; although it was rather good anyway.

"How much does it cost you to get to work in the morning?"

"Er.... *insert many seconds of furious thinking here* about 150,000 dong."

*makes face of surprise and concern* "How much do cigarettes cost?"

Ah. This was easy - it's the same price: "150,000 dong." I reply speedily looking smug as if I had just done the maths again but in super quick time.

"Really?"

"Yes."

A packet of Marlboro Lights here in Vietnam cost about 17,000 dong I am told by those who buy such things. Which is a mixed blessing for them I guess. I also guess that with no regulations on what the evil tobacco manufacturers can stick (get it? Weak pun there) into their product, ciggies here probably contain something nasty and highly addictive like heroin or the like.

"How much does a house cost in London?"

I baulk.

How much is the average London house price? I ask my friend Rob. "300,000 pounds" he reckons.

I baulk more - adding to the previous baulk - at the mathematics ahead of me. I decide to estimate a rough approximation. It's a billion dong I believe.

I put on my best Ren and Stimpy voice:

"A biiiilleeon dong!" I exclaim. It turns out I was wrong; the actual figure is more like 8,100,000,000 dong but he gets the message anyway: study English but don't visit England. Not unless you're prepared to be bank rolled by a Vietnamese tobacco company.

Yesterday I met a Japanese chap called Yoshio. After the initial and mandatory conversation about Manga and the marvelous Takeshi Kitano and his new film Zatoichi we move onto prices. Or rather I move the conversation on to it. I always thought that Tokyo, from where Yoshio hails,
was possibly the only city more expensive than London, but oh no. I won't bother with more details, but now I'm more pissed off than ever about the ridiculous expense us Londoners' are put through on a regular basis. Yoshio pays $100 a month for his Tokyo apartment.

Bah.

Today I paid $35 to get a tailor made tuxedo. It is very nice thankyouverymuch. Such an item would cost me double this to rent one for a weekend - although to be fair it would probably cost double anywhere else. I'm still baulking.

Finally here is a very sad man indeed. Or is it just a spoof website? Don't send your answers to me.







Fruits in Vietnam.Try the Sapodilla. Yummy.

I've been in northwest Vietnam and it is beautiful. Where there are tourists it is hard to escape sales techniques and locals trying to squirrel every penny out of you. Where there aren't people smile and every single person waves and says "hello". What does this to people? Vietnam is hardly that touristy. Furthermore, Vietnamese people spit, chew with their mouths open, stare at you, and throw their rubbish into the beautiful hills.

To really enjoy this country, find a place away from the tourist trail. Then it is as wonderful as any place you might visit. Don't do that and you will most likely leave this country feeling it is the worst place in South East Asia. And many people do.

Shamefully I cannot write the lengthy peice I wanted to about Sapa (the pretty but touristy hell hole) and Lai Chau (the pretty but untouristy place of pleasure). This is mainly because I have calculated my time on this machine badly and I need to get to bed. And that is because we are going to Halong Bay tomorrow and we have to get up at 7am.

So I leave you now with a half-week of pleasure ahead of me having left my Weblog to rot.

Do I care? Well actually there is a touch of bother within me.

But not enough to sit here for any longer.

And so I arrive in Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam.

There is only one word to adequately describe this city: CHAOS.

The legal standard side to drive on here is the right, but reality states that there are no laws. Motorbikes and bicycles crowd the streets and flow down the streets of Hanoi like water gushing through. I use this analogy because to cross the road one must simply walk to the other side whilst the traffic magically weaves around you. It is quite an unnerving experience, but one you get used to. Westerners are still rare enough to attract young children into approaching you and saying "hello". But also to make you a target for locals looking for a bit of business. Expect to say no to taxis (cars), cyclos (bikes with seats at the front), and motos (moped drivers who want you to cling onto the back), and also to postcard salespeople, shoe shiners, representatives outside of restaurants, cafes and bars, and any other service you might not want.

It is understable of course when one considers that most people here are pretty damn poor when compared to the West. If only the US had paid the $6 billion in reparations they had promised as part of the ceasefire agreement, or had not waited till 1994 to end their embargo. Such pettiness. In fact with 27,000 dong to the pound, most visitors here are billionnaires. Which isn't bad when you consider that four of us ate at a street vendor last night for 30,000 in total.

So yes. It's damn cheap.

And the most luxurious thing to do here is to find the most expensive restaurants in town and treat yourself to a gourmet meal for something less than $10 per person. It's hard but I managed to find the finest place - and it is Bobby Chinn's. His steak is second to very few most likely; it melts in one's mouth.

It is thankfully cool here. After the heat of Bangkok it is wonderful to be able to wear long trousers and socks; the biting insects however still visit my room at night. The bastards. The buildings are fairly old and life exists on the street - much as it does on Bangkok. However Bangkok is a sprawling beast compared to quaint little Hanoi. The centre of Hanoi city is a lake which surrounds a small temple and an even smaller ancient ruin. And that's pretty much it for the major landmarks.

I need to stress again at this point the chaos that are the streets here. Bikes weave in and out and around each other like termites on a termite mound. I wonder at how I have yet to see an accident but somehow the Vietnamese avoid it. It is anarchy in action. Hence large vehicles like lorries have the run of the road. A lorry's method of approaching a busy crossroads is to honk its horn repeatedly and drive steadily onwards. It seems to work. The horn on a vehicle is used to indicate to others your position - thus the frequency of their use is magnificently high.

Tonight I head for mountains. Cities are only so good, but I need mountains and clear air for a few days. Frequently differing smells are good for only so long.

There is much to come from this trip no doubt.

If you could take a glass, dip it in an ocean and then somehow label each individual atom. Then pour the water back, wait eleven years, before taking your glass and re-scooping from any ocean or sea. You will have a better than evens chance of finding at least one of your original labelled atoms. So it is then that if you were to wait eleven years scoop a glass full of sea and examine the contents, you would certainly find some atoms that originated in the bladder of some drunken Full Moon Party reveller on Koh Pahnagn, Thailand. For many were wading ten feet into the water to urinate, bak turned from the beach.

But I shouldn't start this review of the Full Moon Party on a negative. It was a pretty good occasion. Everyone was friendly, there was lots to see and do, and the alcohol was bountiful and cheap. At one point I got to stroke two large Eagles. Dance floors ring the beach and revellers flatten the sand. It's quite a night. And no wonder for days leading up to the event tourists and travellers fill the resort of Hat Rin and then empty it in the days after.

The other day I went into our bathroom and there sat a cockroach the size of my arm. I swear had I not recognised it as a specific species of the Earth I would have convinced myself it was an alien visitor sent to communicate with me via it's massive waving tentacles.

After duly dispatching it into the night, we espied a mosquito hovering about our room. Books in hand we chased it for many minutes. I settled onto my bed defeated. There! It was crawling up my fucking leg. Like a fool I flicked it away. "No!" Rob cried from the neighbouring bed. "Why didn't you crush it?"

"I don't know", I admited.

I now have a bite the size of New Malden on the inside of my right foot. Bah. Now I have to decide wether to plaster it over with a, erm, plaster or to endure the constant itching that accompanies the abrasion of sandel on bite. If only I had crushed the fucker when I had the chance.

The following day we studied a long thin red worm furiously hurtling it's body around in an attempt to transport itself up a beach. It seemed like a thing one would normally only see on a nature documentary. After we walked off a couple of other lads went to study it, satisfied that we had vacated the area. They didn't want to be seen to be copying us. No doubt the worm's journey was followed entirely be seperate groups of lads peering curiously at it. Odds are, one chap would have crushed it eventually.

Which is what I should have done with the bastard mosquito.

Let this be a lesson to you all.