Llew Wanders the World

I feel like I really ought to be able to describe the countryside we passed through on the bus trip from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh, but sadly about all I can say is that it was very flat, there was a tons of rice growing, many palm trees, and the occasional village or town made up of the traditional Cambodian houses on stilts.

There are two reasons for this. First, I slept for a fair bit of the trip. Second, when I wasn’t sleeping I was talking to the fellow in the seat next to me. He was a young Cambodian man who spoke no English or French at all. We did our best to teach one another bits of language, with him pointing at words in my guidebook and my doing my best to mime them, or to find them in the “useful phrases” section. My favourite was “Tiger,” whose meaning I managed to convey by snarling, making my hands into claws and then “painting” stripes on my body with my fingers.

We did make a couple of stops including one at a small shop, where everyone wandered down a path into the woods (though not off the path for fear of mines) to pee.

It took about four hours to get to Phnom Penh, the Capital, and indeed, only city in Cambodia (though at 155 000, I suppose Sihanoukville in the south counts too.)

Upon arriving, we picked one of the many tuktuk drivers vying for our custom at random. It took a fair bit of work to cram three people (two of us considerably larger than the average Cambodian) and our bags onto the tuktuk, but we managed. The traffic wasn’t too horrendous, and before long we were at our hotel, one of about a half dozen on the street, each called the Golden something or other.
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We arrived at Siem Reap International airport relaxed and well fed. I’d spent much of the flight talking with the Englishwoman beside me about other parts of southeast Asia and was more than ready to make my way into my most “exotic” country yet.

Cambodians, perhaps more than any other people on Earth, have had difficult lives. The past forty years (and more) have seen the country involved in foreign conflicts during which it became one of the most bombed places in the world; racked by a vicious civil war; tormented by one of the most horrific genocidal regimes in recent history and thrown into another civil war that continued until very recently. And even now that the country is (finally) at peace, its people must still bear the legacy of the years of violence. The economy of the country was virtually destroyed and Cambodia is still one of the most mined countries anywhere, with the remaining mines taking hundreds, if not thousands of innocent victims every year.

Despite this, it still promises to be a beautiful and interesting place to visit. Despite the misery they’ve lived through, Cambodia’s citizens have a reputation of being a friendly and happy people. The country is home to some of the world’s greatest archaeological sites, the French colonial history provides a fascinating backdrop to many areas, and while the countryside is often dangerous to travel due to mines (not to mention horrid transport infrastructure) it too is reputed to be beautiful.

Getting into Cambodia was slightly trickier than anywhere else I’d yet visited, but only marginally so. My mom dad and I presented ourselves at the visa application desk with our forms, passport sized photos (I’d had about 25 made before leaving home) and US$20.

A few minutes later we had our visas, were through immigration and customs and were in Cambodia.
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Arriving in Chiang Mai International airport was almost an anticlimax after the beauty of Sukhotai Airport, but it was still a simple and painless experience. Our bags were ready for collection quickly, and the airport authority runs a centralized taxi service with fixed rates to all areas of the city, so getting into town was simple too.

Town was an interesting place: At around 130 000 Chiang Mai is the largest city in northern Thailand and by some measures the third largest in the country. Compared to the 11 000 000 person monstrosity of Bangkok, however, it seemed relaxing, almost sleepy. Indeed, by any measure, Chiang Mai would prove to be a very pleasant city.
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Within about half an hour of arriving in Bangkok, I’d already come to the conclusion that even visiting the place would take a lot of mental energy. And the only reason it took that long was because I spent twenty minutes standing still in the train station while my mom and dad dealt with some administrative details.

The 10km taxi ride from the train station to the hotel my mom and dad had pre-booked took something on the order of half an hour (not counting the time spent haggling over the price.) It was immediately clear why Bangkok has the slowest average traffic speed of any city in the world. Throughout the city of 11 million, inumerable cars whizzed, or rather, plodded along the roads. And while the number of motorcycles and tuktuks was also inumerable, the cardinality of their set was still higher. (For those who don’t already know, three wheeled motorcycle type vehicles with a fabric roof and a bench seat for 2 or 3 in the back [and for those who aren’t math nerds, that whole cardinality business means, in short, that there were even moe of them than there were cars.])

The quality of our relatively inexpensive hotel was a pleasant surprise, and once again my mom and dad were kind enough to get me my own room. Or perhaps they just didn’t want me in theres. Either way it was bliss to once again be able to have a bath, walk around in my underwear, lay down on the bed and watch football (soccer) on the TV.
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My first impressions of Malaysia came from the border town of Johor Baru, just across the causeway from Singapore. To my surprise, it didn’t appear all that different from Singapore. True, the buildings looked just slightly more run down than those across the strait, but in general the city looked quite prosperous.

Obviously this couldn’t continue. Singapore is a city of 3 million on a tiny island and while Malaysia is densely populated, it differs in that it has actual countryside to pass through. The train trip was very comfortable, despite the fact that we’d taken second class seats. The car was air conditioned and the seats (as well as the fellow passengers) were quite pleasant. This was miles away from some of the horror stories I’d heard about train travel in developing countries.
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My first Singapore experience took place some 2500km from the country: a trip on Singapore Airlines. Many friends and acquaintances have raved about their service, so I was a bit disappointed that my flight took place between 01:55 and 07:00. Somehow, I managed to stay up for all of it, and I can confirm that the rave reviews for Sinagpore Airlines are justly deserved. The meal (Waldorf salad, red beef curry with rice, fresh baked bread, and tiramisu) was the best airline food I’ve ever had. They even had cans of Guiness in economy class. I also enjoyed the in flight entertainment which allowed you to pick from dozens of films, music channels and even Nintendo games for viewing/play on your personal monitor on the seatback in front of you. Even after the lights went out, the crew continued to be wonderfully attentive. I probably drank 2 litres of orange juice though the night.

All this was very pleasant, but the fact that I stayed awake to enjoy it all meant that I wasn’t in top form for my actual ARRIVAL in Singapore.
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Perth was the end of Australia both literally (in the sense that it’s the furthest city away from the population centres on the east coast) and figuratively (in the sense that my days there would be the last I’d spend in the beautiful countrynent.)

I arrived in Perth at 07:00 on the bus from Coral Bay, 1200km to the north. This was a good thing. I like arriving in a new city with a fresh new day in front of me, especially when I’ve managed to get as much sleep as I (surprisingly) had on the bus. It gives you time to get your accomodation and plans for the coming days sorted out without any time (or daylight) pressure.

Ironically I had no trouble with either in Perth, and would have managed equally well had I arrived at 19:00. I stepped off the bus with a new friend Holly. She was planning on heading to the YHA and I was content to share a taxi there. Shortly thereafter we met Martja, a Dutch woman who said she was about to be picked up by the owner of another hostel, The Witch’s Hat. I was even more ready to follow her. A free ride, plus the fact that Martja was a repeat customer of The Witch’s Hat convinced me to stay there.
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When last I wrote, I was just getting off the Indian Pacific train in Perth, preparing to head up the west coast with Grant and Bec, a couple from Victoria, Australia. This was something of a change to my plans.

Western Australia is big. Really big. At 2.5 million square kilometres, its bigger than Canada’s largest province (Quebec) by over 65%. The vast majority of this bigness lies to the north of the capital of Perth. Not only is the northern part of the state big, it’s also empty, with 1.3 million of the state’s 1.8 million inhabitants living in Perth and most of the rest of them to the south of it.

Because of this, I’d decided that I’d have to limit my travel in WA to the southern part of the state. Some of the most interesting parts lie north of Perth, but the distances are just so vast and the points of interest so far apart (and often off of the main roads) that there’s no easy way to visit them as an independent traveller. Tours are expensive, as are rental cars (and my experience in SA made me wary of them anyway.) Buses are a possibility, but schedules, and the remote nature of many attractions make using them problematic.

With all of this in mind, Grant and Bec’s offer of a spot in their car while they spent a week driving up the coast as they moved to the mining town of Port Hedland was nothing short of miraculous. Not only were they offering me a “free tour” of the west coast, they were inviting a guest along on the first real holiday they’d ever had together. Hooray once again for the kindness of strangers!

With just a bit of rearranging the contents of their car, we soon had my pack and walking stick stowed and were ready to hit the road.
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Well… It’s been ages since I last wrote, and much has happened, most notably my having moved from the east coast to the west.

The journey to Western Australia started with the overnight train trip from Melbourne to Adelaide. I’d planned on spending a few days in South Australia on the way out west, and especially given its status as a transportation hub, Adelaide made a natural base.
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I woke up (very) early on the Spirit of Tasmania, headed for Melbourne and decided to go for a wander to look for some form of entertainment. Lo and behold, I found an international rugby match (Australia vs. Scotland) showing on the on-board televisions and sat down to watch as the ship approached Melbourne in the ealry hours. Before I knew it the ship had docked and I’d disembarked and collected my pack and trusty walking stick (I couldn’t have left it behind, after the 100+km we’d shared together on the Overland in Tassie.)

This left me in (what I later determined to be) the southern part of Meblourne at 07:30 on a Sunday morning.
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