Mongolian Menu

Meat with potatoes
Chopped meat
Fried meat
Cooked meat
Meat dumplings
Soup with meat dumplings
Tea with meat dumplings
Dumpling soup with bread on top
Meat with fat
Meat with onions
Meatballs

Ikh Uul

The 'homestay' night was the genuine article. Mid-afternoon we left the tracks and headed off over the grassy hillside towards a pair of gers. Our tour leader talked to the families, making all the necessary small talk - "Are your animals fattening up nicely?" is the local equivalent of "How are you?" - while gauging the atmosphere before asking if we could stay. It took a couple of attempts to find a two-ger family who seemed suitable and soon we were welcomed in for salty tea and to meet three generations of the family (grandma in bed). We made small talk, Masha translating, and grandpa told us how they have a long tradition of welcoming visitors and asked where we all came from, while we sampled broth, dried curds and sweetened cooked cream. A snuff bottle was passed round – a tradition dating back hundreds of years – and I spiced up my nostrils with what reminded me of ground up incense – not unpleasant, though a little itchy. Formalities over, we were reminded that this was now our home and we wandered in and out of the gers and over the surrounding pasture.

Returning to the main ger, I took in the old photos, cooking area and dozens of bowls and buckets containing yoghurt, cream and cheese in various stages of development. I was handed a bowl of the freshest, most delicious natural yoghurt you could imagine.

In the evening, the younger men of the family returned with the cows and sheep and goats from their grazing. After dark it was slightly surreal to step out with a torch and be met by 200 pairs of animal eyes. The whole family joined us for the meal we cooked (by 'we' I mean our guide and drivers!). Then the vodka came out, grandpa ensuring that the correct etiquette was followed for the filling and passing of the cup. After one round of our apple vodka (not recommended) he brought out an old water bottle filled with 'the best' - a home-made vodka made from yoghurt. It was a clear drink, not very strong in terms of alcohol, but with a distinct whiff of back end of goat. Suddenly the apple stuff tasted good after all.

Later we were joined by a couple of young men, who it seemed had heard that there were exotic strangers visiting. More rounds of vodka were drunk, before we split up to sleep on the floors of the two gers. I ended up in the one where two guys sat laughing on each bed as we unrolled our sleeping bags and squeezed in like a row of sardines. Their comments and gestures certainly contained a fair dose of suggestiveness as well as general mirth, but the atmosphere was good and it simply meant that we all got the giggles too. All that is except one, who got a bit hoity-toity about it all, in between kicking up an inordinate fuss about the presence of a few beetles. Eventually, everyone settled down and I got a pretty good night's sleep, all things considered.

It amazes me that there are still places in the world where you can knock at a stranger’s door and be offered lodging for eleven people. Our welcome was genuine and the evening was truly a slice of real Mongolian life. Having stayed in tourist ger camps it was fascinating to see inside a nomadic family’s home, from the churns of milk products and curds drying on the roof to the small television which appeared to be attached to a car battery which was charged by a solar panel. Life here has changed in only the smallest ways over the last few centuries.

Journey in pictures

Big sky, small loo: (Click on pictures to enlarge)

A rather picturesque shopping centre in Erdenet where we stopped for supplies:

Road through the valley:

Vans with attitude:

Unt (wherever that might be)

Woke to a bitter wind and dramatic sky, but no rain. The dirt roads were almost dry and the weather improved all day, until suddenly there was my Mongolian dream of hot sun, cool air and wide blue sky. The long day's drive was broken by stops to admire a roadside cairn, some yaks - god, what gorgeous beasts - and to laze around in a hillside meadow rampant with wildflowers and grasshoppers.

Leaving the road (we will not see another one for many days), we bounced along more rough tracks to reach tonight's ger camp, the sun still shining. Wandered through another pretty meadow, but didn't feel up to the hill so turned back to camp where I 'showered' under a trickle of scalding water and am sitting now in the last of the sun with a bottle of beer and my notebook.

Today I have seen grasslands rippling in the wind, huge herds of sheep, goats, yak, cattle and horses, herdsmen on horseback in traditional dress, miles of rolling green hills dotted with gers, and I am more than content. I can hear a few insects birds and horses and somewhere in the distance the faint clanging of a bell. It's past eight o'clock now and the shadows are growing long. It's impossible to imagine a place more peaceful, more wide and open.

Journey to Amarbayagalant

Leaving Ulaanbaatar behind, it soon became apparent that the rain was here to stay. The clouds came down to meet the hills that began to rise around us, often obscuring the peaks. There was something rather Scottish about it.

Our lunch stop was at a basic transport cafe - meat and potatoes, meat and rice, fried meat or meat dumplings. I washed my welcome plate of stodge down with a warming cup of 'milk tea', a watery, salty milk drink that had never been near a tea leaf. We drove on through more rain.

The last 35km were off road, along boggy, churned-up mudtracks. Our Russian army vans and our drivers are amazing. We only got stuck once and that was because we'd pulled off a fairly usable 'track' to let an oncoming truck pass. I got out, braving the horizontal icy rain, to survey the scene. Watched a van pull out a mired jeep, which then towed us. We set off again, slipping, crawling and sploshing slowly onwards. Met a surprising number of saloon cars attempting the same journey. Apparently they just slosh along and get pulled out frequently by other vehicles.

Near our ger camp we visited Amarbayagalant monastery. Despite being miserably cold and wet, I was able to enjoy a warming moment of awe in the prayer hall. The wooden ceiling was intricately painted, pillars were hung with dozens of multicoloured strips of tapestery. More textiles hung from the ceilings and furniture. It had a beautiful, softly coloured, ancient look, despite being recently renovated (about 25 years ago). It was orginally built in the 18th century and destroyed in the communist purges of the 1930's. The Mongolians practise Bhuddism in the Tibetan tradition and this is a style of decoration I have not seen before. Outside, prayer flags fluttered and young monks ran happily in and out of the prayer hall, calling to each other, while an older youth practised playing an enormous horn. I love the way that these places seem so relaxed and happy, with none of the severity I associate with churches.

Back at the ger camp, I didn't even contemplate the option of a cold shower, and instead piled on as many warm dry clothes as I could find. Had another meal of basic stodge, washed down with several cups of tea, despite knowling that the payback for instant warmth and comfort would probably be a midnight dash to the toilet block.

Met the group and went for dinner. Delicious mountain of a dish enticingly billed as "liver with fat". Not unlike the idea of liver and bacon, just instead of bacon this came with smalll slabs of sheep's tail, which is pure fat.

Ulaanbaatar

Walking around Ulaanbaatar, the first thing you notice is that every other building is a bar. The second thing is that crossing the road takes nerves of steel, precision timing and a lack of concern for your own well-being. As in China, only a third of a road is safe to cross on green, because turning traffic (usually from all directions) will be on green filter while you cross. The difference here is that there are no bikes, rickshaws, handcarts and so on to slow everyone down - just impatient motorists taking corners at high speed, jockeying for position and blasting their horns. Even the locals run for it.

There is plenty of depressing Soviet architecture to be admired, most of it in a poor state of repair. Add to this the Cyrillic script and the general absence of signs in other languages and you quickly feel that you are in the USSR - which is daft as I've never been there. I say 'depressing' and yet there is something so stark and dismal about it that it is also exotic. Signs make doorways look like shops or eateries, but on entering you meet nothing but a dark, dank stairwell with peeling paint and crumbling plaster. Little English is spoken, and it seems hard to raise a smile from the locals when you try to buy a banana or try out a few words of Mongolian. There's something quite austere about the place and the people (who I can't help thinking have Chinese features but are built like Russians). Ancient, heavy buses clank along belching smoke, but looking good for another 50 years use. Service in shops is virtually non-existent and you are hard pressed to track down someone who can tell you the price of the two sleeping bags on display. You are doubly lucky if you can get him to tell you the price of the second one before he wanders away. Waitresses turn their back on you mid-order to listen in on colleagues' conversations. After China, where even smart department store staff pester you like market traders, it's both refreshing and frustrating. But I love it for its difference - there is no danger here of me saying "It's a bit like..." - I have never been anywhere like this. Here and there children beg on the streets, persistently and quite unpleasantly, with one dodging around to block your way while his mate disappears behind you. Pickpockets are apparently rife - something I'm willing to believe as the one time I wore my bag on my back because it held nothing but a bottle of water, I found it open.

Despite all this, UB is a pleasant place to wander around, with a very laid-back feel. I've visited a couple of museums and enjoyed sitting outside cafes for a bit of light refreshment. In the evenings I've gone out to sample local food and beer. Had a pint for David in the Chinggis Khan brewpub, which I can highly recommend. The food is meaty and stodgy but quite good, with plenty of vegetables - something I'm making the most of as we won't be seeing many once we leave the capital. Even at night, the city has a good atmosphere. It's easy to navigate too, and the only reason you tend to get lost is because distances are so short that you've overshot your target by half a mile before you've even stopped to consult your map.

The air is fresh and the breeze cool, giving a delicious contrast to the fierce sun. Some heavy rain has fallen too, flooding roads around the city and making road crossing even more exciting as you have to jump over a five foot wide puddle into the traffic. When it clouds over, there is a definite nip in the air - enough to make me doubt my supply of cosy clothes for those cold nights out in the hills. I've enjoyed UB, but I won't be sorry to leave it behind. I can't wait to get out into the countryside, the desert, hills and lakes that inspired me to come here.

Ulaanbaatar

Coming in to land at UB, I could see the entire, tiny city laid out below me, the empty countryside spreading away into the distance in every direction. Out there, herds of animals were being driven swiftly across hillsides, an occasional ger stood in solitude and dried streambeds snaked across shallow valleys in the gently undulating landscape. The city centre was marked by a small collection of slightly high-rise buildings. Around this stood a general low-level town and surrounding this, the ger camps which make up the suburbs. What a contrast to Beijing. Indeed, to anywhere I've been in China. Its hard to imagine that a capital city can be so small.

The airport too was tiny. The arrivals hall sported one luggage carousel, an ancient mechanical monster that clunked slowly round, while waiting passenges sprung up to unclog jammed cases from its claws. Beyond arrivals, there was no sign of the driver promised by my guesthouse. Another driver asked me where I was headed and indicated another passenger who was going to the same place, before calling our guesthouse to make arrangements. This other driver then took us instead, we were asked to have breakfast while we waited for our rooms to be ready but after an hour it turned out that there were no free rooms. so much for booking ahead. We were taken to a shabby establishment above a karaoke bar across the road...

By this stage we had realised that we would both be on the same tour as well, so we decided to burn plastic and try our luck at the hotel where the tour begins in a few days. It was a hot walk across town under my backpack, but the hotel is fine and not nearly as expensive as the tour operator's 'extra nights' charges had suggested.

Still hanging loose in Beijing

Yesterday I walked through the market and the maze of hutongs near my lovely hostel, enjoying more glimpses of everyday life - washing hung out to dry from electricity poles, tricycle carts of recyclables, bubbling vats of broth in which various things were cooked. I love the bustle, the pinging of bicycle bells, voices calling things I cannot hope to understand, the sense of purpose, punctuated by the langour of shop owners dozing outside their tiny hole-in-the-wall shops.

Eventually I found myself walking on a pretty little street beside Houhai Lake and the shops and cafes became more touristy. Coming towards me every so often I'd meet a stream of fancy rickshaws - definitely tourist land. Where the road met the bridge between this lake and the next was a delightfully busy spot, where groups of young tourists tried out their newly hired bicycles made for three, rickshaw drivers slept, smoked, or played with their phones - depending on their age - while patiently waiting for their next hire. There were swan-shaped pedal boats for hire, ice-cream stands and hundreds of happy holiday-makers. It could have been a tourist nightmare, but instead the atmosphere was laid back and rather pleasant. And the sky had cleared - for the first time in a week, I was seeing blue sky over Beijing.

I carried on, alongside Qianhai Lake and into the centre of the city, where I had a rather nice foot massage before sorting out a bit of pre-Mongolia shopping. I have walked miles and miles this week, from one side of the city to another nearly every day. It has been a great way to see random slices of the city as well as, hopefully, burning off some of the excesses of countless group meals while on the tour. At the end of the day I feel a mild tightening of my muscles and realise with pleasure that just a couple of months ago, I could not have done this.

My attempts to buy water purifying tablets have been in vain, the only useful upshot being that I have now mastered the correct pronunciation of the words in Mandarin as so many pharmacits have read it aloud from my phrasebook. They've never heard of the things and to those who speak some English I explain how you put one in dirty water, then you can drink... they then rush off only to reappear triumphantly smiling and proffering soluble aspirin, effervescent vitamins, cough mixture or even a tube of something which the accompanying mime suggested could be rubbed in to sore arms.

I've mastered (just about) the art of crossing the road. Pedestrian crossings work on the basis that you get a green man showing when straight ahead traffic has a red light. However, all bicycles, motorbikes etc are exempt from red lights, as are turning vehicles. The effect looks rather alarming as pedestrians try to cross in between a whirling mass of bikes etc, while cars, trucks and buses plough on round corners through the intersection. Somehow it all works out, like a badly choreographed display team which somehow avoids collisions. Pedestrians generally step out without looking, with an air of dozy indifference. If you get left standing between lanes of moving traffic, all the better. This happens quite a lot, as you can easily have 8 or even 10 lanes to negotiate, and the going is understandably slow, so lights tend to change before you have finished.

Today I moved out to the airport, in readiness for my early flight tomorrow. I am staying in a dump of a hotel. Despite being a 10 minute drive from the terminal, it is about 30cm from the end of the runway. It's not so much the noise, it's the way that the whole building shakes and the lights flicker every time a plane comes in to land. My bedroom door has clearly been kicked down in the past, the walls and carpets are filthy and the aircon doesn't work. I shrug these things off as best I can - I've stayed in worse - but it rankles that this is costing more than the wonderful place I've just left.

Things on sticks

Starfish, scorpions and grub-thingies

Things-on-a-stick stall

Grasshoppers

Seahorses and scorpions

NOOOOOO!

More mundane things on sticks

Things on wheels

Tourist rent-a-bike ..........................................Motorbike in a box

Motor tricycle ................................................Tourist rickshaw

Tricycle in hutong doorway .............................Delivery truck

The great firewall of China

Due to the great firewall, I had to use another blog host while in China. I will try to move the posts to this site, but in the meantime you can visit http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/geckozo/ to see what I got up to.

Reading ahead

Oh wow, they have bubonic plague in Mongolia. How cool is that?

The National Stadium

I walked around the Bird's Nest stadium - it really is an impressive structure. I peered in. I thought of that moment when the first marathon runner enters the tunnel then comes out onto the track, and my scalp began to tingle. I remembered the drumming at the opening ceremony and tingled some more.

I walked around again at a lower level, looking for the tunnel. There were a couple to choose from and I looked through, letting my imagination play. Then I went and bought a ticket to go inside - I couldn't resist it. So I ran the last lap and a bit of the marathon. The sandals and daypack, dodging-the-tourists marathon. It felt fabulous. Well worth 50 yuan (about five pounds). I got some funny looks, but frankly the only thing that seemed funny to me was that no-one else was running. In fact, most people didn't even walk far from the entrance and I had the back straight almost to myself. I wandered round again, until on the brink of being overcome by that flood of familiar knowledge that I will never do, or be, anything great, I hoiked myself off to sit in the stand with an ice-cream and watch some olympic highlights on the big screen.

Walking round Olympic Green, I saw that the torch hadn't been removed as I'd thought from inside, but has been folded down onto the roof of the stand. The green itself is wide and pleasant and generously scattered with interesting sculptures adorned with children posing for photographs. And of course there are enough tacky bird's nest souvenirs being offered to have you running the other 26 miles.

Beijing

I've spent the last two days wandering the streets of Beijing. I haven't seen any sights, unless you count the Mongolian Embassy, but I have done what I love best - seen everyday life, navigating my way semi-randomly from one corner of the city to another.

I love the way that life is lived out on the streets - men hunched over games of Chinese chess on tiny stools on the pavements, old ladies in slightly saggy pyjamas and slightly saggy bodies taking their morning exercise, street vendors sizzling up more things on skewers than you could, well, shake a skewer at.

My essential Mandarin phrasebook has not been able to have me living up to the promise on it's cover of 'chatting away like a local'. Even pinyin is devillishly hard to get right and I still have to look up every letter and vowel combination before trying out the simplest phrase. And I still receive blank looks 95% of the time. Generally sign-language is more successful, but in trickier situations I can always point to the Chinese characters in the book. Some friendly shopkeepers have helped me practise my numbers, but even this can be tricky as some think I am questioning the price when I ask them to repeat a number or two. But all my attempts are greeted with appreciation and a huge amount of humour. I think the staff at the noodle shop near my guesthouse are probably still clutching their sides.

Tongli

Sadly, we had less than two hours to explore this medieval water-town, but it was still very pleasant to stroll along some of its canals and admire the traditional buildings. It has been much used as a film set, but interestingly it wasn't discovered by tourism until about five years ago. With a bit more time I'm sure I'd have enjoyed wandering further off the main tourist drag and there were also various museums and so on which I didn't even find. Still, a lovely little town, with some excellent roast pork.

Our return to Shanghai signalled the end of our tour, with another good meal. Despite my frustration at the pace of the tour and the lack of 'free time', I have enjoyed this trip a lot. I've met some really lovely people and enjoyed the company of everyone in the group - the odds of that must be pretty long. I'd say it's really been a 'taster tour' - lots of big highlight sights - and it's certainly given me some ideas about what I'd do or where I'd go if I come back to China again.

Suzhou

In Suzhou we visited another nice garden, the museum and a silk factory (with the compulsory shop at the end of the tour). The silk factory was quite fascinating as I'd always wondered how a cocoon can be so neatly unwrapped. In the example we watched, eight cocoons were unravelled by machine to make a single thread, although many more are used for higher quality threads. They bobbed in water, or some other liquid designed to make them amenable to unravelling, and as they neared their end a transparent blob was left, in which we could clearly see the pupa. Apparently these are eaten by those who like them, fried up as a little snack. Double cocoons are opened by hand and stretched over a bamboo frame, ten layered together. When dry, these are stretched out to make the filling for duvets - so now at last I know how my gorgeous duvet was made.

Later in the afternoon, we joined the thronging bike lane by taking rickshaw rides down to the river for a canal cruise. This city - once a charming small town, now still small with a population of only 6 million - is built on a maze of canals, and is no doubt dubbed the Venice of the East. Yesterday's heavy rains meant that many of the smaller channels into the old town were closed off, but we caught some enticing glimpses. Later we explored this area on foot, snacking on street food, drifting in and out of souvenir shops and stopping at a canal-side cafe for a bit of light refreshment.

Eventually exhausted, we decided to try to get a taxi back to the hotel, but before we could do so we were approached by a motor-rickshaw driver. The tiny box on the back of his bike hardly looked suitable for the four of us, but he insisted and we thought it was such a laugh that we didn't even consider haggling the price down. Gursh and I hopped in, choosing what we later found out was the more generous seat, which also had the advantage of being enclosed at the sides. Sian and Sandra got themselves and their shopping in, facing us on the seat next to the spaces that acted as doors, and when someone asked "Is everyone in OK?" Sandra merrily replied "No, not really," as we chugged off into the night with her right buttock slightly exposed to the traffic. I have to say she was pretty game, although we were all worried about the effects of sharp corners. Gursh suggested Sian and Sandra linked arms to help hold each other in, helpfully demonstrating by linking his through mine, which was rather nice so I didn't complain. We began to get the giggles, which only got worse when it became doubtful that the poor little motorbike was going to be able to get its weighty cargo up the incline of a longish bridge. Other rickshaw drivers and cyclists laughed and pointed, and despite Sian saying that we wouldn't be laughing so much if we were in their seats, all four of us were beside ourselves. We were still bubbling with it when we finally squeezed ourselves out, like some sort of a magic trick, popping back to our real size as onlookers on the pavement watched in disbelief. I woke up the next morning still giggling.

Xidi (and some rain)

Leaving Huang Shan in the pouring rain, we sloshed along half flooded roads towards Xidi. Arriving in the pouring rain, the bus was quickly besieged by umbrella and poncho sellers. Kitted out in a fetching knee-length yellow polythene number, I waded into this charming Unesco heritage site. It really was quite amazing, though I had to keep reminding myself to look up from the rapidly moving four-inch-deep water that flowed down the gently sloping stone paved alleys. Away from the tourist-shops of the main road (alley), the village became even more fascinating. Open doorways offered glimpses into homes where a family dealt with baskets of corn cobs or an old man tinkered with some parts of something vaguely mechanical. On a tiny street, in which I couldn't have spread my arms full width, I noticed a rack of wooden racks - curious, I looked more closely. Fat white caterpillars crawled or at least wiggled a little. I struck up one of my better sign language conversations with the old lady inside, miming the caterpillar spinning a thread to make clothes. She nodded with a delighted smile - yes, they were silk worms. Gursh was still in sight so I called him to have a look and commissioned him to take some photos (my camera was left on the bus as it can't swim). Then we noticed that the other half of the floor was covered with silk worms on a bed of leaves, as an old man appeared through a small hole near the floor, presumably from an adjoining room. I love it when I stumble upon this sort of thing - one of the real delights of travel. We continued a silent but smiling conversation for some time, able only to utter our thanks in Mandarin, which we did many times as we left.

We carried on to Shanghai, though none of us (guide included) knew why, as it would have been closer and easier to go straight to tomorrow's destination. It was another five or six hours on the bus, but we passed a large chunk of the time playing a Chinese card game with Li as our teacher. It all got a bit complicated with four of us playing in teams of two, but only one person knowing whose team they are on. I won't even try to explain.

Arrived in Shanghai to find that my bag had spent most of the journey underwater. Not a happy camper. I spread every piece of clothing, battery chargers, shoes and books over every surface, including the floor, and surveyed the damage despondently. Began to think that what with the Bank of China swallowing my ATM card on day one, a snoring room-mate and now not a dry bra to be found, this trip was maybe not my luckiest ever. But as I flicked through the pages of my Lonely Planet with a hairdryer, I couldn't but think that these were minor irritations in the great scheme of things. And so to the roof-top terrace of the Youth Hostel down the road for a much-needed pint and a view across the river to the gleaming sky-scrapers of Shanghai.

Chinese fashion

Women are wearing alarming clothes. Puffball shorts are everywhere. These can be full bloomer length right up to something a toddler might wear over a nappy. Footwear is varied, but popsocks, usually ankle-length, are in. These are worn with all sorts of short skirts and shorts. Other leg-wear options include knee-highs and also down-to-the-knee leggings (coming out from under the shorts) which generally look like patterned tights, if not fishnets.

Maybe the rest of the world is also dressing like this this summer, and I have been spared the sight, living in blissful ignorance in the land of the abayya.

Men wear ankle length patterned navy blue popsocks with their shorts and sandals. Women's dresses range from five-year-olds' party frock to cocktail dress to tart - and those are just the styles you see being worn by sightseeing groups.

But it's this thing with the puffball shorts and the ruffly tops that gets me. No it isn't, it's the socks...

Huang Shan

Huang Shan is stunning. It's the China of my imagination - sheer rocky peaks rising up from bamboo-clad foothills and forested upper slopes. Of course, it's been touristified and concrete pathways and flights of steps lead you from peak to viewpoint to peak. And ugly hotels perch on pretty summits and tour groups clog the paths. But find the right spot, block out the distractions and this place is amazing.

The views were atmospherically misty, clouds brushed the higher peaks and threatened rain (which thankfully never came). The signposting was somewhat inadequate, so with my trusty companions Alex and Gursh, I spent a pleasant day wandering the ups and downs of the mountainside, making guesses at each junction based on our pretty good instinct for what felt right. We didn't have time - or the psychic navigational skill - to find some of the more enticing features such as a natural rock bridge, the "Gleam of Sky" chasm and so on, but it was still a good day out. I'd love to go back when it's quieter and spend a couple of days hiking, spend a night at an ugly but perfectly situated hotel and stand above the cloud-filled valleys as the sun comes up.

Back in the town, I pottered around the pretty Old Street on my seized-up calves. This street is hung with red lanterns, brimming with tasteful tourist shops and flanked by lovely old shop-houses. Six of us shared an enormous but well-earned meal at a point-and-wait restaurant - you choose dishes displayed as sets of raw ingredients or, in the case of dumplings and various carbs ready cooked samples, and write down their number on your order pad. Handing this in to a member of staff you return to your table and soon dish after dish appears. After dinner we wandered some more, and I particularly enjoyed the calligraphy shops with their inks and brushes and pads of thick purple paper on which I was encouraged to practise my brushstrokes by a man who was delighted to help with my attempts at Chinese characters even though I had no intention of buying a thing.

Eclipse

Despite the 4 o'clock wake-up, there was a buzz of anticipation on the bus as we headed out of town and into our first real dose of rural scenery. Within a couple of hours we were into the mountains and staggering views rose above us, and more engagingly plummeted away from us, as we snaked up the tightly winding road towards Purple Mountain.

I'd had no idea what to expect of our eclipse viewing site, but it was perfect - a mountaintop observatory. Places had been allocated around the edge of a small reservoir and the crowd was thinly spread. There were plenty of tour groups kitted out in their own team shirts featuring the eclipse they had yet to see, a boggling array of telescopes and long-lenses, geeks and eclipsoids of every nation. In addition to this there were some fenced-off areas housing visiting scientists who were camped out with telescopes the size of jet engines and other unidentifiable paraphernalia. The sky stayed determinedly cloudy.

Then, maybe ten minutes before first contact, the sun came out. A cheer went up and my goosepimples went down. Gursh had set up a simple but ingenious viewing device, projecting through a telephoto lens onto a piece of card and as the partial eclipse began, this drew quite a crowd.

Things happened slowly - as you'd expect from the longest total eclipse in a hundred years - but every moment was worth seeing. Thin cloud continued to wisp sporadically across the sun, but never for long. An hour later, a strange dusk began to fall, the colours around us saturated like just before a thunder storm. The sun became a slender crescent, then with a flash of its diamond ring, it had gone. I took off my glasses and saw the black sun. A halo of light glowed gently around it. I think I stopped breathing. Then I cried. Words cannot describe how it felt to see it. I was overwhelmed. Slowly I started to notice that night had fallen, that there were shades of sunset orange above the horizon, that there were stars to be seen. But my eyes were drawn back again and again to the sun, the black sun.

I joined the others and Gursh half-teased me for being overcome, but I think he was really quite pleased at my reaction - he's already an eclipse addict.I sat on the grass and gazed some more, then as the moon looked just ready to slip away, the halo of light a little wider at the top, Gursh passed me his lens to use as a telescope for a closer look. Within seconds of me sighting the sun, the moon moved that crucial fraction and the diamond ring appeared. I froze in a silent gasp. It was staggeringly beautiful. A voice in my head said 'photo' but I ignored it. I couldn't have torn myself away if I'd wanted to. It was over in seconds, but somehow time stood still. Luckily I did listen to the voice in my head telling me to stop looking through a powerful lens as the sun began to reappear and quickly switched it for my solar glasses.

The eighty or so minutes of partial eclipse that followed totality passed with us happily flitting between watching, chatting and comparing photos. Many groups packed up and started to leave, but we stayed to the end, marvelling at what we had seen and what we were still witnessing.

An hour later, the heavens opened. Rain fell, no, cascaded from the sky, all but
obliterating the view even a couple of meters from the bus windows. We had been lucky. Or should I say even luckier than we had known up on the top of Purple Mountain.

Hangzhou

Yesterday's quick and comfortable train ride brought us to Hangzhou, where I suddenly crumpled. Ten days of trying to sleep with a snorer as my room-mate had taken their toll. I paid the extra for a room of my own and took to my bed. This morning I felt well rested, but my head still pounded. I mooched miserably around West Lake, supposedly China's most romantic lake, much favoured by emperors and honeymooners. It is probably very lovely, but today it had all the relaxing romantic charm of Alton Towers on a bank holiday. It was, you might say, a little crowded. And noisy - bear in mind that the average tour group has a leader with a microphone/loudspeaker set, as well as about forty noisy, path-blocking followers dressed in matching hats. Oh, and the souvenir of choice, being sold (and ceaselessly demonstrated) about every ten yards along every path, was a bird-call whistle. Any bird that sounds like that deserves to be shot.

In the afternoon we visited a tea plantation, although we saw only a token tea-bush or two. I could barely stagger off the bus, so was allowed to skip the history talk and go and wait in one of the tea-tasting rooms. My fellow travellers soon joined me and our delightful host poured green tea, told us all about it, showed us samples and added orange peel and things to our glasses while teaching us a little tea etiquette. Somewhere around my third or fourth glass I realised I was restored! I'd started chatting and felt good and was quite gobsmacked by the suddenness of it. Marvelous stuff. A small tin of the very finest quality 'Emperor tea' is now tucked in the bottom of my rucksack.

Nanjing

After a good night's sleep in my cosy top bunk, I woke to a whole a new landscape: paddy fields, buffalo ploughing the land, farmers in big Vietnamese style hats. We were still two or three hours from Nanjing, and the views continued to change.

Nanjing is another likeable city. We visited a huge 'scenic area' up on the hillside beyond the city, where cicadas sang almost deafeningly, toytown trains drove tourists around what looked like an extensive network of roadways, and a few 'sights' were dotted around. I opted out of the 392 steps up to Dr Sun's mausoleum and instead pottered the woodland walkways and relaxed with a cold drink. It all felt rather Malaysian, though actually quite a few places do.

In the afternoon we were let off the leash to roam freely, so I went with three others to Zhonghua Gate in the city wall. We had a quick shot at the archery on offer before exploring the site. There was lots to see, most of it well explained. The buildings on top of the walls have been reconstructed - we didn't realise quite what this meant until we got close enough to see that they were simply scaffolding, cased in plyboard on which polystyrene tiles had been stuck and painted to look like bricks! The whole 'gate' with its three courtyards (let the enemy in then shut the gate and shoot them from the walls), tunnel-like 'cave' accommodation for 3,000 soldiers, storage for half a million tons of food and so on is really a whole garrison rather than a gate.

We walked back via the very pretty canal area and semi-pedestrianised square and surrounding streets, where tour boats ply their trade, buildings are very traditional (even though I doubt they are very old), bridges have a wannabe Venice look and a squillion Chinese tourists throng. In the evening we wandered here again and were blown away by the twinkly lights, the even thicker throngs and oh, the kitsch of it. It was fabulous. Everythring that could be trimmed with coloured lights was gleaming, huge illuminated dragons and rotating circles glowed from the wall of a temple whose wall banked the canal, the whole place was unbelievable. But overall, the effect was rather lovely, maybe because of the happy buzzing crowd, maybe it had just been quite well done, and though it can only be described as complete Disneyfication, it worked.

Had fun getting ourselves fed, language being an issue, but we made friends with the staff in the restaurant quickly - I don't think they get many linguistically challenged foreigners willing to have a go without a tour guide.

This morning I went with Gursh to the Memorial to the Massacre of Nanjing. It was a very informative museum, extremely well done, and of course at times somewhat harrowing. But I do think it is important to learn about the horrors of a place's past in between enjoying the pretty bits. I won't even try to explain it all here, but in six weeks an estimated 300,000 civilians (including women, children, babies) and disarmed soldiers were slaughered by the Japanese - shot, bayoneted, drowned, burned or buried alive. In the first month 20,000 women between the ages of 11 and 76 were raped. There were numerous eyewitness accounts, photos proudly taken by the Japanese, even a Japanese newspaper egging on two officers who were engaged in a race to be the first to kill 150 people. I could go on...

Instead I will flick quickly to the scene outside the museum where we had a very interesting conversation with taxi driver... spurt after spurt of rapid and animated Chinese flew in response to our maps and hotel card (an essential communication device) and it really wasn't clear whether we were going or not, but we eventually set off with the driver clutching the four-street map on the back of the hotel card to the steering wheel.

The Terracotta Army

Today I reached an all time high in the naff tourist stakes. Our local guide, equipped with a little flag on a telescopic stick led us off in the direction of the terracotta army. But not, of course, until the compulsory stop at the replica warrior factory and shop. We tumbled out of the bus amindst gales of horrified laughter at the sight of the headless warriors behind which you could stand for photos. Then proceeded to pose for said photos.

Joking, and cringing, aside, the Terracotta Army is quite something. In the first pit, 6000 warriors, nearly all infantryment, stand in neat ranks in battle formation. Each face is supposed to be unique, modelled on a real soldier. There is something about their composure that had me gazing, eyes trailing up and down the ranks, pausing here or there on a particular figure or some broken body parts still half embedded in the earth. Originally, they were brightly painted but time underground and, more recently, exposure to the elements has left them faded to almost pure clay, matching the trenches in which they stand. Some areas are yet to be excavated and there was one place where warriors were partly pieced together - a seemingly endless task for archaeologists.

In other pits archers, horses and chariots have been found. The bronze chariots have survived well and were intricate and quite amazing. Unlike the warriors, which are a little larger than life size, the chariots are half-size. While the army was needed to protect the emperor Qin Shi Huang Di in his next life, the chariots were for his personal use and it's a well known fact that your soul shrinks after death.

There was a mildly entertaining film with a dramatic reconstruction of wars and the building of Qin's mausoleum and the terracotta army. It told us that 700,000 people were involved in the project, which took 40 years. Not long after this some rebel force or other entered the site, smashed lots of warriors, stole the weapons held by them and set the place alight, bringing down the roof beams. All of this, along with the effects of time, explains why virtually all of the warriors were found in pieces.

A disappointing lunch in a touristy restaurant was followed by a snooze all the way back to town in the bus. Sweaty and tired, with no showers on offer at the hotel (having checked out in the morning), three of us set off for a foot massage. It was heavenly and included a bit of an arm, leg, neck and shoulder massage as well as a few interesting stretches where the sweet young masseurs stretched us backwards over their knees. I walked out with rejuvenated feet and legs and just enough time to buy a few snacks and drinks before setting off to catch the night train to Nanjing. Sorry to be leaving this city, there's much more to see and it's a lovely place to just wander the lively sidestreets. So here I sit in our cosy four berth compartment, browsing guidebooks and chatting with my travel companions and watching the city lights turn into countryside, hilltop lights just visible in the distance.

The city walls and dumplings of Xi'an

The old city is surrounded by a massive city wall, 12m high and 15m wide at the top. Standing on the wall gives a pretty good view of the city, but to blow a few cobwebs away some of us hired bikes to cycle on the wall. It's 14km around the perimeter in a neat rectangle with pagodas at the corners and occasional displays of battering rams, catapults, wall-scaling ladders and the like. This was a wonderful way to spend the afternoon and I came back with a glow from having enjoyed the exercise, freedom, good company, views.... or maybe I was just sweaty.

In the evening we went for a 'dumplings banquet - 18 varieties, no repeat'. Dumplings are apparently a speciality of Xi'an, dating back to when some emperor/empress/concubine demanded that the cook make something different that she had never had before (or be executed, of course). So for a hundred days the cook made different dumplings, and shaped them according to their fillings, "duck inside, looks like duck; walnut inside, looks like walnut..." - you get the idea. Sure enough, some of our dumplings were quite clearly shaped - the little fat pigs with eyes, snout and tail were particularly cute. These were little thin-skin dumplings, dim-sum style, rather than thick bready pau. Some delicious, some so-so, but well worth the experience of sampling them all. John, if you're reading this, you'd have been in dumpling heaven.

Feeling rather like a dumpling myself, I squeezed between the tables and waddled to the exit before the evening's musical extravaganza began - a song and dance show telling the story of the Tang dynasty. As soon as they started handing out the programmes, I knew I couldn't face it - the photos confirmed my worst fears. So I wandered back to the hotel - city walls are a great aid to navigation - trying but failing to find a foot massage on the way. So here I am, tucked up in bed after a lovely day in Xi'an. I only wish we had more time here.

Xi'an

I loved the night train. The extremely bijou but comfortable sleepers. Watching Beijing disappear into the darkness. Opening a beer and chatting with other travellers before drifting off to the gentle rhythm of the track. Waking up and seeing a powerstation and a few dilapitated buildings... looking out of the opposite side to see a range of rather nice hills. 1200km later, there we were in Xi'an. Barging our way out of the station (I'm so kiasu now!) I could see immediately that I was going to like this place.

We took a morning walk through the Muslim quarter. Again I had to escape the group so that I could take the time I needed to watch a butcher attack a mountain of hooves. photograph the carcass-man who pushed his cart from shop to shop collecting ribcages and spines and other almost bare bones. People cooked up interesting looking things in vats of oil, worked at sewing machines on street corners and pushed towering loads on handcarts and bicycles. I love these streets, where people go about their daily lives and the exoticness (is that a word?) is heightened by the fact that for everyone but you, this is normal. I could wander places like this for hours, maybe days.

Eventually I made my way to the Grand Mosque, which is quite unlike any other mosque I have ever seen. Inside what is essentially a walled garden there are a number of pagodas, each of which had its own purpose when the mosque was active. In the centre is a three tier circular building (pagoda?) which apparently served as a minaret. It was a beautifully low-key place, old wooden buildings blending easily into the serene garden.

Beijing and my bid for independence

Today's sightseeing is best described as a yomp through Beijing's crowded must-sees. I've been on a few organised tours before, but nothing like this one. Despite being sold by a well-known UK 'small group adventure' operator, our guide (sweet and professional as she is) is definitely from the same school as all those Chinese and Japanese guides you see leading groups on whistlestop follow-my-umbrella tours of London, Stratford, or wherever.

We raced through the delightful Temple of Heaven park, where I got left behind every time I dared to stop for long enough to take a photo. Eventually I persuaded Li, against her will, to let me hold my own ticket so that I could make my way alone and meet the group at the exit at the appointed time. The park is enormous and contains a number of pagodas and the like. But for me the real joy was seeing thousands of locals going about their morning exercise. This ranged from strolling, through badminton and a sort of keepy-uppy played with a giant shuttlecock to ballroom dancing. There was also a bit of line dancing and lots of unspecified dancing in aerobic formation but using middle-aged music and middle-aged aunties. Strangely, the one exercise I'd expected to see - tai chi - was noticeably absent. Of course, we only took in a fraction of the parks.

From there we went on to Tiananmen Square, stopping off for a tasty lunch in a backstreet cafe. It's a big old square alright, but something of an anticlimax after all the hype about how big it is. The hordes of happy tourists pottered about, a scene quite baffling in its contrast to the picture in my head of the day that shall not be mentioned.

We were allowed a full ten minutes here before we were shepherded into the Forbidden City. This is huge, and stunning. But it was heaving with tourists, enormous groups following their guides' little flags, bottlenecking at each walkway between pavilions. Li continued to spout history as massed school groups bumped their way round us. I had had enough, there were few places where you could stop and think ooh or ahh, and again begged leave to make my own way. It was like edging your way out of a stadium all the way around this wonderful place. I would love to go back when it's quieter - the ornate decorations of each building are exquisite, the sheer size and grandeur of the whole city is amazing.

I was relieved to get back to the hotel and hose my weary self down in the shower. We had yet another good meal (more about the food another time) before rushing off to catch the night train to Xi'an.

The Great Wall

An early start allowed me time to get my ATM card eaten by the Bank of China before three hours sleep on a bus took us to The Great Wall at Simatai. This is a mountainous (well, hilly at least) area, and the wall snaked along a steep ridge. It was easy to see how this must have been a pretty handy bit of defence against marauding Mongols. We walked a gentle path to the second tower on this section, low down by a small reservoir, then began the climb up, along the wall. Lush greenery stretched down the rocky slopes on either side and the wall ahead faded into the hazy distance. It was steep enough to work up a good sweat pretty quickly, but I had to keep going as any stop had knick-knack vendors buzzing round you like flies, fanning you or trying to take your arm to 'help' you along. A pity, as it really is the sort of walk that you want to savour. Still, just beyond tower eight I was able to sit quietly and enjoy some peaceful contemplation. I walked part of the way down before taking the 'cable car' (rusty buckets with seats) the rest of the way. This was great - suspended in the misty quiet, looking back up at the wall.

Back in Beijing, there was just time to run through a fantastic rainstorm, splashing through rivers swirling well over my ankles, to get to the bank and beg for my card. Luckily Li came with me to translate useful questions such as 'What does it look like?' (they already had my name and the issuing bank, so I couldn't think of much to add - rectangular and about this big? Anyway, I'm pleased to say that card and I are now reunited.

In the evening we set off to see "Chun Yi - the story of Kung Fu." Which is basically a sort of Andrew-Lloyd-Webber meets karate kid show. It was both naff and spectacular. Well, a spectacle at least. And there were some pretty good acrobatics, kung-fu based dances and so on, including a noisy and impressive stage full of men doing loud and whacky things with swords, shields and athletic bodies.

Beijing

There was something not quite right about coming in to land at Beijing. The fact that we were still above the cloud with only two minutes to go, the way the on-board camera stopped working and showed a plain grey screen. Then out of that grey, vague city-like shapes appeared and seconds later we touched down. Smog. Of course... felt stupid not to have expected this, having heard so much about the city's smog problem.

Through the haze, Beijing looked buzzing as any Asian city, with its busy streets, bicycles with unlikely loads, odd moped-in-a-box vehicles, street vendors and shabby buildings with vibrant signs. Standing outside the hotel later in the evening, I breathed it in, the sights and sounds, the gentle warm humidity, the smells of cooking, and thought, I need to be in Asia.

In flight entertainment

In the middle of the airline-imposed night, I staggered blearily to the galley at the back of the cabin for water. I flipped up the blind in the window of the door and gave an involuntary gasp - below me in bright sunlight spread the mountains of Northern Pakistan. Fold after fold of steep smooth brown rock, white with snow along the ridges, rose up from deep valleys. Rivers snaked coldly on the valley floors, the patchwork of small fields beside them just discernable. I gazed in awe as the mountains rose higher towards me, the snow now thick and constant, reaching down into higher valleys. Grey-green glaciers edged their way down from the snows into the rocky landscape. I tried to work out where we were - it was indeed Northern Pakistan. Below me somewhere was the bridge built by Greg Mortenson, the school, the village he described so well... I could see it now even more clearly, dwarfed by this huge, harsh beautiful landscape. I stood and watched unable to tear myself away, until the mountains gave way to desert.

Keep Lift

After nearly 20km of dead straight busy dual carriageway through the flat grey desert, speed limit 120kmh (observed by some), a small fluorescent green sign announces "KEEP LIFT". Twenty metres later the inside lane and hard shoulder disappear behind road-work blockades. My understanding of stopping distances suggests that lift-off would indeed be the only sensible solution in the circumstances.

Hot wind

A hot wind is blowing. The temperature which has risen slowly since February is suddenly soaring. It feels as if someone has left one of those hot air hand-driers on. Sitting at the beach, I noticed that the wind direction has changed, and now instead of coming from the North and East, Iran and Iraq, it is a straight Westerly. This air has travelled over Saudi, probably the Sahara before that. Quite a thought. No wonder it's less refreshing.

Cross-dressing

From today's Gulf Times:

Preachers at mosques focused their attention during the Friday sermon on the strange phenomenon of girls dressed as boys in Arab robes and headgear and roaming in public parks in Doha, according to reports published in the local Arabic press.

They have also been noticed smoking cigarettes and hubble-bubble. This is a sign of the predominance of destructive ideas and values from the West on the minds of the youth in this country, said many of the preachers.

They also attributed this to the prevalence of chatting on the internet, blind aping of Western lifestyles and the spread of the culture of consumerism.

They called upon the authorities concerned to take stringent action against those indulging in such behaviour.

Girls roaming in public parks? Whatever next!
.

The oryx farm, Shahaniya

A few decades ago, the Arabian Oryx was all but extinct - the only remaining specimens being those held in zoos in various parts of the world. The oryx farm at Shahaniya is at the hub of the project to save this creature and I can only say it seems to be doing a pretty good job.

After a look round the centre, a talk and video filled us in on everything I could possibly have wanted to know, although I'm afraid to say it still left me slightly unclear on things like dates and numbers, so I won't go into details here. It was heartening to meet local people who are passionate about conservation in this region where oil-fuelled consumerism is king.

The organisation also runs two large reserves where the oryx, and other species of antelopey things, live in a more natural or wild habitat. These can not be visited, but the video gave an impression of suitable huge expanses of flat desert. The video was at great pains to reassure us that although these reserves took up a large amount of land, they had been strategically placed so that they didn't get in the way of building or development. Heaven forbid.

The farm is well worth a visit, but you'll need to call first - it's not open on a public drop-in basis.

Camel Race Track

I met Ros on the visit to the oryx farm and when we left there she took me for a look at the camel race track nearby. This is somewhere I've been meaning to visit for ages and it was even better to go there with someone who knew the place, not to mention someone whose company I enjoyed.

It was a bit late in the day for much action, but as we got there we saw the last few groups of camels trotting around or leaving the track after their morning's training. We were greeted heartily by all and sundry, though language barriers kept conversation to a minimum. For many, the opportunity to shake a woman's hand is a chance to good to miss.

During races, camels are 'ridden' by robotic riders - essentially, remote-controlled boxes with a short whip whisking round in a circular motion that takes in the camel's rump on each rotation. So camel races have the added spectacle of a herd of land-cruisers zooming round the inside of the track with owners controlling their robots and urging on their camels. But the training looks a much more romantic affair. Groups of camels wearing stripy blankets were shepherded round at a trot (well, this might have just been for their cool-down lap), usually with just one or two riders. I hadn't even had time to reach for my camera when the first came by, a dashing Sudanese man dressed in a deep rich blue waving his crop in flamboyant circles over his head as he greeted us.

Opposite the camel race track is a sort of Camel City, where all the stables are. Here you can wander around and will feel very welcome. Buy a whippy robot or a cart-load of camel-feed. But we didn't go... I'll save that for another time. And then there's a day at the races, although that will be harder as it's typically impossible to find out when they are on.

Return to Qatar

The beige buildings dot the beige landscape which blends into the beige sky.

Ending on a high

A move to the Meridien for a splash of end-of-trip luxury. This place is a far cry from my usual backpacker haunts. Gorgeous pool, an exotic cocktail and oh, what a welcoming comfortable bed. It's definitely been worth the splurge, although I simply can't bring myself to pay RM16 for a soft drink - how do they justify that? So am having the best of both worlds by eating delicious cheap Indian food in Brickfields and shopping there for my own drinks etc before swanning back to this world of opulence for a long island iced tea by the pool.

And then last night, the best possible end to this trip. I met up with Margy and Karin and Chong in PJ and the afternoon turned to evening as we caught up over dishes of hokkien mee, taufoo and porky things, moving gradually up the street from one Chinese coffee-shop-come-hawker-centre to the next. I love these places, full of semi-mobile stalls each dishing up its own speciality amidst the cacophany of clanging woks and shouted orders that bounces through the cooking smoke and sizzling smells. I stood in a grubby kitchen waiting for the toilet, watched a rat run by and thought with pleasure how normal this is, how at home I feel here, in this place, with these people. We talked on, laughing and gossiping until suddenly, quite a few kopi-o and beers later, it was heading for midnight and time for goodbyes. Time to realise how much I miss these friends, this place.

Today has been a lazing by the pool day. When the afternoon rain came I sat in a little gazebo and watched the storm, marvelled at the power and persistence of the downpour. Then in the early evening Martin came (what a treat to find him back in KL!) and we sipped mojitos and watched the daylight fade through my favourite twilight shades as the lights came on and everything twinkled, still wet from the rain. I felt quite overcome by how lovely it was, this place, my friends... and probably the mojitos. Another downpour meant getting soaked running to the poolside bar to pay the bill, where the barman kindly (stable doors come to mind) draped me in towels for my wet dash to the hotel. I splashed through three inches of water and tumbled indoors, loving it all.

Then another farewell - KL seems to be a city of goodbyes - before heading off for my wee hours flight back. Not much to say about that, except for spending a very pleasant hour in Dubai airport discussing Shakespeare and Chekov with a rather dashing Ukrainian seaman.

Kuala Lumpur

Food heaven. I've been staying in Bukit Bintang, half a stone's throw from Jalan Alor... What else to say? I've feasted on Chinese roast pork, la la, kai lan, durian and even had a real bacon butty with a beer in Finnegans. This on top of all those other old favourites - mee mamak, nasi lemak, nasi campur and roti canai. The streets round here are buzzing with people, food, bright lights and shady taxi drivers. I've had foot massages, back massages, been shopping for books and DVDs, with plenty of breaks for coffees in pavement cafes while watching the world go by.

I ended up in The Pavilion shopping mall, to find the Emirates office to delay my flight back. This has to be the most scary mall I've ever been in. I'm surprised I'm not still there. The place is huge. It has banks of escalators and lifts that only service certain floors so you have to go down to go up (well, I did), then across to another wing to go up again. It took me fourteen of the fifteen minutes till the office closed to find it. Then returning to the ground floor where I'd started, I found myself in an underground car park. On the positive side, it has a good bookshop and outside there is a nice collection of eateries. Including La Bodega, so I treated myself to a small plate of my favourite chilli garlic prawns, feeling I had earned them with my frantic exploration of the Pavilion.

What else of KL - not much that I haven't said before. It's been great to catch up with old friends, visiting old haunts and discovering new ones. There's a strange but not unpleasant sensation of being a visitor in my home town. And some things never change. I've quickly reverted to Manglish, been repeatedly mistaken for a man and played the shop-assistant-shuffle. This last is a simple game based on the fact that shop assistants are contracted to stay exactly 16 inches away from a customer. Therefore your slightest movement will be followed inch for inch. I managed to get a girl in the Body Shop to follow me twice round the same display unit and very nearly got her out of the door. Imagine my disappointment when she pinged back as if I'd snapped her elastic on the threshold.

Langkawi

And now a couple of nights in the delightful Beach Garden Resort. I love this place. It's friendly, personal and so well looked after. More sea, sand and sun, lazy days and good food. I walked here from the other resort, jauntily flaunting my legs in very short beach shorts, even enjoying the rivulets of sweat running down my face and stomach. It took me a second to recognize another old familiar - that delicious sweet smell of clove cigarettes. Two men gave up trying to saw through a tree by the road and having cut two thirds of the way through its trunk, they took turns in running at it and delivering a high jumping kick. They saw me watching and showed off even more, laughing at themselves.

In the evenings I walk along the main street, trying to choose from the all-to-tempting restaurants and food stalls. The place is buzzing with life. So touristy but so Malaysian. There's a cheesy spring in my step.

So far removed from my normal holidays - I'd always seen places like Langkawi as weekend getaways and couldn't imagine spending more than two days here - but now I wish I had a whole week. Maybe I'm getting old, or just worn down by this illness, but right now I can think of nothing better than this. Total relaxation.

Frangipani resort, Langkawi

This place is a bit upmarket by my standards, although the rooms are nothing to write home about. It is easy to spend a day lounging on a lounger, dipping in to either the lovely pool or the gentle sea. And of course there are frangipani trees here and there, spilling their flowers and scent into the evening air. A very comfortable place to stay.

And then the afternoon rain. Had I really forgotten how thunder ruptures the sky, tearing overhead from somewhere behind to right out over the sea? The slowly moving sequence of explosive, cracking bursts that we would call just one clap... and the power of the rain. I drew a chair as far into the cover of my little patio as I could and sat and watched. The sky emptied and emptied, the cascades of rain almost as potent at the run-off from the roof. The flower beds filled with three inches of water. I watched for an hour or so, me and a large resident gecko, until there was little more than drizzle. Then I went into my room to find the tiniest gecko on my bed. Is there no end to the enchantment of this place?

By the time I'd showered and changed, the rain had stopped and the sky had brightened enough to promise a dramatic sunset amongst the clouds and islands.

Langkawi

Descended into KL through rain, a solid, constant wash across the window. Landed in sunshine. Then stepping out into that friendly familiar humidity, breathing in the heady, moist green-tasting air. Home again.

Then to Langkawi, arriving in time to watch the last of the colour drain from the sky. Cicacadas ring their evening song till the sound is replaced by rumbles of thunder. The sky flickers with a distant storm. My ankles itch briefly with mosquito bites as I sip on a cold Tiger at the top of the beach. I can hear the waves gently sucking at the shore, geckos chirrup, frogs croak and the occasional bat flaps by. I am overcome by this onslaught of sensation, of pleasure. From sensationless sterile Doha to this. It is too good. My fatigue drops away.

Airport thought

Do these people (always Chinese or Japanese or probably Singaporean) who wear semi-surgical face masks in airports wear them anywhere else? Are airports really any more germ-ridden than busy supermarkets, cinemas or doctors' surgeries? Just a thought.

Zekreet

Another Friday, another ramble. This time to Zekreet, or Zirkreet, out west near Dukhan.
More sea, sand and... Oh, sand.

Lots of fossils, remains of yesterday's rain and some ridiculously soft white stuff which crumbled like semi-dry paste when you touched it. How can this stuff have stood for so long?

From here we drove a couple of miles to a film set where a Qatari series had been made. Nobody found out anything about what or when the series was but it was quite an impressive set. A complete courtyarded house of the type I imagine would accommodate a few families. Or maybe it's more of a fortress-village. Hard to say. It would be quite habitable as all rooms and roofs are complete. Outside, a number of well-like structures (or maybe fire pits) stood around and an ostrich trotted about.

This is a good example of early air-conditioning - the wind tower. The tower opens straight into the room below so that any breeze there might be will flow into the room. Not much else to say really.

Beyond the film-set we drove down into an area surrounded by cliffs where little dwellings (also part of the set) were built against the cliff walls and on unlikely lumps of rock. Must keep an eye out for a re-run of this show!