Tim & Alison On Tour

Escape from Hong Kong: Admiral Chan Chak's Christmas Day Dash, 1941

2011-11-02T15:41:00.000-07:00

OUT NOW

Order your copy now online through Hong Kong University Press, Eurospan or Amazon -- or at your local bookshop!

“Tim Luard tells this exciting and little known story with great skill. Some of us departed from Hong Kong much more comfortably! But we missed this extraordinary adventure.”
—Chris Patten, governor of Hong Kong, 1992–97

“Escape from Hong Kong is a crisp and comprehensive account of one of the epic untold tales of the Second World War—a unique Chinese-led British escape, under fire, from the Japanese invaders of Hong Kong.”
—Tony Banham, author of Not the Slightest Chance: The Defence of Hong Kong, 1941

“The great Christmas Day breakout of 1941, when British and Chinese officers teamed up virtually for the first time to escape from Hong Kong as the Japanese Army engulfed it, is one of the most dramatic episodes in Hong Kong’s history. Up till now the story has been diffused in a mass of individual diaries, letters and memoirs. Tim Luard has drawn this material together (Chinese as well as British) to produce a unified narrative that is as full and balanced as it is enthralling.”
—Philip Snow, author of The Fall of Hong Kong: Britain, China, and the Japanese Occupation

Waichow -- 68 years on

2010-01-13T08:49:00.000-08:00

Here we are, the Heroic Descendants, posing on Dec 29, 2009, in front of what is now the People's Hospital in Huizhou -- formerly the American 7th Day Adventist Mission Hospital, where the local photographer used his last plate to take the picture below of the original escapers on Dec 29, 1941.

We feel this lot may have had an easier time of it, all in all.
OK, we didn't have any Japanese machine-guns attacking us, but we definitely had more trouble finding a boat than they did, let alone things like visas, food, lodging and gifts for our hosts.
The two main things we wanted to do -- sail to Nanao and then walk at least part of the way to Waichow, on the same paths that our forefathers took with their guerrilla guides - were both in the end judged by today's Chinese to be too dangerous. Yes, even the safest and gentlest of the flag-stoned paths that you can see in our earlier post below about our (admittedly smaller-scale) walk last year.

But hey, we made it! Most of it was a lot of fun and most of us got on really well. And even the host and guest committees got on better in person than they had in six months of daily emails during the negotiation period. For a fuller account, including details of the odd explosive exchange over things like packed lunches, see Emma's excellent blog, called Destination Chongqing.

The Hong Kong events, such as talks, church services and Floating Xmas Banquets all went very well --

and more to the point, the exhibition that the two of us spent most of last year preparing is successfully up and running for the next two years

at the HK Museum of Coastal Defence --

with big posters advertising it all over the MTR.

Here are two McEwan sisters at the opening.

We Made It....

2009-01-01T02:59:00.000-08:00

From the pagoda at Kew to the pagoda in Waichow - for those of you who got our Christmas card - full circle! Walking to Waichow? Well, not quite - though we think we did 60-70 miles on foot over the 7 days, while also taking advantage of buses, taxis, tuk tuks, motorbike taxis and bicycles when the roads were just too grim or the way Pop walked had disappeared under the building frenzy that is China today.

Let me introduce - and thank - the Walking Party:

Tim, without whose patient deciphering of old war maps of China in tandem with the written accounts - and using detective skills in turning old phonetic Cantonese into modern written Mandarin - none of us would have been able to retrace the route so accurately - and for his whole-hearted support for an idea I got while transcribing my Pop's diary that we should do the same journey;

Francoise, our Cheung Chau friend for many years and a keen walker who had signed up for the trip before we decided to do it - supplier of dried fruit and with a good (French) nose for a hidden path;

And Serene - our new friend and truly invaluable fixer, translator, unfailingly cheerful Cantonese, Mandarin and - most important - Hakka speaker who opened doors that might otherwise have remained shut (thanks Duncan H, for the Jack Ma contact!!);

To the families of Ron Ashby, Alexander Kennedy, David Legge, David MacDougall, Ted Ross, Buddy Hide and Chan Chak for their generous sharing of their parents' records;

Thanks also to Russ for his feedback on his own trip, to SJ for his waistcoat and everyone else who helped us see a long-held ambition finally become reality ...

Having been seen off on Christmas morning by Dan and got the train to Shenzhen and bus to Namou, where the escapers landed, we went in search of Koutit, the tiny village just up in the hills where they spent the first day hiding ... only to be told it was now under a reservoir. (note from Tim, at risk of being a pedant: it's Nanao and Gaotie in mandarin but we'll stick for now to the slightly eccentric Cantonese spellings used on the escapers' original map that we put up on the blog earlier). We did find a semi abandoned village nearby which an older Hakka woman we were introduced to (who was from Koutit) said was similar - she remembered Japanese atrocities but unfortunately not any British escapees. We walked up a little path to see the reservoir, then back to Namou as the sun set pinkly over Pingchau - always very clearly visible from this coast. An elderly man showed us how Namou used to be configured, with the original fishing village at one end and farming village at the other, both now set back from the new, reclaimed waterfront behind a line of modern blocks of flats and hotels -

Below is the harbour itself, where they scuttled their motor torpedo boats and came ashore, piling up their stores on what was then a lovely beach...

It's still a busy fishing port and a popular holiday resort in the summer with lots of dried seafood stalls. We attempted to make our way along the coast, as the escapers did after venturing out by night from their hiding place in the hills. This proved quite a challenge and very slow going in places with a lot of rock scrambling as there's been massive development along the beachfront with private beaches barring the way...we persevered with the help of an offshore fisherman who pointed 'up' 'down' and 'forward' helpfully when we stood completely baffled as to whether to retrace our steps or attempt to hack our way forward.

One of our trickier moments - in the end we decided against the ladder...there was quite a fall below!

We finally struck inland to Wang Mu and found the Kuan Yin temple being energetically restored and enlarged

we also found a fortune teller

who had heard tell of the Hong Kong party spending the night on the temple floor. We spent our night rather less peacefully in the old town, just across the flyover, in a hotel which (like the previous night's one in Namoa) featured a nightclub with very loud karaoke....the fortune teller omitted to mention that Francoise would be run down by a motorbike on our way out to dinner; although the bicycle has given way to the motorbike and car in China, traffic manners haven't altered to accept there might be more danger in disobeying road signs. I'm glad to say she was only bruised and the offender was extremely apologetic....

On the 27th we visited Da Peng Suo Sheng - the old fortress and former HQ of the guerillas/bandits/pirates and a lovely example of an old walled city which has become a living museum. Not a single tourist there though (we didn't see another foreigner the whole week) - and well worth including on next year's agenda.

Then a rather frustrating time trying to find the start of the mountain path - we eventually tracked down the beginning of the second ridge (near Kingsam) only to run into the reservoir police who are not at all keen that we attempt it and try to put us off with stories of snakes, impassable growth and the fact that no one has done it 'for a very long time'.

Serene works her magic and we get an introduction to a local bee keeper from the same police. He looks pretty much like a bandit guerilla himself AND strikes a hard bargain, but he eventually agrees to lead us over the mountains tomorrow. We'll need 9 hours, plenty of food and water and he'll need a second man to help him hack through the jungle......

We turned up bright and early the next day to find Mr Chan from HK - the son of one of the East River guerillas - who had decided that as our fathers had walked these routes together we should too.

By chance he and I both had our 'Good Morning' towels in true HK style.. Mr Lee the bandit/bee keeper meanwhile offers us his winter honey-water (delicious) and turns out to be the grandson of one of the KMT soldiers who dynamited the hills in this area to stop the Japanese advance. So almost all the various groups are represented and we're all quite excited as we set out on what was by general consent the toughest day of the whole escape.

In fact we did it in about 4 hours. A bit of machete work was called for but not much - and no great heights were reached as we passed over the saddle between the two larger mountains.

It is a lovely walk, though, and again would be well worth doing on next year's bigger re-enactment. You get a real feel of the sort of trekking they were doing in 1941 and for much of the time you are actually on the same old stone paths - the route is true to the original as far as we know and Bee keeper Lee confirmed that, telling us whenever we did small detours.

I have to say at this point that a lot of the walking we did later on wasn't as nice as that - sometimes it

involved going along major highways, feeling quite nervous about the thundering traffic or else plodding along the packed mud of building sites or new roads being constructed in dust and drizzle. I'm not optimistic we'll find much more of the original route that's walkable. When faced with the horrors of yet another highway or construction site we occasionally tried to strike slightly off-route to find back-streets and byways - often delightful - coming across old villages with duck ponds and old temples and ancestral halls; but sometimes getting slightly lost and probably covering more ground than strictly necessary.

The old smugglers' path across the mountains comes down to what is now yet another reservoir. We lunched on top of the dam, just behind the village of Tong Pow where my pop says they had their lunch (Lettuce Village it looked like - I've never seen such neat lettuce beds or so many of them!).

On from there to another village mentioned in the diaries, Ho Shue Ha, where we stopped to make enquiries at the village cafe (the old blacksmith) - though the only pensioner we found had no memory left. You begin to appreciate just how hard the life of the peasant is in China - even in the comparative wealth of the south. We saw people burdened with loads of vegetables that would earn them very little for so much work - yet, like my Pop and the fellow escapees, we were met almost unfailingly with friendliness, courtesy and an old fashioned hospitality. (And a lot of curiosity!)

Alison heads off for a well-earned snooze, leaving Tim to confess that we cheated on the next bit - crossing the river - because we reckoned that if we'd actually waded through it as they did, holding their rifles over their heads, we'd have caught some fairly serious disease. The water is shallower, perhaps, than it was then but is a blackish, bluish grey in colour and sludge-like in consistency. Besides, there's now a bridge.

Cheun Shue Pow on the other side is an endless mass of huge factories ... in what was described in the escapers' diaries as open moorland.

We then came to the part where tensions ran highest of all in 1941 because they had to cross a road that was thick with Japanese soldiers who were garrisoned at the nearby town of Tamshui. That small country road is now a six-lane expressway. In the event, just as they avoided the Japanese motorcycle patrols, we managed to avoid getting run over by the cement lorries - by the simple means of going under the flyover.

On then to the orchard near Kopow where the escapers finally bedded down at 2am under the apple trees on a bitterly cold night, after being told by an apologetic Chinese farmer that he couldn't ask them in as he had already been visited three times that day by the Japanese ... who were likely to burn his house down or worse if they found he'd been sheltering members of the British armed forces.

That orchard now appears to be part of the Palm Island Resort, a country club for the sort of people who want to escape from Hong Kong today (to get away from the office rather than a POW camp). It helps if they can afford fees running into tens of thousands of dollars. The grounds include three nine-hole golf courses designed by Jack Nicklaus Junior, using the finest imported Bermuda grass. There's even an assault course to improve leadership skills. Perfect for Commander Gandy ...

At Sanhue they rested at the local school - a predecessor of the one where we were very warmly welcomed by a headmaster called Kevin. Through the pass and down a lovely country path to Chanlung, where we spent the night at a hotel that was free of karaoke but had lots of policemen and girls in high heels popping in and out of bedrooms equipped with mahjong tables .... By now our boys in 1941 were seeing Nationalist Chinese troops rather than just guerrillas, and even got to spent the night in the military HQ in the local yamen (magistracy).

We think we may have found that -- we certainly found a fine old Dream of the Red Chamber - type walled compound...and got quite excited by the "Death to the Japanese" slogans on the wall till we realised they dated only from the shooting of a war movie a few years ago. By now we'd rented bicycles, as that was how many of the escape party completed the final stretch into Waichow.

Progress was slowed though -- both then and now-- by large holes in the road.Theirs had been made by the Chinese to stop Japanese tanks and other vehicles; ours were part of the endless building of ever bigger roads, to encourage more vehicles of every description.

And so, a final stretch on foot, stopping at a wayside stall, as Colin did, for a bun (or beng) or two.

Again like them, we mainly lived well off rice and vegetables and green tea. But they did also have some Navy-style tins of bully beef. Having failed to bring our own, we persuaded Francoise to overcome her scruples and took her to a McDonald's.

Our final triumphant march through the streets of Waichow didn't quite get the reception of cheers and firecrackers that was accorded the Admiral in his sedan chair and the British sailors in their by now very ragged clothes and marching formations. But we did manage a white ensign of sorts - and a mouth-organ.
We all (It's me again, Alison) loved Waichow and Tim had earmarked a great old Chinese hotel actually on the West Lake, in the centre of what was the old town - we found pockets of old streets with their colonnaded shops gearing up for Chinese New Year and more of the sweetest little tangerines we had been eating all along the way. My Pop commented on them too! We had our own celebratory banquet with roast suckling pork, salted eggs (to replace the pigeons' eggs) and vegetables in a little restaurant where the owner went off specially to find the roast pork when he'd heard our story....

We spent New Year's Eve morning sorting out all the religious missions with Serene's help before she had to leave us - the tangled web unravelled with the help of Rev. So who we visited (still very much alive)

- Rev.Wong proudly showed us the photos you'd given them, Russ (signed also by Donald and Duncan Chan) - and we then had a most fortunate encounter with retired Mr Cheung of the People's Hospital as we stood in the former Wai On compound staring at old photos and trying to orientate ourselves...

We ended up with a pretty good mental picture of the Wai On 7th Day Adventist Mission during the war years - with hospital, church and other buildings where the HK escape party were housed (and finally bathed) and which my Pop later frequented in his BAAG days. The last vestiges - a crumbling building housing the BAAG mess that was visited by Elizabeth Ride just a year or two ago - had been removed just a month ago, we were told. Thank you, Elizabeth, for all the BAAG information you gave us, which helped enormously in Waichow.

There was also the Catholic Mission, based quite nearby, where the new church still flanks the old church (now used for storage and meetings). They also had a hospital in those days, and we were shown where the old Rectory was by a resident nun - it was another BAAG base but is now housing the toilets! Their site - unlike Wai On - appears to have been much reduced in size. It had been a Franciscan order but we couldn't confirm if it still was.

Finally the Baptist Church of the Rev.So - although a new church building - stands on the site of the earlier Baptist Mission (they had no hospital that we are aware of) and it now represents 3 Protestant churches that used to exist in Waichow.

Of course all these churches had a hard time during the post war years and there's a long gap where any church activity had to be clandestine so it's difficult to find people who hold the links - so what luck to find Mr Cheung!

And so to New Year's Evening in Waichow - Francoise had carefully carried some Cuban rum the whole way so, like my Pop, we were able to bring in the New Year with a tot of rum and some amazing cocktails our hotel had created - even Auld Lang Syne on the banks of the West Lake...

The sharper eyed among you may note that's a bottle of 1999 Great Wall red wine rather than rum and cocktails - this was how our evening started. The local Dragon'8' beer played a part too....but at least we didn't shock the locals by breaking the odd glass as my Pop admitted doing.
Along the way I thought often of how he and the others must have felt. For him and some of the others based in HK the terrain might have seemed quite familiar - I certainly kept getting flashes of my childhood when we spent days in the New Territories... For some of the men, there must have been a huge culture clash to go with all the other clashes (adds Tim finally). China may have copied us and caught up with us in many ways, but it's still very different and very special and always will be. Meanwhile we have a few more days here in HK , looking for anyone else with any information on the escape, since many of those we met on the mainland said this was where their families had tended to move to after the war.

The way to Waichow

2008-12-24T03:28:00.000-08:00

So OFF WE GO early on Christmas morning to Nam O ... and on across what we hope are still mountains to Waichow.

Here, so you can get at least some idea of where we are for the next week or so, is a copy of the 1930s British War Office map the escape party used at the time.

Hong Kong and Kowloon, for those who don't know, are just out of sight, down to the bottom left. Hong Kong's most easterly point, Ping Chau island (where I was last week), can be seen just across the bay from Nam O (or Namou or Nan Ao, depending on your dialect and spelling method).

But you may need to zoom in a bit to see the smaller villages where they tended to hole up by day ... and zoom in even more to see us (or possibly switch to google earth).

Before unwrapping presents and packing backpacks simultaneously, we spent Christmas Eve taking a crazy bus ride out past Telegraph Bay (now Cyber City) to Aberdeen and Apleichau - failing to find Japanese machine gun posts on the Ocean Park hillside or motor torpedo boats lurking among the highrises, but succeeding in getting a full tour of the old Industrial School where they got their supplies from the Naval Stores.

For those unfamiliar with the story of the Christmas Day escape so far ... here (below) is a potted version of events leading up to the landing on the mainland (which is where we start our re-enactment, complete with military berets but not sedan chairs like the admiral's).

Or for the full version with all the trimmings turn to Richard's website - see column on right....

The Christmas Escape

2008-12-24T03:26:00.000-08:00

Furtively rather than festively adorned with branches - their only protection from the all-powerful Japanese bombers - two of the five Motor Torpedo Boats which were all that remained of Hong Kong's naval defences spent Christmas Day 1941 lying at the Dairy Farm pier in Telegraph Bay.

The colony was on its knees after 18 days of attack. At 3.15 pm white flags of surrender appeared on the hillside above them. The two tiny boats lay low till dark, then made their way silently to a lagoon off Apleichau Island to join the other three boats in the MTB flotilla. These had just picked up the survivors of an escape party of senior British and Chinese officers, who'd been forced to abandon their launch minutes after setting out from Aberdeen when it was hit by a barrage of Japanese fire. Twelve of the party of 18 survived, though two were injured ...including China's top man in Hong Kong, the one-legged Admiral Chan Chak. He had removed his wooden leg and dived into the sea with the others, but was wounded in the wrist as the shooting continued. His ADC, Henry Hsu, who happened to be a champion swimmer, had helped him make it through the water to Apleichau, where he and the others were eventually picked up by the MTBs.

With the new arrivals now distributed among the five boats, the flotilla sailed past the still-burning southern coast of HK Island to Mirs Bay. The boats were scuttled and the escape party set out to walk through the Japanese-occupied coastal zone to the nearest town in Free China, Waichow -- some 80 miles away. They landed, late on Christmas night, at a village called Nanao. And that's where we'll be spending Christmas night too, as we prepare to re-enact their journey to Waichow.
What with fifty-odd Royal Navy sailors from the MTBs, the twelve survivors from the launch, seven others who set out from Aberdeen in another boat and happened to land on the same beach, not to mention a certain Colin McEwan and his two fellow Secret Service members who had been asked to organise the escape, the original party had by now grown to a sizeable force numbering 68 in total. And they were heavily armed - with bren guns, tommy guns and revolvers.
In 2008, there are just four of us. Alison McEwan, Serene Qiu, Francoise La Toison and Tim Luard. Totally unarmed ... save for a few Christmas presents that may yet come in handy - a Swiss Army knife, a walking-stick and a long, hard and dangerous-looking saucisson.
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Hanging Out in Hong Kong.....

2008-12-20T03:25:00.000-08:00

Here we are in godson Kieran's excellent Mid-Levels flat with harbour view enjoying being back in Hongkong and eating rather too much and too well with said Kieran ...

... not to mention Carmela, SJ Chan (and his wife May's home made mince pies!), Dr Dan, Frankie on a flying visa visit, Tom hosting a Cheung Chau get together beano in the FCC and various street side snacks - we were very glad to see Shau Kei Wan was still home to old style dai pai dongs and cake shops...

But we have to be careful as too much food might make us incapable of The Walk which begins on Christmas Day from Nam O. Francoise has been in secret training with the Beijing Hikers and I (Alison) hope to sabotage her superiority with fruit cake and cheese. We're being joined by a new Chinese friend, Serene, who's based in Shenzhen and can cope with any Hakka speakers we may find - we're still hoping for the odd person who may remember the original escape party passing through their village.

And Tim takes over at the first Happy Valley bend to tell prospective 2009 Escapers that Ping Chau should be high on our list of things to do. I went there on the Saturday morning ferry - right across Mirs Bay, as far as you can go and still be in Hong Kong - and guess what: after a sunny walk round the island and much fruitless searching among the day-trippers for anyone who actually lived there - let alone anyone old enough to remember 1941 - I tracked down the current village headman, a Mr Mao Shuijing. And as soon as I mentioned the one-legged admiral's name his twinkly little old eyes lit up. "Chan Chak! Chan Chak! He came with the British military - they asked him to help after they lost to the Japanese".

He was only ten or eleven at the time but he'd been there when the landing party (Henry Hsu and Colin McEwan among them) arrived at dead of night and took the village headman of the time back to their boats (Mr Mao thought there were six MTBs rather than five). His cousin had gone along with some other local lads as guards for the admiral. Then he started talking about the guerilla leader Leung Wingyuen, pointing across to Nam O on the mainland where the villagers helped the escapers to land and then scuttle their boats. (Nam O is clearly visible, with its long strip of white sands - but now lined with hotels instead of guerrillas' huts). Sadly, the ferry home was about to leave so that's all I got -- but, if he's still up to it next year, we could find out more over lunch at Mr Mao's restaurant. well...more of an instant-noodle stall really). And fond as I am of those little old ferries, they do only go at weekends and from out by the Chinese University. So it might be easier to hire a boat of our own - and who knows, maybe even carry straight on across the channel to Nam O.

We've also been to the Museum of Coastal Defence. We failed to catch any of the right people to talk about next year's escape exhibition, but had an exciting time anyway, as far as museums go. Alison had just left me behind in the Battle of Hong Kong section and gone ahead to the next bit (showing how the fight against Japan carried on across the Chinese border after Hong Kong's surrender) when she stopped in front of a familiar face splashed across most of a wall.

Yes, it was her father, posing with Chinese guerillas after rescuing an American airman behind Japanese lines in 1943. I believe Russ did in fact tell us he'd seen this photo when he came here, but it hadn't quite registered, and when I arrived on the scene I found Alison in a state of high emotion, surrounded by a crowd of equally excited HK Chinese girls wanting to take her picture.

Finally, to tea at the Chinese Recreation Club with the wonderful Duncan Chan - looking very like both his twin brother Donald and

their father, the admiral.

We show him our maps, old and new, but unfortunately he's rather pessimistic about our chances of being able to walk at all in many of these places as they are today. He's trying to find some former guerillas (or their children) to help us on our way.

Spain ... and home

2007-05-22T00:09:00.000-07:00

Having started our trip in Dubai, where our close friend Pauline lived before her final year with us in London, it seemed somehow right to be ending it in Andalucia, former home of the other important figure in our lives who died last year. The photo shows me standing in the garden of my mother's lovely old farmhouse, Finca la Noria, just outside Mijas. Those of you who visited her any time during her 30 years in Spain will be glad to learn it's been spared the redevelopment that has obliterated almost everything else that was once lovely and old down there. The Spanish architect who bought it when my Mum moved to S. Africa nine years ago wasn't around when Alison and I dropped by, but his maid let us through the gate. Rumours that the roof had fallen in the moment she left appear to have been unfounded. The only visible change is that the garden is more luxuriantly overgrown than ever (a bit like the one we've just come back to in Hackney, but more of that later). You could almost hear my mum's voice floating down from the patio saying "I MUST do something about that vine" as she lit another cigarette and resumed her tale about the Swedish model and the local Guardia Civil chief cavorting in her pool with a bunch of grapes.

We spent a great evening in Mijas with Jeff and Lilli, who sadly are almost the only members of the old gang still left there. Many a glass of rioja was raised to Lavinia ... and then the waiters kept insisting we have more brandies on the house, as they too had so many good memories of her. They weren't the only ones. The face of the barman at the Mijas Hotel unwrinkled into a huge grin when I mentioned her name. I thought he was going to ask me to settle all her unpaid bills. But he just wanted to reminisce about the days when foreigners were people you said hello to rather than tourists in swimming trunks demanding more chips.

For most of our nine days in Spain we stayed with Anne and David at THEIR lovely old farmhouse -- on the other side of Malaga, near the village of Periana. It was feria time, so we partied in the village (eating tapas and failing to dodge each other on the dodgems) , went to the odd lunch party (with BBQ by the pool and much talk of property prices) and took the dogs for walks among the olive groves. But perhaps best was sitting out on the terrace in the evening sun with a gin and tonic (with Spanish measures and lemon fresh from the tree) (but still no cigarettes, we're proudly amazed to say) gently wondering once again if the vine needed cutting back. We toured about a bit, seeing pretty hilltop villages like Camores and wondering if this would be the sort of place for us....no decisions yet!

After almost thirty flights (sorry Brian), we'd become so casual that we were strolling onto the Heathrow plane at Malaga when a BA stewardess came running up the gangway to say we should have been on the Gatwick one. The fact that we ended up flying into a different London airport to the one from which we left in January meant we didn't complete our round-the-world journey till we drew up at a very balmy-looking Middleton Road. Andy had got the sausages on for us, and after expressing surprise that we weren't a bit browner he proudly showed off his sun-drenched garden.
The climbing rose and almost everything else had come out to welcome us -- though we haven't yet seen the foxcubs, one of whom Andy had to chase frantically round the house for an hour last week.

We now have a week or so to get used to things like having a whole wardrobe of shirts to choose from every day ( very time-consuming, like buying a coffee in America), before we head off to Hal and Lorna's wedding in St Andrews. I've been putting off writing the speech I'm supposed to be giving, on the assumption that I'd suddenly be full of great ideas and insights once back from our travels. But maybe it's a case of the more you see the less you know. The only thing we've definitely learned about the world after four and a half months is that everything everywhere is made in China. And almost everything almost everywhere can be described as awesome (and often was). But I never did have time to learn the harmonica.

The places along the way, old and new, have been wonderful -- the people we've met, and re-met after many years, even more so. So, many thanks for putting us up and/or putting up with us, either in person or via this blog. We've enjoyed your comments and e-mails along the way!

We'll leave you with a few lines culled from the mountain of mail that awaited us -- a rewrite by Harry (winner of the New Blogger of the Year award) of that Arlo Guthrie song, which I can have another go at now I've got my guitar back (and yes, Fred, I did remember to take my plectrum along -- it was almost the only thing I didn't lose):

"Coming in from Los Angeleeze
No room in my rucksack for a couple of keys,
Department of home security man don't search my bag pleeze
The stained underwear and smelly socks might well give you a diseaseeze "

North America offers warm welcome

2007-05-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

A: And so to the USA and Canada, where we saw many old friends and family, drove many miles and ate many meals. We started off (after taking ages to filter thro´"Homeland Security") in Los Angeles being met by Colin Churchill, now married to Deva. They made us welcome in their home and gave us a flying tour of LA and the coastal road and helped us track down a hire car....sadly not the pink Cadillac of my fantasies but a practical white Japanese saloon with efficient air con for the detour through Death Valley which comes hedged with warnings about not breaking down..
(T: Although I´m leaving the writing of this one mainly to Alison, I´d like to make it clear that whatever the photo may suggest I did remember to drive on the right side of the road , even in the desert, and wrong turnings were mainly the fault of navigators busy dreaming about cadillacs. And to say how nice it was not only to see Colin for the first time for 28 years but also to play a guitar for the first time for 4 months. Back in Hong Kong in the 1970s he and I used to do an Arlo Guthrie song called Coming into Los Angelees... which made much more sense this time around. PS the cage beside him contains a large snake...)

A: So...off we went on the 40 lane freeway (slight exaggeration) thro´LA to Tucson to visit my Mom´s oldest friend Margaret Tilford, spending the night en route in the first of several motels (all run by Indians, Anu!) Very good to see Margaret and even learn a new story about my Mom´s violin playing, and we had my birthday tea with her. Birthday night deep in the Arizona desert in the Observatory Inn - 3 bedrooms - we had the Galaxy Room complete with private terrace with telescopes, Star War figures, galaxy carpets and lit up ceiling with stars - fantastic! We were warned not to go too far away as "everything in the desert has a poisonous bite" - and then a small rabbit hopped past! Wonderful birds there too, as the owners have a small lake nearby. We also managed a flying visit to Tombstone and saw Boot Hill.

In the picture you see Alison rescuing a Wombat from a cactus. (A saguaro, notes Wom, who insisted on featuring at least once in this blog and saying Hi to Gilda, Lewis, Sara, etc).
Tim takes over to avoid any further lowering of standards: Avoiding ambush by Indians, rattlesnakes and the swarms of long-haired middle-aged motorbike riders who kept appearing in my mirror, we sped north to sounds of "By the Time I get to Phoenix"... until we finally got there. Then it was into the red hills and green pines of Sedona, with its laid-back artistic types living in weird and wonderful houses perched on rocks -- and then into the even bigger -- and pinker -- hills of the Grand Canyon. We decided against the 9-hour trip to the bottom and back with a mule, given my experiences in Greece, but were suitably impressed by the grandeur of it all, both at sunrise and sunset. We even saw a 3-D movie about it so we could at least pretend we were doing the hang-gliding tour. All very harsh and dry, though, after the lush greens and gentle curves of the Andes.
We drove on via Route 66 -- we managed to find the longest surviving stretch of it, most of it having been swallowed up by new interstate superhighways -- and at least saw some pink cadillacs even if Alison wasn´t able to ride in them. The Hoover Dam looked like one of those vast villains´HQs they have at the end of Bond movies.
In Las Vegas, we were supposed to stay at a hotel called the Barbary Coast... After an hour or two of driving round gawking like country hicks at the gross and gorgeous displays and fountains and things, we found it in the middle of a giant casino -- under its new name of Bill´s Bar and Gaming Hall. I proceeded to lose all my money in 30 seconds at blackjack, but luckily only had 30 dollars on me.
From Vegas, on across aforementioned Death Valley and over the Sierra Nevada, which is what you see in the Wrong Way photo at the top. The pass we went over had only opened the prevous day after being closed all winter and was still thick with snow. Down on the other side past gushing mountain streams and log cabins into quiet green Californian pastures and wineries... including one belonging to my old friend and guru Parnell.
I´d stayed there seven years ago in a simple little farmhouse ... Parnell´s now almost totally rebuilt it into a magnificent Dallas-style ranch-house...doing everything himself of course. We settled into a restful weekend with him and Jan, daughters Marie (14) and Sara (11) plus numerous horses, dogs, cats, coyotes etc. A new white grape (pinot grigiot) had recently been grafted on to the old Cabernet Sauvignon vines, so between bottles of the old stuff we went looking for signs of growth in the new. Parnell and Jan also manage to do fulltime jobs, by the way, as doctor and vet respectively.

A: And then off to Pacifica, just south of San Francisco where we saw a whale at breakfast (he was in the bay) drove over the Golden Gate Bridge and discovered one of T´s snooker venues in a very shady part of town had closed down after a drugs bust - our informant drew his finger across his throat and hinted we should leave.
So we went off to Vancouver to be met by my Canadian cousins Mary & Sarah. They whizzed us off to Mary´s home in Port Coquitlam, where one of her daughters Lisa lives upstairs with her husband Julio and 2 small children. Another daughter Kathrine was visiting and Mary´s husband Bill came back from work to complete our dinner table. Family get-together got even better when Mary & Bill organised us out on ferries to Saltspring Island to stay a couple of nights with the last Canadian cousin, Lissie and her husband Oleh. For all McEwans worried about Oleh I can only say he looked very well, was in good spirits and can carve a mean salmon as he demonstrated when there was another large gathering to meet Lissie´s daughter Katya(Heather) and her partner Steve and daughter Emily. We also saw 2 eagles who live very near Lissie´s lovely house. Then back to the mainland for a final get-together with Young Billy and his little daughter Emma at Mary´s.
The weather (do I need to say?) was cool, damp and grey but it meant Vancouver looked incredibly green with all the wild fruit trees full of blossom - very lovely. Big thanks to Mary for getting us to Victoria University and to Lissie for Auntie Kate´s bracelet - it means a lot to me!
Shopping in New York was next on the agenda - only for me to realise I´d lost the knack over the last 4 months´abstinence. Fully intended at least a hat for the June wedding but despite much pavement pounding and window shopping the rucksacks are as light as ever...but we had a great time buzzing about on the subways - so safe and clean now! - popping up at landmarks all over Manhattan and enjoying The Sunshine! One of the best things was eavesdropping on loud snatches of NY conversation - fantastic. To our delight, Zafar came over and we had a family dinner with him, his Dad and Padma - nice to catch up with them too - and to see Zaf at home in his second city.
We also managed to see *Michael ( now v important with UN) and Robbie (also v important, I hasten to add, especially with students of Tibetan at Columbia) for dinner. So we´ve plumped up nicely on this part of the tour. I find American pancakes with maple syrup and bacon - "short stack? Short stack? Give me the Lonnggg Stack!"- irresistable...
Tim got to see Strawberry Fields in Central Park, we did theatre on Broadway, the Met., ate bagels, rendezvoused with 2 new American friends from the Inca Trail.... so apart from the shopping failure all went swimmingly.

*That rounds up Dateline East Asia, I believe? If not (quite) its successor programme, East Asia Today....and we don´t meet co-founder Simon till June 24 at King´s Cross.
And now here we are, sitting at Anniewan´s Apple relaxing in Spain (and celebrating West Ham´s brilliant survival of course)...last entry will be coming up shortly.

Ups and Downs of Chile, Bolivia and Peru

2007-04-17T14:44:00.000-07:00

We came, we saw, we conquistadored.

In fact we outdid the Spanish by taking off our armour and finding our way through the sacred jungle-clad valleys, over Dead Woman´s Pass and all the way to Machu Picchu...the only Inca settlement, it seems, which the colonistas failed to find and plunder and replace with a giant cathedral.
Some other parts of the continent they're frankly more than welcome to -- the Hotel Joya de Titicaca, for instance, and the meat pies in La Paz, and the smell of the toilets at certain border posts. In a moment Alison will give you her memories of those earlier days.
But first, the trek:
This was the one bit of our whole 5-month trip that was all planned and booked beforehand. You can't just turn up and do the Inca Trail on your own, as Parnell and I did on our Annapurna trek in 1973, sleeping in yak-sheds and swapping shoes as we went to beat the blisters. (Hope you're still with us, Dr G, as we're only a week or two away from turning up at your vineyard gate in California). No, this one you have to do with a guide and group -- otherwise the 500 year old path would probably be worn out by now, or piled high with rubbish.

We turned out to be the oldest in our group but not necessarily the weakest. Over the four days, no less than 7 out of the 16 of us became ill in one way or another -- several of them quite badly. So we tended to get quite strung out along the track -- in more ways than one, with some of us chewing coca leaves to fight altitude sickness and others just throwing up over the nearest available precipice ( not us I'm glad to say).

It's not what you might call a very long trek (28 miles), but there aren't many easy flat bits: it includes both climbs and descents of more than 7,000 feet each.

Alison's injured foot did brilliantly on the first day, with the help of new drugs and stick, but it did get worse again on the very long second and third days as those high Inca stone steps just kept on coming. I was mighty proud of her, as I'm sure you would all have been, as she kept cheerily hobbling on for hour after hour (stopping to examine the odd blue hummingbird or purple fuchsia along the way) as one false summit gave way to another. And in fact the whole, mainly young-american group would cheer us in as we got to each day's campsite with high-school-style whoops and hollers (or at least those who were well enough to have already arrived).

There was some talk of food poisoning as the only possible cause for so much illness, but in fact the food was pretty fantastic. Especially given the fact that everything -- from cake ingredients to curried chicken to cutlery to tables and chairs, not to mention tents -- had to be carried the whole way. OK, so we did have 20 porters with us to help.

After four days without hot water we were beginning to remember why we'd never been campers. But the views were a delight -- whether from our tent at night, looking out at brilliant skies and snowy peaks, or from the path as it wound its way through dark wet cloud forests and over windswept grassy plains, past old Inca fortresses and staging-posts and over wobbly rope bridges, high above foaming brown rivers charging down towards the Amazon.

Then came the final morning's dash, getting up at 3.30am to get to the lost city itself before all the crowds who come up during the morning by train and bus from Cusco. Sadly, when we got to the Sun Gate, where you get the first view down to Machu Picchu, instead of a glorious sunrise there was just a big white cloud. But as we came down that final hill the mist cleared and the ruins were revealed on their narrow ridge in all their incredible neatness and detail and precariousness. Quite apart from the surreal setting, the stonework itself is beautiful.

Yes, wonderful as Asia may be, this just has to be ahead of the Great Wall, Angkor Wat, Taj Mahal etc as one of the newer wonders of the world. Just a shame about the sandflies, which possibly came to us via the llamas and have left us both with the itchiest bites we've ever known. With that I'll hand over to my fellow-scratching wife to fill you in on what happened earlier, after New Zealand.

So - next major continent - we arrive in Santiago, Chile and have 2 nights and a day. Not fair on Santiago really to have left an impression of a cold, dusty city full of building sites and chunky schoolgirls in thick blue wool leg warmers. Grand old buildings decaying, but glimpses down side streets of a more glamorous and Barcelona-ish type city springing up..

Then on to La Paz on the roof of the world (or so it felt). The airport situated on a plateau, there´s an exciting drive down a steep hill to La Paz city which jumbles itself up and down hills with cobbled streets, the ladies with windburnt faces and their too-small bowlers, and sellers of Incan knickknacks and Andean knitted hats and socks all over. A strange smell ever present that can only be described as ´cold dirt´ and lots of breathlessness at this altitude. So lots of coca tea and plenty of rest and water...the whole of Bolivia gearing up for Santa Semana or Holy Week, churches and cathedrals bringing down their statues and preparing the massive litters which people will carry through the streets.

From La Paz by bus 'Él Conquistador' to Lake Titicaca and Copacabana -sounds jolly and tropical, no? No, v cold, v wet and the worst hostal so far -
words can´t do it justice - small, bright orange room complete with one wall a badly executed Tuscan 'view', shiny thin purple nylon curtains, rock hard two-seater brown fake leather sofa, 1 bedside light with bright green glass shade giving no light beyond an underwater glimmer, Lion King faux fur bedspread and hot water only minimally available in a trickle in the shower if you diced with death and loose electric wires. ..Tim turned onthe TV (OK, so it did have pretensions to modernity and sophistication) only for it to fizz, emit sparks and die. Loose wires hung out of sockets where they presumably planned further lighting in the future. Spirits v low, bodies v cold we piled on all clothes to survive Night No 1...

Of course things improved the next day (after most amazing thunder and lightning storm over the Lake, heard amplified by the corrugated plastic sheeting which formed the roof of the hostal) and we sailed off to the Isla Del Sol (home of sungod and cradle of civilisation for incas) where the sun shone and T walked and I pottered along doing nature study...beautiful wild flowers and very tidy well-tended fields of maize and quinoa and lupins! Bus again along the Lakeside through the Andean Plateau and across a very informal border to Puno in Peru.
.....
Back to Tim for a final fling: Hotel in Puno was close second to previous night's as worst ever. Breakfast in a dark icy room six floors up with no lift.... But again, our boat trip the next day, this time across the Peruvian half of the world's highest navigable lake, more than made up for it. First, to a group of floating islands made of reeds, where we were immediately picked out from all the other tourists by a colourfully dressed lady called Christina -- our silvery hair tends to persuade people we might have lots of money -- and invited into her home (built of reeds like everything else) .

Next, Taquile Island, where no-one's supposed to sell or buy anything at all because they only grow what they need and all work for each other. In theory anyway. Oh yes, and the women knit for the men and the men knit for the women (or even for tourists, as in the case of the man in the picture) . And the way they wear their hair tells you if they're available or not (I don't think he was). And they have some revolting herbal drinks.

Then it was onto a splendid train

for a 19-dollar, 11-hour ride past mighty Andean ranges and endless fields of maize and alpacas (we can now tell the difference between them and llamas, which have short pants and long ears) ... and so to the old Inca capital of Cusco, where we checked into a much nicer hotel and geared up for the big trek, while checking out some of the aforementioned Spanish cathedrals and Irish pubs.
But yes, some of those early days in south america were indeed pretty tough for various reasons. Partly no doubt because we´d been so spoiled in many ways by the comforts of NZ and such places before we arrived here, when we were suddenly hit by 3 months journey fatigue just as things became a bit rougher. Plus we were getting fed up living in same clothes out of same rucksack -- Well done, Carmela, on spotting that the photos showed new clothes... but they were really old clothes that had been washed so often they began to look new.
We're now once again safe and clean and back in the lap of luxury -- having hot baths and fine meals here in sunny (and warm!) Lima with Lorna and Hal. All around us are lists of things to do (along with articles to be written for the Financial Times, for which Hal's supposed to be Andean Correspondent) before their wedding in Scotland in June... which we're even now hurrying back for, via just 3 more countries. But there's also been time for strolling along the Mediterranean-style boulevards, sampling the local specialities of pisco sour (best cocktail ever) and ceviche (delicious raw fish with chili sauce, onion, corn etc). We've drawn the line at baked guinea pig, but our hosts were happy to pick out some cakes for us at the DessertMarket.....

Come On You Irons...

2007-04-07T19:50:00.000-07:00

Yes, up here in the Peruvian Andes, I was today privileged to cheer on the Hammers, courtesy of an unlikely Irish pub showing Fox TV, as they beat the mighty Arsenal. Maybe it´s more than just bubbles after all and we´ll stay up despite everything. I´m expecting the good people of Cusco to turn out in their thousands tonight to celebrate, as they did on our first night here when the local team beat Boca Juniors. Since then the mood has grown a bit more sombre as various Madonnas and huge, bloody replicas of Jesus on the cross are carried through the streets for Semana Santa.

As you may have gathered, this is being written by an imposter and isn´t really tim and alison´s latest blog posting at all. Where are all the usual beautiful pictures for a start? Since we last wrote , it´s true, a good two weeks have passed and we have meanwhile passed through Chile (v. briefly) and Bolivia (for long enough to know it was very hard work) , so it´s more than time for an update. But for various reasons -- such as it being too cold to type and there tending to be powercuts whenever we try to download pix -- we thought we would just put all the south american countries together and do them in comfort when we´re staying with hal and lorna in lima next week.

So you´ll just have to be patient (if there are any of you left out there, that is, apart from the hardworking halski, Chief Commentator for both us and the FT)..... and imagine us as we finally head off on our inca trail on monday, going up and over a 14,000 ft pass next day and hopefully discovering macchu pichu in all its glory as dawn breaks on thursday. Yes, after much uncertainty and some very strange peruvian xrays, the doctor has passed alison´s foot fit for walking... with the aid of a stick, which should also come in handy for dealing with angry mules, snakes etc, and for swinging us thru the trees as we ford yet another tributary of the amazon.

Anyway, now you know where to send out the search parties if you don´t hear from us again.

But fear not, you will hear from us again and when you do as i say it´ll be a bumper edition, complete with titillation from lake titicaca with its famous male knitters AND full details of the winner of the Most Awful Hotel of the Trip So Far competition...

New Zealand: Land of Milky Grandeur...

2007-03-25T16:05:00.000-07:00

You come halfway round the world, expecting everything to get rarer and more foreign and exotic the further you go… And what do you find? Wales! Or possibly Scotland.... Loads of green fields and hills and sheep and cows. And rain. And pubs (they even still call them taverns here) that have been almost emptied of people – what few there are anyway -- by the new smoking ban.
Not that a ban like that bothers folk like me and Alison of course. I’m now seven weeks past giving up and she's ten. We’re feeling fitter (if fatter) and all ready for trekking those high Andean passes after we fly from Auckland to Santiago tomorrow. A bit of a worry there though: my (fake-dvt) leg’s a lot better, but Alison’s now the one that’s hobbling after a small camping accident about ten days ago.
Yes, I said camping. Though as you can see from the strange vehicle above, it wasn’t quite your traditional boyscout stuff with tents and billycans. For our first week here, on the South Island, we hired New Zealand’s very latest kind of campervan, known as a Spaceship. Ours was called Milky but others went by funkier names like Obi or Sputnik or Galactica. As we drove round the wilds of Milford Sounds, the Fox Glacier and other remote scenic splendours, we’d pass a fellow alien ship from time to time and both would flash their lights and hoot and waggle their ears at each other in their excitement. Alright, no, they don’t have ears but they do have extendable bits for sleeping in and big windows at the top for seeing the stars and dvd players complete with big stereo systems you can plug your ipod into. And they give you free dvds and Frisbees!
To be frank we didn’t use the camping and cooking equipment (or cinematic and sporting for that matter) very often. And the one time we used our picnic table and chair we foolishly left them out in the dark, which was when Alison fell over them. During the first four days of unremitting rain (and even snow), we tended to go for renting a readymade motel room with bath rather than try to turn our spaceship into one. But after one particular Top Ten holiday camp chalet that smelt of vomit the van seemed like a palace.

As they do in Scotland, they tried to assure us that you have to see it all in the rain to appreciate the famous Misty Grandeur … but it sure did look better when finally the sun came out. Suddenly you could appreciate how incredibly clean and pristine everything is, with the streams and waterfalls a translucent green, the fjords sparkling black and the ferny, mossy rainforest every kind of green – along with the odd red hot poker and bright blue mushroom. And at night as the sheep grazed around us, and with no more clouds blocking the stars, we finally learned how to spot the Southern Cross.
Anyway, after a few weeks on our own, we proceeded by train and ferry to the North Island to meet some more old pals (not that we're not also meeting new ones of course,both local and foreign, in our various backpacker joints and so forth along the way). Awaiting us in Wellington, where he teaches Marketing and writes books on North Korea among other things, was a certain Dr Tim Beal, who I once spent 4 years studying Chinese with in Edinburgh.

In fact he wasn't exactly awaiting us as he hadn't heard from us for 20 years, but we phoned from the ferry and he looked out of his window and saw our boat and came to meet us for a drink, bringing along his very nice Sheffield-based Dutch partner, Ankie.
After a day or two in Wellington, teaching ourselves about Maoris at museums and stars at the observatory, we headed further north by bus... the only two trains available having run into each other the previous day. (Only tourists take trains in NZ). Twelve hours later, there to meet us at Hamilton was the latest in my list of much-loved former East Asia Today colleagues, Angie. We've just spent a fun couple of days with her (and husband David and children Lewis, 10 and Gilda, 7), swimming both in the wild South Pacific (or Coromandel Sea to be precise) and in some amazing hot thermal springs in our own forest glade near Rotorua.

So, it seems this is after all a bit more than just a pale imitation of Britain in the 50s, complete with lack of motorways, street violence, graffiti etc. The food’s a lot better for a start - I've asked Tim to put in a pic of his 'bacon & eggs' yesterday morning as an eg

- (and the wine – specially white Cab-Sav, as they call it, and red Pinot Noir).
And everyone’s incredibly friendly and laid-back. We're all much too hung up on work in the northern hemisphere, they say, whereas life for them is about leisure and above all sport. Mainly rugby but also extreme adventure type things ranging from bridge-bungying to canyoning to tower jumping. I think I'll stick to the snooker. (I was more tempted by the Extreme Sports - they got weirder all the time combining paragliding with white water rafting and water caving in inner tubes... Oh! And possums on the verandah of our tree-house hotel last night, scuttling about...A)

Australia, you Bloody Beauty!

2007-03-10T20:41:00.000-08:00

Last day in Australia, sitting in the internet cafe of the old Victoria Hotel in Melbourne trying to put together a precis of our time in Oz - such a huge country - so much left unseen and such a whirl of impressions..
Great being met by Morag and Ian at Sydney airport on arrival, and whisked off to their lovely house in Engadine, south of Sydney for hot and cold drinks, baths, pool, birds all around and all the comforts of home - not to mention full guided tours for the next few days.

And I can never thank them enough for introducing me to my first real koala!!!(You'll guess it's Alison writing) Fur that smelled of eucalyptus and felt like a soft shaving brush....brilliant.

(This is Tim just putting his nose in to say that while the wife was getting on so famously with her koala I decided I was more of a marsupial type and as you see ended up learning a few tips on knee-bending and generally bouncing around.

Whether it was this that put my knee out or our recent descent by foot from the Peak in Hong Kong we don't know, but hoping it'll be right before the Inca Trail. The doc in Hobart thought it could be deep vein thrombosis, which was more or less what got my Mum finally last year, but after an anxious few hours an ultrasound scan ruled out any bloodclots in my case...so no real worries as they say). Ok, sorry, back to A:

Typically we brought unseasonal wet weather with us so were able to experience a few dramatic thunderstorms as well as some genuine sun and surf.
Then on to Sydney itself for Mardi Gras with Mike and Lisa (so that's 2 more for the East Asia Today team in the bag as well) - which also explains the photo at the top. We managed to see quite a bit of the pre-march gathering but then went and had a meal and by the time we rejoined the parade we needed more than the $5 plastic milk crate to stand on to see over so many heads..but great fun and a really good atmosphere. Anyway, it was better to catch up with old friends than watch 100 Kylie Minogue clones dancing along...on balance!

A last minute tracking down of Denise led to a good lunch in the quaint Prince Edward Yacht Club and even more catching up, and getting to meet her husband David who seems a good guy.

Having trouble getting these photos to stay put but I hope you can work out who's who. (That's me with denise, says tim, not a kangaroo.... nor even david, whom i have passed -- pete and harry will be glad to know -- as totally suitable and generally good for our old pal. It was 35 years since i'd seen her as those who've read her recent comment (see post 1) will know. Mike and Lisa were also in good form (no, that's not mike in drag at the top of the page,l though we do seem to be making a habit of such pictures) ... she's clearly continuing to provide him with lots of raw material for his post Cold Feet and Life Begins scriptwriting. OK, back to A again)

From Sydney to Tasmania which reminded me strongly of the north west of Scotland - only tons more of it - and we only saw a little of the South West with some walking through wilderness forests and along pristine shoreline - the air really is so clear and clean that you feel your eyes have been refocused. Lots more beautiful birds including tiny wrens all round the cabin where we stayed (and where it was pretty cold) Hobart was nice, very manageable and Tim saw some cricket while I walked and shopped (one more parcel, seamail)...

On, on up beyond Hobart to Mt Field National Park in the quest for a live platypus (we WERE staying at a riverside cottage called Platypus Playground) but it wasn't to be despite all our efforts. Lots of squashed roadkill, I'm afraid, wallabies, possums and cute little wallaby-esque things called poteroos and pademelons. But we did also manage to see quite a lot of them alive, plus 2 large wombats...
And so here we are with many promises to come back and see more of this beautiful country (haven't even got round to the food yet, not to mention the wines - thanks Ian & Morag for your sterling work in that area!).
Oh and in Tasmania we also saw some remarkable old forests with fantastic mosses and tree ferns - and we did a brilliant 'sky-walk' among the canopy of old woods in the Huon Valley - looking down on birds and passing an owl in its hole at the top of a tree looking back at us...I'm sure I've left out many other highlights so shall leave this to Tim to finish off but I for one shall be sad to leave...

No, i've already butted in and generally hopped around on my bad leg quite enough and am in danger of finishing up as roadkill myself i reckon. I'd just second the emotion about it being a mindblowingly fair dinkum not to say fab country, and end by giving you the quote from which the title's taken, which i found inscribed under a statue of former Tassie player Alan Border at the Bellerive Oval:

"Under the southern cross I stand, A sprig of wattle in my hand; A native in my native land -- Australia, you bloody beauty."

Oh, and Happy Birthday to Hal too -- thanks Lornetta! -- and to Bora (how we going on the playstation front?) ...and to Laurent for that matter -- yes, hope to see you in Ithaca...but where exactly is it?

ps: Melbourne, based on our one night here before NZ, seems a fun-seeming mix of old and new and brimming for some reason with Chinese and other asian students -- all in centre of town tonight for a Water Festival not to mention various fashion, film and other festivals).

Tempo Change in Manila

2007-02-28T23:28:00.000-08:00

...where our hostess with the mostest was the one and only Ruwani Jayarwadene, better known as Ru. Here you see her teaching me the tabla on the one hand while bashing the hell out of her Western drumkit on the other. The two sets of instruments sit in two separate rooms in her spectacular 34th floor flat, along with lots of fine old Asian teak chests and Indian rugs, a maid and driver or two and almost as many shoes (neatly stacked in their own ceiling-to-floor wardrobe) as a certain former first lady.

Without wishing to offend our many Filipino readers, I have to admit our 3-day break here was always going to be more about seeing Ru than seeing Manila. Despite the jolly jeepneys with their crazy driving (and inscriptions like God is Love), it's never been my favourite city since I came to report on an arts festival sponsored by Imelda and got robbed. Not sure if it was because of my normal absent-mindedness or because I'd said something to the organisers that was mildly critical of her.

But on hand to meet us as we stepped off the plane was not just Ru herself (whose job at the Asian Development Bank for some reason allows her to sneak through immigration and customs) but also a colourful steel band performing Crosby Stills and Nash songs complete with perfect Filipino harmonies. This encouraged my hope that I might find an even better Beatle band here than The Betters had turned out to be in Bangkok (where I became so excited I ended up dancing round stage with a chair...rather well I was told by some ... and where Better George even asked me to be their UK manager). However, all we could find in Manila's red light district was a not-so-hot Eagles cover band, who when asked for a beatle number eventually came up with Imagine and wouldn't believe me when I told them it wasn't.

If you think it's the non-smoking that's making me a bit rattier than usual you're absolutely wrong mate ... it is of course the disastrous news I keep hearing from london about West Ham. In fact India, Thailand and HK had british football on screen everywhere you looked, but Manila and now Sydney from where I'm writing this have different sorts of sporting interests, so yesterday's hammmers-spurs derby wasn't available anywhere. I daresay i'll be told the brutal truth about the result soon but until then I'll remain optimistic. And do give my love and sympathy, Simon or Andy, to Tel and co in the pub.

Anyway, suffice to say we had a lovely and luxurious time with Ru without actually doing much apart from discuss retirement plans, learn her suggested steps for a dance called the Pensioner Globetrot and swim in the exotic pool and gardens about 600 feet below her window. It made for an excellent cure for our hangovers after that last night in Hong Kong. If HK was the climax of our Asian nostalgia trail, Manila with its latino rythms and all-american feel was a good stepping stone towards the rest of the trip -- quite exciting to be going to spots that are totally NEW!

Meanwhile, seems we're getting a bit behind with this blog -- we might lap ourselves if we're not careful. Suffice to say for the moment Sydney's fair dinkum fantastic but as usual we've brought the rain with us -- in fact a dramatic thunderstorm last night. We'll also try and fix the problem with the disappearing Comments icon...

Happy New Year from Hongkong

2007-02-23T19:10:00.000-08:00

Kung Hei Fat Choy - Alison calling out Happy New Year in HK! What luck to be here for the New Year - all the shops and malls full of glittering red & gold displays - large peach blossom trees hung with red 'laisee' packets and lots of pigs - especially in pink plastic - Year of Pig, after all!!
We had no sooner arrived before we started meeting people - on our first night a couple of hours after we arrived we met 'godson' William - fresh from soldiering in Afghanistan; and after plying him with drinks in Lan Kwai Fong and being dumpling-ed back in the towering International Finance Centre we saw him on to the Airport Express (fab! tho' I got quite confused on arrival as to just where Lantau ended..)

We stayed with Francoise & Lung in their elegant old Tin Hau Temple Rd flat - could smell the incense from the New Year offerings from the worshippers drifting up from the temple, past the ancient banyan and fig trees (with, I'm glad to note, labels identifying them as worth preserving)...air damp and humid and moss and ferns poking out of retaining walls.

Out to Cheung Chau on a sunny day to rendezvous with more of Pauline and our friends - lunch with Jeremy, Lynn and Yan Tsuen on the waterfront - lots of reminiscing and a wander round the old places where we all used to live our lives in the 70's. Then tea with Robert & Kan in his studio, near the old temple that used to border the harbour and is now well inland behind even more reclamation.

Back in town we were spoiled by my old colleagues Hui & Philip from ICAC days with wonderful meals and lavish gifts - I felt quite emotional meeting up again and in Hui's case meeting his charming grown-up children! Philip - I need you to send me a photo to put in here!!!! And Hui - I just backspaced and lost your photo here...apologies to you both, as soon as I have a PC where I can spend some time I can recover your photo Hui.

And here we go..

...And also meeting (at last) Dr Dan who's helped so much with my father's War Diary and Vera, his glamorous wife .

Dan gave Tim an introduction to the HKU archivist so we did a little research for the 'China Walk' - where we hope to retrace my Pop's escaping footsteps from HK during the war - a project for 2008, we hope.

Our last night in Hongkong was quite a night - a fitting climax to a very happy week reliving old memories with good friends, visiting places I remembered from my childhood and we both remembered from the 70's - we ended up singing French songs in the FCC in the company of Tom & Jenny, Francoise and Bub (with a drop-in by Lung and an early-out by Vaudine and Kise (sp?)). I'm ashamed to say I reached the state where Tim had to peel my shoes off as I collapsed onto my bed - no way for Francoise's 'mother' to behave (the Filipino maid opposite had supposed this was who I was as I hung out yet more laundry).

Vaudine rounds up Tim's current roll-call of old East Asia Today chums - altho' she's looking pretty young! She's now covering HK for the BBC and others...

Thai Traumas

2007-02-15T01:52:00.000-08:00

Thailand is the land of smiles... and I've been doing my best to keep smiling, honest, even when finding myself sandwiched between two ladyboys. (That's Natasha & Sonia featuring in the photo with T if I can upload it...from the excellent Mambo Show complete with v over-the-top Japanese audience!)
On all our previous attempts to give up smoking, we've become so depressed and grumpy that we had to start again to save our marriage. This time, though, it's different. This time we've read the Alan Carr book and know that to be without nicotine is to be free and joyful.
Luckily, Alison's good on smiles anyway. And, as I say, in Thailand it’s more or less compulsory to be joyful. It's considered a huge loss of face if you ever raise your voice or even look the slightest bit angry with anyone. Obviously then this was the place to join her in giving up once and for all.

It all seemed surprisingly easy during the first few days in Bangkok. As in most other Asian cities, the air pollution's so bad you feel as if you’re smoking all the time anyway. Besides, as in the West, smoking is increasingly frowned on if not banned. Even in India we saw hardly anyone with a cigarette and a policeman who saw me in the street enjoying (sorry, alan, suffering over) one of my last ever fags tried to arrest me, saying smoking was forbidden in public. Francoise has just sent us a timely warning that the same is now true in HK, where we're about to head off to.
So, for the first time in what must be at least a dozen short stays in big bad ugly lovable old Bangkok over the years, there I was tripping over the broken pavements and stray cables without feeling the need to light up a new cigarette round every corner.
But then we flew down for a week on the beach on Ko Samui... the tropical paradise island where smoking is still very much part of your standard holiday package. At first we wished we'd gone back to Phuket or Hua Hin, as Samui seemed to have become paradise these days only for property developers. But bearing your instructions in mind, Keyring, that we shouldn't hanker for past glories (and that Lammai is the place to be) we found a beautiful Franco-Thai place further down the beach called Jungle Park Resort ... where we turned out to be the only non-smokers.
So there we sat under the coconut trees of a balmy evening, eating this fantastic food and drinking our French wines and Thai beers, as the guitarist played softly (inviting me up to fill in while he went off for a quick smoke) and the French tourists flirted and frolicked in a huge cloud of blue gauloise haze around the bar. I kept asking the waiter to take our ashtray away but another waiter kept bringing us a new one. And then we'd retire to our perfect little bungalow, yards from our private beach, and sit out on the verandah, gazing out through the palm fronds at the sea and the stars, over another empty ashtray. I mean what do people DO while enjoying a nice view? The only fly in the ointment was not a fly at all but the odd mosquito...the old solution for which was of course the odd cigarette.
But did we give in? Did we feel a moment's lack of joy? Never! We went swimming and snorkelling and speedboating (past the island that inspired The Beach) ...and since returning to Bangkok everyone's said how tanned and healthy and relaxed we are.
Alison's now starting week 6 and I'm on Week 2 (Day 15, hour 3). Simon will understand. But he's an understanding sort of guy. I did say I wouldn't go on about
smoking. So I'll shut up and hand over to my beloved (yes, we're still married, but then she does have sister Meilan and brother-in-law Richard back here in Bangkok -- along with their five cats -- to protect her from any unthai grumpiness on my part)...

But I'd just like to add for the benefit of any bbc-type readers that i've managed to track down various old colleagues here -- only some of whom disappointed me by saying Oh God you're not giving up smoking AGAIN are you?

But briefly, Jonathan Head's as full of good spirits and local wisdom as ever, on his final stint as southeast asia corr before they drop the post. I hadn't realised he now has a small half- Thai son as well as a Thai wife.

Sharing the office with him and a couple of familiar faces from the Burmese section back at Bush House is my former Online colleague Kate McGeown. Just across the corridor is Kylie Morris (not-Minogue despite appearances), who once worked on World Today with me but recently switched to ITN and is soon to be married to the man who just made the Tsunami film.

Just up the street is our onetime East Asia Today boss Larry Jagan, who I found working out of the Robin Hood pub for various asian publications who he can persuade to be interested in burma. And then the new boy in town is Hak-Fan Lau, once the shining star of my Hong Kong handover series and now, seven years after leaving the bbc, head of UN Information Services for the entire region. He too is recently married -- to a mainland Chinese journalist -- and is in fine form.

So here I am (she says), not much more to add - we head off to an Irish pub for the Better Beatles Tribute Band this evening and some girly pool's been played for the article (thanks for Bolivian tips by the way halsky). ...and about to dispatch a (modest) package of shopping to Viveca....

On the move in South India

2007-02-03T03:54:00.000-08:00

Brian's allegation about our global footprint must be countered, we feel, with an update on some of our latest modes of transport: horse, pedalboat, houseboat, ferry, bicycle, rickshaw, foot, train not to mention the not quite so non-polluting taxi...
So here we sit at sister Meilan's PC in Bangkok feling very refreshed after a day of v little apart from ordering new specs and a swim in the compound pool..
But to fill in the gap between Delhi & Bangkok: we've been to the home of snooker in Snooty Ooty & played on the venerable table where the game was invented- it was touch & go whether we'd be allowed in to the Oooty Club, the Hon Sec having spotted rucksacks in the back of the taxi which had wound up the Nilgiri Hills from Coimbatore bearing us...taxi immediately dispatched round the back and Rules of Club firmly explained. We were to know these off by heart pretty soon. Obviously under-wardobed and under-shod, we still had the hugest suite of rooms ever seen, 2 vast ballrooms each lit by a 40 watt bulb, one containing a battered chintz 3 pc suite, several lampstands (bulbless) and more copies of the Rules, and the other 2 chintz covered beds and 2 vast wardrobes... bathroom (I think a newish feature as modern tiling) a strange corridor about 40' x 3' with toilet at one end and shower at the other, but with neither bath nor hot water ....Tim had a late lunch of cornflour soup (10R charge for being in the dining room out of hours) but the crushing blow was to find ourselves having dinner in the Children's Dining Room (mini tables and chairs, cartoon characters on wall). Without a jacket & tie, 'closed' shoes (trainers wouldn't do) etc we couldn't have access to any other public parts of the club after 8pm. I lie, Tim was allowed into the Men's Bar and the Hon Sec finally relented and gave me special dispensation to sit in the gloomy vastness with him under the rows of stuffed tigers', boars' and jackals' heads.

Tim takes over, firstly to reassure you that although we rode our horses up and down Scottish-style glens and beside the loch, we didn't actually join the Ooty Hunt -- which till very recently was hunting jackals, complete with pack of hounds -- and that although he didn't find any other members prepared to play snooker with him in his tieless state, he did play against Alison and later against himself on the 133-year-old, slightly sloping table and won both times, so it was historic in every way.

So much for Ootacamund, Queen of the hill Stations. We then proceeded back down its monkey-laden mountain and surrounding tea plantations and carried on to Kerala. There we based ourselves in the oldest European settlement in India (and Asia?), Cochin, or Kochi as it now is. Vasco da Gama died here (and was initially buried in St Francis' church, pictured) and there are still lots of crumbling old Portuguese ramparts and decaying villas. We stayed in a lovely room, with teak floor and fine mosquito-netted four poster bed, in the Old Courtyard Hotel, complete with mango tree in courtyard, white pillars, balconies and long steep staircases. It all reminded us very much of the Macau we knew in the 70s. There are even Chinese fishing nets, dating from the 15th century visits here of the fleets of Zheng He, the Chinese eunuch admiral I did a Radio 4 programme on not so long ago. Not to mention legacies of the Dutch and British years -- and the oldest synagogue in Asia in what's still called Jew Town. But all this in a very unspoilt Indian town tucked away on a little peninsula. We ate a lot of fish, which you pick fresh from the seafront stalls, then have cooked for you, thick with Kerala spices. And saw an excellent Kathakali drama (Yo! Ru - remember our night under the Hammersmith Flyover?) one night, including a preliminary hour's worth of makeup being applied, layer by sticky and dazzling layer.

We moved on by smart, elderly white Ambassador car to the backwaters -- a maze of river-deltas and canals and beautiful lakes, where we spent a day and a night cruising round on our own houseboat. Not quite as upmarket as some of the Kashmiri ones, perhaps... there was a bathroom of sorts but Alison found a giant spider creeping towards her through the rattan walls, which were also far from being mosquito-proof. Great though to wake up in the night and see fishermen glide past, casting their nets from canoes -- and it's a fantastic place for birds (my Brighton cousins will be interested to hear), with cormorants swooping and egrets standing stock-still on the clumps of water-hyacinth, looking like elegant garden ornaments.

Then it was another sleepless but interesting night as we made the 27-hour train journey up the west coast to Mumbai. We didn't get robbed or attacked -- as I did on similar journeys in 1973 -- but some of our 6 fellow-passengers ( crammed with luggage into a compartment that would have fitted at least 20 times over into our bedroom in Ooty) almost came to blows over who got which bed in the 3-tier bunks.

There was also lots of time (especially if you retreated from the tense compartment to the open door between the carriages) to savour the sights and smells of the countryside: brown limbs sloshing through green ricepaddies or washing clothes in soapy rivers, lumbering oxen with ancient ploughs and the odd crow on their backs, blue-turbanned men with wide wicker baskets of red peppers on their heads, brilliantly beshawled women with silver pitchers of water on theirs (or sometimes piles of bricks, at grim-looking brick-making squatter-camps)... And no end of wandering goats and cows (both of which also still crop up in the middle of cities, where we've also seen the odd camel and elephant).

But there can be no city like Bombay, where we spent our last couple of days in India. One moment you're on Marine Drive sweeping gloriously round the bay and you think you're in California, next you're passing hundreds of bodies sleeping in rags on a back- street. In fact we probably couldn't have taken any more than two days of it...but good to have seen. We stayed one night in grand colonial style in the Royal Bombay Yacht Club - founded in 1830 but the billiard table this time a mere eighty years old -- and another in a nearby semi-respectable dosshouse which appeared to be the only place in town offering any beds at all that night. But - it's me again - plumbing and sewers still a problem, yaar....we got ourselves a haircut and head massage from a Bombay barber too...

It's really nice getting your comments - we look forward to opening this up and keeping up with you - well done, Harry!!...in fact the people who go to the Chelsea Hotel can't be that rare - as it's already booked solid for May but we've got another Bob Dylan favourite - Washington Square. And yes, Simon, says T, he did happen to see the Bo Yibo obit in the Trib - could it have been one of the many we wrote 20 years ago??

And off we go to enjoy Thailand....but can we face another o'nite train trip?

Stayin' Alive in Delhi

2007-01-20T10:49:00.000-08:00

Seems like our Comments section are doing a lot better than we are: time we put up something new so they don't run out of stuff to comment on.

This one may be longer than our last as it's being done by the smoker in the family. Despite the occasional low point, Alison's persevering brilliantly in her new-found freedom, with the aid of a book by the late Dr Carr which takes up about half our luggage. I'm still planning to join her soon, even though she says it'll mean not even one of us will know where we're going or who's got the tickets.

In case you're wondering if the boys ever found the Dubai Snooker Club, we did and it's a lot like the King's Cross variety -- even down to same pictures on the wall -- except there's no guinness (or any other drink) and we were told off for talking. Then just as you're about to pot the black a very loud Call to Prayer comes over the PA and you're supposed to retire to the in-house mosque. But good quotes were to be had about disapproving attitudes to the game among good muslim mothers, so it was a promising start. Today, we duly tried Delhi's Gymkhana Club but were thrown out for wearing trainers. Could be in same situation when we try the Snooty Ooty Club tomorrow after flying down south -- though at least we're booked in to stay there as guests. Hope none of you have any formal invitations lined up for us...

I'll try to steer clear of both smoking and snooker henceforth for benefit of any non-fans of either topic...but all suggestions are welcome for a better title for the future sporting/sociological opus than the present one, provided by Kieran I believe, "Round the World in 80 Baize".

We were the only non-Indians on the flight to Delhi, which at least meant our tiny and still shiny backpacks were easily picked out from the huge boxes of electric goodies everyone else was bringing home from work in Dubai. A sharp fall was noted in standards of roads and other infrastructure as we moved from New First World to what despite some reports is still for the most part clearly Old Third. But there was a whole lot more to savour, i have to say, in terms of human life and local colour, and it felt very good to be back after all these years.

It would be nice to say we've been cruising round town these past few days with the ease and confidence of the Old Asia Hands that we indubitably are ... but we're a bit out of practice and in fact India's never been exactly part of our normal beat. Hence Tarquin's photo of us during a seven-minute attempt to cross Chandni Chowk -- seems you're meant to just hold out your hand and walk but we kept darting and retreating. We also managed to get befriended by our auto-rickshaw man Ravi, who kept saying Alison was just like his mother and took us to various shops run by various cousins which just happened to be on the way... One result is that our no-shopping rule has already been broken several times and we may soon have to buy another backpack (plus porter).

As for our lodging... No, I didn't book us onto the roof of the Ringo Guesthouse of fond 1973 memory this time. We've been staying instead with Anu and Tarquin in the vast, icey, dark and marble-encrusted flat which the bbc have seen fit to allot them for the last few weeks of Anu's posting here. All very reminiscent of the one we had in Peking -- and lifestyles pretty similar too. Anu's been flying in and out during our stay to do big stories in Bangalore and UP (the mass bathing) but keeps getting back to be faced by urgent demands from London for public reaction to things like gordon brown visiting and of course the Big Brother row (which no one we've met here seems remotely concerned about -- mildly amused if anything). Tarquin meanwhile, between bouts of writing his next book, has pointed us off on lots of good walks (the beautiful Lodi Gardens are right next door, with pink 15th century tombs and green parrots and stripey chipmunks; and we managed to meet up with Irene and Robin at the even more impressive Humayun's Tomb). Somehow the other A and T also manage to keep a blog too -- a proper one, too... if anyone cares to check it out it's at: www.sacredcows.typepad.com. In case anyone's been trying to text us, we have an Indian sim and the number here is: +91 9811 48 3726.

We've also been having some stupendous meals, as well as the odd suspect one. I'm evidently not as immune to such things as I always claim, but duncan did warn me. If you don't want to know any more stop reading here.

But as well as a giant fridge in the central hall that makes a constant noise like a helicopter, this flat is equipped with the noisiest bathrooms you ever heard. We'd already been warned about the flush in our own ensuite (complete with victorian bathtub) which sends violent, grinding shudders throughout the building, to the extent that the high court judge downstairs and the french diplomats above often complain about late-night use of said sanitary arrangements. So when the Delhi belly duly struck late on our second night, i pulled on my aforementioned black base-layer top and leggings, not to mention Lizzo's slipper-socks for the marble floors, and trekked off through the darkness to an alternative, far-distant bathroom, failing to make any of the 14 light switches in each room work as i went. Having ensconced myself in said bathroom for an hour or so, i attempted a quick quiet flush...only to discover this one was even louder if possible than ours. Even the normally soundly sleeping night watchman outside woke up, possibly thinking India had launched a few hundred of the missiles that have been brought into town for this week's Independence Day Parade. Meanwhile another of the flat's loos has mysteriously developed a serious blockage and a notice has gone up saying simply, "DON'T".

Dubai....

2007-01-14T21:38:00.000-08:00

Our last full day here - warmly welcomed by all Pauline's friends - only sorry I can't seem to make our camera talk to Elaine's laptop and send photo with this...tour has got off to a good start with much food and drink and music making with members of Dubai's Chamber Orchestra in Elaine's garden...Christian & Chris have also led Tim round the seedier bits of Dubai in search of snooker while the ladies remembered happy days with Pauline at the Lime Tree Cafe.
Later in Delhi....Photo added, and apologies for the curt style - that's me on Day 3/4 of No Smoking - Brain Dead at the computer. We'll try to make Delhi a livelier entry when we've seen a bit more...

2007-01-05T09:40:00.000-08:00

PACKING

One week to go. Still finding bits of party popper stuck between the floor boards from our New Year Party. Two very small-seeming backpacks are laid out, ready to be stuffed with everything we may need for the next five months. A whole load of other stuff has been taken down to the charity shop at Pauline’s hospice. But that still doesn’t leave much wardrobe space for Andy to put his clothes in. Maybe we’ll take the wardrobes with us and leave him the backpacks. I can’t help thinking of my grandmother going on her annual trip to Argentina with 52 pieces of luggage including six hatboxes.

There’s a move afoot to illustrate this first posting with a picture of me in my new head-to-toe thermals, running up and down our Hackney stairs in my backpack as I practise for the Inca Trail. I appreciate that I do look rather striking – a white-haired black panther with a bulging money pouch – but I’m afraid this particular website is aimed at broadening the mind and staying in touch rather than cheap titillation.

One’s kit does seem to have changed a bit since my first gap-year 34 years ago. Instead of goretex fleeces and breathable membrane fabric base layers, I set off for India then with a velvet hat and threadbare hippy coat of many colours … and the poles on my rucksack kept falling to bits. Am not even being allowed to take my guitar this time, but thank goodness for ipods – and I do hope to finally learn the harmonica. I’ll also be studying Italian and Alison Greek, with the help of one slim book and a CD. Neither language is spoken in any of the fourteen or so countries we’re going to…but I expect we’ll get by with a little help from our friends.

Sleeping arrangements for when we’re not staying with friends may still need a bit of sorting out. Alison’s looking forward to five-star hotels with pools and fluffy bathrobes. But I remain confident that she’ll soon take to those simple but friendly rooftop dorms I remember, with shared chillums before bed and shared toilets if you’re lucky….