Journeys around Bali: biophilia

Journeys and pondering about being Green: an environmental rant

On the bypass to Padang Bai

Taoism: The sense that you are in front of something greater than yourself.

"Have you heard of Green School?" my friend Stephanie peers at me from over her iced green tea. 

Shisha pungency mixes with whiffs of charred meat and rose petals. We're nestled in low velvet lined chairs underneath a fabric canopy, where moroccan lamps hang from an apex and the AC allows us to escape the afternoon Indonesian scorch. 

I raise an eyebrow over a somewhat large mouthful of hummus and baba-ganoush. We are sporadically unable to allow conversation to flow, instead pitta-puffed cheeks ensue. She goes on to explain it's  a school up in Ubud, where the children have their usual lessons with a side of environmental awareness, and also yoga! Love it!

"Jane Goodall, you know the one who lived with monkeys, she's speaking there soon." 

I'm becoming more conscious of my carbon footprint and the apparent lack of recycling facilities here. The duty to really think about this escaped me back in England; because I think we are more accepting of how things run when we are home as it's what we're used to. But there is so much development for tourism and then inevitably waste. I've been talking to Steph of my quandary. What happens to the surplus debris at hotel building sites? Where do all the noodle packets and the endless stream of plastic bags go?

Plastic wrapping is abundant in Bali. It clogs up the rivers, rots in the streets of Kuta and during rainy season it washes up on the shores and works it's way around your ankles while you try to catch a wave. Everyone who dives

Buddhas at Jepun, East Bali

experiences the heart sinking moment of watching plastic bags roll in the tide. I think of it like this: I don't have gills, so I am an alien down there. Fish have gills, this is their home. Wouldn't you be annoyed if someone came in to your home, dropped their rubbish, even in seemingly invisible ways, and just left? The detritus for which we are responsible should then be removed by us. 

The other day, I bought a hygienically sealed donut from a street cart. The hawker, a small leathery woman with a toothy grin, helped my inept handling of change and reverse wrapped my pre-sealed sugary lump in another plastic bag for extra hygienic care. You buy a McDonalds in a paper bag, you get given an extra plastic one and the supermarkets are ready to hand them out in vast quantities. My Bahasa is kecil and I am an orang asing (foreigner) but you don't need to be local or an expert, to see that this is a totally superfluous use of packaging. Nobody needs a coconut that comes in cling-film.

Recently I bought a packet of coffee from a road side shop, full of additives and sugars, perhaps even a little msg. It was only when I got it home that I saw the sugar was palm sugar. A dilemma presented itself. Do you drink the coffee you've already paid for, even though it's from an industry widely known to be quite destructive and unregulated, as the ghosts of many a Bornean orangutan can tell you? Or do you take it back to the lady on the side of the street who's trying to earn a living, and demand your money back? No I didn't think so  either. 

My petrol consumption is also hard to monitor on an automatic bike. Most people speed every where, zooming off as soon as the light turns green or before, so fumes chug out of engines in to the air we all breathe. You drive along, passing through big black puffs of it. The worst was in Tabanan. The guidebooks had all told me this was somewhere to wonder. It wasn't. I tried to find a Warung but they were all on the side of the road, and the road was a busy highway. No trees, just concrete buildings. I like my food sans a side of carbon monoxide thanks. 

Infrastructural quandaries

Most roads are fairly smooth so there is enough infrastructure to provide platforms for modern developed life, and a non bumpy road underneath your posterior. Yet I have been struggling for a long time with the notion that whatever we humans do, has to be done by making money and that that is the most important thing. Upon returning to England over a year ago, I looked around at my surroundings, at people on the Underground, rushing about their daily lives, literally rats in a race. It made no sense to me, and the only way I could reconcile it in my mind was to put it in terms of modern humans' version of survival of the fittest. Yet this isn't for everyone, myself included, and rejecting that frame of mind then begs the question, who says that 'development' needs to come from  (a Western idea of) economic growth? As Clare Short once said, in BBC's Planet Earth additional 'Future' series: "it's not any longer going to be economic growth for economic growth's sake, but a more equitable world...and we cease to find the meaning of life out of more and more economic growth and more and more consumption, because...it's not only plundering the world and unsustainable, it's making people miserable."

Tanah Lot 

There's no denying that tourism is a cyclical industry, which along with all the waste, brings in a lot of money needed to support it's own demands. To me this means that eco-friendly tourism needs to be investigated and then, implemented. Think about it. Bali gets about the same amount of visitors as Thailand, around 6 million people per year. Thailand is around three times the size of Bali (I'm guessing) so if you think in terms of land ratio and consumer numbers, it's no wonder that much of the island has been ravaged. So I have to ask what is the actual (because potential can't be relevant) impact? 

But I really like the sound of Green School.

The mountains behind my house at sunrise.

www.mundayjourneys.blogspot.com

It's a fine bike. Beaches, patience and perspective.

Much zooming around with Gloria has ensued in the last two weeks. 

Mostly to coffee houses to use wi-fi and enjoy a hot beverage not processed by a wild cat. Every weekend is a lovely break out to sunshine away from the fluoro-prison they call work. In to the mountains, down to even further beaches and around some rather immaculate roundabouts. Roundabouts here are the most well-kept piece of infrastructure on this island. Great painted concrete and gold leaf trimmed statues surrounded by blooming flowers in pastel shades adorn the junctions while hundreds of bikes and cars belch and puff around them. 

As I left Denpasar for Ubud, two kindly Policemen bestowed upon me a fine. Twice, and in the space of twenty minutes. There is a stretch of the main bypass between Kuta and and Sanur which is rife for catching tourists, and if you haggle, or in my case plead and beg, you can get away without paying the full 250,0000 RP fine. The fact that this is even possible goes to show it goes straight in someone's back pocket, because they're not even bothered about getting the right money. Corruption ladies and gentlemen, the cousin of poorly paid government officials. 

Kuta to Padang Padang

It takes about an hour to drive to this lovely little beach from the mouth of hell. As you leave Jimbaran and follow the signs to Uluwatu, the road starts to transform in a building site. Half-started development upon development sit next to garish plastic billboards and giant signs promise a tourists' mecca to come.

Infiltration at the beach

I don't doubt that tourism is a huge economic drive for Bali, but it's such a shame that it has to come at the expense of the island's natural landscapes and wildlife. Most beaches here, especially during this wet season, are covered in rubbish and littered with bodies. As much as I also love a good temple, it also seems a bit vulgar that their largest, most historic and spiritual places of worship, the ones that are the most characteristically Balinese, have become glorified tourist sights. Hawker stalls line the exit and entry to Tanah Lot among others, and although it's similar in many other major religious attractions, such as Angkor Wat, this is a new scale of cheap consumerism indoctrination.

Which brings me back to Padang Padang and the Russian little shit terrorising my personal space and anyone else nearby. Flicking sand on me as he traipses back and forth with dead coral for his mother while he winges at the top of his voice. I thought he was going to drop it on me at one point. Little scamp. Judging by the amount of fully clothed locals and monkeys hiding in the cliffs, and the proximity to Uluwatu, I wondered if this beach has some holy significance.

The beach itself is gorgeous. Yellow sands, bright blue turquoise seas that I haven't seen since Thailand. (Most shallow water looks quite dark here as many of the beaches are a dark volcanic sand). Maybe it's the high concentration of surfers nestled in the waves and in the seated crowd lining the shore, but the vibe here is quite relaxed, there's something a bit Thai, maybe even a bit North Devonshire about it. The walk down the steep cliff steps and the long, right peeling break flowing

Resident cliff Monkey at Padang Padang

smoothly does seem to add to it. The green back roads coming up to Padang Padang remind me of Woolacombe, North Devon. As you climb the hill, the air becomes cooler underneath pockets of shade from the trees along the road and the lack of traffic hints at the undisturbed countryside. The trees are guarding the roadside and pavements have been abolished! Fresher air, fewer cars and great big coaches clogging up small roads- distinctly Devon!

On the beach, as I was about to write some existential rubbish about hating work, the tide barreled in to the beach to sweep away my bag containing my iPad and camera. I hastily avoided the wave and following shit-storm that would have meant. It was as if Mother Nature was saying 'Oi Dickhead, you should be more concerned with the fact you parked yourself too close to the water!'

Point taken, time to look around at where I am. A group of fishermen are silhouetted, sitting out on a huge rock near to where the wave dissipates. There are tourists and beaten tracks for a reason.

Surfers line up to rip

Bali in transit: me and my baik baik, motorbike.

Bikes in Asia, the only way to travel. 

Recently, I joined a friend for coffee in Kerobokan before taking a bunch of back roads to Cenggu for my first surf since I arrived. I was able to do this because I acquired a motorbike. 

Yes, a month in and I've only just got back on a board, but I have a good reason. There is rubbish every where! Surfing in the waste washing up from Java is like swimming in the brain of Tony Abbott. Plastic wraps around your ankles and wrists, the threat of an ear infection lurks and that dead puffer fish on the shore line looks very ominous. I made a mental note to tactically chunder any swallowed sea water. Reason number two: I am a pale person and burn to a crisp simply riding my bike, so factor in two hours of lying on a surf board and a chef from a seafood restaurant will be chasing me down the street convinced he's found his evening's lobster special. Both of those reasons, soon became reality, and they made that wave even sweeter, reminding me with a pelting hit of adrenaline, what you gain from board sports.)

Renting a bike: it's cheap

My bike makes me baik baik. Happiest in transit, this cheap little Honda eating up its' liquid diet brings me so much joy. I can go find odd Warungs on secluded beaches, tiny alleyways, run my errands, go to work and speed away from the city to find something else. I can travel under my own steam as it were. It feels like freedom. My bike makes me want to find the answers to some very serious questions. Can I make it to Bedugul on one tank of gas? What can I find by turning down some back streets? Where is there a decent espresso coffee? How long does it take to get to Padang Bai? Here's hoping rainy season allows me the freedom this little runner can give.

Gloria-baik motorbike

Gloria and I are champing at the bitt to go on some adventures, The 30 minutes trek through Seminyak's back roads to Cenggu left us hungry for more. I call her Gloria because of how glorious it feels to ride a bike abroad. So the next week I made my way to Seminyak again to find the beach there. Very nice, but not quite far enough to be called an adventure. I keep my eyes peeled for Jimbaran and have a solitary calming moment, or two hours' worth of them, watching planes taxi out at the nearby airport. The runway cascades out of the bay and the planes look like they are wading across the water as they stutter their way out to flight. All that watching planes made me hungry and I indulge in a seafood bbq for one. With a candle. I am the best, most romantic boyfriend ever. 

The next day I ate up Tanah Lot, a famous Hindu temple built on a rock. Once upon a time it might have been attached to the island but is now atop a rock pile on the shore of Bali. The whole place is like a religious garden, smaller temples are hanging on cliff tops on either side of the main attraction and I couldn't help but be reminded of the Twelve Apostles off the Great Ocean Road in Australia. There, great rock outcrops and eroded land masses stick up out of the sea where they had once been part of the coast line. I always think they are an ever present reminder of the power of the sea.  

Small Bike Adventures outside work

As I work here, like most battery hens, I have to dedicate some, or most, of my day to being confined in a strobe-lit office. The adventure tact changes during the week. I try to find places closer to home, I go hunting for restaurants, and pleasant beaches, and if that fails I usually end up in a *Warung eating fried rice or bartering over a knock off pair of Nikes. When in Rome. All this searching, finding and exploring keeps little Gloria quite thirsty and I have to say, petrol stations in Bali have got it sorted. In to the forecourt, off your bike, fill up with a services pump, here's your change, off you go. I barely ever have to queue and when I do it's the most efficient queue I've seen, which for Asia, and as an English woman, is saying something. Filling up my tank costs me under £1 and it will last me a good three days depending on where I go. Western Europe take note. 

I'm not separated from the passing environment by plexi glass, and I can feel it all around me. I can breathe it in, feel it on my skin and, not so amazingly, feel it burning me. There is a reason why I now wear a hoody on a bike in thirty degree heat. To me, riding a bike in a foreign land is a way of getting to the crux of traveling. To immerse yourself in another environment and allow it to fill your nostrils (although mine were full of bike fumes). To let it tangle your hair, and the next thing you know your very skin and eyes are glowing with the brightness of a thousand foreign experiences all taken through every sense you humanly own.

If I didn't have such a big bag I would buy one of these and fulfill the dream I have of traveling through all Asia on two wheels. Although if is as small or big a word as you want it to be. 

*A Warung is a family small restaurant in Indonesia and Malaysia.

Kuta: Conta Part II

Rice terraces near Ubud

Day escape from Kuta

A visit to Ubud for a cat-poo-ccino seems to help me get over the previous night. Cat coffee, or Coffee Luwak is akin to the weasel coffee of Vietnam. However it's far more common to find the organically grown coffee where the cats are allowed to roam the trees freely. Try the first floor of the craft markets in Ubud for a little history and a nice chat with the nice Balinese fellow selling it for 30,000 a cup. I spend some time talking to monkeys and gods at cliff top temple Pura Luhur Uluwatu, seemingly to enlighten me to the genuine culture here. Even if it is over-run with other tourists, and seems a little bit of a shame that the whole island and it's traditions have become a selling point. I love temples. They are mainly Hindu here and really interesting to look at in comparison to those I am used to seeing in places like Kuala Lumpur and Singapore. Structurally they are much more simple and take on the look of a simple thatch tiered pagoda. I am yet to find a Buddhist temple, for which I am most keen to investigate. I don't know what I'm really doing here (pah, after all that planning) but maybe Buddha can help show me the way. 

End of week II

The job is going well and I am getting good feedback from my students. Until I can find a Kost (a cheap self contained one bed unit) I have moved temporarily to a nice hostel, with friendly backpackers and far friendlier Indonesians than you could ever find. Indonesians will do anything for you and expect nothing in return, a concept pretty hard to get your head around coming from England. They don't make them like this at home. 

It's rainy season, which brings nightly downpours and a much needed breeze to this humid island. The wind blows against the rattan blinds and attempts to make its' way through the thatched roof. It's not having any of it. I am on the outskirts of the city, and I can see the sunrise on my daily walk to work where I have the great honour of sitting in a strobe lit office at a Formica desk talking to students thousands of miles from me through a head set. Surrounded by other teachers with Stockholm Syndrome, my 'teaching-call-centre' job affords me two lovely bonuses. The first being that I can order all sorts of wonderful Balinese lunches for the Princely sum of about 50p without leaving the desk I am chained to. The second being that for all my middle class white girl gripes, I am so happy to help someone to talk my L1, to tap in to that side of my personality and the world's incidental 'lingua franca'. And I can appreciate, not only how lucky I am to do this, but that life is easy for us in England and we should really stop moaning about, well, pretty much everything that we moan about. Especially tipping waiters, prices of bus tickets, queues and whether the word 'selfie' deserves to be in the dictionary. Hey, it's all relative. Although slightly less when your new Indonesian friend tells you his salary is a third of your already fractal wage, and you wonder exactly how he can afford to live. 

The Four Face Buddha shrine at Vihara Buddha, Kuta

 You're ok Princess. If he can smile, and live a life where money is not priority number one, you certainly can. Talk to Bhudda, he knows. Whether I do, only time will tell.

To get around Bali for as little money as possible, rent a bike for the equivalent of £2 a day. Learn some basic Bahasa and enjoy the best of Bali by endearing yourself to the locals. Most importantly, try the street food, Coffee Luwak (the afore-mentioned cat coffee) and get out of Kuta and in to the North to the rice terraces, fishing villages and mountains. There is more to paradise than beaches.  

Kuta: Conta Part I

Kuta: Bali Beginnings

Bali's main airport is big bright and clean with large traditional Balinese stone doors adorning the entrance. Already my first impression of it is more relaxed than mainland south east Asia, though I've not got out of the car yet so there's still plenty of time to get harassed. Roads are smooth and traffic moves efficiently. Appearance is clean. I feel the way I felt when I landed in Aus for the first time- relaxed, looked after (I have a welcome pack from the school in the car and a driver taking me to a hotel they booked). I'm slightly awed, anticipating but trying not to expect anything.

The main road entering Kuta, Sunset road, which is also where I shall be working for my first month here, has a big line of palm trees running down its' length and it reminds me of LA. Is this an affluent town? Perhaps not, a girl is begging with a baby in traffic, two actually. 

I arrive at my hotel and jump for joy at the double bed before me, heading straight to the shower to wash away the last 36 hours of travel from my tired carcass. 

Kuta Day Two

On the way to the school from Kuta to Denpasar. There are lots of giant faded plastic-looking billboards, traffic and tight roads where the buildings appear to topple over on to you as you pass by. The shear volume of gargantuan signs for restaurants appear to me like cheap magazine adverts for coupons. Some are very run down buildings and some new. Some giant hotels and a great deal of over-development in an attempt to sell you a piece of paradise. 

As we wind through twisting roads, accompanied by the tooting horns of a plethora of bikes, shrines and temples jump out of pavements next to shops, cafes and surf clothing outlets. Unfortunately Starbucks is here to greet me too. Roundabouts and municipal buildings are beautifully kept and ornate statues of Kings and warriors surrounded by painted concrete water and perfectly groomed grass. They are the best thing to look at in the city. I meet another teacher and we pair up, a silent pact of two newbies, let's go for dinner together later in the evening. 

Deepest, darkest Kuta is just like Patong. Hiding underneath a shiny sheen of clean footed and flip-flopped tourists with glowing skin, neon lights and pumping house music is an underbelly of poverty. Girls in skimpy dresses and people trying to make a buck where they can. Fat middle-aged sex tourists picking up skinny young Indonesian girls for an evening of void filling. Australian holiday makers in wife beaters making far too much noise. The men looking through the glass behind you while you enter your pin at an ATM. Imagine being so poor you can't feed your children. So poor you are willing to allow people to sexually touch you so you'll have security. 

I saw a woman on the street selling bracelets, her son sleeping on newspaper by her side. I had just found out my wages here are terrible and feeling hard done by, laughed at, mugged off and completely stupid for my own sake. I walked past her and realised what an idiot I was. Here I was complaining about my situation and there was a woman unable to put food in her child's belly just feet away from me. I went back and gave her the change in my pocket- a measly amount and one I didn't understand for the currency sums I can't seem to do in my mathematically blocked head. I didn't take the bracelet she offered. Just closed her thin hands around the crumpled notes hoping it could buy her and her son a meal. She looked at me with the shocked tired ghostly face of a starving person. I cried all the way home. 

The view of next door's temple from my transient home, Granny's Hostel. A haven for free spirited travelers if ever there was one.

Eff the serious life... In Thailand

Two weeks in Thailand has flown by. 

There were periods of feeling lost and defeated, broken by buckets and the mystery bruises which accompany them. And there were times when I wanted a moment to be an entire lifetime.
I kind of ballsed up with my travel plans, got stuck on Phi Phi and its' addictive party scene and managed one on Koh Lanta before spending my last day on buses to make it to Kuala Lumpur in time for the flight to a new life. But first let me tell you about Phi Phi. 

Koh PhiPhi was exactly how I remembered. Heedy, hedonistic, riddled with parties and Mosquitoes, entirely beautiful, the warmest water, coral reefs filled with fish, cliff jumping opportunities every where and hypnotic sunsets. A hard place to pull yourself away from. Everyone is so friendly, local, holiday maker or backpacker. It's easy to make friends with anyone, just say hello. 

I met some guys who had been traveling for seven years, one was 32 and simply lived for it. He had so many interesting stories and had been to so many places. I wished so hard I could have brought a voice recorder out with me; in comparison I felt like an amateur beginner backpacker for sure. 

That's the thing about South East Asia, and really, traveling in general: you meet so many wonderful and sometimes strange people that touch you in such different ways, that you're sure you could never have so many varied experiences without being right here, right now. And it hypnotizes you, your guard goes down and everyone you meet gets under your skin. Blame it on the heat. I wasn't being a romantic soul to all humanity, I was just thirsty! 

Floating at sunset off Koh Phi Phi bay

Just make sure you bring deep pockets with you to these islands. As they are on the tourist trail, the accommodation, food and alcohol are all going up in price. Even though I was only Koh Lanta for one night and therefore, hardly an expert, I noticed the difference in price over a Chang. 70 Baht for a small bottle, and it was only sold in the bars. Whereas on Phi Phi you could get a large one for the same price at a shop. However I was able to get a lovely bungalow on the beach for the night and a fantastic Massaman curry, even if I did have to kill the largest spider ever seen by a scared English girl. 

Ladies please note, when traveling/living on your own or even just wanting to maintain a level of self respect, you have to deal with evil looking grobblies. Screaming and jumping on the bed is of course expected, but if you have no other option, then look at that eight legged monstrosity in the face, call him Colin, and get rid of the thing. I called him Colin as Bob was already taken by a shark I saw back on Koh Tao. 

Spiders and missing new friends aside, the one night I got to spend in Lanta was tonic after the craziness of the previous six nights. Four of us sat in reclining cushions, listening to the sea rolling in only 20 feet away. The owner of the bar (Monkey bar) was a crazy Thai guy with a Swedish girlfriend who had moved down from Bangkok 7 years ago. The more I talk to Thais, the more I like them. They just have the best sense of humour. They have resigned themselves to our ever present white, loud-mouthed existence in their country and decided that it would be more fun to take the piss out of us. They take enjoyment in things we are too self conscious to consider, and if you take the time to actually talk back, you'll be treated to the biggest warmth, gentleness, humour and maybe even a little peep hole in to understanding their country more as they do. 

It's unfortunate I missed Koh Lipe, but the way I feel about saying goodbye to Thailand the way you say goodbye to a friend with whom you always have coffee. Thailand I'll be back. Having said that though, I will not return to Hat Yai. There is nothing there to tempt a traveler, unless you count an overriding sense of fear and expectation of being robbed among a big cluster of dirty concrete buildings. Although this is the nicest bus I've been on in Asia, and that includes the reclining bed buses in Vietnam. Well, almost.

Monkey Bungalows, Koh Lanta

Departure: Devon, London, Thailand

I waved until I couldn't see their arms waving back. 

This time we managed to keep the tears within our eyes and grunted and coughed in place of weeping. The day had finally come to leave home, begin the first leg of my journey to Asia and finish off 2013. 

On the platform, Mum and Steve gave me embraces and smiles, I told them:

"See you before September!" 

"No, before!" Mum reminded me with a grin. 

As the train pulled away from the platform we shouted farewells, or 'ta-ta-for-nows' as I like to call them, until our voices blended with the noise of the engine. "See you before I know it!" I yelled, a shrug between the two went up. We waved and waved at each other until all I could see was an arm and five splayed fingers wildly swinging in the air from left to right, poking out of the shadow of another person's head.

The sun is shining, always a good sign in England where a few leaves on the tracks will slow services to a stop. Smooth if not rushed, 'sailing' so far: always a good sign.

The train is packed with Christmas holiday-makers returning to London for New Year and 9-5. Nervous and sad to leave as I am at least I get to avoid the depression of 'back to work'.

Last time I left, a teary goodbye was had at the security check in at Heathrow Terminal 1. I managed to lose my boarding pass immediately after but made it on the flight non-the-less. Eleven hours to Hong Kong, another 12 or so to Sydney, all spent in the petrifying and awed state of sleeplessness that is accompanied by as many films to catch up on as you can fit in to a long haul flight. This time, there isn't so much of an airy fairy feel to departure. Seen it, done it, and bought so many of the cheap beach t-shirts I've had to leave half of them at home. This time I get to hang up my clothes in a wardrobe within a seemingly short time, get to know a place properly and develop real roots. Not as much flippant and flowing as steady and (attempting) considered, however still unable to see too far ahead. How exciting!

Brixton at sunset

London

Two days in London with friends for New Year was a wonderful party filled goodbye and as the plane pushed back a few tears made their way to ruin the calm on my face without my permission. Then the Captain announced he was kicking some people off the plane for smoking in the corridors, 'ugh' I thought and immediately brightened.

Thailand

Bangkok round two proved to be an interesting and worthwhile, if not slightly enforced, stay. Unable to get a bus or train to the intended destination, I wondered around palaces and temples, streets and hawkers for two days; intermittently meeting fellow Brits, who were also similarly fresh off the boat. What a difference it makes to your attitude to be around others who share your belief in travel. Even if to do so, you have to avoid the offerings of dried scorpions over dinner, and the sound of wooden frogs that croak at your stroke.

Returning to a place you traveled once before is peppered with memories of what you did last time. This is certainly more tame than previous. I haven't felt the need to drink buckets of Samsong until the sun rose over Kaosan road. I stayed  in Silom, a somewhat middle class area, away from the craziness of Sukhumvit. I enjoyed far more cultural spots and even an afternoon wondering around a protest unable to find my way out, which in hindsight, was much like my last visit to Bangkok when I couldn't get off KaoSan for the constant hangover clouding my judgement. 

Thais are wonderfully entrepreneurial people. I've never been to a protest before, not for lack of interest, but I can't imagine there are many around the world so saturated with stalls. Selling any kind of promotional material to prove your support, all items were in the colours of the Thai flag and there were piles of t shirts stating 'shutdown Bangkok'. 

The bus to koh Tao is not accompanied by friends met along the way, but at least I haven't woken up dribbling on a love interests' t-shirt. And the rest stop is not somewhere I will buy egg noodle soup at midnight. I learned that lesson. Just like I learned my lesson about buying batik clothes- unless you genuinely dress like that at home, save your money cos you will only wear it here and it is much like buying festival hats at Glastonbury. You will look and feel a bit mental and desperate to be back there once not in that environment. After Secret Garden Party last year I felt that there was not enough glitter in my life so I purchased a glitter nail varnish. I wore it for a month before I began to feel like I was dressing my fingers the same way as a 12 year old.

Three nights later...

I have fallen in to the tourist trap and stuck to the regular trail. Koh Tao turned out to be very different from before and high season brought with it an exodus of backpackers from the West. Last time there were a few of us travelers on the island and the locals weren't tired of white people and young drunks. I went there to meet a good friend of mine called Nathan, that I had met traveling in Vietnam. It is still however paradise and if you were to go there during high season I would recommend staying away from Sairee beach and getting out to other parts of the island. Snorkeling trips are cheap and a whole day's worth.

I am normally petrified of snorkeling for the simple reason that you are floating on the top and sharks attack from below. I saw a black reef tip shark, which by and large are innocuous. Nathan gave chase a rather futile effort up against a stream line creature such as that, and I called the shark Bob all the same, as who could be frightened of Bob?

We spent three days generally feeling hungover and dodging white tourists on bikes they didn't know how to maneuver. I would have to say that this beautiful island, known for its' diving, healthy reefs, hedonistic nightlife, tree lined hills and white beaches, is better when it's quiet. When there aren't so very many white faces. Even though I am one of them. If I had more time I would try to get further off this beaten track.

To Koh Phi Phi, Koh Lanta and Koh Lipe.

Coming in to Phi Phi Don