Shabby posting explained or the end

So it went something like this: we briefly returned to England, played some cricket, went to Pin and Liz's wedding (v. good), then to Majorca for Kate and Nick's wedding (yet more fun), then Chamonix to see Patrick for a couple of weeks, followed by a week by the sea in Spain, where we mainly just played tennis and drank rioja; then back in England for Womad, a visit to the shires with a dog called Luther, a week on the Isle of Wight, Britain's answer to Lord knows what and finally we've come to rest in Surrey, home of the burbs, motoroways, middle England and MR and Mrs Brewster senior.

Somewhere along the lines we completely forgot we were writing a blog. But as none of the above counts as travel and is really just holidays, we felt it was too dull.

The good news is our carbon footprint should no longer be expanding at the same rate, we have no flights booked to go anywhere, the bad news is we're homeless, unemployed and there is a recession on.... and India seems like it was in our Gap year after university... in other words a long time ago.

We had fun though

This post is for our English readers. Yeah right

In tribute to the greatest Kiwi strap line, we've done a list of Indian contenders should Tui have international expansion in mind:


All vegetables washed in purified water.
Please queue here.
It's hand-made by my family.
I collect foreign coins.
Super-fast broadband connection.
It's 100% silk.
We have no mosquitos here.
We never normally have power-cuts.
That bus isn't running today. (only used by taxi drivers)
I give you best price.


For the English all can be better understood here: Tui's website

Jailsalmer and Johdpur

We're moving along at a healthy pace, not too long left, in fact by the time we've posted this, two days. We're now in Pushkar, about to go to Delhi, but before that we spent two days in Jaisalmer and two either side in Johdpur.
We had some fine desert dust storms, a sacred cow butting incident (the cow is OK), a lot of haveli touring, dinner in a not-completely-dry cow dung restaurant, we visited a fortress that wouldn't disgrace North Wales and finished it all off with some wrestling with the furniture salesmen of Johdpur, after all we hadn't shipped anything on the basis of cubic metres and you're meant to experience everything when travelling, or something like that.
While all this was going on, we had intermittent periods of cajoling and then skulking from our driver, it depended on what we wanted to do and whether that could earn him commision, if it couldn't he wanted us to do what he suggested. All vaguely trying. But we liked him none-the-less and tipped him well.
Back to Jaisalmer, it's built with a honey-coloured sandstone that makes even a pile of rocks look attractive, which is lucky. It was what you'd expect from the Thar desert in early June; lovely, quiet, full of goats and camels, but very hot, in fact we've got a whole post devoted to the signs of excessive heat, but we'll only stick it up if the blog is getting too exciting, so not much chance of seeing it. To sleep, while staying acclimatised, we had to resort to AC, which we set at 30 degrees, a good five degrees cooler than the night, so we don't know what happened to the desert is cold at night thing.
Another side post that may come your way is the study of Indian ear-hair, it's uses and abuses, a much neglected subject - more later perhaps.
Johdpur sported the second totalitarian flight of architectural fancy from an English architect and I can only apologise on behalf of our nation for its ugliness. The first we saw, Lutyen's new Delhi was in the finest grandiose fascist traditions, but the second didn't even manage ascetic beauty, it could have been il Duce's country residence, it was so big, brutal and ugly, not to mention dark inside. Total waste of effort, it's now an outrageously expensive hotel - Mrs B's G&T cost more than our room in town. So on to Pushkar and it's very happy cows.

Udai-poor....... you're allowed to groan

Udaipur gets our vote, the finances took a Rajput War-Elephant of a battering, but the senses were satisfied. Thanks go to Mr Harvey's client in Delhi, who was keen to impress one thing on us 'you have to stay in Kankarwa Haveli' and the man could not have been more right. It was lake-front luxury; three rooms, a terrace over-looking the summer palace, all a perfect blend of the 'new and old' and all for only 20GBP a night - you've got to love the off-season.

The money hit came in the shops, although we may have given a different impression in previous posts we'd planned to do India shopping in Jaipur, but that turned out to be a shopping dud, the result was the morale of Mrs B. suffered, which in turn meant I suffered. Fortunately the shopkeepers of Udaipur rode to the rescue on their curly-eared horses.
We're not going to list purchases (dull for you, traumatic for me), but the various mediums should give a sense of spread: teak, marble, flax, cotton, wool and 'cashmere' (we suspect more wool) - in short no natural resource was spared. The shopkeepers have style, they charmed us, then fed us tea and only after that did they skin us, we thoroughly enjoyed it, but wore ourselves out - in fact it could be offered as a cure for shop-a-holics, it wouldn't surprise us if the end result is a shop-keeper holiday marking the three days the Brewster's were in town.

Udaipur also has tres flash restaurants, the first night we had a tented dinner on beds in a garden, the next a private turret overlooking the lake and we rounded it off in an establishment that wouldn't disgrace central London, where five people beavered away looking after just us, all for the price of a pret lunch - it would be disgraceful, if it wasn't so good (we may have said that before).
Finally we fled the scene of our buying crimes in a car we've taken for eight days to do the western part of the state, so I suppose we're back on honeymoon, rather than honeymission.

Kipling country - Ranthambore & Bundi

Ranthambore National park - ostensibly the home of Shere Khan and Bagheera, yet our jeep safari yielded just one lonely tiger footprint. Accommodation was provided by a former hunting lodge with incredible views over the park, but the lodge is now unfortunately run by the infamous RTDC tourism department so what could have been amazing ended up being a lacklustre version of its former glory or future potential. No doubt some investor will capitalise on the opportunity before too long.

Not to be discouraged by the non-appearance of our (honeymoon-card) car or driver, we set off for Bundi later in the day. The train was delayed by two hours, not necessarily unusual or notable in these parts. The buses on arrival in Kota weren't running either, ditto. TV crew interview of Mr & Mrs Brewster in Kota station about how the lack of transport had affected us - mildly interesting but as we had only been in the place 10 mins with a main objective to leave, we couldn't really pass much comment. Upon reaching the guesthouse in Bundi we were immediately swarmed by Western tourist inhabitants asking; "how did you get here?", "what was the journey like?" Erm - all fine we said, just jumped in a taxi, why? It transpired that they had been stuck there for four days and had heard all road and rail was closed due to Gujjat troubles. Ah. Our travel problems that day started to become understandable.

We decided to ignore the outside issues and concentrate on exploring Bundi which is a lovely town. Kipling apparently wrote part of Kim here, an unsurprising fact once you start to enjoy the (relative) peace of the place.

Bundi palace was one of the most stunning we have seen in India. Clinging on to the side of a mountain and crumbling haphazardly down the sides it shows that the maharajahs really knew how to flash their cash. Incredible courtyards, gardens and murals all over the walls and ceilings. A proper treat. In homage to the release of the new Indiana Jones film, the husband embarked on a remarkable mission through a "secret way" up to the top of a tunnel, which required wading through bat droppings so deep they squelched into his Crocs, and hearing just the whoosh (like a fan he reckoned) of a wall of bats flying just past his head. Not for girls, happily.

Final comments on Bundi relate to our guest house. There is a make of ancient air conditioning unit which we call the Desert Storm. It's about the size of a Mini and is attached to the outside of your room. You have to fill them up with water each day. Anyway the pins on our DS plug broke so we sent for the guy to fix it. Oh no problem, he said, we'll just do it direct and proceeded to strip the cord down to the wires and popped them directly into the socket. As you do.

Next stop U-U-Udaipur.

Delhi-Wallah dinners and the scam

Next stop Delhi, capital of all tall Indian travel stories, not to mention the country. We were very smart - as in posh - in Delhi. We had two equally spoiling dinners, to which our only contribution was our questionable humour. We were not very smart - as in brains - because we stayed in a bad area and got scammed by the oldest scam in the (guide) book.

First the dinners - Mr Peter Harvey of international jet-set and medi-pack fame - shouted us some of the best sushi we've ever had, at a hotel that can only be described as over-the-top and we capped the evening off by allowing his clients to pick up the bar bill. Have we no shame. Apparently not.

This was followed the next night, by dinner at Tim, Anna and Felix Bond's - Felix at just two weeks old was much better behaved than us. We failed to arrive with even one bottle of plonk and the culmination of the night saw us finishing the last of Tim's whisky. So in summary, both times we were the guests from hell, but lucky enough to have heavenly hosts - hallelujah.

It was so good to see friends and in the case of the Bond's eat a home cooked meal, that we spent our hangovers thinking more than ever about our return to the UK and what we've missed while we've been travelling.

We loved the Bond set up in Delhi, there is the swish modern flat, which neccessitates a cook, cleaner and driver - this is expected otherwise you're not playing your part in redistributing your wealth. Their address is brilliantly simple - say this to anyone in Delhi and they can get you there: S501, GK2. Blows those pesky postcode things out the water. Anyway they were a world away from the muddy street scene of our hotel and we were very pleased for it.

Finally the scam. We'd both read about it and still got done, it's that good. We arrived at the station to book our tickets to Jaipur, on the way in a man asked what we're looking for, informing us the tourist booking office is under refurbishment and we should talk to one of the staff upstairs. We walk upstairs (bearing in mind there are thousands of people everywhere and the place is a building site) and the first official we ask confirms the story and tells us where to go and says how much to pay in the Tuk Tuk. We head to the tuk tuk rank, another man asks where we want to go, we tell him and he says he'll take us and names the correct (good) price. We smile and hop in - half way to our destination - we spot the flaw in the scam - you never get a tuk tuk for the real price - ergo we're being scammed. So it proved, its perfect execution is what let it down - nothing works so smoothly in India. Once we got to the travel agent, we just walked away, but totally aghast at the brilliance of the scam and only out of pocket to the tune of two (correctly priced) tuk tuk rides.

Luck now led us to Agra

Our arrival in Lucknow wasn't lucky, but like all these things is was a gradual decline, and we only realised how badly it had gone when we hit the bottom. It started at Varanasi train station, which appears in constant crisis, with pilgrims asleep, eating, crying and praying on every square inch of the floor, as you'd expect this somewhat impedes station efficiency, not to mention our brains.

Once on the train we had the usual seat shenanigans, after all we'd failed to pay baksheesh for a good seat, so the top bunks for us - think big luggage rack. Our train then ran into a summer dust storm, which enveloped everyone and everything, it was twilight at 2pm and looked more like Africa. At Lucknow the storm had taken the form of 'mini-cyclone', with trees and power-lines down. Enter worst tuk tuk driver in India, who not only didn't know his home town, but got cross with us about it. Thankfully, once located, our homestay was all calm and relaxing, if completely dark. It wasn't till the following day we saw our problems in perspective - the news reported the storm had killed over forty people across the state.

Lucknow's residency, scene of the infamous mutiny/first war of independence siege, was evocative, but not in the way we'd expected. All the British memorials felt out of place, they're the same as the ones in the Churches at home, just in a park in the middle of a modern city in north India. The British government of India has left little or no legacy with the people, except perhaps the schools and universities, the residency is there, but it feels meaningless to most people, including us.

We went for the overnight express to Agra. Our berths were excellent, the only problem was the over-enthusiastic air-conditioning, which meant we had to use blankets. The berths themselves could not have been cleaner or more private.

You all know the reason for going to Agra, but it turns out that as well as the mighty Taj there are three other sites that surpass everything else we'd seen. The only thing that lets Agra down is, well Agra. The government must take oodles of cash out of the place and absolutely zero makes its way down to the town.
The Taj didn't disappoint. We can confirm it's wonderful, whopping and white. In fact it's size and simplicity were the two things that struck us, and the fact that inside it's strangely small and dark. The one odd side effect of seeing it is to wonder if we haven't got anything better than Big Ben or Tower Bridge to set against it as the site of Britain - but I somehow think not - suggestions on a postcard.

The other sites included a mosque in the middle of nowhere that was magnificent and resulted in me staring open mouthed, Mrs B got a little bored; Akbars mausoleum, which for sheer scale was unbeatable and Agra fort, so much better than Delhi's version.
The Agra gripes were: we weren't staying in 'The Oberoi', the hotel next to ours, but a world away in quality. Our friends who'd stayed there will remain nameless, but I will say - even though it was your honeymoon - it sets a very bad wife precedent that can't be matched by all of us.
The other Agra gripe was it cost 750rupees each for us to get into the Taj once, between us we could have paid for 70 Indians to visit, but because of the heat we could only be there either early morning or evening, not both, this was a shame, as we'd definitely have gone back if I wasn't so tight.

What's different about India? Varanasi.

From Mumbai we cheated again and flew to Varanasi, believe us we saved some travel pain. Varanasi is a place like no other, we'd heard so much about what it was going to be like, but as they say, nothing prepares you for the reality. At best, it has only a passing interest in the modern world, which isn't to say people don't like money, after all that's a long standing love all over the world, but what makes it ageless are the sights, smells, people and rituals, and especially those smells.

Varanasi had a couple of things we'd be happy to never see again - the bloated body of a sadu (holy man) trapped on the anchor ropes of the pontoon bridge, children swimming in a river that can only be described as putrid, and deprivation around you all the time. Mumbai and her slums had energy and there was money, but Varanasi is like an old, bent-backed lady, who has nothing, except her routines and rituals. Ritual is everywhere all the time: ritual prayer, singing, cremation, shaving, washing and play. As our highly informed readership no doubt knows, when a Hindu dies, part of their ashes should be mingled with the waters of the great mother Ganga, if you die in Varanasi you're cremated on the banks and all your ashes make it into the river and you have the added bonus of dying in a place that ensures you're spared the pain of re-birth and get a one way ticket to Nirvana.

The cremations where the simplest and most striking for us. The claim that the fire used to light every pyre has been burning non-stop for three thousand years sounded a little tall, but it's what everyone believes, so who am I to argue.
Varanasi also had plenty of exuberant Indian tourists, we like these guys, almost as much as they like their children practising their English on us. India's middle class has cash and they're currently on holiday, the only tricky question we get is - what's different about India? A question we found surprisingly hard to answer.

Rupee, rupee, rupee - sung to 'Ruby, Ruby, Ruby' by the Kaiser Chiefs

Our long weekend in Mumbai was the travelling equivalent of the city break; there was the nice-ish hotel, lots of treats, some classic sites, handbag shopping (ahem), a tour, a flash dinner and the result was we spent more Rupees in three days than we thought it was possible to spend in a week. Superfluous as it is to say, Mrs Brewster loved Mumbai. We were also just lucky, we did everything we wanted to do.

So what, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls were the highlights?
Well we've gone with three:
The first is mine and a little boring, if I hadn't been writing it, it wouldn't have made the list. It was my visit to 3's contact centre. Over the last five years I'd spent so much time talking about 'the Indian contact centres' it seemed daft not to visit. They far exceeded my expectations, with the buildings, scale, facilities and feel all being of the highest standard, in fact all better than our equivalents in the UK. So my thanks to Arun for sorting it out.

The wife's highlight was dinner at a restaurent called Indigo. It was all brillantly over the top and in three hours we dumped 6,000 Rupees, or $US160, with the average daily income in India at around 60rupees, you can imagine what one hundred days of pay can get you; a hefty sense of guilt and a healthy hangover - money well spent then!

The team highlight was our visit to Dharavi, Asia's largest slum. The company we did it through seems to be doing everything for the right reasons - we'll let their website do the talking - Reality Tours.

What we'll just say, is if you find yourself in Mumbai you must do this tour, it's disturbing and inspiring in equal measure.

What's your name? Bijapur

From Hampi we headed north to a town called Bijapur. I'd sold the visit to the better half of team Brewster on the basis it was on the beaten track and in the same direction as Mumbai; obviously I'd also mentioned the buildings and history bit. Unfortunately when we had to sign into the 'sites', the books showed we were the first non-Indians to visit in six weeks and only the second in two months.

Over the next thirty-six hours our status as 'special' visitors to Bijapur was confirmed by nearly everyone asking our names and where we were from, or better still, if they had their camera with them, taking photos of us with their children. We started to feel how you imagine a minor soap star does when they walk through an edge-of-town shopping centre; vaguely harassed and bemused by so much undeserved attention. All of which lead Mrs B. to conclude, Bijapur may have been in the right direction, but it's not a town much visited by anyone except farm-equipment salesmen.

As I may have cheesily said 'I'll let the buildings do the talking'. Bijapur is a great place to look at lumps of sandstone: there's the second largest dome in the world after St Peters; Mausoleums that inspired the architects of the Taj; a watch tower that looked like the tower of Babel and all of them surrounded by some mighty fine chunks of town wall. Sad as it is to say, it will come as no surprise to readers that these glories may have passed mrs b. by, when asked for contributions to the post on Biajpur, she answered 'you must mention the tomato fry'. It turns out the humble tomato fry had surpassed the combined charms of every dusty edifice left over from three hundred years of independent Sultanate rule.

Meanwhile, Laura and Patrick had headed 400km south to a wildlife reserve and we received the following report, which we thought was worth sharing with you:

'Tusker Trails gets the extra big thumbs up. I saw; ellies, eagles, kingfishers, woodpeckers, mongeese, giant tree squirrels, spotted deer, bison, huge sambar deer, langur monkeys, macac monkeys PLUS tigers, a black panther and a leopard. NOT BAD!.... We broke down next to a bull elephant one day (with huge tusks) and another day we broke down not far from a sleeping tiger and had to get out and push the jeep to start it. Mummy was SCARED!'

The final thing to say on Bijapur is the reaction we've had whenever we've mentioned it to other Indians, nearly universally they've said "where?".

Happy Hampi highlights

As we've travelled north a place we'd only heard good things about was Hampi and more often than not, when you meet people you like, their recommendations are right and so it proved.

Hampi was the capital of the last major Hindu empire four hundred years ago and it's main temples remain important, the result is a village that is a cross between an archaeological park, a pilgrimage site and a small market town. Physically Hampi is other wordily, there are lots and lots of rocks, think Arizona desert, or South African Kops, interspersed with the ruins, all surrounded by fields and spread along several miles of a river valley. We ended up spending four nights on the wrong side of the river, eating well and doing things we all enjoyed.

Our guest house had a pizza oven, which was a nice change from rice & curry, we ate in an open-aired building, with low tables, cushions and mats, watching the sun go down over the rice paddies. There were Monkeys everywhere - big and small - which Patrick loved, although the monkey scaring techniques employed tended just to scare us.

Erica's highlight was the funny time she had sending a parcel - she was forced to send two parcels after getting excited about a quilt in Panaji, as well as a couple of additional treasures. The husband was to quote her, 'RAPT to carry them'. Anyway she went to the Post Office, the man then walked her round to the tailor, who suggested coming back in an hour while they sewed up the parcels in cotton; once she'd collected them it was back to the PO where the man wax sealed them; she then addressed them, filled out about three forms in great detail, handed over a couple of copies of her passport, a wedge of rupees and there we had it, two and half hours later, her treasures were on their two month journey back to England. She found it hilarious.

For Patrick, it was the bouldering, the monkey temple at dawn and pizza after pizza, after Maaza, after pizza. We have to admit to a mild 'Maaza' addiction, despite the mango drink being a 'Coca Cola' product, we cosume too much. On the climbing front Patrick had brought his rock boots and his chalk bag and we hired a good local guide who showed us the best boulders, if you have to be dragged away from your snow-boarding I suppose the next best thing is bouldering.

Ruin/site highlights were the monolithic Ganesh, which had it's own temple built around it; the incredibly carved black basalt pillars in one of the sanctums, which looked like they'd been finished yesterday, not five hundred years ago and our tour of the main temple, which included too many things to mention, although the blessing we got from the temple elephant was popular.

After a great two weeks travelling together, from Hampi Laura and Patrick head south to a national park and an orphanage and we go north to Bijapur and Mumbai. While I'm sad, it's been v. good and we have to remember we've got two weeks in the Alps in July, which doesn't sound too bad.....

The beaches...

Oops. This post is a touch late, but I'd started, so I'll finish, it's the old, caught up having to much fun again, combined with not wanting to go near a computer.

Our week of 'leisure' on the coast was justified by Laura and Patrick being on holiday, we had to enter into the spirit of things and if you can't beat them and all that....
The beach can be summed up in three bullet points:

Om beach, Gokarna - a headland of tropical beaches, populated by cows, the odd gringo and Indian holidaymakers. Great waves for Patrick and good beach walks. The main downside was the chef at our spot had departed two days previously, leaving what can only be described as a joker in charge. Unfortunately, we didn't become aware of the joker factor until the synchronised loo visits started at 2am on the first night. The joker malaise over the next 36hours was also not helped by humidity that would have laid a Kenyan marathon runner low. Despite all that, we give Gokarna the thumps up for the best beaches in India.

From Gorkana we headed for Panaji, the former Portuguese capital of Goa; remembering you can't please all the people all the time, the highlights were: great food, great wine and Old Goa, none of which are likely to make Patrick's list of trip highlights. Old Goa is best described as a park for churches, imagine a giant had set out to collect Southern European cathedrals and decided to keep them all in one place, with only grass and palm trees for company, that hopefully gives you some idea of Old Goa. If the British 'gave' India the civil service, the Portuguese appear to have focused exclusively on God.

From Panaji we went to Goa's famous flea market at Anjuna. The positive for me was you had to struggle to spend ten pounds on anything, the negative was you had to struggle even harder to find anything worth five, so famous tourist tat market would be a better name. The highlight was our hotel pool, Patrick spent three hours a day in it and that probably sums up the quality of Anjuna's attractions.

Next stop Hampi and the elephant stables (which I think sound pretty cool).

Mysore and the Ghats

Altogether we spent five leisurely days in Mysore and the hills to the south. At 700m Mysore delivered the 'Indian Summer' we wanted and after three days we went on to Madikeri, which was at 1,500m dropped another couple of degrees - so only 30-ish during the day.

Mysore had all the contradictions and rhythms you hope for in India, from the Maharajah's palace, looking just like Harrods all lit-up, through to the 'famous' market where we went for our breakfast and the drainage had failed so everyone just covered their faces.

Laura and Patrick faced the biggest change, having come from winter in the Alps (Patrick complete with goggle marks) to the heat of India, although their mountain home ensured when we did set out on our obligatory 6.30am hill walk/pilgrimage their high-altitude lifestyle ensured they shot up the hill, at least that was our excuse.

Mysore gave everyone a bit of what they wanted - Patrick enjoyed the monkeys most, they were on the roofs and our walk; Erica managed to purchase, in what is the least touristy famous spot we've been, a blanket, Laura enjoyed her first proper curries and the head nodding and I liked that you had change from three pounds after all four of us had eaten lunch.

Before we left Mysore there was the saga of the missing flip flops or jandals, for our linguistically challenged readers in the southern hemisphere. The things to understand are, our hotel was a relaxed place and we took to leaving the odd thing lining about and anyhow there was always one of the three house boys around keeping an eye on things. We know house boy doesn't sound politically correct, but it's what they called themselves and the description couldn't be more accurate.

When we came to leave, Erica's jandals were nowhere to be seen. We scoured the room, the landing and the balconies and as a last resort tracked down our house-boy, who was mopping the floor downstairs. Following the usual gesticulation and incomprehensible blabbering from me, he asked me to follow him and we headed up to our room. Once we arrived outside the door, he paused, then stepped out of Erica's flip flops, smiled and strolled off. Flip flops restored, we spent twenty guilt-ridden-wealth-laden-western-mentality minutes contemplating whether to donate said flip flops, or purchase new ones for him. This anguish left us however when he strolled happily past in a very adequate, if less trendy pair.

Then it was on to the hills and for this I pass you over to Patrick's diary, which sets out concisely the highlights of our two days in Madikeri:
Misty mountains in the morning.
Anoop whose house we stayed in.
Dogs, Pinky, Blacko, Snowy, Pinko and their boyfriend.
Incredible greenery.
Keeping a baby squirrel safe.
Elephants, twelve, at Dubare forest reserve with a
River to wash in.
Indian traveling.......

The final thing to mention from our time in the hills is Mrs B's discovery of date balls, like great balls, just no fire. She and Laura developed a minor addiction.

Meeting Laura and Patrick

When we planned our trip last year we agreed to meet Laura and Patrick somewhere in southern India, the exact location to be decided. After more than a little debate Mysore got the nod and it turned out to be a good choice, but first we had to get there.

To reach Mysore, we had to dash up the Kerelan coast, then head inland, a journey which taught us three things:
Never catch a train on the first weekend of the summer holidays - it was like the Northern Line at rush-hour, just for five hours.

Secondly, Indian train travel while busy is head and shoulders above Indian bus travel, it's not the seating, people sit on each other in both, it's just a bus journey feels how I imagine it would be to sit on a trailer, being pulled by a tractor, through a very muddy field - fine for ten minutes, uncomfortable for any longer.

The final lesson is this, if you're male and you do find yourself stoically fighting your way through a carriage on one of these trains and the carriage only has hundreds of sari and burkah clad ladies, I can offer you the following insight; the reason they all look miffed is you're in the ladies only carriage (veils off etc.) and the very last thing Indian ladies want closely confined with them, is a large, sweating, pasty-coloured, foreigner of the male variety.

Although, as always with these things there was an upside. The ladies loved Mrs B, she got a seat, acquired a bindi (a sign of marriage), talked and grinned a lot and left her husband loitering by the loos, with the other male types you find at the ends of ladies only carriages. So four hours of comparing sweaty armpits for me and four of refined cross-cultural interaction for the wife.

Anyway we got to Mysore. Laura and Patrick had less luck, but more comfort, they couldn't get on the first two trains from Chennai (Madras) and as there are only two a day this meant we didn't meet until a day and a half after they landed. Needless to say, it was all more than worth it in the end. It will be a long time before I again find myself waiting on the platform of a central Indian train station to meet Patrick, who I hadn't seen in three months. It all felt like we were in totally the wrong place, very dislocating, but ultimately very good news. We were all just pleased to have managed the normally simple thing of meeting up.

A flurry of posts may now follow, our excuse is that train travel gives you time to think about what you can say. Apologies for getting carried away, it was always more for our pleasure than yours.....

A solution at last.....

The Indians, realising the task ahead, secured UN funding to open a centre focused on the problem of our age, Ericas everywhere are assured of the skills they need.
I accept this is facile, so apologies to my wife and her family. It was originally going to be called the Eric Training Institute, but apparently the gap in the Erica market was bigger. Not news to me.

Time flies, while also standing still. Southern India.

Everyone tells us we've had the easiest of introductions to India. Kerala is where people come to recover from the stresses and strains of the north, the sights, crowds, rubbish and touts are absent from the south-west and the result is people say they are happier and more relaxed here.
After six days we couldn't agree more, in fact it took us some time to feel like we'd left Sri Lanka, the flight was so short, the climate and people so similar. Varkala the beach resort we headed to, felt like a busier version of Sri Lanka, although the beaches weren't half as nice. As it turned out, traveller-friendly Varkala was a little too dull for our tastes, everything was too easy, so we were pleased to leave the limbo and head for the infamous backwaters.

The backwaters are India's version of the Norfolk Broads, with Alleppey playing the part of Wroxham, they even have the same weed issues, in their case it's from Africa and while they don't have cider, they do have duck-herders, which is the next best thing to duck punts*. It was here we were planning to spend our next two days.

At this stage Mrs B. played the honeymoon card (which is plastic) and we went for the pricey fifty pounds a day boat, as it turned out we shouldn't have worried, neither of us can think of one hundred pounds better spent. For the next two days and nights we cruised the canals and broads, doing nothing but watching the banks slip by and being waited on hand and foot; we ate, drank, slept and read to our hearts content. We couldn't do anything to help, it was so ludicrously self-indulgent, we just lounged around as three people worked hard to ensure we were happy and if it wasn't for the fact the cook so obviously loved his job and the captain enjoyed being the boss, guilt could have set in.

It was so over the top, the relaxation was mind-numbing, time stood still, the end result was best described as stupefying. After four months of unemployment, it was on a house-boat in Kerala that everything finally stopped and although it's two months until we're back in the UK, we talked and thought about home more than we'd done before.

After the boat we hopped on a train to Fort Cochin and we've spent the last day or so planning how we get from here to Mysore to meet Patrick and Laura, without having to do an over-night bus journey. After all, it's a well known fact that an over-night bus journey is the most effectively serenity destroyer known to travellers, particularly those who are six feet and taller.

*All Norfolk references credited to Bruxner, G, sometime Norfolk pub-crawling, duck-punting champion (it's a small field, made up of just his close relatives).

Adieu Sri Lanka

Tomorrow we fly to Kerela for the start of two months in India. While we can't wait to get there, we're sad to be leaving Sri Lanka after only sixteen days. Our mistake was to think two weeks would be enough, while we've got round the 'highlights', another week or two in the south would have been good for the soul.

We've enjoyed the Sri Lankan way of life, despite a nasty government, freedom fighter/rebel types and an economy badly on the skids, the people have always been all smiles and charm. We've found it refreshing, if you could bottle and sell Sir Lankan optimism you'd have a good living.

So we head a little reluctantly to India, despite the less happy news reports, we'd reccomend nearly everyone to come to Sri Lanka. We'll definately be back, although it may take a while!

Super stupa (to be said in a geordie accent)

In the hills it's tea, tea and .... hot milk. Tea is everywhere, all bushy and extra verdant. Having spent ten minutes watching tea pickers, Mr and Mrs B came to very different opinions as to the merits of the job.
Mrs B. (ever the optimist) saw sunshine, the ladies only crew, obviously high levels of gossip, good perks (one has to assume they drink a lot of tea) and decided this was an OK sort of job.
I on the other hand saw no men (it's hard work), the afternoon downpours, the lack of mechanisation and concluded being a tea picker is not a good job. These ladies have done it all their lives, they're so short even Mrs B. towers over them, so weather-beaten you'd think they slept outside, yet they couldn't stop grinning and cracking gags, we think at my expense. So maybe Mrs B did get it right.

After the hills and a tooth in Kandy, we headed for the central plains and the Ancient Cities. The most glorious part - besides of course the temples, stupas (Geordie accent), general assorted ruins and big Buddha statues, was the near total absence of tourists. These big sites never had more than five or six westerners and generally none. The only downside was it meant touts invariably out-numbered us, but even this wasn't too bad, as in true Sri Lankan form they'd hassle you altogether at one spot and then you'd be free for an hour until you hit another 'tout spot' and then it would start again, a fairly stress free way to tout we decided.

While ranging through the various means of transport available, hunting out the better guest houses and places to consume curry, a special mention should go to Mike and Marion who we saw on and off for a week. We first met them on the train to Adam's peak and we ended our travels together with some mild to moderate (in the case of Marion and Mrs b. moderate to heavy) Arrack and Sri Lankan curry consumption. Other than us, the bathroom salesmen were also indirect beneficiaries of this brief travelling bond. Marion and Mike I think we'll see you again...

Adam's Peak, Sri Lanka

After a week on the coast we headed for them there hills, the largest and most prominent of which is called Adam's Peak.
Now Adam's Peak is famed for a walk, or more correctly a pilgrimage. You walk to the summit for sunrise, it's Sri Lanka's answer to.......... us heathen Brits most have something similar, but lord knows what - there's a footprint on the top and depending on your religious inclination, it's either Buddha's or Adam's.

The synopsis is, you get up at 2am, walk up a 2,400 metre mountain, ring a bell or two, say at prayer at a temple and gawp in wonder as the sun does it's thing. The good news is there's a head start, the village is at 1,300m and there are 5,000 steps, so no scrambling over rocks. The bad news? None of the guest houses have hot water, so cold showers at 2am are the order of the day and well, have you ever walked down 5,000 steps at 7 in the morning?

Our stock of provisions was good, we had cashew nut chocolate, polos and Hawaiian biscuits (with coconut). We also had the kit, we've lugged it round for the last three months and finally we could wear our jumpers, jackets and walking boots,

Obviously, we sprang up that hill like mountain goats and were happily ensconced with 300 Sri Lankans, 15 or so gringos and some monks for 5.30am. To give credit where it's due (by-the-by you earn good karma credit for doing the walk) it was the best sunrise we've seen. When the old ball of burning Hydrogen finally crested the horizon, it may have been the drums, it may have been the prayers and gasps, it may have been the fact you couldn't feel your hands, but somehow the slog up the mountain felt easy and that moment was good.

The last thing to add is once down, we had a herbal bath heated over a fire, which we can recommend; and that two days later we're still looking at steps with apprehension and our calf muscles still hurt.

The answer is Sri Lanka.

What's the question?
We've realised we go quiet when we're enjoyiong ourselves. Blogging becomes just a wee bit dull, this tends to coincides with when it becomes trickier and pricier, as well.
Sri Lanka is good, it's a contender, it may even knock Laos of it's perch, but as we've only done six nights, we're reserving judgement on that.

After heading to Colombo, which is dirtier and uglier than the namesake detective, we headed south. Colombo is the only thing we've done so far that we'll skip when we come again.

So to Galle, bright, sandstone-walled old town, with a great sea breeze and Mrs Khalid's home cooked curry, Mrs B. got very excited in the shops, but my cautionary shopping arguments won out (Mrs B warns India is going to be marketful and bag laden). Then to Unawatuna for sun and sand and too much relaxation - our room was luxy, two yards from the beach and only 15 GBP a night. After four days we thought a Sri Lankan style safari in Yalle national park would be in order - too much to tell (will bore you over dinner).

We've decided not to read the Foriegn Office advice on Sri Lanka until we're in India, but things are a little warmer on the Tamil Tiger front than we'd realised (like there is actually a front). This has had several consequences: firstly the Sri Lankans are not having fun, inflation is 25%, the governmnt taxes everything and they're killing each other - all of which lets face it sucks. The unintended consequence is some things are much pricier for us than we'd expected. There are also very few other tourists and no tour buses in sight.

We're 'up country' now, so must dash for tea. So far we love vegetable rotis, green bee-eaters, lime sodas, sunrises (even the getting up at 5.30 is good) and local buses!

Goodbye Cambodia...

After the Wat-Fest that is Ankor, we headed for Phenom Penh. It's got tarmac, SUVs and in Cambodian terms is v. metropolitan; for us it lacked charm. We weren't loving Cambodia at this point and we only wanted to see were the killing fields, S21 the Khmer Rouge prison and the royal palace.

The prison, which had been a school, won as the site most likely to put you off you fellow human being for good. After three years of Khmer Rouge rule they turned on themselves and most of the people who went through it during the last eighteen months were disgraced Khmer Rouge, of the thousands that went in, only twelve people survived. Not a good place. Everything is still as it was at liberation, which was only 1979, so it's in good shape and it all works, the tools of torture are there and the shackles haven't rusted. They also took good photos of all new inmates, thereby leaving a comprehensive record of the crimes.

From Phenom Penh we decided to head to Thailand for our last five days in SE Asia. So goodbye Cambodia, it's not just the messiest place we've been, from what we saw of the country it was flat, dry and brown. Their recent history has been dreadful and the rush to improve things feels like it's creating a society at the shallow end of the South-East Asian pool. Maybe we've been too tough, but after Laos it fell short.

Come on Cambodia. Wat a place........ (they don't get any better)

An appointment to meet Mr & Mrs Proffit saw another epic journey - this time direct from Don Det to Siem Reap (if you don't count going via Phnom Penh . . . the resulting Erica-type strop didn't accomplish much other than being cheerfully shown my place in the overloaded mini-van which required one butt cheek to be on one half of a seat, and one on another half. Patience is a virtue apparently.)

Team Proffit were on top form and thankfully playing the honeymoon card and staying in a lush B&B where we could re-establish some serenity by sneaking in a couple of non-paying-guest swims.

The reason for the Siem Reap visit was of course the amazing temples of Angkor - vast, ancient and numerous. The husband, armed with various guide/history/reference books, a pink shirt, specs and his mother-in-law's gardening hat was our very happy guide for a day. Angkor Wat, Preah Khan, Bayon and Ta Prohm the favourites and scored 4/4 on the Proffit 4 diamond scale.

Cambodia is more dollar conscious than Laos and the dollar is the currency, not even trying to keep it Riel. Their English is very good and although the horrendous and very recent history of Pol Pot & the Khmer Rouge is evident with limbless landmine victims (over 50,000), the people on the whole are friendly and optimistic. Hard to comprehend that there are still 8m unexploded landmines in the country, and around 2000 new landmine victims every year. Madness.

We had planned three nights here, but before moving on Mr B had an attack of Temple-itis (or tummy bug) and so we lingered.... and lingered. More dry bread, Sprite and the knowledge that the longer he ailed, the more chances his wife took to spend $$ on massages & markets aided his recovery, although it was speedy. Pete Harvey and Wilderness Expertise get a special mention for supplying the medi-pack, we love those re-hydration salts. And so back to Phnom Penh.

Laovely Laos - (their pun, not ours)

In fact it might even be the official department of tourism strapline.... speaks volumes. Although we said we'd avoid these, Laos was our favourite spot so far and we just want to share the Laove.
We loved:
- journeys on the Mekong - it's got 1,977km of the whopper, (have to blame the Chinese for pinching the other 33 and not just because it's fashionable)
- elephants
- 4000 Islands - like a delta, just inland
- pace of life & the people - to earn or have more than you need is bad - it means so much is the opposite of what we expect
- sunsets (over the mekong ever day)
- bamboo huts - they rock, in fact bounce would be a better word, but we liked them
- public buses
- the other travellers you meet in Laos, they're always as happy as you (Chuck and Val get an honourable mention here - for too many reasons to go into now)

Last days in Laos

From Vientiene (who knew it was the capital of Laos?) an overnight bus found us in Champasak - apparently its only merit is Wat Phou. Gorgeous, isolated enough to warrant a bike ride in the hot sun, and blissfully tour group free. Upon meeting both a German staying in the town to build a (hopefully half-decent) guesthouse, and an East-Londoner who escapes to Asia for 6 months every year, it turned out there really was little else to be recommended so onwards we trundled via the joys of public transport.

Some stats: 35ish degrees; 23 people (not including babes in arms) on the back of a converted flat bed truck (sawnthaew); 150km; 2 blowouts; 1 flat; 46 watermelons, 2 blenders, a bicycle and a table - hell, let's face it, the entire paraphenalia required to set up a smoothie business; 5 1/2 hours and a lunch stop option which included BBQ bats on a stick. Fabulous. Destination - The 4000 Islands. Thankfully it was worth it.

We spent five days on Laos' version of a tropical archipelego (just mid-stream in the Mekong)- namely Don Khong, Don Det & Don Khon. Nothing to do but laze in hammocks on the balcony of a bamboo hut, ride bikes around the islands, swim (and shower in the river) and relaaaax. Bliss. This also excuses why the post is not exactly current....

The rivers of Northern Laos...

I'm back from the rash decision "mmm, I haven't had pork yet, let's go for that". Bad idea but now feeling like a genuine traveller at least.

From Luang Prabang we headed up river via long, slow, arduous but beautiful boat trip to a couple of villages that had electricity only at night - powered by bicycle tyres spun by the force of the river's current, and some salubrious accomm as noted by the husband's earlier 'press' release (NB. Erica Brewster is actually CEO).

A couple of v relaxed days and the beauty of having to order a bucket of fire-heated water to wash in we headed back down stream and made it to Vang Viang. Traveller heaven. Tubing on the river for 5 hours in the sunshine with only Beer Lao and sunshine to sustain us made for a very relaxing afternoon.

Kayaking to Vientiene was the option we chose the next day in order to avoid the hairy bus journey south. The kayaking was great, espec flipping out in a rapid, but the bus journey we tried to avoid just disguised itself into a flat-bed tuk tuk; (basically they chucked 14 of us on to the back of a ute for a couple of hours' drive and then collected about 5 locals along the way. Special.)

South tonight on the sleeper bus.

Brewsters set new Accom record

One night for 30,000 KIP (GBP 1.50)

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE - 29th February 2008, Noung Kieow, Northern Laos

The Brewster Partnership is proud to announce it has set a record rate of 30,000 kip (US$ 3.00 or GBP 1.50) for a single night's accommodation. The exclusive cabin, at a not-so-secret riverside location in northern Laos, was built of locally produced materials and had full mosquito protection.

The previous South-East Asian accommodation record of 128,000 Dong (US$8.00 or GBP4.00) was set in the Imperial Capital of Vietnam, Hue; although Laos has had several rooms at around 40,000 kip, this was the first to hit the magic 30,000 mark.

Ed Brewster, Senior Partner, commented: "a night's kip for only thirty thousand kip, who could ask for more. This sets a benchmark that fits with the partnership's renewed focus on cost control, while taking full advantage of the excellent pound/dollar exchange rate. We slept soundly that night and not just financially...."

Erica Brewster, trainee partner, said: "who needs hot water, a loo or electricity, these are all bourgeois desires, the people just need a roof and a bed. Lizards are the most effective insect repellent and the way the moonlight sparkled through the holes in the bamboo walls onto our mosquito net was so romantic. With this price we renew our committment to spend even less on accomadation, after all, who needs beds?"

For further information please contact:
Hanover Communications - 'the pod of dreams'

Louang Phabang, Laos

hurray for Laos. Friendly, laid-back, green and because they don't have an obsession with horn tooting, quiet. In fact the contrast is so great you can't believe we only flew fifty minutes to get here.
Having made it to the very touristy, but very lovely, Louanag Phabang, we found our fellow Honeymooners and they didn't let us down, Nicky was keen to shop and Lawrie was keen for an ale - the Brewster partnership was happy. Mr and Mrs Proffit also had a plan for the next day: a visit to a camp for retired logging elephants. So once the tour and tuk tuk were booked, we hit the town. The complementary rice whisky (they even have trouble giving it away apparently) and several red wines, ensured heavy heads when we met our beasts of burden.

Despite that we loved it and even the elephants seemed to enjoy themselves and they definitely appreciated their banana reward. The people we did it through are very good, their programme is ethically sound and they care for the welfare of their elis. We had never met an elephant and I for one had never understood what the fuss was about.

It turns out the fuss is the result of so many things. The ones that struck me were: they've got a donkey's sense of when there is chance of some food, they're as obedient to verbal commands as dogs (much more so than those in the Brewster household), just their presence is engaging and physically there is nothing like them, skin, ears, eyes, feet and trunks are all strangely captivating. Nicky also pointed out that the hair on the head of the young elephant was just like Lawrie's. Lawrie corrected her - the young elephant definitely had more.
The final attribute making our elephants top of the pile, was their trumpet, it would make the most seasoned Vietnamese taxi driver jealous.

After the elephants, came the temples and the dawn procession of monks, unfortunately Mrs B. was indisposed, having found a restaurant which would fail an inspection by the environmental health. boooo

VietNam the highs and lows....

After a few days in Laos reflecting (talking rubbish to each other) on Vietnam we have come up with a list of what we enjoyed most and what we enjoyed least.

Loves:
street eats and food in general - beef noodles
the energy of the place - they're on a mission and nothing's going to stop them, as a guide proudly told us 'eight percent GDP growth last year, only China better'
Vietnam's railway - especially the views, but its employment policy of a guard for every carriage deserves a mention
How the war is dealt with, it's the most important thing historically, but firmly in the past
Finally, bikes still get a look in, while the moped is king, the car doesn't rule, yet.

The lows:
pollution, city smog is bad, worse than we'd naively expected, a lot of people wear masks, the rivers are dirty and it will probably get worse before it gets better
an eye for the main chance - money rules and not just in the dealings with us touristy types, the only time it doesn't is when it's burnt at new year, and that's only to bring luck to earn more.
lots of people will get left behind in the rush for those cars
the use of the horn - their 'highway code' obviously leaves a little to be desired on this point
shopping - there was pressure for this to be a high, but it makes the lows as we spent too much. dammit.

we were thinking about doing this for Oz, but now realise it makes boring reading, so we'll spare you.

Han Oi and Ha Long Bay, Vietnam

While Hanoi is the captial, at about half the size of Saigon / HCMC, it's less frantic, less polluted and by degrees more relaxing; the forty-something, to the brash wide boy of Saigon. Although the love affair with the scooter is alive and well, there are slightly less of the brutes to wade through when you cross the road. For the keen readers of the blog (back to work you slackers) we have established there are at least three regional slang names for scooter, as well as their proper name and the major brands names which are widely used, so it turns out they are well on the way to Eskimo snow status.

There are some great Hanoi myths and mythologies in the making, the top attraction is the temple dedicated to the C14th warrior hero whose sword was swallowed by a large golden turtle in Hoan Kiem Lake (you have to love that). There is the temple in the middle of the lake and there to the left is a very large stuffed turtle (2.5ft by 4ft) which was fished out of the lake in the 70's (probably killed by the Americans), and now resides in airconditioned perpertuatity.

Having done the temples and the shops, we decided two days on a boat was required, so off to Ha Long Bay. Ha Long Bay is Bond film stuff, if 'the man with the golden gun' wasn't filmed here, my name is Nick Nack. It's got two thousand, to quote the guide 'monolithic', limestone islands. It's famous for great climbing and great falling off (you fall into the sea) and we even saw the monkeys which pester the climbers. We had top food, good weather, Australians and Mancunians for company and plenty of entertainment generated by the need to get round the ludicrous corkage charge on the boat.

We only have one appointment to keep before April and to make it we're catching a flight to Laos tomorrow, to crash Nicky and Lawrie's honeymoon. Why not.

Finally on a mundane note, why Han Oi? It turns out that while the Vietnamse now use a Roman script, they spent a good thousand years with Chinese symbols and a syllable script, so Vietnam is actually Viet Nam and Hanoi is Han Oi, a top bit of info to discover on your last day in a country.

The re-unification express...... Vietnam

Or not so express. We decided it would be more fun to travel by train, rather than bus or plane, it takes a wee bit longer, but it appealed to the romantic in us. The one train line up the country links Ho Chi Minh with Hanoi and it you do it non-stop takes thirty hours, we decided to stop half-way. We left Ho Chi Minh on the 8pm sleeper, arriving in Da Nang 16 hours later at a very civilised midday. The Vietnamese couple in our cabin looked very unimpressed with us, but were all smiles by the morning - obviously no snoring from Mrs B. then.

Once at our destination and the customary taxi driver haggling dealt with, we mouched to what has to be Vietnam's most traveller/tourist focused/friendly spot - Hoi An - lots of good shopping and tailors (erica), as well as restored houses and temples (edward), all of which meant us and our money were parted reguarly.

After what felt like a week and several tailored tops, I managed to drag Erica out of the shops so we could head to Hue, our next stop and only three hours away. Hue was the Imperial Capital and those, until recently unknown by us, Vietnamese Emperors did not want to be outdone by the Chinese so built their own version of the forbidden city on Perfume River.

Unfortunatley the citadel was the site of a conflagaration with the Americans and the result was some of best buildings were levelled. Despite this it's a top history geek spot and fairly free of shops. Tonight we're on for the next fifteen hour leg of the reunification express. We've got the bottom two bunks in the cabin this time...... which in case you're wondering is good news.

Keep-snakes, rubber, dong, tunnels and mopeds.... Vietnam

So to Vietnam. We flew into Ho Chi Minh/Saigon from Singapore on Valentines day, the eighteen hours of travel, the taxi haggling and the smog at sunset made for a romantic day.
HCM has all the contrasts you'd expect from a city in Asia, wealth and poverty at every turn, if not in equal measure and collosal amounts of energy, sitting alongside plenty of lethargy.
It turns out the Vietnamese love their scooters, it's hard to imagine how many there are, but if you're been on the Isle of Wight for an August bank holiday and the annual vespa club thingy, you've got some sense of it, everyone uses scooters, to do everything. We suspect there must be as many words for scooter as the eskimos have for snow.

It's hard to believe we've only been here four days, it's so different from Oz and NZ. we've had plenty of tip top smiles, and not all of them have faded when we've said 'no thank you'. We've enjoyed being Dong millionaires, US$100 gets you 1.5million dong, that's a lot of Dong. It's all much more Chinese than we expected, the temples, the food and the people.

Thirty years on, the war still feels fresh, we visited the war remnants museum, damning on Agent Orange and conflict in general and we've crawled through Vietcong tunnels north-west of Saigon, now surrounded by very ordered Rubber plantations. All in all a good intro to South-East Asia.

Two key historical facts learned by Erica so far (never my top subject but . . .)
A) Apparently Viet Nam is a communist country (figured out two days in)
B) when the Germans were here (whenever that was) they planted cotton instead of rice which turned out to be a grave mistake as, according to our tourguide, 'everyone died by the hungries'.

What about the keep-snakes? A tourist top seller apparently, pickled snakes in rice-wine bottles, not keep-sakes, but keep-snakes.... boom boom.

Hawke's Bay and Taupo, NZ

Lucky us. We get to go back to Hawke's Bay and the mighty Waipuk, it's warmer and considerably drier than Sydney, as well as a tip-top reprieve from travels.
It's meant picnics, lunches in various lovely spots, Ballantyne family activities, the Waipuk gang and thanks to Nicky and Lawrie's wedding at TeAwa lots of the Auckland lot.
The wedding was beautiful, under the trees at TeAwa, fantastic food and vino; the dancing hit all those cheesy spots so beloved of kiwis everywhere, with the linen jacket playing a surprisingly prominent role. This was followed by all sorts of trouble in Havelock North till the early hours, with surprising journey's etc.
The Motel man won the line of the following day, once we'd missed check-out by two hours, he shouted in the gruffest voice through the door "are you people staying another night?"
Good morning to you too, you miserable git.
Top day-after lunch as well - may now have to get a fire heated bath in the back garden, or a section in the TukiTuki valley (spare mil anyone?). Then if that wasn't enough, a gourmet lunch with the girls in Waipuk, well actually Waipawa to be precise, but it's nearly the same thing. More kids than grown-ups (counting the unemployed loafing brewsters as children), all good, it made Mrs Brewster a little homesick though.
We are now up in Taupo with Erica's parents, sunny lake swims, further scrabble defeats and the last chance to drink a good kiwi beer for a while. We then head to Auckland for dinner at Scotty's bar, Suite (or is that sweet) and fly to Ho Chi Minh, via Singapore early on Valentine's day, malaria pills in hand.

Sydders - part two (must be read second) Oz

When we woke up we had one of those twice-yearly hangovers that reminds you (if all the twenty-somethings weren't enough) we are nearer 35 than 25. The discovery of our poor mental state following our first night on the town in a month was only matched by our discovery that when they said 'Boutique' hotel, they were talking from the perspective of a roach. It wasn't quite a flea-pit, but it was as near as we expected to get in this hemisphere.

The poor outlook was compounded as Sydney then experienced the wettest 48 hours in five, or was it eight, years? As representatives of two great island nations well used to the odd splash of rain we of course ventured out - although we may have done it a day later than we'd planned. When we did re-engage, it was so wet Bondi Beach looked and felt like St Ives, something so improbable, it's no wonder nobody has spotted it before.

The Manley ferry could have been at sea for all you could see of the Harbour shore and the Bob Dylan film we saw at the cinema on recovery Sunday required something we were very short on, not dry, clean clothing, but mental agility. We pulled through, saw the sights, enjoyed dragons on Chinese New Year and ate well.

By day four we were fully recovered and ready to catch our flight to Auckland..... Unfortunately while we were ready our plane was not, after 3.5 hours on the tarmac the Chileans gave up - what have the Chileans got to do with it? We were trying to fly Lan Chile - Pepe we must have words. Ten hours late Qantas delivered us to the right country (Australian customs having confiscated the wine), if not the correct destination.

Our second Sydney report brings some balance to the blog, after all not everything can go your way for a full five weeks.

Sydders part one, Oz

Sydney, it's a big place, hard to sum up, so we've decided on two posts and after you've read the second hopefully you'll agree it's deserved. Most of you have been there and you know it's brash, sunny and fun, but as we're under-employed, we thought we'd bore you anyway.

You arrive at Central Station, which feels like Clapham Junction, (I think it's the bricks, they're very Wandsworth) anyway that's where comparison with the South London train terminus from hell ends. Central is free of glum officials, congestion, taxi queues and the grime you get at most stations.

Once you've dumped the bags at the 'Boutique' hotel on Oxford street you got online for half-price, you think, it's Saturday you must go to Paddington Markets. Paddington blends the best of Portello and Spitalfields, offering good coffee and avoiding the tacky. The sun is shining, the sky is blue and when you finally make it to the harbour, it's as good as you remember, which is nice.

At this point it's fortunate you know Kylie and her man Kelvin, and they've got a boat, to be clear that's Erica's school friend Kylie, not the pop diva. Their boat is moored in Darling Harbour, there is vino, good Aussie beer and the fish restaurant delivers to the boat. The sun goes down, night advances and before you know it, you're at the point when the small hours are no longer so small.... you head for bed in that trendy part of town, thinking Sydney is a very fine place indeed.

Brisbane and the Hunter Valley, OZ

We spent two days in Brisbane, where everyone from neighbours moves. Bigger than you'd think, but smaller than it looks. Our highlights were the river, a Warhol exhibition and dinner with Erica's cousin Philippa, her husband Kane and their kids. Kane served up five different types of beer and finally cracked the 'Australian Beer Problem' by presenting two that were drinkable - for me Australia is famous for (bad) beer. These two fine ales showed all is not lost.

From Brisie we headed to just north of Sydney to stay with Phillipa's mum Heather and her husband Alex. We fared poorly on the board game front, with Erica going down to her Aunt at Scrabble in a big way and my Chess brain being repeatedly exposed.
And so to a day in the Hunter Valley, peaceful, full of vineyards (apparently several hundred) and no sign of either of us being the designated driver (thank you Heather). The HV is world famous in Australia for it's Semillon, we probably tasted twenty different types, it's also known for its Shiraz, another fifteen or so; it turns out it's not bad at dessert wine and sparkling Shiraz! All in all we took a good a look at six vineyards, stretching their capacity to offer 'free tastings' to the limit, it turns out there isn't one, but somehow we managed to buy five bottles of this or that.

Next stop Oxford Street, Sydders....

Fraser island tour, OZ

Just returned from three days on Fraser Island, which is not dissimilar to a sand pit for large children. It's existence justifies every four-wheel-drive in Eastern Australia. It's 130k long and 20 wide and (geek-fact) is the largest sand island in the world. There is only sand, sand and a lot more sand.
Our transport was solidly British, a roofless, long-wheel based Land Rover Defender, it was unique, as nearly everyone else on the island was in air-conditioned, leather-upholstered SUV luxury. We felt smug, we were more than just tourists, we were tourists with bad suspension, we were more authentic.
We shared the war-horse with two other couples, one from Sweden, the other from Israel. Needless to say, they were fine company, although we did feel a little aged, we had a decade on both of them (although Lars if you're reading this you look older - must be the good driving, not to mention the hair-loss ;-))
Other than the sand, we loved the beach driving, forests and lakes. The forests were so varied and if we came back we'd definitely do some walking.
Thanks due to Justin R., a long time ago you told me Fraser island was good and you were right, proof there's a first time for everything.
We're off to wash the sand out of our hair.

Cruising the Whitsunday's on Ripple, OZ

"Whitsunday rent-a-yacht, Whitsunday rent-a-yacht, Whitsunday rent-a-yacht, this is Ripple, Ripple, Ripple over."
"This is Whitsunday rent-a-yacht, go-ahead please Ripple."

"So the last seven mornings have started and we can't think of anything more likely to induce serenity than a week 'bareboating' the Whitsundays. Fortunately 'bareboat' doesn't require nudity, it just means no crew. The key roles were easily filled Mrs Brewster taking refreshments, sails and anchor, while Mr Brewster shouldered navigation and the burdens of command. At least that was the theory. She wasn't the largest in their fleet, coming in at 28foot, but what Ripple lacked in scale and opulence, was more than compensated for because she was ours. Over."

"This is Mrs Brewster. Over"
"Highlights were many and included finding that there was a CD player so we could have tunes - only marginally dampened by the fact that the lone CD left in the player was Ronan Keating's Greatest Hits; turtle-spotting whilst eating ham sandwiches for dinner accompanied by engined-warmed glasses of Australian Red; hitting breakneck top sailing speeds of 7.6 knots; and being on stinger-watch while Mr Brewster went for his pre-breakfast swim. Next stop Fraser Island. Over."

The Atherton Tablelands, Queensland, OZ

Named after the great english opener......err we assume not, much more likely to be in honour of some minor Victorian civil servant, it seems to be the favoured naming convention.
Anyway the point of the tablelands is they're higher and cooler - all verdant and misty cool (almost), it's two or three degrees cooler than the coast and much quieter, we like it.
The major sites are either large trees; cedars, pines and the favourite, big strangler figs, or holes in the ground, always called craters, irrespective of whether they are or not.
The 'highlight' is the mangos, they're in season, cheap and everywhere. 20p for a mango the size of a cabbage is a good thing. Particuarly when the brutes taste so good.

Cape Tribulation, the Daintree, OZ

We flew straight up to Cairns from Auckland and have now spent four days in the aptly named 'wet tropics'. It turns out we've arrived just in time for the three great queensland seasons; the wet, the stinger and the croc-mating, a happy combination unless you like swimming.
We've been staying in a place called the Cape Trib beach house, an A-frame hut, in the rainforest, ten yards from the beach, Erica has enjoyed the noisy frogs, the spiders, a tree wallaby on the roof, "ed I think there's someone outside, did you lock the door?", "we're in the middle of the rainforest, it's 3 in the morning, go back to sleep" and the moz....
As flash-packing tourists we've managed a reef trip, a croc tour on the daintree with a bloke called bruce, a guided tour to a sacred fig with a guide called dingo and a dinner at 'on the inlet' to which I was lured by the promise of fabulous seafood, without mention of the fabulous prices....

A long weekend in Auckland, NZ

After a fantastic lunch at the Mission vineyard in Napier, we flew up to Auckland with Mr and Mrs Brewster senior and Patrick to catch their flight home. Although the parents were only in NZ seven days they put up a good show, we were all sad to say goodbye and will miss them and Patrick lots.
Not too many post wedding blues...
Before we could start our honeymoon/ travels we were treated to the first wedding of 2008, the union of Mr Mark Hoskin and Miss Emma (call me demure) Barrett. A classy event - it delivered the best of Auckland chic. The church flew the cross of St George and the kiwi fizz flowed. Erica didn't disgrace herself too much.... althought the father the bride did ask how she was feeling the following day. I bonded with a north island farmer who had also married a girl from Waipukarau - he told me after four days of marriage I'd had the best of it.
Accommodation was courtesy of Pittsy and Phil in Grey Lynn, only the best of Auckland villa living for us. Sunday night saw us celebrate Anna Taylor's birthday with fish and chips on mission beach, we had to admit it beats a sunday night curry in London. Everyone had the back to work blues, we only had the 'have to get up at 3.30am to catch a flight to Syndey blues'..... a different type of stress.

Mr and Mrs Edward Brewster

Well we did it. We got hitched.
Thanks to everyone who made the trip and thanks if couldn't, but sent a message. If you failed to do either you can make up for it by standing us a drink when return to the UK. It all went off without a hitch and we managed to avoid most of the amateur dramatics (that's our story).
The southerly assisted Hawke's Bay drought delivered refreshing showers in the morning, but pulled through with sunshine in the afternoon. The speeches were under an hour (just) and the beef medium rare. Someone drank all the pinot noir.... but even though it was NYE we failed to polish of the champagne. For us it was fantastic and we're so grateful for everyones suppport.

HAPPY NEW YEAR from Edward and Erica Brewster
.....eeek!