We had just finished a fantastic evening barbecue at our Kakadu hostel. Most of us were settling in for an evening of drinking, talking and fighting off insects around the camp fire.

“Come on everyone, let’s go croc spotting” the hostel host said enthusiastically.

“Croc spotting?” someone exclaimed “but it’s night time?”

“Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to” he said somewhat disheartened before adding. “I just thought you’d like to! Kakadu is another world at night!”

He paused to think of what else he could say to sway those hesitant.

“You don’t know when you will be back? But I’ll leave it up to you. I will be leaving in 10 minutes which will give you enough time to grab a jumper, a torch and put on a pair of walking shoes. Therefore, if you decide to come, you can meet me at the hostel gate”.

I already knew that I wanted to go night croc spotting. After all, I didn’t come all this way to miss out on anything. Off we headed into the darkness, a mini bus-load of city dwellers led by a bearded, bare-footed reptile lover along a moon lit dirt track in search of salt-water crocodiles. After a 15 minute walk which involved brief stops to look at the local flora and fauna including a spider which could have easily slapped someone with one of its huge legs, we arrived at a causeway.

“This is close enough I think” said our host. The causeway can be crossed by foot during the dry season, but as we weren’t quite in this season yet the causeway still had water rushing over it. Apparently it was a great fishing area. Unfortunately, we were told that only the week before a young boy was taken by a crocodile while fishing with his father here.

Our host spotlighted the causeway with his torch. We were about 50 feet away from it. A long, rough, grey croc tail disappeared over some rocks. This brought gasps of ‘wow’. It truly was an incredible sight to see a crocodile in its natural habitat. He then scanned the river with his torch.

“Look” he said excitedly “see those two orange snake eyes?”

I squinted into the darkness until I saw those two orange spots.

“Well that’s a croc” he said “and a bloody big one too”.

“How can you tell?” someone asked.

“The larger the eyes the bigger the croc. I’d say that one is at least 6 foot long, even more”.

“Wow” someone said. Wow seemed to be the word of the evening as most of us stumbled for words describe what we were seeing.

The area turned out to be mission control for our crocodile spotting. We all took turns standing next to our host looking at those illuminated, transparent, marble-like eyes. They were hypnotising. I felt like a kangaroo staring into some headlights.

More pairs of orange marbles appeared hovering in the darkness ahead of us. There must have been at least a dozen. No doubt, the buggers were thinking, food, succulent live food of all shapes and sizes, all waiting for an underwater roll. I was glad they were all over there and we were here.

“Have you ever smelt croc before?” our host suddenly asked.

“No” someone said, and I thought, I don’t think I want to.

“Can you smell that briny, salty water smell?”

I stuck my nose out into the darkness and let the smell fill my nostrils. It was an odour I was familiar with. It was similar to the smell of drying seaweed on a beach. Yeah I can smell that briny, salty water smell which intensified the longer I smelt it. No cause for alarm though I thought, after all, we have kept our distance.

“RUN” our host yelled.

It took a few seconds for what our host just said to register, but when it did, I and everyone else joined our host high tailing it back up the track. Whether this was a joke or not I am not sure. However, if you take a trip into Kakadu and your host of the hostel asks you to come for a walk to do some night croc spotting make sure you stay behind him at all times.

When we were younger, there was a TV program called Daktari. It was about a family in Africa, who looked after and raised many different types of orphaned wild animals. As kids we loved it and I remember getting deeply emotionally attached to the different animals.

Subsequently, having grown up in the bush in Africa and through my work as a ranger, I have taken care of many orphaned animals, all the way from small bush babies, giraffes, elephants and lions – even injured birds that had flown into power lines or windows.

My wife, Michèle also used to watch Daktari in France where she grew up. Already then she vowed to live in Africa one day and to look after animals herself. Her dream came true when we met on a game reserve, and she was able to assist in hand-raising a baby zebra which had been attacked by lions, an orphaned wildebeest, and two small orphaned warthogs whose mother had been killed by lions. Since then, there have been many more…

A very good friend is a quadriplegic. The joy he had (and us!) when we spent time together and he was able to help in raising these animals inspired an idea. We learnt, through our friend, that there is always a way to ‘make a plan’ so that he could assist in much of the day to day work needed to look after the animals. We rose to the challenge and modified or altered tools so that he could assist the animals nevertheless! Thus ‘making a plan’ is central to what Daktari is about.

The idea took shape and eventually we decided to set up a charity where people from all walks of life, underprivileged, handicapped or simply in need of a break or an adventure could have the opportunity of caring for animals in need and learn about nature. At Daktari they will all work together as one team – we will not segregate by race, religion, ideology or physical condition.

We have set ourselves a great challenge: our aim is to give people a chance to make themselves useful, to show them that they are needed, encourage them to take responsibility and let them be proud of their work and contribution to conservation. At the same time we want to offer animals a chance to survive in a world where nature has to retreat more and more in the face of human development. Hence, ‘doing good’ to people and animals is equally important to us. If every person on this planet has these two simple tenets, perhaps the world will be a better place to live in?

Daktari is not run by amateurs – it is run by experienced people who, if they do not know what to do, know whom to ask! It is run by people who have a common dream – and have the love and dedication to do it. For us, Daktari is a chance to share our world and some of the magical experiences that we have had in the bush over the years with others and it is thus immensely rewarding. It is a great character building experience for anyone that joins us and we hope that many more projects like this are started in the rest of the world and that our visitors share the knowledge and experiences they have gained!

Daktari is situated near the Kruger Park in South Africa, on a private reserve of 700 hectares, containing numerous plains game, but none of the “big five”. The closest town is Hoedspruit in the Limpopo Province. In the area there are many attractions, game drives in big five reserves, hot air ballooning, white water rafting, tours to the Kruger Park, reptile park, rehab centres, cheetah breeding project, Blyde River Canyon and many more!

We would be more than happy to tell you more about the project, and our accommodation (Daktari no longer rent out accommodation.) – just email or call. If you would like to get involved in the project – any help is greatly appreciated! Contact details are on our web page: http://africanorphanage.com

If, like the Beetle, you are travelling in a Muslim country, you should be aware that it is Ramadan, which started 5^th October. Ramadan is a special month of the year for over one billion Muslims throughout the world. It is a time for inner reflection, devotion to God, and self-control. Many Muslims regards Ramadan as a kind of tune-up for their spiritual lives. Fasting in Ramadan is obligatory for those who can do it, so people who are ill and pregnant women for example are exempted from the fast but must make it up as they are able.

The third “pillar” of (Sunni) Islam is fasting and is believed to have many benefits including a means of learning self-control and going without food and drink during the daylight hours is felt to improve one’s spiritual nature, which becomes a means of coming closer to God. Ramadan is also a time of intense worship, reading the Quran, giving charity, purifying one’s behaviour, and doing good deeds.

The daily period of fasting starts when the sun comes up and ends when the sun sets. In between this time, Muslims do not eat, drink, smoke or have sex. Many people to have a pre-fast meal (suhoor) before dawn and a post-fast meal (iftar) after sunset. In Brunei, where the Beetle has just finished working, working hours are cut short, with people leaving at 3pm to allow the women to prepare the evening meal. Many people have relatives and friends over during Ramadan to share their evening meal.

The last ten days of Ramadan are a time of special spiritual power as everyone tries to come closer to God through devotions and good deeds. The night on which the Quran was revealed to the Prophet, known as the Night of Power (Lailat ul-Qadr), is generally taken to be the 27th night of the month. The Quran states that this night is better than a thousand months. Many Muslims spend the entire night in prayer. During the month, Muslims try to read as much of the Quran as they can. Some spend part of their day listening to the recitation of the Quran in a mosque. Some spend the last ten days of Ramadan in a mosque devoting the whole ten days for worshipping God.

You should be respectful to those fasting during Ramadan, and this includes not eating in front of a person who is fasting or asking them to join you in food or drink during fasting hours.

Trip duration: 40 days
Trip miles to date: 5,160
Miles since last update: 2,080

It’s been an eventful few days since the last update. I’ve travelled over 2,000 miles, crossed 2 borders, crashed on the notorious Ruta 40, slept in the shadow of a glacier, been interviewed by Argentine TV and met some fascinating fellow travellers along the way.

From Puerto Natalès (last update) there is no road route north through Chile. You can either take a 4 day ferry to the Island of Chiloè, some 500 miles north or opt to do what I did and head back into Argentina. First stop was a visit to the Moreno Glacier National Park, just outside the busy tourist and backpacker town of El Calafete. This also marked the beginning of the notorious Ruta 40, a thin strip of dirt track that slithers down the western side of Argentina and the subject of numerous messages of warning and disasters from fellow travellers both prior to arrival and after.

The Glacier itself was stunning (see photo below), although the park itself was extremely busy with numerous bus trips from Calafete. Rather than find space in the town I elected to camp in the park, in the shadow of the glacier, allowing me to rise early and watch the sunrise light up the face. This experience is simply not done justice by the photo above.

Back onto the Ruta 40 north to visit El Charltèn, an Argentine equivalent to the Torres del Paine range in Chile. Early in the day I spotted the dust clouds and silhouettes of 2 bikes coming towards me. Each of us slowed down and we exchanged greetings in the middle of the road, in the middle of nowhere! They were Kevin and Julia Sanders, a couple I had read about and had visited their website (http://www.globebusters.com/) before coming to South America. They were on route to Ushuaia after starting in Vancouver, a trip not so different of my own. We parted promising to meet again in Alaska.

El Charletèn is a pretty, almost Alpine looking town sitting in the shadow of Mt Fitzroy, a 3,400 metre peak of granite dominating the skyline. I was only stopping for lunch but I bumped into Mad Marco from Germany, who was currently stuck in Charltèn as the forks on his Honda Africa Twin had permanently destroyed themselves.

That afternoon I headed for Tres Largos which, according to the map, would be a seemingly sensible place to stop for the night. I pulled into the gas station there at about 4.30 and met a group of Germans heading south. Now, for some reason I’m growing weary of travelling Germans. This a completely unreasonable and irrational assumption I know, but after several comments (all negative) about the preparation and condition of my bike (for example “your chain sprockets are about to expire” and “why is your seat set so low?” and “ugh, why are you using that GPS unit?”) I mentioned that I was going to look for somewhere to stay the night in Tres Largos.

I grant them that Tres Largos was little more than a gas station in the middle of a rock desert, but I wasn’t expecting the vehement “NEIN! There is NOTHING in Tres Largos! You MUST carry on and stay where we stayed last night” (an estancia some 100 miles further on). I should have taken note that by 4.30pm, they were in the same location as I was expected to be by that evening. That alone should have warned me of the condition of the upcoming stretch of road.

On top of this, Tres Largos represented the last opportunity for petrol until Bajo Caracoles, some 230 miles north. This is at the absolute maximum of the Beemer’s tank range so I filled my spare 10 litre container in preparation. Against my better judgement and contrary to how I felt physically after a full days’ riding, I set out for the Estancia Angusteria. Within 50 miles I had crashed severely.

Now on dirt tracks it’s a common technique to apply speed to even out the inconsistent surface. At slow speeds the bike becomes nervous, twitchy and more difficult to control – a condition that gets steadily worse from the feedback from an increasingly nervous rider as he / she grips the controls more tightly. This “application of speed” approach is good for 99 times out of 100, but of course, it’s the 1 time out of 100 that will bite you, and at 60 mph accidents will happen quickly and most likely hurt more.

Up to this point of the trip I had been really enjoying the dirt tracks and that afternoon I was travelling at about 50 to 60 mph. In reality this was about 10-20 mph too fast for the road conditions (coupled with my weary condition.) The track had deteriorated and I’d failed to reduce my speed. This particular stretch was comprised of fist-sized rocks that had accumulated into deep ruts by the heavy trucks that use this route.

I always find it interesting that accidents and crashes take an infinitesimally small amount of time for you to pass beyond the point of no return (otherwise you’d react and there would be no accident, right?). However, once you’re past that point everything slows down. My memory of what led up to the accident is therefore slight, I suspect that the front wheel tried to rise up out of the rut, probably following a wheel track from a previous vehicle that had changed lane. The back wheel probably declined to follow this example and stayed in the rut, the bike fish-tailed violently and I failed to correct it (even if I could). Minor fish-tailing happens all the time, and it’s part of the enjoyment of riding dirt-tracks that they usually come back, but I distinctly remember thinking “oh shit! This ones not coming back… the bike swapped sides a couple of times (known as a tank slapper as the bars are violently swapped from side to side). I was then unceremoniously spat off the top of the bike, over the bars, as the front wheel dug into the track and the bike flipped over frontward.

That’s where things really slowed down. Flying through the air I knew that at this speed, this would be a severe crash and things were about to get hurt. I also remember considering the fact that I could not afford to break anything (i.e. leg, arm or neck) as I was a long way from anywhere and this was not a busy road.

The initial impact was HARD!!! but I realized that I had survived it and I tucked everything in as best I could… far, so good. The next thing to enter my head, and I remember it vividly, was “well, the only thing that can kill me now is the bike landing on top of me!” So as I was still rolling I was looking back at the bike as it nosedived into the track, and skidded to a stop about 20 feet short of me.

There must be a common 10-second rule, as the first thing you want to do after an accident is leap straight to your feet. I’ve watched track racers try to stand up while they are still rolling at 20 mph (!) and I did the same. Patting myself down I could hardly believe that I was in one-piece. I had taken the initial impact on my shoulder and hip, both which were talking to me in protest, but everything else was fine. RELIEF!

Looking back down the road the same could not be said of the bike. I regret I did not have the presence of mind to take pictures (forgive me!) but I saw a sorry sight of the bike lying on the gravel with all the luggage spread down the trail for about 30 metres. Time to take off the gloves, the crash helmet, the back pack and the jacket and just take a moment or two – this was obviously going to take a little time to fix.

From an initial appraisal, the worst issue seemed to be the aluminium Touratech panniers. Both had been stripped from the bike and the left hand box had completely burst – what was left was a mangled mess. The left-hand side of the handle bars were bent down and the foot-peg bent under. The headlight had rattled loose in the fairing, the pannier frame was badly bent and was fouling the chain guard, the mirrors were stripped off and the left-hand indicator broken.

Slowly I began to reassemble the components. I pulled the handlebars back into shape by bracing my foot against the engine guard. Then, by grabbing several boulders from the side of the road to use as a hammer and anvil, I began to bash things back into some sort of shape – starting with the pannier frame. It took 2 exhausting hours before I was fit again to move. The left-hand pannier box was held together by tape and a strap. In that time, only 4 vehicles passed reminding me how lucky I had been not to be hurt myself.

I still had 50 miles to the Estancia that the Germans were so keen about, it would take me a further 2 hours to cover this distance and the road got much worse both with the failing light of dusk and my general feeling of depression following the crash.

I found the Estancia almost by luck, it was placed 10 miles off of the main road, signposted by a small, unlit sign. I was greeted warmly and enthusiastically and shown a modest room and told that if I wanted food, a cordeo (barbequed lamb) was just being served outside. I merely dumped my bags and followed him outside, still wearing my dusty riding gear. I found a small gathering of the family accompanied with 3 Argentine documentary makers, interviewing the rural locals about how the world has changed for them.

It was a charming meal – little understood by me as my Spanish is still not good enough, but I enjoyed the food, and shared the last of my malt whisky. It felt like a good way to finish the day. The film crew interviewed me and seemed interested how a lone Englishman on a motorcycle could have stumbled on this place.

I awoke incredibly stiffly. The shoulder and the hip screaming in recognition of what they had gone through the previous day. A couple of Ibuprofen and some strong, hot coffee saw me straight and I was back on the road (filmed as I left).

After I re-crossed the border with Chile, the next few days were spent in first Cochrane and then Cohyique. In the latter I found a local mechanic to re-shape the pannier boxes into approximate shape – and the results were remarkable. So back onto the Carratera Austral (the spindly dirt-track road built on the instructions of General Augustine Pinochet) and an observation that the Chileans take far better care of their dirt-roads than the Argentines. I stopped for the night at the luxurious fishing lodge at El Parque, just north of Purto Puriguapi, and a welcome evening of relaxation after a tough few days.

The next day would get me to Chaitèn, the stepping off point to the Isla Grande de Chiloè. To continue north, most tourists and travellers head back into Argentina and drive north from San Carlos de Bariloche. I, however, have always wanted to visit Chiloè so I was excited to leave the main tourist route. The ferry was to leave at 9am so dutifully I was sitting on the ferry embarkation slipway at 8.45am the following morning. I was seemingly the only person not to know that the ferry NEVER, EVER leaves on time. After 1 hour, news filtered that it would be 12 noon, at least, before the ferry arrived. Of more concern was the phase “well, if not 12 noon, it will definitely be today at least”. I decided to cut loose and ride out to the end of the road, some 40 miles away, at Caleta Gonzalo. The ride was pretty and the coffee from the café at the end of the road made the trip worthy. I later found out that this was part of Doug Tompkins (the US billionaire and philanthropist) vast nature reserve.

After racing back to catch the ferry perhaps predictably an empty slip-way welcomed me. I took encouragement from the fact that many locals were now attending – perhaps signifying promise. The ferry eventually arrived at 2pm, and as a consequence we arrived in Castro, the large port town in the middle of Chiloè, at 9.30pm. For a change, I was let off first (motorbikes are usually last) so I had a head start to finding a hotel (boy, the beer tasted GOOOOD!)

I’ve decided to get to Santiago quickly and to get the bike fixed up and better prepared for the challenge of the Atacama Desert and the altitude and isolation of Bolivia. I’m currently in Tecumo, about 400 miles south of Santiago and late yesterday afternoon, having found suitable replacements, I got the tyres replaced. Santiago is just 1 days ride from here and it’s smooth tarmac all the way. Perhaps, after the last few weeks of intensely rough tracks and the crash on Ruta 40 this is all the bike (and I) are fit for at the moment.

If you want to know more about Greg’s travels, visit his website at: http://www.unbeatentrack.com/

West Java is one of the five provinces of Java, Indonesia. Bandung is the capital city. The greater part of west Java is mountainous, with the Priangan highlands forming the core territory. 21 mounts can be found here, most of which are classified as active volcanoes and have become an integral part of tourism in the West Java province.

Mount Tangkuban Perahu (capsized boat) is one of them. A smouldering 2000m wide, surrealistic volcano 1800m above sea level, it lies 28 km north of Bandung reachable within 30 minute ride.

The Legend of Sangkuriang

This is an example of how nature was converted into a legend, such as Bandung lake and Mt Tangkuban Perahu with the story of Queen Dayang Sumbi and her son Sangkuriang cited from Neuman va Padang (1971). Once Sangkuriang, whilst growing up, he was so naughty and got hurt and the wound formed an ugly scar.

The King, who loved his son above everything was so furious that his son had hurt himself that he rejected his wife.  Fifteen years later, being of age, Sangkuriang asked his father permission to take a trip to West Java.  After arriving in the plain of Bandung, he met a beautiful lady, fell in love and ask her to marry him and she accepted.  But one day when she caressed her lover's head she saw the wound. The loving woman, turned out to be the disowned queen, discovered that she was in love with her son and marriage was impossible.

The marriage had to be prevented. Not willing to admit that she was his mother she thought of a way out. The day before the wedding was due to take place, she said to her husband to be, tomorrow is our wedding day, and if you are true to your love to me and love me as much you say do then I want to celebrate the wedding on board a ship, a proa.  Tomorrow morning at day break, I want to sail with you on a great lake in a nice boat and there must be a banquet feast.  Sangkuriang was embarrassed but he was not willing to refuse.  He begged the help of the lake's helpful spirits. By causing a landslide, the lake spirit dammed the river Citarum that flowed through the plain of Bandung.  The force of the water felled big tree and a boat was constructed while other lake spirits prepared the wedding banquet.

Early in the morning the Queen saw that the impossible had been realised so she prayed to Brama, the mighty God, to help her to prevent the disgrace of a marriage between a mother and her son.  Brama destroyed the dam in turbulence and Sangkuriang was drowned.  The queen in her agony threw herself on the capsized boat, breaking through the hull of the ship and was also drowned.

Now, the vast plain of Bandung is flanked on its north side by the volcano Tangkuban Perahu, the  capsized boat.  The Queen's jump on the hull of the ship is the Kawah Ratu, the crater of the Queen.  The hot fumaroles and tremors in the crater represent the tears of the sad mother still sobbing.  East of Mt Tangkuban Perahu rises the Bukit Tunggul, trunk mountain, the trunk of the tree from which the boat was made and to the west we find Mt Burangrang, the “crown of leaves”.  At many places along the shore of the lake Neolithic obsidian tools of primitive inhabitants are found and described by von Koeningswald (1935).  These Neolithic people noticed that the hold was cut deeper and deeper by erosion caused by the lowering water. Finally only a marshy plain remained.

Centuries later the inhabitants of Bandung plain still know about the legend of the existence of a former lake. Not knowing anything about geology, but living in the taboos of spirit ghosts and Gods, geological facts were put together in a tale that was understandable.

If you are thinking of holiday trip, or even just information on any travel requirements in Java especially Indonesia, please do not hesitate to contact me. I'll be most happy to assist you. Tedy can be contacted by e-mail as follows: abctour_td@cbn.net.id.

A group of US researchers at Cornell University have identified a novel approach to conservation called Pleistocene wilding.  They have developed an initiative that involves placing lions, cheetahs, elephants and camels in some parts of North America.

The plan would help endangered African animals while offer ecotourism and land-management jobs to help the struggling economies of the Great Plains and Southwest as well as helping to maintain ecosystems and boost biodiversity.

During the Pleistocene age, between 1.8 million to about 10,000 years ago, North America was home to a wide range of mega fauna.  When man arrived around 13,000 years ago he hunted the American cheetah and a type of camel to extinction.  The disappearance of these extinct creatures has left gaps in the ecosystem.  The pronghorn, for example, which exists today, an antelope-like animal for example has lost its natural predator. 

By introducing living counterparts to the extinct animals, the researchers say, these voids could be filled. So, by introducing free-ranging African cheetahs to the Southwest, strong interactions with pronghorns could be restored, while providing cheetahs with a new habitat.  Other living species that could “stand in” for Pleistocene-era animals in North America include feral horses, wild asses, Bactrian camels, Asian and African elephants and lions.

“Obviously, gaining public acceptance is going to be a huge issue, especially when you talk about reintroducing predators,” said lead author Josh Donlan, of Cornell University. “There are going to have to be some major attitude shifts. That includes realising predation is a natural role, and that people are going to have to take precautions.” Dr Donlan said that large tracts of private land are probably the most promising place to start, with each step carefully guided by the fossil record and the involvement of experts and research.

“We are not advocating backing up a van and letting elephants and cheetah out into the landscape,” he said. “All of this would be science driven.”

Need a vacation but don't want to stay around town?  Want to go somewhere exotic, somewhere different?  Want to fly but worried about the airfare?  Sourcing the cheapest airfare available has been made easier with competition growing between travel agencies as people realize that a vacation need not be all that expensive.  With so many travel companies vying for your business, securing a cheaper airfare is a given!

The airline companies set airfare prices, with travel agents adding a mark up to the wholesale price. You should always check whether the advertised price of an airfare includes government taxes or duties, so you may need to add these into your airfare budget.

Aside from the airline companies and travel agencies setting the price, it is important to be aware that many things determine airfare prices, but the most important influence on price is the final destination. Other influences include but are not limited to:

• The type of airline class you prefer; do you want comfort or are you ok with being a tad squashed
• The location of your seat; window seat or inside
• The time of day you are prepared to travel; day or night
• How close you book to your departure date – booking closer to your departure date may increase your airfare unless you secure a last minute deal
• Whether your airfare is part of an all inclusive holiday package; more often than not for these all inclusive packages the airfare has been given with a huge discount as a deal between the resort or hotel, the airline and travel agent.

Therefore, being the money savvy person that you are, you should take into consideration all of the above points before you start searching for an airfare that fits within your budget.  Researching airfare is critical to securing the cheapest rate and these days, research is made a good deal easier thanks to the internet. 

Increasingly, last minute deal websites are being developed and there are some great bargains to be had particularly with regard to airfare rates. Checking often and subscribing to these last minute deal web sites will ensure that your vacation is one to remember without the added burden of over spending on airfare!

Corsa Dirfes is the owner of http://www.airfareson.com which is a premier resource for Airfares information.  For more information, go to http://www.airfareson.com

I can totally understand why people rave about Bali – a truly wonderful place – loved it – so serene – and very quiet. I took a flight from London to Singapore that took 12 hours, then a 2 hour wait in Changi – could be far worse places to wait! And off to Bali, on a low cost airline, Australian Airlines. It only took 2 hrs 5 mins, so only a hop and a good airline experience.

We were met at Depensar airport around 10pm by a very good natured man from the resort I'd booked and we transferred in an air con'd jeep that had seen better days to the north part of Bali, cutting through the mountains, past dark reflective lakes and rice terraces, past lush rain forest and neat houses adjoining the road and the silhouettes of Hindu temple after temple. Even in the dark, it all looked very clean and fascinating. It took two and a half hours, but we were later to realise that this was a very good time to do the transfer as during the day, the roads are unbelievably congested with men on motorbikes, men and whole families concertina-d on motorbikes, men and women riding side saddle on motorbikes, small stall holders with their wares on motorbikes, ancient lorries dripping with all manner of contents churning to get up hills and the odd short mini bus, but no tourists.

Got to the hotel about 1am, full of beans and explored the grounds, saw the sign saying do not feed the monkeys, dipped my toes in one of many hot springs and was up early the next day to sort out diving.

The place we stayed in had several natural hot spring pools: some really, really hot, some just very hot and some varying between just right to cold – total bliss. After 2 nights of staying in a very nice room, with a semi open air bathroom surrounded by tropical plants, I came back from diving and was met by a very excited friend, Marian, who told me that we had been upgraded to our own villa with its own hot spring tub kind of thing. It was very posh, and we spent hours in our own little natural spring hot tub in our own courtyard surrounded by tropical flowers and banana, mango and papaya trees – total bliss!

Very good diving, all drift diving, some strong currents, including down currents – hhhmm – oh, and dynamite fishing whilst we were in the water! This was a little scary. The previous day we'd been out diving around Menjangen Island when we unexpectedly came across several men diving along side us, breathing in compressed air from an umbilical cord leading from a boat on the surface. They had a couple of weights wrapped around their waist but no other safety equipment, like a gauge to tell them how deep they were or how long they'd been in the water.

This is extremely dangerous, as they were doing hideous dive profiles, see-sawing up and down is a great way to get air embolisms, not to mention the bends if you are in the water too long. Not only were they carrying spear guns, but they were stealing tiny baby colourful tropical fish – for sale in aquariums. The three pictures show a baby puffer fish and a clown anemone fish, both the type these pirates were trying to catch.

They had long metal rods and were poking around behind coral and in the crevices, they knew exactly what they were after – baby lion fish and butterfly fish, but very, very small ones. They coaxed or frightened them out from their hiding places, caught them in a butterfly kind of net and then put them into plastic bags and tied them to themselves. It was not a good sight.

This was not quite in the protected WWF marine reserve where I mostly dived, but they most definitely should not have been doing this. They were no more pleased to see us than me and the dive instructor I was with, were to see them. They knew they were 'in the wrong' and it was a very awkward situation under water, a little aggressive and certainly very threatening. When we got back to our dive boat, and were returning to our hotel, the Japanese instructor (a tiny little thing, with the strength of Goliath) said in Indonesian (which I picked up a fair bit of!) to the guys on the pirate boat that she was going to call the police. They were not impressed.

The next day we dived in a different part of the same marine sanctuary, when we heard this massive boom. There is only one sound, that, even under water sounds like that – explosives. I was rather scared, to put it mildly! Someone close by was dynamite fishing. It was not a good feeling, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, my time was up, and this is how it was all going to end – making enemies with Indonesians stealing tropical fish who dynamited us out of the water for revenge. But, as you can see, they did not dynamite us, but there were four explosions on that dive and they were further away than I first thought, but it was still very scary, the whole water and landscape seems to vibrate and shake, almost as if it was crying.

Apart from the dynamite fishing, I can whole heartedly recommend the unvisited northern and north east part of Bali, it's beautiful, the people serene, friendly and a privilege to have spent time there.