There’s a well trodden “tourist” route in Sabah, Borneo. Most people arrive in KK (Kota Kinabalu), from mainland Malaysia or Brunei. The usual route is to make the 1 night 2 day climb of Mt Kinabalu, scoff at seeing the ‘circus’ of orang-utans at Sepilok, (but still go,) do a jungle trek (complete with leeches when it rains) at Kinabatangan, and end up diving around Sipadan. The Beetle however, obviously a wuss, headed direct from KK for the delightful town of Semporna to go diving around Sipadan.

I am told that Semporna translates from Malay to mean ‘beautiful’. Beautiful it ain’t. It’s a small place clustered around the sea front, spilling up a small hill where a motley collection of shops, two budget hotels, an internet café, one KFC, a Courts Mammoth, Maybank, a supermarket and the mini van terminus can be found. Down the slope by the sea there are fish markets (upsettingly selling manta rays, blue spotted rays and sharks amongst the usual tuna etc.,) lots of small rickety wooden stalls with people selling water melons, small plastic bags of tomatoes, durian, bananas, rambutans, small piles of chillies, ginger and the like. The road from the top of the town leads via a small roundabout with a rusting sculpture of a marlin in a circle down a small incline to the central market and wharf. The road is broken up, badly pot holed and largely comprises rough gravel. Partially open culverts run by the side of the roads.

The place stinks and you have to pick your way around gaping holes in the pavement and road, steel girders stretched across the pavement and road, debris from semi abandoned buildings and rubbish: decomposing food, dead animals and plastic bags abound. Several divers came a cropper on any one/combination of the above and hurt themselves – and this on land and not in the sea.

Opposite the wharf, there’s the Dragon Inn budget hotel, a collection of long houses on stilts in the sea. To the right of that is the somewhat posher Seafest Hotel and cafe. In between there’s a small collection of dive operations.

I arrived during Ramadan, a time when there are a lot of dusty fruit and veg stalls during the day but the supermarket is closed until 7pm. The KFC was not doing a great deal of business during the day either, though there is a large Chinese population in Semporna and they were not fasting and could be found sitting in the kedai kopi – coffee shops. After 6.30pm, the local Malays broke their fast and sat in open air restaurants watching violent movies whilst feral cats fought beside for scraps of food. The owner of the place I stayed at, Lees Rest House gave me his views on Semporna, but not first without complaining how hard it was to do business as a Chinese person in Malay society. I was told that there were many illegal Filipino people, as Mindanao, in the south of the Philippines is close by.

You may wonder, from my description of Semporna, why I stayed there. Simple: because this is the best place to stay to go diving around Sipadan. The alternatives are to go and stay in one of two very swish resorts on Mabul – too expensive for me – one quoted me £1,100 for 7 days’ diving and accommodation, and the other is even more expensive. Another option is to stay in a long house on Mabul, which I did think about as it would mean that I could sleep in a little until the dive boat arrived from Semporna, but, being a Beetle, I decided to stay in my small but clean and air con’d room at Lees Guest House for 40 Ringits a night – about £6 and that I could run the twice daily gamut of hisses and whistles from the local men whilst walking down to the dive shop and back. They’ve obviously not seen a Beetle before.

A small oasis in the town called Semporna is a dive shop called Scuba Junkies, complete with fury creature Ewok, a white gangling ball of walking fluffiness. I did 21 dives with Scuba Junkies over seven days and can recommend them whole heartedly; they were professional, safe and fun to be with. The diving around Sipadan more than made up for staying in Semporna, which faded into insignificance compared to the sharks, turtles and reef fish I saw.

Sipadan diving really is world class diving. One dive site called Barracuda Point has so many resting sharks on sandy slopes and turtles that it is easy to become blasé about them. We also saw small schools of barracuda too, and I saw two leopard sharks, my first sighting ever. March/April time there are sometimes schools of hammerheads sharks. At times there are so many turtles that you have to get out of their way as they ease of their ledges or move from sandy patches. This is not necessarily deep diving, you can see all you hope to at less than 25 metres; yes, sometimes, there were strong-ish currents but nothing too difficult and on top of the reef at between 9 and 5 metres there was always a myriad of hundreds of reef fish.

There’s macro diving too, if that is your thing. I felt so in awe of the ‘big stuff’ around Sipadan that I did not want to miss out on that so only made three macro dives around Mabul. On one dive, around the pillars supporting an old oil exploration rig that is now the Sea Ventures floating hotel, at around 12 metres underneath a pile of iron girders is the most enormous moray eel I have ever seen. He is called Elvis, though I don’t know why. On the macro dives, we saw frog fish, scorpion leaf fish, juvenile sweetlips and there are sea horses, though I did not see one.

All of the photos in this article were kindly given to the Beetle by Tino, dive instructor, and one of the owners of Scuba Junkies.

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/

Kensington Palace stands at the western end of Kensington Gardens. It was originally a private country house called Nottingham House but was acquired in 1689 by William III and Mary II (1689) because the King’s asthma improved there during the winters. Sir Christopher Wren was engaged to design improvements to the house and the Clock Court and the South Front, including the 96-foot Long Gallery were added. After William III’s death in 1702, the palace became the residence of Queen Anne. Wren designed the Orangery for her and a 30-acre garden was laid out by Henry Wise. Further extensive alterations were carried out for George I and William Kent painted the elaborate trompe l’oeil ceilings and staircases. The last monarch to live at Kensington Palace was George II, whose consort, Caroline of Ansbach helped develop Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens and the Serpentine, Basin and Grand Vista and the Broad Walk were created for her. The sudden death of George II in 1760 marked the end of an era. Kensington Palace was never again to serve a reigning monarch.

Queen Victoria spent her childhood at Kensington Palace and it was here in June 1837 that she learned of her accession to the throne and moved to Buckingham Palace. The palace was most famously the London home of Diana, Princess of Wales and is still home to several other hanger-on members of the Royal Family.

Kensington Palace first opened to the public in 1912 with a display of relics and objects relating to the City of London. It attracted 13,000 visitors in just one day. The museum pieces now form part of the collection at the Museum of London. Visitors today can see the State Apartments, the Royal Ceremonial Dress Collection that includes outfits from the eighteenth-century to the present day, the Orangery and sunken gardens.

Kensington Palace opens daily. 10:00-17:00 (Nov-Feb) 10:00-18:00 (Mar-Oct). Closed 24-26 Dec. Tube: Queensway, Notting Hill Gate or High Street Kensington. Enquiries: 020 7937 9561. Entrance: Adults £10.80, Students and Snr Citizens £8.20, Child: £7.00 Under 5s: FREE.

We are sorry to say that Mac is not very well, but he is still e-mailing strong and recently sent the Beetle a collection of travel book reviews and things that caught his eye.

From Book Holidays In Hell by P. J. O Rourke. P. J. O Rourke is currently the White House correspondent from Rolling Stones magazine (l988.) Page ll: “There are worst pests than mainland Chinese taking Frigidaires home on the plane.”

Commodore Hotel in Beirut, Lebanon where correspondents hang out: “Get a room away from the pool. It’s harder to hit that side of the building with artillery. Rates are about fifty dollars a night. They’ll convert your bar bill to laundry charges if you’re on an expense account.”

Page 15: “The wise traveller will pack shirts or blouses with ample breast pockets. Reaching inside a jacket for your passport looks too much like going for the draw and puts armed men out of continence”

Page 16. “West Beirut can be toured on foot. — “There’s a lot of jewellery and make-up and the silliest Italian designer jeans on earth. They’re rushing from one place to another in order to sit around drinking hundreds of tiny cups of Turkish coffee and chat at the top of their lungs. The entire economy is fuelled so far as I can see by everyone selling cartons of smuggled Marlboros to each other.”

Page 17. “The Old American Embassy is here in the same state as U.S. Middle East policy.” On kidnapping – “If nabbed, make as much noise as possible (this is where the whistle I carry might come in handy.) Do not get in someone’s car. If forced in, attack the driver. At least that is what I am told.”

Page 23. “Welcome to Lebanon” said the Israeli captain. He read my credentials and smiled. “Tourism?” “Yes” I said, “I’m the only tourist in Lebanon.” The captain laughed. “Oh, no you’re not. I’m a reservist, you know, and this is my vacation too.”

Page 29. “My answer to everyone was that President Reagan wasn’t sure why he sent the Marines to Lebanon. However, he was determined to keep them here until he figured it out, but then he forgot.”

Page 35. “The Syrian army has dozens of silly hats, mostly berets in yellow, orange and shocking pink, but also tiny pillbox chapeaux, peaked officer’s caps and half a foot of gold braid up the front and lumpy Russian helmets, three sizes too large. The paratroopers wear shiny gold jumpsuits and crack commando units have skin-tight fatigues in a camouflage pattern of violet, peach, flesh tone and vermilion on a background of vivid purple (good camouflage Ha!)

On Korea, page 46: “I was overwhelmed by the amazing stink of kimchi, the garlic and hot pepper sauerkraut that’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner in Korea. Its odour rises —eyeglass fogging kimchi breath, throat searing kimchi burps and terrible pants-splitting kimchi Farts.”

And here is a guide to frequently used hotel terms (and their real meaning):

Guide to Hotel Terms

• All the amenities – free shower cap.
• Aristocratic – needs renovation.
• Gentle Breezes – gale-force winds.
• Picturesque – theme park or mystery house nearby.
• Carefree natives – terrible service.
• Bustling metropolis- thousands of hostile locals.
• Airy – no air conditioning.
• Brisk – freezing.
• Off the Beaten Path -people have stopped coming here.
• Remote- People never came.
• Standard – Substandard.
• Superior – free shower.
• Undiscovered -not worth discovering.
• Authentic native dishes- inedible but cheap.
• Playground of the stars – Regis Toomey once stayed here.
• If you like being pampered -you can get waited on.
• Exquisite cuisine – limited menu.

Meeting News from our branches around the world.

The European Commission is investigating Ryanair’s use of an airport in Tampere, Finland. It is believed that the investigation is under the rules covering aid to regional airports. Last year, Ryanair was ordered to pay €4m back to the Walloon government in Belgium after a Commission ruling found Ryanair had received illegal state aid at Charleroi airport. Ryanair has said that its arrangements with Tampere are ‘legal, open and pro-competition’ and will result in 350,000 international passengers at Tampere in the coming year and will generate 350 jobs in the region.

Ryanair, Europe’s No. 1 low fares airline welcomed the recent Holiday Which article, The No- Frills revolution, which highlights the growth of low fares in Europe pioneered by Ryanair. Peter Sherrard, Ryanair’s Head of Communications said: “If ever evidence was needed of consumer support for low fares airlines it was provided in August when Ryanair carried more passengers than British Airways’ worldwide traffic for the first time.

He said: passengers continue to desert high fare rip off airlines like British Airways in favour of Ryanair because:

1) They want to avoid British Airways’ rip off fuel surcharges of up to £60 while Ryanair guarantees no fuel surcharge ever.

2) They prefer Ryanair’s average fare of £27 compared to British Airways’ average fare of £181 – over 6 times greater.

3) At Ryanair their flights are on time while British Airways are frequently delayed.

4) With Ryanair they will not be stranded at Heathrow without accommodation or compensation like 100,000 of British Airways’ customers were in August.

“Millions of passengers compare Ryanair and British Airways on a daily basis and more passengers chose Ryanair because of Ryanair’s lower prices, better punctuality, better passenger service and guarantee of no fuel surcharge ever”.

July last year, a tired Ryanair pilot nose-dived his Boeing 737 at 6,000ft a minute – twice the recommended speed – after forgetting to descend from 30,000ft at the right time. The 38-year-old Australian captain, who had flown from London’s Stansted Airport with 184 passengers aboard, continued to descend rapidly despite repeated warnings from the first officer. Although he managed to bring the plane to a halt at Stockholm’s Skavsta Airport, the Swedish air traffic controllers reported him. This happened on the captain’s last day before leaving Ryanair. In a statement, he admitted stress and fatigue had caused him to become “deficient in logical thought”. Investigators, who described the incident as “serious”, said: “It was fortuitous the landing was carried out safely.”

Trip duration: 19 days
Trip miles to date: 3,040
Miles since last update: 1,023

I've recently arrived in Peurto Natalès having successfully visited Ushuaia and the end-of-the-world!!! Having hoped to make Ushuaia in a single leap from Rio Gallegos, I had to overnight in Rio Grande (150 miles short) as 2 border crossings and a delayed ferry crossing (across the Straights of Magellan) slowed progress.

The borders were remarkably trouble-free and I'm thankful for getting the correct documentation (Carnet de Passage for the bike) prior to travelling. It's also a bonus that many bikers come through these borders on route to Ushuaia so the officials know what they're looking at – although I'm still impressed with the flamboyance and enthusiasm you can put into stamping a document 6 or 12 times.

Any thoughts of reaching Ushuaia that night were dashed at the ferry crossing at Pta. Delgardo, which connects mainland Chile with Terra del Fuego. Even by Pategonian standards, it was pretty bloody windy that day and the ferry ramp on the other side was closed. I joined a long-line of traffic and had to park the bike behind other vehicles to prevent it from being blown over!

With little information forthcoming, many vehicles turned around and headed south (I guess) to Punta Arenas and the longer ferry crossing.  The other frustration was that trucks and coaches automatically drove to the head of the queue, taking priority over the proletariat like me.  Of course everybody else could take shelter in their cars / vans / 4×4's etc – but for me it was a couple of hours sitting on the tarmac in the lee of the wind.

Eventually, 3 hours after arriving, I got to board a ferry.  Naturally I was pulled aside and loaded last, squeezed on between a rental car and the now raised loading ramp.  I didn't share the loaders confidence in the position of the bike so I decided to stay on the bike for the incredibly bumpy 20 minutes it took to cross – if I hadn't the bike would have fallen against the car for sure.

The blast down to San Sebastian (2nd border) was fun as it was dirt road all the way and I was able to catch, and pass all the traffic from both the ferry I was on, and the previous ferry that was full of vehicles that had driven past me in the queue (very satisfying!!!)

After over-nighting in Rio Grande I struck out for Ushuaia the next day. Pleasingly the terrain changed from the flat open pampas to forested mountains. The last 20 miles changed from dirt track to beautiful tarmac, which wouldn't have been out of place along the Route Napoleon outside Nice.

Eventually I rounded a corner and there it was – USHUAIA!!! It amuses me that after 2,000 miles this marks the start of my stated trip to Alaska.

From the gentle slope down into the town, I could see several ships in port ahead. Little did I appreciate what this really meant. Upon parking on the high street in search of a hotel list I was immediately approached by several Brit tourists – drawn by the Union Jack on my crash helmet. This was pleasant enough but it highlights the type of town Ushuaia is, a transit lounge for wealthy western tourists on route to a short trip around Antarctica.  Ushuaia was quite unlike any other town in Argentina, full of  tacky souvenir shops, Irish theme pubs and expensive hotels.

After spending a night at the (very welcoming) Hostel Albergue I decided to get out of town, choosing to camp in the remarkably picturesque Nation Park of Terra del Fuego, which coincidentally also contains the official end of the road.

I dutifully posed for the obligatory photo next to the wooden marker (see below)before setting up camp (first time on the trip). The park is stunning and the following day I set off early to climb the highest peak there (yeah, a bit foolhardy I know). The trails were easy to follow but the climb was a tricky one, rising through incredibly dense forest, sat points resembling something out of Hansel & Gretal, into peat bog and eventually a tall slope of loose scree.

The summit view was worth the toil (photo above) showing all around the Beagle Channel and off into Chile and Cape Horn itself.

Next day I set off north, aiming to stop in Punta Arenas. Another border, another ferry across the Magellan Straights, and once more I'm in Chile. At the ferry ramp at Porvenir I was entertained by 10 Czech engineers on route to James Ross Island to build the Czech Republic's first research station in Antarctica. Amusingly they were more impressed at my trip than their own forthcoming endeavour, but having just read about the fateful trip of Shackleton's expedition to that area, I'm in awe of anybody who elects to spend a lengthy stay there. One of them had contacts with the Czech version of Motorcycle News (magazine) and took my details and a photo for the journal.

So now I'm in Peurto Natales and about to embark on a 6 day trek around the Torres del Paine national park. This was a must do excursion for me before the trip and from what I can see of the Andes rising from the horizon, I wont be disappointed.

I'm 3,000 miles and 20 days into this trip and getting used to the change of lifestyle. What I have noticed is the western-world (and specifically US) 'culture-creep'. Every hotel I check into has 60 channels of TV with predominately US content spilling out and it inevitably impacts the local environment.

I wonder what this trip would find if it were repeated 50 years from now.

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

Trieste is an Adriatic coastal city in north eastern Italy, close to the border with Slovenia. The sea in the Gulf of Trieste is very clear and clean, with limestone cliffs and rocky beaches. The centre of the city has a mid-European feel, more Austrian than Italian, Trieste was the seaport of the Hapsburg Empire.  Here you can enjoy a combination of a sea/beach holiday and the attractions of a cultural city.

It is an ideal destination for a short break but you could easily spend a week here. The Verdi Theatre hosts an opera season in the winter and an operetta festival in summer. You can swim in the beautiful clear sea, stroll the promenade, and walk along the cliff paths. Take in the wonderful art collection at the Revoltella Museum. You can sip coffee on Piazza Unita Italia with its grand 19th century buildings, which face onto the sea.

History: according to folklore, Trieste was founded by Tergeste, a friend of Jason and the Argonauts. Ancient Tergeste as a Roman colony is dated to around 178 BC. It became more important during the reign of Octavian when roads were improved.  The city has had many rulers during its history: Goths, Byzantines, and Lombards. In the 13th century Trieste was forced to swear allegiance to Venice. To escape Venetian domination, Trieste sought the protection of Duke Leopold of Austria. Trieste was of great importance to the Hapsburg Empire as a seaport and was made a Freeport in 1719. Without customs barriers the port and city flourished.  At the end of the First World War with collapse of the Hapsburg Empire, Trieste was returned to Italy in 1918. Trieste was taken over by the Third Riech when Italy withdrew from the Second World Ward in September 1943. Two years later there was a 40-day Occupation by Tito's Yugoslav forces. After 9 years under an Anglo-American government Trieste was handed over to the Italian government.

Trieste's history may help explain why 70% of Italians apparently did not know that Trieste was part of Italy in a recent opinion poll!  With EU enlargement Trieste is ideally placed as the only natural port in the centre of Europe. Trieste is one of three finalists to host the international Expo of Science, Technology and Culture in 2008. If its bid is successful there will be more investment in the area and Trieste will become better known on the world map.

Literary Connections: the Irish author James Joyce lived in Trieste during the early part of the 20th century. When he first arrived he worked as a tutor at the Berlitz School of English. He went on to write “The Dubliners”, “The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man” and start “Ulysses” in Trieste. The rich mix of central European and Eastern Mediterranean culture in Trieste is said to have had a great influence on his writing.

Joyce (pictured left) was English tutor to Itali Svevo, the Italian novelist. Svevo was born in Trieste in 1861, his Mother was part of a Triestian Jewish family, and his Father was of German descent. Joyce encouraged and praised Svevo's work and Svevo wrote critiques of Joyce's work.

Jan Morris wrote the book, “Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere”. Morris claims this is her final book, a self-examination based in Trieste. Morris changed gender.  Jan Morris first visited Trieste at the end of the Second World War as young Welsh soldier. She describes how the city “curiously haunted her” . She revisited the city as an elderly woman.

Morris describes Trieste as “natural capital of the nation of nowhere”. By this she means a home for the so-called “Fourth World”. This is a scattered group with the common values of humour and understanding, usually exiles in their own communities but probably numerous enough to form their own nation.

I laughed at Clay Risen's comment in his piece about Trieste in the Square Table in Spring 2003. He observed that “Trieste is the only city in Europe which appears more often in reflective essays than in guide books of newspaper travel sections.”

Exploring the city:  the best way to explore the city is to walk around. The Piazza dell' Unita d'Italia is the heart of the city. The square was created towards the end of the 19th century. It houses the City Hall, with its clock tower featuring statues of Mikeze and Lakeze, figures from Trieste folklore; Government House, with its gilded mosaic wall decorations; and the former Head Office of Lloyd Triestino, built in Renaissance style by an Austrian architect.

The Victory Lighthouse lights the Gulf of Trieste and commemorates the dead of the First World War. It stands almost 70 metres high with a scaled dome containing a statue of winged Victory. At the base of the column is the anchor of the torpedo boat Audace, the first Italian ship to enter the harbour in 1918. The lighthouse took 4 years to complete and was officially opened in 1927.

The Old Stock Exchange (see picture right) is a fine example of neo-classical architecture, resembling a Greek temple. The Old Stock Exchange stands by the so called Grand Canal. However this is rather a misnomer as the canal is very short.

The Arco di Riccard is a Roman gate to the city thought to date from 33 AD. It is in Piazzetta di Ricordo in the old city. You can see the Roman amphitheatre at the foot of San Guisto hill.  The Verdi Opera Theatre opened in 1801. It is of a similar style to La Scala in Milan.  The Arco di Riccard is a Roman gate to the city thought to date from 33 AD. It is in Piazzetta di Ricordo in the old city. You can see the Roman amphitheatre at the foot of San Guisto hill.  The Verdi Opera Theatre opened in 1801. It is of a similar style to La Scala in Milan.

Day Trips: there are many day trips that can be taken, including exploring the Carse.  The Triestine carse starts at Montefalcone in the north and stretches down adjacent to the Slovenian border. The area is known as a paradise for botanists with a mixture of continental flora and Mediterranean vegetation.  There is talk of the area achieving national park status.  The Carsic house in Rupingrande has a collection of traditional furniture and local costumes.  During the first week in May the works of local painters are exhibited during the Majence Festival, in San Dorligo delle Valle.  The best known event is the Carsic Wedding, every second year on the last Sunday of August in Monrupino. There are dances every night of the preceding week. On the wedding day the bridal procession, all dressed in traditional costume, walk to the fortress church for the marriage ceremony.

Grado and Aquiliea : Aquiliea was founded in the first century BC. It occupies a strategic defence location. It became a Patriarch's seat and many beautiful churches were built. The Bascilica is considered to be one of the most important monuments of early Christianity. There are two museums to visit there.

Grado was the extreme southern part of the port of Aquileia (see picture below left). Now it a beautiful island city joined to the mainland by a causeway. It boasts 20 kms of fine sandy beaches. Grado was very popular as a spa during the days of the Austrio Hungarian Empire with its healing sands.Grado can be reached by the no 21 bus from Trieste. There is also a boat service during the Summer.

Muggia: Muggia (see picture below right)  is a pretty coastal town just south of Trieste, which can be reached by ferry from Trieste during the summer. The town is of Venetian origin, surrounded by medieval walls with a 14th century castle and a pretty port.

The Slovenian border is just a few kilometres from Trieste. The Lipica Stud and Riding School is under a half hour drive from Trieste. It was originally founded in 1580 by Archduke Charles for breeding royal horses for the Austrian court. Now you can tour the stud farm (6 Euros) or have a riding lesson, starting at 16 euros.

Croatia can be easily reached through by passing through the narrow strip of coastal Slovenia.  Venice can be reached by direct train from Trieste. The journey takes around two hours. The train takes you right into the centre of Venice.

Getting there and around: Ryanair flies into Trieste from London Stansted. The airport is 35 kms west of Trieste but there is regular public transport on Coach 51 into Trieste.  If you do decide to hire a car, it is worth checking that you can take it into Slovenia and Croatia if you are considering day trips there.  Trieste has a good public transport network.  There is a “Trieste by Bus” city tour in 13 stops. This is available on Saturdays and Sundays at 2pm from the end of June to mid October. The two and a half hour trip allows you to see the city's main attractions. The cost is around five euros per person.  You can take the Opicani tram up to the Carso plateau, 348 metres above sea level. This funicular tramway was built in 1902. The tram leaves from Piazza Oberdan in the city centre up Scorolo hill to the plateau above.

Karen Bryan is an independent travel consultant and writer, specialising in less well known destinations in Europe. Her websites are: www.europealacarte.co.uk, www.europe-culture-activity-tours.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.

We are sorry to say that Mac is not very well, but he is still e-mailing strong and recently sent the Beetle a collection of travel reminiscences about China.

Beijing, China. The Imperial Palace in the Forbidden City in Beijing has 9000 rooms.  We agreed that if we got lost and separated from each other we would meet in the Hall of Heavenly Purity (if they would let us in.)  At the time I was there, the military did not wear rank on their uniforms (don't know if this still applies or not.)  You could kind of get an idea of who outranked who by the number of pockets they had on their blouse of uniform.  Someone with four pockets would have their baggage carried by someone with one pocket or no pockets.

In the hotels the orchestras (In the Peace Hotel in Shanghai I think they had some of the members or orchestra from the 30s) would play songs they thought we would like.  Oh Susannah from a couple of decades ago seemed to be making a comeback, as well as Turkey in the Straw and and Auld Lang Syne.  At the end of each number the players would put down their instruments and applaud us in the audience.  We could hardly wait for the Tuba player to unwind from his Tuba to applaud us.

Our Chinese guide in Wushi kind of had a high opinion of himself (unusual for Chinese) and thought he was hip in Western ways.  He liked to show off and showed us how he was proficient in Tai Chai.  Blonde vivacious Liza asked him to dance with her.  He said that no he could not dance with a client but that he would arm wrestle her!  He told long involved stories about the Kingdom of Wu and Dragons and such. George whispered: “I wonder what he would say if we told him we didn't want to hear any more dragon stories?” 

In 1977 I got in on a deal on a trip to China.  A western cruise ship had not gone into China in twenty seven years but suddenly a Swiss outfit got permission and an ad was in the LA paper one day only and participants had a very short time to get on trip.  I had to fly to Singapore and get on Norwegian Rasa Sayang ship.  Why it did not leave from Hong Kong I don't know.  Everything about that trip was strange.  On board we were arranged into 24 groups of 24 people and in each group they arbitrarily chose a responsible person.  This was the person the Chinese dealt with to give us bad news to pass on to us others.  Your tour has been cancelled.  Unpaid thankless job.  Our Chinese guides had names that phonetically sounded like Mr Shi, Mr Ee and Miss Ou.  They met us at gangplank with Miss Ou carrying a banner with number 13 the number of our group.   24 buses were there to meet us.  It was like a military operation although we were all supposed to be civilians.  One Australian before we left ship asked if it was alright if he wore walking shorts.  He was told “You are going to look so strange to the Chinese that is makes no difference what you wear”.

Our guide Miss Ou had pigtails, glasses no makeup and wore a bag like Mao suit.  Most of our tour group dressed down, slacks etc but one lady in our group wore high heels and a different fancy outfit for each appearance as she said she wanted the Chinese to see her clothes and how they could dress.

There was no tipping but on the second day I gave Miss Ou some picture post cards of Washington, D. C.  She then gave me a ten minute speech that she would accept hers as a signal of international friendship.  I then became her pet and she would come to me on pronunciation of English.  I, who have a speech defect, ha!

At the Pan His Restaurant No 15l Hsiang Yang Rd (Kissinger ate there,) Canton, where we ate one meal, Miss Ou would tell us what was in each dish.  Duck, shrimp, vegetable and other materials. When she saw some smile at “other materials” she looked to me and I said other ingredients.

Wherever we went there would be Chinese on each side of sidewalk waiting for us to come out of antique stores, whatever and they would applaud us.  I thought it was voluntary but was told that they had probably been ordered to do this and perhaps had been there since five o clock that morning waiting for us to arrive although they probably had no idea who we were or where we were from.  I felt like Prince Philip viewing China and found myself walking with my arms behind my back.  I bowed graciously to my fans.  They have gotten so many tourists now that they no longer applaud us.

On my first trip to China they said that five of each 24 group of 24 could witness acupuncture which was new to me so I raised my hand.  Most of us did not realize that this demonstration of acupuncture included watching five bloody operations in a hospital where they used acupuncture as an anaesthetic.  One lady passed out immediately and they put one of the needles between her mouth and nose and she came right to.  We were in a viewing area that looked down on the operating tables.  One operation was to remove a goitre from an elderly lady.  After they removed the goitre the size of a golf ball they passed it up to us on a tray much as if they were passing around something to eat at a cocktail party.  After the fourth operation I felt woozy myself and so left room and climbed stairs to roof of hospital.  Attendants came running after me.  There was a church with a steeple nearby and I tried to act like I had just gone up there for the view and to see China as I wasn't seeing much of China in that operating room.  I pointed to the church spire and said what is that building? I was told “It is where they store useless objects (religious statues, religious things).  Just wait until I tell Father Murphy!

We were told that acupuncture did not work as anaesthetic unless you had faith in it. The advantage is that there were supposedly no after effects and one could eat after the operation. In fact before the operation which I don't think is usual practice. When the tumour was removed from the neck of the elderly lady, they wanted to show us that she could navigate on her own. She kind of slid off table looked up at us and waved and we waved back. She then kind of stumbled out of the room.

Would I submit to acupuncture in an operation? Only if I could have an anaesthetic as well.

I did later on another trip submit to this form a barefoot doctor. They call them barefoot doctor (not barefoot) but those that work helping those in communes and field. I paid something like fifteen cents. It was to cure a cold. They then gave me a certificate entitling me to free acupuncture care for a year.

Meeting news from around the world.

British Airways whose tagline has been 'the world's favourite airline' has been overtaken by our friends Ryanair whom it has been recorded carried more passengers in August 2005 than the whole of BA.  This could have something to do with the Gate Gourmet catering fiasco/strike and increasing competition.  Ryanair's latest monthly figures for August show that BA carried 156,000 fewer passengers than the Irish airline which saw numbers soar by 27% to 3.257m.  As usual, Ryanair's Chief Executive had something to say: 'It's official. Ryanair has today become the world's favourite airline.  Last month, Ryanair's traffic exceeded BA's worldwide passengers across its entire network.'

Whilst the Beetle does not believe that just because Ryanair's figures exceed British Airways' Ryanair can take over British Airway's mantle of being the world's favourite airline.  This seems a little excessive given that Ryanair does not fly long haul, nor has anything like BA's coverage, provides next to no in-flight service and benefited in passenger volume particularly as a result of BA's strike fiasco during the month of August.  Ryanair's success was put down to growing passenger volumes due to Ryanair's guarantee of no fuel surcharges.  And not forgetting that Michael O'Leary likes to have the last word, he went on to say: 'At least on Ryanair, customers can buy a sandwich with the £100 they have saved over BA's high fares and that's why BA are now officially just second choice'.

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51 holiday makers, mostly Belgians but including five Britons and fifteen Germans, were told that their flight from Carcassone to Charleroi airport, Brussels airport had been cancelled due to bad weather and would not be replaced.  They were forced to hire a bus and drive 600 miles home after they were told that the next aircraft out of Carcassone would be in 10 days time.  The 51 passengers led by a Belgian window cleaner, clubbed together to rent a vehicle for €4,000 (£2,700) to drive home to Charleroi in Belgium. “They abandoned us there as if we were dogs,” said Gauthier Renders, the 28-year-old window cleaner from Brussels. “There were children there and even an old woman with a walking stick. They didn't even give us a glass of water.” He continued: “At the Ryanair desk they said there were no available flights for ten days. Everything was fully booked. They said that some of us could get home via Gerona in Spain but that was 200 miles away and there were only 15 places available.   They also said they wouldn't pay for us to get there. So I looked for a bus in the Yellow Pages and we were on the road by 9pm.” The bus company provided two drivers and after a 16-hour drive the coach arrived in Belgium, on Tuesday.

“That's a long trip and everyone was pretty frustrated when we got there. Ryanair said they would refund our return flight – half the price of the original ticket – but said that it would take three weeks for the money to arrive,” Mr Renders said. “They don't care about the bad publicity; they know they are a cheap airline and that people will use them again just because they are cheap. But not me: my wife and I will never fly Ryanair again.”

September 2005 London meeting.  Globies kicked off the new
season at our temporary venue The Concert Artists Association on
the other side of Covent Garden.  Jules Stewart
started the season with his talk on the Northwest frontier area
of Pakistan. He told us about the history of the area, which
still has a large tribal element.  Jules showed us the
Khyber Pass and explained the arrangements needed to explore the
pass, including getting a permit and a man with a gun to
accompany him up to the arch. (The Beetle also did this, same
thing: man and a gun.)  We saw the monument to allied forces
killed defending the pass.  We also saw the city of Peshawar
(a city Padmassana remembers only for the ceiling of the hotel
thanks to some dodgy food!) it was good to see what the city has
to offer visitors.  Thanks to Jules for an interesting talk.

After the break, Juliet Coombe took us to post tsunami Sri
Lanka, after a few shots of the usual tourist places she showed
us the aftermath of the devastation.  After seeing the
events unfold Juliet felt moved to do more than be an observer,
so flew out with her rudimentary first aid training to help in
any way she could.  She helped doctors clean wounds and we
also saw difficult images of bodies being recovered.  Later
she became involved in helping the children, first by having
paper and pens sent over from Australia and later letting them
use disposable cameras to help them understand and come to terms
with their loss.  The train swept away at Galle is
remembered by everyone in the west, the children were fearful of
getting back on a train, but with Juliet’s camera’s they
overcame their fears and boarded a train again. 
Globetrotters had a collection which raised £104 for her Perailya.com
charity.

Next month’s London meeting will be held on Saturday 1st
October.

Venue Change

Unfortunately, the building works at the Church of Scotland are
continuing and we are on the move again this month, this time to
a new venue near Holborn. We hope to be back to the normal venue
for the November meeting, builders permitting.

The October meeting will be held at Covent Garden Dragon
Hall, 17 Stukeley Street, London WC2B 5LT at 2.30pm
Website and map: www.dragonhall.org.uk

Neil Taylor will be talking about “Estonia,
Tallinn and the Baltic Capitals.” Neil is a Bradt author,
recognised for opening up the communist world to tourism and
regular traveller to Estonia. See:
www.bradtguides.com and Stevie Smith will be
talking about “Peddling to Hawaii” – a human powered
adventure across the Western Hemisphere.  Picture a
frustrated office worker of twenty-five.  He resolves to
grab life with both hands and embark on a thrilling adventure: to
go around the world by human power.  With no prior
experience and no money, Stevie and his friend Jason managed to
cycle down through Europe, cross the Atlantic Ocean in 111 days
in a purpose-built pedal boat, cycle and skate across the USA and
pedal over the Pacific to Hawaii. Pedalling to Hawaii is
hilarious and refreshingly non-heroic, packed with thrills and
spills. It is also an inspiring account of a search for
simplicity and freedom.  Stevie Smith is continuing with the
expedition. Discovery Networks Europe have broadcast three
documentaries about the journey .

London meetings are held at The Church of Scotland, Crown
Court, behind the Fortune Theatre in Covent Garden
at 2.30 pm on the first Saturday of each month.
There is no London meeting in August, but we will
be back in September. For more information, you can contact the
Globetrotters Info line on +44 (0) 20 8674 6229, or visit the
website: www.globetrotters.co.uk
 Admission Members £2.50 Non-members £5

Countries with the Most Billionaires

Source: http://www.aneki.com/billionaires.html