York, England

As was rather obviously hinted at in the previous update, my travels have come to an end. After 4 months, 40,000 miles, 8 countries, 14 flights, 40 different lodgings (not including overnight buses or sleeper trains) and enough foot-longs to make a mile-long, I'm safely back in Blighty, being fed & pampered at my parents' house in York.

A big thank you is due to everyone who has taken the time to follow my insignificant little musings. I am very glad & grateful for the various messages of encouragement and approval which have come my way since I've been blogging. I met lots of friendly and interesting people while I was away, but even so, when you're travelling alone in far-off places it's nice to know that people are thinking of you back home.

I'll leave the whole blog available online, but there will be no further updates after this one. However any future travels of mine (probably next summer at the absolute earliest) will hopefully be documented here in the same way. I'll try and make a bit more effort on the photographic front next time though.

In the meantime, does anybody know if there are any jobs going?

Bangkok, Thailand

Monday morning in Bangkok. Sunlight breaks in through the blinds, and I slowly come to waking life in my upper bunk bed. Elsewhere in Bangkok, the protestors are still barricaded inside the Government House complex - although 'barricaded' is perhaps overdramatising it a little, given that the 'barricades' have plenty of gaps, and indeed I myself wandered through one of those gaps for a look around yesterday. See pictures. The government is undoubtedly corrupt - he who pays the piper calls the tune, and all that - but at the same time the 'protest movement' is very obviously nothing like the spontaneous expression of people power which it pretends to be. Someone somewhere is paying for all these protestors to have free food, water, medicine and toilet facilities. Indeed I understand that they're actually being paid hard cash just for the protesting itself.

Monday afternoon in Bangkok. Smoke drifts upwards and out of the common room window into the street. At times it's sunny, and at other times the rain is torrential, but the muggy heat is everpresent. Swigging water at regular intervals, I lounge on a sofa; I've been out for a Subway, and now I'm sleepy from the food and the heat. People are coming and going, checking in and checking out...I find myself dispensing helpful travel-related advice to those who are newly arrived in SE Asia. (The fact that I'm much older than most of them seems to give my advice more credibility than my actual travel experience to date can really justify.) Some of my fellow inmates are gap-year students who are too young and flighty to feel homesick; others are older people who seem, for whatever combination of reasons, to be travelling more to get away from their old lives and homes than to seek out new ones. I suppose there are some people who just never really put down roots. After four months on the road, and for all the fun and relaxation and stimulation and experience I've been lucky enough to have along the way, I'm now more sure than ever that I do have roots, and that a trip abroad for me is like a night out - no matter how long it lasts or how good it is, you still want to come home at the end of it.

Monday evening in Bangkok. There's a night out on the cards. It sounds tempting, but then I've already had enough Bangkok nights for one summer. And anyway, Sunderland are playing at home on Saturday.

Inside the Bangkok protestors' compound (1)

Inside the Bangkok protestors' compound (2)

Siem Reap, Cambodia

After a short and sweet bus ride - short and sweet by the standard of some of the interminable nightmares I've suffered in the past few weeks - I am now in Siem Reap, a place which justifies its existence by being quite close to the 12th-century temple city of Angkor Wat, Cambodia's foremost tourist attraction, which at the time of its being built was the largest public place in the world. It's become a time-old cliche for tourists and travellers to get there before dawn and watch the sun rise over the ancient stones and the misty moat surrounding them...I'm not a fan of following the herd, but I couldn't think of anything else that would be original, so I set my alarm for 4.30 and toddled bleary-eyed down there along with everyone else. (I'd already woken at 2am to see if the England match was on the telly. It wasn't. Rats.) Sadly the weather was drizzly and completely overcast, so instead of shimmering sunbeams and iridescent reflections, I just saw a sky which changed imperceptibly from mid-grey to light-grey. Profound. And it was $20 in!

The place is very impressive, certainly much more so than any of the temples I saw in Thailand, but on the whole I still have to say I haven't been especially overwhelmed by Eastern temples in general. There are undoubtedly certain areas of learning and morality in which I think Eastern cultures are superior to our own, but I wouldn't add architecture to that list. I find most of the temples rather gaudy, too fussy and ornate, and effeminate rather than feminine. Given the choice, I would much rather look again at the memorials in Washington DC; or, for that matter, Durham Cathedral.

Nonetheless, I did take some pictures at Angkor Wat, and a picture update will follow as soon as I can be arsed. Hope all is well back in Blighty. Y'all wish me luck in trying to find somewhere I can watch SAFC get beat, as we always do at Wigan, on Saturday...wherever I may be...

Phnom Penh, Cambodia

My bus into Cambodia was much better than my bus into Vietnam. Only 6 hours or so, proper air conditioning, and all the windows remained intact. Because I was with a reputable bus company, I trusted them with my passport at the border, and they did all the necessaries with aplomb (and for free).

Phnom Penh is a charming city, with real character. Sometimes in places like Bangkok and Saigon there's a jarring contrast between the 'real' or 'indigenous' parts of town on the one hand, and the newer high-rise buildings and tourist havens on the other. But most parts of Phnom Penh retain all of their 19th-century charm, both the temples and the colonial-era buildings, and if you overlook the beggars and the touts (even more tenacious than in Vietnam) it's just a really nice place to wander round. Best of all, the weather is cooling off a bit right now, and so I am feeling a lot more comfortable, and also I'm relieved of the obligation to think up another piece of sweat-related alliterative simile.

Another good thing about Cambodia is that you can use dollars just about everywhere. After Laos (15,500 kip to the pound) and Vietnam (29,000 dong to the pound) it's nice, even for an amateur maths geek like me, to be able to drop all the zeros and have a nice simple menu: beer $1, pizza $4, etc etc. This internet cafe is costing me 50 cents an hour.

Yesterday I visited the Tuol Sleng museum in town, and tomorrow I will take a tuk-tuk out to Choeung Ek. (Today was sacrificed to worshipping the great god Immo De Um, at the great white porcelain temple.) Both places commemorate the Khmer Rouge genocide which took place between 1975 and 1979. As with the museums I visited in Saigon, there is no squeamishness about describing (and often showing very direct photographic evidence of) exactly what happened in these places. Above all it's another depressing reminder that all of the great genocides of the 20th century were not carried out solely by swivel-eyed psychopaths - the actual killing was mostly done by ordinary people like you and me. And Pol Pot died in his own bed in 1998, at the age of 73. (And, incidentally, Pol Pot was educated at the Sorbonne in Paris).

I set my alarm for 4am this morning so that I could watch Murray v Federer in the US Open final. I'm not normally the biggest follower of tennis, but on this particular occasion I did feel it was my patriotic duty. Therefore as an Englishman I was highly pleased to see Murray get completely turned over. Mint.

Latest update on the Newcastle United managerial vacancy: ha ha ha, he he ho ho tee hee, chuckle chuckle!

Saigon, Vietnam

The official name of this place is of course Ho Chi Minh City, but most of the people seem to call it Saigon, and indeed it appears as such in several official places, not least the railway tickets and timetables.

Hue was fantastic. Of all the places I've visited so far on this trip, it's probably the one I'd single out as being a recommendation I could make which people might not otherwise know about.There are a few tourists to be seen in Hue, but not all that many, and you only have to turn a couple of corners to get away from them completely. I walked over to the north side of the river and presently found myself in the Vietnamese equivalent of Jacky White's Market, wherein I soon became quite a focus of attention, though it was of course all friendly. It's easy to relax when you're a head taller than everyone around you.

I visited the Forbidden Purple Palace, from which the whole of Vietnam was governed by the Nguyen dynasty between 1802 and 1945; then the Ho Chi Minh museum, which was full of adoring multitudes of Vietnamese paying homage to their country's saviour and guiding light...not. I was the only person there. I also visited a highly reputable establishent of software purveyance, and picked up an entirely legal copy of Microsoft SQL Server 2005 for just under $1.

On the whole Vietnam is much less Westernised than Thailand - there's no McDonalds, no Starbucks, although I did see one single KFC in Hue and another one in Saigon. And there are hardly any cars: it's all mopeds and scooters and bicycles. (This actually strikes me as a much more efficient and environmentally friendly way of moving people around, compared to our sacred Western model of huge gas-guzzling 4x4s with one person in each vehicle.) Cycle rickshaws are popular in Vietnam, and I've used them quite a few times; once, at night, I persuaded my driver to swap places so I could have a go. I managed to get a decent speed up, although I dare say he weighed a good two or three stone less than I did and so I had it relatively easy. The passenger seat is in front of the driver, rather than behind it, and so riding in these rickshaws sometimes feels like being in a runaway wheelchair in a Carry On film or something.

I left Hue on the overnight sleeper train on Friday night, shortly after midnight, and arrived in Nha Trang at lunchtime on Saturday. The train cost about $26, which isn't bad for a 400 mile trip when it saves you a night's hotel bill too. Sadly Nha Trang turned out to be a complete shit-hole; it has a reasonably nice beach, with islands in sight, but everything was ludicrously overpriced and there wasn't anything to do or see. The highlight of my day was getting my head shaved by a street barber, who used an interesting hand-powered pair of clippers.

Anyway, after one night in Nha Trang, and a brief dispute with my hotel there over their laundry bill (I hope it was an honest mistake that they charged me for washing 4 dresses), I got a train yesterday to Saigon, and here I am. I got off the train at about 9.30 last night and wandered off in search of a hotel; it gradually dawned on me that I was well out of the 'touristy' area (even the hotel receptionists spoke no English), but hey, that's the point of travelling isn't it? In my hotel room I stayed up long enough to watch Andorra 0 England 2 and Andy Murray winning his first 2 sets against Raffle Noodle.

Saigon is a very lively place, very friendly, with plenty to do. The average age of the Hot Backpacker Chicks round here is n-n-n-n-n-n-nineteen, ha ha ha. The old American Embassy, from which the last helicopter famously departed in '75, is no longer there; but there are lots of museums which show in detail how the peace-loving Northern armies were welcomed rapturously by the people of South Vietnam, apart from the thousands of them who were rounded up and shot, and the millions more who were prompted to try and raft it to Hong Kong. But I digress.

Overall I'm very impressed with Vietnam. With hindsight, I think the problem with Nha Trang is that they're trying to develop a tourist resort which relies on rich foreigners shuttling between their luxury hotels and the beach, and not really bothering to explore. But Hue and Saigon are both great fun, so long as you can tolerate the ceaseless stream of hawkers and touts who assail you with every step you take; it's even worse than Bangkok. They offer you motorcycle rides, drugs, and women (in that order). For all that I keep getting offered weed, there isn't much evidence of it - I never seem to smell weed or see anyone smoking joints. Although charlie seems to be everywhere, ha ha ha.

My only gripe with Vietnam is that it's too darn hot for me. I'm sweating like a brittle-boned badger in a basket of bloodhounds. If I ever come back it will have to be at a different time of year. In all three places I've stayed so far, I've been going back to my hotel at regular intervals just to sit under the aircon and cool off for a while, flicking TV channels and always ending up watching bizarre politico-religious Vietnamese soap operas ("Father, I have been promoted to Deputy Commissar of the Northern District. Let us make offerings at the temple." "Leave it out, Ricky, who's gonna watch the bleedin' stall?")

One last thing, regarding Kevin Keegan. Ha ha, ha ha ha, ah ha ha hee hee tee hee ho ho. Thank you.

Er...independence, please (Saigon museum)

Part of the Imperial Citadel in Hue

Ho Chi Minh Museum speak English! Is nice!

Hue, by day

Hue, Vietnam

Currently slumming it in a very nice hotel with posh swimming pool and air con and cable telly. ($12). Hue is quite lovely. Getting here was a different story though.

Vientiane showed very little charm - every tourist/traveller I met there displayed a distinct aura of unimpressed-ness with the place - so I was ready to get out after just one night. Accordingly, I bought a bus ticket yesterday and it departed from Vientiane's southern bus station at 7pm. It had been sold to me as a 'tourist bus'. I suppose it was a 'tourist bus' in the sense that the Round Robin in Pennywell is a 'tourist pub', or in the sense that Baghdad is a 'tourist hotspot'. But it did at least have a crude but effective system of air conditioning. I sat back and read my book and relaxed.

About two and a half hours into the journey, as we were trundling & bouncing through the south-eastern Laotian countryside, my peace & tranquility were rather rudely interrupted by a loud CRACK as half the glass panel by my right elbow shattered into a million pieces, all over my lap and the surrounding floor. About two seconds after that, there was another CRACK, and the rest of the panel went the same way. As I was already aware that the border areas of Laos and Vietnam are in many places under the direction of drug syndicates, and with yesterday's AK47 guy in mind, by the time this second scattering was completed I was already out of my seat and crouching down in the aisle. A Japanese couple opposite me, who were the only other non-locals on the bus as far as I could tell, did likewise, and the poor girl looked quite terrified.

Anyway. The bus stopped, and both the driver and the local passengers seemed much more concerned with putting in place some temporary replacement for the window than they did with any potential hails of bullets from outside the bus. We stopped shortly afterwards, and when I thought it through, I realised that it could hardly have been bullets, because a) nothing inside the bus displayed any signs of having been hit, and b) the glass panel in question was a small sliding panel of only about 10 inches by 4 feet, which had been travelling at 40mph, and I imagine it would have taken an Olympic-standard sniper to hit the same window twice at night. Evidently there had been some kind of structural failing or weakening and the glass had just given way. Fortunately I did old Blighty proud by not squealing or blubbing or anything - although I did indulge in accepting the kind offer of a cigarette from a local. They're 25p a pack here.

As dawn broke we got to the Vietnamese border. A plain-clothes guy came onto the bus and demanded money from me and the Japanese couple for 'stamping passport'. They paid up, but I told him to sling his hook (in polite sign language). In due course I got my passport checked by the actual authorities and there was no need to pay anything, so I was glad I held firm. However, inevitably, the world of scamming did catch up with me eventually. The bus stopped at 11am, in a quiet little settlement on the main road, and the driver said to me and the Japanese couple 'this Hue' and gestured vehemently for us to get off. Again,the Japanese couple complied without questioning, but I could tell that something was up - I knew this was the Hue bus, and that everyone on it was going to Hue, so why was this a stop for foreigners only? Sadly I was alone now, and nobody spoke any English, and - this is the worst part - I looked around at the locals and said 'Hue?', pointing downwards to indicate 'here', and I got a succession of shifty nods and half-hearted smiles. By this time the driver had already grabbed my bag and was marching to the door. Needless to say, when I joined the Japanese couple outside, there were shifty-looking guys with motorbikes telling us 'we take you rest of way to Hue, twenty dollar' (my whole bus ticket had only been $19); and when I took it on myself to walk a few hundred yards back along the road, I found a sign stating 'Hue 17km'. Could have been worse, I suppose. But it was obvious what the deal was: bus driver abandons foreigners to motorbike gang, bus driver gets cut of the 20 dollars each they have no choice but to pay.

I walked back to where we'd been dropped off, and the Japanese couple (all politeness and excessive wealth) paid their 20 dollars each without demur. Well, I thought, f*ck that. I walked off again, and the chief motorbike guy trundled after me on his moped. 'I take you Hue. Twenty dollar. No bus here, no hotel'. He was right - there wasn't even an internet cafe or a shop - and he wore an expression of intense self-satisfaction, in the sure and certain knowledge that he was getting his twenty dollars either way.

Had we been in temperate climes, I would gladly have walked that 17km, backpack and all, just to prove a point. Only four hours' hike at most. But it's 32 degrees C here (I just checked on the BBC website). So I walked away from the motorbike gang, with them laughing at me and following at a distance all the while, and flagged down a random passing moped who agreed to take me into Hue; he didn't speak any English, but he knelt down, picked up a twig, and wrote out the numbers '100,000' in the dust. Trusting that this meant Vietnamese dong and not dollars (there are about 16,500 dong to the dollar) I readily assented, and off we went. And here I am! Fun as it was, I like to think that I will keep the moped-hitching to a minimum in my future travels.

So anyway, I got myself this very nice hotel, and then went out for a bite to eat. I got a club sandwich and a Coke and a water for less than $5. When I got back to the hotel I realised that the cute little Vietnamese servingwench had given me too much change - indeed, I'd come out of there with more money than I'd gone in with. Not wanting to join the ranks of the scamming scumbags, albeit by a sin of omission rather than commission, I was all set to go back to the restaurant and hand back a few notes. However my good intentions were not reciprocated by the club sandwich in question, which suddenly announced itself as having journeyed through my digestive system without condescending to be digested, and after a brief but unpleasant Bathroom Episode I considered all my obligations to that restaurant to be discharged in full.

This is a long one, isn't it? As the bishop said to the actress, etc. Anyway it's now 2.50pm and I'm going to give the midday heat a bit longer to disperse before I step outside again and explore Hue. Who knows where I'll go next? Who knows if I'll be able to get back into Thailand before they have another military coup or two? Who knows if Kevin Keegan is going to officially de-toy his pram once more? Tune in next time to find out!

Missing bus window, at the Vietnamese border the next morning

Vientiane, Laos

Sunday night was a bit depressing, on account of SAFC getting hammered 3-0 at home by Man City. Bah. I watched the end of the first half in Luang Prabang, but I had no hope of watching the whole thing because Chelsea v Spurs and Aston Villa v Liverpool got in the way. Premiership football is wildly popular over here; when the locals find out you're English they always want to know if you're from 'Lipoo' or 'Manesta', or even 'Chessee'. I tell them where I'm from and they say 'Aaaahhhh...Sunneran' and I'm not sure if there's actual recognition there or if they're just being polite.

Yesterday I caught the 8am bus south to Vientiane. The total distance is only about 150 miles as the crow flies, but the crow option isn't available, for tourists at least, so I spent 11 hours on that bus. However it was comfortable and the scenery was amazing. The photo on the front page of this blog isn't one of mine but it's exactly the kind of thing I spent all of yesterday looking at. The mountains and vegetation are unlike anything I've ever seen, in both shape and colour, and it was almost like being on another planet. The road was too bendy and irregular (we spent a lot of time in first gear) for me to read, but I was content to swig water and stare out of the window. It was amusing to see how they negotiated all the potholes and mudpits - in many places the road was barely fit for pedestrians, let alone coaches. There were more than a few audible scrapes of metal against tarmac.

Laos is one of the poorest countries in the world. The people in the touristy towns like Luang Prabang are relatively comfortable - shiny new scooters are everywhere, and the Premiership replica shirts worn by the kids look genuine enough. Once the bus was out in the sticks, it was a different story; and so this became my own first encounter, albeit from behind glass, with real poverty. Real, $1-a-day, thatched-hut, subsistence-farming poverty. But the bus kept going.

We also passed a tiny little wooden hut, with an open face to the road, in which there sat a young guy wearing a polo shirt and shorts and holding an AK47. No uniform, no cap, no badge: just an AK47. But the bus kept going.

Anyway, it was 7pm and dark when we got to Vientiane, one of the world's smallest capital cities (only half a million people and not a skyscraper in sight). I got another cheap and cheerful hotel room and then went out for a beer & a bite with Jeff (American diving instructor, living expat in Thailand) and Dita (German university lecturer trekking through South American and Asia).

Today I'm going to wander round Vientiane and then sort out my next destination. Sadly I'm still sweating like a fat lass in a latex leotard, even though I haven't worn anything more than T-shirt and shorts in nearly a month, and I haven't slept under sheets in a week. But at least the Beerlao is nice!