Hospital Daze

So time doesn't exactly fly in a hospital like this, but I have been luxury equipped by Clara's and Johan's employers with a free wifi laptop, which has been very helpful. Also the occasional showings of Premier League football on the otherwise lame Brazilian TV-channels have been a blessing. In the beginning life wasn't easy, but quite soon I managed to regain my speech and my abilty to swallow making things a bit more pleasant. After about 5 days in the hospital bed, eating the same tasteless soup most days, accompanied by different juices I eventually got to my scheduled leftjaw surgery by monday lunchtime. I'll give you a Gordon Ramsey style summary to make things comprehensive:

3 1/2 hours surgery, roughly 20 stitches, 30 miniature titanium screws, 4 metall-plates, one removed piece of lead bullet, one left in for flavour, 3 1/2 hours rest. Reconstructive Jaw-Surgery: Done!

Simple as that really, however I had missunderstood a bit as I apparantly had two large bulletpieces left, one in each lower-jaw, they only removed the one which was located in the fractured left, whilst the other will do no harm where it is. What happens next is still not quite clear, I should hopefully be able to leave the hospital quite soon and then catch some rehab in a tranquil location, before my eardrum has healed and I will be allowed to get on a plane back home to freezing cold Sweden. My biggest dilemma now is what to do with my removed piece of lead, bear in mind it's not quite big enough for a coffee-table, however I'm open to all artistic and creative suggestions.

Well I'm a lucky man!!!

This is probably the hardest post I have ever written as the reality of the whole event hasn't really sunk in. Yesterday night I was celebrating (what I thought would be) my last night in Fortaleza with Clara and Johan, as we were going home around 2 AM, I was carrying Claras handbag when I felt somebody tug at it, before I had realised what was happening I tugged back and then I'm not quite sure what happened, the deafening bang went off right beside my leftear but I never saw the pistol? There was no real pain but as I ran from the loud explosion I realised the flood of blood pouring out from my mouth, I dropped the bag (and my brandnew brazilian flipflops...) sat down on a curb, caking myself in blood and trying to understand what had just happened without using to much energy. Luckily the bullet had taken a detour south-east leaving me with a slightly deaf left ear (which they say will be fine) a few exit wounds on both cheeks and a jawline like the elephant-man, but by the time the ambulance got to me I had lost extremly much blood. It took me quite a while to realise what a cartoon freak I had turned into but heads turned quite a bit as the bloody mess arrived at the first public hospital. Its unbelievable to think how lucky I was, shot in the head from pointblank range I was starting to wonder how much longer I could possibly live, but by the time I set my mind to surviving another one of the grimreapers attempts at me, there was no doubt in my mind I was going to get through those vital early stages. The biggest problem has been the fact that I constantly have to spit out a sticky bloody goo and that my throat hurts too much to talk, eat or drink. We spent roughly 9 hours in the public hospital when Clara and Johan's employers (who have been absoutly amazing as have Clara and Johan helping me through this) showed up and moved me to a fancy private hospital which is where I am now. They want to keep me here for 5 days to let the swelling go down, before they decide wether or not put me in surgery to check on some fractures and get part of the bullet out of my jaw. That's about all information I can give you now, but I will keep you all updated as I count my lucky stars!

Viva Brasil

Catching the early flight from Caracas wasn't a problem, however the direction of it was a bit annoying. Instead of just flying east to the pretty much paralell town of Fortaleza, I had to fly all the way south to São Paolo, change planes and then fly north again, making the "short" trip take roughly 16 hours. When I arrived in Fortaleza on the Brazilian north coast, just before midnight, I gave my friend Clara a call, after a few attempts I got through and found she was out and about, but we managed to meet up and she showed me to her downtown house which she shares with her friend Johan. The two of them are living here doing some kind of communal project which involves film, I haven't really understood what they do but I'm sure whatever they do is great. I've been living here with them for a week now also taking a three day break in the calm beach village Paracuru where we were able to stay in a friend of Johan's father's massive mansion. While in Fortaleza I've done some sightseeing by day (allthough there really isn't much on offer) and a whole lot of drinking and "Pre-Carnavaling" by night. It feels very good to be in a country which understands the importance of football, in one day I managed to watch my first United game since leaving Sweden as we humiliated the Arsenal and then directly after I went to the Estadio Castelão too see the pretty drab derby encounter (allthought the crowd atmosphere was entertaining) between the two local teams Ceara and Fortaleza which ended 0-0. I'm not sure how long I will stay here, but I'm expected to take part in football match tomorrow against the Fortaleza police-force, which apparantly tends to be rather brutal, before I head down the coast towards new destinations.

Go Chasing Waterfalls!

We managed to get on the nightbus to Valencia and after a pretty smooth swap there we arrived in Ciudad Bolivar 24 hours after starting our trip from Mérida. Ciudad Bolivar is named after "El Libertador" Simón Bolivar, a Caracas born man and the founding father of Venezuela who gave Gran Colombia (Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, Colombia and Venezuela) it´s independence in the beginning of the 19th century. Apart from this city, you see his name everywhere in the Bolivarian Republic of Venzuela maybe most noticeably the currency of Bolivars and the main square of every town called Plaza Bolivar. We spent two days in Ciudad Bolivar the first day spent just walking around town looking at the markets and on the second day we took a trip to the mighty Angel Falls. The name of the world's highest waterfall doesn't have anything to do with messengers of God but refers to the American man who "found" it, Jimmie Angel who in 1933 flew over it for the first time and whilst looking for it again in 1937 crashlanded at the top. The fact that an American claims the name to Venezuelas top tourist attraction is not very popular with Señor Chavez who is doing his best to get it renamed to Kerepakupai merú, which means "waterfall of the deepest place", in the local Pemon language. We took off from Ciudad Bolivar in a tiny six-seater Cessna, four Swedes and our 200 kilogram pilot Marco. The (at points stomach-churning) flight over the beautiful dense jungle landscape and table mountains lasted for about an hour until we got to the 979 meter high waterfall which despite it being dry-season was truly sublime, words just don't do it justice (and as I haven't got a camera I guess you'll just have to go see it for yourselves.) After flying by it a few times we landed at the village airstrip in Canima where we could swim in the white sanded Canaima lagoon and get closer to some smaller waterfalls which were once again mindblowing and I just can't imagine what the wetseason is like. As this season doesn't really offer so much to do for a longer time we flew back to Ciudad Bolivar the same day and had a busticket booked to take us to the harbourtown Puerto La Cruz. However when we arrived at the busterminal we found out that our bus had been cancelled, not wanting to lose too much time, we opted to make the four hour drive by taxi instead. Puerto La Cruz doesn't really have a lot to offer except for it's proximity to the nearby beaches and the very popular Isla Margarita. We decided the best choice was to stick to mainland and travelled early in the morning to a secluded and quiet beachtown called Playa Colorada. I could only stay two nights until I had to bid my adieus to my travelpartners Joanna, Johan and Tobias who have been great company for the past fortnight. It took me almost 7 hours but as I write I am back in Caracas hoping that my early flight to Brazil tomorrow morning won't cause as much of a problem as the first flights of this decade seemed to...

Ande-Man

It's been a while since my last post but I'll start off with a Bang! which was the sound (well not really, but it's the only way I know in written form without having to pay royalty money to the creators of Batman) that woke me and the rest of the passengers on the Merida nightbus at 1 AM. This is one of the last noises I want to hear followed by the bus swerving out of control whilst driving amongst some of the worlds highest mountains. The bus came to a halt and luckily we hadn't reached the curvy mountain passages yet, but we were stuck on the side of the highway with an exploded front tyre. Nobody came to harm and as soon as the tyre was switched we were off again. Seven hours later (Eleven hours on the bus total) I was in the Andean town of Mérida. The actual city itself is pleasant allthough nothing special, but as you know it's all about location, location, location. Merida is beautifully nestled in the valley with Venezuelas highest mountains surrounding it on all sides, this leaves it with a very comfortable climate and temperature all year round. The city's main claim to faim is it's Teleferico (cable-car) which is the world's longest travelling and highest climbing. Unfortunately I found out (which my brand-new guidebook hadn't) that it has been closed due to maintenance for the past three years. At my posada in town (which has the highest backpacker and gringo population I've encountered on this trip so far) I met fellow Swedes: Joanna, Johan and Tobias. After a hard night's drinking with them we decided a trip to the immense plains, which take up nearly a third of the country, called Los Llanos was a good idea. The winding trip through the almost 4000 meter high moutains was apparantly not a good idea for me, as I was throwing up throughout. By the time we were on a two hour trek through the valleys I was so dehydrated I actually passed out. Finally after 1½ days travel we reached the savannah landscape along with some Swiss, Koreans, Germans and a Brit. We stayed in Los Llanos for two days, horseback-riding (which was surprisingly fun) going on night- and boat-safaris and just generally looking at the wildlife, mostly an abundance of different birds but also animals like; caymans, freshwater dolphins, capybarra and the most important of all Anacondas. On the fourth day we took the long and winding roads back to Merida and got some rest before next days activity "canyoning." Basically you pay a lot of money to go on a death-defying trek in the moutain's rainforest canyons, absailing through high waterfalls, jumping into narrow gaps of water and sliding down natural water-slides. By the time we were done I was freezing cold, pumped full of adrenaline and one camera poorer. Yeah that's right it took me 17 days to lose my camera on this trip as the currents of the river proved a more potent threat than the Caracas gun-man. Well, well, shit happens and now me and the Swedes are taking a nightbus to Valencia where, fingers crossed, we can quickly travel to Ciudad Bolivar as my schedule is getting rather tight.

Off The Beach

Of course as soon as I had decided to get away from the beachtown the clouds dispersed and left me with two very warm busrides totalling 5 hours and taking me to the Unesco World Heritage Site and Venezuelas first capital city; Coro. Once again every accomodation in town was full and by the time I had walked around and found a posada I had basically seen everything this small colonial town had to offer. However I walked around, saw the contemporary local art museum and managed to catch a very short part of the sunday morning mass in Venezuela's oldest cathederal (built between 1583 and 1634) Also I saw the unrealisic amount of shoe-shops in such a small town, I'm not sure of the exact number but roughly... a shitload! So after less than 24 hours in this very pretty, cobblestoned and tranquil town I felt I had seen most of it plus I didn't need new shoes, so I moved on to my next point, Maracaibo. Maracaibo is a city almost by the Columbian border in the part of the country which gave Venezuela it's name. When Italian explorer Amerigo Vespuci came here in 1502 and saw the Arawak houses built on wooden stilts in the water it reminded him of a little Venice or.. Venezuela. At first glimpse Venezuelas second largest city situated between the banks of the Venezuelan gulf and Lago De Maracaibo (where the majority of the countries oil is found) looks like quite a grey, dismal, concrete nightmare but looking closer I found it was in fact a grey, dismal, concrete nightmare with some very charming and beautiful hidden colonial gems. I say hidden when in fact they are quite the opposite as grand European style tree-lined avenues with magnificent marble and gold fountains at the center aren't exacctly good camoufalge in a concrete jungle. Here I managed to catch the end of the sunday evening mass (two sunday masses in one day, that should get me through the pearly gates) at the Basilica and got caught up in a cult-like wave of touching eachother and giving cheek kisses. So I snuck out and went back to the hotel where I met Trenton, a Buyer/Seller from Guyana. Today I have spent all day following him around learning the art of trading goods it doesn't seem like a half bad proffesion and who knows this may be my call in life, but that will have to wait a while. My current life plan is to catch an overnight bus which should get me up into the Andes and the town of Merida by tomorrow morning some time.

Vamos A La Playa

The trip from Caracas to Choroni took three stages: first a short metro ride, followed by 90 minutes on bus to Maracay and then completed with a thrilling two and a half hour roller coaster of a drive though the beautiful scenery and high jungle mountains of "Parque Nacional Henri Pittier" which seperate Caracas from the Caribbean Sea. The last part of the trip was done at high speed in an old pimped up American schoolbus with latin rhythms booming out of the sound system. When I reached Choroni and the fishermen's part of town "Puerto Colombia" I quickly learned the meaning of "Todo Ocupado" as every hostel or posada (guesthouse) had this sign up due to it still being Christmas holidays here. Wandering around the picturesque and colourful town I saw the two first blonde guys I'd seen since leaving Sweden, I went up to them on a hunch and of course they were Swedish. They were brothers Eric and Gustaf, here on holiday with their parents and Eric's girlfriend Jeanette, who like Eric studies at Caracas University. I spoke to the friendly owner at their posada called Monita, and managed to get a bed in her childhood room/storage unit. I spent two nights and one day with the family from the south of Sweden visiting a nearby beach and the tiny idyllic town of Chuao which produces some of the world's finest cocoa. During the evenings we had great food and drinks. It was nice to meet people and be able to have my first real conversations of... this decade basically. I spent one day alone in Choroni and decided to check the crowded but pretty Playa Grande out before taking the crazy ride across the mountains again, via Maracay and Valencia to reach Chichiriviche after 8 hours. Chichiriviche is another coastal-town, this one located in the Parque Nacional de Morrocoy, which is famous for its tropical paradise cayos (keys) I visited Cayo Varadero, which was also crowded, but if you just walked a few minutes in either direction you had miles of white sand beach, palmtrees and crystal clear turquoise water all to yourself. Unfortunately recycling doesn't seem to be very high up on Señor Chavez's agenda, as most beaches I've seen so far have been cluttered with litter. As my second day in Chichiriviche was cloudy I decided not to visit any more cayos but instead move on towards new destinations, where that will be only time can tell... ok it's going to be a town called Coro.

Welcome to The Jungle

So the inevitable has happened, admittedly a little bit quicker than I had expected, but still it happened. Shortly after writing my last post I walked up what was apparantly a bad street. A man approached me, shook my hand, dragged me closer to him and then tought me my new spanish word of the day: "Pistola," whilst lifting his t-shirt up revealing the but of a hand-gud poking out from the top of his boxer-shorts. He tried to grab my bag, but when I showed him the contents (Two books and a bottle of water) he changed his mind. his attention now shifted to a mobile-phone and I told him I didn´t have one but decided to show him my wallet before he would start searching me and find my secret cash-stash or worse my camera. He grabbed the wad of money (mostly small bills making it feel like more than it was) gave me the evil eye and walked off. This was at half past three, broad daylight, less than 20 hours into my trip (12 hours were spent sleeping) perhaps proving to me that the facts, statistics and stories I've been told about Venezuela aren't that exaggerated. Otherwise the little I saw of Caracas seemed allright, it must be one of the most integrated communities I have ever seen, blacks, whites and natives mixing without any problems as far as I can see, just agreeing on one thing to dislike the "gringo." I´ve seen enough Western films to recognise the "We-don't-take-kindly-to-your-type" look I get from many people often accompanied by jeers of "¡Ey Gringo!" They are definitely not all like this though as I have also met many extremly friendly and helpful people here. One thing that strikes you when you come to Caracas is their love for baseball and from what I've understood there are two main teams "The Leones" and "Magallanes" every man seems to wear at least one piece of clothing showing off the love for one of these teams. Another thing that can't escape the eye is the size of women's breasts and how they like to flaunt them, either plastic surgery is very cheap here or this is one blessed population. Anywhoo I've left Caracas now and reached the small coastal town of Coroni, but that will have to wait until the next chapter of this magical tale.

Crackass

So after killing 12 hours at Madrid's wonderful airport and then a further 10 hours on the aeroplane I have now arrived in the capital of Hugo Chavez's Venezuelan empire, Caracas. Getting into the country went all too well seeing as I was prepared for hell having been told by several books, people and embassies that the way into Venezuela could be a treterous one... it was not. The passport control here was one of the most lax I've ever seen, it's harder to get onto the Stockholm subway without a ticket than into this country without proper documents. So anyway at the airport the struggle starts, taxi-touts pulling you one way police officers the other, everybody wanting your green Benjamin Franklin dollars. They have great value to the population here as their own currency fluctuates so much and therefor has no real value. The rate offered by the banks is 2 Bolivar Fuertes for 1 US$, but after I haggled a bit with one of the touts I managed to get 5 Bolivars per US dollar. Then I opted not to take the expensive taxi into town but found two wonderful women who took me under their wings to guide me safely through the bustrip into the capital. As soon as I found a cheap hostel room I took it, jumped in the shower and then crashed straight into bed, getting some much needed sleep after the past few days schedule. This morning I awoke early to see what my neighbourhood of Sabana Grande had to offer, turns out not very much seeing as it was Sunday morning, but I walked around for a bit grabbing some quick bites where I could find them and now found an open Internet café. The plan for the upcoming weeks is not quite decided, I want to get into beach-mode pretty soon and also want to see the worlds highest waterfall which is located in this country, but more about that when it actually happens.

Epic start to the new decade!

Wow where to start? Well the decaded really started with a bang. Flying out on newyears-day may have been one step more stupid than last years decision to fly on the eve of the new year. So to cut a long story short... after a boozy last night, I managed to oversleep and miss my flight! However I decided to make my way to the airport and somehow get to Madrid where my connecting flight leaves for Caracas on the 2nd. I just managed to get on a plane to Prague and after an hour there catch a flight to Madrid, arriving at midnight. However as I missed my original flight I was classed as a "No-Show" and they cancelled my connection. However the gamble payed off, as I, after some sweet talk managed to get back on board. So that´s where I am no, hoping to be able to stay awake for this flight which leaves at 12 o clock. The lengths I go to to make this blog interesting! Haven´t even left Europe yet the adventure has begun!!!

Back in the Swedenland

The flights home turned out to be boringly unproblematic and I have now been home in Stockholm safe and sound for the past few days. I managed to get a week and half more off work, which I will use to get back into the Swedish way of life. I've tried getting as much done as possible since getting back, drinking loads of water straight from the tap, eating decent burgers, pizza, chips and kebabs... you know Swedish food. Otherwise things are pretty much the same as when I left Stockholm allthough the sun has had his hat on quite a bit, which is nice of him. I can tell you all that I successfully managed to get a grand total of zero checks off the checklist which I made at the beginning of the trip. Also for all of you modern cats out there who have a facebook account, you will notice I have uploaded pictures from the end of my trip (Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia and Bangkok) taken with my new camera which I bought in Bangkok, but didn’t want mention on here due to high jinxing-factor. And I think that’s about all for this time… Thank you all for reading and I look forward to seeing you all on here for my next trip, which looks certain to be Africa in less than a years time if all goes to plan. Take Care!

ONE last night in Bangkok

Sihanoukville would have been the perfect ending to a perfect trip, had it not been for my usual naivety which always seems to hit me towards the end of my trips. The brutal trio of sand, strong breeze and sun (or Earth, Wind and Fire if you wish) burnt my face pretty badly, leaving my face in blisters and peeling tan. Apart from this mishap Sihanoukville was brilliant with good weather and a great nightlife. I stayed by the beach for four nights before heading in a western direction, where i decided to jump off in the small town of Koh Kong close to the Thai border. Here I got Suka, a local motorcycle driver to drive me around to all the surrounding natural beauties including some impressive waterfalls, beaches and big mangrove swamps. The morning after Suka's brother took me to the border which I crossed by foot, then found a white van man who drove me to a town called Trat where I caught a bus to Bangkok. Getting off the bus I got stopped by police who searched through my entire luggage for drugs (they didn't find my massive supply of heroine) and then got stuck for an hour on motorbike in the horrendous Bangkok-traffic. After this my bum was rather sore (no the police didn't harm me) but I met up Josh again and also Isabelle and Marcus who missed their flight a few days ago (I think to be able to meet me.) We spent one night in Bangkok making the world our oyster for the last time in quite some while I suspect. Now I've been walking around the Khao San Road area with the boys who are curing their hangovers, until Josh and I have to catch our flight at half past eight tonight. So with any luck I should be back home in Stockholm by sunday morning (I can't tell you what time as this would create a mass hysteria of mobs of waiting fans at the airport) but I can tell you that Sunday night will be a great night to be out and about in the capital of Scandinavia.

Cambodyeah

Crossing the Vietnam border in this direction was completely hassle-free, you literally feel the change of people's attitudes as you cross, seven hours by bus from Saigon took me to Phnom Penh. The weather was gorgeous for the entire busride but as the doors opened so did the skies. So there I stood, on the "wrong" side of town in a monsoon/typhoon/windy rainy storm, trying to get a ride to the "right" side. When the thunder and lightning persisted a tuktuk driver drove me through the flooded roads lined with huge fallen trees and bent roadsigns. During my previous stay in Phnom Penh I stayed lake-side so I decided to vary my trips and chose the other tourist option of river-side (allthough in these conditions the whole of Phnom Penh seemed to be riverside.) I did my usual hectic sightseeing, walking around markets checking genocide-museums and visited a barbershop (I say barbershop, in truth it was just a random man in the street who happened to own the combination of a chair, a mirror and a hair clipper.) He cut my hair very short, but at the price of less than a dollar I can't really complain. Out of my two hectic stays in this capital city I must say I preferred staying lakeside, but Phnom Penh on both occasions was great. Now however I have reached a new town after almost 5 hours on a bus showing a Cambodian singing stand-up routine where both the male and female character sounded like Janice from "Friends," it did have the entire bus in fits of laughter though, kids standing on their seats, hard of hearing grandmothers having the jokes retold, so they must be doing something right. The town I've reached now, on my speed-dating tour of South-East Asia, is the beachside town of Sihanoukville, where (fingers crossed) there wont be any monsoon or Blackpool brothers, so I that I can return to Sweden with a somewhat respectable tan.

Saigon With The Wind

Nha Trang was supposed to be a few relaxed days on the beach, but then along came my temporary room-mate Aaron and his brother Dean, both from Blackpool, and introduced me to Northern English drinking-sessions (or just a "Sesh" for short.) A few days on the beach, quickly turned into six days on the bottle. I managed to make it to the beach once in these six days despite the weather being wonderful, the rest of the time was spent booze-cruising or just simply the same without the cruise, not that I'm complaining as we had a top, mad, sound crack of a time. However the prolonged "seshing " meant that I had to skip Mui Ne with its beaches and sand dunes which are supposed to be stunning. Instead I caught a 12 hour bus straight to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) which is an absolutely crazy city, it doesn't have anywhere near the same beauty as for example Hoi An or the charm of Hanoi, yet somehow it has something very appealing. During my 24 hours here so far I've tried to cram in as much as possible, visiting war-museums and historic places, but mostly just soaking up the chaotic atmosphere. The amount of two-wheeled motorised vehicles in Saigon is indescribable, it has a human population of about 5.5 million and a motorcycle population of about 3.5 million, thus crowding every street crossing and alleyway with hundreds of bikes. Strangely though it is never difficult to get through the traffic as a pedestrian, you just step out onto the road, walk normally and as if by magic (or religion, your choice) the sea of "motobikes" just parts around you, it's so easy it could probably be done blindfolded, but as my trip is nearing it's end without major incidents I won't risk it. I've had a great time in Nam, even though due to dishonest people, like a midget in a urinal, you constantly have to stay on your toes (believe it or not though I have met some friendly souls in Saigon) but my permitted stay runs out tomorrow, so I've decided to catch a bus from here to the Cambodian capital of Phnom Penh, and from there we'll see what happens...

Stressing Down The Coast Of Vietnam

I guess the title pretty much gives this latest installment of the blog away. Since writing last I've crossed the 17th parallel and gone through the Demilitarised Zone from the Vietnam (or as they refer to it here, American) war and visited UNESCO sights four and five since leaving India, in the form of the two historic towns Hue and Hoi An. Both places were interesting, however Hoi An is one of the prettiest towns I've ever seen (albeit commercial.) Set on the banks of the small river Thu Bon is the ancient port known by western traders back in the days as Faifo. I was lucky to arrive here on the 14th day of the lunar month, which only happens to be "Hoi An Legendary Night" filling the streets with people, candles and small bonfires. Coloured rice-lanterns illuminate the narrow alleyways full of tailors (there are more than 200 tailor shops in this town with a population of 70 000) craftsmen and artists selling everything from traditional rice-hats and cheap tailor made suits to giant wooden Buddha statues (luckily my bag is too full to buy any of their souvenir crap.) However both towns got only 24 hours each of my attention as I must rush to see everything, I have now returned to Beach-Life and hope to spend a few days on the beaches of Nha Trang, weather lately has been quite miserable but hopefully it will take a turn for the better soon.

'Namazeing

(Note the title is a play on not only two but three words!) After the very hectic travelling the past few days, I felt I deserved some relaxation, so I tagged along with the four Brits I met at the Laos/Vietnam border and their two friends Vickie and Louis to the UNESCO sight (third in three weeks) of Halong Bay. The place is absolutly amazing with an archipelago consisting of more than 3000 vertical limestone islands, which mysteriously rise up from the turquoise Gulf of Tonkin, unfortunatly the bay is clogged up with about as many touristboats as there are islands. We chugged around the bay during the day stopping off at caves (which were jam-packed with tourists and tackily lit with coloured halogen lights.) Then when the sun started to go down, many of the boats went back to the mainland giving the bay back it's natural beauty. We spent the evening Kayaking into the sunset then relaxed on the boat all night drinking beer and playing cards before catching some much needed sleep on the boat. The morning after we headed back cruising between the rocky isles and heavy fog (adding even more mystique to the location) before catching a bus back to Hanoi. In Hanoi I've mostly just wandered around and I really love the town, allthough Vietnamese people are without a doubt the rudest and unfriendliest people I've ever encountered (however I haven't been to Russia yet.) Usually I have quite a good sense of direction but in Hanoi it's just impossible to walk anywhere without getting lost. I think it's the combination of thousands of small streets which change name and curve without logic, the unhelpful locals who don't speak very much English and the fact that my Vietnamese isn't quite what it used to be which make this maze of a city so difficult to navigate and every stroll an adventure, but this may be what I like so much about Hanoi the sense of satisfaction and relief when you actually get through the chaos to where you want. Now though I have to hurry on south through the country to have time to see as much as possible, my nightbus takes me on a 14 hour trip to Hue tonight where I'll see what else "Nam" has to offer.

Hanoiing

It's too difficult to summarise the past few days, but I'll give it a shot. Where to start? The hours since my last post have been very hectic, I can tell you all I did cross the border on my second try allthough it wasn't the smoothest of transitions. On the Laos-side of the border I met four Brits (Alex, Jack, Jamie and George) so together with the two people I met the day before there were 7 of us using this complicated border. We managed to get a bus which was supposed to take us to Hanoi, but we realised these guys were very dodgy (they all had leatherjackets for one) and decided to jump ship earlier on in Thanh Hoa, and not pay what we had agreed. This of course caused havoc in the small town, and we were stalked by probably the entire population, until we managed to shake them off and find refuge at the trainstation. The train didn't leave until almost midnight and reached Hanoi about four hours later, here me and the Brits decided checking in to a hotel was not needed and decided to find a bar or someplace to sit instead until we could get a trip to the nearby Halong Bay. And that is pretty much where I am now, sitting at an internet place in Hanoi, waiting to see what happens today. Whatever happens later on in my life, I doubt I will live to see much more epic and hectic birthdays. Allright, now I've got five minutes to pack my bag before we apparantly leave for Halong Bay...

April Fool!

So first things first: Luang Prabang turned out to be a really nice town, very clean, friendly people allthough the whole place felt a bit artificial where every shop, hotel and restaurant had signs made by the same company and nothing really seemed genuine. The weather didn’t treat us too well but we did manage to get one nice day out by some wonderful waterfalls. After our time in the UNESCO listed town, Josh and I had different plans for our trip so we decided to both go at it alone for a while, Josh traveling to southern Laos whilst I would travel north to eventually reach Vietnam. The solo travel on my part started at 07.30 AM with a 16 hour ride in a minibus. This turned out to become the bumpiest ride I’ve ever experienced, and the bumps made everything from sleeping to reading and even drinking water impossible. Also the loud South-East Asian pop music and loud South-East Asian women throwing up didn’t make any of this easier. The minibus had seats for 11 but at one point we were 19 human-beings, 1 pig and several chickens crammed onto the vehicle (luckily the non human beings traveled on the roof after some discussion.) After 16 sleepless hours we reached Sam Neua and I decided to check into a guesthouse to catch 4 hours sleep before heading back to the bus station to catch a sawngthaew (glorified pickup-truck) for three and a half hours to get to the Vietnam border, this ride was free of live-stock but I’m pretty sure the stuff being transported in plastic sacks was alive at one point but had now been dead for at least a week. When I got there I would find out whether or not my gamble had worked out, the previous 28 hour journey could all be in vain as I had not yet acquired a visa, but I had heard rumours that Scandinavian citizens do not need visas to enter Vietnam. Luckily this was rumour turned out to be true… however I did not have a ticket out of Vietnam so I was denied access to the country, despite desperate attempts to convince bordercontrol. My only choice now was to head back, not the whole 28 hours but back to Sam Neua. At the border I met fellow Swede Anders and the Danish Josefine who both had the same problem, so we have now arrived at an internetplace and are scheming on an escaperoute out of Laos...

You Tube?

Josh and I decided that one night in Vientiane was enough, there was nothing wrong with the town itself, however we feel time is running out and there wasn't really that much more to see. So we took a 5 hour local bus trip off the beaten track, through stunning landscapes and decided to get off in the rural, isolated village of Vang Vieng. Vang Vieng is settled beautifully on the shores of the Nam Sang river with steep limestone mountains shielding it from all sides. I'm not sure if the villagers have seen white people before, but I'm pretty sure not many westerners have made it here before us. Note For all you old farts and/or readers not familiar with the South-East Asian travel route, everything written above is complete bull-shit (sorry Michael couldn't find the asterisk on this keyboard.) Vang Vieng happens to be one of the most popular stops for backpackers and this track is more beaten than Rihanna after a drunken night out with Chris Brown (even after 3 months in Asia, I keep up with the gossip.) "So what does this village have to offer?" I hear you ask. Well their concept is pretty much: Inner-tube of a tractor's tyre + river + copious amounts of alcohol and drugs = the biggest tourist attraction since bread came sliced! (Which is sad because the bread slicing tourism industry in Indochina has plummeted since the introduction of the tube.) We tried the infamous tubing the other day to see what all the hubub was about, and to be honest it was actually rather pleasant. You get dropped off a few kilometers up the river, then you just sit in the tube, slowly drifting downstream, getting pulled into bars, jumping from rope-swings and just relaxing, then 7 hours and about 20 bars later, you arrive back at the same place as you started, one word for you my friends: Genius! If your cup of tea involves drugs I'm pretty sure you can get that here as well, which becomes quite obvious at night, when all the young "tubed out" backpackers lie on mattresses in the T.V-Bars, laughing at endless reruns of "Friends" whilst sipping on dubious milkshakes. As I own the complete DVD box-set of "Friends" it felt rather pointless to stay very long, so after two nights a 6 hour journey by bus northward, once again through incredible mountainous scenery, took us to the Unesco Heritage listed site of Luang Prabang. We haven't been here very long, but what I've seen so far, I like and next time I write I hope to use many superlatives.

Laosy

So after two weeks in Thailand we finally managed to get our bums on a bus up north to the bordering country of Laos. The busride took us roughly 14 hours but after our trips in India this felt like a piece of cake. We arrived this morning in the capital of Laos, Vientiane, which seems to be a nice quiet town, allthough it's quite early and we haven't had time to look around too much. It's funny though that you notice directly when you arrive in a former french colony as all the streetnames begin with "Rue" and you get croissants, baguettes and "La Vache Qui Rit" cheese shoved in your face before you have time to say "fromage." We found a guesthouse just recently, very cheap and conveniently located between "The Scandinavian Bakery" and "The Swedish Pizza and Baking House." I can also confirm that our trip home has been postponed and we will now arrive early morning in Stockholm on the 25th of April, so you have plenty of time to organise the homecoming celebrations at Arlanda Airport. Finally I'd like to end on a sad note... I know how you have all taken to one (or rather two) of the major characters in this blog, my black Havaiana flip-flops, but I can sadly say that despite the work of brave Anthony in Fort Cochin, they did not survive the entire trip. Last week the stitching snapped and I felt it was time to say goodbye so I bought an identical pair and hopefully they will last me for many journeys to come. Rest in Peace!