The only tourists in the village ...

Bandung used to be known as 'The Paris of Java' and even though it still holds some remnants of its colonial Dutch past, it is now as conjested as Jakarta and has become just another sprawling, polluted city. So we were quite happy to leave it behind and head off towards Pangandaran - even though it was going to be a seven hour mini bus drive along long and winding narrow roads! Thank goodness for travel sickness tablets!

And so we set off in the morning, passing the oldest hotel in Asia; the Savoy Homann, where Charlie Chaplin stayed many moons ago whilst over here performing at the oldest theatre in Asia, found just around the corner. And as we admired its original Art Deco design and Art Deco furniture, TC and I agreed that this was where we would have much preferred to have stayed (though obviously it's not within Intrepid Travel's budget), despite our local tour guide telling me that he could never stay there because 'he sees dead people'!)

We passed by the Museum of Geology where 'Java Man' now 'sleeps' and on towards West Java and the coast, whilst the rain continued to pour intermittently and the roads mainly consisted of dirt and pot holes. At various points along these 'dirt tracks', 'officials' stood holding out fishing nets in which drivers would drop money as a toll, in order to be able to pass onto the less common newly laid parts. But I had taken a double dose of travel sickness tablets and after managing to stay awake through a couple of episodes of 'The Killing' (TC and I were both completely addicted at this point), I fell into a deep sleep, leaving my sick bag (my other travel companion) neatly tucked away in my day pack!

West Java stretches from the Islands of Ujung Kulon National Park across to the beaches of Pangandaran. With a beach on either side (the East and West beaches) and the National Park in its headland. Pangandaran is considered to hold Java's premier beach resorts and one of the best places to go surfing. (Something you won't find me reporting back on, as you may remember my ineffective thigh muscles can just about support me on dry land, let alone on a piece of board flying across a huge wave).

Talking of huge waves; in 2006 the peninsular was hit by a massive tsunami, killing hundreds of people in its wake and although there is some evidence of the devastation still remaining; dead trees and unsafe buildings, the town more or less recovered within a few months and is back in business.

And so, finally, after our seven hour journey across land we reached our destination - The Sunrise Beach Hotel - and clambered out of the mini van to meet our local guide Aep.

Aep was extremely welcoming (as are most Indonesians) and filled us in on the option for that afternoon; to go and check out some of the National Park and its wildlife, the beaches and the village, should we so desire. TC asked what the weather forecast was - by now the sun had come back out and Aep assured us there would be no more rain that day! 

After a brief discussion as to what clothes/shoes should be worn, TC, one of the Jos and I paid him his fee, dropped off our belongings in our rooms and headed out on our three hour treck in the beautiful sunshine ...

The village itself seemed quite small, with rickety houses practically on top of each other and the beach front lined with stalls selling food, clothes and various touristy items. 

Being out of season, (well it is the rainy season!!) the streets were quite quiet and we seemed to be the only 'Westerners' around. There was something quite surreal about walking along the deserted roads whilst wild deer casually roamed around us! (A bit like the sacred cows in India).

The deer were quite shy, but as soon as we held out slices of fruit, a few of these sublime animals  walked cautiously over and fed directly out of the palm of our hands. I wanted to stroke one, but I could see TC looking over nervously as she washed her hands with anti bacterial gel and I decided that this time she may be right about diseases and infections!

We followed Aep and headed off towards the National Park - now listed by UNESCO as one of its world heritage sites. We were eager to observe some of the remaining wild life that was still able to live in its natural habitat. And I write that last sentence with sadness, because, as was already evident, all around the outskirts of forestation, many Indonesian homes and land had been knocked/cut down for the wealthy Chinese businessmen that were moving in and building more hotels everywhere. It really was quite depressing watching the local deer and macaque monkeys rummaging through the rubbish and debris looking for food and chewing on plastic bags and brickwork.

We climbed a slight incline and within minutes of stepping into the lush parkland, the heavens opened and the rain chucked down! Jo was clever enough to have brought her pac-a-mac, however TC and I had been too trusting in the earlier weather report and looked woefully at each other, like two drowned rats with extra frizzy hair!

Using a couple of large leaves for umbrellas, we pushed on through the trees, thankful that at least we had changed out of our flip flops and into proper walking shoes. My feet were feeling grateful of the release from the tight Havianas, as they were still badly swollen and my toes had been completely lacerated by the thong as the plastic dug into my toes that were now resembling little chipolatas!

Aep led us over to a couple of small tunnels hidden amongst the foliage that had been used by the Japanese to spy on the locals, when they had occupied the island. There was no way I was going down there into the darkness to take a closer look and I was quite pleased that Jo felt the same. However, TC was surprisingly feeling brave and with a smug smile on her face, courageously made her way down. 

It took approximately 30 seconds before she let out a huge scream, or two, then came scuttling out screaming "Bats, bats!"

And we hurried away as best we could through the flora, fauna and sticky mud as the rain thankfully subsided - for now.

Our guide led us up towards a sacred spot in the entrance of a cave, where it looked like two tiled shallow bath sized troughs had been made with a memorial stone at its head and foot. Each stone had a white muslin cloth wrapped around it, under which we found small piles of envelopes filled with prayers and wishes that local Muslim villagers had left. Surprisingly, Indonesia has the largest Muslim population of any country in the world and yet, as I mentioned earlier, the Islam generally practised over here is much more moderate and has more of an Animist approach, with Shariah law having been rejected by the national parliament in 2002. (Apart from Aceh on the island of Sumatra where it was reintroduced in 2005 as part of its peace agreement with the govenrment).

Aep pulled out the prayer letters from their envelopes and held them out for us to peruse, though surprisingly enough none of us can actually read Indonesian and/or Arabic! Which in a way was lucky because the three of us were feeling uncomfortable looking at someone's private and sacred thoughts. 

It had started raining quite torrentially again and so we headed further into the cave in order to reach the beach on the other side - though by this point TC and I were past caring as it would have been impossible to get any wetter than we already were!

Making our way through the cave by torchlight, we passed more bats hanging from the ceiling above (no screams this time round) and stopped off to watch a family of porcupines - the mother and father and their two little ones - playing in a large alcove. As we stood there 'oohing and ahhing' we came to a unilateral decision it to pick up the pace a bit and make our way out after hearing the subtle sound of hissing and slithering from somewhere in the darkness behind us.

We exited out onto the West Beach just as the rain stopped again and walked along its fine white sand, made from the huge coral reef beyond. I could only imagine how amazing it would be to spend the day swimming and sunbathing there - though as a woman I would have to remain in t shirt and long shorts so as not to offend anyone should they see my shoulder blades or a slight glimpse of knee cap, while the men are allowed to wear whatever they want! Though im quite sure a line would still be drawn with regard to them wearing tiny speedos and 'Budgie Smugglers/Banana Hammocks' - mind you I think an international law needs to be drawn up against wearing any of those! 

After visiting both East and West beaches and sadly not being able to see the sun set due to the bad weather, we headed back to our rooms for a bit of R&R before a BBQ fish dinner for us and a vegetarian one for Jo and Jo.

By the way, I'm not sure if many of you are aware, but out here in Indonesia, chicken is considered a vegetable! So as a warning to any of you veggies out there, should you want to order vegetable fried rice/noodles remember to say "Without the chicken"!

The following morning (Wednesday) we woke up to brilliant sunshine - yahay! It was already hot and humid but we were happy as we all clambered onto the mini bus and headed off to The Green Canyon, known locally as Cujang Taneuh ! (Which is 'exactly what it says on the tin'). Unfortunately, due to the heavy rainfall the day before, the water was not the beautiful vibrant green seen in the pictures but a musky, thick chocolatey brown. This meant there would be strong undercurrents and therefore too dangerous to swim in!

However, we were still able to go for a small boat ride as far as the mini waterfall and take pictures of the stunning views and vegetation around us - reminding me of TC's and my boat ride along the Backwaters in Kerala. Oh but it was so frustrating sitting in the boat all hot and sweaty with the sun finally beating down on us, yet unable to swim in the cool water. 

The boat trip was cut short as the currents were building up and by the time we had got back to dry land all other tours had been cancelled, so I guess we were quite fortunate.

Next stop was the puppet maker, where we were shown how to make the intricately carved puppets our of balsa wood and then given a brief show. Generally the shows performed are excerpts form the ancient Asian legends (you know the ones, so please don't expect me to spell them!?!), but in times of trouble, some extra bits would be subtly added by the puppeteer in order to pass on political messages and ideas.

We bade our farewells to our creative host and then agreed - partly in a bid to keep out of the sun for a bit, but also out of curiosity - to go off and join in a religious celebration that was open to all and sundry. It was the celebration of a young Muslim boy's circumsicion. (I did check with our guide that it was just the party we would be attending and NOT the actual snipping, luckily it was the former!

We turned up at the huge gathering and were warmly greeted by all the family and friends, who kept inviting us to eat the food being prepared by a group of women around the back of the tent. But the four of us made the universal sign for "Thank you very much but I'm full", in the hope that they wouldn't be offended and realise we were too scared to eat the food for fear of getting sick!

A band was up on stage performing some 'well known' Indonesian songs and us four Brits got up and merrily joined in with the dancing - bit of Bollywood style. Then Sally handed TC some money to give the singer before we sat down (a customary thing to do). TC handed her the notes then rushed over to me looking quite pale - which was quite hard to be in that heat - "Oh my god" she said "I just accidentally handed her the money using my left hand!" I tutted at her mistake and shook my head. (Remember one never uses the left hand for any greetings, gestures or eating, but only for 'cleaning ones personals' after going to the toilet). We all hoped that the woman would realise that TC  had just made a typical 'Western' mistake and wasn't inferring that her singing was shit and she should leave the stage!? 

No one took offence and we stayed a little longer. A short while later, as we took our leave, a couple of young children rushed over with smiling faces to say goodbye. As a gesture of respect and wishing someone well, the children would take our right hand in both of theirs and press them to the side of their temples whilst bowing their heads.

I wondered why the little girl looked at me nervously as I held out my hand, then she reluctantly took it and held it to the side of her head and quickly stepped back. And as I walked back up to the mini van I realised it was because I had accidentally offered her my left hand! Oops! Oh well it's an easy mistake to make!

That evening, TC and I took a walk along the beach watching the groups of locals either going for a final swim for the day (fully clothed) or coming in from an afternoons fishing. As is custom out here, if you are of a 'white skin persuasion', you will find (as in most if not all Asian countries) locals stopping and asking to have their photo taken with you (it's about the kudos). And the walk along the beach was no exception, when a group of students approached the two of us and one of them tried to explain that apparently he had been set a project at school to get a photo with a tourist on the beach!

Hmm, really?! What strange projects the students are set over here! 

TC and I obliged and took our positions as the sun slowly set behind us.

Yet another of 'those days'!

Indonesia is an archipelago consisting of approx 17,000 islands - at the last count! But don't worry, we are only visiting two of them - Java and Bali - as sadly the tour we are booked onto does not include the island of Sumatra; where the Orangutang is found and that was originally my main reason for wanting to come down to this part of the world. But, the travel agent we booked through, was not as proficient at her job as we expected, for many reasons and suffice it to say we will NOT be using 'Round the World travel agents' EVER again or recommending them to anyone - reader please take note!

But I am not going to spend the whole of this blog ranting and raging over the fact that we are about to spend two weeks travelling on a tour with only two other people (plus the tour guide) instead of the usual twelve, through parts of an amazing country in the Southern Hemisphere, in the height of it's rainy season, whilst schlepping a back pack full of summery clothes, most of which I have just found out I cannot wear due to the fact that shoulders and knees have to be completely covered over here! So that rules out my sundresses and all of my sleeveless tops rammed neatly into my back pack, leaving me with the use of three t shirts and two pairs of calf length trousers for two weeks!

There are over 700 languages spoken over here - that's languages NOT dialects! And sadly my skills at learning anything other than English, has always been extremely limited. However, I have managed to learn two words in Indonesian (the second language spoken in this country, after the individuals local one). "Thank you" is "Terima kasih" and the only reason I can remember that is because it sounds like "tear in my car seat"!?!

Our first stop is the island of Java the most populated island in Indonesia. And our first day was to be spent in Jakarta - the capital of Indonesia - before meeting up with our tour group at six o'clock in the evening.

Jakarta is one of the most populated cities in the world. Formerly called Batavia by the Dutch when they colonised it, then in 1945 renamed Jakarta by the Japanese when they briefly took over, before 'leaving' (mainly via harakiri) within a few weeks after the bomb dropped on Hiroshima.

As I mentioned yesterday, having not slept through most of the night, we had finally been woken up by the cleaner knocking at our door, only to realise it was ten in the morning and TC panicking that we had missed breakfast! 

Thankfully it was unexpectedly sunny outside and so once we had managed to get dressed, followed by a little trouble over TC trying to stuff her huge money belt into her newly aquired tiny shoulder bag because she refused to put her Indonesian money into the zip pocket of aforementioned belt as she didn't know where the money had been and her bag was clean and new and therefore she didn't want to spead germs?! (But she is trying to keep control of her OCD remember!?!) We finally dragged ourselves out of the hotel room, with half of the day already gone and headed off for some food.

Feeling completely out of it and not in the mood for a breakfast of noodles and soup, we ended up in .... Starbucks! Well it was the easiest thing to do when half awake and in need of an English breakfast tea and croissant (very Indonesian?!).

After a short discussion on how unimpressed we were with Jakarta and it's busy, grid locked and smelly streets we agreed the best thing to do was to visit the huge and highly recommended National Museum, look around it for a couple of hours then walk back to our hotel and relax before meeting the others. The museum was only a ten minute walk around the corner, so if we timed it right we would be able to squeeze in a massage too!

Famous last words! 

You see, without realising it, we had exited Starbucks out of a different door than the one we had entered through, then turned right and headed off up the street.

Thirty minutes later not only did we realise we were lost, but my feet had started to swell from the humidity and I had weeping blisters from my flip flops!

I sat down at a cafe and TC hurried off to find a pharmacy to buy some plasters for me! Half an hour later she was back - my saviour - I smothered my feet in the plasters, squeezed them back into my flip flops, which were now too small for my swollen feet and we headed off in the right direction.

Or had we?

After another twenty minutes, we passed 'the famous statue' that TC had read about but couldn't remember the name of, but was 'definitely close to the museum' and after another ten minutes, having still not found the bloody museum we headed into a posh hotel to ask for directions where we found out that not only had we continued going the wrong way, but we still had at least another twenty minutes to walk!

And so it was agreed that the best bet was to grab a cab.

The taxi took us all the way back past where we had walked; past 'the famous statue' that TC had read about but 'couldn't remember the name of' but was apparently close to the museum! Then all the way back past bloody Starbucks where we had had breakfast and finally pulling up just past the 'Oops, yes that's the famous statue I have read about but can't remember the name of'! 

We climbed out of the cab, paid the kind driver and headed into the museum only to find that we had about an hour left before it closed!

There were seven floors and we managed three of them before turfing out time, but to be honest that was enough; my feet were killing me and we were starving and half asleep and so we hailed another cab, stopped off at another hotel close to ours to quickly grab some food then made it back just in the nick of time to meet our tour leader and group at six, only to find out the meeting had been moved to six thirty!!

At six thirty we met our tour leader Sally, who lives in Indonesia but originates from Sidney Australia and the two other girls travelling with us. Two friends from the south of England (more South than us!!) who are both work in the catering business and are both called Jo! (That's lucky because as well as being crap at remembering directions, I'm also crap at remembering names and who they belong to!)

It was at the meeting that Sally informed us about the dress code in Indonesia - not to show shoulders, knees or cleavage! NEVER use your left hand to wave at anyone, or shake their hand with, or put food in your mouth with, for it is the left hand that's used to 'wipe oneself after going to the loo' and therefore considered unclean!

TC and I paled when we realised we had been giving the thumbs up sign with our left hands to various passers by shouting out and waving hello at us - oops!

After a 'group' dinner at a stunning art deco restaurant, we all headed for our beds in the hope that we would get the better of our jet lags and have a good nights sleep. Yeah right!?

The following morning we were up at 6:30, after managing only three hours of sleep! But we had a train to catch to Bandung.

Breakfast at the hotel consisted of a tasteless porridge made from rice, which had even less taste when I added sugar to it - go figure? A cup of black tea and a weird piece of fruit called 'Snake skin fruit' which believe me tasted and smelt worse!

Within the hour we were on the train (executive class, which meant we had a pillow) and on our four hour journey through the pelting rain.

TC and I settled into the first two episode of The Killing (American version) as this was our programme of choice for this holiday. (You may remember our obsession with Broadchurch last year?). After which I was in need of the toilet (all that raining outside).

As expected, it was a squat style structure! Not my favourite, least wise because all my weeks before the trip of going to Zumba had not been enough to strengthen my weak thigh muscles as intended for this particular occurrence! The only saving grace was that my need was at the earlier end of the train journey, which meant the toilet was reasonably clean and therefore less slippery! However,  the main problem was that there was no latch on the door! I immediately broke out in a sweat as the scenario brought back 'unfortunate' memories of a similar situation when travelling on a train in India three years ago. And so yet again I found myself trying to balance over a squat toilet, whilst holding my trousers out of the line of fire with one hand, whilst holding the door closed with the other, whilst trying not to fall over (or in) as the train rocked from side to side as it sped along the track!

Finally, having achieved my mission, I returned to my seat, exhilarated, releaved, dry and with quivering over exerted thigh muscles! After telling TC about my little adventure, she refused to go to the toilet for the rest of the trip and suggested I wash my hands again before helping myself to some of her crisps.

Finally we reached Bandung - the capital of the western Java province and we arrived at The Zodiac hotel.

After dropping off our bags and pulling out our rain macs we headed out for the day.

Luckily the rain eventually subsided and we managed to get to see The Gedung State - where the central government controls all of West Java. We passed by the oldest coffee factory in Indonesia, it's  still in use, we took a gander at the stunning presidential palace and the oldest theatre in Asia. 

Then sadly TC had to return to the hotel as she was feeling ill from lack of sleep and I continued with the others to go and watch the Udjo Angklung puppet, dance and music show!

Angklung is a traditional Indonesian percussion instrument made completely from five pieces of bamboo hung loosely in a small frame. There are 8 sizes and when each one one is shaken it plays a note. 'Doh, re, me, far, so, la, ti, doh'!

The founder of The Udjo group had developed a new technique to hold a collection of the different sized instruments together in a larger frame so that they could be all be played as one instrument with a range of octaves.

The first part of the show was a puppet performance, giving us an example of a typical Sundanese, (the ethnicity in Bandung), story. The puppets are made from balsa wood, all operated by one man, who can work two at a time with each hand and uses his foot to make sound effects. In every performance a moral message is given to the audience with each puppet representing part of human's character trait, such as anger, greed, benevolence etc ...

After the puppet show a group of about twenty children ranging from about 3 to 16 years of age, all dressed in traditional costumes performed a ceremonial dance for us. It turned out that this was the 'heleran' often played after a circumsicion or during the harvest season - I kind of see the connection there?!

The last part of the show was a lesson in how to use the Angklung, followed by the audience using our newly aquired musical skills to join in with Udjo band in various songs such as the French national anthem and Queen's 'We are the champions'!

To be honest it was an amazing show which culminated in the professional young Angklung players performing Tchiakovsky's 1812 overture! Truly amazing.

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped off for some beers at a 'dodgy' off license (the new mayor has banned alcohol being sold within specific parameters of the city, in a bid to crackdown on gang crimes), as we followed our tour guide into the shop, she immediately turned round and ushered us out. It seems they were being raided by the police!

So we casually strolled back to our waiting mini van and drove off, whilst the police loaded their own cars up with the crates of beer!

Back at the hotel, I checked in on TC, who was resting but feeling slightly better and hungry! (Usually a good sign for her). And so we stayed in, ordered room service and watched another episode of 'The Killing' before attempting another night of jet lagged sleep.

As I drifted off I felt quite relieved that I was lying in the slightly hard bed of my hotel room rather than the floor of an Indonesian prison with my new travel buddies!

And so until my next post I say "Tear in my car seat" and "selamat malam (goodnight)"

Trains, planes and UFOs!?

What a bloody long day! Starting from Arnos Grove underground station at 11:30am (GMT) on Friday: travelling an hour and a half on the tube to Heathrow terminal four, a short stop at the airport with enough time to grab a cuppa and a croissant, then board Qatar Airways five and a half hour flight to Doha, a quick run around the airport with enough time to buy a bottle of water and some paracetamol, then board another flight, this time eight and a half hours to Jakarta and then an hours cab ride before arriving at The Dreamhotel at 11:30am (GMT) on Saturday!

As expected the 24 hours of travelling had 'it's moments'! 

Our first flight was a delight! As in the aeroplane was spacious (I have no idea what type of plane but it was nine seats across) TC and I were sat on either side of the aisle each with a spare seat next to us. We settled down with huge smiles on our faces and prepared for takeoff. 

TC turned to me and said "I've decided I'm not going to be so OCD on this trip, I'm really going to try hard to be more relaxed and chilled about the cleanliness and hygiene". I just nodded and smiled genially. Then she said "I'm really hungry". I suggested she ate the sandwhich that she had bought from the shop at Heathrow airport. To which she replied "No! I can't do that just yet I need to go and wash my hands first". Again I nodded and smiled genially.

A moment later, both of us simultaneously grimaced and wretched as the 'UFO' hit us! And by UFO I mean 'Unidentified Foot Odour'!!

It was chronic. In fact it was beyond chronic, it was the kind of smell even a mother would disown her own child over!!! And we were going to have 5 and a 1/2 hours of it! Our only saving grace was a little bottle of perfume I had in my hand luggage in the locker above, but the seat belt sign was still on!

TC and I were not suffering in silence, every time either one of us leaned forward to speak, the stench was so overwhelming we could do nothing but laugh or wretch (or sometimes both). Within seconds of the seatbelt light going off I lept up and grabbed that little bottle of nectar, tucked away in my day pack. Immediately TC and I smothered our arms in the sweet smell of Caudalie's 'The de Vignes' and thereafter had our noses firmly planted in the crooks of our elbows for a good half an hour until the UFO thankfully subsided.

The second flight was reasonably entertaining in itself when even before we'd left the ground, one of the male passengers who was sat a few rows in front of us, grabbed the man sat behind him by the throat and tried to throttle him, just because he had asked him not to put his seat back before take off.

The cabin staff calmed 'the throttler' down and returned to their duties as the plane taxied its way towards the runway. Suddenly 'the throttler' was up on his feet again, grabbing the poor bloke behind him by the throat and screaming at him.

The cabin staff ran over and very politely moved said 'throttler' to a seat at the back of the plane and I can only assume, that due to the lack of any other apparent commotion,  all passengers arrived in Jakarta very much alive.

Once in Jakarta airport, TC and I hurried through to the front of the line of 'The visa counter' to get our visas. We were feeling quite chuffed that we had got there before everyone else. This was going to be easy. However, it turned out that we had to go over to another counter to buy the actual visa then return to the 'Visa Counter' for someone else to take the visa from us, stick it in our passport, then stamp it.

So we went over to the other counter, paid our 35 USD after which we were handed our visas, then we went back to 'The Visa Counter' joined the slightly longer queue and finally reached the counter only to be told that we had to fill in a visa form obtained from yet another counter! We explained to the smiling gentleman that we had the visa in our hands, therefore we should not need the form? But he insisted and sent us away to the other counter to get the form.

TC and I arrived at the other counter, filled in our respective visa forms to apply for the visa we had already paid for and received, then we hurried back to the much longer queue at 'The visa counter' for the third time!

This time we were successful, well I guess there is some validity to the phrase "Third time lucky"?! And so, with our visas finally stuck and stamped in our passports we headed over to passport control where we queued for another twenty minutes only to find that there was no need to queue unless we were Indonesian or over on a work visa!

Finally we were on our way to collect our baggage, TC hurried off to the loo while I waited and waited by the conveyor belt. I waited and waited trying not to panic that neither bags were appearing, until finally a very kind gentleman came over and explained that all luggage from our flight had been taken off and was left in a pile in the middle of the room. I turned to see where he was pointing and there were our two solitary bags, I grabbed them and piled them onto our trolley just as TC hurried over from the toilets shaking her head. "There're only squat ones in there!" The blood drained from my face, I had the biggest decision of the day to make; having drunk two large bottles of water and a few cups of tea on the plane, do I attempt a squat toilet, or do I wait until we get to the hotel in the safe knowledge that our room will have a western toilet. 

The last large bottle of water got the best of me and so I headed off to the airport loos.

I was in luck! TC hadn't noticed the line of cubicles to the right with a picture of a 'normal' toilet on it! I was delighted and relieved (in many ways) and ran into one of the cubicles. Once 'relieved of my extra bottle of water' I noticed a sign on the inside of the door pointing to the picture of the toilet and indicating the rear flush. And so I turned and found the flush towards the rear of the toilet seat and twisted it.

Suddenly a strong jet of water shot out from the toilet bowl and all down my trouser leg and it was then that I realised that the instructions were literally for a 'rear flush' as in to flush out one's rear! Not, as I had thought to indicate that the flush was at the rear of the toilet!

With my right leg completely saturated with toilet water, I then had to do the walk of shame across the luggage lounge to where TC was waiting! I have to say I was rather impressed, considering after I had explained to her what had happened, that she didn't feel compelled to then wash me down with disinfectant! Maybe she is calming down on her OCD issues!

Luckily by the time we exited the building, it was so hot, that my leg had dried out and my secret was safe!

Thank goodness the one thing that ran to schedule was our waiting taxi driver and within the hour we were settled into our lovely hotel room in Jakarta and after a quick supper downstairs and laden down with jet lag we were both in our beds by 8:30 and fast asleep soon after.

Good old jet lag ... At 3am we were both wide awake again with TC complaining how hungry she was and that she was going to find it hard to wait another three hours before breakfast was served. (Those of you that followed us through Central America may remember that for a tiny person she has the most voracious appetite). 

I suggested we tried to sleep a bit longer if possible and have breakfast at a reasonable time, to try fight against the jet lag. TC reluctantly agreed and I eventually fell back asleep with the sound of her mumbling about how she wouldn't be able to wait past 6am, she was too hungry.

Later that morning we were woken by the cleaner at the door. I checked my watch, it was 10am and we had missed breakfast altogether!

Bloody jet lag!

One more sleep!

Hello, hello, testing, testing, one, two, three! 

Yes, it's me; the Ginger Broad and I'm back in Bloggerland! 

Well, it is that time of year after all, when I strap on my little grey and pink ruck sack, lace up my pink and grey walking boots, grab my pink covered passport and head off out of this dreary, cold and wet winter weather to somewhere hot and alluring for a few weeks. And this year I'm returning to Asia, well South East Asia to be more precise; in fact I'm flying off to Indonesia, where it is a lovely 30 degrees, sunny and right in the heart of its rainy season! (Something the travel agent omitted in telling us when we booked the tour back in June!).

Now, those of you that followed my blog last year through Mexico, Belize and Guatemala (and the infamous 'Chicken run buses'), may be pleased to know that once again I am travelling with my fellow Inquisitive Explorer, the one and the only 'T.C.' The acronym stands for 'Travel Companion' as yet again my friend of many years has demanded to remain anonymous in my blogs; for fear that after reading it, people may think her a bit strange and then she would feel embarrassed if they should ever meet her in real life. However, should any of you actually meet her in real life, she does tend to introduce herself with "Hi, I'm T.C. Have you read the blog? If so please know that Rosalie is prone to exaggeration and I'm not that neurotic". 

Dear reader, please note that I don't exaggerate and that she IS that neurotic!

This last year has been a tough one for me; one filled with milestones. As many of you may remember, my father had been diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease just before I left for Central America in January. Then the week after I returned in February he passed away. 

It was a shock for us all that it happened so suddenly, but in many ways it was a relief too, as he didn't have to suffer for too long from such a disgusting disease. I have to say that the love and support my family and I have received both during and after from people all over the world, has been both overwhelming and amazing. And I feel honoured to have had a father so loved and respected.

Grief has a strange effect on people, as a good friend said to me; "The landscape of your life will be for ever changed". And it is so true. Over the last year, we have celebrated birthdays, anniversaries and festivals tinged with sadness. I have lost some friends but gained some new ones too. My emotions have run from one extreme to the other (as has my waistline) and I made a promise to myself that I would not make any major decisions about anything for a year. 

That said, I went and made a huge decision and suffered my second big loss of the year ... I cut my hair off! My thick, curly, ginger hair, that people have known me all my life for, went from this:

To this:

And yet I feel strangely liberated by my new short cropped curly mass. Not only can a tin of hair wax now last me months instead of weeks! But I feel comforted knowing I won't be spending two weeks walking round Indonesia with a huge frizz ball on my head from the pouring rain, or the 39 degrees of burning heat in Australia when I visit friends in Perth for the week afterwards! 

"Why Indonesia", you may ask? Well the fact is T.C. and I agreed to return to Asia, however my little travel companion has refused to ever go back to India again (2011/12 blog) where her OCD got 'slightly' out of contol - as did our bowels! Sorry mum! (My mother has asked me why I always have to write about bowel movements in my blogs, I tried to explain that it is a normal obsession for most travellers, but she didn't believe me until I pointed out that in the three years I have been doing these annual blogs, my most popular posting is one from India entitled 'From Trichy to Thanjavore' in which I had mentioned mine and T.C.'s experience with a hotel night watchman who suffered from a bad case of flatulence! Within the last year alone that particular post has had over 250 hits ... From the Ukraine!!)

So, T.C. and I agreed on Asia - which turned out to be extremely fortuitous considering we had originally looked at a tour that travelled through West Africa and those bowel stories would have been far from entertaining! 

I had already travelled through Indo-China, T.C. had been to China and we wanted to go to a country that neither of us had visited. For a long time I have wanted to go and see the Orangutans before they become extinct, but Borneo was too expensive so we agreed on Indonesia and somehow the travel agent managed to talk us into signing up to a two week tour that travels from Jakarta and finishes in Ubud, completely avoiding Sumatra where the Orangutans inhabit?! We were then encouraged to put our deposit down as soon as possible on this 'extremely popular' tour to save disappointment as the places would get booked up fast.

With the deposit and balance fully paid up you can imagine how "disappointed" we feel now that we have recently discovered that there are in fact only two other people booked on this tour with us (Apparently two women both called Jo) and the reason that there are not many takers is because, as I mentioned earlier, this is the heavy rain season! 

And so, with our sense of humours packed (and possibly a large canoe), we are now prepared for almost 24 hours worth of travelling which involves two flights on Qatar Airways sandwiched either side of a two hour stop over in Doha! (I decided to buy a new passport as I didn't think travelling through a country that has been 'entertaining' the head of Hamas was the best place to have a passport with an Israeli stamp on it!).

I suggested to TC that maybe we should each pack a pashmina in our hand luggage, so that should we be delayed in Doha for any reason, we could cover our heads with them. I meant this as a sign of respect whilst waiting in a religious Islamic country, but when TC responded with "Yes, good idea, but you will blend in better than me because you have brown eyes" I realised she may have thought I meant as a disguise?! 

To be honest for some reason I am feeling very nervous about this trip. But suffice it to say I do hope that this blog will be as entertaining for you all as it has in the past.

So come on TC grab your bags (and don't forget your pashmina) 'Indo-needs-ya'!

Next stop Jakarta (via Doha) here we come ....

The Jaguar, The Eagle, The Snake and the ... Armadillo!

And so I was finally at the end of the tour. TC and I were woken by the alarm clock. She quickly got up and started to get ready for the day ahead, whilst I remained in bed, still slightly intoxicated from the night before!

I waited for the room to stop spinning, then focused on the empty back pack and pile of clothes lying next to it at the end of my bed! Why the hell didn't I pack before going out last night? And how the hell was I going to pack when as far as my brain was concerned I was still dancing on the bar and knocking back Tequilas (it never learns!) and what the hell were those bruises shaped like hand prints on my arms! 

And so, despite a severe lack of co-ordination I managed to ram everything back into the aforementioned back pack, then have a shower, get dressed, squeeze out of the tiny room and hurry off for breakfast with TC. 

We reached the restaurant where I felt queazy just watching TC as she eagerly helped herself to platefuls of food from the buffet. I just about managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of pancakes, purely to absorb the remaining alcohol left in my system. 

A short while later we reluctantly made our way back. Yet again I was feeling sad about leaving the group and saying goodbye to anyone still at the hotel and not up the volcano. TC was going to be catching a later flight to the UK and informed me that she didn't particularly like saying goodbye either, so she was just going to wish me a brief farewell then go off shopping - well actually she was going off to stock up on more food for her journey. Obviously the three and a half platefuls she had had for breakfast weren't quite enough!?

The cab arrived and TC, my friend of 30 years, looked at Neil and said: "She's going to blubber". Then gave me a quick hug, which was closer to a pat on the back and stoically said: "Bye then, see you later!" And hurried away. She was right, I blubbered. 

I joined Craig who was waiting for me by the cab, (His flight to Manchester was the same time as mine), then I turned to Neil and thanked him again for saving my life the night before, we had a hug (I secretly blubbered) and climbed into the taxi and we drove off into the distance - like a typical cheesy farewell scene on Eastenders!

A little over an hour later, Craig and I had checked our luggage on to our respective flights and said our goodbyes. I blubbered something about coming up to visit him on his farm one day and helping him milk the cows, but that could have been the remnants of the tequila talking, then I hurried off to my boarding gate ... 

And I was off, back to Playa Del Carmen where I was to have four days relaxing on the beach. Logistically it should probably take only about 2 to 3 hours maximum, but as there were no direct flights I had to take a 2 hour flight back up to Mexico City, spend six hours at the airport waiting to catch my connecting two hour flight back down to Cancun, where I spent another hour and a half waiting for my transfer to pick me up and take me on a 45 minute drive, before finally arriving at my hotel around 1:30am. All in all a total of 13 hours!!

But it was worth it. The hotel was perfect; I had a huge double room in which I could probably have fitted a whole Mayan Village. I was a five minute walk from the beach and 5th Avenue (the Main Street with all the shops, bars and restaurants). And I only managed to get lost once!!

It's now been a whole week since I got back to the UK and my freckles are rapidly disappearing. My four days spent on the 'The Maya Riviera' were lovely. I did nothing! No ruins, no early starts, no long coach journeys, no Mosquitos!! Just me on a sandy beach, looking out at the Caribbean with a Piña Colada in one hand and a good crime thriller in the other. And as I sit here in my bedroom in North London writing this last part of my blog I can't help but smile as I remember the amazing time I spent in Central America. 

But what's with the title of this post, you may ask? Well ... The Jaguar is an animal deeply revered throughout Mesoamerican history. He was the great god, able to move between the underworld and earth. A symbol of power, strength and survival. 

Then there's the Eagle and The Snake, as found in the Mexican flag. Well the story goes that the Aztecs (a nomadic tribe pre-dating the Mayans), were told by their gods to look out for an Eagle stood upon a cactus eating a Serpent and to build the capital city on that site - they saw it, they built it and hello Mexico City. (Or Tenochtitlan as it was called then).

And why The Armadillo? Apparently that's me! According to Mayan astrology anyway. Supposedly I am tough on the outside and soft on the inside. Well the truth is, I am not. But I am trying to be as my family and I come to terms with the rapid deterioration of my dad's health (as mentioned in my first post). 

This holiday came at a time I most needed it and the people I spent it with were unknowingly the best tonic, for which I will always be grateful. Theres a saying which goes: "People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime". Or as my late nana would say: "It was beschet". (Yiddish for "Meant to be")

And so finally I have reached the end of this years travel blog, but hopefully it won't be my last. A while back, TC and I were out for a drink with a friend of mine who produces documentaries for TV. We were regaling her with our stories of travelling through India, where TC's issues with hygiene were 'surprisingly' highlighted and my understanding of the word 'patience' was truly tested. My friend looked at us and laughed: "How about I try and get a camera crew together and film you both travelling around the most dangerous countries in the world?"

The sweat broke out across TC's face as she feverishly shook her head and said: "I'll only go somewhere that's clean and has decent food".

Me? Well I just smiled with a glint in my eye. 

So dear reader, any suggestions ...

                            

Penultimate posting and how to leave a lasting impression on your new friends ...

This morning I woke up with a swollen eye! A bloody mosquito bite! Nice way to end the tour really, though I guess it didn't look as bad as it felt, but there was certainly some visible 'droopage' going on in my right eyelid.

Breakfast was great! The best so far; a huge buffet with as much as you could eat. Unfortunately, those kind of deals are wasted on me as I generally don't eat loads, but TC was there to make up for it as she piled up her plate and prepared snacks for the onward journey.

We climbed on board the waiting boat and set off for Antigua - no not the Caribbean Island of Antigua, we were off to the city of Antigua, one of the ex-capitals of Guatemala.

It seemed like the longest journey of the tour, maybe because it was my last one with the group but six hours on a coach was quite enough. Luckily I managed to knock myself out with a travel sickness pill and unfortunately missed most of the sights, until finally waking up as we drove through Guatemala City - the present capital (I think there have been about three?!) and the largest city in Central America.

About an hour later we reached the city of Antigua and it was certainly a sight for sore (and mosquito bitten) eyes. Founded in 1541 and surrounded by the Acetanango, Fuego and Agua volcanoes, the view from the coach was pretty breathtaking.

After checking into the hotel, Neil took us on the final orientation walk, then was free time to wander around.

The streets are old and cobbled, the buildings stunning Colonnial style and of course there was the main square; The Parque Central, where locals and visitors can often be found sitting on the park benches around the Fuente de Las Sirenas fountain.

With only about an hour to spare before everyone met for our farewell dinner, TC and I tried to take a brief stroll around and get a slight insight into this lovely little city. However, there wasn't enough time in between finding an Internet cafe to check in for our respective flights the following day and getting lost trying to find our way back to the hotel - Antigua is laid out on a grid system, pretty simple and therefore supposedly easy to navigate ... in theory.  

It was a great shame that we weren't there for an extra day, with so much more to see including climbing one of the volcanoes! Oh well, I guess next time round?

I decided to make an effort that night, being our last one and actually put on a dress, then plastered on some make up to try and cover up 'the drooping eye'.

TC had asked to fit in one more round of salsa so Neil took us to a lovely restaurant where there was a live band and dancing afterwards. 

Two glasses of red wine (remember I am a light weight drinker) and a delicious meal, then I was ready to swing my hips on the dance floor, Latin style. The band started up and I dragged Craig - the farmer from 'up North' (said in Northern accent), into the heaving throng of dancers . I took the lead and showed him a few moves, while he attempted to keep up. Then I figured if one was performing salsa, it would be wrong for one not to have a Mojito! Well one would wouldn't one? 

One Mojito later and then Damian was trying to keep up with me on the dance floor, followed by Nick who was actually managing to keep the lead. Then TC?!

It was group photo time then Neil suddenly announced that we should all follow him to a local bar where the dancing was even better and we were off! I stumbled up the cobbled streets trying to keep up with everyone, but by this point the alcohol had approached my knees and they were going numb! 

We entered the bar and the room was heaving with people. "Everyone up on the roof terrace!" Neil shouted at us above the noise of the people and loud music blaring out of speakers on either side of the bar.

We trundled (I stumbled) up the winding staircase onto the largish roof terrace where tables where scattered all around near heaters and the bar itself wasn't too busy. I offered Neil a drink as a thank you for the 'burrito moment' a few nights before (still sounds like a euphemism?!) and also offered to get Vicki what she would like. They both opted for a Long Island Ice Tea, I had never had one of those before so thought it was the perfect time to give it a go. 

Now when I say these drinks were massive I mean massive - the cup was probably the size of my cereal bowl. Vikki and Neil, obviously hard-core drinkers, had no problem knocking theirs back reasonably fast. I on the other hand was desperate to keep up and managed half way before I started to feel that maybe I should pace myself? Especially when Neil announced that we should all go downstairs for a dance!

At this point TC decided it was time to leave.

I followed the others downstairs - making sure I held tightly onto the banisters as I went on my way. 

Jo, my 'up on the bar' dance partner from back at Coco Bongos in Cancun, was just in front of me. I turned round to her and mumbled: "I'm not dancing on the floor with everybody else. I want to get up there on the bar". As I petulantly threw my handbag at Ella sat at the end of the bar.

I didn't have to say it twice; Jo was up there like a flash leaning down and pulling me up next to her. Within seconds the tequila lady was over by which point I had forgotten that I was pacing my alcohol intake as she poured a mouthful of tequila down my throat. 

And there we were, Jo and I up on that bar, moving and grooving, twisting and twirling, strutting our stuff for all to see. 

Rihanna was blaring out of the speakers and for some reason unknown to myself I thought it was the perfect time to start headbanging?! 

So there I was. Shaking my head backwards and forwards up and down left and right as though I was listening to some heavy rock band until after about a minute I realised I was feeling a tad light headed. 

I stopped and looked over at Jo who seemed to be staring back at me with a look of horror on her face. The room wasn't just spinning it was going at warp speed around my head and then, everything seemed to move in slow motion ... I saw Jo trying to reach out to me as I tried to reach back to her, but it was too late my balance had gone and I flipped backwards spreadeagled (I have always been elegant) and 'crowd surfed' the people below me!! Good job I was slightly inebriated or I probably would have felt the pain as I heard the cracking sound of my head bouncing off a few heads in the crowd!

Luckily it was my group that I fell back on. Neil and Damian caught me on either side and in one fell swoop lifted me back onto the bar where I immediately carried on dancing with Jo as though nothing had happened!! Personally I thought it looked very professional and well choreographed. 

Within seconds an overexcited Neil jumped up on the bar next to me and with a huge grin on his face and his fists scrunched up to his mouth like an excited kid (an endearing Neil mannerism), he said: "I just saved your life!!"

"I know" I replied with an embarrassed smile "Yet again!" It was at that point I decided that I had had enough alcohol for the night. 

About an hour or so later, apparently after a few dances with some random guys - I say apparently because I didn't realise that I had until Jo sent me the photos ...

... Vicki, Jo, Damian and myself decided it was time to leave and find pizza! (See I must have been drunk as I've told you before I actually hate pizza!) Unfortunately, (or not) there were no pizza places to be found and after getting lost (so much for the simple grid system!!) we found our way back to the hotel. 

I said goodnight and goodbye to my new friends, (trying to hold back my tears as I hugged them), they were going to be off early in the morning for the volcano climb so I wouldn't get to see them before I left for the airport. Then I managed to find my way back to my room where I woke TC up knocking on the door before realising the hotel staff had a spare key. 

I stumbled over to my bed - waking TC up again as I knocked into her bed (well the room was the size of a shoe box!!!) I crawled under my covers and as I drifted off to sleep I suddenly remembered the mosquito bite on my droopy eyelid and thought: "How embarassing!"

"Thunder bolts and lightening, very, very frightening, me ..."

Today is Friday 24th of January 2014 and I can't stop feeling sad that my trip is almost over. In two days time I say Adios to my fellow travellers and head back up to Mexico to spend a few more days on the beach in Playa Del Carmen, before returning back home to London.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate I am very lucky to have the time to chill out; TC is having to go straight back to work. It's just that firstly I am not looking forward to saying goodbye (not really good with them) and secondly I am 'quite upset' (again censorship prevents me from expressing myself properly) that when I originally booked this trip, I wasn't made aware of the fact that I could have tacked on another 4 weeks and travelled through the rest of Central America all the way down to Panama! I didn't find out until we were already in Mexico City and by that time it was too late for me to change my arrangements. 

I sat up in bed, feeling like a petulant teenager and quite prepared to throw a strop over 'How unfair it was that I was missing out on what my friends were doing!'  But the adult in me realised it was in fact pointless ruining the last few days of my holiday and I should just make the most of my time. And with that I got out of bed, (we managed to get a lie in til 7am!) and finished re packing my ruck sack (this had become a daily ritual), then discussed with TC as to whether or not she should take an immodium that day (another daily ritual), followed by her showing me all the mosquito bites she had received the night before and telling me how itchy they all were (yet another daily ritual). After which I popped over the road to pick up my bag of clean laundry for the last time on the trip, hurried down to the local shop to buy the highly recommended slice of home made banana cake to take as a breakfast snack, then joined the others on board the private mini bus (in Guatemala we travelled in style, no more Chicken buses!) and headed off to catch a boat to take us up the Rio Dulce to the Catamaran Island Hotel, where we were going to be staying for the night.

The Rio Dulce is a river that runs from the Lago de Izabal - the biggest lake in Guatemala - into the Caribbean Sea. And as we climbed onto our boat, as tended to be the case on this trip, the heavens opened up and it started to 'cheep cheep!'

So there we sat, speeding along this beautiful body of water; fleeces on, windbreakers done up to the max, hoods up, caps pulled down and thick black tarpaulins sheets wrapped round us to protect us from the wind and rain and river water attacking us from all sides. (TC announced she had an umbrella!)

We passed by the Castillo de San Felipe, the Spanish Colonnial fort built at the head of the Lake, to keep away the Caribbean pirates (think Johnny Depp) that used to sail up the Rio Dulce, basically causing mayhem and distress with the traders. It was eventually destroyed and rebuilt and has now been classed as a UNESCO World Heritage site.

We reached the hotel, clambered off the boat, dropped off our luggage, took a swift turn around, clambered back onto the boat, wrapped up again and set off on a two hour scenic route to Livingston. 

Gradually the rain started to ease and the sun began to burn through the clouds, as Heraldo our boat driver sailed us through the mangroves and Neil pointed out the wildlife living there. We saw Herons, Cormorants, Pelicans and Iguanas drying off on the branches. Some had even made a home in a battered boat destroyed by a hurricane many moons ago. Lily pads floated on the water, locals fished for crabs and shrimp ... All was peaceful.

Named after the American politician Edward Livingston, the tiny town of Livingston is found at the mouth of the Rio Dulce and unlike the rest of Guatemala, it's main population are The Garifuna (descendants of West Africa, Carib and Arawak people). 

We stepped off our boat into this tiny town and took in the laid back atmosphere as we climbed the steep streets to the restaurant booked for luncheon - we were all starving!

Neil had recommended the local spicy fish soup (Tapado), which was made from prawns, crab and ... a fish?! My religious background dictates that we are only allowed to eat fish that have fins and scales, basically nothing shell like! But this was a holiday of 'firsts' for me, plus my feelings about religion, over this last year in particular, are generally quite negative. You could kinda say that me and 'him upstairs',  if there is a 'Him upstairs', are no longer on speaking terms and so kind of as an act of defiance I decided to give it a go. 

We sat down for our meal and I nervously mumbled 'Er, I have never eaten crab before can someone show me what to do?' A couple of people looked at me with surprise and I started to think that this may be a slightly more embarassing experience than the whole 'first time snorkelling' one. Plus there was a slim possibility that I may get struck down by lightening for breaking one of the sacred laws of the religion I had been born into. And that could be slightly awkward. (Jewish guilt and Catholic guilt; "pretty much on par with each other", according to my half Italian, Lapsed-Catholic housemate. She says it never goes away, it stays with you for life no matter what! - holy shit!) 

The bowl of soup was placed in front of me. 

Suddenly I could hear 'Oh Fortuna' from Carmina Burana  http://youtu.be/EJC-_j3SnXk  playing all around me (or maybe that was just the side effects of the anti malaria tablets I was taking?) Either way I nervously looked down at the soup and started to shake ... It wasn't the half a crab staring up at me from the coconut based potion, nor was it the smattering of pink prawns floating around in the Bouillon, it was the, the, the ... My stomach started to churn, the wretching was on its way and I turned to our ever helpful tour leader sat next to me: "Neil, please may I ask you a favour? Please could you possibly get rid of the ..." TC glanced over at me and saw the pleading look in my eyes, she knew what was causing me such distress; she had been through this with me before, in India and it was not a pretty sight. She lept to my rescue. "Neil!" She quickly called out. "Neil, you have to remove the head and tail from the fish! Quickly! She can't look at it! It makes her go funny".

Neil quickly pulled my bowl away and cut off the offending body parts. I smiled and thanked him profusely as the bowl was returned to me, then suddenly took a sharp intake of breath. "No!" TC added as she saw me staring at the spare plate in the centre of the table with everyone's discarded bits of food on. "It needs to be out of her line of vision! Quick move it out of the way!" I raised my hand to cover my eyes as the plate was quickly removed from the table and I was able to relax and attempt to enjoy my lunch.

I tried the crab and to be honest, I wasn't that impressed, seemed like a lot of mess for a small amount of meat, that didn't have much flavour anyway. As for the rest of it, well the 'undressed' fish was succulent, the prawns tasty and the soup delicious, especially with the local coconut bread dipped in it. And to my relief, I didn't get struck by lightening!

The boat ride back to the hotel was a dry one and once there, we relaxed by the pool bar catching up on Face Book and the like before dinner, after which a few of us returned to the bar where Damien shared his bottled of rum, smuggled in from town and we all got involved in an intellectual discussion about the music of Robbie Williams and Ollie Murs!

Meanwhile I continued to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach; tomorrow was going to be my last full day with the group. We were going to be going to Antigua, once the capital of Guatemala until it was moved to Guatemala City in 1776. And little did I know my last night was going to result in another 'first' for me. One that would involve a few too many drinks, a crowded pub, a bar top, Rhianna and a little bit of head banging ....