My first realisation was garnered from the fact that, amongst the limited gear I packed for the 2-3 week journey, was a notebook. This notebook was one which I had bought in Luang Prabang, Laos intending to write my travel journal in it. Of course, I was distracted, and never got around to it, managing, at best, a couple of pages whilst I was travelling through China by train, and after having had an unusual experience of sharing tea with a carriage full of train staff (most of whom could not speak a word of English). In looking at this book, I also recalled that I had bought similar books, both before I left home and during my journey, with the same or similar purposes. I have even become something of a stationery addict – trying to search out a specific pen I prefer whenever the ones I have run out, go missing, or are gifted to other travellers who forget that a pen is one of the most important tools you need (aside from your passport and a valid visa, if needed) when negotiating borders and customs.

Why all these empty books?

Cutting through all the bullshit and excuses, I realised that these books represent a fear of failure. I want to start writing things, and sharing my thoughts and experiences, but I am scared that, in trying to do so, I will fail. I worry that I will write too much, inanely rambling when the point has been made and made again, and the reader gets bored to tears. I worry that I may write too little, making no more sense than the snippets of English I sometimes hear scattered through foreign pop songs. I worry I may not be able to keep my momentum. I worry I may keep my momentum too well, and then people will expect more of me.

Sometimes, a fear of failure is also a fear of success. As I aluded to with that last one – if I start writing well, then I have set an expectation and I have to keep working at, or above, that level otherwise I will disappoint people.

So – Realisation of Self, Number 237: I am a scaredy-cat. I worry too much. I need to just leave fate to do it’s thing, and commit to just doing something.

As my mad Thai guide said, just before coaxing me to slide off a rock into a puddle of water (I call it a puddle as it was not really big enough to call “a pool”) – “Don’t try, don’t know.” Whilst I may have been risking spinal injury in trusting that sentiment in that exact circumstances, I think the essence of it carries well here.

So, since I landed in Myanmar, I have been writing… And writing… And writing…

And what has happened? Well, it seems to have developed into a (good) habit, and in recalling experiences to write them down, I am feeling more and more like I am seeing/doing/experiencing more and more. I am not sure, but I also think that more and more things are happening to and around me, which I am remembering and trying to capture when I finally settle down on my lumpy US$4 a night bed and get out the notebook and pen.

I have been writing so much, that even with my minimalistic scrawling handwriting (normally reserved for notes to myself), I have filled my Luang Prabang book up, and have had to start in a 400 page exercise book I overpaid for in Nyuangshwe, Myanmar.

So, if the advice I can give for anyone who is afraid of failing, or even more, afraid to succeed, it would be those words from my Thai guide – “Never try: never know” – just give something a go. The only sure way to fail is never to attempt, so give yourself a chance, and jump on in.

But, if jumping in involves rocks and water, be a smart boy or girl and check the water’s depth first.

1 – Different Root Language

The majority of European languages have common roots, either in Latin, or in another European language. Also, due to their proximity to each other, and the long history of trade and interactions between countries, some words have spread from one region to another, being adapted/bastardised/changed over time as they spread meaning that, for the most part, if you speak one European language, you can understand, to varying degrees, most other European languages.

Due to the separation between Europe and Asia which existed for so long before The Silk Road was established, Asian languages seem to have evolved in a parallel fashion. Alot of Japanese written characters are derived from Chinese characters. And, as in European languages, some words are similar between alot of SE Asian languages (“Sawadee” in Thai, “Sabadii” in Lao, etc.)

The difficulty is that Europeans are constantly (and subconsciously) searching most speech around them for these European threads, when they simply don’t exist in Asian languages. And, I would dare say, Asians, when in a European-speaking country, are searching for the Asian threads in what they hear.

2 – A New Concept: Tones

Whilst, in European languages, tones are used to express emotion or an underlying meaning, in alot of Asian languages, tones are an integral part of the language. In Mandarin Chinese, for instance, the word “ma” has different meanings based on the tone which it is spoken with – it can mean “yes or no?”, or “mother”, or “hemp”/”sesame”/”numb”, or “horse”/”agate”/”morphine”, or “to scold”/”headboard”/”mark”. (Where I have put words with a slash, the same tone can have multiple meanings – confusing, hey?)

Very different to European languages, isn’t it?

The hardest part of the tones is that, to an untrained Westerner’s ear, they all sound the same – but that is because we cannot see the forest for the trees, so to speak. We are so intently focusing on the words (looking for the meaning there), as would be the case with a European language, we don’t pay attention to the tones (which, for European languages is additional, emotional, information).

Another difficulty faced with the tones is that, Western sensibilities always teach us that mimicry is most often used as a form of ridicule or offence. So when we are learning a new Asian language, either formally or informally, we will sometimes shy away from mimicking the speakers exact inflections and tones for fear of offending them.

Well, at least these are my observations over the past few months. I may be well off base. I guess I will have to see how Myanmar, Malay and Hindi compare to Thai, Lao, Khmer, Vietnamese, Cantonese and Mandarin before I really know…

Myanmar, also known as Burma, does not allow tourists to cross it’s land borders to transit the country. You can do day journeys into Myanmar from Thailand, but they require that you enter and exit via the same border gate, and they are also, normally, restrictive in that you are only permitted to enter Myanmar up to a certain distance, after which it is a No-Go Zone.

So, to visit Myanmar, I will need to fly in and fly out. The bright side is that AirAsia offers low-cost flights from Bangkok to Yangon (Rangoon), the former capital of Myanmar, so that makes life a bit easier, of course the trade-off for low-cost flights is that to catch the flight I will need to be at Bangkok airport at some ungodly hour of the morning.

One of the other inconveniences in travelling to Myanmar is that, due to the fact that it is controlled by a military junta who have a somewhat sketchy track record for human rights issues, there are trade sanctions in place against the country. Doesn’t mean anything major from the point of view of a traveler, as I am not planning on doing any major trading there, but it does have an effect in that, as a result of these sanctions, there are no ATMs in Myanmar. So, in order to travel there, you have to carry in all the cash you plan to spend in US Dollars. Plus, as is the case in most countries where US Dollars are accepted as an un-official currency (such as Cambodia), the bills must be clean, undamaged and pretty pristine.

So, I ended up spending a day running around Bangkok trying to buy my budget’s worth of US Dollars. I went through nearly every currency exchange around the Silom Road / Patpong area, and even some in the more exclusive Siam (Central) area.

Lesson 1) When selling a foreign currency to exchangers in Thailand, all is well and good, all you need is the cash. However, when buying a foreign currency (ie changing Thai Baht into Euro/USD/Monopoly Money) you are expected to provide ID in the form of a passport. Of course, in an effort to not lose my passport, I had left that in my room, and so the trades I managed to perform were a result of social engineering (sweet-talking the exchange clerk) and/or creative writing (filling in the provided forms with a room number and hotel name for one of the places in Khao San Road).

After finally having scraped together roughly the amount of cash I had budgeted for a two week visit to Myanmar (including an emergency fund, which will simply be stashed in my valuables bag if it is not spent there) I headed home, quite aware of the fact that, in my bag, I was carrying a relatively large amount of untraceable cash.

Having gotten back to my room, I counted and inspected the cash (I did inspect the bills briefly at the counter, to make sure they were the right denomination and were not obviously marked or damaged). A few of the bills have marks from, what I presume are counterfeit-checking pens, which some places use, and some others have marks from some form of stamp, maybe for a similar purpose.

Hopefully, these marks will not result in me arriving in Myanmar with in-exchangeable bills. Otherwise I may be in a bit of trouble. Oh well, if it does cause problems, I am sure I will find a solution.

In other news, I read a report that there were four small explosions in Yangon over the previous couple of days. They are not sure who was responsible for them, nor their purpose, which is unusual. Add to that the fact that, whilst I am in Myanmar, it will be the anniversary of the Monk Uprising there, which may well result in some demonstrations and police/military action. Will just have to remember to try and be subtle as hell if I am anywhere near it, and especially if I am carrying a camera at the time.

One of the most often overlooked forms of transport available in Bangkok, at least by tourists, is the Khlong Boat. Khlong, in Thai, means “canal”, and in the same way as Venice relies on it’s canals for the transport of people and goods throughout the city, so did Bangkok. Did, being the operative word – with improvements in the road network, the skytrain and the subway, the canals are still serviced by the Khlong Boats, but the number of commuters and tourists using this service seems to be far less than those using the “more modern” services.

Khao San Road (Thanon Khao San) is the backpacker district of Bangkok. First impressions of this street seem to stick in peoples minds long after the novelty has become more of a monotony. Provided you arrive sometime before 2AM or after 8AM, then, no matter what day of the week/month/year it is, chances are your first impressions are/will be “It’s like a massive street party / market!”

The constant noise from nearly every shop, using a mixture of semi-English Thai music and Western hits which were “the in thing” about 12 months ago. The persistent tailors who will try as best they can to convince you that you really need a custom-made suit. The bucket vendors trying to convince you that 300 baht for a plastic tub containing a concoction which can be used as paint stripper / antifreeze / emergency fuel is the cheapest on the street (only through a complex system of price-fixing). Everything seems to be happening all at once – it’s an ADHD sufferer’s nirvana.

One of the many problems with Khao San Road, however, is that relative to most of the rest of the city, it has been, either through design or neglect, left on the outskirts. The main way tourists get around from KSR tends to be walking (The Grand Palace, Wat Phra Kaew and Wat Pho are within walking distance, at least so long as you don’t consider the walk from the couch to the TV to be an expedition requiring 12 stout men with dogs and sleds), Tuk Tuk (where you are taking a chance that the driver will either try and convince you to see a “Ping Pong Show” in Patpong or to visit another tourist establishment where he will be given free fuel as a commission) or Bus (which are cheap, but knowing where they are going is a challenge, as all signage is in Thai, and you are at the whims of traffic, which in Bangkok can turn a 10 minute drive into an hour of sweaty hell).

But, one option, for getting around the rest of the city, which is rarely used is the Khlong Boats.

From Khao San Rd, you simply walk South towards the main road, and then follow it to the River Fort, near Golden Mountain. From the pier, it costs the princely sum of 8 baht (under AU$0.36) to ride from there all the way to the Interchange Pier, which is located on the canal just north of Siam Skytrain Station.

Once you get off the boat, it’s no more than a 5-10 minute walk to the centre of Bangkok’s non-market shopping (Siam Central and associated shopping centres/malls) or onto the Skytrain to travel throughout the city (or interchange to the Subway if needed).

On top of that, you get to see Bangkok from a different angle – the shanties backing onto the canals, the people going about their day-to-day lives, etc. A very different view from the stores and insanity seen more often from the windows of a car.

The only precautions? Be careful getting onto and off of the boats (the gap between the pier and the boat can vary dependant on canals levels, boat load, and the driver’s skill) and when travelling down the canals remember just what you see people in Thailand, and Bangkok in particular, put down the street drains (which most likely feed into the canal) and wipe away any water splashes which may get you in the eyes or mouth.

That is, unless you like drinking from an open sewer…

First up, it appears that the Indian Immigration Department has decided to outsource their Visa Application service. Now, there are obvious jokes here, regarding the fact that India is the destination for almost all outsourcing in the Western world when it comes to call centres and the like, and now they are the ones outsourcing it back, but we’ll set that aside for the moment.

So, whilst I was in Singapore last week (on a glorified Visa-Run), I decided to approach one of the many agencies within “Little India” (an apt district). The clerk at the desk advised me that the Indian Embassy in Singapore will not process applications for non-residents of Singapore (ie only Singaporeans, or people staying in Singapore permanently may apply). Arriving back in Bangkok, and having read rough reports of the Indian Embassy in Bangkok allowing foreigners to apply, I tracked down the Visa Application Centre in Asoke.

Arriving at the foyer for their office in the Glas Haus tower, I was instructed by the rent-a-thug to switch off my mobile phone before he then ran a metal detector over me. A bit of overkill security wise, I would have thought, considering I could have accessed the 14th or 16th floors (directly above or below the centre) if I had been planning on any unsecheduled demolition work. Anyway, after the scan, he gave me two forms to complete and opened the secure door into the deserted waiting room.

The waiting room had seating for about 200 people, but when I was there the only people in the room were three attendants behind the counter, myself, and another attendant who was playing his Playstation Portable whilst either leaning on, or holding up, a photocopier in the corner of the room.

Having completed the forms (including some unusual questions about my parents’ names, which I haven’t had before), and paying the sum of 6 Thai Baht (AU$0.20) for two photocopies of my passport, I approached the counter.

The attendant at the counter asked me for my queue number. “What queue number? What queue?” was my response. But, without a little ticket with a number on it, he would not handle my application. So back out into the foyer, over to the ‘conveniently’ located ticketing machine, and back into the waiting room. Upon returning to the counter the attendant took my numbered slip, but not without some protest as the number was not what he had expected (“004″ rather than “990+”). Big deal.

After taking the papers, the photocopies, the two passport photos and my passport, he then advised me that I would need to pay 2135 Thai Baht (AU$74.42). That was a little more than I had expected, but only a little. My Vietnamese visa had cost me around the same, and had only been for one month (exactly one month, as a fact, from the stated date of arrival to having to get out of Dodge) rather than the six month window this Visa should afford me. He gave me a slip and sent me to another counter where I forked over my cash and got a cashier’s cheque in return, which I returned to the initial counter with.

After all was stapled and stamped, the attendant then advised me that I would also have to pay a 482 Thai Baht (AU$16.80) application fee. I had seen this charge mentioned on a small notice shown at the counter, but it was mentioned directly below a headline mentioning that they now offered a courier service to send the completed Visa out to you in your hotel/hostel/hovel. I questioned the price, but the attendant did not have much to say other than it must be paid, so out came the wallet again and over went the cash.

So, now I am waiting for my Visa application to be completed.

5 Working Days – The longest processing timeframe I have dealt with as yet.
2617 Thai Baht (AU$99.22) – The most expensive application fee I have paid as yet.

Funny how the Immigration officials do such a great job putting people off visiting their country. Happened here with the exorbitant Visa fees and timeframe, happened with Cambodia with their institutionalised fee scam. Just hope the people of India are as wonderful as Shantaram makes them out to be, so they can help me forget about the sting in my pocket a little.

At present, people in Sydney, Australia and London, England are able to call me as though I live down the street from them. They pay local call rates, and I am able to get their calls and messages for, in most instances, no cost at all no matter where I am in the world.

How did I do it? It’s surprisingly simple and I am sharing it here because, after a decade working for a telephone company and a few years studying internet technologies, I know for a fact that telecommunications companies are selling products for a small fortune when they cost fractions of cents to provide.

1 – Get a Skype Subscription

For the sum of $12.95 per month (and less if you commit to a full year up front) Skype gives you free calls from your computer (or any computer you login to your account through) to landlines and in some cases mobiles in a number of countries. At present the list of countries included in this package is 43, and that number is increasing as Skype’s reach expands throughout the world.

In addition to the free calls (did I mention they are Unlimited, well, within the bounds of fair use, of course), having a subscription also provides you with a couple of handy features:

VoiceMail

Allowing you to access voice messages left for you through your computer whenever you login to your account. Much more convenient than calling home or navigating an unfamiliar voicemail platform in a foreign language and provided by a local cell provider.

3 Online Numbers (formerly known as SkypeIn)

Within most of those countries where free local calls are available, you are able to create a phone number which then allows people to call that number and be routed through the Skype Network and ring on your computer, same as a Skype-to-Skype call.

2 – I Created Online Numbers in the Countries where People would want to Call Me from

So, as I have family and friends in London and Sydney, I created Online numbers in those cities. This meant that people could call a local number, for an untimed and relatively cheap rate, and the calls would ring on my laptop when I was online, or divert through to a Skype VoiceMail service if I was offline, and I could then listen to those messages when I was next online.

3 – I bought a Cheap GSM Mobile

In South East Asia, cheap mobiles are almost more common that fresh water. So for AU$40 I bought a phone which featured an inbuilt flashlight (damned handy in dorms). Bonus is that, should I lose it or have it stolen, it is a cheap throwaway phone and not an AU$1000 iPhone/Coffee Machine/Personal Computer/Toy. Easily replaced.

4 – When I am in a Country where Free Calls to Mobiles are Available, I buy a Local Prepaid SIM Card

SIM Cards, for those not familiar with them, are the little chips which you insert into a GSM handset and which allow you to connect to the provider’s telephone network. Pretty simple.

5 – I set the Call Diversion from Skype to the Local SIM Card’s Number

Using the Skype GUI, or through their website, I can set up a diversion of my Skype account to the Local mobile number associated with the new SIM Card. This means that, when I am online or not, calls people make from a Skype account to my Skype account, or from normal phones to the Online Numbers I created in London and Sydney, they are diverted through Skype.

6 – Profit! Or at least Don’t Spent So Much Money

So, the end result?
I can be walking through The Forbidden City in Beijing, or standing on Victoria Peak in Hong Kong, or trying to dodge Ping Pong Show Touts on Khao San Road and someone can call a local number in their city and ring on my mobile for nothing… NADA… ZIP… SWEET F.A.

How cool is that?
No more insanely expensive GSM Roaming charges.
No more dingy, over-priced international telephone booths.
No more heavily inflated hotel phone bills.

Sure there is a downside that sometimes you will leave a country with credit on the phone, but that is normally a fairly small amount all things considered.

And at the end of the day, being able to be that close to your friends and family is just a really comforting feeling when you are so far from home.

Having extracted my phalange and sorted out all the various odd-jobs I needed to resolve whilst in the relative civilisation of Bangkok, I woke early to make arrangements to head down to Lantau to catch up with some travel mates who had left a day or two prior.

But, first things first – my pack had slowly been gaining weight (whereas I was losing it, or redistributing it around my body), and had gotten to a point where the luggage handlers were visibly straining to move it. Plus the threads on the handle were starting to make noises when I picked it up, so either way – the thing was overloaded. So, I emptied my pack out in the relatively open space afforded me in my overpriced and underinsulated room in “The Marley Mansion” (“Top Guesthouse”, off Khao San Rd. I dubbed it “Marley Mansion” because my first night there I heard nothing but Bob Marley tracks from a club out the back until 1AM). I unpacked almost everything and set about rationalising what I was carrying, trying to identify items which could be sent home, and others which were better being discarded altogether. All my Lonely Planet guidebooks (original and “Vietnamese specials”) were amongst the first to go as I was no longer in need of a guide for China or Vietnam, other items like the spare laptop battery, the imitation North Face rainjacket and a few others quickly followed. After a half an hour of being a bit brutal and then repacking my now, considerably less strained pack, I had filled a shopping bag full of stuff to send home. I had also managed to half-fill the rubbish bin in the room. Mental Note: Do this more often.

Now the rest of the tasks for the day were coming together in my mind – ship the bag of stuff home, book my bus ticket to Lantau, duck over to IT City and try and source a USB charger for my mobile phone (meaning I could then also discard the oversized Hong Kong charger I have been carrying) and try and find an adaptor which would plug into the wall and had a USB output (for charging the mobile, and the iPod).

So, I wandered up Suzie Street as I had seen a DHL Office there and asked them for the rates to send the collection of odds and ends – the Backpacker Ballast – home. They weighted it up and it came in at almost 6 kilograms! 6 KILOS! That’s 3 x 2L bottles of milk I had been carrying around in my pack. Wish I had done this earlier! They then quoted me a shipping price of about 3500 baht (AU$140) which was a bit steep, but if it guaranteed delivery, then it might be worth it. Finally the DHL guy pointed out that there was now a AU$175 surcharge for any “personal effects” sent to Australia for Customs clearance. What the hell? I had to pay taxes on a good portion of these “effects” when I bought them in Australia, let alone be made to pay another tax for sending them home. Stuff that!! Off to the Post Office to see what other options are available.

Post Office was just around the corner, so I enquired there and was told that there was no surcharge for shipping goods to Australia – just standard parcel postage. So the helpful staff there boxed the gear up, weighed it, and had it over the counter and ready to go for only 1350 baht (AU$54). So much easier! I did notice, though, that there were a number of posters in the office stating that the shipment of “images of Buddha” was expressly forbidden. Was just a bit interesting – I wonder why that is? And I wonder what they consider an image? Does a postcard depicting a Buddha statue count? If so, what’s the point of making those postcards?

Anyway, step one out of the way. Next, the Bus Ticket. Go back to the travel agent in the Siem Oriental Hotel – same place the others used and they got down there in one piece. Same clerk, same ticket, same price – all is good. Clerk mentions something about there being no boat as there are not enough people. Not sure what that means – whether I now have to arrange my own transport to the island, or what? Will figure it when I get there. Step two done.

Now – the IT City mission. Luckily it was a track which I had already beaten with the Americans I had been travelling with. Down to the end of Khao San Rd, turn left, to the Main Road, wait for Bus 60. Waiting… Sweating… Waiting… More sweating… Still waiting… Sweat now running down my back and into the crack of my arse – uncomfortable… Even more waiting… Now taking refuge from the sun behind a lamppost… Irony… Eventually the bus arrives, and stops 2 lanes out into the street. Everyone hustles through the semi-stopped cars and tuk-tuks and clamber aboard. My western courtesies almost cost me, as being the last one to jump on I am half-skipping beside the now moving bus before pulling myself up and into the stairwell. Young female conductor moves from one end of the bus to the other, checking and dispensing tickets, deftly wielding the long tubular ticket machine/change canister as she uses it to straighten, check and fold 20 baht bills (which she then stores fanned  between her fingers) and to tear off the tickets and then endorse them by putting two tears through each ticket section. “Clap clap rip clap rip clap clap”

Slowly crawling through the traffic – could probably walk faster, but it’s a long walk, and the bus is air conditioned (well worth the 4 baht surcharge on top of the 7 baht fare for a hard-seater). Stop at another station and more people flow on, taking up the rest of the seats. A young girl is left standing, looking like the out kid in a game of musical chairs. Conscience kicks in again and I give her my seat. I seek out a new seat at the front of the bus. Notice a small box screwed to the roof of the cabin, above the driver. Says “BUS SOUND”… Always wondered where the sound of a bus came from – now I know.

Eventually arrive at the destination. Again, bus stops mid-street and people flow down the break-neck stairwell onto the street and through the traffic. Then onto the footpath and it is not much better, but now you are dealing with ignorant tourists who stop in the middle of the narrow pathway between the buildings and the street stalls. The locals just move through it all like water through a pipe – fluid, smooth, no hesitation, all instinctive.

Get into the IT City store and bust bask in the ice-cold air-conditioning for a moment, feeling the sweat patches on my shirt instantly crystallise. Head into the first large store I can find and seek out the mobile phone charger. Multiple connections for different phone types, and about the size of a packet of gum. Excellent. 150 baht (AU$6) – not a bad price, could have gotten it for less from a market vendor, but it’ll do. Memorise where it is. Upstairs to a gadget shop. Dodge the sea of touts trying to sell DVDs, CDs, software, adult flicks. Adult flicks? Momentary double-take. Nah, why bother – the internet is always there and it’s free, for the most part. Find gadget shop, find adaptor. Short bargaining, better price and a laugh from the vendor. Back down to IT City, get charger, unwrap everything and transfer to small plastic bag (why do they waste so much time and resources with packaging?) Out the door and into the heat of Bangkok once again.

Look for bus, but can’t be bothered. Jump a cab. Driver speaks good English, and picks up my accent in no time – catches that I am Aussie and from Sydney. Surprising. Spend the bus journey hearing about how he worked for 20 years in hotels, as a manager, and how he met so many great friends in travellers who would sometimes stay for 2 months in the one place. Clues me in that, for Thai people, minor drug offences are nowhere near as major as the Schappelle Corby drama – possession of a personal use amount can normally be forgotten with a bit of a currency distraction for the officer involved. Not that I am planning on testing that, but good information to know. And I am sure that, as will all things in S.E.A. there is a local price and a tourist price.

Back onto Khao San Road with a couple of hours to burn. Grab some lunch, even though I am not hungry – having a bit of a tense stomach as I eat a hamburger on Sunset Street. Wonder why that is? Again, thinking about it won’t fix it.

Decide to go to the Internet Cafe to check up on the world, as I get to Susie Walking Street, an Indian-looking guy engages me in conversation. Talking to me about chakras and energy, sounds interesting. Says he is a Fortune Teller – translation: trickster. Well, I have time to spare, so we’ll see what he has. He leads me into a small courtyard and asks me to remove my shoes and sit in a cross-legged position. It’s been twenty years since I could do that, and my feet, bones and muscles all protest. He waffles on about good luck and shows me pictures of Hindu swarmis which he either bought at an Indian novelty store or downloaded. Goes on to say that he can tell me my Mum’s name, how many brothers and sisters I have, my date of birth and my ex’s name. Should be an interesting trick. He tells me that if he does that I have to agree to pay his fee. I ask him what his fee is. He writes on a piece of paper a scale from Poor through Medium to Rich. Poor, by his reckoning, should pay him 5100 baht (AU$204) through to Rich at about 22000 baht (AU$880). Nope. Tell him that I am travelling and have very little money to spare. Turning a con on the con artist a little. Tell him I will give him 500 baht (AU$20). He is a bit upset and wants more, but I stand firm. As he has already invested the time in me, and he would need to cultivate another person, he agrees. He grabs and pencil and paper and starts writing so I can’t see what he is doing. He asks me a pile of useless questions like what I ate last Sunday, where I last saw my Mum and my brothers, etc. whilst making out that he is calculating the answers. (1). Next he crumples the paper up into a ball and has me place it against my forehead and then my chest and repeat some incantations with him. He then has me place the paper ball in my chest pocket.

After that he has me write down the answers to the questions. Once that is done, he takes another piece of paper and writes on it so I cannot see. I catch him looking at the answer paper as he does so and I realise that is part of the trick. He shows me a piece of paper with the word “GOD” written on it, with three lines under the O. He says that the three lines are one for me, one for him and one for God. In reality I figure that he is trying to get me to focus on a feature of the paper which is easy to copy and remember. Next he takes the paper back (2) and again crumples it into a ball. More incantations, more holding to heart. Has me place the paper ball in the same pocket (3). Talks some more about energy and connections and makes himself out to have a direct line to The Old Man. Has me pull the paper out of my pocket and unwrap one of them. There are the answers – all correct, for the most part, although he has the end of my Mum’s name a bit wrong. Then has me unwrap the second ball, and there is “GOD” written as before. He asks whether I believe him, I tell him he had the answers right. So he asks for him fee and I give it to him. He asks whether I have given him the money with a happy heart, I say “Yes, but with a questioning and suspicious mind.” He doesn’t get it. Next he gives me a “rock” (really a chunk of plastic) which I must keep secret and not show to anyone. He then tells me to meditate every morning for 5 minutes saying “Um Nemeh Shivay”.

Finally he says he has given me a gift and asks for a gift in return. I give him a few words of wisdom, as he has given me, but he suggests something more financial or physical – like an old mobile phone, or camera, or something. I tell him I have none to give. He is a bit persistent, but not threatening. I start putting on my boots and he says “You see, I have no watch. How about you give me yours?” I say quite sternly “No. I cannot.” He is now quite disappointed. “Do you think this is easy, my friend?” he asks. I just do not reply, as I am deconstructing the trick in my mind and say only “Thank you” as I leave.

Here’s how the trick worked. (1) The first piece of paper he gave me had the “GOD” written on it – it was essentially a placeholder for the paper where his “divining” powers would be proven. (2) The paper he crumples did not have “GOD” on it, but rather the answers from the paper I had just filled out and saw him reading as he wrote. (3) In the confusion of my pocket, I could not track which was the first and second balls I placed in there, so that’s where the swap occurred.

So, did I get ripped off? Maybe. But for AU$20 I now know a pretty neat party trick. Might even make my money back!

After quickly consulting the internet, and with the help of Google Maps, I had found a bookstore called “Bookworm” in Hanoi, offering second-hand books. Figuring that Hanoi is a common gateway city when entering and exiting Vietnam, I thought I would try my luck there. So, armed with a rough idea of where I was headed (being a list of streets I would need to cross, and turns I needed to make), I started for the door of the hotel. Kim, one of the exceedingly helpful members of the staff here, asked me where I was headed, and when she heard that I was planning a Hanoi version of the crossing of the Great Sandy Desert (not in terms of distance, but I am pretty sure I was running as great a loss to life and limb on some of the street crossings as someone walking across the outback may experience), she instead told me of a closer place and drew it on a smaller map they provide guests.

So, with my revised destination in hand and on map, I started out the door and into the hustle and bustle of Hanoi. I thought the traffic of China had been insane, and in comparison to Australia, it is, but Hanoi was another thing altogether. Crossing the road here isn’t a case of looking for a gap (there are none) or finding a pedestrian crossing (they are there, but seem invisible to all and sundry), but more a case of adopting your best “touch me and I will fucking kill you” expression and then stepping out into the traffic with an imposing presence and a steady pace. Yes, you are allowed to quietly brown your pants whilst doing so, but wait until reaching the (relative) safety of the other side of the road before allowing that earlier expression to transition to the “I need a new pair of undies” one.

Anyway, I set off up the street in search of the bookstore. One of the first navigational issues I discovered was the fact that alot of roads in Hanoi have names for only one or two blocks before changing name and continuing on. So, without changing the physical street, you may be on “Bat Dan”, then on “Hang Bo” and then “Hang Bac”. This can be a bit confusing for someone like myself who is used to streets keeping the same name until the hit an especially large intersection or main road, or in the case of some parts of the North Shore of Sydney, the Planning Department of the local council just decided to shake things up one Friday afternoon…

Walking along the street – and yes, in Hanoi, you walk along the street as the footpath has been translated to something in Vietnamese which roughly means “place to park your motorbikes and scooters, and somewhere to set up all your tables and chairs when running a restaurant/cafe/dental surgery” – I managed to find my own small cha-phrase (which for those of you who are unfamiliar with my new word is a conjunction of “charades” and “phrase” – being a set of gestures which work together to produce a sentence) which I was able to successfully use on all of the Motorcycle Taxi-Pilots (and yes, they are Pilots) who kept asking whether I needed a lift every half block or so.

I finally arrived at the site of the alledged bookstore, and walked straight past it… Then doing a lap of the block whilst re-consulting my map to ensure that I hadn’t gotten myself unknowingly lost before returning at the spot and finding that it was A) a bar and B) under renovations… Well, the hotel gets an A for Effort all the same.

Deciding to make the most of being in an unfamiliar part of the city, I headed off in a randon direction to see what was on offer. Whilst wandering around, I noticed that the moods of western tourists in Hanoi (and maybe throughout Vietnam) is somewhat different to that in China. Firstly they tend to look straight through you – that maybe because they are having a pant-browning experience of their own (see above) looking at the fleet of death machines racing up behind you, or maybe because western tourists are a dime a dozen in Vietnam. Secondly, when you do actually snap them out of that stare, with a “Hello” or “Gday”, it is somewhat rare for them to respond. Yes, I know Australia is unusually friendly in that regard, but still – c’mon people! Just a little courtesy here…

After having wandered for twenty minutes or so (and being hanging for a Coke or something, but not being able to find any places prominently advertising it – yet another difference from China where even doghouses had little neon Coke signs), I came across a Vietnamese guy (who told me his name, but I cannot recall it, so I will call him “Harry”) who actually struck up a conversation with me. Now, the fact that he was that different from all the tourists and all the locals should have gotten my warning bells at least pulled out of the mothballs, but I was foolish and friendly and spoke with him for a while. He mentioned that he had been to Australia and that his sister was planning on going there to work as a nurse. He invited me to join himself and his sister for lunch later that day. The first thought that went through my mind was “I do NOT want to be match-made with a Vietnamese girl by her brother.” The second thought which went through my mind was “Unless she is incredibly hot.” I did, however, get an unusual vibe from this guy which I shook off, but would later prove to have been all too accurate.

But, without the wisdom I now have, I asked for his help to find a Vietnamese Prepaid SIM Card so I had a local number, and then he asked me for it so he could call me to arrange to meet him about an hour later. I did so, and then headed back to the hotel to get my throwaway mobile handset, which I use exclusively for local services.

I got the handset, set it all up, and then started making my way back to the arranged rendezvous spot, using streets which are present in the real work, but not detailed on the provided maps. Must be a plan of yet another local government – don’t bother building new roads, just have a few disappear from the maps every few years and then put them back on again and declare them “New”. Cunningly clever!

I was not far from the spot when I got a call from Harry asking me where I am. I told him I was a short time away, and he said that he would see me soon. I arrived at the intersection we had arranged to meet in, and he arrived a short time later. He invited me to his house for lunch, and suggested that we get a taxi there. This didn’t sound too unusual, so I went along with it, thinking that with the experiences I had in China with meeting random people and doing things which alot of tourists never open themselves up to, this would be interesting.

We drove for quite some time, eventually crossing a bridge over a large canal and turning into a street running alongside the canal. After about 40 metres the driver went to stop and some teenage boys were talking through the windows and trying to open the doors. This was a little unusual, but did not faze the driver, nor Harry, and so I thought nothing of it. Harry had the driver drive down a small alley where he had him stop and we both got out of the cab. Harry led me down another alley and into a house.

When I arrived in the house, I was asked to sit in the living room and Harry offered me a drink. I asked for a glass of water, and he gave me a glass and a bottle of water from the fridge. He warned me that, during my travels, I should be careful to check that the bottle is sealed when buying water in some villages, as they simply refill empty bottles with whatever “clean” water they can find. Harry and his other (older) sister sat with me and we talked about Australia and my journey so far, and Harry apologised that his sister (the nurse) was at Hospital with his mother as she was suffering from a disease of the Bone Marrow.

Harry’s Brother came down from upstairs and introduced himself as Joma. He told me he worked on cruise ships as a croupier and had been able to visit Australia in the past, so he was also interested in where I was from, had been and was going. Harry’s Sister then put on a lunch for me, and insisted that I have some – the food was simple, and not entirely appetising, but it was somewhat edible and I had a small portion (heavy on the rice). Harry made his apologies and said he would quickly go and pick up his sister from the hospital and he would be back soon. Joma told me, whilst I ate, that he had dealings with a number of high-rollers through his work and that he had been dealing at a game the earlier night between a couple of women. He said that one of them had promised him a 5% cut of the winnings in the event they won, but the other lady had won and had only tipped him US$400 (when 5% would have been US$4000), so he referred to her as the “Lady Of No Honor”.

I was being sucked in… In hindsight, I can see all the warning signs here, but at the time, and with a naive heart, I took things at face value… Regardless, here we can all see how big a fool I can really be when put to the test.

He invited me upstairs to show me one of the games he often uses, which he called “Poker 21”. We sat down and he instructed me on the rules of the game quite quickly but thoroughly. Then he started doing tricks with the cards – not tricks like David Copperfield “the card is behind your ear, 60 feet away, whilst I am in a straitjacket and just drew it using my left small toe” kind of tricks, but tricks like shuffling the pack and then managing to deal me four consecutive 21s. And then being able to tell me what the next 6 cards off the top of the deck were. Very impressive. He obviously knew his cards very well, and had been playing for a long time.

He then mentioned that, in some casinos and games, the dealer was able to signal a player with that kind of information and help them to be able to both know what the other player has as well as what the next card was. Again, should have seen it coming… So he taught me the signals and the way that those signals would allow a player to make the best decisions. After a little bit of drilling on this, he mentioned that he used to work an arrangement like this with an American guy a while back, where he setup games and they would fleece high-rollers and split the winnings.

He told me that the “Lady Of No Honor” was meant to be dropping by a bit later, as she was meant to take him out for dinner, and then suggested that I help him get the money she owed him out of her so he could help his mother.

Now, and again, in hindsight, I should have said “No”, picked myself up and walked my arse out of there. It is a hard learnt lesson, but at this stage it should have been clear that something was awry and that people you have just met do not talk about money, especially in this fashion, after knowing someone for almost no time at all.
But, that is hindsight, which required the following to happen to attain…

Being the foolish, and sometimes big-hearted moron that I am (and which most of my mates can attest to me being) I agreed. And that was when I just about tied my own noose.

There was a knock at the door downstairs and it was the “Lady Of No Honor”. Joma hurriedly handed me two US$100 bills, and said that we would use them to start the game. The “Lady” came into the room. She was nothing terribly stunning to speak about, which should have started my mind running already – as it is rare that anything other than a drop-dead gorgeous woman is ever a trophy wife, meaning that, if she really was as rich as Joma said she was then she had to be the brains… Which I doubted. That and he said she was from Brunei, and yet she looked Vietnamese. But, again, this is me going over the story in hindsight – I’ll let it unfold in it’s own course…

Joma introduced Lady to myself and his Older Sister, who initially he referred to as my guide. Then the Lady sat down at the table and Joma told her that I had lost US$5000 to him earlier in the day and I was trying to win it back, and he invited her to play. She, of course (inline with both the story and the scenario), did. So I produced the US$200 Joma had given me and changed them into chips. Joma had Lady act as the House and I was playing against her as the Player. He dealt me winning hand after winning hand – so many in such quick succession that I wondered whether it would start to show that I was being fed good hands. At one stage, I needed to have more chips, and so I changed some VND (Vietnamese Dong) into chips, and the game progressed. With every win, the pot increased in size. Eventually Lady pulled from her purse a brick of, ostensibly, US$50,000 in US$100 bills and changed them into chips. Joma dealt her 20 (and signalled me the same) and he dealt me 21. As I had said that this was the last hand, she went all-in, meaning that there was about US$100,000 on the table. But, then we hit a snag. To get to that level, Joma had been giving me “Credit”, but before Lady was willing to turn her cards she wanted security that the credit was good. That’s where it all went pear-shaped… Sure, the warning signs are there. especially as I am writing it now and giving you the highlights from a couple of hours of experience, but it was not the case when it was happening – not because of the thrill of winning (there was no doubt in it), nor having someone over (it was not a big deal), but, because stupid old me, I did not ask or look around – as was said a thousand times in a little town called Nuremburg – I was just following orders/instructions.

As I (obviously) had no more money on me, and as Joma said he didn’t either, we had to get it from somewhere, and couldn’t let onto Lady that Joma and myself were in cahoots. So we put our cards into envelopes, marked the seals, locked them into a bag, and then locked the bag into a locker. The agreement was that Joma and myself would “go to the hotel and get the money from the safe”. Joma, Older Sister and (the just arrived, and NOT “incredibly hot”) Younger Sister piled into a cab. Being a (misplaced) gentleman, I let the ladies into the cab first but then Older Sister, who I let in first of all, jumped out and ran around to the other side of the cab and jumped in behind me. So I was now sandwiched between the two women (and not in a fun way… nor with women I would want that kind of sandwich…) Warning sign… We then drove across town as Joma (ostensibly again) made a number of calls to people to try and secure loans, all the while telling me that he needed the money for his mother and trying to persuade me to get as much money together as I could. Warning sign (again – but that one I got)… After picking up that something was probably going amiss here, I started questioning Younger Sister about her studies and work – I am no doctor, or nurse, but I know enough about medicine and hospitals to be able to talk at least some of the talk. She turned out not to be a nurse, nor to have studied as a nurse. The story was starting to come apart…

Eventually we arrived at a hotel which had an ATM, and Joma still cajoled me (although I had an inkling that things were going strange) into withdrawing some more VND (about 4 times what I had already “invested”). I made a point to cover my PIN and not to let him see the statements the ATM produced (which, unusually, mentioned my account balance – in China you chose whether to see any advice, and even then no balance was shown). I handed it to him, but he was once again persistent in trying to make me get more. I said, quite forcefully, “No” and all of a sudden he stopped pushing. He then made a call to someone to try and secure more money under terms of 10% interest for one day. At some point he mentioned that he needed the money to pay the interest before getting the loan, which sounded wrong to me, but I assumed that it was a case of bad translation on his part. He said that the guy he was on the phone with to try and arrange the money was connected to drug trades and so would not see him unless he went alone, and so he left me at the Horison Hotel, saying he would be back in 10 minutes.

I waited 20. Then I waited 30. Then I finally admitted to the small, but increasingly loud, voice repeating time and time again – “Luke, you have just been hit by a con artist.”

What were the warning signs? Let me try and capture them all – this lesson cost me quite a bit to learn, so I really want to make sure that lesson is well and truly learnt…

1. Friends, especially new friends, do not mention money that quickly. Especially at any level higher than a “can you spot me a drink” kind of ballpark.
2. If someone starts telling you all about their family drama(s) without it being arrived at through some kind of network of segues or poor topic choices, you are having your heartstrings spliced into a noose for your neck.
3. No-one ever wants to show you a card game for the hell of it.
4. No-one ever teaches you a way to cheat at #3 unless they expect to get paid for it, either indirectly through conning you, or directly through using you in a scam.
5. If you are brought to a house by one member of the family and they then disappear, you have just been dropped off by the Point Man.
6. Never play a card game without limits (it is too easy to have someone “Buy The Pot” on you, as happened here).
7. Never let yourself get surrounded… Ever!
   (Exception made for if you are surrounded by Playboy Playmates or similar. Giggity.)
8. If something feels dodgy, listen to your instincts, pull the ripcord and get the hell out (unless doing so directly endangers your life).
9. A real “high-roller” Lady can afford non-smear lipstick (she left lippy on the cigarettes she was smoking as we played – I was aware enough to see that as being odd, but didn’t see taking me across town to withdraw money from an ATM, which are located everywhere, as strange. What a moron I am…)
10. Always question orders!!
11. If someone doesn’t spot a glaring hole in your story (like when I went from being a poor travelling person to having US$100K in a safe somewhere), they are probably focusing too hard on their own story.

So, there you have it – my first full day in Vietnam, and I didn’t just allow myself, but, in hindsight (again) allowed myself to get ripped off blind. That money would have lasted me a long time in alot of places I have travelled to. Hell, it would have been a full year’s rent for a dorm bed in Xingping… But, I have to try and look on the bright side – maybe the Government’s economy lifeline grant will find me, and it will offset this whole little episode.

After picking my ego up off the floor (although it is still running between my fingers every few minutes, to be honest), I decided that I should head for the safety of my Hotel. Initially, I went to one of the Motorcycle Taxis near the Hotel – figuring I had been ripped off once alreeady today, I will try my luck again with what little VND I have left in my pockets. After asking him how much it would cost, he quotes me 300,000 VND (AUD$30). Did I have “Fuck Me Over” tattooed on my head overnight? I thanked him for “Fucking Nothing”, which attracted a strange “I have no idea what he just said, but it sounded bad, and yet he said ‘Thanks’” expression and headed off on foot.

I walked off down the street from the Hotel and tried to find my way home. After walking for about 30 minutes, allowing the distraction of lunatic motorcyclists and scooter riders to once again numb my mind and silence that little voice continuing to give me shit, I decided that I should try and find where I was on a map. Especially as I had been deep in conversation with, and under the spell of, the thousand-dollar-performance I had been regailed with in the cab on the way to the ATM. Luckily, Kim at my Hotel had given me a map of all of Hanoi, so I managed to find myself on the map. On the opposite end of town from where I started the day, and after having walked half an hour South when I should have headed East/North for half that time.

So I turned around and continued on my way, this time in the correct direction. As I walked I tried to call Joma, who was maintaining that all was still well, that he was just having trouble getting the money together, and that the scam would continue later. He told me to call him later when I got back to the Hotel (which I did, but he did not answer – I also called Harry, who told me that I needed to speak with Joma and also said that his Mum needed “brain surgery” – a slight change from a bone marrow disorder earlier that day).

After walking about an hour (or so) I was within spitting distance of the Hotel… Or it would have been spitting distance if I had not lost the ability to produce saliva somewhere around Tran Nhan Tong… Luckily as I walked down the street (again, and as proven during the day – one of the safest place in Hanoi – safer than houses, and even banks… or at least ATMs…) I spotted a saving grace sprawling across one of the few sections of footpath in all of Hanoi not covered in motorbikes… An Irish Pub!

And what made it better? It was bloody St Patrick’s Day. So after apologising to Fergus – the pet Irishman sitting at the bar – for forgetting that it was St Pat’s Day (he forgave me when I told him I didn’t even know what day of the week it was), I had a beer and just tried to clear my mind of the events of the day.

What can I say? The little… OK, rather large… part of my mind which bathes in black humor is having a field day today. That little voice has gone from “I told you so” to far more creative comments – like “24 hours in Vietnam and you got fucked – but not in the way your mates thought you would”. Mind you, the equally large optimistic side keeps fighting the good fight in return – “At least you didn’t get stabbed or worse”, “Yeah, you got fucked, but at least you can’t catch anything from being swindled”, “It’s an expensive lesson, but a lesson which should serve you well for a long time to come”…

Oh well… I guess every country, and every city, has them – people who make a living out of taking advantage of the good faith which is something which is missed the minute a city decides to just be constantly cynical and cautious. Up until today I had been assaulted once back in Australia (by a drug-affected individual less than a block from home), but never mugged, so I guess I am lucky there too. And after 6 weeks in some very poor areas of the world, I have not had anything stolen from my person and my packs yet… Touch wood! (taps head).

This whole event will not stop me trusting people – I think that to do that would be much like the American, English and Australian reactions to the terrorist attacks of 2001 (and others). It may make me alot more cautious, which is probably a good thing, but it will not stop me (I hope) from trying to look below the surface most tourists seem content in just accepting. I just need to say “No” a hell of alot sooner.

I have to admit, I have been tempted to pick up a sledgehammer or similar from one of the tool shops (conveniently located in the tool plaza in the tool district of Hanoi) and go and find the house they took me back to, but I am sure that I would be bringing a hammer to a knife fight, or a knife to a gunfight, and I am better just living, learning, and writing it off as an educational expense. Mind you, if I see Joma or Harry on the street, I will have no quams in putting him infront of the first truck I can find (and then asking him where his friends are).

My day started at about 9AM, although I can’t be sure of the time because 1) I was sleepy, 2) I didn’t check my watch and 3) I am still split between two timezones. Patrice, the other Couchsurfer staying with Lena and James, was leaving after having stayed up all night working on his short film. A very cool guy, even for a Frenchman. (NB: That was a joke, just if anyone wonders.) After sitting in bed for a while, writing up a couple of entries for this blog and tweaking the layout a little, I decided to embrace the day and get out for a walk. Lena and James had given me a set of keys for the apartment, so I didn’t need to wake them (such lovely trusting people) and I was off.

I started by getting a feel for where Lena’s apartment was – walking to each end of the block and taking note of the street names, and identifiable stores so I had some reference points for later in the day. The unfortunate thing about Macau is that, to the untrained eye, like mine, alot of it is somewhat identical – like the backgrounds out of Scooby Doo episodes. Anyway, after getting that baseline bearing, I started wandering, in no particular direction, to see what I could find. With it being Day 2 of 3 for the Chinese New Year, alot of the stores which I am sure would normally be spilling out onto the footpaths were closed up, so there were stretches of road which felt somewhat like ghost towns.

I found some markets, which I wandered down looking at the various goods on sale. There were some ubiquitous items (knock off jeans and jumpers), which could just as easily be found at Paddy’s Markets as in Macau. There were also some rather unusual items, like a store which had a spayed barbequed piglet hanging from the rack, along with what I think was deep fried eel. There was plenty of fruit of types which I had and had not seen, and flowers and tons of other things. I didn’t buy anything from the markets as my day was only just starting (and I didn’t want to be lugging around BBQ Babe).

I retraced my steps and decided to investigate in a new direction. This time I headed out towards the Monte Fort – an old military fortress on the top of one of the few hills in Macau. To get there I passed by an old cemetery. The cemetery was an interesting place – a mix of Christian memorials, some of which bear effigies of Christ but with distinctly asian features along with Buddhist memorials, and a number of which were non-descript, simply bearing the resident’s name, date of birth date of death and “R.I.P”. I went into the chapel and just relaxed there for a moment, sitting on the hard wooden pews which remind me all too well of Sunday masses with my grandparents, or the masses I used to attend when I was at primary school. Pews which were so uncomfortable I remember squirming on them as I started losing feeling in my bum. Dunno – that may well be the intended effect – transcendence through pain.

There was a small balcony area with stairs leading up to it, so, me being me, I decided to investigate. It led onto a small room in the bell tower, with a single bell, not attached to any ropes or similar. Across the top it was embossed “Novelty Ironworks H.K.” Not sure if they mean “novelty” as most people I know would interpret that word – being as a joke, or whether it was a case of poor translation for “custom(ised)”. And, again, me being me, I struck it softly. That bell was so well tuned, a tiny tap and off it went. I had to try and deaden it with both my hands, which eventually worked, and then I made a hasty exit down the stairs which more resembled a set of potential neck breakages than anything else on the way down.

After leaving the cemetery, I continued out towards the Fort. I checked out the Ruins of St Paul’s Cathedral, which was packed with tourists. Of course, most of those tourists were Chinese, which made them hard to pick out of a crowd. Kind of imagine if one day, in Sydney, every resident woke up and looked at the city as a tourist – would create some pretty crazy (albeit lovely) scenes, wouldn’t it? Well, that was the scene.

One thing which struck me about the various shops which lined the streets packed with tourists, was the number of pharmacies they have here. Either pharmacies are not the same as pharmacies back home, like cafes in Amsterdam, or people in Macau must be some of the biggest hypochondriacs on the face of the planet!

After meandering down the streets of the more formal tourist market-y area I found a large square which had tons of decorations for New Years. I had no idea where I actually was (as leaving the Lonely Planet guide at the apartment also meant I was without a map) – I simply knew the path which had roughly led me to where I was. So I reversed that track to find my way back. I checked a couple of the stores on the way through – clothing seemed about as expensive (and possibly more so) than home, whereas electronics seemed a fair bit cheaper. I considered buying an iPhone, both to combat the power problem (in my rush to pack, my Nokia charger had failed to make the flight) and to give me easy access to internet (through one of the many unsecured WAPs which seem to litter this city) and might also be able to link into my Skype account to give me a connection to home. The price was around AU$600 or so, so I will have to check to see how that compares with the rest of the world. But anything that charges via USB is a good thing – means I just need to be able to plug my laptop in (and it’s power system seems pretty good).

Deciding not to impulse buy, and as all prices, at a number level are 4-5 times more than the AUD equivalent (as AU$1 = HK$4-5), so a AU$7 hairbrush is marked as MOP35 (MOP = Macau Patacas which are close enough to Hong Kong Dollars to make them interchangeable. Although Patacas are aout 1.25% less, meaning most vendors will take HKD and pay change in MOP. Oh, and Patacas are not as widely accepted outside of Macau.) I headed back towards the Cathedral and then headed up to the Monte Fort – one of the many old fortresses around Macau, with almost every mountain/hill boasting one.

After climbing up the steep basalt/granite stairs to the top of the mount, along with a few hundred tourists, I reached the ring path which runs around the fortress. Most of the tourists headed right, making a bee-line for the “Armourial Gates”, but, being me, I went left, to see more of the fortress from the outside, before making it around to the gates in due time.

As I walked along the path, the scale of the fortress struck me. It was not a massive construction – nothing to the scale of fortifications I have seen on TV or in photos from Europe or even parts of America. But the amount of material which had to be hoisted up a very steep slope on all sides was massive. And the walls themselves – smooth-skinned and at least twenty feet tall, made me thankful I never had to look at them as an attacking soldier.

I made my way around to the gates, and then into the inner courtyard, which has a number of the old cannons at their stations on the battlements and is dominated by a colonial style building which is the top of the Macau Museum. I didn’t go to the museum, as by this time it was getting close to closing time, but I did find that the top building was also the top floor of a set of escalators and stairs allowing you to enter and exit the fort from the inside. Much easier, and I did use it as my way down, but I think that climbing the outside made the experience all the more impressive.

I headed back to the apartment and then got a message from Lena telling me that James and herself, along with some other friends were at Senado Square to see a dragon dance, and invited me to join her. It was a serendipitous invitation, as I had just been thinking that I was finally getting my head around navigating through Macau. So here was a challenge – find a location which I did not know, based on it’s Portugese name (which no-one else seems to know) and then get there.

So I set off, with no map, and no idea… Yet.

I found that at the “Circle-K” stores which litter this city, along with 7-Elevens, they give away the Macau telephone directory. I flicked through one, hoping to, and finally finding, a map of the city. Alright, now I have a map, but it does not have Senado Square on it. But it’s a start. I then started wandering in the direction which I though was most likely to be the right way, until I stumbled upon a tourist map. In the corner, written in rather small type, was a legend which mentioned the Square and from that I found it on the map. A few minutes later and I was on my way, legging it across town to meet the guys for the dragon dance.

I managed to find them, in the square, and in time to catch one of the dragon dances, which was great.

After the show was over, we headed to the MGM Grand casino, as Lena had a ticket in a draw for a Masserati, which a previous Couchsurfer had left with her (you have to gamble a certain amount to be able to be given one of these tickets). But the draw was in a few hours, so we didn’t stick around that long. Instead we grabbed a quick meal and then headed back to the apartment which we then gave a quick clean to as Lena and James were expecting a new housemate that night. Many hands made light work, and we were done in no time, before heading over to “Kun Yam Tong” (a local temple which we use as a landmark for taxis, etc.) to meet May, their new housemate.

On the way back to the house, we stopped by 7-Eleven and bought some beer and then chilled out around the table for a few hours just shooting the breeze.

So, all in all, a very interesting, challenging and rewarding day.

Getting back to the title – one of the things I keep finding about Macau is that it seems to give the impression that it is multicultural with it’s Chinese/Portuguese street and business signage and with some signs also having English on them, and whilst the influences of other cultures are evident in the architecture and food and other aspects of the physical side of Macau, the only language which seems to be used actively for everything here is Chinese. I love the history of the place – don’t get me wrong about that, but it does feel like the city wants to be alot of different things and just doesn’t follow through on all of them.

But, hey, I have only been here for a day – what do I know?

I spoke with one of the other passengers, Christine, who was travelling wih her two children. They live in Macau, with her husband, who works for The Venitian – the largest casino in the world. Christine is from Australia, as is her husband, and they both work in the gaming industry. When we were leaving the aircraft (and as I know it is what I would have wanted done for my Mum if she had been travelling with myself or my brothers at that age) I gave her a hand with her luggage. Mine was pretty simple to grab – the wonders of travelling light.

After seeing Christine off, I managed to find a free WiFi access point and get into my email to find the address details of the guys who were putting me up in Macau. I exchanged some money and then headed for the cab ranks where I ran into yet another Australian, who works as a project manager for another casino which is under construction here. It seems every Aussie in Macau is working for the casinos.

I met Lena and James at “Kun Yam Tong” – a temple in their neighbourhood and they showed me back to their apartment where I met Patrice (“Pat-rees”) who is a Frenchman living in Hong Kong who was Couchsurfing at their place whilst working on a short film with James.

Whilst James and Patrice worked away on the movie, I sat down with Lena and had a chat about life, the universe and everything. And, any converation is always more interesting over a couple of ANZAC biscuits (which my Mum had cooked up for me, and were enjoyed by all the housemates).

At about midnight Macau time (and 3AM Sydney time) we walked down the road in the brisk, single-digit degree air, to a local sushi place for dinner, which was nice, and needed. Then walked to a McDonald’s, as James had a craving for a sundae, and then back to the apartment. Once back at the apartment, we had some Whiskey, lemon juice, honey and hot water which burnt the tongue but probably also means that I will not have a cold for some time to come.

Then it was time to crash out on the couch/futon and get some very overdue sleep.

First night Macau.
First night outside of Australia.
First time to a sushi place.
First step of my journey.