India Is: My Journey

In my 20s, as a media career girl in London, I was renowned for my love of hedonism, decadence and partying. But when I turned 30 I decided that I wanted to search for a deeper means of fulfilment. And so it I dropped it all to travel the world with a backpack, seeking spiritual encounters and lasting happiness. My journey to self knowledge took me through India, Nepal, China, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand and all the way back to India again. The Asia section of this site documents my journey, my dreams and desires, the people I met and experiences that I had.

I also made this short film, which was recently chosen as a finalist for the Indian Government’s IndiaIs competition. Hopefully it gives you a snapshot of the physical and psychological journey I went on during my 6 months in India:

Pray. Eat. Love.

East End Girl – before my travels

When I started my journey across Asia back in December 2011, I had no real plans, ideas or expectations. I knew that I wanted to make some big changes because, although I had been living a very comfortable and fulfilled life in London (on the surface, at least), I was in search of something deeper. And so it was that I, in that clichéd sort of a way, dropped it all and went off to India, that magical place which has stolen the hearts of so many seekers before me. I sat in temples. I worshipped the deities alongside thousands of devout Indians. I undertook an Ayurvedic detoxification of my body. I even learnt to stand on my head.

Embracing my natural beauty in Rishikesh

Stripped of make up, high heels, my pink vintage car and all of the props I had previously needed to make myself feel good, I began to open up to my inner beauty. The gorgeous people that I met reflected this and, as my heart gradually began to open up and I began to trust and surrender, amazing things started to happen. Significant people began to enter my life at times when I needed them, reinforcing the lessons that I was seemingly receiving from the universe. Ryan, a gorgeous scientist from Ohio with whom I spent a brief but life changing week in a community in Auroville, taught me that I could be attractive and sexy whilst shovelling my own poo, wearing no make up and sporting hairy legs. Jason Stewart who facilitated a one week workshop in NVC or Non Violent Communication made me examine my need to be ‘sexy’, seeking validation from others for my outer appearance. This was a belief that no longer served me and, in realising this, I let it go.

Attuning to Shakti energy at Agama

I had made a resolution at the beginning of my journey to preserve my female energy. In other words, I would undertake voluntary celibacy. (Thank you Liz Cirelli for the inspiration!) I wanted to be able to focus on my spiritual development without distraction and to ‘sublimate’ the energy upwards, directing it instead, for higher purposes. This is actually a Tantric method for attaining spiritual enlightenment. Tantrics believe that the female ‘Shakti’ energy we have residing in our base or muladhara chakra is incredibly powerful as it has the potential to create the entire universe. Instead of releasing this energy or wasting it in casual encounters, it should instead be directed upwards – towards our heart chakra (responsible for pure, unconditional love), our throat chakra (for creativity and expression), our third eye chakra (for meditation and contemplation) and ultimately towards our sahasrara chakra – the seat of the soul – which can take us to oneness or bliss.

Through the eyes shines the soul

In India, a land where alcohol is scarce and culture is overtly  desexualised, it wasn’t difficult to begin to start living in these elevated chakras, especially when surrounded by seeking souls on similar missions. I began to realise how wonderful it can be to live a life in higher aspiration and I felt my inner beauty radiate out. Back home, the most common compliments I received on my appearance were on my legs. In India, everyone noticed my eyes – “flame yellow”, “olive with burnt sienna” – it was as if the new found luminescence of my soul was shining through. And yes, I was tested. Notably by the Israeli man I met in Kodaikanal who gave me whiskey, the too good looking to be true Indian I met before my ten day Vipassana meditation and yet another drop dead gorgeous Indian I shared many late night chais and cuddles with in Dharamsala. But I was not led into temptation. I stayed true to my word and to myself. After being dumped at the Indo Nepali border by a silver-tongued Sagittarius I had promised my heart to, I looked my video camera in the lens and vowed out loud that “no more, am I attracting worthless men into my life”.

China – the ‘Eat’ chapter

After months of subsisting off rice and dalh, when I rocked up in China my ardent devotion turned to another one of my great passions. Food. And indulge I did in everything from whole steamed fish in garlic and ginger, to Yunnan bacon, yak cheese, home made dumplings, Peking duck, eggplant cooked every which way, muscles, pork, French beans, Szechuan style shrimp, black carp, sushi, smoothies, salmon – you name it. Me and my friend Will went on a gastronomic tour of Shanghai, Beijing, Anhui and Hainan dining in some of the finest food establishments through to shopping malls, street food stalls, hutong eateries and local Chinese restaurants. The theme continued in Vietnam where I not only enjoyed all of my favourite Vietnamese dishes (mango salad, fried spring rolls, deep fried squid) but I also took a couple of cookery classes and learnt how to make them too.  

And then came Thailand. I’ve always been a bit of a clairvoyant and I had had a psychic feeling that this might be the place to experience the ‘Love’ chapter – as did my friend Sandra Pearson (yes Sand, you win the £100 bet!) By this point it was August and I was feeling ready to move on – to take my spiritual progress to the next level. I had already planned to take 2 x courses in Tantra in Thailand and was curious to understand how spirituality and sexuality could become ‘bedfellows’. The workshops that I took on the ‘fantasy island’ of Koh Phangan were life changing. I had always sensed a resonance with tantra and here at the Agama school, I found the path for me. You can read all about my tantric journey here.

Scorpio Pie looking delicious

During my time on the island I decided that, although I had enjoyed my time focusing on my self and my spiritual practice, I wanted to be able to open again into love. I had a brief romance with a wonderful soul, Phil. And then I met Ian Marshall – Scorpio Pie, Pisces Iscariot. One night as I was making my way back from a yoga class at the Agama school I met him at a fruit juice stand. I immediately noticed him because I liked his glasses and his attitude. He was intelligent and a little bit bristly.. and he was wearing a nice orange shirt. Unfortunately  at the time, I think that his affections were elsewhere. But that was OK, so were mine. 

Hear no evil…Ian, Flora and me at Three Monkeys bar

After a month of hard core yogi activity, I was beginning to tire a little of the community and its hard line ways. So one night I headed along the little beach where I lived to a tiny little reggae bar the Three Monkeys with the intention to have a few beers and a good time. Little did I know what was about to take place. My friend Jonny introduced me to a whole crowd of gorgeous individuals who had been gathering at the Three Monkeys every night, enjoying each other’s company and being creative. Amongst them was Ian. We connected immediately over our discussion of the school (he was studying yoga there too). As the night progressed I think we realised we were falling for each other.

Our beach hut

A slightly furtive courtship ensued whilst we navigated getting to know each other in such an intense environment. The day after meeting him properly I moved beach huts so that I was almost next door to him. Then we effectively moved in together (we had to sleep in my place because he had a rather large lizard living under his bed who decided to come out whenever I was around – we thought that she was jealous!) After an idyllic couple of weeks together and with the rest of our loving crew from Three Monkeys, my dad came out to the island for a holiday. As I suspected, he and Ian clicked right away and we had fun exploring Ko Phangan on motorbikes, eating lots of delicious food and sunning ourselves on the beach and in the pool.

Ian and Dad hit it off immediately

Dad had a friend living in Chiang Mai and had got his return flight booked out of there. About a week before we were due to leave, Ian decided to leave with us because he had an exciting writing project up in Chiang Mai – working on a cookery book with a chef. And so it came to pass that within a few weeks of knowing each other, we had moved in together, travelled up Thailand and Ian had met my dad! Things happen fast in backpacker circles. I’ll be writing more about my adventures in Chiang Mai shortly, but once dad left I moved in with Ian and I don’t think I have felt happier, healthier or slept better in my life. Things were perfect.

Enjoying the other side of the island – holiday within a holiday

Those who have known me for a very long time understand that, after the breakdown of a long term relationship many years ago, I haven’t had much luck with men. Sure, I’ve had some interesting experiences – some horrific ones too. In fact, I could write a book about the trials, tribulations and disasters that I’ve had – too many to list out here. My little red heart has certainly been bashed, bruised and broken. And through all of it, I could not understand why I couldn’t find the one thing that I was looking for – someone who understood me in my entirety – from the hard exteriors of my wild party girl, through to my soppy emotional heart – the girl that liked listening to the radio and cuddles. The girl that wanted a canal boat, a dog and children – as well as the one that needed the glitz, glamour and raciness of life in the fast lane. 

In summer 2011, long before I went away I was driving me and my friend Kate home from a festival and she told me to just ask for it. To just ask for what I wanted. And so I  did. I compiled a list – a man who loved me for all of me. Someone who was sexy, kind, intelligent, funny and spiritual. It may have taken time, but one year later, that is exactly what I got.

At one of our local cafes in Ko Phangan

On the road again – travelling up to Chiang Mai

Ian is a really interesting person. He has studied Buddhism, Hinduism and tantra and he has been travelling the world for a long time. He’s a writer and has a blog. It turns out that we had not only travelled to many of the same places in India but that we had also been there – on one occasion in the same room at a satsang – at the same time. We both went to University in Sheffield, we both studied English literature. We both used to live in London and work in the broadcasting industry. We share the same taste in music although he is a little older than me – but he doesn’t look it or act it either. Most importantly we share the same values and dedication to a spiritual path – although equally we are both willing to fall off it. He is very funny and clever and eloquent but he’s also understated and quite humble – the contrast to my alter ego party personality. It doesn’t feel like relationships or romances I’ve had before – affairs that have caused me to to weep oceans of tears, waste thousands of words in conversation with friends or on email – trying to understand the inside of the heads of these men who broke my heart. There’s no dramas – it all just, well – it works.

Ian and I have been together nearly 6 months now and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting his family and friends, who unsurprisingly, are my kind of people. He took to my friends like a duck to water and now he’s part of my life. I’m very grateful for his being part of it and it feels so lovely to have such a supportive partner. We’re planning a future together and it is exciting. 

And so, once more to spirituality – which is what this journey was all about. Way back in early 2012, I prayed to a 65 foot statue of Shiva to send me my man. And Lord Shiva – he of the cosmic dance, stamped his foot and delivered this man to me. The man of my dreams at long long last. Thank you. Thank you and Om Namah Shivay!

To be continued, whilst the rest of the travel journey unravels here…

Fantasy Island: Life in a Tantric Community

Koh Phangan – the fantasy island where I lived. Photo courtesy of the gorgeously talented Clara Jansen

In Cambodia I fell ill again. Very ill. In fact so ill that I was trapped in a hotel room for several days, unable even to clamber down the 4 flights of stairs to get fresh water. I paid a Khmer man in the corridor to go and fetch me some. He came back with a bottle half filled. I couldn’t trust it. I didn’t drink water for 2 days and I watched myself waste away in the mirror as ants crawled up the walls. Losing weight was supposed to be a good thing but my cheeks were sunken and even my (formerly rather buxom) chest began to wither and sag. I felt alone and scared. I had to get out of Cambodia but I was trapped on a border town without my passport (on a last minute whim I had paid someone to send it back to Phnom Penh to get a 2 month Thai visa stamped in). Yet again I had to trust that it would come back to me on a local bus. I had to hope that I would get better. The days were drawing nearer to a course I had signed up to in Thailand. I held my breath. The passport arrived as promised. 

The beach that I would come to live on on KPN photo c/o Clara again

View from my beach hut on Koh Phangan

I spent a very uncomfortable day completely nil by mouth crossing the border into Thailand. Luckily I was amused by some very drunken boys from Devon, here on holiday. “I work in a pub and I drink in a pub. My life is great” said one of them, proudly. I told them I was doing a tantra course in Thailand and they oscillated between being fascinated and making crude jokes. It was to become the first of many conversations I would have about the definition of tantra which, clearly, is universally misunderstood. My first time in Bangkok was again spent sick and mostly inside a hotel room, punctuated only by a trip to hospital. In the end I had to fly down to Ko Phangan because I was too weak to travel by train.

Channelling the Goddess

A long day ensued taking in a bus and boat to Ko Phangan but as the sun was setting emblazoned across a purple and azure sky, the ferry glided over glass waters to the island. Triangular shaped smokey coloured mountains sulked in the background. The gulf islands of Thailand are quite possibly one the most sensationally beautiful places on earth. I wandered about the dusky air of the ferry, rocking with the motion of the boat and pondered how this was a dream come true for me to finally be here. And the next two months would be blissful, living on a beach and doing yoga every day.

Shakti awakens

The reason I had come all of this way was to enrol on a tantra course at the Agama School of yoga. Nobody had recommended it to me, I had simply found it on a Google search late one night on the Chinese island of Hainan. Tantra had come up for me a few times in India but I hadn’t felt ready for it back then. After months of deprivation or ‘tapas’, I now felt grounded enough in my spirituality to be able to start indulging my senses again. After all those months of sitting in ashrams and meditating, how to start living a normal life again? I believed that tantra was the answer.

The Shiva Hall at Agama, being prepared for a Tantric ritual

I didn’t know it at the time but I had stumbled upon a gem with the school. The Sanskrit word ‘Agama’ is the name of a collection of scriptures which teach the practices of tantra, the most ancient science of India and the root from which the other Indian religions have sprung. Lord Shiva himself, who lived as a great master around 7,000 years ago was one of the proponents of tantra, along with the Aryan nomad tribes who invaded India from the North West. They brought with them the notion of non-dualism which is this: we are inseparable from the divine – we are expressions of God, as is everything around us. “I am that.” We came from God and we can return to God and this is enlightenment. 

Shakti Power with Lyonne, another Tantric yogini

I have a lot to say on the matter of tantra, some of which is impossible or inappropriate to include here (please feel free to email me personally if you want to know more). It is a difficult subject to paraphrase but I will try my best. Tantra can be divided into two paths – the Right Handed Path and the Left Handed Path. Christ sat at the right hand of God. In India, the right hand is used for prayer and devotion. The Right Handed Path is that which takes you straight to the divine. Jesus was capable of this, Buddha was capable of this however most human beings, limited by working out karmas and bound by samskaras (imprints left by actions in previous lives), are not.  Most religions emphasise deprivation of the senses to get closer to God – through fasting, celibacy and asceticism. However the tantrics believed that it was possible to use the senses in order to transcend them.

More beautiful Shaktis

The left handed path offers an approach whereby the human body can be used as a tool to overcome itself, to attain ‘one-ness’ with the divine. The tantrics believed that in the age of Kali Yuga (the age of vice) in which we live, the left handed path is the only realistic path for people born into a life of materialism who are unable or unwilling to give it all up. Tantra provides a healthy route to enlightenment without complete renunciation – it basically involves bringing latent energy from our base chakras (associated with low, physical desires) into higher chakras associated with unconditional love, devotion, expression, intellect, creativity, knowledge and soul. I took to it immediately. The course itself was extremely well presented and inspirational. I was hugely affected by the teachings and the meditations which were so powerful I was often either in tears or flying out of my seat. Having been a reiki healer and member of the Usui reiki network for several years, I was well versed in using energy and I found the techniques of moving it upwards came naturally to me. Being an earthy, sensual woman, I had plenty of energy to use in the first place (a pre requisite for being a tantrica). At last I could use it for something positive.

Me and Joel, one of my gorgeous Shivas

The left handed path prescribes many ways of reaching enlightenment and although much smaller emphasis is given to it in the Shastra (the tantric scriptures) one route is sexuality. The sacred union of Shiva (masculine) and Shakti (feminine). The theory is that polarity exists in this entire universe – night and day, good and bad, yin and yang, black and white, male and female, Shiva and Shakti. Shakti represents energy, creation, manifestation, everything on this earth. Shiva is the consciousness which witnesses the action. Shiva is the eye and Shakti is the storm. Without Shiva, Shakti is nothing. Without Shakti, Shiva is nothing. In tantra, the point at which these two forces unite is the point at which Brahma or ‘oneness’ can be achieved. It is not only a beautiful notion but a beautiful and sacred practice which is completely undermined by ignorant modern-day interpretations based on new age derivations and activities of celebrities such as Sting.  

In the ‘yab yum’ with my teacher Assaf who I later ran a workshop with in Goa

To get to the goal requires not only a very high level of purity of body and mind, but rigorous physical and spiritual training that demands an enormous amount of readiness and preparation. There are two pillars in tantra – sublimation (the raising of the energy) and transfiguration of yourself and your partner – to see them and yourself as an incarnation of the divine and to be as devoted to them as you are to God himself. Ram Dass has put this much bRetter than I ever could so I shall defer to him on this one: “It’s all about making love. Make love in beauty, in joy, in seeing each other in truth…Let the man worship woman as God, the Holy Mother, the Divine Shakti, the Mana, the Food of Life, the Sustainer of Being, Isis, Astarte, the Good Earth, Terrible Kali and Herself – All of It. She is all of it. Let the woman worship man as God, the Son, the Sun, the Father, the Lite of Her Life, the Creator, the Provider, as Jesus, as Ram, as Shiva, as Krishna, as all of them and Himself. Surrender and die to one another. Become one. The glorious Mystic rose in the garden of the heavenly Father, Permeate the universe, fill it, become it, for this is the union beyond duality. O Holy Family. This is the seat of the practice.”  

My beach hut home

And so it was that I lived in a little hut on the beach replete with hammock to swing in as the waves lapped nearby.. Paradise. I enrolled not only on the Tantra 1 and Tantra 2 courses, but a month long intensive yoga training course (6 days per week), which incorporated asana practice, meditation initiation and lessons, esoteric and mystical teaching, philosophy, laya yoga, lessons in a yogic lifestyle and kriyas (cleansing practices). I also embarked on a 10 day detox in which I ate nothing but brown rice and steamed vegetables and avoided all sugar (even toothpaste) to attempt to rid myself of the parasite that kept thwarting me. 

Nicola, my new friend enjoying raw food made with love by Sabrina  at Wake Up Bar, Chaloklum

It was tough work but I was helped greatly by my fairy godmother Sabrina of Wake Up restaurant who prepared my raw food with love for the duration). With all of this healing work and yet more devotion to spirituality, things came up but on the whole, life was peachy. Tantra had given me a new and wonderful outlook on life and myself. I appeared to magnetise several men whilst on the island, including a gorgeous 22 year old German who became my tantric partner and together we enjoyed intense and beautiful practice. It had been a long time and I entered into love with him fully, consciously, joyfully and spiritually.  

But it wasn’t all a walk in the park and, as with most communities, I found some of the aspects of the Agama ‘way’ challenging. Some of the members of the community were hard core non-drinking, non-smoking yogis who advocated ‘urine therapy’ (the daily drinking of one’s own urine) and eating only ‘yang foods’ such as brown rice. I don’t have anything against the lifestyle choices of others, but again I defer to Ram Dass on this when it comes to enforced asceticism “you cannot rip the skin from the snake, the snake will shed it’s skin when it’s ready”. Nevertheless, with one notable exception (more on this later) the majority of my time on the island was also spent in sobriety. 

What I found more difficult was the encouragement of polyamoury within the community. Whilst I find the concepts of non ownership and unconditional love something to aspire to, I couldn’t help but feeling that there were a few people on the island indulging in ‘red tantra’ – i.e. sex for the sake of sex. In this way, the ego is indulged, not surpassed and it is very easy to fall into the usual sense-pleasure games under the thin guise of ‘spirituality’. They do say the tantric path is a slippery one after all. Although at times tempted, I did manage to successfully avoid getting dragged in. Another of my concerns focused around the ubiquitousness of sexual healing and the occasional unscrupulousness of certain people purporting to be healers whose motives might not be entirely pure. Thankfully the instances of this were peripheral and rare, but nonetheless it was something that I was conscious of and had occasional concerns for those more vulnerable than myself.

Despite this, however, my time on the island was nothing short of transformational. I am now a fully fledged and initiated tantrica and I went on from this to not only complete a tantric yoga teacher training course, but found my own company which runs tantric workshops. We have just launched our first event in Goa which was a great success – you can read all about it on my website and our Facebook page. Perhaps most importantly, I learned what it truly is to be a woman. To surrender. To devote myself to the Divine. To be a good partner. To love myself. And I was about to open myself to such riches that I could not have previously dreamt possible before. For this, I have my lover, Phil to thank, I have my new friends to thank (Johnny, Nicola, Lauren) and I have Agama. Although I don’t necessarily sign up to all of their teachings, I think I have found my path.

To be continued… 

Cambodia Photo Blog

Entertaining a village full of Khmer children in a Muslim settlement outside Battambang

Khmer BBQ! Squid and chilly sauce at Phsar Thmey Central Market

Stunning Khmer architecture at the National Museum of Cambodia in Phnom Penh

Beautiful Buildings in The Royal Palace of Cambodia

The atmospheric indoor Russian market in Phnom Penh

Tasty and cheap street food in Phnom Penh

My lovely friend Tim Tim, professional clown, yoga buddy & street food dining companion

The ‘best iced coffee in Phnom Penh! in the Russian Market. They actually have their own Facebook page

And this is the reason why it’s so good… It is full of sticky, sweet, condensed milk!  Half  a tin of the stuff!

Tuol Sleng Genocide Musuem or the S-21 prison, a former school where inmates where tortured to extract confessions. Over ‘17,000 ‘suspects’ were ‘processed’ here, of which only 12 survived. Nightmare-inducing stuff but essential testament to the madness of the Khmer Rouge.

Horrific images of forced evacuations, one of the Khmer Rouge’s first and most radical moves to enslave citizens as peasants in work camps in order to create an ‘ideal’ communist society

Choeung Ek Memorial at one of the many Killing Fields or execution sites…full of the skulls of victims of the Khmer Rouge

Pretty in Pink in Phnom Penh

Me and Dana – my HCMC partner in crime, reunited in Happy 11 Backpackers

Buddha statues in a temple around Battambang

All aboard the rackety, clackety bamboo train – there is only one track along which ‘carriages’ made from Bamboo go in either direction. If a collision is imminent, the carriage with the least amount of people behind it has to be lifted off and disassembled to allow the train coming the other way to pass. Slightly farcical, very fast and lots of fun!

Receiving a massage from the craggy hands of a blind Khmer woman. Life changing.

Just some of the 216 giant faces of King Jayavarman VII at Bayon Temples, Siem Reap

Crowds gather for sunrise at the infamous Angkor Watt temple

The sun beginning to peep out behind Angkor Watt

The incredible temple of Ta Promh, being swallowed up by jungle, was used as a film set for ‘Tomb Raider’

Monks on a bike

Exquisite bas relief from Angkor Watt temple depicting the infamous ‘churning of the ocean of milk’ story of Hindu cosmology in which gods and demons churn the ocean for 1,000yrs to release amritam the nectar of immortality

Meditating at Beng Melay, ironically a temple dedicated to Vishnu the preserver and now completely reclaimed by nature. A long tuk tuk drive out from the main temple complex at Angor but arguably the highlight of all the ruins. We were the only people there and clambered around in perfect peace

John Beaton (who I met on that infamous bus ride in Vietnam) and I decided one breakfast to make a film in a day in a Cambodian temple. Within 2 hours we had it storyboarded and scripted, had procured cast and crew and 2 x tuk tuks to convey us to the ‘set’. A few hours later, it was in the can! Nice work!

Action shot! Filming in the back of a tuk tuk

There are huge communities of Vietnamese, Khmer, Chinese and Cham people living on the Mekong Delta, either on boats or on structures like these on stilts and making their living as farmers and fishermen

Film directors

Cast and crew

Mekong Delta people

Cheeky little Khmer children

Traditional Khmer hats

Traditional Khmer dress – different colours are worn on different days of the week

Naughty ‘Nam, Hoi An & Jeremy Clarkson

Tegan, my little miss sunshine & Saigon roomie

On my first night alone again in HCMC I sat and reflected on the previous fortnight. I had had a blast with my friend but I was determined to get back on the spiritual path and devote myself to moderation once more. That night as I settled into my bunk bed and listened to the sounds of the streets outside, I felt alone. In fact, I felt lonely. I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going next in the world and I felt the need to bounce ideas around. I logged into Thorntree – the Lonely Planet forum for travellers – and linked in with a lively online discussion group who were all bemoaning how ‘touristy’ HCMC was and ‘full of chavvy backpackers’. I suggested that, from time to time we all suffer from this particular malaise – thinking, mistakenly, that we long term backpackers are ‘above’ the traveller scene. I suggested to the guys online that we greet everyone with a broad smile and an open heart – whether authentic local or white westerner. After all, you never know what experience is awaiting you.  

Dana, my new BFF

Deciding that to practice what I preach, I headed out of the winding alleyway to the street beer bars in the Pham Ngu Lao area. I would recommend to anyone going to Saigon to spend at least one night at one of these street-side bars, where the atmosphere is possibly the best of any drinking establishment I have frequented (and believe me, I have patronised a few). Everyone huddles together on tiny kindergarten sized plastic seats and all proceedings are overseen (at Cafe 100 at least) by an formidable Vietnamese woman in her 80s. This lady stands up all night and ensures that you are seated and have a beer in your hand within approximately 30 seconds of your arrival. At no point will you be empty handed – and with the beer cheaper than water, what better way to refresh? 

The elderly woman who oversees proceedings at Cafe 100

However, drinking on the streets in Vietnam is actually illegal and, at periodic intervals, the ‘chair police’ patrol the road. The police drive, inexplicably, in the back of a pick up truck with sun umbrellas over the top and slowly cruise the street. As soon as the patron of the establishment notices their appearance, all customers are ushered up to standing and there is a kick-bollocks scramble to stack the chairs up. The bars are usually full to bursting, with patrons spilling out onto the streets, but once the police are there we have to crowd onto the pavement. This nightly ritual is hilariously pointless…The police know that everyone is sitting on the plastic seats on the road but they continue their drive by and so, every half an hour the game of musical chairs begins again. Other spectacular sights in Pham Ngu Lao include dancing prostitutes who erect giant speakers and dance through the streets, promoting their wares and a man who swallows a live snake then spits it out (and a load of black stuff) onto the floor. Rank. 

Feeling the love with Rogier (young Dutch!)

I planned to order one drink and hopefully have banter with other travellers. Within moments of ordering my 12,000 Dong beer (that’s about 30 pence to me and you), a group of travellers started to assemble around me and squeeze into the miniature plastic chairs and tables. I found myself sitting next to Dana, a fellow sassy, sexy solo female traveller. We both bonded over our mutual travels in China and in Asia. And so, one beer turned into many and the scene changed to group bonding, yoga asanas in the street (who knew I could do a head stand in my mini skirt when drunk) and onwards to what would affectionately later become known later as ‘Gang Rape Bar’. My one beer had turned into an all night bender that even my former media girl self would have been proud of. 

Cafe 100, where the beer is cheaper than water

Our lovely drinking crew

John – my new male BFF

I sailed into the Saigon Youth Hostel at 7am in the morning and was kindly handed a cheese baguette (the French influence still lives on), had a quick shower and turned around immediately to head out to my Cu Chi Tunnel tour. I had already booked and missed one trip (due to having my handbag snatched – another story and sadly not an uncommon occurrence in HCMC) and was determined not to let anything, not even lack of sleep prevent me from going this time. However, I’m not the alcoholic I once was and soon began to feel the after effects of the all nighter. I staggered to the tour office and tried to persuade the agent that I was only fit for a half day not the full day tour (a staggering 8 hrs which took in Tay Ninh temple, too). But he wasn’t having any of it – I had paid for the full day and the full day I would do. 

The drunken Irish guy (inappropriately, still drinking beer!)

I fell asleep outside the office – a crumpled mess on a bench – and was woken up by a tour guide who came to escort me to my bus. En route I fell in with a lovely chap called John and I instantly liked him. When we got to the bus stand, however, John was ushered onto the half day bus and I was left standing there in the already scorching sunlight, hungover, feeling like ‘death and loss’ and alone once more. As I watched the bus pull away the woman shot me a sunny smile and waved me on. I jumped shouting “I MANIFESTED THIS!”Much to the amusement of my fellow passengers. I stumbled to my seat then began to insult (in an affectionate kind of way) an Irish guy who was sitting next to me. Turns out he was as drunk as I was and we both managed to amuse the rest of the bus until I passed out, exhausted, thus missing the entire commentary by the tour guide.

Putting on a brave face…

The extensive network of underground in the Cu Chi district of Saigon which were used by the Viet Cong guerilla fighters during the Vietnam War are now one of the major tourist attractions around Saigon and many tour operators run buses there several times per day. Whilst it seems inappropriate to visit such an ‘attraction’, you have to hand it to the Vietnamese – a race who has been invaded and pillaged from all corners – for managing to turn their tumultuous past into something positive. The network of tunnels which spans 250km, were built with the bare hands of Vietnamese people during the French occupation but were expanded to provide a competitive advantage over the Americans in the 1960s. They played a major role in the Vietnamese winning the war with several military campaigns based there including the Tet Offensive in 1968. The tunnels originally stretched from the Cambodian border to what was then Saigon and remain as a testament to the fighting spirit, resilience and ingenuity of the people of Vietnam. 

OMG I’m going in…

Beer fear: don’t try this on a hangover!

Entire communities of Vietnamese Cong fighters subsisted in these tunnels which were only a couple of feet in height and width: living, working, educating their children and even giving birth in there as well as planning deadly attacks on US forces and the South Vietnamese. In addition, American soldiers were deployed into the tunnels. In a horrific spin on hide and seek they would try and find the Vietnamese before they found them…Scary stuff, especially as the VC had the place booby trapped to buggery. Many of these grisly traps still exist and are on display as part of the site’s attractions today. The Americans or ‘tunnel rats’ who had the misfortune to be enter the tunnels coined the phrase ‘black echo’ to describe the way life down there. Rats, scorpions, parasites, vermin and disease was rife, especially malaria which was second only to battle wounds as a major cause of death. As part of the ‘attraction’ at Cu Chi, visitors are able to enter the sections of the tunnels – ranging from 150 feet to 650 feet in length and crawl through the dank, claustrophobic network.

Me and John: getting tanked up!

This part is definitely the hardest thing about Cu Chi. Many of the tourists that I was with started to enter the tunnels then bolted, having changed their mind. A lot of people couldn’t even go down there. I am proud to say that, although it took me a couple of attempts and much hyperventilating, with the help of some other awesome chicks on the tour, I made it through the entire 650 foot network. Fortunately, there are several ‘get out’ points where, if you need to exit due to panic, you can. We emerged sweaty but triumphant, much to the admiration of many of the boys who had not been able to stomach it. Note to self though, going underground at Cu Chi tunnels is pretty difficult at the best of times, never mind the morning after the night before, on no sleep whatsoever and feeling plenty of beer fear! I think the photos speak for themselves!

I’m a lover, not a fighter. Honest!

The other activities at Cu Chi included bomb craters, booby traps, scarily life-like mannequins of VC soldiers and a few abandoned tanks that were available for clambering on. There was even the option to shoot an AK47 or a M16 machine gun. Of course I got on board, despite the fact that I was blatantly still drunk. It took me back to the days when I earned my striped as a corporal in the army cadets!  We rocked around the site, our merry tour group, including the Irish lads who were still inappropriately drinking beer and eating bags of crisps. Our cheeky faced tour guide didn’t seem to mind our irreverent attitude, however, he was just pleased we were having fun. Once again, I had to admire the Vietnamese for their sense of humour and philosophical outlook, despite the atrocities of their recent past. 

Lanterns in the quaint streets of Hoi An

And so our bus full of love and wonderful people drove back to the backpackers district of Saigon and we all chatted nineteen to the dozen. As well as John, there was the articulate Phi, yet another American (based in Cali, no less) and Shona, a wonderful English girl with whom I shared more than a few things in common. The Irish lads, who had provided us with so much amusement, finally dozed off to sleep and John and I talked and talked about everything from art to Hinduism to life and everything. In fact, we couldn’t stop talking and even though I was completely exhausted, so inspiring and energising was his company that we spent the rest of the day and evening together, chatting over coffee. He drew me a one page map of Vietnam in my notepad (the only piece of cartographical reference I had to rely on) and we vowed to meet again in Cambodia to continue where we left off in a week’s time. the universe had spoken. I made plans. 

White rose dumplings, a Hoi An speciality

However, I had a few more things that I wanted to explore in Vietnam before my visa was due to run out, so I flew up to Hoi An, a beautifully preserved South East Asian port town that is now a listed UNESCO heritage sight in the Quang Nam province. I spent a day sightseeing, wandering through ancient streets with buildings tangled with bougainvillea and visiting many colourful temples and pagodas.  I watched some traditional Vietnamese dancing and feasted on delicious local treats, including the legendary white rose dumplings made up to resemble tiny roses. I also reconvened with Phi and Sho (a coincidence that the combination of both their names = mine?) and we enjoyed some girly time together including more gastronomic delights, street food and even some Vietnamese wine. 

Getting ready to burn rubber

Tommy, one of the guys in our Saigon drinking massive, had told me about a motorbike drive he and Johnny (a fellow scouser) had done, which had featured on Top Gear. Not wanting to miss out, I managed to find myself two willing lads to accompany me on Vietnam’s most beautiful drive – from Hoi An to Hue over the mountain road. You might remember that Jeremy Clarkson, James May and Richard Hammond did this drive on Top Gear. If not, you can watch the clip here. Driving along the coast road with the wind in my hair, I really felt as if I was finally ‘doing Vietnam’. 

The boys, taking in the view

Having made the spectacular drive over the mountains, I nearly got separated from the boys on the way back and thankfully caught up with them at a roadside stop. I didn’t have a mobile phone, or a map and although I’m a good driver, am rubbish at directions and was relying on them to get me back. Unfortunately, they were both as terrified as me (if not more) and on the way home we lost our nerve and had to come back through the city – not a good move as we were sharing lanes with up to 60 other bikes at a time and negotiating horrendous traffic. We ended up following a bus back to Hoi An! Not so rock n roll. But the drive has inspired me to go back and drive the length of the country next time, on Highway 1. I’m looking for potential biker buddies to accompany me…so let me know if you’re keen!  

Biker chick

Miss Saigon: Decadence in HCMC

Motorcycle Madness

Good Morning Vietnam. Or rather, Good Evening! Having waved goodbye to Shanghai, I breezed off the aeroplane and the humid streets of Ho Chi Minh City greeted me in their balmy embrace. Watching the banana trees wave in the night air, I felt glad again to be back in a more ‘rustic’ part of Asia. The sensation didn’t last long. The first impression any newcomer has to HCMC is unadulterated moped, motorbike madness. Pretty soon my taxi was in the centre of the melé, hurtling along at speed with hundreds and hundred of two wheelers. Upon arrival at the backpacker area, my cabbie got out, took my hand and personally led me across the road into lines of never ending traffic. I would come to realise that crossing the street is an art that requires nothing less than balls of steel: you simply take a deep breath and walk directly into the oncoming stream. 

Sampling the local cuisine in Ben Thanh market

I found my way down a typical, winding dark lane off Pham Ngu Lao to My My Art House, a tall narrow building (apparently there is a law in Vietnam which dictates that the wider the building the higher the tax and so most of them are built in this precariously vertical fashion). I was greeted by the very camp, friendly patron and harrumphed my backpack up 6 flights of tiny stairs to my shared dorm. Back in the real world. I was waiting for a friend to meet me and I was reluctant to get started on tourism until she arrived. So for two or 3 days I immediately got stuck into FOOD, one of my main passions and the chief inspiration for my trip to Vietnam. 

Mango salad – one of my all time favourite dishes

Hailing from Hackney (in recent years) where there is a huge Vietnamese community and ensuing proliferation of restaurants, I had become a fan of the cuisine. In Saigon (although it was officially renamed as HCMC in 1976 most people still prefer to call it by its previous name) I feasted upon shrimps in tamarind sauce, mango salad, spring rolls and squid from street stalls, tiny cafés and the wonderful Ben Thanh market. Ohhh and let’s not forget Vietnamese iced coffee…made with condensed milk, the sickly sweet stuff is perhaps one of the world’s greatest hangover cures and is best enjoyed local-style – on the pavement, sitting at a tiny folding metal table on an even tinier plastic chair. It is a great vantage point from which to sit and watch the city – at 8 million people the biggest in Vietnam – bustle by. 

Cocktails by the pool in Legend Hotel

My friend Sandra* arrived from London and we checked into the salubrious Legend Hotel, a good base from which to explore the more cosmopolitan and upmarket part of town (definitely not one for the backpacker budget, especially the fabulous bars around the Hai Ba Trung area). Having spent most of the previous 7 months in the developing world it was a complete contrast for me and I enjoyed the opportunity to indulge in luxury, eating rich meals and having a few cocktails by the pool whilst catching up with Sandra.  

Newspaper cuttings in the War Remnants Museum

Keen to hit the sights, one of our first stops was the War Remnants Museum. Previously known as the Museum of Chinese & American War Crimes, it (as the name might infer) gives a rather one-sided but candid and shocking insight into the suffering of the victims of the Vietnam War. The ground floor is dedicated to the international anti war movement and I was surprised to see just how many countries spoke out in protest. 

The iconic image of the ‘Napalm Girl’

The displays, however, became increasingly more distressing and by the time I arrived at the third floor, a gallery dedicated to the victims of Agent Orange chemical warfare, I embarrassingly burst into tears and sobbed in the middle of the room. I was ready to run by the time we reached the exhibits outside – an array of torture devices such as guillotines and the ‘tiger cages’ used to house Viet Cong prisoners in the French and South Vietnamese prisons on Phu Quoc and Con Son Islands. Hideous. After months and months of spiritual development, raising my own energetic vibration and connecting to the universal source of divine love, I was shocked and horrified to witness the worst of what man is capable of inflicting on man. Later, when I went to bed I was beset with flashbacks and nightmares of the horrific images that I had seen. 

Prayers in the pagodas of Cholon

A more civilised afternoon was spent exploring the colourful Chinese pagodas around Cholon, seeing an exhausting array of temples including one dedicated to the goddess of fertility (we both prayed that one day I will have babies!) We also enjoyed channelling 007… “we’ve been expecting you, Mr. Bond” in the marvellously retro and shagadelic Reunification Palace. This was the home of the South Vietnamese president and site of the end of the war when a North Vietnamese army tank crashed through its gates during the fall of Saigon. Sandra and I both used to work together in the broadcasting industry and we thought our colleagues would like the various bits of transmission equipment on display in the basement. 

Mosquito coils in the Chinese pagodas in Cholon

Retro vibes in Reunification Palace

We took an obligatory tour out to see the Mekong Delta where we got to see the process of making rice papers and sweets, take a boat trip along the river and listen to traditional Vietnamese music. However, the whole experience was marred by the fact that it completely lacked authenticity, instead feeling as if we were on a souvenir-purchasing conveyor belt, hastily packed from one sales opportunity to the next.

Messing about on the Mekong

The birthday girl – looking fabulous as always

It happened to be Sandra’s birthday (52 and fabulous – you would never be able to tell) during her time with me in Vietnam and we certainly celebrated in style. We were awakened by one of the hotel staff bringing in a birthday breakfast of champagne and cake. After polishing this off we arrived at our cooking class at Hoa Tuc Restaurant rather tipsy. Still, being domestic goddesses, we managed to rustle up cha gio sai (fried Saigon spring rolls with traditional nuoc mam dipping sauce), goi ga bap chuoi (shredded banana blossoms salad with chicken, peanuts and deep fried shallots-  presented in a banana leaf) and, of course pho-bo the traditional Vietnamese dish of beef noodles soup. Delicious – even though I say say myself! We spent the rest of the day relaxing by the pool before yet more champagne and cake…high tea in our hotel room which started out gracefully then ended with both of us dancing around to Madonna’s ‘Vogue’ in the bathroom in our bikinis. Oh dear.

Playing Nigella in Hoa Tuc cookery class

Here’s one I made earlier – Goi ga bap chuoi

One of the ‘must dos’ in Saigon is to try out one of it’s many rooftop bars and no expense was spared on Sandra’s birthday. Although we had previously enjoyed a ‘sundowner’ at the much-vaunted Rex Hotel (famous hack hangout, back in the day), it paled in comparison with the Chill Sky Bar located on the 26th floor of the AB financial Tower. There we quaffed eye wateringly expensive margaritas (Sandra’s signature cocktail) but it was undoubtedly worth it for the stunning aerial view over the whole of Saigon whose flat topography means that you can enjoy a glittering vista for miles around. A perfect spot to dance the night away.

Celebrating in style at the Chill Skybar

Tea party in the bath, anyone?

After all that eating, drinking and sightseeing we needed a rest so decamped from our beautiful room at Legend to go and relax on the beach in Mui Ne for a few days. On arrival at the leafy, boutique Mia Resort we were treated to chilled green tea served in beautiful porcelain cups. A tranquil few days was spent relaxing by the pool, sunbathing on the pristine white sand beach and enjoying treatments in the spa. We did venture out once or twice but found that none of the restaurants matched up to the excellence (or the seabass) of the Mia restaurant – and with everything else at our fingertips, why would we leave? After several days of beach relaxation, Sandra departed for London and I reluctantly left behind our fabulous 4 star resort to return to a bunk bed in a 4 bed dormitory at Saigon Youth Hostel. Well, what comes up must come down, I suppose. Asceticism would follow the decadence of the previous fortnight.. Or so I thought…

The pristine beach at Mia resort, Mui Ne

*Thanks, Sandy P, for the holiday of a lifetime and all your kindness, generosity and support with my future travel decision-making and the Edventure Nepal campaign fundraiser 

Broken Plans & Legs: Beijing

The Chinese flag is ceremoniously raised & lowered  every day by a guard of honour in Tiananmen Square

I had plans for China. Big plans. But the Universe continued to play a few tricks on me and all of them, it seems, were made to be broken. The country itself had hitherto been uninteresting but I was attracted by the draw of two very special people – my friend Will, based in Shanghai and working for Tesco and ‘American Mark’, a PhD scholar who was living in the Gansu province. Mark was studying how certain aspects of Chinese culture and social structure helped to support co-operation between individuals and he was doing this in the context of an industrial co-operative. I was going to join him there. It would be a unique opportunity to experience the full gamut of capitalism and communism which I thought summed up modern day China rather elegantly. 

Marching towards progress –  Communist scupture in Tiananmen Square

However, a few days before my arrival I received a brief email from Mark imparting the unexpected news that he was to leave China immediately with no knowledge of if or when he would return. I was concerned by the uncharacteristically brief tone of his message and it turns out I had reason to be. It transpires that the Chinese government were in a particularly edgy mood at the time. Tensions were building between Beijing and Washington after the Chinese dissident Chen Guangcheng escaped house arrest from his village in north eastern China and took refuge in the US embassy. Potentially one of the victims of this fallout, Mark, under suspicion of espionage from the Chinese government, had endured a 13hr interrogation by soldiers with AK47s in a Chinese military camp before being promptly extradited.*

The eerily beautific face of Mao is lit at night,  lending it an ethereal glow

I had resigned myself to the fact that the Universe wished to divest me of travelling companions at this particular time (how ironic, given that all the time I was in India I had craved solitude…now that I actually wanted company it was being removed from me at every opportunity.) I planned to undertake an epic trip, heading up to Datong to see the Buddhist caves and a hanging monastery, on to Pingyao, the oldest walled town in China with Will and then continue on alone along the Silk Road. But it was not meant to be. After a day or two of sightseeing in Beijing which entailed walking for miles over vast areas, negotiating thousands of steps on the metro, my knackered legs well and truly gave out on me. I was physically unable to walk any more. And so the rest of the trip was spent recuperating and receiving treatment at a Chinese hospital. I must be the only person who has spent a significant amount of time in Beijing and not even made it to the Great Wall! 

The Forbidden City

Fortunately, before my legs gave out I was able to do the prerequisite tour of the incredible Forbidden City, the iconic imperial palace of the Ming dynasty and home to the Chinese emperors for 500 years. The complex consists of 980 buildings and spans a staggering 720,000 square metres… no wonder my legs were fooked after that! The site was so huge that it was difficult to snap photographs, never mind take it all in. But Will and I managed to find the perfect spot to enjoy a panoramic view over the city – sipping cocktails and wine at the Yin Bar, a classy establishment on top of the Emperor Hotel. 

Panoramic views of the Forbidden City at sunset from Yin Bar

Red lanterns in ‘Ghost Street’

Our gastronomic tour continued with visits to the Beijing night food market. The less said about this the better really..I was groped not once but twice and we had some nasty interactions with unscrupulous stall holders who tried to rip us off. Perhaps one of our most memorable and tasty meals was had down ‘Ghost Street’. Strung with hundreds of red Chinese lanterns and stretching over one kilometre, Gui Je (as it is officially known) is Beijing’s most famous eating street. It is populated with more than 200 restaurants open 24hrs and serving all kinds of Chinese cuisine including the infamous and delicious Peking Duck. This dish can also, bizarrely, be found in vegetarian version in most restaurants – fashioned out of tofu (I think) but bearing a very close resemblance to the real deal – skin and all. 

Will looking bookish at the Bookworm Cafe

Speaking of vegetarianism, we also enjoyed a fabulous and flamboyant feed at the Pure Lotus, a vegetarian restaurant with a twist. The only way I can describe this is like ‘Alice on acid’ – although given that it is a Buddhist restaurant ran by monks, there are no chemical influences at all – not even alcohol served. Sumptuous dishes made from fruit, flowers, vegetables and all kinds of goodness were served up flamboyantly on enormous leaves, in silver art nouveau dishes. Glittering chandeliers hung from the ceiling and monks in jazzed up, sequinned garb, flitted between the tables. 

Art in Book worm Cafe

However, our favourite hang out became the Bookworm Cafe – a restaurant, library, bookshop and events space all rolled into one. Here Will and I enjoyed some ‘Slow Boat’ real ale on draught (wow! for the first time in 7 months!) and marvelled at their single malt whiskey selection. It was a beautiful place to relax with your nose in one of the many good books adorning the shelves and get lost in the art they had on display. Another little gem we came across was the 12 SQM bar, once famous for being the smallest bar in Beijing and now a gorgeous little atmospheric pub with a great selection of booze. The Ozzy barman was very friendly and a meeting of the local book club was in full swing during our visit. 

Hutong life

We stayed at an excellent hostel called Red Lantern House, a traditional Chinese courtyard house set in a sleepy Hutong – narrow streets or alleyways traditionally lined with courtyard houses and common in Beijing. I enjoyed hobbling around the Hutong and taking in the local life – carts full of melons trundling along, street vendors selling everything from fresh ginger to dates, nuts and ‘1,000 year old’ preserved eggs. Some of my most wonderful, human interactions in China were in the Hutong. Despite having no shared language at all, smiles and gestures melted hearts and opened doors. It was lovely to wander around at night as stall holders barbecued in the street, people sat peeling vegetables and old men played cards. 

My legs during moxybustion. YUK!

A serendipitous discovery was that the best Chinese alternative medicine hospital was located just around the corner from Red Lantern. Here I received massage, acupuncture, electric wave therapy and moxybustion (cupping) every day. This was the first time I had tried any of these treatments and it was certainly an experience, having to lie there whilst a doctor poked sticks into my legs. However, I felt grateful that I was able to get such comprehensive treatment so easily and I felt that it all added to the authenticity of the experience. From Beijing. Will and I took advantage of his corporate air miles and flew to the not-so-Chinese tropical island of Hainan (still part of China but off the mainland). There we lay on our backs on the beach for a week, enjoying fresh coconuts and sunshine. Well, even yogis need a holiday sometimes, don’t they? 

“I’ve got a lovely pair of coconuts” in Hainan

*Luckily, Mark escaped unharmed and has now been allowed back into China, where he continues to pursue his studies…

Anhui Antics: Mt Huangshan & Hongcun Village

Tangkou, the gateway to Mount Huangshan

A rather fabulous and drunken final evening was spent in Shanghai at a mini film festival watching documentaries about appropriately, food, at an artsy venue above the Dutch Design workshop. Sipping free beers on the roof and indulging in a gourmet barbecue amidst the hipster ex pat elite, I felt that, had it not been for the low hanging hazy air and the neon lights of the metropolis, I could have been in Shoreditch. Having been suitably oiled up with free booze we spent the night franticly packing before heading off on adventure – out of the city and into the Chinese countryside. The day began with a schlep across town to the long distance bus station. The ride took approximately 6 hours. As a seasoned traveller, this was OK for me – I had my headphones firmly plugged in and could while away the hours with my tunes. Poor Will, however, was subject to the cacaphanous sounds of screechy music over the loudspeaker that screamed incessantly down his ear. Along with that and the not so dulcet tones of the couple sitting behind us (I didn’t realise that ‘tonal’ was synonymous with ‘shouty’) we were glad to finally arrive in Tangkou, Anhui Province. 

Will about to have his first taste of baijo

Arriving late in the afternoon and having subsisted on very little other than some dubious Chinese snacks, our first port of call was to get some food. We ended up eating at the restaurant of the taxi driver who had given us a ride in: ‘Mr Chengs, the only English speaking restaurant in town’. After a decent late lunch (actually more a dinner by Chinese standards) and not having much of the day left to play with, we decided to have some fun by purchasing a bottle of baijiu – 60% ABV Chinese rice wine and kicking back in our characterless hotel room. The baiju came in an imitation porcelain bottle and we poured ourselves a couple of measures into dreary white hotel mugs. Ah the glamour! Will’s tasting notes.. on the nose: “some kind of childrens sweets”, “like an aromatic chemical”, key tones: *cue enormous coughing fit from Will which renders him speechless*  Sophie’s tasting notes.. on the nose: “ammonia, urine”, bouquet reduced: “bleach, nail varnish remover, horse piss, propynol, confectionery, peardrops.” I think that tells you everything you need to know about baiju.  

View from the cable car halfway up Mount Huangshan

The next day we were up and ready to explore Mount Huangshan – the famous ‘Yellow Mountain’ – a sprawling range of glacially-formed granite craggy peaks, peeping out of the top of fluffy clouds and whose lower summits are dotted with tall pine trees – the quintessential Chinese landscape. Due to ongoing issues with my leg, we purchased a walking stick (oh the shame) and joined the throngs of tourists that were queueing up for the cable car. Had I been match fit I would not have hesitated in hiking up the mountain – still the views from the cable car were excellent – although it felt a little shaky as we ascended higher and higher, our carriage was rocked by tempestuous winds. 

‘Lover locks’ on Mount Huangshan

Once we had settled ourselves into the cheapest accommodation we could find on the summit, we went walking. The Chinese have wonderfully evocative names for things and have bestowed such on 72 of the mountain’s peaks. How can you resist paying a visit to ‘bright peak’, ‘heavenly peak’, ‘celestial peak’ and ‘cloud dispelling pavillion’? We took in the breathtaking views and vistas. Whilst we were scrambling about we came across several bunches of ‘lover locks’ – padlocks which adorn bars and chain fences along the mountainside. Lovers visiting Huangshan together ritually lock these to the mountain then throw away the keys down the cliff side. The little iron bond that remains symbolises their love: immortal, unbreakable, locked. 

Sunset meditation

Despite the many steps and my ongoing battle with my leg, we managed to ascend to a suitable vantage point for sunset and found a quiet place away from the madding crowds to undertake a peaceful meditation and a spot of sun gazing. Although the day had been good, I could not help but pine for the ‘natural beauty’ of India and Nepal. Mount Huangshan is one of the top tourist attractions in China, but unlike in other countries where mountains would be left as they are, I was unsettled by the fact that the Chinese had taken this thing of natural beauty, paved it all over it with concrete, installed enormous LCD screens and put even a basketball court at the summit. It completely detracted from the whole experience. As we traversed the concrete staircases, gripping onto ‘imitation wood’ concrete fences, it felt surreal. Will and I joked about being in some kind of nightmarish artificial world, like ITV’s The Prisoner. The piped music that would eerily float into our ears just as we were gazing out at the sky only enhanced this feeling. In fact, the landscape of Mount Huangshan is so picture perfect that we began to wonder just what was real and what was fake… Then we would be brought back to earth again by the hordes of people, the megaphones, the matching baseball caps. 

The infamous purple cloud mists around the mountain

Although it is easy to be unkind about groups of Chinese tourists, I learned that there is a lot more to this phenomena than meets the eye. Due to laws imposed by the Chinese government, peoples movements around their own country are extremely restricted. For the most part, the Chinese require visas or special permissions to visit other states. Chinese employment law also only entitles people to very limited holidays per year (a couple of days) so when they do have the chance to get out and about, people like to see things and do stuff. Because people are not used to travelling independently, the standard way to travel is to do it in a big group. When Will’s Chinese colleagues first heard about my trip, the first thing that they all said was that I was “brave”. I guess that it must appear so to people to whom independent travel is a strange notion. And so, despite the ubiquitous presence of guides with flags and endless amounts of tourists in varying ‘all weather’ garb from ponchos to sun visors, I tried to not let it irritate me. Instead I focused on how lucky I am that I have the freedom to be able to travel through this world on my own. 

The pathway into Hongcun village

We awoke at an ungodly hour to take in the sunrise from another viewpoint and battled it out with the tourists (most of whom were trying to photograph me, rather than the sun). When we descended the mountain, we narrowly avoided being ‘Chenged’ again – a phrase we had coined for being ripped off by Mr. Cheng, who – it turns out, we were informed by a travel blog – is the local charlatan and well known for using and abusing his position as ‘the only English speaker in the village’. We think that this was about right, given the fact that Will had very probably caught food poisoning from a Cheng breakfast and the extortionate taxi prices that he was quoting us for our onward journey. It took a bit of cunning to remove our bags from his place and slip out unnoticed, but we did it. Before Cheng had time to protest, we had hailed a local cab and squeezed in with a couple of Chinese locals who would apparently be sharing our ride. Cheng came out and had words to say to our nonchalant cabbie who cooly replied, fag hanging out of his mouth.  I think we only saved $5 in the end but Will and I definitely felt some satisfaction as we drove through the beauty of the Anhui landscape – free, at last, from the Cheng! 

The village is built around a crescent moon shaped pool

We rocked up in Hongcun in the glow of the afternoon light and immediately knew we had found somewhere special. Hongcun (a UNESCO heritage sight) is an 800 year old village, built around a pool in the shape of a crescent moon and the shape of it represents an ox – the waterways that run through it, its entrails. It was quiet, tranquil and mercifully free of tourists. With no plan as to where we would stay, we wandered into the beautiful open plan courtyard of an incredibly old house and were greeted by the gappy warm smiles and the clasped brown hands of an elderly man and his wife. 

One of our best meals

If the house wasn’t at least 300 years old, they could have been. In pigeon Mandarin, Will managed to get the point across that we needed a bed for the night. The old man seemed to understand but sadly dispatched someone on a bike to find alternative accommodation. Will and I were both disappointed, but we needn’t have been. We were instead shown down the whitewashed lanes and around the pool and ended up at a similarly beautiful place –  a homestay belonging to a younger family. We entered the courtyard through stone circular doors. That night we ate what was probably one of the most memorable meals in a courtyard restaurant replete with beautifully carved wooden furniture, Chinese characters painted on the walls and a pool of koi carp. 

Me, checking out the koi carp

The next day was spent exploring the village, which consists of 137 buildings of the Ming and Qing dynasties (1368-1911). Some of these, such as the Chenzhi Hall were decorated with orante wood carvings and had ‘peep holes’ through which the females of the house could take view prospective male suitors without being seen! Sadly, we didn’t have much time to spend at all in Hongcun… If I were to do it all again I would have definitely stayed there for longer (Will said he could have stayed forever!) There is not much else beyond villagers going about their daily life – sitting outside in the alley way, hanging out washing, laying out fruit and meats to be cured in the sun…just peace – perfect peace. 

Meat hanging up to cure in Hongcun

Hanging lanterns in Hongcun

The courtyard restaurant

One of the examples of Anhui architecture

One of many cute fluffy dogs we saw

Inside the Chengzhi House

Circular doorways

Doing a ‘Leonardo’

Chinese Food Porn* Photo Blog

Earlier this year, if you’d asked me about my favourite foods, I would have happily waxed lyrical on many Eastern cuisines: Vietnamese, Japanese, Thai. But Chinese food wouldn’t be on the list. In fact it would not have even come close. I mistakenly believed that the luminous, MSG-ridden stuff you get in foil containers with cardboard lids takeaways was the real deal. One day, a friend who had grown up in China chastised me for my dismissive attitude and told me I hadn’t lived until I’d eaten on the mainland. And, oh how right he was. 


I am a self confessed foodie and having subsisted on lentils, vegetables, dahl and dahl baht for the previous 6 months, by the time I landed in China I was ready to eat. And eat I did. In fact, I couldn’t stop eating. Each meal was just too good to be true – and in local Chinese restaurants the price was an absolute snip. I enclose below, some ‘food porn’ for your gustatory viewing pleasure. Enjoy! 


*apologies to John Beaton 

Beautifully cooked fish in Anhui Province

Shanghai street dumplings

Eggplant fried with chilli and garlic in Anhui

Cabbage with goji berries and chestnuts

Shrimp with fish sauce, Shanghai

Whole black carp steamed with ginger & garlic, Zhujiajiao

Leeks fried with garlic

Eggplant cooked with French beans & garlic

Muscles with spring onions & ginger, Hainan

The infamous ‘Peking duck’, Beijing

Sticky fried pork with walnuts

Water spinach

French beans with Yunnan bacon

Chargrilled eggplant

And now for some less appetising dishes…

Scorpions on sticks, anyone?

Seahorses on sticks…

Stinky tofu & ‘100 year old’ preserved eggs – the only dish I had to leave…

More weird things on sticks

Shanghaied!

Me and Will: back to city life

China. I embarked from a plane with probably the most lax attitude to airline safety ever in terms of people wandering around, belts off, as we were landing and queuing to get out before we had even taxied off the runway. In Shanghai I was confronted with total, Western first-world-madness beginning with the high speed Maglev which rocketed us from the airport to the city at 140km/h and culminating in the glittering 24th floor city apartment which would become my home for the next week. The flat belongs to my dear friend Will who had ‘jumped off’ 8 months earlier and taken a placement in Shanghai from his employer, Tesco. Will and I have had a deep and long standing  relationship and it was interesting coming face to face with him after a hiatus in which both of us had undergone such a profound life change. There he was, relaxed and comfortable in his ex pat life and here was me with matted hair, a tan, BO and a head full of Shiva!

The iconic Pudong skyline

On our first weekend I was plummeted headfirst into the decadence of ex pat living, with a fabulous meal in the leafy French concession (pomegranate flowers, goats cheese, Yunnan bacon – yes I had to surrender my vegetarianism), washed down with a few glasses of white wine (my first in 6 months! Bliss!) On Sunday I managed to blow about a weeks worth of budget with an obligatory ex pat ‘brunch on the Bund’ – sipping champagne and eating off white linen tablecloths overlooking the Huangpu river and the Pudong skyline. This is a spectacular array of skyscrapers and incredible when you consider that, just 8 years ago, there was nothing there – a true testament to the breakneck speed of modern day Chinese industrialisation.  At first it was bewildering in the urban jungle and although I was grateful to be enjoying such hospitality after 6 months in the developing world, I missed my beloved India and the dark and silence of the mountains. The neon skies of Shanghai were ever luminescent and a dirty great cloud of pollution hung low in the smoggy air.

Chinese lessons with Sean

But I soon found my groove in the metropolis and whilst Will was at work, I relaxed in his flat, ate fruit, drank coffee, did yoga and wrote. In truth I enjoyed facing the challenge of a new city, its customs and languages. I was impressed with how quickly Will had mastered Mandarin (which sounded like comic gobbledy gook to me) meanwhile I instinctively answered questions in Hindi and had to stop myself from wobbling my head at – well – at everything! Strange how these things have become second nature to me. Still, I embraced the new and enjoyed a Chinese lesson with Will’s tutor Sean, learning how to introduce myself, ask and answer a few basic questions and write my Chinese name, Su Fei, in characters – 苏菲. Apparently I am very good at writing in Chinese – I have always been able to render things well in 2D which I put down to my illustrious heritage of talented graphic designers (dad) and signwriters (my beloved Grandad George).

The smokey, subterranean JZ club

Corporate machine by day, Will (a Renaissance man of many talents) is a semi professional musician by night and I spent my first Monday in Shanghai in the basement of a smoky jazz club, rocking out to his Big Band over a few Chinese beers. Immersed in big beats and awesome improvs, I was put in mind of Kerouac and his heroes Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty endlessly in search of bop….”blow”! And it was here that my powers of manifestation became clear to me once more. I had suffered very badly from an injury in my right leg for much of my time in India and that and both of my knees (bent for too long in cross legged position and from climbing multiple Asian mountains) truly gave out on me when I was trekking in Nepal. My leg had not recovered since and my resultant limp had prompted Will to give me the nickname  ‘Hopalong Hippy’. What I really needed to do was to see a doctor, but at Shanghai prices this was impossible. In the jazz club I got introduced to a quack (yet another American) who was in SH on holiday and he agreed to see me in his hotel room the next day.

The sleepy canal town of Zhujiajiao

Not only did I get a free consultation with Eric but we enjoyed each others company and decided to spend the following day travelling around together, visiting the sleepy backwaters of Zhujiajiao, a canal town outside of the city. Having failed to meet up in time to make the tourist bus, we negotiated the metro and a long distance bus out of town. This was no mean feat given the unrelenting heat, the lack of English spoken by anyone we encountered and his basic (and my non existent) Mandarin. I was proud of the fact that I managed to identify the Chinese characters for Zhujiajiao on the front of a bus. 

Vegetarians, look away now!

Once we finally got there we spent a pleasant afternoon wandering down the alleys and along the canalside of this amazingly preserved 1,700 year old water town. As we strolled through the ancient streets, men lazily cast fishing rods into the water, children played and women wrapped bundles of sticky rice in leaves. There were huge bowls of live shrimps and other seafood laid out in front of every restaurant and stalls were selling pigs trotters and other unidentifiable meat. In fact there were so many of these stalls selling so much food that I wondered quite how many pigs trotters one entire town could consume in one day.

Ladies making up bundles of sticky rice, Zhujiajiao

But then again, food is a theme in China and one that I will return to many times. Wherever one goes you can find food  being sold or enjoyed and the act of eating (chifan – 吃饭) is an enormous social institution. Every day between about 11am and 1pm everything grinds to a halt as the Chinese get out their bowls, chopsticks and spoons and chow down on their zhongfan 中饭 (lunch). Given that they’re all so skinny, I would like to know where it all goes! Hollow legs, I think. It is easy for us to make fun but I guess that for a nation scarred by famine as recently as the late 1920s then starvation is still a tangible memory, if not for this generation but for the grandparents of my Chinese contemporaries.

Smoking hot!

However, starvation was the last thing on my mind. In fact, if the “pray” chapter has now closed for a while, then China was certainly all about the “Eat”. I gorged myself on everything from whole black carp fish to divine eggplant, Hunnan bacon with French beans and I think a Szechuan dish of shrimp that I ate whole (head included which was the best bit) cooked in red chillis, oil and with whole peppercorns. That dish was completely insane – my mouth was on fire afterwards and I was left reeling – not knowing if I had entirely enjoyed the experience or not. A bit of a metaphor for China I think. 

M50 art community

Another of my passions that I indulged in heavily in Shanghai was art. Many of you may know that in a former life I was a curator and led my own collective for a while before becoming disillusioned and taking a break. In China I re-immersed myself into art with a vengeance, spending hours roaming around MoCA and the Shanghai art museum. I studied east Asian art in Australia where I learned that, without our Western metanarratives of impressionism, cubism, post modernism etc. eastern art has evolved in a completely different way, making it difficult for us to apply our traditional critical eye. I have to admit that I wasn’t enchanted by landscape scenes with large white borders for  calligraphy (which proves authenticity and in some cases takes precendence over the art itself). There were a couple of evocative details that I liked – a goldfish here, a cloud there, but on the whole it’s not really my bag.

Amongst the graffiti at M50

However, contemporary art is and we spent a marvellous day wandering around M50, an art community comprising over 120 galleries and studios in a post industrial creative space in a former textile mill. We found an exhilarating art collective called Island 6 who produced such brilliant, poetic, cheeky and sexy art it made me wish to spirit myself away to London immediately and curate a show. Another memorable exhibition was the SH John Moores painting prize. SH is actually the sister city of Liverpool (my birthplace) and Liverpool famously shows the John Moores painting prize every year. We managed to see the twinned show in SH. It was very affecting and gave me an insight into the disillusionment of Chinese youth with increasing urbanisation, censorship, the colliding east and west cultures and the ensuing loss of their own traditions. Food for thought indeed. The show is travelling to the UK in the autumn so anyone interested in seeing the latest in Chinese art talent can catch it then.

Propaganda Poster Centre

An interesting afternoon was whiled away in the Shangahai Propaganda Poster Centre, an experience that necessitated a taxi ride to a nondescript suburban block, navigating around the back of several buildings and taking an elevator down into a gloomy basement. In this incongruous location I discovered an Aladdin’s Cave of original twentieth century posters, paintings, Mao maquettes and ‘dazibao’ – hand daubed calligraphy posters that were mostly desultory attacks on political leaders. I spent hours sifting through original Maoist woodcuts (yes, I did procure one for my art collection) and beautiful communist style books. I had to stop myself from buying an original ‘Shanghai lady’ print – those glamorous and iconic cigarette adverts. I had already spent far too much money in SH!

KTV with Will and his colleagues

Being a melting pot of Western and ex pat culture, SH is decidedly NOT China, but I still managed some typically Chinese activities such a blaring down the mike during a Saturday night session at KTV (the ubiquitous Asian karaoke institution). The selection of English tunes was not very comprehensive or up to date come to that. I am still completely bemused by how popular The Carpenters are in China…in fact, if I have to hear “Yesterday Once More” I might actually kill someone.

Line dancing en masse, Nanjing Rd

I spent a lot of time in public parks, which is very much a Chinese pursuit.  I really enjoyed this community aspect – just as in India, lives are lived out on the streets and people come together to smoke, play games, talk and just generally enjoy time together. This is something entirely lost to our generation, cloistered up in our nuclear homes with the drawbridge firmly up. Come nightfall, practically every area of green space is full of children playing, couples hanging out and old people exercising.

Stop staring at my boobs!

The elderly people in China appear to have an insatiable desire to keep fit. I don’t know if it is all the fags they have smoked and the ensuing need to reverse the ageing process or all the dumplings they have to burn off, but they are at it all the time – in all places – with one caveat – there must be as many of them doing it together as is humanly possible. Every night in the park across the street elderly men and women would assemble en masse to perform tai chi, tango, ballroom dancing or aerobics. And it wasn’t just in our park – it happens everywhere. I even got in on the act myself, muscling in on a mass line dancing fest in the middle of Nanjing road one Saturday night. I don’t think it went down too well…Neither did my imitations of the Chinese elderly walking (and even jogging) backwards (apparently it is good for your brain..) 

Getting back on the whiskey in SH

Anyway, I’m sure that my playfulness was only fair given the amusement that I seemed to provide to the Chinese who were fascinated seemingly by my height – and my breasts! I have never endured such ‘boob staring’, not even in India. And by now I am definitely the most photographed person in Shanghai. I don’t even want to think about how many times my mug is going to appear on Facebook. Actually, scratch that – FB is of course banned in China – whose infamously strict internet regulations meant that I was unable to access most sites for the duration of my time there (particularly American ones). So now that I have finally popped up from behind the ‘Great Firewall of China’ expect many more updates from my oriental adventures coming soon….