Hanging over the head of Phnom Penh is an all too recent history of genocide, violence, and unrest. My first impressions were that the capital was poorer than those of the other countries I have so far visited - ‘dancing’ roads are in disrepair, there is much more begging, and many buildings off the main boulevards are derelict. It is difficult to put your finger on but I would say there is less hope in some of the eyes of the people. Oddly though there is a distinguishable class of wealth too, one that flaunts 4 wheel drives on the roads amongst the cyclos, and who live in newly constructed French style villas.

I try to blog uncensored, though I did consider excluding the events of my first morning in Phnom Penh. And had the morning and the afternoon been flipped around I think my choice would’ve been different. And before it sounds like I’m making excuses, if I was honest, which I’m trying to be, I probably am.

Our car pulled up and a soldier opened my door and escorted Richard and I inside and to a table. There we were cordially welcomed and given menus. As open and inviting as it seemed, my unease increased as I perused the items. Richard and I settled on the AK47 and M16 machine gun, and were shown by two soldiers to our firing range. What was a pacifist like me doing here?

It might disappoint some of you when I say that I did not feel powerful holding and firing these weapons of war. But that is not to say I didn’t feel the absolute power and force that these guns unleashed when I hit the trigger. That ridiculous power I will not forget. A soldier stood behind me to press my shoulder into the butt, a defense against the recoil. The firearm boomed, spent cartridges flashed out the side, and the gunpowder stung into my eyes. And when the soldier switched my Ak47 to rapid fire it took some focus to direct this untamed beast. When I retrieved my paper target I saw just how pathetic my control of these weapons was. I am blown away that these weapons can be legally sold in the US now the morotorium on them has been allowed to expire.

The Killing Fields at Choeung Ok are a grisly reminder of the genodide under Pol Pots Khymer Rouge regime from 1975-78. From this extermination camp 8985 people were exhumed in 1980. A large Stupa stands as a memorial to those who were bludgeoned to death (to avoid wasting precious bullets.) Disturbingly though this Stupa holds shelves of skulls of the deceased, ascending all the way up to the roof. Cabinet doors are open – you could pick up a skull – and the place felt to me more like a nightmare museum exhibit. In the grounds of the killing fields are dirt paths that lead you between exhumed graves. But to the careful eye embedded in these paths lie fragments of bone, tooth and cloth pertruding from the dirt. Once I realised this I saw bone fragments everywhere, I was treading on shallow graves! My feelings here are difficult to describe – the feeling of death hangs quietly over the place and the silence echos the hollowness in my stomache. This silence is only broken by the sounds of beggar kids running around and into the grave pits. It is difficult to know how the Cambodian Authorities feel about the site – a lack of information, the openness and lack of protection of the grave sites, the open display of skulls, and beggars around the site suggest to me more a tourism opportunity more than a properly funded memorial. Or perhaps I have culturally mistranslated.

Tuol Slang Museum, known as S-21, was converted by Pol Pot’s security forces from a high school to a centre of detention and torture. Almost two million people died in Cambodia between 1975-79 in this brutal, radical revolution, where the ideological clock was turned back to year zero and Cambodia was transformed into a Maoist, peasant dominated, agrarian cooperative. At S-21 17000 men women and children, of all classes and backgrounds were taken to be interogated and inevitably executed. The brutality they suffered is well documented here particularly in the photographic records kept by the Khymer Rouge. The empty cells still scream of death, instruments of torture are displayed, death is unsanitised by the authorities (unlike as it would in the West).

The rest of my time in Phnom Penh was much more sunny. We moved guesthouses to be by the lake, a real retreat. In the morning of day 2 we checked out Wat Phnom, the highest point in the city (but not much more than a bump) that embodies the story of Penh, a Cambodian lady who discovered here 4 Buddha statues washed up by the Mekong. The site is in need of some TLC. There is more begging here including child beggars who are pimped out to bring back money.

The main event that day was kickboxing at the Old Stadium between fighters from Laos and Cambodia. We sat amongst the locals on concrete terraces in anticipation. When the main fights eventually began a power outage sent the stadium into darkness. When the event did get going again we watched the most action packed fighting I have seen – plenty of knockdowns, including in one bout a flourish of kicks and a punch for a 20 second KO.

Per chance we met back up with some ‘old friends’ from Laos and Vietnam at the lake and the night moved nicely, ticking on past midnight to my birthday. At the Phnom Penh casino we frittered away some Reil on the roulettes, which was in fact only a few dollars US. And the night was capped off in fine style when we bowled up at the fine Phnom Penh hotel at 3:30am looking for birthday cake. We didn’t get cake, but we did find ice-cream (and a Mekong river hot chocolate). Girls and guys (you know who you are) thanks for the moment

Appropriately (being my birthday) Phnom Penh decided to have a massive party and the whole town came to the river to watch dragonboat racing, and revel in the festival atmosphere. The Water Festival here runs for 3 days and day one was capped of with fireworks that bellowed across the water.

I visited the Royal Palace the next morning which houses the Silver Pagoda. The floors in the Pagoda are laid in solid silver, each tile weighing 1kg. I’d have to say the upkeep of Bangkok’s Royal Palace is better, but this national treasure is still worth a look and though a little worn in places, still drips with grandeur.

I have aluded to the begging and condtions of some of Phnom Penhs poorest. Making a meaningful difference here is a difficult thing and throwing money at every beggar is not an answer – you give to one and you will be descended on, it encourages a dependance on begging and is particulalry fruitless if the childer beggar isn’t the recipient. The group of us set out through the back of the capital to the Lighthouse Orphanage, run by a Cambodian man who sold up his lot 2 years ago for this cause. The kids saw us coming from down the dirt drive, knew we were here to play with them, and ran and climbed excitedly into the tuktuk. For the afternoon we played football, frisbie, all sorts of games that I was led through; there was dancing and the girls put on a graceful show of traditional dance for us. They loved posing with us in photos and seeing themselves in the little LCD screens. But most of all they enjoyed the love – being picked up, spun around and hugged. When it was time to leave we all had kids hanging off us imploring us to play a little longer. “Tomorrow? Tommorrow?” But for tomorrow we already had bus tickets to Siam Reap. Of course we left monetary donations also –matching the not insignificant amount I spent on bullets at the firing range was the least I could do.

By the time our bus dropped us off in Phnom Penh at their guesthouse I had already jumped through more rings than a circus lion. But I give myself high marks and think I played the game quite well. From HCMC our bus pulled up for a normal break on the Vietnam side of the border. Oddly the bus drove away and after 30 minutes I thought this was an unusually long stop given that I knew the border was only 30-40 minutes away. A ‘guide’ stayed with us passengers so I confronted him with what was going on. The story went that the bus driver had gone for ‘electrical repairs to the air conditioning’. Right… So why didn’t he do this after dropping us at the border? I had a few straight up words of advice for him - Tell us before the bus drives off so ALL valuables can be taken off, and to call the driver on his mobile. Apparently the driver had hung up on our frazzled guide – There was advice given that he should call the bus company, and failing that, get on a motorbike and find the bus! I had begun checking what I had with me and thinking about my claims process. After two hours the bus arrived back. The air conditioning wasn’t fixed, but we did get to the Vietnamese / Cambodian border.

There were a number of little scams here that I fended off. The first one was some guys asking for money to get your visa stamped. A group of Vietnamese fell for that one, I just queued and waited. The second, more confrontational, was when I walked across the border to where our bags were taken by the bus. Three men demanded US$1 for us to take our bags back. Ivan had tipped me off on this stunt when I was in Vietnam and I was determined not to bow to this extortion. Basically, backed up by a few other guys, I just took my bag, looked straight at them and told them NO. They let go and we went through. Everyone else on our bus (going through at different times) coughed up. Next scam, some guys on the Cambodian side asking for money for Arrivals cards. I found the window and got my own one. I bought some chips at a shop to chow on and, paying in US dollars I was given Riel change. The lady tried to diddle me with the exchange rate but I’d already read up on $ were worth.

We arrived after nightfall on the doorstep of a guesthouse. Let me paint the whole picture as I unraveled it. The bus disappeared for ‘repairs’ in order to delay the trip till after daylight when it was unlikely we would take to the town ourselves. That would explain why the ‘guide’ on the bus was having a laugh with the driver when we got back on, even thought he was supposedly hung up on. It would also explain why the connecting bus was still waiting for us at the border even though we were more than 2 hours behind schedule. It’s all about the commission they get at the other end for sending guests to their guesthouse. Punks. At least I negotiated only US$3 for the tickets. Asia is proving a perfect training ground for India.

Oi Troi Oi! Vietnam in all its richness has impressed on me an everlasting memory. All my senses have been fired up and enveloped by the real Vietnam. That morning 4 of us, Richard, Debbie, David and myself climbed on Honda’s and with our guides, Hoan, Long, Lu and Huong, began a tour that could never be experienced any other way.

The point, of course, in getting on motorbikes and cruising the backbone of Nam, and down to the south was to get off the tourist trail. We’d tested our guides the day before with a day tour of Dalat. They call themselves ‘Easyriders’ and as is the way in Asia there are countless imitations. But these guys, with years of experience and contacts, knew it all.

Day 1 – Dalat -> Dumbri Falls

We didn’t ride the main roads, we took the back routes. Along the way we stopped at countless local houses to see what was behind their front doors. Vietnam has only been a market economy for less than 10 years and they hope to join the WTO in the next year or two. Before this time communist policies made private enterprise, on any level, illegal and dangerous. What we saw was a Vietnam in Flux, family businesses working in clever ways, growing, making crafts, manufacturing, building. Nothing is ever wasted. One of our first stops for example was at house that made and sold rice wine (which has been going down quite nicely lately). All the rice ‘waste’ that comes out the other end in its making is given to the pigs kept out the back. These porkers grow from piglets to fatties in only 7 months, and are always mellow thanks to the alcohol content in the rice.

I’ve seen silkworms being grown and, down the road, the silk cocoons being spun onto spools. Coffee plantations, which are a primary cash crop are harvested only once are year so one farmer grows mushrooms and fruit trees for supplementary income. Ive seen tea fields, their havesting, processing, and sorting. Simple ideas like crop rotation are relatively new since the people can now decide what they want to grow. The colours of the countryside are intense greens and rich browns. Coffee beans dry on the roadside, tapioca sits in baskets in front of houses.

Cruising on the bikes I felt part of the landscape, not a passive spectator. We talked to many locals, who when finding out we weren’t American, were even more friendly. School kids waved everywhere and old ladies wore cracked smiles when we walked though the local markets. I’ve learnt a bit of Vietnamise, so I can ask ‘how much for this’ and answer back ‘too much’. Plus I know all my P’s and Q’s. Food was jumping out of bowls and baskets so I helped a lady catch it back. Pretty funny for all watching. I think I came close to accidental marriage a few times.

At nightfall on the first day we stayed in a guesthouse at Dumbri Falls. Rather than eating at our guesthouse we went down the road to a local house where we prepared dinner. Chicken was on the menu, so Hoan took them out of their basket, bleed them, plucked and cooked them. Again nothing was wasted, any off cuts just went into a soup. We ate like kings and hit back more rice wine, flavoured with honey from the bees they were keeping there. More rice wine, stories, rice wine again (YO!) and tobacco from a bucky bong with crazy kick.

Day 2 - Dumbri Falls -> Cat Tien National Park

We started off Day 2 pretty early heading, roughly, toward Cat Tien National park. Long is a particularly knowledgeable and articulate on the Vietnam war and the Socio-Economic conditions that have shaped Vietnam. He filled in the gaps as we stopped by landmarks and discussed. (There’s too much to go into detail in this post). At other stops we talked to locals making tofu and others making bamboo baskets from scratch, all happy to give their time for free or maybe a cigarette.

On reaching the Cat Tien, we prepared our daypacks for only what we would need in the Jungle. Chong, the ranger here was our guide on this leg. We drove first for 20 minutes deeper into the jungle and then set off for a 5km walk to camp at Crocodile Lake. Ancient volcanic rocks littered the forest floor and some massive trees boomed to the light amid the secondary forest. There are some Rhino’s and big cats in the park but these are so rare we were never going to see them. We did see jungle fowel and, at one spot one of the most beautiful sites, hundreds of black butterlies floating, darting, drifting in front of us, behind and above us.

Looking out to Crocodile lake from our raised huts and decking I saw my first Croc, lingering, snout and back just above the water. Oi Troi Oi! Chong had to be mad suggesting we go down to the waters edge, among the reeds, get in a canoe and paddle around the lake.

Chong, evidently finding our uncertainty hilarious, didn’t instill much confidence at first. But he was certain these crocs are the timid kind, ‘besides there are lots of fish in the lake for them to eat’. We did it. Rich and I split a tandom canoe (was he reasoning also that it couldn’t eat both of us?). Every dark patch we saw on the surface sent the shits up us, but we couldn’t help but edge closer to see if it was a croc. I can’t honestly say I saw a croc from my little canoe in an hour paddling around the lake. I did experience the stillness of the lake at sunset, the birds settling down, and the pale sky, shot with intense pinks and reds, shifting to navy black.

Over a simple dinner and a few rice wines (YO!) we agreed to get up at 3:30am to try to catch a glimpse at some of the wildlife that comes out into the clearing at night. Fireflies sparked, danced and disapeared in the blackness. Only Chong, Debbie and I got up and headed down to the clearing. A little disapointingly we saw only one Mongose, but I got to feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck as I followed Chong into the long grass looking for the Porcupine we could only hear. Thankfully I didn’t find King Cobras in here either.

Day 3 - Cat Tien -> Saigon -> My Tho

We walked back out of the park at first light and readied ourselves for the longest day riding. Again the guys broke up the riding, stopping off at a family brick making factory, another making wood vineer, Pepper tree and Rubber plantations and a floating village farming fish. For me some of lifes little questions were answered, like how to separate rice from its kernal.

Ho Chi Min city (formerly Saigon) is known to some as the second Bangkok. Riding on a long artery into the city was another experience altogether. Oi Troi Oi! The magnitude of bikes and traffic built into a frenzy. The highways are like a free for all, and you are in the middle of it. Bikes overtaking bikes all driving at different speeds, inside, outside, with the occasional truck thrown into the mix. Horns are going flat out. Bikes are carrying everything concieveable - families of 5, chickens in cages and hanging from handlebars, mechanical parts, planes of glass, pigs for the markets, and dogs, drainpipes, shrubs… Is that someone selling crabs on the shoulder of the motorway?

I could feel smiling eyes on me constantly. Some waved, made peace gestures, or laughed - like there’s something you don’t see everyday, white man on a bike! We continued down through the filth and smog and overhead billboads that dominate Saigon with peak hour traffic building. Speeds werent high but Hoan needed to be a sharp rider with other eratic bike wheels only feet away. A bus pulls across the road on the diagonal, and on the move two men jump out, half stopping traffic, and sheparding an older women onto the bus. That must’ve been the bus stop. Heading down to My Tho on the Mekong Delta we passed some crashed bikes still lying on the road chalked like dead bodies. Shouldn’t somebody move those?

Day 4 - My Tho -> Ben Tre -> Saigon

We caught the free workers ferry across to Ben Tre and there met our boat driver, another local contact. While the big tour boats were doing there thing, our small runabout led us through a network of canels lined with water coconuts. The people here live a good simple life, with the philosophy ‘today is today, tomorrow tomorrow’. The Mekong Delta floods badly at least once a year so the houses are impermanent. Each year they get in their house boats and, when the water subsides depositing rich silt, they just rebuild. We had breakfast in a local villager’s garden that must be Eden. Dragonfruit, Mango, Papya, Bananas, the works were diced and lavishly laid on. He carved us out honey comb from his hives as a breakfast desert.

We pulled our small boat over at other stops too, to see a family making coconut lollies, and another carving crafts (who a bit disturbingly also dabbled in cock fighting). Our drivers wife, Moon, with machette in hand smashed open some water coconuts growing on the side of canel. We ate them under the arches of the leaves, light filtering through, as Long told us of the covert tactics of the VC in these canels in the Vietnam war.

I’ve only scratched here at one of the most total experiences I’ve had in Asia. I’ve been educated by our guides to both the history and the people now. Photos are now up in the photolog. Im leaving Saigon for Phnom Phen, Cambodia, tomorrow.

PS. My absence of opinion on the Vietnam war does not mean I haven’t formulated one - there might be a posting yet. But if you like, buy me a beer sometime I’ll chew your ear off about the devastation of a country fighting for its Independence and right to self determination, and the cost to its people. Or go to the War Remembrance Museum in HMC and see and read what a disgrace to humanity this American led war was (what the hell was NZ doing there?).

I’ve passed down the coast of Vietnam from Hanoi, exploring Hue and Hoi An, and now have cut inland to Dalat. This central area of Nam is different from the north in more ways than you might think, from the local personalities, to its culture and landscapes.

60km south of Hue is the Ben Hai river which was the demarcation point between North and South in the Vietnam war. Obviously this area infamous in war history and so I took a guided tour to the old Demilitarised Zone (DMZ). In my eyes this tour was a bomb, the worst example of the herded tourism that seems to be prefered by the Vietnamese tourism industry. I hate been told where to go, when, and for how long, and sitting for the most part in the bus. A little light in the day was, ironically, in the darkness of the Vinh Moc tunnels where hundreds of Vietnamese villagers retreated to and suvived through during the war.
Hue has an interesting feel itself. Divided by the Perfume river, the north west bank is dominated by a huge moated Citidel dating from the early 19th century. One of the best trips I’ve done so far was a guided motorbike tour of the city’s periphery. The joy was as much in the journey. We zipped through back roads and farmland to Thanh Toan bridge, a japanese covered footbridge that impressed on me the feeling that time doesn’t exist here, or that the bridge always has, or something. We continued on to the majestic Tomb complex of Tu Duc from the Nguyen Dynasty in the 19th Century and then to the Tang Quang Pagoda. A novice monk here climbed a tree in the garden and bought us down some starfruit.

I’ve been travelling with and around some cool people of late, so a shout out must go to Vereana, Anna, Chris, Eric, Ivan, Rich and Debbie and everyone else I’ve missed and hung with. Hoi An is a smaller town that is only just waking up to tourism and is as beautiful as it is accessible – in the main town it’s a short walk to just about anywhere. Its pretty cheap too, depending. I splashed out and for US$4 each I shared a double room in a mini hotel with HOT water, satalite TV, and, wait for it – a pool.

My second day here was a favourite. We woke up at 4:30am to be picked up and driven to the Cham ruins at My Son for a sunrise tour. I’d hoped to experience (and photograph) the ruins with a sunset backdrop but this opportunity was missed with our guide’s dallying. Still the air was crisp here and we were the only small group there at the time. The ruins date back to about 7th Century and were in remarkably good condition when rediscovered by the French early last century. Sadly however bombs break things. In the period of the Vietnam war America heavily bombed these sites leaving them now largely to the imagination to reconstruct from what’s left. (I was fortunate in my later travels down the country to find a better preserved Cham building that dated from around 13th C).

That same day a small crew of us hired some bicycles (with brakes that kind of worked) and peddled out of town to the beach. It was my first taste of salt and sand for a few months and we really made the most of it, playing Ta kraw on the beach and shenanagans in the water.

The markets in Hoi An are bustling and traditional boasting some goodies I didn’t recognise. I bought a Vietnamese style hat. I might start a revolution. I got some clothes tailored with India in mind. A few pairs of linen pants, some shorts, a shirt and a couple of bandanas all for US$40. I feel a rucksack rethink coming on.

Of course the nightlife here is good too. The bars close a bit early, but then there’s Karaoke rooms to hire out from someones house, and after that take a motorbike taxi out to the Full Moon bar which I suspect is an illegal bar operation. Again, shenanagans.

My latest bus ride was my second longest to date. I get a bit antsy after 19 hours on the bus. Rather than stopping at the more resort town of Nga Trang I continued on and moved inland to the highlands of Dalat. There isnt much English spoken up here but it’s a beautiful cool retreat. Dalat has its very own Eiffel tower, flashing lights like a do-it-yourself Vegas, and ABBA blasting from the cinema building in the evenings. It also has a nice lake. Four of us took a motorbike tour around town today with Easyriders, a group of english speaking guides of some fame (they’re mentioned in the LP). They don’t have an office or Easyrider T-shirts, but Dalat is their base and if you want to ride with them you let them find you. Coffee plantations, pagoda’s, crop fields waterfalls and tonnes of local knowledge made it a great day without timetables.

Debbie, David (Swiss) and I were impressed enough to organise these guys to take us on a four day tour through the ‘real south’ of Vietnam. We’re leaving tomorrow morning early and will be moving through the jungles of Cat Tien National park and down to the Mekong Delta. In other news, I’ve just changed my plane ticket so I’m not leaving for Mumbai now till 7th December.

26 hours in a bus from Vientiane was one of those mind over body endurance tests. When I arrived in Hanoi and shook myself straight this beautiful, mad city blessed my eyes. The five guys and girls I met on the bus got a place in the ‘Old Quarter’ of Hanoi where the lanes are named after the activities that happen here - welding, fabrics, clothes, food etc. Life here is lived on the streets and is where it all happens - families eating, hanging out washing, stuff peddled and bikes are parked up - all engulfing the footpaths. Motorbikes rule this town.

Crossing the street is an adventure in itself. Forget what your mother taught you about looking both ways before you cross. Just close your eyes and walk - slowly. Bikes curve around you as long as you don’t do anything stupid, which is easier said than done the first time. Everyone is happy on the horn, the beeps and honks are constant and can mean anything from ‘watch out mate’ to ‘how’s the weather’. Peak hour traffic in the evening is a wonderfully mental time to walk among the bikes.
Hoan Kiem Lake (Lake of the Restored Sword) in the Old Quarter is a beautiful feature and here the lanes transform into boulevards. Women sell fruit, men play board games and the stillness of the lake entices people to sit a while and have a chat. Legend has it that here in the mid-15th century Emperor Le Loi returned a magical sword to heaven, which he had used to drive the Chinese out of Vietnam. The Tortoise Pagoda sits in the lake at the north end over a short bridge. I sat here a while and just emptied out a bit of brain junk.

Hanoi is graced with old and new architecture, the new being of French influence like the impressive opera house. Some of the old is French too, like the prison they built at the end of the 19th century to hold, and often execute anyone resisting French rule. Later the prison was used by the North Vietnamese who held American POW’s here. The prison is now a museum and it was fascinating not only to see the conditions prisoners were subjected to and the instruments of their torture, but also the language used in the displays. The Vietnamese held here were ‘revolutionaries’, ‘comrades’, ‘Fighters for Independence’ and their loyalty and bravery and endurance and suffering against the enemy is a model. Though in retrospect the fluffy propaganda I read here was probably no more embellished than the way we glorify and slant our own histories.

Hanoi’s other interesting bits? Water puppetry, inventively low tech story telling with wooden puppets whose mechanisms are hidden under water to the tune of traditional Vietnamese instruments. A national history museum, well presented exhibition that open my eyes to Vietnams fight for independence from the French, the Japanese, and the US. The communist billboards, they are just so cool looking, hup the proletariat!

I took a 3 day tour north to Halong Bay from Hanoi to see the thousands of islands and Karsts that dotted through this National park. It really was beautiful and we had a craic time on our boat, drinking, swimming, kayaking a little, trekking a little, and lying on the top deck. A bit of a holiday cruise really. It was my first exposure to what the Vietnamese tourism industry either think tourists want or want tourists to have. Without going right into it, we kind of felt guided or timetabled or directed or something. Nothing required too much exertion… I guess it was just the little things, like pointlessly wide concrete paths for us along beautiful coastline, or the box hotel on beautiful Cat Ba island where we stayed a night, or going back to Hanoi midday on day 3. I think New Zealand do an excellent job of keeping our Regional and National parks as natural as possible. But, no complaints, we were definitely well looked after, all for only US$45 for everything for 3 days. Another oddity of control, the police want to register our passports at every new destination.

Check the photos in the Photolog, I’ve got some more posts to blast out shortly. Hope you’re all well, great to get emails from you all so often, and if my replies are short its just I’m loving Vietnam more than Internet cafes.

Dismayed, I watched the results of the US elections roll in from my small crypt in Hanoi. ‘The American people have spoken’ George Bush proclaimed in his victory speech, after winning the crucial state of Ohio and winning the popular vote by a huge 3.5 million vote margin. Many around the world, not least in the Arab world, will see the result as an endorsement by the American people of the administration’s foreign policy from its last four years in office.

‘Values’, a CNN exit poll revealed, was the surprise issue which swung the election to Bush in the heartland states and smaller communities. Bush’s right-wing Christain fundamentalism appealed to puritanical voters on issues such as gay marriage and Stem Cell research. That these lightweight issues swung a US election in todays world climate is a scary thing. Yes Bush has values, immovable ones, but they are anything other than what I would describe as Christian. Measure a mans values by his actions, not his rhetoric.

Noam Chomsky, in his book ‘Hegemony or Survival’ posits there remain two world powers - The US, and world public opinion. I think that this is contestable - never before has an administration showed such contempt for public opinion, the UN, its traditional allies (NZ included), and the Geneva Convention. And frankly swaths of Americans couldn’t care less about what the rest of us think – excluding of course every American traveller I have met who has stepped out of his or her own backyard and taken a look at the world.

As the most powerful nation in the world, America should practice its altruism and work to strengthen international democratic institutions such as the UN, rather than weakening and undermining them through unilateral action and constant vetos. No country will accept any other as the worlds policeman.

Mr Bush, look at the conditions that breed and incite terrorism – don’t sell the line these people are ‘jealous of our freedoms’. Mr Bush, we all want Democracy, but it’s an oxymoron to think Democracy can be won at the point of a gun - at least any Democracy that I would want to live under. World peace, Mr Bush, will only come through unity, not divisiveness.

If I could have been granted a vote in the US elections my choice too would’ve been driven by moral values - human values - respect and compassion, applying to ourselves what we demand of others.

Party time! Vientiane, the capital city of Laos, went off like a fire rocket for the That Luang Festival. Streets were lined with markets, food vendors, fair ground rides, rock concerts and, the main event, Dragonboat racing. We arrived on the day from Vientiane where we had just partied through a scaled down version of the same event in Vang Vieng. A little unplanned, we tuned up in the middle of the festival with everything in full swing. To get to our guesthouse of choice we had to walked down roads closed to traffic and were twice security checked and wanded with metal detectors. There was a bombing in the capital in 2003 and obviously the government were taking no chances. For the day I too was a rock star. I conspicuously stood head and shoulders above everyone and at the concerts and saw countless eyes of Laos girls shyly looking over at me and taking a few snaps. Shucks.
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