Jasmine Valley and the Cambodian jungle

17/02:Our bus journey began at Phnom Penh Central Station, and on bus number 17 we travelled five hours to the south coast. Our destination was Kep; a small fishing town, known for it's crab and pepper.
As soon as we stepped off the bus, we were circled by tuk-tuk drivers. Blair calmly walked through the parroting drivers. A man who had approached us with a laminated map of the peninsula wanted to help us find accommodation. We told him we had reservations at Jasmine Island, his face lit up: "I know dis, I know Jasmine Valley. I take you. Take five minute only". We negotiated a $4 fee. We threw our back packs on one side and climbed in to sit on the opposite. We drove back the way we had come, along the sea and passed a huge statue of a crab. We veered left and began our ascent into the Cambodian jungle.
The website had warned us of the condition of the road. But driving up it in a tuk-tuk was a gas! Blair has it on video; its the closest thing to an earthquake I've ever experienced. I was confident that the driver knew the way and had made this journey on several occasions, because his speed didn't alter accordingly to the craters in the lane.
I did get worried after about ten minutes when he kept turning to look at the back tyre. We came to a particularly steep incline, I couldn't see how we were going to make it. Our driver stopped. Blair was subsequently asked to walk this part of the journey because the tuk-tuk was unable to take his weight. We climbed and after another 500m, we stopped again. This was as far as we could go. Our driver reassured us the reception was close and we only had a short walk ahead. Blair parted with the $4, loaded the backpacks onto our shoulders and walked on.
Ahead of us were two tall hills of green canopies. It was really hot, we wiped the sweat from our foreheads and faces and took in the smells and sounds of the jungle. There was busy rustling in the plants either side of us. The only sounds were birds or muted buzzing of insects. It was beautiful.
We walked passed the open kitchen area and into reception. Friendly faces were there to greet us and promptly checked us in. We were invited to leave our bags next to their counter and take a seat. We were brought freshly made lime juices and cold menthol infused face towels. We were instantly refreshed!
Jasmine Valley is an eco-friendly resort. All buildings were made from mud and stone with thatched roofs. The treetop bungalows were wooden and decorated with pebbles and furnished with hanging wicker seats on the terrace. There was no hot water, and the water was collected rain, so we were asked to use as little as we reasonably could. There was only enough electricity for the bedroom and bathroom light, we were asked to us this sparingly also. In order to charge our phones, camera and tablet we had to take them to reception. We couldn't flush paper down the toilet either. This is actually something I've failed to mention earlier in the blog: I was first introduced to the bum gun (the name given to the small shower head by the Mad Monkey posters) in Abu Dhabi. Instead of using toilet role, you were obligated to use the 'bum gun'. Although in the UAE, you did actually have a choice. Once we had arrived in Mumbai and SE Asia, we were asked not to flush paper down the loos because of the sensitive plumbing system: remember the note in the grotty Rainbow Hostel of Khao San?

We were supplied with clean towels, a huge mozi net suspended from the thatched roof and a large glass jar of drinking water. If your accommodation wasn't enough to remind us that we were in the jungle, we were frequently visited by the creatures that inhabited the surroundings. Our first visitor was Lenny (all names were given by Blair). Lenny, quite frankly scared the absolute shit out of me. I went to lie down on the bed and as I rested my head join the pillow I looked up at the wall, and at the corner were big black eyes on a navy-grey hued head. My fear stemmed from the belief that I was eye to eye with a snake: one of my greatest fears. Blair reassured me it was a lizard and pointed out his arms. As he moved I noticed his body was covered in red spots. Next was Larry, a far more confident lizard, of the same species as Lenny who was lying on our clothes shelves. By the next day Blair had noticed that a huge hornet had started building a nest in the archway to our bathroom.

It was the perfect chill out spot. We spent our time reading, eating and on our second afternoon we went on we treck through the jungle. Jasmine Valley was situated on the outskirts of Kep's National Park. From the top we had a stunning view of the town. We were lucky to see a red squirrel, but not so lucky in that we spotted no monkeys.

We continued walking until we reached the sea and the crab market. We ordered stuffed crab to start and peppered crab and steamed crab as mains. The meal was really tasty, and watching the sunset made it even more idyllic.

When we were served our mains, the waiter immediately read our exchange of smiles as a complete unknowing of how to tackle crab in front of us. He showed us what to do, so we began our feast. The most off putting thing had to be that the table next to us had plaits piled high with crab for five locals. These mountains of crab made our plate of three with side salads look pewny. Blair explained that it was normal for tourists to be given one price list/menu, and locals another. This I understood, but still annoyed that we had paid $25 for a meal and neither of us were full.
We returned to Jasmine Valley where we had a second dinner, this time full fit to burst.

We settled down to watch a film (Lawless, I would seriously recommend it to anyone who hasn't seen it). Blair wasn't settling at all and by the end he was in the bathroom and feeling awful. For the next few hours he endured relentless bouts of diarrhea and sickness. He had the shakes, sweating profusely and exhausted.
When the staff saw me come down for breakfast alone they asked if everything was OK, when I had told them of Blair's food poisoning they couldn't do enough for him. They gave me jars of water and sent up some ginger tea. Blair continued on a diet of ginger tea and solutions of dyrolite until we left.
Blair has since renamed Kep's crab market : Kep's crap market. He has sworn against crab, and has turned away from any 'fish section's' in menus.
Three nights was definitely enough for us. We had had our fill of the incessant ants at mealtimes (the staff were so fed up brushing the ants from the breakfast counter top and fruit bowls, they only did so when they same guests approaching, against nature you will always fight a losing battle) and grassy/earthy smell of the water.

I made the most of the huge breakfast selection. I gorged on bacon baguette, poached eggs, fresh watermelon and pineapple, muesli, water and coffee.
As we made it to reception, our tuk-tuk driver was waiting to take us down to the bus station where we were going to catch the mini-bus to Sihanoukville.
We were now leaving our jungle chapter of Cambodia and on to the beach part.

Phnom penh and the Mad Monkey

15/02: We had touched down in Cambodia and relieved at the fact that we weren't going to be airborne at ridiculous o'clock for a few months. We now had a choice of two currencies; either Riel (4000 to the US$) or the US dollar itself.
It was hot. I had wrapped up in the intensely air-conditioned airport in Bangkok, and quickly stripped off in the 34 degree heat of Phnom Penh.
Driving through you would never have believed this was a capital city. The main roads were tarmacked, and the rest were dirt roads. There was a mix of shacks, half-built building, dilapidated and abandoned French structures and every now and again a pristine and shiny construction.
We were really pleased with The Mad Monkey! It was in a lovely area, felt really safe, staff were really friendly and had loads of social events lined up and day tours. The staff were all local youngsters. The Mad Monkey prided itself on the fact that they could help the local community by offering jobs as opposed to filling the hostels with friends and acquaintances back home from Britain. They were lovely, couldn't do enough for you and smiley!
We opted for a half day tour on the Saturday as opposed to the full day; we paid $16 for our own tuk-tuk driver to take us to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum followed by an audio tour of Choeung Ek museum; these graveyards were given greater international acclaim by the Hollywood film, and better known as The Killing Fields.
The Friday was an uneventful day with roughly a 24hour viewing of the inside of our eyelids.
We woke up this morning feeling bright eyed and bushy-tailed, up before our 07:00 alarm. We had finally adjusted our body clocks! We showered and indulged in a huge breakfast of a fresh fruit salad with vanilla yoghurt, pancakes and maple syrup, freshly squeezed orange juice and two coffees (me) and a classic american brekki of pancakes, bacon and maple syrup for Blair.
We were set up for a big day of touring the most poignant places in the Capital. It was really hot, we met and shook hands with our tuk-tuk driver; a smiley local. You could sense the friendly competition between the tuk-tuk drivers (all of whom work for the Mad Monkey). As we drove off one of them yelled: "you're driver is crazy!" We all started laughing, and drove off through the streets of the city to Security Prison 21.
It was a short five minute drive. Our driver indicated he would wait for us opposite the museums gates. We paid a $2 entry fee each and picked up a pamphlet.
We walked into a courtyard with a red arrow indicating the beginning of our tour and where to go. Big information boards stood, starting us off on our teachings of the Khmer Rouge: their leaders; intentions; atrocities, torturing and genocide of a third of Cambodians; their own people.

The courtyard had fourteen white toom's, engraved with Khmer writing, we were about to learn that these were the last fourteen prisoners of Pol Pot's secret interrogation prison. They were murdered before the Khmer Rouge guards fled the converted high school from the Vietnamese. These neighbours who had been embroiled in their own war against the giant force of the U.S. came to the aid of the Cambodian people. The Khmer Rouge had ruled with a fanatical Communist ideal to purify the Cambodian race; the ideal being the uneducated prolitariat Cambodian; these were named the 'base'. Currency, postal system, businesses, the educated, free-thinkers, elderly, disabled and babies, children, and family members of any of these were murdered; the reasoning behind the murdering of the young or family members was to avoid revenge later on. This was bolstered by one of many slogan's of Pol Pot and repeated throughout the Khmer Rouge: "to kill the grass one must tear up the roots".

There were three blocks: A, B and C. Each had three floors. Each floor had a specific purpose, mainly the detention, torture and interrogation of people arrested by the Khmer Rouge. What was confusing is that many of the country folk and farmers of Cambodia had fled to the safety of the cities, from their rural hometowns, away from the fighting of the civil war between the Communists (backed by Sihanouk who was greatly loved and admired by the Cambodians), and the Government under Lon Nol , (who's coup overthrew King Sihanouk in 1970). The Cambodians also had endured the overspill of the Vietnamese war, and still to this day have a huge amount of undetonated bombs and land mines. 

The city's veil of safety soon uncovered the dictatorship of Pol Pot's regime. Notable inhabitants of Phnom Penh were arrested, the majority never knew the condition of their charge. They were then tortured by the most horrendous means until they had been broken physically, emotionally and mentally; most confessed to the crimes they had been charged, regardless whether true or not. Pol Pot's paranoia was focused on detecting which of his Cambodian people were infiltrated CIA or KGB agents.

S-21 claimed the lives of 17,000 prisoners. Six of which were foreigners, one Australian, two New Zealanders and three Americans. The Khmer Rouge were meticulous in their records; keeping photographs of prisoners once arrested and once deceased; taking names; heights; ages; occupations; names of family members, spouses and husbands/wives. These old classrooms, were converted into metre wide prisons, and now transformed once again into large spaces, but now of boards displaying hundreds upon hundreds of white photographs of arrested prisoners and again photographed once they had been murdered. Cabinets of skulls revealing causes of death (bullet holes, fractures to the skull indicating huge trauma to the head). Portraits animating the atrocities and methods of torture were the closest thing I could ever describe as the true work of evil. It is one thing to read of history's immoralities, but to see it portrayed in the ways we did today made me truly understand the words of an aesthetic philosopher who said: "to say that a picture paints a thousand words is a fallacy; a picture exercises an entirely different currency".

Accounts of the survivors, Khmer rouge guards and family members of the deceased were protected and translated in plastic folders. I soaked up every word of every board, folder and pamphlet, much to Blair's discomfort of the intense heat. I was immersed in a world of horror. The historic enthusiast in me came to the forefront.
Once we had finished and guzzled some much needed water, we walked in a daze back to the tuk-tuk and our smiling driver.
We drove thirty minutes out of the city to Choeung Ek for our tour of the Killing Fields. With an entrance fee of $5 each, we were given an audio pack, which we controlled as we walked around, posts indicated the number of the talk we were to listen to.
One hundred metres from the entrance stood a beautiful  monumental tribute to the victims of the killing fields under the Khmer Rouge. Before its occupation it had been a Chinese cemetery. The audio tour was given by a survivor of the Khmer Rouge Occupation; a man who had sought refuge in the Cambodian jungles, but had returned to discover only half of his family had survived.

Pieces of cloth, bone and teeth were still surfacing, even on the designated walkways. The harrowing realisation that we were treading on remains was indescribable.

We were instructed to walk to small depressions in the earth; we were told that these were pits where hundreds of people had been thrown to be buried or left to die. Sheds of the chemical DDT was used with dual effect: firstly to extinguish the smell; secondly to kill any of the victims that were still alive. We were shown a large tree where babies were held by their lags and were smashed against its stem. Another tree, a sugar palm, was distinguished as having incredibly sharp and hard properties, such that they were used to slit the throats of victims;  bullets were too expensive. Another of Pol Pot's slogans were quoted to us: "to win you is not a gain,to lose you is not a loss" as well as "Better to execute an innocent by mistake than spare an enemy by mistake". This only bolstered his obsession to exterminate any one believed to be an enemy of the Khmer Rouge regime.

At the end of the tour we were invited to enter the towering memorial. Inside lay seventeen shelves of scientifically sectioned skulls, jaws and teeth of victims. It was explained that caretakers circle the grounds monthly to collect newly resurfaced artifacts. The monument was not large enough to encase all that was discovered.

The last stop was a small museum. The most compelling part for me was the sentences passed on the five superior leader after Pol Pot died under only a years house arrest in 1998. The head of security in S-21, under the alias Duch was sentenced 35 years imprisonment for war crimes, including genocide. This was a minor sentence in a country where possession of drugs renders a sentence of life imprisonment. He was the only senior member of the Khmer Rouge to admit to and acknowledge the atrocities.
Duch was taken to the killing fields and when he was shown the tree used to brutally murder babies and young children he knelt at its roots and wept. This reaction demonstrated how the most senior members of the Khmer Rouge seemed oblivious to the heinous methods their minions were carrying out. The tree now is a shrine for the lives this tree had been used to execute. It was, and still is, covered in wrist bands and bracelets of the thousands of visitors; a gift to the children of the killing fields.
Our driver was waiting for us outside. We drove away from the Killing Fields, the images of what we had seen vivid in our minds. Another difficult thought I found difficult to process fully was that this Holocaust had occurred during the adult lives of our parents and only a decade before we were born.
The paradoxical character of Cambodia could not have been illustrated greater than our next scene. Not even half a kilometer from the killing fields - the deep scar on Cambodia's landscape - was a shooting range. Tourists are offered these tours at every hostel and guest house and viewed as very profitable. You can pay as little as $20 and have your choice of weapon, including an AK-47. For $300 you can shoot a bazooka, throw grenades and even use livestock as targets. A friend told me, if he wished, he could bazooka a cow.
That evening Blair wasn't feeling too great. We cashed in cork coins painted with monkey's faces on them for two free beers. We sat and drank them at the open air bar, two floors up and looked over Phnom Penh. Blair headed up to bed so I stayed, and  was  made the Mad Monkeys own signature cocktail: the love hug. Every time I finished and placed the glass down a new one appeared.
I ams now n my third , enjoying the music and have finished the blog for the day :-)

Up relatively early today. Had another brilliant breakfast before we were taken by tuk-tuk to our bus. We were heading to our second destination in Cambodia: Jasmine Valley. Blair had pre-booked room number seven a few nights ago to avoid disappointment; there is limited availability, a very popular place in Keep.

The unexpected journey

Thursday, and our last night in Bangkok before flying to Phnom Penh. Our hotel was a fifteen minute drive to the airport. We had arranged a wake up call for 04:30 and would take the free bus service to the Bangkok International Airport.
Our bellies were full, we'd managed to do some laundry' which was hanging on the balcony drying, and we were laid in the huge bed of our spacious, clean and air conditioned room. I nodded off to sleep listening to another update on the Blade Runner's arrest, suspected of murdering his model girlfriend.
I was woken up at 01:30. Blair had found a serious flaw in our seemingly flawless plan. There were two airports in Bangkok, the 'old' airport. Our flight was from this 'old' airport that was North of the city. It appeared to be at least an hours drive. He had only realised during a conversation with you Mike....thank you so much for calling, you saved us a flight!
Thank God we had packed the night before. We only had booked one bag to check in, so we had organised toiletries and the collection of clothes appropriately.
We checked out downstairs, cancelled our wake up call and enquired as to the quickest way to get across Bangkok. The staff informed us that the only way to get across to the other airport was by taxi so the receptionist cycled of to flag one down. A few minutes later we were in a taxi with a woman taxi driver; the first we had seen.
We stopped at an ATM and she stopped at MGV, she was running low on gas. It was as she was filling up I noticed gurgling noises. Blair told me that is was literally gas that she was filling the car with, not petrol. He joked about how bad it would be if we were in a car accident, then proceeded to make explosive sounds and hand gestures that all boys learn how to make at the age of three. This was doing nothing to calm my nerves about our situation; were we going to make the flight?!
This little woman, who, according to her registration documents was a man (nobody here had the correct details on their registration cards, and their photos bore no resemblance whatsoever!) was not shy at all! To quote Blair after we arrived at the airport in no more than thirty minutes "she was pretty rapid!".
So, panic averted. We now had three hours to kill before boarding. So we lounged around and used the rest of our baht on breakfast. We merged the best of Eastern and Western cuisine; sashimi and gyoza followed by...Krispy Kreme glazed donughts and coffee. We were definitely all set for our first month away in Cambodia

Bangkok and the three hostels

11/02
07:30 (23:30 GMT/ +7 hours): Our three hour and forty five minute flight from India to Bangkok was over. We were in South East Asia.
We passed through immigration, collected our bags and had our first meal: tasty fried pork and noodles followed by a dunkin' donuts!
We paid for a metro ride, 90 baht for the both of us to travel the entire length of the city line. I was now changing my seven times table for my five: 50 baht converts roughly to a pound. Easy enough you would think, but seriously struggled to form a coherent sentence let alone multiply or divide by five.
We flagged down a taxi at the other side of the metro station. The driver of the blue taxi demanded 200 baht, he entertained no negotiations. We waved him off as the taxis from the airport were charging 300baht, and we had already come two thirds of the way.
We got into a pink taxi with a metre and drove to Khaosan Road: backpacker central. We were on civilised roads, no honking, no sleeping bodies to avoid.
We hadn't been in the country two hours and the most noticeable thin about this city was the gays. Blair quoted the Lonely Planet as soon as I mentioned this, it has to be my favourite line from the book: "Bangkok is very gay, it makes San Fransisco look like rural Texas"!
As soon as we stepped out of the taxi, we were bombarded with hagglers selling everything from getaway trips to the islands, to tailored suits, to ping pong shows, yep, we were in Khaosan. It was a street of stall of RayBan's, LaCoste, Abercrombie and Fitch for a few ponds. Plastic white tables sat outside bars crowded by beer and shot guzzling tourists. Stalls selling you a variety of scorpions on a stick or change you 20p for a photo. People had travelled thousands of miles to do exactly what they could do in Ibiza or Benidorm but for a fraction of the price.
We pushed through and found our hostel round the corner of Khaosan and opposite a Boots and Seven Eleven.
The downstairs of the Rainbow Hostel was an Indian restaurant. We checked in and paid for our two nights stay in a double room and in suite. We handed over a shocking 720 baht ( £14.40).
We climbed two flights of stairs, and walked to the end of the corridor to 206. We unlocked the door, it rebounded off the bed. Hot air and a stale smell hit us. The floor was sticky. The bathroom door hit the sink. There was a notice above the toilet: kindly save energy and put the used tissue papers and sanitary towels in the bin. Above the toilet, a corner of the ceiling tile was black with wet mould, water (presumably) from the above bathroom dripped down ( it looks like something out of the Grudge). We have booked two nights here. We were so tired, we crashed onto the bed ( which was harder than the bed in Mumbai tenfold!) and slept for five hours.
We showered and had dinner at the Peachy Guesthouse. Apart from two ladies, we were the only Westerners there, the rest were all locals.

The menu was pretty cool, sneak and fish head were featured in a few of the Thai delights. I had Tom Yam ribs in a lemon grass soup, and Blair wolfed down his fried pork with rice and Singha beer.

Our walk back showed us Khaosan after the sun goes down. Cheesy music blasted from bars, promo guys stood with signs offering buckets of vodka and red bull, gin and tonic and whiskey with a mixer for £3. Drunken louts walking up and down in search of their next watering hole. We found it funny, but I was trying desperately to grasp my bearings. We have witnessed three worlds opposing entirely in character. Abu Dhabi - Mumbai - Bangkok, we had witnessed a serious case of bipolar in our destinations.
We turned our fan on to the highest setting and fell asleep to some truly horrendous Thai karaoke across the street and blaring tunes from bars close by.

Today we slept in until the afternoon, recovering from jet lag.

We walked to Ann's Sweets, a bakery and patiserrie owned by a Cordon Bleu chef: Ann. I had a triple chocolate mousse with freshly squeezes orange juice and an espresso. Blair had a decadent and generous serving of brownie banana split.
We walked along the river where an intense crazy Thai dance workout was going on. The instructor was a middle aged woman jumping around and doing some complicated footwork and waving her arms around. Blasting from her stereo system was a continuous stream of dance music. In front of her were a group of plump Thai's hopping about, not having a clue what's going on, but sweating bucket loads. Most of them looked like they were about to pass out. Blair and I sat and watched these miserable looking partakers and chuckled at these pained Thai faces with their heavy feet and flailing arms.

We took photos of the gardens and walked along the river. We found our restaurant for dinner, the recommended Hemlock. It was busy, so we were sat upstairs. We had yummy spring rolls as a sharing starter. I had the popular and traditional Pad Thai and Blair had spicy fried rice dish.

We walked back towards Khaosan, when I decided to indulge in a traditional Thai foot massage. Blair made a quick exit and headed back to the hostel. I opted for an hour long reflexology treatment, and paid upfront: £4.40! I had the dust and a days worth of street grime washed from my flip-flop warn feet. I lay down on a mattress in a darkened room of other pamperees. A peppermint scented oil was rubbed into my feet and legs and for the next hour relaxed, hoping this might help induce a in a deep sleep later that night.
I met up with a hot, clammy and disgruntled Blair back at the ridiculously warm hostel room. He was reading up on Cambodia and we've booked a tree top house on stilts for five nights in the southern Cambodian forests! Check out a video of it or Google it if you fancy a tour of the guesthouses by the Australian owner: Jasmine Valley. We've planned also, that after our two nights in the Mad Monkey hostel of Phnom Penh, we'll bus it down to the south. Blair also found the most beautiful island to stay on too, a bit pricier than our budget but it looks like heaven on earth: the lazy beach ( Wyn Williams crew, you'll fall in love with it).

We had the worst night sleep. The noise from the outside street as well as the dripping from the bathroom ceiling only permitted us a few hours.
We were glad to see the back of the Rainbow Hostel and Khaosan Road.

We walked to the river and hopped onto the river boat taking us to our next and hopefully quieter hostel.
It was roasting. Carrying our backpacks around in 35+degree and humid weather was a good workout. Blair was constantly wiping sweat from his forehead and I could feel the straps of my backpack dampening with sweat.

We checked into the cool Chilli Hostel run by locals. We paid 675 baht for a night (£13.50) and my God what a difference. No rebounding doors, air-conditioning, clean bathroom, no mould or dripping or sticky floors or stained walls. We even had a comfy bed. This is what back backing is about, checking in and out of stink holes so you can appreciate the nicer ones that much more!

Wednesday: sunny and 34 degrees.
Today was an easy day, so not much to report. We took the metro to the MBK mall and went to the food court; another Lonely Planet recommendation. Money is paid at a counter and you're given tokens in return to buy food. We both had a king prawn Pad Thai and a Mr. Doughnut for desert. The multilevel mall was packed with shops and stalls of all types.

Tonight we had our first tuk tuk ride up to China town and indulged finally in some street food.

The entire main street was decorated with red and golden lanterns and the place was buzzing. Stalls ran both sides of the road and spilled over onto its perpendicular alleyways.
We sat down on small plastic stools and ordered away: Noodles, duck, rice, beer and freshly squeezed pomegranate juice! We stopped at a little portable stall and watched its owner make pancake-type deserts. Blair ordered from him a gorgeous banana pancake doused in condensed milk. His insatiable sweet tooth couldn't resist another Chinese desert made a few yards further up the street, he described them as deep fried doughnuts and the greasiest thing he had ever eaten.

On our walk home we stopped at can fruit stall, I'd been itching for fresh fruit since we arrived Bangkok and saw all the fruit they had on offer. We were given a big bag of mango, guava and watermelon, for £1! We picked away at it as soon as we arrived back at the Chilli hostel, it was so sweet and refreshing!
Checkout tomorrow is at 12:00. Blair just looked up our accommodation for tomorrow night. He booked somewhere close to the airport because of our early flight Friday morning to Phnom Penh. Costing £16 a night, we'll be checking into a pretty snazzy hotel with a spa. We can check in at 12:00, so as soon as we leave here we'll head on to the Thong Ta Resort and Spa!

Plans over the next few days: Fly tomorrow morning (15th) at 06.55 from Bangkok to Phnom Penh. Check into the Mad Monkey hostel. Spend two nights there. Whilst in Phnom Penh we'll tour the capital and visit the Killing Fields.
We'll bus it down to Kep where we'll spend three nights in the Jasmine Valley, then head down to the coast for beach time!

Mumbai

09/02: We touched down in Mumbai at 04:30am and were now five and a half hours ahead of Britain. After a long wait for our luggage we queued for the prepaid taxi booth - we really didn't fancy to be ripped off and dragged around Mumbai at this hour.
I replaced my six times table used for conversion of dirhams and was re-familiarising myself with the eight times table, as £1 was roughly 80 rupees. In the queue we met Raymondo, a tall blonde haired guy from the Netherlands. We decided to share a taxi. We were aware that things were quite cheap over here, but when we handed a collective 600 rupees over we realised how cheap. We had just paid £7.50 to travel forty minutes across Mumbai.
We found rows of taxis lined up outside, and were taken to ours: 8474. It was a black and yellow sardine tin on wheels. Our back packs were placed on a metal roof rack and secured with blue yarn. This was going to be great. I was so excited for my first taxi experience in an Indian city. I was ready for the battle to commence. Blair and Raymondo ducked their heads in the back, while I climbed into the front seat which seamed to be as close to the dashboard as physically possible, and of course the latch to slide it back was broken.
It became apparent very quickly that drivers here do not rely only on their sight alone to drive, oh no, they make full use of their horns. The constant beeping and honking was to indicate to other drivers of their presence and to move anyone along, whether they be pedestrians, cyclists, lorries or buses, and regardless of whether you could move along or not. This made any type of traffic jam or bottleneck situation deafening.
We were driving along a motorway-type road, I say this because there were no markings indicating lanes. Cars cutting each other out, with erratic change in speed and direction was the way here. We passed mopeds with up to three men on them, none of the moped drivers or passengers wearing helmets or protective gear. People sitting in the back of lorries and trucks, using the merchandise they were transporting as seating. The freshly printed papers of the day, tied together in bundles, balanced on bicycles. Later on we saw entire families on mopeds; women would cradle a baby and between her and presumably her husband were sandwiched up to three children. An impressive amount of people could also be crammed into taxis.
We were approaching a red light at a crossroad. We weren't slowing down. We didn't slow down at all. Our taxi driver casually looked both ways, nothing to the left and a lorry around 300 yards to the right. Unphased by the truck or the red light he continued straight on. By the time we'd come up to the second red light and was familiar with the drill, I took in the sights.
We arrived at the Travellers Inn, our home for the following night. By this time it was 06:30. We were hoping we could maybe check in earlier than the usual time of 12:00, even if there was a charge. We should have known what the answer was going to be; the corridor was filled with some seriously glum looking people, waiting on their rooms. We left our luggage in a safe room and decided to walk.
We were walking through an awakening city.
The air was heavy, smoggy and polluted. People covered in scarfs, sheets and blankets were sleeping along the streets, in any place they could find. A boy was sleeping along a pathway, in an awkward position. No blanket was covering him, but the most noticeable thing was the fact that his leg was hanging over the curb and his foot resting on the road; cars that whizzed by only just missed his small foot.

Men were washing and going to the toilet in the streets. Some of the people who were awake walked around barefoot. Dilapidated buildings and shacks lined the streets. Scaffolding was a creation made of bamboo sticks and yarn. Stray cats and dogs roamed the city, either sleeping or sniffing out food.
We came across a slum. Matchboxes of corrugated iron - some balancing on top of others - homed families, most still sleeping. There was a strong smell of urine and excrement, that continued to hit us in waves. People were scrounging through rubbish bins and bags for scraps of food or things to sell. Blair mentioned that glass bottles of coke were collected and refilled with coke and sold on. Mounds of decaying food waste and rubbish were piled up against the curbs. We were extra vigilant about where we stepped, and kept an eye out especially for fecal matter. We saw goats either tied to shacks or lying on the ground. Kids were running playing with their neighbours so not to disturb their still sleeping parents. Street cleaners brushed up dirt and rubbish and burnt the piles as they went along. We took no photos of the slums or their inhabitants. It felt wrong to capture their everyday lives as if they were a tourist attraction. Fishnets were strewn along the roadsides, with tens of people untangling silver fish ready for sale.
We walked for three hours. People were running, walking, practicing yoga and Tai Chi in congregations along the road lining the sea front. The sea was black; I had read it was toxic. We were in a new world entirely from the one we left a few hours ago.
We got a taxi up to the famous Taj Mahal hotel. We walked along its front and ahead of us stood the Gateway to India, where small fishing boats were moored.
We were approached by a young woman. Hung from her arm were beautiful hand maid wrist ties made from a beautiful perfumed white blossom. She silently tied one to each of our arms. Blair went to reach for money when she pleaded for us not to give her any. She instead asked us to buy her some food. I couldn't believe it. I instantly said we would, since we were looking for some breakfast, but I didn't know where the nearest food stand was. She led us passed the Gateway and down a busy street. After a few minutes, we were brought to a little shack selling food. I asked her what she wanted, she replied "milk for baby and rice for me". I asked the shopkeeper how much this would come to. So if Blair wasn't best pleased about having flowers tied around his wrist, had been denied the easy option of giving the woman 50 rupees and made to walk further than we already had, been told that he was now being charged 600 rupees for milk powder and rice just did it. He laughed at the shopkeeper and walked out. Now we were being hounded by a different woman, who had ditched all manners and was just demanding money from Blair, telling him he had enough cash on him to spare. In annoyance he gave the 50rupees he was willing to initially part with and she walked off. I realised that the young woman who had gifted us the flowers had been robbed of her money.
After this, I blinkered everyone who begged, the most difficult thing was walking passed the children. We had a few rupee coins on us - the equivalent maybe of a few pennies - I handed it to a child no older than four. She had beautiful round eyes, and held the coins out proudly with a huge smile. A minute or so later, I turned around and she was still behind me, but this time another three women with babies were too. The young girl still had her hand out. It was empty. I held her hand, of course she didn't understand me when I asked her where the money had gone. She continued to smile, as if she was playing a game, not yet wise to the ways of begging. This aspect of Mumbai was really tough. I had never experienced such a scale of poverty and begging.
Blair had told me not to give hand outs to children, because they are usually used by adults. He was told during his time in China that children would be kidnapped because of their greater appeal to charitable and naive tourists like me. We were natural targets, and throughout the day we were approached by pregnant women, women carrying babies, blind men lead by younger beggars and of course children. The kids clutched or tugged on our shirts. Sitting down to a big meal really didn't feel right.
On one of the monuments next to the huge train station of Mumbai read: Let truth Prevail. It did here, the whole truth of India's slums and poverty were on show for everyone to see, it was inescapable. Unlike the darker sides of Dubai and Abu Dhabi which we had read about in an article by the independent (Google it for a fascinating read on how the UAE employ the Indian and Pakistani builders of the shining buildings, the article is titled : The darker side of Dubai-Dad, this is recommended to you) it was not hidden away from sight, it is a huge part of this city.
We opted for a Starbucks that abutted the Taj Mahal hotel, mainly for the free WiFi to let our families know we were safe. The higher end shops and restaurants were manned by a security guard or doorman, and following the terrorist attacks on the hotel in 2008 metal detectors were placed at any entranceway into the hotel. It was really strange to be scanned for going to drink coffee.
We returned to the hostel at 11:30 and our room was ready. We had no hot water, but the cold shower was so refreshing and cooled us down. I made the mistake of falling to sit on the bed; it was rock solid. But it was clean and we were so tired it made no difference. In fact if all of our hostels are like the Travellers Inn we will be fine, we could do much, much worse...I'm sure Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos and Malaysia will challenge that!
We slept until 18:00. We were hungry. So Blair sought out the 'must try's' of the Lonely Planet eBook. We went via taxi to Samrat where Blair had the best meal he has ever had! He opted for an all you can eat vegetable Thali, while I chose a traditional vegetable dish in a tomato sauce with a plain naan. We also tried the buttermilk that was free refill and a popular choice with the locals. It was perfect to neutralise any burning tongues. We were stuffed. We had had a big meal in a restaurant with as many waiters as there were tables, and all for a huge £11!

Dessert came from the very cool 210 degrees bakery outside the Samrat. Cubes of chocolate and biscuit were broken up and mixed into your choice of ice cream, this was done on a huge slab of cold granite to stop the ice cream from melting. Melted white and milk chocolate are drizzled over the granite in the shape of a heart and left to cool and solidify. It is then lifted and stuck into the ice cream and chocolate mixture and the whole thing sits in a wafer pot, its then sprinkled with the Indian equivalent to M&M's! Serious death by chocolate!

We slept until eleven this morning. We showered and packed up our bags ready to check out by twelve. We left our bags at the hostel and started on a walking tour of the city. It is by far the best way to see the city and probably the safest. Since cars don't really obey lights or adhere to a rational protocol in their approach to roundabouts, pedestrians, other vehicles or in fact any safe driving. Apparently its best to find a gap in he road, and walk at a steady pace across the roads. The stress in on the 'steady pace' as you don't dodge nor avoid the traffic, it avoids or dodges you. Basically if you were to speed up half way through a crossing, you're far more likely to be squished! I can't say we followed that advice, it was more like me clutching onto Blair's arm and just going for it, trusting these drivers and putting our safety in their hands did not appeal at all. The traffic wardens were less than effective; armed with a whistle, their shrilling did nothing to deter the ruthless taxi drivers or the shrieking honking. There was an unspoken respect between taxi drivers, and of defiance from regular cars towards taxis: Taxis always win here.
We soon came across the local markets and bazaars. There was more fresh fruit than you could shake a stick at: coconuts, pineapples, oranges, grapes, sugarcane, melons and more. There were stalls selling freshly squeezed lemon and lime juices.  Knock off clothes, sunglasses, belts, wallets and anything else you could think of were being sold for pennies along the arched walkways, sheltered from the sun. Tiny food stalls frying street food. We would have tried some of these, but we didn't want to chance catching the dreaded 'Delhi Belly' with an international flight only hours away.

It was really warm and muggy, which made the smells far stronger. We were hit by some serious tidal waves of rotting and discarded food and fruit. The hanging raw meat section was a particularly grim experience. Livestock wondered the narrow streets: cows, bulls, goats, sheep and chickens were all to be seen munching or pecking away at any tidbits they could find.
We didn't have to look too hard for the British influences. Red double decker buses, Gothic buildings such as the High Court and Central Train Station (which is a registered UNESCO site), and most apparent of all was the cricket.

Men and children of all ages played everywhere and anywhere; they played in the middle of streets and alleyways ( and would move aside for honking traffic), beside busy highways, on walkways or pavements and in old, unused buildings.
Our late lunch was delicious, again a recommendation of The Lonely Planet; we visited the Cream Centre where we indulged in more Indian dishes. Mine was fiery but I battled through the burn until I was stuffed. For desert we visited a khulfi parlour that is praised in the LP, and it must be good, because when we arrived, locals were huddled around ordering yummy khulfi. Blair went for chocolate and I splurged an extra five rupees on a Saffron ice cream. It was delicious. The khulfi is weighed on old fashioned bronze scales and served out on a betelnut leaf before being handed to us on plates.

Our taxi drive to the airport took us passed the outskirts of Mumbai's largest slum and filming place for Slumdog Millionaire. We saw a man sleeping next the middle barrier of the motorway and a herd of cattle munching away at the contents of a huge waste bin.

This city is the liveliest, most bizarre place, it really is incredible. Mumbai oozes character and hands out perspective by the bucket load and gives your moral conscious a good shake up: it's an undeniable reality check. I'm so glad we got to stop off here on our way to South East Asia.
We are now sitting in the airport awaiting the flight that will take us to our third destination: Bangkok

Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque and leaving Abu Dhabi

09:30 : We were tired and bleary eyed after our day touring Dubai. We made an extra conscious effort to ensure we were dressed appropriately;, arms, legs, shoulders, chest and neck were all covered. We caught a taxi from the Sheraton Hotel - a minute walk from Dave and Tigi's apartment. We just made it in time for the 11:00am tour. We walked around and queued to enter. We were next in line for inspection. A man's hand indicated that I stop, "no entry. Cover hair, need scarf". I was told to leave the queue. This was the only day I had left the apartment without my trusty pashmina. I was gutted. I tried fashioning a headscarf out of one of two vest tops I was wearing. This resulted in Blair laughing at me and saying I looked ridiculous.
We had been informed that abayas were provided for non Muslims. When we found out where they were available, we were too late for the tour. We had missed the last one of the morning.
The plan had been to do the tour, and then make our way to Yas Island and go to Ferrari world where the worlds fastest rollercoaster awaited, catapulting you to a speed of 240km/h. If you want to the effect of such a force on the human face, YouTube Alonso and Massa at Ferrari world. Now our plans were scuppered. The next tour for the Mosque wasn't until 16:30. We had to be back at the apartment and ready for 18:30, Dave and Tigi were taking us out for dinner. We had no time to do both Ferrari World and the Mosque. There was no contest for either of us. We flagged down a taxi and returned to the flat. There we stayed and relaxed until it was time to return to the Mosque for the second time, this time though, I clutched my pashmina ready for the tour.
Before I entered, I wrapped the pashmina around my head, covering all my hair and shoulders.
Our tour guide was a local man, unusually tall and wide in comparison to the typical Arab. His name was Abdula, and was a Civil Engineering student. He was funny, charismatic and spoke wonderful English: the ideal tour guide. For the following hour, he inundated us with the astounding facts of the Mosque. I'm not going to even attempt to describe what it was like standing in the main foyer, or the walkways, prayer rooms or centre square; I'll let Blair's photos show you.

The white pillars of the mosque were Greek white marble covered in beautiful floral decor. There were 18 panels on each pillar, and over 1,000 pillars in total. Each panel was hand made and unique. The flowers were made from semiprecious gems: rubies, amethyst, mother of pearl.

Abdula explained how the late Sheikh Zayed - founder of the UAE - had the vision of building a Mosque back in the 90's as a gift to the world and visitors of Abu Dhabi; A tolerant mosque that welcomes non-Muslims, and blends all cultures. A demonstration of this was the design of the Mosque - a lengthy ten year process - being split to represent the hemispheres, so we had entered the southern hemisphere, and were going to work our way into the centre and into the Northern hemisphere where the main prayer rooms were situated.
To indicate these splits, the floral decor on the pillars were flowers indigenous to the southern hemisphere. The flowers creeping the pillars would transform to the appropriate hemisphere.
The mosque was surrounded by shallow pools whose purpose was to reflect the subtly lit Mosque at night. The light system was described as an "automatic system controlled by the moon". Abdula paused after this short sentence and soaked up the groups confusion. He smiled and repeated the line again. The lights are in sync with the lunar cycle, so the angle and colour will change every night just as the moon does!
We moved to the centre, a huge open air space which can hold thousands of worshipers once the indoor prayer rooms are filled. The floor was tiled with huge slabs of white marble, again decorated with flowers.

Abdula knelt and showed us that the white marble was fragmented, appearing up close as finely mosaicked. The reason behind this was that even in the height of summer the fierce suns heat is diffracted, resulting in a continuously cool floor. I had noticed on the floors and in between the huge slabs of marble gaps of around 2cms wide and deep. My first thought was that they had forgotten to do the grouting....what a fool! They worked as a drainage system when the floor is cleaned.
We walked into the Northern hemisphere, removed our shoes and through the enormous glass doors and in to the entrance hall leading into the main prayer room.

Above us was a chandelier, it glistened high above us and it was huge. Everyone was mesmerized by it. Abdul joked for us not to bother paying any attention to the smallest chandelier of the Mosque, we were about to see the daddy of all chandeliers.
Weighing two tonnes and covered in over a million multicoloured swarovski crystals, the largest chandelier dangled above the main prayer room through the next set of Italian glass doors. There are around forty million swarovski crystals embedded throughout the Mosque. Beyond the chandelier was the detailed inner dome of 32 metres in diameter, in a Moroccan style.

The outer domes have been noted as resembling the domes of India's Taj Mahal, or even St. Paul's Cathedral; this is exactly what Sheikh Zayed had wished to evoke. These reactions also demonstrated the great success of the Mosque to capture global influences and cultures and the Sheikh Zayed's motto: "open door, open minds".
For me the masterpiece of the prayer room was the carpet. Handmade in Iran and took two years to make, it is the single largest carpet in the world. Its vibrant colours are all from the dye of spices; saffron, cumin, making the carpet entirely natural.

The materials used to create this artwork weighed in at a monumental forty seven tonnes. Once the carpet had reached a certain weight it was brought over and laid in the mosque and then completed. The final step was the shaving of the carpet. This left two inch bands, a metre apart, that ran the entire width of the room. During Fridays - the Holy day for Muslims - worshipers had an easy and organised system to follow and line up. Men and women can not pray in the same line, but are allowed in the same room. Each person must stand with their feet at hips width apart, with feet and shoulders touching your neighbour - hence why women and men cannot stand together. In front is a white wall with Allah's name written in gold in 99 different styles of Arabic calligraphy . This also signifies the direction of prayer, towards Mecca.

There are several methods employed to discover the direction, varying from hotels placing arrows on the ceilings or tables to the more modern iprayer app. Praying is essential to Muslims, an act of worship in which they partake in five times a day.
The tour came to an end and question time came around. The first and obvious question was about the cost of building of the Mosque. Abdula told us we could easily find an estimated value on wikipedia or Google, but officially its true value unknown. The Mosque was the Sheikh's gift to the world and his personal gift to God, revealing its cost was not relevant or even important.

We snapped a few last photos as the call of pray or 'Azan' sang through the Mosque. We were ushered out so Muslims could make their way in to pray. The sun was setting and the minarets glowed a deep orange. This visit will have a lasting impression on the both of us, and for me the highlight of Abu Dhabi.

We went for dinner in the British Club that Dave and Tigi were members of. We had a lovely meal, and I took advantage of the fact that this was the last steak I was going to have in a while!
It was a great last day and it was good to spend time and catch up with Dave and Tigi.

Our last day in Abu Dhabi and the holy day of the week. We had a chill out day and packed our bags.
At around 15:00 Tigi had laid out lunch, a traditional meal with Desda and Tigi, with salad, Arabic sausages and rice. Then we were treated to an Ethiopian coffee ceremony. Everything is laid on a mat on the floor and surrounded by greenery,- typically grass is used, but picking grass or flowers is forbidden here, so improvisation called for sprigs of coriander. Coffee beans are roasted on burning charcoal and put aside to later ground for the next ceremony. A traditional pot of water is then placed upon the glowing charcoal. Small parts of the charcoal are also rotated to light the incense. Espresso sized cups are filled with the delicious smelling coffee.

 It is typical to drink 3 cups during the ceremony, so not wanting to shy away from traditional experiences, we both had three. I had been warned it was strong, but the strength of my coffee back home is known by my family to be ridiculous, so I was ready for the caffeine hit. Oh. My. Lord. An hour or so later I felt like a Duracell bunny on a mission. It was without doubt responsible for me staying awake for roughly twenty four hours until we arrived in Mumbai.
Our final visit was down to the harbour where Dave's boat was moored. Further on were some enormous yachts, a few were named after the last and current Sheiks. Tigi mentioned they may well belong to local Sheiks.
Tigi took us for a quick drink before we left for the airport. I tried my first avocado juice, drizzled with honey; it was a meal within itself.
We said our goodbyes and thanked profusely for their hospitality.
The first six days had flown by. We were now leaving our first destination and looking forward to what our second had in store. Bring on Mumbai

Dubai

Day 4: 

Destination: Dubai

We needed to leave the apartment at 07.30 in order to catch the Emirates Express to Dubai at 08.00. Blair woke up first and was taking photos of the sunrise from our bedroom window when I awoke. He had managed to do so without an alarm; this is something I am incapable of doing and heavily rely upon my alarm.  We had both set our alarms for 06.30,  however they had been set for the wrong days! We quietly got ready and had breakfast. Just as we left the apartment we caught Dave for a quick chat,  he was up early to do some research for a meeting he had. He wished us luck and expressed his envy of our day ahead. We hopped into a taxi and drove south of the Island towards Abu Dhabi's Central bus station. After walking across the bus stands a few times,  working which was the Dubai bus,  it pulled up. We queued to board. All other passengers were clutching onto tickets; we walked back into the main building,  purchased 2 singles for Dubai at dr 25 each and returned outside. We walked as quickly as we could, joking about how the doors would imminently slide shut and the coach would leave without us. Nothing like an early morning rush to get the heart going though! Buses leave every 20 minutes or so,  so to miss this ride wouldn't have been a disaster. Nevertheless we made it. We walked to the back of the cool, air conditioned bus. We reclined our comfortable seats and relaxed.  It was 08.08 and the bus's thermometer read 20 degrees. Hyfryd! It felt like a short flight; there was an attendant who handed out menus and subsequently took down any orders, and served tea,  coffee and snacks. This bus journey was better than my regular easyjet flight from Liverpool to Belfast International! 

Blair was listening to my ipod and scrolling through the apparent interminable dross I had on there.  He made the schoolboy error of pointing out Ferrari World with the ear phones still in,  quite funny when you're sitting on a bus full of sleeping locals! 

We drove into a city of towering gleaming skyscrapers. 

The bus stop was in the oldest part of the city. Not knowing exactly where the nearest pick up point for the Big Bus Tour was, we walked towards the local Souk. We walked through cobbled alleyways where small stalls sold beautifully embroidered silks, scarfs, traditional dress and other touristic paraphernalia. Souk owners sat on their stools placed under fans. They honed in two western tourists wondering towards then. The competition began and each used all powers of persuasion to bag a buyer.

I was shown the vibrant jewelled materials and dresses. After they realised they were only getting polite smiles and a shake of the head from me, they tried their tactics on the big bear! I was instrumental to their efforts with Blair, telling him that he should treat me with gifts from their stalls. This didn't work. A man half of Blair's height and width, in what must have been desperation, stood in front of him and stopped Blair in his tracks. Blair smiled, sidestepped and walked on. There was one last tactic from the final salesman at the end on the way, who seen all his competitors fail. He brought out a traditional Arabic headdress and went to place it on Blair's head, insisting that he would look handsome wearing it! I started laughing, as did the salesman at Blair's reaction, he looked like he was going to run a mile, even in the heat. With all efforts exhausted, we walked on passed the rest of the Souks, including the Gold Souk where you could by a gold ingot or have jewellery made for you as you designed it. The spice Souk was also near where you could buy bags of inexpensive saffron.

We passed the small waterway, where dhows carried locals and tourists from one side of the city to the other.

We came to an old Fort surrounded modern governmental buildings, shops and apartments. A museum displayed the history of the Fort. We reached the entrance but turned on our heels when we saw bus loads of happy snappy orientals had beaten us to it. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise; as we left, the familiar red Big Bus came around the corner and pulled up to collect new riders.

We climbed to the top deck and sat in the back of the bus, away from the other tourists who were huddled under the canape roof. We plugged in our earphones, selected the English channel, slathered ourselves in suncream and soaked up both the tour guides information and the hot Arabian sun.

Dubai appeared far busier than Abu Dhabi. It had many more hotels, shopping malls and lavish apartments too. 

We drove parallel with the coast and the Iranian Gulf. We passed the World Islands which were put on the market for a cool $10-100,000,000. We were later told by Dave that these Islands were a huge financial disappointment. After paying an exorbitant amount for the land (rock and sand really) not only would the bidders have to built their houses/villas/mansions, but they would also have to supply their supposed 'country' or 'continent' with water and electricity: none of the World Islands had any infrastructure.

Next on the agenda was one of a few hotels in the world to achieve the god-like status of 7*: the Burj Al Arab. To bolster the hotels greatness, the tour provided us with its endless amenities. There was no shying away from name dropping either. Robert De Niro and Lindsay Lohan were only two of many A-star celebs who attended the opening party. Tiger Woods drove a ball from the rooftop. Federer and Agassi had a game of virtual tennis on the roof. It was built 250m from the shore on another manmade island.

We continued to pass other attractions all of which had earned in one way or another the title of 'greatest, fastest, most expensive in the world'.

The final attraction of the shore was no exception to what we had viewed, Dubai had more jaw dropping and awing to show. Having been nicknamed the 'Eighth Wonder of the World', the Jameirah Palm Island was the largest man made structure to be seen from space. It is one of three palms that had been created by dredging thousands of tonnes of rock and sand from the shallowest parts of the Iranian Gulf. Upon the Jameirah Palm were luxurious apartment blocks, villas, shopping malls and hotels galore. 

The bus dipped down under the trunk of the palm and underground until resurfacing at the crescents of the palm.

Standing proudly on our right and facing the still sea was the Atlantis Hotel. Its pink exterior encased a fantasy world that was dedicated to the great lost city. It had a water park, dolphin show and school, and had shipped in 48,000 different species of fish, mammals and crustaceans ( a number were placed in a huge fish tank and sea pool that surrounded the hotel ).

We made our way back to the stalk, dipping back through the huge tunnel. We were told that many projects were still in the construction process and others had to be abandoned due to the drying up of funds. Dubai had incurred huge debts. This was rectified when neighbouring Abu Dhabi (who own 80% of the UAE's oil, in comparison to Dubai's fractional percentage) opened their cheque book. Due to their low levels of oil, Dubai focused its energy into business;  hence being the commercial hub of the UAE.

We headed inland and turned back to where the Burj Khalifa's needle pointed top reached into the sky. We had two stops before departed for our tour of the World's tallest building at 15:00.

The Emirates mall is worth a mention, with its endless designer shops, eateries and its own ski slope with real snow! It has several slopes progressing in difficulty, and provides all equipment and clothing.

We arrived our destination, yet another mall; the boss of malls, so fabulous Dubai gave its name to it. 

We had five minutes to collect our tickets and run to the back of the Dubai Mall and to the bottom of the Burj Khalifa. We queued for a while and were ushered into a lift. It was dimly lit, and all eyes focused on the blue number on the left side of the lift doors. I never would have known we had began our ascension except for this light blue number increasing steadily until we arrived the 124th floor. Although, our ears popped a few times!

We had of course been told all about the facts of this engineering feat: the materials used to build the Burj Khalifa bear the same weight as 100,000 elephants; it stands at 828m; its point can seen from 95km away; the total length of the rebar used, if laid out, could span a quarter of the worlds surface, or if you'd prefer, it would span from New York City to Sydney!

We were guided to the terrace which wraps around a quarter of the Burj. We looked down over the entire city, where people were undetectable. The desert span out to the right and Arabian sea lay still and turquoise to our left. We were sheltered from the wind by large square panes of glass. So, we did what any other curious and slightly unhinged person would do; we stuck our feet out of the bottom gap, our hands from the middle and finally our heads! Looking up to the needle and the sky above was the scariest thing.

Nothing like a good work out for the heart and a healthy amount of adrenalin coursing through you! We obviously got some great shots! Its still a huge attraction though, so as you can imagine it was pretty busy. Once we felt like we had our monies worth we queued up to descend back to a natural air pressure and height from the ground.

Re-entering the Dubai Mall, we took in the features that made this more than you're ordinary shopping mall experience. Outside were dancing fountains, similar to those in Las Vegas. Inside, an enormous  aquarium that rose three levels of boutiques and  stores was filled with fish, turtles, sharks, stingrays, crabs and the odd diver. A waterfall that began at the very top plunged past all floors into a lit pool, to which silver mannequin men were fixed mid dive.

We had crammed in the sight-seeing of two cities in two days. So we sat overlooking the 'fish tank' at the 'Perfect Cupcake'. I ordered my favourite red velvet with vanilla icing and a fresh orange juice, and Blair opted for chocolate sponge with nutella frosting. This place was aptly named. These cupcakes were amazing! It even gave the famous Hummingbird of Notting Hill a run for its money! The sponge was super soft and the frosting was just sweet enough - yum!

Wed had enough by now. We finally made our way out of a true maze of designer names and perfumed filled walkways. We took the metro. To the bus station that we had arrived at ten hours earlier.

We talked about our day and decided we preferred Abu Dhabi. The multitude of shopping malls and hotels just really wasn't for us. 

wasn't for us. 

Reflecting on everything I had seen and heard about the city, I felt it was a a place in constant pursuit of status: an obsessive urge to be noticed by the world