Galapagos Goodbye

With less than a month to go, and funds running low, our thoughts keep turning to home, London, friends and family, and all those things we left behind in search of action, adventure and cultures so different to our own.

Psychologically, we're almost home already, as we surf the net for job information and think about wedding plans. Cutting our trip short by two weeks, we have changed our itinerary to include a place which, at the outset, was No.1 on the list of 23 places we wanted to see before we die.

Unfortunately it was also the first to be crossed off the list, as we erroneously thought we needed thousands of pounds to get there. To end our year with a final flourish, in perhaps the ultimate of all eco-destinations, we are going to the place where the world´s scientific understanding of nature really all started. We are going to The Galapagos Islands.

Darwin´s famous "Enchanted Isles", 600 miles off the coast of Ecuador, are also known as the "Islas del Fuego" (Fire Islands) due to their volcanic nature, and are a sublime evolutionary wonder. Formed by underwater eruptions, the older islands have gradually moved south eastwards to make way for new ones when the time comes for the cones to blow. Onto these barren deserts of lava rock, fragile eco-systems developed over time, giving each island its own unique flora and fauna as - incredibly, given the islands´ isolation - certain species arrived from the mainland and/or other islands in the chain.

When Darwin arrived on Isla Isabella in 1835, he wasn´t the first human visitor and he wouldn´t be the last. The islands were soon to be ravaged by the combined efforts of pirates and whaling crews who used the Galapagos as a useful base for the once fertile (now all but destroyed) Sperm Whale breeding grounds.


Amongst the damage done by those early intruders was the decimation of the Giant Tortoise population; once sailors realized they could store live tortoises upside down in the ships holds, without water, for up to a year, they became an important source of fresh meat and thus an essential victual for any ship passing through. The creatures populations were soon dramatically reduced. Other disasters included forest fires and the introduction of pigs, goats, rats and other invasive species.



The Galapagos islands is seen as a barometer for environmental changes in the wider world, and it is apt that our trip will end here. Throughout our travels, nothing has struck me more than the wonders of nature and how fast they are disappearing. From the flooding of Tiger Leaping Gorge in China to the melting snows of the Himalayas, the sights we have been lucky enough to see with our own eyes may well not be here by the time any future offspring are old enough to travel here themselves. Despite the incredible year we´ve had, there is something deeply depressing about scooting round the Earth´s natural wonders before it´s too late.


For me, nowhere are these rapid changes more devastating that under the waves. Out of sight, out of mind, the marine life and coral gardens we have witnessed this year are quite literally being driven to extinction before our very eyes. In Asia, reefs are bombed with dynamite and polluted with cyanide to provide the Far East with billions of sushi dinners. On one pristine coral reef in Borneo, there was no virtually no marine life; at Jakarta airport, we saw a shop full of shark fins of all shapes and sizes for shark fin soup.




Here in the Galapagos Islands those very sharks may well have been illegally fished from UNESCO protected waters. Like all the marine parks we´ve dived this year, the ocean here is victim to poaching on a grand scale. Abundant schools of Hammerhead sharks, for which the Galapagos are famous, are becoming less and less common - almost completely due to illegal shark finning. This has a knock on effect on the whole eco-system: without larger predatory fish to drive the smaller ones to the surface, the famous sea birds such as the Blue Footed Booby, Galapagos Penguins and red chested Frigate Birds are unable to fish for food. Land and sea are in perfect harmony.

Before coming here, I felt quite guilty for being a tourist - just another one of the many pressures on this natural environment. However, I soon realized that controlled, responsible eco-tourism is perhaps the only way these islands will generate enough money to protect themselves from serious commercial exploitation. That´s not to say that tourism is good for the Galapagos: guides are mandatory on some islands, shoes are checked for foreign soil being passed between the islands and bags are searched for fruit and seeds of invasive species. But controlled tourism certainly does less damage than illegal fishermen camping unchecked on a beach.

The Charles Darwin Research Institute tries to stem the tide by removing parasitic plants, goats, dogs and other foreign species which are already here, and to breed and reintroduce some of the ones which have almost been lost. Sadly, Lonesome George, the last of Pinza Island´s Giant Tortoises, steadfastly refuses to mate with genetically similar females; meanwhile the goats stand on the backs of his cousins to eat the last of their natural habitat.

But amongst all the doom and gloom, the Galapagos islands remains enchanted and enchanting, and are one of the most magical destinations of our year away. When Darwin´s finches come right up to you and start pecking your toes with their over-sized beaks, you realise how the greatest naturalist of all time was able to study these creatures so closely and notice their evolutionary differences during his surprisingly short stay of four weeks. Of all our activities here - from bike riding to horse riding to volcano climbing - it was, of course, the scuba diving which provided the really magic moments.

Through currents so strong they can rip your mask from your face, occasional bad visibility and mammoth Pacific surge, came big schools of White Tip Reef Sharks; Galapagos Sharks looking pretty damn tough; Green Turtles pootling about with their bulky frames; huge Eagle and Manta Rays and a spectacular school of of Mobula Rays, 40 odd strong, flying through the sea like something out of star wars. Hanging to a bare rock at 20m below, looking above at a wriggling Hammerhead Shark making its way against the tide, fills me with a huge sense of privilege that we´ve seen so many incredible things.

But I also love London. The itchy feet have been well and truly scratched, and it's time to return home. Thanks Planet Earth. You were great.

Raw Hide!!

Of all the countries we´ve visited on this trip, none is as much maligned, especially by those who have never visited, as Colombia. Government websites advise against travel, news stories focus on kidnappings and guerilla warfare and National Geographic Channel is still fond of the odd documentary about the exploits of the Medellin and Cali Cocaine Cartels of the 1980s and 90s (I should know - I worked on one less than two years ago).


That´s not to say that Colombia doesn´t play a little on its famous bad boys - the National Police Museum in Bogota is well worth a visit for its exhibition on the escape and capture of Pablo Escobar and includes such items as Pablo´s personal pager (he was the first to have one in South America - very high tec for the 1980s), his police radio for spying in on the opposition, the jacket he was shot in and even the bloodstained tile from the rooftop he was killed on.

Medellin is still a gangland city, only these days the violence is orchestrated by paramilitary groups connected to the government rather than Pablo.

As a tourist wandering through the city centre´s Botero (Colombia´s most famous artist) sculpture park, you would honestly never know these problems even existed; as a rationalist, you could easily compare them to gang problems in Philadelphia or LA, and yet that hardly stops people from visiting the USA. The reality is that Colombia is safer than ever, and as we passed through Bogota (like London in Autumn - freezing cold, a bit grey, fabulous night life and culture); Medellin (like turning up in Bradford and expecting there to be something to do) and Cali (smart, sophisticated and extremely cool) we felt that nowhere we´d seen was as moody as some of the areas of London we´ve lived in over the last few years.


Southern Colombia - in years gone by a virtual no-go area for all but the bravest traveller - has also largely opened up to tourists. It´s now safe to travel by bus (very stylish with lots of leg room) all the way from Cali to the Ecuadorian border, but the most rewarding parts of the south still require a bit more effort and long bumpy bus journeys. San Augustin - a charming little colonial town - is tucked away from the main tourist trail, but soon became my favourite place in Colombia for both scenery and culture. Here in the foothills of the Andes, Pre-Columbian civilisations left behind the only evidence of their existence in the form of dozens of carved enigmatic statues and tombs, before being invaded by the Incas at the end of the 15th century. It was also here that many of the beautiful Gold artefacts in Bogota´s Museo d´Oro were originally found.



The best way to visit these wonderful monuments, scattered as they are across kilometres of hillside, is on horseback. Seeing as the last time we´d got on horses Jonny had nearly been thrown off a cliff, he was understandably a bit nervous about the prospect but, hat´s off to him, he duly got back on the horse.

The horses provided by our guide Humberto were absolutely fantastic and even seemed to enjoy cantering up steep hillsides. Before we knew it we were galloping between the various archeological sites, only dismounting our noble steeds to gawp at some pretty explicit evidence of child sacrifice and marvel at the implicit cleverness of the imagery and craftsmanship. On top of that, the tour was conducted completely in Spanish, and we ended up translating for those who spoke less than we did - a real sign of how much our Spanish has improved in such a short space of time.

At one of the sites, a girl was reading the Mayan Calendar for people, and mine, "Red Rhythmnic Earth" apparently meant that I was often in the right place at the right time. She looked up my birth date, and the sign that corresponded to 2008 was indeed slap bang on Colombia on her printed world map. You can´t beat a bit of mysticism when you´re travelling, and I certainly felt like I was in the right place at the right time.

Glorious Mud!

As hangover cures go, I´ve always sworn by the Full English and a Bloody Mary. But after two days in Cartegena - mainly spent out on the tiles - I was in need of something approaching a miracle cure.

Cartegena is the jewel of all colonial cities. Its perfectly preserved squares and fountains, high walls and blooming balconies offer respite from the boiling heat of the day; museums and galleries document with great glee the various Spanish successes against British pirates (most famously Francis Drake) ; and a plethora of smart shops and expensive restaurants cater for Cartegena´s beautiful people. Unfortunately the tourist dollar they are seeking here is from cruise ships and wealthy South Americans, rendering much of what is good about Cartegena well out of our price range, and peppering the streets with ´living statues´and persistent hawkers, but all things considered its a lively and interesting place to spend time.


On our second night in Cartegena we found ourselves wandering around town, looking for something both fun and affordable. Seeing as we completely failed to find the party on the 20th floor of the five star hotel where all the models and pop stars were hanging out (as a fellow backpacker joyfully informed us in a loud Finchley accent the next morning: "I´m from London, yeah, and I´ve seen some wicked parties, but this was the best party I´ve ever been to in my whole life.") we headed for Via Arsenal where the clubs and bars are concentrated, only to end up in a club resembling a school disco, or as a friend more accurately put it, a ´torture-chamber´, before deciding to do what Cartegenans do best: Rum and Salsa! We spent a long night in a series of salsa joints, getting down with the locals and drinking bad mojitos until the small hours.







At 9am the next morning we dragged ourselves out of bed and were duly bundled onto a tour bus to Volcan Baru. Residual alcohol levels still being fairly high, I managed the one and a half hour ride out of the city in good spirits, although Jonny - squeezed between the Spanish speaking tour guides at the front - looked a bit the worse for wear. This particular volcano is renowned for its health reviving properties and, as the local myth goes, had once spouted fire and lava but was charmed by a local witchdoctor and now conveniently splurges a ready supply of soft mud in a crater about the size of a large jacuzzi. Could this be the miracle hangover cure I was looking for? Although I´d seen pictures of friends covered from head to foot in volcano mud, nothing had quite prepared me for this


We donned our oldest swimming gear and descended the stairs to the suprisingly cool mud bath which contained 30 or so Colombians, including 3 toothless male masseurs waiting to give you a good rub down. I wasn´t sure which I was more afraid of - the mud or the men - but it soon became clear that we would all have to surrender ourselves completely to this surreal experience. The bouyant mud holds you up, so rather that sinking into the crater you float on the top. Whatever position you end up in it is notoriously difficult to move, not because the mud offers that much resistance, but more for fear you´ll lose your balance and end up head first and stuck in the mud.

At this point, looking around at various people wallowing in grey matter, the last thing you expect is to see someone you recognise. So when one of the girls from our tour bus said to Jonny (fresh from his mud massage) "you seem familiar" and he said the same back, I nearly fell off my virtual `mud chair´. Not only had these two met before, but it had been on another trip in Bolivia - a full seven years previously! Obviously South America has a magnetism that keeps people coming back: who knows who we´ll meet next time, or where.



After Cartegena, we mooched up the coast to the beach resort of Taganga, stepping stone to the jungle and beaches of Parque Natural Tayrona. Taganga is a little party town as well, with giant speakers on every street corner pumping out the local rhythmns to anyone passing, and the ubiquitous Israeli travellers host Psy-trance parties that only ever start at midnight, meaning over 25s like myself can´t stand the pace and decide to go to bed early (pah! who wants to listen to trance anyway?) . But Parque Tayrona - less than an hour away - couldn´t be more different.


Strict door searching policies mean that there are absolutely no drugs or hard liquor allowed in the park - quite an achievement for Colombia. Tayrona, the park workers told us, is where Colombians come to get away from it all, and what better place for Colombia´s party loving citizens to dry out than the most beautiful stretch of coastline in the Caribbean? Over years of travel, we have seen some series beaches, but even Costa Rica or Thailand´s finest would struggle to live up to the beauty of Tayrona. Huge rocks jut out into the sea, forming perfect bays between the sands, and natural rock breakers between them form huge swimming pools, making swimming here much safer than many of the beaches in, for example, Panama or Goa. If you´re willing to sleep in a hammock or a tent, this is the place to chill out, dry out and toast yourself to a happy shade of marron. As hangover cures go, volcanoes and beaches sure beat the Bloody Mary!

A Bug´s Life

Panama is one of those truly condensed countries. Much as Great Britain punches above its weight in the artistic and cultural stakes, so Panama does for the natural world. In an area roughly the size of Scotland live 125 uniquely Panamanian animals, 226 different types of reptile including some extremely venemous snakes, and more bird types (approx 940) than anywhere else in Central America.

To try and get closer to this outrageously abundant wildlife, we headed for the National Park La Armistad, near the border with Costa Rica, to a recently opened backpacker eco-lodge called "Lost and Found". Andrew, the young Canadian owner, and his Panamanian wife, Steph, have sunk all their hard earned cash into an extraordinary concrete structure clinging to the side of a hill in the Cloudforest, with views across the valley that reach all the way to the Pacific.




At night, we were visited by various creatures we´d never heard of: the `kinkajou´ (Jonny´s favourite) a racoon like animal with a prehensile tail, the `cacomissel´ and the`olingo´ to name but a few.


But it was the insects that I found truly amazing. Not normally being a lover of things with six legs, I was enthralled by the size and beauty of the bugs that landed from the night sky. Out of various fireflies and giant grasshoppers, the winner of this entomological beauty contest was, hands down, the Gold Jewel Beetle. Described by Andrew as the most expensive bug in the rainforest (they sell on ebay for $160) this completely golden beetle - gold legs, antlers, wings, body, everything - landed on the dinner table to the awe of everyone present.

After a couple of days of Spanish practise and animal spotting, we said goodbye and good luck to Andrew and Steph and travelled in the direction of Isla de Coiba on the Pacific Coast.

Coiba is Part IV in our world tour of former prisons; Robben Island (Capetown), Port Blair (Andaman Islands), Oxford Castle (England - now a very nice Malmaison!) ... all we need now are Alcatraz and St Helena (where Napoleon was imprisoned) and we´ll have a complete set. We had been inspired to come to Panama in the first place by pictures and articles of Coiba´s pristine wilderness in the British Press. As the largest island off Central America, its surrounding waters form part of the same submarine mountain chain as the Galapagos Islands, and are teeming with marine life of all descriptions. On the way to and from the island, we saw Humpback Whales breaching at 30m distance, dolphins and, unbelievably, dozens of Manta Rays jumping out of the water 10 feet into the air.

Diving here is quite unlike Caribbean or Asian waters. Visibility was poor, and the rocky sea bed wasn´t exactly pretty, but with dozens of White Tip Sharks and odd unusual find such as the ´guitar fish´ (like a cross between a Shark and a Stingray) it was still fun. But the real beauty of Coiba is arriving on the beach to hundreds of butterflies and, despite being confined by dense jungle to a small promontory where the Ranger´s station is situated, within ten minutes seeing a snake, an Iguana, a flock of vultures and several of Coiba´s unique rodents (like giant squirrels), not to mention ´Tito´ the huge crocodile who had famously robbed a Park Ranger of one of his legs.


Coiba feels like the Garden of Eden (or, as we like to think of it, an episode of "Lost"). It is remarkably unscathed by man, and gave us an insight into how the pirates and conquistadors must have seen the Americas before the wholesale destruction of the indigenous tribespeople and their environment. Although the authorities have so far resisted attempts to place a tourist infrastructure on Coiba (although we stayed for one night at the Ranger´s Station in basic huts) and it has now been declared a UNESCO world heritage site , without the dangerous prisoners and fear of Sharks to keep the Punters away, who knows how long it will remain the untamed beauty spot it is today.

Arriba! Arriba!

Ever since being robbed at gunpoint in Antigua, Guatemala, I´ve been wary of Central American cities. Even the most picturesque colonial town can change dramatically when the sun goes down, and taking local advice as to which areas are best avoided is at the very least sensible, and in some places mandatory. So, as we sped towards our guest house in Panama City´s Casca Vieja (Old Quarter), it didn´t exactly inspire me with confidence to hear the taxi driver spelling out just how dangerous the area was and how, if we had any sense, we should be staying down town in the Intercontinental.

We arrived at Luna´s Castle, a huge old colonial mansion that was recently converted into a backpacker doss-house. It´s well and truly part of the Lonely Planet ´hostel mafia´, described as "far and away the best backpacker joint in Panama City" in the latest LP guide book, which was published a good six months before it even opened. The author of that singularly useless tome must be breathing a sigh of relief that all those free Cuba Libre´s haven´t completely ruined any future journalistic career and that Luna´s Castle is in fact now open and, indeed, vying for the top spot amongst backpackers looking to meet greet and party in Casca Vieja. Here we met globe-trotters from all over, but mainly America, and got up to date on what was hot to do in Panama. It´s one of the world´s great outdoor destinations, and we stocked up on recommendations for everything from surfing (probably not) to hiking and tree-top canopy tours (can´t wait!).



Casca Vieja also thankfully turned out to be everything we were looking for to kick off the Latin American denouement to our travels. A well policed district in the centre of the old town has been the focus of an extraordinary urban regeneration project, where virtually every building has been restored from scratch, or is in the process of being rescued. In amongst the restored buildings are older ones with families still living in them, which helps to retain the soul of the old town. What was once a violent slum is now home to museums and galleries, not to mention the President of Panama, and boasts wonderful views across the bay to the financial district, where the modern city skyline rivals that of Hong Kong or Miami. The streets buzz with the sound of salsa music, and at night its easy to stumble across live music and cheap drinks in the atmospheric bars and clubs. The ´joi de vivre´ of Latin America is alive and kicking here in the richest of all Central American cities.

A trip to Panama would not be complete without a visit to the Panama Canal, where the world´s ships traverse the isthmus between the two great oceans of the Atlantic and the Pacific. The focus of a visit here is the giant lock at Miraflores... not that interesting if you´ve ever seen a lock before, but what is really fascinating is a trip around the museum to understand the history of this great feat of engineering. What began as a French project lured thousands of Caribbean workers, mainly from Jamaica and Barbados, who were the backbone of the building work. Most died of Malaria and Yellow Fever in Panama´s unforgiving jungle environment, but after an overhaul of working conditions and a discovery by Dr Carlos Finlay that Yellow Fever was carried by mosquitoes, the project was finally finished.

Looking up the canal at the mile upon mile of water, all dredged and redirected to form the lakes within the canal zone, is a real testiment to man´s determination to conquer the natural world, as Panama´s jungles and cloud forests, particularly in the Darien gap between Central and South America, are probably the most dense and dangerous on the planet. Although there are plans to widen the canal, the water shed around the canal is a hugely important part of keeping it full of water, and is home to a myriad of bird, animal and insect species endemic to the area; what initially destroyed so much, now ensures the protection of all the surrounding wildlife.

Blue Planet

Indonesia has had an unfair share of bad luck recently. What with two separate bomb attacks on tourists in Bali in 2002 and 2005 , a number of internal conflicts, and the 2004 Tsunami, which affected large areas of Sumatra and Java, many people have stayed away in the belief that it's not safe to travel here. All this has made life very difficult for those in the tourist industry, but makes a visit to Indonesia even more delightful for those of us willing to brave their beautiful beaches. (Bomb risk? Try living on the Northern Line…).

The fact that geo-politics have hit Indonesia hard is actually not so surprising. The first thing you realise when planning a trip here is that the place is absolutely huge. The world’s largest archipelago, it comprises 17,508 tropical islands – big and small – which stretch across two different time zones, from the border with Malaysian Borneo right down to East Timor, just a stone’s throw (well, in Aussie terms anyway) from Australia. Governing such a vast and disjointed place would be difficult enough, but add to that 500 languages and a widespread inter-mingling of Islam and Christianity - both often fused with ancient animist beliefs -and you have a potentially incendiary mix.

We were heading for the mainly Catholic island of Sulawesi, historically known as Celebes, which lies just south of Borneo. Sulawesi’s bizarre shape results from being at the point where the land masses of Asia and Australasia divide. The demarcation is known as The Wallace Line, after Alfred Wallace, the British naturalist who pointed out the remarkable difference in fauna between Celebes and Borneo (despite their close proximity) to Charles Darwin, who subsequently included it in his theory of evolution.

Sulawesi’s geographical position also places it right in the heart of the ‘Coral Triangle’, the area of greatest biodiversity of marine life to be found anywhere on the planet. Scuba diving in the Celebes Sea off North Sulawesi is generally accepted as being some of the best out there, and we therefore made a bee-line for this amazing underwater world.

We divided our time between Bunaken Marine Park and the Lembeh Straits – two quite different areas, with different attractions. On our first few dives at Bunaken, albeit amid some very strong currents, we spotted a green turtle as big as my parent’s dining table; large eagle rays flying gracefully through the water; orang-utan crabs – named for their hairy orange legs - and numerous bright neon nudibranches (sea slugs) hanging out on the coral.

At Lembeh, we were gifted with sights of more weird and wonderful critters: tiny pygmy sea-horses (no bigger than a little finger nail); all kinds of very poisonous scorpion fish, the spectacularly ugly frog fish and an extremely rare electric clam, which rather frighteningly crackled with bright blue sparks underwater. Thanks to our brilliant dive guide, we even witnessed the mating ritual of the beautiful and very shy mandarin fish: a truly magical ten minutes spent just inches away from a live ‘Blue Planet’ spectacle. As we watched, I could almost hear David Attenborough’s familiar dulcet tones giving the running commentary. This is what seeing the world is all about.

But it didn’t stop there. Then came a trek through Sulawesi’s amazing tribal interior of Tana Toraja: a heady mix of ancient funeral rites, gory animal sacrifice and three days spent balancing on the edge of slippery clay rice terraces as seasonal rains seemed determined to make our trek more challenging. At night we stayed in the Torajan’s extraordinary traditional family homes, sleeping on hard floors, teaching the village kids English with our scrabble set and eating food cooked in bamboo shoots. With sore muscles and on the point of exhaustion, we arrived back at Makassar airport with no idea where we should go next, and no onward ticket out of Sulawesi. When a flight to Denpasar, Bali, became available, we could think of nothing better than a bit of beach time.

Kuta Beach, Bali is Australia’s answer to the Costa del Sol, only much cooler and with surf shops, cute boutiques and not to mention gorgeous surfer types everywhere. In fact, further up the beach in Seminyak you could liken it more to Ibiza than the Costa; here, cool bars and clubs attract international DJs, and people party until the wee hours (things don’t even get going until 2am). That said, Kuta isn’t exactly classy. If you want the traditional Balinese honeymoon brochure holiday you’re better off somewhere else on the island, but we were very happy to get a beer and backpacker fix there (although we did escape for two days to do our Padi Rescue Diver course at the spectacular Liberty Wreck), and by spending a few days on the lesser known Gili Islands, where despite torrential rain and the first ever police raid on the island’s famously liberal party scene, we enjoyed a drunken few days in the company of travellers from the UK and Sweden.

Ang - cor! - what?

Just after finishing university, I went on my first big trip away from home, and found myself in Laos not long after its borders had opened to tourists. It was 1998; the same year Laos’ neighbour, Cambodia, finally defeated the last remaining Khmer Rouge guerrillas who had been hiding out in the hills and was at last declared to be at peace. That summer, as I made a slow-boat journey down the Mekong River to Luang Prabang, checking in with communist party officials at official posts along the way, we heard of the odd intrepid traveller going across the border into Cambodia - not exactly the safest tourist destination at the time - into what really did seem to be a ‘Heart of Darkness’.

How things change. Cambodia’s capital, Phnom Penh, has become the world epicentre for charities and NGOs, with aid workers trying to sort out the very real mess that emerged from the country’s decades of strife. As a result, Phnom Penh has been catering for the international development crowd for over a decade, and now boasts a plethora of smart organic food café’s, fair trade coffee shops, bars, restaurants and funky clothing boutiques.

As far as locations go, Pnhom Penh is a great place to be if you’re a charity worker. For anyone with a sense of altruism and a penchant for spring rolls, this relaxed and attractive city seems to have an organisation for pretty much every issue that you could think of. From large areas of unexploded ordinance and the associated need for prosthetic limbs, to child prostitution and sex-trafficking; Cambodia's problems are widespread and well publicised. But despite its sad history, and deeply traumatized population, Cambodia is one of the most welcoming and friendly places in the world. Like many places in South East Asia, including Thailand and Laos, the Cambodian people have a natural warmth to strangers that makes the country a joy to visit.

We had decided to come to Cambodia after a small NGO, ‘KID’ (Khmer Institute of Democracy), had said they’d wanted help making short films to teach local villagers about the Khmer Rouge Tribunal, an international effort to bring the perpetrators of the 1970's genocide to justice. As it was a legal affairs organisation, Jonny and I had offered them a month of our time, Jonny to give a hand with the legal side and I to help them with their film projects. Unfortunately, as it turned out, the time and resources simply weren’t available for me to make a film for them, as the films are in the Khmer language and they couldn’t afford a translator. So instead, Jonny and I spent a day giving much-needed advice, but were sorry that KID couldn't make more of our offer to help. I guess some problems are just insurmountable.

Voluntary work having fallen through, we headed to Siem Reap to visit Angkor Wat. The world famous temple complex is heavily influenced by Hinduism, and it seemed strange to be looking at bas-relief carvings from the Ramayana (an important Hindu religious epic) when we’d so recently said goodbye to India. There are several different sites to explore, each dating from the reign of a different Angkor King, and the carvings and temples are beautifully preserved and of exceptional quality. I was in full 'geek' mode: years of making popular history programs have instilled in me a great love for archaeological sites like this, and I eagerly read every word in our guidebook.

The place is so extensive, you could get lost at Angkor for days on end, so to make everything more accessible the authorities at Angkor have built a tarmac road running right through the park and in close proximity to some of the most amazing ruins, such as Ta Phrom. Tuk-tuks and motorbikes zoom past, pumping exhaust fumes into the air (which can’t be good for the ancient stone), and sadly destroying the tranquil atmosphere that you might to find at an ancient site in the middle of the jungle.

In search of a more ‘Indiana Jones’ experience, a couple of days (and another bout of food poisoning – damn that ice-cream!) later, we headed off to Beng Mallea, another temple site two hours drive away. Beng Mallea has undergone little or no restoration since it was ‘discovered’ but has thankfully now been cleared of land mines, a major problem for archaeological work in this area. Here in the forest, in an ‘otherworldly’ atmosphere with very few visitors, you climb through ancient doorways on the verge of collapse, and over enormous piles of stones and rubble whilst trying to picture what the ‘second library’ really did once look like. I loved it – and although we hadn’t been long in Cambodia and were due to head off to Indonesia for the diving season, I was so glad we came.