Parsons on Tour

After 7 countries and 119 days on the road, we've reached the final blog entry - it's hard to believe we've written 52 of these things! Rather than trying to sum up our journey in words, I've compiled a few stats to tell the story.

8,788

Kilometres travelled, according to our Travellerspoint map. The real total will be even higher because we didn't travel as the crow flies on the overland routes.

7,343

Photos taken, to answer all those who've asked the question. This doesn't include the 4,000 photos we deleted along the way! 266 of these have been published on the blog.

14

Modes of transport used, including plane, bus, train, car, mountain bike, motorcycle, junk boat, longtail boat, dive boat, speedboat, tuk tuk, truck, songthaew and kayak.

Kayaking in a Malaysian mangrove swamp

964

The combined cost of all our visas and trekking permits, in US dollars. Over two thirds of this went straight into the coffers of the Nepalese government, so I like to think we gave their GDP figures a little boost in 2011.

4.5

The average speed in mph of the bus from Dhadingbesi to Arughat Bazaar (which we abandoned at nightfall after it became stuck in a quagmire).

5,450

The highest altitude of the trip (in metres), just above the Thorung La. We crossed three passes over 5000m on our five-week trek in the Nepal Himalaya.

0

Number of public conveniences in the Nepalese village of Phu. We later found out from some trekking companions that there was another lodge in the village which did have a toilet, but unfortunately the owners don't appear to have capitalized on this USP.

Looking down on the village of Phu

6.9

Magnitude of the earthquake which struck the Himalayas on 18 September 2011, the day we flew to Kathmandu. It was the second largest quake ever recorded in the region, causing at least 111 deaths and widespread damage. The quake was centred on north Sikkim, a region we visited 6 weeks later.

4:30

The earliest wake up call of the trip, in Dzongri, Sikkim. After seven consecutive days of trekking in a cloud, it was a make or break moment. "Good weather," said our guide outside the tent, not quite believing it himself.

200

Estimated maximum population of wild snow leopards in the whole of India, according to WWF, making it even more remarkable that I saw fresh snow leopard tracks in Sikkim.

Tracks of a snow leopard on the Goecha La in Sikkim

7%

Average annual growth rate of the Vietnamese economy from 1981 to 2010, 30 unbroken years of boom with only 3 years of less than 5% growth. Quite incredible statistics for a country which was the third poorest in the world after the Vietnam War.

1,200

Kilometres in the saddle on our epic three-week mountain bike trip through Vietnam and Laos with Red Spokes. The longest day was about 120km and the toughest had 45km of hill climbs.

American Chris on the road in Laos

10

Kilometres travelled in the Red Spokes support vehicle. It's not that we'd gone soft - the Vietnamese closed the road while they carried out some roadworks, and by the time it reopened, it was getting dark!

4

The maximum distance in kilometres of continuous climbing on a bicycle without going up a hill, in Red Spokes parlance. Anything up to this point is a mere undulation.

8.11%

Gradient quoted on a road sign in northwest Vietnam. Funnily enough as we rounded the previous bend I had remarked to Jen "This feels like an 8.11%er to me!"

The most precise roadsign in Vietnam

6,670,000

The largest withdrawal amount entered on an ATM keypad. No, it's not a typo. This was in Vietnamese dong, and is equivalent to about 200 pounds sterling. The traveller in Vietnam is wise to pack an expandable wallet.

14

Varieties of Asian beer sampled. They were Everest, Gorkha (Nepal), Kingfisher (India), Bia Hanoi, Bia Larue (Vietnam), Beerlao (Laos), Cambodia, Klang, Angkor, Anchor (Cambodia), Singha, Chang, Leo (Thailand) and Tiger (Malaysia). Beerlao goes down easiest.

7,500

The cheapest bottle of Beerlao in Luang Prabang, in Laotian kip. There are 12,500 kip to the pound and there's more than a pint in the bottle!

300

Casualties annually in Laos due to unexploded ordnance (UXO). More than half are children, and most are killed or maimed by cluster bombs. These and other chilling statistics we learned on a visit to Cope, a charity which provides prosthetic limbs and rehabilitation to UXO victims.

1860

The year French explorer Henri Mouhot "discovered" the temples of Angkor. In fact they were well known to the local Khmer people and had been visited by other westerners before Mouhot. We were two of the 1.6 million tourists to visit the temple complex in 2011, a year-on-year rise of 23%.

2

Our longest flight "delay" in hours. What really happened was that Bangkok Airways cancelled our flight out of Siem Reap and put us on the last flight of the day, but of course they couldn't admit to that.

0

Rice-free days in Southeast Asia. Fried rice, steamed rice, sticky rice - it's all the same after two months.

160

Estimated age in millions of years of Khao Sok National Park's jungle, the oldest tropical forest on Earth. That makes it around 100 million years older than the Amazon rainforest.

10

Number of leech attacks during a two-minute walk through the jungle of Khao Sok. We had left the relatively leech-free stream bed and followed some tapir tracks through the forest to shortcut a bend in the stream.

100

Decibels of sound produced by a calling gibbon. Gibbon calls can travel more than 2 miles over the forest, and at our rafthouse in Khlong Seang I stood on the decking listening to four groups calling from different parts of the forest.

5

Years of hard training by the bar staff of Koh Lanta's Bamboo Bay Resort to perfect their fire dancing routine. And boy, did it show!

Firedancer at the Bamboo Bay Resort

80

Maximum weight in pounds of a jackfruit, the world's largest fruit, which is found throughout Thailand and Malaysia. The orange flesh is similar in taste to papaya.

The jackfruit - try putting this in your lunchbox

-32

Temperature drop in degrees Celsius between Langkawi, Malaysia and Manchester, UK on the day of our return home. Brrrrr!

The sun sets on our blog

We've had great fun writing about some of our experiences, but now the time has come to call time on our travel blog. Thanks to everyone who has been following us and to all those who have commented on Travellerspoint or liked us on Facebook! I hope we can resurrect the Parsons on Tour blog soon...

This is one for the photography enthusiasts – I make no apologies for the techno geekery which follows!

Several months of planning went into the trip and a large part of my time was spent deliberating over what camera/cameras to take. Jen and I both enjoy photography, and since buying our first DSLR in 2007 (for our first trip to the Himalayas), we have both become converts to the superior image quality, responsiveness and creativity when compared to digital compact cameras. That camera was a Pentax K100D, an entry-level model that we chose over the more common Canikons because it was good value, had in-body image stabilisation and was backed by a line up of compact, inexpensive lenses.

The K100D was a solid warhorse but was beginning to show its age, so I decided we would replace it for this trip. After much umming and arring we finally plumped for another Pentax DSLR, the flagship Pentax K-5. When it arrived, the 400-page user manual and lack of an automatic mode signalled that this was a serious piece of kit. It has headline-grabbing features such as live view and a video mode, but for me the biggest selling point was the weather-sealed body. When paired with Pentax's similarly weather resistant (WR) lenses, we had full protection against dust, sand and rain. In 2007, I had to do some emergency sensor cleaning on the K100D at Annapurna Base Camp after our sunrise photos were spoiled by dust spots, so I was sold on the strength of this feature alone. The K-5 also brought us numerous other improvements: a high-resolution sensor, reduced noise, higher ISO, better autofocus, more user control, a quiet shutter and an impressive viewfinder.

King of the mountains - the Pentax K-5 poses on a Himalayan pass

It proved to be an excellent package when paired with the WR kit lenses (18-55mm and 50-200mm), and withstood monsoon rains in Nepal, blizzards in India and the dusty roads of Vietnam. It even survived an accidental dunking when Jen, who was carrying it round her neck, decided to audition for Total Wipeout by falling off a rolling log into a lake in Thailand. This wasn't the only pitfall to befall our camera gear. The K-5 had an unscheduled sleepover in a Darjeeling restaurant and one of our SD cards decided to go for a little dip in the sea.

The compromises with a DSLR are weight and bulk, important considerations for us with the amount of trekking and cycling we had planned. We wanted to be able to reach for the camera at all times so the means of carrying it was another issue. I purchased a Lowepro Apex case which comfortably held the K-5, the kit lenses and all the usual paraphernalia (batteries, SD cards, filters etc.) This could be attached to the waist belt of a backpack, carried in the hand or slung over a shoulder, so it was always quick to retrieve on trek. In fact, thanks to the K-5's weather sealing we rarely put the camera in the case. The same was true on the bike ride, which meant we would more readily stop for photos than if the camera had been buried in a rucksack.

Jen photographing the Nam Ou River in Laos

Reviewing the photos from our previous treks, I discovered that the most commonly used focal length was 18mm (equivalent to 27mm on a full frame camera), the wide end of our kit lens. So a few weeks before we left I treated myself to a little luxury – a 15mm prime lens from Pentax's delicious "Limited" lens collection. This little jewel weighs just over 200g, has a constant maximum aperture of f4.0 and all-metal construction (including a retractable hood). We made good use of it for wide angle landscapes and shots inside buildings too.

A high altitude valley on the Manaslu Circuit - shot with the Pentax DA 15mm and an ND8 filter

The one place we couldn't take the K-5 was underwater (not without a very expensive housing). To enable us to take photos of the Andaman Sea's marine life, we also carried a compact 'rugged' camera, the Panasonic Lumix DMC-FT2. This is waterproof to a depth of 10m, perfect for snorkelers. Underwater photography is perhaps the most challenging field to master. You have to contend with a lack of natural light, the changing colour spectrum with depth, strong waves and currents and moving subjects, some of which can kill you with a single bite or sting! Not only that, but snorkelers are also constrained by the time they can hold their breath and their buoyancy, which makes it difficult to control position on a dive. Any compact camera struggles under such conditions, and the FT2 was no exception. Taking good underwater images is more a matter of luck than skill – I probably discarded 80% of my shots instantly. Worse still, the zoom lens utilises folded optics. This means the lens does not extend and can therefore be sealed within the camera body, but there is a trade-off in image quality, especially when zoomed in. Occasionally, however, it did produce a corker.

Colourful clams in the crystal-clear water of Tarutao National Park

We take it in turns to carry the camera. Jen is great at spotting and snapping the most dramatic landscapes, and she takes great portraits too. My approach is a bit more scattergun – I take more photos, but they tend to be a mixed bag! I also like wildlife, action and architecture as subjects. People are always interesting subjects but capturing the right expression is tricky, especially with a hulking great DSLR. They can react in unwanted ways: reticence, anger, self-consciousness or showing off! Sometimes a little ice-breaker is needed to establish a rapport between photographer and subject, especially when language is a barrier. At Gumba Lundang in Nepal, we wanted to take photos of the Buddhist nuns, but they seemed a little shy. We approached a couple of the younger girls to ask permission, and they agreed. Showing them the images on the camera's LCD screen sparked a sudden change, and within seconds we had a crowd of nuns round the camera, all clamouring for their photograph to be taken. A bicycle is another great icebreaker. We had some very good photographers on the Red Spokes cycle tour, and it was instructive watching them in action. In a group situation you need a camera on you at all times to capture those fleeting moments which will get a good reaction when you share them later. I missed lots, but fortunately others were always on hand!

Sharing our photos with the nuns of Gumba Lundang

In four months of travel, it's difficult to be 'up' for photography every single day. Even sharing the work between two, there were still a few days when the camera stayed in the case. But we've certainly enjoyed taking all our photos and sharing some of them on this blog. Now we are back home we're enjoying them even more on the TV screen. The K-5 has been a superb tool for the job – yes I still wish for faster, longer lenses (particularly for those damn wildlife shots) but would I have been prepared to carry them? No way! On the other hand, I'm very taken with the new breed of compact system cameras, especially after seeing David, our Red Spokes tour leader, using his Panasonic GF1.

If I were doing a similar trip again (if only), I would seriously consider investing in a rangefinder style body from the Panasonic/Olympus Micro Four Thirds system, which seems to me to have the right balance of size, image quality, product range and value. I would also take a high-end compact camera with a fast, sharp lens and an underwater housing (unless the manufacturers can seriously improve the image quality and performance from their waterproof cameras). Must do some research....

I've been asked by lots of people how many photos we took on our trip. All will be revealed in the next and final blog entry, but to give you some idea, I'll leave you with this thought. If a picture speaks a thousand words, then we have a potential War and Peace on our hands.

Six countries in four months. Too much to take in? Too rushed? It certainly felt on occasions like we were stuck on a travel treadmill; a hamster's wheel of bus stations, taxi rides and departure lounges. On the flipside, he who leaves the wedding early cherry-picks the tastiest morsels from the buffet. And the sheer variety of places and modes of travel we encountered gave the engineer in me pause for thought. How can these countries develop their increasingly strained transport systems to meet the needs of their upwardly mobile populations?

In Kathmandu, the scale of the challenge is clear. In the tourist district of Thamel there are no pavements, so pedestrians are forced to share the streets with the Maruti-Suzuki taxis, motorbikes and tuk-tuks. Anyone carrying out a risk assessment would stay in their hotel, but despite the odds a functioning system has evolved which seems to minimise collisions. It relies on the drivers and tuk-tuk wallahs knowing the width of their vehicles to the exact millimetre, and on everyone knowing the significance of a sharp toot on the horn: "Look out, I'm coming through!" However, during the festival of Tihar there is an interesting reversal. The crowds take to the streets to dance, sing and play instruments, and no amount of horn-tooting can shift them.

Kathmandu street scene

Nonetheless, outside the old city the roads were still thronged with cars. At a busy intersection near the former Royal Palace, the Tata buses and Ashok trucks lined up six abreast alongside taxis and bikes at the traffic lights, revving their engines. In the midst of it all stood a traffic policeman, his manic hand-waving and whistle-blowing clearly taking precedence over the lights. There was only one problem though: cows don't follow orders.

On to West Bengal, where there's no doubt that Kolkata's transport system has benefited from an injection of order courtesy of the British Empire. The city centre was re-planned during the early nineteenth century to incorporate wide, traffic-friendly boulevards. Today, these streets are fought over by the usual jumble of traffic, people and animals common to modern Indian cities, plus, uniquely on our travels, trams. And like other great world cities, Kolkata has its own special taxi. The Hindustan Ambassador is produced locally to a 1950s design based on the Morris Oxford, and not a lot has changed since. Bench seats and central instrument panels are standard features; optional extras (based on our limited experience) include brakes, windows and door handles.

Ambassadors and buses in Kolkata

Kolkatans are tolerant drivers, though this may be due in part to the sluggish Ambassadors forcing traffic to move at a sedate pace. Moreover, the local authority has successfully promoted the practice of cutting the engine at traffic lights on both economic and environmental grounds. The first time we experienced this was strange to say the least. We were becalmed in queuing traffic, listening to conversations taking place in other cars (those without windows, at least). Moving off again is also a leisurely affair, for acceleration is not a gift bestowed on the Ambassador by its makers. In fact, so accustomed did I become to slow-moving vehicles that I made a misjudgement when wandering down one of Kolkata's railway lines and, like Matt Damon in The Bourne Supremacy, had to take evasive action to avoid a speeding train.

The Kolkata to Hanoi leg of our journey would have been time-consuming and logistically challenging overland, so we opted to fly via Bangkok. There were no alarms, but more than a few surprises. Kolkata, a city of 14.1 million people (thanks, Wikipedia) has an international airport with two departure gates. Bangkok airport has the world's most expensive Toblerones and a Leicester City FC shop. AirAsia is very good airline; Vietnam Airlines is even better.

Arriving in Hanoi felt like an evolutionary leap forward – smooth roads, lane markings, modern cars and not a cow in sight. If Katie Melua ever writes a sequel to Nine Million Bicycles, this is where she should come, for the Vietnamese have a love affair with motorbikes, and in the city’s Old Quarter, the moped is king. Flush with their recently acquired wealth, a bike is the affordable luxury most people crave. Thousands of scooters swarm daily along the narrow streets, weaving their way between the tourists, street vendors and stray dogs. Pavements have been sacrificed as bike parks and shiny new Yamahas, Hondas and Vespas gleam at the countless dealerships.

A motorcycle dealership in northwest Vietnam

Walking the Old Quarter's narrow streets was daunting at first, especially crossing the road. There are no lights, no pedestrian crossings, no road markings even. But then we realised there are no accidents, because just like Kathmandu, Hanoi has devised its own system of unwritten road rules. When you step out into the road, you notice that traffic weaves naturally round you without appearing to slow down. Providing you continue to cross without changing speed or direction, nothing will hit you. This involves a fair amount of trust, but the Vietnamese are well practiced at avoiding each other. Just take a look at this brilliant time lapse video for proof.

Vietnam's economy is booming and new roads are under construction all over the north. But sometimes the heavy hand of communism overrides common sense, resulting in incongruous sights like empty six-lane highways running through middle-of-nowhere towns and giant phallic monuments presiding over roundabouts.

Cyclists dwarfed by a roundabout monument in Vietnam - but what is it?

Across the border in Laos, we cycled for the best part of a week down the busiest road in the country. Of course, it was only when we got there that our tour leader revealed this fact. But there was no thought of us demanding a refund, for the Lao version of the M1 is more like an English country B-road. Apart from the occasional tourist bus blazing past, the bulk of the passing traffic was made up of chugging tractors, grumpy water buffalo and schoolchildren waving from bicycles. Luang Prabang also deserves a mention as a traffic-free haven, thanks to its location on a loop of the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers. It was refreshing to be in a city where the boat and the bicycle are the commonest forms of transport. And as we proved, with a boat and a mountain bike, you can go pretty much anywhere in Laos.

Our bikes go on a boat trip on the Nam Ou River

A common feature of Vietnamese and Lao mountain roads is their relatively gentle gradients. The steepest climbs were 10%, tolerable even with tired legs at the end of a long ascent on the bike. It would be nice to think that this was purely for the benefit of us humble cyclists, but I suspect the knackered old buses, trucks and tractors would die on anything steeper. There are no such problems for the Thais with their sleek, modern cars and superbikes, so they build their mountain roads accordingly. We found this out the hard way on the 100km Samoeng Loop to the west of Chiang Mai. It's a killer on a mountain bike!

Nowhere are the citizens of Asia more mobile than in Bangkok, a city which beats most European counterparts hands down in the futuristic transport stakes. My home town of Birmingham has Spaghetti Junction: Bangkok is Spaghetti City.

A bright pink Toyota Corolla whisked us from the airport to our downtown hotel along elevated highways which snaked between the skyscrapers. We cowered in the back while Thailand's answer to Sebastian Vettel took the racing line around every bend, reaching speeds which would have been unthinkable in Calcutta or Kathmandu. These highways are just one layer of spaghetti; above them runs the Skytrain, below them the city streets, and beneath the surface the Metro. Like a steep Himalayan gorge or a tropical rainforest, Bangkok is a truly three-dimensional environment.

A tuk tuk on the streets of Luang Prabang

It’s also home to the most unscrupulous tuk-tuk drivers on the entire continent. While the rest of the city zooms past at high speed, these guys go out of their way to make your journey as slow and stressful as possible. Our first attempt ended up with us abandoning the tuk-tuk within a minute of getting on board, as the driver stopped and drew us a picture showing us where he was going to take us (which was not where we had asked him to go). All our subsequent enquiries of tuk-tuk drivers were met with disinterest, incomprehension or an astronomical fare and a refusal to negotiate. It was nearly enough to persuade me to buy one of the ubiquitous "No tuk-tuk. Not today. Not tomorrow." T-shirts. But not quite, because elsewhere in Asia, tuk-tuk drivers had been our friends. Yes, they're pushy and they overcharge, but they are part of the fabric of life here and contribute to the buzz of the city streets.

Boats on the Chao Phraya River in Bangkok

Bangkok's busy riverboat taxis are another means of getting around the city. And as our travels led us further south to the Gulf of Thailand and the Andaman Sea, more of our time was spent on the water. Our boat to Koh Rong in Cambodia was delayed by three hours because of high winds and an absent captain. A substitute skipper was found, but it was not long into the journey before we were questioning whether he had ever left dry land before. He skilfully steered the boat so that the waves hit us broadside, drenching those at the stern, and then did his best to ram the pier several times before, to our great relief, we finally moored. The locals did not go fishing in such conditions, for theirs were the most basic boats I'd ever seen, constructed from nothing more than a rectangular board of expanded polystyrene.

A longtail boat bobbing in a turquoise sea is the quintessential image of southern Thailand. The noise of its engine may cut through the deepest of sleep (fact-checked personally) and there may never less than an inch of water in the hull, but I grew rather fond of longtails. I particularly liked watching the boat captains nimbly steering their crafts through narrow channels or off the edge of a reef. Any change in direction or raising of the propeller requires strength, agility and timing as the captain uses his body weight as a counterbalance to the pivoting engine, stepping neatly over (or under) the swinging tiller.

Longtail boat engine

Less charming, but certainly quicker in a straight line, are the modern speedboats which carry island-hopping tourists down the Andaman Coast. If you're picturing luxury and decadence, think again, for in my experience they rival Nepalese buses in the unbearability stakes. On the first trip, I had to sit on the floor. On the second, I squeezed into the front of the boat on top of a pile of rucksacks. On the third, a one-hour crossing from Koh Lipe to Langkawi, I was relieved to finally get a seat. My mood soon darkened as we left the harbour and picked up speed. The sea was choppy, and if the boat caught a wave at the wrong moment it landed on the surface of the water with such force that it felt as though our spines were being crushed. The only lesson I can take away from this experience is that speedboats, like Nepalese buses and Bangkok tuk-tuks, are best avoided at all costs.

A Thai speedboat anchored off a reef at Koh Rok

To conclude this blog entry I decided I had to go back to bikes and two favourite photos from the end of our trip. There are no cars on Koh Lipe, only scooters. You might think the local police would have been embarrassed to be photographed on their 100cc Honda, but far from it. They smiled, they waved and they still managed to look cool. It was all very Southeast Asian and I loved it. And then, not a minute later, we stumbled across a second photo opportunity, the little boy playing on his dad’s scooter. How can your heart not melt!

Cuts are biting in Koh Lipe's police department

Baby biker, Koh Lipe

A few snaps from the street stalls and food markets of Southeast Asia, places rich in gastronomic interest and photographic opportunity.

Hanoi ladies queuing for their snails

Early morning shoppers in Sapa market

Mekong River fish in bamboo baskets

Crowds at Luang Prabang food market

Fancy a frog kebab

Lao drive-through

The morning catch drying by the roadside

A stallholder tends to the veg display

Another formidable Thai lady serving up fast food

Chicken yoga

When I wrote these words, we were in the final week of our trip and were rather less than enthralled by the prospect of shivering our way through the British winter with the rest of you. To take our mind off things, we were lapping up the sun on the gorgeous beaches of Tarutao National Park in Thailand’s far south. It would be too cruel, I thought, to torment you with a selection of photos from our island-hopping adventures. But how else do people make it through January other than by planning their summer holidays, so think of this blog as another travel agent’s catalogue on your coffee table. Besides, I’m having trouble deciding which is my favourite koh.

1. Koh Rong

Our beach bungalow on Koh Rong

Two boys on the pier at the fishing village

Take your seat on the beach

The first contender is also the only non-Thai island on the list, Cambodia's little-known Koh Rong. It sets the bar pretty high straight away. Palm-fringed, white coral beaches? Check. Turquoise blue sea gently lapping the shore? Check. Private beach-front bungalow with personal hammocks? Check. Beach bar serving fresh seafood and cocktails? Check. You don't quite have the place to yourself; backpackers snap up the cheap bungalows and there's a small fishing village at the pier, but go there before it's too late. Big developers have their eye on this place and want to turn it into Cambodia's answer to Koh Samui.

2. Koh Similan

A viewpoint in the Similans

Big rocks, small boat and blue sea

The good ship Duanita

Or rather, the group of islands known as the Similans, a Marine National Park in the Andaman Sea. It's a four-hour boat trip from the mainland, enough to deter the crowds. We spent our time on board rather than on land, for the attractions here are all underwater. Sadly, the reefs have been ravaged by the 2004 tsunami and a series of devastating bleaching events, but there are still plenty of fish. It's possible to camp on one island (if you don't mind monstrous mosquitoes), but most are off-limits. Judging by the size of the private yachts anchored offshore, the Similans attract the super-rich. And they are blessed by royalty too – a Thai princess has a nice little getaway pad here.

3. Koh Lanta

Lighthouse at Koh Lanta National Park

Lanta Old Town

An island of two halves, Koh Lanta attracts the crowds due to its proximity to the mainland and the regular boat services to hotspots like Koh Phi Phi and Phuket. The touristy north – overrun with massage and tattoo parlours, shops selling tat and a thousand and one "same same but different" bar restaurants – did not float our boat. Fight your way through that lot and the wilder south awaits. We stayed at Bamboo Bay, the last public beach before the National Park at the southern tip of Lanta. I've tried not to use the word idyllic thus far, but it really is necessary here.

4. Koh Rok

Washed up coconut

Longtail boat in a turquoise sea

Monitor lizard on Koh Rok

A bona fide Robinson Crusoe island, lying just an hour by speedboat from Lanta (though as anyone who has ever been in a speedboat would surely agree, it will feel like the longest hour of your life). Sadly we only visited on a day trip, long enough to sample the fantastic shallow reefs and witness the bizarre sight of six-foot monitor lizards prowling round the picnic area. For that authentic castaway experience, pitch your tent at the National Park campsite, wait until the day trippers have gone home and you (and your new lizard friends) will have the place to yourselves. One for the reptile lovers.

5. Koh Lipe

Koh Lipe from the Chado Cliff viewpoint

Probably the best school playground in the world

Little Lipe is but a speck on the map but it serves as the main transport hub for exploring the islands of Tarutao National Park. Surrounded by warm, shallow seas teeming with marine life and blessed with picture-postcard beaches (as used by Thailand's tourist board), once upon a time it would have been the perfect island getaway. But the National Park authorities turned a blind eye to developers and sacrificed Lipe at the altar of backpacker tourism. Now they come in droves, all seeking that "get away from it all with everyone else" island experience. But remember you're one of them too, so grab a beer and a brownie at a beachside joint and watch the world come to you.

Koh Adang

Seafront campsite under the pines

Koh Adang sunset

Have we found paradise at last? I think we have. Adang is Koh Lipe's big brother, but other than their proximity to one another, they have little in common. It's a wild island with a dense, jungly interior. The sole accommodation is at the National Park Ranger Station, where, in addition to the usual campsite, you'll find some very nicely appointed bungalows too. We had planned to camp, but where's the incentive when you can have a double ensuite for little more than a tenner? Faced with a lack of shops, markets, bars and internet cafés, we were forced to do as the monkeys do, which is to say very little indeed in the heat of the day. A spot of snorkelling? Maybe later. A walk to the viewpoint? Maybe tomorrow. It was a toss up between Koh Adang and Koh Rong for our favourite island award, but in truth I would quite happily volunteer to be marooned on either.

The wildlife blogs seem to have been popular, so I thought I'd do one final entry in the series which focusses on some of the cast of little critters we saw crawling, scuttling and skulking around this part of the world.

Turtle hatchling, Koh Adang

This turtle hatchling is a lucky fellow, the last of a dozen to be released back to the sea after hatching from a nest of 106 eggs. I happened upon two rangers from Tarutao National Park digging out the nest after an early-evening snorkel off Koh Adang. The location of the nest was no secret – the park staff had relocated the eggs here to prevent them ending up in a fisherman’s omelette. And what of the other eggs? Most of those unearthed had already hatched; tragically, about 30 hatchlings died before they made it down to the sea.

Mudskipper, Koh Lanta

I was preoccupied with photographing the scenic fishing boats of Lanta Old Town when a soft plopping noise alerted me to this strange-looking creature. It’s a mudskipper, able to breathe air on land like an amphibian and underwater like a fish. Mudskippers live in mangrove forests and use their strong fins to gain a grip on rocks and tree trunks, hauling themselves out of the water at low tide. This one posed obligingly for a few seconds, then with a plop it was gone.

Tree frog, Khao Sok National Park

Fruit bat, Khao Sok National Park

The welcome brochure in our Khao Sok jungle resort took great pains to explain that we would not not be alone in our wooden bungalow. It was normal to find lodgers in the nooks and crannies, geckos, spiders and frogs among them. Well, we were delighted to find all three, of which the orange frogs were the cutest. In the evening they were joined by a bat hanging beneath the verandah, which would have remained unnoticed were it not for the pile of bat poo on the wooden decking.

Tokay gecko, Koh Adang

Striped Lizard, Ta Prohm temple ruins

Lizards and geckos are camera-friendly, and few are more photogenic than the colourful chap I found clambering over the temple carvings in Cambodia. The coolest lizards were the gliding variety. A dozy individual was nimbly caught for us by our jungle guide in Khao Sok. To demonstrate its party trick, he tossed it high into the air. The lizard unfurled the flaps of skin between its front and back legs and sailed smoothly down on to a neighbouring tree trunk. Geckos famously stick to any surface, and can be quite endearing as you watch them clambering around your room. The big tokay geckos are most impressive, but my goodness me, they don’t half make a racket!

Clark's anemonefish on a coral reef in Tarutao National Park

Christmas tree worm, Tarutao National Park

Pipefish, Tarutao National Park

When I’m snorkelling over coral reefs I’m normally keeping an eye out for the big prizes – moray eels or giant groupers lurking under outcrops, trevallies and tuna flashing by or a turtle munching away on the algae at the bottom of the reef. These creatures are all impressive to behold, but there is just as much to look at within a single mound of coral. Dazzlingly colourful nudibranches and Christmas tree worms, tiny anthias and anemonefish flitting in and out of the reef and cleaner shrimp lurking in holes.

Hermit Crab, Koh Dong

Our longtail boat beached itself on the idyllic white sands of Koh Dong, and we waded ashore with our picnic lunch of fried rice and chicken. No sooner had we sat down than it seemed as though every shell on the beach was on the march towards us. Each was home to a hermit crab. Pick one up and it would tuck itself neatly inside. A few seconds later it would bravely emerge again and give you a tickle with its claws, causing you to drop it back on the beach.

Chris with a millipede in Koh Lanta National Park

Butterfly, Khao Sok National Park

In the tropics, the bugs are big. Cicadas sound like chainsaws, bees like flying lawnmowers. Tiger leeches loop along zombie-like, beetles fly like malfunctioning helicopters, ants infest everything including rucksacks), spiders look like aliens and butterflies the size of birds flit silently through the undergrowth. It really is a jungle out there!

Thailand is known more for its wild parties than wild animals, but away from the fleshpots of Bangkok and Phuket the country is blessed with some extraordinary natural treasures. We planned our fortnight in southern Thailand to include some of the area's wildlife hotspots, and we weren't disappointed.

The chain of karst mountains that we had seen earlier in our travels in Vietnam and Laos raise their heads again in southern Thailand. They stretch all the way from Guilin in China to Sarawak in Borneo, and are the eroded remains of an ancient coral sea that was thrust up when the Indian and Eurasian plates collided. The limestone peaks are at their loftiest in Khao Sok National Park, reaching to more than 3000ft, and it was here that we spent New Year.

The park was created in the 1970s to protect the rich tropical forests that cloak the hills, a dense jungle older than the Amazon rainforest. Subsequently, the creation of more National Parks and wildlife sanctuaries in the surrounding areas mean that Khao Sok is now part of the largest tract of old-growth forest in Southeast Asia. So vast is this protected area that it still holds viable populations of wild elephants, tigers and gaur. I decided this was the place to watch wildlife in Thailand.

It was not cheap. I planned a four-day tailor-made trip with a local tour company. As it was during the busy New Year period, we needed to travel deep into the forest to escape the hordes of partying Thais. The invoice ended in lots of zeros and required three trips to an ATM before we had a sufficiently fat wad of baht to pay for it.

A longtail boat ride through Khao Sok, Thailand's Guilin

Our tour started with a longtail boat ride across Chiew Lan Reservoir. This huge lake was created by the construction of the Ratchaprapha Dam in the 1980s. The energy generated by the dam now powers most of southern Thailand, but it remains a controversial project. The lake flooded the lowland forests to a depth of 90m, resulting in devastating loss and fragmentation of forest habitat. Now, the remnants of once-mighty trees still break the lake's surface and the wildlife of the park is continuing to be affected by the changes.

The remnants of the flooded forest

On a map, Chiew Lan looks like one of the fractal patterns you find in a maths textbook, each branch of the lake dividing into sub-branches and then sub-sub-branches, many of which remain untouched by human hand. One benefit of the lake's creation was to allow easier access to far reaches of the jungle. In turn, some local fishing families have turned their hands to ecotourism, building floating rafthouses to accommodate visitors. These allowed us to stay three nights on the lake and explore the Khlong Seang Wildlife Sanctuary, less visited than Khao Sok. Our guide was Kiem, a real character who could spot a monkey a mile off and tell you all about it in his unique brand of self-taught, "Me Tarzan, you Jane" English.

The Khlong Seang raft houses at sunset

"Looking, looking! Monkey! Me not sure which. Him on ground near water. Now climbing. Climbing on bamboo. You see? Left from big-leaf tree. Now more! Sitting, watching on big branch. Him look at me. Now climbing, now jumping! Him jump in tree behind. Next one coming and jumping also. Now one left. You see him now? Also jumping, jumping! Now gone behind. Me no see him now."

Long-tailed macaque on the beach

Kiem was a star. On our daily boat safaris, morning and evening, we saw so much wildlife that Kiem’s monologues were played out again and again as he went into a spotting frenzy. But the forest was dense and primeval, and picking out the animals was not easy. Monkeys were amongst the most conspicuous. Both long-tailed macaques and dusky langurs came to the water’s edge to feed on fresh bamboo shoots. They are easy to tell apart – the langurs look as though they have fallen for the old comic-book joke of using binoculars with wet paint on the eyepieces, thanks to the white rings around their eyes. They also have endearing orange babies. I’m surprised a certain mobile phone company hasn’t cottoned on to them yet.

Hornbills are here too, and we saw four different kinds. The most majestic are the great hornbills. We watched one feeding on a fig tree, tossing the fruit into his huge beak and flapping from branch to branch. When they launch their heavy bodies into the air, their wing beats make a characteristic whooshing sound like a gaucho whirling a lasso round his head.

Great hornbill in a fruiting fig tree

By far the most evocative noise in the forest is the haunting cry of gibbons, which carries for miles over the canopy each morning. Gibbons live in family groups and are monogamous; their calls are part of a daily ritual of singing and swinging to reinforce the pair bond. On our third morning we finally saw wild gibbons with our own eyes, doing what gibbons do best: hanging around, swinging and walking upright along branches, Man on Wire style.

The gibbons were a personal highlight, but our first night safari ran them a close second. The technique is to search the forest from the boat with a powerful spotlight, looking for eyeshine. Then the engine is cut and the light used to try to keep the animal frozen until the boat is close enough for us to see what it is. The biggest prize was a small wildcat (probably a leopard cat, though even Kiem was not certain). We also got a surprise when the boat drew up to the bank so Kiem could catch us a frog, only for him to discover a python climbing out of the water. Seconds later he spotted second python right behind it, and this one was a monster. Kiem leapt backwards and grabbed a paddle, leaving me in the line of attack and without a weapon. The python turned and started swimming towards us. We could see the whole of its body just under the surface, and I do not exaggerate when I say it was about 5m long. Fortunately it lost interest in us; I think python lovemaking was top of its agenda that night. I don't know how pythons do it but I presume there's quite a lot of squeezing involved.

Jungle Jen demostrates how to use binoculars

And that's why they call him Parsons of the Apes

Another of Thailand's natural wonders are its coral reefs, particularly those on the Andaman coast. The reefs are another ancient ecosystem, but have taken a battering in recent years due to coral bleaching and the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami. On the day after the seventh anniversary of that disaster, we left the harbour at Khao Lak on a boat bound for the Similan Islands for three days of snorkelling.

The female Parsonsfish approaches her quarry

The reefs are now in a pretty bad state, and it will take decades for them to recover (assuming global warming doesn't kill them off completely), but other marine life around the islands is still abundant. Jumping off our boat at each site was like entering a giant aquarium. There is so much life here that it can be difficult to take it all in. Your eyes have to constantly roam the water ahead and to each side, as well as scanning the reef below.

Green turtle in the Similan Islands National Park

We had the pleasure of swimming with sea turtles three days in a row, an experience that would have been worth the price of the trip alone. But we saw much else besides! Cuttlefish, squid, stingrays, sea snakes, giant morays, tuna, giant grouper and a whole smorgasbord of reef fish. The icing on the cake for me was seeing a blacktip reef shark. I was snorkelling so far from the boat that nobody else was with me, so I made sure to get a photo as proof. It’s probably the worst photo of a shark you’ll ever see, but I have to confess I wasn’t totally in control of my senses when I took it!

My shark photo - taken under stressful circumstances

Pacific lionfish at Koh Lipe

We British are notoriously reticent when it comes to haggling, but in Southeast Asia's tourist markets it’s a skill you live and die by. And judging by my first clumsy attempt at Siem Reap's Night Market, my skills definitely needed honing.

Getting in to the Night Market is all part of the fun, as you have to run the gauntlet of fish massage stalls which line the street leading to the entrance. Ladies rush at you from both sides waving laminated price lists and shouting "Sir, sir, fish massaaaaa!" The first time this happened I was far too polite. "No thanks," I said to one hopeful woman, "I can get this in England." Her reply was instant. "My fish give better massaaaaa!"

Once inside you immediately lose your bearings in the labyrinth of covered alleys and hundreds of stalls all selling variations on the same theme. Most of the stuff was not worth a second glance, but then I spotted a stall selling t-shirts of a single design; a motif of the monkey god Hanuman in full battle dress. I can't explain why I liked it, but as soon as I saw it I knew I had to have one. I enquired about the price. "Five dollar," said the lady running the stall (US currency is king in Cambodia). Yes, it was cheap, but other stalls were asking US$2 (for admittedly inferior t-shirts) and knowing I should haggle, I offered her three. "No!" came the quick reply. "I give you four dollar, best price." Not satisfied with a 20% discount, I walked away, expecting her to call me back and agree to my offer. But she didn't. I couldn't look over my shoulder as that would betray my tactics, so I walked straight back out of the market - a humiliating failure by anyone's standards.

The next night I went back and braved the fish massage sellers again, this time with four dollars in my pocket.

Slightly embarrassed by my efforts in Cambodia, I resolved to do better at Chiang Mai's Night Bazaar, a massive enterprise which seems to occupy an entire district of the city. It made Siem Reap look like a garage sale.

Ten minutes in, and things were going well. I already had a pair of 'Oakley' sunglasses in my pocket for 100 baht (£2) and was hunting for the next bargain. Jen paused momentarily at a stall selling bamboo place mats and coasters. The stallholder sensed another gullible victim to prey on; I sensed an opportunity for some ruthless negotiation. His opening gambit for a set of six mats and coasters was 900 baht. ("Special price tonight sir!") I laughed at his gall, and decided to get him down to 400. The bartering was a tactical game and we were both putting in spirited performances. My adversary brandished a large calculator on which he theatrically bashed out lower and lower prices, each one accompanied by a well-rehearsed patter: "Look sir, this price for you only, don’t tell nobody, our secret!" On this occasion my walking away trick worked – three times. After 10 minutes his calculator display read 4-0-0, and victory was mine. I reached for my wallet triumphantly. Jen immediately took the wind out of my sails by announcing that she wasn't sure if she liked them enough, and anyway, how were we to carry them home? To the stallholder's bafflement, I had to walk away empty-handed, shrugging my shoulders apologetically.

The following night we went to the Sunday Walking Street, a road through the old city which transforms into a tourist market one evening every week (on a Sunday, funnily enough). We found a stall selling bamboo mats and coasters identical to those I had haggled over the night before. They even had sets of six, prominently displayed in the middle of the stall. I glanced at the hand-written sign propped against the sets, then glanced again just to make sure I had read it correctly. Disappointingly, I had. "Special offer – 400 baht."

Luang Prabang's night market

Sunday Walking Street in old Chiang Mai

The lantern sellers always draw a crowd

Glass engraver with a hot-headed bear

Chiang Mai doesn't have a branch of Accessorize, but it does have this

A refreshing drink after a hard night's haggling