1st January 2025. A New Year a new start, as they say.

We just wanted to get away from it all. We had intended to leave in November and travel for 4 months, missing the worst that the UK winter had to throw at us. And just think how much we could save on heating. God knows that the Chancellor, Rachel Reeves, pushed us to go when she withdrew our Winter Fuel Allowance. However, a November leaving date turned to early December, which in turn moved to mid December.The latest shift had nothing to do with the mild winter, although that was a bonus as Autumn turned into…well…Autumn. No, the football fixture list had thrown up a Merseyside Derby on 7th December. It was to be the last such game at Goodison Park, as Everton plan to move into a new stadium in 2025. A dilemma. I obviously wanted to be at the final “Derby” match at Goodison. Should I get Pat to agree to a delay until after the fixture or should I get away and so avoid the inevitable humiliating defeat that our neighbours impose on us annually? Pat pointed out that the airfares go up after that weekend. Something to do with Christmas and school holidays for the Public schools. I pointed out that this year the parents of the little blighters would be foregoing their winter hollibobs. Rachel Reeves again and her VAT assault on the middle classes. It appears, however, that a little extra VAT is not going to stop them and the Airlines are still looking to wrest what little remaining change they have from their mitts. Pat agreed to delaying our departure but not out of respect for the history of Association Football, but rather on the grounds (sic) that, as our departure was so close to Christmas, we may as well stay and celebrate the festive period with our family. December came around and right on cue the weather turned in time for the weekend of the 7th. The match was cancelled as Storm Darragh wreaked havoc across the north of the country with blowy winds and things, namely snow. We could have gone in November after all but at least we got to see family over Christmas.

Anyway I digress, if you can do that in the first paragraph. Perhaps the rest is the digression.

I digress. As I said, we left on 1st January and flew to Bangkok to commence a 4 month sojourn through S E Asia, taking in Thailand, Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia. We’ve been to all, except Laos, before but it has been 10 years since we were last in Thailand and 20 since Cambodia and Vietnam. While everybody tells us that we are going to see a lot of changes, as Pat says, we are coming to make new memories not to relive old ones.

Just a few days after we left the winter turned …well…wintry. Knaresborough was the front page picture around the world and on the BBC News pages. (Thats the Castle grounds in the picture).

Temperatures dropped to a low as -10C as we sweltered in 32C. Not an ounce of sympathy.

In pursuit of new memories, our first stop was Koh Lanta, for 10 days of relaxtion and recovery from the day to day hubbub of retirement, before embarking on our trip, and it proved to exemplify the juxtaposition of old memories/new memories. It was greatly changed but thoroughly enjoyed as an experience in 2025. We first came to this island in 1994. There was no mains electricity and the generator was set to come on at 5pm each evening and go off as soon as Pat plugged in her hair dryer. We had stayed at Lanta Resort on Long Beach, which at the time was fairly deserted. Days on the beach had been followed by evenings in the resort restaurant. Each night, it seemed, we drank the bar dry and each day the owners awaited the new beer supply, brought by ferry from the mainland. By the end of the week, we had been christened Mr & Mrs Carlsberg. Suffice to say, we did not build such a reputation this time. Not only are we older and wiser, we also now prefer Singha.

Long Beach is now as busy as hell and we set off south to Klong Nin Beach where we had been in 2014. Even this was busier, but bearably so, and although our beachfront resort wasn’t technically beachfront due to the promenade and sea wall between it and the sea, it was nevertheless comfortable and both far enough away and near enough to the night time economy for us to have a sufficient choice of meal time venues to choose from.

10 days on a beach is a welcome holiday. However, we are not here for a holiday. We are here to travel. A subtle difference. And so we begin our travels and head for Kanchanaburi.

Nothing like a visit to the Burma Railway to get any trip off to a great start. Nobody in my family was captured by the Japanese during the Second World War but I have long been aware of the depridations that befell the Alled servicemen who found themseves POWs in this part of the world. I recall one guy, Jack Edwards in Hong Kong, who had been a prisoner and forced to work in the coalmines of Taiwan. (Read his book “Banzai You Bastards”). Jack was captured at Singapore like most of those that were sent to work on the Thai-Burma railroad. Quite how so many survived is a miracle and a story of stoicism, determination, bloody mindedness and, of course, luck.

Despite it having such connections and a blatant WW2 bent in almost everything about town, we enjoyed Kanchanaburi and were lucky to discover a very good Thai restaurant right on our doorstep, literally only 20 steps from the hotel gate.

We went from Bangkok, ironically, by train to Kanchanaburi for just £2.35 for a near 3 hour journey, although the seats didnt provide £2.35’s worth of comfort.

Thai names have always been a source of amusement for a juvenile mind like mine. Thai food is full of sod and prik and the long Thai names are often abbreviated or replaced with nicknames or simple English words. The same, to some extent, was true in Hong Kong. Who can ever forget Turbo, an HSBC colleague in the eighties. Today I am welcomed to my ApartHotel by a charming receptionist, whose name badge informs me she is called Comfort. At breakfast we are served by a young man called Time. A lack of empathy from the first was cold comfort and Time stood still for most of the breakfast service. Boom! Boom! Juvenile. I know.

On a previous trip we had flown to Chiang Mai, in the North, from Bangkok. This time making our way overland affords us the opportunity not only to see the countryside of central Thailand, but also to visit the ancient cities of Ayutthaya and Sukhothai, that lie between Thailand’s two most populous centres. Both, in Thailands past, have served as capitals of civilisations centred in these parts. The former from the 14th to the 18th centuries and the latter a little earlier.

The architecture within the ancient cities, now preserved and subject to modern restorations, will be familiar to those fortunate to have visited Ankhor Wat in Cambodia and seen the architechture of Theruvada Buddhism in Sri Lanka. These old cities have been granted World Heritage Site status, although quite how prestigious this is when it can be taken away at a whim, as in Liverpool. (Oops. Just fell off my high horse).

Almost Ancient City and templed out, we make our way by bus to Chiang Mai. This is our first experience of a bus, as opposed to minivan. The tickets were purchased the day before and we are somewhat taken aback when the selling agent turns his computer screen to us to choose our seats. We opt for 11A and 11B, these being away from the toilets and not on the back row. Our tickets duly reflect our choice.

We arrived at the bus station nice and early and the bus arrived surprisingly close to on time. Having had lots of experience of bus travel on previous trips we are swiftly out of the starting gate as the bus pulls up and quickly load our bags in the hold and jump on. We are forgetting that we have allocated seats and our rush to get on board is a futile exercise borne out of bitter experiences. We make our way down the bus and soon determine that its A and B to the right, C and D to the left. Row 7, occupied. 8, occupied. 9, both empty. 10, occupied. We have reached the back of the bus. There is no Row 11. I check the C and D side. No Row 11. Only 10 Rows there as well. I’m not sure what I expected. A wonky bus perhaps? I tell Pat to sit in 9A and I slip in beside her in 9B. This does not prove to be a problem, although the conductress seems a little mystified by our tickets. Nevertheless, we set off.

After an hour, the driver announces a 20 minute pee break. I let Pat out and she makes her way to the front of the bus. I am not far behind, but several military lads push onto the bus and I back down to Row 9 as they advance in front of me. I sense that they have tickets for 9A and B, and so I reclaim the seats and, as they wave their tickets in my face, I direct them to 9C, 8B and C as having been empty on the last leg. Thankfully they accept this reallocation. However, I put my head down and bury my head in my phone screen as a young lady kindly asks one of the boy soldiers to vacate her allocated seat. He looks at me (I can see him in my peripheral vision but I refuse to make eye contact). I dont know how I would explain my ticket for a non existent seat. To consider doing this to a fellow traveller might just be possible, but I dont think trying it on with a non-English speaking soldier in his own country, who now has to sit on the floor at the back… well!

Lovely people, the Thais. So friendly and non confrontational. Just like their army!

Pat comes back from the toilet. “Why didn’t you get off?” she asks. I think I can just about explain it all to her but it may take most of the next 3 hour leg.

Travel. Don’t you just love it.