THE BACKPACKER - DAY 1

Base Camp, Somewhere in Northern Thailand

I’m really excited about this jungle trek. It’s a completely new experience for me. I’ve always liked walking. Nearly every lunchtime I go for a walk in Hyde Park - so it seems a natural choice for me to go on this jungle adventure holiday.

There’s six in our party - that includes me. We met up for the first time last night for drinks and introductions in a little wooden shack they call a hotel. My fellow travellers seem like a friendly bunch. There are two girls in the group – Maria from Stockholm (who’s a bit of a looker) and Morag from Dundee (who’s not). The three other guys are Matt from Kent, Phil from Cambridge, and Thijs ( I think it might be pronounced ‘Teesh’ – either that or he sneezed when he introduced himself) and he’s from Eindhoven. Everyone can speak English – well, apart from Morag – so that will help. Our two guides are rather amusingly called Hy and Lo - and wait for it – they come from a village called Phuk Me. Honest, that's what they told me.

Everyone drank beer at the get-together last night except me – I didn’t want to get too bagged up the night before we set off. The bottle of wine I was drinking - which I’d bought at a nearby general store - tasted awful, but I managed to drink three glasses of it. It was only after I started vomiting and had temporary blindness that one of the guides laughingly told me in his pidgin English that it was bleach. Still, in some ways I think my retching may have helped the group to bond quicker.

It’s been a three hour journey in a rickety old army truck to get us to our starting point proper. All the while the undergrowth has got denser and more luxuriant, and the air has got hotter and more humid. I wish I had brought looser fitting underpants.

We’re going to have to cover about 15-20km per day to complete our round trip in the allocated eight days – so that should be quite a challenge - especially as we have to carry all our supplies with us - and we have to cut a path through the jungle. Everyone's rucksack looks better than mine. I should have bought a new one instead of borrowing Dave from the office's. The Isle of Wight Festival badge on it should have been the giveaway.

Before we depart, Hy gathers us round and he says a Buddhist prayer for eternal good luck. But no sooner had we set off, and Lo cut the first frond off a giant fern to begin a path for us, than the heavens open up and we are deluged by an equatorial rainstorm.

We've had to abandon our plans for the day as it is still bucketing down and nightfall is coming. We are currently huddled together in the back of the truck listening to Thijs playing U2 songs on his mouth organ. Lo says he will say the prayer tomorrow.

THE BACKPACKER - DAY 2

Camp 1, Somewhere in Northern Thailand

The day started off badly. I swatted a large creepy-crawly off Thijs’s head but knocked him unconscious in the process. It was compounded by the fact he was still sleeping when I did it. It was still dark inside the truck, and purely by reflex, I attacked the insect by using a wheel brace that just happened to be beside me. I feel terrible about the incident – as indeed, does Thijs. It turns out we have an excellent first aid kit with us.

It was mid-morning before we managed to set off. The ground is very muddy underfoot and no doubt it is going to slow us up considerably. Morag is nearest to me and chats incessantly – fortunately, for the most part, I can’t understand her. For some strange reason she keeps referring to me as ‘Ken’. We trek for almost two hours before stopping. With the exception of our guides, we are completely knackered – especially Thijs – although this may be concussion. We have a cup of tea and some food and take a well-earned rest. I say food, it was chapattis filled with a curried ‘meat’. Maria is a vegetarian so she has a tin of peaches. I think I will be a vegetarian until I get home.

Matt and Phil have a light-hearted (I think) argument about football. Matt’s a Chelsea supporter and Phil supports Cambridge United. Maria listens to her Ipod with her eyes closed and Thijs is reading a book called the ‘Nostradamus & the Extra-Terrestrial Code of the Holy Grail’. Morag is comparing hunting knives with Hy and Lo.

Not wishing to end up with trench foot, I took off my boots and socks to dry my feet a bit, only to find I had left my towel back at the hotel. I had to use my Radiohead t-shirt to do the drying – Hail to the Thief! After an hour’s rest we set off again. We seem to be going uphill although it’s hard to tell looking at Maria – she’s a really fit girl (I must ask her if she is single).

There are some beautiful and interesting plants here but I’m told most of them are variously poisonous, carnivorous, or disintegrate when you touch them. I’ve taken quite a few photos of one that apparently only blooms for one day each year – what timing – it was beautiful, too.

Hy and Lo’s smoking is getting a bit annoying. They smoke unfiltered triple-strength Chinese cigarettes, constantly. Granted the smoke keeps a lot of the insects at bay, but cancer through passive smoking is too high a price to pay in my books. Although no one else seems to be bothered about it, I’m going to have a word with them tomorrow.

Disaster strikes. It looks like I’m the first one who needs to go to the loo. It was those bloody chapattis. I made my excuses and wandered slightly off route to undertake the necessary. As I squatted down, I noticed a little alien body attached to my privates. I let out such a high-pitched scream I even surprised myself. Lo came running and found me distraught. When I showed him the cause, he burst out laughing and then burnt off what turned out to be a leech, from my testicles. I’m sure the sound of his laughter (and Hy’s, who he just naturally had to tell immediately) will haunt me for the rest of my life.

I felt compelled to tell everyone at the campfire that night, and the ones that were listening were quite sympathetic – except Morag. She asked “Did ye shit yersel’ afore or efter ye came across the wee leach on yer heehaws?” Ha, bloody, ha, monkeywoman.

It’s our first night under canvas. The tents we have are easy to erect and hold two comfortably. Tonight I’m sharing with Phil. We put up our tube-framed hammocks, jump in, then pull over our mosquito nets. We’re both so tired after the first part of the trek, we crash out without much conversation. Looking forward to hopefully a good night’s sleep as tomorrow’s trek is up a mountain.

THE BACKPACKER - DAY 3

Camp 2, approx 20km from Camp 1, Somewhere in Northern Thailand

I hardly got a wink of sleep last night due to Phil grinding his teeth. In desperation I put a stick of Wrigley’s gum in between his teeth - but this only induced a coughing fit that lasted twenty minutes, before he reverted back to type and started grinding his teeth again. I ended up plugging in my Ipod as a distraction and fell asleep listening to The Strokes. I think I’ve got tinnitus now.

Breakfast is coffee and a couple of health food bars – you know the ones: full of nuts and seeds and obscure dried fruit. They’re quite tasty, actually. I have two and three mugs of coffee with sugar. I don’t normally take sugar but after last night’s sleepless nightmare I need the energy. I am a bit pissed with Phil, as he looks the picture of health and I feel like Stephen Hawkings sickly brother.

In no time at all the camp is dismantled and we are on our way. I think the sheer effort of carrying a heavy rucksack in such heat precludes anyone from too much conversation – either that or this is introvert city.

On the journey I approach Hy and state my views re: the excessive smoking. He merely grins and thrusts a pack of cigarettes into my hand and points to my groin. It’s safe to say my point has completely gone over his small head.

The walk uphill is slippery and arduous. Although it is extremely warm I have no idea why my bum, in particular, is getting fiercely hot. I leave it for another twenty minutes or so before I can take no more and am forced to approach one of the guides. Once again I have to endure a hideously embarrassing situation and show Hy my bottom – who in turn fails to recognise my anguish by cheerfully calling over Lo to have a look. Fighting back tears of laughter, they tell me in their horrible broken English, that my bottom must have touched the leaf of a poisonous plant when doing pooey-pooey. As I recall, I did use some leaves as toilet paper. Lo gave me some horrible smelly, yellow jelly to apply that gave me instant relief – though I did have to endure the indignity of it staining my khaki shorts bright orange in the offending area.

The strange high-pitched hissing noise as we walked along turned out to be Thijs breathing. Unbeknownst to him, Matt had hooked the not inconsiderable weight of his own tent and sleeping bag onto the back of Thijs' rucksack. It’s quite literally a super wheeze – but I shall have to watch Matt.

At one stage I thought I might get through the day without making a social faux pas – but no. During the last stage of the day’s trek, the lovely Maria was in front of me, just wearing a vest. I couldn’t help but notice a large leech on her back and thought it was only decent to get rid of it. Although I’m a non-smoker, I quickly lit up one of the cigarettes Hy gave me and stubbed it out on the little bugger. Maria’s scream could be heard in the neighbouring country. It transpired the ‘leech’ was a mole i.e. a skin blemish. If ever someone misjudged a situation. The poor girl didn’t stop shaking the whole night – despite having the yellow jelly smeared several times over her wound. I suspect I am persona non grata with her now – or the Swedish equivalent. I’ll try and make it up to her tomorrow.

Jack the Lad, Matt, managed to remove his tent and sleeping bag just before Thijs collapsed with exhaustion. I’m sharing with him (Matt) tonight so I’ll have to sleep with one eye open. But Jeez, I’m tired.

THE BACKPACKER - DAY 4

Camp 3, approx 18km from Camp 2, Somewhere in Northern Thailand

I feel justified in my lack of trust of Matt. He knew I was dog-tired last night. He saw me crash out fully-clothed into my hammock and he didn’t pull the mosquito net over me. Thanks to him I now have a face like a pizza. “ I thought you was gonna get up again.” Yeah, right. I head for the yellow jelly.

Over breakfast, Maria gives me a pained smile. Morag does nothing to endear herself to me “Hey youse, ye ken who this is, dain't ye? It’s the elephant man!” she brays. One presumes she is alluding to my mozzy bites. Matt and Phil smirk in tandem. Thijs acknowledges my state benignly - as befits a man of his intellect (or continuing concussion).

It's four days into the trek now and I am beginning to feel an antipathy towards certain members of the group. I have already identified those who must be traded to save the remainders' lives should we be attacked by cannibals and the proposal put to us.

The day’s trek goes well. We make good progress. The vegetation starts to thin out and the ground underfoot becomes easier to negotiate. As a result, the group’s spirits are high and we start singing together as we walk. Strangely, it is Thijs who leads off the community singing, with – not surprisingly – a U2 song: Angel of Harlem. Morag – not surprisingly – does a Proclaimers song: 500 Miles – which I must confess she was excellent at - mainly because she looks like them. Phil sings Reach for the Stars by S-Club 7 and rather disturbingly performs the accompanying dance routine. Maria – not surprisingly – sang an ABBA song: Thank You for the Music, which went down well in an unimaginative way. I gave my all singing the old Frank Sinatra standard: New York, New York. I was wonderful. There was a real sense of togetherness. It took Matt to kill the mood by singing Blue is the Colour – apparently some Chelsea supporters song. You can understand why people on the continent think we are divs.

I got chatting to Phil. He’s a tall, rangey kind of bloke with a shaven head. For the first time I notice he has a facial tic. It looks like he’s about to break into a smile every couple of minutes or so and then doesn’t. It’s quite disconcerting because you’ve got to stop yourself from joining in. Anyway, we were having this conversation and quite out of the blue he tells me he’s bisexual. And we were talking about motors up till then. Where do you go from there? I just cleared my throat, said that was nice, then started to take some photographs of the scenery.

After lunch of crackers, chickpea paste and chocolate, we reach the top of the mountain and find that it is actually a huge plateau. Then we take in the view beneath us. It is quite unbelievable – principally due to the fact that we are nowhere near as high up as we thought we were. In fact, it’s not a mountain we’ve been climbing – it’s just a hill. Hy and Lo open a bottle of some weird champagne-like stuff to celebrate as if we have just climbed Annapurna. I can’t buy in to the celebration and sit down and sulk at the contrivance. As I look around I’m delighted to find that the rest of the group are equally bemused. Morag comes and sits down beside me “Fuckin’ keech, eh? Ken, ma street’s oan a bigger hill than this.” I barely understand her but I recognise the sentiment.

Hy and Lo’s mock celebrations are cut short by the sound of a wild animal's roar coming from the nearby undergrowth. They bark at us to get behind them as they reach for their rifles, which for some strange reason I take cognizance of for the first time. As we huddle behind them, the roar goes up again. "Tiger! Tiger!" Lo shouts. We all duck down – well known avoidance tactics when dealing with fierce wild animals i.e. if you don’t look at it, it won’t see you. Not. Hy and Lo fire off a couple of shots in the direction of the roar. We all stand up then there’s another roar and we all squat down again. Then, quite unbelievably, Matt parts from the group and charges into the undergrowth towards the sound. Seconds later he appears and we spontaneously laugh and cheer his return – even Hy and Lo. Morag articulates our individual thoughts perfectly “Yer a mad bastard, Matt!” Matt takes the acclaim then utters “Well, you can’t be too frightened of a mobile phone!” he says gleefully holding one aloft and pressing it so we can hear the ringtone of a 'tiger roar'. “Har! Har! Har! You should ‘ave seen your faces” he says, grinning. The prank just didn’t translate to Hy and he raises his rifle towards Matt’s head. Only the timely intervention of Lo, with presumably some Thai advice on anger management, allows Matt more time on the planet. Thijs approaches Matt “No more tricks Matt or I shall have to kill you.” he says rather matter-of-factly. The atmosphere is decidedly icy. As if to dissipate it, Maria gives us all a hug and says we should move on before it gets dark.

We walk on silently, each reflecting on the serious turn of events of the day. However the silence is soon broken by the sound of farting, then ten seconds later more farting, and then again. Without speaking, Matt holds his mobile phone aloft. I can see his shoulders shake with merriment. Roll on nightfall.

THE BACKPACKER - DAY 5

Camp 4, approx 20km from Camp 3, Somewhere in Northern Thailand

It was a strange old night. I shared a tent with Thijs for the first time. He’s quite an enigmatic chap really. I am beginning to think he might be a spy or an assassin – and not the interior designer he claims to be. Certainly last night, the way he said he would kill Matt, didn’t sound like the words of a man devoted to spatial awareness. Anyway I made sure I apologised again for bludgeoning him with the wheel brace. We had a chat about everyone in the group. What a revelation he was! I was amazed at how much information he had gleaned about everyone. I mean, I had hardly even seen him speak. For instance, he knew Phil was a graphic designer and bisexual and that he’d left his wife for a double glazing salesman from Ely. I quipped that must have been a real pane for her - but it was lost on Thijs. “Yes, much pain”, he responded. He also knew that the gorgeous Maria worked in the University of Stockholm and that she was here to get over the untimely death of her long-time boyfriend. (Excellent news – she’s single). He knew that Morag owns a pet grooming business and wants to get travel out of her system before she settles down – Gawd help whoever with. I feel she should have saved her money for plastic surgery and elocution lessons. He knew that Matt is an estate agent – which is not a surprise. But then again, who would buy from him? His mum? A blind deaf masochist? The mere thought of having to endure his cheeky chappie sales pitch makes my stomach feel queasy.

Now call it an alternative take on conversational etiquette - or call it continental differences - but I was right in the middle of explaining the nuances of being a product specialist in a telecommunications company, when Thijs turns over and goes to sleep. What's that about? For badness, I jabber on inanely for the next twenty minutes or so. I would have talked for longer but I heard a couple of loud shushes from outside the tent. I shut up and go to sleep.

The next morning as we packed up after breakfast, I saw some weird looking prints beside the tent. I called Hy over and he tells the group that they were made by a giant lizard (probably a ‘monit-ur luzzard’ says Morag)
"That’s all I need - a giant reptile that doesn’t like the sound of my voice", I jest to the group.
Matt kidnaps my joke. “I work beside one of those”, he quips.
“A monitor lizard?” asks an amazed Maria
“Na-ah! A giant reptile that doesn’t like the sound of my voice”, grins Matt.
“In your office? In London?”, Maria continues.
“Yeah!!! It’s my boss – he’s the giant reptile that doesn’t like the sound of my voice! Ha!”, states Matt, now with a weak smile.
“And he has this reptile in his office?”, asks Thijs.
“Oh, fuck off!” snaps an exasperated Matt, and he storms off, leaving Maria and Thijs looking at each other, blankly.
It was wonderful to watch his attempt at a joke crumble under the pressure of a logic that would make Mister Spock seem like Ken Dodd.

The day’s trek up until mid-afternoon was fairly uneventful. The heat, humidity, mosquitoes, and muddy ground underfoot, for some reason, had become more tolerable. It wasn’t until Morag fell down a hole – some kind of animal trap, actually – that things started to go awry. Fortunately(?) she was unhurt, but since the pit was about eight feet deep, it was a bit of a logistical nightmare trying to get her out. Initially, Hy held his (unloaded) rifle out for Morag to get hold of, but when she started to pull herself up, the barrel sheared off. I don’t know who uttered the most profanities, Hy or Morag. However, it was Morag’s temper that made her propel the sheared barrel out of the pit with such a force, that when it hit Thijs on the temple, he fell like a sack of yams. Phil made for the first aid kit, whilst Matt consoled(?) Maria, who for some reason started to go a bit jittery. Lo then shouted abuse at Hy for apparently either stealing the rope, not packing it, or both. Hy then went to a tree and macheted off a large branch to use as a rescue pole, whilst Lo scrambled into the pit to comfort and console the cursing Morag. Matt was strangely subdued - and being a prize tit, fabulously superfluous. In true war photographer fashion, I detached myself from the chaos and clicked away on my fabby digital camera, recording history – or possible litigation. Amidst the confusion, Maria called me over to help Phil support Thijs, as he hobbled over to an open area where he could lie more comfortably. Unbelievably, I handed over my camera to Matt to look after. In the short space of time it took me to get Thijs moved 10 metres or so and walk back, the twat had deleted all the photos on the disc – probably about eighty of them. What compounded it all, was I was actually thinking of changing the memory card in it this morning. Rare plants and flowers – one that apparently only blooms for a day, endangered wildlife, stunning scenery, special moments of the group, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Gone. Forever.

“I just wanted to ‘ave a gander at yer photos. I must ‘ave pressed the wrong button. I'm gutted , bro’ “ he uttered, by dint of an apology.

I wanted to kill him. Really. And throw him in that pit.

In my desolation, I failed to notice that Hy and Lo had successfully extricated Morag from her trap. My spirits were not even lifted by the sight of her covered in mud and rotting vegetation, and spitting out animal droppings.
“See if ah fun’ who fuckin’ put that therr, ah’ll fuckin’ malky thaim, so ah wull”, she ranted in broad Dundee-ese (or somesuch).

It was agreed we should set up camp soonest and just chill out. Where Thijs lay prostrate seemed the obvious place. Lo went off into the bushes and came back half an hour later with a small (dead) wild pig draped around his neck. Soon the smell of the best organic bacon you have ever tasted filled the air. Even Maria succumbed and guiltily ate some – comfort food, I suspect. Great as it was, I wish I could have enjoyed the food better but my mind was on the lost photos.

I share with Phil tonight and fortunately for Matt he shares with Thijs. I’m too annoyed to write any more.

THE BACKPACKER - DAY 6

Camp 5, approx 12-16km from Camp 4, Somewhere in Northern Thailand

Fortunately last night finished uneventfully. I swapped Ipods with Phil and listened to his life in music: ambient, acoustic, thrash metal and country & western. It was as eclectic a taste as you could get – jeez, if ever there was a cry for help. I dozed off wondering how much his therapist charges.

In the morning I woke to the sound of commotion. Bleary-eyed, I spilled out of the tent. Thijs had Matt in a headlock with Phil and Morag trying to pull them apart. It seemed that whilst moving about inside the tent Matt had ‘inadvertently’ banged against Thijs’s already tender head. For Thijs this had been the tipping point that was now encouraging him to squeeze the life force out of Matt. Unfortunately he released his grip.
“You nutter!” spat Matt., “I could ‘ave ‘ad you! I’m a Chelsea ‘ead’unter! The Firm, mate! The Firm!
“Please, no more fighting!” says an exasperated Maria, “Be good. Shake hands. We are all in this together.”
Those beautifully intoned (if somewhat stilted) comments seemed to do the trick.
“Right. Let’s aw gee each ither a hug” utters the articulate one.
Although I took the gesture to be a fairly token one, I must admit I was looking forward to hugging Maria. But before I know it, Phil has himself draped around me and is sobbing into my neck. Worse still, his nose is running.
“Whoa, Phil. What’s wrong?” I enquire with maximum heterosexual concern. Maria goes to him and hugs him affectionately for at least two minutes.
“I miss him , guys. I miss him so much” he sniffs.
“Michael, huh?” empathises Thijs (how on earth does Thijs the Trappist monk get to know so much?)
“Yeah. Look I’m sorry folks. Just ignore me. I’m feeling a bit lonely right now.”
“Fuck me!!” says Matt, exaggeratedly.
The emotionally stable members of the group turn and stare at him, increduously.
“Hey, it wasn’t an invite!. It’s just that those geezers Hy and Lo appear to ‘ave disappeared.

Sure enough, our stoic little Thailanders had indeed effed off. A search of the camp only produces a map – wrapped in a bright red protective plastic covering and suspiciously located under a sole rock in the middle of the camp. It is the first time we have clapped eyes on a map of any description. Cripes! What a spiffing adventure this is going to be now. All we need now is some sticky buns and lashings of lemonade. So this must be the part where we are left to our own devices and have to fend for ourselves. Can we make it to the next camp? Who will be the natural leader? What will we find out about ourselves…I mean, as people? Yeah, right. It’s another embarrassingly contrived situation.

We have an emergency group meeting, during which we discover, according to the map, we have only trekked about fifty-eight clicks, instead of the anticipated seventy kilometres. I check my pedometer that I bought as a special offer with Kelloggs Bran Flakes – two hundred and fifty-two kilometres! Even with my distressed padding about the camp I couldn’t have walked an extra hundred and ninety-odd kilometres. When I get home I’ll demand my £5.99 back. Anyway we agree to miss out Camp 6 and head straight for Camp 7 since they look equidistant from Camp 5. In a rather childish show of hands, Thijs is voted to lead our intrepid group of explorers, with Phil bringing up the rear (so to speak). We stumble across a path of sorts, and without too much effort, make our way through the vegetation.

Sneakily, I have positioned myself behind Maria. After staring at her bum for forty minutes of the trek I break out of my fantasy and begin to look at other parts of her. Disturbingly. several ‘flaws’ begin to manifest themselves,viz: her hair colour may not be natural; her ankles are quite chunky; she has quite long, hairy arms (albeit blonde hairs); oh, and she has multiple ear piercings. I only wish I wasn’t so good looking and these things didn’t matter. I have a quick look back at Morag, who is picking something out of her teeth with a hunting knife, and things are once again put in perspective. Thank heavens for ugly women.

To be honest, as each day passes the trek has become less and less enjoyable. It is almost dark when we get to what we reckon is the proposed site for Camp 7. For his sterling work as guide, Thijs gets a pat on the back from most of us and foolishly a rub on the head from Matt, who seeing him wince in pain, immediately protests his innocence.

In theory, tonight is the second last night, but if the map is to be believed we still have another 36km to endure over the next two days. Given the distance we have covered so far that would be a big ask. To think I knocked back the opportunity of a cycling holiday in East Anglia.

We are now old hands at setting up the tents and getting the night fire lit. Not surprisingly, the topic of conversation after eats is the disappearance of Hy and Lo. The general consensus is that it’s all part of the package and travelling on our own is a hoot. I’m not with them on that one. Then Morag, the laterally-shaped lateral thinker intones that “It’s easy tae fun(?) oot the score(?)” and she proposes that Matt, the sole mobile phone possessor, should phone the trek organisers for information. It’s a eureka moment that is only eclipsed by Matt’s subsequent announcement, after rumbling about in his backpack, that he can’t find his mobile…or his Ipod…or his money…or his passport. With complete disregard for his circumstances, we immediately check our own backpacks. It’s a similar tale for us all. Even my top of the range digital camera with no photos in it...gone. The thieving little bastards! Morag ensures the group that if she catches them she’ll turn them into full-blown lady-boys.

Deflated, we review the situation and agree that it would be better to get a good night’s sleep before tackling our new-found dilemma.

THE BACKPACKER - DAY 7

Camp 7, approx 18km? from Camp 5, Somewhere in Northern Thailand

Coo-coo-uh! Coo-coo-uh! Ah, the velvety tones of the wood pigeon. It’s a beautiful summer’s morning. Morning Mood from the Greig’s Peer Gynt suite now gently permeates my ears and the smell of sizzling bacon starts to fill the air invitingly. I reach out for the bacon sandwich proffered lovingly by my nan. Wait a minute! My nan’s been dead for ten years! Aaargh! A dream!

“Up ye get, mate!” It’s Matt’s dulcet tones. Woe, woe and thrice woe.
“Apparently we’re gonna kick on in about an hour.” he informs me.

I drag myself up, rub my eyes, and focus on the real world. Matt’s ugly mush fills my vista. His face looks half-finished. Has the man no redeeming features?

“There’s a brew up outside if you want some. Café Matte. Geddit?”

He disappears out the tent flap and I flop back down. I think I’m cracking. This promised to be the holiday of a lifetime in a positive, life enhancing way and now it’s the fucking unexpurgated version of Dante’s Inferno. I actually catch myself saying the word ‘sigh’ as I get up (again). Before you can say ‘damp stinking clothes’, I’m dressed and out among my fellow campers.

“Ooh-yah! Bliddy good coffee, Matt!” says Morag, navvy-style.
“Just what I need, man.” says Phil, slurping his dregs, before re-filling.

Being Scandinavian types, Maria and Thijs eat some kind of chipboard crackers washed down with sensible water. I pour some coffee into a mug and sit down amongst them. The coffee is like tar only not as nice tasting. Diligent as ever, Thijs has been studying the map. He reckons it will take us eight hours good yomp to get to the finish line, where we can demand our money back, hang Hy and Lo, and scrub the smell of damp and decay out of our skins. Any order will do.

We gather our things and set off. The first hour or so was, by previous experience, fairly uneventful. Light jungle, boggy under foot, a damp pervasive heat, and lots of weird noises. We were making disturbingly excellent progress, principally due to Morag’s lead. She was almost walking as fast as she was talking. Maria asks her to slow down as Phil appears to lagging behind. We look round and see Phil, without his pack, pulling a face with his two front teeth prominent and 2 upright fingers of each hand at either side of his head. It was instantly recognisable as a man impersonating a rabbit. At first we thought it was a joke and made light of it. But when he just stared back at us impassively, twitched his nose, then hopped into the dense undergrowth, our collective hearts sank. I ran after him, leaving Matt with Maria and Morag, who by now appeared to be speaking in tongues.
Praying that he hadn’t dug a burrow, we searched and shouted for an eternity (= 10 mins). It was just by chance that I looked up at a tree branch, only to see Phil perched on it…naked. I called Thijs over. From the permanently pained expression on his face, I can see that even he is within a day or so of the loony bin. Surprisingly it only takes the promise of some millet spray and a cuttle fish to get Phil out of the tree. We dress him and then trudge silently back to the others like shellshocked Nam veterans back from another mission. Phil gets hugged and we sit down to take stock. Suddenly a lightbulb explodes in Maria’s head.
“The coffee!! Could it have been the coffee?”
“Mat what did you do to the coffee” asks Thijs sternly.
“Nuffink. I only made it super strength because I thought we all need a little caffeine lift to ring us all back up.”
“And nothing else” enquires Maria.
“Nah!”
“Are you sure?” Me, Thijs and Maria, all ask as one voice.
“Course I am fucking sure! I even cleaned out the pot and dried it with a lea……. “
“With what Matt?” Thijs enquires somewhat darkly.
“A leaf….just a leaf… to get the dregs out of the bottom.”
Maria does her CSI.
“That’s it. The chemicals off the leaf must have re-acted with the caffeine in the coffee.”
“And with my anti-depressants” says a recovering Phill in a monotone voice.
“Nay wonder Ah felt ah wiz goin’ fuckin’ raj!” No one has a clue what the man-woman means. You know Morag could be a Martian – the language, the looks, the gait.

We rest. We gird our loins. We move on. Only seven or so hours till camp. Spiffing! Matt’s stupidity aside, once again nature has picked at our collective scab. It is really just down to endurance now. Can we make it to the end vivo intacto?

THE BACKPACKER - DAY 8

The journey home, Somewhere in Northern Thailand

It was the longest journey ever last night. We walked until we more or less dropped. The primal will to get to the end and get home drove us on. Now expert in setting up camp, the time between finding a suitable spot to climbing into our sleeping bags was minimal. Little was said. I think we all wanted to be in our own heads. We knew the next day was (hopefully) our last and the day of the big push.

“Rise and shine ya lazy bastards! Let’s get tore in! Come on youse!”
The fog horn that is Morag ripped me from my slumber. For sure I will miss her – as one would miss a painful sexually transmitted disease. Maria has made the coffee. Matt grins sheepishly at it. Unthreatened, because she has made it, I take some. It tastes like nectar. We sit round the fire smiling. Today’s the day. Thijs shows us our route to Nirvana on the map. Phil gets up, his hair is growing in. Jeez, it looks white!
“Guys will you mind all holding hands, please?” he asks.
Everyone complies. Then he says “God, thank you for getting us to this day. Please see us safe to the end. Amen.”
Err…right Phil. The Almighty has been on top form so far.

“Lets do it!” says Maria, a fleeting perviness, and then I realise that she is addressing everyone and she means commencing the walk. 20 km – maybe less. We pack up and go. About 10 km into the walk we see another human being! A native chap (hark at me, all colonial) in a wide brimmed hat, sitting on a cart pulled by an ox. I say ox but I don’t really know what it is. It’s not a horse though – unless it is made of playdough. The man grins at us and waves. I recognise that benign grin.
“You knobbers” it says, “ You’ve been had!”
We wave back.
“Chungat Li!” shouts Thijs, pointing in one direction.
“Chungat Li” responds the native, pointing in a direction of about 90 degrees difference.
"Chungat Li!?” says a surprised Thijs with a corrected point.
“Chungat Li” smiles the chap, maintaining his point.
This is where we find out that Chungat Li actually means ‘deathtrap’ and not the town that was our starting point. However, no-one is in any mood to be put off by premature loss of life and we crack on in the new direction to Chungat Li. The scrub gets thicker but the semblance of a track is there. Very slightly disconcerting is the fact that it looks as if it is leading us into a jungle. But hey ho! we have a new found confidence. As Jefferson Airplane were wont to carouse when they reincarnated as Jefferson Starship, ‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now!’

Morag, who is leading our merry band, goes out her way to stand on a snake with her tackety boots. Who knows if it was poisonous: an endangered species; or the buddhist re-incarnation of Princess Diana, it’s fucking dead now. And we all cheer. Even Thijs and Maria. Yes, the jungle does strange things to you. But wait, now the jungle has a definite path. That’s good! And the more we walk into it the more paths we see joining it - and the more defined it becomes. We decide to take a break in a clearing adjacent to the junction of our main path with three (yep, count them) smaller paths.

We’re high on the scent of freedom. Demob giggly. All friends in adversity. Blood brothers and sisters. It does feel good. My, how I love these short sentences.

Refreshed and re-charged, we’re off. This is it – the last leg. Out of the blue Thijs starts to sing ‘Hi-ho, Hi-ho, it’s off to home we go’. Gleefully, we all join in. Matt embellishes with descant, bird noises, burps and farts.

Unbelievably, the path has transformed itself into monobloc with a coping stone edge! About 100 metres ahead there’s a metal archway with flowers woven through it. Inexplicably, we all break into a run and rush towards it. We burst through the arch together.

“Aaargh!” A man and a woman scream, as they leap out of a hammock. We appear to be in the garden of someone’s apartment.
“Please ! Please!” they beg, “We have no money!”
“Calm doon! Calm doon! Neither hiv we!” barks Morag, indifferent to their alarm.
“We are just backpackers completing our journey. Can you tell us where we are?” quoth I.
“You scared us, guys!” says the bloke (Australian)
“You are in the Jungle Dream Apartments” says his Sheila (for she is Australian, too).
“Is this Chungat Li? asks Thijs, still perplexed at his map-reading skill going horribly awry.
“Close enough. It’s about five clicks away. You can get the courtesy bus into it. You guys okay? Oz boy sees us as the deranged beings we have become.
“ Are you lost or something?” enquires Oz girl nervously.
“Nope! We’re home…or getting there.” I state imperiously.
“We are sorry to burst in on you.” says Thijs, gathering himself from his outburst of normality.
“No worries. We just got a bit spooked. Look, there’s a bus leaves about now if you’re interested” says the bloke – obviously keen to get shot of us (and who wouldn’t be?).

We follow his directions, apologise again, and commandeer the minibus into Chungat Li.
It’s a short, weird journey. Ever closer to the end, I reflect on how I have bonded with this strange disparate bunch of people – but only through common trauma I think.

The bus stops outside Thai Adventure Treks (yes, TAT) and we spew out. What took place next is a story of its own but suffice to say Morag drew her hunting knife and threatened the staff with it, Thijs (mistakenly) got hit on the head again by a Thai policeman and was hospitalised, Matt disappeared, Phil broke down again and got comforted by Maria (I know he’s an emotional wreck but I can’t help feel he’s actually winning her affection by it. What a bastard). And me? I’m going to write a strongly worded letter of complaint. Well, quite frankly I thought to escape back home with my life and, albeit a very small amount, of my dignity intact, was a bonus.

Sure I’ll miss them all. I’ll keep in touch. Maybe. Who am I kidding?

I take my seat on the Airbus home. In 16 or so hours I’ll be back in my flat in Blighty. Joy. There’s two spare seats next to me so I hope that no one comes and I’ll be able to stretch out and start the much-needed recuperation process.
I’m dog-tired and can feel my eyes closing ever...so... s-l-o-w-l-y.
“Wotcha, mate!”
Matt sits down breezily, beside me.
Shit! This is like Lost! I did die.