The sun beckons ...

The view of Pudong from the Shanghai Bund

Ooooooo, it's so close now we can almost taste it. Two days and the sun will be ours, all ours, mwah ha ha ha (evil laugh).

We've endured our final overnight hard sleeper train in China and are now in Shanghai, freezing our butts off and looking forward to getting back to Oz. We've been getting out and about a bit, but even I have to admit that our hearts aren't in it at the moment.

Travelling through China is a constant attack on the senses and Shanghai is no exception. It's a massive bustling city, full of shops and pushy salespeople, and an intriguing mix of old and new. Unfortunately, the famous Shanghai Bund is clouded in a thick mist and under constant attack by an icy winter wind. No strolls along the waterfront for us - just many hours relaxing in comfy cafes and trying to remember what it feels like to sit in the sun with a cold beer.

Location of the first Communist congress

A chinese shakedown (from Ping'an to Fenghuang by bus)

Four days ago, we suffered a little brain blip. At the time, we didn’t realise it was a brain blip. In fact, we thought it was a cracking idea – ditch the train and get a feel for rural China by taking the slower bus route north to Fenghuang.

Now, sitting in front of an open fire in our guesthouse, we know it was a brain blip … or a Chinese shakedown. Here’s how it went.

Take two stupid Aussies. Dump them in a rural bus station with no timetable and no map. Point them in the direction of a bus, any bus, and tell them it will take them where they want to go … even if it doesn’t. They can’t understand anyway because they haven’t bothered to learn the local language or have stopped trying because whenever they do they get laughed at.

Sit them up the front near the door, where there is plenty of room for their giant packs. Wait until they are comfortable then surround them with more bags, boxes, buckets of petrol, sacks of chickens and ducks, and a bunch of local villagers who’ll hock and spit for hours. Drive only on dirt roads – the bumpiest ones you can find - and drive fast. Overtake only around blind corners and overtake fast, particularly when driving over high mountain passes. Add 20 cases of beer, enough dust to make their eyes water, some chain smokers, and squeeze some children onto their seats. Make sure they’re sitting near someone with chronic travel sickness who will puke their guts up for the entire journey. Never stop for a toilet break. Almost drive them off a cliff. And don’t forget to try to run over some cyclists.

Repeat every five hours until they reach wherever the hell they are trying to go or get back on a train.

If they survive, reward them with a cosy guesthouse on the Tuo River, where they’ll meet some nice people who will be so impressed that they have travelled for five weeks in China without speaking Mandarin that they’ll treat them to some tasty Chinese takeaway, potent rice wine and a warm fire.

After finding ourselves stranded in Sanjiang on the first night, we stumbled across Chengyang, one of many beautiful wooden Dong villages in the area. This bridge was built by the Dong villlagers in 1912.

Finally we reach Fenghuang. This riverside town is under constant siege by Chinese tourists but its wooden houses and cobbled streets still have an irresistable charm.

More photos of Chengyang and Fenghuang

Dragon's Backbone Rice Terraces

Dragon's backbone rice terraces

Ping'an is a small Zhuang village nestled on the main ridge of the Dragon's backbone rice terraces. If you can make it up the steps to the village, it's the perfect spot to chill out for a couple of nights. And I mean chill out. It's flipping freezing here at night and if it wasn't for the scenery, we'd be seriously questioning our decision to postpone Vietnam in favour of another couple of weeks in China.

A woman from the next village

The village and the rice terraces have been home to various minority cultures for hundreds of years. This woman makes the two hour trek from a nearby village to Ping'an everyday to sell her homemade goods to tourists, and for a couple of yuan she'll take off her hair.

Emma holding the woman's first ponytail

The women from this particular minority culture get their first haircuts at the age of 10, their second at the age of 18 and then every 10 years or so after that. They keep all their hair tightly wrapped on their head so that it looks suspiciously like a hat! Slightly odd but fascinating all the same.

More photos from the dragon's backbone rice terraces

Biking along the Yulong River, Yangshou

The Yulong River

Back on the bikes again. This time though, we busted out an extra £5 for a couple of mountain bikes with brakes and tyre tread. Relative luxury compared to the old rust buckets we rented in Dali. And a lucky thing too.

Apparently, for Carl and I, biking along the Yulong River just outside of Yangshou in the Guangxi province is not as simple as it sounds. We got lost trying to shake off a local self-appointed guide and ended up having to manouver the bikes through thorny bushes, head high crops and muddy fields, over wet concrete, and around chickens.

You'll hear no complaint from us though. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and the Chinese tour groups were bouncing up and down on the Li River, completely unaware of the beautiful scenery that's hidden among the karst peaks.

Em showing off her cycling prowess

More Yangshou photos

Rules for travelling safely (and how to break them)

1. If your mode of transport looks unsafe it probably is. If a bicycle cost less than £1 a day to rent, it's probably a piece of junk. Pack a spare tyre and pump, some food and water, and a good map just in case.

Carl riding with a flat tyre, no food or water and a map that makes no sense

2. Never break the law. If a sign says that tourists are forbidden to ride in local boats, don't make a deal with a little old lady that involves a ride in said boat at a fraction of normal ferry prices.

Our highly unseaworthy vessel on Erhai Hu (which means ear-shaped lake)

3. Always read and understand the terms and conditions of any agreement. Don't just nod, pretend you understand Chinese and hope that it all works out for the best. If you have a bird phobia, at least make sure that the agreement does not involve you spending two long hours in a rusty old boat surrounded by birds ... because that just be plain stupid now, wouldn't?

Carl the birdman and his feathered friends (clearly he's not the one with the bird phobia)

Our captain collects his catch

More photos from our bird fishing adventure on Erhai Hu

Farewell Mama Naxi

Mama Naxi is a crazy Naxi woman who runs the busiest hostel in Lijiang - it's also the cheapest! She's one of the funniest characters we've met in China. She fusses endlessly over her guests, force-feeds you banana and Naxi bread and talks about herself in the third person.

The Naxi is a minority group that's lived in the Yunnan region for more than 1000 years. Although it's never been a truly matriachial society, the woman have always ruled the roost. And they still do today. If you ever find yourself in Lijiang - and you should get there because it's gorgeous - give mama a call and you won't be disappointed.

Next stop: a little further south to Dali, where banana pancakes and 'happy' pizza abound.

Dali dealings

Dali dealers or innocent local village women?

Don’t be fooled. They look like nice law abiding ladies sitting there knitting away, but there’s a sinister side to these grannies. Hashish, anyone?

Tiger Leaping Gorge

The leaping tiger may be a myth but thankfully the rumours we've heard about Tiger Leaping Gorge are all true. The gorge is a couple of hours north of Lijiang in Yunnan. It's one of the deepest in the world, and is about 16kms long. The Chinese visit it in buses, but we headed high above the road on a dirt track where the environment and the villages remain relatively untouched. Up here there are no microphone touting tour guides, no hawkers, no noise and no traffic. Just snowcapped mountains on one side and the odd donkey, villager and guesthouse on the other. We've lingered in the gorge for three nights, although you can do it in one. Call us crazy, but we're in no rush to get back to civilisation. Every morning we've woken up to spectacular views of the mountains, blue sky and sunshine. At night, we've feasted on locally grown vegetables. The trek has taken us around the side of cliffs, up and over mountains, around 30 gruelling uphill bends, through rice paddies, under waterfalls and over piles of rocks left by small avalanches. Bliss.

Gasp! That there'd be blue sky!

Now this is more like it. We survived our 13-hour hard sleeper journey from Chengdu to Panzhihua and are about halfway through an 8-hour bus ride to Lijiang in the Yunnan province.

We've heard good things about this part of China and things are looking promising already. The bus is weaving its way through green valleys that look nothing like the industrial wasteland we've come to expect in China. The sky is a clear blue and the sun is shining.

If we could just get the bus driver to turn off the Chinese music that's blaring out of the TV and get the guy puking in the back to keep it down, we'd be in business.

The hard sleeper may live to fight another day

The earplugs worked a treat so we got a decent kip and we even managed to sort out some porridge for breakfast. No morning goobers came our way from the top bunks, just a bit of vocal throat clearing but we're used to that.

Our friends in soft sleeper on the other hand got a cougher in their 4-berth cabin. Knowing the Chinese don't cover their mouths - even in enclosed spaces - and already infected with the flu, they spent the whole night praying that another Chinese lurgy wasn't headed in their direction.

Anyway, we made it to Chengdu. Tomorrow we're off to see some cuddly pandas (actually we'll probably just take photos of other people cuddling the pandas for a whopping 100 pounds a cuddle). In a couple of days, the migration to the sun will continue. But will we brave the hard sleeper? Stay tuned.

Is this the end of the hard sleeper?

Carl squished into a bunk built for midgets

Maybe it is for us. We vowed that we would downgrade from a soft sleeper cabin to hard sleeper cabin when our journeys became shorter than two nights. So here we are, squished into two middle bunks in a carriage with about another 50 Chinese. No other gringos to be seen. Just us and 50 smelly, spitting, slurping Chinese.

I must admit I'm beginning to think that the 4-berth soft sleeper is worth the extra 5 pounds. But then again 5 pounds is 5 pounds, and at the moment that's the same price as we are paying for a night in a hostel. Plus it's only 16 hours. We've already survived a waiting room that reeked with the stench of a thousand sweaty bodies, a child projectile vomiting in the aisle next to us and the battle for a spot on the luggage rack. Our sleeping bags are protecting us from the dirty bed clothes (they don't change them when one passenger gets off and another gets on) and Carl actually looks kind of comfortable ... for a 6-foot white boy in a bed made for a midget. (He can't stretch his legs out without them hanging across the walkway so his knees may not survive the night.)

My biggest concerns right now are:

• the toilet (never a pleasant experience in China but on Chinese trains they are exceptionally filthy)
• the baby that's screaming it's lungs out in the next carriage
• getting to sleep before the 40-odd men in the carriage, at least half of whom will snore their way happily through the night I'm sure
• not getting spat on when I get out of my bunk in the morning (seriously the Chinese have a major aversion to saliva and will spit anywhere anytime

The earplugs are ready. Next stop: Chengdu

An ambitious little bugger

You've got to give the man credit. Qin Shi Huang, China's first emperor, had a grand plan and he pulled it off. I don't even think George Bush would have the bollocks to build an army of warriors to protect him in the after-life. Little Johnny Howard may have thought about it, but the recent election seems to have put an end to those kind of dreams. Noice one, Aussies, noice one.

The army of terracotta warriors

The lungs take a beating

Carl speeds along Xian's city walls

This morning a bit of exercise sounded like a good idea. We'd bike around Xian's city walls - built in 1370 during the Ming dynasty and still standing today - take in the view and stretch our legs after yesterday's train ride.

The walls are 12m high, up to 18m thick and have a perimeter of about 14kms - the perfect cycling track for a couple of travelers on rusty ol' bikes.

Tonight though, we are wondering if it was really a smart move. We read somewhere that spending a day breathing in the air in China is the equivalent to smoking 70 cigarettes. Call me paranoid, but there was not one spec of blue sky to be seen today and the sun was almost completely obscured by smog. Even our London-ravaged bodies can't withstand the damage we probably did to them today ...

Everest base camp - we cheated!

Tashilhunpo Monastary (Gyantse to Tingri)

Tashilunpo Monastary is the seat of the Panchen Lama, who is second in command to the Dalai Lama (Panchen means 'great scholar').

Before we entered, our guide warned us not to discuss the Dalai Lama with any of the monks. According to our guide, the monks at this monastery will report you to the authorities if they suspect you're sympathetic to the plight of the Dalai Lama and the fight for Tibetan independence. These monks, he claims, receive funding from the Chinese and it's fair to say that the monastery is in much better than nick than most we've seen. A little more probing of our guide and a flick through our trusty lonely planet guide reveals why this monastery is different from the others we've seen.

• Throughout Tibetan history, Panchen Lamas have been 'frequent rivals to the central authority of Lhasa and are often used as pawns in Chinese designs on the high plateau'.
• The 9th Panchen Lama tried to use the Chinese to gain greater influence in Tibet after a disagreement with the Dalai Lama. When the 9th Panchen Lama passed away, Tibetan delegates in Beijing were forced to endorse the Chinese choice for the 10th Panchen Lama (over two Tibetan candidates).
• For a while, the 10th Panchen Lama was regarded suspiciously by the Tibetan people. But his is a classic story of 'bad boy made good'. After the 1959 Lhasa uprising, he refused Chinese Government demands to denounce the Dalai Lama and called for independence. Chinese responded in time-honoured fashion and threw him in jail for 14 years. He was released in 1978 and was much quieter in his opposition (surprise, surprise) but still used whatever influence he had to press for the preservation of Tibetan culture. Just before he returned to Tibet to die in 1989, he argued at a high level meeting in Beijing that the Chinese occupation of Tibet had brought nothing but misery and hardship to the Tibetan people. Many Tibetans argue that he was murdered.
• In May 1985, the Dalai Lama identified the predecessor of the 10th Panchen Lama - a six-year-old boy from Amdo. Within a month, the boy went missing and remains under house arrest at an undisclosed location in China to this day.
• The senior lamas at Tashilunpo monastery were forced to pick an alternative, Chinese-approved boy to take on the role of 11th Panchen Lama. They picked the son of a communist party member.
• According to lonely planet, 'Beijing's interest is not only to control the education of Tibet's number two spiritual leader but also to influence the boy who could later be influential in identifying the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama'.

Interesting.

Journey to western tibet (Lhasa to Gyantse)

Best not to exert yourself too much at this altitude. We've just reached the top of Kambla-La, the first mountain pass on our journey to Everest Base Camp, and at 4799m above sea level it's pretty darn high.

The pass overlooks Yamdrok-Tso, one of Tibet's holiest lakes. It's watched over by a female god (a good sign in itself!) and is definitely the place to be if you're a fish. Apparently, the fish in the lake are also considered holy and can't be caught or eaten. Unfortunately, the Chinese don't share the Tibetan reverence for the area though. They're building a tourist boat for the lake and are planning damns, hydroelectric plants and god knows what else.

The route we're taking into western Tibet is the same one the dalai lama travelled when he fled Tibet in 1959. It's also the route taken by hundreds of Tibetans forced to flee the country, including our guide. At the age of 11, he walked for a month from Tingri (a little further west) to Dharamasala where he was free to study Tibetan, English and computing. He returned as a guide four years ago.

Tibet, the roof of the world

A little Tibetan boy from a village in Western Tibet

The face of a Tibetan is unmistakable. Deep brown weathered skin, dark eyes, and always smiling. Always.

We've spent two days exploring Lhasa, Tibet's capital and the spiritual home of Tibetan Buddhism (yep, they let us in and didn't check for permits - phew), and we're starting to wonder if the locals are permanently giddy from the altitude, particularly when you begin to get an understanding of what they have been subjected to over the years.

We're not experts, but here's the facts as far as we see them:

• Since 1950, when 30,000 Chinese troops attacked Tibet from six different directions crushing an ill-prepared and doomed Tibetan army, the Chinese 'liberation' of the Tibetans has led to more than 1.2 million deaths.
• El Salvador was the only member of the UN to sponsor a motion to condemn the Chinese aggression. Britain and India (so called 'friends' of Tibet) actually managed to convince the UN not to debate the issue for fear of Chinese disapproval.
• The Dalai Lama has always advocated peaceful negotiations - even in the face of fierce aggression and deception.
• When the Chinese Government took control of the high passes of Tibet and India in 1959, the Tibetan Government was abolished and Tibetan society was re-ordered in accordance with Marxist principles - monasteries were destroyed, monks were forced to disrobe and marry, and Tibetan farmers were forced to abandon barley crops in favour of rice (which doesn't grow at high altitudes) causing widespread starvation.
• During the cultural revolution almost every religious monument in Tibet was destroyed and arrests, torture, deforestation, and labour camps became a way of life.
• These days the Tibetan people enjoy only limited religious freedoms. The Dalai Lama remains unwelcome in his own country, there are strict quotas on resident monks and nuns, and the Chinese continue to use tactics of violence and intimidation.

A buddhist prayer site on the yellow river in western Tibet

This only scratches the surface, but it's hard not to be impressed by the spirit of the Tibetan people and the strength of their beliefs. It's impossible to walk into the centre of town and not get swept along by the hundreds of pilgrims walking the Barkour circuit.

Pilgrims walking the Barkour circuit

The circuit is the most famous Lhasa pilgrimage. The walk begins and ends in Barkhour Square and takes you around the Jokhang Temple, the most revered religious structure in Tibet, and is dotted with prayer wheels, chapels, souvenir stands and giant incense burners. These days, the Barkhour Square is paved and open, giving the Chinese a clear view of the locals. (In older photos, it was filled with shrubs and plants.) But remains the focus of protest and violence between the Tibetans and the Chinese.

There are at least five clockwise routes around the city's religious sights. On each one, you'll find the tourists vastly outnumbered by pilgrims spinning prayer wheels and stopping to pray on the pavement, or monks chanting mantras. It's an amazing sight and a real treat.

Check out some of our photos

The controversial Lhasa train line

Carl gets some oxygen as we head higher into the plateau!

According to the train announcer, the line to Lhasa was built by the Chinese for the economic benefit of the Tibet Autonomous Region of China. Apparently, it adheres to the highest environmental standards and, as the world's highest train line (reaching 5070m), is a monumental engineering feat.

We'll concede the last point, but the rest? I don't know.

The Chinese train line to Lhasa opened this year to much controversy and, we have to admit, we did think twice before purchasing our tickets. We can't really comment on the environmental cost of the train line, but it's hard to believe that there has been no impact when you see how the Chinese have turned their own countryside into an industrial heap. We've been passing factories and industrial wasteland for hours now - no sign yet of mountains or the clear blue sky the announcer has been talking about.

More worrying, I think, is the apparent economic and cultural impact. The train is packed the brim with Chinese, which is perhaps testament to the success of the Chinese Government's Han-Chinese immigration policy. Lured by financial incentives, a more relaxed one child policy and the promise of a better life, it seems the Chinese have been flocking to the roof of the world.

From what we've read, an estimated 50% of Lhasa's population are Han-Chinese (although official figures put the figure at about 12%) and the modernisation of Tibet is well underway. Add all this to the well-documented destruction caused by the Red Guards during the cultural revolution and it's hard to know what to expect when we get there - just another Chinese city?

Whatever you think about it, for us the train line has certainly opened up a part of the world previously only accessible to hardcore travellers (willing to risk dangerous bus journeys or illegally hitchhiking their way to the capital) or the wealthy and the extremely patient (who could afford to fly and be bothered with the bureaucracy).

Walking the great wall (from Jinshanling to Simatai)

Not just a stroll in the park, but a 10km hard slog up and down steep inclines, stairs and loose gravel. True to form, the Great Wall really does have to be seen to be believed. It stretches for miles and weaves its way over and around mountains and through the countryside as far as the eye can see.

Emma struggling to get her little legs up some pretty big steps!

More pictures from the great wall

October is out of peak season so we didn't have to battle with any crowds. In fact, at times we felt like we were the only people for miles. We started at Jinshanling and finished at Simatai. This section of the wall has about 30 watchtowers and remains pretty undeveloped (which is no mean feat in China).

Loved every minute of it and actually enjoyed getting some exercise. But now we are safely ensconced in our soft sleeper compartment ready for the 48-hour train ride to Lhasa in Tibet. (Had to go straight to the train so, luckily, the food that our chinese travel companions are eating completely masks the smell of our stinky sweaty clothing).

This was a bit of a last minute decision and a bit of a risk. Foreigners wanting to go to Tibet are meant to get a travel permit and be on an organised tour. But it's all a bit of a hassle and too expensive for us, so we sweet-talked our way into a couple of train tickets and are hoping like hell that they don't ask us for permits on the train. So far so good ...

Hanging out in Beijing

Cruising around the hutongs of Beijing, it's easy to believe that you've stepped back in time ... dirty, dusty and smelly alleys, meat skewers cooking over hot coals, steam buns for sale on every corner, and people and bicycles everywhere. Some of the houses in the hutongs still don't have plumbing or electricity - although the government has installed some spiffy flushing squatties just in time for the Olympics.

A short and crazy taxi ride across town, however, and it's easy to see how China is one of the biggest energy consumers in the world. Skyscrapers dripping in flashing fluro lights, glowing restaurants and highways of cars, cars and more cars.

We've been kicking around here for a couple of days now, trying desperately to put the memory of the UB to Beijing train journey out of minds. Here's a tip: never get the local Chinese train from UB. It was the filthiest train we have been on so far and we had to spend four and a half hours at Jinning train station (the middle of nowhere), listening to people hock their insides up all over the place. And don't even get me started on the staring ...

Anyway, we've done some of the sights - tiannamen square, the forbidden city and the temple of heaven park. We've seen all sorts cooking on sticks at snack street - starfish, seahorses and cicadas, you name it. We've scoffed on steam buns, pastries, dim sum and god knows what else.

We spent a fantastic day exploring the summer palace, which was once the playground of the Qing and Ming Dynasties. Back then it was used as a retreat from the city. But the Beijing urban sprawl has caught up and now it is a beautiful Chinese oasis surrounded by roads, cars, ramshackle houses, high rises and your typical Chinese madness.

Gotta say, we love this city despite the smog, the spitting and the giant tour groups that swamp every inch of it, dressed in matching caps and lined up in rows.

Attack of the backpack (another Emma moment)

No bad karma this time. Just Emma being plain clumsy, once again.

To be fair, we did know it was a risk loading her up with a backpack double her size, which stood at least a foot above her head. And we did predict that at some point or another she was going to do something stupid or injure herself, or both.

Picture this.

We leave ourselves an hour to get to UB train station for the train to Beijing. Should be no problem, right? It's a Monday night and only a 15 minute taxi ride away. Wrong.

We step out onto the street and the main drag, Peace Avenue, is heaving with traffic. And this is no ordinary traffic. This is Mongolian traffic. So it's chaos, and crazy driving. And accidents. (We joke that when we get back to Oz we are going to make bumper stickers which say 'I'm not a bad driver, I'm Mongolian'.)

We try in vain to hail a cab. The police try in vain to keep the traffic moving. There are four of us - each with a backpack on front and back, plus groceries for the 30+ hour train ride ahead of us. Even if we did manage to get a cab, we realise, we won't make it in time.

A brief consultation. A quick look at the map. We decide our best chance is on foot. We have 30 minutes, so we hotfoot it. There is no pavement, just dirt and rocks. And there a people everywhere. We dodge, we swerve, we bang into people.

Then, all of a sudden, Emma hits a rock. She flies through the air, propelled by the weight of her backpack. She doesn't stand a chance and we can't catch her. She skids along the dirt and finally come to a halt, arms and legs flailing, unable to get herself of the ground. In fact, it takes two of us to haul her upright again. She's covered in dirt and has a graze on her hand. Her pride is bruised again, but otherwise she's unhurt. Saved, it seems, by the day pack she was wearing on her front. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for my phone. She smashed it up. Still it was amusing ...

Back in the comfort of the hostel in Ulan Bataar and in one piece

So we made it back to UB in one piece. And we think the bad karma may be gone - or at least we hope it is.

The rest of our trip went fantastically well and was well worth that crazy first day on the road. We spent two nights chilling in the gers at the white lake, rode big stocky (and slightly coco) Mongolian horses around the area and hiked to the top of a volcano.

Carl at the top of the volcano

We drank Mongolian wine (definitely not something to look for next time you feel like a drop of red) in the evenings and feasted on rice or noodles, indiscriminate meat and, of course, some trusty potatoes. One night we even went Mongolian gourmet and ate vegetable dumplings. We finally tried Mongolia's national dish, fried mutton pancakes - and they weren't bad if you like your meat meaty and your arteries nice and blocked.

We visited the Erdenne Zuu Monastery, watched a German straddle 'penis' rock (less said about that the better), had the best shower in the world at a local bathhouse in the middle of nowhere, and froze our butts off in the mini Gobi.

I even think that, by the end of the trip, Moshi had forgiven us for the incident on the buddhist shrine. It seems a shot of vodka fixes everything, even in these parts.

The White Lake, Western Mongolia

Finally we arrive at the White Lake! Watch the video ...

Bad karma, four breakdowns, lost for 150kms, and no white lake to be seen

It's fair to say our western Mongolian adventure didn't get off to the best start. At 11am on the first morning, our driver was already annoyed. We were meant to leave at 9am but had spent an hour and a half trying to re-arrange our tickets to Beijing.

"Must go," said Moshi, our driver and, according to the hostel, the Mongolian super mechanic. "Very long drive today, 400kms".

We'd eyed the car suspiciously. It looked tough, that's for sure. A relic soviet van, it was apparently the only car equipped to tackle Mongolian roads (note: the term 'roads' should be used loosely in Mongolia). We piled in.

At about 12pm, after bouncing through the Ulan Bataar traffic, Moshi stopped the car and got out to go to the toilet. Nearby was a large pile of rocks with a piece of wood sticking out of it. The wood was wrapped loosely in blue ribbon. Crutches, rubbish and all manner of crap scattered the bottom of the pile. For the girls, it seemed like the perfect spot for a quick squat.

When Moshi got back to the car and realised Natalie and Yvonne were missing, he looked even more annoyed. When they appeared from behind the pile of rocks, bladders empty and ready to hit the road, we sensed that we had really messed up.

"No toilet. Buddhist spot," glowered Moshi. "Make Mongolian people very angry." They'd peed on a Buddhist monument.

Problem #1
A couple of hours later, Moshi stopped the car on a bridge. A herd of sheep were blocking the road. We thought he'd stopped to let us take pictures. We were wrong.

Turns out, Moshi the supermechanic and the soviet beasty van were 'one'. He'd sensed that something was wrong and he was right. The van was leaking oil. So, while we scurried out of the van like paparazzi to take photos, he got comfortable under the van and set about blocking the leaky oil tank ... with a tire tube. Sure enough, an hour or so later, we had our photos and the car was ready to roll. We piled in again and went on our merry way.

Problem #2
The engine cut out and the van sputtered to a stop. We'd only been back on the road for an hour or so. Moshi lifted the engine cover and got to work. We piled out of the car again and started to wonder if this was bad luck or bad karma. It was a problem with the distributor, but thankfully nothing that Moshi couldn't fix. Half an hour or so later we hit the road again. This time, according to Moshi, it was dirt road all the way. And I'm not talking smooth dirt road, our path was covered with potholes, rocks, dead-end tracks. In fact, it no longer even resembled a road.

Problem #3
Moshi slammed on the brakes. Oh no, surely not another problem. Moshi inspected the tyres and found the problem. The rim of one of the tyres had snapped. He looked concerned but set to work immediately, armed only with a couple of metal levers and a bicycle pump. It was getting dark and it was certainly getting cold. He jacked up the car and removed the broken tyre. He pulled the bladder out and removed the rim. He fished the spare tyre from the boot and removed the rim. Within minutes, he'd swapped the rims and was jimmying the bladder back in. Moshi worked at a furious pace. We took turns pumping up the bladder. Eventually, the tyre was fixed and we were back on the road. Phew. We looked at each other, relieved. Surely nothing else could go wrong.

"How long?" we asked Moshi. "Very bad day," he said. And scanned the dirt tracks in front of him. We wondered whether he was lost.

Problem #4
It was now pitch black outside. We were definitely lost. Moshi stopped sporadically at gers and asked directions, but we sensed he was getting very little help. A little while earlier, we'd stopped to help another van that was bogged in mud. Apparently, we weren't far from a village. Every car light we saw (and there weren't many) we hoped was the village.

Eventually, we saw it up ahead.

Problem #5
BANG. Moshi slammed on the brakes again. This really didn't sound good. We got out of the car. It was freezing. Moshi checked the tyres. They were fine. He got under the car and started rummaging around. We discussed whether we should walk to the village or sleep in the car. Another large bang. Moshi flung the drive shaft into the dirt. "Very bad day," he mumbled. A big round disc followed. We wondered again about bad karma ...

After a few minutes, Moshi got back in the car. We scurried in after him and didn't ask any questions. As it turns out, we'd left the 4WD shaft behind and continued towards the lights. We tensed at every bump.

11 hours after leaving Ulan Bataar, we stopped in front of a small hotel. Moshi sorted a room and some food. The boys opened a beer. We had driven 150kms out of our way in search of the right track. We'd insulted the Mongolians, lost car parts, and were still no closer to our destination. We wondered what tomorrow would hold.

Arrival in Ulan Bataar

Finally made it to Ulan Bataar this morning at about 5am. We'd pre-booked our hostel so for the first time we were treated to a train pick-up. Bliss. We met a couple of Aussies, Natalie and Mark, on the train while we were waiting to pass through the border. Turns out that they were booked at the same hostel, and had planned to meet another couple here (a Canadian and a German). We've all decided to delay our train to Beijing and head out into Western Mongolia for six days in search of gers, the white lake, horses, the Erdenne Zuu monastary and the mini Gobi.

Border boredom

Took seven hours to get through Russian customs. Now we are sitting at Sukbataar, waiting to pass through Mongolian customs. Border crossings are a painful affair to say the least - carriage searches, bag searches, customs forms, and no access to a toilet since 3pm.

The number of people in our cabin has bulged to five, not including the man who ate dinner here and then left or the drunk guy who delivered pickled cucumbers to Jargal in exchange for a bottle of vodka. It's chaos ... but it is certainly keeping us entertained.

Irkustk to Ulan Bataar

Our three days in Irkutsk were pretty uneventful. Not much to see there - and unfortunately, we didn't have enough time to head to Olkhon Island for some R&R before boarding the train to Ulan Bataar. We did, however, manage to squeeze in some football (much to Carl's delight). We watched the Russkies spank the English in a pub called Liverpool (again, to Carl's delight), with an English guy we met at our hostel (so we even got a little of our own back after the rugby world cup). We also managed a day trip to a little village called Listvyanka on the banks of Lake Baikal, where we ran into the Aussie women we'd met on the Moscow to Irkustk train.

They'd organised a boat trip on Lake Baikal and let us join in the fun, which made the crazy minibus ride to and from Irkutsk worthwhile. Lake Baikal is 636km from north to south, although it's only 60km wide. It's the world's deepest lake (1637m at its deepest point) and contains a fifth of the world's fresh, unfrozen water. It was formed by a rift between tectonic plates and will apparently form the earth's fifth ocean, splitting the Asian continent. We spent two hours on the lake, surrounded by mountains and checking out the little villages that dot the shoreline. Not a bad way to kill an afternoon!

But now, we are relaxing on the train the Ulan Bataar. We boarded at about 8pm last night and have just worked out where we are. We are passing along the western shore of Gusinoye Ozero (Goose Lake), and are about halfway between Ulan Ude and the Russian border post, Nauski. Outside, the environment is much the same. We are surrounded by long, low mountain ranges and yellowy-brown grassy plains. Occasionally there is a little wooden house or an isolated village.

Inside, things are completely different from the previous legs of our journey. The miserable unsmiling Russian provodnitsas (who are in charge of each carriage) have been replaced by Mongolian provodnitsas. Because this is a Mongolian train now, everyone is smiling and laughing. The carriage is a buzz of activity - the cabin is full of young Mongolian men who never sit still. They wander the carriage, saying hello to everyone in Mongolian, Russian, German, and English - basically, whichever language they think works.

Our cabin comes complete with chintzy gold tasselled upholstery and our new Mongolian friend, Jargal. He speaks little to know English, but we have managed to work out that he's from Ulan Bataar, rides horses like all good Mongolian men, and we think he may have been a tailor, butcher, hairdresser or all of the above.

At the moment, he's trying to teach Carl another weird card game. I sense he wants to play for money, which could spell disaster for us.

Vodka, beer, smoked fish, kangaroo and a cabin full of Ruskies

The mad russkies!

So we got lucky with Victor and Gallia, then amazingly had the cabin to ourselves for two gloriously relaxing nights.

All that changed at 10am this morning though, with the arrival of Alec and Alexander, two young fireman from Norilsk (which is not that far from the artic) heading to Irkutsk for training.

Within minutes, the little table in our cabin (which for the past two days had played host to the Moscow-Irkustk 'Shithead' World Series) was piled high with vodka, beer, smoked fish, cheese and ham (although the Ruskies tried to tell us it was kangaroo). By 11am, the cabin was full, the fish had been gutted (using carl's leatherman), and the first round of vodka had been drunk. We'd been joined by two more fireman - andre and another alexander - and a lawyer, Irene, who was dragged in because she could speak English and quickly became known as 'the translator'. By 2pm, three bottles of vodka had disappeared, Em was struggling to speak English as well as Russian, and we were comparing Russian techno with Western techno. At 3pm, we begged to be let out of the cabin for a toilet stop and headed for the refuge of the restaurant car. Along the way, we ran into an English guy we'd met in Moscow who introduced us to three Aussie women, all in their 50s, on their annual 'girls' trip. We chatted to them for a couple of hours and shared some potato/donut delights that Carl had bought from the platform at one of our stops. We were joined briefly by some weird Russian man (we think he was mafia). Em spoke to him in Russian (meaning she repeated all the Russian phrases she knew, ending nicely with das vadanya, and he wandered off looking extremely confused).

Finally, we made it to the restaurant car. We settled in with a drink and our trusty cards, and hoped for some peace and quiet to sober up! No luck. A skinhead, tattooed russky clocked our cards, pulled up a chair and insisted we play durec. New rules again - carl was baffled, we lost and Em just laughed and laughed. Eventually, we were allowed to escape ... we skulked back to the cabin, desperately hoping that it was empty or our russian friends had passed out.

We should have known better. More beer, more vodka and more durec (with different rules again). Some magic tricks, a stop at Tayshet - once an infamous transit point for Gulag prisoners - and a chance to stretch our legs on the platform for half an hour.

Now at 11pm, alec is snoring like a trooper and we can't sleep. Bring on Irkutsk.

Ahhhh, quiet ...

Having breakfast with Victor and Gallia

Victor and Gallia - our first cabin mates for the journey from Moscow to Irkutsk in Siberia - have just got off the train at their home town, Kirov, about 10 hours from Moscow.

Hilarilously, they work for Amway and had just been in Sardinia for an international Amway conference. Like all good Amway-ers, it took them all of five seconds to start pulling all kinds of Amway gear from their bags. Not surprisingly, the Russian demonstrations failed to impress us ... luckily, they didn't seem upset.

They spoke very little English - in fact, Gallia spoke none at all. But we managed to get by. They fed us crazy Russian food (like horrible salty dried shrimps), left us food when they got off the train and Victor taught us a Russian card game called Durec ... or tried to. Carl remains baffled and we both lost every game I think. Now we have the cabin to ourselves, although probably not for long.

The Red Square, Moscow

Carl in the Red Square, Moscow

Moscow metro madness

We read on the train from St Petersburg to Moscow that the Moscow metro takes more passengers every day than the London and New York metros combined. Undeterred and determined not to spend 700 rubles on a cab, we headed straight there steeling ourselves for a bit of push and shove. We bought our tickets, walked through the doors and were greeted by the biggest scrum of people we have ever seen. Hundreds of people scrumming their way onto one escalator. We looked at each other. Then back at the scrum. Then back at each other. I thought about the size of my pack and the potential disaster if I was pushed forward a little too far. "Hell no," I said. "Let's get coffee and come back after peak hour."

Our eight hour train journey on the Red Arrow from St Petersburg to Moscow had passed without incident. We'd shared our cabin with two russky businessmen, both on their way to Moscow for meetings, and managed some sleep but not enough to face the metro without caffeine in our veins.

One hour later ...

We looked at the scrum. Then at each other. Then back at the scrum. It was a little smaller, but not much. "To hell with it," I said. "If we get split up I'll see you at the next station." We pushed our way in. My feet left the ground and I was swept to the top of the escalator. Carl was lost in the crowd.

I waited at the bottom of the escalator. When Carl finally made it, we stopped and stared again. Then steeled ourselves. London tubes were nothing like this. Again, I got swept onto the train. Carl squeezed in. Our packs were pressed against people's faces. But to hell with it. The train spat us out at our stop, we breathed a sigh of relief. We made it.

Alcohol concept bars?

We saw one of these bars when we were wandering around last night and had a little chuckle to ourselves. After three days in St Petersburg, we are pretty confident that alcohol is not just a concept for the old ruskies, but a social and business imperative. Or maybe it's a fashion accessory. Whatever the reason, everyone everywhere is drinking booze. Workmen, business people, kids, old babushkas ... everyone. Not that it's a bad thing. It's just odd. And it makes it bloody hard to navigate the streets.

At first, we were wondering why St Petersburgers couldn't walk in a straight line. Then we realised it's because they're all drunk. But they seem happy (except for the miserable sods working in restaurants and cafes but maybe they're not allowed to drink on the job?), so I suppose that's all that matters. Plus six months of freezing temperatures is enough to drive anyone to drink. At least, that's the impression we get from the lady who manages our hotel.

Still it's a pretty cool city. Very European, although on a much grander scale than most European cities we've been to. The buildings are huge, the churches are huge, the monuments are huge, the streets are huge. Even most of the cars are pretty darn big.

We had a pretty relaxing few days. We've done a few of the sights. The Hermitage took us two hours, which is possibly some kind of record but we're really not that into art. The one museum we did want to visit - the Blockade museum, which covers the siege of Leningrad in which more than 1 million russians were killed or starved to death - was closed when we got there. But we did visit the naval ship, Aurora, which apparently started the Russian revolution, so that was pretty cool.

To be honest though, we are looking forward to jumping on the train to Moscow tonight. It's the first leg of our train journey. We leave St Petersburg at 11:55pm on the Red Arrow and get into Moscow at about 9am. Rumour has it 1st class on the Red Arrow is a pretty comfortable way to travel. But we're in 2nd class. At half the price, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Five things we've already learnt about the Russkys

1. Public drinking is not just legal, it's compulsory regardless of age. No need to head to the local boozer. Your nearest park or metro station will do.
2. All that glitters is gold. This is the motto of the new Russkys, dressed to impress at all times (even when walking the dog) in gold, silver, sequins, and killer stiletto knee high boots.
3. Thou shalt always carry your wife/girlfriend's handbag. Either that or Russky males also like to add a bit of bling to their winter wardrobe.
4. Thou shalt always greet wife/girlfriend with bouquet of roses or leaves that you have picked up from the gutter. I am waiting, but somehow I don't think Carlosky is going to oblige.
5. Serving customers is serious business. Do not smile and do not speak.

Our first night in St Petersburg (and the only evidence I have left of my new beanie, lost forever at the Hermitage)

On the road again ...

One Aussie. One Kiwi. One plane ticket around the world.
We're off on our next big adventure so its time to get the blog kicking. Check in regular to find out where we are and what mischief we are up to.

A howler ...

Phew, it's the end of birthday week for another year. Lucky, because I don't have the energy that I used to. I am, after all, now officially in my mid-20s (okay late-20s). How did that happen?

The Howling Bells at Koko

Last night, we marked the end of birthday week with a bit of Aussie music at a fantastic club in Koko in Camden. The Howling Bells were great but the venue was the real showstopper. An old style theatre, the balconies decorated gilded with red and gold, chandelliers all over the place.

My actual birthday was on Tuesday though. I had to work, but all the birthday messages I recieved made the day bearable. Dinner at the Electric Brasserie on Portabello Road and a movie at the famous old Electric Cinema didn't hurt either. On Saturday night, we put on our dancing shoes and headed to a club in Brixton. Got home at 5am ... not a bad innings for an ol' bird, don't ya think?

Thanks for everyone who texted, emailed or called! A big shout out to all those misbehaver who helped me run amok on Saturday night. Now, it's time to catch up on all that beauty sleep I missed ...

It's snowing on Quill Lane!

So I risked life and limb this morning to run outside in my ugg boots and pjs and take a picture in the snow. Later, when there's a bit more, I'll go out and do a snow angel ... and I'll ignore the disapproving looks I get from the English who think snow is just a disruption to their train journey. I may also go and find a nice spot in a cafe, near a window, and watch people slip on the cobbles ... sadistic I know, but you can't beat a bit of real life slapstick!

Snow on our lane

No barbecues right now!

Australia V Denmark

Revoke his passport! He doesn't deserve it! Don Carlos watched the Socceroos play Denmark tonight ... and he wore his Danish soccer shirt. And he sent this message to me at half time:
"3 nil to the mighty danes, half time. Barnesy sung the national anthem! Worse display than the aussie boys".

Traitor. Was certainly a different story last year in June, when the danes didn't make it to the world cup and the Aussies did. Need a little reminder ...