Best part of a month in Blighty trying to get set for South East Asia
19th September 2005

We thought we were so clever
Mark the Polo down as a top motor
Been there before but the carnet is still a pain
So what did we achieve in four weeks?

A rapid tour of the world requires perfect planning, which is why.......

So the bike is on a ship to the Philippines, we have flights and rooms booked in Manila. All we needed to arrange were the visas and a shipping agent who would do the customs clearance for us at the other end.

As we flew into London bright and early, a trip to the Philippine embassy was possible. Hips was not so keen citing our haggard tiredness as a good reason for the consular officials taking one look at us and rejecting our application. There was all the kit we had with us, too. To stop us looking quite so vagabondy (not sure it really worked) we dropped off the baggage at the Victoria Coach Station where we were treated generously. Quite unexpected in Britain, the guy working there weighed us in underweight to save us a bit of cash. All was going swimmingly until we got to question 13 on the visa application form. How I rue that drunk and disorderly charge when I was somewhat younger. This had disappeared into the recesses of my psyche until the very moment when we were totally committed to entering The Philippines. I filled the form in honestly on the basis that should I be deceitful, I would almost certainly be sussed straight away and stand no chance of a visa because of my fraudulence. No-one seemed too fussed when I handed the form over, though - I guess its not really hard core crime, is it.

We needed to get a statement of creditworthiness from the bank for the visa to be issues and there was sure to be a Lloyds just down the road in Kensington. Just down the road, the Israeli embassy was soaking up police resources looking something like a high security prison. The cops were extremely friendly and helpful (everyone seems to be today) and debated about which banks were where on the High Street. They weren’t completely sure but pointed us absolutely correctly in the direction of the Post Office. I was rather surprised at their good humour. Generally folk standing around in flak jackets and sporting rather menacing firearms won’t give you the time of day.

We left the visa thing on the back-burner and trusted that it would all turn out OK. Hmm. The weather was beautiful and so we recovered a little from our jet lag by sunbathing in front of Kensington Palace before heading up West to crash at Martin and Erika’s. Staying with Martin and Erika is always great. They've travelled widely and on a pretty basic budget at times and seem to understand us a little. Their travels have left them with a tempting library of guide books for SE Asia which we coveted and eventually borrowed. Oh, and thanks for the bed, guys.

For those without too much of a time constraint but an empty wallet, I can only recommend National Express very highly. There is, in my estimation, no way to travel more cheaply in the developed world. If it doesn’t matter when you want to travel, you can go from London to Nottingham for a pound. We’d not had much chance to track the best fare down on the web and had to put up with paying a whole 10 pounds - for the two of us, mind.

The next best thing in the world after National Express buses are open computer wireless networks. As the afternoon service to t’north rested at traffic lights in Golders Green, I picked up a network and downloaded me e-mails. Brilliant. But no, not brilliant at all. Reading them in the order that they were sent, I first discovered that SDV (our shippers) have an office in Manila and they could handle our importation for about 525 dollars (the actual shipping cost had only been 500 dollars). As if this financial kick in the teeth was not enough, the follow-up e-mail from the same guy informed me that, sorry, I couldn’t bring it in at all. Bugger. Now it seemed as if not only would I not be able to get into the country, nor would Berthette. Time for a little crisis planning.

Polo-respecting world travellers.

Another night, another wonderful host and hostess. Trish works in Nottingham just near the coach station and so could pick us up and take us back to their growing estate in Croxton Kerrial. There, on the driveway, we were reunited with Hurny, our faithful Polo. Still going strong and in reasonable bodily condition despite now being over 15 and having 120k on the clock. “Velly tough as old boots”, as the advertisement used to tell us. If only VW had fitted petrol tanks that didn’t rust to these models, I believe they could go on forever. Put the VW Polo up there with National Express Funfares and open wi-fi networks.

I’m afraid we were rather poor guests, spending our time whinging about our position re. The Philippines. We did our best to be good citizens and did as much around the house and garden as we could while plotting our way out of our predicament. Although reassuring us that importation could be achieved on a temporary basis, our man in Manila eventually came back with a cunning plan which involved some creative importing that would set us back 2000 dollars. We reckon the value of the bike to be in the region of 1500 dollars so this seemed somewhat excessive. His reasoning was that although all this was technically impossible, The Philippines is “one of those countries where there is always a way”. Closer inquiry led us to believe that we may be pouring money down the drain here. Our worry was that the backsheesh to bring in the bike would be a never ending money pit, with every policeman seeing the foreign plate asking for another bribe, and there would be the potential that the bike could legally be impounded at any moment. But did we have a choice?

But what to do instead? I did do a double check with the Philippines embassy in the UK to see if what we were being told about the importation being technically illegal, was true, or a means to scam money from gullible tourists. They claimed it was probably a bond for temporary importation that would be returned when we left. Ummmm, they could not give me any written guarantee of this and without it, it seemed that it was an expensive risk to take. We did I’m afraid have a few sharp words over all this. I had wanted to ship to the mainland all along, feeling that the info. on ferries between Philippines and Indonesia and on to Malaysia seemed a bit off and on. But I had come round to the idea, and know that it was all going down the pan, I was more than a little disappointed. Now that we know the difficulties, we may have been the first to island hop through by motorcycle on a world tour and possibly had a wonderful reception everwhere we went.

Hippy thought that maybe we could have the crate delivered elsewhere. This was not such a random suggestion, I had noticed that the bill of lading went via Hong Kong. I was sceptical; surely once in a container, a shipment doesn’t see the light of day until it gets to its destination. There was no harm in asking. In fact, the delivery Berthette was interceptable at intermediate ports, particularly Hong Kong where the container would be opened anyway to redistribute the contents bound for other ports rather like a postal sorting office. Result. Singapore has had good reports with regard to efficiency and honesty and soon rose to the top of the pile as favourite. Done deal. I pondered whether in the time before email whether we would have happily landed in the Philippines in happy ignorance and had no choice but to find a way to get the bike in and out, finding of necessity a convoluted legal route through the problem.

News from Bolton was good. Passports had been returned with visas completed. Ah, but we don’t need to go to the Philippines any more! Funny old world. Well yes and no, we still had flights to the Philippines, and it would be cheaper to get flights on from there to Singapore than forego the flights entirely.

Our visits to England are always far too short and wearing as they involve special reunions with everyone we meet up with which inevitably descend into reckless drinking and fine dining. After days of driving with a hangover preceding more drinking, we were piling the pounds on. The more people we saw, the more we realised how many we hadn’t seen in ages.

Just to prove how much we relied on one and all for putting us up, there follows a (hopefully complete) list of wonder hosts who, as usual, we can’t thank enough: Martin and Erika, Trish and JP, John and Rachel, Anna and Julian, Rob, Mary and Nigel, Bill and Diane (for the loan of a tent in Hathersage) Frazer and Lisa (Bolton), Frazer and Lisa (Largs), Murray and Becky, Bry and Michael, Fi and Alan and Mum (Happy 80’th, our ma) and Dad Watson.

There was also others who feed us and delighted us with their company. Our thanks to Sarah, Esther, Helen and Phil, my Mum, Jim and Wendy and Kim and Brett. And a big thanks to Andy for driving up from Cambridge to see us, with a broken leg. Oh and while we are on thank yous, a special one to Fi for a fount of overland information, ranging from the best place to get grub in Cambodia, to where to rough camp in Pakistan.

We rushed around a little frantically, when we first arrived and ran out of steam. As always there was a string of other people we ought to have seen and didn’t make it to. Sorry, we will try to make it next time.

Now that the shipping is sort of sorted, what of the carnet?

The carnet de passage always causes a panic to set in in the Nottingham branch of Lloyds bank. I popped in on our first day in Nottingham area to put things in motion which would leave 3 and a half weeks for a one week process. I had the forms ready filled out and approached the lass on reception to explain that I wanted to see my account manager to apply for a bankers indemnity. Said receptionist looked up on her console and told me that I just had to leave the forms with her and all would be OK. How naive I am proving to be.

I guess it is having had 18 months without any shipping or major importation issues and almost a whole year of the relative simplicity of the USA that made me forget how relatively simple things can blow out of proportion when they are unfamiliar to folk.

I rang the RAC a week later to see if they’d had the forms sent in by the bank. No. I rang the Indemnities and Securities Office of Lloyds in Birmingham to see what the hold up was. They hadn’t had the forms from Lloyds Nottingham. Been here before. Nottingham branch had no idea what was going on - they’d sent the forms on to Beeston branch where my account manager apparently resides. Strange, the last time I met my account manager he was definitely in the Nottingham branch. But...... my account manager was away on holiday and my forms were resting in her in-tray. I played merry flippety-flip with them until they got themselves on the ball so I could make a lightning dash into the bank before closing so it could start happening. They offered to do all the processing for me for free as they’d let me down so badly. A saving of 25 quid for me and an education for all of us.

Not enough of an education it seems as by the middle of the next week, the office in Birmingham had still not received the signed docs. By pressing all and sundry, I managed to get all the processing done andthe document I required from the RAC the day before we flew out. To be fair, Paul Gowen at the RAC was perfectly efficient and probably didn’t need quite so many calls from me, but as he was the only one who seemed to have a clue, there seemed little point asking elsewhere.

So, apart from the hangovers?

We sorted the carnet, shipping and visas. We got spare parts for the bike, maps and guide books.

The gutters on the house have needed cleaning since a year ago (or maybe much longer). We’d asked our agents to look into it and were horrified by the 200 price (we are rather out of touch with UK prices) tag they’d placed on the job. To be honest, given that it’s a three storey property, it’s probably not that outrageous but it seemed that way to us. We called round at the house to see how things had progressed but since we’d confirmed for them to do the work, there’d been too little time to act on our instructions. We met our new neighbour, though, and it turned out he wanted his gutters doing, too. Dove tailing him with the management agents saved us a hundred quid. Sometimes we have these small successes.

On the insurance front we were not so successful. We promptly insured the car so we could use it around and about. Having coughed up (not once, but twice as I got the month wrong) we found out that Trish had already insured it for us. Doh! As for bike insurance, I did even worse. I thought it would be a good idea to insure the bike in Britain for a year as we may be arriving back within that time and it would keep our no-claims up to date. Just as we left the country, the agents got in touch to ask for evidence of my previous insurance without which they would cancel the policy. So what I’ve actually done is pay out for a month’s insurance when I don’t need it and not managed to keep my no-claims up to date. Doh!

But I did get to go to my Mum’s 80th, Brother David’s 50th and Niece Nimmy’s 13th. Mostly because it was all one party. More beer involved there, then.

I also managed to dove tail the visit with Jane, my sister’s 44th. Had a short sojourn in York, for the occasion where, Mary, my other sister joined us. York is a beautiful city, lots of small twiddly streets and lots of indiviual little shops. York Minster is a sight to behold and to think it is nearly a 1000 years old, completely puts to shame the masonary skills of the modern day craftsman. I was also taken by the wonderfully understated nature of the British attitude. When asking the hotel reception for recommendations for lunch, she mentioned the Roman Baths as an option but warned us that they are a little old-fashioned, 2000 years old - I can see that.

Our trip to Bolton reminded me of the friendly humour of the North of England. Stood in the check out queue, eyeing up the chocolate, my action elicited a conversation with a late middle-aged man in the line in front of me. To truly picture this, try to imagine the voice of Peter Kay.
“You’ll get faat liiike meee”, proudly patting his beer belly “Do you like vegtabuullls?”
An odd question that rather took me by surprise. “Yes”
“What do you cawll celeerriee with high blood pressure?” pause “Rhuubaarrb” with the perfect timing of a stand up comic.
Where else in the world can such random humour be found at a check out, other than the England.

There was also the arid saracasm of the woman on the underground, when I stupidly inquired if it would be busy “Well let me see, there a 7 million people in London and 2 million we don’t know about.” OK point taken. Even more lovely was the short shrift she gave an dollar loaded, ignorant, American lady who complained that the machines only accepted euros and pounds. I had actually thought it was impressive that the machines took Euros, with Britain being generally preety luddite about such things.

For the first time in our travels, and breaks back in the UK, I felt a huge fondness for the country of my birth. The joy of Britain is in it’s subtleties. It is the wonkety dry stone walls, the roads that meander seemingly randomly through the countryside, the buildings warped with age, and the quintescencially British pub, that is still holding strong against the corporate chains. The richness of local accents warms me to the country, the small country manages to squeeze in so much variation. It is not dull.

Each time I go to London, I am amazed by the amount of spare space and greenery in a city so full of people. In fact for a country so densely populated in homes generally no more that 2 storeys high, there is a huge amount of countryside, and beautiful countryside at that.

So much travel in the USA had made me jaded by travel, there is little individuality and querky intrigue about the place and chain restaurants and bland motels make the country very samey. We have been travelling so long that I had an urge to set down roots again, it was so nice for a change, not have to work out where the supermarket is, or to constantly work out if something is a fair price, to have friends and family to chat to. I miss them so much, when traveling. I also feel guilty that I am a poor friend to them all, when and if they need help, I am ususally not there for them. Then we flit back to the country for a flying visit abuse their hospitality and leave them to deal with their problems and share in their triumphs, on their own. Staying with other people made me miss having a home, our place, to tend and be ours. The constant living out of little bags and moving on was less and less appealing.

If our bike was not in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and we did not have flights onward, I may have found it impossible to leave. But the die was cast. As it was I left England with little enthusiasm and for the first time a feeling that this would not be the endless travel experience that it had become, and we had both begun to talk about being back in the UK in a year’s time.

Maybe the sensory bombardment of Asia we rejuvenate my weary travel aspirations. We shall see.

Clearly Hippy and I, as ever, see things differently. The lack of sensory experience in the USA is shared by us both but rather than leaving me a bit jaded and yearning for home, I feel much more that I need the inevitable jolt of South East Asia to get my interest levels back up. No doubt in a couple of weeks time, Hips will be lapping up the variety and spontaneity of Asia and I will be lambasting the mental motorists. Contrary buggers aren’t we.