The Ultimate Overland

  The decision—assisted by red wine and a sneaky amaretto (which proved to be a mistake)—was made last night. At 7:30 a.m. we all left the hotel, confusing the guide who had been told 8:30, and trundled off at various speeds and, as it turned out, in different directions. The Lagonda was emitting a veritable smoke screen, the result of gallons of lubricating oil being slopped around the cylinders. Because there has been general concern about water in the petrol system, I decided to check my fuel filter for evidence of such. It seemed fine. However, I clearly failed to put it back together properly, because a few miles into our journey Nigel pulled up alongside and said, “You’re leaking badly.” With the problem rectified, I now wondered: how much fuel have I lost? We needed to refill. All this meant that by the time we got going again, the slow cars (Ham’s Lagonda and escort Chris) were 24 miles ahead of us. We caught up at another petrol station before we ventured into another rain...

  Today’s story is an anxious one. Ham’s Lagonda is not well. We worked on it last night, having received fresh instructions from the UK. The devilish (cap or no cap?, not sure) issue is that we haven’t diagnosed the problem. We know the symptoms, but without taking everything apart — which is not a great idea in the field and of course is in contravention of Cunningham’s Law (“don’t touch it, lest it breaks”) — we remain clueless (not fair), confused (better, but not right), in the dark (suggestive of the first, redolent of the second: it will do) about how to fix it. The remedy last night was to pour engine oil into the cylinders and two-stroke into the petrol tank. It looked like a good plan when we set off this morning: not a fix, but at least the noise, which has been getting progressively worse for two weeks, stayed about the same — progress. Well, until lunchtime that is. Thereafter, the knocking became more persistent; louder and sharper. We nursed Ham along the remaining k...

  The volunteers for bird watching diminished significantly when the start time was mentioned: 6:00 a.m. being far too early for most. The alternative activity, which grew in numbers, was having another go at finding the rattle in Ham’s car. This has been going on for a few days (well, actually since Luang Prabang, many moons ago) without success. We’ve played around with the easy stuff—tappet clearances, exhaust noises, loose nuts and bolts, pinking, quality of fuel, etc.—to no avail. Today it was the turn of the loose rocker replacement. The bird watchers set off at a more reasonable hour (the guide not being so agreeable to such an early start). First, we were kitted out with rather natty leech socks. We hadn’t reckoned on leeches and were now questioning our choice of clothing.  We entered the forest. The canopy was thick, the air heavy. The noises were of screeching, flapping, rustling—all vertically upwards. Now, your correspondent sports an old neck injury (titanium dis...

  We visited a silk workshop today. Amazing how intricate the weaving process is. Proper respect for the craftsmen and women who create such beautiful cloth.   Driving to meet Ed’s uncle, who lives here, we hit proper rain. Not just a bit of rain but tropical rain. We got soaked. Difficult to see very much but at least it was warm. Apparently it is most unusual for the time of year.  We have arrived in a national park called Khao Yai. Birdwatching tomorrow (rest day).  Art has left us. He’s on his way to the airport having been with us for three weeks. He’s shooting tomorrow. 🙄

“If the border opens at eight, we should be there at eight,” was the declaration last night from one of our party. It necessitated a 7:15 a.m. start. I dared not mention that the border actually opened at six… With a hasty breakfast (surprisingly good coffee — machine-made, quite nice bananas, and so-so bread) at seven, we left a few minutes late (Ham’s tummy was not happy, and he was attending to necessities). So we arrived a few minutes after the notional border opening time. Various bored Lao officials hid in their glass boxes, one labelled  Customs , another  Passports . Nigel marched to the front of the queue — admittedly, this was me alone, unsuccessfully trying to figure it out — and presented his passports.  Stamp, stamp. Next, customs.  Handing over the form, I fully expected to have to wrangle with authority, as we were leaving from a border not identified on our entry form as the departure point.  Stamp, stamp. Next. What? Is that it? At a funeral pac...

After dinner, Chris persuaded the band to give him the ‘mike’, and he delivered his famous rendition of  The Wonder of You . Talent spotters were seen rushing towards the stage to sign him up. This morning, one or two blurry heads appeared for breakfast (best coffee so far; thanks, Nellie). We agreed to travel, first off, not in the direction of our hotel but—laughingly—to add miles by heading towards the mountains for a while, having a look, turning around, and getting back to where we started an hour and a bit later. We knew the main road south was so perfect that we would still complete the journey before an early lunch. Complacency has a habit of biting back, and so it proved today. The main road had not been upgraded, as the last two days might have lulled us into thinking. It was a shocker! Drivers are hearing squeaks and groans from the cars at every bump; nervousness is creeping into the camp. Will we get there? Only two weeks to go, and it seems within our grasp—but fortun...

We rested last night at a strange hotel. It did not appear on any hotel app, nor on Google. The receptionist in Luang Prabang helped us find it, and there was some trepidation as we approached the two-horse town claiming to be its location. We passed a newly built but still skeletal structure that looked like a future hotel, hoping it wasn’t our target. We passed another hotel we had telephoned endlessly without success; it looked quite derelict. Eventually, we reached the spot and—phew—there was a hotel. Not speaking a word of English (and why should they?), we resorted to Google Translate. No, they didn’t have a booking for us (groan), but yes, they did have a double room (that’s fine, I thought, Nellie and I will be comfortable). I tried harder, and at last we ended up with the correct number of rooms. Nellie went off with the daughter of the owners to buy beer and organise a take-out for dinner. She struggled to keep the menu ‘normal’—i.e. no heart, brain, intestine, foot, claw or ...