Day 107. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Whistlestop 'til you drop.

With only one full day to see the town we swallowed our pride and signed up for one of those tourist-tastic hop on, hop off bus tours.

And you know what? It was great.

Essentially, it involved a 1 hour loop of the City centre taking in all the major sites, in clean, air-conditioned luxury. Alright, so it might not be the ultimate Malaysian travelling experience, but the tour provided us with an effortless and informative introduction to KL.

It also meant we got to meet Charlie, a med student from Auckland who explained why we'd both thrown up this morning after downing our anti-malaria medication - take more water with it, is Charlie's advice.

We had a busy old day in the end. Squeezing in a couple of hours at the Aquarium, a walk around Kuala Lumpur's very own inner city rainforest (mosquitoes included), and a white-knuckle ride to the top of the 451 metre Menara TV Tower.

Starting to think maybe we should have pencilled in more than a couple of nights here, it's a most agreeable place.

Day 106. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Skyscrapin'

Opted to save a few pennies and take the slow train up to KL today. An eight and a half hour crawl, but pleasant enough as it gave us the chance to see a sizable chunk of the lush rainforest that dominates the southern end of the Malaysian peninsula.

We've now decided to visit the Cameron Highlands after all, so it makes sense to break the journey with a couple of days in the capital.

Arrived late afternoon, and after the obligatory bowl of noodles, headed across town to see the famous Petronas Towers at dusk.

And what a pair of whoppers they are too.

Until trumped recently by some monolith in Taiwan, they were easily the world's tallest buildings, coming in at a neckache inducing 1483 feet.

For us, though, it's not so much their enormity that impresses, as the sheer beauty and bravery of the design. On first impression they seem like a pair of oversized church spires. Look a little closer however, and you begin to notice the geometric shapes common to Islamic architecture, it then becomes blindingly obvious that the Towers are much closer in form to the minarets of a mosque than the steeple of any church.

We like the Petronas Towers very much and are sure Mohammad would approve.

Day 105. Singapore. Curry 'n' Culture.

After tucking into our third curry in as many days for lunch we visited the Museum of Asian Civilisations. A vast collection of artifacts and imagery that attempts the impossible - to chronicle the history and culture of a region stretching from Mongolia in the north to Papua New Guinea in the south.

Admittedly, the galleries are on the large side, but if you consider that Indonesia alone is believed to be home to more than 500 indigenous tribes, all with their own rites and foibles, then the futility of task becomes apparent.

They've made a decent fist of it mind.

A lot of the exhibits are fantastic - the Chinese ceramics and ceremonial garb being particularly impressive. And I also sat through a strangely compelling multi-media presentation charting 7000 years of rice cultivation. No, honestly, it was dead good.

So all in all, well worth a visit. And the cafe does an exceptional Tiramisu if you start flagging somewhere between the ancient dynasties of Siam and Laos.

We had grand plans to put on our glad rags in the evening and head for a Singapore Sling at that great bastion of Britishness, The Raffles Hotel. Sadly though, four hours in a museum had taken its toll and we were forced into staying local.

Leaving no alternative than to have another curry.

Day 104. Singapore. Shopping and scoffing.

Man, this town has a lot of shops. Row upon row of the buggers in Mall after air-conditioned Mall. We've never seen so much stuff for sale; nifty gadgets, shifty clobber, iffy tourist tat...you name it, they're flogging it.

Which is great if a) you're loaded, or b) you've some spare room in your backpack.

Thankfully, we have neither, so have contented ourselves with piling as much exotic food down our necks as we can manage.

We were ably assisted in this task tonight by the lovely Fiona, an old college buddy of one of our good friends back home (confusingly, also called Fiona). Fi has lived in Singapore for the last couple of years and gave us some real insight into what makes the place tick.

Her suggestion for dinner was a place deep in the heart of Chinatown where we shared a huge hotpot (a new one on us - a big communal urn of soup you throw chunks of crab, veggies and random bits of fish into over the course of the meal), which was bloody gorgeous.

A very pleasant end to a pleasant day...the meal's on us when you next visit London Fiona!

Day 103. Singapore. Clean and tidy.

Although only a 3 hour flight from Manila, Singapore feels like it could be on a different planet. It's spotless, effortless and - as far as we can see - rabid dogless. Let's hope it doesn't turn out to be characterless.

Early indications are good. Wend's done her research and booked us into a smashing hotel in the heart of the little India area of town. An interesting neighbourhood rammed with curry houses, sari emporiums, and Sikh and Hindu temples (no racial tension here, everyone just happily gets on worshipping whatever God(s) they're into - there's even a mosque thrown in for good measure).

Wend's finally lost patience with the long hair thing and had a bit of a makeover. She's gone all Mary Quant with hippychic headbands and large, loopy earings. I approve. It's like having a new wife - and I wasn't even unhappy with the old one.

Knackered from journey, so after a top notch Thali, hit the sack early.

Day 102. Manila. Final thoughts on our stay in the Philippines.

We're off to Singapore bright and early tomorrow, but before we go, a few musings on all things Philippino...

WE LIKED

Feeling the sunshine on our backs after nippy New Zealand.

The people: Warm, helpful, always smiling.

The scenery: From gorgeous beaches to dramatic limestone cliffs and islands, from tropical rainforests to the unforgettable rice terraces.

The price of a pint: Peanuts. Food, flights and accommodation similarly superb value.

Jeepneys: Couldn't have managed without them in the end.


WE WEREN'T SO KEEN ON

The stray dogs: Flea-bitten, rabid, noisy and - without exception - extremely unfriendly.

Roadside butchery: No need for abattoirs here, just get your knife out and kill your dinner. Not really what you want to see just before lunch.

Litter: A bit of civic pride wouldn't go amiss. Reminded us of London at times.

Karaoke: The joke wears a bit thin after a while.

Roaches inside the mosquito net: Only happened the once, but left a big impression on the missus.

Speaking of which...Mosquitoes. We bloody hate them.

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So it's fair to say, the Pro's far outweigh the Con's, and we'd certainly recommend a holiday here to anyone. The scenery is genuinely outstanding, and it is one of those rare places where it's possible to combine a nice bit of beach action with something a little more adventurous.

Yet for every tourist who visits the Philippines, there are 12 who head to Thailand, and somehow that just seems plain wrong. OK, the infrastructure isn't quite in place yet, and getting about can be frustratingly slow, but to our mind, that simply adds to its charm.

Yes, it's been an absolute pleasure.

Day 101. In a Jeepney, hours from Manila.

Our hundred and first day away from home sees us riding an assortment of Jeepneys and Buses during the 18 (count 'em) hour trip back to the capital.

Fairly uneventful, just a bit...y'know...long.

Day 100. Sagada, Philippines. Dead centre of town.

Market day in Sagada and the population suddenly increases threefold. Wend bought a pineapple and I took a shine to a pair of mini foldaway scissors - ideal for nasal hair husbandry, and a snip at 20p.

We then took a walk in nearby Echo Valley. An eerie, atmospheric place, not least because the caves high on it's limestone walls are piled high with coffins.

Morbid ramblers can climb up to sneak a closer look, and I was lucky (unlucky?) enough to see a couple of skeletons that had made a forlorn bid for a last bit of daylight. Heaven knows how old these chaps were, as many of the coffins are thought to be centuries old.

Elders of the local Applai tribe can still be entombed in the caves, but only if they can afford it, the going rate currently standing at 20 pigs and 60 chickens.

Sitting at the north end of the valley is Sagada's more conventional cemetery, and this too is a place not without its quirks, doubling as a grazing pasture for the town's cattle.

"Holy cow" my witty wife exclaimed, as she spotted one of the herd sunning itself beneath a large crucifix.

Our time in the Philippines is rapidly running out, so we decided a bit of forward planning was in order. One of the great things about travelling is all the free advice you receive from fellow backpackers. Guidebooks are useful, but first hand knowledge of where's good to visit is absolutely invaluable.

Fortunately we'd met quite a gang of intrepid explorers in recent days, so were able to pick the brains of Lars, a larger than life Dane who seems to have been to every country on earth. Marcel and Daniella, a Dutch couple who have reached Sagada via Russia, Nepal, China and Mongolia. And Reiner, the superfit German who goes everywhere on his mountain bike, and who we've now bumped into no fewer than three times on our trip.

Reiner and Lars insist we visit Burma as soon as is humanly possible. The last unspoilt corner of Southeast Asia they reckon. Food for thought we think...watch this space.

And talking of food. Great bit of scoff in the evening. There's a little restaurant in town run by this crazy French guy who cycled to the Philippines 20 years ago and never returned home. On Saturdays he lays on a stupendous buffet for 3 quid a head. C'est formidable!

Day 99. Sagada, Philippines. Boweled over.

There's no easy way to write this.

I'm normally a regular kind of guy. I wake up, have 2 or 3 pleasant minutes on the pan, then I'm ready for the day ahead.

Well, for the past couple of days things haven't been running quite so smoothly in that department. And the situation came to a turtle's head this morning when I woke with severe stomach cramps, convinced I had some kind of untreatable tropical disease.

It was a cataclysmic case of constipation.

An acute blockage, causing all manner of discomfort, and for a couple of hellish hours, I genuinely thought my number 2 was up.

Luckily, Sagada is the kind of hippy retreat where places called 'The Yoghurt House' serve up generous bowls of banana and bran for breakfast. And before long, normal bottom service had been resumed.

What a relief.

Sagada's great. Very laid back, with an atmosphere quite unlike any other Philippine town we've visited. No karaoke for a start, and not a lot of traffic either - just bundles of gorgeous mountain scenery and some of the finest eateries to be found anywhere in the country.

Our digs at St.Joseph's resthouse have a large garden overlooking the town, and after yesterday's travelling shenanigans it was a treat to spend most of the day kicking back and relaxing.

They have Mickey Mouse pillow cases too, which is nice.

Day 98. Sagada, Philippines. Tired eyes, sore bums.

Wend warned me there'd be days like these.

The morning started promisingly enough, as we hiked in glorious sunshine across a mountain ridge to the pick-up point for our Jeepney back to Banaue, where we were to take a bus north to Sagada.

And it was lovely. We passed through several more sets of rice terraces, the birds were singing and everything was just tickety-boo.

Then the problems started.

We were told there'd been a landslide overnight and the track to Banaue was impassable. So a Jeepney took us as far as the rockfall which we clambered over to Jeepney #2 to complete the journey. At this point we were still having fun, and me, Jenny and the Germans decided to ride the Jeepney Philippino style; sitting on the roof.

Jeepney #2 dropped us at 11.30am. Great, we thought, our connecting bus to Sagada doesn't leave until 1pm, giving us plenty of time for a bite to eat with our new friends.

Except the bus left at 12.30.

"It was full sir, when it's full, it leaves"

Oh joy. "And the next one?"

"Tomorrow. To go today, you take Jeepney at 3pm to Bontoc, then another to Sagada"

Which is what we tried to do. But Jeepney #3 arrived at Bontoc 20 minutes after Jeepney #4 had departed. This of course was highly convenient for the driver of Jeepney #3, who knew he had us by the short and curlies.

"I take you all the way. Give you discount"

Yeah, right.

So we ended up paying 8 quid each. Which I suppose in the greater scheme of things, isn't going to blow a gaping hole in the international monetary fund. Still bloody annoying though.

Towards the end of our marathon journey the Jeepney pulled over to pick up half a dozen ladies who'd been working in the fields. Average age: 153. Height: 5'1". Number of teeth: 4. They'd probably been out since dawn and were returning at sunset - and I don't even want to guess how much they'd earned for their 12 hour shift - yet they were laughing and carrying on like a gaggle of young lasses heading into the Bigg Market on a Friday night.

Me and Wend looked at each other and smiled. The tribulations of our sticky day on the road had just been put into some perspective.

Day 97. Batad, Philippines. Semi-skinny dipping.

Mark was outraged yesterday to learn that the landlady at our guesthouse had upped her room rates for the season. Our double, with balcony and uninterrupted views of the 8th wonder of the world, had rocketed to 3 quid a night.

Funny. It seemed quite reasonable to us. Rita's B&B if you're ever in the area, and
Went on a fairly hard core hike today. Firstly climbing to the highest point of the terraces before dropping into the next valley to visit the largest waterfall in the region.

Rapidly losing count of how many waterfalls we've seen on the trip, but this is certainly one of the most impressive. Of course we both forgot our swimsuits, so Mark and our German hiking buddies, Dirk and Claudia, were treated to the sight of the Smiths in their undies as we plunged in.

Lucky people that they are.

We then retraced our steps but took a different fork through the village which led us a mile or so into another creek where some gentle rapids proved too tempting to resist and it was underpant time again. How lucky can 3 people get?

Shattered by the time we returned to the guesthouse, so we only had time for a quick game of scrabble before hitting the sack. This time receiving a good spanking from Jenny, an academic from Colorado, who we later found out lectures in English composition at Uni.

Pah.

Worse was to come though, as I was beaten into last place by a joint German/Philippine team who only had a rudimentary grasp of our mother tongue.

Seriously thinking of packing the stupid bloody game in for good.

Day 96. Batad, Philippines. The long trek to the terraces.

So two days after saying we'd never have the balls to ride in a Jeepney we're bouncing around in the most dilapidated wreck imaginable.

The nightbus dropped us, tired and bedraggled, at the regional highland hub of Banaue. And from there, taking a Jeepney is the only option if you want to reach the remote villages where the real rice terrace action takes place.

Actually, scrub that. The Jeepney gets to within a mile of the big stuff, but it's necessary to hike the last hour or so.

There's no such thing as a beaten track around here, everywhere seems a million miles from anywhere. And after 3 days of Manila madness, the fresh mountain air is like, well, a breath of fresh air.

Few tourists make it this far north, but I can't imagine many regretting making the effort. The terraces, which archeologists think may have been around for at least 2000 years old, were declared a world heritage site in 1994 and have been dubbed the 8th wonder by more than one travel writer since.

They certainly live up to their billing. Rising imperiously from the valley floor like some king of epic staircase, with each step measuring maybe 8ft high by 29 feet deep.

Our guide, Mark, reckons we're lucky to see them in their present pristine condition, as the youngsters in the villages are migrating en masse to Manila to pull pints or, if lucky, a wealthy westerner.

A great shame. But working the terraces must be completely backbreaking, and you can't really blame the X-box generation for wanting more from life than 50 years of subsistence farming.

Mark knows pretty much all there is to know about the geography and folklore of the region. And it transpires, takes a keen interest in British politics too.
Astonishing stuff when you think about it.

"I love your Mr.B" he told me on learning we were from the UK.

Me: "Sorry Mark, but I lost all respect for the bloke once he got into bed with George Bush".

Total bewilderment on Mark's face as he ponders this for a few seconds.

Mark: "Mr Bean is sleeping with George Bush? man, that's crazy".

We've hired Mark for 3 days, it could be fun.