Starting off our journey into Indonesia was an 11 hour over night bus, to the touristy part of Bali – glorious Kuta beach. I know it is fashionable to bad-mouth that part of Bali (you only have to read Dante’s blog for that), and indeed, Kuta is a complete slum-hole full of prols. None-the-less, we were able to get hot water, a new camera and even a night out.

By night out I mean the following: Dante and I sat in a bar drinking watered down whiskey, trying to chat, whist being stared at by hungry prostitutes. I appreciate that some young men have little choice than to whore themselves, but do they have to be so blatant about it? It got to the point where we were scared to use the loo, for fear of being jumped on by a gang of flimsily dressed transvestite hookers!

According to one lovely ‘lady’, Dante is “very lucky” to be with someone like me and, given how handsome I am, Dante must have a “very nice personality” to have nabbed such a catch. What a charming thing to say. Dante was so shocked by this insult, he apparently didn’t have time to come back with a witty retort, he merely beat the skanky ho with a glass ashtray.

His self esteem took a battering but I helped repair it by reminding Dante that the ho-bag, who insulted him, was basically a chunky teenage boy in a dress.

It’s so odd to be sitting with your partner, having a nice alcohol-fuelled chat, and have men all around you presume that you are bored with each other and are obviously looking for a third to ‘spice things up’.

In Manila, on our night out, I went to the bar and in this time, our waiter sat next to Dante and proceeded to tell him that he had a room just around the corner and asked if he was interested – that waiter is dead now.

I suppose the UK has its fair share of morally loose gay men. But not all of us are as easy as Britney on the booze. I have a nice simple remedy here in South East Asia; if I start receiving advances from rent boys/locals/trannies I glare at them, show them my engagement ring and then say something extremely subtle like – “You’re gross, get away from me you freak!”

I know it’s cruel but some people just can’t take the hint. After joyous Kuta we’ve gone from town to town, on our journey though gorgeous Flores. One of our goals was mount Kelimutu, which are basically three volcanic craters with water in them. In the 1960s the colours of the water were crazy hues because of the minerals in the lakes.

When we visited yesterday two lakes were a dark green and the other an amazing turquoise. I think as natural wonders they were fairly impressive.

Better though, was getting up at 4am to reach the viewing platform in time for sunrise. And once the other tourists had gone there was a beautiful hush over the entire valley. We had the place to ourselves – stunning!

On that note, Flores as a whole has been a visual treat. Admittedly it has been viewed from a speeding bus. But the whole island is one huge mountain; the one road that goes across snakes around through shockingly green cliff-top jungle and jaw-dropping mountain face.

If only I had one of those expensive Nikon cameras that captures every leaf and every rock. So besides our beautiful journey though this rugged island it’s also been a time of new stuff. Almost every child in town today shouted ‘hello’ and offered a bright smile. Oddly enough I never get bored with shouting ‘hello’ back. I also can’t ignore our lack of sleep for the last three nights, due to; blaring TVs, screaming roosters and loud everything in South East Asia. I fair better with this kind of thing, but as for Dante I sometimes fear that our trip will be cut short by murder charges.

Something we’ve both agreed is that sound pollution is just not the same here. In the UK if your neighbour is being noisy you can politely request them to, well, not be. And after that you’re well within your rights to call the police. (Ok it’s a bit pedantic.) Sadly our experience so far has been that hotels employ staff with loud feet and a love of dire soap operas. Let’s not forget the alarming number of Mosques in such tiny towns and the law that – every household must own a rooster with a dodgy internal clock.

Still it’s amazing what we’ve learnt to put up with in the name of adventure. Just the night before last we shared our room with a rat the size of a terrier dog! Hooray for budget travel!

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