Three down, three to go. Brunei

Brunei.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of 40+ year-old memories something stirs as we fly into Brunei over brown rivers and jungle.

We are here to transfer planes - hopefully not to the one I saw which had its engine in bits..

Oh, God! Squat toilets. Now the memories are complete.

Brisbane was everything I expected it to be: hot, dry and unattractive.

After the flutter with my passport I decided to sit in the correct seat, notwithstanding the fact that I would forgo the entertainment.

My new neighbour was a gaunt Asian man with a gaunt Asian moustache. In the air I noticed him fiddling with the entertainment control. I pushed the button to release it from its recess in the armrest and it popped out.

"I was trying to put it away," he said. They were the only words he spoke to me.

Sleep overcame me and I woke only to food. As we flew over Sulawesi and Borneo the clouds rolled up like frozen surf, a serried sentinel of turbulence guarding the jungle below. Forty-five year-old memories stirred back in my childhood. Heat, humidity and the sight of a city carved out of the jungle took me somewhere close to my earliest memories, but the opulence, comfort and soft lighting of the transit area sent those thoughts scuttling away.

Different memories poked their heads out as I discovered the joys of civilisation did not extend to either Western-style toilets or effectively flushing squat ones. I turned tail.

"Found the toilets?" I asked my aisle neighbour. She grimaced before heading to the internet cafe where I had already reset the security settings to my own specifications.

I wandered around looking at cheap gold, wondering whether the Moldovan one would appreciate a scare, and dusk fell to the sound of a broadcast muezzin calling the faithful to prayer.

My own were answered when I found, tucked away in the bowels of the complex, a proper toilet and a private shower.

As I emerged the flight was called. Someone was still smiling, though with a twist - my record of being pulled out of line for a contact search remains at 100%.

Two down, four to go. Brisbane

"Will passenger blah blah blah please report to the departure gate. Will passenger blah blah blah please report to the departure gate". At least that is how I usually hear these announcements. But this time it was my name that was being called. I'd been caught!

I should have waited until the last leg to pinch the Royal Brunei spoon to add to my collection of pilfered airline cutlery. My clumsy attempt to transfer it from my jacket pocket to my bag during the, I thought, unnecessary security check during transit in Brisbane, had been noted.

I toyed with the idea of chucking it in a bin but decided to brazen it out.

Up to that point I had felt someone smiling down on me - yes, I'd been pulled out of line at Auckland and given a 'contact search', but I had plenty of time and nothing better to do. And when I had discovered a wizened Asian crone in my window seat I let it slide and was rewarded by having the only working entertainment module for rows. After a film ("Wild Hogs") I even swapped my seat with a rather fetching blonde so she could break her boredom. Even my food arrived early as I'd ordered Halal, although each time I have to go through a routine where the stewardess asks incredulously whether I had really ordered Muslim food. Muslims eat French toast and poached eggs for breakfast. Now you know.

Even when I was pulled out of line again at Brisbane and checked for "traces of explosives, sir" it was by another pretty blonde - and I cut the queue again.

But now my luck had changed. Pity.

I went to the gate where an official handed me my passport and boarding pass. They had dropped, unnoticed by me, out of my jacket.

"You'll be needing these," he said and let me jump the queue. Someone was still smiling on me.

One down, five to go. Auckland

There's probably not a better way to see a city than under moonlight, twinkling in the predawn light, sea flat and milky.

I felt no panic, despite the dream.. unless you count the horror I felt when I realised I hadn't got my passport. Last minute packing does that, and getting my passport is not something I do too often.

Watching the passengers I saw a man with half an ear bump his head into the overhead storage and mused that it was exactly that sort of carelessness which led him to his present state of earlessness.

We waited while a cop jumped on board, late, and took off over the picture-postcard scene.

After an uneventful flight we touched down and I banged my head on the overhead storage. Karma: that'll teach me for being such a smug git.

My bag was almost first off the plane and after a stroll to the international terminal I found I had stumbled across the first of the check-ins for the Royal Brunei flight. Straight to the head of the queue where a rather pretty check-in girl made me guess her country of origin - after remarking on my unusual place of birth. I failed miserably despite her taking my metaphorical hand and trying to help. She was 21 and had been in NZ for 18 years, so I felt none too upset that I couldn't nail down her light accented English to her birth place, the Punjab in India. Having been there five times we chatted a while before the sniggering of the other check-in staff became unbearable. The phrase 'you've made an old man very happy' popped into my mind, along with 'you sad old fool' and 'don't tell the Moldovan one' and I wandered off only to find free internet access.

Such a serendipitous start. Will it keep up? Should I have locked my checked-in luggage?

Panic attacks

I was in free fall, talking to a guy with a parachute, wondering why I decided to plunge to my death.

"Well," he said," you bought the ticket. And indeed I had, a ticket to jump out of a plane without a parachute. I flashed back two days to before the purchase. Easy, I wouldn't buy it.

Then I woke up.

Not a good dream to have two days before you fly.

Plan A..

Well, the idea is to land in Bucharest and head north to Brasov and then NW to Oradea - either that or W to Timisoara - whichever gets me to Budapest.

Hitch, train or pray.. finding myself in Romania at night with no local currency, language skills or reservations, what could go wrong?

Na, I've been in worse spots (1983, Tehran during Army Week, with no money, no language skills, no maps, no onward ticket and no contacts.. and they were at war and hated the West, so we were told)

Beware of approaching deadlines!

Buried under a mountain of paperwork I see the deadline approaching.

Jan, bless him, phoned up after my last message and earnestly advised me of the staggeringly high mortality ate amongst single foreign travellers. Romania's little secret. Well, you've got to go sometime, somewhere (isn't that a song?).

I am now giving half a thought to packing. On a 2 month trip to Asia I once took just carry-on luggage. I can't remember being inconvenienced at all. In 1983 I took 50kgs which included pretty much everything (a tent, a back-up tent and bivvy-bag, sleeping bag, clothes, shoes, flare gun with 8 rounds, cassette player, 15 cassettes, maps, books, camera, rechargeable batteries, battery recharger, voltage adapter - you get the idea) and can pretty much only remember it being a huge pain. Got me fit though!

So I favour the eclectic minimalist approach now:

Camera. Okay it's a target for thieves but it includes a video function and takes nice pictures. When I stop adding pictures you'll know it's been ripped off.

USB flash drive. Or whatever you want to call it - 1Gb of storage for freeing up my camera memory and bringing with me the tools of my trade. How many of you can say they can fit their tools into something the size of a packet of chewing gum?

Jandals, or flip flops. It's hot in Romania and Hungary: real hot! And wet in the UK: real wet. What copes better than jandals? Plus Diana is hoping I'll lose them and the stores here never stock them again. Not their number one fan, that girl. One of her favourite pastimes is throwing away my crappy clothes. Full time job though.

Clothes, 2 sets. One for walking in, one for being respectable in, all things being relative. Two sets, five weeks. Too many sets?

Flag. Not that I'm one for flag waving, but it may pique curiosity and lead to more lifts. NZ flag that is. UK flag is sadly now with the US flag in attracting a kick to the nadgers, I suspect.

Toilet paper. Say no more.

Rucksack. Of course

Wallet. Cheap one for pickpockets, normal one for me. Why am I doing this - I'm sure Romanians and Hungarians are nice people? Um, that's it.. any suggestions?

Jan bails

Seems Jan isn't quite the action hero I thought he was..

Mike. You are crazy. The moral in Romania is zero, Police is not working at all, you can be killed for 10 $. Mike you need 3 days for Prague and 3 days for Mountains. Remember they are stealing via train windows. Other system is a 3-6 gypsies make a circle and take a knife on you, sorry don’t be idiot. Muslims have better moral then Romanians. Your chance to survive in Romania is 40% if you are going through country by slow train. People are killing for food cans. Sorry I am not willing to take this risk, is too high and in Hungary is totally nothing, totally flat country, only Budapest is OK. you are not pissing me off, but you are crazy, you have not idea what are you doing, that is like walk through Bronx in midnight. Save the time for CR and France. If you have problem I can give you some money in CR. CR is free, you are my guest. In Europe is not a difference between normal train and express, only extra pay is for luxuries express and TGW-Pendolino. Probably best is to meet you in Budapest if you don’t like something more secure. Jan

Well.. Diana did tell me to avoid Gypsies, but I think they are over-concerned. Do 60% of single travellers really disappear from the Romanian Railways system? I guess I'll have to find out..

OK, I've trawled the internet, starting with a Google search for "Romania unsafe" and, when all that appeared unsafe was abortions, "Romania unsafe -abortions". That still left an awful lot of medical entries and, after two pages, I gave up looking.

I did find http://www.travelpod.com/ and many entries asserting how safe Romania was (of course they may have been written by the 40% who made it..) so I sent Jan this raspberry:

You giant girl with whiskers! OK, just to make you happy I will NOT travel by train! I shall hitch-hike. See you in Budapest.