Numpties can climb mountains too, y'know.

In the absence of vast huuuge sum of money to spend on nice holidays to beach resorts and the like, I decided to make the most of the delights on offer in my local region. And no, that didn't mean hanging out at the local Carrefour supermarket (which is about as cosmopolitan as it gets round here, I'm afraid) - I mean taking a trip up the mountains.

Oh, hold on. Didn't I mention the mountains before? Yes, it's true - in all the two years I've been here I've blissfully ignored the presence of hills and hot springs and y'know... wildlife and stuff. Lord knows what I've actually been doing with my time - I haven't a clue. But, with less than a month left, I've gained a new-found enthusiasm for like, actually SEEING STUFF. I need pictures of places I've been to FOR GOD'S SAKE... and that means actually having been somewhere in the first place. And so, when the new chap at work said something about mountain trips, I vaguely recall drunkenly agreeing that it was a grand idea... and I may even have agreed to the concept in a more sober moment, too.

Anyway, the precursor to the mountain trip was a Thursday night drinking sesh with the Sin Vegas crew. In retrospect, half a bottle of whisky might have been a bad idea... in fact, it was a terrible idea really. But by jove it was fun. I haven't been that drunken in AGES. I laughed til my facial muscles got stitches and talked so much bollocks I sounded like Bonnie Tyler eating sandpaper. Thank-his-holy-beardyness-in-flowing-robes that one of my sober friends saw my drunkeness and drove me home, 'cos I was all set to walk back. Which would have been a seriously bad idea - not because it was too dangerous, mind - but because I had consumed enough whisky and coke to make me want to pee every five minutes. That could have been a looooong walk home.

Thankfully I had the foresight to drink a massive amount of water and eat cereal before bed - so I woke up with an altogether rather pathetic and weak hangover which I quickly eliminated with the aid of some good old paracetamol and a gourmet 7Eleven hotdog. Seriously - they are fab. Admittedly, they are just tubes of mystery meat and plastic cheese, encased in a semi-sweet bun. By rights they should be revolting, but they are strangely delicious and, dare I say it, addictive.

Now, let it be known that although I live fairly near the mountains, I actually haven't been there more than, say, twice. So, I asked my friend D'rok where the hell I should go, and he said: "Uhm, well, there's a fork in the road and you take the, uhmmm...right one. OK? Got that? Take the RIGHT FORK. Don't forget." What he didn't mention was that there were not one, but three forks at various intervals... but which one was it that I was meant to turn right on, huh? The problem was eventually solved with a game of 'paper, scissor, stone' with Newboy (well, 3 games). Admittedly, the game wasn't fool-proof, as we ended up taking the wrong road... because although we did go up the mountain, it wasn't where we had intended to go. And so it was, that after a few windy roads and a couple of bridges, we happened upon the third and final fork. I won, so we turned left up a rather precarious looking road.

The gradient should have given it away. It looked, well, really rather steep. The quality of the road should have set off alarm bells, too... those potholes looked more like craters, and tree roots and erosion seemed to have created an interesting undulating effect which my little motorbike definitely didn't like very much. And in retrospect, the snaking, winding path looked, well, just a tad too snaky, windy and twisty. But I remained undeterred - I wanted to know what the signs in Chinese would lead us to... I was going to get up that hill and find out, dammit.

Well, folks...I can safely reveal that they lead to a flat-ish bit of ground, and a view of some mountains over yonder, enshrouded in mist. Ta-da! It was a lovely sight, to be sure, but at the back of my mind there was still the nagging realisation that what goes up, must come down. Worse still - it was starting to rain, and dusk was nearly falling. The road down was going to be infinitely more bothersome.

But y'know what? I have never had so much fun (with my clothes on) in my life! Was it scary? Hell yes! Damn right it was! The brakes were on tight, little motorbike had had it's stern talking-to ("Now don't go buggering up, wee fella... I need you to work, OK?"), and we almost free-wheeled down that hill, albeit in a rather bumpy, shoogley kind-of way. OK, so there was a rather ominous clunking sound, and the engine didn't sound too happy, but nothing leaked out, and everything held together.

I'm going back again tomorrow.

Woooo hoooo!