I stayed with James and Greta for a further four days and they were wonderful hosts to me in their Singapore apartment, which also functions as the base for their production company, Cloudy South. Both of them burst with constant enthusiasm and the charismatic personalities that have made each of them successful television presenters shone through as they made me feel very welcome in their home. They showed me some of their work and I was greatly impressed by a television series that they produced called Cook, Eat, China in which James was the star. They spent two years on the project, and I was surprised to learn that it was the first time that James had presented in front of the cameras because he was very, very good. Here’s a trailer for one of the episodes:

As well as being a natural in front of the cameras it seemed James was also a dab hand with computers, if the array of production equipment that filled half the apartment was anything to go by. Upon hearing of my own computer woes he seemed to think that my temperamental laptop was not beyond saving, and suggested that replacing my outdated Linux system with Windows should get things up and running again. So on my first evening with my new hosts James and I sat down and got to work doing just that.

Well, James got to work doing just that, I mostly just sat down. Occasionally phrases like “Why is that not compatible with a NIFF file?” or “How do we reboot the J-drive?” or “Why do you have so many compartments?” would float my way, although not knowing my NIFF file from my J-drive I chose to mostly assume these questions were rhetorical in nature. I therefore generally responded with mumbled noises that, were they ever to be extrapolated into words, would have come out as “I don’t know.”

It looked like the process was a tad more difficult than James had first thought and the hours dragged on, with my computer rudely rejecting the first version of Windows that he tried to install and generally continuing with its ongoing ambition in life to be a complete pain. I assured James that he didn’t need to trouble himself so much and that he was quite welcome to go to bed, but he responded, as cheerful and fresh-faced as ever, with “No, I like a project like this. We’ve got the cycling on. I’m quite happy.”

And we did have the cycling on. Eurosport was showing a field of cyclists battling through the windswept Belgian countryside. It was quite an exciting race. Then that ended and another cycling race was shown, this one in Spain. It wasn’t quite as good. After that came yet another cycling race, although by that point I was too tired to note where it was taking place or what was happening. Through all of this James continued his patient battle with an increasing array of equipment; uploading, downloading, installing, uninstalling. I stayed up, feeling like the least I could do was remain awake to offer moral support. The third cycling race finished and was replaced by a show about an Ironman Triathlon which I struggled to watch through drooping eyelids. Then that too finished, and we were back to watching the field of cyclists battling through the windswept Belgian countryside again. “Ooh! That’s a bad sign!” laughed James cheerfully. It was four o’clock in the morning.

Finally Windows was successfully installed, but to my abject horror the wifi still didn’t work! That was what had been the problem in the first place. Oh, now I really, really hoped that all of James’s hard work wasn’t going to be for nothing. “Not to worry,” he said with unfailing optimism, “we just need to install some drivers now.” His determination was admirable, but his use of the word ‘we’ was by this point entirely inaccurate. What he should have said was that he needed to install some drivers now. What I needed to do now, without any doubt, was sleep.

When I woke up a few hours later I saw that James had finally gone to bed and I was alone in the living room. My laptop was sitting on the desk. I crept groggily over and I flipped it open. Windows was installed, the wifi was connected, and everything worked perfectly again. Well, apart frm my ‘o’ key, that still didn’t wrk very well. But my wifi problem was solved! James was undoubtedly a complete and utter legend! I decided that I absolutely had to try and repay him somehow for his extraordinary efforts, which, in staying up until five in the morning, had certainly gone well beyond the call of duty.

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Not being particularly talented in the field of anything other than riding a bicycle very slowly for extended periods of time it was initially difficult for me to think of a way to return James’s favour. But an idea came to me when Greta returned from a bike ride along the green corridor complaining of a bent rear derailleur that had a habit of getting stuck in the spokes. Of course I stepped in and said I’d fix it up for her, perhaps with an air of confidence that suggested I was more skilled in the art of bike maintenance than reality could back up. But at least I had the sense to cleverly wait until my hosts had left the apartment before I set to work, primarily because I didn’t want them to see that my attempts to return the favour for James’s all-night-marathon of intelligent computer reprogramming would mostly involve me smashing Greta’s bike very hard with a wrench.

Bike fixed and rear derailleur bent back into shape (sort of) I returned to my own concerns and scooted along to the Indonesian embassy to obtain a 60-day visa. Although it is possible to get a 30-day visa on arrival in Indonesia and then extend it once in the country, Andy had correctly pointed out that if I found a boat that was leaving Bali for Australia during the five days that the extension process might take, or just after, or just before, I could end up ‘missing the boat’, quite literally. Organising a 60-day visa at the well-equipped and efficient embassy in Singapore made sense then, although it was a pain because I needed to have a flight booked out of Indonesia in order to get the visa. I booked a cheap one from Bali to Darwin for the first week of June, telling myself that I was only booking the flight in order to get the visa, but at the same time acknowledging that if I couldn’t find a boat, I’d have this flight at the ready.

Urgh, no, I didn't want to have to take a flight, yet it was already starting to feel quite likely that I wouldn’t be able to find a boat. With my computer fixed I was able over the next couple of days to expand my Internet searches, yet still there was no positive news. Instead I was hearing things like ‘So many people down in Bali looking for a boat, they give up after a month and fly,’ and, ‘I was just in East Timor. Lots of people there trying to get a boat. I didn’t meet anyone who actually found one though.’ All of which I found rather deflating. I had also read a couple of success stories, cyclists that had found lifts on sailing boats in years gone by, but these were very much the exception, and it seemed like I was going to have to be very, very lucky and be in the right place at the right time. The trouble, as ever, was time. For reasons that don’t bear getting into now it was absolutely imperative that I be in Australia by mid-June at the latest. Arriving in Bali on the 18th of April and trying to get on a boat with a time limit of the start of June seemed like an almighty gamble. What I needed was a plan B, and I began to look more seriously at cruise ships. Sure, taking a cruise ship wouldn’t be quite such a romantic an option, but you’ve got to admit that they do have the benefit of a lot less sea-sickness and a lot more table-tennis. And there were a couple of cruises that passed through Bali at about the right time and then hit Australia. Maybe, just maybe, if I couldn’t find a sailing boat, I could hop on a cruise instead. The question was, would a cruise ship be willing to take me?

A couple of nights later, the 31st of March, was my last evening with James and Greta. I cooked them my trademark vegetarian shepherd’s pie for dinner and couldn’t help but laugh at them as, tucking in to it, they put on an animated display of ‘mmms’ and ‘ahhs’ and ‘you can really taste thes’ and ‘what is that wonderful flavours’, a performance which had evidently been well-practiced and fine-tuned during the making of ‘Cook, Eat, China’. They were wonderful people. I was also delighted that by the end of my short stay they were enthusiastically brain-storming ideas for undertaking a long bicycle journey themselves and filming it all for a new show.

After they turned in for the night I turned back to my research. By now I was exhausted by it all, and there was further bad news. It seemed like even if I was allowed to hop on a cruise ship in Bali and off again in Darwin, I would be expected to pay the full fare for the entire cruise, which quickly ruled out the $21,499, 89 Days Ocean Exploration Shanghai To Miami. Oh, it was not looking good. I was tired. I needed to sleep. “Sorry to disturb you,” came a familiar voice, “but it is the end of the month.”

“Oh, Alan, no! I’m exhausted. Let’s do this tomorrow, okay?”

“Well, alright. But we need to have a serious talk. Seems you’ve been bad again this month. Snorkeling trips? Really? Where in the budget does it say that there is room for snorkeling trips?”

“Tomorrow Alan. Please, tomorrow.”

“What are you looking at by the way? The 89 Days Ocean Exploration Shanghai To Miami?! Holy mother of-”

“Goodnight Alan!!!”