Photos

If you're still checking this site, that's a little odd, but appreciated. I've put a select 200 photos on the following website. Check it out at your leisure, and pass it along to anybody who may be interested.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/7677440@N02/

I suggest looking at the pictures through the three country sets found at the right side of the page, rather than through the main pages; the chronology is a little more accurate that way.

Thanks for reading/viewing.

- Andy

Your Turn To Write

In the Bangkok airport now, keeping you updated to the very end.

For those of you that have been with us from the start, and to those that have joined along the way, thanks for reading. Knowing there's at least a small audience has forced me to post more frequently than I might otherwise have. It's also allowed me to digest a little more coherently my experiences on this profoundly informative and perspective-jarring journey.

If you have been reading, please sign the guestbook (i.e. leave a comment). I'd love to know who's been on the other side.

Whoops, getting kicked off. "Not free internet, sir. Not free internet."

Coming Home

It is currently 8 PM in Bangkok, and in about eight hours, Andy and I will be boarding a shuttle to the airport, aiming for a 6 AM arrival for our 8 AM flight.

At 8 AM, we will board a flight for Hong Kong, followed by a flight to Vancouver, followed by a flight to New York, accounting for a grand total of a little more than 26 hours airport-to-airport time. At that point, Andy and I will go our separate ways; he to crash on a couch then head back upstate, and I to sleep on a chair in JFK awaiting my morning flight back to O'Hare.

It's a weird feeling, knowing that the end is so close. It's hard for me to really get my head around it or to believe that this is all coming to an end. It feels like it just started-- I'm writing this post from the same place I first checked internet in Bangkok 11 weeks ago. We've made new friends and gotten into some hairy situations; Andy's been robbed twice, I'm on my third pair of sandals; I crashed a motorcycle and tore up my arm, Andy was intimidated by a gang of marauding kittens...and we've had a great time throughout.

There's no doubt that this trip has had its ups and downs for me, and I feel as though I may have posted (on the rare occasions when I did actually post) more on the downs than I would've liked, or at the very least I would've liked to balance it out with more positive posts to reflect the true balance of my feelings on this trip-- undoubtedly falling strongly toward the positive side of the scale.

I'm definitely a wiser traveler than I was in mid-January, and I'll take that with me on my future journeys. Hopefully, I'm a slightly wiser and more conscientious person in general, and I can take that with me in my day-to-day existence, regardless of in what part of the world I may find myself.

I'd like to thank everyone for reading the blog and for sharing your input and wise comments, if you've taken the time to do so. If not, thanks for just reading. I'm not entirely sure where I'll end up next, or if there will be any blogging in my future, but I am happy that this one is here to look back on.

Thanks again for reading, and hopefully I'll be able to catch up with many of you in real life instead of over the internet very shortly.

Wish us luck for the journey home.

Bringing It Full Circle

After a slightly rocky transition from travel to vacation mode, as noted by Alex below, an exceedingly pleasant week was passed in the sunny, relaxing, and generally decompressing beach community of Thong Nai Pan Noi. Eating regularly at select locally run restaurants, playing volleyball daily with the same local kids, and meeting great Thais and tourists alike, I felt the week to be, as hoped for, a culmination to the past 80 or so days of travel.

Keeping the 2,000 baht in my large pack rather than on my person wasn't the smartest move, but secreting it away in the recesses of a small, locked pouch seemed sufficient to deter any would-be thieves through the duration of our 11-hour bus ride back to Bangkok. Not so, evidently.

The theft, while certainly discouraging my recently renewed enthusiasm for Thailand, served another and undoubtedly more useful function. Having been robbed of slightly more money at the very start of the trip, on a similar bus en route to Northern Thailand, this morning's financial collapse brought the entire trip to an odd sort of conclusion.

I met an Italian man in a restaurant today. He has been travelling around the world for 12 years, funded primarily by certain fortunate stock decisions. At a certain point of our unanticipatedly lengthy talk in Italian - his fluent and mine rather broken - we came around to wrapping up our divergent conversational strains. He offered a rather pithy bit of unifying philosophy: it's not important what life gives you; what's important is how you respond to it.

Two thousand baht is not a lot of money in my personal grand scheme; it will get me two days' rent in New York City. But together with the similar occurrence at the start of this trip, it's given me a chance to reflect on how I've responded to the overwhelming stimuli of the past two and a half months, punctuated by these two nearly identical endpoints.

Because, as the Italian said, it's not what life gives you, it's how you respond to it.

The Cutest Threat Ever

Ever the thrifty one, I chose to sleep in the cheapest bungalow I could find.

Looking past the gaping holes in the floor and the sparse furnishings, I deemed the 6 ft x 8ft room sufficient for my time here on the beach. I figured I wouldn't be spending many waking hours within the dank hole where, I presume, souls go to die; and indeed I haven't.

The first night in my cell, however, was regularly punctuated by aggressive scratching sounds issuing from somewhere within the wall/ceiling above the door, a sort of half-inside and half-outside DMZ between myself and the mosquitoes. I immediately began imagining scenarios in which I may soon have found myself: a raccoon - the first documented in SE Asia - clawing through the mosquito net over my bed; a baby monkey attacking my face; a chain of red ants suddenly surrounding me; and so on, to the detriment of an otherwise pleasant night's sleep.

I hustled outside the next morning to investigate the situation, and soon discovered tiny heads and perky little ears peeking out over the rafter above the door: a mother cat with at least three tiny kittens nestled around her, frozen in fear while I stared them down.

You guys are welcome to stay there again tonight, just as long as you take care of the raccoon, monkey, and red ants.

travel and vacation

For the past 9 or so weeks, Andy and I have been traveling. While it has certainly been nice to take a break from the working world, especially as we both had somewhat trying schedules back home, it has not been what either of us would consider a vacation.

A vacation, in my mind at least, conjures up images of relaxing getaways, spending money rather nonchalantly, and not particularly challenging oneself. That is far from what the vast majority of our trip has been. This is why I find myself a bit vexed now that we have entered vacation mode at the end of our travels.

Our island adventure on Ko Pha Ngan was planned at the start of the trip as a way to wind down after trying travels, a bridge between adventure and re-entering our lives in America. I think we may have started the wind-down a bit early though, as I find myself somewhat bored after a week on the beach, with another week to go before we head back to Bangkok and back home. I realize it sounds terrible to be complaining about being stuck on a beautiful beach on a Thai island and that many people would happily trade their wintry climes for a week on an island somewhere.

The issue is that this trip was a way of challenging myself and growing as a person (cheesy as that may sound) and I don't feel like I'm getting any of that from my time here. I'd rather be working toward something positive back in America, ideally having grown and employing what I've learned in these past several weeks. Working on my tan and paying too much for food and lodging (compared to the rest of our trip) just seems wasteful at this point.

The point of this post isn't to complain about my situation, though that seems to be what I've done. Rather, it's to hopefully demonstrate the difference between travel and vacation, at least as I see it, and to explain how my travels have made me less interested and less fulfilled by my current vacation. After everything Andy and I have seen and done, there's only so much pleasure we can get from seeing sweat-drenched aging stoners dancing goofily to trance music as the sun rises.

I'm ready for my next adventure.

Back in Thailand

It is a bittersweet feeling that welcomes me back into Thailand after nine weeks in the neighboring and much different countries of Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia.

Bangkok is just as expansive and bustling, but having experienced the much dirtier, sweatier, poorer, and more crowded cities of Vietnam, it is considerably more navigable and less daunting. Thailand's infrastructure - tourist and otherwise - so vastly exceeds that of the communist countries to its east, that it is difficult to recognize a personality beneath the veneer that is presented to travellers. One receives the Thai Tourist Package, a well-tested collection of Things To Do, mass produced for the millions of backpackers passing through the country every year.

Coming back through Thailand will certainly lessen the reverse culture shock that is often so strong upon returning home, packed as one is with new insights and perspectives. I already feel closer to New York than to Phnom Penh, the abject poverty and filth of the latter fading in the bright city lights of capitalism.

I find myself - most definitely unfairly - almost resenting Thailand for its affluence in the midst of such destitution. While certainly much poorer than many nations, it stands as the only country in SE Asia that was spared culturally stagnating colonialism, cruel invasion, and devastating war. Thanks to the events of recent decades there is a commerical and economic gap between Thailand and the rest that seems almost insuperable.

Travelling from Siem Riep to the Thai border we rode an ancient bus (our second of the day: the first had no brakes), crowded and sticky, down a dirt and rock road through the middle of dried up rice paddies, dust covering us from head to toe. At the border we transferred to another bus for the trip into Bangkok; an air-conditioned double decker VIP cruiser that smoothly sped along an autobahn-quality highway.

Of the countless things this trip has taught me, two stand out: Communism, for all its cachet as a hip political idea within intellectual liberal arts circles, in practice devastates people's lives. Second, so does war.

Back home I fear it will be easy to slip back into blithe ignorance and self-righteousness, forgetting that I am one of the luckiest and richest residents of the world, but I hope not.

It Was About Time For A Story

Tired and nearly ready for bed, we had just sat down in our guesthouse lounge to partake in some local herbal medicine (sorry Mom and Dad, but it's essential to the story) and then perhaps get some dinner. Kim, our tuk-tuk driver from the previous day, sidled up to us and started asking, in choppy English, about our plans for the evening. We replied that it would probably be an early night, as we had a bus to catch in the morning. He mentioned something about a bottle of vodka and pointed to the table behind him, and then started talking about a biergarten with karaoke and ladies and "real Cambodia". Never hesitant to jump into a strange situation in a foreign land, we agreed to join them, and off hustled Kim to get his motorbike, now detached from the tuk-tuk and able to seat about half an American, or a Cambodian family of four.

We piled on, two motorbikes between the five of us, and swervingly headed out of town. As the lights of the main strip dimmed in the distance, I looked around me to find a state of herbally enhanced confusion. We rode down a bumpy paved street lined by a tall and rather elegant stone wall, with bright lights of luxury hotels looming overhead. As the buildings thinned I began to notice the surrounding landscape: barren dusty expanses, tall curved palm trees, and a feeling of most certainly having left the tourist area.

My mind, as it is wont to do in such situations, began exploring the possible scenarios that we currently found ourselves in. Are Kim & Co. just friendly guys extending an hospitable hand to a couple of weary travellers, or were we about to pull over and get robbed? How would three of them, as diminuitive as they are, overpower the two much larger-boned Westerners? Do they have knives? But my driver Tiem, or Chiem, or Chim, or Jim, was asking me questions and seemed genuinely friendly. So I figured I'd wait and see where we ended up.

We turned left off the paved road and onto a wide, seemingly suburban dirt road. Everytime we swerved around the giant potholes a cloud of dust would be kicked up into my eyes, making the situation no less confusing. The lack of streetlights, or lighting of any kind, only quickened the pace at which my paranoid thoughts intensified; all the scam stories I read in the Lonely Planet came back; I should have left some money at home; how do we get out of this alive?

Just as I fought off the urge to tuck and roll off the back of the motorbike we pulled into a small parking lot out front of a brightly lit restaurant and stage. I guess we made it.

We approached the front entrance and were greeted by a line of 10 women, heavily made up, sompeahing (palms together at chest) to each of us in turn. We were led to a private table off to the side of the stage, where the women immediately bombarded us with fliers advertising the particular beer they endorsed. We deferred to our host, by this time both wary and overwhelmed by the circumstances we suddenly found ourselves in, surrounded by "beermaids" off a dark, dusty road somewhere outside of Siem Riep, Cambodia.

When the beer arrived so did the glasses and the "ice cube maid", filling our beers with ice at every possible opportunity. You'd think she was making a commission off of each cube; she was attentive, to say the least. Tiem or Jim, sitting to my right - Young Smiley we'll henceforth call him - was belting out the current karaoke song at the top of his lungs, smiling from ear to ear; Kim, our English speaking host, was occupied with the beermaid to his left; and silent, brooding Third Wheel across the table was still silent and brooding, but was now also scratching his forehead with extremely long and strangely sturdy fingernails, and then sniffing them.

Awkwardness continued for some time. I attempted conversation, but was rebuffed by the repeated sudden realization that I didn't speak a word of Khmer. The server-friend to my right continually re-filled my bowl with rice, my glass with watery beer (and two straws; don't forget the two straws!), and at one point fed me and then Alex a chopstick-retrieved mouthful of green papaya salad. More people filed into our small room, more bottles of beer were being opened, and Kim seemed to be talking to us less and less. Perhaps it was unfounded, but I was wary.

Talk of the subsequent nightclub visit became more and more frequent, and little suspicions became only more suspicious (no attempt at communication from our English speaking companions; progressively more "attentive" service; somehow always full bottles of beer). We finally managed to speak up and say we should be getting back to the guesthouse, and with barely a goodbye from Young Smiley and only a silent brooding stare from Third Wheel, we went outside and found a motorbike driver to take us back into town (wherever we were).

The driver took an unfamiliar route back, bumby and dusty, and would often swerve the bike severely to the left - I assumed to turn a corner - only to subsequently swerve back hard to the right. I don't know if he was falling asleep, was bored with his life, or was just a horrible driver, but after several near turf brushes we made it back to good ol' #9 Guesthouse.

Frazzled but glad to be back, we headed inside the gate, followed rather aggressively by a scrappy, panting dog. He continued hopping around our legs as we walked up, and kept right with us as we made our way down the hall. Suspicious as we had become of everything that evening, we accelerated our pace, hoping to lose him around the next corner; no such luck.

A fitting end to a bizarre night: A jolly dog trotting down the hall and us fumbling to get the key in the lock and slam the door in the tail-wagging puppy's face.

Good Night, Real Cambodia.

More on Cambodia

Several decades ago Phnom Penh was one of the most cosmopolitan cities in SE Asia, a cultural and commercial epicenter for the region. With the advent of the brutal Khmer Rouge regime in the mid-1970s, however, the city was emptied and effectively stagnated for the next several years. Today it shows characteristics of both ages: Wide tree-lined boulevards are crossed by dirt alleys strewn with garbage; the trendy river- and lake-front tourist ares offer an exception to the dilapidated buildings and crumbling walls of much of the rest of the city; and that bottle of water you buy may be from a relatively affluent corner store proprietor or a dirty, ragged small child.

Just south of the city lies the largest killing fields of the Khmer Rouge, a one square kilometer patch of dry brown earth where thousands of political prisoners (read: one-fifth of the population) were removed from trucks and savagely murdered. The ground is pock-marked by giant craters that not too long ago held hundreds of dead and dying women, children, old men, and everyone in between. A four-story monument stands at the center of the compound, silently offering a gruesome reminder of the land's former function: human skulls, piled high and surrounded by shabby torn clothing once worn by their bearers. The site is at once sobering and shocking and maddening and pathetic.

Several hours northwest lies Siem Riep, a dusty but bustling town that serves as the base for exploring the ancient temple complex of Angkor Wat. The ruins are a source of great national pride, and rightly so. Giant temple walls carved with Buddha faces and ornate patterns, tall sandstone spires, and all in the middle of the jungle. This place is deserving of a separate post, so I'll leave it there.

More than any other coutry in SE Asia, I feel like Cambodia is a place that rewards persistent travelling. It is easy to get annoyed by the aggressive (at times disarmingly so) street vendors, and one learns to disregard begging children as a parentally endorsed scam. But with some patience and good humor one finds much more. The population comprises Khmers - dark-skinned ethic descendants of the ancient indigenous tribes - as well as Cambodians of Chinese and other Asian ancestry. Unlike Thailand, Lao, and Vietnam, however, the native tribes are not minorities living in remote villages in the hills, but represent a significant ethic sub-section of the population in the cities as well as the countryside.

I wonder, like in Vietnam, at the welcoming attitude of many locals I meet. Given the region's recent past, I can't help but assume that I would encounter a general disdain for a traveller such as myself, especially representing as I do a country that sponsored much of the conflict in this part of the world.

I wish I had more time to pass in Cambodia. It is so different than the rest of the landmass, in terms of landscape, commercial development, ethinicities, and probably much more that I won't encounter. It is a fascinating place to be winding down my travels, and one that I will be sure to visit again.

Good and bad on the street in Siem Reap

The food itself was nothing special at last night's dinner, but a number of things happened to make it one of the more interesting meals I've had on my travels.

It started off not-so-promising. I wasn't feeling well and I was exploring the city for the first time after it was already dark, not my favorite way to do it. I stumbled upon a bustling little street vendor restaurant and decided to try to eat something, hoping it would settle my stomach. The restaurant was so bustling that I ended up having to share a little plastic table with an American man and his Cambodian escort. I already felt like I was going to be ill, and sitting across from them did nothing for my nausea. I buried my nose in a book and ate my fried rice, ignoring them as best I could.

They left while I was still eating, which was nice because it afforded me the opportunity to actually look up from my book and view my surroundings. At the table next to me sat two German men who were sitting with a young street child, feeding him a meal. That alone was a nice sight to see, as all too often tourists, myself included, just grow completely apathetic to the hungry faces around us. Buying a child a meal is a way to guarantee that you at least do some good and that the money doesn't end up in someone else's hands.

At the sight of one of their kind eating a nice meal, several other street children gathered around and asked for food. In a humbling act of kindness, the street child offered to share his meal with all of the other kids asking for food. Who knows the last time this kid had eaten a square meal, yet he was happy to share it with all of the others.

I was both touched and ashamed. I, who have so much, ignore the beggars routinely, while this kid was happy to share in whatever he had. As I finished my meal, I bought three additional boxes of fried rice and gave them away to young kids on the way back to my hostel. It's a start.

(pardon if my writing is a bit choppy right now, I got sick last night and have been walking around in a cloudy daze since.)

Cambodia So Far

Wow it's humid. In the Mekong Delta and here in Southern Cambodia sweat is measured (by me) in number of shirts saturated in a given day. One commences sweating sometime before awaking in the morning, pausing briefly under the cold water of a shower, and recommencing imediately thereafter. All day everyday it's all glisten and drip.

Glandular hyperactivity aside, Cambodia promises to be a unique travel experience. Stepping off the boat, the difference from Vietnam - itself an extremely poor country - was striking. Outside of Phnom Penh people live in thatch-roofed huts or single corrugated tin rooms, bumby dirt roads winding around gravel pits and parked bulldozers. Along the road runs a massive ditch that gaunt, dark-skinned men tiredly plough by hand. The landscape calls to mind pictures I've seen of much of Africa (Alex?), vast plains of brown grass and scrub, occasional towering lonely palm trees, a caravan of trucks kicking up dust in the distance.

History weighs heavily on this part of the world, Cambodia having formally emerged from war less than two decades ago. Signs of the poverty and struggle are obvious and everywhere, and yet upscale dance clubs like Heart of Darkness are filled nightly with Phnom Penh's wealthy young elite. Even here one recognizes foreign elements in a thorough frisking at the door and stories of gun violence in the streets.

Interesting travel awaits.

The Man Without A Face

I was finishing up a stroll around the city, just having eaten some tasty and cheap food and not sweating quite as profusely as usual. I was in relatively good spirits after the crushing loss of all of my photos of the last seven weeks, and was generally upbeat about the coming days of travel.

I was respectfully but frustratedly declining the repeated offers of vendors hocking their wares and services, when I caught out of the corner of my eye an older man, kneeling on the sidewalk with his cap upturned and extended. What held my attention was his face, or rather what was once a face: his skin had literally melted down to his chin, his eyes mere sockets and bulging tendons, his teeth and entire jaw protruding like a skeleton's.

I was so shocked by this man's appearance - unlike anything I had seen outside of horror films - that I continued walking a few paces before consulting my wallet. Unfortunately, I had almost all large bills (such misfortune!), but managed to find a few smaller ones, and with them in hand made my way back to the kneeling man.

Overly conscious, as usual, of my actions, I comported myself in what I thought the most respectful manner: make eye contact but don't stare. What responded to me was illegible as a facial expression, and my heart sank knowing that I would turn away and continue walking while he would remain, forever a miserable spectacle of war's atrocities.

Forty years later and napalm is still leaving its mark. Excuse me, but what a fucked up place this world can be.

Finding My Son

To start with, I should clarify that My Son (pronounced 'mee son') means beautiful mountain in Vietnamese and is not actually referring to my progeny. That out of the way, I'd like to briefly describe a tour I took to the My Son temples and towers, a legacy of the Champa people from between the 8th and 14th centuries.

Initially I had signed up for a 5 AM tour to see the sunrise, but a night of drinking rice wine before hand pretty much made that impossible, so I took the 8 AM tour instead. Like most things I've signed up for, the bus was about a half hour late and full of French and German people, and nursing a hangover, I was content to ride without speaking, iPod headphones nestled firmly in my ears.

We arrived at My Son after an hour drive and the towers and temples were actually very interesting. Apparently, the Cham people used a mysterious bricklaying technique without any normal mortar that no one has since recreated. All well and good, but I still got bored with the sites after around a half hour, as they were very similar. What can I say, I have a short attention span...

Fortunately, I found a footpath leading off one of the sites and decided to follow it. And follow it. And follow it. It began to climb and I kept going, setting times for myself to turn around in order not to miss the bus, then stubbornly continuing on because I did not want to stop before reaching something. I wasn't sure what I was hoping for, maybe a shrine or a hidden temple at the top. Regardless, I reached the top and was disappointed to find nothing but a path leading back down the other side, not even a good view. Time was running short and I didn't want to be left behind, so I decided to hightail it back from whence I came.

Fortunately, traveling down gave me a different perspective and I spied a clearing to the side of the path. Hacking my way through thick brush, I stumbled out onto an open rock face and was rewarded with an absolutely breathtaking aerial view of the valley including all of the Cham temples. It was far better than anything I had hoped for.

Tours can be disappointing, but ultimately they're like everything else during our travels. They provide opportunities that would be difficult to come by on my own, but it's still up to me to make the most of what they have to offer. I'm more than happy to endure a bus ride with a bunch of middle-aged German folk for the chance to break away on my own for a fantastic hike and a stunning view.

In other news, I'm getting on a bus in about an hour for Saigon, where I will likely meet back up with my fellow traveler. Sorry for my dereliction in posting, I'll try not to let it happen again. And I'll post photos/videos of the view from the top of the hike once I figure out how to hook my camera up to the internets.

Photos

As I write this I've got six more up with 12 (very slowly) pending. Enjoy.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/37912472@N00/

I got on the bus at 6:30 pm, and off 24 hours later.

On the first 12-hour leg of the trip I was seated next to a 30-something Vietnamese man who had been living in the U.S. for the last 15 years. I had grown accustomed to my blatant relative wealth every time I pulled out my iPod or my digital camera, and it was odd to see this diminutive man next to me listening to his 80 gig and talking about how he loves to go shopping in the city. Once you're up to cruising speed, the road to American excess is a short one.

We had an interesting talk. Having an outsider's as well as an American's perspective, he could firmly say that America was, all things considered, a wonderful place to live; that Vietnam - although much improved in recent years - is still a very difficult place to live; that the government presents the tourists with its idealized vision of its cities and culture, while eroding from corruption inside.

Changing buses the next morning, bleary-eyed and sore, I observed the driver remove a stick of incense from his stash behind the wheel, light it, wave it around the front of the bus, and place the smoldering stick in the front grill of the vehicle. It was a simple and lovely ritual, and anything to keep us safe on those roads was ok by me! (I have since realized that I can't ride on the left side of the bus; fearing that the oncoming traffic will clip precisely my window precludes any hope of rest.)

The ride down to Sai Gon - the second 12-hour leg - made up in geography what it lacked in conversation. Having left the muggy central coast, the climate was now bone-dry, the South China Sea to my left and desert and cactus to my right. Upon arriving in greater Sai Gon the palm trees and humidity returned. How does relative humidity work? Where's Jeff Tooker when you need him?

Also during this part of the trip I noticed that, climatic conditions aside, much of the land was barren, and that there were large plots planted with precisely laid out rows upon rows of deciduous trees. The type and size of tree and the organization of their growth made me think that these had most certainly been planted in the last 30 years, likely as a means of re-foresting the area after Agent Orange had destroyed all the trees and plant life during the war.

In short, a bus ride jam-packed with heat, history, and hope that around the next turn would be the city. Speaking of which, these cities in SE Asia (few though they are) sprawl like none other I have seen. If you get up high somewhere downtown in Bangkok, Hanoi, or Saigon, and look around you, there is city as far as you can see. Arriving on the bus you drive through dirty suburban sprawl for over an hour before reaching anything like an actual city. It's pretty oppressive, and helps explain why everyone wears those surgical masks over their faces.

A Soup Like No Other and Another Like No Other

The glistening orange droplets of chile oil that refused to mingle with the broth stood in about a one-to-one ratio to the latter; in short, it was spicy. The noodles, three inches long and one quarter inch in diameter, thick and translucent and chewy, just like tapioca but in the shape of a noodle. Several pieces of that pork product that is somehow compressed, dense and firm with little air pockets, then sliced. (Anyone who knows what that stuff is, please comment.) One fish ball - shredded white fish mixed with spices and who knows what else and then deep fried. A handful of the ubiquitous scallion and cilantro and bean sprout mix. Dress it with tiny pickled red onions and chiles, and eat with a warm and crusty baguette, all washed down with some icy cold crazy tannic Vietnamese tea.

It was tasty and novel but not quite all there. I returned today to find, to my delight, the perfected product: true pearl tapioca this time, hundreds of clear little spheres, not overly chewy but undeniably tapioca floating in a mildly spicy chicken broth. Shredded chicken throughout, the green herb mixture, several chickpea-like white beans, a few hard-cooked quail eggs here and there, and loads of cracked black pepper. Dress with the same condiments as above.

A 10 cent beer as the sun sets over the river, and now I'm going back for another bowl. I'm taking my camera, and am sure to get laughs and stares, but it's worth it for the best food yet in Vietnam.

Day 1 #2

This morning Alex and I parted ways for some solo travelling. As our itineraries are quite similar I'm not sure how long we'll go before running into each other (the backpacker's Vietnam is surprisingly small). Anyway, rather than focus on a particular experience or insight, I thought it would be fitting to document my day, an average one remarkable in many ways.

I started off by renting a Vespa-like motorbike - which I am now proficient at navigating, despite the broken front brake - and riding out of town (Hue, by the way) in the general mapless direction of the Royal Tombs. I must have taken a wrong turn, as the road turned dirt and rocky shortly after leaving town, but it was a pleasant ride nonetheless. I was surprised yet again by the local response to the big whitey on the motorcycle; I was greeted not with anger and resentment as I originally anticipated but with smiles and friendly waves.

Back in the city I headed to a street vendor I had visited the other day for a heaping plate of steamed rice piled high with cold dressed green beans, thin spicy noodles, a small glazed pork chop, and a whole egg that had been hard-cooked and then deep-fried. Ladled over all was a soy-type sauce with chiles and garlic and herbs floating around in it. Strange combination of foods but satisfying.*1

As I ate an older local guy sidled up to me and started chatting me up in pretty solid English. He had learned it in the '70s when the Americans visiting. I felt awkward at the mere mention of our respective countries' shared history but he seemed genuinely friendly so I tried to be as well.

In the afternoon I headed over to the Citadel, a massive walled off complex in the middle of the city that had formerly served as the imperial capital back in the day. Peaceful grounds, lots of Chinese palace buildings with engravings of dragons all over the place, and, strangely, tenements lining the outer wall.

After returning the motorbike and briefly resting, it was, of course, time to venture out in search of food. I walked along the riverside, pleasantly made into a sculpture garden with plentiful benches and families strolling around. There were several vendors set up along the street, so I stopped at the first one I came to: small bowl of chicken broth, but oddly grayish and opaque, perhaps from the rice in it; mixed veg of mint, bean sprouts, morning glory, scallions; and some little fried airy crunchy things on top, reminiscent of what I think are pork rinds (?). Chile throughout for a good lip sear. Throughout it all there were two Vietnamese women - I think I gathered they were mother and daughter - sitting with me and evidently carrying on a conversation with me. For not understanding a word they said, I guess I responded surprisingly accurately.

Vendor number 2: small black snails simmered in their shells with a ton of lemongrass, served with a dipping sauce of chiles and fish sauce, and a plate of sliced fresh cucumber. Quite nice. And the occasional "'Allo" from the table behind me, prompting me to turn around to meet three giggling little girls turning away from me, only to say "'Allo" again once I resumed my dinner.

I saw the stadium lights in the distance so I headed over in the hopes of catching the soccer game, but all I found upon arriving was an empty field and some weary young Asians lifting weights to 1980s American pop music. I think it was Madonna.

Back at the guest house now and hungry, so perhaps a short stroll for some more food and a beer. Then a shower*2 and off to a new place tomorrow.


*1 A note on the set-up of these street vendors. I don't know if Big Al's Deep Discount was having some sort of liquidation sale, but every one is equipped with miniature plastic chairs and tables. Too small even for the locals. More than once have I inadvertantly lifted the whole table on my knees, and then stood up and found the chair still affixed to my body.

*2 In the vast majority of my experience thus far, a shower requires two changes to a normal bathroom: (1) a shower head anywhere on any wall, and (2) a drain in a corner of the bathroom, preferably downslope from the showerhead. Viola, a fairly uncomfortable shower.

A Beginner's Course

You're on a crumbling, pock-marked once paved road no more than ten feet wide. You hug the sand-covered and rock-strewn shoulder as a hulking relic of a bus whizzes past you, horn blaring in your ear. With a tight grip on the handlebars lest you fade right into the treacherously deep sand off the side of the road you notice a few key elements rapidly approaching.

That black mass just to your right slowly becomes a water buffalo, blithely ignorant that he represents a one ton obstacle that you must somehow avoid. The bicyclist with the conical hat and the load of bamboo trunks pedals leisurely along, and in the next five seconds you will decide whether you're better off hitting her or the water buffalo, because that bus is still somewhere just outside your peripheral vision.

As luck would have it the road disappears and you find yourself on a collection of jagged rocks interspersed with the occasional red brick. With no road to stay on you are free to take that leap of faith and drift right, hoping sweatily that your Minsk doesn't fail you now. You bounce along, free from the bus but not from the motor scooter pulling out from a side road and, of course, right in front of you.

Think fast: which one's the brake and which one's the clutch? You just down-shifted and then raced the engine and you're still gaining on him. What is that technique for braking most efficiently? Pump hand brake then foot brake but watch out for the tree trunk blocking the entire rock collection of a road. Swerve and gun it and hope for the best.

And then come the mountains.

More on New Year Festivities

Well, it's a few days late but we've been on the road and internet access has been spotty. Still, the night was weird enough that it's worth recapping, even if it's not as timely.

As Andy mentioned, there were only us and three French people staying in the enormous hotel, so I was curious about what the Tet celebration was actually going to consist of. So curious that I fell asleep at 9 PM. Not to worry though, as our phone rang at 11:30. I thought it was the alarm clock and was getting frustrated because I couldn't figure out how to turn it off, and when I finally realized it was the phone it had gone dead. Again, not to worry, as our phone rang at 11:35. This time I answered and was invited in very hesitant English to join in on the celebrations downstairs.

I'm never one to miss a party, so down I went. Andy decided to take it easy and stay in bed, so I ventured alone down the creepy abandoned hallways. Downstairs in the main lobby, there were two rows of fifteen chairs facing each other, with a christmas-y tree on one end and two tvs on the other. One tv was showing the live New Years programming. The other one was, of course, for karaoke. Although there were probably about 30 hotel employees and their friends and family present, when I got down at 11:45 and it was practically silent and not jovial at all. Not until the karaoke machine was activated at 11:55 did it really feel like a party.

At the stroke of midnight...nothing happened. No one reacted at all. About a minute after the televised clock had shown the new year, people started to drink more and talk more, but it was not a big eruption as I'm used to. A fireworks display took place outside, but most people left while it was still in progress, eager to return to karaoke.

I stayed for the entire fireworks show and then went back to bed, looking forward to my new new year and the next day of riding.

New Year's Eve and The Party is Dead

After a full day of riding our rigs through the mountains, alongside rice paddies and water buffalo and waving screaming children (I swear we're like movie stars here; it's really strange), we have found refuge at an exorbitant - $18 a night - on the outskirts of a small town in Northern Vietnam.

Everything within our anticipated price range is closed as tomorrow is Tet, the New Year holiday that everyone in this country has been celebrating for the last month. As I write this post the hotel attendants are setting up tables and some sort of a sound system in the lobby for a party to go down at midnight. I'm not exactly sure who will attend, as the only hotel guests are me and Alex and a French family of three.

Anyway, more riding tomorrow, but tonight we celebrate. In all likelihood by falling asleep by 9:00 p.m.

More on Hanoi

Alex covered much of our Hanoi experience thus far in his post, so I'll be brief.

It's exhausting standing nearby - let alone navigating by foot or by motorbike - the streets of the Old Quarter, but redeeming experiences have been frequent.

We've eaten good food:
Banh my: warm, toasted baguette (French colonial residue is all over the place) stuffed with braised pork belly, cucumber, red cabbage, cilantro, onion, tomato, and a sauce of mayonnaise and abundant chile. It's soft, crunchy, warm, cold, rich, sweet, and a perfect late night snack.
Roadside Pho stalls: a morning noodle soup similar to the one I posted about below.
Fried food stands: sweet and savory everything cooked in a giant wok of glistening oil.
Bia Hoi shops: Daily kegs of fresh (no preservatives) beer sold for 2,000 dong (about 12 cents) a glass.

Our first night in Hanoi we were sitting on the steps of the only cathedral I've seen thus far in SE Asia, drinking a final beer of the evening, when a rather inebriated young man stumbled over to some adjacent steps. He spoke impeccable English, and told us his story of coming down to the city from the country - his father having died - struggling for any money he could come by. He slept in the streets, looking for work until the point when he had to return home for lack of alternatives.

The wary traveller in me suspected some sort of a scam, and maybe that's what it was, but I gave him several thousand dong and we parted amicably. Over the next few days we ran into Hii twice more. He gave us some Vietnamese lessons, and I gave him some more money for the train back home for Tet. He seemed genuinely grateful, and either way it was a pleasure to spend time with him.

I write about this in an attempt to illustrate how difficult this whole travelling thing can be. The money we give will not, in all likelihood, make any significant difference. Chipping away in this manner seems futile, while ignoring the problem seems callous. Some cultural bridge was built (pardon the platitude), scam or not, financially futile or not, so for that I'm pleased. Anyway, a constant consideration.

Apologies for the ramble. Tomorrow morning we leave for a week-long motorcycle trip up through the mountains to Sapa. Our hogs are pretty sweet: old Soviet Minsks, the workhorses of Communist states worldwide. They call it "the old buffalo" in Vietnamese, and apparently they're as durable and rugged as bikes get. On the down side they're said to break down every five minutes or so; sounds like an adventure to me. See you all soon.

Photos

It took a good while to upload these six photos; there are several hundred more still to come. Have a look.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/37912472@N00/?saved=1

The highs and lows of Hanoi

Hanoi is overwhelming. Navigating through the streets on foot is a constant challenge and dropping one's guard pretty much guarantees at least a few horns being honked in your direction. The din of horns is pretty constant though, and it's often hard to say what purpose they're actually supposed to serve. It's louder and busier than anywhere I've ever been, and I think I'm starting to like it. Not to live here, mind you, but when there's so much activity all the time, there's always an interesting situation to stumble upon.

On Sunday night, we decided to go out for a quiet drink at a bar we had read about. We weren't expecting much excitement, and we may not have found any had we not sat next to some young Viatnamese high-rollers. They were sitting around a big table, doing frequent shots of one of the house liquors. They invited us to do a shot with them, and we accepted like the polite young gentleman we are. One shot somehow turned into us sitting around their table doing many shots of a smoky liquor (I lost count,) being fed delicious food, and learning useful Vietnamese phrases like "He's drunk."

We were having a great time, but it was pretty late so we tried to help pay and head back to our hostel. They refused any efforts by us to help with the bill. As we later learned, one of the young folk owns a couple companies and was more than happy to share his pre-new-year celebration with some friendly foreigners. And what better way to finish a celebratory dinner then taking everyone to a karaoke bar, getting a private room for us, ordering expensive whiskey and covering the entire tab??

We sang our hearts out. Oddly enough, I think I performed much better on the Vietnamese songs than I did on the American ones. Our hosts were much, much better singers than us. And they knew more of the words to the songs in both languages.

Apparently if you have enough money in Hanoi, you can escape the din and craziness. Andy and I were fortunate enough to be hanging out with some folks who knew how to do it in style. Then we went back to reality at our ant and roach-infested hostel.

We've Entered the War Zone

We've decided to get off the road for a couple of nights in Phonsavanh, a small town in Northeastern Lao. Besides breaking up our 28-hour bus ride from Vientiane to Hanoi, Phonsavanh serves at the stopping off point for the Plain of Jars, an archeological site comprising several fields of giant jar-shaped boulders, the origin of which remains a mystery. The jars were worth a visit, but we really must thank the United States Armed Forces for the most remarkable and pervasive aspect of our stopover.

In the lobby of our guest house stands a glass display case holding hundreds of rounds of spent ammunition, army helmets, and three foot long bomb casings. In the surrounding villages one sees houses raised on stilts of bomb shells, fences of discovered casings, and everywhere people - adults and children alike - wearing U.S. Army jackets and fatigues.

The farmland encompassing the Plain of Jars is pock-marked by bomb craters; one can't walk 10 meters without encountering one. There is a toppled Russian tank and scorched earth and memorial sites and destruction.

I've read that Lao is the most bombed country per square inch of land, and my experience today made that statistic seem probable. Unbelievably the potential devastation is not over. MAG (Mine Advisory Group) has posted signs and markers alerting inhabitants of the areas that have and have not been cleared of active land mines and still live bombs.

We've entered the war zone, and encountered a new form of cultural discomfort. I expect it will only get worse.

A.M. Soup

They love soup in this corner of the world. So do I.

Generally speaking there aren't any set meal times, no "lunch" or "dinner" as we know it, and restaurants and street vendors remain open from early morning to late night. There does, however, seem to be a conventional morning dish of noodle soup. Walking around from dawn to late morning you'll see people hunched over their bowls, haphazardly dashing condiments and aggressively slurping noodles.

I've tasted many variations, but the central theme is something like this: small mounds of various vegetables - Chinese watercress, scallions, leafy greens, mint and cilantro sprigs, wedged onions - are placed in a large bowl. A heap of blanched thin rice noodles goes in next, and then some simmering chicken stock is ladles over all. The whole mix is sprinkled with fried shallots, more cilantro and scallions, and a scoop of chunky peanut and chile sauce.

At table the preparation continues. Fish sauce, soy sauce, chile sauce, vinegar soaked chiles, lime juice, salt, sugar, bottles and jars and canisters and receptacles covering the table.

By the time the assembly is completed the flavors have had a chance to begin melding with one another. When you're halfway finished a bland bowl of chicken stock and vegetables has transformed itself into a fiery, salty, sweet, sour and utterly delicious way to start the day.

(Still hoping for photos!)

Bear Down

Ah well. I got up at 6 AM today so I wouldn't miss opening kickoff. Sat in front of the TV watching ESPN international, freezing because I refused to put anything over my Bears t-shirt. And then the opening minute was glorious...and it was pretty much all downhill from there.

It's appropriate that I watched the superbowl in Vangvieng as this town is all about watching tv. There's one main drag and it's lined with bars all showing American television, all the time, and they're packed with tourists. There are TWO bars that show Friends exclusively, back to back to back episodes without end. It's surreal.

We did manage to get in a good day of tubing down a river (with plentiful watering holes and ziplines along the way) and a hike through some caves, and that seems to be about all this town has to offer aside from the TV watching. Time to move on.

And there's always next year for the Bears.

Kids Like To Laugh

Today was a remarkable day for the youthsinasia. We began with several hours of kayaking on the Ou and Mekong Rivers with our diminuitive guide, Su, and his eerily long, sparse chin hairs. After capsizing only once (in a sad attempt to impress a group of village women with my maritime agility), we put in at a small hilly village on the shore.

We stepped off the boats to meet a crowd of little childrem, many of them naked, all of them giggling uncontrollably at us. The seeminly difficult task of two non-Lao speaking tourists interacting with a lot of non-English speaking children turned out to be remarkably simple: evidently all you have to do is smile as widely as you can and say "Sa Bai Dee" (general greeting) and everyone loves you.

A group of four little boys actually got under the kayak we were carrying and helped us transport it through the village and to the street above. Having no way of verbally thanking them, I made some awkward gestures that I thought might be construed as thanks (putting the palms of my hands together at my chin and saying "Thank You"). This seemed much too austere for a group of kids anywhere, though, so I searched my pockets for something to play with, coming up with only my digital camera; thankfully it turned out to be enough.

I snapped some pictures of the little tykes and then let them gather all around (and on top of) me and shout and laugh when they saw their faces reproduced in the little metal box. Warmed the heart, indeed.

That Alex and I were the only two white people in the village endowed me with considerably more daring than I would have exhibited had we been part of a pack of tourists getting off the bus. In groups of tourists I tend to exchange engagement for tact; I want to be the unobtrusive and hopefully unobnoxious traveller in the group. Whether or not we had any more of an "authentic" experience I can't say; I couldn't even tell you what that would be.

Either way, everyone was happy and laughing and running around, and that was enough.

My mini-friends

My hair has strange powers. It attracts things as if with gravitational pull, and once they're near it's almost impossible to not get ensnared. I once pulled a dead bee out of there. Lord knows how long that thing struggled to escape the tangles of my Jewfro before finally succumbing.

I'm aware of its powers, so I wasn't really concerned at all when Andy told me I had something in my hair as we neared the end of a strenuous near-vertical hike up and down a waterfall. I brushed my hand through my hair and felt a smear. Bird shit, I assumed. Would that I had been so lucky. Andy gets a quizzical look on his face and tells me to hold on a second while he picks something off my shirt and eventually tells me that I should probably know that there are lots and lots of tiny white things crawling on me. That's right, it wasn't bird shit on my head; it was a spider egg sac, and it opened in my hair.

I ripped my shirt off and saw the creepy little buggers all around the neck, inside and out. Running as quickly as possible, I reached the nearest place to jump in the water and ran in. The water was freezing, but cleansing (I hope.) I pulled all the buggers off my shirt and chest and neck . I'm hoping they're out of my hair, but only time will tell on that one.

The Man by the River

We left Chiang Mai on Sunday morning, and arrived at Luang Prabang on Tuesday evening. It was a long trip and it was worth it.

The bulk of the travelling took place in a slow boat on the Mekong River. Sounds romantic and scenic (just what Alex and I are looking for), but turned out to be narrow rows of hard benches with white faces all around. We waited on board for two hours before the engine was even on, and we "docked" (pulled over to the beach-rocks-jungle) every five minutes to let off the local Laotians at their villages. Despite the inconveniences of the 16-hour ride, it was one of the best experiences yet.

The Mekong is muddy. It's brown, cloudy, and seemingly unclean. But it works. It's sprawling, vast, and imposing. Green soy bean plants grow on white beaches between rock outcroppings, and water buffalo graze in the knee deep water. Lush jungle forms a solid wall below countless misty mountains.

Every few minutes we would pass a group of huts and several people between them, or the frequent solitary man in a long fishing boat on the river. They would wave or they would ignore us, but either way I felt relatively unobtrusive. At one point we came upon a particularly large group, women beating their laundry against the rocks with bamboo brushes, children swimming and playing, men fishing or farming. I glimpsed one man standing at the shoreline washing a pair of shorts in the river, completely and unabashedly naked, going about his daily routine as I'm sure the rest of the villagers were.

As the boat passed he raised his head to look, and upon seeing the foreigners passing by he casually moved a hand to cover himself. It was a simple gesture, but it obliterated the sort of "cultural experience" one naively hopes for when travelling. It threw up a barrier between the villagers on the beach and the interlopers on the big boat. It said not just that we weren't a part of their lives, but that we did not and could not understand those lives. It said that cultural sensitivity, while certainly worthwhile to endeavor toward, is simply not enough. And it said it all with a gesture.

All the amateur anthropologists out there would have a field day, I'm sure, with my experience, what I've unknowingly presupposed or forgotten or misanalyzed. But regardless, it was a meaningful experience, so I thought I'd tell you about it.

Easy or not?

I thought I'd check back in today after shirking on my posting duties. The truth is, I haven't felt much like writing recently because what I thought I would end up writing would be more negative than I actually felt or would want to convey. Today was a good day though, and we're headed to Laos tomorrow which is quite exciting.

Briefly recapping the past few days is probably in order, as we did actually do more than munch on bugs. Not much more and nothing as exciting, but probably worth a mention still. Two days ago we took a day trip to Chiang Rai, north of Chiang Mai. At least that's what we thought we were doing, as that's what we had been told it was. Unfortunately, as seems to be the pattern, things were not exactly as they were presented to us.

We got to the bus departure place at 7 AM and were put in a big 11 passenger van around 7:45. Over the course of the day, we visited a temple, the golden triangle (a muddy, nondescript region where Burma, Laos and Thailand meet) and several markets. Mainly, though, we sat in the van and drove. The temple more or less resembled most of the other temples we've seen and the markets were essentially identical as all the markets we were shown on our three-day trek. What it didn't do was actually go to the city of Chiang Rai, which was slightly obnoxious.

Thailand is currently trying to revitalize its tourism industry after the tsunami and coup, yet the picture it presents to tourists is that it is one giant market and all the visitors are simply walking ATMs. Surely that's a disservice to the country and I wish not every tour was so market-centered. Perhaps that's just the ones we've chosen, but I somehow doubt it.

Yesterday we rented bikes with our Wesleyan friend with whom we met up and just pedaled around the city for a while, getting away from all the gringos. We know we're on the right trail when our presence in a certain place causes locals to point and laugh. Or it could just be that I had sweated through my t-shirt, again. This country is hot. Although it was low-key, it was so much more enjoyable than the actual tours. A dip in the pool followed by dinner at the big outdoor night market completed a very pleasant day.

Today Andy and I took a 6 hour cooking course. It started at the local market where a guide took us around and explained all the local produce, which was definitely beneficial. Then, we learned about and assisted in the cooking (I say assisted because most of the chopping and prep was done for us) of 8 different dishes. Our instructor would repeatedly demonstrate something relatively simple, then ask the group "See, easy or not?" which I found hilarious for some reason, hence the title of the post. All in all, definitely a good experience.

That's enough recapping for now. To talk more broadly, I'm very excited for heading into Laos tomorrow but also a bit nervous. I've been struggling greatly with how much to give to beggars and street peddlers, and with whom to give. It seems necessary to have a system. Doc, a friend from Wesleyan, explained to us after refusing one particular person "She had all her limbs." It seems a fair statement, and I'm sure it will resonate more once I've spent more time in the other countries we're visiting.

So I'm just trying to deal with the guilt and figure out what I can do with it and how I should be dealing with all of it. It all relates back to figuring out what I actually want to get from this trip. Having some guilt and appreciating my immense privilege seems to me more of a means than an end, so I need to work through how to make it inform all of my actions/thoughts. Not easy to do, it would seem so far. Regardless, I'm looking forward to getting off the tourist track and hopefully we can delve a little deeper and go beyond the superficial traveling I feel like we've been doing to this point. I'm not actually sure that that means and what a 'real' experience would be in the relatively short time-frame we have, but I'd at least like to believe that the people I'm talking to haven't all rehearsed their lines hundreds of other times on other silly foreigners.

And on that note, that's quite enough rambling for one post. I should post more frequently so I don't have all these pent-up things. If you've made it this far and you're still reading, I appreciate it. If you have advice on how to deal with beggars and accompanying guilt and all of that, please leave it in the comments and I'd really appreciate it. Actually, if you've been reading the blog and haven't yet left a comment at all, it'd be great if you could, just so we know for whom we're actually writing.

Next update from Laos, inshallah

Me v. The Water Bug

The cricket went down easy. It was the water bug that wanted me to suffer.

Walking the streets of a few Thai cities I've visited a lot of vendors and eaten a lot of strange food. On several occasions, though, I've noticed a different kind of vendor. I've seen a young man riding a bicycle with a small illuminated cart hanging off it's side, a sort of sidecar of magic and wonderment and fried insects. He doesn't aggressively advertise his wares but simply pedals leisurely along the back alleys and side streets, knowing that he need not approach a potential client; the client will find him. And find him I did.

On this particular night we had decided to meet up with a friend from school who happened to be in the area. We made our way to an open city square, leisurely partaking of the local firewater all the while. Our friend (we'll call him Larry Parsons), well-travelled and worldly though he is, had yet to know the enchanting culinary delights of the formerly jumping, orthopterous Gryllidae I held in a small plastic bag purchased from a vendor an hour before. We took a sip of the moonshine and a bite of our respective crickets and, with little discomfort and actually some enjoyment, we had chalked up another cultural experience.

Several hours later, back at the guest house, I felt somehow unsatisfied. I had bypassed the grubs and maggots with little thought (they're for the amateur, I presumed), but I couldn't quite shake the thought of the massive beast anchoring the little plastic bag. Three inches long if it was a millimeter. Legs like jackhammers, a shell that could stop a bullet. Alex grabbed the camera, I grabbed the bug, and with a quick snap of the jaw I decapitated the bastard.

A bastard it was. Shards of shell like broken glass and the stench of death all over. It was a bitter massacre, but I emerged victorious.


(We've got photos but can't presently get them online. Soon we hope.)

The Trek, etc.

We're back in Chiang Mai after an unexpectedly strenuous three-day trek in the hills to the north. Rather than chronicle the entire trip, here are a few highlights worth mentioning:

Beautiful waterfalls deep in the jungle.
Sleeping on the not so soft floor of a village hut.
Whitewater bamboo rafting. And falling.
Herbal self-medication with the native villagers.
Riding an elephant (actually a pretty sad affair).
Eating local food. Apparently no one really worries about leaving meat out in the sun for many hours.
More Waterfalls.
Bleeding from two wounds within the first five minutes of a pick-up soccer game.
Being very blatantly and very uncomfortably wealthy.

And much more. It was a welcomed change from the steamy, sweaty, smoggy cities, and we hope to do a fair amount more hiking. For now,we eat Pad Thai from the monk who makes his tamarind sauce from an old family recipe; get extraordinarily painful massages involving a Thai woman standing on my back; drink cheap beer; meet interesting (and not so interesting) people; get much appreciated emails from friends and family back home; and always say yes.

Chiang Mai

We're in a new city, smaller and cooler and generally nicer than Bangkok, although we've been surrounded by fellow round-eyes since we got off the bus, so we'll have to take care of that as soon as possible.

We made the overnight voyage on the Airbrush Express VIP double decker bus, serenaded by horribly bad and incredibly loud Thai power ballads playing over the loudspeaker, which made the trip seem like only a handful of hours, rather than the ten it actually lasted.

Off to the hills tomorrow for a three-day trek. We're not exactly sure what that entails, so if you don't hear from us again, know that the adventure was worth it.

Back on the Horse

The toughened travellers of day 2 ran far from the touristy areas of the city this morning. We're in Bangkok's Chinatown right now, having just walked through a crowded and delicious maze of alleyways lined with vendors and not a single other white person.

Attracting glances, stares, and many laughs from the locals, we threaded our way among the crowd, bumping our heads on the umbrellas and elbowing little old women in the forehead. A bowl of fried rice and a smoothie had seemed a sufficient breakfast, but we couldn't resist the balls of coagulated pig's blood, long-cooked eggs, and slices of meat reminiscent of the scraps of bacon left on your plate because they are all fat. Delicious. Different curries, fried balls of things, women hacking away at pig intestines, frogs and fish in various stages of life and death, and lots and lots of rice.

So far, today's been better.

Yesterday's misadventures

Fuck. FUCKING FUCKING FUCK. I just wrote this fucking blog post again. Really really long. And again, it disappeared.

One more time, from scratch. Every time I rewrite it, it gets worse.

Ok, so maybe yesterday wasn't all misadventures. Some questionable adventures and one definite misadventure. I blame the lack of sleep.

Starts off well enough. We get into a Tuk-Tuk and start getting carted around from temple to temple. That's nice enough. Maybe I'm dead inside, but the giant Buddhas (Buddhi?) dont' do that much for me. I mean, I appreciate the grandeur and effort, and I think they're pretty, but they don't really move me. (An aside: I find it interesting that Buddhism, which in my admittedly limited understanding seems to be among the more grounded, anti-materialistic religions, would place such an emphasis on golden shrines. Anyway.)

Still, so far so good thus far. We're seeing the city, we're cruising around, the breeze is blowing, it's not that bad. Next stop: The tailor. No, we didn't ask to go to the tailor, but we're go-along-to-get-along types, so we went along. The instant we walk in, we're handed a card for free gasoline for our driver. At this point, a well-rested Andy or Alex would've raised a suspicious eyebrow or two, but we were decidedly not well-rested. We go talk to the tailor. Apparently, buying suits is A Thing To Do over here, so we talked to him for a while.

We somehow talked each other into buying suits. I'm not quite sure how. And this goes into the questionable adventure category, because it was cheap and assuming we get what we paid for, I won't be mad about it. Still, probably not the best idea on the first day of the trip. After that, more Buddha.

Next stop is the TAT info Center. TAT stands for Tourism Authority of Thailand, except for when it doesn't. Clever travel agents like to incorporate it into their names to fool less-clever travelers, including your humble narrator. Again, though, this isn't quite a misadventure. Our agent, Ninja (seriously), had some good ideas and recommendations and we booked some transport and accomodations for the next week. It may not have been the absolute cheapest way of doing it, but as long as we get what we pay for I won't be upset.

More Buddha.

After that, we have the biggest disappointment of the day, unquestionably a misadventure. Lunch. It should've been easy. Our driver asked us if we liked seafood and we said we did, assuming we'd be taken to a good seafood street market or something along those lines. Far from it. We ended up in a ridiculously expensive restaurant that did a very good job of not showing prices until it was time to pay at the end. Let's just say it was WAY too expensive, obscenely so, for the completely underwhelming food we were given.

Somewhat upset after being scammed, we were taken to one more temple and then separated from our driver. This temple offered a scenic view of this crumbling, crowded, sprawling city.

We walked back to our hostel and accidentally took a four hour nap. Jet lag's a bitch. The evening was better. We wandered around, ate some cheap and decent street food, drank a couple beers and listened to a Thai band do a passable cover of "Don't Look Back in Anger" by Oasis. Definitely the highlight of the day.

It's all uphill from here.

Day 1

Yikes.

I had an awesome blog post ready to go and Blogger ate it. It was great. Seriously. Instead, you get this for now because I'm too frustrated to attempt to recreate it. This frustration is minor compared to the rest of today's, but have no fear. Your intrepid narrators will prevail and will regale you with bloggy goodness soon enough. In the meantime, keep this advice in mind: It's better to read about scams in Lonely Planet before your tuk-tuk driver takes you on a ridiculous journey through space and time (and tailors and bogus travel agents posing as government workers and ridiculously expensive seafood eaten only by oblivious or obnoxious tourists.) Yippee.

Here We Are

Thirty-two short hours after leaving the Holiday Inn Express, thirty-two hours filled with stale airplane air and rehydrated "natural flavor" in plastic dishes and absurdly little leg room, we have arrived at the Baan Sabai Restaurant and Guest House in Bangkok. We have sweat considerably more than anything I would ever have thought natural (although the manpris do help), and - despite the only five hours of sleep in the last two days - are filled with excitement and hunger for food and adventure. In reverse order.

holiday inn express

we don't have to do two of these posts, but it's our first night out. no parents. so i'm trying to keep it real. don't worry, i'm sure the posts will get more interesting once we get out of jamaica, ny. although this place is pretty exciting. lots of suitcases and foreign accents and formica walls. and four hours sleep if we're lucky. ok, two days from now: bangkok.

Getting ready to take off

After a lovely dinner with the Catalano family, we hopped in a cab and were efficiently shuttled to the incorrect Holiday Inn. After that mildly inauspicious start, we were able to make it to our Holiday Inn Express around midnight. We now have about four hours to sleep before catching a 5 AM shuttle to JFK and starting our 26 hours of travel to Bangkok via Vancouver and Tokyo. Sweet. We leave Monday at 7AM local time and arrive Tuesday at 10 PM local time. Good times.

Yeah, so this is a pretty dull post, and I'm sure as we see things and actually, you know, have new experiences, it will liven up a bit, so bear with us and stay tuned for actual adventures. And insight. And recipes. And pictures of kittens maybe, because everyone seems to enjoy those.

Next post will be from Bangkok. I'm excited.