It's Fly Lice You Plick

By the Time You Read This

2006-10-02T18:26:00.000-06:00

I'll be on my way home

Apologies All Around

2006-09-16T01:00:00.000-06:00

Hey all!

I suppose you're all wondering where I've disappeared off to all these months. Rest assured I'm still working away on the blog, if only at a snail's pace. I'm currently in the process of sifting through little point form notes, thousands of photos and bits of faded memories and memorabilia of Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore (whew). Problem with traveling all these countries over such a long period of time is that one starts to lose the language. Pigeon English has replaced what was formerly (marginally) proper English and I'm finding it that much more difficult to properly convey my thoughts in words.

What I will say for now is that I have officially booked my flight home and my trip will be coming to an end in the near future (I will leave the date up to your imaginations). Thanks for the patience.

In the meantime I'll leave you with one of my favourite moments caught on photo. This is me falling down a sand dune in Mui Ne, Vietnam (it's rather big so you'll have to click to see it at full size):

Also. Sorry for not responding to your comments. I meant to but I was on expensive island internet and only had time to check my email quickly.

Travel Day: Hoi An: Waiting For the Night Bus

2006-07-08T22:31:00.000-06:00

With our bus not leaving 'til seven in the evening, the majority of our day was spent in relative limbo. Fear of missing our departure meant there was little motivation for us to explore too far out of town. And so the morning was wiled away catching up on current events on the old TV precariously seated on a chair next to my bed and lazily gathering our belongings for another night on a bus.

It was around noon when we figured it best to head downstairs so the staff wouldn't have to come up and forcefully evict us from the premises. We dropped off our bags in the front lobby, paid the tab and wandered out to savour our remaining hours in Nha Trang. My camera came along for the ride (because I'm not trusting enough to leave my valuables untended).

Pickup trucks are far from affordable for the average person here so people come up with creative ways to compensate:

The large park by the beach is surprisingly empty during the daytime (probably because of the soaring daytime temperatures)

..but at around five O'clock, a number of old buses packed full of locals pull up along the beach front:

...And the sky soon fills with colourful plastic kites

Na na na na na na na na.....

Small businesses swarm in from all corners to capitalize on the crowd. A few old ladies cart around these big weigh scales (I found it strange that a lot of them looped the theme from Titanic through the built in speaker):

Other ladies go about the beach bothering sunbathers with baskets full of cheap snacks. The one worth trying is the giant rice cracker (the size of a basketball hoop).

Not to be outdone by their religious contemporaries, the (generally) atheist communists here have spared no expense to bring in their own brand of non-denominational Christmas lights:

Our midnight pit stop proved rather challenging. For future reference "NAM" is Vietnamese for "Men."

Nha Trang: Happy Endings Massage Parlours

2006-07-07T22:56:00.000-06:00

Backed by highly valued tourist dollars and anonymous in their travels, a number of otherwise well adjusted backpackers relax their moral compasses, gird their loins, and indulge themselves in less than savoury activities. To fill the demand, "Happy Endings" establishments pop up at the big tourist hot spots, dropping the bar for everyone else. Beach towns in particular are the hardest hit, and Nha Trang is no exception to the rule.

One thing I've noticed about seaside towns in this region is, the closer one gets to the beach, the more Happy Endings Massage Parlours they will see. The streets running parallel to Nha Trang's main beach are good examples as the businesses nearest the ocean tend to be more party oriented and the ones farther away are more practically minded. Let's say you look anywhere farther than three blocks from the sand and surf, you will only find supermarkets, restaurants, pharmacies and doctors. Two blocks (where our guesthouse is) and closer, one is more likely to find Sleazy bars, Karaoke joints (read: brothels) and Happy Endings Massage Parlours. Maybe this chart would better illustrate this theory:

...or maybe not...

Anyway, your average Happy Endings Massage Parlour is fairly easy to pick out and it doesn't take a genius to distinguish one from a legitimate massage parlour. Telltale signs include:

Dark tinted front windows
Loud hip hop music coming from inside
Red entrance lights (only visible at night)
Emaciated (and possibly underage) girl in a tube top/miniskirt ensemble standing near the front door
Largely male clientèle.

It's not rocket science.

Regardless, a temporary lapse of judgment ensued this afternoon following a bowl of pho and a round of fruit shakes. It must have been the daytime heat or maybe I was lost in conversation at the time but something distracted me as I stumbled across a reflexology sign carefully placed in the middle of the sidewalk. I turned toward the girl at the door (telltale sign #4) and asked how much an hour costs, ignoring the loud Eminem track blaring (telltale sign #2) from behind the tinted windows (telltale sign #1) and the unkempt men milling in and out of the entranceway (telltale sign #5). I think it was when she looked over at Jo and rolled her eyes that I finally put two and two together and backed down. My face is still red.

Oh, and for the curious among you, a "massage" (and complimentary rash) will set you back about 125,000 VND (about $8 USD).

Nha Trang: Ba Ho Falls and Doc Let Beach

2006-07-06T19:19:00.000-06:00

If ever a day existed where the journey eclipsed the destination, today would be it. We began it like many other, that is to say, we woke up late and took our time with breakfast. Even then, we had enough time left in the morning to rent a pair of motorbikes (this time with enough gas in the tanks and a local girl volunteered to lead us to a service station). And so our road trip began.

We revved up our Chinese made motos and sped through the remainder of Nha Trang, promising ourselves that we'd stop at all the interesting sights on the way back (through past experience, this never happens - today was no different) and up a winding hilly slope by the city's border. Most of the hillside real estate on the northern edge of town is taken up by colourful mini mausoleums. I've been told that like the Chinese, grave placement is important to the Vietnamese. A hillside location is apparently most auspicious.

Further down Highway 1 (about 20 clicks), we ran into a little difficulty. The turn off to the Ba Ho falls, we found out, doesn't have any signage. Luckily, the guidebook mentions an intersection by the Quyen restaurant. Too bad on a highway littered with little roadside restaurants, it's not difficult at all to overlook one that's a landmark, especially when it's a dirty old shack. After going back and forth a couple of times (with a quick stop for some overpriced pho), we found our way onto a rural dirt road, across a railway track (where the "Reunification Express" runs) and through a little village.

The initial reaction at the entrance was one of disappointment as it consisted of a trash strewn picnic area aside an equally trash strewn stream and little else. After paying for admission and parking, a group of Vietnamese women gathered around us to sell us heavily marked up soft drinks. I eventually caved and bought a bottle of Thai imported Red Bull on the way out.

Somehow, I'd forgotten that near-death experiences come part in parcel with my visits to waterfalls. I think there were at least a half dozen in the twenty minute climb up and another half dozen on the way down. Certain stretches were sheer cliff faces overlooking gaping crevasses between boulders. The small iron bars haphazardly placed on the cliff faces weren't made for over sized feet in over sized sandals so the climb was that much worse for me.

Further disappointment greeted us at the top as, despite the rainy season, the falls didn't offer much more than a trickle. Anyway, the exercise was good and none of us came out injured so things worked out in the end.

Sweaty from the climb, we hopped back on our bikes and continued north to the Doc Let beach for a little rest and relaxation.

Along the way, we stopped by a group of farmers who were more than willing subjects for our photographs. Surprisingly none asked for "wan dollah," which seems to be customary in these parts.

The scenery on the way to Doc Let:

Another letdown greeted us at Doc Let as a number of exclusive resorts have taken over the beach and posted guard huts at the entrances. It was probably for the best anyway as it was getting late in the afternoon and we needed to get back to town before nightfall.

On the way back, Andrew, who was driving ahead of me, slowed down to say hello to a group of bicycling school children. So shocked were they of the strange foreigner, a couple steered directly in my path. Neither were hurt in the collision but I seared my leg on the hot exhaust pipe in the process.

We made it back to town just in time to catch the sunset

Because I have nowhere else to post this, here's a photo of a napping cyclo driver taken earlier this morning:

Nha Trang: Mining for Earwax (For Fun and/or Profit)

2006-07-05T13:38:00.000-06:00

Today's planned outing was written off about five minutes after renting a pair of motorbikes. For some reason, the rental agency had decided to drain the gas tanks almost entirely before handing over the keys - there wasn't enough juice to get to the gas station so we had to push our bikes all the way back. After a drawn out argument with the management (we're getting used to doing it here), we managed to get a refund and took to the streets of Nha Trang on foot.

For the most part, I've paid little attention to the barber stands that proliferate the urban side roads here. Essentially they consist of a chair, a mirror and a small tray of tools set up on the sidewalk. Well, it was a rare treat today that I caught my first glimpse of the "after service." What happens is, once the haircut is done, buddy here straps a flashlight to his head, pulls out a fancy Q-tip like thing (it's more like a mini feather duster), and goes to town on his customer's ear canal. Now, considering Vietnamese motorists (who travel only a few feet away) tend to sound their horns at just about everything they pass, one has to wonder what kind of masochist pays for this type of service:

In a country where restaurants commonly recycle drinking straws by soaking them in dirty old dishwater (something I accidentally stumbled upon when I passed through a kitchen), I'll bet good money that these fancy "Q-tips" undergo a similar treatment.

Travel Day: Nha Trang - Unemployment

2006-07-04T22:13:00.000-06:00

While eating breakfast, the guest house owner kindly advised us that the drunk guy no longer works here. The news came too little too late and we caught the first bus out of town.

Dalat: A Market and a Crazy House

2006-07-03T23:56:00.000-06:00

Surprisingly, until today, I hadn't missed the long sleeved shirts I shelved at my grandma's house when I first set off from there those many months ago. The temperate mountain climate coupled with the damp rainy season has left Dalat a little on the chilly side and I am completely unprepared. See, it's been months since I've seen a daytime temperature dip below thirty degrees (Celsius). In fact, in recent days, it's gone up as high as forty. My entire morning was spent shivering, covered with goosebumps and sniffly. Things improved a bit when I picked up an odd double hooded vinyl raincoat (apparently designed for a moto driver and passenger) at Cho Dalat, the market in the town square.

I always make it a habit to visit these markets because they are almost always teeming with interesting doo dads, local delicacies and photo opportunities. This is especially true with the one here. Breakfast consisted of stuffing myself sick on Vietnamese style Turkish delights (I got through half a bag before handing it off to a pair of boys who were following us around)

It's quite laid back here:

Basket of well behaved (they didn't look dead to me) chickens:

A shot of Ca Phe Sua Daa (Vietnamese iced coffee with condensed milk - ice not shown):

Anyway, Dalat has proven to be a delightful little town. It's how I'd picture Euro Disney if it fell into disrepair and got taken over by a bunch of commies (or at least that's the way I see it). The term the guidebook uses to describe the town is "kitschy." The place even has its own mini Eiffel tower:

On the outskirt of town, you can see that all the buildings are crammed tightly together:

We passed a kindergarten with a sign depicting "Uncle Ho" playing with the kids (creepy considering he's been dead for almost forty years now):

The levity of the above sign detracted by this one across the street that reminds the young folk to lay off their crack pipes:

I'm not too sure what we were thinking when we bypassed a historic train station for the "crazy house." Masterminded by a well heeled architect (her father was the president of Vietnam in the 80's), the crazy house is reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland on drugs (possibly the reason for the prevalence of anti-drug propaganda around town):

A night in a themed room here runs around $25USD but all were vacant when we visited (to no surprise) . Even Hobbes wouldn't want to share a room with this tiger:

Plans were made to stay another day in this odd little town to the point where we had loosely arranged a pair of motorbikes. Of course, thanks to a drunken guest house employee and a 'roid raging Kiwi, our visit has been cut short. Jo and I were up in the room catching up on our journals (I was more inclined to a couple of games of Freecell) when Andrew came charging in, cursing under his breath. What happened was, earlier in the day, we had told the guest house owner that our windows had leaked through last night and asked if someone could mop it up. Somewhere along the line, something got lost in translation and the employee set to the task saw it as a grave insult. So later in the evening, he gets drunk with this Kiwi and gangs up on Andrew, who was checking his email downstairs. Tempers flared, expletives were exchanged and fists were raised. Nothing major came out of the whole fiasco, but seeing as this guy has access to a master key and there are no deadbolts on our door, we're going to have to sleep with one eye open tonight.

Travel Day: Dalat

2006-07-02T21:29:00.000-06:00

A considerable amount of time has passed since I last woke up early enough for a sunrise, and given my current location (the guest house is literally sitting on the South China Sea), I decided it was time to bust out the old alarm clock (a borrowed cel phone). The buzzer faithfully went off at 5:30 as planned, giving Jo and I ample time to stumble down to a couple of vacant deck chairs in the pre-dawn darkness. We had originally meant to watch the sun slowly hoist itself out of the ocean but ended up losing ourselves in conversation, sharing stories of our past lives back home and of adventures in places unknown. It was too bad a slight drizzle and the damp chill of the early morning air convinced Jo to head back to the comfort of her nice warm bed, cutting our conversation short. I stuck around for another couple of hours, sheltered by a thatched straw umbrella and watched little wooden fishing boats pop up one by one along the orange and blue horizon.

Not having paid attention to the time, mid morning arrived earlier than anticipated, leaving hardly enough time for me to wake the other two up and pack up all my gear. With a little effort we managed to organize ourselves and check out just in time... to wait fifteen minutes for the bus to arrive late. To our disappointment, the nice big "40 seater" we were promised could barely fit 15 comfortably. Now, far be it for me to over generalize, but honesty in this country is in short supply and today was just another example of it. On a daily basis, we've seen prices fluctuate on the whims of business owners (price tags are virtually non-existent here), promises broken and the truth bent beyond what I'd consider an acceptable level. Anyway, we made it safely to the little mountain town of Dalat, but not without incident. A girl sitting a couple of seats to my left got her puke on for most of the five hour ride. In a last ditch effort from tossing my cookies, I resorted to breathing over a dab of Tiger Balm smeared on my index finger.

The rainy season clouds and precipitation followed us all the way up to Dalat so we crawled under our respective blankets and called it a day. It was actually quite nice.

Mui Ne: Sand Dunes

2006-07-01T23:29:00.000-06:00

Before heading out on the open road this morning, Andrew, Jo and I stopped by a small fishing village to top up our rented motorbikes and score a few VND at the ATM. We didn't make it too far into the market for supplies, unfortunately, because it was a little too crowded for our liking:

Having been relatively sheltered from the West since the Communist government took power, commercialism hasn't fully taken hold of the country. In place of product advertisements, many billboards here often focus instead on government sponsored messages:

Atop our list of priorities for the day were the picturesque dunes that lie due west of the town. The Red Dunes closest to Mui Ne were skippable thanks to the overabundance of tourists and the hoards of pushy children renting out sheets of plastic for sand sledding. I had considered renting one but these kids were just plain obnoxious (to the point of jumping in front of our bikes to slow us down) . These ones here were yelling out the customary "what your name?" "where you from?" and "wan dollah!" phrases that are oh so common in these parts:

Thankfully, the White Dunes, a fair distance away, were far more subdued. A tour was wrapping up just as we arrived so we had the whole place to ourselves.

I should have bought water before heading out today:

Instead of sliding down the sand on a sheet of plastic, I took the poor man's alternative and rolled down what must have been a four storey high dune (you will have to click on the small image below to see it) :

Hobbes waited up top and got sand all over his fur:

A lake of lotus plants below a dune:

The sand spills over onto certain stretches of the road, making driving a little bit trickier:

Though Nazi like in appearance, these swastika adorned grave sites are actually Buddhist in origin:

It was about four thirty when we found our way back to Mui Ne. With a few hours to kill before the bikes had to be returned, we went to the city center to photograph the colourful fishing boats moored in an inlet.

A sudden storm broke out soon after and we dashed to a nearby restaurant to wait it out. A half hour passed and the rain subsided enough for us to make the twenty minute drive back to the guesthouse. This was more or less when everything went wrong. First of all, unbeknownst to me, my bike had been burning gas twice as quickly as Andrew's all day. It didn't help that my gas gauge didn't work (it seems that most motorbikes are like that here). So about five minutes into our ride home, my bike stalled. Since Andrew and Jo were riding in front, they just kept on going. It was around this point, as I pushed my bike along to the nearest gas station (which was a stall full of gas filled coke bottles) , that the rain started again. Sensing my desperation, the gas station guy jacked up the prices. And it didn't end there. After I flagged down Andrew and Jo, we took a wrong turn and wound up ten minutes down the highway to Saigon. Anyway, things were sorted out and we arrived back at the guesthouse soaked and miserable.

On the upside, I fixed the shower so we had hot some water to warm up.

Travel Day: Mui Ne

2006-06-30T19:40:00.000-06:00

So I'm sitting right at the back of the bus (that's where the cool kids sit, right?), minding my own business, when the reserve bus driver shows up. He wants the whole row to himself so that he can lie down for a nap. He ain't taking no for an answer. Now, the reason I'm sitting here is because Asian buses are made, well, for Asian people. That is to say, they don't accommodate for taller folk.

Anyway, the situation soon escalated to a battle of wills. I refused to budge because:

A. I'm a paying customer
B. I was there first

Of course, the reserve bus driver saw things differently because as the "reserve bus driver" (I guess he drives if something happens to the existing bus driver), he felt that the back seat was his entitlement. I suppose it would've been easier if I just gave in to his incessant hounding but at this point, I'm getting tired of being bullied around. At a stalemate, he decided to go ahead and lie down next to me, resting his legs on my lap and kicking me now and then out of spite. I stayed put on principle.

Things didn't improve much when we arrived in Mui Ne. Andrew went up front to tell the guy driving the bus to drop us off at a guesthouse along the way (as we had been promised). Unfortunately for us, bus drivers here get paid a commission for every passenger who stays at the guesthouse at the designated stop. We weren't allowed off and had to wait an hour to get back to the place we chose.

It should go without saying, customer service in Vietnam needs work.

Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) - Random Stuff

2006-06-29T21:41:00.000-06:00

Real estate comes at a premium in the crowded streets of central Saigon so buildings grow upwards rather than outwards. Many of these thin slivers replace the alleyways between old buildings:

Alterations can be done easily on the roadside:

Andrew's friend, Thui, took us out to the Binh Cuioi tourist village, a mini theme park of sorts, consisting of manufactured scenes from Vietnam. We didn't see too much of it because we had diverted our attentions toward a cheesy wedding photo shoot taking place:

Five seater:

Just before we turned in for the evening, we watched a bunch of local guys playing takraw, a game similar to hackey sack. Instead of a beanbag, though, they use a plastic shuttle with feathers on the end. You can hear a guy trying to sell us one in the background:

Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) - Củ Chi Tunnels

2006-06-28T22:26:00.000-06:00

Back in the day, an elaborate network of tunnels spanned 75-miles underneath Củ Chi district, with areas designated for kitchens, conference rooms, sleeping quarters and munitions bunkers. It's sort of ironic that the Củ Chi tunnels, originally established to drive out invading foreigners, now attract many thousands of tourists annually. The portion accessible to the general public has been widened to compensate for "fat American asses" (I overheard a tour guide say this to his group). Even with the broadened passages, claustrophobia kicked in not long into my dimly lit fifty meter crawl.

A tunnel left in its original state. It's hard to imagine people living in such cramped conditions. Hobbes for scale:

An old U.S tank sits where it fell. A delay mine put this one out of commission in 1970:

Trapdoors leading to spiked pits are on display near the entrance of the exhibit:

The original tunnel entrances do not accomodate for larger frames unfortunately, so I couldn't climb in this one for a photo op. The Viet Cong had similar entrances hidden all over the area, including a number by the U.S. 25th Infantry division's base camp. I've read that Viet Cong geurillas would pop out randomly, take a few pot shots at the U.S troops and go back into hiding:

The firing range in the compound is out of bounds except for paying customers. Unfortunately, it costs a buck a round and that kind of thing is not in my budget. I did snag a couple of photos and a souvenir shell casing before we got kicked out.

Sadly, the visit felt a little rushed thanks to sporadic heavy rains and our surly Viet Cong tour guide.

Taxi dashboard shrine:

Preparing our mid-afternoon snack:

Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon): A Day In Pictures

2006-06-27T23:35:00.000-06:00

Strange that the Good Morning Vietnam chain of restaurants only serves Italian food:

Traditional fare can easily be found on the roadside anyway:

Cone hatted women sell all sorts of things along the busy streets:

A few laze about at a waiting area near the docks by the Mekong:

One of many Ho Chi Minh ("Uncle Ho") memorial statues. This one rests outside the People's Committee Building (formerly the Hotel DeVille). People aren't supposed to take photos of the building but we made sure the guards were looking the other way:

Introduced by French Colonialists in the 1600's, Catholicism has spread throughout Vietnam, moreso than her neighbours. Ho Chi Minh City has her own version of the Notre Dame Cathedral (though it's not nearly as elaborately built):

The Central Post Office is just across the street from the Cathedral. More interesting than it sounds, it's a tourist hotspot because of its late 19th century architecture. A giant painting of Ho Chi Minh watches over the central hall:

And a pair of communist style statues sit next to the entrance:

Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon)

2006-06-26T13:40:00.001-06:00

I found myself at the entrance of Andrew and Jo’s guesthouse this morning after navigating through the claustrophobic maze of alleyways in Pham Ngu Lao, Ho Chi Minh City’s backpacker district.

We followed breakfast with a bike ride to the Dan Sinh war surplus market for a bit of shopping (I’m a sucker for army surplus). Surprisingly, I restrained myself to purchasing only three “vintage” commie buttons and two Viet Cong hats. I had my eye on a pith helmet but my backpack is crammed full as it is.

It’s hard to believe but crossing the street here has been one of the most exhilarating things I’ve done on this trip so far. You see, pedestrian crossings are few and far between in this heavily populated city and a little initiative has to be taken to get across. The secret lies in a leap of faith whereby one steps in front of moving traffic, maintains eye contact with drivers of oncoming vehicles while keeping a steady pace. It is a little daunting when faced with dozens of speeding motorbikes.

A video demonstration (not very well filmed unfortunately):

Half the day had already passed by the time we got out of the war surplus market so we booked it to the historically significant Reunification Palace (formerly the Presidential Palace). We only paused briefly here for a photo op at the spot where North Vietnamese tank #843 crashed through, symbolically ending the Vietnam War.

We worked our way a few blocks north to the War Remnants Museum where we soaked in a rather biased interpretation of the “American War.” Several displays in the main wing of the museum are dedicated to the atrocities committed by the “Imperialist” Americans. Most of the exhibit centered on graphic images of the long term effects of chemical defoliants (Agent Orange) and the massacre at My Lai. Outside, a number of leftover American tanks, aircraft and weaponry sit exposed to the elements:

A shrine to “Uncle Ho” near the main exhibit - these things are everywhere:

This wax model inside a recreated “Tiger Cage” (a South Vietnamese prison cell for Viet Cong soldiers) almost gave me a heart attack:

On the way back to our respective guesthouses, we stopped at Pho 2000, a noodle shop where Bill Clinton ate during his visit in 2000. Though a little bit pricier than other pho restaurants, the food was definitely fit for a president. I made off with an extra pair of disposable chopsticks as a souvenir.

Travel Day: Ho Chi Minh City

2006-06-25T19:26:00.000-06:00

The busload of forty or so backpackers I traveled with was unceremoniously dumped at the Bavet/Moc Bai border crossing to take care of the requisite paperwork for the journey onward to Vietnam. Just like any other land crossing I’ve gone through so far, it’s more or less a simple affair. First step was to check out of the country of origin (Cambodia in this case), handing over the departure card I filled out in Poi Pet when I first entered the country. The officer at the booth checked over the details, stamped my passport to void the visa and ushered me toward the gated border separating Cambodia from Vietnam. So far so good.

After a brief walk, I stepped into the building on the Vietnamese side of the border to fill out my entry papers. A “helpful” member of staff blocked my path as I reached for the forms and insisted he fill them out on my behalf. I told him I was quite capable but he stood firm. Admittedly, I caved and let him do his thing, but as he finished up, he sheepishly looked around and then demanded a dollar (wahn daw-laah) for services rendered. This type of thing, I’m sure, isn’t standard practice and because he looked around before asking, he was probably doing something he wasn't supposed to. So I mustered the loudest “one dollar??!?” I could, making sure it was loud enough for the higher ups to hear, which prompted him to back down and push me to the visa line.

As far as first impressions go, I’m really hoping this isn’t representative of my upcoming experience in Vietnam, though I’ve certainly been warned of this type of thing.

A silly sign on the Cambodian side of the border (Bavet):

I met up with Andrew and Jo (or Jonus, as Andrew calls her) a couple of hours after my arrival in Ho Chi Minh City. We wandered around the backpacker district’s alleyways for a cheap room, finally settling on one run by honest owners (it's actually quite surprising how things work here).

Phnom Penh: The Curse of Lakeside #10

2006-06-25T07:38:00.000-06:00

Living on a tight budget requires a fair bit of compromise on the traveler's part, especially when it comes to accommodation. So when we arrived in front of Phnom Penh's train station the other day, we beelined it straight to Lakeside #10, one of the cheapest spots in the city center. For $2USD a night, Andrew and I scored a top floor room (hardly a penthouse) for a few days. Problem is, for that price you can't really expect much by way of quality.

The guesthouse is broken up into three distinct areas. The first is the super cheap partition built entirely of wood with filthy shared bathrooms at the end of the hall. I stayed in this portion of the guesthouse the first time I was in Phnom Penh. So poorly constructed is this wing, it shakes at the slightest movement. While I stayed here, the whole place swayed to the rhythm of a young couple's late night indiscretions a few doors down.

The more upscale wing is further down the hallway in a concrete building. Rooms here are maintained quite well in comparison to the rest of the guesthouse and remain relatively cool during the sweltering daytime heat. This is where the Swiss girls stayed.

Section three is a metal girdered monstrosity constructed haphazardly atop the concrete building. Most people don't stay here because it's inconveniently located and the tin roof makes the rooms unbearably hot during the daytime. This is where Andrew and I stayed.

Though clean, little care is taken on the maintenance of the building. As such we were left to deal with series of catastrophes, increasing in severity with each occurrence. I've documented them here:

June 17th - Room 402 - A heavy rain had rolled in as we sat down for dinner a few blocks from Lakeside 10. When it subsided, we returned to the guesthouse and found our room completely flooded - our bags were soaked through. The seals in the windows, it turns out, were inadequately weatherproofed. After a bit of complaining, we switched over to room number 403.

June 18th - Room 403 - The afternoon storm that kept us from going to Choeung Ek had leaked through the ceiling onto my bed, soaking my bag (again). We complained and were switched over to Room 404.

June 21st - Room 404 - It was around 1 AM, Andrew had left for Vietnam, Hobbes and I were fast asleep, when part of the ceiling collapsed and landed on the bed. Thankfully, neither of us were hurt in the incident. By this point we were out of rooms to switch over so we just had to deal with it.

The hole above the bed:

June 23rd - Room 404 - As the sun set, a plague of insects of Biblical proportions (beetles, grasshoppers, mosquitoes and moths mostly) descended on the room through the newly created opening in the ceiling. I stress, insect repellent is a must in Southeast Asia.

June 24th - Room 404 - For whatever reason, last night's swarm of insects had migrated to greener pastures, allowing me the freedom to work on the blog (play freecell) in the comfort of my own bed. After about half an hour, I was blinded by searing pain. A tiny beetle the size of a sesame seed found its way up my shorts and took a bite out of my... ah... sack lunch.

June 25th - Room 404 - I woke up bright and early to prepare for a long bus ride to Saigon. Unfortunately, the water had been shut off so I spent an extra twenty minutes in bed and stank up the bus with my improper hygiene.

Phnom Penh: Pictures

2006-06-23T12:48:00.000-06:00

The view of the neighbouring shanty town from my guesthouse window. Gunshots have been heard coming from this direction in the middle of the night:

Crackdown on pedophelia

Thailand's got Red Bull, Cambodia has:

Mid afternoon nap:

Near accident. Motorbike drivers here are nuts:

Phnom Penh: Cheoung Ek Killing Field

2006-06-21T09:46:00.000-06:00

With Andrew and Jo taking a head start on Vietnam today, I’m sort of left here in Phnom Penh by myself for a few days, waiting for my Visa to kick in. Since the weather has cleared up considerably, I decided to try my luck with the Choeung Ek Killing Field again.

Along the way, I learned that mullets and leisure suits still attract babes. I have neither, unfortunately:

Best seat in the house:

The giant Stupa at the heart of Choeung Ek was constructed in the late eighties as a final resting place for the 8958 Cambodians exhumed from nearby mass graves. Victims, carted here by the truckload, were almost always bludgeoned to death here to save on ammunition.

Skulls inside the memorial have been carefully arranged by age and gender:

And are piled in shelves reaching up to the high ceiling:

While clothes recovered from the mass graves are heaped haphazardly on the floor:

In accordance to local custom the memorial stupa is kept partially open to allow spirits to move freely from this world to the next. Despite the added ventilation, an overwhelming musty, almost chalky odour dominates the building’s cramped interior.

Outside, signs placed around crater like pits document victims found in mass graves

One reads:
“Mass grave of 166 victims without heads”

Another:
“Mass grave of more than 100 victims children and women whose majority were naked”

Other signs point out execution sites, while unclaimed bones sit atop bricks nearby. The ground is littered with white flecks of bone and cloth that surface with the rain. I've read that executioners would often grab babies by their legs and swing them against this tree until they died:

An unknown number of bodies still remain in undisturbed graves surrounding the site, though estimates peg the total to be around 17,000. Sadly, despite the numbers, Choeung Ek probably doesn’t rank highly amongst the hundreds of other killing fields documented around the country. The figure seems a paltry sum considering upwards of three million people, or almost a third of the country’s population succumbed to “unnatural deaths” while the Khmer Rouge were in power.

Phnom Penh - Brother Number Four

2006-06-20T20:52:00.000-06:00

Of the hoards of smarmy moto drivers plying their trade along the lakeside backpacker district, only a precious few comprehend English sufficiently to communicate with foreigners. Even then, most were confused when we asked to go to visit Phnom Penh’s prison, a place not frequented by many tourists. Nearly all assumed we wanted to go to the S21 genocide museum, which we’d already covered a couple of days ago. The plan was to go on the off chance that they would let us in to visit Ta Mok the Butcher, also known as Brother Number Four.

Ta Mok is one of the few high ranking Khmer Rouge officials currently awaiting trial for crimes against humanity. Most of his compatriots managed to strike immunity deals with current Prime Minister Hun Sen’s (also former Khmer Rouge) administration and have made off scot-free. During his tenure as the party’s Chief of Staff, Ta Mok gained notoriety as the man who orchestrated the brutal purges (such as those in S21) synonymous with the Khmer Rouge’s rule.

Anyway, back to the story. As is daily practice here, we were continually accosted by moto drivers between the guesthouse and the main street. One particular moto driver on this stretch has taken to calling me “Ajinomoto” whenever I walk past because a) I’m “Japanese” and b) he’s trying to sell me a moto ride (get it? Ajinomoto hur hur). Ajinomoto is Japanese for MSG. We finally found a driver who was positive he could take us to the prison so Andrew, Jo (a British girl I’ll be traveling Vietnam with) and I climbed into his tuk tuk and away we went.

A retro cop car stationed near the guesthouse:

The ride went relatively smoothly until we reached a flooded out patch of road.

Soon after, our driver stopped for directions, stirring up a bit of concern between the three of us. A few minutes later he called his boss at the base station for further instructions. We did finally manage to get to a corrections facility but it ended up being the wrong one. Unfortunately, they didn’t allow visitors so we had to turn back.

Phnom Penh: Fond Farewells

2006-06-19T10:16:00.000-06:00

Andrew and I woke up extra early this morning to share breakfast with the girls and give them a royal sendoff. Sadly, we’re parting company for the last time - they’re heading West to Siem Reap while Andrew and I are traveling Eastward to Vietnam.

An unfortunate gecko got caught in the girls’ door jamb quite some time ago:

While wolfing down our breakfasts (we were running late), we got talking with an Australian guy who was busy strumming away on his guitar at the next table over. We invited him to sit with us and he proceeded to play a pleasant little tune he wrote for a French Canadian girl he’d met in Vietnam. We paid little attention to the non-descript first couple of verses and simply enjoyed the music, but as the song progressed, the lyrics got more and more unsettling. Now, maybe it’s just a matter of personal taste but I don’t think things like sabotaging a flight and forced kidnappings fit in silly little love songs. Nice guy though.

Following breakfast, we all hopped onto a tuk tuk and sped to the waiting bus, where we all quickly wished each other safe journeys. And like that, they were gone.

Phnom Penh: Tuol Sleng (S21) Death Camp

2006-06-18T20:50:00.000-06:00

Between 1975 and 1979, Tuol Sleng (also known as Security Prison 21 or S21 for short) served as the Khmer Rouge’s main internment camp, “processing” an estimated seventeen to twenty thousand “enemies of the state” during its operation. The high school turned prison presently houses a museum and a small memorial site.

From a cursory glance of the courtyard, it’s hard to imagine any crimes against humanity could have taken place in such a pleasant setting:

The illusion is quickly shattered upon entering the A-Block interrogation building where the bloodied corpses of the prison’s last fourteen victims were found by Vietnamese Liberators, still shackled to the bedposts. The rusted beds, shackles and ammunition boxes (used as makeshift bed pans) still remain, overlooked by photographs taken by the Vietnamese as the rooms were found. Fourteen graves rest a few feet from the building’s entrance.

A frangi pani flower placed near an interrogation room:

B-Block, the next building over, is home to wall upon wall of prisoner mug shots. Comrade Duch, who oversaw the operation of S21, was meticulous in his documentation of prisoners, carefully taking photographs of everybody passing through the system and coercing them into confessing their nonexistent crimes. A cycle developed whereby prisoners, after being tortured, were forced to name accomplices to their imaginary crimes, implicating more innocents for torture, interrogation and execution.

Hopelessness and terror:

Particularly disturbing amongst the photos, these children were branded as enemies of the state along with their probably innocent parents and suffered the same fates. The ones shown here most likely didn’t survive long enough to see their next birthdays:

Excess photos are haphazardly stored, where they slowly deteriorate over time:

An imposing building fronted by a mesh of barb wire, C-Block holds the prison proper:

Claustrophobic cells line the brick halls:

The view from this barred window probably held little hope for prisoners here:

Prisoner numbers for easier management:

Of the estimated seventeen to twenty thousand Cambodians processed here, only seven are known to have survived.

Day tours in Phnom Penh often include a visit to Tuol Sleng's sister site, the Choeung Ek Killing field which was the last stop for prisoners who didn't succumb to torture at S21. Unfortunately, a heavy rain developed halfway there so we had to turn back to town.

The rain gave way not long after we were back in the city limits so we finished off our tour at a peace statue. The statue is unique in that it's made entirely of melted down guns, including one surrendered by Prime Minister Hun Sen himself.

Nearby is a massive poster of the Cambodian Queen, who looks suspiciously like the British one:

Travel Day: Phnom Penh

2006-06-17T12:30:00.000-06:00

Last picture taken in Kratie:

Travel Day: Kratie - Pajamas

2006-06-16T12:22:00.000-06:00

So I guess it should go without saying that the only way to get back to Phnom Penh from Ratanakiri is by the dreaded shared taxi – something my back can’t tolerate for much longer. We’ve decided to break up the journey by stopping overnight in Kratie so that we can catch a ride on a more spacious bus from here. No matter how much we tried today, the four of us just couldn’t get comfortable in the cramped back seat of the old Camry, especially with our driver pushing the throttle to the beat of loud Cambodian electronica while barely missing oncoming trucks appearing through thick clouds of dust. Surprisingly, we got here in one piece.

If you invest any time at all watching people in Cambodia, you’ll find a large number of the womenfolk going about their daily business dressed in their pajamas:

Theory has it that up until recently, owning more than one set of clothing wasn’t a national standard here. Instead, like it or lump it, most people had to make do with, literally, the shirts on their backs (and many still do). So as the country slowly picks itself up and the standard of living improves, more people are afforded the luxury of owning more things. Things like pajamas, which are wholly frivolous, become status symbols and, if the theory holds true, by wearing them these women are showing their peers that they are moving on up in the world.

Of course all this was theorized (and applied to a completely different country) in an in flight magazine I read back in 2001 so I guess it should be taken with a grain of salt (more like a few shakers of it).

Ratanakiri: Veung Sai, More of the Same

2006-06-15T20:53:00.000-06:00

Today played out more or less like yesterday except it started earlier, the bicycles were replaced with motorbikes and we tried our luck with Voen Sai, a village quite far North of Ban Lung. Actually, thinking about it now, today played out nothing like yesterday.

To start the day, we headed to Psar Ban Lung, the wet market right behind the taxi station, where we bought ourselves some very stylish SARS masks to keep dust from clogging our lungs. Mine's a dark grey Burberry plaid.

A peeing contest taking place in the market's parking lot. Good thing I'm not on the receiving end of it this time:

The road to Voen Sai isn't in the best of conditions and certain stretches require quite a bit of effort to navigate. Luckily, I was the passenger today:

Being the passenger gave ample opportunity to try my hand at drive by photography.

The approach:

SURPRISE!:

In true drive by fashion, we sped off after taking the above photo.

One should note that drive by photography doesn't elecit the same response from lazy water buffalo who are too busy wallowing in mud to care.

There wasn't anything going on at the Southern bank of the river in Voen Sai aside from an expensive (for the area) two minute boat ride to the opposite side. The area of the town we visited consists of a fair number of ramshackle huts in a rural Cambodian setting; Something we'd already seen in Kratie so we passed on the boat ride and doubled back to Ban Lung for a quick lunch at the American Restaurant.

Women wash their dishes close to the boat's launching point in Voen Sai:

Further upstream, more villagers bathe and hunt for snails:

We finished off the daylight hours goofing off at the meteor lake again, where I temporarily lost my only pair of glasses. Thankfully, Thien An salvaged them from the lake bed right after I slipped and bruised my backside (and my ego) on the dock in my panic.

Ratanakiri: Late Night Hauntings and Meteor Crater Lakes

2006-06-14T23:16:00.000-06:00

An overactive imagination kept me up ‘til the wee hours last night, forcing me to sleep through my alarm clock this morning. It’s embarrassing to admit but I’d somehow convinced myself that the room next door, the one I switched out of yesterday (because the used condom I found under the bed was attracting ants), was haunted. See, I’m the only one staying in this particular building and it’s prone to blackouts. Strange thing about this "haunted" room is, every time I pass it, the door’s always open. Stranger still, I lock and close the door each time I pass it so it should remain shut. Aside from the slight hum of my fan, the building is silent so I should be able to hear the door clicking open. Suffice it to say, I spent a good portion the night staring wide eyed at the ceiling, imagining the worst as one of the creaking window shutters banged on its frame in tandem with the wind. Things worked out though, I wasn’t visited by anything supernatural over the night and Andrew, Thien An and Caroline had slept in as well.

Following brunch at the “American Restaurant” (a hole in the wall place on the opposite side of town) we hopped on our rented bicycles and rode Eastwards to Boeng Yeak Lom, a perfectly round 700,000 year old meteor crater lake.

A krama dust mask for the bike ride:

We spent what little we had left of the afternoon swimming in the lake.

This guy looks a little confused:

Gutted by termites:

Travel Day: Ban Lung, Ratanakiri

2006-06-13T10:36:00.000-06:00

The four of us loaded up our bags into the trunk of our shared taxi and climbed into its far from spacious back seat to continue our journey further off the beaten path. The destination, Ban Lung in Ratanakiri province (but we prefer to call the town Ratanakiri because it has a nicer ring to it).

Where limited few barang (foreigners) are still visible in and around Kratie (usually around the town center and in guesthouse commons), virtually none stay in Ratanakiri. We made it a game to see who would be first to spot another tourist. It was a tie much later in the afternoon.

Not too many paved roads exist in Ban Lung’s backwater main stretch, where red dust kicked up by passing vehicles obscures visibility to a couple of hundred feet.

So prevalent is the dust, everything exposed to the elements is caked in it:

Local men convene at the town center's taxi station for a game of pool:

Neglecting their dirty old motorbikes parked nearby:

Kratie: Irawaddy Dolphins

2006-06-12T21:51:00.000-06:00

While waiting in the guesthouse lobby for our two rental motorbikes to arrive, the manager translated this poster depicting the story of the Iradawwy dolphins (something might have been lost along the way on my end). What follows is an intriguing tale of divine interspecies lurv (scandalous!), jealousy, a little more interspecies lurv, and a general decline into weirdness (if things weren’t already strange to begin with):

A Snake God takes notice of a girl worshipping at an altar
Girl and Snake God wed (it’s uncertain whether she wanted it or not). An on looking neighbour becomes jealous.
Said neighbour, wanting her own fifteen minutes of fame, marries a run of the mill giant snake, claiming it to be one of divine persuasion.
As they consummate the marriage (I didn’t bother asking the mechanics of it), the snake swallows the woman whole.
Another villager discovers what had happened, cuts the snake’s belly open and rescues the woman just in time.
Unable to live with the shame, the woman throws herself into the Mekong and becomes an Iradawwy dolphin.

On that note, we hopped on our freshly delivered (but poorly maintained) motorbikes and made our way to the dolphin viewing area.

The gas station on the way out of town is representative of rural gas stations in Southeast Asia:

Along the way, we decided to disrupt classes at one of the rural schools we passed in the next town up. From the wide eyed stares of the children and teachers, it was obvious this region rarely sees foreigners (we were probably the first to have stepped foot in the school). We handed out some Mentos I'd been saving for an afternoon snack and sped off just in time to see the morning classes dismissed.

Further up, we were invited into a couple of rural family huts on the roadside. It looks like Cambodians have spared little time repopulating the country following the years of the Khmer Rouge genocide as it’s rare to see families with fewer than four or five children, especially in these remote areas.

Piglets under the porch:

Situated on the muddy banks of the Mekong, about halfway between Kratie and Sambor, the Iradawwy dolphin viewing area serves as one of the area’s only points of interest. For that reason alone, we (or at least I did) felt the place was a bit disappointing because we couldn’t get close enough to get a clear look at the dolphins. It is said that there could be as few as 75 Iradawwy dolphins remaining on the Mekong - a good number of that population apparently settle around this area.

My attention soon drifted to other things like a giant wasp that had taken interest in my leg hairs.

And a swarm of ants that had taken over an offering in a spirit house (Buddhist altar):

Soon after leaving the dolphins, I was left alone briefly on a secluded bridge while Thien An and Caroline went off in search of a dropped key. Andrew doubled back to make sure everything was fine. In the meantime, I stood by the railing, enjoying the fine scenery:

About five minutes later I noticed a little bit of movement from the corner of my eye but I decided to pay no attention to it. So closer and closer it crept, until whatever it was, was waiting at the edge of the other side of the small bridge. I looked over to see a group of kids curiously staring in my direction. I turned around, smiled and waved to which they screamed and ran back to their nearby house. I think I have that same effect on women.

We arrived in Sambor later than we expected so we hurriedly wandered through the Sambor Wat (apparently Cambodia’s largest functioning temple) before sitting down with a pair of ancient monks. One of them spoke French fluently and conversed a little with the girls before we found ourselves on the bike ride back to Kratie. We made ourselves hoarse by day's end responding to all the kids yelling and waving as we passed.

Another sign urging Cambodians to disarm:

Roadside pot:

Travel Day: Kratie

2006-06-11T18:15:00.000-06:00

The bus’s front axel gave out about an hour away from Kratie, forcing us to stop in a small rural village for repairs. We found the hour and a half wait a perfect opportunity to bring out the cameras.

Everything gets covered with a film of red dirt kicked up by vehicles passing on the unpaved highway.

Horse drawn carriages are still a viable means of transportation here

A pair of nuns seeking donations in exchange for a blessing

Signs urging Cambodians to surrender their firearms are commonplace in the countryside. This one warns against joining militia groups, executing fellow Cambodians mobster style and robbing people at gunpoint.

Motorcycles play an important role in Cambodia as larger vehicles are far too expensive to own and operate:

As odd coincidences go, Thien An pointed out a cloud formation resembling a group of dolphins. We’re planning on taking a couple of motorbikes further up the Mekong to watch the endangered Iradawwy dolphins tomorrow.

Phnom Penh: Photos

2006-06-10T17:58:00.000-06:00

A guard at the Royal Palace

A "thousand banana" plant (I'm not sure if this is the real name). A passing Cambodian told us the plant is a symbol of good luck.

The palace grounds:

Boeng Kak Lake from our guesthouse commons:

Phnom Penh: Walking Tour

2006-06-09T17:29:00.000-06:00

Having been ripped off repeatedly on the currency exchange both in Poi Pet and Sihanoukeville (I had no other choice), I decided that the first thing I should do today is bypass the exchange booth and hit up an ATM. ATMs are still a rarity in Cambodia, only having been introduced in recent months (the latest edition of the Lonely Planet still advises travelers to bring US Dollars or traveler’s cheques in their absence – I brought Thai Baht which converts poorly, as I’ve found out).

Cambodia, much like Laos, uses two currencies in tandem; the local currency (Cambodian Riel), and US Dollars. Generally speaking, small shops and restaurants will quote prices in Riel. Supermarkets, guesthouses and upscale restaurants will more often than not quote in Dollars. Both currencies are accepted everywhere but a favorable rate is sometimes given if US Dollars are used (it’s the more stable of the two currencies).

Today’s walking tour of the city kicked off at Psar Thmei, Phnom Penh’s art deco inspired central market. Already well over my budget, I made my stay quick.

I eventually found my way to the nearby Sorya Shopping Center where I grabbed a quick lunch at the food court and escaped the mid day heat. As with ATMs, shopping malls are a recent introduction to the country and many Cambodians aren’t used to the amenities held inside. For example, escalators are more or less unheard of outside of Phnom Penh. I watched as a Cambodian man waited patiently at the top of an up escalator, hoping for it to change direction to let him down. He gave up and took the stairs (the down escalator was hidden behind a shop. Another man waited at the bottom, either wary of the moving conveyor belt or waiting for it to stop to let him on.

The escalators were apparently staffed when the mall first opened to instruct people on proper usage.

Produce market in P'sar O Russei:

Retired bicycles:

A tuk tuk durian stall - probably one of the most dangerous rides to take.

Romances with reptile people seem to play a recurring theme in Cambodia's movie industry:

Cambodia's Independance Monument:

I’ve been pleasantly surprised with Phnom Penh so far - the stories I’d read of its reputed lawlessness have been thankfully unfounded (though it’s still far from being a safe place).

Evening time was spent catching up on old times with the group I traveled with in Luang Prabang. Thien An and Caroline, the Swiss girls, spent their month working their way from North to South Vietnam before crossing into Cambodia today. Fellow Canuck Andrew stayed in Laos (which I regret not doing) and spent most of his time off the beaten track. We’ll be traveling together for the next couple of weeks.

Travel Day: Phnom Penh - Khmer Music Videos

2006-06-08T10:10:00.000-06:00

Because of Southeast Asia(and probably the rest of continent)’s undying fixation on all things karaoke (pronounced “gah-lah-oh-kay” for authenticity’s sake), the five foreigners and (approximately) forty Cambodians on today’s bus to Phnom Penh were all treated to two and a half solid hours of Khmer music videos.

Language and production values aside, Khmer videos are a complete departure from their Western counterparts in their absence of egos, scantily clad dancing girls, bling bling and everything else in between. They come off sort of innocent, really.

Three plotlines of note (my Khmer’s no good so I’m basing this on the assumption that the videos are directly correlated to the lyrics):

Boy meets girl, boy brings girl home to meet mom, boy brings girl to Buddhist shrine to make an offering, boy gives dowry to girl’s parents. They live happily ever after (shown walking hand in hand along a beach).
Same as above, except the girl’s mother rejects his dowry. Boy pines for lost love.
Boy, a landmine victim, grows up with girl, love blooms, mother forbids daughter from seeing boy (I fell asleep somewhere here, sorry).

Sihanoukeville: Bamboo Island

2006-06-07T23:54:00.000-06:00

Looking out at the blue morning sky stretching over the calm seas this morning, I would never have guessed that today’s boat trip to Bamboo Island would have turned out to be a such a complete disaster.

An unexpected storm blew in about 15 minutes into the boat ride, tossing us up and down and drenching us with salt water in the small open motorboat. Despite our protests, the captain maintained his course – he’d have had to give us all full refunds if we turned back before reaching the island. Conditions continued to worsen until we were finally forced to moor on a deserted island, where we waited, cold and wet in an abandoned wooden shelter. Termites had eaten through many of the raised floorboards making the situation that much more unpleasant.

We took advantage of a small clearing in the storm and sped our way to Bamboo Island where more suitable shelter was available.

A single brave backpacker claimed his spot on the empty beach while the rest of us looked on from a nearby cabana.

He eventually came back in when the wind picked up.

Another break in the storm allowed us to return back to Sihanoukeville though it was earlier than expected (the members of the tour group unanimously voted to skip the remaining sights).

The remainder of the afternoon was spent drying off while the miserable weather continued unabated outside.

Travel Day: Sihanoukeville

2006-06-05T17:31:00.000-06:00

In retrospect, I probably should’ve spent another night in Kampot to visit nearby Kep Sur Mer. Instead, I crammed myself into the back seat of a Sihanoukeville bound share taxi and got nice and cozy with a geriatric Khmer man (with a prosthetic leg) and an Australian couple.

So far my impression of Sihanoukeville has been less than stellar. It has been marketed as Cambodia’s premiere beach resort mainly because it’s Cambodia’s only beach resort. After checking into my guesthouse and suiting up for an afternoon of surf and sun, I headed out to the nearby Occheuteal (don’t ask me how to pronounce that) beach. About a couple of minutes into my stroll (I was trying to find a good place to set up my hammock), a Cambodian lady pulled up to my left and continued walking alongside me. I figured she was just headed the same direction and paid little attention. Another couple of minutes passed with her at my side (it’s a long beach) and red flags started popping up. When I stopped, she stopped. If I picked up the pace, she would too.

As I turned to ask what she wanted, she interrupted with a “Hello, where you from?” in very broken English (this is a common pre sales pitch ice breaker for Southeast Asians).

I responded “Canada” but I knew she didn’t really care.

She then pointed at couples holding hands on the beach then pointed at the two of us before squeezing the muscles on my arm (which are admittedly limited). I should pause to note that this lady is old enough to be my mother. Now I’m starting to get worried. I said as politely as I could “whoa whoa whoa, no thanks, lady” and continued walking. She followed in tow.

Hoping to lose her, I took a seat on a deckchair at a nearby restaurant and ordered up a tuna sandwich. She followed, fluffed my pillow, staring intently at me all the while. Communication was no longer in the equation because her entire English vocabulary had been expended in her opening line and my knowledge of Khmer is limited to “hello” and “thank you” (“sua s’dei” and “aw kohn” respectively). After a bit of explaining, I managed to get the waitress to translate.

It turns out the lady was trying to sell me a massage.

I think that’s the problem with Sihanoukeville’s beaches. You can’t relax without somebody trying to sell you something. If it’s not older ladies offering massages and manicures, hoards of kids will follow you around trying to sell wooden beaded bracelets and necklaces. Others will invite you to restaurants, promising cheap food and booze. At the end of the day, all I wanted was to take a nap in a shady spot.

I never did get to hang up my hammock.

Kampot: Bokor Hill Station

2006-06-04T19:26:00.000-06:00

Another day’s worth of adventure awaited as our 11 person tour group piled into a dilapidated old minivan for a tour of the Bokor Hill Station. Bumpy doesn’t begin to describe the neglected 90 year old road leading up to the equally neglected ghost town. The original tarmac has only survived in a few small portions of the road and the potholes (more like craters) we bounced over were easily twice the size of my head (that’s saying a lot - my head is problematically large). Bokor is only 30 km from the base station but it still takes a couple of hours to get up there.

We paused briefly at the Black Palace, an abandoned Villa briefly used by King Sihanouk in the sixties, to gaze over its stunning view of the Gulf of Thailand and Vietnam’s Phu Quoc Island. It got its name from the ebony inlays that once decorated the building. According to our guide, a murder suicide involving a soured relationship took place in the foyer (where the picture below was taken) a few years ago. One of the Cambodian park rangers who regularly sets up camp in this building claims that the ghost of the victim, a young lady, still haunts the place.

A number of derelict buildings which once served as quarters for the staff and royal concubines lie hidden behind the palace, reclaimed by the mountain foliage over the decades.

The van dropped us off on a small trail just below the Hill station so that we could pass through the town by foot. Within a matter of minutes, an ominous fog enveloped our surroundings, quickly replacing the perfectly blue sky.

The distant watertower:

The walk ended at Bokor Palace, a large hotel resting atop of the hill overlooking town. On the way up, we were told of a number of tragedies that took place in and around the site. In its heyday, the final moments of many a gambler were spent on the cliffside behind the hotel. The nearby casino, also abandoned, had probably claimed their life’s savings. More recently, a jilted lover drove his motorbike off the cliff. A taxi driver was also murdered during New Year celebrations held here last year. On those notes, we were left to wander the hotel’s empty corridors as a steady downpour developed outside.

A suggestion is carved in the window frame at the center of this picture:

I don't think a lot of people would want to anyway:

The town’s church rests on the hill directly across from the Bokor Palace and served as one of the last remaining Khmer Rouge footholds during the Vietnamese occupation in 1979. During this period, a firefight raged on for several months between the Vietnamese who held the Bokor Palace and the Khmer Rouge who held the church. Bullet holes scarring the interior and exterior of the building bear silent testament to the long battle.

The two hour ride back down took us to a small seaside town where we caught a boat back to Kampot via the Prek Kampong Hay River.

A few photos while we waited:

Today’s catch:

Baskets in the water:

I waded out to find them full of crabs (mmm):

On the boat ride back:

Travel Day: Kampot - Clown Cars

2006-06-03T23:38:00.000-06:00

Plans to catch the connecting bus from Phnom Penh to Kampot fell through (as they have a bad habit of doing lately) as I arrived just in time to see the ticket agent sell off the last seat of the day. Disappointed but still determined to see my journey through, I opted for the next best thing – a share taxi.

Now, a majority of the cars in Cambodia are Toyota Camrys in a wide range of vintages and states of disrepair. Why Camrys, you ask? They are partly subsidized by the Cambodian government (but I’ve heard that Toyota or the Japanese government may be involved as well) so that they’d be more accessible to the general public. The price, I’ve been told, is around $6,000 USD for a new one (in comparison, the base model in the States has an SMRP of $18,270 USD). It’s a bargain, no doubt, but they are still far from affordable for your average Cambodian, whose average monthly salary is purportedly around $25 USD a month.

Of the hoards of Camrys on the roads here, the majority are privately owned share taxis, their sole purpose to maximize profits by cramming in as many passengers as humanly possible. Like most other passenger cars, these little Toyotas are designed to comfortably seat five people including the driver. Two in front, Three in the back. Share taxis cram four in the front and four in the back. Imagine paying to ride in a clown car - that essentially sums up the experience.

You can see a passenger crammed between the door and the driver in this picture (there are also two passengers squished together in the adjacent bucket seat):

I opened my inbox not long after checking into my guesthouse in Kampot to realize that I’d completely forgotten my birthday amidst the confusion. I celebrated with the most expensive meal I’ve had in a couple of weeks – a big plate of spaghetti bolognaise ($2.50). mmm

Battambang

2006-06-01T22:42:00.000-06:00

Our first stop on today’s moto ride through Battambang province’s countryside was Kamping Poy, an 8 km long dam commissioned by the Khmer Rouge during the late seventies. It was built entirely by hand and an alleged 10,000 Cambodians fell victim to malnutrition, disease and exhaustion during its construction. Those who opposed the harsh conditions were summarily executed. Though a peaceful spot now, Kamping Poy is still referred to by locals as the “killing dam.”

Villagers living nearby use its terraces to bathe and wash their clothes.

Boating through a field of lotuses (loti?)

Another 10,000 Cambodians died at the “killing caves” of Wat Phnom Sampeau, a Buddhist temple turned Khmer Rouge internment camp. A small fraction of the victims’ remains have been excavated and are now housed in makeshift shrines as morbid reminders of atrocities committed at the hands of the Khmer Rouge during their short lived reign.

According to my guide, prisoners were rarely shot to death. Some, as was pointed out on one of the skulls, had nails driven through the tops of their heads. Others were clubbed to death. Children, labeled enemies of the state along with their parents, were pushed into deep pits. Those who didn’t die from the fall would die of starvation; their broken limbs prevented them from climbing out.

An old artillery turret sits near the hill top temple, trained toward enemies of a bygone era:

We continued the afternoon on a few less sobering attractions.

Wat Ek Phnom temple ruins

James, my moto driver shook a tree full of giant fruit bats so I could take some photos. This was the only one that turned out:

We returned to town on a norry, a crude bamboo train powered by a tractor motor running on the public railway lines. Many Cambodians living beyond Battambang’s city limits rely on the norry service to reach the town center because motorbikes are unaffordable and rural roads leave something to be desired.

I’ve read that the government intends on shutting down the norry service in the near future because of its obvious dangers. I’d imagine a couple of accidents must have involved trains at some point.

In and around Battambang’s town center:

Travel Day: Battambang - The Golden Shower

2006-05-31T21:10:00.000-06:00

It was somewhere past Sisophon, on the 7:30 bus to Battambang that the last few sleepless nights finally caught up with me. As I drifted into sleep, a small stream of something warm trickled down my right arm; not enough to jar me from my semi-conscious head bobbing but enough to be noticeable. It was the abrasive back and forth motion of a cloth on my arm that finally stirred me awake.

I opened my eyes to a naked Cambodian baby (which is not that uncommon here) and a very apologetic looking mother (who was busy scrubbing away at my arm). The kid had apparently gone potty in my direction. It’s times like these I’m glad urine is sterile.

Siem Reap: Sunrise, Landmines and Silk

2006-05-30T12:21:00.000-06:00

Sore from yesterday’s bike ride (the 40 kilometer round trip wasn’t kind on our backsides), we agreed to upgrade our mountain bikes to cushy electric scooters with wider seats and suspension. We set off from the guest house at quarter to five and sped through the dark road leading north of town to catch sunrise at Angkor Wat. In the end, the event was a bit of a letdown as the whole place was swarmed with busloads of tourists. The walk across the moat , however, made the trip worthwhile despite the crowds.

Coconut courier in Siem Reap:

As we were thoroughly templed out by this point, we backtracked to town to sample some of Siem Reap’s non-Angkor related sights.

Among the Lonely Planet’s recommendations is the landmine museum tucked away in a quiet suburb on the outskirts of town. It's run by a former child soldier of the Khmer Rouge turned anti-landmine advocate.

Landmines still pose a real threat to Cambodians, as millions of them still litter the country, particulary in the region along the Thai border. Almost three decades after Pol Pot was deposed, his "perfect soldiers" are still claiming victims.

Rusting remnants of war housed at the museum include stacks of war scrap and defused UXOs and landmines.

Faded Cambodian safety propaganda posters cover the walls of the exhibit:

I thought this kind of thing was common sense:

The secondary function of the museum is to rehabilitate a number of child landmine victims.

A snap lunchtime decision brought us to Les Chantiers L’ecoles silk farm 16 kilometers out of town. Traveling the distance pushed out scooters’ batteries to their limits and we ended up supplementing power by pedaling along with the motor.

The free tour of the farm afforded us:

A run down on the silk moth’s life cycle:

Hobbes eye view:

A look at the silk spinning/weaving process (which I still don’t really understand):

And an obligatory trip to the gift shop (where I bought another souvenir krama).

I think that Siem Reap has sold its soul during its rapid transition from small village to tourist trap. As Cambodians have been quick to capitalize on the sudden influx of tourist dollars, five star hotels catering to package tourists and a Western style bar street have replaced much of the town’s center.

The promise of tourist dollars has also attracted many less privileged Cambodians. Beggar children and landmine victims relentlessly hound tourists for dollars and many (myself included) have become desensitized quickly. A few of the kids have tried to pick my pocket before running off to the next tourist. I’ve read that many of these child beggars belong to an organized ring and the money doesn't go directly to them - instead, an adult who "owns" them gets it.

Siem Reap: Angkor Wat

2006-05-29T15:00:00.000-06:00

Because yesterday's moto driver kept hurrying us along from site to site, we decided it best to rent a pair of mountain bikes so we could take in the temples at our own pace.

Stretching about a kilometer and a half from end to end, Angkor Wat is widely considered the world’s largest religious structure. The temple was built at the apex of Angkorian society and is the de facto symbol of Khmer national pride. Its image can be found on just about everything Cambodian, from its flag to its national beer and cartons of cigarettes.

A pair of old Buddhist nuns loitered around a Vishnu statue near the temple entrance.

I bought a piece of chalk and a sketch pad last night in hopes of making a souvenir temple rubbing but a caretaker stopped me just before I could finish. Apparently, what I was doing is considered illegal. Oops.

Once inside the central structure, we followed a series of bas-reliefs depicting the Mahabharata, a Hindu epic. The convoluted tale was lost on me, though, as I found it difficult keeping track of all the various deities and mythological beasts.

A dried up lotus flower left as an offering on a window sill:

Elephant crossing:

Monkey picnic:

Preah Kahn temple

Siem Reap: Temples D'Angkor

2006-05-28T13:20:00.000-06:00

It was some time last September, just before I decided to quit my job, that I spent a week’s worth of lunch hours planning out a two week vacation to the Angkor temples. It didn’t take long to realize that the trip wouldn’t be feasible in such a short period of time, so the following week’s lunch hours were spent formulating an exit plan and a three month itinerary of Southeast Asia (which has expanded since). Before all this, a trip to Angkor was hollow rhetoric. A place I’d tell friends I dreamed of seeing but never actually made any effort to go.

Before heading out to the temples today, we (I buddied up with Ngai, an American Peace Corps volunteer I met on yesterday’s bus) stopped off at Psar Chaa, Siem Reap’s central market, for a quick bite and some souvenir shopping. While navigating the maze of shops, I picked up a handy Krama (the Khmer scarf and a source of national identity) for a couple of bucks. Among its many uses, the Krama can be made into a towel, a dust mask (a must in Cambodia), a blanket (it’s quite large), a bandanna (which, when put on in a certain way, makes the wearer look like a terrorist), a makeshift pair of swim shorts and a pillow. Stylish and functional.

The Angkor temples were commissioned by a series of Khmer God kings (much like the pyramids of the Egyptian Pharaohs) between the ninth and fourteenth centuries as tributes to their respective Hindu and Buddhist deities (and probably epitaphs to their enormous egos). The Angkorian civilization eventually collapsed in the fifteenth century following an invasion by the Siamese. The temples were subsequently left to the elements.

The Southern gate of Angkor Thom served as our first glimpse of the city’s past grandeur. A giant Buddha head looms over the gated entrance.

Bayon - 216 giant stone heads (known as Avalokiteshvara if anybody's interested) pointing in all directions keep a watchful eye on Angkor’s citizens. It is believed that these faces were modeled after King Jayavarman VII, probably to exert his power over his people.

Baphoun

Thanks for the tip:

Terrace of elephants

Terrace of the Leper King

Ta Promh - Overrun with trees, Ta Promh is probably the most atmospheric temple in Angkor.

It’s a shame that pop culture has watered down Ta Promh’s historical significance. The site is now commonly referred to as the place where they shot a scene from the Tomb Raider movie.

The tree from the movie:

Travel Day: Siem Reap (Part 3)

2006-05-27T12:37:00.000-06:00

Today marks my third visit to the Mochit station in three consecutive days - I think the staff’s beginning to talk. So determined was I to get things right this time around, I handwrote my destination in Thai (ผมอยากจะไป อรัญประเทศ ) to show the folks at the ticket booth (thanks for emailing it to me, Dan). It worked.

It’s not difficult to see the stark contrast in living standards between Thais and Cambodians when making the cross into Poi Pet. On one hand, you have wealthy Thais spending vast fortunes in fancy Vegas style casinos (gambling laws are less stringent in Cambodia – it’s illegal on the Thai side). On the other hand, you have impoverished Cambodian children and landmine amputees begging for money outside on the unpaved litter strewn streets.

I think license plates must be optional in Cambodia as most vehicles don't have them. This Texas plate probably serves more as a status symbol than an identifier:

Roads in Cambodia are among the worst in the world so I’ve heard. Many, including NH6, the stretch between Sisophon and Siem Reap are nothing more than cleared dirt paths interspersed with giant pot holes.

Just after sunset, little cities of light bulbs glowed bright over endless rows of fields lining the highway. A Cambodian sitting at the back explained that each one of these lights is a cricket trap.

A trap consists of a blue fluorescent lamp with a white bed sheet tied beneath it. A bucket of water sits at the bottom of this setup, where crickets fall after bouncing off the sheet. According to the guy, 15 tons of them are caught every night in this region (this number sounds a little high and is probably exaggerated). Most of them are fried up and exported to Thailand though maybe not in that order.

It took three days (35 of the last 72 hours have been spent on buses) but I’m finally in Siem Reap, the launching point for the Angkor Wat complex. It’ll be good to settle in for a couple of days.

Travel Day: Siem Reap? (Part 2)

2006-05-26T12:25:00.000-06:00

The funny thing about the bathroom at the guesthouse is that there’s no light switch. The only way you can turn off the lights is to shut down the mains for the bedroom, meaning no power for the fan. Another funny thing about my bathroom is the missing pane on the top left of the window. So with the light on all night, and a small point of entry, my bathroom became a giant moth orgy by morning.

I decided it best to skip the shower and brush my teeth out on the balcony.

Today’s plan was to backtrack to Bangkok, catch the connecting 4:30 bus to Aranya Prathet, then either spend the night there or catch another bus to Siem Reap in Cambodia.

Flood damage in Phrae province on the way back to Bangkok:

Well, I made it to the Mochit bus station but I missed the last Aranya Prathet bus by about 10 minutes. I’m going to give this another try tomorrow morning.

Travel Day: Siem Reap?

2006-05-25T00:14:00.000-06:00

A tout approached me as I entered the main entrance of Bangkok’s Mochit bus terminal promising to direct me to the right ticket booth. I told him “Aranya Prathet” (the town resting adjacent to the Cambodian border). He nodded and took me to a nearby ticket booth.

I said to the ticket lady “Aranya Prathet.”

She nodded as the tout had and wrote up a ticket before pointing me in the direction of bay number 26, where the bus was waiting.

Just before I entered the bus, I reconfirmed with the ticket taker “Aranya Prathet.”

To which s/he (ladyboy) replied “chai” (yes).

So here I am in a little town called Phrae. 800 kilometers away from where I’m supposed to be, in a province that, as of a couple of days ago, is in a state of emergency (massive flooding). Where foreigners rarely travel and nobody speaks English.

Ah, sweet, sweet adventure.

The Night Train to Bangkok

2006-05-11T23:20:00.000-06:00

Head pressed against the window, countryside blurring past, the familiar click clacking rhythm of the train reverberating through the half empty sleeper cabin, sun lost in the distant horizon, maybe somewhere over Laos or the Mekong. It’s only at this moment, almost five months detached from my former life in Canada, at the conclusion of the second leg of my trip, that the gravity of it all finally sinks in.

Am I really here, I wonder?

Is any of this really happening?

Photos:

Travel Day: Nong Khai, Sala Kaew Ku

2006-05-10T12:25:00.000-06:00

Having exhausted both my 15 day Lao visa and most of Vientiane’s sights (which are few in number), I packed my bags and set off for the Thai border town of Nong Khai, a half hour bus ride away. The border crossing was taken care of by mid-morning, leaving most of the day free to check out the town.

So with guidebook in hand, I hopped on a rented bicycle and puttered about town a bit before going to Sala Kaew Ku, a sculpture park a few kilometers east of the city limits. The sculptures here are based on an exiled Lao national’s interpretation of Hindu and Buddhist folklore.

An old Isan (Northeastern Thai) tradition of tying strings to the wrist, symbolically binding people together has been applied to many of the statues in the park.

The gateway to hell:

Buddha under the shade of 7 Nagas (snakes):

Slow day for business in Nong Khai:

Vientiane: Pastries

2006-05-08T12:22:00.000-06:00

As luck would have it, I managed to catch up with my two Swiss friends today. With no solid plans, we ended up strolling Vientiane’s back streets, browsing through book shop after book shop and making repeat visits to our new favourite hangout, the Café Croissant D’or.

The café is foreign owned and therefore a little more upscale (read: expensive) than I’m accustomed. Nevertheless, it’s as good a place as any for palatable (and unpronounceable) French pastries, and it’s definitely a pleasant change from eating soup noodles on the roadside. Today’s special promotion was a free surprise with every order after 3 o’clock. The surprise being the most delicious banana bread I’ve ever had.

Vientiane: Paris Lite

2006-05-07T12:06:00.000-06:00

Had Paris been the capital of a communist Asian country, she might have looked something like Vientiane, with its old art deco buildings, remnants of long departed French colonialists

Police officers milling about, sporting Maoist style military uniforms and Soviet made rifles

And odd little bits of cold war kitsch tucked away in crumbling old shops

Lane Xang Avenue, the heart of the city, is the Lao equivalent of the Champs-Élysées, its boulevards stretching as far as the eye can see.

Patuxai victory monument, her version of the Arc de Triomphe

And just as in Paris, scores of cafés and boulangeries scatter the city, bearing signs en français.

The manicured lawns and well tended streets, though, are reserved for this area alone as upkeep of the whole city is far too costly, both for the government and civilians

Vientiane: Rule #6

2006-05-06T14:19:00.000-06:00

The manager of the guest house insisted on laying down some ground rules after I checked in this afternoon. Most of the spiel was your run of the mill guest house policy (no loud noise after 11:00, don’t leave valuables in the room, checkout time is 12 noon, etc. etc. etc.). Mid lecture he started going off on an odd tangent.

Like the beginnings of an off colour joke, he recounted a tragic story of an Englishman, a prostitute and a khathoey (lady boy). So it goes, a few months ago, this Englishman invited his two local “friends,” the prostitute and the ladyboy, to spend a night at the guest house. Long story short, the Englishman woke up the following morning with no prostitute, no khathoey, no money and worst of all, no passport. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t report this to the authorities because it would implicate him in some wrongdoing of his own. Laos has a strict law in place prohibiting foreigners from sleeping with her citizens.

It was at the conclusion of this story that the manager pointed at guest house rule number 6:

“No prostitute, no ladyboy allowed in room. We cannot take responsible [sic] for your action.”

I suppose the punch line, if you can call it that, would be that the whole sordid mess took place right on this very bed in this very room (you can’t see this but I’m pointing at my bed).

The floor’s starting to look mighty comfortable right about now.

Travel Day: Vientiane

2006-05-06T14:17:00.000-06:00

You know a bus ride’s going to be rough when they issue free vomit bags with each ticket purchased. You know it’s going to be really rough when the guy sitting next to you starts using his 20 minutes into the trip. Followed by the lady sitting two seats in front. Then another guy in the back. The whole bus smelled of sour milk for the rest of the 10 hour ride to Vientiane.

The bus driver also stopped to buy a freshly killed chicken halfway through the trip:

Phonsavanh: Plain of Jars

2006-05-05T12:57:00.000-06:00

Laos has the unfortunate distinction of being the most heavily bombed country on the planet thanks to a secret war that ran parallel to the one in Vietnam. The war’s lasting legacy can be seen all over a countryside peppered with UXOs (Unexploded Ordinance), particularly in the region surrounding Phonsavanh.

Other reminders of the war include bomb casings, which are often repurposed as shop front decor:

...and husks of Soviet era tanks and trucks on the roadsides:

Three sites in the Plain of Jars have been cleared sufficiently to allow visitors but their safety is only guaranteed on a few marked paths. Demarcations are sometimes so sporadic that it isn’t difficult to stray into dangerous territory. This tile indicates which side has been cleared – white denotes a “decontaminated” zone and red means that danger is still present. I didn’t step here on purpose:

It happened again at jar site number 2 when I followed what I believed was a trail leading to another section of the park. After a few minutes of walking, with no jars, tourists or signs in sight, I realized that something wasn’t right. Explosions could be heard in the distance as I walked back. Hopefully it was an NGO decontaminating the area, but I’ve read that UXOs still claim victims on a regular basis here.

The origins of the massive stone jars dotting the landscape are a source of speculation for experts. Some argue that the ancients used them to brew lao lao whisky, others say that monsoon rainwater was collected in them for the dry seasons. The most popular theory, however, is that they were used to inter the dead.

On an unrelated note, poultry has been effectively removed from my diet as of this afternoon. I listened in as a tour guide talked to his group. Verbatim:

“I have many chickens die every day but all I can do is make soup.”

Also, because I don't know where else to put this picture, here's an old man in Phonsavanh:

Travel Day: Phonsavanh

2006-05-04T12:45:00.000-06:00

Well, it looks like I’m back to traveling alone again. Caroline and Thien An are continuing southward to Vientiane while I’ve decided to backtrack north to Phonsavanh (I figured I might as well do it since I probably won't be coming back to this region anytime soon).

The girls woke up early to see me off, which was quite thoughtful of them. We said our goodbyes and exchanged email addresses over breakfast at the nearby café .

A Laotian doctor of journalism perhaps? (selling tickets at the Vang Vieng bus terminal):

The rest of the day was actually quite non-descript, having spent most of it on a public bus. I should note, though, that a ride on a public bus in Southeast Asia shouldn’t be missed as it’s a great way to sample the local life. To give an example, in order to claim my seat at the back of the bus (with the best leg room), I had to climb over large sacks of rice, newspaper wrapped produce, live chickens and old suitcases.

Winding roads through villages on mountain ridges:

Vang Vieng - High Roller

2006-05-03T16:20:00.000-06:00

Break out the fine champagne and gold plated monocles, I’m a millionaire*!

It happened innocently enough with a trip to the currency exchange booth. I handed over a few bills, and in return, got this thick fat brick of banknotes (1,064,000 Lao kip to be precise):

So as a newly inducted member of the nouveau riche, I feel it’s my duty, no, my moral obligation to partake in a few grotesque displays of excess. For example, I’m just about to drop thirty grand for a night in a hotel. Maybe I’ll celebrate later by laying down another five large on a cup of coffee or, God forbid, 25,000 on a fine gourmet meal (tuna sandwich and juice).

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to schmooze with the other high society types.

*The current exchange rate is approximately 10,000 Lao Kip to 1 US Dollar. I’m still a no good bum.

Travel Day: Vang Vieng

2006-05-02T23:46:00.000-06:00

As the old adage goes, all good things must come to an end, and so too must our stay in Luang Prabang. Today is day seven of a fifteen day visa, you see, and there’s still plenty of Laos left to see.

A sad inevitability to be sure, the group is starting to dissolve bit by bit as we begin heading in our own directions. Andrew is going to the north while the rest of us are taking the southern route to Vang Vieng. We said our goodbyes in front of the girls’ guesthouse before hopping on a sawngthaew to the bus terminal.

While researching this leg of the trip, I’d read all sorts of horror stories regarding route 13, the winding mountain road to Vang Vieng. There have been reports floating around about Hmong rebels attacking buses along the stretch in recent years. I’d also heard that accidents (over cliffs, no less) and breakdowns occur with amazing frequency in this country. Ignorance is bliss sometimes.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the bus pulled up to the town’s dusty old bus station (at the end of an ancient U.S. landing strip) with little to report.

The term they use for towns like Vang Vieng is “Ban Farang” or “foreigner village” because of its high concentration of tourists. The at times hedonistic lifestyle of some members of the backpacker community (at least in my admittedly conservative opinion) has introduced businesses and products that probably wouldn’t exist here otherwise. For example, I could walk out across the street right now and order up a “happy pizza.” What makes it happy, you ask? Magic mushrooms. I’ve been approached several times by local kids selling marijuana and opium as well.

But beyond all that, it’s a nice little town, with dirt roads for main streets and tractors dominating the almost nonexistent traffic. The area surrounding the town is chock full of activities as well (though I probably won’t be here long enough to enjoy most of them). We (and by that I mean the remainder of our group - Thien An, Caroline and I) plan on a relaxing afternoon tubing down the Nam Song river tomorrow.

At dusk, the streets were bathed in a warm orange glow, giving our surroundings a film-like ambiance. Thien An, one of my lovely Swiss companions asked what the English word for it was. My best answer was “surreal.”

My guess is the glow is a byproduct of all the dust kicked up during the construction work prevalent everywhere in the town center. With the relatively recent opening of Laos’ borders to tourists, towns like Vang Vieng are expanding exponentially.

The sun setting behind a limestone mountain:

Luang Prabang: Kuang Si Waterfall

2006-05-01T21:41:00.000-06:00

There were enough clear patches of blue in the morning sky to warrant a trip out to the Kuang Si waterfall so, after breakfast, we piled into a sawngthaew (the same one as yesterday) and braced ourselves for yet another bumpy ride out of town.

A slight detour from the path to the falls leads to a few caged bears and tigers, apparently rescued from poachers. The guidebooks don’t mention anything about this, probably because it’s only good for a quick ten to fifteen minute diversion at best.

Most of our visit centered on Kuang Si’s lower tiers where we cooled off in emerald pools and swung off vines into areas of questionable depths.

A local guy showing us how it's done:

Nearing the end of the day, we found our way onto a trail leading to the top of the falls. A small path branching from the main stairway provides access to the best spot in the park, a small pool right on the edge of the waterfall. Fewer visitors make it to this area as the main obstacle, a climb up a steep cliff, is quite discouraging. The cliff face offers only a few slippery footholds and a slight misstep could have tragic consequences. Considering I’m not the most graceful of creatures, it took a little convincing before I finally hoisted myself up.

The view was better than expected:

The view from the bottom:

A shot taken before breakfast:

Luang Prabang: Pak Ou Caves and Ban Xang Hai (Whisky Village)

2006-04-30T15:00:00.000-06:00

We spent a good portion of our post-breakfast morning going from dock to dock trying to line up a cheap boat ride out to the Pak Ou caves, 25 km upstream. The boatmen weren’t cooperative on their end of the bargaining process so we hopped on a sawngthaew (modified pickup truck) instead. It was probably for the best since we’d already seen enough of the Mekong, having already traveled on it for two days straight.

It's unbelievable how many people can fit on a motorbike:

People watching is more fun with a camera:

For centuries, people from the surrounding regions have made pilgrimages to the Pak Ou caves, usually depositing a Buddha statue or two behind in the process. The result is a collection of hundreds of statues in various stages of decay.

On the way back to town, we made a quick stop at Ban Xang Hai, also known in travel literature as “Whisky Village.” As its westernized namesake implies, the village’s main commodity is rice whisky (known to the locals as lao lao). You could think of it as the Lao equivalent of bathtub hooch since the government has placed a ban on its manufacture and sale. No one here seems to care about the restrictions though, and bottles of the stuff are readily available in Luang Prabang’s night market.

A few bottles had exotic ingredients added:

Kids at Ban Xang Hai:

We bee lined it to Nisha’s, our new favourite hangout, when we got back, for a much needed dinner. Perhaps part of the reason we keep coming back to the place (aside from the excellent curries and naan breads) is for the unintended dinner entertainment. For each time we’ve eaten here, our meals have been interrupted by a series of children selling “lucky lucky” bracelets. Amongst these kids is “Noi,” quite possibly the most, um… flamboyant 12 year old I’ve ever met.

His sales pitch, heavily laden with lisped mithtah, mithtah‘s (mister, mister) and thithta, thithta’s (sister, sister) kept us in stitches for a good long while after the meal. I finally caved and bought some fabulous scented Buddha beads from him.

Luang Prabang: Alms and Rainy Day Movies

2006-04-29T14:25:00.000-06:00

Every morning at six o’clock sharp, the monks from Luang Prabang’s various wats silently file through the streets collecting alms from the faithful. Usually it comes in the form of khao nio, little balls of sticky rice doled out from wicker containers. I think khao nio must play a significant role in Lao spirituality because I see balls of it everywhere, from the tops of household staircases to window sills to temple walls to entryways and dashboards. But I digress. For a brief ten minutes while the event takes place, the town’s roads take on a saffron hue and a muted silence subdues the ambient street noise.

By the time the procession ended, I could feel the throbbing bags beneath my eyes, weighed down by several nights of sleeplessness, dragging my eyelids shut. I think everybody else was in the same boat - we agreed to go back to our respective rooms for some shuteye before meeting back at a more reasonable hour.

A steady drizzle had developed by the time we met later in the morning, giving us our first glimpse at the Lao rainy season. It was hardly a torrential downpour, I know, but it was still sufficient enough to throw a wrench into our plans. So, after breakfast, we found our way to ‘le cinema’ (essentially a house set up with three home theatre systems) where we enjoyed our own private showing of Ice Age.

The remaining hours of the afternoon were rounded off at the old royal palace/museum, where suspicious members of staff constantly checked to make sure we weren’t taking any photos (with good cause – I was running distraction while Andrew snapped a few quick shots).

As travel philosophies vary wildly between backpackers in the area (I've run into quite a number of unsavory characters in recent weeks), I feel I’ve really lucked out in meeting this group. Andrew, Thien An and Caroline are all easy going and great bunch to hang out with. Ado seems to have slipped off the radar though, showing up briefly only to go off on his own again.

Are they doing what I think they're doing?

Luang Prabang

2006-04-28T17:24:00.000-06:00

The five of us met up mid-morning and discussed our day’s plans over bowls of muesli, freshly baked baguettes and cups of thick Lao coffee. Our decisions were finalized by the time the bill arrived. Ado, the Israeli, wanted to take in the town by foot while the rest of us agreed to go by rented bicycle.

It could be said that the highlight of Luang Prabang lies not in its sights, but rather, in its people. As the day wore on, the ancient temples, rows of old French colonial buildings, brick paved alleyways, and roads along the Mekong faded from our attentions and became mere backdrops for the townsfolk to play out their daily rituals.

Bringing baskets of fresh produce to the morning market:

Sifting rice:

Of the day’s activities, the one that stuck out the most, at least for me, was our invasion of the local schoolyard. We were welcomed in by a pair of children who ceremoniously pushed the gates open and ushered us in. It wasn’t long thereafter, that a group of youngsters attached themselves to us and remained so until we left.

Their reaction to seeing themselves on our camera’s tiny viewfinders was priceless. I’d imagine it the same way we’d react if we saw ourselves on television (but with more giggling).

You can tell from their work roughened hands and weather worn clothing that these children probably haven’t led easy lives; but you can tell from their broad smiles and hearty laughter that they’ve led good ones.

As the sun inched closer toward the horizon, we climbed the staircase leading to the temple overlooking town on Mt. Phousi. We had hoped to watch the last remnants of daylight pass behind the distant mountains but a slight drizzle and waning attention spans changed our minds on that.

We capped off the day with hour long massages ($3 per person) and a couple of drinks at Mr. Hong’s before packing it in for the night.

It was a good day if I do say so myself.

Other photos from today:

Wat Xieng Thong:

Wat Sirimungkhun:

Something got lost in translation along the way:

Rules for foreigners:

Travel Day: Pak Beng to Luang Prabang

2006-04-27T18:32:00.000-06:00

I barely got an hour of sleep last night – the sound of the guy downstairs puking his guts out permeated my room’s paper thin walls until around 1 o’clock when he settled in for the night. The neighbourhood roosters began crowing not long after that. The final straw came when a noisy drum procession marched through the town’s main street at around quarter past four. I carefully got dressed in the dark, making sure not to wake up my neighbours, and made my way downstairs to see what the commotion was all about. The drumming had since stopped and the offending parties had departed, but it was curious to see that the town had come alive. According to the guesthouse owner, the morning procession didn’t have any cultural or religious significance as I had thought. Instead, it was simply the town’s early morning wakeup call.

Since sleep was no longer in the equation, I sat along the front of the guesthouse and watched as the townsfolk carried on. Adolescent children darted back and forth from the communal water supply, gathering buckets of water to bring home, shop fronts were carefully arranged in preparation for the morning exodus of tourists, children swept the front porches of their homes as their parents worked inside.

I took a seat above the docks to watch a cloud crawl its way over a mountain at sunrise:

Today’s journey was essentially the same as yesterday’s, except it was in a painfully smaller boat.

That said, I’m glad I went with the slow boat option because it has afforded me a fine group of traveling companions: a fellow Canuck, an Israeli guy and two very lovely Swiss girls. This is certainly a welcomed change from traveling solo.

Our protection for the trip: A bored teenager with a loaded kalashnikov.

Travel Day: Laos and the Mekong

2006-04-26T18:19:00.000-06:00

A lot had to be accomplished in a relatively short period of time this morning. The first item on my ‘to do’ list was a two hour bus ride to Chiang Khong along the Thai side of the Mekong River. With urgency rising at each passing minute on the bus, I worried that I might not be able to accomplish my border jump today. When I arrived, I only had a couple of hours to line up a visa, catch a ferry over to the Lao border town of Huay Xai, go through immigration and catch the two day slow boat to Luang Prabang (whew!). Things went smoother than expected and I was on the boat long before the departure the time.

A cigarette break in the Chiang Rai bus station:

The slow boat definitely lives up to its name as the same two day trip could easily be done in six hours by speedboat. I had dismissed the latter option because it is reputedly quite accident prone. The crash helmets given to passengers prior to the trip are probably a good indication of that.

They say that this particular boat ride is a joy for some and a nightmare for others. The cramped, rock hard seats certainly leave something to be desired, especially when you have to be seated in them for the whole day. A few of the guys found alternative seating arrangements, though it doesn’t look any more comfortable:

On the upside, the journey along the Mekong provides a glimpse at a simpler way of life in Laos. Little fishing villages line the banks of the river, where you’ll see children playing in the shallows, nets propped up on bamboo rods along rocky outcrops and fishermen tending to their day’s catch. The scenery along the way is also breathtaking as the karst limestone mountains loom all around the mighty river.

We’re overnighting in Pak Beng, a town approximately halfway between Huay Xai and Luang Prabang. From what little I gather of the place, its relies heavily on tourists passing through for the night. Our waiter tonight said that the town’s electricity, provided by generators, is only turned on when the tourists arrive and is shut off at 10 pm in the evening.

On tonight's menu in Pak Beng:

Chiang Rai: Mae Kok, Tham Tu Phu, Buddha Cave

2006-04-25T11:05:00.000-06:00

The temples within Chiang Rai’s city center were out of the question for today’s itinerary – I got templed out somewhere in Mae Hong Son and have decided to take a break from them. So instead, I put down a few baht, rented a mountain bike and rode a number of kilometers north of the city limit to see the countryside and check out some marginally interesting sights along the way. In order to do so, I had to cross over the Mae Kok river.

Some random facts about Mae Kok:

-A bridge had to be constructed over Mae Kok to accommodate for its ample girth.
-Mae Kok has a temple dedicated in its honour.
-Countless people travel up and down Mae Kok every day.
-Mae Kok is truly a magnificent sight to behold.
(tee hee)

The bridge over Mae Kok:

I do apologize for that temporary lapse in maturity. It had to be done. They made it too easy.

Anyway, the casual bike ride in the countryside led me to Tham Tu Pu caves, where a small shrine was set up.

The place was deserted except for a few puppies caged up by a generator. The resident monks must have gone out for some errands.

Further up was the thousand Buddha cave, which was a bit of a letdown. I only counted a couple of dozen.

This one didn't look like Buddha at all:

Not the most exciting days, I know, but it was a good change of pace, especially with my impending trip to Laos just around the corner.

Temporary Blackout

2006-04-25T03:46:00.000-06:00

I'm off to Laos tomorrow for a couple of weeks and I'm not too sure about how readily available internet access is.

Don't worry about me. I'm (probably) not dead.

JoN

Chiang Rai: Shades of Chicken

2006-04-24T22:02:00.000-06:00

Back when I was traveling Malaysia, I had a conversation with a few fellow backpackers regarding exotic foods. I can’t remember who with but it went something like this: Each of us would bring up the strangest food we’d eaten and described its taste. While most of us used chicken as a standard of measure (like chicken with soy sauce, or deep fried chicken) to get the message across, one of the guys was a little bit more creative. He said that he had alligator, which tasted somewhat like ostrich.

Anyway, I really didn't accomplish much today aside from hitching a ride out to Chiang Rai. So, for the sake of doing something interesting, I went to the night bazaar and picked up a bag 'o random deep fried insects.

I’ve laid out the experiment high school biology style to keep things as objective as possible.

Hypothesis: Bugs taste like chicken

Materials (as per diagram):

1. Bag of fried bugs
2. Towel for cleanup (as kindly provided by guesthouse)
3. Moral support
4. 50 ml Listerine
5. 1.5 L purified (through reverse osmosis) water
6. 1 pack (40 pieces) Extra minty chewing gum
7. “Ultra V” vomit cup
8. Bugs for taste test (see fig. a)

Fig. a

a. Silkworm
b. Mole cricket
c. Cricket (regular)

Procedure:
Eat bugs
Try not to throw up (use provided cleanup materials if step fails)
Describe taste

Observations:
Silkworm
Appearance: Beige, with soft membrane revealing partially formed pupae. Not a worm in its truest sense but equally as unappetizing in appearance.
Taste: Squishy creamy filling had a chicken/peanutty taste. Unpleasant texture made the item difficult to swallow.

Mole cricket:
Appearance: Like feces but with legs and a head (sounds good, doesn’t it?).
Taste: Crunchy shell tasted OK, with the taste and consistency of a crunchy chicken wing tip but with soft meat inside.

Cricket:
Appearance: Lightly browned shelled insect completely formed with head, thorax and legs.
Taste: Tasted more like fried shrimp with its shell on than chicken. Completely crunchy. Not bad at all, actually.

Conclusion:
I suppose one could argue that shrimp tastes like chicken, in which case, all of the tested insects tasted like chicken.

Tachilek: Lady Boom Boom

2006-04-23T21:34:00.000-06:00

It almost seems that a good portion of the legitimate (or slightly less than) businesses in Myanmar are fronts for something seedier. For example, right as you cross the bridge to Tachilek, you’ll most likely be swarmed by a dozen or so brochure wielding túk túk drivers, offering cheap trips to nearby tourist traps.

The túk túk driver will start by pointing at a picture in the brochure.

“You want see temple? One hour 100 baht”

Then
“You want go town?” [points at picture] “One hour 100 baht”

Then, after he looks around to make sure no one else is listening, he asks in a hushed tone:
“You want lady boom boom?”
This is where my drink (green Fanta, how fitting) came out my nose

I have a new phrase in my vocabulary and I'm trying to find good cause to use it.

Another example, if I may:

Men with baskets of cigarettes strapped to their chests descend on tourists like vultures as soon as they cross into the market area. The cigarettes are cheap knock offs and not really that suitable for smoking, so I’ve been told. They’re also illegal to possess on the Thai side of the border.

This is one of the more memorable sales pitches from today:

Cigarette Man (CM): “Marlboro cheap, Lucky Seven cheap”
Me: “No thanks” [keeps walking]
CM: “Porno DVD?”
Me: “Nope” [keeps walking]
CM: “Biagra, work good.” (The misspelling was intentional)
[Slightly thrusts his hips]
“From India”
Me: “Not interested” [keeps walking]

As a last ditch effort to make a sale, he digs under his fake cigarettes, pornos and pills and pulls out a little pink vibrator. I heard it buzzing away as I walked off.

Strangely enough though, stalls selling endangered animal parts were operating right in the open:

This one had tiger skins and gonads, monkey and leopard skulls, deer antlers, jars of strange looking fluids (probably bear bile smuggled from China).

I stayed in Tachilek for a couple of hours before heading back to the more civilized Thai side.

Photos from Tachilek (Myanmar)

Burmese novice collecting alms. People seem sadder here.

Photos from Mae Sai (Thailand)

A lot of important Buddhist temples sit atop long flights of stairs. It's probably my #1 form of exercise here.

Rio de Janeiro has a big Jesus statue overlooking the city. Mae Sai has this:

Checking out the hot plumage:

Mae Sai: Myanmar Border

2006-04-22T21:26:00.000-06:00

I originally had no intention of crossing into Myanmar (formerly Burma) when I was plotting out my route a few weeks back, but with my tourist visa expiring shortly, I figured a quick stopover wouldn’t hurt. The lonely planet sells Mae Sai (on the Thai side) short in many respects, claiming the town lacks charm and “is little more than a modern trading post.” Though I suppose this is in part true, my guesthouse (creatively named Mae Sai Guest House) has more than made up for it with its well kept, quaint little huts along the Thai-Myanmar border.

My hut in the above picture is hidden behind the two trees on the left. The border runs smack dab in the middle of the Mae Nam Sae river. Thailand is on the left, Myanmar on the right.
Because this section of the river is only knee deep, Burmese illegal immigrants have become a huge problem. A police checkpoint has been set up not far from my guesthouse to counteract this but I doubt it’s effective - I spent a couple of hours on the veranda watching illegals wading across not long after sunset.

I’ll be crossing into the town of Tachilek (legally, of course) on the Burmese side tomorrow. I hope I don’t run into any problems.

Another one of the more interesting accommodation options:

Pai: Elephant Rodeo

2006-04-21T21:11:00.000-06:00

Prior to today's jungle expedition, I had always thought of elephants as I would have any other large herbivore. That is to say, they’re big, dumb and smelly. Well, they certainly are big.

My rather negative opinion of the animal evaporated almost instantly when Phanom, my elephant for the afternoon, considerately helped me up onto his back by lifting up his foot as a stepladder. He had noticed I was having difficulty climbing up. I also watched his colleague “Ot” pick up a dropped hat and return it to its rightful owner.

I got to ride shotgun.

A little advice to anyone considering riding an elephant bareback: wear long pants. Elephants are really bristly and my legs were chafed after the 2 hour ride.

Halfway through, we were given the opportunity to stop in the nearby river to bathe the elephants (I’m not really sure who was bathing who because they kept spraying us with their trunks) and take turns getting thrown off rodeo style. It’s strange that even though they weigh two to three tons, I never felt that I was in any danger.

Phanom trying to pick me up. Actually, I was just hiding a banana behind my back.
Following too close for comfort:

Pai: Rót Maw-Toe-Sai

2006-04-20T15:06:00.000-06:00

Most of the attractions (for the non-hippie) in Pai are located well outside of the town’s boundaries. They aren’t spectacular enough for tour companies to offer trips out to them but they’re interesting enough to check out nonetheless, especially if the alternative is to hang out in boring old coffee shops all day.

Luckily, I chanced on a promotional sticker on yesterday’s bus ride claiming the following:
-24 hour scooter rental: 140 baht (about $4.00 CAD)
-Free helmet rental
-Insurance service provided: additional 60 baht (about $1.70 CAD)
-Additional 6 hours rental with mention of this ad

Considering all the factors, the decision was pretty simple.

Before heading to the rental agency this morning, I made a quick stop at the store to restock on my snacks – I indulged last night and ate my asse (that came out wrong, didn’t it?).

I will tell you this: having never ridden a motorbike before, I wasn’t prepared to feel the complete exhilaration of tearing through winding mountain roads with the cool wind in my face and an undeniable sense of freedom. Needless to say, a stupid grin was plastered on my face for at least the first couple of hours riding. Many of the villagers reciprocated with the signature Thai smile as I drove past and a couple of children even came out to wave at the farang passing through. Despite the lackluster sights, I think today’s been one of the most memorable to date.

Today’s photos (Nothing too exciting here. I was too preoccupied with the bike):

I'm glad these signs were at every major intersection close to town. I kept forgetting:

WWII Memorial Bridge

Burmese statue, Wat Phra Tat Mae Yen:

Obligatory Hobbes Photo

Pai Canyon. You can suffer a pretty bad case of vertigo on these narrow paths:

Lisu tribeswoman:

Tha Pai Hotspring. You can go for a hot bath fed by the springs in the nearby spa but I doubt they get much business during this season - the temperature was hovering in the thirties today.

For future reference, this sign means fun ahead.

The 'e' is Silent

2006-04-19T14:58:00.000-06:00

The town of Pai bears more semblance to a North American hippie community (like Canmore, for example) than it does a small Thai town. Specialty coffee shops and restaurants dot the main street, their occupants more likely sporting Rastafarian dreadlocks, hemp knit clothing and multiple body piercings rather than contemporary Thai fashion.

Unfortunately for me, that particular demographic’s demand for vegetarian/vegan/organic/imported food has created a vacuum of inexpensive local cuisine (stickmeat in particular) in its wake. Case in point, I was stalking the aisles of the local grocery store this afternoon, looking for some snacks to include in tomorrow’s picnic lunch. Most of the items stocked catered to the hippie/foreigner pallete and were therefore well beyond my budget. I decided to break the bank when I happened on this one (80 baht – the equivalent of two street vendor meals including drinks). The ‘e’ is silent:

This one was just around the corner for another 15 baht:

I imagine lab coated Japanese scientists spending months perfecting the recipes for these products, sacrificing evenings and weekends with their families, losing sleep over ingredient ratios, their hair greying with each passing day until the products are finally ready for the assembly line. Then Keiichi in marketing goes ahead and names it after a portion of his lower digestive tract.

Mae Hong Son: People Watching

2006-04-18T14:48:00.000-06:00

The lazy afternoon hours were wiled away under the shade of a tree at the nearby Wat Jong Kham temple. The temple itself is humble and most tourists bypass it altogether. It is, however, set beside a lake and food stalls gather on the adjacent street, making it the perfect place to people watch.

Play time for the novices came soon after lunch.

I suppose this picture could be taken out of context. For the record, it’s just a toy.

Also: Fido Dido was so early nineties

Ancient Buddhist texts housed at the neighbouring Wat Jong Klang :

Mae Hong Son: Longneck Tribes

2006-04-17T14:18:00.000-06:00

Luck was on my side late last night when my bus finally pulled into Mae Hong Son’s tiny bus station. The raging thunderstorm that had plagued the last leg of the trip had subsided to a drizzle (though it raged on in the next valley over, creating silhouettes of the mountain range). A friendly local tour guide operator gave me a free lift out to the guesthouse. As we talked along the way, I learned that she had a seat available for a trip out to the nearby Paduang village (one of my main reasons for being in the region). The price was right so I signed up without hesitation.

We kicked things off this morning at Wat Doi Kong Mu, the Buddhist monastery overlooking the town.

The region’s architecture reflects Burmese influence due to its close proximity to the border.

Watching the monks doing their thing:

I initially felt a little guilty about going to the Paduang village. As a tourist one could treat it much like a human petting zoo. An admission fee is paid, you hang around the village and interact with its inhabitants and photos are taken. On the upside, tourism provides a steady (and legitimate) income for the village. I was relieved to see that the villagers were quite comfortable going about their business despite the tourists.

A New Year traditional dance. Each of the village’s four different tribes, represented by different coloured headbands, took part. Few get to witness this, I’m told.

The anticlimactic last stop was at the Pha Bong hot springs/spa. My two options there were:

-Sit around and bake in the sun for half an hour
-Pay 60 baht ($1.75 CAD) for a mudpack.

I went with the latter. Embarrassing pictures exist but I’d rather they not fall into the wrong hands.

Chiang Mai: Songkran

2006-04-15T22:28:00.000-06:00

Chaos has gripped the moated perimeter of Chiang Mai’s old quarter in light of Songkran, the Thai New Year. Drive by’s from fully loaded pickup trucks are the norm, usually spurring revenge shootings from pedestrians. Children, let me emphasize this, children shooting at each other, leaving many of their victims floating along the river in their wake.

Thankfully it’s just a water fight. Quite possibly the largest in the world.

In its subdued form, the gesture of sprinkling of water over somebody’s head during Songkran is one of respect. I’m led to believe that the Thai philosophy of sanook (fun) and the hot season have evolved this tradition to its current state. That said, the old tradition is still alive. Temporary Buddhist shrines are set up throughout the city for people to bless the Buddha (pour water from a silver cup over a statue). Also, amidst theturmoil, a number of Thais have approached me, wished me a happy new year (sawatdee piimai khrap/khaa) and gently poured a small cupful of water over my head. I have witnessed the same people turn around and whip bucketfuls of water at speeding motorbikes as they pass.

My weapon of choice for the event:

It’s a little underpowered, I know, but at least it lets people know I will pop a cap if the need arises.

I’ve mostly been targeting kids during my day long walks around the city. To my defense, they're usually the ones who start it. I also shot a cop in the back before I ran off giggling. Does that add to my street cred, I wonder?

Chiang Mai: Drawer Treasure

2006-04-13T22:20:00.000-06:00

They usually just keep bibles in hotel room drawers back home.

Chiang Mai: Optical Illusions

2006-04-12T15:17:00.000-06:00

I picked up this shirt from the Chiang Mai night bazaar the other night. Partly to extend the duration between trips to the Laundromat, partly for a laugh… mostly to create the illusion that I’m a choice piece of tail (the idea being you have to pay to hang out with someone who looks this good).

Come to think of it, it’s probably better suited as a brief but accurate summary of my current state of being.

Chiang Mai: Muay Thai

2006-04-11T22:58:00.000-06:00

I was sort of expecting something straight from a campy eighties action flick when I showed up at the Kavila Muay Thai Kickboxing Stadium. You know what I’m talking about. An eyepatched bouncer here, some loose livestock there, throw in a chicken wire fenced ring and Jean Claude Van Damme and we’re gold.

So I was really surprised when I was treated to a full blown cultural show.

I suppose, as with many other athletes, Thai kickboxers are a superstitious bunch. The fight starts off with a ritual dance performed by both fighters, which includes a quick prayer at each corner of the ring.

Each round is accompanied by traditional Thai music played by a three man ensemble
(one on a drum, one on cymbals and one with a flute that sounded more like a bagpipe). The fighters tap their feet and bob their heads to the rhythm as they box, though they let up on it in later rounds due to fatigue.

The fights are for the most part bloodless with fighters taking most of the damage from knees to the kidneys. It certainly looked painful anyway.

Chiang Mai: Charades

2006-04-10T21:53:00.000-06:00

Buying something as simple as a bike chain can be quite difficult when both parties don’t share a common language. Anticipating this, I leafed through the appendix of my lonely planet guide to find out how to say bicycle in Thai (rót jàk-kà-yaan if anybody is interested). The problem is the language is tonal. Simply repeating the syllables results in nothing but gibberish (or possibly something offensive).

Anyway, I decided to try out my newfound vocabulary at a mom ‘n pop mini-mart close to the Chiang Mai night bazaar. It didn’t work out so well – the shopkeeper, unable to decipher my broken Thai, kept steering me towards the cigarettes and whiskey (staples for many a backpacker).

That was when I resorted to the next best thing. I grabbed a pair of imaginary bicycle handles and started pedaling furiously at the ground. I then stopped, reached out my right hand and turned an imaginary key. The process was repeated three times before things started to make sense. The thing only cost me 60 baht and what little of my dignity I had left.

It was only then did I that I realized how frequently I’ve been subconsciously overcompensating for my lack of the language by miming things out. For example, let’s say I go to a food stall - I point at the item I want, point at my mouth (which, come to think of it, seems a little condescending – it’s obvious where the food goes), then hold up my hands to negotiate a price (though I try not to anymore as I have picking up on the numbers). I worry a little that all these gestures may become a permanent fixture in my day to day interactions, even when I get home.

Chiang Mai: Sketchy Policies

2006-04-10T14:36:00.000-06:00

It wasn’t until about 7:30 AM that I finally checked into the guesthouse and got myself good and settled in my room. I figured a quick snooze would get me back on track for an afternoon exploring the city. The nap was brief to say the least as I awoke to the sound of my door, the one I had locked earlier, clicking open (both deadbolts were broken). I didn’t have my glasses on at the time but I could still make out a blurry figure in the doorway. From it came a woman’s voice. She said:

“Sawatdee khaa” [Hello]

“You like I clean room?”

Considering I had only been in the room for no more than an hour and a half, I wondered why clean sheets and a mopped floor were in order. Perhaps my reputation precedes me? Make of that as you will.

Only when I shooed her away and closed the door did I notice this sign:

Officially, the memo absolves the guesthouse from any liability, should the room be broken into. Unofficially, it gives staff the green light to take off with anything valuable that’s not bolted down.

So it looks like my first order of business in Chiang Mai is to buy a bike chain to lock my closet shut. This’ll be good practice for future stops along the way, especially when I head into Laos and Cambodia.

The Night Train to Chiang Mai

2006-04-09T21:52:00.000-06:00

Boredom got the better of me during the overnight trip to Chiang Mai. Being on the top bunk in a sleeper train meant that I couldn’t watch the scenery go by (there was no window and it was dark outside for most of the trip). Sleeping was made difficult by the food and drink vendors, who had taken to shouting Thai into my bunk every time they passed.

To pass the time, Hobbes and I went a few rounds of thumb wrestling. He lost, mainly because tigers don’t have opposing thumbs:

We also tried rock, paper, scissors but I ran into some difficulty determining what Hobbes played:

Ayutthaya: On Matters Malnutrition

2006-04-08T23:47:00.000-06:00

The busy street just around the corner of my guesthouse is crawling with dozens of street vendors, selling all sorts of delectable Thai cuisine. Amongst them are, as I affectionately call them, "stickmeat stalls."

If there’s anything I’ve learned about myself over the last couple of days, it’s this: Given the choice between a well rounded meal and meat on a stick, I will without question go for the meat. Every time. Hands down.

Among the stickmeat sold outside:

Mini cocktail weenies, as well as their full sized counterparts
Various meatballs (pork, chicken, fish, shrimp, mystery meat)
BBQ pork/chicken
Chicken wings
A weird meatball thing that looks like a cat head. Not a real cat head, mind you. That’s just wrong. Think of those seasonal Pillsbury cookie dough kits where they have a design like a pumpkin or Santa in the middle…but made of meat.

I’m at risk of scurvy (or any one of a number of deficiency diseases related to lack of a proper diet) if this goes on for much longer.

Ayutthaya: Temple Ruins

2006-04-08T00:10:00.000-06:00

The year is 2549 and Ayutthaya, the ancient Thai capital lies in ruin.

I didn’t make any of that up.

I’ll explain. The Thais use two different calendar systems. The first is the standard solar based Western calendar, year zero being set at Christ’s birth. The second is the lunar based Buddhist calendar set at Buddha’s (Siddhartha Gautama’s) enlightenment. English newspapers use the former system as not to throw off the farangs (foreigners) and food expiry dates are based on the latter.

Ayutthaya was once the capital of Thailand (Siam at the time) until it was invaded and destroyed by the Burmese. The ruined remnants of the ancient city are under the protection of UNESCO. A sleepy but pleasant city has been built around them.

The sheer number of ruins makes Ayutthaya a very difficult city to conquer over a couple of days. A friend of my brother’s (while he lived and taught here) showed me a few of the less convenient temples and I filled in a few of the nearby ones by rented bicycle… With Hobbes in tow:

I’m keeping the photos in order otherwise I’ll forget the temple names:

Wat Chai Wattanaram

Wat Kasatthirat

Wat Yai Chai Mongkhon

Wat Phra Si Sanpet

Wat Phra Mahatat (finally found a good excuse to try out a new Photoshop technique with this one)

Plenty of tail

Wat Ratburana

Kanchanaburi: Waterfalls and Railways

2006-04-04T23:47:00.000-06:00

Hardcore members of the backpacking community laugh at the mere mention of package tours, deeming them too expensive and restrictive. I don’t disagree. That said, package tours are convenient for those under heavy time constraints, especially when many of the sights are well out of town. My visa expires on the 27th and there is plenty to do in Thailand before I cross into Laos.

We started off with a visit to the 7 tiered Erawan waterfall, where I strayed from the group and hiked to the top at my own leisure.

A tree shrine along the path:

To paraphrase the old adage, if a dumbass plunges to his death while swinging on a vine, and there’s nobody around to witness it, will they find his body? I pondered it for a moment and put the vine down.

So close yet so far:

A quick swim in the second tier. The resident catfish nibbling at my toes made the experience rather uncomfortable but memorable nonetheless:

Stop number two was a half hour stop at the Death Railway, a site where many allied soldiers succumbed to harsh conditions during its construction. A small shrine was set up in a nearby cave.

Train Ride:

The last stop was a quick 20 minute photo session on the bridge over the river Kwai.

Kanchanaburi: Tiger Temple

2006-04-03T12:22:00.000-06:00

One of the more popular day trips available in Kanchanaburi is to the Tiger Temple, about 70 clicks from town. It’s not listed in the lonely planet guide, unfortunately - the story going around is that some guy got mauled a few years back. My travel buddy convinced me to go despite the risk.

I think his motives are pretty clear:

She took a friendly swipe at my face right after the picture was taken. Luckily, the old Buddhist monk/head honcho pulled me aside before any real damage was dealt.

Rumour has it the tigers here are mellow (as far as tigers go) because they are heavily doped up. I noticed them feeding this stuff to one of the misbehaving tigers.

Our group had the benefit of walking the tigers back to their enclosures because it was almost closing time. As soon as the tigers were locked up, all the other animals came out from hiding.

…And they started misbehaving:

But the old monk set things straight:

What did the five fingers say to the face?

"SLAP"

Travel Day: Kanchanaburi

2006-04-03T12:18:00.000-06:00

Based on today’s ride out to Kanchanaburi, my guess is that the Thai inter-city bus system is trying its best to emulate the in-flight experience.

The bus is staffed with a Captain (the driver), a co-pilot (a guy who sits next to the driver and opens the door when necessary), and a flight attendant (a girl who comes along with a tray of drinks at the beginning of the “flight”). They all wear pretty authentic looking uniforms corresponding to their respective jobs. Near the end of the bus ride, the “flight attendant” comes round with a garbage bag to gather garbage generated during the trip (and to possibly to check that our seats and fold out tables are in the upright position for landing). I looked under my seat for a life jacket but sadly only found a half empty water bottle.

Bangkok

2006-04-02T12:01:00.000-06:00

My thought processes have effectively shut down during the past five days in Bangkok as the hustle and bustle of the city, combined with the heat, humidity and pollution (I think I have the black lung), have affected me somewhat.

Please pay no attention to that preceding statement. I’m just making lame excuses for not updating.

So it looks like the job I had lined up here has fallen through - my prospective employer was looking for somebody in the software development field and I was expecting something more in the systems end of things. It’s no big deal because I have plenty of savings to tide me over for the next few months (I still can’t get over how cheap things are here) and moreover, this gives me some extra time to travel. There are also volunteer opportunities that I may explore some time down the road.

Much like Kuala Lumpur, Bangkok is a great place to hang out, that is, on condition that you enjoy shopping. A lot. The main stretch on Sukhumvit Road, from what I gather, is the playground of the rich, harbouring upscale malls like The Emporium and Paragon. These places really don’t hold much interest for me because I don’t really care much for Prada handbags, Gucci (whatever they make), Rolex watches (the legit ones) or Ferraris. The air conditioning, however, is glorious and watching the spending habits of the filthy rich intrigues me so.

Photos:

“Sawatdee Khrap”:

I imagine them using broken bottles to cut people’s hair here:

mmm. Lobster chips:

Chatuchak weekend market. Quite possibly the biggest outdoor market in the world.

A ride in a tuk tuk:

My initial worry about traveling in Thailand is the language barrier. English isn’t as widely spoken as Malaysia and the Thai script makes it much more difficult place to navigate (though most signs in Bangkok use Roman characters as well). I figure I should be fine so long as I stick along the main backpacker circuit. I’ll find out how manageable things are when I get to Kanchanaburi tomorrow.

Updates to come when and where possible.

Dot Dot Dot

2006-03-29T07:46:00.000-07:00

The first chance I get to check my mail in Bangkok and I find this floating in my inbox:

"[The New Guy] just mixed up the headers yesterday and today we are scrambled, so back to a backup but only missing one day."

Signed,
The Boss

There was also an urgent request for help but the details are rather mundane.

Can They Really Say This?

2006-03-27T07:22:00.000-07:00

Chick Flicks

2006-03-26T22:13:00.000-07:00

A sense of dread grips me each and every time I’m dragged out to watch a sappy movie. Not because I find that particular genre boring. I just have a problem with getting all sniffly and weepy in public. You see, it puts my machismo in a very precarious position and I can’t risk that happening. Especially in my advanced stage of bachelorhood.

I met up with my cousin, her husband, and another couple (not long after the “nice shoes” incident) to watch the Korean film “My Girl and I” (at least, that's what I think it was called). I was a little bit disappointed at first as the movie poster showed neither promise of car chases nor explosions. I agreed to it anyway as I’d never seen a Korean flick before.

There is a set physiological and psychological process I undergo during these movies - I will do utmost to document it here:

It begins with blurred vision onset by overactive tear ducts, followed by a slight trembling of the lower lip. At this point, I’m glad the theatre’s dark because I don’t want to let on that I’m a huge wuss. I tell myself to be strong. It’s just a movie. They are just actors reading some lines.

That’s when the director drops the bomb. It was cancer in today’s case. My nose starts to drip. I refrain from sniffling lest I direct attention to my sorry state.

As a last ditch effort, I focus intently on the fire exit ‘til the sappy bits are over. I take the time to compose myself and make sure nobody’s looking.

Though it all sounds bad, I secretly enjoyed today’s movie. Probably more than I should have. Shh.

Nice Shoes...

2006-03-26T21:31:00.000-07:00

A bad pickup line’s in there somewhere.

This is what happened today as I was taking some photos of the KL Tower:

Middle aged lady off the street: Hi, nice shoes. Where’d you get them from?
Me: Um. Petaling Street.
Lady: Oh, yeah. Great place. Where do you come from?
Me: Canada [looking around nervously, gripping onto wallet for dear life]
Lady: [brings in another lady] This is my sister in law.
Me: Uh. Listen, it’s been great chatting with you and all, but I really have to go.
[Exit me]

There’s nothing unusual about this dialogue except that it’s happened to me three times already, with three different sets of people and in-laws (two female, one male), with different shoes, on separate occasions. It’s hard not to get suspicious.

I have yet to figure out what this scam is all about. My cousins suspect it’s a code system whereby they offer prostitutes (and compliments) in exchange for hard earned tourist dollars. I still think they’re trying to lure me out somewhere, rob me blind, and leave my (semi-nude?) body in a dumpster. I suppose some mysteries are best left unsolved.

On an unrelated note, this is what happens when public service announcements go wrong:

Heavily Medicated

2006-03-24T18:03:00.000-07:00

To cut a long story short, my mobility has been reduced due to a pre-existing medical condition. Suffice it to say, I didn't do much this week except take meds.

Also:

Whee! Painkillers taste like bubblegum.

Driving in Circles

2006-03-19T19:15:00.000-07:00

For the life of me, I'll never fully understood how car racing became so popular a sport. From what little I know of it, cars drive round and round on a track for a couple of hours until a winner is determined, money is spent afterwards on expensive merchandise, etc. etc etc. At least, this is from my perspective. Nevertheless, I found it hard to refuse when my aunt offered me a free front row ticket for the Sepang F1 Rally last week. It was a good opportunity to hang out with my cousin, who lives inconveniently far off, and besides it's good blog fodder.

My cousin brought a number of his girl friends to the event who spoke fluent "Strylian" (it's like English except with more shrimp - specifically on barbies). Chatting them up was not an issue. Unfortunately, Hobbes, my supposed wingman, stole the show and they ignored me for the rest of the afternoon:

Our seat had a good view of the best corner on the track:

By the 30th lap or so, my attention waned and I began focusing on everything other than the race. Like watching the press photographers getting all excited as the cars shot around the corner:

and the helicopters overhead:

There were a couple of crashes but thankfully, none of them were major. This one crashed near the final lap of the race, ending the event for this driver. You can see he's quite upset:

I think a blue car won.

Lies, All Lies

2006-03-18T21:34:00.000-07:00

I guess I should set the record straight. I haven't been travelling alone as I may have let on earlier.

Meet Hobbes, my travel companion, the Yin to my Yang (or was that the other way around?):

Unfortunately, tigers don't use bank accounts and I'm not prepared to pay for his share of the bus tickets - that's why he's been stowing away in my luggage all this time.

More pictures here.

Daddy Needs a New Pair of Shoes

2006-03-16T16:16:00.000-07:00

My trusty pair of sandals and I have been through quite a fair bit of action together over the past couple of months, seeing highland foliage, mountain streams, sandy beaches, ocean tides, monsoon puddles, urban terrain and the like. They're still holding up but the moisture has affected the fabric to the point where they've developed a musty gym locker smell. I'm fine with that but I don't think many people share the same sentiment. Especially on crowded trains.

It's time to part ways with these old sandals, I'm afraid. Sad, I know.

Ah, but it's not so easy. It usually never is.

Men in Asia generally don't wear shoes larger than size 10's. As such, most shoe stores here don't sell anything larger than 11's. I wear 13's.

Luckily for me, today's trip out with my cousin and his folks brought us to Petaling street, a place I'm not wholly unfamiliar with. Because Petaling Street draws in large amounts of tourist dollars, the stalls along this stretch offer products in larger Western sizes. I settled on a shoe stall near the end of the stretch that claimed to have size 13 sandals. Impossible, I thought. I picked out a suitable pair of Timberlands and my cousin's wife helped bargain down the price (thanks Jen).

Just as the deal was about finalized, the guy yelled out something in Chinese and started packing up. He told me "no shoes today" and continued closing down his shop. The other stalls followed suit.

The counterfeit police, it turns out, had just raided the store right behind us.

And like that, the proprietor and his shoes disappeared off into the crowd:

It looks like my old sandals just got a temporary reprieve.

In Communist Russia...

2006-03-15T17:27:00.000-07:00

...Toilet pees on you.

The backstory:

So I followed my cousin and his wife back to their swanky 5 star hotel after lunch to freshen up and prepare for another afternoon outing. Now, I've stayed at my fair share of dives over the last couple of months so I was a bit unaccustomed to seeing what real hotel rooms look like. I must have spent a good few minutes rustling through complimentary bars of soap and shampoo bottles, disposable slippers and toothbrushes, working fixtures and the attached bathroom. All that good stuff.

Then I came upon this high tech piece of porcelain:

I imagine this type of thing belongs in a rocket ship or some ancient world expo's "home of tomorrow" exhibit.

A closer look at the knobs:

#1

#2

Our best guess was that knob number 2 is for uh... number 1 cleanup and vice versa. I took it upon myself to test them out to make sure, hence the video. We're still not clear on the function of knob #2.

I wasn't expecting it to shoot out with a force great enough to rupture a colon. It's a good thing I wear glasses.

Chomp

2006-03-15T13:28:00.000-07:00

In honour of my cousin's visit from Canada, the whole family got treated out to an exquisite lunch up in the Petronas towers today (they were, until recently, the tallest buildings in the world). My aunt had dialed up a few connections to score us a room at the Malaysian Petroleum Club on the 43rd floor. Under normal circumstances, average schlubs like me aren't allowed in places like this. From what I've heard, this is the type of place where million dollar deals are made.

The view of Kuala Lumpur from our private dining area:

Everybody got these little ducky pastries for dessert. Mine looked a little worried:

...with good cause:

Funny, it didn't taste like duck.

Behind You!

2006-03-14T09:26:00.000-07:00

Okay. I admit it. I looked over my shoulder to see what he was pointing at (a big building). In fact, I'm resisting the urge to do it again right now.

Red vs. Black

2006-03-12T13:34:00.000-07:00

Your standard mamak store curry sauce normally consists of santan (fresh coconut milk), some meat and/or vegetables, nine secret herbs and spices (curry powder and msg fit into this category) and, if you're lucky, a couple of potato cubes. None of these ingredients are meant to be crunchy by default.

Today's curry breakfast, however, had a little extra something, adding a new level of depth to the texture. The difference was subtle, but noticeable nonetheless. Imagine bacon bits, but not. Revolutionary, I thought. Crunchy curry.

I sat for a while afterwards to let the meal settle when I felt something land on my head. Something tiny. I fished around in my hair and dug out an ant head, then another, followed by a twitching thorax with a few missing legs. A couple of ant colonies high in the above tree branch were duking it out for territorial rights.

Judging by the bits raining down on us (and our food), the red ants were winning against the black ones two to one.

Verdict: Tasty!

Melaka: A Picture Tour

2006-03-09T20:32:00.000-07:00

Room #2's customers chatted loudly amongst themselves while waiting outside my room last night (despite my protests), costing me some much needed sleep. Budget accommodation is quite scarce in the historic district so I think I'll have to spend another night here.

I'll spare you the details of my walking tour of Melaka. Here are a bunch of photos instead:

Store front water lillies on the way to breakfast:

This pooch came to see what I was so interested in:

Old minimalistic Indian temple:

Visitors of Chen Hoon Teng, the local Chinese temple, honour their ancestors by burning paper replicas of household items. It is believed that the burned items will be used by their departed loved ones in the afterlife. If you look closely at the picture, you'll see items ranging from slippers to toiletries to cars (Mercedes Benzes being the most popular among Malaysian Chinese):

Ice Kacang (like a snow cone)- perfect for a hot day:

Eng Choon Association:

Graffiti in a back alley:

Pimped out rickshaws:

Beautifully restored shophouse:

There were basically two reasons I went into this naval museum/Portuguese vessel replica. It was good place to escape the daytime heat (I parked myself on a bench under an a/c vent by the brig) and it was a perfect excuse to talk like a pirate yarr.

St. Francis Xavier:

17th century Dutch grave inscription:

Old man reading his book aloud:

Melaka: A Night in a Brothel

2006-03-08T17:45:00.000-07:00

Cabin fever set in yesterday so I decided to take a quick bus ride out to Melaka for a couple of days of sightseeing. Melaka is one of Malaysia's oldest port cities, influenced by years of occupation by the Dutch, Portuguese and British. The architecture reflects this quite evidently, but more on that later.

I arrived at the bus station at around 11:00 in the morning with a vague idea of my surroundings based mainly on a built in compass in my watch and the map in my lonely planet guide. Given the lack of street signs at the station, I headed in what I believed was the general direction of the town center. None of the street names further down the road were showing up on my map and I was starting to think I took the wrong bus to the wrong city. It also brought to question the state of my sense of direction. It turned out the lonely planet guide had marked the bus station at a different location and I had inadvertently wandered about two kilometers into the suburbs. I took a cab to re-orient myself with the town and everything worked out in the end.

I went with the Cheong Hoe hotel, right in the historic district of Melaka because of its convenient location, low room rate and Chinese shop house ambiance. The architecture, much like many of its surrounding buildings and Chinese temples, has an open courtyard in the middle, allowing sunlight to flood in during the daytime. It seemed idyllic at the time.

Nothing all that interesting happened until later that night when I headed to the shared bathroom for my shower. An old man sitting in the common area outside my room (I think he was waiting for me) offered a late night massage by two freshly imported Thai Chinese girls. $RM60 ($18 CAD) cheap? The room was ready and all I had to do was say the word. Now, my aunt in KL tells me how great legitimate Thai massages are - she gets one every time she's in Chiang Mai. This late night offering, however, seemed a little suspect. I told the guy "Not tonight buddy, I have to wake up early to see the town, but thanks though" before rolling my eyes and continuing to the showers.

Though my Chinese isn't so good, I did hear the girls talking about Aids in the lobby later in the night.

I'm going to have to check for suitable alternatives for accommodation in the morning.

Blog Widgets

2006-03-07T19:02:00.000-07:00

I do apologize for the backlog (today's actual date is March 14th). I've been a bit busy (read: sleeping a lot and playing typing of the dead) over the last week. In the meantime, you may have noticed a couple of additions to the blog, namely, the link to an MSN space and a super neato flickr badge. Both will lead you to a bunch of photos from the last month.

Flickr seems to have a 200 photo limit so the older ones will just disappear or something. I just put it there cos it's right purty.

The leech therapy pictures are posted in the msn spaces blog under the Feb 28th album.

Enjoy.

Scandalous

2006-03-06T18:49:00.000-07:00

The article was a bit of a letdown.

I Think I'm Turning Japanese I Really Think So

2006-03-05T18:34:00.000-07:00

For whatever reason, most people here think I'm Japanese. I've been asked at just about every guesthouse I've been to so far. Street stall proprietors call out "Konnichiwa!" or "Aregato, Aregato" to get my attention. Satay (Malaysian kebab) vendors tell me they serve "yakitori" (Japanese BBQ). I'm not sure where they get it from. I still maintain that we Asians all look the same.

Anyway, I've started using this to my advantage. You see, there are many locals here who hang out at bus terminals and tourists traps with the intent of making money off the dumb tourists. They find a suitable target, begin a sales pitch and latch on when the reply is in English. Usually it's just harmless small talk but they yammer on and on until the poor tourist gives in and buys a trinket just to get rid of them.

So to prevent them from getting that important foothold, I've started pretending I'm Japanese. This is how I respond when approached:

Me: "Nani desu ka?" (what is it?)
Local: [insert sales pitch]
Me: "...eto" (...um)
Me: "No speaku Engrish." [shakes head]

It works, let me tell you.