Adventures In Asian

Streetfighter 3

2009-04-04T21:50:00.003-07:00

The great thing about being in South East Asia is that amazing things can happen without any warning or precedent. This morning, for example, we were having breakfast at a table on the sidewalk, when a commotion took our interest. Whirling down the street at relatively low speed was a fighting trio made up of one man and two women (both of whom were in what looked like pajamas). The floral woman had the woman in green by the shirt while simultaneously pummeling the man with her other hand. The man was trying to stiff arm the floral woman while sort of protecting the woman in green, all with a completely impassive face. The floral woman was shouting and occasionally brandishing a motorbike helmet which she used to strike the man on the top of the head.

The trio was in the middle of the small side street where we were dining, not more than 15 feet away, and for more than twenty minutes their domestic dispute continued. A crowd gathered to watch, with absolutely no intention of interfering. One helpful spectator explained to us that the floral woman was the man's wife, with many small children, while the woman in green was his girlfriend (or possibly second wife). If two men or two women were fighting, he related, then people would break it up, but since this was a family issue, no one would get involved. An older woman in polka dots approached and did get involved - the mother-in-law. She promptly hit the man over the head with open palms and then bit him on the forearm. Things were escalating and the crowd was growing. Tourists were snapping photos, shop owners running down the street to get a better look. Finally, the whirling domestic dispute crashed into a parked motorbike, knocking it over and threatening to topple a couple of tables. The street fighters moved out to the main street, causing a traffic jam and a chorus of loud honking. We returned to our noodle soup to finish our breakfast and wonder how the guy was going to get out of this one. Without much commotion or any police involvement, the fight was over and the disappointed crowds returned to their morning routines.

Environmental Proselytizing

2009-04-04T20:46:00.000-07:00

On the beautiful island of Phu Quoc, we signed up for a snorkeling trip. On this snorkeling trip we stopped at three small islands to snorkel around the coral. Phu Quoc's snorkeling is reported to be some of the best in the world and we were very excited. Here is where it gets ugly; of the three stops, only one of them had coral that was still alive and it was also dying. The boat we were in anchored on the coral itself, never mentioned to anyone "don't touch or stand on the coral". We also all fished off the boat and caught tiny fish which were not thrown back. I don't know what happened to them but they were clearly not full grown.

A guy who worked at our hotel came to our porch after we came back to talk to us. He said that he used to lead snorkeling trips where he was careful to not anchor on coral, he never took his boat fishing for small fish and always explained to people not to disturb anything while snorkeling. He said 90% of the coral around Phu Quoc was dead (I am always sceptical and this guy seemed a little off so who knows about the numbers) and that he was put out of business, in fact he was verbally threatened by the tourist mafia that runs the island. I could certainly see there being a mafia of that kind here.

I say all this to share what we've learned with other potential travelers. One of the best thing anyone can do for the environment when traveling is to use companies that act responsibly, unlike the one we ended up participating in. This is not easily done in places like Vietnam and may require more research beforehand. Spending an afternoon swimming around looking at dead coral is a very depressing and consciousness raising sight.

Motorbikin' Phu Quoc: Not a Cake Walk

2009-04-02T04:19:00.000-07:00

After an overnight bus ride in which the driver, and perhaps everyone else (?) watched a Vietnamese stand-up comedy duo the whole 7 hours, we pulled up to the ferry which was to wisk us off to our final beach chapter of our travels on Phu Quoc island.

We stayed at a little resort right on a quiet beach. It was serene and amazing. The water - clear and calm and perfect for lazy swimming. Hammocks and yes . . . long walks on the beach were in order for the first day. Then it was time for adventure.

We rented motorbikes for our second day to make the long trip around the island. The road into our little beach area was under construction and exsisted only as a incomplete dirt road but the one into town, though busy, was paved. We made our way through the busy streets of town quite compitently (even with the school children all bicycling home at noon) and then hit a dirt, though still smoothish, road. There was a little hesitation, but we ventured on, not caring that our clothes would be caked in dust. We were having a day of island adventure! The further we got from town, the fewer other motorbikes we saw and the worse the road conditions became. Soon the "road" dissolved into what were essentially a series of steep, sandy, dried out riverbed gullies with makeshift stick bridges at the bottom. The water had created all sorts of "thrilling" obsticles to weave around and basically gun-it over in the hopes that you make it successfully to the other side. The first one was sort of funny/rediculous, the second more of a personal challenge, by the third we were pretty exhausted by the focus it takes to get through these damn things and by the forth, Kyle tipped and began to have technical difficulties. The next series of dips took us in a detour around what was a totally insane and washed out former "road." The detour was only slightly more passable. Our mouths hung open as we looked at what could have been, and then at what was.

To be honest, things began looking a little bleak at this point. We were 30km from anywhere, Kyle's bike wouldn't start, Kate had tipped over when she looked back and saw Kyle tipped over and both were a little shaken. Oh, and it was HOT. And storm clouds had been threatening for the better part of an hour. After giving the bikes (and ourselves) some time to cool down, and watching a couple of seasoned motorbike veterans with old ladies on the bike tackle the next arroyo, Kyle's bike miraculously started again. We were back on our way.

The road began to improve (no more dry riverbeds from hell) and we made it to a town. Actually, it was three buildings and a beach, but we drank a warm 7 up and were poked by the local children long enough to decide we could finish our loop. 15 kilometers down the road, in what looked to be the absolute middle of no where, a man on crutches with one leg emerged from the dense jungle and waved us down. Kate thoughtfully offered for Kyle to give him a ride to the next town, where he apparently had an appointment for coffee. After depositing him at his destination and declining his kind invitation for a drink, we continued on our way, smiling a little more.

We made it back to the main town, Duong Don, and Kate's bike began stalling at intersections. This is a terrifying prospect in a land which follows NO road rules. We expertly navigated past a market, over a bridge, through the town, and we almost home, when Kate's bike comletely died about 50 meters from the hotel. She pushed it home and the hotel propreitor looked up from his hammock, apparently unsurprised by this turn of events. "No working? Yeah."

With broken bike returned, we went for a victory swim to rinse off the day's dust and grime before beginning cocktail hour. We toasted, from our hammocks, our survival and the end of our motorbike riding for a good long time.

Saigon Sojourn

2009-03-28T03:57:00.001-07:00

Due to unforesenn visa complications and the nefarious actions of one very bad man in Mui Ne, we came to Saigon earlier than we expected to sort ourselves out. Since we're seasoned travelers with only 10 days of our trip remaining, we were unphased by this change of plans. We even enjoyed our overnight bus trip and the hour of early morning park sitting we experienced while waiting for a room to be ready. We are really getting the hang of this.

Speaking of parks, the Vietnamese are all about the communal open space, and Saigon is no exception. There are a fair number of lovely parks with huge, old trees and large numbers of people stretching and playing badminton in them. Swarming around these parks are 3 million (literally) motorbikes - even after 4 months of SE Asian travel, the site is astounding. Every street crossing is a life-affirming victory.

After fixing our visa issues for good with a not evil Saigonian, we embarked on a self-guided tour of the city, beginning with the Independence Palace. Rebuilt in the early 1960s, it is a tribute to the architectural excentricities of the time. The furniture is strait out of a Bond movie, particularly the corduroy chairs in the Official Gambling Room. There is a helipad on the roof, adjacent to the minibar and dance floor. The high-tech equipment is all in the basement, including a room full of type writers and an array of pastel rotary phones. Very impressive.

Looking at the darker side of the 1960s, we moved on to the War Remnants Museum. Although we of course knew what the American army did to Vietnam during the war, the museum was a powerful and disheartening reminder, particularly the section on the effects of Agent Orange. Children in the areas sprayed with the chemical are still being born with horrible birth defects, and military personell who handled the chemicals were also effected. Pretty graphic and scary images made us astounded by how nice and friendly the Vietnamese are to us American travelers.

Its really, really hot and we went to see a movie for the air conditioning. It was totally worth it.

Today we took the obligatory trip to the Cu Chi tunnels, for which we were forced to break our No Tour rule (or shell out an unreasonable amount of dong for a private driver). About 30 kilometers outside of Saigon, the Cu Chi villagers built a network of tunnels and bunkers that were more than 200 kilometers long. The Viet Cong used the tunnels during the American War to launch guerilla attacks, carry supplies around, and generally live in since the Americans were bombing the hell out of their villages. Going into the tunnels gave us a serious appreciation for the dedication of the Vietnamese people, and the tinyness of their bodies. The tunnels are 2 feet wide and 2 1/2 feet tall, swelteringly hot, and generally unbearble. We were in them for about 5 minutes, which was plenty. VC soldiers and civilians lived there for months at a time.

We're taking an overnight bus (just can't get enough) to the coast tonight in order to get to Phu Quoc Island, so we've been killing time this afternoon wandering around the alleys of our neighborhood. We happened upon a haircutting shop, and since Kyle's hair was both way too long and pretty dirty, she got a haircut. Which came, inexplicably, with a face massage. Its a nice way to get clean when you don't have a hotel room, though its a little odd to have your hair blowdried and looking fabulous when, from the neck down, you are a filthy slob.

Biking with Vihnny

2009-03-26T03:13:00.000-07:00

Taking motorized transportation is so 20th century. In this age of green living, conscientious 20 somethings like us get there using the most renewable of resources: human power. Ok, there was a van lurking behind us the entire 160 kilometer trip, probably burning more gas than the bus, and it was mostly down hill, but still. We are Portlanders, and we miss our bicycles, and so we decided to bike it from Dalat to Mui Ne, cost be damned.

We started out bright and early with a short but harrowing ride out of the city and into the beautiful rolling hills of flower farms that surround Dalat. Our guide Vihn (or Vihnny, if you're from Jersey) was nice, polite, and shy, and dutifully showed us the tourist spots along the way. We stopped at the rice hooch making shop (very strong), the silk making factory (very mechanical), and Elephant Waterfall (very liquidy). Then we hit the sweet part of the day - an enormous downhill on windy roads with fantastic views of the hills and valley. What goes down must, even from the mountains to the coast, go up, and we had a significant climb before lunch. We inhaled a pile of bread, cheese, and veggies while the rainclouds approached, and waited out 2 hours of massive storm. Then we got back on the bikes for the last 30 kilometers of the day.

The best thing about bicycling in rural areas is definitely the Stare Down. The further from major cities you get, the better the Stare Down becomes. The very old and the very young are the best practitioners of the Stare Down, but it can be effectively executed by almost anyone. The Stare Down is total, unabashed, full faced staring at us that cannot be deterred by any amount of reciprocal eye contact, smiling, waving, or greeting. There are two prominent forms that the Stare Down can take, the first being the Cross the Street Stare Down. The Starer (usually elderly) spots us about a block away, and begins to stare. While maintaining eye contact, he or she crosses the street in front of us, sometimes necessitating a brake or swerve from oncoming traffic. Once safely across the street, presumably at a better staring vantage point, the Starer continues the stare. The second and most unnerving case is the Moto Approach Stare. A family on a moto approaches us on the left as we're riding, and intends to pass us. However, upon seeing that we are Stare-worthy, the moto pulls along side and maintains our speed to get a good look. The child in the front and the one hanging onto the back generally employ the Open-Mouthed Stare, sometimes accompanied by the Point. The adults, both driver and passenger, silently and unwaveringly practice the classic Stare. This move can go on for upwards of a kilometer, and is sometimes finished with an audible laugh before they finally complete their pass. It makes us feel connected to the local people.

After many staring encounters, we spent the night in Di Linh, a little town of mostly farmers. Exhausted by our day, we ate early and went to bed. At breakfast the next morning, Kyle turned to Kate with an audible, "Oh, no." She had just rubbed her eye with the hand she had recently used to spread chili seeds on her baguette. A comical few minutes of running around the courtyard (didn't help), splashing water on her eye (made things worse), running blindly across the road, and generally freaking out in the hotel room resulted in Kyle being down one contact and swollen-eyed for the second day of riding. Off to a not so auspicious start, we began the ride with a few kilometers of rolling hills and then a seriously steep 5 kilometer climb. Luckily, the scenery made up for the heat and incline, and we had lunch on the ridge of the mountain with puppies and pigs all around. The best part of the day was the 11 kilometer downhill, accompanied by amazing views (that were luckily on the non-chili-afflicted side). As we descended, the heat of the lowlands was like opening the oven door to check on your delicious batch of cookies, except without the promise of baked goods. It was seriously hot. We finished with a really, really, really hot 25 kilometers of flat ride. We were tired and sweaty but certainly victorious as we found a hotel in Mui Ne and bid Vinnhy a fond farewell.

Dalatful

2009-03-23T04:19:00.000-07:00

Dalat is the honeymoon capital of Vietnam - which is kind of surprising when you first roll into town. At first glance, this is a hilly city that seems to have grown up in the last 20 years, with newly constructed houses and storefronts more from the utilitarian than picturesque school of design. But Dalat is surrounded by beautiful countryside and claims a central lake and golf course, as well as some swanky hotels we have not been inside. Many tourists get a motorcycle guide to see the temples and waterfalls of the surrounding areas, but since we have sworn off tours, we are officially charting our own course.

On day one in Dalat, we embarked on foot for Crazy House. This house/hotel/tourist attraction/architectural wonder lives up to its name. Think Gaudi meets Dali paintings with sequins and a little bit of the Flintstones thrown in for good measure. There are staircases that lead to no where. There are cubby holes with tiny tables and strangely configured windows. The bedrooms have animal shaped fireplaces and mirrors on the ceilings above the beds. There is a giraffe entangled in one stairway, and half of the building is still under construction. Basically, one climbs around the house and exclaims, "This place is crazy!" And if you're planning a trip, you can stay in one of the animal-themed rooms. It was like nothing we've yet seen on this trip.

The next day we decided to climb a nearby mountain for what was described as a "nice three hour hike." We hired some moto drivers to take us out to the park, and began our climb on a steep paved road, while jeeps and other motos whizzed by. Kyle was a little disappointed in the asphaltyness of the hike, until we turned onto the trail that lead to the peak - only 3 kilometers away. We can do this, we thought, despite the massive uphill we'd already conquered. The trail had a slight incline and lovely views, and we joked about the far-off mountain we were happy to not be climbing. Think again, ladies, as that indeed was our destination. It soon became apparent that this would not be as easy as we had anticipated, but we remained in good spirits until the final 500 meters of pretty much vertical climb. We were determined to beat the mountain, but this was not what we had intended. We huffed and puffed and swore and took many breaks. And then we finally reached the top, sweaty and out of breath, only to encounter 25 Vietnamese teenagers. They were having a picnic, complete with portable stove and wok full of noodles. As expected, they giggled, practiced their English phrases, and took many pictures with us that prominently featured the peace sign. Our pride was a little bruised, but we were still happy to enjoy the incredible panoramic view of the valley and Dalat. And to be going downhill for the second half of the hike.

Day three in Dalat we decided to explore the town on 2 wheels and one vehicle - a tandem bicycle. Neither of us had ever ridden a bicycle built for two, but we figured we could easily ride it in traffic the hilly 6 kilometers to a nearby lake. After our initial attempts at starting, we scaled back our plans to just bike around Dalat's central lake. On the sidewalk. We spent the better part of the day wobbling around and around the lake while making beeping noises at oblivious pedestrians. Starting and stopping were difficult, and hills were unfathomable. We pretty much got the hang of it, but switching steerers set us back. By the end of the day, we could safely navigate even the narrowest side walks. We have really picked up a lot of new skills on this trip.

Tomorrow, we leave for the coast on a 2 day mountain bike adventure. Its a lot of kilometers, but we're convinced they're mostly down hill. At least we'll each have our own ride.

Overnight bus but the beach is worth it

2009-03-20T06:30:00.000-07:00

Departing lovely Hoi An, we boarded the trusty overnight bus and settled in for a bumpy and mostly sleepless night. Six in the morning found us pulling into Nah Trang, a biggish city with a beautiful beach at dawn.

Nah Trang was not on our list of cities to visit, as its large and fairly developed beachfront just looked a little too much for us, but we figured getting on another 5 hour bus ride after an overnight ride was just too cruel. What with our upcoming visa extension, we figured we had time for an extra day here in Nah Trang. Thank goodness we did!

Nah Trang is actually quite a lovely city - big and bustling but clean and has a great beach. The only other big city with beachfront we have seen was Kuta in Bali which was extremely polluted, crawling with tacky tourists and gross chain restaurants. Nah Trang is a big city but doesn't seem to have too much overwhelming tourism and what it does have, like the parasailing, windsurfing, sailing and scuba diving, seems to help keep this waterfront and beach lively, well used and clean!!

We spent the afternoon at a hot springs resort about 10 minutes outside of town. There was a 7 step regiment for optimal health benefits from this mud bath/mineral soak wonderland. We were ushered into a tub with a Vietnamese couple which was full of cool liquid mud the consistency of a chocolate shake. A somewhat awkward 15 minute soak in this small muddy bathtub with another couple involved all of us pouring pails of mud over our arms, chests, and backs. Most local people were in shorts and tank tops and we quickly figured out why. The mud got well trapped in our suits, especially between the layers of the lining and the outside, and made us both a muddy, saggy, bloated mess! In this goopy state, we were instructed to sit in the sun for 10 minutes before rinsing. The ground and rocks were so hot from the super-charged sun we were forced to hop from foot to foot to not burn our feet. Quite a sight.

After a thorough mineral shower rinse, we were hustled into a 3 foot wide channel of rocks which sprayed water at you from all sides - imagine car wash meets leaky dam. After the pressure wash, we were pointed towards larger mineral hot tubs to soak with more strangers. After that, on to the big, but still hot, soaking pool. Keep in mind that it's a good 85-90 degrees out so at this point, we were not only pretty pruney but quite thoroughly cooked. We cut short our 7 steps to mineral-induced health and headed home feeling silky smooth with just a few pockets of mud in our ears.

Cooking with the Militant Chef

2009-03-19T01:08:00.000-07:00

Vietnam, I praise you extensively for your use of the night bus. Its time efficient and saves me the cost of a night's lodging. But it does leave me with the odd space of a day on my hands without the refuge of a grubby hotel room. Thus, it was decided that a day-long cooking course would be perfect before embarking on a night-long bus journey. And it was perfect, and involved the wonderful character of the Militant Chef. This is his story.

The Militant Chef works at a cooking school about 4 km down river from Hoi An proper. His minions take care of the shopping and cleaning and shuttling of customers, the welcome drinks and market tours and herb sampling that are required for an up-market foodie extravaganza. The Militant Chef stays in the demonstration area with his personal knife and his clipboards full of recipes. The Militant Chef has terrible teeth.

After his class has been assembled and properly pampered by people that smile and crack terrible jokes, the Militant Chef approaches his counter, checking his reflection in the angled mirror above him. His smock and apron are spotless; his prep bowls have been laid out with spices and sauces. The Militant Chef does not introduce himself or smile. His tone is somewhere between aggressive and bored. He chops and slices and assembles, using only the number of words required to describe exactly what he is doing. He finishes each dish with the phrase, "Now Get up! Leave everything!" His pupils frantically place their clipboards and cameras on their chairs before scurrying to their cooking stations. "Oil, now! Chop finely! More finely!" He stalks up and down the row of burners, shaking his head. Under their breath, people refer to the Militant Chef as Gordon Raimsey of reality television's Hell's Kithcen. The Militant Chef is not amused.

One pretty little blond student thinks that 2 cloves of garlic might be enough for her eggplant dish, and it had been a mistake to place 3 cloves on her prep plate. The Militant Chef stalks over and points a long finger at the remaining clove, staring the student accusingly in the eye. He looks at the clove. He looks at the student. No words need be exchanged - the student chops the garlic without protest, being sure to chop it very finely indeed.

When all dishes have been cooked, the class adjourns to the dining area to feast on their creations. The students mingle and chatter, complementing their food with local La Rue beer. The Militant Chef does not join them. The Militant Chef does not wish them bon appetite. The Militant Chef polishes his chopping knife in anticipation of his afternoon class.

Hoi Hoi Hoi An

2009-03-19T00:51:00.000-07:00

We love Hoi An - how could you not? The old section is full of small cobblestone streets with wooden shop fronts - nothing over two stories - and a riverfront with great restaurants. There are a few Hoi An specialty foods that you can't get anywhere else, such as white rose, which are the closest thing we've found to Kyle's favorite chinese dumplings. Kate has had the local noodle dish, lau cao, at least once a day. And a flat 4 kilometer bike ride brings you to a lovely strip of beach with refreshingly cool water. The sun has reappeared after a nearly 2 week hiatus. We hear there are historical places to see. Things are good.

It should not be overlooked that Hoi An is also the tailoring center of Vietnam. There are about 150 shops dedicated to making custom tailored clothing of all types, particularly and inexplicably wool jackets. As our return to reality approaches, we recognized some glaring holes in our (well, Kyle's) domestic wardrobe. So Kyle got a 3 piece pinstripe suit with the idea that looking respectable will make her more employable. And being that we're in our 20s and its Spring, wedding season is upon us, so Kyle got a custom-made little silver number. Kate's obsession with outerwear led to the Great Jacket Hunt of 2009, which was completed in the sweaty 90 degree heat of mid-day mid-coast Vietnam. A dedicated shopper, the heat and language barrier could not deter Kate from finding exactly what she wants in a short wool coat. Additionally, being measured across the bust and around the hips by tiny Vietnamese women after 4+ months of sticky rice and curry is a humbling experience. Kate would like to reiterate that it was a really, really hot process but ultimately incredibly rewarding. Plus, they take credit cards.

Realizing the bulk that these garments will add to our packs, we shipped home a box of well-worn and superfluous travel clothes, which should arrive in Portland sometime in July. Thank you, seamail.

No Hue!

2009-03-19T00:17:00.000-07:00

The ancient city of Hue is both ancient and a city. After the overnight bus ride which was much helped by a dose of Tylenol PM, we took ourselves on a groggy self-guided tour of the citadel. It was interesting and enormous and right in the middle of the city - we recommend stopping if you're in the neighborhood.

The next day, we went on the popular boat tour of the ancient tombs surrounding Hue. Vietnam is all about the tour, as are the foreign tourists who visit Vietnam, so we thought we'd give it a shot. I think we were sort of unsure how to proceed after the parental units departed, and we didn't remember exactly what our traveling style consisted of. Plus, we like boats and looking at stuff, so how bad could it be? We cannot emphasize enough how bad this tour is. Suffice it to say that it was both boring and exhausting, though some beautiful things were seen, albeit at a glacial pace. This tour also allowed us to witness a meltdown by a 45 year old woman over a 60 cent beverage that required a series of urgent cell phone calls (obviously she was American - and from the East coast). It was at this point that we vowed to never again participate in a tour.

On the plus side, we discovered our new favorite photographic endeavor: spelling our names with our bodies in front of various scenic and historic places (which are much obscured by our limbs). Kate really excels at the T, while Kyle is a clear favorite in the Y category. We both struggle with Es.

Halong Bay - hurray!

2009-03-15T04:19:00.000-07:00

You may know it as the Golf of Tonkin, or alternatively as the place that the dragon descended into the sea, but we're calling it Halong Bay, where we spent 3 glorious if foggy days cruising around a few of the thousands of limestone islands. Highlights included:

1) Fancy wooden boat called the Pinta (we are explorers!), where we had freshly blended welcome drinks three times. They were very welcoming.

2) Giant cave called Surprise Cave that included stalactites and stalagmites in various shapes, including a turtle and a penis.

3) Jumping into the rather cold waters of the bay from the top deck of the boat. The water was so calm we forgot it was going to be salt water, which it was.

4) Kayaking through an empty part of the bay that included caves, lagoons, and perfect green water.

5) Just as we were about to close our eyes and fall into well deserved sleep, the dulcet sounds of 4 Australians and the Vietnamese crew doing karaoke. Hits included "Dancing Queen," "Tears in Heaven," and our personal favorite, "He Ain't Heavy - He's My Brother." It was alternately hilarious and painful as the walls of our headboards abutted the speakers through a very thin boat wall. At least we could sing along.

6) Mountain biking from a small harbor into a village on Cat Ba Island, through green fields and rice paddies. We learned a little about village life, like all the dogs look oddly the same and the Vietnamese government builds giant schools, even if there are only 30 kids in the village to attend it.

7) The Parents Piper-Smyer, still footing the bill and classying us up, sprang for massages during our one night stay on Cat Ba island. Who knew that a 4'10", hundred pound Vietnamese lady could pummel us so vigorously. The highlight may have been when she leaped on the table and danced on our backs. It felt great - afterwards. PS: This was Casselman's first massage ever - she lives a deprived life.

8) Much squid eating. For some reason, the folks of Halong Bay have taken to serving squid with every meal. We have taken to requesting no more food. They have taken to not understanding our requests to stop the squidfest. Squid has taken to remaining on the table.

After our aquatic adventures, we returned via high speed ferry and minibus to Hanoi, for the piece de resistance of our sojourn in fancyville: the Metropole. We were like country bumpkins seeing the bright lights of the city for the first time, as we jumped on the bed and lounged in the slippers and robes so thoughtfully provided by the concierge. Watching a begloved bellboy carry our filthy packs was a dream come true. None of the colonial-black-tie-clad staff could understand that we were actually going to carry the packs ourselves as we walked to a bus. Surely we had a driver? Sadly, not anymore. We said goodbye to the Parents Piper-Smyer in the lobby, sure that we had but a few minutes to get the hell out before we were escorted from the premises for failing to meet their dress code.

Hanoi High Life

2009-03-12T22:09:00.000-07:00

My parents showed up and just like that, everything changed. We had our own bathroom with hot water and clean towels. We had free internet access in the lobby of the hotel. The hotel had a lobby. There was complimentary breakfast and smiling advice on local attractions. We ate at restaurants without plastic tables where there was wine served both by the glass and by the bottle. Moreover, none of this cost us a penny, which was amazing. We quickly realized that it takes moments to get used to this kind of life, but the transition back to scrimping and squalor will probably be slightly more difficult. Who cares? They have real milk in the coffee here, and you don't have to steal the napkins for use as toilet paper.

We headed out into the city armed with a fancy guidebook that had all sorts of pictures and no tips on how to eat for under a dollar. My parents were adorably wide-eyed as they pointed to the pedicabs and people eating soup on the street and dangerous actions of the zillions of motos streaming by. We saw the requisite sights: Temple of Literature (Lesson: the Vietnamese loved learnin' and commemoratin' the learnin' of their people); Museum of Ethnology (Lesson: there are many different groups of people in Vietnam and their houses differ widely. Some have really tall ceilings! Also, teenagers of all cultures are annoying); Ho Chi Minh Mosoleum (Lesson: preserving a dead communist leader for 40 years takes serious work by the military, both green-clad and white-clad. It is disrespectful to talk, put your hands behind your back, or wear sunglasses when gawking at a dead communist leader under glass); Hoa Lo Prison aka the Hanoi Hilton (Lesson: the French were barbaric to their prisoners, while U.S. soldiers enjoyed a pleasant if rustic tenure at the hands of the enlightened and generous Vietnamese. John McCain was here); and the Old Quarter (Lesson: tourists heart The North Face. Vietnamese people heart stretching and badminton by the sides of the lake). All this traipsing around included a fair amount of eating and drinking. And a more than fair amount of picture snapping.

One evening, we had the pleasure of dining with a group of Vietnamese parents whose offspring are attending Bucknell University, where my father works. While a lovely school, there really isn't much to say about it if you never went there or, in Kate's case, have never even visited. Moreover, a large proportion of the attendees did not speak English, and since our Vietnamese is limited to Hello, Thank you, and Delicious, we weren't much help. The awkwardness was palpable but mitigated by my mother's inability to understand her dining companion, mistaking the occupational description "Press Photographer" for "Breast Photographer." After some puzzled clarifying questions, she shrugged and retorted, "In America, we call that a Mamographer." Conversation continued until it was made clear that two of our hosts work for the AP, one as a writer, one as a Press photographer. Ah, cultural exchange. I'm still laughing.

Our final night in Hanoi will be spent at the superfancy Metripole Hotel. We have already experienced the snooty grandeur which is the Metripole when we went to the chocolate buffet they serve for tea. Yes, as indicated, it is a buffet of chocolate and therefore well worth the price and the stairs at our ragamuffin appearances. This hotel is where fancy people go to eat fancy food and talk about the fancy things they have done. Many a traveler will stop by the storied hotel to partake, if only for the length of a cup of tea, of its splendor. When we alight this afternoon, however, we will actually be in residence at the Metripole. I can't wait to hand the bellhop my excruciatingly dirty 13 year old backpack that now has something on the order of 12 books in the bottom of it. We will be stealing everything we can get our hands on, like the grubby little backpackers we are.

So a hearty and pampered Thank You to Pat/Mom and Mick/Dad for a wonderful week of travels. Sorry we couldn't provide better weather but at least we saw the historic Vietnamese water puppetry and did our share for the Vietnamese street-hawker economy.

Sapa - The San Francisco of Rural Northern Vientam

2009-03-07T04:29:00.000-08:00

Sapa is the small highland town outside of Hanoi- by 10 hours- that many people go to for the beautiful mountainside terraces and hillside minority villages. After the overnight train, we arrived early in the morning and set up shop in a great 10 dollar room overlooking the valley, they assured us. The fog was abundant in the morning and you couldn't see the next house, but we embarked on a well-deserved nap with the asperations of view. It delivered.

The town is kind of like San Francisco without the city or bay - lots of fog and hills. It is sprinkled liberally with elaborately dressed Hmong women selling hand-stitched crafts from their basket backpacks, who all recite the following script:
-What is your name? (Ahh, beautiful name!)
- Where you from? (Ahh, America!)
- How old you? (So young!)
- How many brother sister you have? (oh.)
- You buy from me? (Later you buy from me? very cheap. good price. you buy from me.)

Therefore, we wandered around town muttering over and over, "Kate...America...26...One...No, thank you." It was kind of hilarious, the predictability.

We went for a two day-one night trek into the hills, which was originally going to be with 5 people but the 3 frenchies decided on a separate French guide, so we headed down the trail with our Hmong guide, Mei, and her posse of 5 selling things ladies. Mei is 26, like us. She got married at 15 and has 2 kids and taught herself English when her father died and they needed money. She never went to school and cannot read, but speaks very good English, some french, fluent Hmong and Vietnamese. She is deathly afraid of the water but hikes mountains in plastic shower shoes. She made us feel very tall.

The first part of our trek included lots of questions about our (fictitious but amazingly handsome) boyfriends and the making of flower crowns by our guides for the amusement of the whities. The fog lifted and the steep terraced rice fields of the Sapa valley became visible as we marveled and the ladies giggled and tended to the babies strapped to their backs. We had lunch in a very popular little Hmong village and hiked on through the afternoon, passing water buffalo and shy children. We stopped for the night in our "homestay" - which was a local restaurant/bar/bunk house. We happened to catch the tide of pre-teens leaving school and spend a hilarious hour chatting with a bunch of 12 year old Hmong girls, who tried on our sunglasses and territorially laid claim to us as we entered the town.

We shared the bunkhouse with 5 French travelers, which made Kate the resident translator and allowed Kyle to use her three phrases of French ("Maitenant! Tout Les Temps! Avec Moi!"). For you Oregonians, we met the French Mad Dog (aka La Chien Foulles - Kyle is bilingual now) and watches as children were alternately scared and amazed by her Mohawk and many piercings. We were given some rice whiskey to try out, which after the 4th or 5th shot really grows on you. The chilly weather of Sapa made for great sleeping, and we awoke to banana crepes and godawful Russian instant coffee - and, appropriately, lots and lots of fog.

Mee's brother was getting married on our second day, so we opted to forego the traditional hike in favor of a visit to her family's house and a glimpse of the wedding. The wedding seemed to be about everyone packed into a small house, singing on a small PA system and eating a big lunch of roasted pig. Her brother and his wife-to-be (both 17) looked incredibly young to us but the people crowding the rafters and doorways of the small house didn't seem phased. Much talking in a language we had no chance of understanding was the main activity; there was also a lot of cooking and tea drinking.

We finished our hike through more rice fields and bamboo forest, returning to Sapa in a jeep that clearly had its origins in some war we all feel it is best to forget. Manual windshield wipers in a seriously rainy climate with hazardous road conditions are an exciting combination. We arrived in town just in time for showers before getting on the minibus to Lao Cai and the overnight train to Hanoi. Luckily for us, the trip back was uneventful, although the dozen or so people sleeping and smoking in the train corridor were new.

We are now camped out in a hotel (not a hostel!), awaiting the arrival of Kyle's parents, who will surely take this trip up a notch in the good eats and sleeps department (as well as conversation and knowledge of goings on in the outside world). This is us killing time. We walked around the lake in the old quarter and watched many people stretch in an 80s fitness trend type manner and play badminton with serious focus. Kate got a haircut and Kyle served as very knoweldgable hair consultant, with positive results.

Strangers on a Train

2009-03-04T05:54:00.000-08:00

Let us preface this blog entry with the following disclaimer: We have many, many pleasant experiences with local people during our travels. Every day, we see smiles, have lively conversations, and are offered transport at extremely low prices. On one memorable occassion, a Malaysian couple pulled over to offer us (clearly confused Americans) directions, and pressed four tangerines into our hands. We are enjoying ourselves and the people we meet - its just that these experiences are not as interesting to write about for our large and varied readership as the less diserable ones. Such as the following:

To get from Hanoi to Sapa, one takes the overnight train, departing around 9pm. Approaching our designated train car, which contained our designated sleeping berths, we noticed a rather stumbley Vietnamese man in a dishelved business suit. A passing glance from a Jehova's Witness would have registered the gentleman's intoxication. Each of us sent up our silent wishes that this man was bound for any other bunk than the additional two in our cabin. Alas, our prayers went unanswered, or possibly deliberately defied, as we found our drunken bunkmate sprawled out on one of our bunks, chatting with two of the train employees. He appeared to be talking on one of their cell phones while his charged beside him.

Lazlo von Bellyslop, as we came to refer to him, was not quick to respond to the presence of two tired but well-meaning strangers in his cabin. It took much motioning to move him from our bunk to the adjacent berth to which he was assigned (regardless of the presence of the railway personnel). He then removed his shoes and dress socks and placed them in the middle of the floor. These cabins, by the way, are roughly half the size of a college single and sleep four, including luggage. We set ourselves up on the right half of the room as Lazlo yammered loudly on his (now apparently recharged) cell phone, dress shirt untucked. It was shocking that despite his total innebriation, he was exhibiting none of the charm, wit, and intoxicating attractiveness that we always exude when in a similar state.

We decided to make the most of our situation and play a quiet game of cards on the lower bed of our bunkbed. Moments into our game, L.V. Bellyslop teetered forward on his bed to poke Kate in the leg, pointing at our tevas stowed neatly below the bunk. He then stuck his index finger into his open mouth, as if to convey a message. "What? I can't understand you," said Kate in a restrained but icy tone. He continued to point at the shoes, huffed, and finally donned his own dress shoes (sans socks), presumably to stumble to the bathroom. Kate was convinced he was requesting a bite of her decade old tevas, while Kyle thought he was indicating that he had previously vomited where their shoes and luggage now resided. Some mysteries remain unsolved.

Returning from the bathroom, Mr. Von Bellyslop (now clad in unbottoned button down, revealing his namesake) smacked our slumbering fourth cabinmate, growled unintelligably, and turned out the lights, plunging the cabin into darkness. Kyle involuntarily blurted, "Umm, no!", because we were in the middle of a rather intense game of Spit and it was 9:15 pm. We turned on our bedside reading light and finished the game, smoldering in our mix of hatred and second-childish disdain for confrontation.

We thought perhaps the "lights out" incident meant quite sleeping time, but L.V.B. returned to his cell phone, interimittently chatting loudly, dropping it, and letting it ring to hear its pop-song ring tone. We employed ear plugs but they could not block out Lazzy V's nocturnal escapades, most specifically his continued retching into the cabin's wicker trashcan.

Kyle, in a display of misguided chivalry that will never be forgotten (but was appropriate given the challenges of Kate's day), had taken the bottom bunk, not three feet from the face and trashcan of L. V. Beezy. All night, despite our best intentions, sleep was kept at bay by the periodic puking, door slamming, throat clearing, and heavy breathing of what we now think of as The Most Revolting Man in Vietnam (And Possibly the Planet). Sometime in the middle of the night, Kyle became convinced that Laz was about to grab her nalgene, which was not only our sole source of water but also provided a necessary visual screen to the sweaty face of the M.R.M.I.V. Dispite the earplugs, she had a sixth sense about these things, and so was not surprised to sit up and see his grubby hand clutching her water bottle. "Stop! No! Mine! No Yours!" or some such words of pigeon english were spoken and she snatched the bottle back, secretely cursing everyone in the cabin including Kate on the top bunk, whole yards away from this evil, evil man.

Mercifully, the conductor rapped on our door to indicate we were at the Lao Cai station, where you depart for the minibus to Sapa. Lazlo V. Bellyslop stood up, belly gleaming in the flourescent hallway light, ricocheted off the upper bunks, flung his meager possessions around, failed to locate his discarded socks, and stalked off the train, hopefully never to be seen from again. Kyle laughed. Kate groaned. Our fourth bunkmate continued to pretend to be deaf, dumb, and without a sense of smell. Perhaps the best tactic in such a situation.

We're in 'Nam - There Are No Rules

2009-03-04T05:30:00.000-08:00

Day one in Vietnam found us in Hanoi trying not to see anything interesting, lest we ruin the experience for when Kyle's parents join us on the 7th. So we spent the morning at the train station, bought some tickets, checked our luggage, and hit the drizzly streets with no particular destination in mind. While having coffee, we witnessed the following:

Small dining establishment with traditional low plastic tables and stools adorning the sidewalk suddenly becomes animated. Patrons are hustled inside, propreitors are grabbing chairs, chopsticks, and condiments with an urgency rarely seen in South East Asia. Equally determined in their pursuit are 6-8 uniformed military police officers (picture the bright green and red accents of the North Vietnamese in every movie you've ever seen - its exactly the same) on motorcycles. The police grab the remaining restaurant furnishings, which consist of two erected sidewalk umbrellas, which they struggle to retract with authority. Within seconds, a pickup truck with two other officials pulls up and the umbrellas are deposited in it, atop a motley pile of stools, tables, and other sidewalk dining implements. The truck speeds off, flanked by half a dozen motos with pairs of cops. The restauranteurs skulk in the doorway of their establishment, looking angry but saying nothing. The sidewalk is now relatively empty.

Moments later, the truck and moto procession speeds by in the opposite direction, having added a glass display case and surely numerous condiments to its pile of booty. Within one stoplight cycle, the tables reappear from the pilaged restaurants and patrons are reseated; tea cups and soup bowls are returned as al fresco dining as usual resumes.

What are the possible explanations? We've come up with the following:
1) Annual police picnic is coming up, and they require supplies for their family-oriented festivities. Later, they will raid the rice market for gear for the sack races.
2) Police cadets are undergoing rush week, which requires rigorous displays of authority and coordination.
3) Speed and agility of shopkeepers is tested regularly by the local police force to keep them fit for entry into some Hanoi-based reality TV slash game show of Japanese derivation.
You be the judge.

Kuala Lumpur - City of Giant Wisma

2009-03-01T00:16:00.000-08:00

We have been in Kuala Lumpur for four exhilarating days, and we still like it. It gets Kyle's rating as Most Livable City in South East Asia. Not only that, but it is chalk full of public transportation options and oddly walkable (if you can ignore the heat). Here's what we've seen, heard, and smelled in our last days in the Malaysian Peninsula!

We landed in a guest house in the Golden Triangle, the shopping-dining-being a trendsetter part of the middle of the city. We were shocked to find so many international restaurants on our block - and then saw the prices and realized we can't afford them. We can still feel cosmopolitan by association. Also, our place has a greened up roof deck from which we can watch the overpriced hustle and bustle while eating cup of soup from the minimart. Everybody wins.

We trekked back from Taman Negara in order to be able to get to the Vietnamese Embassy to pick up our visas, which we managed to do Friday morning. Shockingly, the Vietnamese embassy was filled to capacity with Vietnamese citizens who had overstayed their visas and were being charged a whole bunch of Ringit (or Dong - or Dollars) to get back to their homeland. Really good examples of elaborately acid washed and embroidered jeans kept us entertained while waiting.

Once we had our visas in hand, we hiked over to the Petronas (pronounced PET-row-nahs) Towers to get some free tickets for the Skybridge walk between the two towers. Our tickets were for late afternoon, but we discovered in the lobby of the building that there was an open rehearsal of the Malaysia Symphony Orchestra that afternoon. We raced back home to get appropriate footwear (without which we would not be admitted - tevas aren't appropriate for the symphony?? They are in portland) and then returned to Petronas Symphony Hall. The rehearsal was fascinating - Russian director with the obligatory giant floppy hair, one stand up bass player who was easily seven feet tall and made his bass look like a cello, and a triangle player who was called out for just not giving it her all.

We then headed to the Petronas skybridge tour area, which began with a 10 minute infomercial on the wonderful things the Petronas oil company does for the world. In 3D, no less, complete with spiffy aviator style glasses. Why were we the only two laughing? We were then herded up to the 41st floor Skybridge which connects the two towers and has views of most of the city. The towers themselves are surprisingly beautiful and thoughtfully done, designed as two superimposed squares that make the 8 pointed star representing 8 Muslim values. Kate was prepared to be unimpressed, but left spouting off about the genius of Cesar Pelli. It should be noted, however, that they are no longer the tallest building in the world - having been passed by Taipei 101 - but they are still the tallest PAIR of buildings. Seems kind of semantic, as they are clearly ridiculously tall. We then went to the central market, which was lame but a South African man aggressively asked Kate on a date and Kyle laughed out loud at both of them.

The next day we headed off to the National Museum, which was a challenge to get to (directions actually included scampering across the 4 lane highway and walking down an onramp) but impressive inside. Malaysia had its 50th anniversary in 2007 and really gussied itself up for the occasion, including adding holograms and computer screens to the museum exhibits. We learned a lot and oohed and ahhed. Then we continued our walk to the Old Railway Station, past the National Masque to Merdeka Square, which is a giant field surrounded by colonial buildings. Kate did a cartwheel of freedom in the name of the people of Malaysia. Then we walked home and ate some Lebanese food we couldn't afford.

Our last day in Kuala Lumpur, we took the monorail (monorail...monorail...Monorail! Kate has never heard the Simpson's monorail song before this trip, but now she has. Many times.) to Lake Titiwangsa park. Although strangely not easy to access on foot, the park was really nice and had totally normal park events going on, including a skate boarding competition and what we deduced was a public health fair. A kayaking class was awkwardly flipping their boats in the middle of the lake and hilariously struggling back into them. We laughed. We then walked over to the National Art Gallery, which was free (woohoo!) and excellent. Has anyone ever heard of Teng the Batik artist? Big in the late '60s and a Malaysian hero. There was also a large exhibit of Palestinian/pro-Palestinian/anti-war in Gaza art that was thought provoking. From there we took the light rail to Little India, where we had lunch and did some street market shopping (though don't expect a lot of gifts from Malaysia, unless you want a knock off Rolex or head scarf). Tonight we will be enjoying our roof deck one last time before flying off to Hanoi in the morning. We're looking forward to a return to cheap beer and pedicabs and sticky rice.

Teman Negara - oldest jungle on the planet

2009-02-27T20:13:00.001-08:00

Teman Negara is reported to be the oldest jungle on the planet . . . I'm not sure how they figured that out exactly or even what that means entirely but it's a very cool national park which we had the chance to see only a little corner of.
Upon our arrival into the dry (no, still quite humid and a bit rainy - I'm talking beer-free!) town of Kuala Tehan, we found most accommodations full but eventually set ourselves up in the one Motel. The town is on a river and has very little to it other than a few simple accommodations and a half dozen floating restaurants on the river which have nearly identical menus full of tasty and cheap food.
A quick 15 meter boat ferry to the other side of the river places you on the edge of the national park. Signs remind you to carry your park pass at all times or you could be thrown in JAIL for up to 3 years!! Whoa there Malaysia, take it easy. The park pass costs 1 ringett - about 30 cents. We spent our first morning, hiking through a light cooling rain to the canopy walk. The walk is a loop of suspended wooden planks linking ancient trees high above the jungle floor. Yes, it was legitimate, involved tickets and completely safe. Yes, it was wobbly, made of old ladders and scrap wood and awesomely frightening. That evening we took a slightly less harrowing night walk with a guide to show us some night creatures of the jungle. Mmm - one tiny key chain flashlight between the two of us. Luckily we saw only deer and some sizable spiders.
We also took a day hike to The Bat Cave. Not Bruce Wayne but a stench you wouldn't believe and a whole slew of sleeping bats. Which, I will tell you are mammals. Kyle and I have worked out a fairly successful system where I deal with the frightening mammals (barking dogs, friendly and not so friendly monkeys etc.) and Kyle deals with the bugs (massive roaches and spiders etc.) Our system does fall down at reptiles so the jungles full of large Monitor lizards, we take on together. This system did come back to bite Kyle in the rear (thankfully not literally) when we checked out of our room early on the morning to catch our bus to Kuala Lumpor.
Here is the scene: 7am, rundown motel with an open air hallway. Packs on, we step out of our room. I stop in horror, Kyle collides face first with my pack behind me.

KATE: "Whoa"
KYLE: "It's just a cicada Kate - let's go"
KATE: "No, that one - over there"
KYLE: "Whoa"
KATE: "Yeah, it could be considered a mammal by virtue of size alone but this one's in your department I think"

Blocking our exit, was the largest bug I have ever seen. The body, was the size of my fist with wings the size of . . . absurdly large bug wings. Kyle, forced into heroic action by our animal/bug contract, took a trash can and threw it over the dinosaurian-beast while I fled to safety down the hall.
I am ashamed to say that some unsuspecting custodial technician at Jungle View Motel must have had quite a surprise when they went to put that waste basket back. For that, I am deeply apologetic but it was out of my jurisdiction and we had a bus to catch.

Palau Perhentian = Paradise?

2009-02-21T20:20:00.000-08:00

We spent one uneventful night in Kuala Terengganu before embarking for the Perhentian Islands, off the North East shore of Malaysia. After a 3 hour bus ride, we got on a speed boat for the extra bumpy 20 kilometer ride out to the islands. Approaching the two islands of the Perhentians made us laugh because everything looks like a beach scene movie set - white beach inlets surrounded by thick jungle on one side and ridiculously blue water on the other. We opted for the smaller island, Kecil, getting of the boat in Coral Bay, a perfect beach with a couple of small hotels, cafes, and dive shops down the 200 meter beach. The beach faces west for those perfect island sunsets. What more could you want?

Nothing except cheap beer, which simply does not exist. Nor do bars. The east coast of Malaysia is much more homogeneously Malay Muslim than the more mixed west coast, and drinking as not at the top of their list of activities. Not one of the restaurants has alcohol on the menu, which is shocking. There is, however, a dude with a cooler of crappy but expensive beer cans -- we laughed pretty hard when he called out "Last call!" around 11 pm. All of the white tourists (mostly European) are as perplexed as we are, and its funny to watch people discover the island's teetotalling ways.

Yesterday we went on the long snorkeling trip, stopping at 5 spots around the two islands, in addition to a little place for lunch. Our boat driver/guide was great, hopping in the water with us at every spot to point out different corals and fish. We saw reef sharks, sea turtles, spotted rays, a whole bunch of different corals, and thousands of amazingly colorful fish. The three other girls on our boat were from Norway and actually had the names Helga, Uda, and unprouncable combination of vowel sounds. Whenever they saw something exciting or potentially scary, they would squeal loudly through their snorkels - it was hilarious. They were not fans of the sharks.

Today we played a little frisbee on the beach and walked through the jungle to the Long Beach on the other side of the island to internet and look around. We're trying to avoid the intense tropical sun after yesterday's boat trip and will be hiding in the shade, reading and relaxing. Tomorrow we head to Taman Negara, the jungley national park in the interior of the country.

Chatting about Cherating

2009-02-18T02:12:00.000-08:00

East Coast Malaysian Peninsula is supposedly in monsoon season (or the wet part of the monsoon climate system, thank you Mr. Nagle), but Cherating has refused to comply, brazenly sporting blue skies and hot, hot sun. Cherating is a beachside town made popular by the first Club Med in Asia - which appears to have skipped town along with most of the tourists. There are a slew of beach bungalows and very few restaurants along the pristine stretch of sand we've been calling home for the last 3 days. Our days have been filled with beach strolls, swims in the South China Sea (words I never thought I would be writing), and sarong fort building on our porch to avoid the scorching late-afternoon sun.

We have also been spending a lot of time trying to avoid our friendly and talkative neighbor. His name is Joel (aka Joel the Creeper, Joel the guy with Aspergers, Joel the Conspiracy Theorist), he is about 60, from Massachusetts, and won't stop talking...about how the American navy is causing the 5 year drought in Australia; Ralph Nader is not an environmentalist because he condones native american whaling; while traveling in India, he carried and regularly used an electric stun gun to keep away beggars and generally get himself some much needed space (he went through 9 batteries in 3 months); Thai farmers should be shot to make enough room for the thai elephants to be freed from their slavery in the tourist industry and returned to the wild; every 6th grader should know how a nuclear bomb is put together; and finally, how he was sitting with this American girl in a bar in Bangkok and she was being heckled by this street seller guy (which is common enough) and she had just had enough so she whipped out a bottle of hairspray and a lighter, using them as a make shift flamethrower and LIT THE HECKLER ON FIRE. Most people where then looking at the man on fire, Joel reported, and they were able to skulk away.

We tried to do some horseback riding on the beach in honor of Kate's 26th Birthday (huzzah) but either the horses were sick or the instructors were too hungover - we don't speak Bahasa Malay. Instead, we played frisbee on the beach and immortalized our travels in snackfood diarama on our porch. Tomorrow we head to Kuala Terengannu for a night before a few days in the Perhentian Islands.

Malaysia

2009-02-14T23:40:00.000-08:00

So, we're in Malaysia. We flew here on Friday the 13th, which freaked out fear-of-flying Kate but turned out to be just fine. Landing in Kuala Lumpur, we took the bus into KL Sentral Station and the light rail to our hostel in Chinatown. Oh, the wonders of a modern city with so much public transportation - subway, light rail, monorail, etc. Kind of overwhelming after so many backwater towns. After checking in, we wandered and stumbled and monorailed and sprinted to make it to the Vietnamese embassy before close on Friday, in order to get our visas for Vietnam (which are pricey!). We made it, and rewarded ourselves with a movie at the mall at the foot of the Petronas Towers.

You may not be aware of the melting pot that is Malaysia. It is a mix of Malay people (as in, people who are ethnically from the area), Chinese (who've been here for a couple hundred years), Indian (same story), and a sprinkling of Europeans over the centuries (Dutch, Portugese, British) - plus you have Singapore within spitting distance, with its eclectic mix. Oh, and its mostly muslim. And they speak what is basically Bahasa Indonesian (except its called Bahasa Malay) - in addition to all the other languages floating around. Even with all these different cultures, we still get a lot of stares (although it should be noted that people frequently think we're dutch or finish - and on one memorable occassion, asked Kyle if she was some kind of Asian. Uhhh...caucasian?).

So we left KL on Saturday morning for Melaka, as in the Straights of Melaka and all of the fun European pillaging of the spice trade in the Indies. Melakka is a microcosm of Malaysia's cultural mutt-ness; we are again staying in Chinatown, but also next to a masque and around the corner from a Hindu temple. The center of Melaka is an old dutch fort and several old churches. Weekenders from all over the peninsula seem to come here with their families to stroll along the river or the night market of Jonker street. The city has been working very hard to earn World Heritage status, and is clean and proud of its 500 years of battling colonial history. Its lovely though has little in the way of banging night life (NB: Malaysia, being Muslim, has little booze and that it does have is super expensive. Not scoring points here, Malaysia...). Also, the pedicab drivers are the most enthusiastic we've seen, decorating their two-person side cars with fake flowers and christmas lights and extremely loud pop music. The Chinese settlers here are known as Baba Nonya or Straits Born Chinese and have their own unique food style that combines some of the spicy indian/indonesian flavors with Chinese noodles and tofu. Yum.

Tomorrow we head across the peninsula and into the monsoon wet season for the beaches of Cherating.

An island in a lake on an island in an archepelago

2009-02-14T23:23:00.000-08:00

Oh, Lake Toba. A mere 4 hour hop and skip from (supercrappy) Medan and you get to this giant freshwater lake in northern Sumatra - the largest lake in SE Asia. In the middle of the lake is lovely Samosir Island, which is lush and steep and has traditional Batak culture (which we learned about!). The main town on Samosir (at least as far as we can tell) is Tuktuk, on a little peninsula on the Eastern shore of the island. We arrived via ferry, which drops you at your desired lake front hotel in Tuktuk. Most hotels have swimming sections and black, white, and red Batak carvings around the fronts of the traditional buildings with thatch, saddle shaped roofs.

According to locals, tourism all over Sumatra has been down since the late nineties - and we were persistently questioned about why westerners we're coming there anymore. We maintain that it is simply far, far away from the U.S., but the truth is also that no one thinks of going to Sumatra on vacation. But you should! Its fantastic. There were very few tourists around, and we basically biked around the edge of the island, swam in the perfectly clear fresh water, read our books, and ate tasty food. We guess you can go to a waterfall or some hotsprings or something, but we didn't bother. It was awesome. Also, as a young man we met pointed out, the sleeping is excellent in Tuktuk because "Tuktuk no Wahwah" - meaning that there is no 5am call to prayer to wake you up. They are mostly Christian in fact.

The local people were also having a 4 day long wedding while we were there. There were giant woks full of food, dancing late into the night, flower arrangements, and fancily dressed people coming from both directions via motorbike (there's only one road around the island). The party straddled the main road, so you had no choice but to walk through it and soak up some of the party atmosphere and interesting traditions going on. After a couple of days, we were waiting to get our laundry from a spot near the festivities, watching a strange dance involving baskets balanced on people's heads and lots of hand waving. A young reveller from the village leaned over and asked if this was what funerals were like where we come from. "Oh, you mean weddings?" Kate responded. No, he said, this was a funeral. The woman had been 94 years old, so they were celebrating - with more than 150 family members in attendance. If it were a young person, it would not be so happy, but she was old so they have a four day long party. "So...this is a funeral?" We still could not believe it, but it did explain why we hadn't spotted the bride and groom yet.

Anyway, if you're anywhere close, go to Lake Toba. Its in the top 10. However, do your damnedest to avoid Medan, where we had to spend a night on either end of our Toba trip and generally wanted to kill ourselves. And there is much Wahwah when you stay between the giant masque and the karaoke bar in Medan.

Wild Orangutans!

2009-02-08T02:50:00.000-08:00

We saw orangutans in the wild! Let me explain: We flew from Yogyakarta to Jakarta, then to Medan (in northern Sumatra), from where we took a bus to Bukit Lewang, a small mountain town on the edge of a national park. On the bus, we met a friendly guide named Eddie, who told us about trekking options in Bukit Lewang. Since Eddie was surprisingly unsketchy and unpushy, we decided to go on a two day, one night trek into the jungle, in hopes of seeing some orangutans.

Bukit Lewang had been a thriving tourist town on the edge of a lovely river, surrounded by jungles where wild orangutans and other amazing animals roam. In November, 2003, a huge flood basically wiped out the town, killing a third of its residents and closing many hotels, restuarants, etc. Since then, its been slowly rebuilding, at about a quarter of its original capacity now 5 years later. However, its an exceedingly charming town, with thin suspension bridges spanning the river and connecting the two halves of the town. Small shops line the now-reinforced banks, looking down on the clear water running below. It was the perfect place to land in after a long day of travel and a long week of Javan cities.

We set off early the next morning for the national park, with our two guides and two german girls rounding out the trekking group. After about an hour of trekking, we saw our first orangutan, munching leaves in a tree about 20 feet over our heads. Unlike their monkey cousins, orangutans (who are apes, not monkeys - we're learning so much!) live and travel alone, only getting together to mate. This orangutan was a huge adult male, probably about 25 years old, and as we watched he looked down on us with strangely human eyes. He swung around, crossing to different trees, hanging from one foot, entertaining us for the better part of an hour. We hiked on and came across 7 more orangutans that afternoon, including 2 pairs of mothers and babies. Orangutan moms care for their children for 5 years, until they are ready to venture out on their own, and much of this time the little apes cling on to their mothers as they swing through the trees. It was incredible. We also saw gibons, macacks, and a giant monitor lizard (which was about 4 1/2 feet long and looked totally prehistoric). Eddie teased us by offering us "jungle ice cream" - which turned out to be terrible tasting bark from the quinine tree. I'll take malaria over that disgusting bark any day.

We got into camp in the late afternoon, and after the hot and humid jungle, were rewarded with a swim in the river. The porters had set up camp for us and had tea ready (which really is a nice way to camp!) and we spent the evening listening to the guides tell jokes and do card tricks. The porter/chef made a delicious dinner of chicken and curry (and not so delicious fishy tempe), which we happily ate before retiring to the tent. In the morning, we all awoke to a troop of monkeys drinking in the river, numbering about 15 in total. Kate went down to the river to brush her teeth, thinking the monkeys would run away, but one bared its teeth and growled at her instead, which was hilarious to everyone except Kate. We hung around and had a lazy breakfast before hiking down to the bigger river for a swim. Finally, we loaded onto an innertube raft type thing with all our gear and rafted back to town through the rapids. We spent the rest of the afternoon watching the Sumatrans playing in the river, since it was Saturday and everyone was enjoying the day. Astonishingly, our two days in the jungle in the middle of the rainy season was rain free and full of sunshine!

This morning we got up and took a hot little bus to Medan, where we're spending the night before heading to Lake Toba in the morning. From the balcony of our hostel, you can see the city's beautiful central masque and the mall across the street with its giant MacDonald's golden arches. That and the becak drivers (motorcycle with sidecar used like a taxi - the Sumatran tuktuk) constantly asking if you want a ride pretty much sum up Medan.

Joe-gjah AKA Yogyajakarta

2009-02-03T23:55:00.001-08:00

We left the flooded and soggy Solo by a quick and easy train ride to Yogya (pronounced Joe-gjah). Upon our arrival into this bustling art and culture metropolis we walked around and saw the big sites first. We visited the Kraton, the Sultans palace and walled city compound, which was largely like the Kings palace in Solo but a bit grander - 'same same but different' as they say. Both the sultans and the kings of these provinces are just figureheads; icons of a past era but with no political power. After the Kraton we headed for the nearby Bird Market which is exactly what it sounds like: hundreds of small birds for sale in beautiful bamboo and wooden cages for sale. Indonesians love having birds around their homes, restaurants and guesthouses as decoration and good luck. Exhausted from a morning of wandering, we took a Becek (small pedi-cab, very cheap and everyone uses 'em) back for beers and cards. The rain and heat here are a deadly duo that really zap your energy in the late afternoon but make a perfect excuse for and early and leisurely cocktail hour. I'll remind you that 'cocktail' is somewhat of a misnomer here - liquor is rarely on menus and is VERY expensive i.e. we saw a bottle of Carlo Rossi wine for 40 USD in solo.
For our cultural evening, we went to an traditional Javanese puppet show, the kind behind a screen with a full gamelon orchestra and a single puppeteer who does the voices and characters. We arrived early and had a tour of the puppets with the artist - an enthusiastic guy in sweatpants and a few dreadlocks and a similar number of teeth. The puppets are quite beautiful and amazingly ornate.
We sat down, the only audience members, and waited for the show to begin. The music was warming up, the puppets leaned against the screen and the sound system was being tweaked. Twenty minutes later we realized that the show indeed had begun on time and we were watching it already. A Japanese tour group came in and were actually more entertaining I'm afraid to say. We left after giving it a good 45 minutes. The city of Yogya could do with a reassessment of it's only museum's representation of this traditional Javanese art. I'd like to give a shout-out to my dad right here; Dad, your shadow puppets really trump those shown at the museum in Yogya, Java. Thought you should know that.
After leaving the show, we strolled through the annual carnival going on outside the nearby Kraton. Ah carnivals are oh so universal: fried food, popcorn, awkward teenagers on dates and glowing ferris wheels, there was even cotton candy.

The following day was our journey to Borobodor which is a giant Buddhist stone temple just outside town. We savvy travelers decided to take the public bus as it's so much cheaper. With only one bus change, we figured no problem. And really, it wasn't too much of a problem because the pick-pocket dropped my wallet when he was grabbing it out of Kyle's fanny pack (yes - we purchased a fanny pack, no we have no shame at all). Kyle grabbed the wallet and we deboarded at a strange station in order to catch our second bus. Both of us clearly shaken but thanking our stars he didn't succeed, we got on the next bus where we were likely charged at least 3 times the usual cost of the bus because we are tourists - or maybe just because we are tourists who carry fanny packs. Arriving a Borobodor we just decided to take a deep breath and enjoy the rare rainy-season sunshine we were being blessed with for our temple viewing day. Borobodor was indeed an incredible sight and the grounds were beautifully green and well maintained.

I'd like to take a minute now to discuss being American in Indonesia. Here is a conversation that takes place nearly hourly here:
"Where you from?"
"America"
"Ah OBAMA!!"
"Yeah - Yay Obama!!"
"Obama - he's my friend" (or some other reference to the fact that our president spent a number of years on Java as a kid.)

It's also not uncommon for people to start talking to us to practice English. In fact many teenagers proclaim this when stopping us on the street "I am going to talk to you to practice my English. What is your name? Where are you from? Do you like Yogya?". Most often, it's really endearing and brave so we try to be as encouraging as possible.

Prambaramayanarama

2009-02-03T23:50:00.000-08:00

Not to be confused with the awesome band from the 1980s, our day yesterday was a Pramba-ramayana-rama. Actually, it started with a trip down Malioboro Road to the local market, where we were seeking out some batik creations. Somehow, in the course of our browsing, we became accompanied by a small mustachiod Yogyakartan who proceeded to "assist" us as we searched through literally hundreds of batik stands. This little man took it upon himself to show us through the entire market, hijacking our shopping trip in the process and pointing out everything from spices to sponges. He was also learning new english words like green bean and place mat. Totally unsuccessful on the batik front, although now aware that the moomoo is alive and well, we bid our little friend farewell and headed back to our neighborhood, stopping for a little advice at the tourist office.

We soon learned that the best performances of traditional javanese dance are held at Prambanan, a 9th century Hindu temple about 15 kilometers outside of town. Since we were going to check it out anyway, we hopped on the bus (which had a station and punch cards and was very unlike the bus to Borobodor - we were impressed) and went for the temple-ballet twofer. We managed to convince the ticket lady that at least one of us was a student, and got that person into the temple for half price (take that, UNESCO!). As you may recall, Yogyakarta had a pretty serious earthquake in 2006, which toppled some of the temples of Prambanan. The temple overseers seem oddly proud of this, and there are extensive signs explaining what happened and the subsequent response by archiologists and preservationists. They did a fairly great job of repairing the ruins, although you aren't allowed inside or next to all of them. Still, points to Prambanan for both recovery and cool temples -- we're getting a little hard to impress after the zillions of wats we've visited, but we oohed, ahhed, and snapped pictures at this one.

We then walked through the rain to the theater, where the Ramayana is performed twice a week for enthusiastic crowds. In the dry season, they perform it outside with Prambanan in the background, but these days its next door at an indoor theater. After the rather disappointing "puppetry" of the previous night, we were cautiously optimistic about the ballet, which turned out to be spectacular. The monkey army and evil gods were certainly the highlight, and though we missed the extreme eye movement of the Balinese style, we couldn't help but admire the poppin'-n-lockin' of the dance fighting scenes. Good conquered evil, and it was kind of like "Java Romeo and Juliet, but with happy end," as everyone keeps telling us. Except that it is totally not like Romeo and Juliet at all, but more like a complicated ancient Hindu epic.

Today, we thought about renting bikes and hitting the back alleys of Yogya, but found there to be no bikes available, and so tramped around the back alleys and down to another neighborhood, where we got the greatest cup of coffee possible. A long becak (pedicab) ride home showed us some more of the main streets of Yogya, and we rounded out the day selling books and buying postcards (and a new deck of cards!) in our neighborhood. Tomorrow we head via plane to Medan, in northern Sumatra, for some rural excursions.

By the way, Kate and I have played so many hands of cards that we finally had to invent our own game. It kicks ass and mystifies waiters, who peer questioningly over our shoulders and shake their heads in wonder. Its alternatively called "Take Five" and "Kate Can't Speak Spanish." Be excited.

Solo Bike Trip

2009-02-01T03:22:00.000-08:00

Our bike adventure in the outskirts of Solo was incredible. It started with our fantastic guide, Ajip, taking us through the somewhat flooded streets of the city. After torrential rain the night before, there was about 2 feet of water on some streets, which we biked through along with the rest of the Saturday morning traffic. People were rather non-shalant about the American-emergency-level flooding, although a somewhat toothless gentleman did take it upon himself to wade waist deep and haphazardly direct traffic. Although they usually cross the river on a bamboo raft with the bikes, we had to take the bridge out of town because the river was dangerously high. We first stopped at a tofu making house, where soybeans were heated and pressed and heated and made into tofu in old window frames.

Next we went to the gamelan making house, which was absolutely amazing. A team of 8 guys takes a sheet of bronze about the size of your arms spread all the way apart (in the "the fish was this big" way) and turn it into a musical instrument by doing the following: the plate is set on a pile of burning coals (which is kept burning with a leaf blower in an adjacent hole feeding it fresh oxygen) and heated to glowing red, with one guy handling the super hot plate. Another guy then grabs the giant smoldering plate and hauls it over to a makeshift platform of fresh mud, where 4 guys with 20+ pound metal hammers are waiting to pound the edges out in a terrifying 1-2-3-4 swinging movement. Yet another guy continually turns the plate while the hammering guys hammer away for about a minute, until the plate cools too much and it is yet again thrown into the pile of charcoal. Process repeats until the bronze plate has become the right shape for the gamelan - it takes about a day for each gong to be completed. All of these guys are barefoot and most also have a cigarette dangling from their mouths the whole time. This unbelievable process happens in a very hot, very sooty room with a charcoal floor.

The gamelan is then given to another guy who is the tuner - he hammers out the inside of the instrument until it reaches the perfect pitch, which he recognizes by ear, even though his job is incredibly loud and must damage his hearing. Yet another guy then polishes the top of the gong until its beautiful and shiny and ready to sell. A full gamelan orchestra requires 98 gamelans, each of which is made in this traditional way. Craziness. All of the guys that worked at this production house were from the same family, a family that had been making gamelans this way for generations.

We then biked along through the rice fields to a place where they make arak (cane liquor), tempe, and rice crackers. Along the way, innumerable children chased us and shouted "Hello!", giggling with each other when we said hello back. We stopped for lunch at a little roadside restaurant where Ajip explained some of the more intricate Javanese dishes and Kate had the best strawberry juice in the world. We finished our trip at a batik workshop and saw all of the traditional ways to make batik (bark for dye, hand painted wax) and the ridiculously intricate patterns they create. Fantastically educational day in Solo!

Later that night, we went to the recommended "dance performance" at a nearby theater. The javanese, like the balinese, are all about their traditional arts, especially dance and shadow puppets. It being Saturday night, the place was packed with local teens talking and texting on their cell phones. The performance was largely unintelligible and once of the strangest demonstrations of dance imaginable - overweight men in weird masks pointing and stomping their feet to intermittent musical accompaniment. Cultural, certainly, and still worth the 30 cents apiece, but we hope the Yogyakarta performances with me a little more...magestic. We left the next morning for the hour train ride to Yogyakarta.

The Duo in Solo

2009-01-30T00:13:00.000-08:00

After the volcano (and realizing that it was an hour earlier than we thought - tricky Java!) we got on a minibus to return to sea level and perhaps a room larger than a roomy park bench. Once again, we found ourselves in the fun-to-say town of Probbolinggo, en route to somewhere. We hopped a bus to Surabaya, which we quickly realized was not the metropolis for us, and after zooming across town in a cab, hopped a train to Solo (which we managed to make thanks to Kate's still-unadjusted watch). By 8pm, we were safely ensonced in our new hostel, and again eating our first meal since before 8 am. You'd think we would have learned after 3 months on the road to pack some snacks...

Let's talk Java: Java is the main island in the Indonesian archipelago, home to more than half of Indonesia's population (which is a whopping 225 million people - 4th most populace nation after China, India, and the U.S.). A whole bunch of these people live in Jakarta (where we're not going), but immediately upon arrival anywhere on the island you can feel the density around you. Surabaya, for example, has 3 million people in it, and who has ever heard of Surabaya? So these are some big cities we're talking about. Oh, and most people are Muslim, although there's also a lot of Javanese culture that is more hinduism/buddhism/animist in nature. They meditate and make offerings like the Balinese, but wear head scarves and go to the masque. As if to emphasize the point, the call to prayer can currently be heard over the rain outside.

Solo is in central Java, about an hour or two from Yogyakarta. It is a strange urban mix of traffic and no restuarants, batik markets and eager pedicabs. We tried to go to the kraton (sultan's palace) today, but its closed on Fridays (!) so we settled for the King's palace, where the royal family is still in residence. A friendly guide told us about all sorts of royal objects (including male and female gold chastity belts which look painful - please note the male belt, which had spikes, was broken) and insisted we take many, many pictures. Tomorrow we are headed out on a bicycle tour of the surrounding villages, seeing Batik makers and tofu makers and arak (liquor) makers and gamelan makers and roof tile makers and Javan countryside.

Bro -mo, Ja-va

2009-01-29T23:48:00.000-08:00

We bid farewell to the island of Bali after a harrowing 2 hour minibus ride in the oldest public VW bus imaginable - the driver had to keep his foot on the break while pumping gas, yet another feat of Balinese bendyness. A 45 minute ferry ride (which included air conditioning and loud Indonesian pop music videos) took us to the island of Java. We negotiated hard with the persistent minibus driver (or actually, minibus pimp, since he turned out not to be the driver but simply the face of the driving operation) to take us to Mt. Bromo, an active volcano in Eastern Java. After much haggling, we agreed and set off down the road to Bromo. 4 hours later, we were unceremoniously dropped in Probbolinggo (actual spelling!), still an hour and half down the road from the mountain. We shortly boarded another minibus for Cemora Lawang, the town on the slope of the volcano. After an hour of engine idling on the side of the road, we set off for the mountain, winding along hairpin turns through ridiculously steep farmland that looked more like Peru than Southeast Asia. We made it by sunset and got into a cozy lodge to enjoy our first meal since before 8am - oh, delicious Bintang Beer!

Most people get up before dawn and ride in a jeep or hike a long way to see the sunrise view of the volcano. However, this is the rainy season, and the mountain was totally socked in by fog, so we slept in and got up at a more human 6am for our fog walk up to the crater of the smoking volcano. We felt smug as we traipsed across the lava field, watching tired and disgruntled early risers return to the hotel in the fog. In some ways the fog added to the mythical feeling of climbing an active volcano, or so we told ourselves as we stared into whiteness from the top of the ridiculous stairway. On our way back, the fog cleared and we had some decent views of the volcano and its neighboring mountains. Gunung Bromo (as its called in Bahasa Indonesian) was surprisingly worth the trip, if only for the chance to shiver in the rain instead of sweat in the heat of lowland Java.

Lovin' Lovina

2009-01-26T23:59:00.001-08:00

I don't know if we've made this clear yet, but you should all get your asses to Bali. Its beautiful and touristy and cliched, and then manages to magnanimously rise above the cliches and enchant you anyway. The people are all friendly and smiling and artsy and lovely - they ARE. In the midst of the Muslim nation of Indonesia (with its 15,000 islands and crazy mix of cultures), Bali is this Hindu holdout with temples to Shiva and Brahma and Vishnu, and endless reenactments of traditional Hindu stories like the Ramayana. Each Balinese person gets up in the morning and puts out an offering to the 3-gods-that-are-one-god, leaving little bamboo leaf baskets of flowers and crackers and incense and the occasional cup of coffee on every curb and doorway. Its incredibly hot and humid, making it nearly impossible to do anything in the middle of the day except lie on your bed or, if you're lucky, in a swimming pool. The island is lush and floral and smells good and has volcanoes and monkeys and beautiful beaches and is basically everyone's picture postcard idea of paradise. But not in an annoying way! Oh, just see for yourselves..Its astounding.

So, Ubud is the inland tourist mecca for Balinese culture, which we lazily lapped up. Molly learned to play the gamelan and Kate carved a cool wooden mask and I learned to make a bunch of Balinese food (including these coconut/palm sugar crepe things that are unbelievable) and then we went to a dance show at the community center, in which Molly's music teacher lead the band. The dancers move like no Western person could ever hope to move - their hands bend in crazy ways and their eyes dart back and forth, accenting their movements. The next day we got ourselves up for early morning yoga at the Yoga Barn - a place designed for all of the thousands of expats running around Ubud. Even at 8 am, the place was hot and crowded with people, but it was still relaxing and counts as exercise in the tropical heat. Next we headed to the Arma art museum and looked at some Balinese paintings, the most recent of which include tourists with their cameras in the Where's Waldo style depictions. By this time, it was too hot to do anything but go to the pool and sit on our patio and play cards while sipping giant Bintang beers.

For Molly's last night, we headed out to a 3 course dinner of Cheese Plate and Wine at the DeliCat, traditional Indonesian fare at Gaia, and minimart ice cream bar. We retired early because we were all traveling the next day and wanted to get up to see the market in the morning. The Ubud market has the typical tourist stands that sell scarves and sarongs and Balinese carvings, but it also has a large food section that I discovered during my cooking class. All of the locals come here, starting at 4am, to do their grocery shopping and pick up the supplies for their offerings and haggle over mangosteens and rice and turmeric root. Getting there before breakfast (and before the heat of the day and the crush of the tour buses) means actually seeing some Ubudians going about their daily business - not to mention getting some delicious breakfast treats.

Then Molly departed (so sad!) for the airport, laden down with a whole lot of our stuff, and we departed for Lovina, a beach town on the north shore of Bali. After a 3 hour ride over the mountains and through the beautiful rice fields and terraced hillsides, we arrived at the Angsoka Hotel in Lovina ready to hit the pool and stroll along the dark sandy beach. Lovina is sleepy and quiet and surprisingly clean, the beach full of small fishing and tour boats. We watched a bunch of guys play volleyball on the town court and wondered at the fact that the town is full of older Europeans. This morning, we got up early and went out to the Lovina reef to do some snorkeling before noon. We traveled about 10 minutes in a hollowed out tree boat with bamboo outriggers tied on for stabilization. These colorful fishing boats line the beaches here. A lovely snorkel in the rolling waves followed by lunch near the beach. The rest of the afternoon will be spent indoors under fans and at computers until it's cool enough to go back out and take a long pre-dinner walk.
Tomorrow we leave charming and beautiful Bali for Java!!

Mastered surfing - now on to art!

2009-01-22T22:48:00.000-08:00

Since all three of us are now so good at surfing that our Balinese instructors could teach us no more about this sport, we left the beaches for higher ground. From the south coast we drove north to Ubud, a small mountain town packed with artisans and tourist. Luckily, there are a pleasant few western chain stores or tourist buses but the main focus of this town is artisans selling to tourists. There are loads of boutique shops brimming with batik fabrics, woven purses, and carvings as well as many galleries and artists studios. We are staying in a guesthouse buried down a tiny alley which opens onto a series of terraces and little houses over a small river. There is tea left on the deck in the morning and a swimming pool beyond the rice paddies in the back.
We spent the morning in the Monkey Forest which is a very well cared for, jungle park in the middle of the town which is packed with Monkeys. The path is full of great Balinese sculptures (frequently these ogre looking sculptures are anatomically correct with some boastful artistic license – very Balinese it seems.)
The afternoons are very hot as there is no ocean breeze to cool you in Ubud. We’ve each signed up for classes (Kyle; Balinese cooking, Molly; Gamelan playing (like a wooden xylophone) and me; traditional wooden mask carving. Tonight we’re scheduled for homemade cocktails on our balcony and a long walk to a bar that boasts of a trivia night. Guess it’s not the most Balinese thing to do but it’s a flavor of home that we couldn’t resist. Tomorrow night we are going to a traditional dance performance - something culturally relevant I suppose.

Yes, my Balanese surf instructor's name is Steamy

2009-01-17T02:47:00.000-08:00

We're in Indonesia!!! Kyle is falling behind on our Siem Reap post so I will just go ahead with BALI!!!

Our big splurge of the trip is a week at a surf camp in Bali. We flew from Siem Reap to Kuala Lumpur and on to Dempasar, Bali. It's so amazingly beautiful here with little shrines/temples of banana leaves and colorful tropical flowers everywhere. Bali is full of really friendly and smiley people all of whom drive like maniacs. The surf camp is called Padang Padang surf camp is a wonderful three building compound with lots of hammocks, a pool, an open air dining area and an 8 month old baby named Zoe who is the worlds happiest, most laid back baby.
There are a pair of Australian boys who like to get silly drunk and go to the cheesy club every night but are nice guys. There is another pair of Americans, both beginner surfers like us, who both work in finance . . . but are pretty nice. The instructors are very surfer-type Indonesian/Balinese guys who like to poke fun at everyone. One of theme is named Steamy, no joke.
For Molly's birthday, we went out of a night of dancing in Kuta, the big tourist town. That's exactly what Kuta turned out to be; a very big, VERY touristy town. It sort of reminds me of Honolulu with lots of overpriced Name Brand tropical clothing stores mixed with a few designer stores and a sprinkling of bad American chain restaurants. We went to some cheesy and perfect for birthday celebrating, club named Bounty (at the suggestion of our Aussie surf-mates) and danced. The club included fish bowl sized terrible tropical drinks and Karaoke with a live band. This sounds sort of awful but it was great because the keyboard guy would just take over singing when the song really started to flop.
So our days are spent "surfing", which involves painful amounts of paddling, sunscreen and zinc fit for whiteys like us, a lot of comical falling, plenty of waiting around for the tide to be right a cruising around the island in a van (at 1 million km/hour) listening to proto-typical surfer music. Our evenings are spent mostly in the pool cooling our sunburns before applying liberal amounts of ointment and aloe and to bed early before starting it all over again in the morning. It's great!!

Smokin' Pot and the Circus

2009-01-10T01:24:00.000-08:00

Let's clear this up first: The Smokin'Pot is a restaurant/cooking school in Battambang where the three of us took a half day cooking course.

The morning began with a trip to the market to buy the ingredients. The class was 8 people with one instructor who walked us through the market showing us herbs, produce and meats/fish we'd never seen before. It was really nice to learn about some of the things we'd been seeing all over Cambodia. We watched our fish be de-headed, tailed, scaled and, while still wiggling, put in a plastic bag for transport to our woks.
Back to the cooking school for Khmer curry made with coconut milk that we squeezed ourselves and curry past we mashed ourselves in stone mortars. After that was a spicy salad, similar to a coleslaw with lots of chillies. After that was the spicy beef with basil. I boldly added the authentic (more like masochistic) 10 chillies. Let's just say that my mouth and lips hurt for several hours but it was still a delicious meal and a very fun way to spend a morning.

In the evening, we decided to go to a performance we'd seen several fliers for. It was some kind of fine arts school circus show and art exhibit. The kids (13-20 years old) were fantastic and completely charming with a mix of acrobatics, juggling, contortionists, unicycling and a grand finale of tumbling through hoops of fire! The whole show was accompanied by the music students on a combination of traditional and non-traditional Khmer instruments. The art exhibit was equally fantastic with many watercolors and pen and ink drawings for sale, one of which I bought for myself.

Glambodia

2009-01-10T01:03:00.000-08:00

Upon our arrival in Battambang, we decided to follow the suggestion in our guidebook of having authentic Khmer staged photographs taken.
We all assumed it was likely to be something like mall photographs with silly hats and a cheesy backgrounds. We found the camera store that provides this service and settled in to watch the few other young girls in front of us have their photographs taken. While watching the girls in front of us transform into bedazzled Asian goddesses, we realized we were in for so much more. We three were ugly western ducklings about to emerge as lovely Asian swans.
After waiting almost an hour for the girls before us to finish their photos, we were up. Each of us received a full face of stage make-up complete with eyebrow shaving, some kind of eyelid sticker that makes your eyes wider, approximately 7 layers of pancake make-up (which only loosely resembled any of our skin tones) and fantastic false eyelashes. Then on to hair; each of us had our own fake hair piece, teasing and hairspray dousing session and emerged with the most gravity defying hairstyles ever. Then, it was time for outfits. We each picked our own hue of two piece traditional dress with various accessories chosen by our dressers (I got the bronze chicken perched on my shoulder - what does that say about me exactly?).

The three of us dazzling ladies had 8 glamorous (and authentically posed) portraits taken. The result is unbelievably stunning if I do say so myself!
It only took two days to removed the make-up!

Battambang Modes of Transportation

2009-01-10T00:23:00.000-08:00

As there is so much to see and do in Battambang, we decided to stay for 4 days. Because we are 3 adventurous and daring ladies, we eschewed the traditional tuktuk tour of surrounding sights, opting instead for a self-led motorbike tour of the countryside. We rented 2 bikes (all in brand sparkling new condition) and headed off, with the adorable moto rental man asking us please to not make any scratches. Oh, never sir. Not on your life.

We headed 13 kilometers up the road to Wat Ek Phnom, a ruined temple built in the 11th century that still shows some incredible stone carving (and boasts a halfbuilt giant buddha next door). We were shown around the temple by a very small 15 year old boy who pointed at things and hurried us along. We accidentally interrupted some Khmer youth making out in a hidden room. All very delightful. We then drove around the countryside for a little while, Molly taking the helm of her moto for the first time. Everything was peachy and we headed back to town to go South, in search of Cambodia's only winery.

Almost to the south end of town, something happened and there was a minor motoing accident. I was driving and Kate and I tipped over and then in shock and horror Molly tipped over in response. Many friendly Khmers rushed to help us and told us to get cleaned up, as we had a couple of minor scrapes. Yikes, these things are a little dangerous I guess, and thank goodness we had opted for the cool looking helmets. A little unnerved, we went back to our hotel to use our fancy little first aid kit and assess the minor damage. Everyone is fine, though we might look a little iffy for surf camp. Or we might look really hardcore. You be the judge.

The winery was now out, and the motos were a little scratched up (sorry motoman) so we returned them and smiled and bought a bunch of beers and watched the locals do aerobics on the riverside and went to dinner and atoned for breaking the motos and swore off finding our own mode of transportation.

The next day we opted for strolling around the east side of town (where we ran into the Maddox Jolie-Pitt Foundation - an unassuming building with a strong gate and no famous Brangelina offspring in sight) and getting a tuktuk to the much discussed Bamboo Train. The Bamboo Train is a square platform of bamboo with a small motor that is on the main traintracks running between Battambang and Phnom Penh. These things are genious because they are so quickly and easily dismantled when there is a train (or other bamboo platform) coming from the opposite direction: the platform is removed into the grass beside the tracks, the two axels are taken off, and people proceed in their direction. Whoever has the heavier train car has the right of way. So we hop aboard the train and zip out into the countryside for about 20 minutes, stopping once to dismantle and remantle. The open air ride was fantastic and we saw rice paddies and cows and jungle on all sides as we clicked along.

Our midpoint was a small village with a few people hanging around the tracks, singing and dancing and clapping, headed up by a spirited gentleman in an army jacket. Molly and Kate joined in and a hilarious five minutes of cart shuffling was spent wiggling on the train tracks and laughing with this funny man who was thoroughly entertained and entertaining. Then we hopped back on the train and went back to where we started, with the singing man and a large group of people and things on the car behind us. Hilarious!

Later we trapsed through the market and bought some scarves and stainless steel stacking lunch pales that are the coolest thing ever. Then we hit the sunset aerobics and dinner on the East Side before retiring early in preparation for the 8 hour boat trip to Siem Reap in the morning.

A few days in Phenom Penh

2009-01-08T00:39:00.000-08:00

A new addition to our traveling duo arrived right from the west coast of the motherland - Molly Lehrkind is here in Cambodia!
We picked up Molly at the airport, complete with our own welcome song/rap to sing to her on the tuk-tuk to our hotel.
We spent the afternoon at the Royal palace with every other tourist in the city of Phenom Penh. Nice looking place with pretty gardens but I personally felt it a little over-rated. We walked all around town, showing Molly the city as best we could. Then dinner, I would say our nicest and tastiest dinner in Asia. The restaurant is called Friends and is run by an NGO (as many restaurants in PP are which is a great way to give). The restaurant is staffed (kitchen and wait-staff) by homeless kids who are helped with schooling and skills training, drug rehab and/or family reunification. It was an EXCELLENT meal and the staff was superb.

For the next two days, we explored the main sites of Phenom Penh which include the S-21 prison where Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge housed and tortured prisoners before sending them to the Killing Fields for extermination. We visited both the prison and the Killing Fields (a former fruit orchard about 15 km outside of the city). Needless to say this was a difficult history to learn about and walk through. The Khmer Rouge, much like the Nazis of WWII, documented their brutality and killings quite thoroughly. The prison, a converted High school, still stands almost exactly as it was and is filled with photographs of the victims. We also watched a short film documentary and read many accounts. The most astounding parts of this very dark part of Cambodian history is how recent it was and how little legal justice has taken place. The Khmer Rouge was pushed out of Cambodia 30 years ago yesterday (Jan. 7 is national Victory Over Genocide Day here) but the leaders have never been officially tried. In 1979, the year that my older brother was born, 2 million people were murdered in this country by fellow Khmer, mostly out of fear of being killed themselves by the Khmer Rouge.

History lesson over.

The three of us also took part in another Hashing run. We met up with a number of expats and travelers and ran about 5 km through some rice paddies and ended at a wat somewhere way out in the countryside. We ended that evening with dinner for about 15 with plenty of Angkor Beer to go around. Good conversations and good food.

We left Phenom Penh for a day of small town relief from the big city. Staying in Kampong Chhnang for the night was sufficiently and pleasantly small town; everything closed at 8pm. We rode bikes to the riverfront to catch a little gondola-esque boat for a tour of the floating village. A cluster of maybe 100 or so floating boats and houses and everything in between were lashed together and floating on clusters of bamboo rods. Quite a sight.
Off to Battambang - second largest town in Cambodia.

Phenom Penh and NYE

2009-01-02T04:57:00.000-08:00

\Please excuse my typing as for some reason the shift adds somethingevery time |I try to capitalize something and the space bar onlyworksabout 50% ofthetime. \
\oh - guess the return keydoes it too.\
\Phenom \Penh is a very large capitol city which includes all the good things and bad things froma foreign city. |Good food options and fantastic markets full of treasures. |The tuktuk drivers are ruthless and seemingly around every corner and making it to the other side of the street on foot is a minor daily victory.\
\PP has had a troubled history and is still very much on the road to recovery with a good deal of poverty very visible.
We are staying in the 'backpacker ghetto' which tends to have affordable living, inexpensive booze and food with lots of colorful people. |Let's just say that many of the ladies who spend their evenings at the bar/restaurant/dock of our guesthouse are "there on business".
So \Kyle and \I began our 2009 in this bustling capitol city a few days ago. Unfortunately, there was a monsoon style rain storm that slowed down the festivities a bit. We braved the storm, and tuk-tuked it to a few of the nicer bars by the riverfront. \|I might venture to say that the greatest part of our evening was the actual countdown. \People in this tiny bar started counting and we looked at each other and realized that we couldn't understand what they were saying|! We didn't even know when to actually shout our "happy new years" until the foreign-tongue counting dissolved into cheers!

Kratie, Cambodia

2009-01-02T04:49:00.000-08:00

Our first experience of Cambodia (apart from the border 'n' travel package) was in Kratie - pronounced Kratchay - a sleepy little town on the Mekong, northeast of Phnom Penh. We spent two days wandering the street, poking through the market, watching Al Jazera, and observing sunsets over the river. Kratie is mostly known for the potential to see the Irrawady Dolphin, a rare and disappearing species of freshwater dolphin found only in the Mekong (supposedly anyway). After deliberating over the whopping 12 dollar pricetag of the expedition, we headed up there on moto. In addition to the ubiquitous tuktuk, Cambodia is perhaps unique in its public transport motorcylces, where you (and possibly one other person, or a ton of foodstuffs, or a live chicken) hop on the back of some guy's motorcycle and are taken to your destination. On Dolphin Day, Kate's driver had a helmet and drove at reasonable speeds, and my driver had no helmet and passed every imaginable vehicle extremely closely while honking (including, memorably, a wagon full of hay pulled by a pair of cattle on a narrow dirt road). Once at the dolphin dock, we boarded a boat and headed into the water for an hour of see if you can spot the dolphins. And we did! Many dolphins happily swam and dove around the sand bars and small shrubs of the Mekong, while we tailed them and tried to take a picture. On the ride back to town, we stopped at a small wat on top of a hill from which you can see the whole valley (after climbing innumerable steps). It was lovely.

As an introduction to Cambodia, Kratie taught us a lot. People are generally smilier and friendlier than in Laos (believe it or not, travelers). The U.S. dollar is the main unit of currency, with Reil making up for small change (4000 Reil to the dollar means a 1000 reil note is 25 cents - no coins for Cambodia). Most suprisingly, many women wear pajamas all the time (or maybe just in public), and not like people said Maoists wore pajamas. More like people in the Sears catalog sleep section where pajamas - button down, one front pocket, patterned with cartoon characters or flowers or weird designs. Straight up pajamas, folks.

Next day, we got the last two seats on the bus for Phnom Penh, where the woman in front of me visibly stared at me for about half of the 6 hour trip. The bus played what was apparently an uproariously hilarious variety show and people howled with laughter. There as also a super blinged out baby to entertain us.

Si Pan Don

2008-12-28T20:23:00.000-08:00

In honor of our last week in Laos and the Christmas holiday, we took what we are considering to be a little vacation to the very southern tip of Laos. Si Pan Don literally translates to Si Pan Don (all three words we have learned and you should have seen Kyle's face light up when she put that together; 'Four' 'Thousand' 'Islands'!!) is basically a delta where the Mekong creates several tiny islands . . . perhaps 4,000 of them?
We rented a little bungalow on the sunset side of the island with two hammocks and thatched walls/roof.
This vacation was really meant to be time to slow down before hitting Cambodia full speed and we took the concept of Slow very seriously. Our major activities were waking early to the roosters, reading aloud from a borrowed copy of The Fellowship of the Ring (550 pages completed in 4 days) and taking walks and/or bikes around the island. This island is sort of a hippy spot full of tiny restaurants/guest houses and then just some farms. All the electricity is on generators and the food/drinks are kept in coolers on ice that is hand delivered on a little boat once a day. Water buffalo is king (as is their excrement) and hammock-perching alternated with cruiser bike riding are the major activities in town.

To celebrate Christmas, I surprise Kyle with a Christmas tree of a branch of bamboo decorated with cold pills (all red and green still wrapped in their hermetically sealed silver bubbles), all my jewelry, some dyed silk thread from my weaving class a few weeks ago and a few other odds and ends. Kyle had secretly picked up some presents at a western store in Vientien - granola bars and good chocolate!! - and I had stashed a single packet, peel-off face mask in my bag before we left home (just in case). For Christmas eve dinner we went to a pig roast (very fresh pig, in fact it may have been the one I waved at so often on my way into town) with a large group of travelers. I had a long conversation with a very patriotic young Polish couple who informed me that both Chopin and (albeit arguably) Copernicus were both originally Polish. Though this polish couple lived in Australia for two years, they still say that Poland has some really great beaches(?). Guess we all have a soft spot for our homeland - especially when we're so far away!!

The week was wonderful and relaxing but we were ready to get moving again by then end. Our last day was somewhat marred by my infliction by some horrible sickness that kept me in bed for about 36 hours with fever and plenty of dashes to the rather unpleasant bathroom. I should like to thank the ubiquitous Lao National toilet paper brand called, I kid you not, Sweet Sentiments . . . and it's pink.

Hello, Cambodia!

2008-12-28T19:42:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we left the sleepy little island of Don Det to head to Cambodia - which included the always interesting proposition of land border visa purchasing. At 8am, we dutifully carted our bags to the boat landing beach (which was being occupied by an array of other travelers and a complacent water buffalo) to catch a boat for the mainland. Among the many other travelers was a woman I will only refer to as Crazy. Crazy was a fifty footer in terms of insanity, which means that from fifty feet you could tell you didn't want to share a restaurant with her, much less a crammed longtail boat and then minivan. Crazy had shockingly dyed blond, stringy hair and appeared to be about 50 years old, dressed in cutoff jean shorts (with purple underwear visibly sticking out), a halloween Angkor Wat shirt, and plaid hightop converse, which upon closer inspection included embroidered tazmanian devil cartoons. Kate thinks her black eye liner was tattooed on, which may be the explanation for its prevalence at 8 in the morning. The most salient characteristic of Crazy's crazy (apart from appearance of course) was her 4 large and falling apart rolling suitcases. Who brings one rolling suitcase, let alone 4, to the dirt roads and sand of Don Det?

Now, I don't mean to sound judgemental. Perhaps she is a very nice lady with clothes for starving street children in her bags - appearances can be deceiving. We'll see...

So we load into the boats and head across the water with about 30 other people. On the other side of the Mekong, we depart the boats and wait for the minibuses to the border. As you can imagine, Crazy has a tough time negotiating the trash-strewn beach with her rolling bags, and has to make multiple trips. At one point, she approaches me, grabs my arm, and says hysterically, "I've lost one of my cases!" Oh, jesus, now I'm that girl who crazy has decided to talk to. I mumble something like "Umm...did you check the beach?" and duck away to buy some oranges. All 30 travelers are torn between staring at Crazy and actively avoiding her gaze. Finally we pile into three very tightly packed minivans and head to the border.

We disembark at the border to pay the obligatory leaving fee and have our visas stamped "Used" and then walk about 10 minutes down a dirt road, where we learn we have to go back to the vans and drive to a different border crossing. Confusing, but ok, its Laos, and border crossings are always a laughable combination of incompetence and bureaucracy. Now we all have to pile back into the vans - except there are a different number of vans and more people now and everyone's saying different things. Luggage is moving to and fro and people are generally anxious. Crazy is yelling at the guy standing on top of the van that her suitcases must be put vertically on the roof, saying, "Not that way! Why would you do it that way? Are you listening to me? What don't you understand?" Well, he doesn't speak English, ma'am, particularly your shrill Texas twang (of course this woman is American - an ambassador of hillbilly hospitality). Then there's the group of Russians stomping about, the leader of whom (clad in a man tank and ridiculous sunhat) is also yelling at the driver in heavily accented English, "Quickly, Quickly! We go now! I have plane to catch!" To which the Lao man on top of the van wisely replied, "You hire minibus, you cannot go quickly!" The Italians are calmly smoking in the corner. A Finish girl changed her pants. This could be a long day.

Finally we all get to the land border, where there is one man issuing visas to the 30 or so of us, at a table in a little house. No line forms, but just a teaming mob handing over passports and money. The Cambodian visa master (who had a chunk of hair not less than 5 inches long growing out of a mole on his face) dutifully filled in by hand the visas, using his massively long thumbnail to peel back the sticky backing and stamping each one with 5 different little stamps. The finish people got the wrong change - he took their passports back, banged them on the table, got all mad, and ended up profiting ten bucks with his botched math. The Russians are freaking out and twice commandeer Kate's pen ("Give me pen now!") and everything is hot and ridiculous. One of the Russians has an exchange with Crazy that clearly makes the Russian girl uncomfortable and everyone feels bad. Eventually, Kate and I get our visas and move to the shack where you actually get your entry stamp. We are three people behind crazy, and we are the only other Americans.

Crazy steps up to the counter and insists she needs a working visa. We're all standing around on the platform, and see what's coming. The guy in the booth says, "Ok, one month visa." She insists on a working visa (which, as many people may now, you do not get at the shack on the land border between Laos and Cambodia, where there isn't even electricity) and the guys tell her to get it in Phnom Penh. One of the Finish girls tries to help to explain to her that you can't get it here. She insists she needs a working visa. No, they say. No, we all say, you have to get it in Phnom Pehn. She needs the border guys names and badge numbers and identifying information, she insists, so that she can tell the people in the capital that they wouldn't give her a visa. The man in the booth freaks out. "Closed! Everyone out! No no no! One by One! Out out! One by One!" he shouts. We all shuffle off the platform and stand in a line next to the shack. He still has the passport of the french guy, whose wife is standing on the other side of the shack, ostensibly safely in Cambodia. What will happen? Crazy storms back to the visa master and the guy in the shack fumes. "One by one! One by One! One by One!" he shouts. We are only too happy to comply. Curiously, the one by one rule does not apply to Lao or Cambodian people, who just go up to the side window and shake the guys and hand and banter for a couple of minutes while he happily stamps away.

So things get moving again, the French guy joins his wife, the Finns get through, the Italians in front of me, and then I step up to the booth with a smile and handover my American passport. Just the site of the blue pamphlet enrages the border man. He waves it frantically at me and says no working visa. No, no, I insist, I am but a simple well meaning tourist. I'm not with Crazy! You must believe me! "She's so crazy!" I say, and his compatriot (who as a serious gold grill and appears to be there just to take the money and nod) agrees, saying, "Oh, she crazy." Crazy, we all agree, but that is her and not me and please can I have my lovely American passport back? The border man is fuming. He hates all holders of blue passports now, and takes his time with the pretty little stamp, mumbling about Crazy. Occasionally he yells out "One by one!" And then I am allowed to enter Cambodia, and so is Kate, and we embark once again on the rearranging and packing of the minivans.

Eventually we get into a seat with our bags and head down the road into Cambodia (without Crazy, who may still be at that border arguing for her work visa). The greatest part of the Minivan Shuffle is that, though we are all going to different places in Cambodia, they don't sort that out until we stop for lunch in Stung Treng (great town name) at the driver's friend's restaurant and wait for a while and reshuffle. Finally and eventually we get into a minivan bound for Kratie, while the driver honks at everything that passes with a horn that beeps an elaborate symphany of honks at least 10 seconds long. We arrive at our destination after about 8 hours of travel. Kratie is 250 kilometers from Dot Det. Welcome to Cambodia!

The Odyssey

2008-12-21T06:09:00.000-08:00

I would like to preface this entry with the acknowledgement that nothing everything to follow is true - yes true. This is how today went:

An early wake up in a slightly too nice guest house in Pakse. An espresso and fruit/yogurt (got bless fresh things) before figuring out 'How should we get ourselves to the town of Champasake to then get ourselves to the nearby but not-in-town UNESCO site of Wat Phu (pronounces like the less polite term for feces)?' This site is said to be the most important and popular site in southern Laos - perhaps all of Laos.
We take a tuk-tuk (easy to find as steamed rice) to the bus station which is really a market with some buses but we are looking for the pick-up truck/buses calls 'something-kyle-has-learned-to-pronounce-but-I-haven't-starts-with-an-S'. We ended up, after much inquiring, finding a pick-up bound for Wat Phu.
Within 20 minutes our truck is full of 23 people. Yes, I counted - 23. You can imagine that there are some awkward, uncomfortable and possibly socially unacceptable sitting positions going on. Kyle and I, not to brag, but Kyle and I have very good attitudes towards this kind of thing. In my head I have the same conversation I always have in this type of uncomfortable situations 'Kate - at least no one is throwing up'. It seems to always give me peace in knowing that it could be worse.
We ride along, all the other Laos women tucking their market goods like watermelons, lettuces, white beets/radishes and of course rice under the benches.
Suddenly we stop - a police officer talks to our driver, we wait, they talk more, we wait. No one else seems to even notice we've stopped. The ladies talk and Kyle and I look at each other and decide to keep reading our books.
The bus turns around and heads back to town. We park at another bus terminal. Nothing is explained but no one leaves or seems concerned. I decide it's time to be proactive. I figure out when another bus leaves - not for an hour. We are so smug because we have a plan. Well, that is if we can figure out when our current bus leaves this stop, or if the guy who explained the other bus understood my question. Now we are stuck with - wait out the tight-squeeze but probably correct bus or risk a new but new bus-of-questionable-destination. We decide to stay. We've grown attached I guess.
Finally the familiar bus leaves - hurray! Squashed in but in good spirits, we rumble off with no explanation for the change in schedule.
We chug along, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. Kyle and I each straddling a woman on a bench in front of us as we have no choice given the seating arrangements. My straddelee, maybe 11-14 year old girl, begins to vomit. There goes that theory. Someone offers a bag but not much else happens.
After an hour, we arrive at Champaseke town. Hurray - here at last. Very late but here. Maybe 45 minutes later, all the ladies are dropped at their respective homes or villages. It is now 1:30 pm. The last bus for Pakse leaves at 3:30 - according to our book.
Things are still pretty up for this pair but I am getting very hungry and know that if I don't eat something, I will not enjoy anything. It's a theme of traveling.
We finally arrive at wat phu and I demand of Kyle that I get a snack. Kyle hesitantly agrees and we stop at a restaurant and I point at a baguette for a cheap, mobile, fast snack. About 20 argumentative minutes later, I am chomping on baguette to avoid speaking to kyle who is fuming at me while I fume at her. Admittedly, we are not doing as well as 25 minutes earlier.
We buy tickets, we begin to walk. We see the historical and even archaeological site. It is lovely and mysterious with the most beautiful trees I think I've ever seen. Trees with no leaves or even the tiny end but full of perfect white blossoms.
Now we must leave to catch the bus back to Pakse. We've had just enough time to absorb this beautiful place and the grandeur of a stone monument site that has lasted centuries and several different dynasties and empires. We have made up from our huffiness of hunger and frustration and are pleased with our visit to beautiful wat phu.
Now back to find a quick ride to town (10 km) for our bus that leaves (maybe) in an hour.
No tuk-tuk can be found. We go into every restaurant and guest house, no tuk tuks buses, or anything headed to Champasake. We have walked close to a mile when we stop at a barber shop. We are desperate. A young man, probably no more than 20 somehow gets roped into putting us on his motorbike and driving us. Let's just say that it is painfully awkward but SO appreciated we can barely contain ourselves. It is very clearly prearranged that we will pay him but that is ok - we just need to get to town, we'll do the rest from there. He is very nice and even tells us that we are beautiful (I think they learn that phrase right after "what is your name" in English class) but after his roadside man-pit-stop, drops us off in the middle of no where again because, he explains, he is running out of gas which I can see that he really is. We thank and pay him and he turns back.

Now back to walking.

We flag down a farmer in his Laos-style tracker with his wife, three kids and chicken in the back. Without flinching, when we say "champasake" motions us to the back. Chugging along for a comical ride, we go to town and find the ferry to the other side of the river. Ha - we have made it!
Nope - not yet. We are far from the rive crossing and have likely missed the last bus. We are getting pretty desperate and realize money may be a problem to stay here or take a tuk-tuk all the way to Pakes.
We flag over anyone.
A few no's and then one truck full of people says yes - 'Pakse'!
We've made it!!!
Onto the ferry (a wooden raft full of trucks) and to the other side. The people are very sweet to us and no English is spoken.
On we go after the ferry and the realization that they are probably a family all together and we are just the two odd ones out. At this point - we just want to get home any way we can.
Half way home, BANG!, flat tire. No joke. We had even made a bet earlier in the day that Kyle owed me a Beerlao if we had mechanical trouble in the day.
Changed the tire, hit a market and got home by 6 pm.
It was quite an Odyssey and we are home and heading for a second dinner quite soon before heading south again tomorrow.
Whew.

Motorin'! (What's your price for flight?)

2008-12-21T05:58:00.000-08:00

2 girls, 2 bikes, 3 days, 6 waterfalls, and 1 serious Bolevan Plateau.

We rented the motorbikes in Pakse, stashed our large bags in some converted shower that is now a storage room, and hit the road. Did we know how to ride manual transmission motorbikes? No. Did we know where we were going? Not really. Did we have any gas? Absolutely not. But with the wind in our dorky and questionably protective helmets, we took off headed east on Rte. 13 out of Pakse with the aim of getting to Tad Lo for the night.

We rode about 30 kilometers to the turn off to route 20, negotiating some seriously hazardous traffic circles and livestock on the way. We passed through a number of villages, including one where all the young men were blacksmiths pounding the hell out of some dangerous looking cutting instruments, and one with a heck of a lot of pigs. Turning off down a side road in the jungle, we found this perfect ecolodge that straddles a waterfall and was totally empty of people. Crossing the perilous-looking bamboo bridge, we ordered our food and wondered how such a place remained in operation - and then the 3 busloads of thai tourists arrived and we understood. It was beautiful and the sun was shining, and we rode on through the afternoon, eventually ending up in tad Lo (after overshooting, asking for "directions", and finally finding the little town) for the evening. We strolled up to the waterfall, Kate went for a swim, we had some drinks as the sunset, and some dinner at our hostel, and found ourselves in bed well before 10 pm, with the sounds of the local cattle and roosters making us giggle.

Next morning, we got up early and biked it on up to the next waterfall up the road, a detour that led is down a dusty dirt track to a dusty dirt walking path. The path ended at the top of an extremely steep waterfall - beware the local drunk who fancies a lovely walk in this village. We were the only ones there, and got to climb all over the top of the falls, which fell off into an incredible view of the valley and villages bellow. Back on our bikes, we got gas from a little roadside stand and the proprietors laughed at our ignorance of everything (which is a regular ritual these days). We went back to Tad Lo and continued up route 20, turning on a dirt road that took us 30 km up to Tha Thaeng, through native villages and crazy amounts of dust. We passed hordes of children, who would wave and shout at us as they carried their tools either to the fields or back from them, we couldn't really tell which.

Up in Tha Thaeng, we stopped for lunch at a tiny roadside spot, covered in road dust and our own general filth. We tried to order some food, but the waitress just looked at us funny, so we pointed to what other folks were eating and got some noodle soup. When we were almost finished with our meal, a group of local businessmen came in and sat down nearby. One of them, the one that could speak some English, sat with us and talked with us for a while. Then his boss sat down and bought us some beers and invited us to sit with all of them, toasting us every two minutes with cheers of "My boss say you beautiful!" and "100%!" (which may mean either "drink the whole thing" or "We are totally cheersing right now" or anything else). They tried to get us to put our motorbikes in the car so they could drive us back to Pakse and we could all see the countryside together. It was hard for them to understand that the riding was part of the experience. Eventually, we left, but not before they asked Kate if she was married and why not and whether she wanted to be.

We went on to Paksong, a little nothing town on top of the plateau with a market and a soccer field and a guest house. We poked through the market. We watched the boys play soccer. We went to bed well before 10 pm. The next morning we got up early and went for a walk, much to the astonishment of everyone around us. Each passing motorbike and truck and tractor stared incredulously and offered us a ride. Why on earth would you ever walk down this road?? they seemed to be asking.

From Paksong we rode about 10 kilometers to Tad chuamp falls, an unbelievable waterfall with a path that wound from the top down the 50 or so meters to the crazy bottom. 2 kids tailed us the whole way and it was steep and slippery and spectacular. Next we went to Tad Fan waterfall, where 2 streams come out of the side of a cliff to fall 120 meters into a pool bellow. We had lunch at a lodge there and climbed around before heading to the third waterfall of the day down a ridiculously winding dirt road bordered by poinsettia trees. The water fall was lovely, but the best part was a bamboo raft that you could pull yourself out into the pool of the waterfall, watching it crash down around you. Thoroughly waterfalled out by this point, we got back on the bikes and headed back to Pakse, passing through village after village with the same smiling kids and bamboo houses and satelite dishes. Getting back to Pakse, we returned our bikes and dropped off our laundry and showered, taking beers on the roof top of the Pakse hotel as the sun set on the Mekong and we toasted our 3 day adventure.

Pakse, Laos

2008-12-17T05:54:00.001-08:00

After a well Tylenol-PMed 10 hour overnight bus ride, we arrived in Pakse in the south of Laos. I had never taken a sleeper bus but it was actually sort of a great way to travel; the pink satin curtains, pink teddy bear blankets and pink and white gingham pillowcase in our little upper level bunk was a really nice touch. I'm afraid the solo french traveler in the bunk across from ours didn't feel the same way when his loud/slightly creepy Laotian male/bunkmate arrived.
Pakse is a small town on the Mekong that is currently hosting, somewhat to our surprise, the Lao National Games. It is like a really charming version of the Olympics complete with bowling, badminton and a Lao game called kataw which is like soccer on a volleyball court with a small wicker ball. After a little difficulty finding a room at 6:30am (no seriously, a lot of people are here for the games!), we found something a bit out of our budget and passed out to sleep off the rest of our little blue sleepinapills.
Tomorrow begins 3 days of motorbike travel around the Bolevan Plateau which is a beautiful farming area that has several waterfalls.

The Hash

2008-12-15T21:21:00.000-08:00

Fear not, friends and family, we have not gotten ourselves into some "Brokedown Palace" (or "Midnight Express," for those of you born before 1975) situation with drugs and cops and dogs and prison. The Hash (or Hashing) is this crazy running club thing that we stumbled upon in the states and heard people do all over Asia. These runs tend to be full of old expat men who are at turns hilarious, intoxicated, and lecheruos, much to our amusement. When we got to Vientiane, we saw notices all over town for a Monday night run, the 1500th of the Vientiane Hash, so we thought we'd check it out.

The run itself is almost always interesting, because you weave through the back streets following a trail, and you see areas you would certainly never see on your own. This course took us to narrow alleys and across a stream, through a temple yard and past a night market, all to the delight of the local Lao people, who came out of their houses to gawk at the 50 or so mostly white falang (foreigners) running around. One literal girl taking a bath in a tiny tub outside her house apparently yelled to us (translated by a helpful runner), "Falang! Come swimming with me!" It was great fun made that much more difficult by all of the delicious food we've been eating in far too large quantities.

After the run, we went to the house of a British expat for the beer and food and sillyness portion of the evening. We met a lot of random people doing bizarre things all over SE Asia (from hotel workers to airline pilots to some guy talking about a haliburton contract), and some old guys with funny accents and stories of Lao before it was opened up to foreign visitors. Most amazingly, we met the American Ambassador to Lao, who is from Oregon! Since I had just been to the embassy that day to get new passport pages, we praised his well-run outpost and got filled in on some random pieces of news. Then we ate lots of delicious Lao food. Then we hopped in the back of a pickup truck and returned to our hotel, and now we are sore from the running and have sworn off exercising while on vacation. At least until the next hash comes up.

Buddhas in the park and public displays of aerobics

2008-12-15T21:00:00.000-08:00

We took some time out of city life to visit Buddha Park on the outskirts of Vientien. It is basically a sculpture garden full of amazing, strange and beautiful Buddhist/Hindu sculptures on the edge of the river. The first sculpture is a huge dome that you can climb into to see the whole park. An amazing place to sit and enjoy the day . . . that is unless you are swarmed, literally swarmed by 5-10 year olds who just want to stare at you, yell things, belch and then say 'money'. A rather odd experience because these kids were not street kids or trying to talk to us - just purely annoy. Anyway, we escaped them and continued to enjoy our morning in the park.
Later that evening, we attended the public aerobics session on the waterfront. Aerobics in Laos is a funny thing. The music is techno versions of bootlegged songs including Madonna, Rod Stewart and 'Yellow Polka dot Bikini'. Mostly attended by women and young girls. The outfit of choice was spandex leggings and long sleeved shirts with long athletic jerseys over the whole getup. I'm fairly certain the young woman leading the aerobics was making the moves up as she went, most originating from the aerobics of the mid to late 1980s. It was amazingly enjoyable.
Later that evening at a rooftop bar, we made some fellow traveling friends who were a bit of a disasterous troupe of guys. Let's just say that one of them called himself 'Big Al' and wore a pink hat. Another attempted a back flip off the bar; there was no blood but a bruised ego and forehead.

Vientiane

2008-12-13T03:53:00.000-08:00

So, we left the hedonistic pleasures of Vang Vieng behind (after spending a debaucherous day on the river tubing, sipping buckets, and swinging off of rope swings and zip lines) and took a local 7 am bus to Vientiane, the capital of Lao PDR, arriving in town around 11am yesterday. We walked from the bus station to the hostel, a great little place down a side street that is spitting distance to the Mekong and the fountain in the center of town. It also has a great communal balcony where you can look down at the townsfolk going about their business and make up stories about what they are saying to each other.

Vientiane, though the capital, is a very small city, with most of the sights concentrated in one area along a curve in the Mekong river. Yesterday we wandered around, ate lunch at a Scandanvian bakery (who knew?), and went to the national museum, which was a hilarious representation of a museum. Handmade diaramas depicting ancient towns should be in every museum, as should nonsensical renderings of provincial maps. We did learn a lot about what the imperialist western governments, mostly French and U.S., did to the fledgling communist state and their earnest and hardscrabble leaders. May I remind you all yet again that we suck. I also learned that everyone looked the same in the 1960s, regardless of where you lived, because apparently only one type of glasses were available world wide, and they had thick plastic frames.

Later we continued to stroll around, ending up on the river for sunset, lounging in a little bungalow thing and drinking beer lao. We ventured to the night market for dinner, which was disappointing in its scale but we got some new things to try. Only one of them really tasted like feet, which is pretty successful.

Today we got up early, rented some bikes, and rode out to the local wats. It being Saturday, they were full of Lao and Thai people in matching shirts on little tours, which was cute. Kate got a haircut at a funny little salon. We rode out of town to a wat that gives special meditation classes on Saturdays in Vipassana meditation, including sitting and walking meditations with a few monks and buddhist nun (who you pretty much never see). It was an excellent afternoon activity, and biking back at rush hour was also an experience!

The Basics

2008-12-13T03:26:00.000-08:00

It occurs to me (me being Kyle) that many people reading this blog will have no idea about the basic ins and outs of life on the road in SE Asia. This blog entry will therefore fill all of you in and serve as a reminder to me that, although sometimes it seems like all we do is eat and look at things and figure out which places look good to eat at, there is in fact a whole lot more going on.

MONEY: In Thailand, money was the Thai Baht, with about 35 Baht to the dollar. Thus, if something cost 100 Baht, it was about 3 bucks and that was reasonable. If something cost 1000 Baht, it was about 30 bucks and ridiculously expensive. In Lao (which is what people say, not because they are pretentious but because this is the Lao People's Democratic Republic, or Lao PDR, and the S is one of those colonial holdovers, like expatriates and Laughing Cow cheese), the currency is the Kip, with about 8,600 Kip to the dollar. Thus you can readily throw down a 10,000 kip bet on things and sound like a high roller, when in fact you're only investing a buck fifteen. For some reason, in Lao you can use Thai Baht pretty much as much as Kip, and in some towns they quote you prices in baht (which can be confusing).

TRANSPORTATION: Between cities, we have pretty much only taken buses, which are cheap and everywhere if not always comfortable or on time. You go to the city bus station and a bunch of guys ask you where you are going and try to steer you towards their bus, eventhough the prices are all pretty much the same and buses have a schedule and we always buy our tickets at the ticket window (or on the actual bus). You never know what you're going to get or how many stops its going to make. Around town, people take tuk-tuks, which are little three wheeled motorcyles with a tiny little covered truck bed in the back that has benches. They are moderately fast but exceedingly good at weaving in out of traffic, and rarely pay full attention to traffic signals. They are also ubiquitous, and the calls of "tuk tuk" whenever you are walking anywhere can begin to get on your nerves. Bargaining with the drivers is a whole experience in and of itself. The other way to get around is samthaw or jumbo, which are trucks with the covered back converted into two long benches of varying degrees of comfort. You can pack a whole lot of people into these things, and they do.

BATHROOMS: Always an adventure in any foreign country, SE Asia is no exception, but it does keep you on your toes. There are regular western toilets but without plumbing (a bucket filled with water that you empty into the toilet to flush) and squat toilets that are pretty much a platform and a hole in the ground, again with a bucket to flush. Sometimes there's a hose to spray yourself down; ocassionally there's toilet paper. In the fancy joints its just like home and people whisper excitedly about the W.C. Not infrequently, the bathroom at the resaurant or where ever is also the family bathroom, so there's somebody's toothbrush and soap and underwear hanging to dry. At bus stations and similar places you pay about 20 cents to use the bathroom, and the conditions are exceedingly variable. Good luck figuring out exactly where one washes ones hands.

STREET FOOD: Like other hot places, SE Asia has a lot of night markets, where you can get regular stuff but also delicious dinner for super cheap. You run around to the various stalls and point at things that may or may not be delicious, and when your hands are full of food you wonder how you're going to eat it and beg a spoon off of some kind-hearted vendor. The curries are usually good and some of the barbeque has been excellent, but other stuff tastes like feet and its hard to figure that out ahead of time. Thai street food was consistently better than Lao food, with better flavor combinations and spice, but Lao makes up for it with baguettes and baguette sandwiches. The BEST thing in the world is this crepe like thing with egg and banana, grilled up on a little griddle and covered with sugar and sweetened condensed milk. Holy crap. You can also buy fruit and stuff, but why would you??

OTHER STUFF: Beer is relatively cheap and everywhere, but there is no wine to speak of. Lao coffee is horrible, horrible stuff and no matter how many times you try it, it just doesn't get better. You can buy insects and other interesting foods, but we haven't been compelled to do so yet. There are monks everywhere and though they seem like pious enough fellows, you occasionally catch one in a bright orange yankees hat and wonder what the hell is going on. Its cold up north in these countries and we did not pack right, to say the least. I can't believe I forgot to say this:

THE ROOSTERS: Are everywhere and are incredibly loud - I don't know how they manage to survive in every corner of the city, but the certainly do make their presence known. Its much quieter at 8am than it is at 6am. The goddam roosters...seriously. And they are perhaps the only animal that sounds exactly the same in every language. They actually do say Cockadoodledoo, with infuriating predictability.

Vang Vieng

2008-12-10T03:02:00.000-08:00

So we departed from lovely Luang Prabang on a crowded bus bound for Vang Vieng. A windy road, a crowded bus (people literally sitting on plastic stools in the bus aisle) and then, the addition of EXTREMELY loud Lao music. It was a bit of a rough ride but we made it to Vang Vieng by late afternoon and got a room at the first hostel we found.

VV is bizarre to say the least. It is like a miniature, rustic Cancun on a river with amazing sharp jagged mountains surrounding it. The main road through town is full of tourist restaurants all with the same menu more or less. Each restaurant/bars on the main road has a few televisions which all continuously play Friends or Family Guy. Yes, you could pick from one of a dozen restaurants to lie at a short-legged table from 8am to 11pm and watch one of these two shows. Very odd scene at first. There are also lots of loud bars with Christmas lights and very loud advertising for pizza and burgers. The streets also have many many carts selling sandwiches and fruit shakes.

The river is low (it is the dry season) but that doesn't stop the main activity in town; tubing/bar hopping. You rent a tire inner tube and get taken to a point several hours float from town and jump in. From there, you float from bar to bar, drinking "buckets" - essentially beach toy pails filled with booze and mixers -jump off rope swings. The funniest part is that its about 45 minutes back to town from the last bar, and drunken tubers forget this fact, wait until the sun goes down, and shiver their way home, strolling through the streets in bikinis around dinner time looking disoriented. Kyle and I have not yet participated in this rite of passage but intend to be initiated tomorrow.

We have, however, been rock climbing, biking, caving and swimming. We spent our first day rock climbing outside (my first time outside!!) on the clifts surrounding town, which was great fun. The guides were doing some amazing lead climbing routes including crazy overhangs. I think we both improved and plan on doing more throughout our trip. We also ate some snake soup, which was pretty much as appetizing as it sounds.

Today, we moved guest houses to one with a lot more charm a little farther out of 'the scene' and got mountain bikes for the day. We rode about an hour on a dirt road to this incredible cave and lagoon. We parked our bikes and began to make our way up this steep hike/climb over massive rocks to the mouth of the cave. About half way up our climb we were joined by a young local girl who we assumed was a kind of "guide." We didn't much want a guide but there seemed to be no way to loose her so we just let her join. We got into the cave which was incredible and VERY dark. My tiny key chain flashlight and Kyle's dying pack-headlamp were clearly not sufficient for serious caving, especially since there were three of us. Our 'guide', it turned out, spoke no English, didn't have a flashlight and promptly took the headlamp for herself so Kyle and I took turns walking in the total darkness. There were some faint signs painted on a few rocks saying "cave" and an arrow but other than that, there was really no off-limits or railings or lights or anything. It was just a huge beautiful cave to discover on your own. We tromped around, got a little lost but finally scampered our way out. The girl gave back the flashlight eventually and we parted ways but we never really figured out why she came along. She was certainly not an expert spelunker, as she was no help in finding the way out and frequently grabbed one or both of us in fear or imbalance or both.

Post caving, it was time for some cards in a cabana after a dip (or swing and jump) in the lagoon. There were probably only half a dozen other people there and one small hut to buy food and drinks. It was such a pleasant way to escape the crazy crowds of town.

Luang Prabang

2008-12-06T21:26:00.000-08:00

So here we are in Luang Prabang, a UNESCO World Heritage Site (the whole city) and it's absolutely beautiful. The city is charming with lots to do adventure-wise outside the city but also many beautiful restaurants and shops. The prices are a bit steep as it's quite touristy but not unmanageable and the markets have cheap eats and we've just decided that this a place to spend some dough.
We went on a mountain biking, hiking, waterfall swimming, hill tribe visit day trip which was very fun and a good way to see the towns and mountains. Our guide was a really nice guy from a neighboring village. The waterfall was amazing and perfect for swimming which, after our hike and bike, was a really welcome treat . . . as was the Beer Lao we enjoyed after our dip!

Yesterday, I took a weaving class which was about the coolest thing I've done on the trip so far. There were two of us in the class (me and one other girl Jiada, 21 from NYC and a graphic designer - we became good friends and continued to hang out after class) and we arrived at a beautiful weaving center on the river with open air buildings, one for their dyeing, one for the weavers working there, one for weaving lessons and one main building with weavings for sale, information about how silk is made and dyed and a lunch table overlooking the Mekong.
First we had tea and were guided through the silk worm to silk process as well as the dyeing. Then to the dyeing house where we picked three colors to dye with the natural ingredients. I chopped turmeric finely and mashed it with a mortar and pestle and boiled it to make a brilliant yellow and used nettle seeds to make an orange.
It was then time to pick our colors for weaving and spool the silk. The spooling involved sitting on a tiny stool in front of two wheels made of bamboo and rope. The silk skein was wrapped around one and then hang cranked onto small spools by hand.
Then lunch - delicious laap (minced pork salad with mint, basil and garlic - very popular in Laos), sticky rice and vegetables. For dessert, a fruit that looks vaguely like a nut which you peel and is like a peeled grape with a pit on the inside. Sort of like leechees I guess.
Then some down time. Laotians seem to love their rest time. Then we hit the looms. The looms are large wooden and bamboo contraptions that you sit in. I couldn't begin to explain the complexity of the machine but basically there are peddles and about a billion threads going every-which-way and you pass a wooden spool holder called a shuttle through them all. VERY complicated and clearly takes a master to do the weavings I've been seeing. We each had one woman, no English, showing us how to weave. Once I got the hang of it, I really really enjoyed the process but I don't think I'll quit my day job; it's pretty exhausting.
The class was great and we ended the day by both crashing Kyle's cooking class to help eat with everyone at the class. Really fun and great food!
A couple o' drinks around town with Jiada and Kyle and to bed for one more day of adventuring in Luang Prabang before heading south.

Mekong Slow Boat

2008-12-04T00:44:00.000-08:00

Lets say you get a ticket for a boat, and that ticket says to be at the office at 9 am. When would you think the boat would leave? Lets say you show up and show your passport to some "police" officer and provision yourself for 8 hours on the water and watch some old men play petank and meet some Israeli guy and wander about and then are told the boat will leave at 11. So lets say you get on said boat and stow your backpack and see how comfortable you can get and play a few rounds of cards and read a couple of chapters of your book and wonder when an acceptable time to start eating your snacks is, and you look at your watch and its 11:30, so you say to your traveling companion, "When do you think the boat leaves?"

Lets say you then hear the murmerings of some frenchies that the boat, she leave at noon. So you play some cards with some strangers and try to pretend you're not yet hungry and reposition yourself on the wooden benches and chat idley with the people next to you until you realize it is now past noon. And then you see a thunderous hoard of travelers coming down toward the boat, dwarfing the number of people who have been patiently waiting on the deck for the past two or so hours. They leap aboard, baggage flying. "Where will we sit?" they say in a variety of languages, the most prevalent being the official language of the former Soviet block. They thunder toward the stern. They thunder toward the bow. Finally, a frenchman in his 50s (who I refer to as No Immigration Before Cafe, given his border stance the previous day) insists they ask for another boat. Another Boat! Yes, we all nod, having read the same paragraph in the Lonely Planet. Demand another boat! Russians yell from the stern to those on shore: "My luggage is now on the roof of this boat!" "Well, get it off, you idiot, because we must demand a second boat, and I'm not demanding it alone!" "But the provisions look superior on this boat!" "Well we will demand a boat with plush seats that have been removed from some Chrysler minivan!" (or so I imagine they said. It could have been another discussion altogether that simply coincided with this moment of boat swapping).

So they thundered to a second boat, which was in fact decked out in double seats from someone's old Chrysler Town and Country. Where once we had hated them for making our boat wait around and then making us smoosh together on the tiny wooden benches, now we hated them for that and the fact that their boat was more comfortable. Plus it looked like all the drunks got on the back of that boat and were starting the fun well before happy hour. We collectively shook our fists as we finally pulled away, just 3 and half hours after we had initially thought. Thank god for a vast supply of Beer Lao. By the way, the entire time this was going on, the british couple across from us intensely read John Grisham novels. They did not look up once. Not even when the drunk englishmen at the back of the boat unexpectedly rushed in and took a picture with the reading man while high fiving.

About 7 hours later, the first half of our boat trip concluded on the banks of Pak Be township. The Russians had managed to beat us to town, and as the sun had already set, the guesthouse hawkers assailed us from the steep sandy banks unseen, but certainly heard. Everyone unloaded onto the bank, then reloaded to get the bags which were stowed under the deck. Kate climbed the hill in search of an affordable guest house, while I dove into the unlit boat to grapple with everyone for the bags, including the town's 8-11 year olds, who would try to cop some kip out of you by basically stealing your bag and carrying it to the top of the hill. After securing a thrifty little hovel on the main drag, we went in search of food, which came in the shape of a little indian restaurant. At the door, we said hello to some folks from our boat and they were promptly seated at our table, which was great because the woman turned out to be a hilarious brit and the guy had grown up in Wellesley. As the next day promised more of the same boating and jostling, we went to bed early - but not before the power went out all over town and we were plunged into darkness. Hilarious!

The next morning found us wondering what time the boat should leave - 9? Sounds like a strong possibility. This time we came well provisioned, and being our parent's children, eschewed the pricey and carb-laden beers for brown-bagged vodka and fruit juice. This time, we climbed aboard the minivan-seated vessel (same same! the boat driver assured us - oh, no sir. They are not same same) and wondered when we'd push off. After an initial scare that the monks would kick us out of the plush seats (the canadians in front of us had a serious evil eye for those monks), we got on the river a little before ten and floated for 8 hours towards Luang Prabang, through some unbelievabley beautiful scenery dotted with small fishing villages and a few sheer stone cliffs that fell into the water.

Arriving in Luang Prabang (or L'a 'Bang, as I like to call it), we searched out a hostel and marveled at the adorableness of this town. Two-story colonial-type wood trimmed villas along bricklined back alleys, flowers and trees and flowering trees, and a number of beautiful wats (temples) make the city incredibly attractive. Its also the first place I've been (outside of Bangkok) where I feel like having a whole lot of money would make this place infinitely pleasant, with its boutique hotels and spas and fancy little restaurants. It is still infinitely pleasant, and we went to dinner and strolled around the night market. This morning we got up early, saw some wats and the royal palace museum, ate some food and strolled along the two river banks. I love the french for their colonialist spread of the baguette, which is a lovely change from rice and noodles. The boat trip was well worth it, not just because of its eventful slowness but also because this town is so obviously enjoyable and enchanting.

On a side note, uploading pictures is hell. I highly recommend people do it every day that they are traveling, and not, say, when you have filled up your memory card.

Day one in Laos

2008-11-30T23:19:00.000-08:00

I'll work backwards:
We made the quick bus and boat ride to Laos and here we are in Houay Xi for one night before our two day slow boat trip to Luang Prabong in Laos.
When we got back from trekking, we showered and brushed our teeth and hit the night market for market-style dinner to bring home and watch a movie. Both completely exhausted - here's why.
So we went trekking. Anne, our trekking guide, picked us up and we were all dropped off at the boat dock. Anne appeared to be somewhere between 35 and 45 maybe. She was very nice and he English was pretty good so we had polite conversations about Thai culture and American cultures.
After a short boat ride back up the river from where we came, we stopped at the same elephant camp we had stopped at before. Kyle and I rode on an elephant which we renamed about 3 times before we finished our 30 minute ride. We sat on a seat/stool strapped to Fancy/Ellie/Michael Jacksons back while the elephants trainer straddled the elephant with flip flopped feet behind the elephants ears. It did feel fairly touristy, a twenty minute walk through town and into the river a bit but damn it, ya can't do this in Oregon!
Then we had lunch and watched a little of Thai boxing on TV. It began to show that Anne was pretty awkward and it was kind of unclear whether we were in charge or she was. We eventually got back on the boat and rode a little further upstream to the National Park. We walk about 200 feet before Anne said we would have a rest. We sat and sort of talked about the National Park system and protecting the teak forests. Then we sort of sat in silence. Finally Kyle asked if we could get going. A bit more hiking and we arrived in a village on a hill. The village was all bamboo houses on stilts with solar panels next to each one. Anne lead us onto one porch where we sat and waited. We waited some more. Kyle and I finally settled into reading our books and Anne sat. It was a beautiful view of the green valley of bamboo in front of us. We sat on a very steep sloped hill so we looked down on the neighbors thatched roof. Kyle and I decided to take a walk up the hill to the highest viewpoint. Again, beautiful view of greenery and terraced rice fields that were just being harvested by the village people. Back down to our house, we rested some more, played cards and watched the kids play between the houses.
Chickens, cats, dogs and kids mingled around between houses while we waited for the dinner that we being prepared inside. We considered asking if we could help but with 6 people already in the one small room where the cooking was taking place, we decided that we would likely just be in the way. Dinner was served to Anne, Kyle and I on the deck. Green curry and rice - delicious!! We sat and talked, through Anne, to the father and mother of the neighboring house. The two boys that lived in the house we were sleeping in were home alone for the night because the father was out hunting a valuable jungle lizard and the mother was staying at the fields for the night.

As it got darker (and considerably colder) we turned in for the night along with everyone else is town. Our beds, blankets on the bamboo floor next to the fire, took up nearly the whole room. Kyle and I read for about half and hour and looked at each other and said 'I'm not tired, are you?' 'No, what time is it anyway' '7:45pm' 'Oh, that's why!'. It seems that farmers go to bed on the early side.

After a rather chilly, OK freezing night, we were woken by roosters (they live under the houses on stilts so when you are sleeping on bamboo slats on the floor it is like a rooster crow in your ear!) and the older son making fire.

A quick breakfast before heading out to continue hiking to the waterfall nearby. The hiking was not too difficult, the sun hot but up in the mountains it was nearly cold in the shade. We walked to another small hill tribe village where we sat outside a church (many hill tribes are christian after missionary influence) followed by a hike to the local tea plantation and lunch stop in a small town. After that, a long walk to the hot springs. The hot springs were pleasant enough but the moonshine rice whiskey afterwards was even more pleasant and smelled way better! Finally, back into a tuk-tuk for the ride home.

The trekking was a good experience and certainly got us out of our comfort zones. It was not nearly as touristy as we thought it might be which was a pleasant sup rise. It was a little heavy on the awkward silences with Anne and strangely sitting around waiting for something for bizarrely long stretches of time.

Now we are in Laos, ready for the next chapter!

Off to Laos!

2008-11-30T16:46:00.000-08:00

Can't write too much because we're off to take a boat to Laos this morning. Treking was a real experience. Just Kyle, myself and our fairly awkward Thai guide Anne. Stayed in mountain village hut and rode an elephant!
More details later.

From Chiang Rai

2008-11-27T17:10:00.001-08:00

Our third day in Chiang Mai was Kyle's day at her cooking class and my day on my own. I indulged in some lengthy internet time, a long stroll through a very large art store (oh the smells of home!) and then a long lunch at a noodle stand writing in my journal. I then decided I'd had enough indulgence and needed some culture. I grabbed a tuk-tuk and headed for the Hill Tribe Museum.

The hill tribes of the 'Golden Triangle' region (NW Laos, NE Thailand and SE Burma) are about 6-10 different cultural groups from as far away as Nepal and China. They are fairly small groups that have maintained their traditional lifestyles, in many cases, for the tourist money it can bring in. Their traditional crafts are brought into cities in Norther Thailand (mostly colorful weaving) and sold at markets and tourist shops. Every guesthouse, trekking office and tourist place around offers tours of the hill tribe communities. I decided the best way to learn about these cultures was the museum, all proceeds going to these people themselves.

After a 20 minute drive out of town, I stepped into an empty, tiny and very dated museum. After about 20 minutes, I'd seen everything there was to see of the very faded and poor quality pictures but had done some reading and felt I'd gotten a good grasp of these civilizations. My next move was the make this excursion worth while by getting some exercise by walking home. Not only was I far enough from town to be off my map, but the street signs no longer included both Thai and Roman texts so the 2 hour walk was quite an adventure.

After a Popsicle and a nap, I was woken by Chef Kyle, returning from her cooking class which was a great success. We both showered and dressed quickly for dinner with Liz and Chris (Kyle's friend from NOLS and boyfriend who we had met up with in Phistanulok) who were also staying in Chiang Mai as well too. We had dinner at an excellent restaurant that specialized in organic and wholesome foods (oh Portland, you were so close I could taste it!) and it was fantastic. We then stumbled upon a sort of reggae bar serving cheap mojitos and played several rounds of cards.
We parted ways as we are heading east and they head west but it was really wonderful to have new friends that are having such similar experiences to ours.

The next day, we hopped on a bus and made our way to Tha ton which is a tiny town on the Mekong river. The Lonely Planet guide book included about 15 sentences on Tha Ton and said there really isn't anything there. Maybe that's just what we needed but we just loved Tha Ton. An absolutely charming town divided by the river, we stayed in a very tidy guest house (Riverside GH). The first thing we noticed about TT was the giant white Buddha statue up the hill and what looked like a Wat about 1/4 mile from away from that on another hill. To kill time before dinner, we decided to take a walk and see how far these monuments were and if we could reach them on a road. There didn't seem to be any town maps or tourist information on these icons so we just headed off. Well actually we needed some fortification first so we stopped man with a cart that seemed to be making some kind of sweet pancake/crepe sorts of things. Fried thin pancakes, egg and banana middle, drizzled with sweetened condensed milk and sprinkled with sugar, these little treats were likely the most delicious thing I think I've ever eaten.

Thus fortified, we began to walk up a very steep hill which only indication that it might lead to the wat and shrine was a decorative arch over the otherwise ordinary street. For the next 2 hours we hike up this hill/mountain to discover a series of 8 incredible monuments, statues and temples. We only saw a small handful of other people while walking up this mountain and the views only got better the higher we climbed. Down below, the valley with its farmlands and snaking river opened up and the surrounding mountains circled around. The last temple that we made it to was reminiscent of an Easter egg, or really a stack of Easter dishes, painted in beautiful pastels and was perfectly circular. Inside was a large golden orb with a single statue of a monk inside. Winding it's way around the orb was a ramp that was decorated as a silver snake that deposited you out at the roof balcony to more incredible views. At this point, the sun was setting and we made our way back down the hill.

Dinner of soup on the riverfront and then to 'sleep' with the roosters next door announcing morning at 5am, 5;06am, 5:22am, 6:12am . . .

The next morning, we decided to forgo the 3 day bamboo raft float to Chaing Rai (very expensive and we don't have our sleeping bags) and instead get tickets for the 3 hour motorized long boat ride. The boat leaves once a day at 12:30 so we spent the morning hiking back up the hill to see the last monument past the Easter Dishes. It too was beautiful and had a wonderful view as well but the morning got hotter and we had to hustle to make sure we got to our boat.

The boat ride was very relaxing and beautiful. The boat was maybe 30' long and 3' wide and set very low in the water so your line of sight was almost at water level. We stopped briefly at an elephant camp which included HUGE snakes you could have your picture taken with. One of the snakes was probably 15' long and at it's thickest was probably 8" across. Yes, the largest snake I've ever seen. No, I didn't have my picture taken, or even really consider it.

We arrived in Chiang Rai to find a very busy, commercial city. Both of us imagined something much smaller but we found a guesthouse with rooms available on the second try and took a stroll around too look for an appropriately indulgent place to stuff our face in the wonderful American tradition of Thanksgiving. Pickings were slim but we found an Italian restaurant (we decided the Italians too understand the concept of stuffing yourself) and filled our bellies with calzone, baked spinach and cheese and espresso.

Today is a new day in Chiang Rai where we will look for the office of a trekking company that leads ecologically sensitive 3 day treks.

Chiang Mai, Thailand

2008-11-24T05:07:00.000-08:00

After leaving Phistanulok, we got on a bus and headed to Chiang Mai. It was about a 5 hour bus ride where we moved from the valley up into more mountainous area to the north. The millisecond we stepped off the bus, we were bombarded with "where are you going Miss? What to play with live real tigers? Want to ride an elephant? Where do you want to go trekking?". We've learned to politely avoid these advances and just get a tuk-tuk to an area with many guesthouses. We found one called Eagle House 2 and hit the town.

Chiang Mai is very busy and fairly full of foreigners. The main tourist attraction seems to be trekking, zip line, elephant-tour type stuff. Kyle and I decided to eschew this scene and have those kinds of adventures in Laos in a few weeks. Laos has a better reputation for environmental tourism run by the Laos government and is generally a poorer whose government is making a strong effort to preserve it's natural beauty through eco-tourism.

The old city of Chiang Mai is walled in by a thick brick wall and moat. It has over 300 Wats (Buddhist temples) which dot both the new and old parts of the city. Some wats are older than others but all are still in use with practicing monks, young and old, all donning the orange robes.
We spent our first evening walking the closed off street in the middle of town which every Sunday sprouts up with craft vendors, musicians and of course food. We bought dinner of clear rice noodles (called glass noodles) in a vinegar dressing, honey chicken and some dumplings. Yum as usual. There were many beautiful things being sold and I had to use quit a bit of self control not to buy much because of the hauling-it-around factor. There was lots of jewelery and fabrics which all remind me of my grandmother. Turns out the fabrics that were practically her uniform were all from Northern Thailand.

Today was a lazy day. Quite a bit of sink laundry in the morning (which now decorates our room) and then off to a place that served big American food. It was absolutely astonishing to realize how our perception of portion sizes has changed since being here. After consuming as much as we could, we waddled out of the restaurant and walked through town. In the early evening we decided to go to a "monk chat" just outside of town. A "monk chat" is an informal discussion with a monk about Buddhism which helps him practice his English and farang (Thai work for foreigners) learn more about Buddhism.

We strolled around the wat but weren't sure if there was a formal setting or how it all worked until Roti approached us in his bright orange robes. I would guess he was maybe about our age or slightly younger and his English was pretty hard to understand but we started to chat. He told us all about the major principles of Buddhism and after about 20 minutes, we were joined by two other monks, likely in their late teens-early twenties. These two wanted to know all about America and show off their US knowledge. They all are excited about Barak Obama and continually mentioning how bad our economy is. I guess if Buddhist monks in Thailand are reporting to you about the US economy, it must be pretty bad.

Some funny complications in our monk discussions were explaining what exactly Washington D.C. is. What does 'Columbia' mean? Is it not a state? Is it a city? What was the official language of USA? We had to explain that "technically there isn't one". And trying to explain that "Kate" and "Kyle" don't mean anything, they just sound nice. I'm thinking of making up a meaning for next time! Anyway, a completely pleasant evening. We walked home, past boys skateboarding in a city plaza and girls having cheerleading practice just next to them. Ah, sounds of home.
Tonight is another market which is likely to be less crafts focused but as always, there will be delicious and mysterious food!

Phistanulok - Fits on a log

2008-11-22T03:22:00.000-08:00

A bit of a long silence as we've been doing a lot of moving . . . or sorta moving. . . or moving kinda slowly. We left Koh Chaing and made the long journey back to Bangkok (in Thailand, it seems that All Roads Go Through Bangkok) but this time we decided to try a new hostel and were greatly rewarded. The hostel, Suk 11, was tucked down an alley with a few open air bars on the ground floor. Everything in the hostel was wood and cozy. Lots of rooms for people to sit and relax. The best best best part was, after a long long day of traveling, Kyle discovered that the hostel had outdoor showers. They were fully enclosed and on a sort of open porch. The hostel was pretty quiet so the luxury of taking a shower and listening to the bustling BKK below was a luxury indeed. Then out to an indulgent dinner - Italian food!! The pizza was great but the red wine left something to be desired. Guess you can't have it all. Anyway, it was a real luxury and the day of travel was a little rough so we needed a treat.

The second time around, Bangkok was much less overwhelming. Our home base was better, we knew our way around the Skytrain and to avoid the damn Tuk-tuk's at all cost.

The following morning, we packed up again and made our way to the train station (an adventure in itself!). After 4 hours on one of the bumpiest trains ever, conquering the squat toilet on said turbulent train (Indian Jones would be impressed) and bearing the odor of the smelliest European alive (there should be laws about that kind of stink in an enclosed public space) and we arrived at Phitsanolok.
P-lok is a bustling town with a lively riverfront night market and two vast food markets. One of the best features of town is the amazingly hilarious outdoor fitness/play area. Imagine your gym's elliptical machine or rowing erg painted yellow, red and blue and cemented into the city's public park.
Kyle and I met up with one of Kyle's friends from her NOLS trip to Alaska this summer, Liz, and her boyfriend Chris. Both originally from Seattle, they are traveling for several months as well. We played some cards at the hostel while drinking Chang and Singha beers (oh Portland . . . I miss your microbrews!!) before heading to dinner and a stroll through the night market.
We snacked on these little crispy pancakes with what appeared to be marshmallow Fluff and other soft pancakes filled with another kind of custard/pudding. After snacking, strolled through the night market - fully of oddities. We rounded out our night with more Singha at the waterfront stalls, each stall blasting it's own music and serving the same beers. The four of us had a really pleasant evening of strolling and eating.

Today was an early day to get to Sukothai which has a historic ancient city just outside the modern city of Sukhothai. A 1 hour bus ride turned to two and a half but we eventually made it to the historic city. After renting some fantastic cruiser bikes, we made our way around the ruins. Amazingly, there were very few tourists and quite a few Thai families having picnics. We walked all around the amazing ruins of a city based around temples (Wat) devoted to different images of the Buddha. I took a zillion pictures as well. We ventured down a lonely road to see the two ruins outside the main part of the city. With no one around and just fields on all sides, it was an amazing way to beat the heat.

After we just couldn't stand the sun anymore, we headed back to town for lunch and back on a bus to P-lok. The heat is still fairly intense but I think I'm learning to just deal with being sweaty and take cooling showers in the afternoons. Tomorrow, we're off to Chang Mai to see the northern part of the country and maybe do a little trekking. After today's bicycle adventuring, we've decided that's just the only way to see the town sights!

2008-11-18T05:27:00.000-08:00

A great day of snorkeling!! We booked a trip on a boat for a 4 island tour of snorkeling. Today ended up being a bit overcast and windy so a good day to be face down in the water. Contrary to popular belief, you can get sunburned through clouds; that or the sun came out when I was swimmin' with the fishes. Either way, both of us have the classic snorkeling sunburn . . . let's just say it hurts a bit to sit! Lots of cool fish to see though and it felt good to do some real swimming not just wading out of head-desperation. We had a delicious lunch on the boat and some good "I'm feeling a little seasick" napping on life-vests. Tonight is movie night at a bar up the street from our hotel so we'll be lounging and movie watching. We're both so sun-drained that lying on a mat and watching a movie is about all we can manage.
Koh Chaing is beautiful and the sunsets are wonderful but I think a place a bit less touristy next.
It's odd to walk back to our little hut on the ocean past half a dozen bars blasting Bob Marley, offering authentic Thai tatoos or showing The Simpsons - not that I don't love The Simpsons and Bob.

Koh Chang

2008-11-17T05:37:00.000-08:00

We have finally gotten ourselves out of BKK (that's Bangkok for those of you no in the know . . . I also like to think of it as Bodacious Kate 'n' Kyle) and to Koh (island) Chang. It's off the coast of Thailand in the Gulf of Thailand. We took a 5 hour bus ride out of BKK and a ferry and an hour on a truck bed with benches which is called a 'taxi'. The bus ride out of BKK was interesting. Watching the Thai landscape go by full of factory warehouses and dotted with incredibly ornate Buddhist temples makes you realize what "Made in Thailand" means. As an not-yet-architect, it's interesting to observe a city full of non-descript, not terribly well cared for concrete buildings that have the most ornate and glorious temples sprinkled in their midst. It shows a very different priority and standard here. It seems like that which is public/spiritual takes priority to anything personal - just the impression I got.
But I digress, we're on Koh Chang which is beautiful and full of semi-touristy kind of shops and restaurants but everything is thatched roof or tin roofed and doesn't really feel too over-developed. Our "cabin" for the first night was much more tree-house than hostel but we were happy to find it since the island as fairly full (Sunday night) and we're in the "backpacker ghetto". We moved tonight to a cabana that is ocean-side with it's own bathroom (kind of a luxury) but we figured it would be worth it. Today was spend unwinding from a day of travel to get here and a few days braving the city.
There was bravery involved in today however! We rented a moped for the day (really the only way to get around the island) and Kyle maneuvered us all around from beach to beach, to a wonderful seafood lunch on a lagoon-side cooking school/resort and home again. Yes, we ran out of gas, yes, we were passed frequently as the slowest on the road, and yes, I almost wet my pants from the sheer terror of riding up and down these giant hills on these winding jungle roads. Kyle did a great job and we made it everywhere we wanted to go. Upon our arrival home though I did decide I'd hate myself if I didn't try the Two Wheeled Terror Machine on my own so I took the Red Rocked With Hello Kitty Stickers out for a spin. Let me tell you, moped- ing is a great way to blow dry your hair before you've gotten a plug adapter . . . and I'm not too bad at it too!
Tomorrow is a splurge-day of snorkeling tour at four different islands around Koh Chang. Should be a fun way to spend a day and even out the sunburn we've both got on our faces, neck and feet from reading in the sun for an afternoon.
Food - we've decided to abandon western breakfasts. It's always slightly disappointing (Portland, Or has the best breakfasts ever, I'm spoiled for life) and not very authentic of us. It may be cliche but my favorite dish so far has been the Pad Thai. We did have some good crispy noodles with lots of tamarind today though. Yum.

Day Two - Bangkok

2008-11-15T05:43:00.000-08:00

Hello from day two.
I'm giving up on posting for day one because it was all a blur of Tuk-tuk scamming, jet lag and the Kings sisters funeral. The funeral part was actually really interesting - everyone was wearing black and the streets and trees were all covered in black and white silk and flowers and there was a huge ceremony with flowers and the public paying their respects. A bit of an odd way to be first introduced to the city but it gave a good idea of how much the Thai love their royal family.

Anyway, Bangkok is a city full of smells - sometimes really good from food on the street and sometimes really awful from other things on the street . . . and sometimes the food too. It's also a city entirely full of stray animals which seems strange to me for a city so large. Just an interesting observation that I had not really thought about before arriving here.

All is going well for the most part. We went to this gigantic market today and walked around most of the morning. I bought some funky tie/Thai pants that however neither Kyle nor I can quite figure out how they work exactly. We also discovered that in the middle of the Venn diagram of Portland, Oregon and Bangkok, Thailand is hipsters. Much hipster wear was being hocked at this market but there was also furniture, used clothes, new clothes, food, art, small dogs and all sorts of plastic junk as you might imagine.

Anyway, after the market it was back to the hostel for some relax time, journal-ing and reading. It's pretty darn hot so it's hard to stay out all day without some sitting time. Then we went to "Little Arabia" which is the Arabic/middle eastern part of town that is just near where we are staying and sat and played cards and smoked hookah before a dinner of Indian food. It was much much better than our lunch at the market which was not too tasty. Food is hard to judge so we're still kind of feeling our way around in that department too. Now post dinner jet lag is setting in again so it's back at the hostel. We're both feeling tired and pretty ready to get out of Bangkok. It's just a bit much here in the city - too much dirtiness, too many tourist scams to watch out for, too much traffic etc. I guess we knew that and we've gotten our fill of the sights here. We're going to take a morning bus to this island, Koh Samet, for some relaxing. It's not quite as beautiful and touristy as the southern Thai islands will be but it will be nice to get away from the city and into to beach climate and atmosphere. It will also be wonderful to do some swimming - it's so hot and sticky here!!