I awoke early to a beautiful day in South Africa. Normally it is not my style to book an activity for the day after my arrival in a country, however the girl who checked me in said there were a bunch of people already signed up for a wine tasting tour so it should be fun.
My proud place at the front of the immigration line only meant I received the news sooner rather than later, and by a none too pleased woman.
The last time I booked a flight in advance to ensure I had proof of onward travel was Singapore to Hong Kong back in February.
Officials from China, Nepal, India, and SE Asia didn't seem overly concerned that I would take up residence in their countries, so why would South Africa be different, I thought.
The entire plane had to pass through immigration before I was lead to an internet connection in an office upon my request.
A young woman was to stay by my side the whole time, and eventually, a man joined us in the office too. I was glad they were both friendly.
I was kicking myself for not having Warren's cell phone number on paper as I knew he was waiting for me.
My hope to have some semblance of control over a costly decision under a cloud of fatigue and stress was dashed when the internet connection gave out after ten minutes.
Not even enough time to get one quote.
It was suggested I could go to the airline counters to buy direct, though it appeared to be in violation of airport protocol.
The man lead the way in a quiet and covert manner as we passed customs and a security guard.
I passed by Warren and was able to quickly tell him why I was delayed. The only counter open was British Airways.
I once again admitted to arriving on the continent without proper documentation.
The woman who was helping me tried to say that every country in the world requires a return ticket for you to enter.
I briefly considered a foray into my last 8 months of travel, though bit my tongue instead.
To aid me in the decision, a map of the world was unfolded on the counter.
The woman handler had left by this point, while the man stood patiently to my right.
Dealing with British Airways put a big limit on my options.
I could fly from Jo'burg to Victoria Falls for $200, however by that time I might be low on money and didn't want to find myself in central Africa without the funds to extricate myself.
Alternatively, I could fly from Jo'burg to Cairo for $593 on Air Egypt, the catch being a requirement that I include a British Airways flight since they would be booking the whole ticket for me.
Under increasing pressure from the airport handler, the British Airways woman, and myself knowing that Warren had been waiting for me almost 2 hours, I bought the Cairo flight.I could always change the dates later for a $50 fee.
Relieved to have a ticket in hand, the man walked me back through a staff security point and found the surly woman who held my entrance into the country in her stamp book.
Passport updated, I grabbed my backpack and greeted Warren properly, feeling horrible that I'd kept him waiting so long when he was going out of his way to pick me up at the airport.
Easily saving me $18+ in cab fare, he dropped me off at the award-winning Backpack (hostel, though they're called backpackers in South Africa).
It was dark, chilly, and I was exhausted.
Excited to begin my African adventures, I impetuously signed up for a (hopefully) relaxing full-day tour of the Winelands, to be followed by the hostel's Tuesday night Braai (traditional South African barbecue).
6:17 pm, Bangkok Airport
I was shopping till the bitter end! Impulsive. Wasteful? Not necessarily. Got a lot done today. Feeling a bit tired, but almost ready to go through security to the gate. The bus had broken down so I shared a taxi with a German woman from Stuttgart and a free-spirited French woman from Chamonix. The driver had us pay the highway toll to avoid traffic, and then drove like a bat out of hell.
Based on Air Qatar's commercials claiming 5-star service, I expected a great (though long) trio of flights. I got a window seat the whole way, just in case you can spot a herd of antelope from 40,000 feet.
Bangkok, Thailand to Doha, Qatar = 3,304 miles / 6 hours 40 minutes
11:56 pm, Doha Airport
Here I am at the Qatar airport. It's bright, busy, and my laptop can't be charged as I forgot my AC adapter!
The flight service was great. Video on demand and good food. I caught Indiana Jones IV and Meet Bill. I even got a wink or two of sleep. The empty seat next to me didn't hurt either. 6 hours lay ahead. I can read, I can listen to music, I can nod off. I can use a credit card to buy food thus avoiding the need to obtain local currency.
6:00 am, Doha Airport
Fifteen minutes from Gate 6 opening and taking a shuttle bus to the airplane. The last 6-7 hours have been dreary. I managed 1-2 hours of sleep in a contorted position around the arm rests on the seats. Checked my email a few times. My brother sent me a belated birthday present (thanks Jon!) and my friend Kai's friend emailed me back regarding a side trip to visit him in Botswana. Hopefully it will be affordable to make my way up there.
I'm hungry again, and looking forward to saying Jo'burg (short for Johannesburg) with some authority. And so grateful Warren is picking me up at the Cape Town airport.
The flight from Doha to Jo'burg goes over a ton of countries: Saudi Arabia, Djibouti, Ethiopia, Kenya, Tanzania, Mozambique, Malawi and Zimbabwe.
Doha, Qatar to Jo'burg, South Africa = 4,156 miles / 8 hours
12:25 pm (South African time)
Knees hurt. Full belly after decent chicken lunch (with yummy tiramisu dessert). Cold, tired, a bit unwell. It'd be best for me to get a good night's rest.
Jo'burg to Cape Town = 807 miles / 2 hours
5:50 pm, Cape Town Airport
Major snafu for me. I don't have any proof of onward travel, so no entry. I was just told I need to buy a ticket out of the country tonight. I guess this was bound to happen at some point, I was being too relaxed!
As I cleaned up after the trek, I spotted a television ad for South Africa on CNN International or BBC World. My anticipation continued to grow. I must find out first hand whether Leonardo DiCaprio did the South African accent justice in Blood Diamond!
I spent a quiet night uploading photos at a cute cafe next door to my guest house before departing the following afternoon for Bangkok via train. It turned out to be a longer trip by a few hours, and more expensive, than if I had taken the bus, however I wanted to try something different. The 2AC sleeper train cars were narrower than in India, yet the staff made your bed and I took advantage of the dinner and breakfast service. I also appreciated the purple curtains which offered a sense of privacy. The scenery during the first few hours was green and hilly.
Back in Bangkok for the third time, I took a room at the same place I stayed before with Josi and Catharine, The Rambutri Village. I ran lots of little errands like buying more mp3's, looked for scorpions at night (I found a bug cart, but they guy told me to come back in a week), overhauled my wardrobe with the finest threads Th Kho San Road has to offer, and enjoyed a few last meals (banana pancakes w/honey, spicy mossaman curry with chicken and rice, coconut shake, etc.).
I slept better the second night, and we ate a solid scrambled eggs, toast, and watermelon breakfast. Our time spent walking in the forest the final day was all of 15 minutes. I kid you not! It may well have been the most relaxing trek ever. I think it would be better characterized as a cultural hike. The term "trek" can then be reserved for longer distances and time walking per day.
The benefit of less walking was the incorporation of the elephant rides on day 2, and rafting on day 3. Monse and I were nauseated by the truck ride upriver, but we were treated to exciting sections of whitewater. The rubber rafting lasted about 30 minutes, of which a solid 20 were in rapids.
When I asked our Thai river guide about the class of the final rapid, he didn't understand me, only characterizing it as the "big" one. Left to my own judgment, I'd say we hit a few Class III's and maybe a Class IV. The cool part was there was barely any work involved. We were just along for the ride, and when the rapids ended, we switched to a traditional bamboo raft for a 20 minute ride along a calmer section.
Once we were out of the river, pad thai lunches were consumed and we drove an hour and a half to a waterfall near Chiang Mai. A few of the other guys slid on their butts down the waterfall in the center of the photo above, though only the local did the cliff jump. I didn't feel comfortable doing either at this particular waterfall and sat them out.
Day 3 concluded with drop-offs back in Chiang Mai. I took a room at a nicer hotel (sorry Kent) to catch up on rest as I had a night train booked to Bangkok the following day.
Sleeping in the authentic way of the villagers was not particularly restful. I tossed and turned all night. In the morning, chickens were running around under the platform we slept on. Tea and coffee were available, while breakfast consisted of toast and a hard-boiled egg.
Our group and the other trekked together for the 1.5 hours to the elephant camp. Once at the camp, we split up with half the people riding elephants on the opposite side of the river, and half on the restaurant side (which was adjacent a paved road).
Unfortunately, I was amongst the group on the road side. Myself and an Israeli guy climbed aboard a monstrous elephant while the trainer sat on its head. Unlike the ride in Laos, this experience included the elephant feeding on two or three occasions while we moved along. The sheer power of their trunks to pull apart foliage (heck trees) and carry them along while munching away was a sight to behold.
Much of the walk was along the pavement with cars and tuktuks driving past us. It was a bit of a letdown for me and the Spanish couple. After about 30 minutes, the guides parked the elephants off the road and dismounted them for a smoke break. When I motioned to them to ask about why we were just sitting there, they said "5 more minutes."
Either they didn't explain that this was an opportunity for us to get use to the elephants without the trainers on their heads (which was the way they would walk us back), or they were really taking a selfish smoke break at the expense of the tourists' experience. I felt completely unsafe on our massive pachyderm, though he stayed practically still unlike Monse and Xavier's.
Did I mention there was no rope or safety bar to hold us on the seating platform?
Once we arrived safely back at the docking station, the Israeli fed our boy some bananas, while I tried my hardest to reach out and pet his trunk. As you can see in the photo, I'm still developing a sense of comfort around these funny looking animals.
The elephant show was a sad sight. I took photos, and clapped on queue, but felt bad for these mighty creatures which were reduced to playing the harmonica or throwing lawn darts at balloons with their trunks.
The Japanese girls departed, and my group adopted the Israeli from the first night. We then merged with a group of 9 Argentinians and a Chilean for the 1.5 hour walk to the second village. Some of them spoke better English then others, though Spanish was now the common language leaving the Israeli and I by the wayside.
We arrived in mid-afternoon at the second camp. There was absolutely nothing to do. After reflecting on this fact, some people talked while others napped. Dinner came around and it was thankfully better than the previous night. The South Americans' guide was a happy-go-lucky guy who all but shouted his passing commentary and jokes. He was the social leader for the night.
To start us off, some villagers arrived in traditional dress and sang some songs as quite a few of us (but not me) danced in a ring around the fire. Then, the guide had us playing campfire games with the loser having to sing or dance. It was silly and embarrassing, especially when I couldn't come up with a song to sing on my own after losing one of the games.
Monse lead us later in a few others, including one I had played on my Nepal rafting trip. The entertainment was much better this second night, and we all retired around 10pm.
Chiang Mai is plastered with advertisements for treks in the surrounding area, especially north and west of the city. Like tubing in Vang Vieng, and visiting the Killing Fields in Cambodia, trekking in northern Thailand is on most backpackers' itinerary for Southeast Asia.
Expecting the quality and prices of all the 3-day treks to be similar, I booked my trip through one of the first travel agents I came across a few days earlier. In another case of spending money unnecessarily, I bought a pair of knock-off Teva sandals at the Sunday market thinking I could then leave my sneakers and flip flops behind. To save you the suspense, they only served to quickly cut my two littlest toes as they weren't properly broken in.
I was picked up in a pick-up that already held a Spanish (technically Catalonian I would learn) couple, Xavier and Monse (pronounced "moan-say"). We also added two Japanese women to the mix, however their English was very limited and they had only signed up for the 2-day trek.
We stopped (like everyone else starting their trek that morning) at a butterfly/orchid garden outside of town. And then it was off to the countryside where before we even began walking, it was time to sit down and eat a lunch of fried rice with chicken. Our guide reclined restfully, which would become a trend.
Lunch devoured, we strapped on our daypacks and headed off. I spotted our one and only snake while we were still in view of the lunch spot. Unfortunately, it had been squashed dead by a motorbike. We passed all sorts of locally grown crops such as bananas, coffee, and avocados.
We walked a total of 3 hours to reach the Karen tribe village, however we had 1.5 hours worth of breaks along the way. Xavier, Monse, and I all began to get frustrated with the slow pace. The Spanish couple were also on a trip around the world, already having trekked to Machu Picchu in Peru, climbed a 6,000 meter peak in Bolivia, and most recently done a short village trek in Burma. More on them later!
Once we reached the village, I was surprised at how small it was. It was Xavier, not our guide, who pointed out that the Karen people are persecuted in Burma, and thus seek refugee status in Thailand. They are allowed to own livestock and earn money from tourism, though not grow crops. The women are known for their long necks.
It was also Xavier who pointed out the net game akin to volleyball though played without hands is popular in Burma, though I'd seen it being played all over Southeast Asia. We all took turns knocking the ball around with the guide and a few of the guys in the village.
In one instance, I kicked my left leg up and out (muay thai style), only to have my right foot slip completely out from under me. I was horizontal for a brief moment before I came crashing down on my right forearm and hip. It might have been less embarrassing if it hadn't just been me and the guide playing with everyone else watching!
Our accommodations in the village were basic (which is the point, of course). We were surprised to find a few cold water showers existed, while the toilets were squat style. Another group of trekkers arrived and set up in a bigger structure. Dinner was served by candlelight, and once I started to find bits of chicken bone in the curry, I lost my desire to eat in the relative dark. After the meal, most people sat around the campfire talking for a period of time, though in anticlimactic fashion, everyone was in bed by the early hour of 9pm.
After the tigers got my adrenaline pumping, I took the tuktuk driver up on a suggested stop at the local shooting range. He mentioned they have machine guns, and I couldn't resist. I know Cambodia is (or use to be) the popular place to fire a few rounds from an AK-47, but I wasn't in the mood to fire automatic weapons during my time there.
Thailand, on the other hand, is all about having fun.
I walked into the small office and checked out the weaponry on hand. Pistols, a rifle, and a few shotguns. I held the pump-action shotgun, but I didn't think I was ready for it yet. I walked out since they didn't seem to have what I wanted.
A minute or two later, a plump 12-year old Thai kid (whose role at the range was anyone's guess) came to the door with a modified M-16 and asked if it interested me. Now we're talking, I thought. He also showed me a modified 9mm with a longer barrel and laser scope. Holding the pistol and pointing the little red laser, I was reminded of how cool Arnold was in the original Terminator.
Ultimately, it was the machine gun I wanted to experience, so I bought 25 rounds and fired them off in two separate spurts. The instructor told me the ammo was just a tad smaller in caliber than an M-16 round (.22 vs .223 caliber), and with a smaller shell casing. I did not ask why the rifle had been modified, though I suspected it had to do with the cost of ammunition (any gun aficionados out there care to chime in?).
Pow, pow, pow. The gun felt easier to fire than the 9mm I tried back on Phuket, and with less kickback. Unfortunately, I ran out of rounds before I got to try the automatic setting.
Author's Note: I know that tiger tourism is a concern of many people around the world, myself included. In 2018, I considered removing this article, however, before doing so I came across an article entitled "The Truth About Tiger Kingdom" which clearly highlights the difference between Tiger Kingdom where I went in Chiang Mai in 2008, and the Tiger Temple, a separate park that has been exposed for abusive practices.
Wow! What a morning. I woke up sore from the Muay Thai but got washed and breakfast at The Corner Restaurant.
I wanted to go to the Tiger Kingdom when it opened, and my plan paid off.
I was one of the first people in the cages. I decided to go all out and pay for 15 minutes with the big tigers, small, and cubs, plus a photographer for the big ones.
The big ones were BIG! No safety speech was given, just walked into the cage and told to pet them from behind - tail, body, or rear feet. No flash photography.
And because it's clearly not obvious to some people, no putting body parts in the tigers' mouths.
The Tiger Kingdom has been open six years, and once the tigers reach about 16 months, they're turned over to a Thai zoo because they're deemed too big and strong for photo ops with tourists (and to control in general).
The older ones were about 10-11 months old, weighing around 160-180 pounds. I remember one was named pancake. Big paws.
The staff had me lying down with them all. I felt incredibly vulnerable.
Somehow sitting up, I felt slightly better positioned to fend off a wayward paw, though either way I sensed the tigers could knock my head off in seconds.
While getting my last photo with two big ones, I started to smell a foul odor, only to realize the one nearest me had farted.
I took that as my queue to exit their regal presence, while the staff member nearby laughed and said they like to do that a lot.
The smaller 5-month old tigers were just as docile, though more malleable in their deep sleep, according to the staff.
The 1-month old tiger cubs were cute and playful.
One even started nibbling on me, biting the inside of my right arm (ouch!), leaving a noticeable bruise as a reminder of our time together.
There were 4-5 other tourists in the cage while I basically had the first two to myself.
Eventually, they left and I had a few minutes alone with the cubs (aside from the handlers).
Visiting the Tiger Kingdom was one of the coolest experiences of my life, and I highly recommend it if you're planning to visit northern Thailand.
Spending time up close and personal with the cats was incredibly intimidating, as even the cubs proved to have a strong (albeit playful) bite.
The enclosures where we saw the tigers seemed small, though they were immaculately clean.
I didn't think to ask if there was additional land in the surrounding area for them to stretch their legs.
All of the tigers looked healthy, and while big cats are known for their sleepy tendencies, I didn't in any way sense that they had been drugged (as has been rumored at another tiger facility for tourists in Thailand).
#15 - From Jay:
I dare you to take a Walk In Muay Thai class for one day. It will be the best workout of your life, and it is fairly cheap! Since you are in Phuket, may I suggest Rawai Muay Thai, or Tiger Muay Thai? They are the most Americanized. I'll buy ya a beer.
Reward: A beer
Status: Completed
Jay's dare provided me with yet another experience I wouldn't have sought out on my own, especially given a complete lack of martial arts experience in life and an aversion for fighting in general. I first heard about muay thai boxing in the context of The Travel Channel's "5 Takes" show which sends 5 lucky travelers to a region of the world equipped with laptops and video cameras. The sporty guy on the show went through a 2-hour training, and now it was my turn.
A few blocks from Kent's Guest House was one of Chiang Mai's boxing stadiums (think boxing ring inside a large bar). Fresh from 6 hours of cooking and eating Thai food, I took on the dare knowing I'd have to work for that beer.
Mr. K, the 1987 muay thai champion of Thailand, was my trainer. A couple of other real Thai fighters were also hanging around, with one in particular helping me out. He went out to buy me some tape to wrap my wrists (an additional cost for any other novices out there) and took all of the photos while I punched and kicked with all my muay thai might. A young Texan guy also joined the training session, trying to work off the weight gained from being on the road for 6 months. I could relate all too well, having recently confirmed a weight gain of 20 pounds (9 kg) since leaving home 11 months ago.
Before Mr. K showed me a single move, he had me spend 10 minutes bouncing left and right around a tire. A few minutes later, my calves were burning and I lost any sense of shyness, removing my already sweat-soaked shirt. The boxing shorts were on loan, after a quick smell from Mr. K, deemed they were wearable by a customer.
Mr. K taught me the basic moves - right/left jab, kick, knee (to opponent's face), and arm/leg blocks. We started without the gloves in the corner training area, then with gloves on the heavy bags, and finally Mr. K donned the training pads and we got into the ring. He gave commands, and I did my best to follow, forgetting to keep my arms up to protect my face after each move. He was incessant about reminding me to keep my hands up. If I were in a real fight, I'd have been KO'd within seconds of the opening bell. The thought scared me. The thought of the Thai fighters kicking and kneeing the hell out of each other on a regular basis also didn't sit well with me.
The Texan and I swapped time with Mr. K, and then a fighter set to headline a 100,000 Baht ($2,900) fight in a few days did a demo. He even took a few minutes to help me with my technique. The personal attention made for a great experience.
The next day, I had a sore right shin from my more forceful right kicks, and a set of ridiculous photos. Hopefully I lost a pound in the process too.
I purposefully skipped the numerous opportunities to take a Thai cooking class in the islands so I could take one in Chiang Mai, and there were no shortage to choose from. Some were located on organic farms a short drive outside the city, while others were easily within walking distance of the main tourist area in the old city. Prices were all the same, so the only other variables were slight differences in the dishes you could choose to cook and the image presented by the brochures.
I opted for an old city school housed in a 100-year old teak building. All of the classes convene at the same market for a brief introduction to the most common vegetables, curry pastes and tofu used in Thai cooking. Spotting the chef of another popular school, I noticed he had a bigger group than mine, a good indicator he's listed in Lonely Planet!
After the market tour, we walked back to the cooking school with a few baskets of fresh ingredients, and hung out for a bit. I was happy to spend the day with a young American couple from Texas (currently living/studying in China), a very tall (and characteristically friendly) Canadian man, and a French couple.
We each prepared 6 dishes from a total of 18 options. The class had a slow and relaxed pace which marked a pleasant departure from the faster-paced classes I'd taken at home with Sur La Table. We would prep the ingredients (except the chicken), cook them, and then take the finished product to the dining room. All of the locations were open air so we had plenty of room to play the role of Swedish chef.
First up was the classic hot and sour prawn soup which I ate far too little of in my first two months in Thailand, followed by spring rolls.
Papaya salad is another classic dish from the region, and it's the spiciest salad I've ever eaten (though the chili peppers are optional).
Panang curry with chicken was a dish I first tried at a Thai restaurant I'd frequent with a coworker on lunch breaks, however tasting it on Chaweng Beach in Koh Samui, I knew I had to learn to make a better version for myself.
It turned out delicious, though I'm not sure how easy it will be to find tamarind sauce and palm sugar back at home. I remember looking for tamarind paste for a Thai recipe one time and not having much luck. My attempt at making the paste from the whole pods was dreadful.
Pad thai with chicken is another dish I previously made at home, though I took a shortcut by using a Harris Teeter (grocery store) package of glass noodles and sauce. I may return to it someday, however not before ensuring I can make a mean sauce from scratch first.
And for those who saved room for dessert, sweet sticky rice and fresh mango finished us off for good!
In the interest of time and energy, I decided to take the one hour flight from Luang Prabang to Chiang Mai via Lao Airlines. The popular alternative for crossing the western border is to take a slow boat (literally) for two days along the Mekong River. By taking to the air, I was also making the final decision to skip a unique experience I first heard about from an American couple back in Indonesia. The Gibbon Experience allows you to live in 100-foot treehouses for two days. They're joined together by ziplines, and you spend your days looking for gibbons in the trees and/or trekking on the jungle floor. As it is not explicitly referenced in Lonely Planet (out of respect for the operator, it is written), I wanted to share it here since I know a few people will be heading to Laos in the near future. :)
The flight went like clockwork, and I was surprised they even had time to serve a decent lunch given the one hour duration. Jetstar's Asian contingent could learn a thing or two. Yes, I'm still bitter about the lack of complimentary water on that four hour Singapore to Hong Kong flight!
As the plane ascended and headed west, there were beautiful views of Laos' northern mountains. While you can't see graphic indications of borders from the air as though you were flying over a Google satellite image, the distinction between development (or lack thereof) in Laos and Thailand was clearly visible.
Once we landed, I grabbed a taxi to the backpacker part of town which was chock full of inexpensive guest houses and travel shops. I took a basic room in Kent's Guest House, the first one I stumbled across. As Kent showed me to the room, he talked with a bird on his shoulder (which talked back, of course). Once in the room, I told him I'd take it if everything worked (fan, toilet, etc.). Kent assured me everything in the room worked fine, it was just him that didn't. Despite the flock of pigeons in the courtyard, I felt overdue for an eccentric experience and took the room.
It was great to be back in Thailand, where you can get so much done in such a small amount of time. After a quick rest, I tracked down a Lonely Planet South Africa, paid under $20 for a routine dental visit (using the recommendation of the book shop sales woman), and picked up a pile of brochures from which to choose my Chiang Mai activities. There were so many appealing activities, and so little time. I was forced to prioritize.
First up, the low impact, highly caloric, full day Thai cooking class.
Before arriving in Laos, I had mentioned it as part of my itinerary to a fellow traveler. He asked me what was there, and I said I didn't know, but was about to find out. I traced the Mekong River from 4,000 Islands near the southern border to the mountainous north. Along the way, I grew to appreciate the slow pace of life. If you see a driver swinging in a hammock fastened under the roof of a tuk-tuk passenger cabin, you know you're in Laos!
Highlights -
Lowlights -
Getting stung by a hornet after eating my last dinner in Vang Vieng. It was black so I didn't identify it as a stinging insect. It felt like a hot syringe was jabbed into the middle of my left shoulder and left there for a few hours. As a consolation, the waiter applied some Tiger Balm and gave me Paracetamol.
Eating -
Laap lao chicken, sticky rice, Beerlao, fresh fruits (banana, mango, dragon fruit, papaya), papaya salad, fried rice, cheeseburgers, filet mignon, foie gras stuffed ravioli, white fish with orange and tamarind sauce (not together!), chocolate mousses and cakes, croissants, Lao-style coffee (with condensed milk), cappuccinos.
# of Days Couchsurfing -
0
Average Cost Per Day -
$61 (this would be about $10-15 lower if I didn't splurge on a hotel in Vientiane and a handful of fine French meals!)
8:45 am - Began mountain biking to river - 1.5 hours (16 km) on dirt/rock road - bumpy enough to justify quality bikes. Sun came out. Hot hot. Seat was hard, didn't have easy access to all 18 gears.
10:15 am - Arrived at a village, rest break, took five minute boat ride across river. Short walk to elephant camp.
45 minutes - My first elephant ride. I got to sit on her neck for a bit like the Mahout (trainers). Mine was 48 years old. Fed her some bananas afterwards. Elephant tongues are big and funny looking. She was sweet though.
There were a total of 6 elephants in the camp, and it was recognized as one that treats the animals humanely.
10 minutes - Boat ride to waterfall, lunch of chicken fried rice, began to rain steadily. Got soaked on boat back. Another rest break in village.
1:15 pm - Mountain biked back to Luang Prabang for 2 hours (18 km) on dirt/mud roads and pavement, all the while soaked by rain showers.
The moment I arrived in the old section of Luang Prabang (a World Heritage town), I fell for its charm. I believe "cute" was the exact word out of my mouth as the tuk-tuck dropped Caroline and I off (Nicholas was still tubing back in Vang Vieng).
On my first morning, I walked north toward the confluence of the two rivers which surround the city. I didn't get far before the camera came out, and I found great photo opportunities everywhere I turned.
Potted flowers
Frankentuk-tuk
Intricate exterior
Blue shutters
Pink moto with matching helmet
After 90 votes in my poll, and 40% of people thinking I should go to The Middle East after Asia, I'm happy to announce I'll get there eventually. Why can't I skip South Africa?
I'm sure there is lots more awaiting me. I love experiencing a place as I've always imagined it in my mind.
It turns the fantasy into a reality, and as much as I want to see Egypt, my image of Africa is in the game parks.
But first....adventures in northern Laos and Thailand await.
Met up with Nicholas and Thomas (France) around noon. Caroline wasn't feeling well so she skipped the tubing, Vang Vieng's main draw (beautiful scenery aside). My plan was to *not* drink at all, or much, as I was tired from my birthday celebration.
We took the tuk tuk on the ten minute drive to the organic farm and put our stuff in a communal dry bag (we rented) and set off in our tubes down the Nam Song (river).
We floated for all of two minutes before reaching the first bar. Loud electronic music was blaring from speakers, people were jumping off the big rope swing which looked more like a trapeze. And everyone seemed to be drinking Beerlao or buckets (usually whiskey and Red Bull). Before I knew it, I was too. Nicholas, Thomas, and Sandrine (who we ran into there) all went off the big swing, but I skipped it. I know I could do it if I wanted. I wasn't particularly afraid.
An hour later, we hopped in the tubes again, Sandrine and a Scot now part of our group. We passed the second bar nearby and floated on. I used my flip flops as paddles which worked out far better than just hands I'm sure. The current moved quick in some places, and occasionally we hit little rapids.
The third bar had a zipline and a crowd (and loud contemporary music). We got off and I did the zipline which was fun. It was easier to hang on then I expected, and I released right before the end would've catapulted me into an unintentional backflip. Those who didn't release in time (and not by design) were flipped like ragdolls. It was amusing, though dangerous given you could hit the water any number of wrong ways.
A few sips from a whiskey bucket, a splash in the mud pits (aka volleyball court), and we were off. We were on the river longer at this point, passing the beautiful limestone karst.
We made our third stop at a quieter bar with a small fire by which people were huddled. After sitting and talking by it long enough to feel warm and dry, it was hard to get back in the water.
Our fourth and final bar also had the last rope swing, from which I jumped. Again, it was easier to hold on than I expected (by design, the swing gives you a comfortable amount of slack). The others jumped multiple times (and would later tube a few more days after I left).
We finished the trip with a 25-minute float back to the little river island. Facing upriver, you had stunning views of the cloud-topped mountains. Stunning! They felt like something out of a movie - Jurassic Park maybe. Aside from a few passing kayakers, we had the river to ourselves (not a likely scene in the high season). There were even a few Laos people fishing and tending to their daily life along the river. There was a consensus that they must think us tube-crazy tourists are retarded!
I arrived in Vang Vieng the day before my birthday and decided to go rock climbing as a way to celebrate. A mere 14 years earlier, I had my first experience climbing on a friendly 10-12 meter quarry wall at college.
It wasn't until after I booked a half day trip that I ran into Noy, the Lao-Canadian from Don Det. He was going rock climbing for the first time on the same morning, but had booked through a different company. I could've backed out and joined him to save money, but I didn't see the harm in a little one on one instruction.
My instructor and I took a 15-minute tuk-tuk ride across the Nam Song (river) toward the large limestone karst with the climbing routes. To get to the base of the climbing area, we walked through a farm, and up some steep, wet, sharp, limestone rocks. As it turned out, Noy's instructor had three other people so they had two groups of climbers (some with previous experience). They were already set up on two 6+ routes (the higher the number, the more difficult the climb).
I belayed my instructor while he set up a rope on a 5b route (25 meters high). I set about climbing up it slowly, which was a mistake as my energy and arm strength waned within the last 2-3 meters. Despite the great natural handholds, the limestone was sharp so you payed a price (especially if you lacked good technique). It was far more difficult than the quarry wall where I first learned, and I was happy with how well I did. There is a wonderful sense of freedom from being able to start climbing up crazy rock formations with little consequence should you fall. I attempted the 5b route a second time, but didn't get as high as my first attempt.
We moved over to the 5a route (about same height) and I again belayed my instructor while he set up the rope. When I began to climb, my instructor fed me crystal clear instructions which lead me to move more quickly and efficiently up the rock. I knew he was pulling for me to reach the top given it was my birthday. He was also taking plenty of photos this time.
I reached a section where I was able to lean my butt back against a rock outrcropping (see above photo) and take a rest. Up until that point, I was performing maneuvers I didn't know I could do! After my rest, again a few meters from the top, I couldn't get up to the next foot hold I needed. While my right knee was digging into the sharp limestone, my instructor was yelling to be careful of it. I called for "tension," let go, and was eased down to solid ground again.
The views were beautiful, and even though I won't be making the cover of Rock Climber Monthly anytime soon, I got the adrenaline pumping.
After washing up, I met Noy for lunch and a birthday Beerlao. We also talked with Sandrine, a French woman who was in Noy's climbing group. While Noy and Sandrine were playing pool (and I was getting my MP3 player fixed from a virus) Nicholas and Caroline arrived from Vientiane. They immediately invited me for a beer, along with two French guys from the same minibus.
In the evening, Noy, Sandrine, Nicholas, Caroline and I went for dinner and drinks with Noy's instructor. He spoke good English, and can apparently drink a lot and still get up the next morning to teach tourists. Noy, a bartender back in Canada, made sure I constantly had beer in my glass. All in all, I was thankful to have a few fun people around me for the big day.
On my last day in Vientiane, I took a few pages from the Stay Another Day - Laos booklet and combined them with the city's main sights. The first stop was MAG (Mine Advisors Group). While the display was small, it was to the point and gave me some background on why Laos was the most heavily bombed country (per capita) on the planet.
Next, I stopped by COPE (Cooperative Orthotic and Prosthetic Enterprise). More than a few wall panels of facts and photos, there was a large interactive display to move through. I began with the first 30 minutes of an Australian documentary about the training of Laos people to disarm and destroy the unexploded ordinance that litters the eastern half of the country.
It was sad to see the residual impact of America's "secret" 9-year bombing campaign in Laos, an unfortunate extension of the Vietnam War. Nowadays, Lao people are unable to cultivate new land for fear of bombies (unexploded cluster bombs). And poor farmers attempt to harvest the bombs for scrap metal which can earn them more than growing crops.
A cloudless blue sky made for great photos at Laos' most important Wat, Pha That Luang, but the intense sunlight was hardly bearable.
There's a big arch (think Arc de Triumph in Paris) I visited as well, but it was never finished, and is recognized as a large mass of concrete useful for housing lots of souvenir vendors. I went to the top, and there were nice views of the city.
Lastly, I undertook my first body wrap at a spa while in Vientiane. It was not quite the relaxing experience I expected. Imagine having to wear disposable briefs five sizes too small (this is a bigger issue for the men reading), being smeared with green mud, encased in plastic wrap, and zipped up in a heated blanket for twenty minutes. I felt like a human hot pocket, and thankfully the only person who bared witness to the whole scene was a friendly, little Lao woman.
I must be feeling on top of the world. First a shopping spree at an art gallery, now a 3-course lunch at Le Central. The menu at this fine French restaurant has my mouth watering.
The decision:
I'm clearly the youngest guy in the joint at today's lunch seating. I was greeted upon entrance (by the owner, it felt). I had my choice of seats and picked a corner table for two with a view of the whole restaurant and bar. Ceiling fans twirl lightly. There is a quiet ambiance of mixed conversation, music, and silverware clattering against plates.
The service has been fantastic - sometimes you can just tell from the start. The mid-day glass of red house wine tastes wonderful.
The onion soup lacked the copious amounts of cheese and brandy (I believe) that my mom's version offers, however I had to try it. I immediately burnt my tongue.
The ravioli was singular, and stuffed with a large hunk of foie gras. It was decadent, and the duck consomme was light like the pasta.
When the main arrived, I also overheard the mention of one of my favorite authors, Jack Kornfield, at the adjacent table. I joined the two gentleman in further conversation, and they departed just as I decided on chocolate cake for dessert. Charles, the older American, had lived in Laos the last 19 years after arriving in the region (northern Thailand) 40 years ago with the Peace Corps. The younger British man had been here less time, having been a monk in northern Thailand for several years. He met his wife in Luang Prabang (northern Laos), so perhaps there was hope for me yet.
I feel warm and fuzzy inside. The combination of (relatively) cheap prices and laid back atmosphere in this capital "village" is amazing. I like it....I like it a lot. Living the high life for 4 days and nights in Vientiane was a great idea.
Dessert was sumptious. The chocolate cake oozed warm melted chocolate. The gingerbread ice cream was unique and tasty. I'm stuffed and ready for a siesta in my room. I'm going to ask for a copy of the day's lunch menu as a souvenir.
Ten months on the road, and I had yet to truly splurge on accommodations. My early morning arrival at the doorstep of the recently renovated Inter City Hotel would correct this wrong. The first thing the self-proclaimed boutique hotel had going for it was location. It faced the Mekong River, and was centrally located within easy walking distance of the downtown shops and restaurants.
The interior of the hotel was beautifully decorated. I looked at two rooms, settling on the lower-priced one for $40 a night. It lacked a balcony and a bath tub, but I didn't want to go overboard. My room was on the corner of the building, and three large windows allowed me to see a Wat and the Mekong River.
I loved the way the mattress was on a raised wooden platform, and not in the minimalist, monastic type of way I'd gotten use to in the budget places. This bed was actually comfortable! The sheets and pillows were soft and clean enough to call my own. The dark wood flooring and paneling was something new for me. In fact, the more time I spent in my room, the more I felt like it would make a great apartment for me in Washington or New York City. Probably too expensive an apartment, but maybe someday.
The room featured plenty of amenities, including air-conditioning, fan, cable TV, hot water (and good water pressure), toiletries, 1-liter of bottled water per day, housekeeping, bathrobe, and even slippers, though where I could go in them I did not know. I ordered room service on a few occasions, but refrained from accessing the mini bar. A buffet breakfast was included at the street-level restaurant as well.
Since there isn't a lot of sightseeing to do in Vientiane, I happily spent time in my room. In the mornings, as the sun rose, the room would fill with more natural light than I could handle. The heat beaming down on me served as my alarm clock, though a quick adjustment of the air-conditioning would always make things right again.
Two nights was more than enough time in Champasak, so the Parisians and I headed for Pakse, the largest city in southern Laos (pop. ~66,000), and a popular point from which to explore the Bolivean Plateau where coffee is grown. After crossing back over the Mekong River via the Frankenferry, it was an hour minibus ride to Pakse. We arrived in the late morning. Celene split away from us ASAP, and I soon split from Nicholas and Caroline when we started to look for accommodation. I took a room, intending to catch the overnight bus to the capital, Vientiane, the following day.
After washing up, I walked around town for a bit, ate a delicious Indian lunch (chicken tikka masala and mint naan), and realized there was little to do the following day if I didn't want to tour the countryside. I decided to take the overnight bus right away. I spotted Nicholas and Caroline sitting down for an Indian meal as I awaited the bus, so I let them know I was forging ahead without delay. My goal was to be in Vang Vieng for my birthday, and I appreciated the fact that Nicholas committed the date to his cell phone as a reminder.
The bus picked me up at 8:30 pm, and I thought I lucked out when I spotted an empty aisle seat in front of the rear stairwell. I learned these seats are great because you can fully recline without concern for a person behind you. In this instance, one concern was replaced by another when the older Lao man next to me took advantage of the space I was creating on the left side of my seat due to my tendency to lean out toward the aisle (and away from him). In addition, the bus' air-conditioning approached Siberian temperatures. Despite a thick (nicely designed) blanket, I cursed the icebox that was our VIP bus.
Around 1:30 am, we stopped for a rest break, and I exited the vehicle to stretch my legs. For some reason, the guy next to me didn't encroach on my seat thereafter. He kept noticeably to his own seat, and I managed to get a few hours of rest. It began to rain around dawn, and pour by the time we pulled into the Vientiane bus station at 7 am. I retained a tuk-tuk, which I thought was for myself, but was then stuffed with 4 soaking wet travelers and their mass of backpacks (and guitar).
My first stop was the Asian Pavilion Hotel which was in the guidebook's midrange section, having been some sort of playground for spies in the 60's and 70's. The single room I saw was dark and smelly. My next choice, the Inter City Hotel, was the editor's pick, and while more costly, it'd provide a long overdue respite from 10 months of budget accommodation.
Champasak's big draw is Wat Phu, an ancient Khmer religious complex, set at the foot of the Phu Pasak mountain range (1,400 meters). Our first morning, Celene and I took bicycles on the one hour ride south. Caroline wasn't feeling well, so Nicholas stayed behind as too.
Sightseeing by bicycle is an approach I take far too little, and despite the lack of brakes on mine, it was a lot of fun to cruise down the main street past rice paddies, farm animals, and the local people. Upon arrival at the temple's entrance, we parked our bikes and set off on foot. I was under the mistaken impression that the temple was located higher up the mountain, so I had mentally prepared myself to climb all 1,400 meters to the top!
As it turned out, the temple was only about 80 meters up the mountain in altitude, so reaching it was anti-climactic because it involved far less hiking than I expected (not that I was in the mood to hike through jungle for hours on end).
I made an offering of flowers and incense in the temple, while Celene mistakenly began to climb higher up the mountain. When I found her, she was behind a small blue sign which read "No Entry." I didn't think she'd take the Lara Croft moniker I'd given her so seriously. Then again, as Indiana Jones, maybe I wasn't pushing myself hard enough!
As we headed back down the steep stone stairs towards the entrance, we ran into Nicholas and Caroline. As they toured the site, Celene and I walked around the nearby museum and got some drinks at a restaurant by the entrance. The other two joined us and we ate lunch and rode our bikes back to the guest house to....you guessed it....relax by the river.
After two nights on Don Det, the 3 Parisians and I headed for Champasak. We took a small boat back to the mainland, keenly aware of the strong and swirling Mekong currents. Noy, a Lao-Canadian, was in the back of our boat, wearing a life-jacket because he didn't trust its ability to stay afloat. The rest of us were probably too naive about the 10-minute ride.
After a short minibus ride north, we arrived back at the shores of the Mekong River, though this time we would be crossing it on a Frankenstein ferry. Noy had warned us about the ferry, and true to his word, it appeared to be a bunch of 2x4's slapped atop 3 boat hulls.
Surprisingly, we survived the 15-minute river crossing aboard the makeshift ferry, of which there were many more lining the shores should there be a sudden rush of people and vehicles.
The scenery was beautiful though, as it felt good to be around cloud-covered mountains again. We took a tuk-tuk to a guest house along the river, and relaxed. Relaxing to the point of being comatose may very well be Laos' national pastime.
Life moves slow in Laos, especially southern Laos, and that goes double for Don Det in the low season. Restaurant tables aren't cleared until you get up to pay or leave, meaning the plates and glasses remain for hours if your conversations are lasting that long. It is the polar opposite of food service in western countries. My first exposure to such service was in Costa Rica, so it wasn't an unfamiliar experience.
Nicholas, Caroline, and Celene wanted to walk to a waterfall at the southern end of the island just south of Don Det (and connected by a bridge). Normally I'd be too lazy to take on such an adventure, which was why I value the motivation of others! The walk turned out to be quite beautiful, if a little exhausting. Most people rent bicycles for the trip, but we decided it would be too much of a hassle given all the mud.
We walked through bright green rice paddies, across the old train bridge (built by the French), and to the raging waters of what I think was still the Mekong River.
After the waterfall, we headed back, in no rush at all because no one else is on the islands.
There were tons of great photo opportunities, and Celene was just as snap-happy as me, only she was using a new Canon SLR which made a cool clicky noise with each shutter release. She sounded like a true professional.
Eventually, we stopped at a restaurant by the bridge for a local delicacy - pumpkin burgers. I don't like pumpkins at home, but the Lao ones tasted different, and dare I say better! It was served on a baguette, a sign of France's lingering culinary influence in this country.
I awoke early, which was a good thing, as I got a knock at my door five minutes to 8 am saying I could take the morning bus to Laos (as opposed to the 1 pm bus I missed the day before). I quickly washed up, checked out, and hopped in the waiting minibus. There was a French couple - Nicholas and Caroline, a UK couple - Justin and Cat, and a single French girl, Celene, who I sat next to in the back. It was an hour or so drive to Laos' southern border which was very quiet.
Officially, we got our exit stamps from the Cambodia office, and received our entry stamps from Laos, however we had to wait 45 minutes between the border gates for our new minibus. Classic!
Normally I don't or can't take photos at a border crossing, however between the herd of goats hanging out in the street, and the Laos official swinging around in a hammock under a shade tree, I had a mini photo shoot. Neither the goats, nor the border officials, raised an eyebrow.
Our new minibus arrived after dropping off a group of tourists heading from Laos to Cambodia, and we got in for another hour's drive to the Mekong River. Once there, we were lead to a boat for the 10-15 minute ride to Don Det, a small backpacker haven. My initial impression upon exiting the boat was that it was like Gili Trawangan on a river. The main mud path through the village at the northern (tourist) end of the island was lined with small souvenir and convenience shops, restaurants, and a pair of internet cafes.
I joined the British couple at one of the first bungalows we came across on the sunset side of the island, while the French folks found a similar accommodation a little farther down. Like on Koh Phayam in Thailand, bungalow electricity was only available from 6-10 pm. We all regrouped in the evening for dinner and a few drinks at the restaurant tied to the French people's bungalow. As 10 pm rolled around, and it was lights out on the island, Justin, Cat and I headed back to our bungalows in the pouring rain. The paths were so muddy we removed our sandals so they wouldn't get stuck. The sensation of walking through the mushy mud paths in the dark was gross, as we were already aware of all the livestock in the area.
Highlights -
Lowlights -
Eating -
Amok with chicken or fish and rice, Cambodian curry, fried rice, baguettes, coffee, pizza, ostrich, bugs, grasshopper, dog, snake, frog, Angkor beer, banana pancakes, parma ham risotto with mushroom sauce (Phnom Penh)
# of Days Couchsurfing -
0
Average Cost Per Day -
$63 (would be about $10 less if I didn't buy a new mp3 player, lots of music and souvenirs)
I was up early and in the hotel lobby by 7:30 am. My destination was Don Det, an island on the Mekong River in southern Laos. On paper, it seemed like a short 8-hour day, the worst of which would be the 4 hours riding dirt roads on the way out of Ratanakiri.
I was picked up at 8:15 am, and being the first in the van, I was able to secure a good seat. A large piece of plywood lay across the right side of the van's interior, making entry and exit just hard enough to be annoying. The bus actually departed town an hour later, packed to the gills with Cambodians and their luggage. Again, I was the only westerner, and to my knowledge, the only English-speaker, though at least I could lean back in my seat. As a bonus, I had the pleasure of being blasted with video karaoke at decibels louder than anything I heard on an Indian bus. For the record, I prefer India's music videos to anything else I've seen or heard in Asia thus far.
Around 11:45 am, our driver stopped to inspect the front right wheel well.
About 20 minutes later, we came upon a big truck filled with people, some of whom were pointing and laughing at our minibus. The driver stopped again, and this time, it was for good. Everyone exited the minibus and a few guys, along with the driver, began to take the front right wheel off, which involved an elaborate setup of wood from both within the bus, and along the road side. Apparently the jack didn't get the vehicle high enough on its own.
Meanwhile, I noticed everyone else had moved to shade on the side of the road, and with good reason. Standing on the dirt road, in the mid-day sun, was intensely unpleasant. I had my mp3 player with me but wasn't in the mood to hear music. The one time I start a bus trip without a full 1.5 liters of water turns out to be the time the bus breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Minutes felt like hours, and I started to wonder how long we would be stuck. Who knows how things work in Cambodia in such situations. I started to wonder whether I would need to tap my encyclopedic knowledge of Bear Grylls' survival techniques. The mud puddles by the road looked less than appetizing, and I was in no mood to scrounge for bugs.
After more than an hour of sweating and wondering, my patience finally ran out and I ambled over toward the driver who had also resigned himself to sitting in the shade after being unable to fix the minibus. Preparing to ask my "how long until" question using only body language, I was met with a response in English that a replacement car would be there in 10 minutes. He must've been shy, I thought, to have clearly seen me confused for the past hour and not offered up such useful information.
Less than 10 minutes later, a minivan pulled up with a man, a woman, and 12 bottles of water. I guzzled mine in an instant, and boarded our new vehicle while the rescuers set to work on the old one. As it turns out, minus the breakdown, it would've been a mere 3.5 hours on the dirt roads. Despite the breakdown, I was able to enjoy the scenery I couldn't see on my way to Ban Lung. There were far more homes than I thought, mostly set amongst farmland.
I missed my connection to Laos, and spent an uneventful night in Sleung Treng as a result.
On my second day in rural northeast Cambodia, I hired a 4x4 to tour local ethnic villages. I went with a guide who was different from the one on my first day, who took me to a volcano crater lake. This new guide operated the small internet shop next to the hotel where I was staying.
He spoke better English and was offering the tour "at cost," meaning he would not be earning a profit. I don't know why. The guide I'd used a day earlier said such a move was designed to "destroy" him.
I felt bad, but as I had no one to share the cost with, the difference was sufficient for me to go with the lowest bidder. I promised to buy my next bus ticket from the first guide, which he appreciated.
First, we stopped so I could pick up a new 2-gig SD memory card (my fifth). Then, I asked to visit the bank, expecting to exchange traveler's checks, only to find an ATM.
It arrived in town a year ago, and I was ecstatic to find that it had begun to accept Visa in the last month. With a fresh supply of dollars in hand, we set off on a two-hour 4x4 ride past villages and into the jungle.
The first big obstacle was a detour through a stream. The far end was the deep section, and we were under enough water for me to wonder whether my feet were about to get wet.
Thankfully, my driver handled it all like a pro, and the jeep never flinched (well, it did stall once over the 4-hour round trip).
Giant ruts from erosion and massive holes filled with muddy water hampered us the whole way. I was glad to have sprung for the more costly truck over a motorbike.
The 45-minute boat ride upriver to the first ethnic village was great, with beautiful views. On the subsequent boat legs of our journey, I sat in front. The boat was so narrow that it felt as though one errant shift in weight would capsize us.
The first village was settled about 30 years ago after the Khmer Rouge was deposed. It consisted of an ethnic minority of 300-400 Cambodians who practiced Animism, a belief system related to animal spirits.
The unusual cemetery was the main draw, which turned the village into a tourist destination. The rituals surrounding death require a lot of time and effort, and symbolism is used extensively in the construction and placement of the graves.
My guide carefully pointed out the exact spot where the buffalo are sacrificed. A few of their skulls hung on trees around the cemetery.
As we headed toward the boat, it began to rain, and we could wait it out in the home of one of the village elders. My guide/driver also acted as an interpreter so that I could ask a few questions.
Back on the boat, we returned to the restaurant where we had begun, which overlooked the river. There, we ate lunch before heading off on a shorter 10-minute boat ride downriver to walk through Chinese and Lao villages.
The Chinese arrived after escaping the Japanese invasion during WWII. Twenty-five families accounted for about 125 people.
When I noted the many stores selling cell phones, radios, etc., my guide responded that the Chinese were natural businesspeople; thus, their village reflected their prosperity.
The adjacent Lao village stood out in stark contrast. It was filled with farmers who sold rice to the Chinese and also bought from their shops. The Lao people settled due to their proximity to Cambodia and past warfare.
I slept late the morning after my harrowing bus ride to out of the way northeast Cambodia. When I walked downstairs to find breakfast, I was practically ambushed by a tour guide for the hotel. I agreed on a half day moto tour of three local waterfalls, along with a stop at Boeng Yeak Laom, the local swimming hole.
While I needed to see more waterfalls like I needed a hole in the head, I went along for the ride to savor a few more hours of weaving through rural villages, rubber plantations, and farmland. The first waterfall was the best, as you could walk behind the wall of cascading water. By the third I was more than ready to see the lake.
The moment we arrived, it began to rain so we sought shelter under one of the few small restaurants. After the rain passed, I went for a wonderful swim. The water was clear, the temperature perfect. Nature's bath! Perhaps it was the rain, or the late hour, but I had the jungle-enclosed lake to myself. Well, aside from a baby getting a scrubdown on the stairs. According to my guide, it is dangerous to swim near the center of the lake because water is sucked down into the volcano. And while he assured me there were no volcano sharks lurking around, there was still an eerie quietness I found slightly unsettling.
The opportunity to swim in such a beautiful lake, yet to be disturbed by development, was worth the discomfort of my bus ride. The guide said there was news of a 5-star hotel to be built using the lake as it's "swimming pool." If true, it would be a shame to have the very tranquil nature of the lake disrupted by hotel development trying to sell the seclusion it has destroyed! The idea reminded me of an article I had read in a Southeast Asia magazine which detailed how much of Cambodia's land is currently being sold to foreign investors. Hundreds of islands have been bought, and the impression I was left with is the country is up for sale.
Sometimes I use shorthand in my journal to track my day. The following events are real. If I knew proper names, I would most certainly use them. It is worth noting that the advertisement for this minibus trip to Ban Lung in northeast Cambodia stated 10-12 passengers. The trip was suppose to take 10-12 hours, including 4 hours on dirt roads toward the end.
6:30 am - Woke up
7:00 am - Unexpected moto taxi ride to travel office
7:30 am - Moto ride back to Lotus Travel near Rory's Guest House in light rain to pick up my forgotten passport (with freshly inked Laos visa)
8:00 am - Minibus picks me up. I am the only tourist in a bus of Cambodians who do not speak English. The seat I get in the second to last row is of the flip-down variety. The back support is non-existent. As we head out of town, several more people are picked up, with a woman choosing a seat behind me over sharing mine (I don't blame her). This results in a kid sharing my seat instead. Due to all the bags of unknown content, and luggage configuration, the back of my seat is flipped down. I've gone from poorly supported backing to no backing whatsoever, with a mere 11 hours to go. The two guys to the left of me have little luggage and maximum legroom. The guy to my immediate left guards his space by keeping his right knee aggressively pointed out. There are now 17 people, including the driver and me, in the minibus.
Our driver is the Cambodian Mario Andretti. He doesn't see a car, truck, or bus he doesn't pass at high speed. Anything that moves on the street is warned with a staccato honk - beep beep beep beep beep. I hypothesize that the first beep is a mental note to himself that there is life ahead, while by the fifth beep, he's actually warning the life form. Sometimes, I don't even see movement on the road to warrant this noise. It's incessant, and turning up my new mp3 player to drown it out only hastens my eventual deafness.
A few hours into the trip, we stop for a bite to eat, and I see a woman selling fried spiders for the first time. She holds a big plate of them in one hand, and a bucket of live ones in the other. Since no one spoke English, I didn't have the opportunity to ask why she was carrying live ones around. My only guess was it indicated freshness. Or maybe customers can choose their snack from the live bunch. If eating a spider was a dare, I would gladly fail to complete it.
1:30 pm - We reach muddy road blocked by a trapped pickup truck. Many men try to free the truck to no avail. Other trucks begin to circumvent it through more mud. Each success is met with a small cheer from the crowd. It is raining lightly, and as I couldn't resist getting out of the bus for a few photos, my clothes are damp and my feet muddy. I learn one Cambodian man on our bus does speak a little English. When a large bus tries to make its way past the pickup truck along an intersecting mudbath, it gets stuck too.
2:30 pm - The road delay lasts one hour before the large bus gets stuck, and Mario gives up and takes a detour through a village along the shores of the Mekong River. If he has a saving grace, it is an unnerving desire to see his passengers to Ban Lung come hell or high water.
3:00 pm - Lunch in Kratie. The chicken is served on the bone, thus I don't bother to eat it, focusing on the rice instead. I buy some crackers and water.
5:00 pm - Reach Stung Treng where the pavement ends and the 4 hours of dirt roads begin. It is starting to get noticeably dark as the sun heads down. Mr. English, familiar with the route, expects we'll arrive a few hours late, around 8-9 pm. Beyond any initial excitement for the journey, by this point I am in a state of semi-consciousness, still prone to my emotions and hopes of arriving before any power cuts which may be the norm for the small provincial capital.
6:40 pm - Night, pouring rain, headlights stopped working. Mario pulled into a nearby building with lights and people watching TV. Perhaps a restaurant? I've got a pounding headache from the bumps and noise and whole day. Fortuitously, I put some Paracetamol in my daybag the night before, which takes the edge off. I'm tired and cranky. What the hell am I doing in northeast Cambodia? Where will I sleep tonight? We pass very few homes with lights, and I consider the possibility that I may end up knocking on some Cambodian's door in search of a bed. I accept this as my plan-B. My bags, clothes, paintings will all get soaked if I have to walk any distance.
7:30 pm - The headlights were fixed for 30 minutes, then broke again. Mr. English, along with an Asian tourist who had the front seat up until this point, ditched us for a ride with a local. I felt slighted. Apparently my 5 minutes of chit-chatting at the roadblock couldn't compete with the rapport developed with Mr. Front Seat.
Mario makes the executive decision to continue driving down the pitch-black, rain-soaked, bombed-out, mud road using the flashing amber hazard lights of our Mercedes Benz. We drive at a snail's pace for another 4.5 hours. It was hellacious. The woman behind me (mother of the kid next to me), Ms. Loudmouth, laughed heartily every time we hit a bump in our disabled vehicle. It began to sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. Past any regard for politeness, on several occasions I cupped my hands over my ears in an attempt to display my annoyance. Her son apparently took after her, all but shouting in my right ear when he spoke, spit occasionally spraying onto my right cheek. By now, I was so tired, I had no emotional energy left to be angry or annoyed or anxious.
My comfort, and that of the other passengers, improved incrementally as people began to get off an hour or so outside of our final destination.
12:00 am - Arrived in Ban Lung, a full 4-6 hours later than expected, though the rain had ceased. Even the roads in the center of town were dirt. There was no one around. I knocked on the first hotel lobby I saw with lights on (and 4 men sleeping on cots and benches). Apparently, though it sounds hard to believe, I was able to get the last room available.
A cold shower and sleep were all I could handle.
Each time I broke a camera, I was annoyed but grateful my mp3 player was still intact and working fine. Unlike removing photos from a digital camera, I can't remove my music from a broken mp3 player. I remember spending weeks burning my CD's to mp3's, and then loading 7 gigs of my favorite music. Genres and songs for all potential moods and occasions. What would happen to me if I were to lose it all?
Unfortunately, I found out when my Creative Zen V Plus mp3 player froze upon start-up my first morning in Phenom Penh. It sometimes happens, so I took out the trusty needle I'd been using the whole trip specifically to "reset" the player. I tried it once....twice....thrice, but no luck. Around the tenth attempt, I gave up.
The silver lining was my location - a capital city. Surely there would be mp3 players for sale, and as for the music, I didn't know. I took a tuk-tuk to the Central Market out of sightseeing curiosity, but quickly began to shop around for a new mp3 player. There were the knock-off iPods, but I didn't want to buy cheap and pay for music, only to have it break in a month. I eventually found a Transcend 4gb player at a computer shop across the street encircling the market. $57 seemed steep, however I got a guarantee with it (good only in Cambodia of course).
After buying the player, I went into a nearby music shop to ask about buying English mp3's. I was given a box of bad Asian pop music and compilation hip-hop CD's. I might've been hopeful had the box not contained 20 copies of what appeared to be 3 different CD's. Next, I wanted to check out the backpacker area by the lake since I wasn't staying there. As the tuk-tuk drove through the narrow street, I saw a few signs for mp3's, and disembarked. At one bar, I found giant catalogues of modern and older music by genre. I was ecstatic. I ordered a big Beer Lao and drew up my list. I handed the list of 32 albums to the guy, racking up a total bill of $20. He even loaded the music for me, while I took in a sunset over the lake at a nearby guest house.
In the pouring rain, I collected my mp3 player and rode back to Rory's, triumphant. The mp3 player didn't include an AC adapter, but it seemed like both options I tried were working - using my Creative AC adapter and the USB port on my general purpose AC adapter. I had music again, but not for long.
The next morning, my new Transcend mp3 player wouldn't start up. I was pissed! I was shocked! I was not going to waste any time getting back to the computer shop for a replacement. After all, I had paid a premium for a guarantee! As to why it was broken, it occurred to me that it couldn't handle the charging from the AC adapters, but there was no way to tell for sure.
Back at the computer shop, I presented my receipt, the player, and all of the packaging and components to the sales girl who had helped me the day before. She brought it to the second floor techie room, where a guy confirmed it was broken. I came back down to the customer service area, where a young man informed me that since I had removed the small "warranty shield" sticker which had been placed on the device at the point of sale, they guarantee was voided. I retorted that I was unaware of the sticker's importance. After a few minutes of back and forth, I was resigning myself to having thrown away $77 and an afternoon, when the young man asked if I would be leaving the store angry. I'm sure my expression said "yes" even if I didn't.
At that point, he went to talk to someone else, and I was then told a replacement could be provided if I waited another 30 minutes. Sure enough, I got a new one, and directed my driver to head for the backpacker enclave yet again. It felt like Groundhog Day, though the guy who I bought the mp3's from the first time around wasn't working.
Luckily, there was the Boom Boom Room which sold mp3's as well. I ended up buying more music than the first time around. Ironically, the harder to find stuff on my old player was also the stuff I listened to the least. I went for the artists I could depend on the most, including:
2.5 gigs of music obtained, I was ready to hit the road to Rattanakiri in rural northeast Cambodia.
I ate lunch at a pleasant restaurant directly across from S-21, and headed out of town on the dusty, dirty, pollution-choked road to the killing field at Choeung Ek. All but about seven of the 10,000+ prisoners that passed through S-21 were killed. Some died from the torture, beatings, disease, or malnutrition, while most were hauled off to Choeung Ek for straightforward execution.
It was a moving site, and bigger than the ones I saw around Battambang, but no more powerful.
I made an offering of flowers and incense at the stupa which was filled with thousands of skulls and bones.
It was sobering to see the holes in the Earth - excavated mass graves.
On the dirt paths, you could see human bones sticking out.
I joined 2 Australian guys on a tour as there were no more guides available. The guide was blunt. I wasn't sure if he relives personal experiences every day working in such an environment, just doesn't know much English, or talks that way for effect. Regardless, I was glad to have already had a more personal experience beforehand with Phi-lay.
I spent 2.5 hours touring all 4 concrete buildings at the Tuol Sleng genocide museum. Under the Khmer Rouge, the former school was referred to covertly as S-21.
Stepping into the former cells in Building A, I was confronted with a solitary bed frame, old ammo boxes which were the prisoners' toilets, and rudimentary shackles consisting of a metal bar and two semi-circular cuffs. A large photograph of the victim found in the room hung as a reference to the terror that occurred there 30 years earlier.
It was the Vietnamese, who upon liberating Phenom Penh and Cambodia in 1979, first discovered the secret prison that was S-21. A photographer captured the images of the last prisoners to be tortured and killed there.
As I was quietly reflecting, a tour group began to come up behind me. Despite the sign posted outside the cells requesting silence, the leader continued to talk to the group once inside, which I found to disturb my own experience. I decided to sit outside and wait for them to pass, at which point I was approached by a Cambodian student and asked to complete a survey. It presented a nice diversion until the group passed, and I resumed.
Standing in the rooms, looking at photos of what happened to people there was horrifying. It sent chills up my spine the few times I consciously tried to imagine what it would've been like to experience the prison first hand.
It's unlike any other museum I've walked through. The Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC is somber, yet there is something I found more emotionally moving about actually standing in the physical structure and rooms, and on the orange and white checkered tiles, where so many people were mistreated and killed.
Seeing the photos of the men, women and children held there was even worse. I was close to tears. The looks of fear, unhappiness, and sadness on their faces. The paintings depicting torture - a Khmer Rouge figure preparing to hit a baby against a tree as his mother is pulled away crying. The image of a baby speared with a soldier's bayonet.
There were also displays of rudimentary torture devices, including a slanted table used for waterboarding.
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PS: After exiting my tuk-tuk on the side road outside the museum's walls, I was almost immediately approached by a man requesting money. He removed his cap to gesture for a donation, and when I looked at his face, I was immediately taken aback by the disfigurement. It looked like he had been severely burned. His right eye seemed to be coming out of the socket. Shocked, I turned down his request and hustled into the museum's entrance.
Once inside, I paid and sat down for a moment to collect my thoughts. I felt remorse for my initial reaction, and removed some money from my wallet to offer should he still be around when I left. Sure enough, almost 3 hours later, he approached me again, and while I can't claim to have stuck around long to talk, I did hope the money I gave him would be of some use.
The Facts: It's September 25th. It's my birthday. I'm a Libra.
Thoughtful dares (with much appreciated rewards) would make my day so far from home. To all my family, friends, former coworkers, and readers everywhere, now is your chance to speak up!
If you're having trouble thinking of something entertaining (relevant, funny, weird, embarrassing, or just plain gross), check out the dares I've completed or still have pending. And here's my personal travel wish list for the remainder of my time abroad:
I admit after 10 months, it looks ambitious in list form, but that's why I need your support!
I studied a little bit of architecture in college, and while I've forgotten all those pesky details we had to memorize for exams (you know, minor stuff like influential architects, buildings, and styles), I retained an appreciation for architecture as art. The French Colonial architecture seems out of place in an Asian country such as Cambodia. The above photo captures a beautifully restored building now used by UNESCO. I love the luck I struck by catching a passing monk and traditional cyclo in the same shot.
Next to the UNESCO building was another fantastic representation of the style, though it could do with a new coat of paint. Both of these buildings are opposite the park in front of the national museum near the riverfront.
And lastly, I'm not sure if the building along this side street was French Colonial or not, but the open shutters struck a chord with me visually.
After a simple breakfast at upmarket Cafe Fresco along the riverfront, I walked aimlessly around the neighborhood.
The Royal Palace, I was assured, was not quite as stunning as the one in Bangkok, though it seemed worthy of a visit.
While it lacked the Thai flair for colorful mosaics, the architecture was very similar and beautiful in its own right. Neither the building with the throne, nor the temple with the giant gem-studded gold Buddha and silver-tiled flooring allowed photography, so you'll just have to put Cambodia on your travel list if you want to see what's inside.
Still aglow after experiencing the hospitality of Phi-lay's family, I boarded a comfortable mid-morning bus to Cambodia's capital, Phnom Penh. I was able to fully appreciate the scenic drive for two reasons - the paved roads and the arrival at the city's outskirts an hour ahead of schedule. My bus buddy for the trip was a Cambodian who commuted to the capital every weekend to complete his Master's. His English was great, so I made sure to spend some time chit-chatting.
I made a conscious decision to stay by the riverfront, which is a little more expensive and centrally located than the traditional haven for backpackers by a lake. After my first choice hotel was booked, I stumbled upon an available room above Rory's Irish Pub. At $14 a night, I was a block from the central riverfront area, a few blocks from The Royal Palace, and surrounded by tons of restaurants (everything from the local eateries to The Foreign Correspondent's Club). My view from the pub looked out over an open park filled with children playing every afternoon.
Money matters out of the way, I was happy to return to Phi-lay's home. Since I mentioned chicken was my favorite the previous night, his wife planned to cook it two different ways. While Phi-lay was driving a few other tourists around, I hung out with Rich and an assortment of his siblings and neighborhood kids. There always seemed to be lots of people around. We sat on a rustic bench in the shade of a large tree near the road, and watched life (and traffic) go by. Phi-lay's brother was in town, however he didn't speak English.
I'm a recovering picky eater, so when the night's offerings were placed upon the table and I saw the chicken still on the bone, I moved slowly so as not to take more of the food than I knew I could eat. In restaurants, if I forget to ask, and chicken arrives on the bone, I usually leave it completely aside. My strategy failed miserably when Phi-lay continued to heap on chicken long after I had stopped. While I enjoyed nibbling on a few of the frog's legs, he made sure to give me an entire curry-stuffed little beast. To my surprise, I enjoyed it more than the chicken. The guts had been removed in favor of a spicy curry paste. It was a little gritty, but otherwise tasty.
Since they don't have a refrigerator, ice is required to keep drinks (or food) cool, so I was honored that they had bought ice to keep two Anchor beers cold for me. Phi-lay and his brother drank cheap ginger wine without abandon. He said a bottle normally lasts him 10 days, thereby accounting for one after-work drink a night.
After the adults ate, followed by the kids (oldest to youngest), I was once again invited to watch Bollywood movies upstairs. Knowing what to expect this time, I simply sat back and soaked up the atmosphere. We shared some small treats I had bought earlier when Rich took me on a short moto ride. We stopped at a small, finely manicured park where he said people go for wedding photos. A young woman pulled up in a Lexus SUV (popular vehicle of the wealthy in the country), and Rich commented on her status. His master plan was to marry a European woman so he could leave Cambodia and make more money (I have no doubt some of which would be sent back to his family).
When the lights went off at 9pm, the flashlights turned on, and I hopped on Phi-lay's moto for the ride back to my hotel. Before getting into town, I gingerly leaned backwards and cranked my neck up to see a night's sky filled with twinkling white stars.
Phi-lay sold me on staying another day in Battambang, and he did it through being such a sincere and friendly person.
A lot of drivers and guides could learn a thing or two from such a man. It wasn't just Phi-lay though.
I was enamored with the moto rides through villages and hearing the "hellos" of little kids.
I knew my Cambodian experience was being defined in the countryside around Battambang, not the Angkor Wat tourism of Siem Reap, nor whatever lay ahead in Phnom Penh.
I managed to be up by 8 am for a breakfast of bread with cheese and coffee with fresh milk on the roof.
Phi-lay met me at 8:30 am and took me to a locals' morning food market (not the big Central Market).
I saw a dog's head being cracked open with a cleaver, fish and frogs being cleaned, and plenty of meat and entrails on display inside a building.
Live snakes, snails, and fish were also for sale. But my personal Moby Dick, the scorpion, was nowhere to be found.
Next, we motored on paved roads out of town and through villages.
Our first stop was a crocodile farm where the crocs were so motionless the first few minutes, I thought they were all statues (and I was being duped).
Phi-lay disproved my feeble theory by tossing some crumpled leaves into the pit toward a croc with its mouth open wide. To my surprise, it instantly snapped its jaws shut.
Meanwhile, a guy was up a palm harvesting coconuts along one of the farm walls!
We passed one of the former Khmer Rouge hospitals where Phi-lay had stayed as a child.
We stopped near a temple for a rest break. Phi-lay bought some dried snake, which was heated up over a small flame before being ready to eat.
On a foodie roll, I tried some when offered. It had the consistency of jerky, and a distinct snakey flavor which was certainly all its own (as opposed to chicken).
We visited a killing field where over 10,000 Cambodians lost their lives.
We slowly walked around the stupa which was still a work in progress.
Sculpted reliefs depicted the difficult daily lives of the people under Pol Pot's reign, including the long hours toiling in fields, and various means of execution and torture.
The most gruesome image for me was a baby impaled upon the bayonet of a rifle being waived in the air.
These sights are so solemn, especially when with a survivor, yet I sense a resilience in Phi-lay and the country.
In spite of government corruption and poverty, I hope for nothing but the best in Cambodia. As a show of appreciation, I paid Phi-lay double the cost of the two tours.
Money matters out of the way, I washed up at the hotel and awaited a ride back to his family's home for another special meal.
I hesitated at first, when Phi-lay asked me to join his family for dinner after having only spent a few hours with me. I sensed he wouldn't take "no" for an answer, and as he was literally in the driver's seat at the time, I RSVP'd for what was to become one of my fondest experiences of the whole trip. The initial delay might have been from the knowledge that in addition to him and his wife, there were 8 children in the family. 8! I don't even know what to do around one.
The whole family lives together under the same roof. Only Phi-lay and his eldest son, Rich, work and bring in money. They were also the only two to speak English. The cynical part of me wondered how much of the interest in me was tied to an interest in a bigger tip. But that small voice, which is new to me and only the result of too many encounters with hustlers and greedy drivers on my trip, was quickly overshadowed by his wonderful family. A welcoming wife, pretty daughters (the youngest being 11 and 14) and handsome sons (Rich being in his early 20's).
We had beef and rice, and sweet potatoes later on while watching a Bollywood movie in their TV room which doubles as a bedroom for the kids. The dining table and open-air kitchen are on a patio under the house. They only have electricity from 7-9pm nightly, and it is bought from a private supplier. The power level would decrease from time to time, requiring the DVD to be restarted and fast forwarded to the place where it last played.
Feeling tired from a long day, I asked for a ride back to my hotel a little before 8pm, but not before committing the special scene to my camera's memory card.
#14 - From Erica:
You knew someone would dare you to eat dog while you were in
Reward $20
Status: Completed
At some point in
He picked me up again at 4pm and took me to a local restaurant where the chef/owner has served dog for the last 10 years. I imagine the last time a Westerner ate there was NEVER! Yet there were several tables of Cambodians and it wasn't even the dinner rush. I required a beer for this one, and Phi-lay joined me on that note. As we awaited our food, I took a photo of the chef, and upon showing him, he proudly ran around the place showing people the photo of him holding a giant pot of dog parts. Who are we to judge whether this delicacy is right or wrong?
I asked to try both of the available dog dishes - grilled and a greasier, bone-inclusive stew (complete with kidneys). Phi-lay assured me the food was safe as doctors visit the farms where the dogs are raised. Mint leaves and sliced young banana were accompaniments, along with a tasty curry dipping sauce. After a few bites of the grilled dog meat, which seemed to be in the shape of sausage, and the yuckier stew, I tried to be polite and focused on gobbling up the crunchy and delicious young banana slices which went well with the now dog-flavored dipping sauce.
Phi-lay admitted to not being keen on dog either (he needed a beer with he meal too), though I was glad he joined me. Thankfully, his wife was beginning to prepare a proper dinner back at home, and I was invited!
PS - I love dogs. Especially