Well, actually the full saying goes "no money, no honey; no honey no lovin'; no lovin', no baby; no baby, no problem."As taught to us by our Vietnamese tour guide through Nha Trang Bay. So I have a feeling, then, that you've guessed we entered Vietnam...
.......................
Amy and I left Cambodia on a low- low morale, low spirits, whatever you want to call it. It was the most difficult, heart-wrenching place I've ever been, hands down. So it was with not a little bit of guilt that we decided to to spoil ourselves, and hop a boat for the journey to Vietnam. A six hour sail down the Mekong brought us to the Mekong Delta, the small town of Chau Doc, and the completely and utterly true rice hat stereotype. All along the banks of the river, men and women alike worked in fields and rode on motorcycles sporting rice hats. What a delight. As is the fact that the currency, which we happily exchanged on the boat, is called the Dong. 'Nough said.
Anyway, Chau Doc was not exactly our desired getaway, so we hopped a bus immediately into Saigon. But the bus wasn't a bus- it was a van, which took us to another van, which drove us to a ferry and then for five hours toward the biggest, most crowded city I've yet seen. And then, of course, came the cursory midnight motorcycle ride through crowded traffic circles and down narrow alleys full of chickens, to a hotel that was full, and then another one that was full and finally....blissful, sweet bed. And AIR CONDITIONING!
Saigon is massive, yes, but it's a city for the people, not a city for the tourists. So it was easy to pick out what sights we wanted to see- mainly, the Vietnam War Memorial Museum. As we walked through four floors of war artifacts, articles, and pictures, I've never been less proud to be an American. We saw barbed wire cages used by the US as torture chambers, cramming three or four people in a tiny space for days at a time, until they became deformed from crouching so long, or else cut up from the barbs. We read about Agent Orange, a chemical used excessively in the War, and which has been found to be VERY bad for humans- back then it meant melted-off or exploded body parts; today it means generations still born mentally or physically handicapped. It was fascinating to see how the whole world, from New Zealand to Ghana (and let's be honest, who considers Ghana to be a political stronghouse- and yet they organized demonstrations against the War in Vietnam) were against the war, and yet the U.S. didn't listen. We found a way to justify it...
It was December 5th when we ditched the city and made our way to the first stop up the coast of Vietnam- a distance comparable to that between Montreal and Florida. The town was called Mui Ne, and it was our paradise. A perfect little beach town- white sand beaches, one of the top kite surfing destinations in the world. Our guesthouse opened right into the sand, and hammocks swung from every palm. Not bad, right? Aside from laying on the beach for hours at a time, we rented a motorcycle and rode out to the Red Sand Dunes, where we tried out our dune-surfing skills. And we found a mini waterfall, with the help of these two boys that acted as our tour guides. We knew they wanted money from us, so at the end we offered them some dong, and they looked appalled. They wanted about five times what we'd offered. When we said no, they left, but confronted us again at the motorcycles, until we handed more over. Not the best situation...
After Mui Ne came Nha Trang, and our first real super-tourist experience. We, along with a friend we made along the way (Arthur), joined a day tour around the bay. We stopped at a few islands, did some snorkeling, and ultimately couldn't believe how touristy it was! Let's just say there was enforced karaoke and dancing, and a 'floating bar.' We decided not to stay too long in Nha Trang, though, and left that night on an overnight bus North.
There's not much to say about the middle of the country- mainly because we decided to rush north and skip most of the middle. The night buses were great compared to normal buses, but I still had the joy of waking up with my overly-cuddly bunkmate using my forehead as his elbow rest. Yikes.
So, to just jump straight ahead, we just kept getting on buses until we found ourselves in the far Northeast of Vietnam, and the first real cool weather we'd seen in two months. The last bus dumped us off at Halong Pier, where we joined a tour boat on December 12th, booked to spend the night on the boat in eerie/beautiful Halong Bay. So it was that I woke up on my birthday on a boat, surrounded by thousands of islands that seemed to shoot straight up out of nowhere. The boat dropped our group off on Cat Ba Island, where we were taken to the local National Park to hike for awhile, and finally at the main town, to leave the group and fend for ourselves. There was plenty to keep busy...you know, the typical beautiful beaches and sunset to rival none. No problem.
Halong Bay was more than enough to keep us busy the next few days, but the racing calendar eventually had us straggling back to Hanoi, and then by train to the mountains, to hang out with the Red and Black H'mong Hilltribes (p.s. it was my first train!). Sapa, the town, was gloriously cold and full of adorable hill tribe women, pho ga, and hot tea. We wiled away time by hiking up into the hills, and found a crazy faerieland of views and trails. We even went to a Catholic Church service, delighting the Vietnamese tourists to the area to the point where we spent a good 20 minutes posing for their pictures. And, as sometimes happens, we didn't pay attention, and caused a minor scandal by sitting on the men's side of the church. Woops.
The road back from Sapa left us only five minutes from the border of China, so what could we do, but jump on motorcycles and find our way? Only the rifles and complete inability of the guards to take a joke stopped me from sprinting across the border...Ah well. We shrugged our regret, but left for Hanoi once again without managing to gain any bullet holes.
Hanoi is an incredible city. It's crowded and chaotic, but wonderful and full of culture. There are 'specialty food' streets with restaraunts that serve nothing but dog or cat meat; there are water puppet shows- truly bizarre spectacles which have been around for a thousand years; there's streets of shoes, others of silk; there's even the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, where "Uncle Ho" is completely and perfectly preserved, resting his head on a silk pillow as visitors file through. No talking, no hands in pockets, no pictures, look straight ahead, walk single file. Respect Uncle Ho.
That's it though...that's the end of our travels! We did and saw alot that I couldn't even bother mentioning, as there are real words for it. We have thousands of pictures, many stories, and several pairs of fisherman pants to show for our two months. And we have many more places to go :)
Random Tidbits:
-The lady at our guesthouse in Mui Ne, and her dog, decided that I shouldn't be allowed to write left-handed. As a result, I'm a little bit ambidextrous now!
-Sand flies are the bane of my existence
-Sometimes toilets in night buses don't flush. Sometimes if you decide to use them anyway, they slosh their contents on your foot when you hit a bump. :/
-listening to Vietnamese men sing 'Santa Baby' is a much better form of entertainment than any movie...ever
-If you happen to overstay your visa in Vietnam by say, 5 days...expect to get ripped off by corrupt immigration officials. Expect to pay $40, instead of the usual $25. Expect to want to cry and rip our their 2-inch-long mole hairs as they look at you and threaten to cancel your flight if you don't pay them what they want. Maybe next time, just get the right visa.
.....................
Cuoi
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Kampuchea'd
Well, I guess I've gradually talked my way through Thailand, so that would make this the story of Cambodia...A little preface? Well, Cambodia is one of the poorest countries in the world. Duh. The Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot (some relation to the dictator that is also my right bicep) did some damage, ya know? I don't mean for this story to be a history lesson, but to be honest, our trip and that history are inseparable. Cambodia is POOR. There is no place where this is not evident in Cambodia, and we began in Siem Reap, home to Angkor Wat and some of the most mercilessly aggressive hawkers out there.
...so Amy and I entered Cambodia on November 24 with the brilliant ambitions to slow our personal plunge into the depths of an empty bank account. Our plans included avoiding getting ripped off anymore, so we were proud to escape the scamming hands of false-visa salesman as we entered the country. Even more, we decided-and this is where certain relatives of mine will need to cover their eyes- to try couchsurfing. For those who maybe haven't heard yet, CouchSurfing is a phenomenon by which one registers on a website, and connects with other like-minded people who are willing to come let you crash for free at their place. Simple as that! And no, NOT sketchy...usually. I mean, I've done couchsurfing before, on the East coast and in Canada. And they were great experiences! That's why I didn't hesitate to get in touch with a dude named Moun in Siem Reap, who ran a reputable guesthouse and was willing to give us a patch of tile floor for a few days.
All that was fine, no problem. Moun himself was great and kind, and we really didn't care if we had to sleep on the floor. In fact, it wasn't until the second or third night, when the amount of grasshoppers coming in from the open window near my head was escalating to unbearable amounts. And when the bathroom that we had to share with the all-male staff two stories below began to reek of mildew and spawn mosquitos and a solitary massive cockroach (which decided to help Amy wash her hair). And when we both got horrible colds that took our voices and turned them into chainsaw-sandpaper growls. And when our Dutch rooommate got sick and began retching loudly through the night, which itself refused to cool down below 80 degrees freaking Fahrenheit. THEN it was too much.
But honestly, I can't complain about that. Siem Reap was a place where the inhabitants took every part of your soul capable of guilt and shoved it in the air for all to see. Anytime we sat down to a meal women with undersized infants on their híp would come up with their hands clasped together and stare, wordless. A shake of the head did nothing. They stood and watched the fork go from plate to mouth and back again. What should we do? We've heard stories of how travellers gave money to these women and later saw the woman plop the child down carelessly on some corner while she went to hunt down some smokes. (She always comes back for the child, or so I would assume. It would just be plain bad business strategy to do otherwise). Or what about the millions of tuk-tuk drivers who shout "Hey lady, you want to go somewhere?" literally every step you take. "Hey lady, you're beauty-full. Want to ride tuk-tuk?"
No, worst of all for us were the children hawkers, who would try to sell us books or postcards. If you said "no thank you," they'd intimidate you, or else take a more conversational approach. One kid we began talking to was mad that we wouldn't buy a book. Amy asked if he was in school, and when he said yes, she began talking about his future, and what he might want to be when he grows up. He was furious. "I have no future. You buy book or I have nothing. This is my whole life." I'm still speechless. How could we not help him? But how could we help him? Nothing we could say or do would truly help or change anything. Ugh.
...............
I suppose I should get to the play-by-play, since this is getting pretty long already. Of the four days we spent in Siem Reap, two of them were designated sick days. But we did venture out to see both a sun rise and set over Angkor Wat. I can't really describe Angkor Wat sufficiently, big surprise. Let's just say it's the biggest religious structure in the world. And it's just one of more than thirty ruins in the area. It's a massive pile of stones, balanced and carved into elegant towers and rooms and walls and all that sort of thing. Many of them were similar, but one of my favorites was Da Phrum. Not just because it's where they filmed Tomb Raider. More so because there are massive trees growing out of the walls, and as I sat in a window frame being all deep and thoughtful, a group of hippie Korean ladys in tye-dyed hairbands surrounded me without a word and made me pose for a few photos before moving on. Yes please.
Okay...other highlights: All the ponds around the temples were full of lilys. Maybe this shouldn't have been a highlight compared to the majestic architecture, but I've never seen a legit lily and lily-pad. It was ze best! Also, we saw a tribe of wild monkeys. Never a boring day with wild monkeys around. Oh yeah, and the ruins were a highlight. It was one of the most incredible places I've ever been and I refuse to waste words by trying to explain what can't be. I'll post pictures.
Phew. Anyway, from Siem Reap, we boarded a ridiculous bus. It bounced more than I thought possible. Is it possible to replace rear suspension with anti-suspension? That's the only explanation there can be. The seats also emitted a squishy moist sensation when we sat upon them...so with an eleven hour ride ahead of us, we settled into our unwanted hot-tub. But shoot! Wasn't too long after we succumbed to our plight that ít ended. We got transferred to another bus, much nicer. So what if we were the only white people and therefore were designated entertainment for every Cambodian person on the bus? They loved to pass me a river clam, and watch the curious disgust when the mud-like creature made its way to my tummy. (For those of you who know me, you can see I'm TRYING to like seafood. I just can't. Even red-speckled clams out of a plastic bag on a sticky bus in Cambodia.)
Well, that done and accounted for, we were all of a sudden in Ban Lung! The fabled Ratanakiri Province, land of red dust and...dust. We were drawn here by our travel book, which promised waterfalls and lakes and adventure. So we laid down our sweet- oh sorry, I meant sweaty- heads, ready for some old-fashioned pre-adventure sleep. Next morning, we awoke with plans to find these natural wonders. And since at some point in my life I seem to have bragged about my motorcycle riding skills (mad skills though they are), I nervously accepted the mission to hire a motorcycle and blindly navigate my way to some destination or other. Turns out, the motorcycle was about the best thing in the world. As soon as I was on it, I became one with everything Ricky Bobby has ever preached. "I wanna go FAST!" So I did. And we rode, very lost, through the back country roads of Eastern Cambodia, with huge cumulus nimbus (which, by the way, I learned are the origin of the phrase "riding on cloud 9." In the 1865 or 1869 publication of the 10 types of clouds, cumulus nimbus with their clearly defined edges were number 9. And they are well-loved.) clouds billowing overhead, and sunshine glimmering on endless expanses of green, showing families picking fruit, old men sitting in red plastic chairs, and trees and vines that seem to fight one another to reach the sky, intertwined as they are.
Anyway, we found the lake! It is a beautiful expanse of maybe the cleanest water I've ever seen, filling in the crater of a volcano. There's not one building around the edge, not one person swimming, nothing. It was perfectly preserved, and there for us to play in! We create a minor scandal by stripping down to our bathing suits (Cambodian people typically swim fully clothed) and doing flips off the dock. It was absolutely perfect. Of course, we had to test if perfect could get even better, so we hopped back on the motorcycle, I pretended I knew where I was going, and eventually made it to a waterfall. We parked in the forest, among the labor elephants that moved lazily through the brush, and climbed down to a beautiful waterfall. Taking the opportunity to check something off Amy's bucket list, we climbed up behind it and stared through the massive death sheet. A few vines stared at me until my Tarzan- well, Jane- instinct could no longer resist, and I swung around madly for a minute, but not quite daring to splash into the rocky and (probably) leech-filled water.
We eventually broke away, and had to return the motorcycle and call it quits to the land of the red dust. But it left us the kindest of parting gifts off our next bus, a two-inch layer of thick red dust to cover absolutely everything we own, finding its way into zipped and secured pockets. The cleaning process was not pretty. This new town was, though. It's called Kratie, and winds its way along the edge of our beloved Mekong River. There wasn't too much to do here as far as adventure, but we did spend a few days relaxing and finishing off the colds that still clung to our throats, just walking up and down the small boardwalk. It was on one of these strolls that we saw the kites. A man had a good couple dozen of them attached to his motorcycle, and was sitting all alone in the middle of a grassy square. How could we resist, honestly? The wind was perfect. Before long, we were accompanied by children just getting out of school and wanting to see what the crazy farangs were doing. Soon there were about a dozen kites next to ours, and kids laughing and screaming as they did tricks and we barely kept ours afloat. A few tried to give us lessons, but no dice...
That's about the end of Cambodia...we took a bus to Phnom Penh, stayed one night at the cheapest place we could find, and left along the river next day in a boat, sailing our way to Vietnam.
...............
Random tidbits:
-Asian people, especially Korean, seem to love to take pictures of Amy and I, and do so any time, any where, without asking permission. They just come and stand next to you in different poses while their friends take dozens of shots.
-There's one part of Angkor Wat that depicts the "Battle of the Sea of Milk." I still don't understand it, but I like the name.
-At one bus stop between towns in Cambodia, a group of little girls came sprinting up to Amy and I with their hands held out for hi-5s. I taught them the slapping game and some fancy hi-5 variations, and one of them decided we were best friends, and began holding my hand everywhere I went for the rest of the 30 minutes. When we rode away in the bus, she stood next to my window and blew me kisses. They were so malnourished they had the bloated bellies that you see from hunger. And their teeth, still baby teeth, had rotted out.
-Cambodia has an enormous amount of people that have been victims to landmines. A massive portion of the population walks around missing some limb or other. And there are still countless landmines that haven't been 'found' yet, planted by the Kmer Rouge in the 70's, without being counted or mapped. The only way to find them is by trial and error...
The End
...so Amy and I entered Cambodia on November 24 with the brilliant ambitions to slow our personal plunge into the depths of an empty bank account. Our plans included avoiding getting ripped off anymore, so we were proud to escape the scamming hands of false-visa salesman as we entered the country. Even more, we decided-and this is where certain relatives of mine will need to cover their eyes- to try couchsurfing. For those who maybe haven't heard yet, CouchSurfing is a phenomenon by which one registers on a website, and connects with other like-minded people who are willing to come let you crash for free at their place. Simple as that! And no, NOT sketchy...usually. I mean, I've done couchsurfing before, on the East coast and in Canada. And they were great experiences! That's why I didn't hesitate to get in touch with a dude named Moun in Siem Reap, who ran a reputable guesthouse and was willing to give us a patch of tile floor for a few days.
All that was fine, no problem. Moun himself was great and kind, and we really didn't care if we had to sleep on the floor. In fact, it wasn't until the second or third night, when the amount of grasshoppers coming in from the open window near my head was escalating to unbearable amounts. And when the bathroom that we had to share with the all-male staff two stories below began to reek of mildew and spawn mosquitos and a solitary massive cockroach (which decided to help Amy wash her hair). And when we both got horrible colds that took our voices and turned them into chainsaw-sandpaper growls. And when our Dutch rooommate got sick and began retching loudly through the night, which itself refused to cool down below 80 degrees freaking Fahrenheit. THEN it was too much.
But honestly, I can't complain about that. Siem Reap was a place where the inhabitants took every part of your soul capable of guilt and shoved it in the air for all to see. Anytime we sat down to a meal women with undersized infants on their híp would come up with their hands clasped together and stare, wordless. A shake of the head did nothing. They stood and watched the fork go from plate to mouth and back again. What should we do? We've heard stories of how travellers gave money to these women and later saw the woman plop the child down carelessly on some corner while she went to hunt down some smokes. (She always comes back for the child, or so I would assume. It would just be plain bad business strategy to do otherwise). Or what about the millions of tuk-tuk drivers who shout "Hey lady, you want to go somewhere?" literally every step you take. "Hey lady, you're beauty-full. Want to ride tuk-tuk?"
No, worst of all for us were the children hawkers, who would try to sell us books or postcards. If you said "no thank you," they'd intimidate you, or else take a more conversational approach. One kid we began talking to was mad that we wouldn't buy a book. Amy asked if he was in school, and when he said yes, she began talking about his future, and what he might want to be when he grows up. He was furious. "I have no future. You buy book or I have nothing. This is my whole life." I'm still speechless. How could we not help him? But how could we help him? Nothing we could say or do would truly help or change anything. Ugh.
...............
I suppose I should get to the play-by-play, since this is getting pretty long already. Of the four days we spent in Siem Reap, two of them were designated sick days. But we did venture out to see both a sun rise and set over Angkor Wat. I can't really describe Angkor Wat sufficiently, big surprise. Let's just say it's the biggest religious structure in the world. And it's just one of more than thirty ruins in the area. It's a massive pile of stones, balanced and carved into elegant towers and rooms and walls and all that sort of thing. Many of them were similar, but one of my favorites was Da Phrum. Not just because it's where they filmed Tomb Raider. More so because there are massive trees growing out of the walls, and as I sat in a window frame being all deep and thoughtful, a group of hippie Korean ladys in tye-dyed hairbands surrounded me without a word and made me pose for a few photos before moving on. Yes please.
Okay...other highlights: All the ponds around the temples were full of lilys. Maybe this shouldn't have been a highlight compared to the majestic architecture, but I've never seen a legit lily and lily-pad. It was ze best! Also, we saw a tribe of wild monkeys. Never a boring day with wild monkeys around. Oh yeah, and the ruins were a highlight. It was one of the most incredible places I've ever been and I refuse to waste words by trying to explain what can't be. I'll post pictures.
Phew. Anyway, from Siem Reap, we boarded a ridiculous bus. It bounced more than I thought possible. Is it possible to replace rear suspension with anti-suspension? That's the only explanation there can be. The seats also emitted a squishy moist sensation when we sat upon them...so with an eleven hour ride ahead of us, we settled into our unwanted hot-tub. But shoot! Wasn't too long after we succumbed to our plight that ít ended. We got transferred to another bus, much nicer. So what if we were the only white people and therefore were designated entertainment for every Cambodian person on the bus? They loved to pass me a river clam, and watch the curious disgust when the mud-like creature made its way to my tummy. (For those of you who know me, you can see I'm TRYING to like seafood. I just can't. Even red-speckled clams out of a plastic bag on a sticky bus in Cambodia.)
Well, that done and accounted for, we were all of a sudden in Ban Lung! The fabled Ratanakiri Province, land of red dust and...dust. We were drawn here by our travel book, which promised waterfalls and lakes and adventure. So we laid down our sweet- oh sorry, I meant sweaty- heads, ready for some old-fashioned pre-adventure sleep. Next morning, we awoke with plans to find these natural wonders. And since at some point in my life I seem to have bragged about my motorcycle riding skills (mad skills though they are), I nervously accepted the mission to hire a motorcycle and blindly navigate my way to some destination or other. Turns out, the motorcycle was about the best thing in the world. As soon as I was on it, I became one with everything Ricky Bobby has ever preached. "I wanna go FAST!" So I did. And we rode, very lost, through the back country roads of Eastern Cambodia, with huge cumulus nimbus (which, by the way, I learned are the origin of the phrase "riding on cloud 9." In the 1865 or 1869 publication of the 10 types of clouds, cumulus nimbus with their clearly defined edges were number 9. And they are well-loved.) clouds billowing overhead, and sunshine glimmering on endless expanses of green, showing families picking fruit, old men sitting in red plastic chairs, and trees and vines that seem to fight one another to reach the sky, intertwined as they are.
Anyway, we found the lake! It is a beautiful expanse of maybe the cleanest water I've ever seen, filling in the crater of a volcano. There's not one building around the edge, not one person swimming, nothing. It was perfectly preserved, and there for us to play in! We create a minor scandal by stripping down to our bathing suits (Cambodian people typically swim fully clothed) and doing flips off the dock. It was absolutely perfect. Of course, we had to test if perfect could get even better, so we hopped back on the motorcycle, I pretended I knew where I was going, and eventually made it to a waterfall. We parked in the forest, among the labor elephants that moved lazily through the brush, and climbed down to a beautiful waterfall. Taking the opportunity to check something off Amy's bucket list, we climbed up behind it and stared through the massive death sheet. A few vines stared at me until my Tarzan- well, Jane- instinct could no longer resist, and I swung around madly for a minute, but not quite daring to splash into the rocky and (probably) leech-filled water.
We eventually broke away, and had to return the motorcycle and call it quits to the land of the red dust. But it left us the kindest of parting gifts off our next bus, a two-inch layer of thick red dust to cover absolutely everything we own, finding its way into zipped and secured pockets. The cleaning process was not pretty. This new town was, though. It's called Kratie, and winds its way along the edge of our beloved Mekong River. There wasn't too much to do here as far as adventure, but we did spend a few days relaxing and finishing off the colds that still clung to our throats, just walking up and down the small boardwalk. It was on one of these strolls that we saw the kites. A man had a good couple dozen of them attached to his motorcycle, and was sitting all alone in the middle of a grassy square. How could we resist, honestly? The wind was perfect. Before long, we were accompanied by children just getting out of school and wanting to see what the crazy farangs were doing. Soon there were about a dozen kites next to ours, and kids laughing and screaming as they did tricks and we barely kept ours afloat. A few tried to give us lessons, but no dice...
That's about the end of Cambodia...we took a bus to Phnom Penh, stayed one night at the cheapest place we could find, and left along the river next day in a boat, sailing our way to Vietnam.
...............
Random tidbits:
-Asian people, especially Korean, seem to love to take pictures of Amy and I, and do so any time, any where, without asking permission. They just come and stand next to you in different poses while their friends take dozens of shots.
-There's one part of Angkor Wat that depicts the "Battle of the Sea of Milk." I still don't understand it, but I like the name.
-At one bus stop between towns in Cambodia, a group of little girls came sprinting up to Amy and I with their hands held out for hi-5s. I taught them the slapping game and some fancy hi-5 variations, and one of them decided we were best friends, and began holding my hand everywhere I went for the rest of the 30 minutes. When we rode away in the bus, she stood next to my window and blew me kisses. They were so malnourished they had the bloated bellies that you see from hunger. And their teeth, still baby teeth, had rotted out.
-Cambodia has an enormous amount of people that have been victims to landmines. A massive portion of the population walks around missing some limb or other. And there are still countless landmines that haven't been 'found' yet, planted by the Kmer Rouge in the 70's, without being counted or mapped. The only way to find them is by trial and error...
The End
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The Big Sweat
Back to the play-by-play, after a short three week intermission. Where were we? Mae Hong Son.We did our time in Mae Hong Son, the little mountain town on the border of Burma, remember? Next, we decided to make our way to another small town called Pai. So, we're walking merry and light-hearted to the bus station (and maybe we got lost 9 times, maybe we didn't), and meet a very kind and completely hippie old Seattle dude, who breaks down his life story into chunks: the times he was surfing while on LSD; the time he fell in love with and married a woman in Jamaica, but later got amnesia and never went back to her and her unborn child; the time he was an architect. All good stuff. The moral of the story is, he was a nice guy that offered to have his friend in Pai show us around. His friend, however, had the Thai attitude of 'mai pen rai,'the equivalent of 'hakuna matata,'or 'no worries.' Fortunately for us, we're hippies at heart and we take that sort of attitude in stride.
Anyway, Pai is full of farangs, most of them dred-locked and not all there, if you catch my drift. Not exactly the cultural heart of Thailand, but more like OB moved a few miles. The big draw for us, though, was elephant riding. We booked our way right onto the hairy back of an elephant for a couple of hours. Talk about surreal! Let me tell you, bareback on an elephant might be the most ridiculous thing ever, not to mention painful. I think I'll be forever bowlegged after a trip like that. But despite getting tossed around like a rag doll, it was incredible. Our elephant, Pah-Nam, let us climb on up and hang onto her ears while she trekked up into the hills and to a river. Pah-Nam is a big fan of baths, you see. And she wallowed right in, filled her trunk, and sprayed us down over and over. Completely worth every bit of elephant snot!
We had a short recovery from the ride in a local hot-spring hot tub, spent one more night in Pai, then started the first part of a long trek into Laos. The border town on the Thai side is called Chiang Kong, and there rests another Peace Corps volunteer kind enough to let us crash for a night. His host dad decided we should all be friends, and busted out his camera to take pictures with Amy and I, then drove us to the border crossing, which was a small boat across the Mekong River.
I'm a little ashamed to say that we let our guard down here and got ripped off, paying twice as much for the bus ticket as we should have. Regardless, almost as soon as we crossed the border, we found ourselves on a night bus to Luang Probang, one of Laos' major cities. That bus ride caused Amy and I to call ourselves Canadian for awhile, as it was full of loud and rude American girls that might have burned the American flag with just their mouths, if one had been handy. It was 15 hours, several flat tires, a lot of nausea, and no sleep later that we landed in Luang Probang.
To me, this city was nice and beautiful and all- alot of French influence, which meant crepes and baguettes three meals a day. But I can't say that I liked it. It was a town for the tourists, not a bit for the people. Given it was dark, during the entire 15 hours from border to arrival I saw only tiny bamboo huts lining the road, with people crouched beside tiny fires cooking food and warming hands. It seemed to me to be poverty at its most outrageous- and then to reach a fully functioning city, with flush toilets (thank goodness no more squat toilets!) and running water seemed...wrong. Laos, at least Luang Probang, gets its electricity from Thailand, for it hasn't developed any means of its own. And still, I ate my crepes...
Moral issues aside, we did enjoy Luang Probang, set right on the Mekong River and filled with monks in their orange robes and umbrellas. An early morning run took me to the edge of the Mekong as the sun rose and the fog drifted through a gap in the hills to rest on the water. No complaints there.
The way out of Laos was just as nerve-testing. The bus driver and six of his closest friends decided to do all night karaoke in the front of the bus to what I would swear was the exact same song on repeat. To settle his own frustration then, the guy in front of me used his super-chair to recline his way into my kneecaps and crush me into my seat, and the German girl next to me spent the night muttering profanities at the knock-off sleep medicine that wasn't putting her to sleep. From this bus, we only had two more buses and a tuk-tuk until we were back in Phaitone, and safe in Liz's house.
The plan was to spend the next week helping to teach English at her schools, but we still had the weekend to kill- and apparently, it was all planned out for us! Her community was so excited to see us again, they had divvied up our free time to be with them. First off the bat was to meet with Babpat and her nephew Bom, for a nice dinner. According to Thai manners, the oldest person at the table pays for dinner, so our offers of money fell on deaf ears. The next day, we met those two again in Phrae and spent a good part of the day looking at a wat that was designed with the aid of drugs. Well, I'm not sure if it was, but it was over the top for sure. Bright colors and gold everywhere, countless bells and buildings and giant buddha statues, some with orange robes draped over them. It was all over, though, when we walked into a room dedicated not to Buddha, but to a past monk who had served at the temple. We even got to pay our respects in person, for his moldy carcass was conveniently on display.
Eventually we left the wat to meet another teacher who had called Liz, so Babpat and Bom (who now has the words bomb-diggity, awesome, and turd in his vocabulary- don't aske me how) dropped us off at teacher #2's place. She was a terrifying woman. I'm not sure how to describe her any other way. Every where we went she steered us, and the only comparison I can think of is Ms. Trunchbull from Matilda, except for a nicer version. She took us to dinner as well, at a place on a lake where there were the options of fishing for your food, or renting a karaoke room. We did neither, but instead spent dinner listening to all the things we would do together with this teacher. This, I have to tell you, is called 'Thai-knapping.' It's an art form, really, where the hospitality of the Thai people is free-flowing. It can look like anything from being provided with a meal and company, to being taken to a party, or kept to sleepover on the floor for a night or three. It's not really sketchy, like I'm making it sound- they just want to make you feel welcome and comfortable. It's what they do for everyone, and is just a way to show friendship. Still, with the imminent danger of being thai-knapped for more than just dinner, we made a quick break and headed back to Liz's.
When Monday rolled around, Amy and I went to school with Liz, and were stared at by every child and teacher in sight. Every day the schools begins with an hour long assembly to sing a song to the king, and to tell all the grades what they're doing well, and what they're doing badly. With us farangs as guests, however, we had the special treat of being shoved to the front of the assembly and given a megaphone. Short introductions and our Thai names gave the kids a laugh, but really we could have said anything. Noone understood us. Everyone wanted us in their classrooms though! The teachers took it in turns having us come in and teach the kids a song. I don't know how many times we sang 'Bananas of the World, Unite!' that day, nor do I want to.
Tuesday means a different school, so Amy and I decided to go with Liz to that one as well, crossing our fingers that we wouldn't have to sing about bananas again. This time, though, we got to speak with kids who seemed to understand most of the basic questions we asked, and they in turn taught us to sing the Loi Krathong song for the national holiday. One of the classes even taught us to do some Thai traditional dance. The teachers were delighted to have us, and invited us to lunch and to have ice cream after. I had the idea to go hunt around town for some basket weavers, to see if I could learn how to do it. My trip soon became me, Amy, Liz, her co-teacher, and five girls who decided that walking around town was a sufficient replacement for PE class. They became our tour guides, and we did finally get to watch a man weave a basket out of bamboo. But in the process of showing us back, they accidentally took us the long way home, and our walk became a flower-picking and fruit-eating expedition to rival none. I horrified everyone by attempting to do cartwheels. All in all, a priceless day.
The next day was back at the first school, joining in the cooking class to learn how to make fried bananas. Finally, our last day in Phaitone, we hopped a songthao to Phrae (very proud of ourselves for making it around on our own), and went to see a lady we'd met the week before. Her name is Jutarat, nickname Goi (which means the bald spot on Buddha's head), and she may be the nicest person alive. She runs a clothing store that uses organically grown cotton, and then she dyes them using indigo dye. It's the most beautiful stuff you've ever seen, and makes you wonder why anyone ever uses chemical dye. She let Amy and I dye a few shirts, and showed us how the dyes are made from indigo plants and stored in cement vats laid in the ground. But, since not everything can be blue, she also makes dyes from tree bark, plants, insects, and other plants, and can make any color. I could go on for hours...
That night, our last night in Phaitone, Megan rode in on a bus, and Amy and I packed. The four of us left the next day to Chiang Mai for the Loi Krathong Lantern Festival. That first night we got there, though, we weren't having any of that festivity stuff. It was Harry Potter time. Enough said. Next day was our chosen Thanksgiving, and we spent some time gathering our feast- salad, falafel, subway, and a burrito. Not exactly traditional Thanksgiving, but we took it up to the roof of our hostel, lit some candles, and feasted while watching thousands upon thousands of fire-lit lanterns float into the sky like embers from a giant bonfire, accompanied by a million fireworks snapping and popping all over the city.
The lantern festival is one of land and water...lanterns are sent into the sky, and 'gratons' (little floats made out of palm trees, flowers, three sticks of incense, and a candle, and including bits of your own hair and fingernails) are floated down the river to make offerings and wishes of amends for the harm done to the earth throughout the year. Even though we partook and lit a lantern and floated a graton, this is still first and foremost a Thai holiday. I'm fairly sure that every Thai person was out in force in Chiang Mai, either in the parades, lighting fireworks, or sending off gratons with their sweethearts.
Liz and Megan eventually had to leave and go back to their teaching lives, and Amy and I decided to spend one more day in Chiang Mai. We found ourselves at another elephant camp, where the elephants show off their soccer, harmonica, dancing, and painting skills. There were a few baby 'phants, which Amy liked. But that was the last of Thailand. Five weeks, already done!
It took a ten hour night bus to get from Chiang Mai to Bangkok, and I'm still not sure it was real. As we stepped on the bus, I noticed one little cockroach scurrying under a seat. When we sat down, however, I soon found it wasn't the only one! I spent a good portion of the night trying to sleep, waking up, smacking a cockroach with my shoe, and trying again to sleep. That ride, against all odds, eventually ended and led to another bus ride from Bangkok to the Cambodian border. Tired as we were, we were still so proud that we had the wits to ditch the scammers at the border who were trying to rip us off on a visa, and walk on through. A short two hour taxi ride and one more tuk-tuk ride brought us to a hostel in Siem Reap, the gateway to Angkor Wat.
And here we are! We've been three days in Angkor Wat, watching the sun rise and set over the ruins of Cambodia's proudest asset, and hiking among them...
...............................
Random Tidbits:
--some elephants have enough trunk-control to swing it around like a helicopter. Others can use theirs to smack you on the head when you're trying to get a picture with them...
--Angkor Wat has monkeys! We saw a troop of wild macaques along the side of the road today :)
--we had the privilege of doing a thai-knapping ourselves in Chiang Mai. Our roommate at the hostel agreed to go to dinner with us, so we took him to a salad place. Byah!
--when I bit my nail to add it to the graton, it occurred to me that it's the first time I've bit my nails for a good cause. Mama, you should be proud.
--in one of the classrooms, Amy was given the chore of explaining the Santa Claus side of Christmas to the kids. Have you ever tried to explain that to anyone?! One little kid seemed to get it though, and said he was going home that night and hanging up his sock :)
--I went on a walk one evening and these two little kids started chasing me. I taught them how to use my camera- they thought it was a good idea to capture a huge green beetle and put it on my head so they could take pictures.
--Cambodia is hard on the heart so far...kids chase you asking you to buy bracelets or postcards or water. They come up to your table while you eat and stare at you, but won't accept food. They just want money. What do you do with something like that?
.............................
Da End
Anyway, Pai is full of farangs, most of them dred-locked and not all there, if you catch my drift. Not exactly the cultural heart of Thailand, but more like OB moved a few miles. The big draw for us, though, was elephant riding. We booked our way right onto the hairy back of an elephant for a couple of hours. Talk about surreal! Let me tell you, bareback on an elephant might be the most ridiculous thing ever, not to mention painful. I think I'll be forever bowlegged after a trip like that. But despite getting tossed around like a rag doll, it was incredible. Our elephant, Pah-Nam, let us climb on up and hang onto her ears while she trekked up into the hills and to a river. Pah-Nam is a big fan of baths, you see. And she wallowed right in, filled her trunk, and sprayed us down over and over. Completely worth every bit of elephant snot!
We had a short recovery from the ride in a local hot-spring hot tub, spent one more night in Pai, then started the first part of a long trek into Laos. The border town on the Thai side is called Chiang Kong, and there rests another Peace Corps volunteer kind enough to let us crash for a night. His host dad decided we should all be friends, and busted out his camera to take pictures with Amy and I, then drove us to the border crossing, which was a small boat across the Mekong River.
I'm a little ashamed to say that we let our guard down here and got ripped off, paying twice as much for the bus ticket as we should have. Regardless, almost as soon as we crossed the border, we found ourselves on a night bus to Luang Probang, one of Laos' major cities. That bus ride caused Amy and I to call ourselves Canadian for awhile, as it was full of loud and rude American girls that might have burned the American flag with just their mouths, if one had been handy. It was 15 hours, several flat tires, a lot of nausea, and no sleep later that we landed in Luang Probang.
To me, this city was nice and beautiful and all- alot of French influence, which meant crepes and baguettes three meals a day. But I can't say that I liked it. It was a town for the tourists, not a bit for the people. Given it was dark, during the entire 15 hours from border to arrival I saw only tiny bamboo huts lining the road, with people crouched beside tiny fires cooking food and warming hands. It seemed to me to be poverty at its most outrageous- and then to reach a fully functioning city, with flush toilets (thank goodness no more squat toilets!) and running water seemed...wrong. Laos, at least Luang Probang, gets its electricity from Thailand, for it hasn't developed any means of its own. And still, I ate my crepes...
Moral issues aside, we did enjoy Luang Probang, set right on the Mekong River and filled with monks in their orange robes and umbrellas. An early morning run took me to the edge of the Mekong as the sun rose and the fog drifted through a gap in the hills to rest on the water. No complaints there.
The way out of Laos was just as nerve-testing. The bus driver and six of his closest friends decided to do all night karaoke in the front of the bus to what I would swear was the exact same song on repeat. To settle his own frustration then, the guy in front of me used his super-chair to recline his way into my kneecaps and crush me into my seat, and the German girl next to me spent the night muttering profanities at the knock-off sleep medicine that wasn't putting her to sleep. From this bus, we only had two more buses and a tuk-tuk until we were back in Phaitone, and safe in Liz's house.
The plan was to spend the next week helping to teach English at her schools, but we still had the weekend to kill- and apparently, it was all planned out for us! Her community was so excited to see us again, they had divvied up our free time to be with them. First off the bat was to meet with Babpat and her nephew Bom, for a nice dinner. According to Thai manners, the oldest person at the table pays for dinner, so our offers of money fell on deaf ears. The next day, we met those two again in Phrae and spent a good part of the day looking at a wat that was designed with the aid of drugs. Well, I'm not sure if it was, but it was over the top for sure. Bright colors and gold everywhere, countless bells and buildings and giant buddha statues, some with orange robes draped over them. It was all over, though, when we walked into a room dedicated not to Buddha, but to a past monk who had served at the temple. We even got to pay our respects in person, for his moldy carcass was conveniently on display.
Eventually we left the wat to meet another teacher who had called Liz, so Babpat and Bom (who now has the words bomb-diggity, awesome, and turd in his vocabulary- don't aske me how) dropped us off at teacher #2's place. She was a terrifying woman. I'm not sure how to describe her any other way. Every where we went she steered us, and the only comparison I can think of is Ms. Trunchbull from Matilda, except for a nicer version. She took us to dinner as well, at a place on a lake where there were the options of fishing for your food, or renting a karaoke room. We did neither, but instead spent dinner listening to all the things we would do together with this teacher. This, I have to tell you, is called 'Thai-knapping.' It's an art form, really, where the hospitality of the Thai people is free-flowing. It can look like anything from being provided with a meal and company, to being taken to a party, or kept to sleepover on the floor for a night or three. It's not really sketchy, like I'm making it sound- they just want to make you feel welcome and comfortable. It's what they do for everyone, and is just a way to show friendship. Still, with the imminent danger of being thai-knapped for more than just dinner, we made a quick break and headed back to Liz's.
When Monday rolled around, Amy and I went to school with Liz, and were stared at by every child and teacher in sight. Every day the schools begins with an hour long assembly to sing a song to the king, and to tell all the grades what they're doing well, and what they're doing badly. With us farangs as guests, however, we had the special treat of being shoved to the front of the assembly and given a megaphone. Short introductions and our Thai names gave the kids a laugh, but really we could have said anything. Noone understood us. Everyone wanted us in their classrooms though! The teachers took it in turns having us come in and teach the kids a song. I don't know how many times we sang 'Bananas of the World, Unite!' that day, nor do I want to.
Tuesday means a different school, so Amy and I decided to go with Liz to that one as well, crossing our fingers that we wouldn't have to sing about bananas again. This time, though, we got to speak with kids who seemed to understand most of the basic questions we asked, and they in turn taught us to sing the Loi Krathong song for the national holiday. One of the classes even taught us to do some Thai traditional dance. The teachers were delighted to have us, and invited us to lunch and to have ice cream after. I had the idea to go hunt around town for some basket weavers, to see if I could learn how to do it. My trip soon became me, Amy, Liz, her co-teacher, and five girls who decided that walking around town was a sufficient replacement for PE class. They became our tour guides, and we did finally get to watch a man weave a basket out of bamboo. But in the process of showing us back, they accidentally took us the long way home, and our walk became a flower-picking and fruit-eating expedition to rival none. I horrified everyone by attempting to do cartwheels. All in all, a priceless day.
The next day was back at the first school, joining in the cooking class to learn how to make fried bananas. Finally, our last day in Phaitone, we hopped a songthao to Phrae (very proud of ourselves for making it around on our own), and went to see a lady we'd met the week before. Her name is Jutarat, nickname Goi (which means the bald spot on Buddha's head), and she may be the nicest person alive. She runs a clothing store that uses organically grown cotton, and then she dyes them using indigo dye. It's the most beautiful stuff you've ever seen, and makes you wonder why anyone ever uses chemical dye. She let Amy and I dye a few shirts, and showed us how the dyes are made from indigo plants and stored in cement vats laid in the ground. But, since not everything can be blue, she also makes dyes from tree bark, plants, insects, and other plants, and can make any color. I could go on for hours...
That night, our last night in Phaitone, Megan rode in on a bus, and Amy and I packed. The four of us left the next day to Chiang Mai for the Loi Krathong Lantern Festival. That first night we got there, though, we weren't having any of that festivity stuff. It was Harry Potter time. Enough said. Next day was our chosen Thanksgiving, and we spent some time gathering our feast- salad, falafel, subway, and a burrito. Not exactly traditional Thanksgiving, but we took it up to the roof of our hostel, lit some candles, and feasted while watching thousands upon thousands of fire-lit lanterns float into the sky like embers from a giant bonfire, accompanied by a million fireworks snapping and popping all over the city.
The lantern festival is one of land and water...lanterns are sent into the sky, and 'gratons' (little floats made out of palm trees, flowers, three sticks of incense, and a candle, and including bits of your own hair and fingernails) are floated down the river to make offerings and wishes of amends for the harm done to the earth throughout the year. Even though we partook and lit a lantern and floated a graton, this is still first and foremost a Thai holiday. I'm fairly sure that every Thai person was out in force in Chiang Mai, either in the parades, lighting fireworks, or sending off gratons with their sweethearts.
Liz and Megan eventually had to leave and go back to their teaching lives, and Amy and I decided to spend one more day in Chiang Mai. We found ourselves at another elephant camp, where the elephants show off their soccer, harmonica, dancing, and painting skills. There were a few baby 'phants, which Amy liked. But that was the last of Thailand. Five weeks, already done!
It took a ten hour night bus to get from Chiang Mai to Bangkok, and I'm still not sure it was real. As we stepped on the bus, I noticed one little cockroach scurrying under a seat. When we sat down, however, I soon found it wasn't the only one! I spent a good portion of the night trying to sleep, waking up, smacking a cockroach with my shoe, and trying again to sleep. That ride, against all odds, eventually ended and led to another bus ride from Bangkok to the Cambodian border. Tired as we were, we were still so proud that we had the wits to ditch the scammers at the border who were trying to rip us off on a visa, and walk on through. A short two hour taxi ride and one more tuk-tuk ride brought us to a hostel in Siem Reap, the gateway to Angkor Wat.
And here we are! We've been three days in Angkor Wat, watching the sun rise and set over the ruins of Cambodia's proudest asset, and hiking among them...
...............................
Random Tidbits:
--some elephants have enough trunk-control to swing it around like a helicopter. Others can use theirs to smack you on the head when you're trying to get a picture with them...
--Angkor Wat has monkeys! We saw a troop of wild macaques along the side of the road today :)
--we had the privilege of doing a thai-knapping ourselves in Chiang Mai. Our roommate at the hostel agreed to go to dinner with us, so we took him to a salad place. Byah!
--when I bit my nail to add it to the graton, it occurred to me that it's the first time I've bit my nails for a good cause. Mama, you should be proud.
--in one of the classrooms, Amy was given the chore of explaining the Santa Claus side of Christmas to the kids. Have you ever tried to explain that to anyone?! One little kid seemed to get it though, and said he was going home that night and hanging up his sock :)
--I went on a walk one evening and these two little kids started chasing me. I taught them how to use my camera- they thought it was a good idea to capture a huge green beetle and put it on my head so they could take pictures.
--Cambodia is hard on the heart so far...kids chase you asking you to buy bracelets or postcards or water. They come up to your table while you eat and stare at you, but won't accept food. They just want money. What do you do with something like that?
.............................
Da End
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Mighty Farang
Well two weeks has suddenly slipped away, so this episode's gonna be a lump sum sort of deal. Kapish? (I don't know how that's spelled, but I feel like a professional badass saying it).
There's no way to really even describe what Thailand has been like these couple of weeks...everything I dreamed, plus the added and nutritious benefits of sweat and spice. If I were to write a song about it, it would definitely be titled Sweat and Spice. :) Anyway, ever since the end of the 30 hours of travel time it took to get here, life has become a surreal adventure. I've wrestled with and lost alot of preconceptions I held about this place- ones I didn't even know I had.
When Amy and I arrived in Bangkok it was 2 am, and all we wanted was to collapse into a bed for days and days. But as the taxi drove toward our hostel and we heard the pulsating sound of music, all I could see were old white men chasing, grabbing, and dancing with young Thai women. I've heard about the sex trade and trafficking and the rampant problem it has proved to be here...but my idea was that when I got to Thailand, the Thai people would seem like the foreign ones, not the sweathy and clumsy fellow Americans I saw.
What I have found since arriving is that I feel more at home here than in most other places, regardless of the language barrier. My face constantly hurts from smiling at these beautiful people, who love me in spite of, and maybe even because, I'm a farang, a foreigner. They yell it from the rooftops and out of passing cars. Heads turn and stare at the newcomers. But usually, it's accompanied by a smile, and giggling children, and krusty but friendly dogs.
....................
Amy and I got out of Bangkok at our first possible chance, and headed toward the exotic south. A rambling night bus, then another bus, then a ferry led us to a small island called Ko Tao (turtle island), where we could finally sleep off our jet lag and do some scuba diving. The water, as everyone says, was just like bathwater, and the puffer fish of of Te Anote and I now share a special bond. Otherwise, however it was almost a relief to leave the island getaway and start the true adventure (Yeah, I'll admit that I was a little paranoid of getting eaten alive by ants after sticking my hand in a huge, velvety pile of them).
After Ko Tao, a ferry ride took us back to Chumphon, a small town that also happened to have my friend Liz, a Peace Corps Volunteer, waiting for us at the bus station. It felt good to be in the company of someone who could translate for us, and navigate to the outskirts of towns, places we wouldn't otherwise have known about. Liz managed to direct us to a bus, a songhtao (truck taxi), and a random kind stranger's car, out to her fellow PCV's house. Lang Suan and Pak Num happened to be host to long-tailed boat races that day, so as our introduction to the 'real' Thailand we fell into the midst of thousands of staring eyes. The boat races were amazing- about 30 people rowing a 3 foot-wide boat as fast as they could, and the announcer screaming faster than I even thought possible. It wasn't too long, though, before a thunderstorm rolled in, and every one of the thousands of people were running for cover from the pounding rain and thunder.
The rain just proved to be the gateway to another adventure, though, as we had the opportunity to walk through the tented food market and try such delightful (hint: I'm hitting the sarcasm button full on right now) treats as horseshoe crab eggs and pink milk. The next few days were a beautiful blur, as we went night swimming in the Indian Ocean, hitchhiked in the back of crab and water trucks and small boats out to a tiny nearly-deserted (25 ish people) island, and frolicked on a beach the few other farangs have ever layed eyes on. We witnessed the poor slave monkeys, chained and sent up in the trees with little hard hats to pick the coconuts that we devour so greedily. And of course, we went to 7-11, which is the life line of every PCV here. I wish I could write out how the wind felt as we rode in the back of the truck with barely-living crabs feebly flailing and occasionally pinching at our toes. Or what the sand felt like on the abandoned beach, or the sound of our message-in-a-bottle as it soared into its watery (but hopefully temporary) home. This place is wild and free.
Pheew! Well, Peace Corps' time off was soon coming to an end, so we left our friend Josh's home, and traveled with Liz, Megan and Lele (two other amazing companions) back north, splitting off in Bangkok. This time around, Bangkok was much less terrifying. We stayed away from the crazy farang street of the first night, and instead soared through air and sea by sky tram and river boat. Chinatown was another world in itself, full to the brim of people shopping, searching, and eating. Yet again we escaped by jumping on a night bus, this time landing squarely in front of Liz's front door.
It's safe to say we passed out, and only awoke the next morning to shower and then crawl right back into pajamas and laze the day away with short walks, talks and a box. [Not really a box, but I was on a roll.]Good food, though. Fruit out the wazoo, and pad thai till we burst. The next day, Monday, we went with Liz to her school and turned all the children into shy wee ones. They were so scared of having three farangs in one place! But they are adorable. And very respectful- they must bow their heads low when passing a teacher, so they don't stand higher than them.
That pretty much brings us to now. A terrifying ten hour bus ride over the curviest rode I've ever been on has whisked Amy and I away from the safety of Lizs translation and into a small town called Mae Hong Son, on the border of Burma. Who knows what will happen next?
Random tidbits:
--my new Thai name is Phon Dao (phone-dow), meaning 'shooting star.' Lizs precious tiny co-teacher gave Amy and I Thai nicknames! Amy is Mau-ku (muh-kaw), meaning 'grapefruit.' She may be a little obsessed...
--we saw lightining over the ocean! One more thing to cross off my list of things to see in my life
--this place is like Pandora! When we were scuba diving, we saw something called Christmas tree worms, which are like little colorful trees that shoot back into their holes when you get too near
--met some biker dude who had ridden his bike all the way from england, and was heading for singapore. New life goal? Yes please!
--centipedes are super poisonous. Don't let them crawl over your feet :\
The End.
There's no way to really even describe what Thailand has been like these couple of weeks...everything I dreamed, plus the added and nutritious benefits of sweat and spice. If I were to write a song about it, it would definitely be titled Sweat and Spice. :) Anyway, ever since the end of the 30 hours of travel time it took to get here, life has become a surreal adventure. I've wrestled with and lost alot of preconceptions I held about this place- ones I didn't even know I had.
When Amy and I arrived in Bangkok it was 2 am, and all we wanted was to collapse into a bed for days and days. But as the taxi drove toward our hostel and we heard the pulsating sound of music, all I could see were old white men chasing, grabbing, and dancing with young Thai women. I've heard about the sex trade and trafficking and the rampant problem it has proved to be here...but my idea was that when I got to Thailand, the Thai people would seem like the foreign ones, not the sweathy and clumsy fellow Americans I saw.
What I have found since arriving is that I feel more at home here than in most other places, regardless of the language barrier. My face constantly hurts from smiling at these beautiful people, who love me in spite of, and maybe even because, I'm a farang, a foreigner. They yell it from the rooftops and out of passing cars. Heads turn and stare at the newcomers. But usually, it's accompanied by a smile, and giggling children, and krusty but friendly dogs.
....................
Amy and I got out of Bangkok at our first possible chance, and headed toward the exotic south. A rambling night bus, then another bus, then a ferry led us to a small island called Ko Tao (turtle island), where we could finally sleep off our jet lag and do some scuba diving. The water, as everyone says, was just like bathwater, and the puffer fish of of Te Anote and I now share a special bond. Otherwise, however it was almost a relief to leave the island getaway and start the true adventure (Yeah, I'll admit that I was a little paranoid of getting eaten alive by ants after sticking my hand in a huge, velvety pile of them).
After Ko Tao, a ferry ride took us back to Chumphon, a small town that also happened to have my friend Liz, a Peace Corps Volunteer, waiting for us at the bus station. It felt good to be in the company of someone who could translate for us, and navigate to the outskirts of towns, places we wouldn't otherwise have known about. Liz managed to direct us to a bus, a songhtao (truck taxi), and a random kind stranger's car, out to her fellow PCV's house. Lang Suan and Pak Num happened to be host to long-tailed boat races that day, so as our introduction to the 'real' Thailand we fell into the midst of thousands of staring eyes. The boat races were amazing- about 30 people rowing a 3 foot-wide boat as fast as they could, and the announcer screaming faster than I even thought possible. It wasn't too long, though, before a thunderstorm rolled in, and every one of the thousands of people were running for cover from the pounding rain and thunder.
The rain just proved to be the gateway to another adventure, though, as we had the opportunity to walk through the tented food market and try such delightful (hint: I'm hitting the sarcasm button full on right now) treats as horseshoe crab eggs and pink milk. The next few days were a beautiful blur, as we went night swimming in the Indian Ocean, hitchhiked in the back of crab and water trucks and small boats out to a tiny nearly-deserted (25 ish people) island, and frolicked on a beach the few other farangs have ever layed eyes on. We witnessed the poor slave monkeys, chained and sent up in the trees with little hard hats to pick the coconuts that we devour so greedily. And of course, we went to 7-11, which is the life line of every PCV here. I wish I could write out how the wind felt as we rode in the back of the truck with barely-living crabs feebly flailing and occasionally pinching at our toes. Or what the sand felt like on the abandoned beach, or the sound of our message-in-a-bottle as it soared into its watery (but hopefully temporary) home. This place is wild and free.
Pheew! Well, Peace Corps' time off was soon coming to an end, so we left our friend Josh's home, and traveled with Liz, Megan and Lele (two other amazing companions) back north, splitting off in Bangkok. This time around, Bangkok was much less terrifying. We stayed away from the crazy farang street of the first night, and instead soared through air and sea by sky tram and river boat. Chinatown was another world in itself, full to the brim of people shopping, searching, and eating. Yet again we escaped by jumping on a night bus, this time landing squarely in front of Liz's front door.
It's safe to say we passed out, and only awoke the next morning to shower and then crawl right back into pajamas and laze the day away with short walks, talks and a box. [Not really a box, but I was on a roll.]Good food, though. Fruit out the wazoo, and pad thai till we burst. The next day, Monday, we went with Liz to her school and turned all the children into shy wee ones. They were so scared of having three farangs in one place! But they are adorable. And very respectful- they must bow their heads low when passing a teacher, so they don't stand higher than them.
That pretty much brings us to now. A terrifying ten hour bus ride over the curviest rode I've ever been on has whisked Amy and I away from the safety of Lizs translation and into a small town called Mae Hong Son, on the border of Burma. Who knows what will happen next?
Random tidbits:
--my new Thai name is Phon Dao (phone-dow), meaning 'shooting star.' Lizs precious tiny co-teacher gave Amy and I Thai nicknames! Amy is Mau-ku (muh-kaw), meaning 'grapefruit.' She may be a little obsessed...
--we saw lightining over the ocean! One more thing to cross off my list of things to see in my life
--this place is like Pandora! When we were scuba diving, we saw something called Christmas tree worms, which are like little colorful trees that shoot back into their holes when you get too near
--met some biker dude who had ridden his bike all the way from england, and was heading for singapore. New life goal? Yes please!
--centipedes are super poisonous. Don't let them crawl over your feet :\
The End.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Garsh...Garsh Brooks.
The countdown's been on awhile...the countdown until I could adventure again, get on a plane and fly into Neverland. This time in Neverland, they speak Thai, send lanterns full of wishes into the sky, and eat clotted pigs' blood. What in Great-Aunt Shirley's left pinky have I gotten myself into? I'm officially two days away from the newest-biggest-adventure of my life, more risky than any dumpster diving or tunneling session. It feels like the last hurrah before I come back and settle into a city, a job, a 'grown up' way of life.
So why is it hard to leave? I know I'll miss my family, miss friends, even miss hauling trash with my brother. (Uh..yeah. No take backs, I will miss it.). But is that it? I think the hardest part is that I know I can't come back unchanged. No way, no how. And good Lord, I stink at change! There's nothing that I can't do with this strength that isn't mine, but change comes pretty close to beating me every time. So I hope that over the next couple of months, as I write and ramble and say things that make no sense, all y'all will read my adventures and troubles, and tell me yours. Mostly, tell me yours :]
"When love is your greatest weakness you will be the strongest person in the world."
So why is it hard to leave? I know I'll miss my family, miss friends, even miss hauling trash with my brother. (Uh..yeah. No take backs, I will miss it.). But is that it? I think the hardest part is that I know I can't come back unchanged. No way, no how. And good Lord, I stink at change! There's nothing that I can't do with this strength that isn't mine, but change comes pretty close to beating me every time. So I hope that over the next couple of months, as I write and ramble and say things that make no sense, all y'all will read my adventures and troubles, and tell me yours. Mostly, tell me yours :]
"When love is your greatest weakness you will be the strongest person in the world."
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