Angkor What?

October 23, 2008.

After spending four wonderful days on the island of Phu Quoc, a near deserted place close (in theory) to the Cambodian border, we reluctantly abandoned our beach paradise and boarded a ferry towards Rach Gia on the mainland. It went smoothly; we were surprised. At Rach Gia we crammed into a sweaty minibus and rode with our knees hugging our sweaty chests (and if I am doing this we know that space is truly limited - 4 foot 9, say it loud...say it proud!) for four hours, while women attempted to shove sandwiches through the windows at us every time the vehicle lurched to a dusty halt. The most notable of these brief stops was our bathroom stop - which consisted of a trough, at best. I used it. So what. There was no livestock.

On the beach on Phu Quoc. The arrow points to happiness.

We reached Chau Doc at around 2 pm, where we intended to catch a boat to Phnom Penh (I don't know if intend is the right word - this part of our trip was NOT well thought out.) We were a approached by a friendly man who spoke decent English. "Phnom Penh no problem! Thirty five dollars, my brother has boat. Private car to boat, air conditioned, very good!" he said, "From there you cross into Cambodia, only pay when you get to Phnom Penh." By South East Asian standards this was quite expensive, especially in comparison to the ten dollars we would have paid if we took a boat in the morning, like everyone else, but some of us had Vietnamese visas that expired that very day. Convenient. We agreed and hopped into our sweet ride - which was when Mr. Man told us our luggage would not fit in said sweet ride and we were transferred onto yet another sweaty minibus; this one smelled of fish. We got to the border fairly uneventfully and were escorted to our boat - a tiny little rowboat, with a 40 horsepower engine that Mr. Man was very proud of. "Lifejackets?" Becs asked, passively. No response.

The first part of the journey was spectacular. We had a bottle of whiskey, and some Pringles - the first thing we'd eaten all day - and we were all in great spirits, because we were so thrilled to be out of Vietnam. Unfortunately for us our 15 year old boat driver was Vietnamese, meaning that there was still clearly trouble on the way. We'd started our feat late in the afternoon, and it quickly got dark. No lights on said boat. Hmm. We were on the Mekong, again, and there were thunderstorms closing in on us from both directions. It was slightly chilly, and I was slightly anxious. I was getting ready for it to end - the lights were not so far in the distance - when the dreaded sound of "Put...put...put..puttttt..." invaded my ears. We were out of gas. There was no emergency supply, and buddy had no credit on his phone. Also no paddles. There was barbed wire separating the river from the riverbed, which was possibly mined anyway, we had no idea where we were. Our idiot driver stood there stupidly while I screamed and blew my rape whistle. "Are we going to be here FOREVER?!" I yelled frantically. "Yes," he responded...lost in translation. Again.

Sunset on the Mekong, somewhere between Vietnam and Cambodia.

Clearly we made it out ok, after a passing boatman towed us to safety. I was really quite taken with Cambodia, but I wasn't there long enough for anything to go wrong. Phnom Penh is in fact a pretty nice city, not as scary and dirty and dangerous as everyone makes it out to be. The killing fields are chilling, and the marijuana is free flowing. From there we went to Siem Reap to see the temples of Angkor, which were monumental but after a day of walking around them a temple is a temple is a temple, I was out of money because I'd bought countless crappy bracelets, fans and postcards from small children who threatened to cry if I didn't buy anything from them and I'm a sucker for small children, and I was ready for my tuk tuk driver to take me from Angkor Wat to Angkor What?, the bar where we would inevitably get wankered because Duncan and I would be parting with the posse the next day.

Angkor Wat.

Angkor What?

Duncan and I took a horrible bus to the Thai border and passed through the most vile town I've ever seen - Poipet, Cambodia, and once across, took the bus then ferry to Koh Chang. By the time we got there we were so tired that we checked into the first beach hut that we could find, although it would turn out that the rickety old shack had a creepy outdoor shower and there was no beach. The next day we abandoned all notions of being backpackers and checked into a beautiful resort, where we spent the next 6 days swimming in the ocean AND in the pool, and frolicking and drinking and zipping around the island on our sweet motorbike and counting sex tourists. We headed back to Bangkok two days ago, and stayed in the "Dream Hotel", where we lied and said it was our honeymoon, and they gave us cake, roses, and upgraded our room.

Because I waited so long to book a flight home, I had little choice as to timing, so I have to wait until Monday to get out. I'm chilling out with Heather in Bangkok now, and we may or may not head to a beach close by, but more likely we'll spend a few days shopping and hanging out by the pool. I am completely out of money and looking forward to coming home after a very brief pit stop in Korea.

The most important things I've learned on this trip:

a) I'm a hopeless romantic.
b) The best things in life are sometimes impractical.
c) Never trust the Vietnamese.

See you soon.

Jo

*Post-script - as it is now actually February 2010 and I am kind of trying to fill in the gaps - Heather and I never made it to the beach. We hung out with Thai prostitutes, not all of them female by birth, and some crazy Irish guys who liked to make it with prostitutes, but not our prostitutes, because that would just be uncool.

Heather with Yaya.

Miss Saigon.

October 6, 2008.

Dear friends,

I have not learned to say hello in Vietnamese. This is because everything about Vietnam frustrates me save for the delicious pho that I eat at least once every day.

After a successful tour of Halong Bay - we managed to make it through before an enormous typhoon ripped through the northern part of the country, killing 41 people and forcing the port to close, we grabbed a sleeper bus from Hanoi to Hoi An. Halong was incredible - other than the fact that we were charged a ridiculous corking fee for bringing our own booze on the boat, a policy which we tried very hard to contradict. The scenery was breathtaking; we kayaked through jellyfish-ridden lagoons and spent one night and one day on a beautiful deserted island, sunbathing and drinking our contraband alcohol until we reached the skinny-dipping state of mind.

Junks in Halong Bay

We were told the overnight bus would take 15 hours only, but were gravely mistaken. Duncan, Emma, Heather and I managed to score the five bed across compartment at the back of the bus, only to be woken up in the middle of the night by a small Asian woman who squeezed her way in and insisted on cuddling up between Duncan and I and Heather and Emma and talking on her cell phone all night. Susanne, Steph, Tyler and Becs slept in weird little pods with foot coffins. We were unloaded in Hue, and reloaded onto a stinky unairconditioned bus for another few hours until we reached our final destination of Hoi An, upon which we bought copious amounts of custom made clothing and partook in embarassing amounts of karaoke. We parted ways with Susanne and Emma and from there flew to Ho Chi Minh City, otherwise known as Saigon, by everyone who lives here.

The southern part of Vietnam is noticeably more relaxed and friendly than the north, although we still find ourselves ripped off at every corner. We are relieved not to be hearing, "You buy, you buy, come in my shop!" anymore, but the streets still smell like fish and the travel agents still don't speak English very well. Yesterday we rocked the waterpark, interacting with the Vietnamese, mostly of the pint-sized variety, in a positive way for the first time. Today we visited the Cu Chi tunnels, a famed site for the Vietcong during the war. We watched a dcoumentary that promoted the beauty of the small area of Cu Chi, "...a place of beauty, a place for children, a place for memories, UNTIL..."and the narration goes on to describe the "crazy devil americans" and discuss the great "american killer heroes" of the war. It was pretty interesting, and we were allowed to shoot guns if we wanted to.

Soup delivery in Saigon

It appears as if I might come home sooner than I would prefer, because I am nearly out of funds and am also absent of thoughts about where I might live when I come back to the Great White North, or where I might work. Nevermind that. Tomorrow I am off to Phu Quoc island, to revel in the glory of remote beaches, military bases, and fish sauce factories, and by next weekend I will be on my way to Cambodia.

Love,

Jo

Good Morning Vietnam

And again.

September 27, 2008.

As if one water-oriented disaster wasn't enough, after Vang Vieng we headed to Vientiane, the laziest capital city in the world, and after discovering that there wasn't much to do there other than eat, we signed up for a 1 day river kayaking excursion, not realizing that the "grade 1 rapids" were in fact really moderately sized tsunamis. Our hungover guides assured us that it would be easy, but after Heather and I smashed into Duncan and Tyler's kayak, capsized, lost our helmets, and bounced up from the bottom of the swirling, gurgling Mekong only to discover that we were trapped under the boat with very little breathing time left, it was certain that this adventure was to be categorized like everything else in South East Asia - you just never know what you're going to get. We're not good with water on Mondays; this coming Monday, we're scheduled to be on a boat in Halong Bay, and with my luck I'll get my tsunami, although in reality, our misfortune is more likely to come in the form of a trip cancellation due to rain, at which point I will cry because I have my heart set on sleeping on a junk and on a romantic private island. Which is what I've dished out a lot of dong to do. 

Nam Lik kayak drop off point - there were no kayaks. And no water anywhere to be seen.

After a long hard day - Vientiane sunset. 

We flew to Hanoi a few days ago, and I don't have too much to say about it. Robin Williams is nowhere to be found. There is no order to anything here, and everything is an ordeal. Getting a Vietnamese visa was an ordeal. Changing money is an ordeal. Finding somewhere to eat at 10 pm is an ordeal. Crossing the street is an ordeal and often very life threatening. It's dirty, and it smells like fish. We ordered soup from a stall on the street the other day and are mostly positive that the broth we were served was actually smelly street water. There is so little to do here at night that last night we chose to drink at a bar called Half Man, Half Noodle because the sign outside read: "Drink here or we'll shoot the puppy" and lord knows, we wouldn't that to happen. We drank glasses of sambuca and drinks called "Virgin Prayers" and then dong-jipped* our way to a bar called Roots which was seemingly closed - but we were let in via a secret entrance, and while I'd like to share my account of what that bar was like - well, I really didn't want them to shoot that puppy.

*Dong is Korean for Poo. Jip is Korean for House. Literally, dong-jip means shit house. However, it is also the term adopted by young Korean English students to describe the action of interlacing ones fingers with the index fingers extended in order to quietly approach another person and scare the bejesus out of them by shoving those fingers up their poo house. Classy, I know. 

D is for Dangerous

September 16, 2008.

After a night in a border town which vaguely resembled the South East Asian version of small town USA, we crossed the border into Laos, and embarked on a 2 day trip down the Mekong to Luang Prabang, where we spent 6 days jumping off waterfalls, missing sunsets, drinking Lao Lao whisky, and adopting local wildlife, notably a pink plastic swan named Hans whom I felt it necessary to carry under my arm everywhere we went. We met some new friends on the boat, and picked up a few more at Spicy Laos, the hostel we stayed at in LP. The 7 of us headed by nauseating minivan to Vang Vieng two days ago, on a dirt road which wound its way through the most majestic scenery I have ever seen, stopping only briefly in a village endearingly named "The 3 Next Clean Village." It is here, in Vang Vieng, where we encountered our first, and hopefully last, near death experience of the trip.

Vang Vieng, Laos

Fun and sun seekers flock to Vang Vieng for the tubing experience. You get your tube, lifejacket optional, and float down the river. Sounds easy. Without stopping, the lazy ride should take about an hour. We managed to cover about 15 minutes of this said hour in about 6 - this is because every 20 feet, a little Lao man is waiting to fish you out of the river with a long stick and lure you to his makeshift bar and fill your soul with whisky out of a bucket. There are makeshift ziplines, volleyball courts, opportunity at every corner to mudfight with friends old and new, and if you were lucky enough, someone would create lewd art using your body as a canvas.

By the time it occurred to us that maybe we should head on, dusk was setting in, and it was starting to rain. "It wasn't pitch black out yet," Steph recalls. "Just dark navy." Dusk turned to dark, and rain turned to lightning and thunder, which turned into power outage along the banks of the river, the lights of which were our only guide. We were wasted - there is no sugar coating the state of our irresponsible intoxication. We floated down the river, no idea where to go, or how to get out. The current was strong, and it was cold. Someone told me once that it's not safe to be in the water during a thunderstorm. We held each others' extremities and stuck as close together as we could, some exhibiting more fear than others (guess who?) About 4 or 5 people die on that river every year, or so I've been told, and that's a lot in my books. "Over here!" we heard, suddenly, out of nowhere. Two fellow tubers appeared, and they had done this the day before, they said. It was all going to be ok, as long as we could swim. "Now!" one of them shouted, and we all jumped out of our tubes and swam furiously for the riverbed, clawing at the muddy earth and hoisting our scared asses to safety. 

And then they were gone. "Our tubing angels," one of my travel mates suggested. We didn't know their names, and we hadn't seen their faces. The power shut off for good at this point; so as we ran barefoot through the streets to our guesthouse, happy to be alive and able to drink more Beerlao, I couldn't help but wonder if they really were. 

Oh My Buddha!

September 6, 2008.

I came up to Chiang Mai, in the heart of Northern Thailand via 13 hour bus - the trains have stopped running due to the worsening civil unrest. The bus driver assured me that once the vehicle was running, the bathroom would be unlocked - I've never believed in magic, and have endured many an Asian bus ride on busses with locked toilets, avoiding laughter and sometimes conversation entirely, clutching my explosive bladder for dear life, so I don't know why I thought this would be any different. Lies. House of lies. The door was locked but about an hour into the trip, the bus started halting to a stop every hundred metres, and I figured that the driver was either distributing our backpacks to needy people on the side of the superhighway, or stopping to relieve himself (I was no fool, I'd seen the empty cans of Singha accumulating under his seat) but luckily for me he was indeed resolving the bathroom dilemma and the rest of the ride was a breeze. 

I'm teamed up with Steph again, and while we haven't been robbed or scratched by stray dogs this time around, so far we have seen a Muay Thai boxing show, the highlight of which was the "Special Show", consisting of blindfolded teenagers going at each other and also at the ref. We've taken a trip out to an organic farm and learned how to cook tasty Thai dishes, but our most noteworthy adventure as of yet has certainly been our "eco" trek through the Thai jungle - we rode an elephant named Bountia, who refused to move forward unless fed a banana every twenty seven seconds, and endured a rigorous 4 hour climb up a giant mountain. We camped out for the night with the Lahu village tribe and met Jack, local funny man, who showed us many games, most of which involved rubbing the charcoal from the bottom of a dirty wok all over our faces.  

Bountia

Jack Sparrow

In the morning we hiked down to a waterfall. "No ploblem!" our guide, Moonshine, had told us the night before. "Tomorrow easy. All downhill!" Oh my Buddha. I spent the morning with my eyes glued to my crappy Puma sneakers and tried not to fall. "Too SLOW!" Moonshine's brother, Good, told me, and dragged me screaming through the mud behind him. I rinsed the mud out of my crevices in the waterfall, and then followed the stream to the starting point of my next adventure - whitewater rafting, which, for the record, rocks, even if all normal safety measures aren't necessarily in place. 

In short, Thailand is pretty cool. Tourism is a mixed blessing here, and I feel a lot of sadness towards the hungry baby elephants that they force to walk around the streets in order to extort money from rich white people, and am still processing my feelings about visiting the hill tribe - it's amazing how our money serves to both preserve and completely destroy their culture, at the same time. So far Steph and I have avoided evils such as leeches, dengue fever, and obnoxious British law students, but tomorrow we head towards Laos, and it is a whole new day. 

And I thought Taiwan was overpopulated.

August 27, 2008: Asia, Round Two

When our plane arrived at Hong Kong on Saturday, the airport was closed, the result of heavy traffic due to typhoon-induced delays, and complete insanity. We were re-routed to Taipei, the last place I thought I'd see again so soon. I left Canada looking for something on this trip, though I can't tell you what it was, and as I watched the sparkling lights of Taiwan's East coast grow nearer, I couldn't help but think that maybe I'd already found it. 

We spent 7 hours in the Taipei airport. Rachel argued with immigration for a while before finally being allowed to remain in Taiwan rather than endure a pointless commute to Hong Kong and back. The trade off was that she couldn't have her bags. I landed at around midnight and found my way to my friend Dustin's apartment. He lives at the university, in a shared room with a Dane named Lars and a Sri Lankan monk whose approval of a female houseguest I was weary about, though he was genuinely pleasant to me while I was there. Lars had bedbugs, the toilet didn't work. The absence of air conditioning or a fan was troublesome, and the bed was rock hard, but after my 31 hour journey I was simply happy to be there and spent the night dreaming of cake. 

We visited Lamma island, charting our hike around the car-free islet by playing rock paper scissors and were rewarded at the end by a dip in the ocean. We had to work our way through a pile of garbage and Dustin swears he saw floating poo, but it felt too good to be enveloped in the waters of the South China Sea again. The next day I chose to check out Mongkok, Kowloon, and got a stunning view of the city from Victoria Peak. I spent some quality time with myself in Hong Kong Park, a lush oasis of green goodness in the middle of overwhelming urbanity. I made friends with a woman and her teddy bear and with a girl who was photographing a delicate porcelain doll in various poses around the park. I met Dustin and some of his local friends at a karaoke bar which played music videos featuring Dustin and by this point was feeling Hong Kong-ed out. Hong Kong is a fascinating, albeit overwhelming place.

I caught the ferry to Macau this morning and made friends with a Filipino man named Robert who assisted me in finding my way to the airport without having to pay. I found my hostel on Soi Rambutri with ease, and am unsure as to how to describe my first impressions of Bangkok. I don't think I can make any fair judgments yet, because I'm exhausted and all I can think about is that all of the backpackers look the same (although I'm sure by tomorrow I will be equally decked out in beach bum gear) and how great it is that I can get pad thai on the side of the road for a dollar. Part of me wants to go wild on Kho San road tonight drinking alcohol out of a bucket, but another part of me feels kind of old and realizes that I've entered a different realm of life. I think I will save my energy for when it counts. 

Whoops.

I guess you could say I am what they call a false beginner. At the rate I'm going, it'll be forever before that long awaited best-seller finally hits the shelves...

Off we go. 

In a nutshell.

I was confronted last night with an important question.

"Why do you like to travel so much?" Hmm. 

I like to travel. Everyone knows that. I've been around the world in eighty days, and then some. Ok, maybe not eighty days. But why? I like to learn new languages, and I'm good at it. I like to stare at strange people and strange things, which, as it turns out, I do quite well in my own country as well. I like to have interesting experiences. My boyfriend asked me the other day what exactly it was that I wanted to do with my life, space camp not being a suitable enough answer. I couldn't really answer him. I want to be interesting, I said. I want to do interesting things.  

As I was retelling one of the more infamous stories from my most recent foray into the unknown, it occurred to me that I like telling the tall tales of my enterprises almost as much, if not more, as I like having them. (Everything just seems a lot funnier when you're not staring death in the face.) 

I went to Asia. I came home. I went back again, came back again. Having said everything that I've just said, and faced with the strong likelihood that I will return to the East just one more time, I thought it was due time that I wrote something on here about my ten weeks traveling through Indochina - a land full of monks, motorcycles and Mekong-related misadventures.