Time to Go Elsewhere

Motorbike trippin' through lazy Laos

8:58 PM |

Ah, lazy Laos. Never before have I found a sword as double-edged as this one. The Lao lifestyle is a relaxed one to the extreme. So relaxed, in fact, that something as simple as ordering a beer can take ages to be accomplished. While beers are usually located in a refrigerator no more than twenty feet away, the server must first go chat with his/her sibling, maybe have a smoke, pass by the fridge to pet the dog, pass back by the fridge to go see who just arrived on a motorbike, stand around pointing at things with that person, walk past your table on the way to take a nap only to be rudely interrupted by you reminding about the beer order. Then, and only then, may your request be fulfilled. Needless to say, life runs at a much slower pace in Laos.

Watching rice grow is the Lao national pastime.

So, after spending a handful of luxuriously relaxed days on the Mekong island of Don Det (island lifestyle on top of Lao lifestyle results in productivity frozen like Han in carbonite), my buddy and I decided to head up to central Laos to attempt a motorbike trip around a series of mountains littered with caves, waterfalls, and springs. The last time I was at the helm of two wheels and a motor I ended up with a shattered foot and a couple months on a cane. Luckily, it turns out that brand new motorbikes are way easier to handle than forty year-old six hundred pound motorcycles. Unluckily, it's the rainy season in Laos right now, which meant one thing in more quantity than should ever exist on any sort of route of transit; mud. So much mud. Deep mud, slippery mud, red mud, brown mud, watery mud, sticky mud, sneaky mud, rocky mud, and most commonly, muddy mud. More mud than was needed to build the Great Mosque of Djenne. That's the largest mud brick structure in the world, in case you haven't wikipedia'd it yet. The rainy season also meant a good many of the caves we intended to see were blocked off by bodies of water that wouldn't exist in the dry season. One large cave had a man rowing a small duggout canoe through the flooded marsh to the entrance. It was an eerie silence as we glided through the reeds and towards the mossy mouth of the looming cavern. Other caves were simply cut off by flowing rivers.

There are fouler things than Orcs in the deep mud of the world.

As nightfall was approaching on the first day and we were about ten or fifteen kilometers from our planned stop for the night, my bike broke down. Something had hit the chain guard, detaching and mangling it in a way that interfered with the chain. Unfortunately, my riding companion was ahead of me and failed to notice my absence. After waiting next to my bike for about an hour (and watching as all the very friendly, but entirely unhelpful Lao pass by now and then) I decided nothing good was coming of me standing there helpless, so I set off to walk to town. After a few kilometers walking in dark, with the pitch black jungle to my left and the violent flashes of lightning from an all-too-near storm to my right, I finally came upon a small village. Unfortunately, their mechanic seemed busy drinking and they pointed me onward another few kilometers. I later found out that a few kilometers was closer to ten. Luckily, like a barrel-collared St. Bernard, my companion soon came riding back to fetch me, with a beer in hand awaiting my consumption. The next morning, I had my bike fixed for about sixty cents and we set off on the second leg.

The "mechanic" at work.

The second day would have been a pretty straight-forward and pleasant ride, had we followed the correct route. It starts out on a less-than adequate mountain dirt road that's just muddy enough to be a challenge, but not so that bikes need to be carried. After stopping for lunch, we came to a crossroads and asked for directions to the next town, Nahin. Walking up to a woman, I asked "Nahin?" while pointing down one road, and then "Nahin?" again while pointing down the second road. Upon the second one she nodded vigorously and replied, "Nahin! Nahin! Nahin!" This second road looked far more dismal than the first option, but we had thought the manager of the guest house had said there would be "no road" on this part of the journey. In fact, he had said "new road," but we didn't find that out until much later. Not until after we had spent two hours navigating mud up to my knees, and puddles deeper still. There were stretches of road saturated so heavily that you'd lose traction and slide out just by thinking about turning. Finally the road devolved into little more than a riverbed, with our only hope of not getting stuck in two foot-deep mud being following the flow of water through rocky channels. After all of this, the road opened up to a grand vista of a valley filled with a lake. This same lake is where the road led directly into. For clarity, this is how the scene played out: road->road->road->road->LAKE. There were a couple fishing huts along the road as it terminated into the lake, and after ignoring our first few pleas for direction, the fisherman laughed and said, "Nahin," while pointing back the way we came. We had no choice but to return all the way back, up stream beds, through mud deep enough to lose small children in, and to the intersection where the woman had so nicely pointed us in the completely wrong direction.

MUDMUDMUDMUDMUDMUD

We eventually arrived, filthy, exhausted, late, and without having seen any of our intended sights, at the guesthouse in Nahin and fell promptly to sleep. The following day we woke up early and rode two hours in the rain to the largest cave in the region. I really oughtta invest in some waterproof apparel. The cave was worth it though, and we hired a boat to take us through what is essentially a massive underground tunnel where a river flows through a mountain. Really spectacular stuff, and by the time we were ready to leave the rain had cleared up and we set off on the 200km trip to home base. It was a helluva trip and exhausting to the bone, but an incredible way to see the Lao countryside. I'm now in Vientiane, the capital and largest city in Laos. It's as charming a city as any and a good place to pamper myself for a couple days before heading onto Vang Vieng where I'll be volunteering with a sustainability program. I still see mud when I close my eyes at night.

Three days later, the bike resembled Tim Robbins towards the end of The Shawshank Redemption.

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An interlude at eight weeks

7:25 AM |

Time flies when you're dodging chaotic traffic and demanding vendors. Already I've been travelling for two months and I'd hardly know the difference but for the stamps in my passport. But I'll be damned if I haven't learned a thing or two. I'd like to take the time to muse on some of the things I've learned thus far about Southeast Asia and perhaps life in general.

I have learned that there is a discounted price, a regular price, a sucker price, and a tourist price. That with any luck you'll manage to pay the regular price every once in a while, though settling for the sucker price often suffices. That haggling can be a way of life. That the more someone tries to sell you something, the less it is worth buying. That there's always another stand selling all the same shit to try getting a better price at. That you are a walking wallet and to convince anyone otherwise is futile. That if there is an opportunity to extort, you will be extorted. That if they don't have a gun, and with a little cunning, you can eventually bypass the bribe. That arguments of reason are usually cut short by declarations of location. That ten minutes may describe a duration anywhere from negative twenty minutes to positive three hours. That foreigners are given the worst seating so as to provide amusement for the locals. That it requires an average of three people to operate a bus. That karaoke videos are the apex of in-flight entertainment, though breakdowns are a close second. That a bus driver may find opportunity to sleep in between potholes. That the horn is an adequate replacement for the brake pedal. That the existence of other souls on the road are a mere nuisance whose presence is easily dealt with by the aforementioned horn. That crossing any street at any location is possible (and often unavoidable) with a steady pace and an iron will. That the sidewalk is no safer than the street. That finding the best food is as easy as finding the place with the fewest people shouting for you to eat there. That getting a table is many orders of magnitude easier than getting a check. That reading a menu is a chaperoned activity. That when receiving the wrong food, you are in fact receiving the right food. That chocolate, no matter how poor in quality and overpriced, is something that just absolutely most be located every now and then. That beer drinking is the greatest test of one's skill as a consumer in a free market. That when you are at a lack for what to do in a new place, go have a beer. That the better stories are heard over beers, but the better travel companions met over breakfast. That two dollars can mean the difference between a mat on the floor and a full bed with a private bathroom. That saving said two dollars is always more expensive in the end. That "wi-fi" is a relative term. That no matter how warm it is outside, a hot shower will always leave you more satisfied than a cold one. That as the bugs get bigger, the locals get friendlier. That patience is a virtue as much as it is a vulnerability (though I still refuse to barge my way to the front of a line as seems to be the custom). That cows and water buffalo have the right away, but only barely. That a pet is only worth as much as the meat on its bones, and to treat it with any higher regard is perplexing. That a handful of words and phrases in the local tongue serves as a ring of keys heavy enough to drag down the Hindenburg. That keeping time is overrated; the sun and your stomach do a fine job on their own. That expats are the developing world's primary supply of modern philosophy. That there is a reason all expats left their Western home, and it's rarely a flattering one. That the farther away from your homeland you are, the more you miss it, but the more you marvel at your surroundings. That there's a whole lot of world out there, and I'll be damned if I'm going to miss out on it.

There's most certainly a good deal more, but that seems like a solid summary of what I've gleaned these past two months. Thanks for reading, all of you who do. Now onto the next two months and beyond.

Looks half-full if you ask me. Better get back to it.

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Waterfalls and karaoke pitfalls as I leave Cambodia

10:49 PM |

As is probably evident by the deceleration of my blog posts, I've found myself slowing down as I travel deeper into the backwoods of Cambodia. Something of a perfect storm between there being less to do, the way of life being more laid back, and me trying to get the most out of my 30-day visa, I've been spending more time idly wandering backstreets and meandering through farmland on a bicycle. I find it to be one of the best ways to explore a countryside, but it doesn't offer as dense a concentration of easily summarized stories like my rapid-fire journey through Vietnam did.

Some buy into the slower pace a little bit too much.

But with such a relaxed lifestyle come the occasional downsides. Western toilets, in particular, are becoming increasingly difficult to locate. I haven't had a hot shower in weeks. Transportation is slower, which isn't made any better by the in-flight entertainment. More on that later. Service is often hit or miss, with some restaurants just not willing to deal with foreigners and others getting around to your order whenever it suits them. Then there's the critters. They just keep getting bigger, man. First I saw a grasshopper twice the size of any I've ever seen before (shortly after eating a normal sized one, deep fried and satisfied!). Then I saw a snail the size of a tennis ball. Then a gecko about as long as my forearm. But all these are rather tame in contrast to the first time I saw a spider the size of my hand. I suppose that's why they make the geckos so large.

After spending a handful of days in Kratie and seeing the rare river dolphins there, I caught a van up to Banlung, where I've been enjoying the natural offerings for about five days now. With a stunning volcanic crater lake and a handful of breathtaking waterfalls all within ten kilometers of the town, it's a great place to explore by bike. While my guesthouse provides free bikes to use, they failed to mention that they were all out of functional free bikes. Nevertheless, with a little elbow grease and American ingenuity I had a couple bikes that could almost slow down if absolutely necessary.

Slowed down just enough to snap this shot.

Tomorrow, I'm finally heading on to Laos, where I expect an even more laid back lifestyle. All the same, I'm bracing myself for what will undoubtedly be a long trip. Sure it'll be long temporally speaking, but the psychological torment that ensues is of an immeasurable proportion. You see, Asians enjoy karaoke. But Cambodians in particular seem to love to watch it. It's like soap operas for American housewives or all of Spanish television. They just watch it. I don't know if the accompanying videos exist because Cambodians watch karaoke or Cambodians watch karaoke because of the videos, but either way I cannot understand wherein lies the allure. Each video, a cruelly poor imitation of the Western music video, features a short narrative of some sort of romance, most often a love triangle. It generally introduces a laughingly clean-dressed and hair-dyed metrosexual Cambodian pretending to be useful in a rice paddy or around a rural village. Sometimes he has a girlfriend, sometimes his girl has a boyfriend. One of these three people will be singing from their point of view for the entire song, if any of them are singing at all. They are often petty, impulsive, and irrational in their behavior and I am never quite clear on any character's motivations. For example, in one video, a girl brings flowers to her boyfriend. She arrives at her boyfriend's house/apartment/business only to see through the window that his is talking with another girl. She immediately drops the flowers, shattering the pot, and runs off crying. It is shortly revealed that the girl through the window is only a friend, and her boyfriend was conveniently standing just out of view. I'm pretty sure the original girl's boyfriend was just showing her how to send pictures with her cell phone. Hell, she could've been his sister.

Each of these narratives generally carry on while the song and sing-along lyrics play throughout, though I am not clear if the two ever actually relate. Occasionally the characters will actually be singing the lyrics, but this only seems to be in the bigger budget productions featuring as many as two cameras. I did see one dvd that featured all videos of a woman singing the songs in some sort of banquet hall while couples slow danced in front of her. Cambodians were just as enthralled by this as the narratives. Note that the music is very rarely more complex than a single drum machine-produced beat and a lone instrument, seemingly chosen at random and with no regard for the theme of the song, or at least the video.

All of this would be good and well to just ignore. Unfortunately, there is only one volume in this part of the world and I've found that to be "loudest." The speaker business around here must be booming (pun totally intending), because there is no way anybody's speakers last more than a few uses the way the push it up to eleven. Sleep is out of the question, there is no chance of listening to one's own ipod, little chance of carrying on a private conversation, and often I find even reading to be difficult with my ears ringing so. It is a phenomenon that I am powerless against, and all I can do is submit to it while clinging on to the last vestiges of my sanity. The driver's honking makes sure to take care of that, though.

I smile, knowing the inevitability of my fate.

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Angkor Wat and whatnot

10:51 PM |

Siem Reap's a lot like Vietnam's Hoi An. If any of y'all have the attention span to recall, Hoi An takes what has some historical significance and charm and turns it into an excuse to sell thousands of locally-made-in-China trinkets for about a hundred times their value. It's an essential experience for any tourist, but one the wears you out pretty fast. Luckily these destinations also feature damn cheap beer. But Siem Reap has something that Hoi An and all the other bracelet-peddling-children-infested traps don't: a metric shitton of ancient temples. That's a lot of ruins, in case you're rusty on your SI conversions.

More than a crapton.

At the sightseeing epicenter of this sprawling collection of ruins throughout Angkor is Angkor Wat, a testament to ancient Khmer architecture and an overall impressive sight to behold. Surrounded first by a moat almost 200m wide and then a massive stone wall enclosing 200 acres of hindu stonework as intricate as it is massive, Angkor Wat makes the Pyramids of Giza look like the result of a toddler who doesn't quite understand the point of Legos yet. But Angkor Wat is one of what I can only assume are hundreds of other temple ruins scattered around the surrounding countryside. And scattered they are. Foregoing the advice to hire a tuk-tuk driver for the day, I instead opted for the much more affordable dollar bicycle rental. I don't know if they purposefully put the most uncomfortable seat on that thing or not, but after about forty kilometers, all I could do to rest was lean against walls as sitting was no longer an option.

I leaned there.

Most of the larger temples had a bunch of stands set up out in front of them, hawking souvenirs and refreshments. Around lunchtime, I pulled into the dirt clearing that vaguely resembled a parking lot near some odd temple, ready to eat. As I ride by, all of the vendors proceed to shout out me to buy from them. This is normal, so I take no notice and lock my bike up on the far side of the clearing, vendors outright shouting the whole while. I slowly begin walking towards the line of hawkers, headed straight for the one in the middle. The entire time, every single vendor is shouting at me and only me, including the one I'm staring at and walking straight to. Perhaps it was because I was the only tourist there at the moment or perhaps this was an especially determined line of stallkeepers, but even as I stopped a couple feet in front of my vendor of choice, every single hawker down the line was still shouting at me. Including the woman directly in front of me. I waited a few seconds, looking at this woman while she shouted at me, pleading me to buy from her. Finally I declare, "food." She rushed to get me a menu like it was an executive order. Removing my sunglasses to examine the laminated sheet, I notice the prices are about three times what I'd normally pay. I look up at her expectant face for a few moments more, then say, "Not the tourist menu, please." She nods more rapidly than the human neck ought to sustain, ruffles through some other laminated sheets and hands me a new menu. This one has prices a more reasonable twice what I'd normally pay, so I accept and sit down. Only as I order my fried rice does the shouting of the remaining vendors begin to fade. Ah tourism, what a splendid source of revenue for impoverished regions.

Tourism is ruining the culture, wouldn't you say?

Oh I also got a foot massage by having a mass of fish try to eat my feet off.

Asia!

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No longer ill now that I'm in Sihanoukville

11:42 PM |

Phnom Penh was rad, or at least all of the movies I watched in my hotel room were. Once my throat could handle some food I booked it to Sihanoukville, the Cambodian beach paradise. This is the place you dream about, people. This is the place with quiet stretches of beach, warm water lapping against the soft sand, and hammocks abound. Sure, the main beaches of the town are pretty tourist-ed out and full of club resorts and illicit product pushers. But Otres Beach, the particular stretch of sand I found myself at, lays a few kilometers out from town and offers nothing but a stretch of dirt road and a handful of bar/restaurant/bungalows. Nothing much else one needs, if you ask me.

Where I took my meals.

I don't know if it was the oh-so-tasty bacony breakfast burritos or just the sound of gentle surf putting me to sleep, but within no time Otres had any memories of my presumed-tonsillitis erased and replaced by something near enough to bliss for me. It was an awfully lazy few days, but a damn good way to be lazy by my standards. On the third or fourth day (keeping track of time just seemed overrated), I booked a boat tour around the local islands. Managed to get in some snorkeling on a reef that was in a shockingly sad state, but judging by the numbers they seem to boat to the spot each day, it comes as little surprise. That said, I did see a few interesting specimens, namely some gorgeous giant clams. I used to keep those in my aquarium! It was a good enough taste to get me excited for the diving that awaits me in southern Thailand and beyond.

Speaking of taste, I chowed down on some grilled barracuda for lunch. Mmm.

Always looking to see what else there is, I took a ride out to the main town and explored the downtown. Thinking I was taking a shortcut from downtown to the main beaches, I ended up walking down a back alley that turned into a slum and eventually a collection of shacks and almost-farms. Needless to say, I ended up being chased around by snarling dogs until some children rescued me. Then they started poking me excitedly and pulling at my clothes. But I suppose a lost white guy is only so interesting, as they quickly resumed their game of "kick the styrofoam box." Eventually a man doing something with goats pointed me down a specific path and I found my way back to a road. A couple miles later and I was at the beach bars!

Totally a successful shortcut.

Eventually I decided that if I stayed much longer, I'd find myself one day physically unable to remove myself from the beachside sunchair. So I set off via shared taxi to Kampot, a nearby riverside town known for its local pepper plantations. The ~60km drive took somewhere over four hours. Between the exceptional number of pickups (there were about ten people in the cab by the time we left Sihanoukville) and errands, and the state of the road, it was one of the slowest trips I've made so far. Why the driver thought it acceptable to take a Camry on this moonscape of a road is beyond me, though the fact that he only blew out a single tire is a feat in its own right. But we did make it eventually, and after another few hours of wandering around I finally found myself settled down in a guesthouse for $3 a night. And that is where I find myself now, enjoying a relaxing riverside atmosphere and preparing to head back to Phnom Penh in a day or so. I'll stop there just long enough to see a certain film that everyone seems to be urging me to watch. I think it's some kind of documentary on nocturnal flying mammals or something, but I always liked the discovery channel back in the day so I figure it should be right up my alley. Then on to the rest of Cambodia and eventually into Laos. Onward and upwards!

Then again, I may just come back here for keeps.