observation | visualization | quotation
esler Travel-Log
Trip: 2002 - Southeast Asia

Writing from my second journey to Southeast Asia. This time I made an overland journey across Thailand, Laos, North Vietnam, and Southern China. Topped it off with a relaxing stay on the island of Kho Phi Phi in Thailand.













March 19, 2002

Flying for Free

ZZZzzz... Alright, I left Minneapolis at 5:00pm on Sunday. How is it Tuesday morning already? This international dateline, time-warp crap has got to stop.

Apprehensive and anxious as usual, I've once again departed the U.S. for a little adventure. Those of you that read my last journal entry from Spring Training in Phoenix know that I'm headed back to Southeast Asia for a little exploration of Northern Thailand, Laos, North Vietnam, South China, and good ol' Hong Kong. My first stop is Singapore and maybe Malaysia, my old stomping grounds from six or seven years ago... OK, it isn't really my "stomping grounds" since I was only there for a short time. It feels that way. My trip to Malaysia in 1994 was my first real step traveling independently. That was a long time ago. Many things have happened since. Many things.

I said I was headed to Singapore and I will be there this afternoon, but at this moment I'm aboard Singapore Airlines flight 29 to Taipei in Taiwan. A last minute change, a $200 windfall, and instead of Cathay Pacific through Hong Kong it's Singapore Airlines though Taipei. Now I wish I could spend some time in Taiwan and check things out. Oh well, Singapore will have to do. You have to admit, getting two crisp $100 bills to switch flights and arrive one hour early isn't bad. Especially when the tickets were free to begin with. This would have to be the first time that an airline has actually paid me to fly somewhere... Well, except for those two years I spent working for Delta. Anyway, this is a pretty nice situation flying all around the world for free (or let's call it pseudo-free, I like that prefix "pseudo"). This year so far ("year" referring to the first six months of my sabbatical) I've taken pseudo-free flights to Amsterdam (enroute to Istanbul), Los Angeles (enroute to Singapore), and this one from LA to Singapore... Not bad. And, just before I left I booked two flights to London for some exciting summer travel. The combination of 1.5 million frequent flyer miles and half-a-million dollars spent on my AMEX and Diners Club cards have kept me flying for free for the last ten years. How cool is that? It's really cool. So, this journal entry is dedicated to Accenture, Northwest Airlines, Delta Air Lines, American Express, and Diners Club. My true ticket to free travel and adventure. In true Jeff-fashion here is a list of free international travel I've manipulated during the last ten or twelve years:

  1. Two round trip flights from Minneapolis to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Sun and fun.
  2. Two round trip flights Minneapolis to Montego Bay, Jamaica. Sun and fun again... Although the fun may have been diminishing by this point... The sun however did not diminish.
  3. Two round trip flights from Minneapolis to Madrid, Spain for an intensely mediocre vacation. The fun was clearly absent at this point in my life.
  4. Flights from Minneapolis to Dublin, Ireland, returning from London.
  5. One round trip flight from Washington DC to Montreal, Canada.
  6. One round trip flight from Minneapolis to Bangkok using double miles (180K) to get rid of those pesky restrictions and blackout dates.
  7. Flights from Minneapolis to Paris, returning from London.
  8. Flights from Prague to Minneapolis and back to Vienna to return home for my grandmother's funeral in 1999... :-(
  9. One round trip flight from Los Angeles to Sydney, Australia for Chappy and my walkabout in Oz. Thank you AMEX.
  10. One round trip flight Minneapolis to Amsterdam to launch into the Middle East. I didn't have enough miles to go all the way to Istanbul so I had to fly Turkish Airlines (the world's most dangerous airline) Amsterdam - Istanbul - Damascus - Amman - Istanbul - Amsterdam.
  11. Flights from Los Angeles to Hong Kong (now Taipei) to Singapore, to Bangkok, to Hong Kong, then home. Thanks again AMEX.
  12. Finally, this summer it's two round trips New York to London's Heathrow Airport enroute to the Emerald Island. AMEX again. Cha-ching.

That is really incredible! I mean think of all the expended (some might say wasted) resources so Jeff can fly for free? Amazing. That's 16 or so international flights for free. And, that doesn't count the dozens of free domestic flights I've pissed away. Man!

PS - After a quick tour of the Chaing Kai Shek Airport in Taipei, nothing to report except lots of bad Jackie Chan advertising and a very 1960s institutional feel. Having to get off the plane in Taipei did provide me with the opportunity to happen through the Singapore Airlines first-class section... Wow! I thought coach was nice with its "Dolby Headphone Surround Sound in Every Seat in Every Class". That said, I can't believe after 14+ hours of flying I still have another 4 hours left.

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March 20, 2002

Colonial Rule

About seven years ago I visited Singapore. Then, I was a struggling manager trying to pretend I was somebody and trying to survive an irrational marriage. Jeff the traveler didn't exist, Jeff the misguided pawn was progressing in his life, metaphorically falling down stairs instead of breathing forward and enjoying life's mysteries. My first trip to Asia was a long time ago, now on my third trip, I'm not much different. Yes, I've been able to collect many travel experiences. Yes, I've divorced my glory-days wife. And, yes, I'm much more aware than I was seven years ago. But, I'm still falling down stairs and I'm still caught up in the anxiety collected over my 35 years of existence. Double but, today I'm breathing forward and appreciating my moments here in Singapore.

It didn't start this way. In the last few days I've gone through apprehension, air-travel-induced sleep deprivation, friendship anti-climax, and typical travel angst (or maybe challenge is a better word). Up until now I've really done an excellent job finding ways to be miserable, finding ways to foster my depression instead of finding accepting comfort in my immediate existence. I'm better now (or for now). I'm sitting at the Long Bar at the Raffles Hotel here in Singapore. I've been here before and I will be here again someday. The Long Bar in it's perverted historical way is one of my all time favorite places. The last time I was here it left an indelible imprint of colonial destiny on my brain. It provided a historical reference that I focused my long-term interest on. Now, on my second visit, it has lived up to and improved upon my expectations. This unheard of pleasure was a welcome gift as I unspectacularly started my latest travel adventure.

It really is a pleasant place. An English refuge from the humidity. As the late March monsoon rain falls outside, I sit comfortably at a dark wood grained table enjoying my Tiger Beer, Malaysian Satay, and perfect British chips. Sarong-clad boys attend to my drinks as wicker fans oscillate above providing breeze to counter the ill effects of the tropical clime (the air conditioner helps too). I know 19th century colonialism didn't set a very good example, but it did cast an undeniable historic reference and inspire impeccable style that lives on today... I'm glad I stopped by here today. Hopefully this is what I needed.

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March 21, 2002

Pulua Ubin

Man is it hot. Singapore is a friggin sauna. Breathing and drinking are the same thing here. I'm just dripping as I finish up my seafood rice and yet another Tiger.

Today's adventure is swimming through the humidity on the island of Pulua Ubin off the Northeast coast of Singapore. Maybe I'm not swimming, but it feels like it... Did I mention how hot it is? After an uneventful ride on the subway and a transfer to bus 29, I caught a "bumboat" heading out to the island. That might sound exotic, but it really isn't. The island of Pulua Ubin is the last refuge for village life in Singapore. I'll admit, it is a bit rustic out here, but I bet it's government subsidized or something. Someone or something has to be preventing the rows of apartment buildings from hopping across the narrow channel and displacing the pseudo-kampung out here on Ubin (a kampung is a native Malay village, and you see the use of my favorite word "pseudo"... I used to use the term "icon" to excess, now it's "pseudo").

If it's any conciliation, the new plan here in Singapore is to do a little land reclamation and build a nice bridge and suddenly the bumboats and the kampungs will be gone daddy gone. I think this pseudo-kampung is a bit much anyway. Cell phones and TVs haven't stopped at the causeway, so why shouldn't they whip a bridge out here?

Minus the heat, the bike ride around the island was nice. The shanties and "some" views were worth the trip. I say "some" because this, like so many of the world's beach areas, is littered with garbage, plastic, etc... Even in antiseptic Singapore the litter piles upon the shores. The Americans have one thing to be proud of, the beaches in the US, especially Hawaii, are second to none. Everywhere else I've been has not measured up... A few hotels here and there have masked the problem, but it's almost always substandard.

Pulua Ubin supports an interesting rain forest of sorts, lots of palm trees and mangroves. I saw some wildlife here and there: a few wild boars cutting through the jungle and a monitor lizard that scared the fuck out of me. After I saw that four foot long lizard I was much more careful where I ventured. Well, I'm not complaining. Pulua Ubin was a good experience. Hot, but good. I think tonight I'll check out the "Night Safari" here in Singapore. I'm told it's fascinating.

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March 23, 2002

Top 10

Here are the top ten things you will NOT see in Singapore:

  1. See someone step in gum. It's illegal to sell gum in Singapore. You can have it, chew it, but you can't buy it.
  2. See someone without a mobile phone. It's impossible to escape. People not only have them, but they always have them out like some sort of idolic amulet, directional oracle, or rosary...
  3. See someone smoking, drinking, eating, or transporting flammable liquids or gas on the subway. Not unless you have a spare $5000 around.
  4. See an unswept street. Everything is perfectly clean, everyone has a maid and/or a maintenance person, all maids and maintenance people have straw brooms.
  5. See an American without sweat streaming down their back or perspiration on their brow. The average high temperature in Singapore is around 88F with fluctuations throughout the year of an entire degree or two. The humidity averages about 84%. Double yikes!
  6. See a papaya less than a foot in length. Apparently the genetic traits of the Singapore people (meaning height.. .tsk tsk) do not extend to the Singapore fruits and vegetables.
  7. See a speeding taxi. Seems all the taxis begin to annoyingly beep as they exceed the speed limit.
  8. Tipping. Tipping in Singapore doesn't really happen. It's nice when the bill comes and you don't have to bother with the math, but the standard 10% service fee doesn't provide much of an incentive for good service.
  9. See an airline seat without a personal video system. OK, I'm reaching here... The Asian airlines (so far) are extremely nice.
  10. See Jeff. Because I'm out of there. I'm heading to Bangkok on Cathay Pacific flight 712. More interesting travels can now commence.
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Khoa San Road

Khoa San Road, Bangkok, backpacker's Mecca. I hardly knew this place existed the last time I was here. I didn't spend much time in Bangkok during my last visit and probably won't this time either... I've seen the sights and this quasy-shiek funnel of backpackers can't possibly find a way to fit me in. Khoa San is where all the backpackers go to see and be seen. The cools guys do their best to look like shit, the cool girls do their best to look slutty, tie-dyed, and saronged. I look like I should be up at the lake in Minnesota or something. After Singapore where the rich get richer, it's nice to be here on Khoa San Road where the tattooed get pierced, the pierced grow dreads, and the dreaded truly are. I don't feel too bad though. Although my Abercrombie shorts, Banana Republic T, and Sketcher shoes don't make much of a fashion statement, there are dozens more handicapped with Tommy Gear and clearly forced backpacker looks that I can't be trifled with.

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March 25, 2002

Thai Food

Nothing like a breakfast of red Thai curry and fried noodles. It should go well with my anti-malarial tablet. Mmmm...

The food in Thailand is expectantly fabulous. It's damn hot (spicy that is), but it's really good. I had a spicy red sauce with seafood last night that made me cry, it was that good and that hot. WOW! Don't worry, there is plenty of Singha beer to wash it down and cool it off. The food is cheap too, I've been eating at some of the nicer looking places so it's been a little more expensive, but I think last night I spent all of $2 on a substantial dinner with fresh shrimp, mussels, squid, fish, and loads of chilies. WOW again! Beer included!

This journal entry isn't too exciting so I think I'll shut it. Today I'm off on a little boat trip to explore the khlongs (waterways) of Bangkok. If all goes well today I'll get my Laotian visa and I'll be headed North to Chaing Mai tonight.

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March 27, 2002

Chaing Mai

Sipping another Singha as I look out over the Mekong River into Laos from the safety of Thailand. I'm spending the night in this fabulous teak guesthouse in Chaing Khong. Yesterday, Chaing Mai provided a much more pleasant experience when compared to excessive and noisy Bangkok. The highlight in Chaing Mai was a visit to Wat Phra That Doi Suthep, a beautiful and peaceful hilltop monastery with views of the city . The quiet temples, monastic chanting, and cooler climate provided the recovery I needed after an excessively warm hike around the Chaing Mai markets. A half an hour of meditation in the presence of droning monks and a blessing from the lead monk and it was down the mountain to the city for more excellent Thai cuisine and the hectic Chaing Mai night market.

Today's journey included a public bus from Chaing Mai to Chaing Rai, then a rough ride through mountains and rice terraces to my current location in Chaing Khong. For the record, the term "chaing" is equivalent to the Western term "city". The trip from Chaing Rai was in the back of a pseudo-pickup-truck (called a jumbo). We sat three aside as the wind (and dust) blew in our faces. The destination turned out worthy, the guesthouse is absolutely wonderful as the day's humidity subsides and the cool night approaches with malarial mosquitos and ringing Lao radio propaganda from across the Mekong. Laos beckons as we prepare our papers for tomorrow's border crossing.

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March 28, 2002

Mekong River

Smoky haze fills the sky, orange sun is filtered by exhaust from seasonal burning. The scenery has changed.

We are coasting down the Mekong aboard a commissioned longboat on our first day in Laos. Lush mountains through filtered haze rise on both sides of the muddy river. Rocky islands spanned with sand break the water's surface. The Lao dry season is upon us. The river banks have dozens of extra feet. Low water makes for a serpentine route as the captain navigates the strong current avoiding the sand bars, the rocks, and the infrequent traffic. Some speed by in long, pointed, colorful speed boats powered by noisy engines and long spinning propellers trailing by more than a meter. These "rocket boats" deafen an already deafening journey thanks to our own diesel engine.

Passengers line both sides of the longboat attempting comfort and non-chalance as we invade historic Laos enroute to Luang Prabang. Two days of river travel are ahead before more traditional exploration can begin. For now I'm happy watching the muddy waters flow by, watching fishermen net from jutting rocks, absorbing the scenery as mountains sustain jungle that give way to the river in land sliding interface. For now we can be content watching our newly conquered country meander by. The official government brochures, Intrepid memos, and Lonely Planets feed our minds.

Like the rest of Indochina, Laos has had a troubled past. Insurgence from Siam, from France, from Vietnam, from China, and from America. Laos is a country that was nearly swallowed by the Siamese, then colonized by the French, then corrupted by a king who was financed by CIA short sitedness, then turned upon and relentlessly bombed. A stop at an island village dissipates this historical headache I've developed.

Children playing marbles on the beach interrupt my morbid thoughts. We exchange greetings. They look longingly at the Thai biscuits in my backpack. We chat with blank stares and I offer postcards from my home and friendly smile stickers. Suddenly there are more children. Laughing, posing for pictures, proudly displaying their stickers, and arguing over who gets to keep the 50 cent postcard showing Minneapolis from the North side across the Hennepin Avenue Bridge toward downtown. How could they possibly care? They have war to prepare for... Probably.

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March 29, 2002

Pak Beng

Continuing down the Mekong after a pleasant, but hot night in Pak Beng, a growing village on the river fueled by experience starved backpackers in search of the perfect traditional market, strange foods, oddities, and cute kids. Mostly cute kids. There is no shortage of cute children in Laos. Men between the ages of 35 to 50 may be gone, but children are a plenty. These children are like all others... Maybe more dirt on their clothes, maybe a baby sister on their back, maybe selling a bracelet or two, but the same.

After a night of excellent Lao food and drink I woke up early and ventured down to the local market (like any good backpacker). Third-world markets are fascinating and sell some of the most unusual things. Along side the fruits and vegetables were oddities like rats, bats, ant larvae, crickets, and secadas (buzzing grasshoppers). The meat market clearly lacked the controls and modesty of most western markets. In Laos everything is utilized. The carcass is whittled down right in front of your eyes and everything is utilized including the eyes, the testicles, the intestines, the hooves, etc... The meat still has the hide attached in many cases. After all this visual stimulation I stopped for breakfast at a nearby market stand and enjoyed some slightly spicy noodles with pork. At least I hope it was pork.

As we motor away from Bakau Caves on our last leg of the trip to Luang Prabang I'm sitting on the roof of the boat, humid breezes off the brown water are cooling me down. The Bakau Caves are a pair of dark caverns set in the side of a jungle cliff filled with thousands of Buddha statues like ancient amulet treasures from centuries past. It gives off the feel of an Indiana Jones movie set. I'm waiting for upset natives to pelt us with poison darts as we escape in our longboat.

Prior to to the caves we stopped off at a Hmong village along the Mekong. Although the Hmong are indigenously associated with the Indochina highlands, this group has settled near the river. The seemingly well fed villagers and children were relentlessly selling their embroidered bracelets and touristy handbags. My guess is that even in this obscure village tourism is king and traditional ways are disappearing. I was heartened by the idea that this life wasn't much different from days gone by. One can easily interchange tourists with colonists, colonists with explorers, explorers with trading tribes, and so on... It certainly seems natural to trade with arriving visitors no matter what I might think. The people seemed friendly and the children adept in cuteness. Pigs, cows, dogs, and chickens roamed freely. While many children were occupied with selling, others hid in doorways and shied from our snapping camera shutters.

I was struck by how incredibly different it was in this tiny Hmong village more than 15,000 miles from St. Paul, Minnesota. Yet thousands of displaced Hmong people ended up in the frigid state of Minnesota. Liberal politics provided a haven for a group of people that aligned with the wrong side in what one might classify as an incredibly pointless covert CIA operation in Northern Laos. An operation that left the land pitted with bomb craters, scores dead, populations displaced, and remaining populations discriminated against. I wonder how the Hmong population of St. Paul feels so far from home yet debatably more welcome.

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March 31, 2002

Trekking Nightmare

After a night of Beer Lao and an odd trip to a Lao disco I woke up early with dehydration and headache. After a cup or two of Nescafe it was tuk-tuks up into the mountains for a half-day trek.

The drive up was treacherous. A muddy soft trail clinging to the side of the mountain. The tuk-tuk struggled at times and avoided huge bumps and washouts. We arrived at a remote Hmong village, the start of the trail to Kuang Si Falls. As usual, the village was full of adorable children and worn-out mothers. The rest of the villagers seemed to be out clearing the recently burned fields. As we followed the path through stepped fields and lush jungle we periodically spotted children watching their working parents, solitary hikers with bags of rice, or militaristic stalkers. These drab-green-clad scouts tended to appear from nowhere and seemed to blend into their surroundings. One carried a rifle, others were in pairs with matching hats and an uncertain purpose... I'm sure it was all normal and my Apocalypse Now washed brain was just wandering. Then again, I did hear stories of reeducation camps where well-to-do Laotians were untaught english and reintroduced into the socialist society. 1975 wasn't that long ago...

After the three-hour hike we descended into the valley over steep dusty steps as water crashed down beside us. At the bottom we were rewarded with a spectacular view of the falls splitting around rocks and cascading into emerald pools. A quick bite to eat, a dip in the water, and I'm briefly refreshed before the weather reheats me beyond belief. For now I'm comfortable.

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April 03, 2002

Vientiane

After a sultry and sickly day in Vientiane I'm cooling down with some fruit shakes and cold water as tuk-tuks and scooters zoom by on the street between the cafe and the Mekong River. It is again sultry thanks to what seems like ever increasing temperature and humidity. The sun beats down relentlessly in Indochina and transforms a clean shirt in seconds. I'm somewhat sickly thanks to yet another third-world virus or bacteria that tend to attack my weak American body. Some day I'll make a trip without a case of the "fill-in-the-blank revenge".

As I spend my last few days in Laos I have a few topics I thought I would chat about. My recent writings have felt a little too visual without a point and without a tangible topic... Not that this one will be any better. My topics for today are money, bombs, and the evolution of Southeast Asian transport.

Topic one, money. The currency in Laos is the kip (LAK). One dollar is equal to approximately 9500 kip. For simplicity sake I use a 10000:1 conversion ratio, not a problem. The problem enters since the largest denomination bill in Laos is 5000 kip, the equivalent to 50 US cents. 50 fucking cents! It's almost impossible for me to get a grasp on this money, you need stack of money up to your waist to buy a cup of coffee. I can't figure out why the Lao government doesn't introduce a 10000, 20000, 100000, even a 1000000 kip note. It's funny to see shop keepers with entire duffle bags full of cash in binded blocks running around like bank robbers. The people have developed a clever system of stacking nine notes and folding the tenth over to sort their piles of cash. Even ten bills is only worth a meager five bucks.

Next topic... Quote of the day: "Give em lemons and they make lemonade". According to a couple debatably reliable resources, the country of Laos was bombed (per capita) more than any other country in history. More bombs fell on Laos in the 60s and 70s than fell on Europe during the entirety of World War II. The Americans attempt to stifle the Viet Cong in Laos required on the average one bomb every eight minutes for ten years... Yikes! I'm not sure what immediate impact these bombs had on the population in terms of casualties, but the long-term impact is still happening with unexploded bombs going off frequently... Another strange and I'd say unexpected result the Lao people have come up with is to use the bombs and bomb parts for making tools and other blacksmithed goods. I saw several blacksmiths using empty bomb shell cases as bellows and others for hammering. Most Lao shovels and hoes are cleverly fashioned out of bomb casings. Like I said, "give em lemons..."

Final topic, the evolution of Southeast Asian transport. This may sound pretty important and maybe it sounds like a complicated subject, but I intend to simplify and manipulate history to support my own hypothesis. In America It's safe to say that motorized transport evolved from the horse and carriage. As you would expect, this evolution of transport made its way to Southeast Asia. I fully intend to ignore this. I think the more interesting transport means spawned from the bicycle and presumably before that from the single horse... In Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam you see dozens of transport means that are likely related to that first Southeast Asian bicycle. The following tiered relationships I believe came from that first Asian bike.

Trust me, after two four-hour journeys via tuk-tuk or jumbo, I can say that the blue smoke, insufficient shocks, and uncomfortable seating sucks! My ass will never be the same, and I'll never complain about a long bus trip or flight again.

Today (4/4 since I stopped writing this entry and resumed the next day) we are aboard an extremely comfortable air-conditioned bus heading for the tricky Vietnamese border. We all have our one US dollar bribe in one hand and our fingers crossed on the other.

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April 04, 2002

Laos, No Lao

My last evening in Lao and finally I've abandon the term "Laos" for the more appropriate term "Lao" or "Lao PDR" (Peoples Democratic Republic). I'll try to refrain from talking about bombs this time, although we did see some curious boats in eastern Lao made from discarded B52 Bomber fuel tanks.

I guess I'm not sure what I should write about. I guess I'll discuss my trip through the local market here in the border town of Lak Sao. The market was amazing and typical. It was definitely the most populous and diverse market I've seen in Lao, providing several Kodak moments. Whether it was the live iguana, live frogs with broken legs, or the now mundane rats, it was and excellent look at how commerce in Lao happens and an excellent look at the odd things that are (or can be) eaten in Southeast Asia.

That said, my memories of the market are not of unusual carcasses or exotic reptiles, I will probably remember one thing. I will remember the feeling that I was some type of humorous, tall monster walking through the masses. The people of this market more than all others made me feel alien. Whether it was the constant muttered "falongs" or the laughing, whether it was the forced waving children or the shyness of the less experienced, this market more than all others looked upon me as a westerner, a falong, an outsider. Certainly many smiled in response to my smile, but many more looked perplexed or worse looked at me menacingly. Today was the first time I felt like I was invading this countries' privacy, trespassing, unwelcome. My guess is that I'm typically over-sensitive and misreading the situation, but who could blame them? And, now it's on to Vietnam?

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April 05, 2002

Border Troubles

Sitting on the Vietnam side of the border at Cau Treo having just past through passport control and customs. The Vietnamese border can be very tricky and we are waiting for one of our group members that had a mistaken "complete" stamp on their multi-entry visa, even though the problem was supposedly taken care of by the Vietnamese consulate in Vientiane. What a pain! It has been about three hours since we left Lao and entered the "no mans land" between the two countries.

Leaving Lao was easy, the man just took a quick look at my passport and stamped it. At this point we drove into "no mans land" which is about a mile-long hill up to the Vietnamese border station. Incredulously, the area between the two border control stations is completely full of smuggling trucks and a busy smuggler's market. As many as a hundred trucks are parked just beyond the site of the Vietnamese officials. Truthfully the trucks may be just out of site, but clearly the Vietnamese know they are there. It is strange. Assumingly money changes hands and the goods are taken up over the hill parallel to the border to an unsecured spot and then smuggled in. Trucks containing liquor, electronics, refrigerators, and the coveted Red Bull energy drink all wait for someone to risk the trip. As we waited a few shady characters in fatigue green hovered close peering into our bags with menacing smiles. This was not a comfortable place.

Then we met the Vietnamese border officials. Dozens of redundant people some with similarly menacing looks. I had the luxury of going last thanks to my blue American passport. Thankfully, my papers were in order and besides looking at every page twice they let me through. Not everyone fared as well as I.

Besides the redundant officials, other characters shoved past, some skipping the queue, some lackeys of the redundant officials. It was an interesting experience. It turned out the one passport that was out of order took several "calls to Hanoi" and finally a $20 bribe. Make that $21, since we all started with the standard $1 bribe. Apparently "calls to Hanoi" and a slow process are the keys to successful bakshish.

Now we wind our way down the steep hills of North Vietnam enroute to Vinh and then Hanoi. I'm reunited with Vietnam after more than three years.

Individual | Main

April 06, 2002

Noise, Noise, Noise

Noise, noise, noise, I can't stand the noise! The Vietnamese commuters lead a dangerous life. The Vietnam roadways are a virtual video game as bikers and cyclos compete with scooters, scooters like pesky flies swarm in clouds of pointy hats and blue smoke, cars and trucks fill the space between the scooters, and horn makers revel in the environment they created. To a westerner the horns cause squinting headaches, to the Vietnamese they mean nothing, even the screaming lorry horns that reduce my life span as they echo pasts in a deafen start and diminishing resonance. Negotiating traffic in Hanoi is one part skill, one part courage, and three parts blind faith. Today I've seen cyclos blindly cross intersections more crowded than the Kennedy Expressway at 7:00am, woman crossing roads carrying large baskets suspended like olympic barbells across their damaged backs, and Jeff crossing the streets like a bad go at Frogger... Splat! I have a theory. Given the American War was so tragic and so recent, I guess getting run down in the street isn't that big of deal. I guess it's all a matter of degree. Once you've been in the fire, hot is no longer hot. That said, Hanoi is a really noisy place. Yes, noisy. And, hot.

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April 09, 2002

America

On a boat cruising around Halong Bay off the coast of Northeast Vietnam. If you'd like to read about Halong Bay, see my entry from 12/6/98. It's the same. Same weather, same, same.

Last night I stayed in Cat Ba, an island town on the edge of Halong Bay. The "Coca Cola Restaurant" in Cat Ba was great, I had some of the best food of the trip. Vietnamese food is the absolute best. Southeast Asian food in general is soooo good. Whether it's the spicy Thai stuff, the imported Indian curry, Lao sticky rice, Malay satay, or Vietnamese seafood, it's all good. I'd have to say, the Vietnamese food is my favorite (or maybe Thai). Last night I had the best fried noodles ever. Following the noodles I had perfect steamed squid and washed it all down with half-a-dozen Halida beers. The squid in Vietnam is second to none, it's huge and has this pink hue to it. They serve it steamed, baked, fried, stuffed, etc... It's yummy. I remember the squid feast I had in Hue (Vietnam) about three years ago and last night's feast lived up to my memory and my expectations. I also had some tasty and unusual chowder with mussels earlier at the hotel. The chowder was sweet with veggies, ginger, and hundreds of tiny mussels in the shell. You basically had to scoop up a spoonful and manipulate the individual mussels removing the meat and spitting out the shells. The shells piled up like translucent fish scales. Interesting and good.

Today we had a busy day. We started early taking scooters up into the island highlands first stopping at a cave that was used as a hospital during the American War. The cave wasn't very special, but the ex-soldier guide was absolutely precious. This guy was staffed at the hospital during the war and has been there ever since. His nationalistic pride was apparent as he belted out a Vietnamese anthem for us, smiling, clapping, singing. It was really cool and the song endeared him to us instantly and forever. Later as we exited the cave, he walked up to me and patted his chest with both hands saying "Vietnam!". He looked at me as to say "Where are you from?". I sheepishly replied "American" and directed my eyes to the floor. After a few seconds I raised my eyes to his. Above his smile and behind his glint I caught a look which came from deep within him and past through my eyes stopping in the pit of my stomach. It was a moment I won't forget. Later as we said our good-byes he made a point to shake my hand and embrace me as my fellow travelers instinctively snapped photos of the symbolic moment. It was funny to them, but it made me feel ashamed and proud if that's possible.

Individual | Main

April 10, 2002

Vietnamese Home Brew

Just polished off five liters of Vietnamese home brew with some friends after dinner here in the border town of Lang Son. These dodgy beers were about 70 cents a piece and bottled in old green one-liter Sprite bottles.

The dodgy beers were a nice compliment to the dodgy food I gathered at the hocker stalls. I had three dodgy spring rolls, two dodgy skewers of barbecue meat (not necessarily identifiable), dodgy noodles with meat (again not sure what the meat was, but it appeared to be fowl of some sort), and some dodgy duck (which included chopped up head and bill). All this for the bargain price of 15000 dong. That's about one US dollar to you and me. The food was great, but definitely dodgy for a western stomach. After this combination of dodgy food and beer, I'm waiting and hoping...

I'm cutting this journal entry short. I have an early start tomorrow. Crossing into China shouldn't be a problem, but who knows.

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April 11, 2002

The Ming River

Overcast and cool. The Ming River is a dark brown and the massive limestone cliffs are muted to the gray sky background. The longboat putts down the lazy river under the power of yet another smoky diesel that has seen better days and less oil. The boatman cups his head in boredom and wonders why anyone would come halfway around the world to ride in his shabby boat. The infrequent Chinese live their lives like they did last year, the year before that, ten years before that, and one hundred prior. History and technology have had a drastic impact on China, but nobody told these guys... The boats may have motors, the fish may be laced with mercury, the skies polluted by nearby smokestacks, but nature rules here. Water buffalo, chicken, fish, rice, bamboo, and hard work blend into daily life. A daily life that doesn't need a vacation, a new car, new furniture, or a therapist.

After a long day of travel I'm resting in the shadow of the Huashan Guesthouse in the riverside village of Huashan. Few cars make it to Huashan, the river provides the visitors. The visitors are mainly Chinese; noisy and lined up in chairs in front of me. I sat here alone, I even had to setup my own chair and table. Now the noisy Chinese have invaded my solitude. I don't understand the frantic, loud culture. It makes me tense. Same in Vietnam. I think after two weeks I'll be ready to abandon this noisy culture for the one that I'm comfortable with state-side.

The guesthouse is huge. Three matching buildings made of aromatic wood and intricately trimmed providing a classic Asian atmosphere. The day started like most days with difficult to order rice noodles. As usual, the meat was a mystery, maybe chicken and beef (or was it kidney?). A short bus ride later and we were looking at more redundant Vietnamese officials. This trip to the border was easier. Yes, the officials are slow, yes the people rudely pushed to the front of the line, no we were not delayed. On the Chinese side we were greeted with smiles, checked thoroughly, and let through. Next it was taxis to a town with more blank stares and difficult to order noodles , then tuk-tuks to the river, and then the lazy journey down the Ming. I'm pleasantly relaxed even as I deal with the noisy, and pushy.

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April 12, 2002

Music From Heaven

The remnants of an easily categorized headache slowly dissipate as I sit down at my wicker table to write. Perspiration still evaporates and my stomach settles after a short trek and a quick Chinese breakfast. I made a good choice this morning as I veered right toward the mountain instead of left towards breakfast.

I followed an indiscriminate path this morning as I searched to relax. Unuseful sleep and anxiety compounded my morning stress. The indiscriminate path became discriminate as it gained grade and developed steps carved into solid rock. Tall grasses and vines invaded the path and tickled my chin. Mysterious noises kept my senses aware as morning mist gave way to sun and grassy, rocky views gave way to turning vistas, mountains, and rivers.

Although the walk was short, this was the first time I really noticed my subsecond surroundings. I've been trying and now I finally succeeded. Now we'll see if any resonance remains. At one point I stopped on the path and noticed tree leaves closed waiting for the photosynthesizing sun to unlock them. I watched a thousand birds flock in and aimless swarm darting between canyon walls. I stood under trees buzzing with black flies living their entire lives. For a moment I even watched some ants as they built their fortresses surrounding their queens, slaves looking forward to death as their only incentive (no laughing now). This made me really think about what I've seen during this trip in Southeast Asia. It made me think of the people and how they compare to what I'm familiar with. Millions and millions of people, a massive majority of the world's population, wake up, work hard, feed themselves and their children, then go to sleep. It's the same today, it will unlikely change tomorrow, and it has been as it is for virtually ever. Diversions such as travel, vacations, baseball, and diamonds seem trivial. Note: "Diamonds" is an obscure inside reference to the National Geographic article we've been passing around...

As I headed toward the summit on this short but fulfilling hike I noticed beautiful music and song across the distance accompanying the secadas, buzzing flies, and chiming birds. It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard. The voice was a male voice with occasional female compliments. The songs floated up the valley, my own acoustically perfect opera house. The voices as strong in the middle of the mountains as at the top. Songs in Chinese about daily life. Music mixing with the natural surroundings and creating a symphony. I looked for the source of these wonderful noises. I noticed a man in the distance carrying baskets in from an unnoteworthy field. Was that the source? For a minute I thought it might be a recording. The song followed me to the top where I found a small temple dedicated to monkeys or some associated deity. I sat under the ornate roof in meditation and attempted to rid the world of my headache. I awoke and descended to breakfast.

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April 14, 2002

Chengyang

Another day, another guesthouse in the Chinese countryside. This time the village is Chengyang, a picturesque place with ancient covered bridges, rice paddies, and unique wooden houses. We arrived last night in total darkness wondering what the morning would present. The journey was long, arduous, and interesting. The train was easy, the bus crowded and breakneck. Besides the full load of people, all sorts of items were piled to the bus ceiling. Large gunny sacks of textiles, bags of grains, boxes of supplies, and ten foot bundles of curtain rods bided for space. People sat in seats and atop sacks. As many as five people shared the engine cover in front of me and beside the driver. The crowded conditions were intensified by manic driving and passing around dangerous mountain curves. No one was safe. Tractors, motorbikes, water buffalos, dogs, and children dived aside as the bus attacked the road. But all was worth it as we relaxed in the night shrouded guesthouse. Food and light Chinese ale coaxed us to sleep as water cascaded from hidden water wheels and over small water falls. What would the morning view be?

An early rise, more haze. Mountains and rice terraced hills. The old women peddlers setup inside the shelter of the covered bridge providing a gauntlet of non-sanctioned Chinese capitalism. Water buffalo drawn plows are dragged through deep gray mud. Rice plants are moved from brilliant green beds to freshly plowed muddy beds in perfect six inch intervals. Everyone is knee deep in mud, mud, mud. A hike up the hill to the temple provides incredible views. The hike down into the village found people relaxing as the "grave sweeping" holiday approached. The village square was relaxed but alive. The clubhouse provided old men with a place to play cards. Firecrackers ignited by the brick created a festive mood as the holiday bubbled up in the village. Tomorrow we head off to the ancestral "grave sweeping" festival, an event few westerners enjoy (says our happy and sometimes drunk guesthouse keeper). South China has been amazing on this our fourth day in country. Our fourth day, but the first day we've encountered other westerners.
PS - On request, I'm obligated to write down the top eight Chinese Pop Karaoke hits from the video presentation aboard our bus between Liuzhou and San Jiang. Here they are:

  1. Be There or Be Square
  2. Ring a Ling a Ding Dong
  3. By my Hero, By my Knight
  4. K-K-K-Kiss Me
  5. Wish You Merry Christmas (not "I Wish You a Merry Christmas")
  6. Da Di Da Di
  7. Wet Man Video... No idea what the song was called.
  8. Chinese Rap... Again, no idea what the song was called, but it was good humor.
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April 15, 2002

Graves Sweepers Festival

Thanks to the recommendation of our guesthouse keeper, the honorable Mr. Wu, we are headed to the Grave Sweepers Festival in Fulu. Every year or so a huge festival is held and Chinese minorities (the Dong, Miao, Yao, and Zhuang) from the region congregate. The following is a chronology as the day happens:

9:00am - After a fine noodle breakfast we depart via a shaky bus for a slow 70 km journey. Supposedly three hours. The road runs along the Cong river, hundreds of rice fields at various stages of growth provide the scenery along the bumpiest and dustiest road in China.

12:00 - We arrive in Fulu, stop the bus, and join thousands of pilgrims as they make their way down the main street and then descend to the river bottom where hundreds of vendors wait in the most colorful market in the world. Ethnic costume is the norm as the various tribe people struggle through the crowd shopping for colorful plastic shoes, bamboo, fishnets, fruits, vegetables, noodles, etc. Approaching from the Cong River are hundreds of boats maneuvering for a port. In between the town and the brown muddy water is a rocky river bank with thousands of aimless people. The town has setup a stage where the talented display their skills dancing and playing bamboo horns of various sizes. Cosmopolitan South China in full color. As usual, I'm snapping pictures and sharing the digital results with my subjects like some type of magical shaman.

1:30pm - The stage readies and colorfully dressed children with dangling jewelry and ornate headdresses begin their program. The redundant bamboo music repeats and repeats as the girls dance in various formations. The crowd pushes forward in typical Chinese style. Manic camera men barge into the middle of the dance ensemble nearly ruining the choreography and snapping amazingly rude photos. I put my camera away in shame.

2:00pm - Two lovely Chinese girls stop by to practice their English. They hop up on the dock where a group of us are resting to get a photo with their western friends. I take the time to show them postcard pictures of my home in Minnesota and give them the colorful woven strip I bought from one of the tribal women. I have this tendency to buy things I don't need in order to practice my bargaining skills. They girls seemed appreciative as they left with a Minnesota postcard and a worthless cloth strip in hand.

2:15pm - Lunchtime. Fried noodles with pork and a dash of chili. To the right of the lunch area men are playing ring-toss for beers and chicken. The idea is to roll a bike tire on to a sort of playing field so it falls precisely around a stack of Liquon beers or better yet around the sacred chicken in the middle. As Naomi said, "that is one nervous chicken".

2:30pm - Running Chinese! Is there a fire? A sale? A train to catch? No, hundreds of Chinese men fight for a small birdie of sorts, like a Harry Potter golden snitch. The game resembles rugby with its running, tackling, and scrumming. Periodically someone gets their hands on the snitch and then tosses it into a crowd of unsuspecting people. A mad rush of people escaping before the sweaty, shirtless mob attacks.

3:00pm - Monkey knife fights. Actually it's monkey tricks by three abused monkeys and an evil whipping master. I'm certain the humane society doesn't exist in China.

3:10pm - The group collects and begins the climb up the bluff from the river bottom toward the hated bus. As we leave the river and enter the town side streets the market turns from hap-hazard to more permanent. The crowds are dense. Mobile peddlers carry colorful party favors. The tribal women sellers are there. They are everywhere with silver bracelets and dangling jewelry. Glassy-eyed men smoke their splifs or pipes full of curly woodlike tobacco. Everyone has icy deserts on crooked sticks. We force through the crowd and arrive at the dreaded bus.

3:30pm - After quick relief behind a small well placed van we sit our sore asses on the wicker covered bus seats for the painful ride home. Round two of the bumpiest, dustiest road ever. As we arrive back in Chen Yaing my teeth are gritty, my eyes are clouded, my skin has a lovely gray sheen of mixed sweat and dust. Thank god we're off that fucking bus.

6:30pm - Shower time!

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April 17, 2002

Longji Rice Terraces

Early morning in the Longji Rice Terraces. The fog is thick around the mountainous terraces. A damp chill in the air indicates a wet trek ahead. The green grass of the off-season fields is deeper and more intense thanks to the thick natural fog filters. In the minutes since I've started writing this entry the fog has rolled in to the point of complete opaqueness.

The guesthouse that we're staying at is like the rest in the village and like the others we've stayed at in China. The village is building. The sounds of hammers and saws are epidemic as clean fresh wood is transformed into cloned guesthouses and assumed real houses. Women with long hair spun up in combs work along side the men as this village grows annoyingly. As you'd expect the women do all the other work, hauling, tending of fields, cooking. The fields are sitting fallow, some are plowed. Where the rice fields in Vietnam can produce three crops and the South China fields two, in Longji they get one extremely challenging crop. The terraces are truly massive. The hike to the village went straight up the side, huge slate steps, perspiration, and exhaustion.

Today as the rain begins to fall we discuss the six hour trek planned. The fog is as thick as the packed dense rice in the pressure cooker from last night's dinner. How keen are we for exercise without vista?

Later that day... Quote of the day: "That toilet was the worst, it was absolute spewing shit!" Back at the guesthouse after a grueling, frigid, wet journey. We hiked about three hours in dense fog and occasional drizzle. The views were obscured, but the fog provided an incredible solitude impossible during a normal day. By stopping and holding your breath you could eliminate all noise and visualize the images not present. The fog enhanced mystery and forced creativity without spoon-fed beauty. We stopped for lunch.

Lunch was provided by a family in the village of Zhonglu. A woman intercepted our trekking party on the terrace overlooking her village and led us to a long drawn out lunch. After a burnt batch of rice we waited eating sweet potato fries and nasty, salty, fatty, dried pork. Slowly we assimilated to our lunch and left.

The long trip down the mountain was slippery and eventful. One mishap of the mountain left everyone more cautious and one bloodied and mud covered. A few mishaps later and we arrived at a roadside village of no circumstance except that a potential bus was expected. After an hour and a beer the real fun began. CCV (Cattle Class Vacations) Travel was invented when a cattle truck happened by and fell prey to our negotiating skills. Fifty-five Yuan later and we were headed up the most treacherous stretch of road in all of China. Five in the comfortable and plush front and four in the smelly sheet metal encased back. The four of us that made the grave mistake of roughing it in the back bounced around and surfed on minute chairs as we passed a bottle of 60 proof rice wine between us. As we tested intoxication and bounced off the walls we drowned our agony in laughter... The truck stopped as I sculled the final portion of the nasty rice wine. At that moment an apparent Aussie legend was born. It doesn't take much down under. The three drunk Aussies and one drunk Yankee fell out of the truck and headed up the hill in an Olympic quest for warmth. One more mishap (this one aided by the debilitating effects of rice wine) off the rice terrace and we were there. Thank god. Now I await the hangover and dinner.

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April 20, 2002

Yangshou

After a sleepless 12 hours aboard the Yangshou - Guangzhou night train, I'm on a ferry heading into Hong Kong and preparing for re-emersion into western society. China (outside the tourist onslaught in Yangshou) was really amazing. Escaping the main tourist arteries and diving into village life is the absolute way to go.

Yesterday we took a five hour bicycling ordeal through the rice paddies and between the picturesque (in the Chinese painting sense) rock mountains near Yangshou. It was an amazing journey, a close-up look at village life and rice farming. The muddy trails took us across raised barriers between rice fields, over 500 year-old walking paths, across ancient stone bridges , and onto floating fishing village docks. And, although Yangshou's tourist epidemic is a relative disgust, life just a bike ride away is standing still. The systematic rice growing process slowly covers the land recycling twice yearly. Except for the occasional "rich farmer" with a mud hopping tractor, traditional water buffalo pulled plows are the norm. Rice planting generally follows the procedure of planting dense rows of seedlings then replanting in six inch patterns across mud based, water filled field sections. Some more skillful farmers plant the seedlings by tossing them like darts into the soft mud in perfect arrays. The continuously recycled fields resemble ancestral quilts with green patches of rice, striped patches of seedlings, dotted freshly planted patches, and gray freshly plowed patches. It's difficult to describe and even more difficult to capture in a photo.

As the Chinese wet season commences, mud accumulates on the roads and between the paddies. What once was an imperfection in a dirt trail turns into an impassable mud crater. The red dirt and water mix to the consistency of thick slippery paint. As our dodgy bikes struggle along the theoretical trail the mud accumulates around brakes, fenders, and derailers in incapacitating slippery globs. The mud is so bad at times wheels stop moving and force us to stop and remove it with sticks or by bathing the bikes in ever present irrigation canals. Many locals stop to help after laughing at the crazy westerners covered in mud. The sites, sounds, and silences of China were presented to us in a slightly mud enhanced fashion. The trail was difficult and my muscles are sore, but the accumulated experience was well worth the laundry expense.

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April 22, 2002

Fuck Phuket

Rest. "Rest" is the word as I prepare for my last week in Southeast Asia. After an expected night of drinking in Hong Kong I grabbed a cheap flight back to Thailand, specifically Phuket (aptly named) for a relaxing week before heading home and embracing a Minnesota summer.

Hong Kong was the same as ever after five years of Chinese rule. The Special Administrative Region (SAR, leave it to the Chinese to come up with such a catchy moniker) is still a capitalist's paradise with the most amazing array of shopping opportunities anywhere. You can get just about anything in Hong Kong, especially electronics and watches. And, if you don't want to pay retail, you can always find someone who will get you a damn good copy. Hong Kong was quite a shock to the system after two weeks of living in China on less than $100 (US). In one night of semi-luxury I dropped nearly HK$1500 (close to $200 US bucks). Yikes! What's the better value? Two weeks in China or one night in Hong Kong? It doesn't help drinking $8 beers and $10 shots in Lang Kwai Fong with my excessive Aussie friends.

But now I'm in Phuket sitting in my expensive hotel room ($30 US) awaiting a mini-bus to take me to the pier to catch a boat out to Kho Phi Phi, a pair of islands about two hours Southeast of here. Hopefully Kho Phi Phi will provide the pace I need for my final week. I chose Phi Phi since I wanted some peace and quiet, but still a few pubs to waste my Thai Baht in. I'm sure Phi Phi won't be too quiet, it's become a bit famous since it was used as the basis for the recent movie version of Alex Garland's book "The Beach". We'll see. Phuket is beautiful, but it seems pretty busy with tons of beach-clad couples and strange fifty-something men with young Thai girls. You do the math...

That said, I did see the most amazing sunset last night. After an average dinner at one of the local westernized restaurants, I found a lounge chair on the beach overlooking the Andaman Sea off Phuket's west coast. Stray dogs chased one another over strangely squeaking sand. Misguided couples walked along, faces bathed in the warm red sun. Thai boys collected for-rent beach toys, closed beach chairs, and rolled up cushions as the day ended. The sun fell from the sky at first blinding then sinking into the greenish blue abyss leaving a red blended sky broken by various cumuli and topped with a blue sky still hoping the day would live on. The sunset amazed me then left me bored. My appreciation failed as I lost interest and departed the best thing I've ever seen. It figures I'd walk away from something so beautiful because of something as unnecessary as boredom. Such is life.

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April 23, 2002

Paradise

Paradise found! OK, so everyone else has found it too. Kho Phi Phi is excellent, I have this little cabana on the beach about 20 feet from the ocean at PP Charlie Resort. For $15 a night, nobody is complaining. Kho Phi Phi consists of two islands, Phi Phi Don is the big island with all the tourists and all the places to stay and Phi Phi Ley is where they filmed that movie. The islands are an amazing combination of mountains, cliffs, and white sandy beaches. Over the last few eons waves have crashed into the mountains until gravity takes over and the mountains come crashing down into the sea creating magnificent cliffs and providing crushed rock as fuel for the sandy beaches that fill the gaps between. Like everywhere else in the world Phi Phi is over touristed even in this, the "off-season", but it is truly a beautiful place. Truly.

Today I went out snorkeling. After already acquiring a nice sunburn the day before I headed out with one of the local operators on a day trip around the islands with stops at "The Beach" and other places of inconsequence. The snorkeling was not bad. The last stop on the south side of Phi Phi Don provided the opportunity to snork though caves and out of the sun's direct rays. These shady areas were completely filled with schools of fish. Thousands of fish. The interesting thing was swimming through these immense schools and watching as the fish darted away leaving you encapsulated in a cooperative fish bubble about one-foot from your flipper-clad self. The fish parted and unparted around me like some sort of biblical red sea with me as Moses. Me as Moses.

As I said, I'm back at Charlie's sipping my third Singha. Sunburn reminds me of the the last two days and time ticks away as I look toward my weekend flight back to the states. All is good in Southern Thailand.

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April 25, 2002

Hiking Kho Phi Phi

The most pleasant place on the island. From the village I began the hike up the mountainside to the aptly named "View Point". After a wrong turn into a local village and a broken English "get out of here" or was it "go that way", I encountered cement steps steeply paving the way up through lush jungle, coconut palms, pineapple fields, and screaming secadas. Perspiration began to appear on my generic gray T-shirt and my coral scraped leg began to ache. I stopped for a view of azul blue water and Phi Phi Don's neighboring island through towering palms.

Now at the top with flies attacking and locals peering over my shoulder (like they've never seen a journal before) I sit on the highest rock with 180 degrees and half the island before me. The "View Point" offers blooming gardens , a mandatory food stand (with lovely discarded oil cans behind it), and a dramatic view. Phi Phi Don really should be two islands divided by a coral shelf, but over the centuries white sand has built up between the two mountainous islands creating a sandy bridge now filled with trees, bungalows, and a tourist village. Loh Dalum Bay and Loh Dalum Beach lie directly below. If I looked hard I could probably spot my simple bungalow and beach front as the white sand meets the water in an emerald green blend before giving way to deep blue water. This seems like a good place to watch the sunset. This, my last night on the island will provide a last chance to see the sunset... Let's see how I do. If a sunset picture follows I did well, if not I'll make up some excuse.

PS - The weather turned stormy blocking the sun out and saving me from having to hike to the "View Point" a second time.

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April 27, 2002

Heading Home

On this, the 42nd day since I left the US, I'm heading home. Last night after yet another boat trip back to Phuket I grabbed an early flight back to Bangkok. After a comfortable night at the Asia Hotel near the airport and a delayed departure I'm finally aboard Cathay Pacific flight 754 to Hong Kong. Ironically what will take just over two hours in an airplane took me over four weeks by land. I have to admit, it was quite a journey. And, although this might have been my best adventure yet, it also included some long miserable travel days and nights. In true Jeff-fashion I have a few lists to present in this, my last Southeast Asian journal entry. OK, here is the first one... Here are all the major travel modes I used and the number of times I used them. I started this list after about my sixth bus ride.

And, this doesn't include the dozens of short taxi, tuk-tuk, motorbike, and cyclo rides necessary to get around the various towns. Well, with my first list out of the way, I might as well jump into another. Right?

This morning as I sat at breakfast and watched a table full of Malaysian businessmen eat and excitedly take no less than eight photos of themselves, it dawned on me how different our cultures are. This isn't much of a profound statement, but these guys did make me think... They made me think that if people are so drastically different in different places then people like me should be able to make a few changes in their lives to adjust and move away from certain damaging "norms"... Does that make any sense at all? Oh well, who cares, it makes some sense to me... The next two lists contain what I'll miss and what I won't miss as I leave this part of the world. First off, what I'll miss:

  1. The Food. When I was here in 1994 I really got tired of eating rice all the time. Not this time, I was having Asian food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Out of all of it, Thai food is my favorite. Or maybe Vietnamese.

  2. The Treks. Even though one of my treks was severely hampered by a hangover, all of them were amazing. Amazing experiences and great exercise.

  3. The Asian Airlines. These Asian airlines are the absolute best. I traveled on four airlines as I made my way over and back: Northwest, Cathay Pacific, Singapore Airlines (thanks to a timely bump), and Thai Airlines. Singapore Airlines is the best and Northwest doesn't even compare (PS - After another bump off Cathay in Hong Kong I ended up taking Northwest home. It was crap, but it was a faster route home).

  4. Smiles. The Southeast Asians, especially the Lao, rarely ever frown. It's a culture of smiling, easy going people. The Vietnamese and the Chinese may always be in a hurry, but everyone seems smiley.

  5. Rice Fields. The process, the hard work, the greenest green. Every time I took out my camera and snapped a photo of the rice fields I was disappointed. The stepped rice fields are one of the most stunning sights to behold. To bad it cannot be captured on film or maybe that's a good thing...

  6. Buddhism. The Buddhist way of life seems pretty balanced and focused on what is right. As with all religions it may have its problems, but I guess I don't know of any Buddhist extremists killing one another or others in the name of faith. The Buddhist temples are a quiet refuge, the monks are pleasant and devote, and the meditation is relaxing and seems very useful.

OK, now for the stuff I won't miss. I'm not sure why this list is so long, maybe it's my cynical nature. Here goes:

  1. Tuk-tuks, Motorbikes, Noisy Longboats, and anything else that uses one of those noisy, smelly two-stroke engines.

  2. Loud Talking. Quiet down already, I can hear you! It's not like I understand Chinese anyway, so you don't have to yell. Also, all that rushing around and budding in line stuff has to stop.

  3. Chinese Tourists. The brightly colored hats, tour company stickers, and obscene free duffle bags with advertising on the sides. Can anyone be more obvious? With all the Chinese tourists running around, even an American can blend in.

  4. Karaoke. It's just fucking wrong.

  5. Stares and Laughs. What is so funny? It's not like everyone in China doesn't have a satellite dish and isn't watching CNN, MTV, and reruns of Friends every night. How strange can we actually be. Oooh, weird western people! Yikes!

  6. 50-something Year-old Men with 18 Year-old Thai Girls. No comments needed...

  7. Chop Sticks. It may seem cool to slide into your favorite nuovo-Chinese or trendy sushi restaurant, but the bottom line is it's difficult and somewhat gross to eat rice and especially noodles with chop sticks. That said, I actually like the other dominate way of eating in Southeast Asia. Using a big dominate spoon and a loading fork is pretty smart, better that the way we do it at home.

  8. Hunched Over Old Women. It's really sad to see some of these hunched over women from years and years of carrying huge loads balanced on bamboo pendulums across their shoulders. It's awful, I will never again complain about my bad knees or bad back again. All of our western ailments pale in comparison to these pseudo-slavery inflicted wounds.

  9. Last but not least, I'm really going to miss Long, Bumpy, Dusty Bus Rides to indiscriminate festivals honoring such things as grave sweeping. Yes really.

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April 28, 2002

Still Heading Home

Day 43 of my 42 day adventure... You guessed it, I was delayed, stuck in Hong Kong for the night. It's amazing what a little two-hour delay out of Bangkok can do to one's overly complex itinerary. It's also amazing how few options there are for traveling from Hong Kong to Minneapolis. That said, I'm not going to bother you with my ordeal, yet. Instead I'll continue my last journal entry and maybe I'll include a copy of the letter I might send to Cathay Pacific... Like it will matter.

During yesterday's tightly wound tale I was maniacally listing the things I'll miss and not miss from Southeast Asia. Hopefully everyone wasn't holding their collective breath. I know how exciting this journal can get. I also realize that for many living boring and pointless lives my journal is the only excitement in a long and cold winter. And, as soon as JFK stops this war in Vietnam I'm going to enlist. Reality is and interesting thing in my world.

OK, back to the lists. As an FYI, I keep all these flippant lists on my Palm Pilot. They start at various points during my trips or during my life and are usually religiously attended to. Religiously! I have multitudes of lists more boring than the ones I'm sharing (I know it's hard to believe). Things like: lists of people to send postcards to, lists of books read, lists of good travel organizations, lists of digital photo descriptions, lists of used and unused travel check numbers, packing lists, etc... Along with these travel related lists I maintain loads of more long-term itemizations such as: account lists, household data points, to do lists, Christmas card lists (received and sent), a quotation list, a list of visited ballparks, a list of visited countries, etc... An obsession to some, just part of normal life to me. Why does everyone think I'm obsessed all the time? Why? Why? Why? OK, OK, next list. The following list contains (in order) my favorite beers from the trip:

  1. Beerlao, the national beer of Laos was really good and really cheap. Plus, if you say "Jeff Beerlao?" with the right inflection I'll melt. A few of us are working on the business plan to import and market Beerlao in the states. Look for the Super Bowl commercial in 2003.
  2. Singha, Thailand's best and strongest beer. Singha beer accompanied me as I watched the dodgy backpackers arrive at Khoa San in Bangkok at the beginning of my trip and helped get me to sleep each night as I ended the trip in Kho Phi Phi.
  3. Tiger, Singapore's brew. This is what I started with down in Singapore during this trip and this is what I started with seven years ago when I first set foot in Southeast Asia to work in Kuala Lumpur.
  4. Liquon or LiQ as it's shortened in true "Bud" fashion. Liquon is the official beer of China's Guangxi province. Good beer and apparently "natural" whatever that means... "Natural" is the only other English word on the bottle.
  5. 333 or Sim Sim Sim as they say in Vietnamese. I have no idea what 333 stands for in the historic lore of Vietnamese alcoholism.
  6. Beer Hanio, another beer from Vietnam. Beer Hanio was good, but more importantly, the name reminded me of Beerlao.
  7. Halida. I can't actually remember what Halida tasted like, but I thought it would be good to lump all of the Vietnamese beers together.
  8. Qing Tao, my first Chinese beer. I think it was pretty ordinary.
  9. San Miguel. I'm not sure where San Miguel originates from. I think it may be from the Philippines. Anyway, they have it in Hong Kong too and it kind of sucks. At least what I drank didn't leave much of an impression.
  10. Beer Chang has a catchy label, but I couldn't drink the stuff. Beer Chang was as or more popular than Singha in Thailand and cheaper.
  11. Lang Son Home Brew. During my last night in Vietnam I was drinking old plastic Sprite bottles full of this home brew stuff. As romantic as that might seem, it was pretty bad. Besides that, I was up all night thinking I'd get sick. Fun night otherwise. :-)

That's it, that's my beer list. I think this list will cap the adventure as well. Look for my letter to Cathay to follow, but I think I'll close the main Southeast Asia trip journal here. This was a great trip, one of the best ever. I didn't lose 50 pounds like last time, but Southeast Asia really makes for an amazing adventure and shouldn't be missed. It may be loud, polluted, and full of racing motorbikes and tuk-tuks, but there are few places that combine amazing sites, beautiful people, gripping history, relative safety, and abundant Beerlao in any sort of similar way. Next stop Ireland or is in San Diego or New York? Ummm?

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