Live and learn

You learn something new every day. That's what they say anyway. And I tend to believe it. One of my latest lessons is how to properly get off of a moto. A couple of weeks ago, I got off on the right side and promptly burned my calf on the exhaust pipe. It is healing well, thanks for asking. So, I learned to step further away from my bike or simply get off on the left side.

A few days ago, I parked my bike and exited to the left. I pulled out the keys and promptly singed my left calf on the moto parked beside my own. It burns so quick, it's amazing what a split second of contact can do. Lesson number two, watch out for any exhaust pipe!

Sihanoukville, U.S.A.

I feel like I'm in some beach town in Florida even though I've never actually been to Florida. There are a lot of Westerners here, that's all I'm saying. And the name Sihanoukville has a more Western ring to it. At least I think so.

Anyway, I arrived here earlier today via shared taxi. Our Toyota Camry, the vehicle of choice in Cambodia, had a broken odometer that read over 243 thousand miles. We crammed seven of us into the vehicle. Four in the back and three in the front. I sat next to a 6'6" Czech guy who sat next to two Cambodian women while two Cambodian guys got cozy in the passenger seat.

This, from what I've seen, is actually an inefficient means of transportation. We could have gotten at least 10 people in that car. Most Camrys are full to the hilt, babies on laps, trunks open, luggage overflowing. We were fortunate I suppose. Nobody else had luggage except the woman with the chickens. Those chickens, tied by their feet, were dropped into a bucket in the trunk with our packs.

On the way there were lots of other animals. Ducks tied to the roof of vans. Pigs, in nets, lying on their side, ready to be transported. I've even seen pigs, big pigs, strapped to the back of a moped. You wouldn't believe what will fit on the back of a moped.

Fortunately, the drive today was relatively short. So, despite the labored breathing, the elbow in the back, the sweat running down my arm, the squeezed conditions weren't intolerable. They actually became somewhat comfortable to a degree after we claimed our territory.

If you could only see the overflowing vans we passed with three guys standing on the bumper holding on for their lives. Only they weren't holding on for their lives. This was routine. If I ever see a car with just one person at the wheel, I shake my head and think what they're missing.

Superstitions

I'm not really a superstitious person. But I do tend to notice when something happens that is supposed to bring about bad luck. On Friday the 13th for example. Or when a black cat runs in front of you. Or when you step on a crack. I think that's basically the extent of it. Can't erase those from my childhood memories...

So, today I checked into my guest house. I'm in room 13. This is the third time this trip. Out of 24 guest house stays over the past month and a half. Does that mean anything? No, not really. I just happened to notice. But I thought it was worth noting for no particular reason. In case you don't hear from me for a while perhaps.

Actually what made me write about this is the fact I also broke my bathroom mirror. I think that's another sign of bad luck. Are these superstitions? I really can't remember. I can't even think. The word is confusing me. It looks back at me like it's terribly misspelled, just like the word misspelled. Is it just a bad evening? You know when you look at a word too long and you start thinking what the fuck? Ok, maybe you say huh? Or maybe you're a genius and never see fault with words.

I think it's actually a positive sign. I'm going to keep telling myself that. And watch what happens. I'm feeling it. Mr Lucky from here on out. I don't need four leaf clovers or a rabbit's foot or a double rainbow. Just saying. I said it here first.

Siem Reap and the Angkor temples

I visited the temples today. One day was plenty!

Malaria

I have malaria pills. I have, however, decided not to take them. At least not now. I feel the potential side effects outweigh the protective benefits. And it is the dry season, which means fewer of the bastards are buzzing around. That is fortunate. I have enough bites already.

I checked into my room in Siem Reap a couple nights ago. Cavernous. Quiet. Clean. I'll take it. Only later did I discover the multitudes of mosquitos. Mainly in the bathroom. A breeding ground?

I was able to clap and kill a dozen. They kept coming. I did not like thinking ahead to my upcoming night's sleep. After dinner and upon nearing exhaustion, I told myself I needed to kill at least a dozen more. No compassion. No prisoners.

I killed fifty, perhaps sixty. Black smears streaked the bathroom walls. My palms were rinsed of the evidence numerous times. Many mosquitos remained. I closed the bathroom door and accepted whatever fate lie ahead.

I curled up under my thin postage stamp-sized sheet and hoped for the best. Hoped they wouldn't see me in the darkness. Hoped the overhead fan would blow them away as they came in to feed. Hoped that these mosquitos were "normal". Hoped I could just sleep.

I awoke the next morning relatively unscathed. I was surprised at my good fortune. They only got the knuckle on my right pointy finger, my left elbow, my right cheek, my left eyebrow. All places that were prone to exposure during the night. The more favorable, meaty areas must have been well hidden under my sheet. My thighs, calves and ankles, the unreachable portion of my back, my butt. A chance to rest those weary regions.

I feel like I won the battle. I overcame huge odds. That is, unless I break out in a high fever and succumb to the throes of malaria.

Last night, I declined the opportunity to fight again. I complained at the front desk. They put up a mosquito net. And I laughed at those bastards all the way to sleep.

The Old Market, Phnom Penh

I decide to check out the Old Market. It's on the way. I am headed to the supermarket. Then to the Central Market. It's a "do nothing" day. I see what appears to be a market down some side streets. I take a look.

This is a street market. No umbrellas. No indoor building. It is hot. Piles of gravel in the middle of the street make perusing this market difficult. Road will be paved soon. No other tourists can be seen. I don't mind. A woman tosses vegetables into her bamboo baskets. Some hit their intended target. Others bounce out into the gravel. They stay there.

A child grabs my leg as I tread over the gravel. She is merely passing. A woman is furiously scaling fish. It looks like a potato peeler. Scales flying everywhere. Some fish are still alive. One jumps out of the steel bowl into the gravel. A desperate attempt.

Piles of eggs on tables. White. Brown. Fertilized. A man chops meat on a small butcher block in the street. Bits flying in all directions. It is hot. I wipe away the perspiration again. A child passes in the opposite direction hauling a bucket of chicken juice and bits of meat. Chicken "broth" perhaps.

The smells are assaulting my senses. And the heat makes it worse. Live chickens are tied in bundles on tables. By their feet. Slowly blinking. Lying inches from their defeathered friends. They await their sad fate.

Gastric juices rise in my throat. There is nothing I want to buy here. There are things I don't want to see here. Take me away. Take me to the tourist market.

Mojo is back

Rambo, tour guide of the morning glory patties, poses down. Jan 17 '08

Well, I am back. Already. I am feeling good. Aside from a minor dispute in the price of a beer, my day has gone well. I mean, if you are going to advertise a beer for 6000r, don't try and charge me 7000r. That is a whopping twenty five cents!

Actually, it's more than that. It's principle. And everyone around here tries to get away with it. And why not? They round up and then some and now I hear every price with suspicion. Whatever, I am a cheap bastard. I will admit that, but it's annoying. Don't worry, I paid the 7000r, but I will not be frequenting this place again. I'm leaving tomorrow anyway.

So, why am I feeling better? Well, who knows. Maybe venting some frustration is the answer for me. I had a nice, long walk through the city today to the post office, old market, various supermarkets and back to the central market. I soaked it up. I enjoyed every interaction, well most of them.

And well, to be honest, I bought some things. Just a bracelet. And a tank top. And some food. So yeah, I fed my emotions, whatever. I am human.

Then back at the guest house, while lounging on the deck overlooking the lake, I saw Rambo again. Hey, you take my boat? One dollar. Since I had said 'maybe later' a couple days ago, I hopped over the rail into the boat and we rowed around the lake below the overcast, breezy skies. Yes, there were abandoned flip flops and other debris floating around, but it was fun and more importantly, good for me and for him too, I hope.

Temporary insanity

I'm not sure what's wrong with me at the moment. I was flying high a couple of days ago and now this. This bitter downward spiral of emotions. It always works that way and as much as I try to get out of the way of the hurricane, I keep getting swept further and further away. Yes, eventually I come out of it relatively unscathed, but I want to learn how to avoid any damage. You know, to snap out of it. Knock some sense into me.

I get into these moods fairly frequently. I want to disassociate, to run away, to be alone. It usually follows too much stimulation, too much conversation of some kind or just too much noise in general. I don't really know what brings it on. I become irritable and impatient and basically a raging asshole, but I try to keep that hidden as much as possible. You know this.

I'm not sleeping that well. That could be a factor. It's not the roosters this time. I can feel the tension in my throat. I can feel the thumping in my chest. I'm too aware of my own physical sensations. I want to go to a happy place. Where the hell is that?

Maybe it's the mosquito bites. Maybe it's the daily application of deet. I hate that stuff. I am getting enough bites with its use and would hate to find out how uncomfortable I would be without it. At least there is hydrocortisone. Yes, I have succumbed to the pharmaceutical powers. Bastards! If I didn't, I know I would be in greater misery.

I'm also not getting any exercise. My breathing is more labored. I am not keeping to any regular exercise regimen. I just want to go for a run. To scream at the top of my lungs. Instead I walk. I try to remember to breathe. It's the best thing for me at the moment. And when I have time, I try to start my day with that. Breathing, stretching, a few exercises. A little clarity.

And then there is the food. Most people get the runs at some point. Maybe even multiple times. Not me. I think maybe I have found the cure for traveler's diarrhea. I have to find the culprit that is paving my inner road with cement and erecting a brick wall at its end. I need to drop some Metamucil carpet bombs and plant a psyllium grenade at the base of the wall and maybe, just maybe I will be normal again. Is that it?

I just need to adjust to the noise, the smells, the heat, everything. They are not going to adjust to me. Stop bitching that the tables are too short and that I keep bumping my knees. I should be fucking grateful I am tall. Stop bitching that it's too hot and my shirt is sticking. I should be grateful I am here at all. Stop bitching about my mosquito bites. I should be grateful there aren't more. That I don't have malaria. That I won't get malaria.

I need to turn it all around. Let me begin an upward spiral. Now. Please.

Stung Treng, Cambodia

A little excitement in Stung Treng, Cambodia. My first day, I was invited to this school where I was introduced to various classrooms and was asked a bunch of questions. Jan 10 '08























The following day, I nearly lost the contents of my bowels when I discovered this scorpion hitching a ride on my bag. Jan 11 '08

You get what you pay for...

Everyone has heard that one. And yes, most of the time it is true. Although I can't say that applies to the food here. To pay more for food usually just means you are not eating the local cuisine. I have had better meals for $1 than some I've paid $3. It usually doesn't go past that, not with my budget. But there is no reason to pay more unless you want to eat pizza or falafel every day. And remind me. Where am I?

Not to say that I haven't eaten anything but rice & vegetables. Oh Contraire. Well, I suppose Indian is still mostly rice & vegetables, but not exactly local cuisine. I can't get enough of the stuff. Nine of the past eleven days. Indian = delicious. I am diverting from the point of this blog.

You get what you pay for. That's right. That was what I was going to blab on about. Last night I stayed at a funky, mostly dilapidated guest house. I was excited to get room #13 on the 3rd floor. A large room with a big bed, tiled floor and my own private bathroom. It was $5. Which is not a bargain for Laos, but for the capital city during peak season, I would say yes, it is. Even if the tiled floor was mostly dirty and there were footprints on the white walls, I was stoked to inherit the room for the evening.

This morning, after bumping my head on the door frame leaving the bathroom for at least the second time, I was reconsidering my thoughts from the previous day. I always hit my head whether I am on the bus or walking on the sidewalk so that was not unusual. I think I have multiple bumps on my head at any given time. Hitting my head was just one of many things that happened to make me possibly reconsider my next night's accommodation.

My bed was hard as a rock. I think my pillows were stuffed with wadded toilet paper. Fortunately it only felt that way. My comforter was a big towel with a sheet sewn around it. This was not the problem. I am just describing details. The problem, as with every place I've stayed, is the lack of insulation. I could hear everyone coming up the spiral staircase outside. I could hear everyone using the shared toilets outside my room. When they flushed, my toilet would gurgle, spit and burp. And it echoed. The loose tiles in the hall sounded like mortar shells in the night. And I knew there were mosquitoes flying overhead.

So I embedded my ear plugs until the yellow matter nearly touched gray matter. I should have brought more q-tips. If I had known how often I was going to use my ear plugs, I would have brought more of them as well. I must say I did sleep ok. There were no roosters after all. But even with the plugs, which tend to just amplify the louder noises, I still knew when somebody was using the facilities on the other side of my wall. Oh yeah! Don't be jealous.

Maybe tomorrow night I'll splurge for a $6 room. Tonight I'm sleeping on the bus. Perhaps I'll be so exhausted that it doesn't matter where I sleep. In any case, I'm going upscale. Not every night, but I do need to treat myself every now and again. And I want to get something for my money, that something ideally being a comfortable night's rest. One day I can only hope.

Loving it

Today is one of those lazy days. Okay, let's be real, every day has been a lazy day. It just feels more like a typical Saturday. Maybe it's because I actually know what day it is. Tonight, I am leaving for southern Laos on the night bus so I have time to kill. It's nice to slowly wander around town before the bus loads of new arrivals show up. I have this internet cafe to myself - nobody sneezing on me, talking obnoxiously on their cell phone or slowing down my connectivity.

I meandered down to the sandy shores of the Mekong earlier today. The goal was to walk the 200 meters or so to the river's edge. Some exercise if you will. It sounded like a good idea until I took a step and thousands if not millions of little critters started fleeing my path. Upon closer inspection, they turned out to be baby frogs. Tiny frogs. Seriously millions of them. I took another slow step. And another. And then realized I couldn't walk that slow nor could I bear the thought of killing even one of these guys. So I slowly stepped back to dry sand and crossed that idea of my mental to-do list.

Every street corner has their own tuk tuk driver. These guys are the taxi drivers of the East. Their "cabs" are motorbike in style from the front and covered wagon in style from the rear. They tend to be grossly decorated, very loud and emit black clouds of smoke. The tuk tuks, not the drivers. The drivers almost always ask you Hey, where you go? to which I usually respond 'nowhere', which is then followed by Marijuana? and a quick, crisp inhalation as their thumb and forefinger hit their lips. This is funny shit. Makes me laugh almost every time.

Same as everywhere you go. In Portugal, the guy would say Hey, sunglasses my friend? as he opened his coat to show his display of Ray Ban knockoffs. 'No thanks.' Then, the tone would get more serious as drew close and whispered Hashish? Marijuana? That has always given me a kick. These guys are relentless and I thank them for their presence, yes even if they are selling drugs.

And to kill even more time, I wander into minimarts to see what's for sale here. What kinds of processed junk they have, how much more imported chocolate costs here and all the different beverages they have to quench my thirst. Then it's time to sit down at a different restaurant and try a dish for a dollar and onto the next stall to try the dried banana. Not all in a row of course. That would be overwhelming. But I could do it. Don't dare me.

There are tons of scooters. Tons of bicycles. Tons of tuk tuks. I have just noticed a new form of transportation. The hand-powered bicycle. At first, I thought why would you use your arms? That was before I noticed these guys only had one leg or a deformity that prevented them from using their legs. Then I realized the ingenuity behind this mode of transportation. And of course, acknowledging how lucky I am to have both of my legs, to be able to do what I'm doing and to be able to share all of this with you. Loving it. The good and the bad. Living.

Jazzercise

I never thought I'd find Jazzercise in Laos. Well, it's probably not Jazzercise, but it's pretty close. Some form of aerobics. When I first saw it, I thought Jazzercise so I'm sticking to it. They do it in the evenings and apparently at 6am too. Not that I've been up early enough to catch that class. There is an open structure near the river where you can hear the music and see the arms fly overhead in sync with each other. And if you look to see who is watching you can see all the leery-eyed, middle-aged white men looking for their next wife. Gross.

Speaking of exercise, I wish I could get some. The occasional bike ride on a dilapidated single speed whose chain falls off repeatedly does not count. Nor does the ride on the Trek 3900 whose chain slipped every 5-15 pedals. Any exertion on that bike and I would have likely taken a nose dive. At least they have bikes. And at least they are cheap to rent.

Walking is about the only form of "exercise" I can claim to be doing on a regular basis. Like walking upstairs to my 3rd floor bedroom. Or walking to the restaurant. Or walking to get another beer. I can gauge how much exercise I am getting by how much tread I have left on my flip flops.

Last week was actually a good week for being active. Good is relative. Compared to normal, it was not good, but compared to my regular routine here, it was good. I went tubing. Yes, that is technically just floating, but you should have seen the stillness of the water. And you should have seen how fast I paddled. I also went rock climbing. And that was about as strenuous as it gets. I need more of those days.

I am trying to incorporate an exercise regimen into my vagabond existence. For maybe 10 minutes every other day. Hey, every push up and abdominal crunch counts. At least it makes me feel better. Add to that some side bends, some downward dogs, maybe a couple warrior poses and I'm as good as new. I'm going to even start handstands against the wall. A minute a day. Maybe I'll work up to two. You try it! At least I'm not Jazzercising.

Decisions, decisions

I think I know where I am heading next, but I'm still not sure. Things change on a daily if not hourly basis. From my present location in Vientiane, Laos I was going to take the bus to Hanoi, Vietnam. Then I was convinced to head to southern Laos to some islands on the Mekong. I changed my mind yesterday and said Hanoi it is! However, I didn't realize that I had to get a visa prior to my arrival.

So I went to one of the many travel agencies in town and found out that it was Friday. Who can keep track of what day it is? And it was late on Friday - too late to obtain a visa. I would have to wait until Monday and then take the overnight bus to Hanoi. That means I have to spend another two nights in Vientiane? It would be even cheaper to wait til Wednesday. Wait. What time is it? 3:40pm. And what time does the Embassy close? 4:00pm.

I rented a bike for a dollar, quickly saw my destination on the map and took off. The bike was small and with my knees brushing my ears with each pedal, I was only slightly uncomfortable. I still managed to pass some scooters with my legs a blur, pedaling in a panicked frenzy. I was confident I could find this Embassy before they closed and somehow convince them with sweat-stained tears to expedite my visa.

I was wrong. Of course. I got lost. I think I pedaled about three times the distance. I asked a couple people: Vietnam Embassy? And tried it in reverse: Embassy Vietnam? As if they would suddenly say 'Ahhhh, that's what you meant!' They pointed and I was off again. I think they were pointing in the general direction of Vietnam. The farther I got, the more I realized I was just going for a bike ride. It was past 4pm, the Embassy was closed and now I just wanted to get back to my guest house, wash the salt from my face and rehydrate with a beer.

But no! That's when the bike began to fall apart. I heard something hit the pavement and then the chain fell off. Crap. No big deal. After flipping it over and greasing up my hands, I finally got it back on. I laughed back at the kids who were laughing at me. Ha ha ha to you! And I was off again before I found myself coasting yet again. Oh crap. This chain is way too loose. I put it on. I pedaled. It came off. I put it on. I pedaled. It came off. A Lao guy happened to have some wrenches and managed to pull the rear wheel back far enough to tighten the chain, but not pull off the wheel. Khop jai lai lai!

I got back to the tourist center and returned my bike. I had it for another 22 hours, but didn't want to be liable for that soon-to-be hunk of scrap metal. I had a beer. I had dinner. I slept. And I awoke will no clearer picture of where I will be heading today. I think it's clear Vietnam is not meant to be at the moment. I'm not blind. But my exact destination is still to be determined. It might be here, it might be there. I'll find out soon.

Signs you are in Asia

There are some funny signs over here. I have taken pleasure in capturing some of them.

This one was taken at Wat Arun in Bangkok.

Do not dangle any doll.

Of course, if we had to translate our signs into Thai or Chinese, can you imagine the potential humor in our mistakes?

Another mistake I see often, mostly on menus, is stream rice instead of steamed rice.

Obviously, not a big deal.

I wish I could have captured an engraved sign I saw outside one restaurant. Instead of food & drink, it said Food & Dring.

This sign was taken at a waterfall in Luang Prabang, Laos.

I think the translation should be Slippery When Wet or Don't Slip!

This one represents what many think is my poor taste in humor.

If I was a woman, I just might have entertained the idea of getting a massage here.

I'm still waiting to find the massage parlors for men. Probably in Bangkok.

The Midas Touch

This pic was snapped December 8, 2007 somewhere within the confines of the Grand Palace in Bangkok, Thailand.

Driving to Vang Vieng

''Minibus to Vang Vieng 8:30am. Finally shows at 9am. Swerving up the mountains around Lao countryside. Honking for dogs, chickens, children, villagers. Passing slower minibuses and getting passed. Falling asleep unintentionally as I try to take in the scenery. Waking up as my head hits the window. Huts dot the hillsides. Women shower at roadside spigots. People collect firewood. We pass a truck that has gone front end over the edge. We squeal around every turn. My right side aches. I am thirsty.

Two Lao women on my right. A couple from Denmark in front of me. An assumption based on their whiteness and accents. A Thai Rasta in the passenger seat. The Laos drive on the right. The Thais on the left. I am back home again on the roads anyway.

We pass thru villages of varying sizes. Straw homes mostly. Naked babies. Lots of kids. The occasional tourist stands out. Some women weave straw or what looks like banana leaves. Some tend to drying chili peppers, some tend to rice on mats, some nurse their babies, some shovel. I don't hear any whistling. Some relax in chairs waiting for a buyer, someone who is hungry for Pringles, Oreos or sticky rice or thirsty for water, fake OJ or a Beerlao. These entrepreneurs, these roadside vendors, these homeside vendors appear to be the fortunate ones, the ones living high on the hog. I see satellites near some huts. I just saw pink cherry blossom trees. Strange amongst the lush green landscape, but a pleasant surprise. We pass cattails, those marshy reeds usually seen in swamps or near septic tanks.

We keep climbing. Biking tourists. Big saddle bags. Pot-holed roads. Dramatic views. Guardrails. Laundry drying on guardrails. A kid pretending to shoot us with a stick.

The breeze thru the window feels great. It is hot outside, but not in the van. Pigs. Goats, but not mountain goats. The cutest kids ever. More honking. Hunger pangs. Someone selling pirated cds. The smell of burning. Of exhaust. Many vendors. I want something. Occasional eye contact in the rear view with the girl in front of me. I glance perhaps too frequently only to help pass the time and because the mirror is such a short flicker of the eye away from the front window.

Descending. Bending. The lady to my right stretches. Her elbow into my shoulder. My knees continually into the seatback in front of me. Keeps me in place, from falling over. My back. A cow. A wheelbarrow. My boxers need adjusting. I really want some water. Are we there yet?"

Journal entry 12-27-07