Pai in the sky

We spent a long, relaxing today in Chiang Mai yesterday. Even though it's the second largest city in Thailand, the contrast between Chiang Mai and Bangkok is stark. While Bangkok is a massive, concrete, pulsing city, Chiang Mai is calm and relaxed with a manageable size to move around in. In fact, Mike read that Bangkok has 40 times the number of people and area that Chiang Mai has. We spent yesterday visiting a few of the 300 temples the city has to offer, looking through the Contemporary Art Museum of Chiang Mai University, eating delicious vegetarian street food, getting a foot massage at the side of the road and strolling through the Sunday night market, buying snacks of mango salad and banana-waffles on the way.

Today we embarked on the four hour journey to Pai, a sleepy, bohemian town some 200KM away from Chiang Mai. It's a funky laid back town with hippies, restaurants and trekking agencies where many foreigners come and never leave! We're embarking on a three day trek tomorrow with Bamboo House Trekking and four 18-year old Australian girls. Should be interesting! They're taking us through ethnic hill tribe villages, jungle areas and mountains where we'll sleep in the minority villages themselves and camp in the wild. Will be out of touch for a few days but I'm sure we'll have tons to report upon our return!

Teacher Alison at it again

When I left Saigon I swore off teaching. I taught for a long time, I loved it for awhile, it is now a distant memory that will never be repeated. Oops, never say never...

Last week while roaming the streets of Battambang, Mike and I ducked into a small temple compound to check it out. A few minutes later a monk speaking fairly good English approached us and invited us to come speak to the other monks. The monks were very friendly, some of them sucking on cigarettes and watching us while others were asking us many questions, cracking jokes and asking us how to pronounce certain words. As soon as they found out that I was an "english teacher" they had their English textbooks out and were asking me all sorts of complicated questions about negative conjectures, participles and complicated grammar points that I really don't care to ever think about. I did my best at explaining grammar to them and, after an hour of a free English class at a temple in Battambang, we made a polite yet friendly exit.

Happy Year of the Dog!!

A dedication

Last time we were in Bangkok, Mike and I stumbled upon an awesome string of restaurants and bars that are, as yet, undiscovered by the hordes of backpackers in this farang populated city. The bars are cute, cozy and frequented by Thai university students, male and female alike. This point was enough for Mike and I to be enthralled by them, as the Vietnamese bars are mostly male-orientated, dirty beer dens.

We made our way back to this string of bars last night and decided to enter Bali Bar, a restaurant big enough to hold 20 or so people plus a live guitarist/singer and bongo drummer. We spent the evening watching, enjoying, absorbing, listening and at around 11pm it turned out we had been noticed. The singer who, until this point, had only sung in Thai cleared his throat and announced "and this song is dedicated to you two over there." We laughed, surprised and interested at what would be sung until we heard the famous Carpenter lyrics...

Can't Smile without You.

Koh Chang

Over 16 months ago I touched down in Asia for the first time in my life. Less than 20 hours later I was on the second biggest island off the coast of Thailand, a nature reserve and tropical paradise called Koh Chang. I spent four days there with my sister who was recovering from a nasty case of Typphus while I was recovering from a 12-hour time difference spell of jetlag. We spent four days being rocked to sleep by the waves outside our bungalow, lying on the beach and enjoying the fresh and juicy food that the Treehouse had to offer.

Last week Mike and I returned to the same island, the same Treehouse, the same stretch of white, Lonely beach. It was a hell-ish day consisting of seven different modes of transport that began in Battambang, Cambodia and ended in Koh Chang. The four days spent on the beach more than made up for the trip... Mornings spent lounging in the restaurant/deck watching waves splash up against the rocky shore and munching on a unique concoction of muesli. Days spent ploughing our way through novels at an alarming rate, splashing in the crystal-blue waters of Lonely Beach and sucking down fresh Watermelon shakes, a blend of nothing but ice and watermelon. Afternoons spent braving the ice-cold bucket showers and leaving feeling more refreshed than we knew was possible. Evenings spent competing at Scrabble, downing buckets... BUCKETS of cheap vodka with a medley of juices that left us silly and giddy. Nights spent listening to the thump of music continuing through the early morning while the crescendo of waves pulsed away merely meters from our front door.

It was paradise, inexpicable paradise but after four days of doing nothing in beautiful surroundings we decided it was enough and headed up to crazy, throbbing, sprawling Bangkok where we are right now running errands and getting ready for our trip to the North.

Is this a nightmare?

I've dealt with bad roads and bad drivers in my life. Vietnam's drivers are nothing to write home about besides to tell the family that you're alive. Nothing at all could have prepared me for our short but unbelievably scary ride from Battambang to the Thai border.

The manager of our hotel sorted us out nicely and organized a car to take us to a recently opened border post that very few tourists ever pass through. It was expensive but, we thought, worth it as it cut down on our travel time by 3/4 hours. The manager instructed us not to pay until we were safely at the border as the driver in question had been known to plop people down at the side of the road and do a 360 turn back to Battambang. He told us that there were to be no more than 3 people in the backseat and we had to make sure we could see the border post before we paid. We happily agreed to these strict yet rare circumstances and jumped in the backseat.

No less than 10 minutes after we left the hotel, we stopped the car at the side of the road where 2 people stood waiting for their ride. We watched increduously as the driver obeyed his instructions and instead squashed 5 adults and one child into the front seats where our driver sat on another mans lap. This is not a point to be politely brushed over... Our driver pushed his chair back, waited for another passenger to sit down and then sat on this mans lap where he stationed himself before driving the car. At first I thought it was hysterically funny but it soon dawned on me how seriously dangerous it was to have 6 people in the front, 3 in the back and our driver sitting on someones lap!

The road was fine at first but soon we headed off the paved road and headed onto a dirt stretch which sent so much dust into the air that the leaves and surrounding trees beside the road were completely caked in dirt and looked no different to the color of the soil. This was fine for a while but soon we began passing trucks and cars that sprayed so much in their tracks that our visibility could not have been more than 3/4 meters if we were lucky. We bit our tongues, held hands and watched as our driver sped through the murky air at a ridiculously fast pace. The climax of the trip came as we sped past another car in an attempt to overtake them into a haze of red dust and suddenly encountered a truck coming full speed towards us on a road not wide enough to accomodate all three vehicles. I shut my eyes, prayed to someone or something to spare us and somehow we got through it. I've never cried because of a driving incident before but after we passed the car and I realized we were alive, I wept.

An hour later things had calmed down a bit although I was still nervous about the roads ahead. I asked how long we had until we reached the border. When the driver replied that it was "right in front of us" I yelled with glee and began to pound Mike's leg next to me. I do think all the passengers in the car were somewhat confused although they laughed along with me. At the end of the ride our driver cheerfully collected his money and said "See you again" to which I jokingly yet emphatically said "No, you never will!"

Leaving 'Mbodia

This morning counts as our fourth sunrise in two weeks. Both Mike and I have taken to fitful sleeping the night before an early rise. I probably checked the alarm clock four times between 2 and 6am this morning out of fear that we were going to miss the bus.

Perhaps today's apprehension is a result of the trip ahead. We're crossing over to Thailand from Cambodia where we have spent the last 2 weeks riding through the Phnom Penh streets, trampling through the ruins of Angkor and wandering the dusty, quiet roads of Battambang. Most people cross the border at PoiPet, a busy crossing with thousands of tourists to-ing and fro-ing every day. We are taking a different route suggested by our hotel manager, crossing the border an hour east of Pailin, one of the last strongholds of Khmer Rouge where Brother Number Two lives. Given the conditions that we've travelled under thus far in Cambodia, it seems like an adventure is about to unfold.

Will keep you updated...

Where we are

We have made it to Battambang though, a sleepy city with run down French colonial architecture. I keep looking for Angelina Jolie but she is nowhere. Only monks in bright orange robes and Battambang's residents moving up and down these quiet streets in Cambodia's 2nd largest city where all of the store signs and advertisements are spray painted on small wooden signs placed near the road side and where pig's face is sold along with veggie's at the sandwich stands. This is one of the heaviest mined regions in Cambodia, one of the most heavily mined countries in the world. We are in former Khmer Rouge territory, the once heart of their post-1979 movement stretching from the surrounding countryside into the border region. Today the area is calm though last night's fireworks gave me a brief pause.

Read the full post here...

Update

For more on what we''ve been eating in Cambodia, click here.

For photo's of our awesome Angkor trip, click here.

More on English as a Special language

I've been thinking more about my post yesterday and the implications of Khmers being more fluent in English than the Vietnamese are. Two recent incidents have somewhat contradicted this statement although I do believe misspellings are more Mr. NoStarWhere's domain than mine.

A few nights ago we were walking down the street when we noticed a book vendor with a horribly misspelt sign that read. "Please buy a book from me to help the poop people." Our consciences kicked in and as we wondered who would may be brave enough to confront the situation to help this poor book vendor, Linda strode over to correct the error. The man listened to her for less than a minute and then, seemingly annoyed, pushed her out of the way to call for another customer. Maybe he didn't understand her but he certainly is a poop person for pushing her out of the way.

And yesterday, as we wound our way through the streets of Siem Reap, another unfortunate error caught my eye as a tuk-tuk ahead of me claimed to have great sock-absorbtion, a marvelous feat if it's true but a poop mispelling if not.

English as a Special Language

Having lived in Vietnam for a year and a half, I am accustomed to dealing with non-English speakers on a daily basis. The biggest change my friends and family have noticed in me is my new-found ability to start up a whirlwind of action with my hands as I speak. As I talk of something large, my hands spring out and up in an effort to really show how big it is. When I talk of something exciting, my hands tend to flap around and my fingers flick in all directions. My action for a menu or book is an opening and closing of the palms, my action for "I'm a vegetarian" is pinching my flesh and signaling NO with a cross of the arms. I'm only half aware of it although the recent jokes that my animated hand movements have spawned have shown me how much I flap around while speaking.

Since arriving in Cambodia, I've been extremely surprised and impressed by the level and amount of English that most Khmers have. In Vietnam the language and awareness of its benefits is spreading rapidly but it is still a rarity to find a street vendor or xe om driver who can put an English sentence together. In Phnom Penh and Siem Reap, however, we've been amazed by the pronunciation, grammar and vocabulary that local street-food vendors, internet cafe owners, waiters, security guards, etc. etc. have demonstrated. These aren't all people who need English for their chosen careers, even bus drivers and fruit-juice-blenders have displayed a strong use of the language.

This is surprising to me for a number of reasons, one of which is the decided lack of English language schools that I have seen. Of course, one could always attend the 'English as a Special Language' School in Siem Reap or the 'Foreign of the Language School' in Phnom Penh but, as the titles suggest, I can't imagine how much English one would learn there. Jokes aside, the standard of English tends to be higher in Cambodia than in Vietnam and perhaps will allow me to decrease the flurry of activity that accompanies even my most basic sentence.

Other bloggers

Mike and Linda have both been keeping regular updates of our trip and our experiences. While my blog has taken a personal-journal-style, Mike's is one of observations and perceptions while Linda has injected far more humor into her posts than I have. Check them out.

End of 50 Dinh Cong Trang

Six foreigners lived in a home in Ho Chi Minh City. Some knew eachother from home, others met for the first time in a hustle-bustle of a city that soon became home. After a few months of housing tumultuous and terrible roommates, Linda, Mat, Tiana and Euan welcomed Mike and I into their home and there we lived happily ever after. Or until last month when the lease expired.

But the last three remaining 50 Dinh Cong Trang-ers stuck together for an extra 3 weeks, first in an obnoxiously loud guesthouse in HCMC where the turning of a key in a motorbike ignition could easily be heard from the bathroom, later in an equally loud guesthouse but this time in Phnom Penh, and finally in a quirky guesthouse in Siem Reap where we lounged in hammocks and explored the Angkor ruins.

And now with Linda's departure we've all gone our separate ways, four rooms have split into four countries and we'll no doubt never all be together again. But, sobs aside, it was a great time that formed long lasting friendships and many a laugh.

Angkor

It's been three full days of trodding on temples. Linda, Mike and I rocked into Siem Reap on Saturday afternoon after a hell-ish bus ride consisting of massive hangovers, stomach cramps, no air conditioning and about 30 people too many cramped into the tiny bus. After relaxing for a short time at our lovely, quirky little guesthouse we headed out to buy our tix and join the tourist-circus-hoolapalla that's called Angkor. Our first experience was watching the sunset from a giant ruin of a stone temple, an evening shared with thousands and thousands of people thrusting their cameras around for the best shot of the evening.

The next three days were calmer, spent cycling through the Angkor grounds, absorbing the enormous and breath-taking temples built in the 11th-13th centuries. One city, Angkor Thom once housed 1 million people, an enormous number in comparison to the 30,000 that resided in London at the time. There are too many temples to see, too much to absorb but we tried our best to pack in the maximum number of temples our eyes, feet and cameras could manage.

The Angkor excursion ended this morning after a 4:30am wake up call, a one hour bike ride in the dark of the forest, a climb up and into a temple and a gorgeous sunrise sending pink streaks through the sky above the famed Angkor Wat, the largest religious monument in the world, a truly stunning site that will no doubt stick with me forever.

The temples of Angkor are unbelievable, mindblowing in their lasting complexity, beauty and majesty. Mythical, Mystical, Magical" was the cheeseball slogan I devised for the experience and it certainly was.

Sweaty, Tired, Satisfied

We had a late start to the day after two hours of chilling by the lake, reading books, chatting, drinking coffee and guzzling down sweet, yellow, sticky bananas. Today we took it upon ourselves to see the city in an unguided, random fashion. Winding through side streets with young, naked children splashing in tin bowls; stumbling upon markets where the streets are filled with the scents of pungent, sweet mung bean cakes or blood and meat from open carcasses; hungrily searching for the street food stands that abound in Saigon yet seem to be absent in PP; strolling past snakes roasting on open fires. The street scene is more raw and in your face than it is in Viet Nam. All day we have been greeted by the sight of crippled or terribly poor people with very little besides the clothes on their backs and outstretched hands.

On our journey we managed to see Wat Pnomh, a temple on top of the sole hill in a city that is named after it. We climbed to the top where we observed how much more colorful and ornate the temple is than the ones we've seen in Viet Nam. We spent more time watching the monkeys playing, the elephants eating, the children going about their daily lives before getting lost in the city, generally aiming for the Royal Palace but really having no idea where we were headed. After filling up on Amok, fish in a yellow curry and Phat Khmer, a noodle dish we ordered just because we liked the name, we wandered through the ornate Royal Palace, observing the wealth and buildings, the Buddha's encrusted with enough gold and diamonds to feed the entire country and finally made our way home with sore feet, satisfied with a day of exploration in Phnom Penh.

A night on the town

Meng picked us up 30 minutes late but right on time according to Asian tradition. It was a great reunion for him and Mike, not having seen eachother for at least a year and not having spent quality time together for five or more. Meng and his friend then took us to a local Khmer restaurant where we gorged ourselves on fish with black bean and ginger, grilled squid, vegetables and rice. Mike requested that he take us to eat corn, to relive an experience he had had four years before in the rice fields outside Phnom Penh but instead we were driven to a local amusement park where we lounged in hammocks, ate corn with pickled cabbage and smashed lotus flower seeds on our foreheads, giggling like children as they let our their 'pop!' From there we moved onto to a local beer garden where we caught up, drank up and observed the local tradition of having a 'beer girl' served up with the drinks. Our companion was a Vietnamese-Khmer with an expressive face that contorted into expressions I had never seen a human being make before. Late that night after many beers and shared jokes, we retired to 'Happy's on the Lake' to rest up before yet another day in Phnom Penh.

Phnom Penh

As we made the journey from the border to the capital, I was startled by the distinct difference between neighboring Vietnam and Cambodia. While Vietnam's border post is distinctly Soviet and harsh in its appearance, Cambodia's entry building is reminiscent of an Angkor temple, far grander and artistic than what we had just passed through. While the streets of the former are lined with crammed together cement block homes, garages and businesses, Cambodia's streets offer extended views of rice fields as far as the eye can see. As we entered Phnom Penh I was struck by how much space there is in contrast to my previous home. Buildings are larger, lower and a fair distance separates many of the buildings. I've taken an immediate liking to this city with its bustling streets, friendly people, colonial feeling.

Upon arrival we grabbed a Tuk Tuk down to the lake where we checked into our $2/night room, a small yet clean room sans a window or en suite bathroom much to Mr. NoStarTravel's dismay. The highlight of 'Happy's on the Lake' is a relaxed backpackers cafe with hammocks, couches and laid-back travelers relaxing by the side of Boeung Kak lake. I love it.

After a slow start to the morning, we hit the road. Our motorbike drivers sped us away, traversing their city while pointing out various sites along the way. Our destination was Tuol Sleng, the former Khmer Rouge S-21 Prison, that now serves as a Khmer Rouge genocide museum. Having read up on Cambodia's horrifying recent history, I was prepared to see some startling relics but nothing could have prepared me for the tiny, cement prison cells, the skulls, the torture chambers, original photographs of the 10,499 adults and nearly 2,000 children who entered the prison while only seven people left alive.

Some excerpts from the information booklet:

The prisoners were kept in their respective cells and shackled with chains fixed to the walls or the concrete floors. The prioners were required to abide by all the regulations. To do anything, even to alter their positions while trying to sleep, the inmates had first to ask the permission from the prison guards. Anyone breaching these rules was severely beaten. Young children ranging from 10 to 15 years of age were trained and selected by the KR regime to work as guards. Most of them started out as normal before growing increasingly evil. They were exceptionally cruel and disrespectful towards the prisoners.

After this quieting experience our drivers whisked us off to the Killing Fields where the prisoners were taken to be executed. I realized how small PP is when we found ourselves on a dirt path surrounded by cows, bamboo huts and rice fields within 10 minutes of the heart of the city. We continued for 15 km of bumpy and, at times, non-existent road. Trucks rolled past, sending clouds of red dirt through the air as we crossed soiled rivers lined with homes on stilts, passed young children playing in the fields, hair salons in bamboo huts 5-feet tall and the prevalent signs of the Cambodia People's Party. We soon made it to the Killing Fields, home to mass graves where almost 9,000 people fell to their deaths. The graves have been well preserved and, as we stepped over bones protruding from the earth and tattered clothing lining the pathways, a cloud of sadness passed over me as I imagined the terror so many people experienced as they were led to their deaths.

It's difficult for me to imagine how such a brutal regime has existed in recent history. Over 2 million people were killed, almost a third of the population, many of whom were the life and blood of the country. Doctors, Teachers, anyone with an education, people who wore glasses, anyone from the former regime or any relation to someone in it were killed. The statistics are terrifying yet real.

After a morning of surreal sites, the three of us headed to the market where we sampled various food. Completely helpless with our collective three Khmer words, we asked for vegetarian food by pinching our flesh and crossing our arms, for fish by squiggling our arms in the air and we were successful with both requests. A deep fried, doughy dumpling filed with spring onions and spinach and a bowl of light noodle curry set us back by less than $0.60 a piece. Unbelievable.

And now, as the sun yet again dips below the lake, setting the sky into an orange and pink collage, we're getting ready to meet Meng, an old friend of Mike's and a lively, energetic Khmer who's excited to take us out on the town.

Journey out of Saigon

After a heartfelt and nostalgic goodbye to a city that we once called home, Mike, Linda and I boarded a bus on a backpacker street in Saigon and came to Cambodia. While I buried my nose in a fantastic memoir of a Cambodian orphan who lived through the Khmer Rouge terror, Mike reminisced of our time in Vietnam and composed a wonderful blog post in his mind. Three hours later and we were at the border. I made it through fairly quickly and then watched as ten, maybe twenty young men slipped money into an official's hand and then got sped through the customs line and then slipped some more money into their passport for their official stamp. Standing their ground of morality, Linda and Mike waited for 30 or more minutes as this process took place.

And then we were gone, out of Vietnam and no longer able to claim that our home is a massive, seething, bustling city called Ho Chi Minh City. None of us have careers, obligations or bills to pay and we've hit the road. In 10 days we'll say our farewells to Linda and then Mike and I will continue on for four months through Cambodia, Laos, Malaysia, Thailand, Singapore, Indonesia, Myanmar. In May we'll return to the States as seasoned travellers with a well-rounded view of Southeast Asia. Until then, stay posted to Mr. NoStarTravels and the blog you're on as you read this!

Hitting the road

After 16 months of living in Vietnam, I am finally ready to move on. My time has been exquisite and challenging, thrilling and exhausting, beautiful and humbling. I have grown very much as an individual and citizen of the world and have seen, smelt and touched more in this vibrant country than I ever would have imagined was possible.

Here I had many firsts and I want to share a few with you...

I touched down in Asia, drove a motorbike, broke my foot on a motorbike, taught English as a Second Language, held down my first 9-5 job in a profession I had never considered entering, experienced a world of silent chattering where discourse is abundant but I barely understand a word, experienced poverty on a level unparallelled by anything I have ever seen, seen joy amid poverty, a humbling experience, tasted food that is enriching to the senses, watched people eating food that would shock and horrify those with weaker tastes. In all I've led an independent, furious and enthralling lifestyle that will end in one hour.

I leave Saigon with my boyfriend Mike and another friend. Together we will bus our way over to Cambodia where we'll explore a wholly new culture, see the Ancient Temples of Angkor Wat and visit a friend who lives there.

Goodbye Saigon! To those I'm leaving behind and those that left before me, I wish you all love and thanks for helping me live 16 exquisite months in a wonderful country.