Rather than individual posts I've decided to try a blog as a continuous story. This one is about recent travels in South East Asia. I actually had no intention of keeping a blog, but was encouraged by a few kind people, so... here are some stories with some pictures and some videos. (If the picture has a play button in the corner it's a video. Just click on the play button and give it a minute.)In Southeast Asia en route to Australia at an aunt and uncle’s recommendation I picked up In a Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson. His experiences in Australia could be those of any tourist – bus rides, hotels, rental cars, tourist attractions, and very little calamity. But he is so interested in his surroundings that his writing is engaging, insightful, and hysterical while he describes relatively ‘standard’ experiences. This almost inspired me to never write again, but I’m going to try to suck it up because (not to undermine Mr. Bryson, for whom I have endless respect, and certainly not to brag) our travels sort of seem eventful. This is in part because I have the memory of a fruit fly, the sense of direction of a rock, and a propensity for trying things that hurt me. As such, I thought maybe I could write a blog that would at least entertain Melanie and I and chronicle our trip.
Mel is my girlfriend/partner/best friend. En route to Australia for her exchange term we stopped a few places, namely Thailand, Vietnam, and Laos. Bangkok, Thailand was first.
It can be difficult to understand and to communicate the feeling of a foreign city. I like to try to relate it to home. If you took the population of my home province in Canada, added to it the population of the four nearest provinces, multiplied that mass by three, put all those people in one city, turned up the heat by 40 degrees Celsius , added 5 million stray dogs, gave everyone either a car, a motor-scooter, or a wheelbarrow with a motor, took away all the traffic rules, and announced that a bomb was about to go off, you would get a loose approximation of Bangkok. The traffic is astonishing. Seen from 1,000 feet the city looks like someone spilt a bag of jellybeans on the world’s biggest ant farm, then played it in fast-forward as they do on nature-documentaries. My only explanation for the survival of the vehicle-using population of Bangkok, given the ‘every man, woman, and wheelbarrow-for-themselves’ nature of the traffic and freeways, is the next thing the new traveler notices: the religion . I will get into why the traveler notices the religion shortly – for now, let me explain that ninety percent of Thailand’s residents are practicing Buddhists. Buddhism engenders compassion, patience, temperance, meditation, modesty, and open-heartedness. Thus, I believe that when a tuktuk cuts off a car, only to be cut off by a motor-scooter, which gets cut off by a fruit-cart, all while running a red light and weaving around pedestrians and into the right-of-way traffic, each wronged motorist thinks to themselves: “OK, you must be in more of a rush than me, go ahead, I’ll get it back in karma”. I cannot come up with another explanation of how traffic can move so fast and so close with no honking or painful deaths. It sounds crazy but it does seem to work – I did not see one accident in Bangkok. The old fellows in the wheelbarrow-mobiles are the ones I worry about most as they don’t even seem be conscious of the traffic. They just chug along blithely, always holding in a big smile, as if they’re the only ones in on a joke.
I said the religion was the next thing the new traveler notices. This is because the temples and the decorations that adorn bridges, taxis, fences, and streetlights stand out a little to a Canadian. A square foot of the decor, which generally consists of gold paint, mirrored tiles, fake gems, and flowers, would be gaudy. However a square kilometer of temples and palaces made of the stuff intimidates the cynicism out of me and I then find it quite beautiful. The full name of Bangkok, by the way, given by King Buddha Yodfa Chulaloke is: Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Yuthaya Mahadilok Phop Noppharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasit. This translates to: The city of angels, the great city, the eternal jewel city, the impregnable city of God Indra, the grand capital of the world endowed with nine precious gems, the happy city, abounding in an enormous Royal Palace that resembles the heavenly abode where reigns the reincarnated god, a city given by Indra and built by Vishnukam. The square kilometer of temples and places is that modest Royal Palace, and is the dwelling place of the ruling royal family. The ruling royal family are so adored in Bangkok that inside every car and at every major intersection you will see photos of them, and particularly the king, walking, sitting, talking, eating, drinking, and more. Everything they do seems to be worthy of note. Wouldn’t that be fun.
Melanie and I got our bearings in the city, toured the royal palace and temples and took in some culture, then headed off to a Muy Thai match. The third thing a traveler (me, that is) notices about Bangkok is that everybody is trying to manipulate you and rip you off. People call you and pull you bodily into their shops, tuktuks and taxis tell you where you want to go, and ladies in funny costumes carrying noise-making frog carvings walk into you and halt your progress down the street . Getting to a Muy Thai match was no different. The taxi wanted too much money, and then brought us to his friend to sell us overpriced tickets. We were swarmed by ‘ticket agents’ when we arrived, and told that we could only sit in the VIP section because the mid- and low-priced sections were too raucous for foreigners. I argued with agents but, at Mel’s urging, eventually settled for pricy VIP seats, only to get into the match and find the second and third tiers empty and quiet.
Muy Thai, or Thai Kickboxing, is a sport with boxing gloves in a boxing ring with five rules: no head-butting, no biting, no fish-hooking (use your imagination), no kicks to the hoohah, and hurt the other guy. It begins with both competitors performing a slow dance in traditional dress to respect the audience, the other fighter and his staff, the judges, and the gods. The fights then start off with lightning punches and kicks, but by the third of five rounds, the point at which boxers would normally be holding onto each other to prevent the other guy from punching, Muy Thai fighters slow down and do the same with one subtle difference. That difference is that they knee each other really hard. Most points and damage in a Muy Thai match are obtained through knee strikes to the body and head. The noise in the arena grew evenly and steadily, and by the third or fourth match I turned around to see the second and third tiers packed with raucous Thais jumping all over each other, betting and yelling at the match, crying out after every strike their fighter made to convince the judges it was a great shot. Two thoughts occurred to me: I was glad Melanie and I weren’t in there, and telling truth from manipulation is tricky in Bangkok.
I had a great idea for the next day. We would visit Wat Pho Temple for a traditional Thai massage. Thai massage, if you don’t know, is designed to make you feel as though you’ve just been in a Muy Thai match, but only has ¾ of the risk involved. Melanie and I changed into the nice loose shorts and shirts they gave us at Wat Pho and lay face down on top of thin mats along a long bench holding half a dozen other victims. The masseuses the got up on the bench with us and proceeded to do funny things to us. These included, among others harder to paint in a verbal picture, kneeling on our hamstrings while pulling back on our forearms, cranking your neck as if you’re supposed to be able to tie knots in it, yanking on each of our digits until she got the apparently satisfying sound of the socket popping, and my favorite, sitting you up cross-legged with your hands behind your head, kneeling on one thigh, and yanking on the opposite elbow. Luckily I grew up with a big brother so when she tried the last move I nimbly flipped the 90lb Thai woman over my shoulder and put her in a full-nelson, or at least I visualized this to soothe myself while she wantonly reorganized my innards. While everything I say here is true, I actually enjoyed the whole production/match. Melanie summed the experience up afterwards. She walked out of the room, awkwardly testing her new neck and reorganized core muscles, which looked like someone trying to swallow a live lobster, and said: “Was I supposed to be in pain the whole time?”
Sometimes while traveling you have wonderful serendipitous moments where you meet someone you know away from home and eat bugs together. I was online at our hotel and got a note from a friend who I knew was traveling saying ‘Hello from Bangkok!’ to which I replied ‘Hello from Bangkok!’ Danny McLean met up with Mel and I and showed us around, then we ate some grasshoppers.
The next day Mel and I took in the floating market, which is a very charming version of a typical tourist trap, and the tiger temple, which isn’t. By way of example, as we lined up to interact with the tigers they told us to remove anything shiny, red, or dangling because the tigers would attack it. They are, after all, just big cats. Melanie was wearing a black dress with red designs, but had my shirt on overtop to cover her shoulders out of respect for the temple and monks. These tigers had grown up with monks and are generally not bothered about humans, but we learned that most of the handlers and monks had been bitten or pawed on one occasion or another, and it was getting late in the afternoon which is when they finish their sleepy time and get frisky. The interaction went off without a hitch, but a tiger did pee on Mel while she was following it back to its quarters. Luckily for her it mostly just got my shirt.
Among the most obvious, frustrating, and at times entertaining themes of our ongoing travels was the difference between Melanie’s and my approaches to life. Melanie is a planner. She has her taxes done up until June of 2150 already. I am not. I like to take things as they come and just ‘roll with it’. Both approaches work. Melanie insists on knowing where we are before getting out of a taxi – I like the adventure of asking non-English speakers where my hotel is. In that case she wins. Melanie had booked a place to store our bags while traveling, but we found something cheaper and better when we got there. In that case I won. She advocates her approach and I advocate mine (even though I suspect that my ‘approach’ has something to do with the fact that some of my friends in their mid-20’s moms won’t let them hang out with me). Planning is one of those things that Melanie just does better than me, like cooking or telling colors apart. One issue of significant contention between Mel and I is whether to arrange an apartment before arriving in Brisbane, or wait until we get there and have a feel for the city before settling on one. This one remains unresolved and may be a big tie-breaker.
In any case, Melanie had acquired the visas and taken care of much of our travel paperwork, so I was given the responsibility of acquiring our tickets between Thailand, Vietnam, and Laos. And so after a couple days around town and on Kho San Road (see videos), probably the most famously sketchy backpacker jamboree in the world, the time came to leave for Vietnam. I had booked the tickets back in Canada, so we showed up to the airport two hours before our flight, lined up for our 3:40pm flight, and at 2:00pm were told very politely that they had no record of us having tickets. At 2:15pm we went to the Thai Airways office to insist that we had tickets and that they should fly us to Ho Chi Minh, to which the incisive agent replied “No.” We got online at 3:00pm and I discovered that I had arranged the tickets and told the agent to purchase them, and that she asked me to come in to the office, which I had forgotten to do. See below an excerpt from my online chat with Melanie when this was discovered:
3:15pm
Melanie: u suck.
Me: yep.
Melanie: u suck… you pay.
Me: yep
3:25pm
Melanie: u still suck
I am hungry
u are lucky u are cute.
3:30pm - So we ‘rolled with it’ by trying to purchase overpriced tickets, calling agencies, and learning in broken English that ‘good ticket, very cheap’ was obtainable from a person named ‘Sumni’ who would meet me at Row Q, counter 8 and asks me what I’m wearing so she can tell Sumni. I tell her ‘Grey pants, grey shirt.” That was how it began.
3:50pm - Bangkok International Airport is bigger than most cities. We went to Row Q, row 8 and Melanie waited there while I raced around the airport, accosting people standing near 8’s and Q’s in rushed English and asking them for ‘Sumni’. They pointed me in random directions, but always away from themselves and their friends.
4:10pm - I returned to Mel. No Sumni. She had transcended anger and was in a very Buddhist state of non-attachment, filling out postcards to our families. She hands me one and tells me to write something nice.
4:30pm – Melanie has gone for a walk. Thai airways begins setting up ticket agents for a later flight at row Q and every person who comes near gate 8 is inquisitioned about ‘Sumni’ then profusely apologized to. Most seem unimpressed that despite their efforts to placate me and point me away from them I remain planted at Row Q, Gate 8, molesting all newcomers in the same fashion.
4:50pm - Melanie returns and I go back to the Thai Airways office, beg to use their phone again, and call the lady who set up the meeting with the evasive ‘Sumni’. I’m starting to think Sumni may be a spirit rather than a flesh-and-blood person. The lady on the phone tells me to go to row Q, gate 8.
5:20pm – Still no Sumni. I go back to the Thai Airways office, beg for the phone, and call the middle-person once more. She gives me Sumni’s mobile phone number. I call Sumni and find out she is at the end of row Q. When I finally find her she tells me that she had seen me running around harassing people but didn’t think it was me because my shirt is black, not grey.
6:30pm – Tickets in hand, which were mysteriously brought to Sumni with our names on them by a runner (she still may be a spirit after all), we leave the airport. We are not going to Ho Chi Minh until tomorrow.
VIETNAM
From Ho Chi Minh City airport I chose a hotel in the downtown area at random and told our taxi driver to sally forth. The driver, who’s English was surprisingly good, couldn’t find the hotel and insisting on driving us all over hell’s half acre to find it, although we eventually just got out and walked. ‘Hell’s half acre’ seemed to me to be an appropriate analogy for downtown Vietnam for a number of reasons. The first is that there were live bullfrogs the size of my head hanging on strings from lunch carts, whose owners would presumably butcher the grotesque creatures and feed them to you if you asked. We didn’t. The second is that Ho Chi Minh, also known as Saigon, has an infestation problem. While flies or rats, of which there were plenty, would be unpleasant, the relatively small size of flies and rats would make them more bearable than Ho Chi Minh’s noisome infestation: motor scooters.
I don’t know how many stars are in the universe, but number times four might be a good if not conservative guess at the number of motor scooters in Ho Chi Minh. Melanie and I, upon leaving our befuddled taxi driver, found ourselves on a street corner unable to find a path through the overflowing river of motor scooters that whizzed and blurred in front of us. A small, elderly Vietnamese lady stepped past us and, somehow without noticing the unending swarm, stepped off the curb. I moved to save her but was too late, she had been swallowed up by scooters. Then Melanie said ‘Quick! Follow her!’ and pushed me in. Together we huddled behind our oblivious shelter from the storm, whose face was so wrinkled with age you could scarcely see her eyes, while the scooters flowed around her. I was convinced she was a Jedi. We got to the other side safely and continued our journey.
Having found a hotel, Melanie and I endeavored to find some fruit, which had been so cheap and readily available from the fruit carts in Bangkok. Quickly and unanimously deciding that bullfrog was not a fruit,
we headed to a night market where at length we found some ladies sitting on the floor selling pineapple. In a stroke of luck, Melanie at the same time saw the biggest rat and the biggest cockroach she had ever seen and I had the floor-pineapple all to myself.
Melanie was pretty heavily culture-shocked by Vietnam and especially by the food (where dog is a holiday delicacy) so it took some time to find a suitable restaurant. Eventually we did and settled in for hotpot (a.k.a. fancy make-your-own soup). We passed on the alligator, octopus, and frog options and just went for a vegetable-noodle soup. Four waiters attended to us. They would show us how to add our own ingredients to the cooking-pot on our table, transfer it to our bowls, and would rearrange our various spoons and dishes. They did so on average every 10 seconds. The queen does not get better service. I went to the bathroom with the help three guides and a lady to open the door. The meal was filling and delicious and the bill came to roughly $12. We left a 60% tip and promised to come back.
The next morning we headed through downtown Ho Chi Minh to a tailor. In Vietnam one can have a custom-tailored suit of the highest quality made for less than $300. While being fitted, we noticed a thank-you note and picture from the US President’s First Lady on the wall, which combined with a recommendation from a friend was enough to assuage our worries about paying for the suit before seeing it. Given our backpacks, our stressful flights, and our even more stressful non-flights, we then went for another massage to soothe backaches and tight shoulders.
We were feeling pretty comfortable heading into the parlor, having survived our Thai massages, and were given nice silk shorts and a robe to change into. In our private massage room Melanie and I, a curtain between us, removed the robes and lay on our tables, unaware of what lay in wait for us. The first clue that this would be another new experience was not a subtle one. My massage therapist rubbed my back a little, then whipped down my shorts and massaged my bum. She could have at least bought me a drink first. After a while she climbed up on the bench and kneeled, then stood on me, jumping lightly when my spine wouldn’t crack from just walking. She later contorted me into some familiar positions and some new ones (with my shorts back on, thankfully), including bending my feet up to my head. I am not exaggerating in my descriptions, nor when I say that my body felt marvelous upon leaving.
Next was a bus to Mui Ne, a small beach-town and the kite-surfing capital of South East Asia. As we acquired a camera for Melanie before leaving Thailand, I will use a slightly more visual method of telling the next section.
Kite-surfing is:
The number of kite surfers on the beach was:
When I told Melanie I was going to spend $250 on lessons she looked like:
While I was doing:
Melanie played with:
I thought after my lessons I would look like this:
But instead I looked like:
Or this:
Mui Ne was just what we needed though, a break from hectic Ho Chi Minh. We were lucky enough to catch an opera on our last night and then were airborne to Laos.
LAOS:
We traveled Laos with an old friend of mine, Mike MacDonald, and his girlfriend Alexis. I won't write that section just yet, but have uploaded videos of Melanie and my respective highlights of the trip as a teaser:
Until next time,
Jonny
