We decided to compile a list of our favorite and least favorite places, people, and things that we've encountered during our travels. We are sad to say that it is our parting blog. I hope someone enjoyed reading these posts -- I can attest that we both enjoyed writing them, me a little more than Erin. I haven't been keeping a journal and this has been a good way to write down some of my thoughts. I think, in hindsight, I wish we would have brough a lap top along. There is wi-fi virtually everywhere (except Burma). And with a laptop we could have upload photos along the way, which speak much louder than any words of ours could convey, and we would have had more time to write. I have constantly felt hurried when writing the blog (as I've always paid for internet service along the way) or watched over my shoulder, which can be a bit discomfiting. In any event, it has been fun.
Favorite Country: Erin ("E") - Nepal Paul ("P) - Laos
Least Favorite: E - Karabagh P - Thailand (too disney worldish)
Favorite Big City: E - Bangkok P - Ho Chi Minh City (love the motorbikes and pho)
Least Favorite: E & P - Tbilisi, Georgia
Favorite Small Town/Village: E & P - Manang, Nepal
Least Favorite: E & P - Lukla, Nepal
Favorite Cuisine : E & P - Thai (by a wide margin)
Least Favorite: E & P - Nepali (by a wide margin)
Favorite Dishes: E & P - Aubergine with walnut paste (in Georgia), white snapper (Thailand), papaya salad (Thailand), lamajoon (Armenia), kausoi (Thailand)
Least Favorite: E & P - Dal Bhat that made us ill in Phakding, Nepal
Favorite Beer: E & P - Kazbegi (can't beat 13.5% alcohol content), Beer Lao (cheap and tasty)
Least Favorite: E & P - Everest (Nepal)
Favorite cordial: E & P - Ararat cognac (Armenia), tierbe (Austria)
Least Favorite: E & P - chang (Nepali home-made beer)
Most Friendly People: E & P - Burmese
Least Friendly: E & P - Armenians (sad but true)
Best mode of ground transport: E & P - Thai buses (they are luxury compared to buses elsewhere)
Worst mode of ground transport: E & P - mashruka (Georgia and Armenia)
Best bus ride: E &P - Mini van ride between Krabi and Chumpon, Thailand
Worst: E & P - the bus ride from hell between Bandahar and Kathmandu (by an extremely wide margin)
Favorite Active Place of Worship: E & P - Upper Pisang buddhist temple, Nepal
Favorite Ancient Temple: E & P - Anapat (Armenia). the Temples of Angkor (Cambodia)
Best Treatment of Animals: E & P - Thailand (by a wide margin)
Worst - E & P (Nepal)
Best Mountain: E & P - Ama Dablam, Daulagiri, Annapurna II (all in Nepal)
Best Refreshing Drink: E & P - Lime soda
Best Book Read During Our Travels: E & P - Shalimar the Clown, Salman Rushdie
Worst Book: E & P - So Close to Heaven (appalling bad)
Most Memorable Experience: E - Nepal treks P - Burma trek
Favorite Lodging: E - Halstatt room on the lake, P - monastery on Burma trek
Least Favorite: E & P - Yerevan homestay, Stepanakert guesthouse, Kangjuma teahouse (on Everest trek), Shangri-La guesthouse (Kathmandu)
Most Valuable Vegetable: E & P - Tomatoes, Eggplants, and Longbean
Most Valuable Herb: E & P - Mint
Most Difficult Place to Travel: E & P - Georgia and Armenia (by a wide margin)
Easiest: E & P - Thailand
Places we didn't see on this trip but that we'd like to see in the future:
1) Eastern Turkey (Western Armenia), including Erzrum and Mt. Ararat
2) Just Erin- Northern India (Dharmsala area)
3) Northern Vietnam (Hanoi, Halong Bay and Hoi Ann)
4) Other areas of Nepal (Manaslu, Makalu, Mustang, Dolpo, etc.)
5) Islands of Cambodia (before they get developed)
6) Just Paul - Svanetti, Georgia; Northern Burma
7) Just Erin- China (Udon and Beijing)
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Burma - Part III
The Trek.
Our trek took us from Kalaw to Inle Lake and it was, for me, the highlight of the trip. The trails we followed led us through a pastoral landscape of rolling hills and farms where every kind of produce was cultivated -- rice, tea, cabbage, ginger, onions, corn, wheat, etc. The first night we bedded down on the floor of a monastery, the second night in the bamboo hut of a family of 6.
There were five of us in all -- Erin, myself, a Swiss woman (who joined our group at the last minute), our venerable guide Meme, and our most excellent cook whose name regretfully escapes me. The trek passed through an area of the Shan State that is home to seven different tribes, each having their own language and customs. They were not accustomed to foreigners. They were as curious of us as we were of them. Whatever they were doing - picking chillis, harvesting ginger root, tending to a water buffalo, or hoeing the soil -- they invariably stopped and watched us passed, usually with a friendly smile. The kids always waved, often times running after us, and yelled "Goodbye," never "Hello." Neither kids nor adults ever begged of us although occassionally a child would ask for our empty water bottles which they used to carry water to the fields. Digital cameras fascinated them, their images projected on the LCD screen never failing to elicit enormous smiles and laughter.
The first night at the monastery will be emblazoned in my memory forever. The building itself was an airy, single story wooden building with tin tiered roofs shaped like a pagoda. We arrived at the monastery at twilight. As we entered, we saw on one side of the room our bedrolls laid out and on the other side a novice monk swathed in crimson robes sitting crosslegged on the floor underneath two open window frames, his bald dome lit up by the dying light like a golden stupa but the rest of his face cast in shadow, his posture and serene mein eerily remiscent of the noble Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now. He invited us to a cup of green tea. We sat on the floor before him and sipped our tea, always mindful to avoid pointing our feet towards him, which is an act of disrespect. As the light faded and a candle was lit I could see the rugged contours of his face. A purple scar ran across his right cheek. He was in his forties and built like an ox. He chewed stoically on bettle nut, occassionally leaning over to spit blood-red juice between the floorboards. No words passed between us (because he spoke no english and we obviously spoke no Burmese). Instead, he stared at me with his dark eyes for what seemed like an eternity, as if probing my soul to determine its worth. It was unnerving.
Then the head monk turned up. He shared none of the novice's perturbing traits. He was postively electric, owning the energy of ten men. He had decayed teeth, wild eyes and thin wild eyebrows -- the kind of eyebrows that work independently of each other and have the agility to contort into the full suite of trigonometric functions. He said nothing if it wasn't exclaimed with an ejaculation of ecstasy. Everyone was "happy" and we were all "brothers."
At dinner the wild-eyed monk joined us at the dinner table. Erin had already gotten up to go to bed. The monk sat next to the Swiss woman and began examining her from head to toe. She looked uncomfortable. The monk spoke to Meme in Burmese. Meme translated. Apparently the monk had the ability to read people's personality traits by looking at their facial features -- ears, mouth, lips, eyes, forehead and eyebrows. His power of discernment was acute, if not a bit creepy. The woman was incredulous as the monk read her like an open book.
At night we all slept in the same room. Us on one side of the room, our guide and cook on the other side of the room, and the monks behind the altar. The fragrance of incense filled the room. My age-worn blankets felt and smelled liked they been steeped in oil. A candle burned in front of the altar. The night air was chill. Erin was sick, battling another food-borne bug, waking up every hour or so to run to the outhouse which housed a large, no-so-kind-looking spider. Next to me were large burlap bags of rice, inside of which unseen animals nibbled away at the rice kernels, making a crunching noise in my ears. Rats in the cellar screeched and scratched at the floor boards. The tin roof creaked and groaned, as if seized by some outraged ghost. Every now and then one of the monks got up from his bed and crept across the room and out the front door to wander the grounds or use the outhouse, his slinking shadow projected against the wooden walls. At around 10 pm, a monk chanted the evening prayer while all of us laid still on our bedrolls in the darkness. The candle guttered and then went out. I couldn't sleep so I laid awake listening to the symphony of sounds around me, wondering when the rats would start nibbling on my toes. At around 11 pm the voice of our cook joined the din. He began talking in his sleep, jabbering away in Burmese (and sometimes in broken English even though he didn't know how to speak it during waking hours) and every now and then moaning like a disgruntled ghoul whenever someone made the least bit of noise. An hour later one of the monks farted (though neither one of them fessed up to it the next morning) and the floorboards rumbled. In response the cook moaned something terrible.
I got 2 hours of sleep that night I think. Erin slept less.
The next day I woke to the morning monk chant and a waft of incense. I put on my contacts and went outside to visit the outhouse. The wild-eyed monk was there sweeping leaves with a broom. He saw me out of the corner of his eye and held up the broom and exclaimed:
"In English, how say?"
"Broom," I replied.
Bram! Good! You happy?
"Yes, very."
"Good! Everyone happy here! America Good! Snow!"
"Lots of snow."
He began sweeping again, then paused, looked askance at me, raised his eyebrow in a perfect parabolic arch, then said: "Bram?"
"Broom"
"Yes, bram. Goooooood! Bram!" He waved the bram over his head.
He continued sweeping, muttering to himself, then stopped again and looked at me and said: Mikel Jockson! Yes Good! America!"
I had no idea what he meant. He said it again. Then I figured it out:
"Yes, Michael Jackson, American."
"Yes, Mikal Jockson, Gooooooood! But dead! Too bad! Everyone happy! Look around! Everyone happy!"
Later that morning I saw him crouching in the monastery, his back to me, his entire body lit up by the morning light pouring into the room from the two eastern window frames. He was muttering what sounded like the word "pussy" over and over again. So as not to disturb him I crept over to my bedroll to pack up my things but he saw me and turned his head, his right eyebrow nearly floating above his head, and exlaimed with utmost pleasure: "Pussy Cat!" I heard a cat meow and then lay on its back under the monk's robes. The monk rubbed the cat's belly and exclaimed again: "Pussy Cat!" I assured him that it was indeed a pussy cat, and a pretty pussy cat at that.
The second day we lunched in a small village where piles of recently harvested red chillis dried on tarps spread out here and there on the ground. The name of the village and tribe escapes me. The women of the tribe wore orange and red turbans on their heads. After lunch the Swiss woman, who had the brilliant idea of bringing balloons along the trek, began blowing them up for the little kids who had gathered to watch our freak show come through the village. It turned into raucus fun, the kids swatting at the balloons, the parents and teenagers watching on with wonder and amusement. I think half the village was there, standing in a semi-circle around a pile of dried chillis, laughing and carrying on.
Later that day, we approached the village in which we were to sleep that night. It was the end of the day, the sun on the verge of setting over the rolling hills to the west. All of the villagers were coming home from the fields and pastures, converging on the lone road which led into the the village. Small children rode on the back of water buffaloes, Brahman cattle pulled carts laden with ginger root, young girls with red and orange turbans carried hoes twice their size on their shoulders, and woman balanced baskets of ginger root on their heads.
We spent the night in a hut of a family of six. We slept on mats on the floor in the main room (which served as the dining room and living room). The room next to us, separated by a bamboo mat, housed the family, including among others the grandfather who had to be carried to the kitchen fire by his grandson, a novice monk, because he was too infirm to walk.
We arrived at Inle on the third day. Inle is an idylic lake hemmed in all sides by mountains similar in shape, size and feel to the Sangre De Christos. Floating gardens of tomatoes and other produce fringe the margins of the lake, and among these gardens villages of bamboo huts stand on skinny wooden stilts 20 feet above the water. In the middle of the lake fisherman balance precariously on one leg on the back of canoes, their other leg wrapped around an oar, which serves as the rudder and mode of propulsion, while their hands are busy casting nets into the inky, placid waters.
I could go on but I need to see some more of Bangkok before we jet.
Our trek took us from Kalaw to Inle Lake and it was, for me, the highlight of the trip. The trails we followed led us through a pastoral landscape of rolling hills and farms where every kind of produce was cultivated -- rice, tea, cabbage, ginger, onions, corn, wheat, etc. The first night we bedded down on the floor of a monastery, the second night in the bamboo hut of a family of 6.
There were five of us in all -- Erin, myself, a Swiss woman (who joined our group at the last minute), our venerable guide Meme, and our most excellent cook whose name regretfully escapes me. The trek passed through an area of the Shan State that is home to seven different tribes, each having their own language and customs. They were not accustomed to foreigners. They were as curious of us as we were of them. Whatever they were doing - picking chillis, harvesting ginger root, tending to a water buffalo, or hoeing the soil -- they invariably stopped and watched us passed, usually with a friendly smile. The kids always waved, often times running after us, and yelled "Goodbye," never "Hello." Neither kids nor adults ever begged of us although occassionally a child would ask for our empty water bottles which they used to carry water to the fields. Digital cameras fascinated them, their images projected on the LCD screen never failing to elicit enormous smiles and laughter.
The first night at the monastery will be emblazoned in my memory forever. The building itself was an airy, single story wooden building with tin tiered roofs shaped like a pagoda. We arrived at the monastery at twilight. As we entered, we saw on one side of the room our bedrolls laid out and on the other side a novice monk swathed in crimson robes sitting crosslegged on the floor underneath two open window frames, his bald dome lit up by the dying light like a golden stupa but the rest of his face cast in shadow, his posture and serene mein eerily remiscent of the noble Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now. He invited us to a cup of green tea. We sat on the floor before him and sipped our tea, always mindful to avoid pointing our feet towards him, which is an act of disrespect. As the light faded and a candle was lit I could see the rugged contours of his face. A purple scar ran across his right cheek. He was in his forties and built like an ox. He chewed stoically on bettle nut, occassionally leaning over to spit blood-red juice between the floorboards. No words passed between us (because he spoke no english and we obviously spoke no Burmese). Instead, he stared at me with his dark eyes for what seemed like an eternity, as if probing my soul to determine its worth. It was unnerving.
Then the head monk turned up. He shared none of the novice's perturbing traits. He was postively electric, owning the energy of ten men. He had decayed teeth, wild eyes and thin wild eyebrows -- the kind of eyebrows that work independently of each other and have the agility to contort into the full suite of trigonometric functions. He said nothing if it wasn't exclaimed with an ejaculation of ecstasy. Everyone was "happy" and we were all "brothers."
At dinner the wild-eyed monk joined us at the dinner table. Erin had already gotten up to go to bed. The monk sat next to the Swiss woman and began examining her from head to toe. She looked uncomfortable. The monk spoke to Meme in Burmese. Meme translated. Apparently the monk had the ability to read people's personality traits by looking at their facial features -- ears, mouth, lips, eyes, forehead and eyebrows. His power of discernment was acute, if not a bit creepy. The woman was incredulous as the monk read her like an open book.
At night we all slept in the same room. Us on one side of the room, our guide and cook on the other side of the room, and the monks behind the altar. The fragrance of incense filled the room. My age-worn blankets felt and smelled liked they been steeped in oil. A candle burned in front of the altar. The night air was chill. Erin was sick, battling another food-borne bug, waking up every hour or so to run to the outhouse which housed a large, no-so-kind-looking spider. Next to me were large burlap bags of rice, inside of which unseen animals nibbled away at the rice kernels, making a crunching noise in my ears. Rats in the cellar screeched and scratched at the floor boards. The tin roof creaked and groaned, as if seized by some outraged ghost. Every now and then one of the monks got up from his bed and crept across the room and out the front door to wander the grounds or use the outhouse, his slinking shadow projected against the wooden walls. At around 10 pm, a monk chanted the evening prayer while all of us laid still on our bedrolls in the darkness. The candle guttered and then went out. I couldn't sleep so I laid awake listening to the symphony of sounds around me, wondering when the rats would start nibbling on my toes. At around 11 pm the voice of our cook joined the din. He began talking in his sleep, jabbering away in Burmese (and sometimes in broken English even though he didn't know how to speak it during waking hours) and every now and then moaning like a disgruntled ghoul whenever someone made the least bit of noise. An hour later one of the monks farted (though neither one of them fessed up to it the next morning) and the floorboards rumbled. In response the cook moaned something terrible.
I got 2 hours of sleep that night I think. Erin slept less.
The next day I woke to the morning monk chant and a waft of incense. I put on my contacts and went outside to visit the outhouse. The wild-eyed monk was there sweeping leaves with a broom. He saw me out of the corner of his eye and held up the broom and exclaimed:
"In English, how say?"
"Broom," I replied.
Bram! Good! You happy?
"Yes, very."
"Good! Everyone happy here! America Good! Snow!"
"Lots of snow."
He began sweeping again, then paused, looked askance at me, raised his eyebrow in a perfect parabolic arch, then said: "Bram?"
"Broom"
"Yes, bram. Goooooood! Bram!" He waved the bram over his head.
He continued sweeping, muttering to himself, then stopped again and looked at me and said: Mikel Jockson! Yes Good! America!"
I had no idea what he meant. He said it again. Then I figured it out:
"Yes, Michael Jackson, American."
"Yes, Mikal Jockson, Gooooooood! But dead! Too bad! Everyone happy! Look around! Everyone happy!"
Later that morning I saw him crouching in the monastery, his back to me, his entire body lit up by the morning light pouring into the room from the two eastern window frames. He was muttering what sounded like the word "pussy" over and over again. So as not to disturb him I crept over to my bedroll to pack up my things but he saw me and turned his head, his right eyebrow nearly floating above his head, and exlaimed with utmost pleasure: "Pussy Cat!" I heard a cat meow and then lay on its back under the monk's robes. The monk rubbed the cat's belly and exclaimed again: "Pussy Cat!" I assured him that it was indeed a pussy cat, and a pretty pussy cat at that.
The second day we lunched in a small village where piles of recently harvested red chillis dried on tarps spread out here and there on the ground. The name of the village and tribe escapes me. The women of the tribe wore orange and red turbans on their heads. After lunch the Swiss woman, who had the brilliant idea of bringing balloons along the trek, began blowing them up for the little kids who had gathered to watch our freak show come through the village. It turned into raucus fun, the kids swatting at the balloons, the parents and teenagers watching on with wonder and amusement. I think half the village was there, standing in a semi-circle around a pile of dried chillis, laughing and carrying on.
Later that day, we approached the village in which we were to sleep that night. It was the end of the day, the sun on the verge of setting over the rolling hills to the west. All of the villagers were coming home from the fields and pastures, converging on the lone road which led into the the village. Small children rode on the back of water buffaloes, Brahman cattle pulled carts laden with ginger root, young girls with red and orange turbans carried hoes twice their size on their shoulders, and woman balanced baskets of ginger root on their heads.
We spent the night in a hut of a family of six. We slept on mats on the floor in the main room (which served as the dining room and living room). The room next to us, separated by a bamboo mat, housed the family, including among others the grandfather who had to be carried to the kitchen fire by his grandson, a novice monk, because he was too infirm to walk.
We arrived at Inle on the third day. Inle is an idylic lake hemmed in all sides by mountains similar in shape, size and feel to the Sangre De Christos. Floating gardens of tomatoes and other produce fringe the margins of the lake, and among these gardens villages of bamboo huts stand on skinny wooden stilts 20 feet above the water. In the middle of the lake fisherman balance precariously on one leg on the back of canoes, their other leg wrapped around an oar, which serves as the rudder and mode of propulsion, while their hands are busy casting nets into the inky, placid waters.
I could go on but I need to see some more of Bangkok before we jet.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Eating our way through SE Asia- Food Blog!
Its about darn time for a food post as eating has been one of the greatest pleasures of our travels! I think we would be remiss if we didn't take a moment to tell you about our culinary adventures of the past couple months. When we landed in Bangkok for the first time we were almost drooling with the thought of Pad Thai and really any type of food other than Dahl Bhat (which has left quite an impression on us). Now that we've sampled Thai, Lao, Khmer (Cambodian), Vietnamese and Burmese food, I can say that Thai is our overwhelming favorite. Mostly I think we love it because the Thais are not afraid of their chili and neither are we! Yum!
Things that we've enjoyed throughout Asia include lime soda (discovered in Nepal actually) which is simply soda water with fresh squeezed lime and just might be the most refreshing beverage ever invented. We since plan to bring this favorite home. Another fortuitous find is that, despite the unfortunate consequences of colonization by the French, excellent crusty baguettes can be found from the streets to the bus stations in Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam.
Starting with Thailand, some of our consistent favorites have been the Pad Thai (duh!) which is different from home in that it doesn't have cilantro and you can usually get them to mix some fresh chilis in as well as the papaya salad which is usually hot enough to knock your socks off. Another wonderfully ubiquitous treat is the fruit lassie, a yogurt shake with ice and fruit, and every kind of fresh tropical fruit imaginable- pineapple, mango, coconut, banana, paypaya...these tasty fruit snacks come in convenient plastic baggies, pre-cut with a toothpick as fork.
Paul's favorite meal, recently consumed at Koh Yao Noi, was grilled white snapper with its head still intact, served with garlic, chili, and veggies. My favorite was our thanksgiving meal at a vegetarian place in Chang Mai. We ate papaya salad that made my nose run, spring rolls with tofu and carrot sauce, Pad thai with bean sprouts and tofu, and Kausoi which was a complex yellow coconut curry with soft and crispy noodles and spice that made my nose run even harder. We finished off the night with a glass of boxed wine and some killer pumpkin pie.
In Laos I think its fair to say that our favorite was the Lap which is called a "salad" but is served with rice. Lap is a savory and sour treat of shredded beef, chicken or pork ( or tofu which wasn't as good) mixed with mint, lime, and secret spices. So good! I also really enjoyed their curries especially over a bowl of long beans, squeaky green eggplant, tomatoes, pumpkin and potatoes. The Lao curry that I sampled was always coconut based and excellent in a straightforward way. Other notable Lao dishes that we sampled were sautéd wild mushroom salad, the Laung Prabang salad with watercress, hard boiled eggs and dijon dressing, and pumpkin soup. We found mexican-quality margaritas at Rosellas Cafe, enjoyed with the chef on the banks of the river in Luang Prabang.
Cambodia- Khmer cuisine wasn't my favorite, they eat tarantulas there! But some notables were the Amok which is basically a coconut curry baked and served in a coconut with veggies and rice. Cambodia is also where I decided to stop eating chicken after a very sad encounter with a half conscious chicken and a butcher block in the market. I haven't eaten any meat since, we'll see how long it lasts when I get in the vacinity of Blakes Lottaburger. The beat thing we ate in Cambodia was crabs on the cost in Kep drenched in curry and famous Kampot pepper. I received eating wounds trying to dig every last morsel out of my crab legs but I was certainty in my element!
Vietnam was tricky for us I had very high food expectations that were bound to be dashed by the reality of tourist food on Phu Quock island. Lucky for us we found the night market and feasted on bowls of vermicelli with mint, basil, bean sprouts, lime and fresh shrimp. Heaven! At long last, the food we had dreamed of! Things improved for us in the food department when we got to Ho Chi Minh City. In HCMC we found the Pho and ate it for every meal one day including a snack. Pho is a big bowl of rice noodles with whatever type of meat (or none) that you desire and its served with the "salad" of basil, bean sprouts, chili and awesome chili sauce. Other Vietname delights were found at a veggie restaurant; mushrooms and tofu sautéd in a claypot, vietnamese pancake filled with yummy veggies and the fresh spring rolls with mint and other herbs. Vietnamese coffee, while renowned and sipped everywhere, is not my favorite. I don't care for the Lao or Thai versions either as condensed milk is just too sickeningly sweet for me. It all comes that way even if you ask for fresh milk.
For me the highlight of Burmese food was the tomato salad with onion, peanuts, sesame seeds and garlic covered with peanut oil. Very tasty. We had four excellent nights of Indian food in Bagan at the Wonderful Tasty restaurant where we could get lentil soup, veggie curry, fresh chipati, rice and sauteed veggies for 5$. A great deal and served by the very sweet toothless owner. I also enjoyed the Shan noodle soup, which is heavy on the sesame seeds, and noodle soup with coconut milk, veggies and an egg on top, as well as the fresh "mountain" rice that we were served on our trek. As far as I could tell mountain rice is akin to brown rice with the skin intact. Unfortunately for me I got a violent case of food poisoning from an unconfirmed source in Kalaw and wasn't able to enjoy the seemingly delectable dishes served by our guide Meme on our trek.
We are on the way to Bangkok at the moment and I've been combing the restaurant reviews to find a suitable place for our last SE Asian meal before we head back to the land of enchiladas, real pizza, burgers and salad, oh yummy greens how I crave you! As much as I'm ready for my favorite American foods and their hygienic preparation, we are making plans to do some serious shopping at the asian food market in Albuquerque before we head north, we already know that we will miss this fantastic food!
Things that we've enjoyed throughout Asia include lime soda (discovered in Nepal actually) which is simply soda water with fresh squeezed lime and just might be the most refreshing beverage ever invented. We since plan to bring this favorite home. Another fortuitous find is that, despite the unfortunate consequences of colonization by the French, excellent crusty baguettes can be found from the streets to the bus stations in Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam.
Starting with Thailand, some of our consistent favorites have been the Pad Thai (duh!) which is different from home in that it doesn't have cilantro and you can usually get them to mix some fresh chilis in as well as the papaya salad which is usually hot enough to knock your socks off. Another wonderfully ubiquitous treat is the fruit lassie, a yogurt shake with ice and fruit, and every kind of fresh tropical fruit imaginable- pineapple, mango, coconut, banana, paypaya...these tasty fruit snacks come in convenient plastic baggies, pre-cut with a toothpick as fork.
Paul's favorite meal, recently consumed at Koh Yao Noi, was grilled white snapper with its head still intact, served with garlic, chili, and veggies. My favorite was our thanksgiving meal at a vegetarian place in Chang Mai. We ate papaya salad that made my nose run, spring rolls with tofu and carrot sauce, Pad thai with bean sprouts and tofu, and Kausoi which was a complex yellow coconut curry with soft and crispy noodles and spice that made my nose run even harder. We finished off the night with a glass of boxed wine and some killer pumpkin pie.
In Laos I think its fair to say that our favorite was the Lap which is called a "salad" but is served with rice. Lap is a savory and sour treat of shredded beef, chicken or pork ( or tofu which wasn't as good) mixed with mint, lime, and secret spices. So good! I also really enjoyed their curries especially over a bowl of long beans, squeaky green eggplant, tomatoes, pumpkin and potatoes. The Lao curry that I sampled was always coconut based and excellent in a straightforward way. Other notable Lao dishes that we sampled were sautéd wild mushroom salad, the Laung Prabang salad with watercress, hard boiled eggs and dijon dressing, and pumpkin soup. We found mexican-quality margaritas at Rosellas Cafe, enjoyed with the chef on the banks of the river in Luang Prabang.
Cambodia- Khmer cuisine wasn't my favorite, they eat tarantulas there! But some notables were the Amok which is basically a coconut curry baked and served in a coconut with veggies and rice. Cambodia is also where I decided to stop eating chicken after a very sad encounter with a half conscious chicken and a butcher block in the market. I haven't eaten any meat since, we'll see how long it lasts when I get in the vacinity of Blakes Lottaburger. The beat thing we ate in Cambodia was crabs on the cost in Kep drenched in curry and famous Kampot pepper. I received eating wounds trying to dig every last morsel out of my crab legs but I was certainty in my element!
Vietnam was tricky for us I had very high food expectations that were bound to be dashed by the reality of tourist food on Phu Quock island. Lucky for us we found the night market and feasted on bowls of vermicelli with mint, basil, bean sprouts, lime and fresh shrimp. Heaven! At long last, the food we had dreamed of! Things improved for us in the food department when we got to Ho Chi Minh City. In HCMC we found the Pho and ate it for every meal one day including a snack. Pho is a big bowl of rice noodles with whatever type of meat (or none) that you desire and its served with the "salad" of basil, bean sprouts, chili and awesome chili sauce. Other Vietname delights were found at a veggie restaurant; mushrooms and tofu sautéd in a claypot, vietnamese pancake filled with yummy veggies and the fresh spring rolls with mint and other herbs. Vietnamese coffee, while renowned and sipped everywhere, is not my favorite. I don't care for the Lao or Thai versions either as condensed milk is just too sickeningly sweet for me. It all comes that way even if you ask for fresh milk.
For me the highlight of Burmese food was the tomato salad with onion, peanuts, sesame seeds and garlic covered with peanut oil. Very tasty. We had four excellent nights of Indian food in Bagan at the Wonderful Tasty restaurant where we could get lentil soup, veggie curry, fresh chipati, rice and sauteed veggies for 5$. A great deal and served by the very sweet toothless owner. I also enjoyed the Shan noodle soup, which is heavy on the sesame seeds, and noodle soup with coconut milk, veggies and an egg on top, as well as the fresh "mountain" rice that we were served on our trek. As far as I could tell mountain rice is akin to brown rice with the skin intact. Unfortunately for me I got a violent case of food poisoning from an unconfirmed source in Kalaw and wasn't able to enjoy the seemingly delectable dishes served by our guide Meme on our trek.
We are on the way to Bangkok at the moment and I've been combing the restaurant reviews to find a suitable place for our last SE Asian meal before we head back to the land of enchiladas, real pizza, burgers and salad, oh yummy greens how I crave you! As much as I'm ready for my favorite American foods and their hygienic preparation, we are making plans to do some serious shopping at the asian food market in Albuquerque before we head north, we already know that we will miss this fantastic food!
Friday, January 14, 2011
Burma - Part II
Before I pick up the Burma thread again I need to take a moment to brag. The seafood in the Thai islands is something to make a whole trip out of -- and if there is one dish not to be missed it is the fried white snapper (whole) seasoned with garlic and thai chillis. I'm still in a swoon.
Back to Burma. I don't really know what to say about the government other than it felt like there was a secret, concerted effort, perpetrated at the highest levels, to deceive foreigners into believing that everything is on the up and up. We obviously knew better, as do most other travelers there, which made it all the more bizarre.
As for witnessing first hand the terrible atrocities inflicted upon the people, or the insidious acts of Big Brother, or even the subtle or not so subtle day-to-day oppression, we saw nothing of the kind --- except, of course, we did have a policeman take a photograph of us while crossing a busy intersection in Yangon on our first day there. That threw me into a brief fit of paranoia.
We became immediately aware, through the people's unwillingness to broach the subject, that talking about the government is not copacetic. We heard offhand comments about how the "government is bad but the people are good," but we never felt comfortable (and the guidebooks expressly tell you to stay away from the subject of politics as it could put the local with whom you are speaking at risk of governmental persecution) to delve any further.
Some interesting things about Burma:
1) The capitol of Myanmar used to be Yangon. Now, thanks to General Than Shwe's astrologer, who thought it propitious to move the capitol somewhere else, the capitol is Nay Pyi Taw, a god-forsaken place in the middle of nowhere. It is totally off-limits to foreigners (as is vast swaths of the Karen, Kachin, Chin and Shan states).
2) The same astrologer who convinced the reigning general to move the capitol to Nay Pyi Taw also apparently convinced him that it was bad luck to have currency in denominations of 10, 20, 100,etc. So, at the behest of his trusted adviser, he changed the currency to multiples of 9, issuing notes worth 45 kyats and 90 kyats.
3) The internet in Burma is at least ten years behind the rest of the world in terms of speed. Access to a political websites, as well as otherwise harmless sites, are blocked. Access to our blog was blocked.
4) There are no ATM machines in Burma, world-wide economic sanctions forcing multi-national banks to leave the country. My guess is that Burma has to be the only country in the world without an ATM.
5) No one takes credit cards. Plastic is worthless.
6) Because there are no ATMs, and credit cards are worthless, you have to take with you into Burma all the money you will need for your travels. The money needs to be US dollars, and they need to be crisp and clean and newly issued. If there is the slightest imperfection -- a wrinkle or fold or bend in the bill -- or if the bill has an old serial number, it will be rejected, with no explanation as to why it was rejected. It is extremely amusing watching the Burmese examine a US bill with the same kind of scrutiny a jeweler would apply in examining a precious gem to determine if it was real or fake.
Moving on to the people: They are poor. Dirt poor. Which makes it all the more amazing that they are so kind and friendly. At times it felt like Erin and I were the leads in a remake of the Truman Show.
All the women and children smear thanaka (a thick, tan cream made from an indiginous tree) on their cheeks, and sometimes their foreheads, to protect their skin from the harmful rays of the sun. The combination of the thanaka and their sad and wistfull eyes makes them look like ghosts. The men wear longyis (a man skirt), and everyone, including grandpas and grandmas, chew the betel nut, which causes their teeth to turn red and then decay in lovely jagged patterns, lending their smiles an air of goofiness.
As I mentioned before, they are devoutly Buddhist -- the wellspring (I think) from which they draw their strength, patience and compassion to be such gentle and equable people. Every man is required to serve in the monastery as a novice. The minimum time is a week but many Burmese stay in the monastery for months.
Monks are abound in Burma -- you see them every morning taking alms from the people on the streets and in the shops.
Back to Burma. I don't really know what to say about the government other than it felt like there was a secret, concerted effort, perpetrated at the highest levels, to deceive foreigners into believing that everything is on the up and up. We obviously knew better, as do most other travelers there, which made it all the more bizarre.
As for witnessing first hand the terrible atrocities inflicted upon the people, or the insidious acts of Big Brother, or even the subtle or not so subtle day-to-day oppression, we saw nothing of the kind --- except, of course, we did have a policeman take a photograph of us while crossing a busy intersection in Yangon on our first day there. That threw me into a brief fit of paranoia.
We became immediately aware, through the people's unwillingness to broach the subject, that talking about the government is not copacetic. We heard offhand comments about how the "government is bad but the people are good," but we never felt comfortable (and the guidebooks expressly tell you to stay away from the subject of politics as it could put the local with whom you are speaking at risk of governmental persecution) to delve any further.
Some interesting things about Burma:
1) The capitol of Myanmar used to be Yangon. Now, thanks to General Than Shwe's astrologer, who thought it propitious to move the capitol somewhere else, the capitol is Nay Pyi Taw, a god-forsaken place in the middle of nowhere. It is totally off-limits to foreigners (as is vast swaths of the Karen, Kachin, Chin and Shan states).
2) The same astrologer who convinced the reigning general to move the capitol to Nay Pyi Taw also apparently convinced him that it was bad luck to have currency in denominations of 10, 20, 100,etc. So, at the behest of his trusted adviser, he changed the currency to multiples of 9, issuing notes worth 45 kyats and 90 kyats.
3) The internet in Burma is at least ten years behind the rest of the world in terms of speed. Access to a political websites, as well as otherwise harmless sites, are blocked. Access to our blog was blocked.
4) There are no ATM machines in Burma, world-wide economic sanctions forcing multi-national banks to leave the country. My guess is that Burma has to be the only country in the world without an ATM.
5) No one takes credit cards. Plastic is worthless.
6) Because there are no ATMs, and credit cards are worthless, you have to take with you into Burma all the money you will need for your travels. The money needs to be US dollars, and they need to be crisp and clean and newly issued. If there is the slightest imperfection -- a wrinkle or fold or bend in the bill -- or if the bill has an old serial number, it will be rejected, with no explanation as to why it was rejected. It is extremely amusing watching the Burmese examine a US bill with the same kind of scrutiny a jeweler would apply in examining a precious gem to determine if it was real or fake.
Moving on to the people: They are poor. Dirt poor. Which makes it all the more amazing that they are so kind and friendly. At times it felt like Erin and I were the leads in a remake of the Truman Show.
All the women and children smear thanaka (a thick, tan cream made from an indiginous tree) on their cheeks, and sometimes their foreheads, to protect their skin from the harmful rays of the sun. The combination of the thanaka and their sad and wistfull eyes makes them look like ghosts. The men wear longyis (a man skirt), and everyone, including grandpas and grandmas, chew the betel nut, which causes their teeth to turn red and then decay in lovely jagged patterns, lending their smiles an air of goofiness.
As I mentioned before, they are devoutly Buddhist -- the wellspring (I think) from which they draw their strength, patience and compassion to be such gentle and equable people. Every man is required to serve in the monastery as a novice. The minimum time is a week but many Burmese stay in the monastery for months.
Monks are abound in Burma -- you see them every morning taking alms from the people on the streets and in the shops.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Burma - Part I
We're back! We're now in Thailand, on an island called Koh Yeah Noi in Phang Nga Bay in the Andamar Sea, where jungle-clad limestone karts jut serenely out of the turquoise sea. This is our respite before our return to the states -- which is only 6 days away. How time flies!
I'll preface my thoughts on Burma by saying that Erin and I had serious reservations about going to Burma -- not so much because of the recent elections and the possible upheaval it could have caused, but because we were reluctant to give any of our money to the Burmese government, which (as everybody knows) isn't known for being kind to its citizens. In the end our curiousity about the place was too much to ignore and we hopped on board a flight to Yangoon. I can say now that we made the right decision. I knew it every time we bought something -- anything at all -- from a person on the street and their face lit up with gratitude. The people are so affable, kind and quick to smile - they are quite simply the friendliest people I think I've ever come across in my travels. Giving them money made my heart sing.
Moving on to the trip: In short, Burma was fascinating. Because there is so much to recount, I'm gonna have do it in installments. For now I'll just do a brief summary of our trip. We started in Yangoon and spent a couple of nights there. Yangoon is an engima, and I'm still trying to get my head around it. The northern fringe of the city is home to upscale resorts (that looked virtually abandoned) for the package tourists (which apparently consist of nearly 90% of the foreigners who travel to Burma), well-manicured parks, and wealthy suburbs. The rest of the city is a carcass, a pathetic example of the government's complete and utter neglect of it's obligation to the people. The infrastructure is decrepit, the buildings are crumbling, and the sidewalks are laughably hazardous, with gaping holes that could swallow you whole if you don't pay close enough attention. The buses are relics, built in an era predating the dawning of the dinosaurs. They should be mercifully enshrined in the Museum of Contraptions and Conveyances of the Sick, Sadistic and Perverse. The highlight of the city is the Shwedagon Pagoda, a glimmering golden stupa about 10 stories high that can be seen from pretty much anywhere in the city. It is the country's beacon of Buddhism -- the religion which predominates throughout Burma. There are some muslims and christians and hindus but they are a very very small minority.
From Yangoon we flew to Bagan and spent four days riding rickety bicycles to old buddhist temples and pagodas strewn across an arid plain, hemmed in on three sides by mountains and on the fourth by the Irrawaddy River. There are about 4000 temples and pagodas in all, many of which you can scramble to the top of and get jaw-dropping, 360-degree views of spire after spire after spire jutting through the trees.
From Bagan we took a 10-hour, bone-rattling, chicken-bus ride to a small town called Kalaw where we hired a guide to take us on a three-day trek to Inle Lake. The trek and Inle Lake (where we spent another 4 days) will be the subject of another installment -- as there is far too much to tell and, if I went into depth about it now, it would keep me here in front of the keyboard the rest of the night -- but, in short, it was one of the highlights of our trip. In fact, I'll be so bold as to say it was the highlight of the trip (Erin loved it too but I think she's still clinging to the Annapurna trek -- and rightfully so -- as her personal fav.)
After Inle, due to time constraints and GI issues, we decided to fly back to Yangoon where we spent one more night prowling the pell-mell streets. Two flights later and a boat across the bay, we're now getting our much-sought-after beach time.
Maybe tomorrow I'll have time to blog about the Burmese people some more, the government, and our trek. Hope all is well.
I'll preface my thoughts on Burma by saying that Erin and I had serious reservations about going to Burma -- not so much because of the recent elections and the possible upheaval it could have caused, but because we were reluctant to give any of our money to the Burmese government, which (as everybody knows) isn't known for being kind to its citizens. In the end our curiousity about the place was too much to ignore and we hopped on board a flight to Yangoon. I can say now that we made the right decision. I knew it every time we bought something -- anything at all -- from a person on the street and their face lit up with gratitude. The people are so affable, kind and quick to smile - they are quite simply the friendliest people I think I've ever come across in my travels. Giving them money made my heart sing.
Moving on to the trip: In short, Burma was fascinating. Because there is so much to recount, I'm gonna have do it in installments. For now I'll just do a brief summary of our trip. We started in Yangoon and spent a couple of nights there. Yangoon is an engima, and I'm still trying to get my head around it. The northern fringe of the city is home to upscale resorts (that looked virtually abandoned) for the package tourists (which apparently consist of nearly 90% of the foreigners who travel to Burma), well-manicured parks, and wealthy suburbs. The rest of the city is a carcass, a pathetic example of the government's complete and utter neglect of it's obligation to the people. The infrastructure is decrepit, the buildings are crumbling, and the sidewalks are laughably hazardous, with gaping holes that could swallow you whole if you don't pay close enough attention. The buses are relics, built in an era predating the dawning of the dinosaurs. They should be mercifully enshrined in the Museum of Contraptions and Conveyances of the Sick, Sadistic and Perverse. The highlight of the city is the Shwedagon Pagoda, a glimmering golden stupa about 10 stories high that can be seen from pretty much anywhere in the city. It is the country's beacon of Buddhism -- the religion which predominates throughout Burma. There are some muslims and christians and hindus but they are a very very small minority.
From Yangoon we flew to Bagan and spent four days riding rickety bicycles to old buddhist temples and pagodas strewn across an arid plain, hemmed in on three sides by mountains and on the fourth by the Irrawaddy River. There are about 4000 temples and pagodas in all, many of which you can scramble to the top of and get jaw-dropping, 360-degree views of spire after spire after spire jutting through the trees.
From Bagan we took a 10-hour, bone-rattling, chicken-bus ride to a small town called Kalaw where we hired a guide to take us on a three-day trek to Inle Lake. The trek and Inle Lake (where we spent another 4 days) will be the subject of another installment -- as there is far too much to tell and, if I went into depth about it now, it would keep me here in front of the keyboard the rest of the night -- but, in short, it was one of the highlights of our trip. In fact, I'll be so bold as to say it was the highlight of the trip (Erin loved it too but I think she's still clinging to the Annapurna trek -- and rightfully so -- as her personal fav.)
After Inle, due to time constraints and GI issues, we decided to fly back to Yangoon where we spent one more night prowling the pell-mell streets. Two flights later and a boat across the bay, we're now getting our much-sought-after beach time.
Maybe tomorrow I'll have time to blog about the Burmese people some more, the government, and our trek. Hope all is well.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Burma
We're now in Bangkok. Our plan was to come here and see what we could do to get a visa for Burma, thinking it might take a few days to process the application (or that we might not get one at all). We got the visa in two hours - no hassle whatsoever. We booked our flight and we leave for Yangoon tomorrow. We'll be there for two weeks, coming back to Bangkok on January 12. We've heard rumors that there is internet access in Burma now so I may be able to blog from there (that is, if this site isn't blocked). Our rough itinerary is to fly to Mandalay in the north (or somewhere near there) and work our way south over land and by river toward Yangoon. We're both really excited. Everyone, have a very happy new year!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Pho and Mopeds
I think it's worth a trip to Saigon just to eat pho every breakfast, lunch and dinner and watch the moped brigades clog the streets at rush hour. In the morning and late afternoon, when the brigades are at full strength, the busier streets are flooded with a mass of humanity akin to the chaotic surge and squeeze of the thousands of marathon runners on the Verezano Bridge at the start of the NYC marathon. It is no less a spectacle than seeing the largest mountains in the world.
I realized today that my blog yesterday about the food markets may have been somewhat ambiguous. There are the food markets where raw produce, meats and fish are sold -- that is the kind of market to which I referred yesterday. The other kind of food market which are pervasive throughout asia are those where delicious asian meals like pad thai and pho can be bought for dirt cheap. We've had some of our best meals in the markets, for a mere dollar or two.
I realized today that my blog yesterday about the food markets may have been somewhat ambiguous. There are the food markets where raw produce, meats and fish are sold -- that is the kind of market to which I referred yesterday. The other kind of food market which are pervasive throughout asia are those where delicious asian meals like pad thai and pho can be bought for dirt cheap. We've had some of our best meals in the markets, for a mere dollar or two.
Asia: Markets, Sidewalks, Toilets, Che, Pajamas, Ricefields, Curry and Off-The-Beaten Track
From Nepal to Vietnam there seem to be asiatic trends worth mentioning:
1. The markets -- both indoors and outdoors -- are spectacles. My favorite are the food markets where every variety of food, most of which is simply inedible by anyone with dietary or hygenic standards or of the kind which a compassionate person would never put in their mouth, is sold by hawking vendors, the fetor emanating from the stalls often times too nauseting to linger for long.
2. Most asian cities and towns have no sidewalks on which to walk, Kathmandu being the worst example. You are relegated to the streets where the cars and mopeds blithely zip by at light speed. If there are sidewalks they are usually comandeered by mopeds as a parking lot.
3. Che Guevera's likeness is everywhere -- sides of buildings, walls, mudflaps, t-shirts, etc.. He is the single most popular icon in every country we've traveled (except of course Vietman where Uncle Ho rules supreme). Though, it just occured to me that there has been a decidedly communist theme to our travels: Georgia and Armenia once behind the iron curtain, Laos still communist (though really only on the surface), Vietnam still communist, Cambodia once communist.
4. Erin has already eloquently and exhaustively discussed the differences in the western and asian toilets. All that I will say about the matter is that I appreciate the merit of the asian toilet. Erin doesn't.
5. It is not uncommon to see women (and some men) walk in public, and go about their business in broad daylight and in the evening hours, donning a spiffy set of comfortable pajamas. It amuses Erin to no end. I envy them.
6. The rice paddy is omnipresent. It is harvest time and everywhere you go you see the conical hats of the men and women floating on a sea of ripe rice, brandishing their curved blades, bundling the cut rice, and hauling the bundles to their huts for winnowing. Work in the villages begins at sunrise, then there is usually a break during the midday when the heat is most oppressive, and then back to work in the late afternoon when the light is everywhere red and gold.
7. Curry seems to be the spice common to all asiatic cuisines. The thai do it the best, in my humble opinion. The Cambodians have a tasty version called amuk. The Laos, no matter how urgent the request, refuse to make their curry spicy for the falang, under the provincial impression (mistaken in my case) that the falang does not have the GI fortitude for "local spicy."
8. The SE Asian countries make it really easy for the falang to stay on the beaten track, which most falangs do, but make it really difficult for the falang to wander off it. Transportation becomes much more sketchy, timetables non-existent, roads a lot more rough. But it is definitely worth the sojourn to the netherparts of SE Asia. The people are brillant, much less concerned with the mighty dollar and alot more concerned with hospitality and pleasantness.
1. The markets -- both indoors and outdoors -- are spectacles. My favorite are the food markets where every variety of food, most of which is simply inedible by anyone with dietary or hygenic standards or of the kind which a compassionate person would never put in their mouth, is sold by hawking vendors, the fetor emanating from the stalls often times too nauseting to linger for long.
2. Most asian cities and towns have no sidewalks on which to walk, Kathmandu being the worst example. You are relegated to the streets where the cars and mopeds blithely zip by at light speed. If there are sidewalks they are usually comandeered by mopeds as a parking lot.
3. Che Guevera's likeness is everywhere -- sides of buildings, walls, mudflaps, t-shirts, etc.. He is the single most popular icon in every country we've traveled (except of course Vietman where Uncle Ho rules supreme). Though, it just occured to me that there has been a decidedly communist theme to our travels: Georgia and Armenia once behind the iron curtain, Laos still communist (though really only on the surface), Vietnam still communist, Cambodia once communist.
4. Erin has already eloquently and exhaustively discussed the differences in the western and asian toilets. All that I will say about the matter is that I appreciate the merit of the asian toilet. Erin doesn't.
5. It is not uncommon to see women (and some men) walk in public, and go about their business in broad daylight and in the evening hours, donning a spiffy set of comfortable pajamas. It amuses Erin to no end. I envy them.
6. The rice paddy is omnipresent. It is harvest time and everywhere you go you see the conical hats of the men and women floating on a sea of ripe rice, brandishing their curved blades, bundling the cut rice, and hauling the bundles to their huts for winnowing. Work in the villages begins at sunrise, then there is usually a break during the midday when the heat is most oppressive, and then back to work in the late afternoon when the light is everywhere red and gold.
7. Curry seems to be the spice common to all asiatic cuisines. The thai do it the best, in my humble opinion. The Cambodians have a tasty version called amuk. The Laos, no matter how urgent the request, refuse to make their curry spicy for the falang, under the provincial impression (mistaken in my case) that the falang does not have the GI fortitude for "local spicy."
8. The SE Asian countries make it really easy for the falang to stay on the beaten track, which most falangs do, but make it really difficult for the falang to wander off it. Transportation becomes much more sketchy, timetables non-existent, roads a lot more rough. But it is definitely worth the sojourn to the netherparts of SE Asia. The people are brillant, much less concerned with the mighty dollar and alot more concerned with hospitality and pleasantness.
Ho Chi Minh City
We're now in Ho Chi Minh City (or Saigon as everyone still refers to it as), among the bedlam and cacophany of legions of mopeds buzzing to and fro, their drivers donning plastic hats shaped like batters' helmets and who are subservient to no road rule, since they don't really exist, but perfectly in synch with the chaotic flow and rythm of the streets and alleyways. Crossing the road here, like the harried frog in the game of "Frogger," might be the riskiest adventure we've undertaken since we started our trip 3 months ago.
Today we visted the War Remnants Museum where the horrors and attrocities of the Vietnam War are on photographic display. As we walked through the rows and rows of photographs -- which felt more like demonstrative evidence of our crimes -- I have to admit I felt vicariously liable to the hordes of Vietnamese surrounding us, pausing every so often to gain my composure (and to assure myself that I'm not personnally responsible) when overcome with a pang of guilt. While the museum as a whole had a definite air of propaganda, photos don't lie.
Since my last blog from Siem Reap we've traveled to Phnom Penh and Kampot (in Cambodia) then on to Ha Tien (in southern Vietnam Island) and Phu Quoc Island. Cloaked in a veneer of respectability, Phnom Penh was surprisingly more pleasant than we expected, the sordid underbelly apparently hidden from view. Kampot, in southern Cambodia, was delightful. We stayed in a quiet bungalow on the Kampot river and spent one day on a moped exploring a nearby town called Kep, a pleasant beach town on the Gulf of Thailand. We had a delicious lunch of fresh crab drowned in a lemongrass and curry sauce. We were happy to find the Cambodian people in the south, far away from the torrents of tourists stampeding up and down the beaten trail between Siem Reap and Phnom Penh, as friendly as their Lao neighbors.
We crossed the Cambodian/Vietnam border on dusty dirt roads on the backs of mopeds. We stayed a night in a small town on the Vietnam side called Ha Tien (and, to our disappointment, came up really short in our first bid to eat tasty Vietnamese cuisine) and then took a boat out to Phu Quoc Island for the Christmas holidays. It is a lovely island with plenty of seafood to nosh on (though for some reason -- my guess is laziness on the chef's part -- the seafood was always served "as is/was," meaning fully intact, which meant we invariably had to work for our meat, something neither one of us is particularly good at). Our two days on Phu Quoc was the first time since we began our travels that we swam in the ocean and stared out over the sea, sipping cold cocktails (and listening with amusement to bad karaokeed renditions of the christmas carols). We hope to have more beach time on the tail end of our trip.
We'll be in Saigon for another day then we fly back to Bangkok to prepare for the remainder of our trip.
Hope all is well.
Today we visted the War Remnants Museum where the horrors and attrocities of the Vietnam War are on photographic display. As we walked through the rows and rows of photographs -- which felt more like demonstrative evidence of our crimes -- I have to admit I felt vicariously liable to the hordes of Vietnamese surrounding us, pausing every so often to gain my composure (and to assure myself that I'm not personnally responsible) when overcome with a pang of guilt. While the museum as a whole had a definite air of propaganda, photos don't lie.
Since my last blog from Siem Reap we've traveled to Phnom Penh and Kampot (in Cambodia) then on to Ha Tien (in southern Vietnam Island) and Phu Quoc Island. Cloaked in a veneer of respectability, Phnom Penh was surprisingly more pleasant than we expected, the sordid underbelly apparently hidden from view. Kampot, in southern Cambodia, was delightful. We stayed in a quiet bungalow on the Kampot river and spent one day on a moped exploring a nearby town called Kep, a pleasant beach town on the Gulf of Thailand. We had a delicious lunch of fresh crab drowned in a lemongrass and curry sauce. We were happy to find the Cambodian people in the south, far away from the torrents of tourists stampeding up and down the beaten trail between Siem Reap and Phnom Penh, as friendly as their Lao neighbors.
We crossed the Cambodian/Vietnam border on dusty dirt roads on the backs of mopeds. We stayed a night in a small town on the Vietnam side called Ha Tien (and, to our disappointment, came up really short in our first bid to eat tasty Vietnamese cuisine) and then took a boat out to Phu Quoc Island for the Christmas holidays. It is a lovely island with plenty of seafood to nosh on (though for some reason -- my guess is laziness on the chef's part -- the seafood was always served "as is/was," meaning fully intact, which meant we invariably had to work for our meat, something neither one of us is particularly good at). Our two days on Phu Quoc was the first time since we began our travels that we swam in the ocean and stared out over the sea, sipping cold cocktails (and listening with amusement to bad karaokeed renditions of the christmas carols). We hope to have more beach time on the tail end of our trip.
We'll be in Saigon for another day then we fly back to Bangkok to prepare for the remainder of our trip.
Hope all is well.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Phu Quoc Christmas
We're on Phu Quoc Island in southern Vietna - among little vietnamese children dressed in santa suits and Jingle Bells playing on stereos on the beach. Vermicilli and seafood for xmas eve dinner. We just wanted to wish everyone a merry xmas! A lot to report since our last blog - just need a proper keyboard! Merry xmas!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Siem Reap
We're still in the Reap. Yesterday we rode cruiser bikes to the closer temples, the big hitters, the mother wats. They certainly live up to the billing of 8th Wonder of the World. I won't bore you with a description of each temple but one in particular deserves some PT hyberbole. Ta Prohm. Google it. The still intact stone temples have sucumbed to the mighty grip of enormous trees, many of which found purchase hundreds of years ago (when still saplings) on the roofs of the temples, and as they grew into the towering behemoths they are today their gnarled, thirsty roots, in search of better footing and more nourishing soil below, coiled and twisted around doorframes and bas-reliefs and building stones like the crushing tentacles of a giant squid. The Lonely Planet is as guilty as I in its use of hyperbole when describing a place -- its authors often use words like mythic, mystical, stunning, etc without the least bit of editorial restraint. All those words, however, aptly apply to Ta Prohm (and really to many of the other temples of Angkor).
Today we took a tuk tuk and a longboat to a floating village called Kampong Phhluk on the shores of Tonle Sap, a massive lake that claims millions of acres in the middle of Cambodia. Google it as well. All the huts in the village are built on 25 to 30 foot stilts to account for the huge fluctuation in water levels on the Mekong. Pigs and other animals meant for eating are caged in floating pens.
Other miscellaneous notes:
1) Yesterday I accidentally formated the memory card in my camera and lost about 400 photos dating back to week one in Laos. I was crushed. I did some research online and found some websites advertising software which allows you to recover erased data on a memory card. I pray the software is legit.
2) Tauts. Some tauts will try to sell you just about anything. For example, in Nepal, at 6:00 in the morning, a rickshaw driver accosted me outside of our guesthouse and the following conversation took place:
Him: Rickshaw?
Me: No thank you.
Him: Trek, take you to Everest, see big mountain?
Me: No.
Him: Hash?
Me: Sorry.
Him: Laundry
Me (I shake my head with a smile and walk away)
Him: Where you from?
Me: America.
Him: Rickshaw?
Other tauts will try to sell you something you clearly don't need. For example, yesterday while riding our bikes a tuk tuk driver yelled: "Tuk tuk, where you go?"
Other tauts will use clever lines to lure you into buying their stuff. For example, today Erin and I walked towards a few roadside stands to get a drink and 4 young girls came sprinting towards us, screaming and carrying on. When we decided to buy a coke and a sprite from one of the girls, another girl who lost out on the sale looked at me, half wistfully, half bitterly, and said with a mocked anguish: "But my name is Suanna?"
3) Way too many Cambodians are missing appendages. Eventually this place will be fully de-mined.
4) Fish foot therapy. In SE Asia, and particularly here, massage parlors have big fish tanks on the ground (holding thousands of gallons of water and huge schools of little fish) in which you place your feet for the fish to nibble on.
5) Today we ran into a woman selling a basket full of deep-fried tarantulas. I was tempted.
Tomorrow we leave for the world capitol of depravity -- Phnom Pehn. We stay there a night and then head south by bus to Kampot, a small town in Southern Cambodia.
Hope all is well.
Today we took a tuk tuk and a longboat to a floating village called Kampong Phhluk on the shores of Tonle Sap, a massive lake that claims millions of acres in the middle of Cambodia. Google it as well. All the huts in the village are built on 25 to 30 foot stilts to account for the huge fluctuation in water levels on the Mekong. Pigs and other animals meant for eating are caged in floating pens.
Other miscellaneous notes:
1) Yesterday I accidentally formated the memory card in my camera and lost about 400 photos dating back to week one in Laos. I was crushed. I did some research online and found some websites advertising software which allows you to recover erased data on a memory card. I pray the software is legit.
2) Tauts. Some tauts will try to sell you just about anything. For example, in Nepal, at 6:00 in the morning, a rickshaw driver accosted me outside of our guesthouse and the following conversation took place:
Him: Rickshaw?
Me: No thank you.
Him: Trek, take you to Everest, see big mountain?
Me: No.
Him: Hash?
Me: Sorry.
Him: Laundry
Me (I shake my head with a smile and walk away)
Him: Where you from?
Me: America.
Him: Rickshaw?
Other tauts will try to sell you something you clearly don't need. For example, yesterday while riding our bikes a tuk tuk driver yelled: "Tuk tuk, where you go?"
Other tauts will use clever lines to lure you into buying their stuff. For example, today Erin and I walked towards a few roadside stands to get a drink and 4 young girls came sprinting towards us, screaming and carrying on. When we decided to buy a coke and a sprite from one of the girls, another girl who lost out on the sale looked at me, half wistfully, half bitterly, and said with a mocked anguish: "But my name is Suanna?"
3) Way too many Cambodians are missing appendages. Eventually this place will be fully de-mined.
4) Fish foot therapy. In SE Asia, and particularly here, massage parlors have big fish tanks on the ground (holding thousands of gallons of water and huge schools of little fish) in which you place your feet for the fish to nibble on.
5) Today we ran into a woman selling a basket full of deep-fried tarantulas. I was tempted.
Tomorrow we leave for the world capitol of depravity -- Phnom Pehn. We stay there a night and then head south by bus to Kampot, a small town in Southern Cambodia.
Hope all is well.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Post-Mortem On Lao and Intro to Cambodia
We're now in Siem Reap, Cambodia, the home of the temples of Angkor. After our first day here Erin and I already long for the laid-back, don't-give-a-shit-about-a-thing attitude of the Lao. Literally, as soon as you cross the border the scammers, hustlers, cantankerous tuk tuk drivers, and the absolutely-cannot-take-no-for-an-answer tauts descend upon you like Sancho Pancito pouncing on anything resembling food (including your fingers and forearms and sometimes toes).
Today we spent the day visiting some of the further afield temples of Angkor. For those of you unfamilar with the temples (as I was before I arrived here), most of them were built in the 10th century (I think) by the Khmer. They are spread out over some 20 to 30 square kilometers, and collectively they are referred to as the 8th Wonder of the World (I think). We saw 3 temples today. Each was different and all were impressive. Tomorrow we plan to rent bikes and ride to the closer temples.
Erin and I already miss Laos. For me, taking into consideration all the factors one could use to judge the likeability of a country -- natural landscape, people, food, culture, safety, etc. -- Laos ranks high in every category. The landscape, while not all that diverse, is stunning, the people are the friendiest I've come across in all my travels, the food is good (not as good as Thai), the culture is fascinating, and Laos may very well be the safest place I've ever been to (hopefully it stays that way). Erin and I would definitely like to return one day.
We whiled away our last few days in Laos (mostly swaying in hammocks and sweating profusely) on the island of Don Dhet in the Four Thousand Islands, where I think experiments are being actively conducted to breed a colony of catatonics. The Islands are near the Cambodian border, where the Mekong swells several kilometers wide like the bloated belly of a sated snake. In the languid muddy waters surrounding the islands resides a small pod of the extremely rare Irrawaddy River Dolphin. One day we hired a longboat to take us where the dolphins are most often viewed -- from a sweltering rock in the middle of a wide bay, with Laos on one side and Cambodia on the other -- hoping to catch a glimpse of one. We were lucky to see a few. Though they never got any closer to us than maybe 300 yards or so (wierdly, they seemed to have had an affinity for the Cambodian side of the bay, which can't be held against them), it was exciting nevertheless.
Final few notes on Laos:
1) Like the Chinese, the Lao will eat anything. Barbecued rats on a stick, fried grasshopers, flying ants, full-bodied frog stew, etc.
2) You rarely see old people but the country is teeming with small children (who are the cutest kids on the planet, bar none).
3) Riding a moped is family affair. We've spotted a mother, father, and their 3 kids piled onto a single moped.
Hope all is well.
Today we spent the day visiting some of the further afield temples of Angkor. For those of you unfamilar with the temples (as I was before I arrived here), most of them were built in the 10th century (I think) by the Khmer. They are spread out over some 20 to 30 square kilometers, and collectively they are referred to as the 8th Wonder of the World (I think). We saw 3 temples today. Each was different and all were impressive. Tomorrow we plan to rent bikes and ride to the closer temples.
Erin and I already miss Laos. For me, taking into consideration all the factors one could use to judge the likeability of a country -- natural landscape, people, food, culture, safety, etc. -- Laos ranks high in every category. The landscape, while not all that diverse, is stunning, the people are the friendiest I've come across in all my travels, the food is good (not as good as Thai), the culture is fascinating, and Laos may very well be the safest place I've ever been to (hopefully it stays that way). Erin and I would definitely like to return one day.
We whiled away our last few days in Laos (mostly swaying in hammocks and sweating profusely) on the island of Don Dhet in the Four Thousand Islands, where I think experiments are being actively conducted to breed a colony of catatonics. The Islands are near the Cambodian border, where the Mekong swells several kilometers wide like the bloated belly of a sated snake. In the languid muddy waters surrounding the islands resides a small pod of the extremely rare Irrawaddy River Dolphin. One day we hired a longboat to take us where the dolphins are most often viewed -- from a sweltering rock in the middle of a wide bay, with Laos on one side and Cambodia on the other -- hoping to catch a glimpse of one. We were lucky to see a few. Though they never got any closer to us than maybe 300 yards or so (wierdly, they seemed to have had an affinity for the Cambodian side of the bay, which can't be held against them), it was exciting nevertheless.
Final few notes on Laos:
1) Like the Chinese, the Lao will eat anything. Barbecued rats on a stick, fried grasshopers, flying ants, full-bodied frog stew, etc.
2) You rarely see old people but the country is teeming with small children (who are the cutest kids on the planet, bar none).
3) Riding a moped is family affair. We've spotted a mother, father, and their 3 kids piled onto a single moped.
Hope all is well.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
More Miscellaneous Lao Items
We're now in Central Laos, in a town called Tha Khaek. I wasn't expecting much of the town - it is more or less a place to layover for the night before we head south tomorrow -- but it is actually quite lovely. Nestled on the banks of the Mekong, with a palm-tree esplanade, and, of course, the slow-moving Lao people doing much of nothing -- it'll be a nice place to see the sunset and eat some more curry.
Here are some more tidbits from the last few days:
1. Tree Snake: We did a hike to a cave outside of Vang Vieng, on a trail that cuts through rice fields and a teak forest. In the woods we heard a noise in the tree. I looked up and saw the tail of a snake twirling on the outside of a gnarled trunk of a teak tree, the rest of its body burrowed in a hole in the tree. Moment later two large rodents came scurrying down the trunk, running for their lives. Later we came back the same way and the snake was still there, this time its entire body coiled around a higher branch. He was lime-green, about 6 feet long, surveying his environs in a creepy serpentine way. Beautiful creature.
2. Venetiene: The capitol of Laos -- felt more like a sleepy provincial town, with a heavy dose of French influence. I could have spent more time there but we are now moving a little more quickly so we have more time in other countries.
3. Kong Lor Cave: From Vientienne we took a chicken bus to a small village called Vieng Kham, then transfered to a sawngthaew (essentially a pickup truck with two parallel benches in the bed of the truck, on which can be squeezed, like clowns in a volkswagon, about 20 people) to a village called Ban Na Him. From there we took another sawngthaew to the Kong Lor Cave. The main chamber of the cave is 7.5 kilometers long; it starts on one side of a mountain and ends on the other. There is a river that runs through the cave, the entire length of which is navigable by longboat. Our boatsman manning the helm was our One-Eyed Willy. I don't know how he lost his eye and I don't want to know. The trip down the river was like traveling through the intestines of a whale, with the Mystery Machine, along with Scooby, Shaggy and the rest of the gang, waiting for us on the other end. The scoured and scalloped ceiling varied in height -- anywhere from 5 feet over our head to who knows how high. It was truly unlike anything I've ever experienced.
4. School Fundraising Event. Erin and I, along with a Canadian we met on the bus to Ban Na Him, went to a party in the village being held to raise funds to add another room to the school house in the village. There was heavy imbibing of alcohol by the locals and Lao dancing, which must be seen to believe. It is exactly what you'd expect Lao dancing to look like -- no lower body movement whatsoever, just the ever so slow movement of the hands in a twirling motion and some swaying back in forth. We, of course, being the only falangs (Lao word for "westerner") there, were forced to dance. I actually felt, for the first time in my life, somewhat competent on the dance floor (despite the laughing of the Laos who I think we're amused not just by the novelty of falangs dancing Lao-style but also by our impressive, graceful hand movements).
5. UXO. There is still unexploded ordnance in rural areas in northern, central and southern laos, graciously dropped by american planes during bombing raids in the late 60s and early 70s. It bothers me to no end to think that our bombs are still killing Lao people -- these people don't deserve that. They are so pleasant it almost seems Leave-it-to-Beaveresque unreal. On our drive in the sawngthaew to and from the cave yesterday farmers in the rice fields would stop their work to stand up and wave to us. Virtually every child playing on the side of the road or riding a bike or standing naked on the threshold of a bamboo hut would pause and wave and scream "Sabidee." There are three kids standing outside of the internet place right now greeting me with a hearty "Sabidee." I pray modernization, which is starting to leak in (and could come swooping in soon), and the devouring dollar of the falang, does not change these delightful people.
6. Four Thousand Islands: We're headed to southern Laos tomorrow, towards the Four Thousand Islands of the Mekong River, on the border of Cambodia. We've heard its even more slow-paced and somnolent than the rest of Laos. I look forward to it.
Hope all is well.
I think I need to say again -- Laos is a special
Here are some more tidbits from the last few days:
1. Tree Snake: We did a hike to a cave outside of Vang Vieng, on a trail that cuts through rice fields and a teak forest. In the woods we heard a noise in the tree. I looked up and saw the tail of a snake twirling on the outside of a gnarled trunk of a teak tree, the rest of its body burrowed in a hole in the tree. Moment later two large rodents came scurrying down the trunk, running for their lives. Later we came back the same way and the snake was still there, this time its entire body coiled around a higher branch. He was lime-green, about 6 feet long, surveying his environs in a creepy serpentine way. Beautiful creature.
2. Venetiene: The capitol of Laos -- felt more like a sleepy provincial town, with a heavy dose of French influence. I could have spent more time there but we are now moving a little more quickly so we have more time in other countries.
3. Kong Lor Cave: From Vientienne we took a chicken bus to a small village called Vieng Kham, then transfered to a sawngthaew (essentially a pickup truck with two parallel benches in the bed of the truck, on which can be squeezed, like clowns in a volkswagon, about 20 people) to a village called Ban Na Him. From there we took another sawngthaew to the Kong Lor Cave. The main chamber of the cave is 7.5 kilometers long; it starts on one side of a mountain and ends on the other. There is a river that runs through the cave, the entire length of which is navigable by longboat. Our boatsman manning the helm was our One-Eyed Willy. I don't know how he lost his eye and I don't want to know. The trip down the river was like traveling through the intestines of a whale, with the Mystery Machine, along with Scooby, Shaggy and the rest of the gang, waiting for us on the other end. The scoured and scalloped ceiling varied in height -- anywhere from 5 feet over our head to who knows how high. It was truly unlike anything I've ever experienced.
4. School Fundraising Event. Erin and I, along with a Canadian we met on the bus to Ban Na Him, went to a party in the village being held to raise funds to add another room to the school house in the village. There was heavy imbibing of alcohol by the locals and Lao dancing, which must be seen to believe. It is exactly what you'd expect Lao dancing to look like -- no lower body movement whatsoever, just the ever so slow movement of the hands in a twirling motion and some swaying back in forth. We, of course, being the only falangs (Lao word for "westerner") there, were forced to dance. I actually felt, for the first time in my life, somewhat competent on the dance floor (despite the laughing of the Laos who I think we're amused not just by the novelty of falangs dancing Lao-style but also by our impressive, graceful hand movements).
5. UXO. There is still unexploded ordnance in rural areas in northern, central and southern laos, graciously dropped by american planes during bombing raids in the late 60s and early 70s. It bothers me to no end to think that our bombs are still killing Lao people -- these people don't deserve that. They are so pleasant it almost seems Leave-it-to-Beaveresque unreal. On our drive in the sawngthaew to and from the cave yesterday farmers in the rice fields would stop their work to stand up and wave to us. Virtually every child playing on the side of the road or riding a bike or standing naked on the threshold of a bamboo hut would pause and wave and scream "Sabidee." There are three kids standing outside of the internet place right now greeting me with a hearty "Sabidee." I pray modernization, which is starting to leak in (and could come swooping in soon), and the devouring dollar of the falang, does not change these delightful people.
6. Four Thousand Islands: We're headed to southern Laos tomorrow, towards the Four Thousand Islands of the Mekong River, on the border of Cambodia. We've heard its even more slow-paced and somnolent than the rest of Laos. I look forward to it.
Hope all is well.
I think I need to say again -- Laos is a special
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Miscellaneous Lao Items
We are now in a town called Vang Vieng. Beautiful but strange. The town caters to the party scene, and thus attracts a slew of kids looking for a safe place to drink and dabble with drugs. They serve "Happy Shakes" here (no need to say more). There are bars with beds and tvs looping "Friends" and "The Family Guy" episodes all night long. We leave tomorrow for Venetiene, the capitol of Laos.
Some miscellaneous bits:
1. Monk Parade: Every morning in Luang Prabang the monks wake at 5:30 am. The drums at each of the dozens of monasteries in town begin to beat at 6:00 am, at which time the tangerine-robed monks come out of the monasteries in single file, hundreds of them. The townfolk are already up, kneeling on mats on the streets with food (mainly sticky rice) to offer to the monks. The monks carry a gold jar around their necks and as they walk through the town the people put food in their jars. If the monks have too much food they give back to people who are need (who also kneel on the streets with empty containers). It was quite moving.
2. Trip to Nong Khiaw. We, along with a Dane and French couple we met in Luang Prabang (Anis and Laila) took a small long-boat up a small tributary of the Mekong to village called Nong Khiaw. The boat ride was long but worth it. The tributary winds through quite villages and towering karsts that resemble Marge Simpson's hairdo. The mountains in Laos are quite stunning -- they'd be the perfect backdrop for the next King Kong movie.
3. Cave outside of Nong Khiaw. We went to cave outside Nong Khiaw where the Lao and Vietnamese villagers hid during American bombing raids between 1965 and 1974. A Lao teenager told us many Lao people in his village died from the bombing. Erin said "sorry" then said "we're Canadian." Very sad. It's hard to believe anyone would want to kill a Lao. They are some unbelievably friendly, quick to smile, quick to say "Sabidee" ("hello" in Lao), and are so gentle. Love the Lao.
4. River Life. Northern Laos is laced with rivers, big and small. They are the life-blood of the Lao people. It is where they fish, bath, wash their clothes, brush their teeth, pan for gold, harvest seaweed, move goods to market, move themselves around, swim etc. etc.
5. Paul in Lao means "papa."
6. Roadside Oral Surgery. On the bus ride between Luang Prabang and Vang Vieng I saw a young Lao child lying on a dentist chair on the side of the road, his mouth obediently open, while two western dentists in scrubs performed oral surgery and virtually the entire village stood around the chair watching, agog.
7. Orange Motor Scooter. Erin and I rented a motor scooter today and drove over dirt roads through villages and beautiful karst scenery. Went to another limestone cave -- they are everywhere -- with ceilings at least two hundred feet high and stalagmites and tites growing from the floor and ceiling like crystal brain coral. There was a reclining gold Buddha in the main room awash with sunlight radiating through the cave mouth.
8. Slow. This entire country is in slow motion. I don't think I've been on, or seen, a vehicle with two wheels go faster than 40 mph, and I have yet to see a Lao person in a hurry to do anything. A very nice change of pace.
9. Anis and Laila. A lovely couple residing in Copenhagen. In the words of Anis, we had a number of "cozy" nights together on the banks of the Mekong, the Nam Ou, and the Nam Khan. We hope to see them again someday.
10. We are still really enjoying Laos. I don't look forward to leaving it.
Some miscellaneous bits:
1. Monk Parade: Every morning in Luang Prabang the monks wake at 5:30 am. The drums at each of the dozens of monasteries in town begin to beat at 6:00 am, at which time the tangerine-robed monks come out of the monasteries in single file, hundreds of them. The townfolk are already up, kneeling on mats on the streets with food (mainly sticky rice) to offer to the monks. The monks carry a gold jar around their necks and as they walk through the town the people put food in their jars. If the monks have too much food they give back to people who are need (who also kneel on the streets with empty containers). It was quite moving.
2. Trip to Nong Khiaw. We, along with a Dane and French couple we met in Luang Prabang (Anis and Laila) took a small long-boat up a small tributary of the Mekong to village called Nong Khiaw. The boat ride was long but worth it. The tributary winds through quite villages and towering karsts that resemble Marge Simpson's hairdo. The mountains in Laos are quite stunning -- they'd be the perfect backdrop for the next King Kong movie.
3. Cave outside of Nong Khiaw. We went to cave outside Nong Khiaw where the Lao and Vietnamese villagers hid during American bombing raids between 1965 and 1974. A Lao teenager told us many Lao people in his village died from the bombing. Erin said "sorry" then said "we're Canadian." Very sad. It's hard to believe anyone would want to kill a Lao. They are some unbelievably friendly, quick to smile, quick to say "Sabidee" ("hello" in Lao), and are so gentle. Love the Lao.
4. River Life. Northern Laos is laced with rivers, big and small. They are the life-blood of the Lao people. It is where they fish, bath, wash their clothes, brush their teeth, pan for gold, harvest seaweed, move goods to market, move themselves around, swim etc. etc.
5. Paul in Lao means "papa."
6. Roadside Oral Surgery. On the bus ride between Luang Prabang and Vang Vieng I saw a young Lao child lying on a dentist chair on the side of the road, his mouth obediently open, while two western dentists in scrubs performed oral surgery and virtually the entire village stood around the chair watching, agog.
7. Orange Motor Scooter. Erin and I rented a motor scooter today and drove over dirt roads through villages and beautiful karst scenery. Went to another limestone cave -- they are everywhere -- with ceilings at least two hundred feet high and stalagmites and tites growing from the floor and ceiling like crystal brain coral. There was a reclining gold Buddha in the main room awash with sunlight radiating through the cave mouth.
8. Slow. This entire country is in slow motion. I don't think I've been on, or seen, a vehicle with two wheels go faster than 40 mph, and I have yet to see a Lao person in a hurry to do anything. A very nice change of pace.
9. Anis and Laila. A lovely couple residing in Copenhagen. In the words of Anis, we had a number of "cozy" nights together on the banks of the Mekong, the Nam Ou, and the Nam Khan. We hope to see them again someday.
10. We are still really enjoying Laos. I don't look forward to leaving it.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Luang Prabang -- Part II
We're still Loa-ing about in Luang Prabang. We've been here five days now but we're beginning to lose track of time. I think they spike the water here with opium. Everyone and everything moves at a graceful, insouciant, lethargic, I-don't-need-to-get-anywhere-anytime-soon pace. Not even the tauts have the mental wherewithal or energy to taut, giving half-ass pitches. We've been told that southern Laos is even more relaxed and sloth-like. If true, Erin and I may need to hire motorized mobility scooters to get around and tie bags around our necks to catch the strings of spittle sure to be dangling from our drooling lips.
Not to state the obvious: I'm really really enjoying northern Laos so far. It's lush, mountainous, bountiful; the people are kind and gentle and zen-like. The women sit demurely side-saddle on the back of barely-moving mopeds holding colorful umbrellas to shield them from the warm sun, tangerine-robed monks chat in the cool shade of bougainvillas in full flower within the verdant grounds of the dozens of monasteries on the pennisula, the enveloping rivers flow in lazy swirls around the bend and towards the sea -- sun glinting on the tops of young boys heads who splash and play in the water -- and longboats quietly ply the waters delivering locals to their neighboring villages. It is very easy -- way way too easy in fact -- to sit at one of the small restaraunts on the banks of a river -- really melt into your chair -- and while away several hours, not even noticing the time go by.
The other day we hired a tuk-tuk (a glorified open-aired golf-cart that can carry four to six people in the back sitting on parallel benches) and went to a waterfall -- actually a series of waterfalls in the rainforest that cascade into menthol green pools. The swim was the first we've had this entire trip -- needless to say it was way over due and luxurious.
I think we've both decided to spend more time in Laos then we originally planned. Our next destination is a small village called Nong Khiaw, north of Luang Prabang and set on the banks of a small tributary of the Mekong. We take a long-boat there tomorrow. We may continue northward by boat after that until we get to Phongsili at the verymost northern tip of Laos, near the Chinese border. We've been told the vistas along the river from Luang Prabang to Nong Khiaw are a sight to behold. We're looking forward to it.
Hope all is well.
Not to state the obvious: I'm really really enjoying northern Laos so far. It's lush, mountainous, bountiful; the people are kind and gentle and zen-like. The women sit demurely side-saddle on the back of barely-moving mopeds holding colorful umbrellas to shield them from the warm sun, tangerine-robed monks chat in the cool shade of bougainvillas in full flower within the verdant grounds of the dozens of monasteries on the pennisula, the enveloping rivers flow in lazy swirls around the bend and towards the sea -- sun glinting on the tops of young boys heads who splash and play in the water -- and longboats quietly ply the waters delivering locals to their neighboring villages. It is very easy -- way way too easy in fact -- to sit at one of the small restaraunts on the banks of a river -- really melt into your chair -- and while away several hours, not even noticing the time go by.
The other day we hired a tuk-tuk (a glorified open-aired golf-cart that can carry four to six people in the back sitting on parallel benches) and went to a waterfall -- actually a series of waterfalls in the rainforest that cascade into menthol green pools. The swim was the first we've had this entire trip -- needless to say it was way over due and luxurious.
I think we've both decided to spend more time in Laos then we originally planned. Our next destination is a small village called Nong Khiaw, north of Luang Prabang and set on the banks of a small tributary of the Mekong. We take a long-boat there tomorrow. We may continue northward by boat after that until we get to Phongsili at the verymost northern tip of Laos, near the Chinese border. We've been told the vistas along the river from Luang Prabang to Nong Khiaw are a sight to behold. We're looking forward to it.
Hope all is well.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Longboat Down the Mekong and Luang Prabang
We are now in Luang Prabang, the Santa Fe of Southeast Asia. It is a jewel of a town -- an expensive jewel (by southeast asian standards) but a jewel nonetheless. The town sits on a pennisula shaped like a finger, all of which has been designated world heritage. One side of the pennisula is the Mekong and on the other a tributary called the Nam Khan. Both are lazy rivers which, in combination with the palms and bamboo gently swaying in the light breeze, lend the town an intoxicatingly, soporific air. Like Chiang Mai, the town is studded with Buddhists temples, and the old, french colonial buildings and villas, the little cafes along the streets and tree-lined lanes, and the easy-going and friendly Lao people create an atmosphere conducive to what we were looking for: relaxation. We hope to spend at least a few days here.
Unfortunately the longboat trip from Chiang Mai to Luang Prabang has become a well-beaten path. The stampeding herd are mostly europeans (and some americans) in their early twenties traveling on the super-highway that is the southeast asian circuit. Over the past few years small parts of Laos have been coopted by the young and the brash in hot pursuit of yet another exoctic, untouched location where they can imbibe mass quantities of alcohol and smoke gonj and opium with impunity. I'm sounding like an old man.
The longboat trip was really a two-day booze cruise for the young runts. With their crates of BeerLao, they coelesced at the front of the boat, led by a couple of ragged californians with a guitar and a harmonica, neither of whom could play a chord in tune, and composed a host of campfire-like sing-alongs that seemed to last as long as a Grateful Dead set. We were treated to stellar renditions of Stand By Me and Hotel California on both days. A group of drunken Thais got into the action late on the second day and played their own Thai rendition of Hotel California. Very poignant.
Despite the sideshow, the boat trip was well worth it. The muddy, roiling Mekong cuts through jungle-clad hills sprinkled with small, remote villages of bamboo and thatch huts. Fisherman wander down to the elegantly-straited sand beaches on the banks of the river to check their nets that are tied onto the ends of bamboo poles set into the cracks of rocks the color of pewter and plum and that rise from the water like the barnacled heads of humback whales or the grinning snouts of a pod of porpoises coming to the surface for a sneak peek at terra firma.
One the second day I saw a fisherman wearing a conical "non la" hat crouched like a tiger on the aft deck of a longboat pulling up a net near the bank of the river. As we passed by -- the prow of our boat cleaving the turbid waters and sending a wave towards shore which the man rode out like a gentleman bullrider -- as we passed by, he looked up and stared at us quizically - a boat load of tourists, many of us snapping photographs, others brandishing a bottle of beer and yodling at the tops of their lungs. I was in a reverie at the time, having already consumed a lukewarm BeerLao myself, and thought that while I was only 20 yards away from the crouching man our lives were worlds apart. I was just passing through, a voyeur, a spectator, nothing more, watching, like a movie reel, a snippet of a the day in the life of a man whose simple-but-hard means of subsistence, which at times I naively admire and sometimes envy, was inscrutable, incomprehensible, illegible. It was no different in Nepal or Georgia or Armenia. I sometimes mistakenly paint their lives with a patina, probably because many of their villages are so ridiculously idyllic in setting it makes you want to cry. Or maybe I ascribe to every one of them the same words once uttered to me by my soft-spoken guide, Portfilio, in Boliva. I stupidly asked him if he would ever like to go to New York City. He said in his very broken spanish, while pointing at the snow-capped peaks of the Cordillera Real: "No. Que tranquilo! Que linda!" But I've learned that not everyone living in a beautiful village in a developing country feels that way. Alot of them are outwardly happy, most of the kids are laughing in the sun, riding on their dad's backs, rolling down sand dunes on the banks of the Mekong. I'm sure some if not most of them are quite content where they are. Others want to come to the USA-- we've been tod as much. I wondered as I passed the crouching tiger if he envied us -- if he wanted what we had.
Sorry, this is getting long and trite.
We'll be in Luang Prabang for a few more days. I'll blog again once we see more of it.
Unfortunately the longboat trip from Chiang Mai to Luang Prabang has become a well-beaten path. The stampeding herd are mostly europeans (and some americans) in their early twenties traveling on the super-highway that is the southeast asian circuit. Over the past few years small parts of Laos have been coopted by the young and the brash in hot pursuit of yet another exoctic, untouched location where they can imbibe mass quantities of alcohol and smoke gonj and opium with impunity. I'm sounding like an old man.
The longboat trip was really a two-day booze cruise for the young runts. With their crates of BeerLao, they coelesced at the front of the boat, led by a couple of ragged californians with a guitar and a harmonica, neither of whom could play a chord in tune, and composed a host of campfire-like sing-alongs that seemed to last as long as a Grateful Dead set. We were treated to stellar renditions of Stand By Me and Hotel California on both days. A group of drunken Thais got into the action late on the second day and played their own Thai rendition of Hotel California. Very poignant.
Despite the sideshow, the boat trip was well worth it. The muddy, roiling Mekong cuts through jungle-clad hills sprinkled with small, remote villages of bamboo and thatch huts. Fisherman wander down to the elegantly-straited sand beaches on the banks of the river to check their nets that are tied onto the ends of bamboo poles set into the cracks of rocks the color of pewter and plum and that rise from the water like the barnacled heads of humback whales or the grinning snouts of a pod of porpoises coming to the surface for a sneak peek at terra firma.
One the second day I saw a fisherman wearing a conical "non la" hat crouched like a tiger on the aft deck of a longboat pulling up a net near the bank of the river. As we passed by -- the prow of our boat cleaving the turbid waters and sending a wave towards shore which the man rode out like a gentleman bullrider -- as we passed by, he looked up and stared at us quizically - a boat load of tourists, many of us snapping photographs, others brandishing a bottle of beer and yodling at the tops of their lungs. I was in a reverie at the time, having already consumed a lukewarm BeerLao myself, and thought that while I was only 20 yards away from the crouching man our lives were worlds apart. I was just passing through, a voyeur, a spectator, nothing more, watching, like a movie reel, a snippet of a the day in the life of a man whose simple-but-hard means of subsistence, which at times I naively admire and sometimes envy, was inscrutable, incomprehensible, illegible. It was no different in Nepal or Georgia or Armenia. I sometimes mistakenly paint their lives with a patina, probably because many of their villages are so ridiculously idyllic in setting it makes you want to cry. Or maybe I ascribe to every one of them the same words once uttered to me by my soft-spoken guide, Portfilio, in Boliva. I stupidly asked him if he would ever like to go to New York City. He said in his very broken spanish, while pointing at the snow-capped peaks of the Cordillera Real: "No. Que tranquilo! Que linda!" But I've learned that not everyone living in a beautiful village in a developing country feels that way. Alot of them are outwardly happy, most of the kids are laughing in the sun, riding on their dad's backs, rolling down sand dunes on the banks of the Mekong. I'm sure some if not most of them are quite content where they are. Others want to come to the USA-- we've been tod as much. I wondered as I passed the crouching tiger if he envied us -- if he wanted what we had.
Sorry, this is getting long and trite.
We'll be in Luang Prabang for a few more days. I'll blog again once we see more of it.
Friday, November 26, 2010
A Tree-hugging Trekkers Dilemma and Toilets in Nepal
As we flew out of Kathmandu a few days ago we were treated to a parting view of the central and eastern Himalayas- the mountains rose far above the clouds and sparkled in the afternoon sun, truly heavenly bodies. I couldn't help but cry a little. I am prone to get a little emotional (this is Erin by the way), its true, but our experience in Nepal was so many adjectives- hard, spectacular, meditative, clarifying, frustrating, disgusting, heartbreaking, uplifting... it was hard not to feel so grateful for such a profound experience.
Our pilgrimage to the biggest mountains in the world was a dream come true. Like any experience though, I felt a tremendous amount of contradiction and internal conflict because of the undeniable impact that we tourist pilgrims have on the massive and yet fragile environment of the Himalaya. I can't help but wonder why it is that we go to such great discomfort and expense to experience the places that we dream about, only to ruin them by being there?
The reality that we all need water, energy, food and shelter and we create waste, has led to the enormous "yak trains," pit toilets draining directly to rivers, and impromptu garbage dumps along the sides of mountain cliffs and streams. In the month of October alone, the Everest area saw over 10,000 visitors, the majority of whom flew there, consumed huge amounts of products that were imported over great distance by yak or human back and left a bunch of waste in an environment where poop and plastic does not break down quickly.
In a place where there is literally water everywhere it all must be purified (for westerner consumption anyway) because there is always someone or some creature higher than you polluting the water source. I suspect that the people living there must suffer constantly from GI issues because they have no choice but to drink the water. While I did learn that Nepal is almost entirely supplied by hydro-power, (the small scale versions in the mountains are cool because they can serve an entire village) they are plagued by"load shedding" which is basically a rolling black-out for hours at a time because the supply can't meet the demand.
In both the Everest and Annapurna regions they are building roads into places that have only been served by trail forever and are so precarious that they cause huge landslides, rock falls and scars on the mountain sides that you can see from far away. But are the roads bad? Is it fair for me to say that the villagers who have historically had to walk for days or weeks to get supplies to feed their families should not have a road because it is bad for the environment? In both regions we were told that many of the villagers really want the roads. Bottled water and bags of chips may be easier to come by due to the roads but they have also destroyed the tea house business in some of the places; trekkers don't want to walk on a road.
And yet tourism is the main economic engine in Nepal. Without us traipsing around their country the Nepali people would theoretically be in financial straits and conditions might be worse for the people than they currently are. And the people of Nepal are so wonderful with their quick and easy smiles, its impossible to imagine not wanting to help them with our tourist dollars.
Needless to say my inner-tree hugger and urban planner spent many hours on the trail duking it out about whether or not I should even be there. My ideas about "sustainable development" just don't match up with the reality in Nepal, or many other developing countries for that matter. I wish that I could say that I've resolved the issue or figured out the answer to the world's problems but I haven't- darn! I'll keep working on it :)
Asian Toilets- an aside
I also wanted to address the issue of the merits and detractors of the Asian Toilet as Nepal was the first place that I've experienced this foreign form of water closet. If toilet talk bothers you please stop reading now. If you know me, you know that I can be passionate about toilets (1.28 gallons per flush pressure assisted models are my current fave!) mainly because we flush billions of gallons of clean drinkable water into the sewers unnecessarily everyday and efficient toilets can do a lot to prevent this. My work in the green building industry has made me long for the day when waterless composting toilets become the norm in our houses and commercial buildings, saving the precious resource that we will someday fight wars over, but I digress.
You can usually smell it before you see it, the Asian Toilet is a porcelain fixture with grip pads on either side for your feet and a hole in the back that presumably leads to a sewer (wishful thinking on my part). The toilet is set directly into the ground and there is no flushing mechanism. Next to the toilet there is a bucket of water with a dipper in it that you use to flush down the waste. You squat over the toilet to use it and, while I don't exactly understand the mechanics of it, Nepalis use the water bucket and their hand to wipe. You will never find toilet paper supplied in this type of toilet, its BYO TP. Dave W. thanks for the tip on traveling with TP. In touristy places they will have a waste bucket for used TP, otherwise, well it can be tough, I will leave it at that.
As I see it there are some benefits to this type of toilet. Mainly that they require a lesser quantity of water for flushing and the user can vary the amount of water as appropriate. They take up less space than a western toilet and I imagine that they are cheaper to install. In nicer establishments there is often a hose instead of the bucket which may have some hygenic benefits and eliminating the use of toilet paper would make trees rejoice around the world (or at least in my twisted little mind). Paul also believes that there are some health benefits to these toilets, we met another westerner who swears that they eliminate constipation. Hmm...
Detractors of the Asian Toilet abound. The acridic smell can be very overwhelming, particularly when already suffering from GI issues. If you can't squat due to knee/hip or other issues, you are pretty much "s%#t out of luck." I personally found the myth of the local hand-wiping technique to be very disturbing, especially when considering that these are the same people that are preparing your food. Gross.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Chiang Mai
Chiang Mai is a lovely city, well worth the visit. The old city, hemmed in by a square brick wall, is dotted with Buddhist temples glittering in the sultry sunlight. The temples and stupas here are very different than the humble gompas and stupas in northern Nepal. Here they are much more grandiose, the heads of dragons and other mythical beasts bedecked in sparkling silver, red, blue and green glass, the woodwork around the windowsills and doorways carved in intricate patterns and painted in gold enamel, the jade and gold and ivory Buddhas sitting erect -- all Buddha-like -- on their pillowed seats in hallowed, golden halls. It would reek of kitschy, Disney-worldesque pastiche if it wasn't so holy and if didn't move me in some ineffable way.
Monks wander the streets and alleyways of Chiang Mai swadled in orange robes and old western men cruise the nightclubs under the stars, like sharks patrolling a reef, in depraved pursuit of female companionship (to put it delicately). There is an indolence here that is contagious -- it makes one want to sit at one of the streetside cafes and sip on a cold beverage and read a good book.
The food is a dream come true. On more than one occassion I've said, in the middle of a savory Thai feast at home and at the peak of giddiness brought on by a mouthful of pad thai, that I could eat Thai food every meal for the rest of my life. I can now say without a shred of doubt, after having eaten about 7 exquisite, cheap Thai meals in row, that I wasn't lying. I could bath in a broth of Thai chilis, in all their sweet, mesquite, voluptuous heat, and rinse in a stew of coconut milk and green and red and yellow curries. The food is insanely good -- I expected nothing less.
Tomorrow we leave for the Thai/Laos Border. We have to spend a night there, then the next day we get a longboat down the Mekong to Luang Prabang in Laos. The boat trip is two days -- we apparently spend the night in a small, sleepy town on the banks of the river. If Luang Prabang is all that I hope it is we may spend awhile there.
Erin and I want to wish everyone a belated Happy Thanksgiving and to let everyone who may have felt sorry for us for having missed out on a Thanksgiving feast that, while we didn't have turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes, we had pumpkin pie for desert and it was delicious.
Hope all is well.
Monks wander the streets and alleyways of Chiang Mai swadled in orange robes and old western men cruise the nightclubs under the stars, like sharks patrolling a reef, in depraved pursuit of female companionship (to put it delicately). There is an indolence here that is contagious -- it makes one want to sit at one of the streetside cafes and sip on a cold beverage and read a good book.
The food is a dream come true. On more than one occassion I've said, in the middle of a savory Thai feast at home and at the peak of giddiness brought on by a mouthful of pad thai, that I could eat Thai food every meal for the rest of my life. I can now say without a shred of doubt, after having eaten about 7 exquisite, cheap Thai meals in row, that I wasn't lying. I could bath in a broth of Thai chilis, in all their sweet, mesquite, voluptuous heat, and rinse in a stew of coconut milk and green and red and yellow curries. The food is insanely good -- I expected nothing less.
Tomorrow we leave for the Thai/Laos Border. We have to spend a night there, then the next day we get a longboat down the Mekong to Luang Prabang in Laos. The boat trip is two days -- we apparently spend the night in a small, sleepy town on the banks of the river. If Luang Prabang is all that I hope it is we may spend awhile there.
Erin and I want to wish everyone a belated Happy Thanksgiving and to let everyone who may have felt sorry for us for having missed out on a Thanksgiving feast that, while we didn't have turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes, we had pumpkin pie for desert and it was delicious.
Hope all is well.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Bangkok -- Part II
Today we got our Vietnam visas -- at no small expense. While we were waiting for the ornery folks at the embassy to process our visa applications we strolled around Siam Square, an area of town near the embassies littered with modern malls, high rises, and western kitsch and glitz. Out of morbid curiousity we walked into a high-end mall where plasma tvs, cameras, cell-phones, Gucci purses, and calvin klein dresses were on display, whetting the appetites of the neophyte Thai consumers, a giant christmas tree decorated with gold bulbs and strung with twinkling lights lifted its fake bluish-green needles to the sunlight spilling through the glass ceiling panels of the circular atrium, and christmas music played softly over the strategically located speakers in the main corridors. I felt overwhelmed with Christmas spirit -- I was glowing red and green.
The streets are lined with food vendors of every sort. Most of them sell sizzling meats, many resembling the common hot-dog. I, as a general rule, do not eat street meat but today I was tempted. The glistening of the meat, and its tubular shapes, was very hard to resist.
We decided not to go to a Thai island tonight. Instead we are headed north, by red-eye bus, to Chiang Mai, then into Laos, then into Vietnam. We'll check in from Chiang Mai. Hope all is well.
The streets are lined with food vendors of every sort. Most of them sell sizzling meats, many resembling the common hot-dog. I, as a general rule, do not eat street meat but today I was tempted. The glistening of the meat, and its tubular shapes, was very hard to resist.
We decided not to go to a Thai island tonight. Instead we are headed north, by red-eye bus, to Chiang Mai, then into Laos, then into Vietnam. We'll check in from Chiang Mai. Hope all is well.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Bangkok
We're safely in Bangkok. Just had an incredibly spicey spread of mouth-watering Thai dishes -- we've been craving that for a quite awhile. Bangkok is a giantic city. I think we'll save most of it for late January before we fly out. We're trying to figure what to do next. I think we're leaning towards taking a break and spending some time on a quite island off the Andamar coast in southern Thailand. Probably leaving tomorrow night on the red-eye bus.
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