Mama, I’m Comin’ Hoooome

Sitting on the second of three ridiculously long flights today, I have a couple secs to review some choice moments of the last 2 months. I’ll begin with the most recent.

I flew out of Manila this morning en route to Tokyo. Rollin into the airport around 7 AM, I go through the first security check to enter the actual terminal, only to go through security again after check-in, and then ONCE AGAIN at my gate before I finally board the plane. Three times seems a little excessive, no?

Perhaps more disconcerting is that you KNOW it’s only a matter of time before US airports get word of this and feel the need to up the ante. Before we know it we’ll be forced to strip naked and surrender urine, saliva and blood samples to brave the gauntlet of no less than five security checks before boarding a plane. F. Word.

Then again, maybe I shouldn’t speak so soon since at the airport in Bali, this old dude is getting held up at security and they make him go through his bag… First item out? A switchblade. No big deal. The guy seemed pretty amused to boot and/or was in late stages of dementia. Oh what? I can’t bring this on here? Another time in France, another old man was being held up all confused-like and from his carry-on they pull literally 3 bottles of wine. Right after he finished saying he had no liquids in a Ziploc. So close. Those were juuuust over 100 ml buddy.

Anyway, I get through everything unscathed and realize I have like 150 Philippine pesos left, aka about $3. So naturally I figure I might as well buy something and rid myself of otherwise useless cash. Little did I know I was embarking on an impossible task. I look around duty free but obviously ain’t affording no perfume or Gucci shades for 3 bucks so I try to settle for what I really wanted anyway – decent chocolate to eat later in the day (let me just say - Asia, your food is so tasty but your chocolate just sucks).

So I’m perusing the Lindt, Ferrero Rocher and the like but of course it’s all too rich for my blood, err, wallet. I spot a bag of peanut M&Ms and I’m saved, or so I think… I kid not when I say the M&Ms were priced at $8.30. And yes, the price was in US dollars just to drive the gravity of the situation instantly home. EIGHT dollars for peanuts and chocolate blanketed in a tantalizing candy shell! How do these people sleep at night?! Those M&Ms better have been coated in pure gold otherwise I don’t even know how that store pretends to sell anything.

Reluctantly, I finally resigned myself to the fact that no chocolate will be had (decent or otherwise) since I think the airport shop owners conspired to do everything in their power to make it impossible to buy anything besides Ramen noodles for less than $6. Brutal. After searching fruitlessly for a few more minutes through bags of dried pineapple and durian candies (that stinky fruit that I can’t imagine WHO wants immortalized in taffy form), I shuffle to my gate.

Minutes later, I somehow find myself standing in a ridiculously cold air conditioned airport licking an ice cream cone topped with 2 scoops of chocolate & mango ice cream. At 7:30 A.M. What the. How did I come to this? So desperate to spend $3 on something, ANYTHING… it was another instance where I realized I need to think about making some changes in my life…

Anyway I got to Japan for the first of many layovers in Tokyo. I’ll make this short but I know the Japanese are famous worldwide for their technology and this is no more true than when it comes to their toilets. They can sing, blow bubbles and read your kids a bedtime story before you empty your bladder. I just have to ask though - are there more dirty bums here or do the Japanese just really love the bidet? They are everywhere! In every public toilet! Why?! No further questions on that.

Tokyo is also an interesting airport cause if what I was told is true, apparently no major intercom system is in place to call people airport-wide to their gate. As a result they have these genteel Japanese airport people constantly walking around looking for passengers. Case in point - as I type this a small gray haired man just walked by calling final boarding for KLM passengers going to ‘Minneaporis’. Aah Engrish.

Speaking of funny Engrish, the Philippines seemed by far the most Westernized of all the SE Asian countries I visited (I get why, due to US imperialism in the country and whatnot) but even their impeccable English was not immune to funny signs… For example:

Finally. Finally!

They sure didn’t waste anytime there. It drove the Bush grill out of – ah, nevermind.

Aaand my personal favourite:

Ahahaha. I thought some of our shirts with mistranslated Chinese characters were funny but we got NOTHIN on this. Was it some sort of conference? At any rate, somebody really needs to let dude know… you cannot just walk around wearing that.

I’m sad I only got to spend like 5 days in Philippines, most of which was in Boracay aka tourist island paradise but managed to do something cultural besides get my tan on and saw a cockfight (note: word choice will be watched carefully in this paragraph…). Before PETA looks me up and stabs me in the sleep, let me at least say it’s legal in the Philippines. And the fights would’ve happened if I was there or not. That’s all I got.

Ironically, I had just watched the ‘The Little Jerry” episode of Seinfeld literally the day before so I was primed and ready for what I had once thought was a humane, dignified sport. Just kidding, I never thought it was humane but all I kept thinking the whole time was lines from the show.

It was kind of an interesting experience and a lot less gory than I expected. Basically it’s just a ball of feathers and roosters jumping over/at each other and then it’s done with one laying on the ground. Apparently it takes more than a day to see what’s actually going on with their foot razor things.

All told, people watching was a lot more interesting. Apparently normally women aren’t allowed in so me and this other girl from my hostel were like 2 of 5 girls in the whole place while the rest was men going bananas betting on the birds. The point right before the fight starts is the best cause the whole place just erupts with dudes yelling the same word over and over and gesturing wildly. Somehow this supposedly works out to a semi-effective betting system.

I was pullin’ for Chan-Chan and Jr. Tulubhan. Don’t ask me which birds they were.

So at it stands, I’m on a plane bound for Seattle and eventually I’ll land in E-town whereupon I will proceed to promptly die on arrival. Apparently it was –42 CELCIUS (people keep not believing me when I say that) there the day before yesterday. THE HUMANITY!!!!!!!!!!! I could go on with the exclamation marks. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Once again, I’m reminded why I haven’t lived in Canada through the winter in 5+ years. My worst nightmares have come true. Asia’s been good to me so at least I can say I died happy. The one bright spot is I get to see my German again. Shout out to him. I’ma go take a nap.

Merry Christmas kids.

Sungai Geringging

Last Sunday night after two flights on yet another shady Indonesian airline (I’m lookin at you, Lion Air) and a 2 hr cab ride through the country – during which the lost driver stopped to ask for directions not once, not twice, but thrice – I finally got to the Hands On Disaster Relief base in the country outside Sungai Gerringing.

Note: to date I have taken 4 flights within Indonesia on 3 different airlines. I have yet to take a flight that has taken off less than an hour late… Just sayin.

So to back the disaster train up a little: at the end of September two crazy earthquakes – 7.0+ monsters on the Richter scale – struck this part of Sumatra and wreaked some havoc. People died, houses got ravaged and consequently, mad quantities of NGOs rolled in to help with much-needed cleanup and rebuilding. While I was in Yogya, I found out about HODR and a combination of the following led me to believe I should probably go… 1. No plans for the rest of my time in Indonesia/no plans on how to get to Manila from Yogya, and 2. Feeling like I should maybe actually do something for someone in need after engaging in pretty much wholly unbridled hedonism for the last month and a half (heck, maybe the last 23 years?)

Plus, how often am I in Indo – or anywhere for that matter – where I have a free few days to help with disaster cleanup? Game time.

The work mostly consisted of demolishing houses that were made unsafe by the earthquakes having shifted walls and cracked girders and such. Do I know what a girder is? No… but I’ve always wanted to say that. After demolition (or “deconstruction” as we were supposed to refer to it since it sounds less like young kids just going to town tearing houses apart… even though that’s basically what it is) we’d salvage and sort through rubble for bricks, wood, and other good stuff to use for rebuilding.

A day in the life consisted of rollin out stacked 10 deep in the back of a pickup to work from 7:30-11:30 AM and again from 1:30-4:30 PM in some crazy heat and humidity. Let’s just say I got my sweat on reeeeeeal good and I can confidently say I’ve never been so dirty in all my life. Felt good though. I tried at all costs to avoid a sweet farmer tan complete with glove lines but I’m not sure how successful that was….

At the base there were about 30 volunteers between about ages 19 and 35 all living in this converted local house. Cold bucket showers, 2 squat pot toilets between the lot of us and the same exact meal every meal for 3.5 days. ‘Nuff said. It served as a poignant reminder of why I have a strong hatred for the North American version of that experience: camping. Except people camp for “fun”.

I kid. It was all good. Plus, anything more than the basics in that kind of situation just wouldn’t feel right.

The people I had the opportunity to work with were cool and there was a sprinkling of people from all over the world though it seemed most cats were from the UK, Australia and the States. A dude from Ontario, another from Quebec, and I held it down for the Canadian club.

Over the course of my short few days there I saw some interesting stuff, not limited to: 3” giant scorpions, the first Asian woman I have seen smoke a cigarette (that doesn’t sound too exciting but ALL the men smoke and I’ve never seen a woman light up in almost 2 months here) and a couple trained monkeys on really long leashes shimmy up suuuuper tall palm trees and throw the coconuts down to the owners. I need to get me one of those.

It was interesting working at some of the houses that were closer to town because people would constantly stop by to watch what was going on… not help, but watch about 99.9% of the time. That was a bit strange. The local kids would also come watch, usually help til they got bored/tired and inevitably share whatever English they knew. This was always “What is your name, where are you from?” and counting 1-10. They also waved and yelled hello like it was the first time they had seen foreigners every single time the truck passed going to/from sites. That never got old. (That was actually genuine. The fact that I have to point that out is probably indicative of a cynicism problem…).

For sleeping, I scored the coveted bottom bunk right next to the open window. Though ridiculous mosquito bites were an unfortunate side effect, I felt like I was in another world when I could fall asleep under the brightest stars mine eyes have ever beheld and then be woken up at dawn by the haunting melody of call to prayer coming from the neighborhood mosque. Moments like that make this whole travel thing worthwhile…

To sum it up – my time there was short but really worthwhile and I was super glad I got the chance to be a part of the whole operation if only for a few days. If anybody ever wants to volunteer to work on any relief efforts, HODR pretty much sets up wherever help is needed and takes volunteers for as long/short as they can come out. Good deal. Check it out: http://www.hodr.org.

I left yesterday from Padang to get to the Philippines (I’m on a bus now, about to get on a boat to Boracay and it’s been 21 hrs since I left. I have yet to see a bed…). I got 5 days left in Asia. Sad truths right there.

Before I end this, a couple comments/questions I need to throw out there in the world:

Who is buying $1350 shark fin at the airport? While I’m walking to my gate in Jakarta, I pass a “Marine Products Store” selling, among other things, 2 foot by 1 foot size giant dried shark fin. Bear in mind this store is located past security so whoever is buying fin is doing so solely on impulse. What. The. Plus, if that fin tip isn’t a weapon, I don’t know what is. At the same airport I also watched NHL highlights and got a massage while I waited for my connecting flight… so it was a bit of a mixed bag.

Also in the airport was a HUGE sign over baggage claim that read “Drugs: cost is not worth such satisfaction”. For some reason it seemed funny at the time. Satisfaction?

Add this to the list of things that have been yelled my direction by locals: “Hello, thank you!”. Just get all the English you know out there in one go.

I Believe It's Jogging or Yogging. It might be a soft J…apparently you just run for an extended period of time. It's supposed to be wild.

As of Wednesday I’m coolin out in Yogyakarta, still in Indonesia. I decided, sick as Bali was, I should see some of the rest of the country especially since Bali is supposed to be so different. Enter this ville.

So far I’ve visited a village that got straight mowed down by lava after a volcano eruption in 2006, a silver shop, dragon fruit “orchard” (somebody correct me on that one…?), and some rad Buddhist and Hindu temples.

On the rando crazy Asian side – I saw a monkey dressed in shorts & a t-shirt riding a tiny motorcycle on the median at a stoplight while his master played a drum in the hopes of makin some extra scrilla. Now that is the kind of street theatrics I will gladly support. At another stoplight, traditional Javanese dancers complete with costume, makeup and music rolled into the intersection, danced for 30 seconds, then walked around to cars to collect change. This needs to catch on elsewhere... I’d never be bored in traffic again.

Then again, maybe people here just need something to break up the monotony of never going any faster than an average speed of 40 km/h. EVER. Alright, correction, I once hit 50. But the fact that the speedometer in the van I’ve ridden in for the last 3 days tops out at 120 km/h (aka, what 70 mph?) means obviously nobody is getting anywhere near that. I have proof traffic moves this slow in the fact that a dude got off a moving bus today to yell at some lady to move her car, jogged to catch back up to the still-moving bus, and hopped back on.

Anyway, back to the van I’ve been riding in… Dude at my hostel, Mr. Adi has driven me around to all these places rollin deep in an ‘85 Suzuki Super Carry 1000 (I did not make that name up), aka a van without a grill. Yeah. Like inside the van, the front under the dashboard is just wide open. You can watch the ground fly by beneath you. Grill was probably the incorrect term there but whatever.

This grill-lessness allows for a nice breeze to flow through the vehicle during nice weather, but yesterday it starts raining and all of a sudden I find myself being pelted in the face from below. The physics of this were possible due to the fact that my legs are too long to sit in the front of the van so I have to sit in the middle of the 2nd row to accommodate my limbs. This provides an ideal climate for the raindrops to fly in off the wheels, through the hole and at a perfect trajectory to land on only me and my mug. A delight.

Please note the fact that this ice cream bar is referred to as an Instrument of Delight on the bottom. Yes, yes it is.

Before the rainstorm, I had decided to go check out Borobudur a Buddhist temple (Prambanan, a Hindu one, was the next day). Really cool old temples, circa 9th-10th centuries but maybe more interesting – since you can go Wikipedia that noise – is that people here are funny.

I swear, I exaggerate not, when I say people asked to take a picture of/with me upwards of 25 times in 2 days. I counted. It was 27. And I caught people videocamera-ing (it’s now a verb, tell your friends) me on three separate occasions. Just creepin. Paparazzi what? After a while I started to throw my camera into the mix so I now have a plethora of pictures of me with several groups of enthusiastic Indonesian strangers. The perfect souvenir. And I thought the staring had tapered off indefinitely after Cambodia.

For example…

And those are only the ones I got pictures of.

At the silversmith workshop, the cat that runs the place gives me a tour and then proceeds to tell me he’ll give me a better deal only if I bargain in Indonesian. My vocab literally includes banana, careful, thank you and maybe 4 other words (including the numbers 1, 2 and 5. I consistently forget the rest…) so clearly that wasn’t gon cut it. All in the name of a sale, homeboy gives me a mini-vocab tutorial which I dutifully recorded on my giant man-hand. I can make copies if anyone needs one for your next vacay to this part of the world. Maybe the best part is I didn’t even end up buying anything cause I wear gold. Ah well.

I just want to say that I also ate fruit that was the literal consistency of pulled pork. Like shredded, and spiced and shiz. Gudeg? I think that’s the name. Yeah. Made of jack fruit apparently. Interesting… but I’ll keep my food group consistencies separate from now on.

This is fruit.

Finally, while at the store last night I discovered sprinkles in Indo are called chocolate rice (or at least the brand I came across), as I read on the package… maybe explains why the niece of the dude that owns the hostel literally has rotten teeth at age 4 (they are brown and half disintegrated, no word of a lie) since I see her eating them by the spoonful for breakfast, lunch & dinner. Good thing you get a second set for your parents to try again, kid... In the meantime, rebranding those might help with the apparent misunderstanding.

Oh, I head up to Padang, on Sumatra to volunteer for Hands On Disaster Relief rebuilding houses for people that lost them in 2 massive earthquakes that happened up there at the end of September. Should be a cool experience and it’s probably about time I did some good in the world…

Gator Boots

The internet spot I’m currently sitting in is no joke blasting “This Endless Love” (I know anybody who ever attended a wedding in the ‘90s knows what I’m talking about) so I’ma try to keep this short in the interest of not cutting off my own ears. Here we go.

Malaysia happened a week ago and I have to say I was a little underwhelmed. To be fair, it really didn’t have a chance to begin with since it was monsoon season so it poured rain in KL and all the supposedly amazing islands on the east coast were inaccessible due to high waves.
So note to self: monsoon season in Asia is not the same as monsoon season in Arizona which basically translated to the skies might open and it could rain the 2 out of 3 times it rains all year. Maybe.
After getting soaked in KL for a day, moms and I decided to skip out to Langkawi on the west coast where the rains are supposedly reversed. After Thai beaches I should’ve known nowhere else really had a chance but don’t say we didn’t try. Fortunately my mom was impressed so it wasn’t a total loss. Also fortunately, I live to tell about the 3 days there after the croc farm incident.
After a day of moto riding around the island, we decide to try to find this crocodile farm/zoo where they apparently breed the beasts to be made into goods. Gator boots, handbags, all that good stuff. After a few wrong turns we find the place and scope it out. They got baby gators & crocs (I’ma just refer to them as one and the same from now on), deformed ones of which my mom was given a free postcard, big ones, old ones, you name it.
Out of nowhere in one of the pens (?) we see this small Malaysian dude just chillin’ atop the biggest one in the park just havin a leisurely smoke. LIKE HE’S NOT SITTING ON TOP OF A GIANT GATOR. I wanted to tell the kid, you really need to think about making some changes in your life when a gator back is the best spot you can think of to have a cig… but unfortunately I was interrupted mid-thought as his buddy announced that I too could have my turn on the great beast.

I’m sure the gator appreciates being used as an ashtray

Once again - not of my choosing - I find myself entangled in a ridiculous situation involving wild animals. Unlike last time, however, this critter never had a chance to be cute and normally would most likely just swallow me straight up. With these circumstances in mind, I obviously decline… until once again interrupted, this time mid-sentence, by my mom. Taunting me.
I’ma let you finish, but let me just say, Beyonce had the – sorry, what I meant to say is that let me just say that a mother shaming you into what is essentially a sure-death situation amounts to peer pressure the likes of which few can say they have ever experienced. I really didn’t want to do it, but come on, when a 59 year old lady is telling you not to be such a chicken and just get on the gator’s back, you saddle up and you get on the damn gator’s back. The woman did give birth to me after all.
And yeah it doesn’t make sense to me in retrospect either.
So for a mere $5, I put my life in the hands of the smoker kid who gave up his place on the gator’s back to stand in front of it with a 1-inch wide BROOMHANDLE on gator’s jaws/face. I felt so relieved to know dude was protecting my life with such sophisticated equipment.

At the end of it all, I sat on the 33-year old, 2000 lb. gator’s back for max. 65 seconds but only because that’s how long it took for me to revisit the events of my life and realize I didn’t want to die so young. From now on I’ma just stick to wearing gator.

Other than that, we chilled at the beach and tried to nurse my mom back to health. Turns out people really do get swine flu. Who knew. Good thing she lied about being in the vicinity of anyone with the disease within the last 2 weeks to get into the country. Her justification – "I wasn’t near anyone who had it. I had it".
And now we see where I get my logic skills. Care of my mom, the Meek family can now add “importing disease to a foreign country” to its illustrious resume.
After a return trip to KL to pick up my cousin A, we rolled to Bali and sweet glorious sunshine. Bali is awesome, though I still think Thailand had better beaches. I promise that’s the last time I’m gonna say that.

The first, last & only sunrise I will have ever gotten up to see.
We started in Ubud for the first few days, hiked around, saw more monkeys, took part in a Hindu procession to the temple (and pretty much had no idea what was going on the whole time) and prayed with devotees in holy baths outside the city. After, we rolled to the east part of the island to Amed to snorkel this US shipwreck site, then Lovina in the north to see some dolphins and finally Sanur in the south. Covered some ground in 10 days…
Also, we stayed here:

Free lesson for the kids: turns out it's actually a Hindu/Buddhist symbol for good luck/wealth/good fortune… But still. I couldn't help but feel a little awkward walking in and out of that place. Yipes.
In unrelated news, I may or may not have fallen off my moto in Amed going a little too fast down a hill into a sharp turn… sand shoulders really helped my cause. Fortunately the road rash was minimal and I managed to keep it under wraps from a worried mother for like, 45 minutes til we went snorkeling and she busted me when she saw my elbows, foot and whole upper right quad scraped up… Don’t tell Dad?

Pink Helmet. What more can I say.

Since moms & A left on Monday I biked down to the southern tip of the island to peep the famous surf spots – Ulu Watu, Padang Padang, Dreamland etc. It was cool and I meant to take lessons but it never quite worked out so I just watched people that knew how to get it done. Lame yes, but maybe next time. I also figure what with my having to get back in the gym in a month, maybe I should avoid more injury-inducing activities… K, no that wasn’t really it. I mostly just didn’t want to get up at like, dawn for a lesson so I’ll just go with the first more legit excuse.

I finished up in Kuta aka dirtbagville for a night which was taken over with Aussie schoolies gettin drunk off their chops. Unpleasant but I had to chill before I fly today to Yogyakarta, another city in Indo on Java. Someone try to tell me that doesn’t sound like a pretend cartoon place.

Life Is But A Beach Chair

Sweet glorious Thai beaches. They lived up to the description, I’ma just say that straight out. They kill the beach scene dead.

After 2 consecutive nights of “sleeping” on trains, Sarah & I roll into Chumphon, this dirtball coastal town at 1 am, thinking we’ll get a hotel and just sleep til 1 pm to catch our boat to Koh Tao the next day. We were hilariously mistaken. After roaming around the train station, a couple wrong turns and a run-in with a straight up cat-sized RAT – all the while carrying Sarah’s MASSIVE rolling bag cause she’s moving to Australia after the trip – we come across a sight for sore eyes. A beacon of light in the shady, dank streets of Chumphon…. sweet 7-Eleven baby. Stopped in for a Coke slurpee and a pack of gum and we were on the road again.

Unfortunately this particular Sev proved less fruitful than originally hoped since everyone inside pretended not to understand “taxi” and my (frankly, spot on) gestures to CALL ONE PLEASE.
This brings up a related tangent about a common occurrence while travelling in Asia: sometimes you need to ask someone for directions, advice or miscellaneous info of some type so you approach was looks like a competent Thai/Vietnamese/Cambodian/Whatever. No big deal.
It’s at approximately 3 words into a semi-complicated request such as “Is the bus station somewhere on this street?” that you realize this person has NO idea what the sounds coming out of your mouth mean, let alone where to find the Royal Taj.
Unfortunately, you can’t just stop talking 3 words in and walk off, since this would obviously be rude… plus Asians, being the hospitable people they are, will never just tell you they don’t know but instead smile and nod, all the while giving themselves away with this distinguishable glazed look in their eye. so I’ve taken to just changing the question mid-sentence to something simple like “When is your birthday?” and then acting like this is what I really wanted to know all along. Of course I walked all the way across Chumphon to ask you, yes YOU, where and when you were born. And just like that, I disappear like a thief in the night. No sense wasting my breath and your time. We’re all better off this way.
So after asking Palawa where she’s from, how the weather is this time of year up in Chiang Rai and how many siblings she has, I realize this conversation is getting me & Sarah no closer to a bed on which to lay our weary heads. Luckily a toothless moto dude rolls in to buy some cigs at a key moment and offers to take us, 60-lb. rolling bag and all, to the boat office somewhere else in town. Money. You may not be a real moto driver, hell, you may not be sober but we’ll take you son.
Dude hauls us off somewhere, wakes up his friend at a hotel to ask where the boat office is at and we get there only to chill on the luxurious plastic lawn chairs and listen to ridiculously bad Thai karaoke from 2 til 4 am. Longer story shortened – we find a room above the office at about 4:30 when it opens for a hefty $5 and sleep like babies til noon.
First stop was Koh Tao and it was the business. Small, but way chill and just had a good vibe. Good food, good people, and the water. Man, I never seen anything LIKE it. Crystal clear and the most gorgeous shades of turquoise. No wonder people come from all over to dive here. Ballin.

We rolled deep with another Canadian we met on the way to the island, rented motos and explored the island on our own for once. Sweet freeeeeeedom from annoying taxi/tuk-tuk drivers. The sun was setting so we rode off into the dusk over dirt roads and under a palm-framed sky painted a myriad brilliant shades of oranges, pinks and reds.
This place is gon be allllllll riiiiight.

Next day(s) were filled with snorkelling (or snorking as I prefer to say now that I heard it called that like a dozen times by Thais) and loungin’. We came across a beach volleyball court and played a couple sets with some locals and I can proudly say this time was more successful than my first experience back in Cambodia… then again the bar was set impressively low.
Rolled to Koh Phangnan next, which was to be the site of my ultimate downfall. Cruisin ‘round on rented motos, we see an elephant farm on the side of the road and naturally pull over to have another look. Elephants are impressive as usual, munchin on some palm leaves in their stalls, but there’s this monkey. He’s on a leash, hangin around the owner and ooohee, look how cute he is. I take a few pictures of the little critter but he’s gettin a little tired of havin his leash yanked about by the Thai guy and begrudgingly hops on this Swedish dude’s head for a photo op by dude’s wife.

Out of nowhere, monkey reaches the end of his pitiful rope and decides to take it out on my right pointer finger. 2.4 seconds later I’m dead and bloodied, army crawling along the roadside calling desperately for an ambulance. The best part is that the monkey chomps on my digit, and absolutely nobody is even a little concerned. When can a person get some compassion in the world today if not after being bitten by a rabid primate. The Swedish wife was obviously cracked out and had already picked the monkey up to scratch his belly. DID YOU NOT JUST SEE WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!!?!

I think the owner just tried to pretend he didn’t notice until I hold up my bloody wound and he gives me a less than concerned “oh”. Wound cleaned up with some mysterious brown stuff that may or may not have been iodine, I’m out before the seizures set in so bad I can’t drive. And that’s the way it ends. A little anti-climatic cause I never did get rabies or anything else… but me and Sarah thought we should probably show the minimum level of concern and responsibility and ask a pharmacist how worried we should be about me becoming a fingerless wonder. She didn’t seem as amused about the situation as I was (after I reminded myself every 5 mins for the next 3 days that I GOT BIT BY A MONKEY IN RURAL THAILAND, it got a little funnier) and said to ask the owner if the monkey had had a rabies shot. According to him, “It’s ok, it’s ok. No problem”. He definitely didn’t even pretend to understand the question but hey, if I had a dime for every time I’ve heard that from everyone from taxi drivers to well, monkey owners…
The rest of Koh Phangan was more of the same glorious beach living except for the random hairy black hog we saw chillin’ on the side of the road outside this mechanic’s shop one night. It kinda seemed like he was a pet or something but it was random and hilarious when the mechanic dude throws his young son up on piggy’s back for a ride. Similar to bulls, pigs don’t like being touched or ridden.

Last but not least was Koh Phi Phi on the other side of Thailand on the west coast. Getting there was rather an involved process and we had to take a boat to Koh Samui, fly from there to Phuket and then take another boat to Koh Phi Phi the next day. Hmm, that’s not interesting at all. Sorry for that.
Koh Phi Phi was just as rad as the other islands and maybe even more beautiful which I didn’t think was possible. It’s where they filmed The Beach so since my pictures of the place capture neither the beauty of the surroundings nor the beauty of 90’s Leo DiCaprio, go watch it and appreciate.
The one day it poured down rain we did an AMAZING snorkelling trip (still haven’t dived since Sarah in her delicacy can’t go deep as a result of childhood ear surgery… I’m not even bitter Sars don’t worry! Just kidding) and I can confidently say I’m not as scared of fish biting my feet off as I was before. I’m now more scared of monkeys.

We met some cool Swedes who confirmed what I have been told at least, yup, every time Asians try to guess where I’m from, that I look Swedish… even to Swedes. I’m in! I had the brilliance to try to ask them after this that if I was speaking Swedish would they think I was Swedish… Sarah tried to stop me mid-sentence from saying what is one of the dumbest questions anyone has ever uttered but luckily they got what I meant and my credibility as an idiot blonde only went up slightly.
Sarah has now since left me to go back to Australia to be with her man and I’m now kickin’ it with my moms in Malaysia. Actually we’re done with Malaysia, on a flight to Bali right now. More on that later.

Thai Time

Once again I’m like, a good week behind so here goes a full week’s worth of isht in a few paragraphs...
I got to Bangkok last Wednesday to meet up with my sister Sarah, thus putting an end to Chapter 1 of the trip – Vietnam and Cambodia – and my solo status, for a couple weeks at least. SHE’S SO LUCKY TO GET TO ROLL WITH SUCH A COOL GIRL!!!!!!
Wow Sarah, thanks for that.

I had heard mixed things about Bangkok - mostly bad - so I didn’t have the highest of expectations. We were stayin on Khao San Road aka backpacker centrale and it was a little bit of a gong show. Kinda like a Thai Vegas strip with tourists galore and Westerners generally acting a fool. Had some good street Pad Thai so I guess it was redeemed in that respect…
Still, I had to restrain myself more than once from hitting smug old dirtbags rollin’ around with young Thai girls, acting like they gamed hard to get her and earned it or something. OBVIOUSLY YOU’RE TOO MUCH OF A LOSER IN YOUR OWN COUNTRY, thus, take your douchebaggery abroad? At least don’t moonlight like you’re a real couple or something ridiculous like that, with the hand holding and pretend conversations when neither of you speak the same language and such... she ain’t with you for your rugged good looks OR personality, son.

Anyway.
Serenity now.
Moving on.

So we spent all of one day in BKK before we had to get the eff out. I have to agree with whatever I’d heard about people not being fans of the place. From what I saw – obviously not much – it’s just massive and felt sort of sterile compared to Phnom Penh or Saigon. Yeah, they’re all dirty and chaotic but at least the other cities of somewhat comparable size had some weird charm underneath the insanity. Seemed like that was pretty much MIA in Bangkok. Also, EVERYONE tries to make money off you, which happens elsewhere but nowhere near as bad. Nobody can be friendly without trying to take you somewhere, sell you something, or tell you about a ping pong show… Those who’ve been know what I mean.
So we blew that giant popsicle stand and flew to Chiang Mai in northern Thailand. I’d heard good things from just about everyone that’s been there so hopes were high since Thailand was losing the race for sweetness after the intro in Bangtown.

The cab ride to the airport was actually the high point of the city. We had this hilarious taxi driver called ‘Papa Sawat’ who had the most hilarious accent and laugh. Holy catfish, that man loved life. He also enlightened us on his views on ladyboys aka the men that dress up as ladies EVERYWHERE here (which I later got asked in the south if I WAS ONE?!), and tried to teach us a children’s song about elephants in Thai… that was something of a disaster and tried is the operative word there. Not only is my mouth incapable of making those sounds, but there doesn’t seem to be any kind of a distinguishable melody after the first line… Don’t believe me, see below. (If you're reading this on Facebook, you might have to go to the actual blog to see the video... the link to the blog is somewhere on this page).

At any rate, we got the first and last lines down money so we used it to impress locals for the rest of the trip. We were getting it down pretty good; at one point actually considered putting a pointy Asian hat out upside down on the street corner to sing and earn an honest buck... I mean Baht. So cool right now.
Anyway, we got to Chiang Mai and lived in style for a couple days for a solid $2.50 a night so the place already started out on the right foot. Shoutout to the Little Bird Guesthouse heyo.

First night in CM we did a cooking course which was rad besides this one ridiculous German couple in our group. The cutest girl teaching was possibly the smiliest individual I’ve ever met and you’d think teaching foreigners how to butcher Thai cuisine was the most fulfilling job on earth. Fortunately, we all did good and the food was bangin’. For one night at least. Too bad once we try to repeat that operation while not under her watchful tutelage we’re all toast.


There were some cool people in our group besides zee Germans though and the highlight came in the form of this Swedish couple who spoke spotty English at best so following heavily accented instructions was just NOT happenin for them. This resulted in a sort of culinary free-for-all where they just followed whoever was next to them… which worked out fine until you remember that we were all cooking different dishes. Also, all their ‘cooking’ was always done on full-blast heat… The husband for SURE accidentally threw in a few extra “special” ingredients into more than one of his dishes, especially the coconut soup.
The meal was not potluck for a reason.
Check the slick butcher aprons…

Next day was the highlight of the trip to Thailand so far (yeah it had 2 other days to compete with… back up off me). We got up at dawn, aka 8 a.m, to go elephant riding, trekking through the jungle and river rafting on both a rubber and bamboo raft. YEAH. BOY.
The elephants were amazing but somehow we got put on the smallest of the herd (gaggle? troupe? pride?) so I had to feel a little sorry for the beast. After we saw a baby one, chillin next to its parentals and had to go feed him some bananas. It was all fun and games til the mom wanted some lovin’ too and started using me as a personal punching bag til threw some fruit her way too. I still have trunk-whip wounds.

K, that might be a little excessive, but I did get hit a number of times. Good thing elephants move so slow I could dodge her nasty left hook with ease. Rumble in the Jungle vol. 2, WHAT UP.
The jungle trek was fun mostly cause Sarah and the Chinese guy in our crew decided to do it in flip flops and this turned out to be a laughably bad call. We’re hurtling through forest at a rapid pace, limbo-ing under trees, braving raging rivers on precarious bamboo “bridges”… all the while yelling ‘JUNGY!’ every 3 seconds to remember where we are and show the generic French cornflakes of our youth some love. Heids and Dad, I hear your voice every time I say it.
Got to the top, swam in a waterfall, came back.
On the way down the mountain through the morning mists, we see some livestock of the bovine persuasion peacefully grazing on the tender greens of the Thai lowlands, as they were. We slinked comfortably close to them as we passed by on the old bamboo trail. At this point, Sarah turns and brilliantly dares me to touch one of the gentle giants.
Let’s revise the scene. I’m looking deep into the soul-less eyes of this mean muthaf***a. Steel ring through his nostrils, razor-sharp horns gleaming in the blazing sun, this bull is not to be effed with. And yet, for reasons still unknown, I rise to the occasion, reach out and give the white devil a gentle pat on his velvety snout. To be fair, he was smaller than the average bear. Ahem, bull.
To sum up, bulls do not like to be touched. Not when they’re sleeping, not when they’re grazing, not ever. Let that be a lesson to you city folk everywhere. My short life flashed before my eyes as he started, thought about goring me, and then had a last-minute change of heart. Thus, I was fortunately not turned into human shish kabob.
Brushes with death aside, we moved on to confront the river. The “rapids” and rafting were chill. We repped for the Commonwealth with 2 Brits, an Aussie and us in our little boat. Cruising down the river, we also took out the passing boat of Germans with our paddles on the way by. That’s never happened before… After, the guide transfers us to a 25 ft bamboo raft and we’re on our own for the last bit of the trip. Mostly uneventful but how often do you get to ride a bamboo raft so it was cool enough.
And that was it for Chiang Mai.
Would’ve been cooler to stay longer but we had to get to southern Thailand cause Sarah wanted to spend a week on the beach. We decided not to fly back so night train it was. That was all good except I felt like I was sleeping in a space ship. Nothin wrong with that.

Back to Bangkok for a day and then another night train to endless beaches in the south baby.