Vietnam

Gooood morning Vietnaaaaaaam! Well, actually we arrived in Hanoi in the evening and on our 90 minute bus ride into the city we passed dozens of rice fields being tilled by farmers in their conical hats and witnessed an incredibly huge red sunset, which we marveled at how we could stare directly into it. In terms of expectations before we started our trip, Vietnam was near the top of our list. Along with the positive feedback we had heard from other travelers, we had both read a couple good books during our trip, including “Hitchhiking Vietnam” (one woman’s courageous/foolish attempt to traverse the Ho Chi Minh trail in 1994, shortly after Vietnam re-opened its borders to Americans), and “A People’s History of the Vietnam War” which offered perspectives of the “American War” (as the Vietnamese call it) usually left out of American history books (e.g., the Veitnamese villagers and anti-war GIs).

As we entered the capital city, we couldn’t believe the insanity of traffic. We played a game of trying to count to five before hearing any horns and never even made it to three. In the major intersections, which are massive, hundreds of motorbikes entered from every direction without slowing down, miraculously weaved through/around dozens of others, and continued onward; a spectacle that has to be seen to be believed. We would learn later that there are about ten million motorbikes in Hanoi and that means just as many insane/incredible drivers. Also, we learned to cross the street at a slow and steady pace so that the motorcyclists could avoid us, rather than stopping and going which would cause confusion. We were pretty psyched to score a nice big room with A/C, king size bed, French décor, and a balcony for $8/night. The manager asked us about taking one of the popular tours but we were too hungry to think, so we ventured out and ate at one of the countless street vendors that had many items to choose from. Feeling adventurous, we sampled frog and caterpillar larvae. As expected, the frogs tasted like chicken but were very juicy. The caterpillars tasted okay, with a crunchy outer shell and mushy inside but Jason for some reason put a huge scoop on his plate and as the meal wore on, the sight of them began to make us nauseous but nevertheless we managed to clean our plates. Then we went to a bar where a Grateful Dead cover band was playing, which brought Jason back to his days in Chicago doing the same with the Attics, although the closing time of 11 pm was much too early. When we got back to the guest house, it was chained shut, but one of the family members who was sleeping on the floor of the lobby let us in.

Early the next morning, we regretted taking a room with a balcony, as the incessant noise pollution started at about 6 am. We spent the next couple days sightseeing and headed first to the military museum. There were many interesting exhibits from the war, including some of the tanks and planes that had been in combat. It was an emotional roller coaster, with much sadness at the senseless tragedy of the entire war mixed with inspiration at seeing the world unite in opposition to the imperialistic U.S. government. We hope that the world can once again unite in similar fashion vis a vis the Middle East before it’s too late. Our next stop was the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum, which is as big as a city block and indicative of the nation’s unquestioning devotion to their deceased revolutionary leader. His picture graces every Dong note. His name (which was a pseudonym meaning “the enlightened one”) is repeated in their national anthem, and there were as many if not more shrines devoted to him than Buddha. Yet, despite his wishes to be cremated, his body was preserved and displayed at his mausoleum, although we didn’t see it because each November his body is transported to Russia to pay homage to their shared Communist roots. Another reminder of those shared roots was Lenin Park, where there is a large statue of Ho Chi Minh’s ideological forefather.

The next day we fortunately found a sanctuary within the chaos: the Temple of Literature. Many centuries ago, the Chinese controlled Northern Vietnam and this grand structure was a remnant of that era. Having traveled so close but not actually entering China, we have been fascinated by how strong of an influence it exerts over all of Southeast Asia. Confucian shrines were scattered throughout the grounds. The highlight for Jason was the free traditional Vietnamese music show. (Videos will be appearing soon if they’re not already posted.) We then strolled into the adjacent park and saw many elderly folks doing calisthenics or playing badminton, while the younger crowd played a game like hacky sack, except using a cartridge-like object with a feather on the end. The lowlight of the day was when we saw an elderly woman squat and urinate on top of a pile of garbage. As dusk settled, we strolled along the picturesque lake, where every bench was occupied by a couple. After a yummy dinner of noodle soup, we set out to find a dance club on the red river. What appeared on the map to be a short jaunt turned out to be a lengthy hike and we got lost down some random alley where a nice family invited us to dinner but with bellies already full we declined. We eventually made it to the club at about 11:15, and the place was nearly empty and the music was top 40 garbage. But soon a steady stream started filing in and a good vibe was developing, when suddenly the music stopped and the manager became frantic. A few minutes later, some army officers entered and shut the place down because it was midnight. A group who had just arrived and ordered a bottle of vodka with mixers started taking shots to finish up their booze and then jet. We felt like we were in high school again, having a party broken up by the cops. While walking out, we ran into an English speaking Vietnamese woman who explained that all of Hanoi has a midnight curfew and that the only places that stay open late are fancy hotels that can afford to bribe the curfew police.

Our next adventure was a three-day tour of Halong Bay, which consists of hundreds of limestone islands scattered throughout the South China Sea. The next morning, when we checked out of our hotel, the manager unsuccessfully tried charging us 30% more because we didn’t book a tour through him. Instead, we booked directly through one of the companies that runs the tours. When we arrived at the dock, we started chatting with a couple on the same tour who were living in China (he was Chinese-American, she was Chinese). They had also been around SE Asia and were on their way back to China, and painted a very negative picture of Vietnam, saying they’d never come back because the people were abrasive, greedy and conniving. We would soon find out exactly what they meant. After getting on our boat at 11 am, we sat on the dock for two hours waiting because our guide, who was “English-speaking” per the tour agency, couldn’t speak more than a few words of English and had no idea what was going on. We speculated that they were trying to get last minute people on board, none of whom materialized. After eating an ok lunch, we were taken to the largest and most impressive cave we’ve ever seen, which was lit up with varying colors. Because our guide was frantically running around trying to figure out who among our tour had tickets for the caves (we all should have but apparently some did not), we tagged along with another English speaking tour guide. After the caves, we docked on an island to pick up more passengers. Although we were supposed to sleep on the boat the first night, since they’d overbooked, we were going to a hotel. So we sat at the dock for another hour, waiting to be transported to the hotel by a new “English speaking guide” (the first one had supposedly been fired and sent back). A drunk obnoxious German guy who got on the boat started yelling about his passport and put us all on edge when he acted as if it had been lost (which it hadn’t). Nonetheless, they managed to drop another woman’s passport into the water. After they finally straightened out who was going where, we waved farewell to the Chinese couple, whose Vietnam nightmare culminated that night on the boat we should have been on (but first our story).

When we packed in to the van, there was not enough room, because a French couple had been scammed and their receipt didn’t have transport to the hotel listed. There was another bus but after woman yelled at several people, the other driver refused to take her and closed the bus door in her face. Rather than pay the $5 it would’ve cost her to get a motocab (i.e., riding on the back of a motorcycle), she started bawling and screamed at the rest of us in the van, “I can’t believe you guys are just gonna leave us here like this!” Jason was laughing at her, but some other French tourists took pity and we managed to squeeze them in at our expense, as both of us had to endure the hour long journey across the island with huge bags on our laps and in our leg space. We never determined why the boat didn’t just dock on the other side of the island where the hotels were located. Upon arriving at the hotel, we discovered that it was well outside of the town (and its beach) and we were the only ones staying there. All of us were pretty agitated by this point, and then the guide explained that the next afternoon we were on our own, even though there was nothing for us to do. When we booked the tour, we had actually paid extra to have an afternoon of kayaking, but it took us almost two hours to get the guide to agree that we would get what we’d paid for. Ironically, the guide was in school studying “tourism” and the group had fun speculating what the curriculum entailed: misrepresenting tours, counting money, and deflecting responsibility seemed to cover it. But, after things cooled down, we had fun learning some Vietnamese, such as the four different meanings of Ba—grandfather, uncle, mosquito, or disgusting—depending on how it was said (like Chinese, Vietnamese is a tonal language). We also learned how to say “I love you” to each other (Ang You Am/Am You Ang), which generated lots of laughs throughout the rest of our stay.

The next morning, our room had no hot water (despite several claims to the contrary) and we were sent on a pretty strenuous hike where the “English speaking guide” said nothing the entire time. Jason, perhaps subconsciously willing us to the beach, only wore flip-flops and found that they actually provide good traction because they allowed his feet to grip the terrain. On the flip side, they offer little protection and a jagged rock punctured one of them, but fortunately not his foot although it felt like it had. After the hike and after overcoming another stream of objections from the guide about providing kayaks, we went kayaking around some of the islands. The water was disgusting, but the scenery was very similar to El Nido, Philippines so we had a nice afternoon. Then it was back in the van to transfer back to the boat. Incredibly, they didn’t know the tide schedule so we had to wait yet again over an hour because the tide was too low for the boats to dock. This meant we would not be able to kayak in the evening to see the tunnels and caves, which was also promised by the tour agency. To make up for it, we were told we’d be able to see go kayaking the following morning. When we finally got on the boat, we were pleasantly surprised to see the condition of our room which even had its own bathroom with a shower head that wasn’t enclosed! The water in the shower did not drain because the bathroom floor wasn’t slanted enough; so we made sure to sweep the water down so that our room would not flood. After returning to our bedroom following another mediocre dinner, Jason heard a chorus of rats squealing in the walls. Knowing Priti’s fear and loathing of them, when she inquired about the noise, he tried to play it off by telling her “it’s just the wind,” although it didn’t take long for her to figure out we weren’t alone in the room. She did not sleep much, out of fear that one of them would possibly crawl into her bed.

Our tour from hell kept right on rolling as we were awoken at 6 am the following morning to a flooded room. We’re not sure where the water came from, but it ended up covering our bags, though thankfully nothing was ruined. We made our way out to the dock as others were pushing off on fiberglass kayaks. We observed that three of the kayaks were flipped over and had significant holes in the bottoms. As other travelers pushed away in pairs, a quick count revealed that there weren’t enough functioning kayaks for everyone, and of course we were in the back of the line. At this point, Jason became very un-dude as he yelled at them for five minutes (“sorry this, sorry that, it means nothing man!”). Back on the boat, we watched in a mixture of bemusement, incredulity, and RAGE as one of the workers used some epoxy to stick on a handful of fiberglass shreds to “fix” one of the kayaks and then told us, “it’s okay now, you can go.” We obviously chose not to risk it.

The final transfer (which is all this “tour” really was, a series of transfers like a ferry boat) took us to a restaurant back on shore, at which we waited an hour for the rest of the tour groups to arrive before being served another mediocre meal. We decided, along with some Swiss women, who had been completely ripped off and paid twice as much as anyone else, to air our grievances with the tour operator back in Hanoi. After telling the woman who booked us the tour our horrible experiences, she smiled and said that everything was okay since we got to go kayaking; after calling her boss she agreed to refund us $3! When Jason finally got the boss on the phone, she just kept repeating “hello, hello” and feigned incomprehension. We begrudgingly accepted her final offer of $5 (since it was not about the money) but refused to sign off that we had received the refund, thereby pitting the agent against her boss (who was supposedly going to take it out of the agent’s pay). That is how angry we were. The Swiss women were told to take their complaints to the head office down the street; when we arrived in solidarity (again, that angry) there was no one in the office. None of us were surprised. We must apologize as this was undoubtedly painful to read, but trust us it was more painful to live it and then write about it.

The next day in Ninh Binh, a couple hours south of Hanoi, was a complete reversal of our misfortunes. We rented bicycles and went to a river where the scenery was very similar to Halong Bay, with huge limestone rocks on both shores of the river.We avoided the area where there were hundreds of tourist boats and found another boat-woman to take us on her paddle boat. For the entire two hours, as she paddled with her feet, we didn’t see another boat and she took us to her local pagoda which was built right into one of the limestone rocks. We also saw tombstones jutting out of the river. Of course, she screwed us out of change but we didn’t mind since the tour was good. Afterward, we kept riding our bikes and found some more pagodas and caves. Even further, we bumped into some local children who hopped on the backs of our bikes and hung out with us for an hour (though it seemed like more). We met their mother and had fun trying to communicate with no common linguistics. One of the children disappointingly made a grab at Jason’s pocket but was immediately scolded by his mother.

Being kind of pressed for time (or so we thought), we left the following night on an overnight sleeper bus to Hue, which is famous for being ransacked by the North Vietnamese army in their final thrust to defeat the U.S.A. When we got on the bus, there was only one sleeper bed spot open, so one poor guy (who we suspect hadn’t bought a ticket) had to sleep on the floor. Perhaps he slept, because we sure didn’t for more than a few minutes at time, due to the reckless driving and road conditions. For example, Jason awoke several times airborne after the bus had hit a bump. But at least he was in the far back, where the beds were flat, albeit too short for Jason. Priti’s bed, on the other hand, had a metal hump under her back, slanted to make room for the feet of the person behind her. In addition, the intoxicated person above her dropped her blanket several times, requesting Priti retrieve for her. After a few times, Priti feigned being asleep.

Hue was not very exciting and we left the next day for Hoi An, a charming city with a flourishing art scene and where many foreigners go to get inexpensive tailored clothes. Hand-tailored wool suits run about $40 while custom-made suede shoes can be had for $20. Jason, who is like a woman when it comes to shoes, almost succumbed but thought better since he had no room in his luggage for them. We heard stories of people getting ripped off and getting ill-fitting suits, but only when they paid beforehand. Caveat emptor! We explored the market and saw all kinds of interesting seafood. We ended up tasting some of it that night with a five-course meal that ended with mouth-watering string-ray. Jason spent the following day at the beach while Priti went shopping at the market. The beach was somewhat relaxing, although Jason had to ignore the constant harassment from the beach vendors and stay vigilant every time he went in the water. That evening, we met up with Duong, a member of the Danang Easy Riders, who offer motorbike tours of the central highlands. Duong had a number of nicknames, including Uncle #9 since he was the ninth child of his father, who had four wives in different cities. He showed us a notebook full of positive feedback from previous customers and we agreed on a five-day trip to Dalat. Although the cost was steep by Vietnam standards ($110 per day for both of us), we naively figured that we could bypass the constant harassment by getting out of the standard tourist loop (i.e., down the coast). We were ready to put the past behind us and see the real Vietnam!

After securing our bags to the backs of the bikes, we set off into the countryside. The tour started off well enough, and our first stop was a local village where we got to try our hands at making pottery on a manual foot-spun wheel. Duong and Hong then dropped us off at ancient Cham ruins in My Son. The Cham people are Hindus who centuries back controlled a good portion of central Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. Unfortunately for them, they were divided and conquered and now only scattered villages remain of the once mighty empire. As with most ancient sites in SE Asia, the heads were removed from most of the statues. We also got to see a traditional dance show full of beautiful dancers with incredible control of their bodies. We stopped for lunch and the first crack appeared when we ended up paying the entire lunch bill, which was not part of our agreement with the Easy Riders. That afternoon, we passed through another village where we witnessed how noodles and rice wine were made. We also stopped at a waterfall adjacent to the Ho Chi Minh trail. When we arrived at our first guest house, we were pretty annoyed because it was a total dump and we’d been told our accommodations would be nice. When the bill arrived after dinner, which consisted of a series of dishes highlighted with a scrumptious tuna steak, we had to remind them that we were not covering their meals and alcohol. Jason also tried the “happy water,” as they called the local rice wine, but since we were both pretty tired, we headed to bed fairly early.

The next morning we were annoyed but not surprised that our room did not have hot water. When we expressed our displeasure with our room, our guides assured us the next guest house would be much nicer. The weather looked ominous and sure enough it began to rain as we ascended into a mountain range. The scenery was gorgeous and their rain gear kept us dry, although the bitter cold was quickly becoming a major obstacle to enjoying the ride. Thankfully the rain and cold dissipated as we descended back down the other side of the mountains and soon we were removing most of the layers we’d piled on that morning. We stopped at a coffee plantation where one of the workers was smoking tobacco from what appeared to be a bong. He generously offered Jason a sample of his smoke and it was the strongest tobacco he’d ever had; the next hour flew right by. We continued on to another village that was extremely poor, yet incredibly one of the hovels had a satellite dish attached. Our final stop was a local orphanage that was filled with children who had been abandoned by village teens not yet ready or willing for parenthood. We brought lots of candies although Kleenex would have been more appropriate, since most of the kids had runny noses and dirty (and quickly sticky) hands. It was sad seeing so many orphans but most of them seemed like pretty good kids, and whenever we picked them up they did not want to be put back down. Priti joined some of the girls in a game of Chinese jumprope, a game reminiscent of her own childhood. That evening, we were taken to a very nice guest house as well as a splendid restaurant. Duong shared some hilarious stories about the villagers who were notoriously bad about using birth control, despite repeated attempts to educate them. One pubescent couple, who procreated shortly after finishing one of the classes, explained that the boy had put the jacket on his thumb each time, just like they’d seen in the class! Another one explained that the jacket was too long so he cut off the end. Priti was particularly amused considering she had taught safe-sex education classes for the American Red Cross. Duong also made what would turn out to be an interesting comment about how he had on occasion ended tours early when he didn’t like his traveling companions.

The next morning, after refreshing hot showers, we enjoyed a relaxing breakfast in a beautiful garden attached to our guesthouse; the calm before the storm. Hong informed us that Duong’s father had passed away that night and he had to return to his family. But, he assured us, he had contacted another Easy Rider to take his place. We momentarily considered our options, but figured the Easy Riders were a reputable group and it would be ok. When we saw Duong’s replacement, a local who spoke no English and had a scooter rather than a motorbike, we knew immediately that our tour would be ending earlier than expected. Of course, since we’d paid for three days up front, we were pretty much stuck that day, knowing our chances of getting refunded were nil. It took over an hour just to get Priti’s bag secured onto the scooter so we got a late start to what was to be the longest day in terms of distance: over 200 kms (120 miles). To those used to U.S. Interstates, that may not seem like much, but in Vietnam that is a vast expanse, especially on a scooter. One of the bikes also had a flat tire that needed repaired. Thus, due to our late start, rather than stopping every half hour, as Duong had the first two days to give our bums a rest, we stopped about every 90-120 minutes. And instead of funny anecdotes, Hong’s broken English mostly eluded us. The afternoon became so painful that each of us was counting the kms until our arrival, even gauging our speed by counting the seconds between each marker. One scary moment came when Hong and another driver were weaving through a herd of cows that were crossing the road, and one of them backed right into Jason’s leg, nearly spilling them off the motorbike. Jason also suffered windburn on his face since his helmet had no faceguard. Priti’s helmet from the replacement driver was too big so it offered virtually no protection. She had scary thoughts about frontal lobe damage if there was an accident. During our breaks, we planned our exit strategy and braced ourselves for the totally uncomfortable evening we were about to endure. On the one hand, we felt guilty about canceling the tour early; given the devotion the Vietnamese have to their ancestors, we doubted Duong’s absence was fabricated. On the other, much larger hand, we recalled his comment about ending tours early, and Hong had flat-out lied to us about finding another Easy Rider.

Upon arriving at the guest house, we informed Hong of our decision and, although he looked disappointed, he seemed to take it in stride and even invited us to dinner, which were these delicious spring rolls of pork and veggies wrapped in rice paper (Nem Nuong). As dinner winded down, Hong gathered the nerve to ask us what he’d been planning to since we’d informed him we were done with the trip—to pay for the remainder of it! Flabbergasted, we started out by apologizing and assuring him it wasn’t his fault but he then called his boss, who tried to argue that we had to uphold our “contract”, despite the fact that the person on their end who signed the contract was no longer present. Besides, the contract was for a “sight seeing tour with English speaking guides” on motorbikes; a scooter is not a motorcycle, and we no longer had English speaking guides. The conversation persisted for over an hour as Hong tried to use every possible means of manipulation he could muster with his limited English skills while we looked at him with that mixture of incredulity, bemusement, and RAGE with which we had grown accustomed. Finally, Priti had had it and yelled at him in the restaurant and then stormed out. Jason tried to keep the atmosphere amicable but he too began to sense it was once again all about the money and both of us finally gave up on this country of which we had such high hopes. We demanded the hotel give us a receipt for the room, since Hong had claimed to pay for it, but we know he made it back when they completely ripped us off on our onward bus ticket. But, we were just happy to be moving on and from that night forward we no longer cared what we saw and just counted down the days, like kilometers, until we left Vietnam.

After a long day on a bus, we reached the mountainous city of Dalat. The word that is ubiquitously associated with Dalat is kitsch, and for good reason. Sitting atop the central highlands, Dalat looks over the rest of Vietnam as if from another continent, perhaps Europe or even North America, with its scenic pine forests and vacation homes perched atop each hill. One of Jason’s favorite authors, Milan Kundera, discusses kitsch at length in his novel, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, in reference to the Communists in the Czech Republic. In Dalat, Jason finally understood the true meaning of kitsch, as vainglorious fountains adorned ponds that sat adjacent to sewage-covered ghettos, and trees lining the lake took up the entire sidewalk for no apparent reason. Another fine example is the so-called "Crazy House" that is under construction. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful city and full of outdoor activities such as mountain biking, rockclimbing, and kayaking. Of course, when Jason went to book a mountain biking excursion, it was both completely overpriced and booked up until our departure. At least we enjoyed a fabulous dinner of curry with freshwater eel and got to sample a variety of dried fruits at the local market, including strawberries, kiwis, and Jason’s favorite, sweet potato. At night, Jason hung out with a couple Americans who had some crazy travel stories about Central America including having machine guns pointed at them in El Salvador by the Frito Banditos (literally, the guards were protecting a truck filled with snack foods)!

Our last stop was Ho Chi Minh City or Saigon; it seemed whenever we said one the other person repeated back the other. We’d been warned by Lonely Planet that the thieves were the best in the country so we discussed staying on guard before leaving our guest house. On the first main street we came too, a group of young boys came up and we immediately secured our valuables. One of them asked for a high five so Jason gave him one with the hand that wasn’t holding his wallet. After booking a one-day tour of the Mekong Delta (we’d originally planned a longer tour but we refused to be fooled again), we set off in search for a restaurant also listed in the guidebook that didn’t seem too far away. An hour later, we stood in front of the address listed, grrrr. We finally sat down to dinner when Jason realized that a pack of clove cigarettes in his pant pockets were missing; the group of kids had swiped them! Clever devils, we had to hand it to them, but at least they didn’t get much.

We kept our expectations at ground-level for our final tour of the Mekong Delta. Thus, we were pleasantly surprised when our guide actually spoke English and even told some jokes. But, he was somehow the guide of two boats full of people and when he jumped on the other boat, we lost our guide. We just had to laugh. Of course, the one thing we hoped to see were the floating markets but by the time we arrived they had ended. That evening we hung out with Jon, from Hollywood, and Brefanie from Ireland. Thus, on our last night in Vietnam, we learned what had happened to the Chinese couple we had met on our “tour” in Halong Bay. While everyone else was up on the top deck, two of the staff busted in and harassed the woman while she was sitting on the toilet. Priti tried to imagine the trauma this must have induced for this poor woman while Jason considered the violence that would have ensued had it been us. The next morning Brefanie’s room flooded which reminded us of our flooded cabin on the Halong Bay boat. Breffnie joined us in counting down the hours left until we were out of Vietnam and in Cambodia. As we cruised through the Delta, it was interesting to see the boat villages but this writer is ready to finally put these memories behind him. When we finally crossed the border, we gave Vietnam a final piece of our minds, and the giggles from the Cambodian children told us we weren’t the first to offer that salutation. (Warning: picture of salutation, located in the Cambodia gallery, is not appropriate for viewers under the age of thirteen.) For those of you who have seen Team America, we actually came up with alternate lyrics for the main them, replacing ‘America’ with ‘Vietnam’, and ’yeah’ with ‘you.’

Laos

Our original itinerary of Southeast Asia included only Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam; however, after hearing several travelers’ descriptions of Laos (the “s” is silent) as “what Thailand was 20 years ago,” we couldn’t resist. Ironically, given Laos’ remoteness, there is a standard travel circuit on which nearly every other tourist embarks: cross the border from northern Thailand, then take a boat down the Mekong river to Luang Prabang, then head south to the capital city of Vientienne via Vang Veng. After our trekking experience in Chiang Mai, we were determined to venture further from the tourist trail. Thus, after crossing the border by boat, we hopped on a local bus heading north to Luang Nam Tha and then onward to Muang Sing, just 10 km south of the Chinese border. Along the way, we stopped at a local market and the driver picked up his wife who had purchased some food. When we stopped about an hour later, the couple invited us to share their food while squatting on the side of the road. Jason was the only one who joined them, and was generously treated to a fine meal of fatty pork, a vegetable he’d never scene before, and sticky rice. In turn, Jason shared with them some coconut balls we’d gotten in Thailand. We’d been forewarned that traveling in Laos was time consuming so we expected complications but our connecting bus left just 10 minutes after arrival. (Concerning the slow pace, locals like to say that Laos PDR stands for “People Don’t Rush” rather than People’s Democratic Republic.) Packed in to a small van with eight other men we departed. One of the passengers carried on a canister which initially blasted our noses with the overwhelming odor of gasoline, despite the windows being down. Over time we unfortunately acclimated to this smell, and an even more disturbing stench began to materalize: a toxic combination of two-week old BO and rotting meat. Once the man with the gas can got dropped off, the air quickly became unbreathable. The driver grew very agitated and gave each of us piercing stares in the rearview mirror while we each looked around trying to pinpoint the malodorous culprit. After what seemed an eternity, the bus driver finally stopped the bus and threw the two passengers off who were sitting directly behind us, in the middle of nowhere. Breathing a collective sigh, we continued north through some beautiful rolling green mountains, stopping occasionally to peruse the the freshly slaughtered giant rabbits that were on display on the side of the road. It was a crazy ride to say the least.

Our purpose in going to Muang Sing was to go on a village trek and according to Lonely Planet (LP) this was the best spot to do them. And now a brief tangent about LP. Having been using LPs throughout our trip we’ve developed a love/hate relationship with it. On the one hand, it is indispensable for traveling in a foreign country unless one meticulously plans beforehand, which all but eliminates any spontaneity, one of the joys of travel. On the other, much larger, hand, LP can be extremely annoying. The information is often outdated (even in a brand new edition since the time interval to press is about two years), the recommended guesthouses and restaurants generally inflate their prices because of the increased demand, and many travelers rely on it like a crutch (including us at times). Nonetheless, in this particular instance, we would have never known about Muang Sing without LP. Yet had we followed their advice and gone with the government-sponsored trekking company (the only one listed in the most recent LP) we would’ve been disappointed since the authenticity of the experience had been virtually eliminated due to overexposure (according to other trekkers who’d just returned). Fortunately, a brand new company had just been launched a few months prior that had formed a collective of ten villages to prevent overexposure. Due to its heftier price (nearly double its competitor) and absence from the LP, the demand was low enough so that treks were being scheduled once or twice a week rather than daily. At that rate, each village will only receive visitors about once per month. We can only hope it somehow escapes the next edition of LP.

Our trekking group consisted entirely of folks from countries we’d yet to meet fellow travelers: Gui from Brazil, who like us was on his way to India (to study meditation in an ashram), two Israeli women, and a couple from Belgium and Slovenia. The morning started off on a leisurely pace, which was good since Priti was still feeling the ill effects of our medication. Even at that pace, the Israeli women lagged far behind, putting us well behind schedule. Along the way, our trekking guides chopped down some fresh sugar cane which we eagerly chewed. After a few hours, we arrived at a couple of beautiful waterfalls under which Jason and Gui had a frigid swim. There, we met up with some of the villagers in their colorful traditional garb, who cooked us lunch served on banana leafs. After lunch, we split into two groups: Jason, Gui, and the European couple were lured on an “adventure” to another waterfall that had never been visited by non-locals while Priti and the Israelis took a more relaxed path to the Ahka village where we were sleeping that night. For Jason’s group, the adventure started immediately as they climbed nearly vertically adjacent to the waterfall before reaching a path after about 15 minutes. The trail eventually vanished and Jason found himself in the precarious situation of descending an incredibly steep mountain where there was no trail and nothing secure to prevent him falling to his death. Whereas the guides, who weighed about 60 kg (130 lbs) could step on the rocks, when Jason stepped on them they slid down the mountain. Even the decayed trees would snap when he grabbed hold. There was about a half-hour time span where he feared each step might be his last. After each of us fell about a half-dozen times (except for Gui, who was younger and more agile), the guides began to dig divets with their knives to give us a modicum of footing. At the bottom of the mountain, by which time Jason had cut open a finger and scraped up his legs, was a river that the guides mistakenly thought would serve as a sufficient trail. After slipping several times on the wet rocks and soaking our shoes we all were getting increasingly frustrated with our “adventure.” The guides themselves seemed unsure about how to proceed and eventually began arguing over whether to continue along the river or head back up another mountain. As the sky was quickly darkening, we decided the river was no longer feasible and demanded a change of course. As we ascended the mountain, it quickly became evident that we would not make it back before nightfall; rather, as the guides informed us, we were still at least three hours from the village! The three hours passed without much incident, although the Slovenian women lost her cool and started yelling at everyone after she fell yet again.

While Jason's life was hanging by a rotting tree, Priti enjoyed a nice easygoing hike with the two Israelis and one of the Ahka tribeswoman who did not speak a word, but throughout the hike had an expression of comfort without looking blissful or smiling or frowning. Upon arriving in the village, Priti was shown our bamboo hut and she also walked around to see some of the other huts on stilts. The children gazed curiously and waved hello while the wild pigs, chicken and ducks roamed free. The exceptions were a whimpering duck and chicken that a young boy carried by the necks. The Israeli girls were freaking out because the animals were being “tortured” and it wasn’t kosher. Priti watched as the animals were slaughtered and had their feathers removed. After the duck’s feathers were removed, a male villager plunged it into almost boiling water and then proceeded to remove more fine feathers. He then took the dead animals and roasted their skin by holding the duck feet above the fire and then removing the webbing of the feet. As the darkness descended, she began to worry about Jason’s group, fearing that perhaps someone had sustained an injury without any way to contact others for help.

When Jason’s group finally arrived nearly two hours late, the five of them were sore, exhausted and annoyed that they had been subjected to such danger, even though they all had requested an adventure. The guides were very apologetic and ensured that no tourists would be taken on that “adventure” henceforth. Jason’s annoyance from the hike did not dissipate after being exposed to a scalding hot shower and adding burns to his menagerie of minor injuries. Thankfully, the dinner the Akha villagers prepared for us was spectacular—ten different dishes including the fresh chicken and duck mixed together, cabbage soup, mixed veggies dish, and an incredible pumpkin curry. The villagers were with us the entire time, enjoying the meal and not hassling us. After our superb meal, everyone (except Priti due to her lingering esophageal pain) drank Lao-Lao which is the local rice liquor, brewed in the village. This was followed by the villagers sitting around a fire inside the hut and singing some folk songs. Our evening concluded with an interesting massage from the villagers which included having our toes individually pulled until they popped, causing each of us to laugh and yelp in pain.

The following morning, Priti arose earlier than most and walked along the village. The children initially were very coy and hid partially behind doorways, peering out at the strangely dressed woman. After awhile, they then came down and wanted their pictures taken, which Priti happily obliged. Later we were treated to another ten course meal and filled our bellies in preparation for the day’s hike to several more villages. As we visited each one, we commented on how we felt like we were the ones being observed as much as observing and how it was as if we were in a National Geographic special. The villages were all stilt houses made of bamboo and wood with thatched roofs made of banana leaves. One of them had just received electricity, as evidenced by its brand new watt hour meter reading of two. Oblivious to our presence, some of the women walked around bare-chested while others breastfed, a stark contrast to western culture, which shamefully treats breastfeeding as if it’s a taboo. Kids were running around sans clothing as well, playing a form of bowling with tattered sandals and rusted aluminum cans. People were comfortable being themselves; a wonderful environment that we felt extremely privileged to witness. We ventured onward to another village where they tried teaching us how to spin cotton and Priti enjoyed the effort despite her failure to keep the thread in tact. After their demonstration, the village people gave us a gift of handmade, woven pouches. It was awesome. Some of the boys showed off their slingshot skills while Jason chased several of the girls, who ran away laughing and screaming (save for one who was mute). We were then shown that village’s "bachelor" room, which is a tiny room attached to the family’s home in which their young son can practice having sex with other women. There’s also such a thing as a youth leader who, if a boy is interested, can ask a girl to spend the night with him, even if she already has a boyfriend. The girl cannot refuse and if she becomes pregnant, another older man in the village marries her or shy gets kicked out of the village! Despite our revulsion with such oppressive traditions and Jason’s near-death experience, we thoroughly enjoyed the Akha experience.

After we were finished trekking, we caught a tuk-tuk that died in the middle of nowhere. Some of us were concerned because we were planning to catch a bus to Nam Tra, that was to depart just minutes hence. Luckily, a truck with an open back was driving by and our tour guide asked if we could hop on. We all got on the back, standing up while two locals sat on a tire. It was fun having the wind blow in our face as we drove through town. The locals quizzically stared as we drove by. Thankfully, we didn’t miss our bus and made it back to Luang Nam Tha. That evening, we went to some type of carnival, where vendors sold all types of food and the children played a game that involved throwing darts at a board filled with balloons; three hits resulted in a prize. Jason, despite being a regular darts player, was unable to win after repeated attempts. The evening was also significant because it was our first taste of BeerLao, which is one of the best beers on earth and costs about $1 for a big bottle (i.e., 2 beers).
Early the next morning we arrived at the bus station, and were disappointed that our bus was not departing for another two hours, especially since we knew it was going to be a long journey. During the ten hour ride, we stopped for several restroom breaks, which consisted of stopping on the road and all of us fanning out along the road; men turned their backs and women squatted discreetly a meter into the brush. About four hours into the trip, as we passed a motorcycle, there was a loud crash as the front window next to the driver shattered. We turned around expecting to see the motorist on the ground, but apparently there was another cause as the motorcyclist kept going. The mystery remained unsolved after a half hour of sitting there trying to figure out what had happened. About an hour later, the bus suffered a flat tire, which is virtually inevitable on this route due to the condition and windiness of the road. After we arrived in Luang Prabang, Jason discovered that his water bottle and sunglasses (his 6th pair thus far on the trip!) had been swiped by another passenger.

From what we had heard and read about Luang Prabang (another LP), it seemed like it would be one of those cities that has its own distinct culture. There was a heavy French influence, and it seemed like everywhere we turned there were French tourists, of whom we’d encountered very few in our travels thus far.

There is a huge hill in the middle, with a series of Buddhist Wats atop it, as well as inside a series of caves within the hill, one of which apparently contained a footprint of Buddha. The top of the hill is also a popular sunset spot, according to LP (the guidebook). Granted, it was a nice view with the sun setting over a mountaintop, but it was also a zoo up there, with tourists of all nationalities jostling for the best spot and some openly shoving others in their zeal to get the perfect picture. Jason was nearly knocked over a ledge by a European with a camera lens bigger than his concern for others' safety. Later that night, we ran into Carol, a Californian we’d hung out with in Pai. She seemed a bit out of it and recounted her horrific journey on the overnight bus from Pai. The driver, intoxicated, had crashed their bus into a tree at about 4 am. Most of the eight passengers sustained concussions and one suffered a broken arm. The driver suffered the worst, as he broke all four of his limbs and fractured his skull. His survival seemed dubious. As Carol was relating her traumatic story, a tuk-tuk drove by filled with drunken men singing Ole Ole and hanging out of the vehicle. “Oh, those were the guys on the bus with us, they’ve lost their minds,” she said, before excusing herself to get some rest. Priti, mindful of our guesthouse’s 11 pm curfew, also retired for the evening, but Jason sensed adventure so he wandered off in the direction of the tuk-tuk. After a brief visit to one of the three bars in town, he learned that the only late-night spot was a bowling alley outside of the city limits. When he arrived, he witnessed pure mayhem as seemingly every table had a half-empty bottle of whiskey on it and the noise-level prevented the formation of all but the most basic thoughts. Jason spotted several of the folks from Pai and joined them in a chaotic game of bowling. Incidentally, he bowled one of his best games ever, including a turkey (i.e., three strikes in a row). It was one of the Irish guys’ birthdays and so they decided, in their post-concussive and inebriated states, that they needed to do something crazy. Before Jason knew what was happening, two of them ran down the lanes and sprawled themselves out, completely naked! Laotians are a modest people, and they love their bowling, so the Irishman’s antics were about the most offensive thing they could have done. The manager quickly hauled them off and called in a higher authority, who seemed to be like the mayor of the town. Upon hearing their transgressions, he immediately banished them from not just the city, but from the country! Some uniformed men arrived shortly thereafter and took them away while the rest of us looked at each other in disbelief. Upon returning to the guesthouse, it was locked, but fortunately Jason was able to wake up one of the workers to let him. Others were not so lucky and were unable to get into their rooms until 6 am the following morning.

The following day we explored the city, visiting a couple more Wats and shopping at the massive market. For lunch we feasted on some fresh baguettes. We noticed a sign advertising a Thanksgiving feast and were shocked that one of our favorite holidays almost passed without our noticing. Nonetheless, given the brevity of our visit, we stuck with the local food and were rewarded with some excellent coconut curry steamed fish in a banana leaf and kai-pan, a local specialty which consisted of fried seaweed and a chili paste to dip it in. Jason loved it so much that he ordered it with every subsequent meal and even got some of the chili paste for the road. That evening we were entertained by a cultural event put on by a local children's group, that included a series of dances and puppet shows.

Although we were thoroughly enjoying Laos, we were greatly anticipating Vietnam so we booked a flight to Hanoi for the following day, after a just a week in this gem of a country. For those of you considering a trip to SE Asia, make sure you avoid our mistake of neglecting Laos as there was much of it we had to forgo due to time constraints.

Thailand

Bed bugs and hookers and scammers oh my—welcome to Bangkok. Tired after a long day of travel from Manila, we found a guesthouse near Khao San Road (the backpacker haven) and headed to the streets to find delicious Thai food. The Tom Kha soup Priti ate was steamed with little green hot peppers, the hottest type in the world. Her stomach would pay for that later but she enjoyed every bite. After dinner, we checked out some live Blues music in a small narrow bar that was packed with smokers, causing our early exit. Returning to our guesthouse around midnight, exhausted and ready for bed, we turned over our pillows and discovered bed bugs. Thankfully we had not unpacked any of our bags. After checking out and getting a refund, we were back on Khao San Road, which at the late hour was crawling with prostitutes. White men of all ages openly negotiated prices with the women (undoubtedly girls as well) with their wallets open. Some were bargaining for more than one woman. Eventually, we found a place and a thorough check revealed no bed bugs, a no prostitutes sign, clean white sheets and towels, working air con, a hot shower, and finally, a good night’s sleep.

The following morning we headed by foot to check out some of the sites. Stopping in front of a museum to review our map, we knew that our destination the Grand Palace was nearby. The Grand Palace is the residence of the King of Thailand who at the time was in the hospital. During our stay in Thailand, we would quickly learn that the Thais adore their king, who is the longest standing monarch in the world and is the 9th descendent of the Ramas. Rama I became king by rescuing an emerald green statue of Buddha (which is actually made of Jade) from an ancient Laotian empire that had stolen it. Even the teenagers are very adoring and Thais of all ages frequently wear these garish yellow shirts to show their respect.

From nowhere, a Thai man in his mid-fifties asked us where we wanted to go. We told him where we were headed and he jovially explained that he was a teacher and had learned English a long time ago. He taught us how to say a few important phrases in Thai, which we practiced with him on the sidewalk. Then, he told us that our destination was closed until 2pm, but he could arrange a tuk-tuk (a motorbike with an attached seat on the back that fits two Western people, or six Asians) to take us to a couple of the other Wats (temples) of interest, one of the legitimate Thailand Authority Tourist (TAT) agencies, and then return us to the Grand Palace after it re-opened. What a friendly guy, we thought. He hailed the next tuk-tuk, negotiated a great price, and we were on our way. Our fist stop was a beautiful ornate Wat adorned with lots golden statues of Buddha and had many worshippers. At the second Wat, which wasn’t that interesting, we ran into another friendly Thai who showed us on our map that we were at a different Wat then we had agreed to. Oh well, we figured, perhaps it was on the way. When we arrived at the tour agency, we told the woman we were headed north and she offered us a tour of about 10 days for $900, which was a special deal only available that day. Keep in mind, Thailand is one of the cheapest places in the world to travel. Train rides for ten hours can cost just a few dollars and accommodation can be had for less than $5. We said “No thank you” and left with our tuk-tuk driver. Surprisingly, he then stopped at a silk and wool tailor shop, stating, “Free. Just look. I get petrol voucher.” We shrugged our shoulders. What could it hurt? Since neither Jason nor I needed fancy clothes during our travels, we left the store empty handed. Our driver seemed surprised by our lack of shopping but drove on, making a u-turn out of nowhere and stopping at another TAT office. We looked at each other skeptically but again told the agent our itinerary, only to be quoted an even higher price. Then, despite the fact that we asked our tuk-tuk driver to take us to a specific Wat, he took us to a different one, the Gold Mount. Priti protested but succumbed when the driver said, “Free, free, don’t worry.” After taking many pictures and ringing bells as prayers, we found the parking spot of our tuk-tuk driver empty. He had ditched us. We naively circled around the temple, thinking that we had arrived at a place different from the exit. We hadn’t even paid him! After some time, we realized that we had been the marks in an elaborate scam. Our guidebook had warned us about a few of the other popular scams, such as conning tourists into buying “gems” at ridiculously low prices. When we re-read the warning, however, we felt pretty foolish for not catching on sooner. Our feelings at the end of the day were relief (at not falling for the con) mixed with self-doubt (getting sucked in at all) to annoyance at wasting most of our day.

Fortunately, on our way home, we ran into a weekend festival, similar to the Taste of Chicago, where we feasted on fried eggs with seafood, various breads, and Thai iced coffee. We were stuffed by the time we reached the hotel where we rested before heading out to a club for some dancing. We got denied by about eight cabbies, some of whom laughed at us when we asked them to use their meter. The music was hopping and we enjoyed the scene which was mixed with westerners and locals, mostly women. We wondered how the men determined if the woman were working or genuinely out to have a good time. Anyways, Priti had a few Vodka/Red bulls followed and was unable to fall asleep and her body was buzzing. She learned later that one Red Bull in Thailand is equivalent to three cans of the Red Bull sold in the States. Searching for a taxi at the wee hours of the morning proved to be challenging, not because they were lacking but because the drivers wanted to charge three to four times the cost of the trip. Finally, one agreed to a reasonableFortunately, meandering back to hour hotel, we came across a huge outdoor market that was only around for that weekend (sort of like the Taste of Chicago) where we gorged on satay fixed price (still higher than our trip there) but proceeded to ask for more money when dropping us off...fat chance!

The following day, we decided once again to see the Grand Palace and started walking. We rounded a corner and observed our “teacher” friend sitting on a stoop, watching the tourists walk by. He initially pretended not to recognize us, but Jason greeted him and laughed, “You almost got us, didn’t you?” The “teacher” shrugged his shoulders, tried to look innocent and continued to watch more tourists walk by and figured out whom to approach next. As we walked on, it seemed like every single taxi and tuk-tuk driver would ask, “Where you go?” which was the complete opposite of how they had treated us the day before. Finally, we arrived at the Grand Palace. As we'd discovered in Malaysia, there were different prices for locals (free) versus tourists ($7!). We've discussed with other travelers how that kind of discrimination would result in a lawsuit in the United States or in Europe. Nonetheless, we paid our fees and entered a majestic world of ornate temples, buildings, and landscaping. The Grand Palace is indescribable. It makes the White House look like a cheap motel. We felt like the Japanese in the huge tour groups, living life through our camera lens as we snapped one picture after another, over 100 that day alone. Some of the highlights included the Emerald Buddha (the first picture, though it was much smaller than we'd expected) as well as the largest Reclining Buddha in the world, at about 190 meters (600 ft) long. It's hard to convey how massive it is, but perhaps the following two pictures will help (neither of which were zoomed in at all). Later on, we were ushered into a courtyard, only to sit cross-legged for over an hour with the locals to witness three of Thailand’s princesses walk by and wave. Yippee! Later that night, we explored a different lively neighborhood of Bangkok and went to this bar to watch a Thai boxing match. Although Priti endured it, Jason thought it was exciting and it ended in a knockout. Punches thrown everywhere, jabs, elbows, and knees in the stomach. Immediately after the boxing match was over, the ring transformed into individual platforms and dancers without any rhythm came out who looked like they were fifteen. One even had braces. We left immediately.

Although the food was incredible and the sites amazing, we decided to leave the city and head to Ayuthaya, a town of ancient ruins which is technically an island because it’s surrounded by rivers on all sides. We bought some yummy noodles from a road side shop outside of the train station and enjoyed the city scene gradually transform into rice paddies and hills. After arriving a bit dusty from the open train windows, we enjoyed refreshing watermelon shakes (Priti’s favorite in Thailand) and did a night Wat tour. The temples, from the 13th and 14th century, glowed a pinkish red as the sun was setting. We also went to an elephant camp where they bred Thai elephants and prevent them from being poached. Jason got a kick out of seeing two of the elephants attempting to mate. Check out the video but be forewarned, it’s not PG13 (to be posted soon) and will put every single male to shame.

The following day, we rented bikes and visited many of the same ruins from the night before. One of the highlights was this ancient tree with the face of Buddha carved into it. Sadly, many of the statues were headless, as over time various invaders decapitated them in an effort to suppress the Buddhist faith. We also went to a museum in town where we learned that Buddhist children are supposed to get their hair shaved at the age of one month to indicate that they survived the hardest month. They get their heads shaved again at the age of 11 if girl and age 13 if boy, before puberty. There are also rituals for a woman when she gives birth, about cleansing herself daily for a certain number of days. There was way too much information, but it definitely sparked an interest to learn more about Buddhism and Thai traditions.

We then headed for the train station. Since everything was in written in Thai, it was challenging figuring out which train to get on. However, it was even more challenging trying to get off. Our train was supposed to arrive in Phitsanulok at 8:30 pm and around that time, it made a stop. Having no clue what the signs said, we got off and fortunately showed our ticket to the train station worker, who immediately started shouting and ushered us back onto the train. Priti was on the stairs trying to get her bag through the narrow doorway. Jason was shouting for her to hurry as he gripped the handles and felt the ground start to move beneath his feet. He got on just in the nick of time and after our heart-rates returned to normal, we laughed at our near-miss. With the aid of a few other Thai passengers (despite one elderly woman who completely turned around and faced the window when Jason sat next to her) we arrived in Phitsanulok (or “Pee-loc” as the locals call it) 90 minutes tardy. It took us awhile to find a place so we were famished by the time we got to the night market. Perhaps it was our empty bellies but the food was excellent; Thai noodle soup, a spicy pork dish and for desert these dime sized pancakes with a sweet, gooey cream filling. Our hotel actually had a TV with English speaking channels and having not watched TV in so long, we stayed up late watching some really dumb movie with Jennifer Aniston and Clive Owen. (Jason stares at this last sentence in horror).

From Philok, we took a day trip to the Old City in Sukhothai. After renting bikes, we leisurely went around the ancient ruins. Cows, buffaloes, and stray dogs roamed amongst the temples which were serene and partly crumbled. Three female Buddhist nuns dressed in white and one male Monk dressed in orange were doing a walking mediation around the lake surrounding the ruins. It was very peaceful. We had definitely escaped the chaos of Bangkok. The escape didn’t last too long since we had to return to Philok where a tuk-tuk driver tried to drop us off far from our location and then demanded to be paid a larger sum than the one agreed upon to take us to our actual destination. Fortunately, a group of local teenagers got into the tuk-tuk and negotiated for us to get to the riverside where we dined on disappointing Thai food. In retrospect, we should have skipped Ayutthaya because they are very similar but Sukhothai was nicer.

The next day was another day on the bus to Chiang Mai, a northern city known for its many wats, tasty cuisine, and village trekking. Not surprisingly, the first guesthouse we checked out said they had no available rooms yet changed their tune when we mentioned being interested in trekking. Through another agency we booked a 3day/2night tour of trekking, swimming in waterfalls, visiting villages and interacting with the villagers to learn about their culture, and elephant trekking in the jungle. The tour started off on the wrong note when we showed up the next morning to a closed tour agent. We wondered if we had been scammed again but finally the tour agent appeared and we were ushered around town, picking up more and more passengers until we were practically sitting on top of one another. The tour agent had lied about the maximum number of people. We endured the uncomfortable and cramped ride, first to a local market, and then to the rainforest where we hiked for a few hours, swam in a waterfall pool, and then reached a hilltribe village. Our interactions with the villagers were short lived and thoroughly disappointing. The children ran over to us with woven bracelets in their hands, shoving them into our faces and saying, “10 Baht.” When the tourist would hand over the 10 Baht ($.30), it would quickly disappear and the price suddenly jumped 10-fold. Apparently the 10 Bahts were just a down payment. Similarly, the adults tried to peddle their various wares. As soon as all the sales were made, the villagers vanished and were not seen again. That night, we enjoyed a good Thai meal and hung around the fire, chatting with the other tourists who were all European. Then we slept in a large bamboo and wood stilt building that had elevated platforms on which bamboo mats were spread. The sleeping arrangements were communal with mosquito nets to separate individuals. The bamboo mats were flat without any cushioning and we had to use one of the two blankets to prevent getting sores on our hips and buttocks while sleeping. Priti slept with long underwear, a wool sweater, wool hat and gloves. Despite all the wool, she thought it was cold and worse than camping in a tent in the winter. Jason's night was even worse, as he was forced to repeatedly use the bathroom, which consisted of a disgusting outhouse with a squatting toilet. We could never live in a village.

The next morning, we had a minimalist breakfast of toast, butter, and jam with tea or coffee while the locals and guides ate hearty, warm noodle soup. We were jealous. One of the other travelers was feeling sick, said he was sweating at night, and had GI symptoms. We gave him some Imodium and Tylenol but he clearly wasn't enjoying life so he and his girlfriend said they wanted to leave early with those who had booked just a 2-day trek. Our 2night/3day guide initially asked them why they hadn’t told him at the village where he could have called and arranged the elephant trekking and bamboo rafting for them that day. He also said that it might not work out for them and almost insisted that the Danish continue trekking, even after they promised not to ask for a refund. Only after they put it in writing did the guide relent and let them leave early.

After settling that, our group of eight people hiked for about 4-5 hours. We reached a waterfall where we had lunch that consisted of fried noodles wrapped in banana leaves. Our guide made chopsticks out of a bamboo stalk that he cut from the forest. It was great that our “plates and utensils” were disposable and environmentally friendly. Along with the guide and Daniel, from Germany, Jason jumped off a cliff into the waterfall pool. The water was very strong and the jumpers tried in vain to walk in the pool towards the waterfall, only to be pushed back by the current. We then hiked to the next village during which we didn’t interact with any village people. However, there were 3 really cute puppies that were probably 2-3 weeks old. We had fun playing with them. At this village, they were in the process of building individual huts some of which had been completed. Jason and I opted for our own hut with a private Western toilet and a real bed instead of another night in the communal hut on top of bamboo mats. We had a great meal of red curry fish and some amazing curried pumpkin with rice. The fish was still alive right before dinner and was de-scaled and gutted...yum!

Priti woke up feeling tired and it was painful for her to swallow. She started to get a burning sensation at mid-sternum without any relief from taking antacids. She endured through breakfast. We then walked for an hour or so and got to the elephant trekking. It really wasn’t elephant trekking, rather a big loop through the mud. We felt like backpacks and nearly got sick from the violent lurching throughout the 45 minute ride. Jason didn’t like it whatsoever and said he would never go on an elephant again. We then had a pretty bland lunch of noodles. Our final activity was bamboo rafting. There were two bamboo rafts and Daniel and Jason got into a friendly rivalry, which resulted in Daniel falling into the water and breaking their teams bamboo steering rod. Ha ha. That night we met our trekking group at a good steak buffet for dinner, drinks, and dancing. We had fun dancing. Jason was in his own groove and even played bongos with the band.

The next day was slow and uneventful. Jason's GI symptoms persisted, as did Priti's heartburn symptoms. We managed to see a couple of wats and also scheduled a one day cooking course at the famous Chiang Mai Thai Cookery School. When shopping around for cooking schools, the clincher for this one was that the man who taught the class was a famous Thai TV chef. He walked into the office, we looked at the back cover of the cookbook, raised our eyebrows and the woman trying to sell us the class, said, “Yes, that’s him.” Despite our maladies, we went to the class and made the best spicy Thai food ever, 6 dishes including a desert of steamed banana cake. The entertaining chef tasted Priti’s Tom Kha soup with the tip of his pinky finger and shrugged his shoulders. Although she liked her food, Jason’s was (shockingly) better. We now know who will be doing the Thai cooking when we return home.

After a full day of eating, we relaxed and enjoyed Thai foot massages followed by a night out with friends from our trek. Priti, unfortunately, continued to eat antacids during the night as her heartburn kept getting worse. She abstained from any alcohol since it exacerbates the symptoms. The following morning, after doing some research on the internet, she figured out what medicine to take and bought some at the Australian pharmacy chain sans prescription. We then headed for the small mountain town of Pai with a population of a few thousand. The drive was amazing and luckily we don’t get car sick. The curving roads up the mountains would send us back and forth in our seats. Looking out the windows all you could see were green trees covering misty mountains...similar to Colorado. We arrived in Pai and found a room on the river. This particular guesthouse is famous for having treehouse rooms, but unfortunately those were all occupied. We headed out and were quickly surrounded by yippies (i.e., young lost souls with money but dressed like hippies). The social atmosphere was thus not quite what we had hoped for although the street food was excellent, according to Jason. Priti, by this time, wasn’t eating anything spicy (which was mostly everything available) or any citrus fruits. She had one banana all day and wondered how people could willingly fast for extended periods. It hurt for her to even drink water. Although we were in Pai for a short time, we would see a handful of the same people later in Laos, although our paths were very divergent, as we'll explain in the next entry.

The next morning, at the hour of 8:30am, we decided to catch the 9 am minibus back to Chiang Mai so Priti could visit a doctor. We went to the hospital in town which was recommended by our travel insurance. Priti hadn’t been able to eat for two days and the heartburn wasn’t improving. Although she had done research on the internet, she also knew that she shouldn’t treat herself and the deferred pain from midsternum to her left arm freaked her out. Thailand is known to have one of the best medical and dental systems in Southeast Asia and it was the most efficient medical service we have ever seen. She was ushered by staff from one place to the next – person who had her fill out papers, nurse who checked vitals, doctor, payment for chest x-ray prior to chest x-ray, Priti read chest x-ray while walking to doctor’s office, doctor who read chest x-ray, pharmacy for meds – all within one hour. Priti’s diagnosis – peptic ulcer disease (PUD). The cost of the entire medical visit including the chest x-ray was about fifteen dollars, more than half of which was the x-ray. Although the doctor spoke English, took a good history, and did a focused physical exam, she failed in asking Priti about other medications. Although Priti felt relieved because she had given herself the same diagnosis, she also researched our current meds and learned that the prophylactic malarial pill was the likely culprit rather than the spicy Thai food. (She cannot give up Thai food for the rest of her life!) Her symptoms subsided the day after she stopped taking the pills.

The following day, with a six week supply of PUD medications and the unsatisfied cravings for spicy food for Priti, we traveled to the Mekong River village of Chiang Khong where you can cross into the Lao village of Huay Xai. We had been told that Laos today was what Thailand was like 25 years ago (i.e., much fewer tourists) and we were ready for our next adventure.

Philippines

Our arrival in the Philippines had an auspicious air as we were greeted with a personal driver; the first and likely last time either of us will be so welcomed. The driver was compliments of Priti’s long-time friend Collette and her husband Joe. Priti went to junior high and high school with Collette but they hadn’t seen each other since 1996.The long awaited reunion would have to wait another two hours to go 30 miles as we sat in traffic heading into the center of Manila. Traffic in Asia, and especially Manila, is not for the faint of heart; although, as Joe would inform us, it is “controlled chaos,” to us uninitiated Westerners there was nothing controlled about it. Lane markings, if present, were ignored; horns were constantly blaring and could signal a number of warnings but mostly meant “get out of my way,” and the bigger vehicle always had the right of way. The most common were jeepneys, which are basically old army jeeps that have been modified to fit two benches in the back and had anything from the Virgin Mary to the Chicago Bulls painted on the outside. As much as we tried to tune out, we were still stressed out just being chauffeured and couldn’t imagine having to drive everyday there.

After catching up with Collette and Joe, and meeting their wonderful daughter Sky, our royal treatment continued as we were taken to the 24^th floor to our very own fully furnished 2-bedroom 2 ½ bathroom condo with a balcony and AC. This place, by far, was the nicest at which we have stayed during our travels. We also were privileged to the services of their two Yayas (nannies) Remia and Wang, who cooked us meals and even did our laundry. Ah, the good life in the Philippines. Of course, this was in stark contrast with the dilapidated metal shacks we passed on the way from airport, where the river bank served as their bathroom and their only source of running water.

During our few days in Manila, we couldn’t help but visit the Mega Mall, which was close by to our residence. The mall has 5 or 6 floors, several “wings”, an ice skating rink, a few cinemas and stations in their public train system. We found ourselves lost at several points. After picking up some supplies at the SM store we were disgusted to learn that they fire most of their employees after five months in order to avoid paying them higher wages which are required by law after that tenure. Perhaps that’s why no one could tell us where to find shampoo, even though at every turn there were three employees looking over our shoulders. We wondered if SM was owned by Wal-Mart? We also visited Intramuros which is the oldest section of Manila and had old monuments and churches in the Spanish style. We learned about the history of the Philippines and how she has struggled for independence, including the importance of Dr. Jose Rizal who, upon his execution in 1897, became a national martyr and for many he is now considered a saint. On the way back, we braved a jeepney ride. Since there wasn’t any glass for the windows, we had to inhale the exhaust from all the other vehicles. Nonetheless, it was an interesting ride, as people got on and off from the back, including the hawkers selling individual cigarettes for a couple pesos ($.05). Although we spent several days in Manila, we recommend that those traveling to the Philippines get out of the capital city as quickly as possible. Despite its lack of appeal, the variety of food in Manila is very satisfying, especially if you have a sweet tooth. It seems that they add sugar to everything, even mayonnaise! And for those ice tea lovers, be warned that it is so sweet that your teeth tingle.

Our escape from the city came when the weekend rolled around and we headed with our hosts toward the provincial town of Tagaytay...at the snail pace of 15mph. Yet when we reached the countryside, we could breathe the difference; the air was clean and you could hear the crickets chirping at night. The roosters woke us up in the morning along with the neighborhood's stray dogs. Although we’d heard the rumor that dog is part of the Philippine cuisine, we never saw it on a menu. From Tagaytay we ventured to Lake Taal which is a lake within a volcano within a lake (within a volcano within a lake….). Very post-modern. We took a small outrigger, a traditional boat, from the larger lake to the volcano and hired horses to trek to the rim of the volcano which overlooked a crater lake. Although we went “horseback riding,” some of these horses were so small that the staff called them “goats” in Tagalog (the Filipino language). At the top of the volcano, we enjoyed some buka or fresh coconut milk through straws and even scooped out the fleshy coconut meat...yum.

Our day of goatback riding was followed by a trip to Anilao, where Jason and Joe went diving Colette is an avid diver but had to abstain since she is pregnant (!) so the girls had fun hanging out all day while the boys dived. Then, we endured the traffic back to Manila where we learned that a “terrorist bomb” had gone off at Glorietta Mall, another mega mall, where Colette’s mom has a store. Later, the news reported that it wasn’t a bomb but fuel stores at the ground level exploded, but this was unconfirmed by the time we left. This unfortunate news was followed by some more bad news; Joe’s sister, who lives near San Diego, lost her house in the devastating wild fires. Thankfully no one was hurt. We ended up going to Glorietta the following day to purchase our onward flights to Palawan. Although we were unable to see the spot of the explosion the acrid air was suffocating and likely toxic. Incredibly, the place was packed, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. On the way back from the mall, we got to experience the joys of Manila's public transport at rush hour. We had to wait as full trains passed by and when we finally got on, we were packed in so tight we couldn't move. And, as was true throughout our stay in the Philippines, Jason was a full head taller than everyone else.

On our last night out, we visited the Hobbit House which employs only “short people” with the exception of the bartender who has to be able to see above the bar. While there, we listened to the headliner Rheena (mistakenly introduced as “Sheena”) who tried to imitate Shakira but without the stage presence and hip shakes. Apparently this was her moment to shine as she was so nervous that she had to use notes to remember to thank her parents. Fortunately for her we were in the back so she couldn’t hear our laughter.

Our next destination was the remote islands of Palawan. We boarded the cozy charter plane that had a maximum capacity of 22, including the pilots who were visible from our seats and within arms length of the front row passengers. The propellers were loud and the ride was beautiful as we flew over hundreds of the 7000 islands that comprise the Philippines in the blue and turquoise water. We arrived at El Nido, whose tiny airport consisted of four wooden posts and a thatched roof and whose runway doubles as the road to the airport. Thus, we had to wait for our airplane to take off with a new set of passengers before Giselle, Colette’s younger sister, and her husband, Mik, picked us up. Mik’s grandfather, former mayor of El Nido, was ill and had asked Mik to take over the family business, the Marina Garden Cottage Resort. From our oceanside cottage, we could hear and see the gentle waves hitting the beach. There is no better way to fall asleep than to the sound of ocean waves. The town of El Nido was not very commercialized, although the markings of development are starting to creep in. There were no hawkers asking you if you need transport or to buy a cheap souvenir. Dozens of children played on the beaches, and some of them skim boarded, which entails running with the board and dropping it down to skim the waves. Normal surfing is impossible because the waves are way too small. Mik’s younger brother Johan and his friends were in the process of creating skimboards for some of the local kids. The beach has a small port which is too tiny for large boats so you get a nice view of the traditional outrigger boats, one of which had been built in the 1940s! Electricity is available only between noon and 4 pm and then again from about 6 pm to 6 am. The roosters and pigs act as a natural alarm clock and a loud horn sounds at 9:45 pm sharp, warning the children that curfew is in fifteen minutes. In addition to all of this, the island is surrounded by hundreds of other lush granite islands. Although the island is peaceful, we found entertainment on our first night, at a restaurant that served the best steaks we’ve eaten since leaving the States. Some locals played live Filipino folk music by Freddie Aguilar and others and Jason even joined in on a homemade bongo drum.

Unfortunately, it rained all through the following day; however, we hung out with our hosts and had many good laughs and Jason and Johan introduced each other to lots of new music. Mik was always willing to share his extensive knowledge of marine wildlife, among other things. Did you know that sharks and manta rays can have offspring? (at least in Mik’s world they can, haha).

The next day, we awoke to menacing looking grey skies. However, after some reassurance from our tour guide Bamboo that the seas would be calm, the four of us, sans Johan who had to “work”, hopped onto the outrigger to go island hopping. We started off in the boat and passed by “Helicopter” Island which we all agreed looked more like a dinosaur than a chopper. When we reached the small lagoon on Miniloc Island, we were happy that Bamboo’s instinct was correct and the rain was gone, leaving us to bask in the sun. This pattern of the sun following us to each destination would persist throughout the day. We got into the water and had been warned about stonefish which are painful and look like coral. Sure enough, within minutes, Bamboo found one and pointed it out to us. We then swam through a small cave opening in the water to a small lagoon which was enclosed by granite walls mixed with lush tropical flora. The water in the lagoon was a mixture of warm ocean water and cold spring water. Under water, we could hear the crackles of the spring water entering the lagoon. We swam through the lagoon to an area where there was an even smaller enclosed area. The water was much colder here and we learned that spiders (even great big hairy ones) can swim. Our next stop was the Big Lagoon on the other side of Miniloc Island which had an entrance just big enough for the boat to get through. Due to millennia of erosion, the granite cliffs had very interesting formations, and Bamboo showed us the most famous ones, including Batman and the Virgin Mary. We then went to the tiny Simizu Island for some snorkeling, where Bamboo caught a puffer fish and we played with it before it waddled away. Bamboo found a secluded and deserted beach at which his assistant BBQ’d pork and fish. After lunch, we proceeded to Snake “Island” which was in actuality just a curving sand bank that connects two islands during low tide. Apparently the official island designator was padding the stats on that one. Then we went to Cudugnon Cave, the entrance of which was tiny, so Bamboo helped us climb through. Although it smelled like bat droppings, the colors were fascinating and changed depending on which way the sun hit the walls. Our final stop of the day was Seven Commando Beach for some more superb snorkelling.

A couple days later the same group (plus Johan) went to see some more islands (there are usually 3 tours but Bamboo combined them into 2 for us). Whereas the first time we went out, the threatening skies proved harmless, this time was the opposite and the rain seemed to follow us around all day. Despite the rain, we enjoyed the misty views and snorkeling, although we all had to endure jellyfish stinging us at one of the spots. While driving through the Tapuitan Straight, we stopped at a church which stood alone on the island without any other establishments. We learned that this church has only one service per year in May. It was set against the green background and above it were granite cliffs. We then went snorkeling at another site where Bamboo, being a conservationist, was angry that the coral was mostly dead due to dynamite fishing even though he'd recently seen it alive. Sadly, even though dynamite fishing is illegal, it still happens in areas not designated (and thus protected) as national parks. This second day of island hopping also included a barbeque lunch at our very own beach. Jason was adventurous enough to eat pork face, including the ear and snout. Priti opted for the fish. Bamboo then took us to the Secret Beach, which was hidden behind huge granite stones and not listed on the maps, meaning we once again had the place to ourselves. Although it had been raining earlier, the water was crystal clear and we could see the sand waves at the bottom. And then all of a sudden, we saw baby black-tipped reef sharks dart across the water with acceleration that seemed impossible. Then, even more incredibly, they made a 270-degree turn without slowing down. After arriving back at the Marina Garden Cottage resort wet and tired, we learned that our flight the following day from El Nido to Basuanga, another island in Palawan, was cancelled. We decided to think about our travel options over a steak dinner but were disappointed to learn that they were out of steak. The thing about Palawan island is that it is so remote that if one place doesn’t have a food item, like beef, that means all the restaurants and stores don’t have it either and won’t until the next shipment. We figured bad things happen in threes – the rain, the cancelled flight, and no delicious steak for dinner.

The following day was the most gorgeous day thus far at El Nido; not a cloud in the sky and totally calm water. We kayaked to a small island called Cadlao that was a few kilometers from El Nido beach. Our own private island – well at least for the afternoon. We basked in the sun and snorkeled around half of it since it was pretty small. The coral was beautiful and untouched since tour groups do not go snorkeling here (they figure it’s too close to El Nido beach to charge people.) While snorkeling, we came across a school of six or seven dark silver/grey barracudas. We hovered, keeping our distance and waiting for them to move along, but they just stayed there, essentially warning us that we were on their turf. Even though we’d been diving with sharks, this was the first time that underwater animals had a truly menacing presence, and when Priti saw one open its jaw and show off its sharp teeth, she ended the snorkeling excursion. No one wants to be a meal for barracuda. During the evening, before dinner we tried chicken intestine from a local vendor. The top part tasted like gizzard but by the end it tasted more like liver...yuk. Luckily another vendor had fried bananas to get rid of the bitter aftertaste. Later, we enjoyed a candlelit dinner with our hosts in their courtyard. Then we moved to the restaurant next door to enjoy desert and more snacks on the beach with the waves crashing literally at our feet.

Our time in Palawan sadly had come to an end and the next day, we lounged on a large outrigger for eight and half hours to Coron, which is well-known for its numerous wreck dives, mostly Japanese ships from WWII. Coron itself is a city built on the water with each building elevated on strong wooden posts. The passageways between homes are rickety bamboo bridges that seemed barely able to withstand our weight. Priti had another go at diving and Jason again fed the addiction he had acquired in Fiji. The coral was the most pristine and colorful that Jason had seen thus far diving and the wrecks were something to behold. Jason even got to go inside (i.e., penetrate) one of the wrecks at a depth of about 30 meters. It was a bit scary but exhilirating to look up and not see sunlight. Also, the bubbles would get trapped in various spots so once they surfaced they continued to see bubbles as if there were ghost divers still underwater. After enjoying a full day of diving, our all-too-brief stay on Coron was done. The next day we were off to Manila which was spent, strangely, at a local cemetery for All Soul's (or Saint's) Day, where we saw thousands of families honoring their deceased relatives by hanging out at their grave sites, lighting candles, and feasting on food. Similar to when we arrived, the contrast between the rich and poor Filipinos was eye-opening; whereas some families relaxed in compounds, others lit effegies in vacant fields littered with debris. We were the only tourists there and thus got some interesting looks from the locals, both positive and negative. We joined in the festivities by sampling some skewered meats and sweets from the street vendors. And onward we go to Thailand where the feasting will continue.