Angkor/Siem Reap, Cambodia: Wed 7/30, Day 70 Pt2

Continuing on with Wed, and I'm writing this in a bit of a rush so sorries if it's sloppy... We weren't allowed into most of the main temple (Angkor Wat), but what was could see was impressive enough. Many pictures were snapped, much rain battled against... it was an epic end to the day's bike ride. The rain clouds thwarted our plans to see the temples in the midst of a golden sunset but at the same time gave them an eerie, spiritual look that they wouldn't have otherwise had. After getting a good fill we set off back to Siem Reap to return our bikes and go whereever the night would take us.

...a dining booth in the local branch of "The Pizza Company." Our legs liquidated, our energy sapped, no local $1 Cambodian street vendor dish could refuel stomachs as empty as ours were. The only answer was greasy, pseudo-American style pizza as only a mass franchised chain restaurant could muster one. It was a slightly more upscale version of Pizza Hut, charging identical prices and packed to the brim with (rich) locals. Just like in an American chain family restaurant or any other around the world (I assume), an army of waiters marched out with a candle-lit birthday cake singing "Happy Birthday" in Khmer & English to a random boy in the corner whose birthday it happened to be that night. ...and they kept singing it. And sung some more, and more, until Jeff & I's laughter faded into "when is this going to end?" glares. It eventually did end and despite the droning, did manage to put smiles on our faces.

As for the pizza itself, well, I'm not sure which Asian country launched the "Pizza Company" chain, but whoever it was they thought Americans stuff their crust to a ridiculous proportion with not only cheese, but the longest sausage you've ever seen as well. I passed on the sausage crust, but the rest ("BBQ Chicken Special" aka "Chili-flavored Chicken Teriyaki") provided exactly the grease fix I needed. The random usually-taken-for-granted foods one starts craving here are funny. Jeff spent most of tonight's dinner pining for some real cheese or milk, the milk we ordered wound up being the same milk-flavored sugar water sold everywhere in S. Vietnam. I had my first real fluffy bun of bread in maybe a month tonight; Nepalis only ate flat naan, SE Asians stick to rice. Ditto for greasy Western fast food, our stomachs just can't survive without the odd dose of it here and there.

The night was concluded with the discovery of a set of hammocks on the third floor of our even-better-than-the-one-in-Bangkok hostel. This hostel had everything. The dorm rooms were well cooled, had clean private bathrooms, the ground floor had a swimming pool... ahh it was paradise. Anyways, yesh we had a nice "beer + hammocks" hangout, chatted some more about life, and hit the sack. We didn't hit the sack before meeting some of our fellow dormmates though, including a fervently anti-American German named - forgot his name, but he was quite the silly man with a very specifically funny type of German accent that we can't stop impersonating. Sample exchanges:

- "I vas in US, I spent week in LA."
- "Ah, how'd you like it?"
- "Eh, it vas LA. It is neither good nor bad, it is just LA. Vat is there to say." (shoulder shrug + German style grimace)

- "You've been to Cuba? How was it?"
- "Eh, it vas Cuba." (shrug)

- "How was China?"
- "Eh, it vas China." (shrug)

- "What's it like to live in Hamburg?"
- "Eh, it iz Hamburg. Vat is there to say..."

And so ended our first full day in Cambodia. By this point, having biked around a good chunk of the surprisingly green town center, and having been blown away by the temples, I was thoroughly charmed. etc etc internet bill running high, adios for now

---Vital Signs---
Food Poisonings = ZERO
Malaria Vaccine Deployed = 50%
Green Tea Milkshakes = 3

Angkor Wat/Siem Reap, Cambodia: Wed 7/30, Day 70 Pt1

Following a $1 breakfast buffet of unlimited cereal, toast, fruit, and tea, we headed off to the nearest bicycle renter & ATM, both of which were conveniently next door to one another. The ATM was difficult to find, being somewhere inside Siem Reap's indoor mall, tiny by our standards but a mall nonetheless and a symbol of the main wealth difference between Nepal & Cambodia. Unlike Nepal, there are visible signs of foreign investment here and big money floating around (whereas it was pretty clear nobody had money in Nepal.) Also, as with any Western country the mall was a clear favorite hangout spot of all the local school-aged kids, who I guess were either off school that day or didn't go to begin with. Jeff asked around and after some sign language, misunderstanding, and broken English was able to find the ATM on the 3rd floor. "How do you know it's up there?" "See the reflection in that glass?" (Jeff points to a barely decipherable reflection of an ATM sign on a random obscure piece of plexiglass far above us) Jeff was bitten by a radioactive spider whilst in Taiwan and was instilled with superhuman eyesight.

In Pokhara I rented the world's crappiest bike. The bikes here were the world's second crappiest but got the job done, though Jeff's had a working bike bell & mine didn't thus prompting much jealousy from me. We set off on our day-long ride and within fifteen minutes were at the entrance to the temples area. The park workers had to take our picture for the ticket, both of ours turned out silly looking. As we biked toward the beginning of the "grand tour" loop, a motorcycle whizzed by with two whole pig carcasses roped to its back & kind of bouncing up and down as the bike rumbled down the bumpy road. "Did you just see that??" "WTF hahaha" etc. A right turn and fifteen minutes of pedaling led us to the first of many temples scattered around the countryside and a dozen or so of the most impressive on the larger loop. It was nice but a mere lump of dust compared to some of the buildings we'd see in the ensuing seven hours. Over the rest of the early afternoon, we biked around from temple to temple, each one growing larger and more impressive than the next. It got to the point where we were saying to each other: if these are the "small" ones, what'll Angkor Wat itself going to be like? The excitement was building fast.

My camera began to act up while climbing around what turned out to be the largest of the outer temples, prompting me to ask Jeff if I could transfer my memory card to his camera for a bit. Not sure if it was compatible, he opened up the card door on his camera, tapped his card to eject it, and BLOOP... it shot out and flew a couple feet into the air. We both watched in horror as it bounced onto the ground, fearing it would fall off the edge and land in some inaccessible corner of the ruins. It instead by some freak luck/unluck landed deep inside a crack between two of the boulder-bricks forming the floor, a crevice too narrow to simply reach in and pluck it out. We made slight fools of ourselves over the next fifteen-odd minutes as we used every twig like tool in our possession, mainly the wristband of Jeff's watch, to try and push it along into a more accessible corner of the crack. The stakes were high, some of the pictures on Jeff's memory card were irretakable and with mine nearly full, we'd basically not have a camera for the rest of the foreseeable future if Jeff's was disabled. Thankfully a nearby tourist found the perfect tool (and actual twig instead of a twig-substitute) and we were able to get the card out, fhew. A goofy twenty minutes, it was.

At the end of the bike loop, following a $4 purchase of a bootlegged photocopy of the Cambodia Lonely Planet book, was the ancient city of Angkor Thom and just beyond it, Angkor Wat itself. The weather rapidly turned foul by this point, erupting in one of the fiercest rainstorms I'd seen. The water was coming down so furiously that both of us had to pull over to the side and stop biking because our contacts were literally being bombarded out of our eyes. We took refuge in an epic setting, underneath one of the immense stone gates of Angkor Thom along with a half dozen smiley locals. While the rain might sound like it sucked, it offered two priceless benefits: the murky sky would make the grand finale that much more atmospheric, and the water would chase most of the other tourists away. It was a substantial blessing in disguise.

After a moderate wait and tamer rain, we continued on our way into the ancient city... only to be thwarted again by the rain changing its mind and resuming its former temper tantrum. The grounds were starting to flood, neither of us were wearing rain gear (it was blazing hot earlier in the morning), and we struggled to find new shelter. I noticed an abandoned steel canopy of some sort off to the side of the road, but Jeff (who was in front) whizzed right past it and instead toward a shelter-less temple wall. "Jeff! That thing doesn't even have a roof, where are you going!?" "Ahhh I don't know!!" came the agonized mind-blown response. Chuckling, we biked back onto the road, I nearly got hit by a stampede of scooters but survived, and flocked to the random steel canopy. Here we waited, and waited... drenched from head to toe and overwhelmed (in a good way) by the sheer scale of this park, for the weather to give us a break. Three casualties were sustained. The pirated LP book I'd bought proved less waterproof than an official copy and practically disintegrated from the pounding of the rain, and my beloved Nikon Coolpix, which had survived the OCRC kids, Sushaan and the wrath of a feisty gibbon, finally gave up on life. Not to worry though, Jeff's camera is still kicking and will capture the rest of the trip. The third casualty was the true tragedy. Since he had rolled in his sleeves to combat the unreal humidity, Jeff's upper arms were left vulnerable to the rain's pounding. This had the effect of washing away his deodorant, something I didn't alert him about but can totally make fun of here because he'll probably never read this. So yeah Jeff was stinky for the rest of the evening, neener neener neener.

By about 4pm we were able to continue on our way. We first poked our heads out of the eastern gate to check out another outer temple, then back in to see Angkor Thom's main central monument. It was named the "Bayon" and was a grouping of a dozen stone turrets covered in large carved faces of Emperor Chingpangdongpingwangdingding. It was one of the most impressive feats of construction I'd ever seen, not that I've seen that many ancient ruins to compare it to. In fact, the only ruin more impressive than it was probably Angkor Wat itself, which we reached a half hour later. As predicted, the rain chased not all but a solid chunk of the mass hordes away and while we were left literally wading through the Bayon instead of walking, there were only maybe 6-10 other tourists present. After a couple loops around and through it, we left the Bayon and biked toward Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat is, as I've said before, regarded as one of the man made wonders of the world, and with every previous temple in the park either matching or exceeding its hype, I started to grow a lump in my throat out of anticipation. And yes, it lived up to the hype. Though we weren't allowed into most of the structure, it was an awe-inspiring sight to behold. From afar the temple didn't look too terribly big but as we walked the long stone bridge leading toward it, we squinted at the entrance:
"Those people look very small..."

To be continued. It's getting pretty late in the morning and it'll take at least twenty more minutes to finish writing about this day. See you next time!

---Image of the Week---
A small monkey climbs up a tree, it's larger playmate trots along, yanks the other's tail and pulls it down from the tree.

Food Poisonings = ZERO
Weight = Recovering a bit, I think.

Crossing the Cambodian Border: Tues 7/29, Day 69

A tap on the shoulder from Jeff woke me up. After what should have only been 3 hours of sleep to catch the first border-bound train, I felt strangely awake and wondering how the sun was so high this early.
"It's 10am." "Goddamnit."

We skipped breakfast, checked out, and flew to the bus station via subway. The overland journey to Siem Reap (the Cambodian city that houses Angkor Wat) involves a 4-5h bus ride or 6h train from Bangkok to Arayna Prathet on the border, then a tuk-tuk to the actual border, an hour of wandering around the Cambodian border town wondering what the heck is going on, and finally a bus or taxi ride the rest of the way to Siem Reap on a mostly dirt road, with that journey time varying between 3 and 8 hours depending on how long its been since the last rain storm. Basically, we were supposed to leave very early in the morning to get there before dark, and it would now be noon before we were out of Bangkok thanks to a breakdown in human/alarm clock relations. This wasn't a good start, but we were determined to get to Siem Reap by the end of the night no matter what ridiculous hour we'd end up there. The next bus left at 12:30 and we snagged the last tickets just in time. 5h and a sore butt later, we were at the dusty but pleasant Thai border town. A tuk-tuk carried us to the local Cambodian consulate where we arranged our Visa-on-Arrivals (probably for some extra commission fee but by this point we didn't care), and off we whizzed to the border itself.

An Instant-Friend(tm) of a new, yet unencountered breed greeted us here. This guy used fear tactics to make his sale.
- "You want transport, I help you."
- "No thanks, we'll go it alone."
- "What you don't trust me, you think you smart? You tourist, you stupid. You go back to Thailand and party... You no want my help I no help you etc etc."

The book assured that no matter what touts at the border say, Cambodia was (at the moment) a safe destination and we should not succumb to their bogus warnings. I didn't really want his services anyway after he called us idiots. Exiting Thailand was a normal, hassle fee process, only involving a simple "thank you for visiting! ::stamp::" Once we left the immigration office though, we rounded a corner and came upon a beaten, gothic, dark grey arc d'triumph like structure with a faded "WELCOME TO KINGDOM OF CAMBODIA" emblazoned across. Atop the arc was a botched replica of Angkor Wat that only made it look that much more ominous. We passed under the arc and into the Cambodian immigration office, where we met a fellow American tourist, this one from Bakersfield. He was in town to gamble (Poipet, the Cambodian border town, makes its money via casinos) and we chatted briefly about his travels, which country was his favorite, etc. In the middle of the conversation, a tout popped up in the window and proceeded to shout "I tourist police! I take care of tourist!" He was no older than 20, had a peach-fuzz 'stache, a baseball cap, and a handkerchief around his neck, yeah right he was a tourist cop. We brushed him off, got our passports stamped, and took our first steps into Asia's 3rd poorest country (Nepal & Bangladesh trade spots for #1) and the 8th poorest in the world. And oh wow, this was not a good first impression.

Poipet was a lawless mudpit of a place, with recently bombed out buildings filling the gaps between the seediest looking casinos I've ever seen. Touts on motorbikes circled around asking for a taxi job and our new "tourist cop" friend continued to annoy. We ignored him and as with the first Poipet tout, he too turned to fear tactics.

"You act stupid to me! You're in Cambodia now! You stupid, without me cop pull you aside and take your money, you dead." - direct quote.

If I hadn't been with Jeff, I would have made an instant u-turn back into Thailand and Poipet would've taken the honorable position of being the only town on the trip that I did not feel safe traversing alone. Thankfully I was not alone and on we pressed. All prior research, homework, and stories indicated that the real Cambodia was as harmless as a Balinese jungle village, and that this hell hole was a drastic exception to the rule. And my, what a hell hole it was. It was like nightmare that looked more at home in "Children of Men" than SE Asia. Even with Jeff, doubts ran through my head. I was safe in Nepal because its people were peaceful and the country a magnet for neo-hippies. This place however was a clear gangster stronghold and anything could probably happen - not really, but such were my scared thoughts. I popped open the good ole LP hoping to find some guidance, only to find that the author of the Cambodia section was not the sharpest on the staff and the Poipet blurb completely useless. There was no map of the town, making an aimless possibly endless stroll down the main drag our only hope of finding the bus station, and no one seemed to know of a free tourist shuttle to the station from the immigration post that the book mentioned. The book basically just said "get out as fast as you can" with no useful instructions on how to do so, great. Not only that, but our tout friends kept insisting no buses to Siem Reap would be running at this late hour, meaning that even if we found the station our struggle could be fruitless. We decided to walk for a bit, if only to soak in the atmosphere, hopefully get lucky, and if not start haggling with the nearest taxi.

Turns out Pseudo Tourist Cop had nothing better to do that day and tagged along, deaf to our silent treatment and probably just looking for trouble. I'm not going to repeat some of the stuff he blabbered to us here, but it took virtually forty minutes to get rid of the guy. On the rare occasion we'd find a moto/tuktuk/taxi who agreed to drive us, he'd show up, start shouting at them, and suddenly they weren't so eager for our business. We remembered plowing through an entire army of taxi drivers at the immigration office though and decided the best option was to walk back there and defeat this punk with shear numbers. I think we would've been successful, but along the way one of the prior drivers snuck up and whispered that he'd drive us for a fair price, he just couldn't agree with the other guy present (or something like that.) Mr Punk rode up on his bike on and off while we waited, shouted some more incoherent empty threats unless we agreed to sleep at his hotel, but was easily shrugged off. Before long we were in an air conditioned taxi en route to Siem Reap; Jeff said he saw Mr Punk tear a USD in half in frustration as we drove away, snicker. So, after one of the biggest whirlwind nightmares of the trip yet, our perseverance landed us a taxi at what the book listed as a bargain price, and yeah... dunno how we pulled that off, but it was a victory worthy of song and story.

The driver himself was a magical human being, got us there in 3h and gave us a classic "welcome to Cambodia" moment. A lone cow emerged on the dust clouded road at one point (it was after dark fyi), prompting the driver to turn to the side... revealing an entire flock of cows blocking the rode, and too close to stop. "Ya know, it would be hilarious if we actually hit one of them." was the thought that ran through both our heads. Just then:

BAM! "Moooo..."

Jeff and I turned around in shock, then turned to each other, mouths agape. Did that just seriously happen? We burst into hysteric laughter as the taxi skidded to a stop with the driver shaking his had and uttering the funniest "Oh... my God..." I've heard in a while. Only the side mirror hit the cow, who as far as we could tell was not lying wounded on the road behind us. We shared some more laughter and continued the rest of the way to Siem Reap. The other travelers I'd met this past month, the book, and my own homework proved correct. Siem Reap seemed like a completely different country. Paved, well marked roads, half decent lighting, traffic lights, parks along a river, sparkling hotels and even a mall (albeit a small one.) Despite is poverty, this was a civilized, relaxed, and most of all charming city. The taxi driver dropped us off by a tuk-tuk hangout, whose driver graciously gave us a free ride the rest of the way to the hostel. He asked us to strongly consider hiring him as a guide around Angkor Wat the next day, and it was an unspoken understanding that the free ride was on the condition that we'd hire him. Prefering to do the rental bike thing, we rejected his offer but thanked him for the ride with a fair payment - which he at no point asked for even after I made it clear we didn't want a guide. "Welcome to Siem Reap, please I hope you enjoy my homeland." he said, smiling, as we parted ways and checked into the quite nice and cheap hostel.

Terrifying first impression aside, I was now sure this tiny rugged country would be (and now is) a highlight of the trip. Nowhere else would a taxi driver chuckle and shrug off nearly hitting a suicidal cow with what was probably Cambodian for "Eh, happens all the time..."

Bangkok, Thailand: Mon 7/28, Day 68

I'm going to rewind for a little bit back to the "Dark Knight" IMAX watching, 'cause I forgot an important detail of the screening. At the end of the pre-movie commercials, the audience stood up with their hands on their hearts and a very slick, almost creepy propaganda piece saluting the King started playing, lasting the length of a movie trailer. We didn't know what was going on at first and just kind of looked around the room, thought "okay, I guess we should stand..." and proceeded to be really confused by the whole thing. When the reel finally ended and the Thais sat back down, Jeff and I turned to each other with "Where. Are. We..." glances. Two Europeans started cracking up mid-propaganda and walked out as soon as it was over. The reel was followed by the only thing more noble than a video tribute to the King: a beer commercial. The movie started shortly after.

Anyways, on with Monday. We woke up at a respectable hour and made our way to the local hawker center for breakfast, where I picked some random Thai language item and found myself struggling through a meal of unbearable spiciness. It wasn't just "very hot," it was "I didn't know it was even possible for food to be this hot." I managed to get through the noodles and some prawns, but left a good third of the plate over and snatched some banana cakes from the local 7-Eleven to compensate. Jeff struggled as well, but was luckier in his random menu item pickings. Following breakfast we made our way over to the Chao Phraya River (or something like that) for a ferry ride up to the old city & royal palace. The guide on the ferry spoke some hysterical indecipherable English, at one point telling the boat that the river boats go "up and down up and down up and down up and down up and down up and down up and down up and down da wiver, up and down..." The royal palace and surrounding temples were cool... I guess... Gorgeous from afar but borderline tacky up close, complete with brightly colored glass sequins in their walls. It took about two hours and ten bucks to cover the whole mildly disappointing but worth the effort sight, whilst walking around in these goofy nylon clown pants they lent to immodestly dressed tourists to cover up our shorts. We looked silly.

We've developed a love-hate relationship with the locals. They are magically happy, per their reputation, but as the book warned are also fully aware of their reputation as the friendliest people on Earth and many of them have used this to take advantage of tourists. The book had a long list of alarming keywords and scams to watch out for, and we ran in to almost all of them. Thanks to reading the book backwards and forwards we were able to plow through most without a scratch and snicker at the other tourists who were clearly being taken for a ride, but it didn't take long for both our patiences to exhaust. Jeff in particular was all "I'm never going to trust anyone ever again! You put up with three weeks of this?" Not only do the touts here know how to lure you in and lie about this and that good deal, but they know how to embelish the lie with jokes, chuckles, half-truths, and charm to make it seem flawless. Like I said, I was able to spot them all and after nearly falling for the first one, Jeff caught on fast and could do the same, but if we'd read the book only forwards instead of backwards and forwards, we'd have had a miserable time. There were even signs posted around the Royal Palace warning "BEWARE WILY STRANGERS", "Don't trust locals who offer boat ride, Lucky Buddha, or tailor shop", or the good old "Do not trust strangers." It was surreal. We dodged about four of them total, the most cunning of whom was a college student who chatted with us about college stuff for ten whole minutes before suggesting we take a tuk-tuk to a "Lucky Buddha statue" and warning us not to ride the yellow license plate tuk-tuks, only the white plated ones because those are government run. A white plated tuk-tuk conveniently drove up to offer a ride like a well oiled machine, we rejected, and it didn't take long for us to realize that it was in fact the yellow plates that were regulated, not vice versa. The student wrote down his mobile number saying "okay if it turn out to be bad, you call me and say "F### you, Ben! Haha." We did not call him up.

The day took a turn for the better after leaving the more tourist-frequented areas. We wandered through the old town and some market place before heading to Lumphini Park in hopes of catching a Thai Boxing match. Turns out there were none at that sight today, but we'll be passing back through in a week-ish and will catch one then. The market was enjoyable, as markets always are, and thought it took two hours to find because we were misdirected thrice, the park was pleasant. If I may continue to poke fun at the locals 'cause it's fun, these people are the absolute silliest with directions. Some sillinesses include:

- "Okay you go stwaight, den turn weft at twaffic jam."
"Left at the traffic jam?"
"Yes."
"Got it."

- "Which way is the bus station?" (both in English, Thai, and hand signal charades)
"Diagonal-left."
(we walk for fifteen minutes diagonal-left, then stop another local)
"Down and then right."
(we make a u-turn and walk for fifteen minutes back the same way we came, then stop another local)
"Left. Just left."
(we go left for a bit, give up, and hire a tuk-tuk, who drives off in a completely new 4th direction)

All that said, scattered bad apples and silly quirks aside these are a friendly folk who have an inspiring ability to find humor in the littlest of things. I wuv them dearly.

I gotta go now, so this entry will have to be cut short. The next will finish this day and continue on with the next. We're in Siem Reap, Cambodia now, home of Angkor Wat, an ancient temple regarded as one of the true wonders of the world. It is wonderful.

Bangkok, Thailand: Mon 7/28, Day 68 Cont.

Rewinding again back to the 28th, following our walk around the Royal Palace/Old Town and evasion of the touts, we took a bus + subway to Lumphini Park in hopes of catching a boxing match. As we exited the subway, we asked a lady running one of the food stalls which way the park was. After walking a really long time in the direction she pointed, we gave up, turned around, poked around a fascinating night market, and found that the park was in fact right behind her, hidden by a fence. The diversion proved worthwhile, as like I said the market was neat and they sold dragonfruit milkshakes... mmm. This is the first country that's had dragonfruit regularly available, I'd never heard of it until now but saught them out on Jeff's recommendation, he appearantly fell in wuv with the fruit in Taiwan.

Following dinner and the discovery of the park, we hit a snag and found the boxing arena closed. Matches are held every other day and today was not one of those days. We'll catch one sometime before the end of the trip, I'm sure. Now having stumbled upon this giant grassy park place with a fake lake, and no longer having a boxing match to attend, we spent the rest of the hour wandering through it and cherishing this one rare moment of fresh air (Bangkok's smog makes LA look like the Alps.) The park turned out to be a jackpot for people watching, with locals of all ages doing their evening jogs and swirling around on these goofy exercise machines scattered about. Thai joggers are just as silly and spandexy as Californian joggers; again the world started to seem small.

Our feet on the verge of death from all the day's walking and Jeff seeming just as beat from 2 months abroad as I, we threw the towel in the bag and retreated to our AMAZING hostel. They even had shampoo dispensers in the shower! A 7-Eleven snack run followed and my addiction to banana cake worsened, we both chugged some much needed bottles of chocolate milk, and plotted the next day's adventures. Though its certainly been a fun time, we both agreed that considering we'd have two more chances to spend time in Bangkok before the end, we'd had enough of the nutty city for the time being and should depart first thing in the morning. Angkor Wat was a full day's ride away through some allegedly ugly territory and the sooner we got the journey over with the better. I double checked our hostel reservation for the three following nights, recorded the information, and off we went for what was planned to be a late night out in one of Bangkok's legendary nightclubs. This involved passing through Patpong Street, the most notorious of the city's red light districts and home to a night market that tourists with families for some reason thought was a good idea to take their kids to. Merchants manning souvenir stalls would walk up to us and proceed with what became a familiar sequence of sales attempts:
- "Want t-shirt?"
- "No, have one."
- "Hat?"
- "Don't need."
- "Scarf or bag for your girlfriend?"
- "Don't have one. :-("
- "What 'bout sex show?"

...they would then pop out a... fascinating... menu of "shows" we could see, including such classics as "Pussy With Needle", "Pussy Eat Banana" & "Man & Woman Makelove." We needless (or need?) to say did not purchase tickets, instead settling for a good ole round of harmless beers at the first available picnic table. Of the local brews, Singha was the greatest with Tiger in a close second. Beer Chang was only slightly better than Bud Light. By the time we'd finished another long catching up convo and 2nd dinner it was already 3am. So much for clubbing, d'oh.

Other moments worthy of note that I absentmindedly left out:
- An LA traveler, drunk, doing the USC Fight On song (complete with the bobbing victory sign) to our hostel's trash can
- A pair of Europeans who we'd befriended, helped out, and who kindly gave us their pen as they left. We thanked them and discovered that the pen was obviously empty, they were just using us as garbage cans. "Even the tourists our taking advantage of us! ::sigh::"
- Jeff taking a shower in the (initially empty) girl's bathroom, not realizing that the hostel was so nice that it had gender separated bathrooms. Oops.

That's all I can think of for now, there's for sure more but the memory is blanking.

Coming within a day:
1. The Tijuana of Cambodia
2. Angkor Wat & Siem Reap
3. Phnom Pehn
4. Ho Chi Minh City round #1

Bangkok, Thailand: Sun 7/27, Day 67

For a more after-the-fact-proofread version of this and following tales, plz go to: http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog/sirrocko711/1/tpod.html

After sleeping in and squandering much of the morning daudling around in the hostel (which is quite nice and new), I disembarked for some random exploration. It was already 11am and I had to leave for the airport by 2:30 (takes an hour to get there and the bus is infrequent), so I didn't get far, but I did manage to see one local temple and bus it to and fro the main tourist drag (Khao San Rd.) Khao San was a bit of a wasteland, but the temple was quite nice. Bangkok has a gloriously air conditioned, brand spanking new "Sky Train" (elevated subway) system that makes getting around most of the city's modern areas quick and convenient; this helped me in my slight rush. After the temple, I cleaned up a bit and took up position at the bus stop waiting for the airport express bus. It supposedly runs every 45min, but the one other guy waiting said he'd been there a full hour. After a further half hour, the bus finally arrived. The driver was a hysterical little man and a joke filled three way chit chat erupted between me, the other guy, and the driver. We came upon a traffic jam which made me worry I would be late for my airport rendezvous, but to my surprise the bus swerved off the main road and took the arse-backwards route to the expressway. The other rider inquired what this would mean for passengers waiting farther down the jammed up main road:

"Aww it okAY, big twaffic jam, I never get to dem anyway."

Sucked for the now abandoned future passengers, but was great for us hee. We bypassed the traffic and got to the airport ahead of schedule. One neat thing about Bangkok roads: You know that website that gives you a real-time graphic of all the traffic jams in LA, coloring streets green yellow or red depending on the jam level? There are electronic displays above many of the intersections here that have those exact same color coded traffic maps, letting drivers immediately know how crowded all the surrounding roads are and adjust their route accordingly.

Once at the airport, some nervousness set in. I'd messaged Jeff saying I'd meet him at his baggage claim, but forgot that non-passengers aren't allowed into international baggage claims because of customs and whatnot. I was forced to wait behind a barricade hidden amongst a half billion other people at the far edge of the arrivals area, and the airport is huge and not helpful to the chances of a random bump-in. I checked the arrivals board, his plane landed about 20min early, so there was a minute chance he was already floating around here somewhere. I glanced around and trotted the long length of the terminal, no luck. After about ten minutes I found what appeared to be the only door passengers were passing through from customs, plowed my way into the front row of the barricade crowd, and began waiting. He'd probably already passed through by now, but I thought it best to just stick around and watch the passengers go by for a bit just in case. This was a pretty central location, there was a decent chance he'd pass back through if he went looking for me.

A half hour passed, forty minutes, a full hour... Oh noes! Due too only scattershot messages between us during his busy Taiwan internship, we didn't really set up an alternative meet-up plan should something go wrong in the airport. I'd emailed him the hostel info but didn't get a response, so I wasn't sure if he even knew where we were staying. Worry set in. Also worrisome was the solid chance he fell in such love with Taiwan that he just decided to miss his flight and stay there forever. The clock struck 5, almost an hour and a half since the posted arrival time, and I went to Improvised Plan B: Page him. I had the info desk announce Jeff's name (minus the silent P, to avoid confusion) over the loudspeaker and instruct him to come to X location, waited a further 10 minutes... no Jeff...

...then two unknown arms suddenly wrapped themselves around me. I turned my head, and whallah! Jrrrreefff! He said he walked right by me and triple checked with the info desk people when they pointed towards me, because I was unrecognizable at first glance with my new Nepal-inflicted skin & bones look. Latest weight is 61 kilos. Jeff's weight is 64. I'm officially skinnier than Jeff, which is not good. I've upped my 7-11 banana cake intake from one to four a day in hopes of fattening up a bit. The local food here is rougher than I thought it would be though, it's spicey as hell no matter how mild you tell them to cook it, and isn't usually smothered in that delicious peanut sauce common in American Thai restaurants. It might just be because we've been eating from budget food stalls, we'll see how the sit-down restaurants are.

Anyways... yeah, we caught up, road the bus to the hostel, settled in, discussed what to do, and decided to stroll through the notorious red light district before heading off to Siam Square Mall for a long awaited treat. The red light district was about as creepy, funny, and overwhelming as one would imagine it to be. There were tourist families with kids strolling in and out, poking around the adjacent market, so things weren't that naughty though. Following this walk, we got dinner in the mall's food court and laughed along with by the chef/cashier. These Thais love to smile and laugh, I'm sure he was just joking around but it's hard to tell if they're just having fun or laughing at you. I don't know what the dish I ordered was called, but it was diced chicken curry wrapped in Indian-style flatbread and quite tasty, plus some fried bean curry chunks. After dinner, rather than checking out any legendary Bangkok nightlife, seeing any landmarks or sights, or touring around, we engaged in one of life's simple pleasures: a good night out at the movies. In this case, it was "The Dark Knight" in Siam Square's IMAX. I held off seeing it until I got to a city that actually had an IMAX, and boy was that worth the wait. Believe the hype, this is the greatest superhero movie in recent memory.

Time to go, & off to CAMBODIA!! tomorrow.

---Vital Signs---
Hygiene = Decent
Tuk-Tuk Rides = 1
Scams Dodged = More today than in the entire past week combined
Jeffs = 1
Monkeys = None since Indonesia

Kuala Lumpur & The Blackjack Scam: Fri-Sat 7/25-26, Day 65-66

So I've come up with a new game. It's called "find the Coffee Bean branch in the Malaysian megamall." You see, I visited 5 malls during my brief time in Malaysia and each of them had both a Starbucks and a Coffee Bean. The Starbucks was listed on the mall directory, the Coffee Bean never was. If it was a computerized directory, Coffee Bean would be listed but the computer would misdirect you to Starbucks if you selected it. (this happened to me twice)

lulz.

An early wakeup lead me to a food court in the local mall, where I ate two Chinese "dim sum" dumplings for breakfast. The "are you stupid or something?" seemingly inherant rude-for-dumb-reasons-ness of Kuala Lumpurians surfaced here as well. In the food court was a dumpling kiosk, other restaurants, and an inviting coffee shop that served food as well. Craving coffee, I carried my dumplings over to said coffee shop, approached the counter with what should have been an unmistakably obvious intent on ordering, and before I could even place an order heard a squawking behind me: "You eat OVER THERE! That is not our food!" (Malaysian food courts do not have free seating like those in Singapore, you must sit by the vendor you ordered from) Slightly miffed, I shrugged my shoulders and turned away, thinking "okay, you don't want my business, not my problem." The other cashier, the one with the brain, shouted after me: "Oh wait, did you want some coffee?" Umm, yes... why the hell else would I have walked into a coffee shop? He took my order and within minutes I was slurping one of the better cups of Java I've ever had.

Sightseeing for the day included random exploration of KL's Chinatown, Little India, and Colonial districts, all of which actually did have a hustle and bustle feel unlike those in Singapore. If Singapore was a real city, KL is the city it would be, and for this I was happy and in the midst of fun. There wasn't much specific worthy of note here though, just an array of fascinating sights, people, and smells. Along the way I had my memory card emptied and burned to CD, incase that's worthy of note. I ate late lunch/early dinner at a Little India hawker center, again forgot that seating wasn't free for all, was again yelled at and kicked out of my seat (despite there being no seating by the vendor I'd purchased from), found a quite little corner and chowed down. It tasted pretty good but I could tell my stomach was loosing its temper. No more hot curry for a while.

While walking around Bukit Bintang afterwards, I was approached by a smiling middle aged Chinese woman who asked where I was from. Finally, someone who was friendly! I told her I was from California, and she said she just happened to have a daughter who would be going to school there soon. Would I be willing to meet the daughter and give some info about CA? Sure. I accompanied her into a taxi an off we went to her home. A doubt ran through my head, thinking this wasn't the best of ideas, but I slapped my inane paranoia down and dismissed it as ridiculous. I would have never met magical folks like Ary or the Bukit Lawang gang if I was paranoid and turned down offers of hospitality all the time. Thus, we entered her house and chatted for a bit. I talked about my volunteer work, we both talked about politics, etc etc. It was a long, solid and deep conversation. Unfortunately the daughter was visiting a sick relative in the hospital at the time and the visit was rendered a bit moot. I was about to say goodbye and leave, but the husband inquired:

"Do you know how to play blackjack?"
"Yes.
"Do you know how to win?"
"Not really." ("Oh no, where is this going...")
"Come, I show you."

The goofy looking hunched Chinese man showed me into the dining room and set up a card table, and several red flags immediately went up. I switched to Yellow Alert mode and locked a hand over my money bag. Under no circumstances was I to open it, I swore to myself. He laid out the deck, explained how he'd been a casino worker for years, and proceeded to teach me a laughably obvious hand signalling system where if he was the dealer, he'd be able to inform me of the next card and what the opponent's hidden card was. WTF...

"You see, last night there was this rich business woman from Brunei here, and we played Mah Jong. She won $50,000 and was greedy and gave only $200 back. She is coming soon to play again. I will tell her I found her a worthy opponent, but that your game is not Mah Jong, it is Blackjack. I will deal and give you the signals, you will win easily and we will split the winnings 50/50, deal? Here are $200 for you to bet (he shoves $200 into my pocket.)"

Before I could even say "Hell no," the business woman conveniently appeared and I'd found myself whirlwinded into the middle of a shady card game and a pawn in a scheme to (supposedly) swindle thousands of dollars off of a rich lady. I froze for a minute, probably weirding them out, as I slowly thought my way through what might me the most dangerous predicament I'd stumbled into yet.

"You're trapped in these peoples' home and thus can't get this guy in trouble with the business woman, which rules out an immediate and alarming escape. So you're stuck. Okay, so what are the possibilities:
A: You play an honest game, make sure she knows your playing an honest game & not looking at any signals, either win or lose, and decide what to do afterwards when that bridge comes."
B: She's in on the scam, in which case stick around for shits & giggles and under no circumstances part with your own cash. (not that I would in option A either)"

I elected option B. I didn't look at the old Chinese man, and ignored his wife's constant and slightly creepy patting of my hands as if to reassure me. Instead I kept my eyes locked on the business woman's, probably creeping her out but at least she'd know (perhaps too well) that I wasn't looking anywhere else, and proceeded to play. The deck was surely stacked, I can't remember the last time I was dealt such good hands. Having "won" a crapload of money from her without cheating, I tried to end the game. This wasn't part of the plan though, it was my money they wanted, not her's. Both the businesswomen and the elderly couple ignored what would usually be my right to end the game, and proceeded with what they emphasized would be the final round. I tried to lose just to see if it was possible, but won again. Now $23,000 of her supposed money was in the pot, and $23,000 of this Chinese man's ("mine") imaginary money was also in. Before we would flip over the cards however, the scam's punch line revealed itself. The business woman wanted to see $23,000 of "my" cash on the table before revealing the cards, because this for some reason would make her feel more secure. The husband stepped up and vouched to her that my "credit" was legitimate, guaranteeing me to her. She wouldn't have it, and agreed to depart for an hour while we "went to the bank" to arrange the cash. Minutes after she left, the husband hushedly explained to me his plan. He would go fetch as much hard cash as he could while I went with the wife to an ATM to withdraw as much cash as I could muster. The final red flags in my head went up, but an ATM trip represented an escape opportunity. I agreed.

During the car ride, the husband called the wife and relayed the message that he'd have to take out a bank loan to muster the cash, and that he needed me to muster the $2,000 interest payment, which for some reason was needed immediately in order to take out the loan. I shouldn't worry supposedly, as soon as the card matter was resolved I would be $15,000 richer and the husband would drop the money off at my hotel. Riiight... I played along, hung up, and proceeded to explain to the wife how while volunteering in Nepal, my host family introduced me to the art of Gurkha knifery. I invented some BS Nepali knife-related martial art and innocently, nonchalantly explained how I'd been taught how to use the knife to stab specific spiritual centers on the neck and could kill with a single blow. (all lies) Also, I explained that due to it being a valuable possession, I kept the Nepali blade on my at all times to make sure it wouldn't be stolen, and all times included now. (this actually was true, it's a Phurba blade I got as a surprise present for Jeff who is on an airplane at the moment and won't be reading this before the surprise) With the wife now noticeably scared -my desired effect - and wondering why I was choosing now to talk about this, we exited the car and approached the ATM. Goshdarnit, as it turns out I'm poor as dirt and didn't have much of a bank account balance to "help with the interest." I showed her my measly balance, and she realized I wasn't a good scamming target. (don't worry, she didn't see my PIN #) Still playing along, she told me that now that we couldn't prove to the businesswoman that we had $27,000 or whatever it was in hard cash, the card game was lost and it'd be really nice of me if I reimbursed the husband $100 to help pay for the $200 he "spent" on the initial betting. Psshaww fat chance. I refused, she played the "my mother is dying of cancer and we need $ for medical stuff" card, I called her bluff and said that if I could visit her Mom I'd give her the $100, not surprisingly she wasn't in the mood to visit her Mom at the moment, and... deep breath... at long last... we parted ways.

What.
The frak.

I at no moment parted with my own cash (counted it afterwards to make sure) and emerged without a scratch. This incident removed my last shred of trust with the locals in this part of the world, I'm going to have to turn down any further invites into local homes after this even if they're just trying to be friendly and need English practice. Sucks, but further entrapments & shady card games are not on the itinerary.

I retreated to an internet cafe for a bit afterwards to chat on Facebook and check my messages, ate dinner, and spent the rest of the night at a free open air concert on the main Bukit Bintang street.  The next day and night were train travel days, nothing really to talk about there so in the interests of saving internet money I'm going to skip writing about it. I'm safely in Bangkok now in the nicest hostel I've ever stayed at, and will meet Jeff at the airport by 4pm. Following this rendezvous, I will be traveling with a friend for the remainder of the trip. Bangkok itself is a surprisingly nice, cosmopolitan city, indistinguishable from those in 1st world countries. Haven't seen much of it yet, gonna go correct that problem now. Adios!

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia: Thurs 7/24, Day 64

The Indonesians warned me about Malaysians. "They're arrogant." "No, I don't like Malaysians." "Argh." "Bah." etc. I think Malaysia/Singapore and Indonesia have a relationship similar to that of the Southwestern US & Mexico. One is wealthy and developed, the other is the richly cultured but underdeveloped impoverished land that the adjacent developed country exploits for cheap labor. I could see why my Indonesian friends said what they did. There was an immediately noticable nosedive in the friendliness of the locals. People would simply grunt when I said hi to them, brush me off when I needed directions, and in one instance a man was resting his elbow on the back of my seat (preventing me from leaning back), and simply stared blankly when I eyed and gave what in any other place would be an unmistakable, unspoken "get your elbow 'tf off my seat, dude!" glare. Before I whine about the locals though, I must rave about my breakfast. I stopped by Penang's Little India and hit up a South Indian cafe I'd read about on the net. Remember that curry crepe I had near the end of Nepal? They served them here too, the name of the dish is "Paper Masala Dosa/Dosai/Thosai" if you ever see it on a menu in the US. Chicken curry might not be the best thing to put in your stomach immediately after waking up, but man that was some good stuff. Anyways, after breakfast and recovering from a largely sleepless uncomfy night, I took a ferry to the mainland and hoped on the first available bus to Kuala Lumpur. The busride itself was unnoteworthy.

Kuala Lumpur was like any other big cosmopolitan city around the globe: traffic snarled, megamalls everywhere, KFC-infected, glimmering skyscrapers abound including the Petronas Towers, the 2nd tallest building in the world at the moment and the tallest until Taipei 101 was finished a few years back. The towers were my only sightseeing stop for the night, and induced vertigo everytime I looked up at them. In the towers was a massive air-conditioned mall, which I hung around for a while simply because of its air conditioning. In the basement of this mall I struck a jackpot: a supermarket! The first one I'd encountered on this entire trip! As I remembered from the Eurotrip, the cheapest local food by far was to be found here. Despite this I bought only some soymilk, grapefruit juice, and a bakery concoction. Malaysia was more expensive than Indonesia, but still cheap enough to make eating at budget restaurants and hawker centers a viable activity, no need for me to cook my own food. Also present in this mall was a movie theater, but I resisted the urge to see The Dark Knight, The X-Files, Indy4 or any of the other half dozen major pictures I'd missed in Nepal. You're backpacking Charles, don't screw around in a movie theatre.

On the monorail ride back to Bukit Bintang, the nightlife filled neighborhood that housed my hotel, I very very slightly dented my ticket. It was a minor barely noticable blemish, a simple dog ear if that. Despite this, the exit gate refused the ticket and directed me to the ticket office. The ticket lady sighed, barked at me that "This is Electronic! Ticket! If damaged you pay again!" (despite there being no such warning on the ticket itself, either in English or Malaysian) It wasn't even damaged, it was a tinsy little crease, I swear. Very frustrated for what reason I couldn't guess, she marched out of the ticket booth and proceeded to swipe the ticket again and again through the gate until at long last it worked. As I passed through the gate, she continued to practically yell at me about how the ticket shouldn't be bent, it's electronic, yadda yadda, to which I thought to myself: "Yes lady, I know how a magnetic strip works, it's called the NYC Subway and unlike yer backwards arse system the machines there can actually read the fraking ticket." Sigh. Did I mention how much I hate hate hate the Kuala Lumpur rail system? It's expansive and will get you where you need to go, but along the way there are so many little annoying quirks that send the blood pressure boiling. Firstly, there's the whole "the ticket can't be creased even the slightest" issue which I guess isn't something worthy of complaint, then there's the passengers... You see, even in Los Angeles, not a public transit capital in the slightest, passengers still obey a sacred unwritten rule of Metro riding: Out of simple common courtesy, you don't attempt to board until the exiting passengers have exited. Not so here. The train arrived at the station, and before I could set one foot off I was mowed down by the impatient hoard waiting on the platform. With a great deal of physical force I managed to get off, but I was like a fish swimming upstream in a rapid river. This happened again and again on future monorail rides, sometimes with me on the other end waiting and watching as other deboarding passengers fell victim to the mob.

Other annoying quirks include the lack of easy transferring between lines. There will sometimes be entire blocks separating the rail lines, and a ticket is only good for one entry. To transfer, you must exit the system, find the other nearby station (without proper signage), wait in line again (the ticket machines never work), buy a new ticket, and hop on the next train. The ticket must be purchased from a booth on the correct platform too. In one instance, there were four cashiers on the wrong platform, and only one working the platform I needed. An embarrassingly long line had built up around my platform as a result. The other platform had no line. I crossed over to it and tried to buy a ticket, but the lady grunted rudely and pointed across the tracks. I pointed to the line, and tried to reason her way through the illogic causing the line imbalance. "You go North, you buy ticket from North line! GRUNT!" Goddamnit are you kidding me? What would have been a five minute transfer on the innefficient-by-normal-standards LA Metro took a whopping twenty minutes here.

Ranting aside, I grabbed one of the best and cheapest dinners of the trip and called of the night.

B.L. Sumatra + Ferry + Penang, Malaysia: Wed 7/23, Day 63

For a more after-the-fact-proofread version of this and following tales, plz go to: http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog/sirrocko711/1/tpod.html

A travel day, not much to write about here. Following an early wake-up and final coconut debris breakfast, I said goodbye to this incredible village and set off on the bus back to Medan. The bus ride was surprisingly pleasant an uncrowded, though still a bumpy ride with colorful merchants and the occassional visit from live poultry. Upon arrival in the Medan bus station, I plowed through the taxi touts and found my way to the much cheaper motorized rickshaw drivers. I employed one to take me the rest of the way to the ferry station, for about two bucks, and yeah... made it to the ferry station, ate a meal at the only available meal choice... frakking Dunkin Donuts, goshdarnit, and hoped on the next ferry to Penang in Malaysia. It was an epic 6h journey, including an hour of immigration crap on either end, and the ferry passengers weren't very chatty. I spent most of the time reading my Lonely Planet book from beginning to end for what must be the two-dozenth time by now. I arrived in Penang just after dark and found my desired guesthouse without much navigation trouble.

Penang is an island in North Malaysia famous for its cheap and amazing cuisine and colonial architecture, and was in fact being awarded UNESCO status that very week. It wasn't a whole lot different from Singapore in its appearance, except that unlike Singapore all the hedges weren't perfectly trimmed, the paint jobs on buildings were flaking, and the buildings themselves did not look like they'd been plopped there a day ago. It's probably what Singapore was like before Singapore got rich and paved over anything resembling character. I snagged a dorm bed in the Blue Diamond Hotel/Hostel and met a goofy Czech guy who like me was very much interested in movies. We spent the rest of the night chatting about Charlie Kaufman, Jack Nicholson, that Czech who directed Eternal Sunshine, all as Mr Czech showed me around town and shared what knowledge he had of it. We ate dinner at a hawker center (Malaysia has them too), his was fried rice, mine was fried rice + fried egg. I hoped to order something more interesting, but had a bad run of the "select random unknown non-English item off menu and hope it's soemthing good" luck. The next morning would redeem this. After thorough exploration of Penang's fascinating but not particularly big Little India & Chinatown, we went back to the hotel and settled down for the night. Sleep happened easily, even though I'd been basically sitting on a bus/ferry the whole day.

Bukit Lawang, Sumatra (Indon.): Tues 7/22, Day 62

D'oh my legs, my poor, poor legs... They were only half working today but somehow managed to transport me the few brief distances I decided to walk. After another delicious breakfast of toaster oven debris and a chat with the inn's server, a very friendly 19 year old guy whose name I hve since forgot, I took my battered guidebook and sat down by the river to plan the next few days. The original plan was to leave Bukit Lawang on the first bus this morning, transfer buses in Medan, continue on to Danau Toba and spend a day or two there before ferrying out to Malaysia, where I'd hightail it to Bangkok on an overnight train. This plan involved almost as much Sumatran chickenbus travel as it did additional Sumatran exploration time, and was looking less and less inviting the more I thought about it. Plus, Abdul, Ita, and my other Bukit Lawang friends informed me that while Danau Toba was gorgeous, there was nothing to do there except laze about and stare at the postcard view. After almost a week in Bali, I'd had my fill of "makes a pretty postcard, but there's nothing to do here except eat, shop, and tan." If I had company it might be a good idea, but at this point I was ready for some big city action. I decided to leave for Malaysia early and make time for a Kuala Lumpur visit while staying in Bukit Lawang one extra day as compensation. So, my plans decided, I began wandering around the village at random.

Bukit Lawang has an awesome setting. There's a ranging river, wooden stilt huts built up on either side, a rickety Indiana Jones bridge connecting the two, and towering jungle 360 degress surrounding. And by towering, I mean towering. Hills rise steeply above the town, covered seamlessly in thick trees and jungle vegetation creating what look like solid walls of plant life. This scenery combined with the odd waterfall and jungle animal noises equalled some magical walking. I stopped by a fruit stall halfway through to have my first taste of durian fruit. Durians are ubiquitous in this part of Southeast Asia. Nicknamed "the King of fruit," these giant brown spikey balls that look more like medieval torture devices than food emit an unmistakable, distinct and not entirely pleasant smell. In the Singapore MRT, alongside the usual "no smoking, eating, or radio playing" graphics were durian silouettes with red circle-slashes over them. On the wall of my Yogyakarta hotel was a "Please do not bring fruits with strong odors in the room" sign. Travel Channel host Anthony Bourdain assured me during one of his programs however that while they smell bad, if you crack one open you're in for an instantly addictive amazing taste. So, I purchased one of the smaller durians from the fruit vendor, watched him pound the skin with a machette to crack it open, and... oh Lord, this would not be a pleasant meal. Inside, the edible section of fruit was a softer layer of meat around the seeds, looking like some kind of kidney or human organ. I held my nose and popped one in my mouth. Anthony Bourdain lied, it tasted exactly like it smelled. Not wanting to waste the 10,000 rupiah (a buck) I'd spent on it, I sucked the unpleasure up and ate the rest. Afterall, when else will I get to eat a durian? Never again, hopefully... the gag supressors were on overdrive through the entire meal.

Further wandering bumped me into another local friend I'd made, a late-20's trekking guide (forgot his name) with a huge fluffy mane of hair who invited me into his home for a cup of tea, and to just see what his home was like. As I mentioned in a previous entry, experiencing life in a local home, even if for a brief half hour, is the best kind of sightseeing one can do. We shared some tea, his shy wife offered me a full meal but I rejected because "oh, I just ate, sorry" ("you're really poor and I don't want to consume your food, which you need more than I do.") Mane-Man was very frank when chatting about life, almost laughingly admitting he married solely because of a birth control slip-up, but him and his wife had found happiness in the process. His home was small and lacked running water, he criticised himself for being a bad father and not being able to provide better living standards for his wife and toddler daughter, but none of the locals here had the money for better standards and I assured him (not that I really knew at all) that he should not worry, his family seems happy and he's doing the best he can. It should be noted that despite this man being a trekking guide and a very poor one at that, his invitation had no strings attached. At no point did he try to sell me on his services or get another other money compensation, he was simply interested in the pleasure of my company and having someone to practice English with. The sincerity of Indonesian friendliness continued to impress.

Mane-Man recommended that I spend the rest of the day at the Orangutan feeding station and get a couple more monkey sightings in before leaving the village the next morning. I followed his wise advice and began the long riverbank walk to the nearest ranger station, where in an hour anf a half feeding would take place. There was a pulley canoe rigged up at the end of the trail to transport tourists across the rapids to the station. A forty minute sunbathing and swimming wait was required before the canoe-peeps showed up, but I didn't mind. There's no such thing as being in a rush when your in country such as this. The feeding itself was a worthwhile adventure, I added # orangutans to my tally, bumping the total to 9 and finishing with the funniest orangutan of them all, whose funniness I can't really describe, she was just cute to the extreme. An army of biting flies/mosquitoes did their best to thwart my enjoyment, but the nuclear powered 99% DEET repellant I'd picked up in LA kept most but not all of them away. Feeding time ended, and I took my last, long look at the face of a wild orangutan. I'll probably never see one again, but one can never say for certain.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing and further falling in love with the village. It took two weeks to find, but I think I'd finally found my one secluded special corner of Indonesia that could take its place alongside Gimmelwald & Pepsikola in my heart. The locals were friendlier than any locals I'd yet encountered, the setting was incredible, the tourists minimal but enough to fend off loneliness, and I could find orangutans within one hour's walk in any direction outside the village limits. Could a place be any more perfect? I think not. Later in the evening, I gobbled up another of Ita's banana pancakes and departed with her to the coffeehouse for some more of her brother's guitarism. The three of us half jokingly sang the local anthem Abdul had taught me on the trek, a clearly-not-written-by-a-native-English-speaker riff on "Jingle Bells" that went something like:

"Jungle trek, jungle trek...
In Bukit Lawang...
See the monkey...
See the bird...
See orang-Utan...

Jungle trek, jungle trek...
In Bukit Lawang...
See the monkey...
See the bird...
See orang-Utan...

Walking through jungle...
See deh animal...
Trekking together...
with orang-utan...

Walking together...
Singing together...
Everything together!
In Bukit Lawang...HEY!"

...all typos deliberate.

Ita's brother also whipped out a photo album and a pamphlet about his NGO. You see, back in 2003, there was a tragic flash flood that wiped out the entire village and killed almost 300 of the inhabitants. To give you a sense of what this means in a village this small, Abdul lost sixteen family members & relatives, and only survived himself because he was living in Thailand at the time. Ita's brother was spearheading an initiative to get a vocational school built in the village to help educate the inhabitants and bring prosperity back to the locals following the flood's devastation. The pamphlet was remarkably well organized & thought-out, and he should (theoretically) have little trouble convincing richer tourists to make the donations necessary. I, unfortunately, was not rich, and had already blown my charity budget in Nepal. I took a copy of the pamphlet and promised to circulate it around USC, along with introducing him to PayPal and teaching him how he could use it to secure online donations. He was grateful for the advice and understood why I couldn't donate any significant amount of money. Honestly, I would in a heartbeat if it wasn't for the volunteer work I'd already done, but my wallet was badly broken and in poor countries such as this, everyone needs charity, you can't help everyone and just need to pick your battles. OCRC was a forgotten place, but Bukit Lawang had an orangutan preserve & Lonely Planet recommendation on its side and I'm sure will have no trouble finding outside aid in the future. The Pan-Asian tsunami diverted some of said aid away, but it was beginning to find its way back. In anycase I'll do my best to spread the word around USC.After my final Bintang, we walked back in the direction of the inn and I called of the night. Oh! Not before having my last meal of Indonesian fried rice (that's all they eat here) and chatting with the goofy 19 year old server again.

Bukit Lawang Trek & Homesickness, Sumatra: Mon 7/21, Day 61

In the Himalayas, trekking alone with a private guide had its drawbacks, mainly loneliness. This morning the drawbacks of having company on such an adventure surfaced, with five people including me to wake-up, we didn't get going until 11am. The coolest part of the day had come and gone, now we would be fighting a baking noon sun. Oh well, no experience is perfect. A pack of monkeys visited us for breakfast in hopes fo stealing some food, but the assistant fought them off. These are some clever fuzzy little things, one of them managed to sneak away a bag of fruit before throwing it into the bush as soon as the assistant threw a stick at it. Props to the monkeys. My local made, jungle-grade Bukit Lawang flip-flops were also proving their worth, despite leaving my feet vulnerable to mosquitos they were perfectly adequate footwear for the terrain and had excellent traction. There was none of the slipping and sliding that occured on the Nepal trek, despite this trail being twice as rough. Besides, I don't think my sneakers could take another even more brutal battering of this sort. Lunch consisted of the local fruit fare, including some mini-bananas, passionfruit, rambutan (google them), and pineapple. I've never been much of a pineapple fan, thinking them too soggy and strange, but the pineapple here is crisp with a zesty, juicy tang, and I'm liking it a great deal. During lunch, Abdul's goofy sense of humor took a turn for the silly when he stumbled upon a gibberish combination of English slang that he (and only he) thought was hilarious. You see, Abdul loves barking famous English quotes and repeating them ad-nauseum because he feels like a badass when they come out of his mouth. The previous night, he repeated "deal.. or no deal?" to us endlessly for no reason while laughing till he was red in the face. Today, his gibberish combo of slang was "wicked naked." "Hey hey, Charlie... Wicked. Naked. AHAHAHHAH! Wicked naked, wicked naked wicked naked..." He made me promise to teach it to my fellow Californians upon returning home. I promised, but can make no guarantees of keeping this promise.

About midway through the walk, we stumbled on a pack of black gibbons, one of whom approached a Dutch and I and took a swipe at my camera. Abdul motioned for me to grab a long stick, and thus began the saga of "Charles Vs Gibbon: Battle for Camera." I was victorious, but my camera's battery holder will never stay shut without the help of strong tape ever again. As long as I can officially say, in complete honesty, that I got into a fight with a monkey and won, I'm happy. Following this incident, our wildlife luck took a turn for the worse and we saw no more animals for the rest of the trek. Only one hour was left anyway. The walk took us down a steep cliff (had to play Tarzan with some vines to descend it) to the main river, where after some brief much needed swimming we boarded inflatable tubes and journeyed the rest of the way to Bukit Lawang in style. Whitewater rafting wasn't on my agenda for the trip, its always kind of scared me, but it was a nice unexpected activity to be able to check off the list of life experiences. When we arrived back in the village, I bidded farewell to the Dutch couple who were leaving at that very moment in an awaiting taxi, as well as to Jacques, who was immediately disembarking on yet another trek in a different direction. Bon voyage, my French wuv... you will be remembered with honor. Meanwhile, Abdul, Yolanda, and I made plans for a late night coffee house rendezvous to sign his guestbook.

I rested for a bit, then hunted down a warung (cafe) to supply my late lunch/early dinner. The riverfront warung I settled on was run by Ita, a 29 year old mother of one whose English husband turned out to have recently (4 months prior) died from a tragically young heart attack. Also, another of her 20ish-aged tourist friends, this one French, recently drowned while tubing. Despite interaction with her clearly rendering me a cursed, condemned man, I wound up killing the rest of the evening and night chatting with her about this and that random thing. We bonded a bit over our mutual loneliness, and even ran through the rain together to get to the coffeehouse in time for my rendezvous with Abdul. Turns out the coffeehouse in question was run by her guitarist brother, who later played and sang a respectable rendition of "Hotel California" to me. The sound of this song, a song frequented on my Dad's car tape player during road trips of old, really hit home just how homesick I really was, which I'm going to rant about for a bit now. Let me put it this way: While Bali was paradise, its beaches and scenery had nothing on the likes of Torrey Pines Beach back home. Even in the Italian Riviera on our Eurotrip, I told Mika "You know, for a world famous beach destination, I'm not impressed." Mika: "It's 'cause you're from San Diego." That stretch of coast on the 101 from La Jolla to Oceanside has got to be one of the world's singular most beautiful places, and San Diego's specialness has never been more clear. I miss the Coronado Bridge. I miss the trolley. I miss burritos. I miss friends. I miss family. I miss being able to trust new friends right off the bat. I miss being able to drink the tap water. I miss beggars who actually have dignity and style. I want to go home, and the homesickness is really starting to hinder my enjoyment of even the most basic things. Jeff's arrival will be more of a rescue than a joyous reunion at this point in my mood, hopefully solving the problem, and the most spectacular sights of the trip (Angkor Wat in Cambodia, and the islands in the south of Thailand) have yet to be hit.

The internet bill is running high, gotta go for now. One more entry raving about Bukit Lawang is yet to come, along with three days of mildly disappointing Malaysia travel. Once Jeff joins, I'm not sure I'll be able to waste away whole hours in front of a computer any more, but I'll do my best to keep you all updated.

---#1 Reason You Know You've Been Travelling Too Long---
1. When the only thing holding your camera together is bandage tape from your first aid kit.

---Most Annoying Phrase of the Year---
"Wicked naked!" - Abdul

---Vital Signs---
Orangutan = NINE
Food Poisonings = ZERO

---Reminders---
To Jeff, if he's even still alive = Flight info! NOW!

Bukit Lawang Trek, Sumatra: Sun 7/20, Day 60

After a warm fruit filled bowl of "meusli" (actually coconut flavored debris from the bottom of their toaster oven), I was fetched by guide Abdul and followed him on a round through the village to pick up the other four trekkers. The first was a blonde Dutch girl whose Mom for some reason thought "Yolanda" would make a fitting first name, the second was a middle-aged Frenchman named Jaques whose hunched balding figure reminded me a lot of my Uncle Dennis, and the third and fourth were a Dutch couple. I'm sorry, I love Dutch people and have the greatest respect for them, but that language has to be among the world's most grating to the ears. It's just as ugly sounding as German but lacks the "haha he talks like Schwarzeneggar/a Nazi!" comedy bonus. Now French on the other hand, when spoken by Jaques... This guy, a native of quaint Montpelier, spoke in the warmest, most relaxing manner while doing very French things with his hands (hard to explain.) I fast fell in love with his presence however out of his element he seemed. Within ten minutes, we had passed through the National Park border, deliniated by a battered concrete pillar with a number and pair of letters on it.

I didn't think it was possible for a hiking trail to be any rougher than that in the Himalayas, but Jeebus Fraking Christ... I don't even think the very steep path through this forest could be called a trail, "narrow strip of land that just happens to have less plants" is more accurate. I was immediately glad I only signed up for two days, many trek for more but there's no way my body could handle that. Especially without sneakers (left those in Singapore) or a raincoat (also in Singapore.) Yes, just when I was taking newfound pride in my newfound intelligence, I neglect to bring a raincoat to the rainforest, which isn't labelled such for nothing. Good thinking there, Charles. Luckily enough however, the rain went on vacation for the duration of the trek, though that was only luck. Also lucky were our wildlife findings. Lonely Planet recommended taking two days to trek as this ups your chances of sighting an orangutan from "nothing" to "maybe 10%." Within one hour of walking, we had a run-in with a feisty gibbon. This was followed by comotion from a nearby trekking group. We rounded the "corner" and there, dangling from a vine, sparkling gold in the sunlight, was a smiling and giddy semi-wild teenage orangutan. "Oh my God..." I muttered aloud to myself. Jaques and I instantly began snapping away. Five minutes later... two more orangutan showed up, one of them fully wild. Their movements through the trees were slow, graceful, eerily reminiscent of a human being. It was the most magical moment of the trip; those monkey faces are going to be burned into my memory forever.

By the time the day's walk (which involved extensive nearly veritical climbs up and down muddy tree roots) was over and we reached the "tent" (or what passed for such), we'd seen a further two orangutan, a smattering of random lesser monkeys, a Komodo dragon, some endangered bird that the Dutch were psyched about but that I'd never heard of before, and a peacock. Abdul said it was one of the best runs of wildlife luck he'd ever had on a trek. We settled down for the night and began chatting over some tea and sugar-saltines (Indonesians bake sugar into their crackers instead of salt) about a whole bunch of random stuff, eventually evolving into singalongs of songs from each person's home country. I taught Jacques "The Cradle Will Rock," and in response he sung some French lullabies to me in his absolutely flawless warm French speak. Included in Jaques's Greatest Hits were "Frarajaka" and some song whose English translation was "Daddy is making chocolates upstairs, Mommy is baking a cake downstairs..." I wish I had a tape recorder. Whenever I'm struggling to fall asleep from now on, I'll dig up the image of Jacques's singing in my head and sleep like a baby. He was a man who seemed transported from the 1940's or 50's, so polite, warm and old-fashioned in his mannerisms... I'll never forget him.

Medan & Bukit Lawang, Sumatra: Sat 7/19, Day 59

The flight gamble paid off. I left my Kuta hotel - wondering wtf I had spent half my wee bank account on this past week - at the equally wee hour of 4 in the morning. Outbound Indonesian immigration was easy, though they pointed out some bad news: my visa was good for only a single entry, and despite the fact I was only transferring planes in Malaysia leaving the country for a mere 3-4h, I would still have to purchase a new visa at the other end for $10. Whatever it takes, I figured. There are worse hassels I could be tangled in. I was in a bit of an unnecessary hurry checking in and a horde of 15-strong Chinese tourists cutting the line in front of me really sent the blood boiling, but I made the flight + it left on time. The main hurdle, getting in and out of Malaysian immigration to make the connecting flight in time, had yet to be faced, but things were off to a good start. About an hour out of Kuala Lumpur, a familiar announcement came over the loud speaker: "Attn: We'll be experiencing some minor turbulence, please fasten your seat belt." Jolly good then. Just then... THUMP. BANG. BAM. WHACK. The plane was under attack by Klingon warships! Or so it felt. It was probably the scariest flight experience in the history of my limited flight experience, I guess they don't call it a "budget airline" for nothing.

To my utter shock, the plane landed not an hour late but in fact ten minutes early. Luck had granted me more room for error, but not much more. Also, I'd misread my flight itinerary... I did not have 2.5h scheduled between flights, but rather 2 hours flat, crap. The plane doors opened, the clock started ticking... I bounded out at full throttle only to grind to a halt at the lengthy immigration line. It took some lengthy length of minutes to get through. I looked at the bright side: with such a long immigration wait, at least I wouldn't have to daudle around the baggage belt waiting for my rucksack to appear, surely it would already be there. Wrong. The belt didn't even start moving until after I cleared the passport controllers. By the time my bag showed up, a half hour had passed between landing and the take-off of my Sumatra flight, and things were starting to look grim. Thankfully, KL Airport recently won some "Best Airport in the World" award for being so danged efficient, and this efficiency would save me. When I exited the terminal, the departures area was just across the way. Check-in was quick, security was quick, and the gate was right there on the other side of the entrance security. No bells and whistles, no mile long psuedo-mall to navigate through (Singapore, I'm looking at you...), just the waiting area and an odd duty free shop here and there to keep you entertained. It was marvelously simple and left me with a full hour to kill upon arriving at the gate. I hopped on the connecting flight, and off it was to Medan City, Sumatra.

Landing involved a descent through one of the thickest layers of smog I've ever seen. The book had said Sumatra would be shrouded in an eerie haze from its infamous constant manmade rainforest fires, but I had no idea the pollution would be this bad. Equally ominous was the look of the city on the way in. Medan appeared to be made up of shanties, shanties, and more shanties, stretching on as far as the eye could see, including right next to the airport. Blahdadada I'm lazy right now blaadadada. Anyways, so I exited the plane and took up position in the immigration queue, chatting up the only other (very nervous) white guy in line, a middle aged American named Ricky who had clearly drunken too much coffee this morning. The rest of the crowd were Malaysian or Chinese business people, or other Indonesians coming back from their Malaysian vacation. Between this and Ricky's jitteriness, one thing was clear: I had officially strayed far from the tourist trail, and far from it was exactly where I wanted to be. Victory. Once, a long time ago, Sumatra was a must-hit on the SE Asian backpacker circuit, but since 9/11 and the end of the 90's tourist numbers have nosedived. This is in part due to the eruption of political instability since that time, part due to Islamocrazies (parts of Sumatra are subject to medieval Sharia Law), and part due to the island's bad run of luck with mother nature of late. Between countless flash floods, earthquakes, fires, tsunamis, and Krakataua throwing a tantrum, this is basically the international capital of biblical-scale natural disasters. Remember taht 2004 Pan-Asian tsunami that killed almost 200,000 people? Not only was Sumatra, along with Thailand, was one of the worst hit areas, but the massive 9.5 earthquake that caused the tsunami in the first place originated here. Fun stuff. The guidebook warned that due to the tourism downturn, I'd be an instant target for every unemployed tour guide in town. Boy they weren't kidding, were they...

I was involuntarily joined on my hunt for a taxi to the bus station by a smiley fellow who seemed to make it his solemn duty to help me out with every little task that confronted me (baggage handling etc), including acting as translator between the taxi drivers and myself (read: get in the way of my bargaining.) It was sorta helpful, but mostly irritating. Once I found a taxi and got the driver down to a fair price, this Instant Friend(tm) opened the back door, beckoned me in, and then sat himself down in the passenger seat. At this point I was like "Wait a minute, who the hell is this guy?"

"I am your tour operator, nice to meet you. :-D"
"Bffhwaha ...I think not."

Thus began an extremely irritating back-and-forth as he tried desperately to woo me into his overpriced Bukit Lawang (my destination) jungle trek while the taxi driver took the long way to the bus station. Instafriend also tried to talk me into hiring the taxi to drive me all the way to Bukit Lawang (a 3 hour trip at maximum warp), insisting that the buses left only once every two hours (fat chance) and wouldn't arrive until 10pm. His math in this matter was quite funny:

"Yes, next bus appear not for a while, it four hour trip, you take bus you won't get there till nine, ten PM... if it come at all. Better you take taxi. (taxi driver nods enthusiastically)"
"What time did you say it was?"
"1pm."
"And it takes four hours?"
"Yes, so it take till 5... 6... 9... 10pm... Taxi better."
"Right... (we pass a bus labeled Bukit Lawang) That's the bus, right?"
"Uhh... ye-ah."
"It was nice meeting you, thank you for your translation help & have a good day."

Upon arrival at the Medan bus station, Instafriend #1 was effectively detached from my ankle and fended off by Instafriend #2, a chubby dumb looking man who called himself Johnny and was, likewise, a Bukit Lawang trek organizer. He had a friend named Linny, and combined these two were a funny pair. When I said I was from California, they both bursted out into a brief botched singalong of "Hotel California" and proceeded to rave to me about how much they love The Eagles. Linny also asked if I liked the "Red Hot Chili Spices." I told him they were ok... Between these two fellows and the several other chatty locals, it was fast becoming clear that Sumatrans, or at least North Sumatrans, were a magical and good humored people. As run down and Kathmandu-ish this area was, I would have no trouble feeling at home. And so it was the case. Before I delve into the coziness of Bukit Lawang village itself however, I must share with you the highlight of the entire SE Asia Lonely Planet Guide, as it is Sumatran bus transport related:

"CHICKEN-BUS ENLIGHTENMENT
...There will be chain-smoking, deafeningly loud Indo-pop tunes, visits from roadside troubadours, rampant breast feeding, hitchhiking cockroaches, and, yes, vomiting. The bus driver will stop at random to praym eat and perhaps get laid, and you and your fellow passengers will be at his mercy.

The aisles are packed with cargo and absolutely overflowing with passengers - at least three to a seat. At one point on our ride to Danau Toba from Medan we were touching seven people at once. At home we'd be disgusted. But in the Sumatra slow lane boundaries erode, you drop your hang-ups and begin to go with the flow. Next thing you know, a smiling stranger is urging you to share some exotic fruit, you're buying lollipops for children, and chatting with someone who speaks broken English and loves Green Day. And you will laugh and smile like a Zen saint drunk on life."

While my two bus experiences weren't exactly as colorful as what's described there, possibly due to Bukit Lawang being a less travelled route, the insert was nevertheless a pretty apt description. The exotic fruit merchants frequently opened up good natured conversation even after I rejected their offers, teens acting as entertainers popped on and off crooning local folk songs on their guitars, and one man even complimented me on my seat choice. "Charlie know how to pick good seat! Ladies always sit near the front! You get lady now, ay? Snicker!" Sumatra & I had become a classic case of love at first sight.

I arrived in the jungle village just after sunset, following a bumpy dirt road ride past palm plantations and thick jungle. Some nervousness crept up as we came to a stop; this was easily one of the most remote locations I'd ever visited and if something went wrong out here, I'd be in some serious trouble, but there can be no adventure in places that have real tourist infrastructure. Plus, this was one of two places in the entire world where I could see a wild orangutan (the other being adjacent but simply too far Is. Borneo), so the trouble would be more than worthwhile. After checking his license and barreling through the most aggressive, victorious round of bargaining I've poineered yet, reducing the trekking fee from 70 euro to 40, I secured my arrangements and settled down for the night in the Garden Inn, what turned out to be one of the cheapest and best lodges in the village. Score another win for the Indonesia section of the guidebook (the Malaysian section has been much more hit&miss thusfar.) It was a basic room of four walls, a locked door and something resembling a bed, but had its own private bathroom which was a huge plus. I fell asleep quickly in preparation for tomorrow's early trekking start.

Bali, Indonesia: W-Fri 7/16-18, Days 56-58

The internet cafe runner is giving me free mineral water as a reward for my loyalty. This is surely a bad sign. As a result, and due to a lack of much else to talk about, I'm going to gloss through the rest of Bali. It's been a pretty slow couple of days with relaxing bike rides around the island and minimal stories to tell, so I shan't feel guilty about glossing through it. So, what's happened... lots of beach bumming, lots of sleep, lots of swimming, lots of biking out to deserted forgotten beaches and lazying around there too... Visited this one temple built atop a seaside cliff, it was the highlight of Bali for me sightseeing wise. Also battled a non-stop sniffle that I'm sure is from the half a billion exotic flowers lining the streets here, I've never had problems with that before but I don't know what else could be causing it. The Sudafed I packed didn't help but the local Indonesian fare has to a decent extent. I've had some great seafood as well, the best of which was had at a warung (cafe) literally right on the sand as I watched the sunset. A giant whole grilled fish, rice, greens, and honeydew juice on one side of the table, my bright yellow "SE Asia on a Shoestring" book on the other, and a golden waterfront setting sun in front of me... "Victory" was the word that went through my mind. I flashed back to when I'd been reading that book in LA brainstorming the adventure, and now I was here. It was a glorious, if random moment of catharsis. Also, the waves at this beach... they rolled in slowly, one every full minute or so. In between waves was this near-perfect silence. It was as if reality was holding it's breath, and releasing every so often when the water rolled in. Pure magic.

I've been taking it easy in preparation for the intense next two weeks. Tomorrow I fly to Sumatra, Indonesia's angry dark heart, long exploited by Java and given little in return, where I will take part in a jungle dark in hopes of spotting some wild Orangutan. If I leave Indonesia without seeing one, this entire trip is a failure. I will thus not leave until I see one. Plotting a flight there from here was a bit tricky, AirAsia's Bali>Jakarta>Medan (Sumatran city) schedule was not Charles-friendly. It would require me to fly out Sunday and get to the Orangutan preserve Monday, not leaving decent breathing room to make it to Bangkok by the following Sunday and meet Jeff (I still need you're flight info btw! I dont even remember whether you were using Air China or China Air, bah) As a result, I am making a gamble. The Bali>Kuala Lumpur>Medan schedule is very much in my favor, and if all pans out I'll get to the park by tomorrow night. There's just one nit though, AirAsia is strictly point to point and doesn't coordinate connecting flights, meaning I'm going to have to pick up my rucksack in KL airport, go through Malaysian immigration, recheck the back, go back through immigration, and get on the 2nd flight. I have a 2.5h layover in KL which should leave barely enough time to do this if the plane runs on time, but it probably won't. We'll see if the gamble pays off. If it pays off, I'll have gotten two additional days in Sumatra. If it doesn't, it'll be an expensive mistake. We'll see how it goes. There also probably won't be internet out there, so this will be the last entry until the night of the 26th.

See you on the other side.

---Vital Signs---
Food Poisonings = ZERO
Sicknesses = Goddamnit
Orangutans = Hopefully many
Lil Monkeys Wrestled = Almost had to
Bintangs = 5
Tribes Discovered = 0

Kuta, Indonesia (Bali): Tues 7/15, Day 55

Ahh, what a good night's sleep, and in a great budget hotel too. The Indonesia section of the LP book scores again. After devouring a banana pancake, I headed out to the beach. Kuta is basically a larger, busier Asian clone of Rosarito, so anyone who's been there should get an accurate mental image in their head. Not that I've ever been to Rosarito, or would have any idea what a naughty debaucherous Mexican beach town is like...

I waded out into the water for a bit but strong rip currents swiftly sent me back into sunbathing mode. And oh, what glorious sunbathing it was. I laid out for the perfect amount of time, getting a good tan and quiting probably only a minute before it went from good tan to bad sunburn. I wandered back to the hotel to fetch my handy guidebook, and used my phone's last bit of battery power to check an incoming text message. It was from Ary! Who knew. "Charlie, the King is being cremated in Ubud (the cultural capital of Bali) either TODAY or tomorrow! Get out there now!" Thrusters engaged. I hired a motorcycle taxi for a borderline fair price and off to Ubud it was. Usually postcards of places look better than real life and instill overly optomistic expectations in you, but the Balinese countryside is one of those rare exceptions that looks exactly like you'd expect it too, if not better. Rolling emerald hills covered in palm trees and rice patties, medieval Islander-style Hindu temples around every corner, a cloud shrouded volcano on the horizon... paradise in every sense of the word. It was enough to numb the pain of me having just missed the cremation ceremony. Can't win them all I guess. I wandered around Ubud for a bit, but there wasn't much else to do here besides watch a Balinese traditional dance (not taking place at the moment) and soak in the atmosphere, so I hitched a ride on another motorcycle taxi back to Kuta.

About ten minutes into the ride, the question came: "So, you know the way to Kuta?" "Umm... no. You don't?" "Ahh no haha." He diverted us fifteen minutes into the boondocks to transfer me to his motorcycle taxi buddy who did in fact know the way to Kuta, though it unnerved me a bit. What if he was diverting me to my doom? Or driving me out of range of other taxis, so his friend could charge me a rip-off price and I'd have no choice but to pay it? All was well in the end, I got to Kuta swiftly and at the agreed upon price. Along the way we passed a volleyball scarecrow with a red smile sloppily painted across it. As it turns out, after being split from Tom Hanks by bad weather, Wilson washed up on the shores of Bali and was put to work guarding rice patties from crows. He seemed happy enough, but I'm sure misses Tom. These taxis (the local public transit doesn't appear to exist) were eating my wallet alive by this point, so I was forced to consider alternative modes of transport. More on that in the next entry.

Kuta nightlife is a teenage wasteland, and not much fun when you're travelling solo, so I didn't take much part in it. While people watching after dark however, I stumbled across a square with a large, glowing marble monument with engravings of fiercesome Hindu gods and a plaque of names. I figured there was some local civic project that many donated to, and this was the monument giving thanks to them. I approached to snap a picture... the text on the plaque became clearer. The names were international and divided by country, half of them Indonesian, a quarter Australian, and a quarter other random countries. Interesting... I snapped a couple artsy closeups of the Hindu god engravings. Then I re-read the header: "(Indonesian Gibberish) , 12 Okt 2002" Of course. Kuta was bombed by Al Qaeda three times in the same day on Oct 12th '02 and the monument was a memorial to their victims. It hit me much harder than I expected, I remembered reading about the incident in the headlines way back when but now that I was here... Even if Bali is technically part of the same country that has an in some cases dire home-grown Islamocrazy problem, this is the last place in the world (that I've been to) that you'd think would be a target for such things. It's a blissful, happy go lucky, innocent, slightly impoverished island paradise that never did and never would hurt a fly. The locals are magically, sincerely friendly, all they desire is fun and a healthy crop of rice... the thought that 200+ of them were killed in such a manner is just... ugh. It's maddening. Also maddening was the pack of oblivious East Asian tourists who were snapping smiling pictures in front of it, mistaking it for an eye candy landmark same as I initially did.