Ko Pha-Ngan & Thai Full Moon Party: Sat 8/16, Day 87

Oh dear, where do I even begin... It's hopeless to try and convey this day (or night mainly) through writing but I'll do my best, hopefully the nightshift induced state of delirium I'm in right now will help. So we woke up and spent the bulk of the morning lazying about the beach while Jeff went on an internet errand. By midday we boarded a Pha-Ngan bound ferry with no reservation at an inn there; the plan was to stay up all night (the fiesta lasts well into the next day) and catch a sunrise ferry back to Samui and promptly crash. This would turn out to be something of an error in planning, pulling an all-nighter at an outdoor rave sober wasn't a great recipe for fun. It was all part of the experience though and tis important to look at every situation on a trip like this in a positive light no matter how grueling it seems at the time, because ya know, it's not every day one gets to visit Thailand (or Vietnam, or Cambodia, or Indonesia, or Nepal...)

We made good time in arriving on Ko Pha-Ngan, with a decent chunk of daylight hours remaining and plenty of time for exploring its allegedly nicer, more "authentic" beaches (ha!). As a precaution I brought only my passport and Jeff brought only his passport and cash. The risk of being robbed at the Full Moon Party was excessively high so we didn't want to carry anything important that we didn't need. Unfortunately there was a little miscommunication between us two resulting in Jeff thinking I was bringing some cash of my own a long, thus bringing less of his own. Even if I'd wanted to, I had no cash remaining to bring. When we arrived on Ko Pha-Ngan we discovered to our horror that there was only enough cash for the two ferry tickets back and *exactly* $5 of food money for each of us. It would not be impossible to survive on this, but meant we'd be living off of rationed pad thai and banana cakes from 7/11 for the next twelve hours and that our drink budget would be virtually nonexistent. So be it.

The island itself was much more like Ko Phi Phi than Samui, with its only settlement being a tightly backed traffic free web of cobblestone alleyways, pancake stands and surprisingly little stench. The "sunrise beach" was, as promised, sparkling clean with crystal clear water though the water had a strange stinging effect. My first impression was one of charm; what an adorable little innocent beach town this was. Little did we know what heathen abomination it would transform into once the sun went down and the full moon rose. We lazied about Sunrise Beach for a while, where the locals were busy setting up shop for the craziness to come. Makeshift alcohol stalls with names like "So F#cking Bucket", "One More F#cking Bucket", "Lucy F#ck You Long Time", etc painted on their fronts. Apparently the locals thought that by inserting the f-word randomly into their signs, they'd make the whiteys laugh and buy from their stalls. Unfortunately they are correct. As for what a "bucket" is, they are nifty drink combo packages consisting of a can of soda, a medicine bottle of "Red Bull" (definitely something different in there), and depending on the price a bottle or full handle of Jack Daniels or Sketchy Thai Whiskey. And of course, the lil plastic bucket you're meant to mix all these into and drink from. They're sort of a fixture at these Thai beach shindigs.

We left Sunrise Beach briefly to go watch the sunset on Sunset Beach. The ensuing psychadelic majesty was hands down the most jaw-dropping, perfect sunset I can remember seeing. A resident kitten befriended us as we watched it and began purring up against our arms. We showed it love and in return it betrayed us and lightly bit my wrist (though not deep enough to bleed), prompting what must've been a funny-for-Jeff panic attack on my part as I demanded we rush to 7/11 and use the rest of our money on a bottle of rubbing alcohol, to sterilize the theoretical Rabies I'd just "contracted." Two minutes later I calmed down and realized there was nothing to worry about. Stupid cat. With the sun now thoroughly set and dinner overwith, it was time to return to the other beach and see what chaos had began unfolding. By now the settlement was booming with crowds of late-teen and college aged Westerners, and the Thais deploying every stall on the island to rake in the iminent dough.

We stepped out onto the beach and... all holy hell was about 30% unleashed. Scattered crowds of shirtless dancing 20-somethings, fire dancers juggling flaming nunchuks, gogo-girls making stealthy rounds, even the beginnings of a laser-light show. In the background boomed the recent Coldplay song "Viva la Vida", its beats matching up to the bobbings of moonlit longtail boats along the shore. If there was a song that accurately conveyed the epicness I felt thinking back about the trip as a whole, it was this one. Soon, a commotion... a local Thai firedancing teen had lit the fuse to a rocket in his hand, stuffed it into an empty water bottle, stood up on a chair like a warrior leading his men on a charge, and launched a makeshift firework into the sky. Spotlights swinging around, silverly moonlight on the water, increasingly deafening techno beats, ravers high out of their minds... Holy Hell was at 90% and it added up to a shocking catharsis of debauchery and mayhem that would remove any faith the viewer had in humanity's future. This wasn't a dance of dozens, or a hundred, or even hundreds but rather thousands. Thousands of Australians, Europeans, Americans, and Thais, all of whom plastered out of their minds were crammed onto this formerly modest beach dancing away in ways that only illicit substances of the most severe order could inspire. My humble little beer could do nothing to numb my senses and help this all make sense. After it all became too much, I retreated to a quiet corner of sand to (successfully) pass out. Jeff stayed awake and spent the rest of the night watching fire dancers nearly kill their audiences with errant fire.

To be continued...

---Vital Signs---
Food Poisonings = Zero

Ang Thong & Samui, Thailand: Fri 8/15, Day 86

^ One of Ang Thong's many epic viewpoints

One of the things you "have to do" on these islands is book a daytrip snorkeling in one of the surrounding marine national parks. The day before we'd booked one, and at 7am this morning we were picked up by the van and driven to the tour ferry. It was to carry us (and 100 other backpackers) out to Ang Thong Marine Park, an array of hundreds of rocky uninhabited islands and some allegedly decent snorkel fodder. We should've booked a Ko Tao trip instead as snorkeling isn't what Ang Thong is famous for (it's famous for the epic views of the Gulf its peaks afford) but the trip would still be worthwhile. It also featured a pig-out worthy breakfast buffet of croissants, croissants, bananas, and more croissants, bringing welcome carbs to my drained and now underweight body.

The tour itself wasn't too note worthy apart from a (very worth it) viewpoint climb that caused me to reach The Sweatiest I Have Ever Been, but some of our fellow backpackers were. There was a clique of about seven extremely obnoxious Belgian Jews, lead by an obscenely obese couple who gave a bad name to my people for the duration of this voyage. There were also the Italians, a pair of late middle aged couples who seemed to be performing some clothed version of kama sutra on themselves at various points, one wife of whom was tanned far beyond the point of the tan being attractive and the boyfriend of whom, a lion of a man, who seemed to be constantly posing for a nonexistent fashion photo in his speedo. Goof balls, all of them. We befriended a friendly German man who complimented our countrymen, asserting that the American backpackers were the most impressive in respect and intrepidity on his SE Asia travels thusfar. At least I think that's what he said, I might be misremembering.

Nighttime was spent wandering around Hat Lamai, where we stumbled into some sort of free concert in a park featuring a local Thai rock band. Their music sounded vaguely Latino and helped add to an overall impression of South Thailand being the sort of "Mexico of Asia." Also present was a chubby balding old white man lost in a hopeless stupor who successfully creeped out nearly every local woman present. When he stumbled into and then sat down on a random plastic chair in defeat, a little poodle (of all things!) trotted up and began licking his face in wuv. It was adorable! We ended the night early to save ourselves for the next night's antics, the grand finale of Thai tourist insanity... the monthly Full Moon Party on Ko Pha-Ngan, the world's largest rave. I've never been one for raves, and this one would not change that to a hilariously FAIL extent.

---Vital Signs---
Food Poisonings = 0

Ko Samui, Thailand: Thurs 8/14, Day 85

At around 7am, we were dropped off at our bungalow by a "sawngethew," a pick-up truck with benches in back doing triple duty as a taxi, a share taxi, or a public bus depending on who is riding it and where they are going. We were both pretty tired but resolved to press on with sightseeing and not waste any time napping. Ko Samui possessed only a fraction of Ko Phi Phi's beauty but was much larger and better developed, meaning there were roads, meaning we could rent mopeds and drive ourselves whereever we needed to go! I did this in Bali with pretty good results, and the roads here were better than there. As for our mutual lack of international motorbike driving licenses, such things aren't paid much attention here just as traffic lights, speed limits, and general road safety is left up to the honors system. Due to the lack of traffic and general straightness of the roads, motorbiking around wasn't that hazardous.

The entire day was devoted to biking around the island's main ring road, making three significant stops enroute. The first was a sparkling if unremarkable beach, the second was a very remarkable beach next to the ferry pier which probably came closer to "stereotypical island paradise" than any other beach on the trip. With the 10min exception of a landscaping monk, we had the entire place to ourselves. The sandbar stretched far into the horizon with odd humps along the way, and the water was as warm and clear as a jacuzzi. Jeff walked off to nap in the middle of the inch-deep water (and played with some crabs apparently as well), while I, skin charred to a crisp, took refuge under a curvy coconut palm. We lazied about seperately here for quite some time, napping or meditating or some combination of both. Nirvana had been found.


After about an hour it was time to move on, and a waterfall in the island's interior made for our third stop. Getting to this waterfall from the parking area required a solid 40min hike each way up and down a nature trail, but as a passing Brit noted:
"It's so bloody wuhth it. Amazing."
It wasn't that amazing, but was worth the effort.

Hat Lamai was the quieter beach were our bungalow sat, but booming Hat Chaweng was the tourist and nightlife center so it was there that we traveled by way of sawgethew when nightlife time arrived. A friendly Italian family befriended us enroute. Chaweng was a good deal identical to Kuta Beach in Bali, a decadent neon-lit strip of boutique shops, clubs, and fancy restaurants with windy smelly alleyways branching out from the sides. Kuta didn't smell thanks to the Balinese Hindus sprinkling flower pedals on every corner but Chaweng reeked of crappy-sewer-system syndrome. Oh well. The incredible cashew curry meal I had in a hole in the wall here made up for it. We never wound up clubbing, which was our intention, but did visit one bar where a gogo-girl took a special interest in me buying her a drink or two. Jeff looked on snickering silently as I died inside awkwardly trying to fend off her attempts at seduction. Whether or not I should have? History will tell. Jeff got what was coming to him afterwards when we wandered through one gogo-bar alleyway and I deliberately drifted a bit behind him, causing all the girls to assault him first and draw their fire while I darted by unscathed. When walking past a Thai gogo-bar, its girls will flock out en-masse and literally grab onto you and try to yank you into their bars. It's half charming, half frightening. After passing a completely frightening transexual cabaret, we'd had enough of this wasteland and withdrew to peaceful Hat Lamai for some much needed sleep. I think we might've walked through one beachfront club there as well, though we didn't spend much time in it.

---Vital Signs---
Food Poisonings = Zero
Blisters = Many
Bike Accidents = None
Amazing Abandoned Beaches Found = 1

Surat Thani, Thailand/The Cargo Ship: Wed 8/13, Day 84

Alright this day kinda sucked to be honest. We slept in just long enough to miss both the morning boat and the noon one, with the next departure not until 3pm. That would cause us trouble later but provided a good excuse for aimless wandering in the meantime. After buying our ferry tickets and securing our backpacks, I left Jeff glued to a TV watching the Olympics while I bandied about town pigging out on more fruity crepes. In some freak act of clumsiness, I flipped over the paper plate holding my first one and sent it hurling food-side-up onto the ground. It would've been so delicious. :-( The second crepe survived and made it all the way into my tummy. They're technically called "Thai roti" or "Thai pancakes" fyi, but were more akin to crepes in appearance and flavor so I shall refer to them as such. Google will however be confused by a search for "Thai crepe." Anyways... The clock struck 3, we hopped on the ferry and bidded farewell to the floating gemstone of Ko Phi Phi. Our stay might've been short, but it had a unique charm that was not easily forgotten or matched. Ko Samui and Pha-Ngan would fail to dethrone it as the best of the three islands we visited.

The ferry ride was pleasant enough, but arrived in Krabi too late to catch a cross-isthimus bus to the other coast. Geographical lesson: Thailand has two main island paradise coasts: the Andaman Sea, home to Phi Phi, Phuket, and "007 Island," and the Gulf of Thailand coast to the east, home of our next destination. It's about a two hour drive to cross the countryside and travel between the two. With no buses left (the guidebook didn't mention a 4pm cutoff time, but it was something we should've thought to check regardless) and the only available share taxis filled, we were forced to hire a private ride at excessive cost to our wallets, $30 per head. Still, the driver was a pleasant man and his brand new aircon pickup with leather seating was a welcome change from the butt-destroying chicken buses, especially considering our battered condition. The Krabi Province countryside we drove through was like something out of an ancient Chinese painting, covered in light jungle with towering limestone facades all around. A few of these rock formations had temples on top. About an hour in the landscape flatteded and gave way to endless rice patties, and an hour later we pulled in to Surat Thani. Surat Thani is the eastern coast equivalent of Krabi, a coastal fishing town of pleasant but unremarkable order from which most ferries to the islands leave.

We were dropped off at the night-ferry pier, where at 11pm three identical overnight boats would depart for Ko Samui, Ko Pha-Ngan, and Ko Tao respectively. These were "cargo ships, not luxury liners. Bring plenty of repellant an watch your bags," Lonely Planet warned. They were already docked and being stocked with freight so we just went ahead and purchased our tickets. As our rucksacks contained nothing but heavy loads of dirty laundry by this point, we went against the book's advice and left them on our bunks inside. "Our bunks" = sections 21 and 22 of one long, gigantic cushion stretched out across the side of the boat's upper deck. We wouldn't be sleeping on metal containers or sacks of vegetables as the book implied but the spartaness of it all was still funny. With four hours to kill we wandered out into town in search of the main night market. Every Southeast Asian town/city has at least one night market, and they're always great time killers and people watching spots. This particular one mostly just sold food, so Jeff and I parted ways briefly to seek out nourishment. He was looking for appearantly delicious oyster omlettes, a dish that was both exceedingly unkosher and due to containing shellfish were firmly in the "high risk of food poisoning" category. I applauded his kahones but settled for some simple pad thai myself. Now, speaking of unkosher though... upon meeting back up, we passed an old lady selling roast insects in bulk:

"I'll eat a cricket if you will," I half joked.
"Okay, sure!" came Jeff's too serious response.


He asked the lady how much three crickets would cost, but since she was selling them bulk she just gave them to us for free. Thus followed a painful half hour in which Jeff, calling my bluff, would not leave me alone until I ate one of his roast crickets. He tossed one into his mouth and sat me down on a curb so that I could eat mine comfortably. After a great deal of teasing, and some funny pictures, I tossed one of the remaining two into my mouth. "They're a good source of protein, just keep telling yourself that..." When else would I get the chance to eat cricket, I figured. It was pleasantly crunchy and cracker-like. The legs felt a bit creepy rubbing up against one's tongue, but other than that there was nothing gross about it. Rushing to get the experience overwith, I swallowed my bug before I'd adequately chewed it, so I could almost say "I ate a roast cricket WHOLE!" Don't eat them whole.

Back at the dock we were accausted by the creepiest drunken homeless man who thought that caressing my knee would be a good enticement for me to give him my beer. He was mistaken. We then snickered at the Australians whose table he sat down at after we fled the scene, but were surprised to see some locals give him change. Giving change to beggars is much more common here than it is in America, probably due to the lack of adequate government safety nets for the mentally ill/crippled/disabled/unemployed to fall back on. Or something political like that. The spartan cargo ferry made for a surprisingly cozy and mosquito free night of sleep, and we arrived in Ko Samui the next morning without incident. There was an evil fluorescent light above our bunk but I was so tired that it didn't bother me much.

^ Our rucksacks marking our bed-territory on the ferry.

---Vital Signs---
Food Poisonings = Zero
Bizarre Food Eaten = 1 Roast Cricket
Pad Thai = Starting to get sick of it
Green Curry = Could never get sick of this
Wallet = 100% depleted, borrowing cash from Jeff for remainder of trip
Quote of the Night =
"Mmm, tastes like seaweed." - Jeff re: cricket

Ko Phi Phi, Thailand: Tue 8/12, Day 83

What wound up being our only full day on Ko Phi Phi started with a pleasant kayaking voyage around one of the cliffs to a "monkey beach," a tiny secluded sandbar accessible only by water where monkeys from the adjacent jungle liked to hangout. When a couple began making out on this beach we were driven to paddle away early, but any chance to see wild monkeys is automatically magical and worthwhile. I don't remember these monkeys doing anything particularly funny ala the one in Phnom Pehn who yanked his monkey-friend off a tree, but they were adorable all the same. Monsoony overcast and rough currents kept us from circumnavigating the entire island unfortunately, which was our original goal. We paddled across the lagoon to another largely abandoned beach, this one very pebbly and disappointing. Some dude was fishing off a nearby rock here and chose to relieve his bladder within view of us. This was not desired. We decided to return to the main beach, but just as we secured ourselves in the kayak and could start paddling out, a huge wave smacked into the boat and knocked us against the rocks. Our skulls thankfully survived. An unintentional reenactment of Cast Away followed as we struggled to propel the kayak past this beach's breakwater and out of the waves' wrath-range. Success! And never again will I go sea-kayaking without a life jacket or helmet!

After some wading and snorkeling we turned to our feet for the island circumnavigation. Due to speed and tide issues we were only able to make it a fifth the way around, but in the process discovered two magical less populated beaches with good waves where we lounged around for the rest of the afternoon watching the sunset and getting splashed in this and that direction. The tranquility of it all was on par with one of those "change your latitude" Corona commercials but having not adequately thought ahead, we had no beer bottles on hand to complete the latitude-changing.

Rolling around in mild waves eventually got old so we trekked on back to the main town and devoted the next hour to making rounds on the interwebs. On the 16th we planned to stay on Ko Pha-Ngan for one of its infamous "Full Moon Parties," but accommadation allegedly books up a full week in advance and we'd yet to figure out where we were staying there. While Mr. Jeff dispatched some emails to loved ones, I took it upon myself to resolve this reservation dillemma. The few bunaglows and inns listed in our guidebook either had non-working phone numbers or were already reserved. Luckily Ko Pha-Ngan is situated a simple half hour 24/7 ferry ride from the adjacent more touristy Ko Samui, and it was on this island that we found our bungalow for the next few nights. We'd disembark Ko Phi Phi tomorrow and be on Ko Samui the next morning. Victory; now it was nightlife time.

As today was the Queen's birthday, this night was considerably quieter than the last. Most of the bars were closed and the beaches were pyromaniac-free, and there was no drinks-for-boxing-match deal to be had. One hilarious belligerent man who was probably high on a substance other than weed began ranting at the top of his lungs about some other man who stole his girl and how he'd make this guy pay at the Full Moon Party on Saturday, providing welcome comic relief to us and irritated sighs from the locals who probably see "farang" outbursts like this daily. There was also an adorable stray cat who befriended us around midnight, but that aside there were few other stories. We spent most of the night wandering around pigging out at the various crepe stalls around town and stalking the cute stray cat. I miss those Thai crepes... they were like eggy Indian flatbread drenched in condensed milk, with (insert fruit here) for filling and were cheap. The banana/nutella type was the best.

A relaxing, low-key day overall.

^ The magical sunset beach

---Vital Signs---
Food Poisonings = Zero
Quote of the Night = Tipsy Annoyed Local: "F@cking farang!!" (farang = Westerner)

Ko Phi Phi, Thailand: Mon 8/11, Day 82

The journey to paradise:

14 hours had passed since we first boarded that Singaporean sleeper bus the night before. I woke up uncomfortable and sweating like a dog, having long since forgotten what it feels like to have a sore-free butt. There was enough air and cushioning that I was able to clock a decent six hours of less than decent sleep, Jeff clocked significantly less. Both of us were miserable. We pulled into the main Far-South Thai city of Hat Yai around 9ish or so and were deposited at a commission-paying travel agency instead of the bus station, irksome and forcing us to hire motos the rest of the way. The motorbike drivers upon finding out we had no onward bus tickets also tried to deposit us at their own commission paying establishment. After some victorious haggling that I was really not in the mood for we got to where we needed to be and caught the next bus to our semi-final destination of Krabi (ferry launching point to the islands), a further four hours North by way of chicken-bus.

We both slept through most of this ride, but again it was that kind of bumpy, shallow sleep that doesn't really help much beyond making you even more tired than you already were. Not surprisingly it dropped us off far from the town center and forced us into the waiting arms of eager crafty tuk-tuk drivers. The particulars of the remainder of this journey don't particularly matter. What mattered was our absolutely, utterly battered and drained state; the sleepless night bus only compounded exhaustion that had been building for weeks. All the hassles of travelling in the developing world, all the constant haggling, the fact that most of these cities were more quirky than pleasant... all of these factors were removing any sense of relaxation. Being on a genuine adventure, removed from the comforts of home, is exhilarating but takes its toll on the nerves. Both of us had technically been traveling for almost three months now and had seen some amazing sights, experienced moments and emotions generally better handled older individuals and had put our metal through the ringer. Though I can't speak for Jeff's Taiwan experience, I myself very rarely if ever felt like I was actually "on vacation." Most of these destinations weren't really the greatest spots for stress relief anyway, no one really travels to a place like Kathmandu or Phnom Pehn to "get away from it all." As our ferry pulled out of the Krabi Town pier and the warm pattering of the Indian Ocean took hold however, that feeling changed completely.

After tossing my straining rucksack down in the ferry's luggage corner I made my way up top to the sun deck, where dozens of fellow backpackers were sprawled out napping, tanning, letting the water spray at their faces. I leaned up against the railing, took a deep breath and just let my brain shut off. In an hour I'd be on a shimmering traffic-free island paradise nibbling away at $1 pad Thai and letting the waves have their way with me. I'd done the humanitarian thing, the intrepid thing, the cultural thing, the crazy city thing, and now at long last it was finally time to relax. At about 4:30ish the backpackers began waking up from their naps and poked their heads up to look around. Ko Phi Phi, setting of Danny Boyle's The Beach, lay before us. I don't think I'd ever seen a landscape that could so accurately be described as "looking at a gemstone." The cliffs were covered in this deep, emerald jungle growth, the water was spotless, crystal clear blue, rainbow colored longtail canoes bobbed up and down along the shore... Heaven! We rounded some limestone coves, drifted into the main lagoon, and for the first time in three months I felt like I was on vacation.

The rest of the afternoon's schedule:
5:00 - Check-in to $3 a night inn.
6:00 - Scramble up a hill & take in one of the more gorgeous views I've seen in me life.
7:00 - Shower
7:30 - $2 Green curry, mango shakes, and a banana crepe
8:00 - Beer!

At around 11ish, our stumbling around Phi Phi Town lead us to a peculiar bar with a Muay Thai kickboxing ring as its center piece. Alongside this ring was a sign: "Fight your friend for a free bucket drink!" Two professional locals with only their dense, hardcore toned muscle for armor stood up to fight themselves and set the standard all the Westerners would be held to. There are no rules in Thai kickboxing and their brawl was likewise brutal. When they were finished, an overweight wannabe Frat-dude stumbled up in his boxers and waved (I assume) his friend up to fight. Technically one of them won but it was pretty embarrassing for both parties. I kept half-jokingly pestering Jeff to fight me just for the sake of the silly story that would make, but I was unable to talk him into it. The boxing got old after a while leading us to visit the beach for some after dark fire-limbo. We tried but failed to participate and spent the rest of the night staring at some fire jugglers do their juggling thing. Pyromaniacs, them Thais are...

Viewpoint atop Phi Phi Island ^

---Vital Signs---
Food Poisonings = 0
Mosquito Bites = Not Many
Terrible Sunburns = Several

Singapore Redux Pt2: Sun 8/10, Day 81

Allight, not a whole lot to talk about on this day. We slept in till noon and went fancy restaurant meal hunting. The book recommended a restaurant, Din Feng Sung or something to that effect that I remembered Jeff raving about in his Taiwan blog. I thought it would be cute if I left Jeff oblivious to the existence of this place in Singapore and lead him there promising a pleasant surprise. Instead we found ourselves reservationless at a restaurant with an intimidating line stretching around its door, and a "Okay how good is this restaurant, really?" "Not good enough." review from Jeff. Oh well. Instead we ate at what wound up being sort of a tourist trap place along the river, Jeff got some kind of oyster noodle dish and I got amazing mango flavored fried chicken. It didn't live up to the fancy setting and an overcast, gloomy sky killed the mood, but the diversion was a pleasant one. There wasn't a whole lot else we could think of to kill time and do.

With our night bus departure approaching, it was time to start packing. I stopped in a tea stop to buy this promising and cheap Taiwanese Jasmine stuff, we both stopped at a dessert stall for a coconut shaved ice concoction then returned to the hostel to bid Donald Duck a faretheewell. I shared some tea with him as he told about his father's B&W photography work, chronicling Singapore's development from an underdeveloped Colonial backwater to booming modern financial center and Andy's own hopes to continue the legacy. Hostel business paid the bills for the family's historical photography institute which as far as I could tell was run out of his own bedroom. Must be an online thing? In minutes, Jeff finished whatever it was he was doing and we set out for the sleazy Golden Mile Center bus station.

Once aboard the night bus, about two hours later, we met an array of fascinating goofball characters. The first was the stubby ticket stub collector. If you could imagine the personality of an OCD Alvin the Chipmunk transferred to a chicken egg, you would have a stunningly accurate mental image of this man. I had no idea what instructions he was babbling at us a mile a minute during the border crossings and resorted to following the passenger mob. Also aboard where a trio of AWESOME INDIANS. We never spoke to them, only watched from afar as they socialized and waved hands around to each other for the whole ride. I speculated, based on their awesomeness and attire, that they were a 50-something year old soft rock band, the kind one's parents go see in concert during a holiday or anniversary. Awesome Indian 1 had a greasy black Jesus mullet and wore a white robe. Awesome Indian 2 wore a large Hawaiian shirt, shorts, was very overweight and sported a ponytail + bandanna. Awesome Indian 3, the most awesome, didn't need these bells and whistles. He wore a simple slick Jazz suit and had such perfectly white hair and beard that it seemed to glow against his dark skin. Jeff snuck a picture of them, hopefully it will be posted soon.

After not enough sleep and fourteen hours, we crossed the Malaysian/Thai border and arrived in Hat Yai. Thus is the domain of the next post, whenever it may be written.

^The trio of awesome Indians.

---Vital Signs---
Still no food poisoning, very tired, battered, desperate for an island paradise...

Singapore's Independence Day: Sat 8/09, Day 80

Guy Sitting Next to Me on Plane: "AhHA, you pick right day to fly to Singapore! Today (is) National Day, many fireworks!"

Characterless as this squeaky clean city might be in parts, it felt refreshing to be back in "civilization" for a day or two. A quick hop & a giggle from ultramodern Changi Airport lead us to the Chinatown MRT station, local stop for our hostel. The hostel's location adjacent to the main pagoda and a hawker center (food court) was incredible, the hostel itself not so much. Two simple rooms packed to the teeth with bunk beds made up its entirety and promised a claustrophobic if cozy night. Sub par hostels are usually redeemed if they have nice owners and such was this one. Andy was his name, a short 60 year old Chinese guy who remembered your name and wouldn't stop trying to get to know you. He'd waddle around in an over sized Hawaiian shirt with only a pair of boxers for pants and could be mistaken for Donald Duck if only his silhouette was visible. His becoming the only person I can remember meeting to use the word "auspicious" in casual conversation sealed Andy's place in my heart. What a magical human being...

We walked across town in hopes of finding the unofficial intercity bus station, where we'd theoretically buy tickets for the overnight Singapore>South Thailand direct bus tomorrow night. Mayhem (by low Singapore standards) from the National Day festival starting 6h later lead us astray for a bit but the endeavor was successful. The bus depot was funnily the only spot in the city with any discernible genuine character, being packed full of working class Indians, Malays & Thais shopping in respective dedicated-ethnicity supermarkets. It was a gritty 70's style place reeking of cigarette smoke, with (GoGo?) bars taking up every foot of floorspace not occupied by food stalls or supermarkets. If not for the aforementioned fireworks, we would've stayed here all evening people watching. Fireworks time it nearly was though so we took the train back over to the Parliament area and followed the crowds.

A massive concert-type event was taking place in the main park here where hundreds of families had gathered to celebrate Singapore's birthday. In America this would've been a nutty carnival with donkey rides, BBQs, hotdog stands and football fan types chugging Budweisers. Here it was a cordoned-off section of locals who had paid to get into said section, all given color coordinated paddles to wave in the air at specific points and masses of less priviledged people lounging around the grass field outside. On the loudspeaker was an MC who would incessantly beg people not to leave the field and announce the odd playing of a historical documentary now and then on the screen. His sole function was the nonstop enforcement precise formation schedule for the people holding color-coded paddles. At 6:17pm, it was "make the Singapore flag!" time. Ten minutes later, the Singapore flag waving! Later, the most stunning Singapore flag formation with your assigned glowsticks! He would go silent for a bit, people would start having a good time, and then it was like "Okay play time is over, we must make a new shape for the video!" Or rather one of the singularly great quotes of the trip:

"Okee, okee... We make one formation now. Everybody get to your formations... okee okee... Ready? Now! INFLAME. YOUR. PADDLE-PODS!" (thick Chinese accent)

Several historical documentaries about the island's history were projected on the park's screen throughout this overly organized pseudo-mayhem. After paddle-pod inflamation #M087BNX42, the Prime Minister visited some other more central celebration elsewhere in the city and was treated with a National Anthem rendition from us. The MC launched the singalong and... very few people seemed to be singing. A CD track was played to compensate, followed by an airshow of awesomeness. The fighter jets made hair raising weaves in and out of the Downtown skyline before flying an array of fake near-collisions. Some well timed if tinsy fireworks added to the theatricality. Jeff & I joked that the fireworks were tiny because Singapore sold its supply to Beijing for the Olympics. In hopes of getting a better view, we mistakingly followed people onto a largely cordoned-off bridge and found ourselves in an impossible clusterfrak of a mob that took twenty minutes to find our way back out of. It wasn't worth the effort but made for a good story.

Back at the hostel, we met the rest of our roomies all of whom were American or British (sole German not withstanding.) I suddenly caught a glimpse of someone familiar in the conrner of my eye:
"Owh moiy Gyod! How ah yah??? I con't believe you'uh heya!"
It was Anna, the Congolese-Australian from my very first day in Singapore way back when! She had just come back from her trip to Japan and by some freakish coincidence wound up at the same hostel on the same night as us. After a mass group dinner out in the Chinatown market, she joined up with the two of us on a theoritical clubbing outing.

All three club targets were along Clarke Quay, a tacky-as-hell riverside shopping strip and nightlife hub of Singaporean youth. The entire population under 26 are hipsters. Every single last one of them. We surveyed the entrance to the primary target club and found it to be booming, but figured some pregaming was needed due to budgetary concerns as Singapore is a nearly Western priced city. Beer was bought at the nearest 7-11, though not after waiting for the rest of the youth population to carry out our idea as well and form a line far longer than a convenience store should be worth. We sat down beside the waterfront, opened the cans, and thus started such an epic philosophical discussion between Anna & I that any chance to club was entirely squandered. Jeff grew increasingly silent during this convo because as I found out later, he really really wanted to go clubbing already. Sorry Jeff :-\ A rare instance of the shoulder-nudging system failing.

3am struck, the night ended, and Donald Duck who was for some reason still awake bidded us a goodnight.

---Vital Signs---
Food Poisonings: None
Bug Repellant Supply: In the Yellow
Travel Weariness: Cured by Singapore's Comfort
Countdown to Full Moon Party: T-1 Week

Final Hours in Saigon: F-Sat 8/09, Days 79&80

Vietnam was fun and all, but by late Thursday night the last minute for planning next week had arrived. We had to figure out just how in the darn-gone-blazes we were gonna to get back to Thailand cheaply and quickly from here leaving enough time to truly appreciate its island paradise. I had no trouble booking dirt-cheap budget flights at eleventh hours in Indonesia and figured pricing would be the same here.
Wrong.

The Thurs night fare for a Saturday morning Air Asia flight to Bangkok registered a whopping $200+, well beyond budget and out of the question. A flight from Phnom Penh was only $30, but this would involve getting another Cambodian visa ($), a long butt-destroying half day bus ride ($) and countless breaths of Phnom Penh's sewagey air (minus 7-10 yrs of life.) Being the cheap Jew among us I was obviously in favor of this option, but Jeff did not want to go back to "that city" and having had my fill of the LDCs, I quite frankly didn't either. So we googled around some more, checking and triple checking airlines, combos of airlines, alternative Vietnamese airports, et al until an unlikely but workable option surfaced. A flight to trusty ole Singapore was half Bangkok's fare despite being twice the distance and offered the option of taking a night bus north through Malaysia, approaching the islands in an ass-backwards but efficient fashion. The inevitable boredom instilled by spending more than an hour in Singapore was the sole minor caveat; this plan would involve spending one night and 2 days there. So be it. Maybe the world's cleanest city would be more fun with a friend in tow, I figured.

And great fun was. More on that next time.

Friday came and went with few still-untold stories, we sat by our traffic circle one last time watching the scooters roll by, slurped at some pho and digested a final dose of Ho Chi Minh's madness. I wanted to give Apocalypse Now Club another visit but was rightly dissuaded by a schedule-conscious Jeff who feared not making our early morning flight without an early night bedtime, a quite FUBAR inducing risk indeed. So we sighed, lowered our blood pressures and just lounged around the guesthouse room for the foreseeable hours. Jeff's quadridecadal Olympics addiction lassoed him to the TV all night for the opening ceremony and I followed suit upon realizing what I was missing. After closely following the tragedies and triumphs surrounding Beijing & Tibet for the past few months, I could not miss this historical moment.

One by one the countries filed out onto the field, we gave our obligatory cheers to the USofA, I gave mine to Israel, then felt boredom hitting until I did something I did not expect: erupting into an equally passionate cheer for... Indonesia? Granted I loved the place and its people, but they were our (weak) competition and shouldn't have prompted a cheer. Nepal followed a shortly thereafter and as with the Indos, I was as proud to see them walk across as I would've been my home country's team. Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, even Laos, a nation we never made it to but researched heavily... I could feel a surprisingly deep emotional connection to each and every one of them. I'm too deliriously tired at the moment to turn this into a profound epiphany about the world and humanity, but I'm sure there's one in there somewhere.

A schwarma nightcap from the magical curbside doner cart and walk around Pham Ngu Lao ended the night, with morning arriving too quickly as usual. We thankfully woke up in time for the flight if not in time for breakfast and made swiftly for the shiny modern HCMC airport. I had trouble getting in to the country, now it was time to see if they'd let me out. Jeff and I split into separate lines, mine was faster (a first) and with some trepidation, I approached the immigration official. He was a young but rigid looking man decked out in the full stereotypical Communist green military uniform + obnoxious peaked hat. He grabbed my passport from me opened it to the photo page, grimacing...

Looking at the photo.
Looking at me.
Looking back and forth five more times.
His eyes were steel, his expression frightening. He flipped the picture toward me, pointed to it, and yammered in Vietnamese what was obviously some disbelieving "That's you? Psshaw." I assured him that the dorky looking man pictured was in fact me, he again did not believe. This was starting to get scary.

Passport Soldier removed my departure card and examined it carefully. He noted that I'd absentmindedly written my birth date in the arrival date field... how dare I! Then came the signature. You see, because I hastily filled out the card on a rickety Cambodian chicken bus, the signature was not up to my usual elegant (not!) standards. He suspiciously asked why it was so vastly different from the signature on my passport. Because he spoke no English and thought himself too badass for charades, there was no hope in explaining "bumpy bus!" to him. Furthermore, I signed the passport almost four years ago and my signature had since evolved.

This posed a new problem... He ordered me to take his scrap paper and reproduce the passport signature.

I could not.

Angry/disgusted/some scary negative emotion... he tossed out the departure card, returned my passport and turned me away. His instructions were to find and fill out a new card and go through a different immigration official the next time around. Aye aye, Comrade! Whatever you say, just let me out of here. I followed the orders, got through the border and made the flight. & Of course Jeff got the hot female guard. Sigh.

Next up: Singapore's Independence Day

---Vital Signs---
Pho Bowls = 8-10
60 Cent Chicken Schwarmas = Mmm lots
Douchey Australian Partiers = Argh lots
Grass Jelly Desserts = 1
Bug Bites = 5, prolly fleas.
Food Poisonings = The salad wasn't a smart call but has yet to wreck any havoc.
American Lives Avenged = 0
Vietcong Guerillas Captured = 0
Well-Timed Sunset Rainbows = 1

---Quote of the Day---
Douchey Australian Dude: "Excyuse may, do ya have sum cyold wau-tuh?"

Saigon, Vietnam: Tue-Fri 8/08, Days 76-79

Sooo, the general rundown of highlights. We spent Tuesday pagoda-hunting in Chinatown, Thursday at the Jade Pagoda and just kind of wandering around aimlessly, and Friday in a tacky failed amusement park with a great view on the outskirts of town. Wednesday was spent in the Mekong Delta and was talked about in the previous post. Anyhow, a bullet point list of memories from this glorious city, in no particular order:

1. $6 martinis in the penthouse bar of the Sheraton Saigon, looking down over the neon city below with a murky overcast sunrise. I was silent through most of it, entranced by this one really trippy LG sign in the distance, near what I think was Ben Thanh market. Jeff jokingly tried to zap me out of the trance it put me in. "No Charles, no! Don't stare into the light!"
   
   
2. Mr. Bao, a nutty motorcycle driver who befriended us on our way to a jazz club one of the earlier nights. We were happy to make a sincere friend at first, but it soon became clear Mr Bao's social skills were not the greatest as he'd steer our conversation in endless circles, never pausing for a breath (or allowing us a non-rude escape.) We chatted deeply about China, the US, relations between Vietnam and the US, Vietnam's (bad) history with China, etc... Then he looped around and started talking about it again.
   "We know! We know! My government know China government. That why they be America friend. America better than China. We know China, we not like China. My government know. They know! We try to be Europe's friend, America's friend. China bad. (he didn't much like China)" As I kept egging him on, trying to be social... little did I know that the hour was passing 11 and poor Jeff was no longer amused by this funny guy's nonstop yammering. The interaction somehow ended and our nightlife plans largely foiled. I told Jeff to nudge me on the shoulder the next time a conversation needed to end. We promised to call Bao and invite him to some beer and pool, we never called him.
   
   One of the two final Saigon nights, we were enroute to the Apocalypse Now club and guess who rolls on up? Bao!
   "Heeeyy friend, why you no call me for beer?"
   Jeff and I exchanged "you've gotta be kidding me" glances and returned Mr Bao's greeting. He again started ranting about the evils of China when I recieved an expected nudge on my shoulder. I rammed my way into his ranting, asked if he could drive us to the club on his bike, and so he did. That was the last time we bumped into silly Mr Bao.
   
   
3. The Love Park. After getting off at the wrong bus stop enroute to the Jade Pagoda (it wouldn't be until Thursday that we'd make it there), we stopped in a local bakery to buy some pastries and sat down in the adjacent park. It seemed like this park was the only place in the city where PDA wasn't taboo, because every bench was occupied by young couples making out with each other. Where there wasn't love, there were late middle aged or elderly Saigonese men and women doing the same bizarre aerobics we saw in the Bangkok park. Jeff snapped a video of the funniest, a guy hopping along the pavement like a kangaroo, squatted as far as his legs would go. Some sort of hip-building exercise? Who knows.
   
   
4. Apocalypse Now. A thumping, raving, if not terribly large nightclub housing the most expensive beer of the trip. I had my best dancing-with-ladies luck in Charles History here, though none resulted in anything beyond dancing. Jeff also had similar luck, and also did not go beyond dancing due to no longer being "on the market." Have I mentioned how beautiful Vietnamese girls are? They are HOT. I must marry one. So let it be written, so let it be done...
   
   
5. The motorcycle ride back from the club, at the hands of two crazy college kids who decided this would be a good time to start racing each other to our hotel. My guy nearly scraped a corner curb at what must have been 60+ mph, almost killing both of us, and I'm sure the same or similar happened on Jeff's bike. Damn college kids.
   
   
6. The crazy demon old guy motorbike driver. We got caught in rain enroute to the riverfront and hired a motorcycle taxi to take us the rest of the way. The driver was a skinny old man who seemed sane at first, but as soon as he revved up that bike... wow. The bike zoomed at breakneck speed through the intersections, as this old guy literally cackled with sadistic glee and shouted at any other bike drivers getting in his way. Judging by the amount of yelling going on between bike drivers at the intersections, whole relationships must be born and burned while waiting for that red light to turn green...
   
   
7. Green tea milkshakes from Fannies... I think I gave Jeff a bazillion headaches each time I insisted we go back to this store.
   
   
8. The coffee house above our traffic circle and its server. At this coffee house, you were provided with a constant supply of some sort of cheap watery iced tea while you waited on or drank the drink you actually ordered. Think of it like the free glasses of tap water at American restaurants. After two glasses of this free tea, the server came along again to refill my cup. No longer wanting any, I gave him a very clear "no thanks," waving my hands around over the cup.
   
   Long awkward silence.
   
   The server slowly, silently tilted his pitcher, and without saying anything served me a third cup and walked away, still awkward. We imagined he was thinking "No! I must pour the tea! Government says I must!" or something of that sort in his head.
   
   
9. The poster. Posted along one of the main streets near our guesthouse was an advertisement featuring the single hottest Asian model either of us had ever seen in our lives, clad in gym wear. We made sure to pass this poster at least twice a day and took a picture of it the final time to pass on to posterity.
   
   
10. The intrigued marijuana dealer. On a walk back from the club area late at night, we rejected yet another of the countless offers of weed we recieved. Upon rejecting, the tout stroked his chin and in an almost Samurai voice said to himself:
    "White men tourist who do not want marijuana? Verrrry interestiiing..."
    Jeff said he then shouted "you are good men!" which I vaguely remember but can't say for sure.
    
    
11. The t-shirt sellers try to trick Jeff again. Back in Ben Thanh market, Jeff was buying some t-shirts and needed a medium of a particular size. She, the seller, took the large he was holding out of view, and returned same shirt in hand, except the tag had been cut off and sloppily replaced with an "M" sticker. Jeff held the shirt up, noticed the huge size, and called her on her antics. So ensued another "Noooo it's the same size! ARGH!", half-joking argument which ended in Jeff not buying the shirt and the girl spanking him with a rolled up newspaper for being too smart. A slap on the shoulder or spank with an inanimate object is a usual sorta-flirty-but-not-really thing women of all ages here will do when interacting with you. It makes me snicker.
    
    
12. Whiskey Night. Anyone who needs to know this story probably already does. Heh.
    
    Saigon overall: Bustling with tangible energy like no city I've ever seen, save for maybe NYC, filled with the quirkiest, funniest of locals... Yet in all its chaos, it still manages to have this cozy, French Colonial air about it. Very few spots on the trip managed to make me feel at home at all, but this was one of those rare few. I missed it anytime we ventured out into the boondocks, and got that relaxed feeling one only gets at home almost right off the bat. I'll be back one day to meet my wife, just wait and see.
    
    Vital Signs---
    Food Poisonings = Zero
    Pho Bowls = Countless
    Lethal Motorbikes Dodged = Too many

My Tho, Vietnam: Wed 8/06, Day 77

Breaking the Saigon stint neatly in two was a short Wednesday foray into the uppermost town on the Mekong Delta. Ideally the delta is explored slowly over 3-4 days but logistics and time were not on our side; we figured one day would be better than nothing and disembarked for the intercity bus station. Some misunderstanding on my part or misdirections from the directors turned this into an hour+ trek halfway across the city, being shuffled on and off three different local routes including one particularly zany minibus in which all the conical-hatted women were shouting at each other, who knows why, one person brought a goat on board, and two others started shoving cartons of medical equipment under our feet without warning. It would later be referred to as "Crazy Bus" and become the standard bearer of "shitty bus ride" for the remainder of the trip. The station itself was a bit funny. As soon as we emerged from the local minibus, a sound-wall of three dozen or so overlapping voices from the ticket windows started shouting at us:
"Where you go? Come here, come here, come here!"
Each ticket window was probably owned by a different bus company and they were all barraging us with touts for our business. Unfortunately for them none but one actually sold tickets to the place we were going, which was a large fishing town named My Tho ("Mee Toe.")

A three hour moderately comfortable if unscenic ride lead us to the My Tho bus station, far enough from the main part of town that motorcycle taxis would be needed to get the rest of the way. I mistakenly let my driver know that we didn't have a hotel reservation, resulting him dropping us off at a dank commission-paying establishment and us walking the rest of the way into town. Had I known we weren't yet in town I would've yelled at the guy until he drove all the way, but alas I did not. A local grandma noticed our obvious disorientation and volunteered to direct us to one of the hotels listed in the guidebook, one that had an identical name to the commission paying establishment we'd been deposited at just twenty minutes prior. She was very insistent and followed us (against traffic) on her bike to make sure we went the right way. "The right way" was right back to said commission-paying establishment. Two more attempts to get navigation help and another twenty minutes walk lead us to the correct hotel along the canal front. Showers soon followed as we were sweaty as hell from the rucksack load.

The plan was to relax around town for the night and do an obligatory boat tour during the day tomorrow, but we'd arrived ahead of schedule and while afternoon was waning, it wasn't that late. We decided to just go ahead and try to hire a boat immediately. A local tour company owns a monopoly on all the certified boat tour guides and charge accordingly but with some communication savvy, rumor had it we'd be able to hire an unlicensed local for a much cheaper version of the same tour, provided of course we were willing to risk the 1/1000th chance of being stopped by a police boat and fined many thousand dong (1 dong = $.001) for bucking the system. Thanks to the sincere help of an old man by the dock we were successful in our endeavor. For $15, a family of fishers sent us out with their English-speaking elementary-aged son on a thrillingly rickety boat for three hours, weaving in and out of mangrove canals along the Northern Delta and making three underwhelming but charming stops. The first was a "coconut candy factory," actually a thatched hut with a lone bizarre taffy machine and supplies of the candy on hand. We didn't want to buy any but felt obliged out of courtesy. As Jeff wanted none, I was able to use the various little taffies of our candy supply as torpedos to be thrown at and otherwise pester Jeff with over the next few days. Great fun.

The boy paused the tour at a thatched hut restaurant beside the mangroves, where dinner would be had. It was obviously overpriced - commission for the boy's family I'm guessing - but again we just didn't care anymore and took a liking to the owner.

The Thatched Hut Restaurant Menu
(as best as I can remember it)
(all dishes meant to be split btwn 2 peeps)

• Elephant Eared Fish - 150,000 Dong
• Prawns - ##,000 Dong per kilo
• Cobra - 500,000 D
• Roast Monkey - 200,000D
• Squirrel - ###,000D
• Some other crazy thing

I really wanted to try squirrel, but the owner insisted elephant fish was his best dish. "Nooo, nooo, fish I think is bettAH." Considering the pricing and location of the restaurant beside a fishing area, we agreed and wow, that was some good fish and nicely rolled into raw spring rolls to. While ordering and eating, the following two things happened: Jeff mentioned the total amount of Dong in his wallet (500,000ish), and the owner asked "would you like to try some prawn?" I errored and didn't inquire about the price of "trying" before saying yes, and out came our accidental second entre of the night. Being the menu's cheapest item, and figuring we wouldn't be splurging on a delicious meal beside the Mekong ever again, we sucked it up. Until the bill came... The bill amounted to Jeff's total cash amount, minus the tip % Americans but no one else usually pay. He found out during the conversation that we were American, fyi. So, in otherwords, he inflated the bill to basically try and get *exactly* as much money out of us as he knew we had. If the discrepancy between what we saw on the menu and Jeff's wallet wasn't so great, we might've fallen for it, but this bill was almost three times the menu price. It was another endearing instance of "You're crafty, but how stupid do you really think we are?" After suprisingly little arguing, he reduced the tab to what it should've actually been.

Shortly thereafter our pleasant cruise around the Delta in a rickety fishing boat came to an end, and we spent the rest of the night wandering around town at random into the wee hours of the morning. By midnight, Jeff craved a pouch of milk (milk is sold in paper pouches here), which I found only to discover that Vietnamese milk is actually milk-flavored sugar water, and quite vile at that. He was greatly disappointed. We stopped by a pho stall for some noodle soup, splitting a bowl between us to save costs. The locals eating there all smiled and giggled at the cute crazy whiteys sharing the same soup bowl. Two knew enough English to make friendly chit-chat, resulting in possibly my favorite street food experience of the final three weeks. The rest of the walk took us through a midnight food market where a stray dog fight errupted, scaring the crap out of us but flinching nary a local. A fat old transvestite attempted to seduce us along the way but we rejected his offer.

---Vital Signs---
No food poisoning, no mosquitoes

Saigon, Vietnam: Mon 8/04, Day 75

Renewed and refreshed, we spent most of Monday on an ambitious walk around most of the central city. We got noodle bowl breakfast at the Pho 2000 restaurant beside Ben Thanh market, an apparent hangout of President Bill Clinton during his trip here. Reading this surprised me as the restaurant was by no means fancy or packed, just four plain white walls, big windows, and a row of fast food restaurant style booths. The first sightseeing stop of the day was fifteen minutes down the road, a monstrosity of 60's architecture known as the Reunification Palace, former headquarters of the South Vietnamese government. Wandering through its basement floor, a single hallway with secret radio and war rooms branching off from side to side was fascinating, as was the building's historical importance, but overall we left slightly underwhelmed. The roof however made for a great motorcycle-watching vantage point! Speaking of which, here's a YouTube vid that'll give you a good idea of what I mean when I say "motorcycle stampedes." The traffic in the video is moving much slower than what we saw, fyi: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JNWucQJGVI&feature=related

The War Remnants Museum followed, a museum dedicated to memorializing atrocities committed by the South Vietnamese Army and US troops. There was of course no mention of the equal or worse atrocities committed by the NVA or Vietcong, but what the exhibits had to say about us probably wasn't too far off the mark. It was an interesting sample of the other side's point of view, if biased in the extreme. The museum's most surreal feature was probably the captured American tanks, helicopters, bombs, etc sitting out front, all stripped of their camouflage and repainted Evil Black(tm.) We spent about an hour circling the exhibits, soaking in the photos of deformed Agent Orange babies and the like, including vials of deformed fetuses, then left and scrapped any future tragedy-related sights from the rest of the trip's hit list. We'd both had our fill of depression for the month.

Next up, if I remember right, was a small elevated park in the middle of a moped filled hypnotic roundabout. Here we sat for a good amount of time people watching, chatting and the like. Particularly fun was following a specific bike with one's eyes, watching where it went and how it maneuvered itself there. This roundabout became known as "Our traffic circle!" and would be revisited twice or thrice in the future before our time in HCMC was up. There were some neat looking coffee houses surrounding this area, but today's dinner would be had elsewhere. As I don't have my bootleg photocopied Vietnam LP guidebook beside me, any attempt to remember this restaurant's unpronouncable name will be futile, but this was one *good* restaurant. I went the cheap route and ordered some fried spring rolls, and my were those some good spring rolls. They were simultaneously crispy without being greasy, and had a thin enough wrapping that said wrapping melted in your mouth. Dessert consisted of a simple mug of Vietnamese coffee which rivalled Java's for its strength and delish factor. A pretty cool rainbow appeared in the sunset too. It was pretty cool.

Nighttime took us back to the more upperclass area we explored the first night, where uhh...

My memory becomes too blurred at this point to continue day-by-day. Jeff kept a little scribble diary that might be able to help me out, but I'm on a graveyard shift in the library at the moment and might never finish this if I wait even longer to write it. So, the next post will be a more general rundown of Saigon highlights, possibly badly out of order but whatevers....

Saigon, Vietnam: Sun 8/03, Day 74

Like I've said in previous entries, this trip has been mostly improv, with very few advance reservations or any such things. As such, we had three epic options as for where to spend the next week. The most logical, and the one I'd originally planned, was to hitch a budget-flight back to Bangkok, train it up to the North of Thailand & spend a few days in Chiang Mai, which all Thai people rave about. Option 2 was spend more time in Cambodia, which I'd be mildly fine with but Jeff was vehemently opposed to (after the skull tower, he'd seen enough.) Option 3, the nuttiest option: Forgo Chiang Mai and instead continue even further east to the nearby Vietnamese city of Ho Chi Minh City/HCMC aka Saigon. A longer stay in Cambodia was out, and though it made the most sense logistically, neither of us could get too excited about Chiang Mai. "It has nice temples and is really chill!" was the universal review from fellow travellers, vs "a city that reinvents itself every minute, where the energy is almost palpable!" (or something like that) for Saigon. Plus, while it would make getting back to Thailand tricky to say the least, Saigon was the eastest major destination to reach from Phnom Pehn. Thus without any real idea of how we'd get back on course after having enough of the city, we got a pair of Vietnam visas slapped on our passports and off as of Sunday morning departed on a bus to 'Nam.

The ride was... well, I don't really know how the ride was as I slept through most of it until the border crossing. This border crossing gave me a brief scare as while Jeff was allowed through just fine, I was held and dragged to the side while the uniformed dudes yelled a bunch and inspected every inch of my passport. Not sure what the problem was, perhaps it was too battered, but I they had me jittery for a moment. It all turned out fine in the end though I ran into problems again on the way out of Vietnam, more on that in a future post. At first, there was no distinguishable difference between the look and architecture of Southern Vietnam and Cambodia, alphabet change aside, and having conjured up fantasies of a gleaming modern metropolis in my head I was beginning to feel some disappointment.

Jeff: "This looks a lot like Taipei. :-D"
(does double-take) What??

Upon double-taking, I looked out the window with a bit more effort than before and noticed that the run down concrete had given way to sidewalk cafes, parks, neon signs... It wasn't exactly gleaming, but it was by all indications an honest to goodness modern city. There were two quirky features that were immediately noticable from the bus window: the electrical wires, hundreds to a pole all strung together haphazardly as if each house had set up its own electricity supply, and the SCOOTERS. Jeff noted Taiwan's nutty moped craze in his blog, but even he was taken aback by the sheer scale of the motorcycle stampedes here, comparable only to herds of wildebeasts on an African savannah. Not only where there so many of them, but they were all being driven by insane maniac drivers as well, with very few traffic signals to keep them under control. Watching the motorcycle traffic weave in and out of itself would become our favorite Saigon activity, it was so hypnotic and entertaining.

The bus let us off in the middle of the backpacker area beside a park, bustling, loud and more akin to Bangkok's Khao San Road than Kathmandu. We'd reserved a guesthouse beforehand via the powers of the interweb and found it down a fascinating maze of alleyways that you'd never think would be hidden behind the sorta-modern buildings along the main boulevard. There were familys boiling noodle soup ("pho bo") with the steam flowing out of their windows, elderly people lounging on hammocks strung along the alley walls, children playing ball and adults playing cards... it was like a whole 'nother city existed inside these corridors.

The guesthouse owner, a quiet middle aged father, informed us that we'd be staying in his sister's hotel just down the way tonight, and would transfer back here for the following two nights. The switch raised a red flag but turned out to be a false alarm, his sister's hotel was even nicer than this one, and had an incredible winding stairway that promised to be a slapstick magnet if ever we stumbled back in late at night after a beer or two. Then there was the receptionist, who was a goddess among all the world's beautiful women at least by my soon to be sharply raised standards. As we would soon discover, Saigon in general is home to all the world's most beautiful Asian women as nine out of every ten we passed were absolutely blazing hot. It was the most lopsided beauty ratio I'd ever encountered, a particularly signficant temptation problem for Jeff who'd lost his single status mere weeks prior in Taiwan. He resisted temptation.

An afternoon stroll around town was the next item on the agenda following a shower. Lacking acceptable bathing facilities in our humid Phnom Pehn fleapit, both our hygienes had descended to appallingly dire levels. After Nepal, it was nothing new for me and embarrassingly not the worst it had been, but Jeff's overall enjoyment of life was being harmed by his own sweatiness and he would not set foot back outside the hotel without cleanliness. Upon achieving cleanliness, we walked out to the park and towards some Hindu temple the book recommended, though we had no real goal in mind. To get here required crossing a major street, aka dangling our lives in our fingertips. It takes a couple crossings to get used to the free-for-all moped traffic here, but once you get the knack of it the terror subsibes and it actually becomes somewhat less frustrating than crossing with normal crosswalks and signals. Rather than having to twiddle your thumbs waiting for the walking man to appear, or even waiting for a gap in traffic, you simply start walking across, ableit very slowly, and the motorbike hordes will magically part like the Red Sea and drive around you. You'd be surprised the weaving maneuvers motorcycles are capable of it driven by an F16 fighter pilot-I mean Saigon native. There are only two things you have to remember to avert being pulverized: Don't make any sudden moves in a different direction/start running across, and don't ever ever stand completely still. Either of these will upset the delicate moped driver mindset and result in tragedy.

The Hindu temple disappointed, but our next port of call, Ben Thanh market did not. The merchants are all cat-calling women who will run up and practically attack you (in a charming way), grabbing your arm and dragging it toward their t-shirt stall. They were particularly fond of Jeff, who I deliberately let walk in front of me so that he could draw their fire. The first five minutes in the market were the worst, as within one minute we were barraged with dozens of very nasally "Hallo Meester, you buy t-shiiiirt!???" Enjoyment increased once we got used to it, and even when we were annoyed it was still hilarious to look back upon. We spent quite some time bargaining at one shirt stall, where the long sleeve version of a particularly cool silk shirt was clearly made of a different material. Jeff pointed this out, instisting he wanted one of the same material, but the girl kept instisting these two shirts were of the same cloth. They obviously weren't and thus began the first of many Saigon-style "how stupid do you think we are, really?" rip-off attempts, always so obvious and poorly excecuted that they were almost endearing. When Jeff refused to submit to the seller's denial, she just got annoyed, lost her temper, yelled and chased us away... hah. They don't quite have the whole "customer service" side of capitalism down yet. We fled to an adjacent food stall and ordered spring rolls, a Vietnamese invention & specialty. They were quite delish.

A nightlife expedition took us to the other end of downtown, about a twenty minute walk, checking out all the various pubs and clubs that we could pick from. There were a few great options for future nights, a few quieter looking bars, and finally an area where as we passed by, the bar doors would be swung upon and an eyebrow raising army of girl "bartenders" would pop out asking all at once if we wanted massages. I'm guessing it was a well-hidden red light district or something. Pondering our options, we settled on staying around our hotel's area for the first night, then venturing back out here next time. So, we pub hopped around three bars, having a beer at each, chatting, no real stories resulting but a fun time nonetheless. After breaching the day's alotted budget we returned to our abode for the night, and yeah... a good start to probably my favorite metropolis of the trip. Lonely Planet was correct in its hype. Perhaps only due to the scooter horders, there was a very definite palpable energy in the air, and somehow the city exuded an air of French coziness in spite of this. I felt more at home here than anywhere else, Pepsikola aside because it was a legit home for two months.

Oh! I nearly forgot the silliest bit of the night... during our late night walk from one end of the city center to the other, numerous motorbikes would roll up, sometimes blocking our path... on these bikes were either a man with a young girl, who would point at the girl asking "You want her? I give good price!" or the instant classic... a pair of suspiciously buff and broad girls on a bike asking if we want "Lady boom-boom?"

And yes, the winding stairwell lived up to its tipsy slapstick promise.

--- Vital Signs ---
Pho Bowls = 2
Street Merchants Angered = 2
Malaria Pills Deployed = 1/4th of Prescription
Bug Repellent = Surprisingly Unnecessary
Food Poisonings = None
Hygiene = Hygiene?
POWs Freed = 0

Quotes:
"You know you need a shower when you can rub your skin and black stuff comes off." - Either Jeff or Me depending on the day

"Lady boom-boom?" - Lady-Boys on Bike

Phnom Pehn, Cambodia: Sat 8/02, Day 73

A harrowing day.

We by some miracle of science actually managed to wake up on time today and after the most glorious English breakfast imaginable, set out with our rickshaw driver for a half-day tour of the Khmer Rouge's carnival of horrors. For the less history inclined among you, the Khmer Rouge was an extreme fringe Communist regime that ruled Cambodia for a brief period during the 70's and envisioned a country ruled by the impoverished peasant class "Old Khmers." This dream was to be accomplished by eradicating the corrupt "New Khmers," aka any city dweller, lawyer, doctor, professor, etc. It was a genocide against educated people and among the most infamous of modern history, rivalling the Holocaust for its sheer inhumanity if not scale. They evacuated all of Phnom Pehn and sent nearly its entire population to work/death camps where many ended up in mass graves. Any local in Phnom Pehn older than 30 (there were *not* many) that we passed on the street was automatically either a victim or one of the perpetrators, prompting some weird feelings in me when interacting with any of them. In the late 70's, the Khmer Rouge got ambitious and started running cross-border raids into Vietnam, who thanks to the US were not in a good mood and promptly invaded Cambodia, booting the genocidal bastards out of power. They continued to be a problem for the next few decades, carrying out an insurgency against the Vietnamese occupation and later legit Cambodian government well into the 90's. Poipet, the Tijuana-style border town I mentioned in an earlier post, was a victim of Khmer Rouge grenade attacks as late as 1996 according to LP. They've since been put down for good, allowing the country to start a slow but sure climb out of misery. /end history lesson.

Our first stop was the Tong Sleng Prison, an unassuming former High School in the middle of town converted into a detention center by the Khmer Rouge. t was a humble, functional complex, not sprawling like Auschwitz, but once inside it just kept going, and going, and going... One by one I walked through the cells (former class rooms), each one with a rusted steel bed frame and a B&W picture on the wall of the battered charred body discovered on said bed frame, and each one packing more of a punch than the last. On a couple secluded sections of wall was some graffiti chiseled by former tourists reading "BEAR WITNESS", "Man's inhumanity to fellow man is unbearable" etc. We both traversed the building slowly, I stopped in each an every room to note each and every bed/picture & Jeff probably did the same, to make sure the full impact was absorbed and full respects paid. The central building's ground floor had been converted into one long room with mugshots of each and every confirmed victim (hundreds of thousands.) Just as with the cells, these were traversed slowly, taking care not to miss a picture. The first hundred made me sad. The next hundred made me choke. Then, as the pictures kept going seemingly without end, feelings moved into vomit-territory until finally we both grew numb and overwhelmed by the sheer horror of it all. Stepping inside these small buildings was like opening up a pandora's box of inhumanity. Stories of children being taken from their parents and brainwashed into killing them, pictures of mutilated bodies above the blood stain where the body was found... etc.

Following the prisons, our rickshaw driver drove us to the Killing Fields, remnants of mass graves centerpieces by a towering Buddhist shrine (at least 4 stories tall), housing only shelves upon shelves of victims' skulls; a four story tower of human skulls. It was insane. We continued on, walking around the memorial park through all the marked gravesites. Some still had human bones poking out of the dirt, but not many as most were given proper burials in the many shrines scattered about. Street kids were posted at steady intervals along the trail, first happily asking if we could take their picture then instantly shifting to a more desperate tone begging for money. I let Jeff take over the "dealing with the locals" role for the first time this day, as after all of the things we saw I was not in much of a mood to talk.

By afternoon the bad times were over however and the rest of the day was spent walking around the colonial area of the city with the Royal Palace as our end goal. We arrived just in time for the gates to be closed for the day on us, but the walk was worth it. We traversed a food market selling bugs and skinned frogs, with random barber stalls dotted throughout it, walked past art shops, through parks, past old French villas now lying in disrepair. It was as sublimely beautiful as it was sad. The centerpiece of the walk was a large park/roundabout populated by monkeys. We watched as one pulled the tail of another, mischeviously yanking his friend out of the tree. My love of the monkey continued to be cemented. Strung above many of the roads where Kuwaiti flags, no doubt because the President/PM/King of Kuwait was visiting this week. We joked that the Cambodian ministers would try to tell the Kuwaiti "Look how much we love your country! We keep your flags up all the time!" in hopes for a donation. Another random funny sighting included a literal military-style transport convoy of, of all things, monks. "Spiritual Emgerency!" we joked. It was soon after this that both our legs began to gave out, and we started barking "Transport? Transport?" to the resident army of motorcycle taxis. In a comically swift reflex, two napping drivers instantly woke up and reved their engines on, ready for battle. They whizzed us back to the Lakeside in no time. Rather than making another attempt at nightlife, we decided to kick back around the inn this night, pub hopping the handful of adjacent tourist bars. Dinner was had at a particularly delicious Indian restaurant and a beer pitcher was drunk at an adjacent Irish themed pub. A quiet but pleasant night resulted. We had to wake up early the next morning to pick up our visas and catch a bus to Saigon, so the low-key early bedtime was necessary.