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Published: September 10th 2007
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Sal Paradise does'nt know you
I dont know where this came from, but I think Francis was angry at something As I sit in my longyi, cherroot in hand, outside my house in Sydney, I have the sudden thought that, maybe, just maybe, my friends and family might like to know where I’ve been for the last six months. I recall a few friends who used this site before, and said, "why the hell not". I think it will be a lot better than mass emails or Snapfish accounts that no one bothers to open anyway. Plus I’ve boycotted Faceboook and MySpace this long that it might actually come in handy. The last few months, my vocabulary has been flowing with prose such as, "terama kasia", "mingalaba", "sawasdee", “is this the Thonle Sap?". For those of you who understand these words....praise thee. For those who don’t, clear some space in the ol' Blackberry and consult your nearest ATM...'Cause you just won yoself the bite of insight, to get up, and start exploring this vast globe. Going back six months ago is difficult, if not fair, to my memory, but I am going to try anyway. It all started in a little country with a population hovering around the 200 million mark. A hint...the U.S. has more people, but Brazil has fewer...give
The Bukit Boyz
"No Mamn, we do not serve a Cobb Salad with that" up....yes....INDO is correct.
The Indonesian Archipelago is the largest in the world, (I hope these stats are still correct, as my map I’m consulting was printed in Britain some eight years ago), I traveled this great country with an array of friends, from old to new. The majority of our time was spent in Sumatra, mostly exploring lost jungles and or searching for our genetic fore-fathers, but we did manage to see the ocean a few times. Even though I would have liked to surf a bit more, the trip was still "amazing", (sorry the Thesaurus is to far away, but "amazing" will have to do for now, plus, you know if you've been there. cheers.)I arrived in Jakarta, 15 hrs after departing LAX, Corona Del Mar sand still in my shoes, to be thrust, into what can only be described as "Kyoto on Ether". This city is like a big, drunk, lard factory, with an obvious disregard to pollution. I remember thinking this was strange, as I had just come from scummy L.A., but the smog here truly reined supreme. Coughing up black soot and trodding around in 39 degree heat couldn’t have been better. Being back
...the horror....the horror.....
Kurtz would be proud of his proteges on the road was exhilarating. Having that feeling embed in my fiber again was a great fix. Having no itinerary, no real barring and no sense of direction, I headed toward the "city" with a cool grin. I saw a fellow packer and inquired where the cheapies were. His idea of budget was Starbucks and air con, so my Bintang and Nasi Goreng views made our acquaintance come to a quicker end. I finally found Jalun Jaska, settled in, had a beer and went to inquire about Sal Paradise. Sal was supposed to meet me in Padang, but had suddenly re routed his Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, toward some place called "Medan". The guy next to me at the internet cafe looked at me and said, “why the hell're you going to Medan mate?"... Sweet, judging from his enthuses, this place must be killer. Turns out, Medan is just another smoggy, port city, that doesn’t have too much to offer besides getting the hell out. I tell Francis, (Sal), that I will meet him there in two days. I go around the corner and have a beer with my new friend. Turns out he's an Aussie ex pat from Margaret
The King
I wana walk like you, talk like you, ah whoo hooooo River area out west. He’d been living in the Philippines, and had the sort of look and demeanor of a sun dried, leathered "Skin Dawg" surf pirate. We talked about breaks that Id probably never attempt, sentences like, "double over head Cloud Break","...should of made it out to 'Chopes", "... went searching for Cyclopes once down in Tassie....didn’t find it though" ,were thrown gingerly around in the conversation. He would have died if he would have found it, but that’s probably the only way a true Brodha Zipha like him could go out. We parted ways and he gave me some good contacts and places to check out in Sumatra. Aghh, the good life was beginning again. Tomorrow I would head for Sumatra and meet up with The Sultans of Sweat.
I bunked up at a swank hotel called the "Medan", original and clever name, yes, but it did have free internet and A/C, as long as you were a guest of course. Being a "Westerner" benefited me here. Sad, but most Indonesians automatically assume, that since you are a "Westerner” that you have some large bank role protruding from your pocket and an A6 parked around back. I
RALLY!!TONIGHT!! April 14, 1992
Cant say I was there for this, but truly, a remarkable sight hope to get back to a truly eye opening conversation I once had with some Burman about inflation and cost of living...very interesting....anyways, this aided in my attempt to milk the hotel for 9 hrs. Kept saying I was waiting for friends, and no one bothered me again. I actually caught some good CNN and amazingly enough an Astros game...weird. This would be a recurring theme throughout the trip, sports games coming on at ironic moments, such as trying for two hours to explain lacrosse to some Malaysians, only to look up exhausted and see it on SKY Sports. I will stop throwing rogue tangent stories out, but since this is from the past, I get exited when I remember such things. Back to Medan.....Francis came plundering in with Jessica, Sam and some guy named Bret. The only one of Francis's Santa Cruz friends that I had never met. I had no idea we would eventually become best mates and traverse across Cambodia and Burma together, accumulating a mass wealth of smiles, laughs and overall debauchery. He turned Texan before he knew what hit him, that sounded a bit to Pat Green-ish, sorry. Anyway great guy. Our team celebrated over
cheap beer and Nasi Goreng like true foreng, playing pool, darts, dancing, singing, painting and sweating. The last would become our immortal call sign...............The Sultans.
We boarded a bus and some dodgy motorbikes, with plans to make it to Bukit Lawang by night fall. I had never met Jess before, and in the presence of four guys she commanded us like a pack of Norwegian Huskies. She bargained, kicked, screamed, pulled hair, and stomped feet, all to get a fair price. I was scared. A friendly guy on the bus just so happened to be selling treks into the jungle. We bought it bait, line and sinker. Turns out that’s how he markets himself. Jumps on a bus, smiles, makes some good jokes, then bust out the brochures. Even though we would come to love this man Thomas, his tactics were sort of runny. The jungle experience was great. Three days and two nights of monkeys and fire side games. We ended up seeing 7 species of monkey at the end. Including a male Orangutan....huge....Kipling obviously knew what he was researching when he made him king. We ended up staying around a few more days after the trek, hanging
out and discussing Indonesian Army defensive moves with some locals. "The Lost Boys", a rag tag group, with one smart friend. The smart guy toward the end started to realize his friends were dead weight, plus creepy advances to both sexes, made the departure hasten. We Shadowfax'ed it the hell out of Rhohan before the sun set on the third day. Bret, Francis and Sam's visas were expiring, so they left for Thailand. Jess and I would push on toward Banda Ache…………………………………….
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