Thailand/Cambodia/Laos

I headed over to Thailand to meet my two friends from home, Rob and Buster, who were flying in from New York. (Editor’s note: Buster’s real name is Michael, and he is a fine and intelligent fellow who has long outgrown his old nickname, but it feels unnatural for me to refer to him as anything else. So for our purposes here, he will be “Buster.” Thanks for your cooperation. Let’s continue.) Buster had two weeks off and Rob had four, so we wanted to make the most we could out of this promising mancation.

We started off this Southeast Asian adventure in Thailand’s capital, Bangkok, where I was impressed with Rob and Buster’s eagerness to power through any jetlag. By hitting the ground running we took a riverboat cruise through the center of the city stopping to survey a number of Buddhist temples and the presidential palace. We also stopped multiple times to sample the spicy food offerings available at almost every corner. Touring the streets and the grounds of these places, however, the two of them were racing through like they were late for work. I had to remind them that we weren’t on “New York time,” and that there were no appointments to keep. Their mental adjustment would take some time.

Bangkok is a typical crowded, loud, and polluted Asian city and most who come here are usually just passing through to get to the famed islands or to head north. Besides hitting restaurants and bars for servings of pad thai noodles and multiple sets of Singha beers, there are still a number of activities to partake in. At Rob’s urging, we spent one afternoon at the Blue Elephant Cooking School. If you recall from my recent New York blog post, Rob is a chef, so broadening his skill base here in Thailand was a natural priority. In the classroom our feisty teacher instructed us on the recipes we would make suggesting each dish carried a particular female emotion. The class would then head to the “lab” where we would all man the stoves and individually replicate the dishes. We ground tamarind and coriander, mixed curries and coconut milk, we sliced and diced, we flipped calamari in the wok, and we prepared special satays.

Each time you completed a dish, the staff would pull it aside and number it indicating who cooked it. At the conclusion of our three hour lesson, the entire class went to a special dining room where we were individually served the meals we had just cooked for ourselves. I was quite satisfied with my own performance, as I believe the rest of the class was with theirs. Buster rubbed his full belly as a busboy cleared our plates. He said to him, “That was really good.” The busboy nodded with a half-smile. Buster then added, “Please send my compliments to the chef.”

We also attended a Muy Thai boxing match. Muy Thai style is a combination of punching and kicking and is the national sport of Thailand. I was expecting this to be a brutal competition, but I was impressed with the grace and respect in which the fighters dueled. Throughout the match, there is traditional music played and the energetic Thai fans get very passionate about each bout. This wasn’t just a series of fights, it really was a cultural event.

The three of us then soon boarded a flight for Cambodia, without forgetting, among other things, our sweet new complimentary Blue Elephant School aprons, which we safely secured in our luggage. We landed in the city of Siem Reap, which is not a large town by any standards. We went out the first night to get dinner and explore the nightlife, which has been growing in relation to the increasing tourism. In relation to the rest of the country, I’m sure the prices here are inflated, but they are still dirt-cheap. In some bars, they advertised happy hour specials for fifty cents. (Cambodia does have its own currency, but surprisingly no one uses it, insisting on only accepting US dollars.) We went out hitting a couple of bars on the main drag where Buster spontaneously decided to pay for everything. Dinner, beers, shots, games of pool; every time we turned around he had picked up the tab and ordered another round. He was in a good mood and on fire and his happiness was contagious.

We have all been there on nights out in Manhattan where you were in a zone. You were buying drinks simply for the thrill of ordering more. Money didn’t seem to be an object because you were living in the moment. You look in your wallet the next day, however, and find a number of ATM withdrawal receipts. While grasping the folly of your actions from the previous night, you realize you spent enough money to cover a down payment on a small Latin American country. The next morning in Cambodia when we woke, Buster looked into his wallet to see what kind of damage he had done. He counted his money, exhaled, and somberly said, “Oh my God.” Concerned, Rob asked, “How bad was it?” Buster shook his head and declared, “Last night I spent like 18 dollars.”

The main attraction of Cambodia is the massive complex of ancient stone temples in the area known as Angkor. The temples, which number over a thousand, were built by the Khmer empire between the 9th and 15th centuries. This sprawling site is actually considered the largest city of the pre-industrial world. We hired a tour guide and driver who took us all over the area detailing the history and significance of this remarkable place.

The temples were incredibly impressive, but what I found most memorable was something about the kids in Cambodia that made them the most endearing of any that I have encountered. I’m not even joking when I say that I understand how Angelina Jolie showed up here and felt an overwhelming urge to adopt one of them. Camped outside each temple, there are numerous stands and shops selling basically the same goods (t-shirts, jewelry, wooden Buddhas, table cloths, etc.) Automatically, once you come anywhere near one of these stands, you will be inundated by kids hawking their family’s offerings. These kids have come up with creative ways to connect with you, usually pitching various statistics on your home country such as the population or the capital. I did discover though, that the deeper you carried on, the hazier their facts became. Here was one conversation I had with a brother and sister who appeared to be about ten and eight:

Boy: Where you from?
Ed: I’m from America.
Girl: Oh, the United States!
Boy: Capital, Washington DC!
Ed: That’s correct. Very good.
Girl: Population: 300 million.
Boy: New York City. Largest City.
Ed: That’s also correct. Very impressive.
Girl: Yes, New York. Big Ben. Big Ben!
Ed: Big Ben? That’s not in America, that’s in England.
Girl: Oh really? Ok, you want buy bracelet?

Despite the questionable veracity of some of their fun facts, it really became a challenge to say no to these kids. Almost everything cost about one US dollar and they were just trying to help support their families. By the end of our first full day, we had shirts, flutes, stone figurines, books and jewelry.

On the second day, Buster was a little templed-out and decided to relax at the hotel while Rob and I rented bikes to explore some areas we hadn’t seen. At one point in the afternoon, getting off my bike at a new temple, I arrived a minute ahead of Rob. As I waited for him outside, a group of three girls approached me with their sales pitch. I explained that I was riding a bike and couldn’t carry anything even if I wanted to, and that I was sorry, but I would not be a customer. They wouldn’t give up trying to sell me a shirt offering multiple creative yet impractical solutions, like I could wear it over the one I had on. Also eager to point out that they knew President Obama’s name, their pursuit of a sale was admirable, but ultimately in vain.

Rob then arrived and we entered the temple grounds. We wandered through the stone ruins for an hour and then before exiting, we stopped to sit down for a soda. This temple was a little different for there were a couple of shops inside the walls. It was starting to get late, so Rob suggested that in order to return to the hotel, we should get a ride back by throwing our bikes in a “tuk tuk,” or motorized rickshaw. (Due to Buster’s tight schedule, we only had a few days in Cambodia and had to catch a flight that afternoon). I was determined to cycle back, but Rob decided he would get a ride. This now meant that he could also buy a few more gifts for people back home. The girls we bought the sodas from were more than willing to sell him an abundance of tablecloths, clothes, necklaces, and little elephants. Since he could now also carry purchases for me, I got talked into buying a new wardrobe of four t-shirts for six dollars. When we finally walked out of there, we were carrying so much stuff we looked like a couple of spoiled Upper Eastside housewives strolling down 5th Avenue.

And as soon as we exited the temple, staring directly at me were the three girls I told an hour before that it was simply impossible for me to buy anything. Grasping the unfolding situation, Rob understandably wanted no part, smiling and telling me, “Good luck, but this is your problem.” He then ran off to requisition his tuk tuk. The girls surrounded me. “You said you couldn’t buy anything!” “You bought so much!” “Why didn’t you come see us too?” “You must now come see our shop.” Now naturally, I had made no promises, but I couldn’t help but feel they had a reasonable point of contention. Taking stock of the situation, I felt confined. Rob was now on his way off, so I couldn’t buy anything more for him to take, and I still had to bike about eight miles back to the hotel.

I meekly tried to explain what had happened, but it fell on deaf ears. I had no options, so after more protests, I opened my wallet and told them, “Look, I really have to go and catch a plane. I’m leaving and I can’t buy anything, but here is a dollar.” I was met with silence. The eldest girl of the three frowned disdainfully. With a furrowed brow she said, “We don’t want you to give us your money. You didn’t come all the way from your country to give your money away, did you? That’s not fair. We work in shops. We are not here to just take money.”

I was a 31 year-old college-educated American male being taught a lesson by a 13 year-old Cambodian girl in the middle of a jungle. There are plenty of people in the world that would have taken the dollar, but it was wrong of me to assume that this would always be the case. I told her, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t mean to insult you.” She warmed and said, “That’s ok.” I continued, “I wasn’t making up the excuse of the plane, I really do have to go and don’t have time to look in your shop.” They all nodded, dispirited. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt as if they were now looking at me like making another sale was of little consequence. Their eyes seemed to bare thoughts of a recurring despondent realization that here was yet another foreigner who had the ability to run off on some airplane to a new destination when they had probably never been more than 10 miles from their birthplace, and who knew if they ever would.

As I continued to stand there, the mood in the air remained silent and strained. In a modest attempt to lighten the atmosphere, I then outlandishly, but earnestly suggested, “You know, I really like it here. How about I come back one day and maybe I will find you then?” They smiled. Returning to our original issue, they knew the plan was far-fetched, but they still seemed to embrace it as one asked, “Do you promise?” I nodded. And then for reasons I can’t explain, I suggested we all do a hands-in. The three of them looked at me confused. I explained, “Put your hands on mine and when I count to three we will all yell, “Yay Cambodia.” Their expressions of confusion deepened, but I pressed on and proceeded. After we successfully executed our cheer, they all looked at each other and laughed. They then looked at me, and looked at each other again with faces that said, “This white guy could very well be insane, but maybe we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.” As I turned to cycle off down the road, they reminded me of my promise and all energetically waved goodbye.

We made our flight back to Thailand and by nightfall we were on the island of Phuket. Phuket, as is the case with many places in Thailand, was one of the areas decimated by the tsunami of 2004. Many shops display photos of what the area looked like in the aftermath. The island seems to have made almost a full recovery and there are some super expensive resorts here. We opted for a couple days in the more reasonably priced town of Patong. The beach here was pretty nice, but the whole area was very developed, loud and overflowing with package holiday tourists.

Following two days in Phuket, we were really looking forward to getting over to the island of Ko Phi Phi, which came highly recommended by friends. In front of our hotel there was a travel agent where we booked a ferry ticket, which included a private van ride to the port. The van was due to pick us up at 1:15 for a 2PM ferry departure. Waiting around for our pickup, by 1:30, there was still no sign of the van. There was only one ferry per day and we started to get anxious. Rob walked over to the travel agent to investigate. She assured him that the van was on the way and that since our seats were paid for, the ferry would not leave without us. By the end of this conversation we also learned two important pieces of vernacular regarding the island’s name. When Thai people refer to Ko Phi Phi, they usually omit the “Ko,” and “Phi Phi,” is usually pronounced like, “Pee Pee.” But before we were aware of this critical information, in an attempt to sooth Rob’s concerns, she promised him, “Don’t worry. Tonight you sleep in Pee Pee.”

Well she was on point and we made our ferry, and although our sheets were nice and dry that night, as promised, we did end up sleeping in “Pee Pee.” Ko Phi Phi proved to be a beautiful locale. The island has no cars and in order to get around, one must walk or take boats. The center of town was located on an isthmus and had a lively selection of bars and restaurants. As you spread out from the town, there is a diverse assortment of resorts. We found a place with an incredible view of the bay and an alluring beach to match.

In stark contrast to the serenity of some of the seashore, back in town, there was one raucous bar whose main attraction was that it had a Muy Thai boxing ring. The pull here was that it encouraged any patrons who wanted, to sign up in pairs to volunteer to fight each other in front of the whole bar. The winner would be awarded one free small bucket of booze. You had to give the owner of this bar incredible credit for his pioneering cleverness. I could picture him racking his brain one day thinking of ways to differentiate his establishment from the others. “Hmmm, let me see. Everyone has music, drink specials, and food, but what can I do differently? There has got to be something to get more people in here. A pool table? A live DJ? A PacMan machine perhaps? Oh, I’ve got it! I’ll put up a ring and let the idiot tourists beat the sh*t out of each other!”

We sat there one night taking in the whole spectacle of it as two Aussies punched each other in the head. Having a conversation with a Canadian guy at the next table, he pointed out the paradox of it all. “You know you can’t really win at this. If you win the match, you just beat up your best friend. And if you lose the match, well, you’ve got a bloody nose.”

After a few days on Phi Phi sunning and swimming, scuba diving, and taking in some good meals, it was time for our dear Buster to head on home. Just like in the olden days, he went down to the pier and got on a boat that would be the beginning of a journey to bring him to the other side of the world. Rob and I were little melancholy to see our friend gone, but we had to recover for there was still much important work to be done.

We signed up for an overnight trip the sister island of Ko Phi Phi Lay. Along with about twenty other people we spent the night camping on the beach of this uninhabited oasis. This small island was the setting for the movie, “The Beach,” and by day it is swarmed by a repulsive number of people, but by dusk they all must leave. The island is technically a national park and our tour company was the only one with a permit to stay the night. The group of others we were thrown in with came from Canada, England, Australia, Argentina, and Sweden, and proved to be a terrific and fun collection of people.

We kayaked, snorkeled, and swam and at dusk the island cleared out and became exclusively ours. We ate dinner and consumed generous numbers of drink buckets, which our tour group provided. (Thailand loves to serve drink concoctions served in small plastic buckets.) The island was simply a treasure. Under your feet the sand was as fine as powder, the temperature of the air was perfect, as was the temperature of the crystal blue water. There was a full moon that night that was so bright it cast one’s shadow on the beach. There was a warm breeze blowing in off the water that was like a gentle whisper. I had put back a few buckets, but staring up at the sky and breathing in that air I found myself seriously having a communion with nature. We all partied late into the night and swam in the dark (suits optional). And then underneath a blanket of stars, everyone set up their sleeping bags right on the sand. It was one of those occasions that served as a reminder of how great it feels to be alive.

And then soon enough, Rob and I were again on the move. This time we were up to northern Thailand to the city of Chiang Mai. This is a land of thousands of monks and temples, and compared to the south, the atmosphere is a little less rambunctious, but our adventures continued. Among other activities, we went on a zip-lining trip through the jungle outside of the city. Rob took another cooking class while I went river rafting and elephant riding. We hit some of the best restaurants of the city and then decided to make a bold move and venture across to neighboring Laos.

Our hostel arranged rides to the border coupled with a two-day boat trip down the Mekong River. A van took us the few hundred kilometers to the edge of the country where we stayed in Thailand for one last night. Our van contained some other fun travelers and together after dinner, in this small empty town, on the side of the road, we found a bizarre outdoor karaoke stage with music blasting into the night. We got up there and took turns singing everything from Bon Jovi to Barry Manilow. The audience consisted of about five Aussies who passively paid attention, but cheered if anyone experimented with a ludicrous dance, and three expressionless elder Thai men who smoked cigarettes and stared at the stage blankly. Looking back, at the time, for some reason this whole affair felt perfectly normal.

The next day we started our mighty trip down the Mekong. We were stuffed onto a longboat with about 100 other people. As we watched the jungle go by, we passed multiple villages, fisherman, and small farms. Our boat had a meager selection of food available, but insured it stocked plenty of Beer Laos. We befriended a number of good fellow passengers as we traded stories heading towards our ultimate destination, the city of Luang Prabang. We all watched the world go by snapping photos of the external environment, but the most noteworthy occurrence ended up taking place inside the boat.

Evan, who was from Canada and who was motoring through a bottle of whiskey with reckless abandon, preferred not to sit in his seat, but on the railing. He was a row behind me so I had my back to him the whole time. A few hours into the trip I felt a vibration on the floor as I heard a “thud!” He was attempting to go to the bathroom, but tripped while getting off the railing and fell directly onto the floor. He didn’t even manage to get his hands up to break his fall so it was his face that absorbed the impact. The whole boat went silent in worry for fear that he really hurt himself. He got up mumbling, “I’m fine. I’m ok,” even though he had an immediate bruise on his cheek. His cousin got him some ice and the near-crisis appeared to be over. He eventually returned and repositioned himself back up on the railing.

About an hour later, I was speaking to one of our van mates, a girl named Kim from Holland, when she yelled, “Oh my God!” I then heard a loud “splash!” I spun around to see the place on the railing where Evan had been sitting was now empty. Everyone on the boat rose to his or her feet. Various shouts were made to the front. “Stop the boat!” “Someone fell in the river!” “Stop the boat now!” A huge sense of concern gripped every person. The boat was moving along and if anyone else had jumped in now it would have caused two problems, not one. The boat swept its long body around and reversed direction. My heart sank thinking about the possibilities, but as everyone looked out the side, in the middle of the river we saw a black dot doing the backstroke.

Luckily, the cool water must have helped him come to his senses. When he was pulled up the side, it was like a paparazzi frenzy. He had about 70 cameras snapping shots of him. He was a good guy, and I felt a little sorry for him, but you must admit he deserved some of that. As he returned to his seat, his arm was wet and when he braced the railing for support, he slipped and almost fell out again. The moment of comic relief was too much. Along with many others, I laughed hysterically.

After a stop for the night in some town in the middle of nowhere and another full day on the river, we finally pulled into Luang Prabang. This is the second largest city in Laos, but that still makes it pretty small. We found a nice guesthouse and spent a few days exploring the city, which is also known for its number of Buddhist monks, temples and monasteries. There was a night market and a great supply of street meat vendors, which we took full advantage of. It’s a sleepy little city, and being that Laos is officially a communist country, it has a curfew of midnight. By 12 o’clock everything shuts down, except for, strangely, a bowling alley on the edge of town. I’m not sure who had bribed the proper officials, but this place rocks late into the night and it’s an open secret that bowlers always seem to make it home without incident stumbling in far past 2AM.

And before we knew it, it then came Rob’s turn to head back stateside. I accompanied him to the tiny airport where he soon zoomed off aboard his little twin-engine propeller plane. It had been a great time traveling along with both Rob and Buster. Walking the couple miles back to town from the airport, I reflected on all the memorable and funny moments we had together.

Back again on my own I signed up for a two-day trekking trip to a secluded Laotian village. Along with three local guides, there were six of us who were led up and down steep hills, across dry rice fields, and through thick brush that had to be macheted. Late in the day we finally made it to the village where we would sleep in a wooden hut. This village had chickens, pigs, cows, goats, and dogs running throughout. The villagers are mainly farmers who grow rice, hops, and corn, but who also did totally random things like literally prospect for gold in the rivers.

Before dinner, we went down to the local spring for “showers.” We all basically filled up buckets with water and then with a cup, continually poured water over our bodies. Hiking eight hours through the heat, sweating through the backcountry, “dirty” doesn’t even begin to describe the way I felt. That “shower” was probably the most primitive, yet most refreshing one I’ve ever taken. We ate dinner cooked by our guides and played with the children. At dawn, the roosters were more than happy to wake us all up.

We hiked on out of the village and after a few days I’d eventually make my way down through the rest of Laos and on to the capital of Vientiane. From there it was an overnight bus back to Bangkok. My bus’s passengers included a 45 year-old alcoholic British guy who claimed he was a photographer for National Geographic. Much to the chagrin of a few on the bus, he brought some color to the trip by continuing to randomly cry out different animal noises. Following a couple more days back in Bangkok, I boarded a plane where I would continue my Asian odyssey over to the equally extraordinary land of India.


General Notes and Thoughts:

-The tourist industry is a major revenue source in Thailand. Almost everywhere you go it seems they are cultivating a party attitude, but sometimes things definitely get lost in translation. On almost every menu we encountered, even at nicer restaurants and at a fairly upscale lounge at the airport, one could order shots named, “Orgasm,” “The Blow Job,” or by far the classiest, “The Leg Spreader.”

-In Chiang Mai, we were in a bar that had different flags hanging from the ceiling. There was one for England, Australia, Germany, South Africa, Canada, Brazil, France, Spain, Norway, New Zealand, but no American flag? Later in the evening we happened to meet the owner, an affable 40 year-old Thai woman. I said to her with a bit of indignation feeling I had been unjustly wronged, “I’m looking at all your flags, but I don’t see one for the United States. What’s up with that?” She said, “Oh, all of these were gifts from people coming through here. I would gladly put one up, but no one has ever given me one.” I then felt like a jerk.

-Rob has a low level of patience with taxi drivers and hotel operators who keep offering their services after he has refused his interest. He always tells them politely he is not interested, but if they keep pursuing, they then become open game for him, especially if they present odd information in an attempt to ingratiate themselves. In Bangkok a tuk tuk driver kept offering a ride:

Driver: Hey you need a ride?
Rob: No thank you.
Driver: You want a tuk tuk?
Rob: No.
Driver: So where you going?
Rob: Nowhere.
Driver: Where are you from?
Rob: New York.
Driver: Oh New York! Mariah Carey!
Rob: Yeah…Mariah Carey.
Driver: She very nice.
Rob: Yeah. I had sex with her.

-After returning from our overnight trip out on the island of Ko Phi Phi Lay, the next night a number of us went out to dinner together. At one point, I took a walk to the bathroom with Fred, one of the French Canadians. Looking down at his urinal he excitedly exclaimed, “Oh look. Breath mints!”

-Being the only type I could find, while purchasing some spray deodorant in Bangkok, the woman offered me a straw?

-There are plenty of wild monkeys in Thailand. They are quite wily and have figured out that if they approach you harmlessly and then suddenly charge and hiss that any terrified tourist will drop whatever food or drink they have in their hands and run like hell. The monkey can then easily retrieve and appropriate his booty. One day Rob almost suffered a heart attack due to these circumstances.

-I didn’t touch upon this earlier, but among other things, Thailand is known as a sex tourist destination. All over Bangkok you will see countless older white men walking around with much younger local women. At first it’s quite loathsome, but you grow so accustomed to seeing a 50-year old Western guy holding hands with a 25 year-old Thai woman that after a while you don’t even think twice about it. The whole thing is pretty unsavory, but I did meet a British girl who told me she befriended one of these such men and asked him what his situation was all about. He was from England and had gone through a bitter and terrible divorce and decided to relocate and retire in Thailand. His “girlfriend,” that he had met here had been stigmatized after she became pregnant and subsequently abandoned by the Thai father of her child. The English guy and Thai woman now lived together, him supporting her and her son. The whole thing is still unnatural, but maybe the two of them were making the best they could out of their situations? I'm sure this case is hardly identical to all the others, but at a minimum, it made me pause to refrain from always rushing to judgment.

-In Luang Prabang, Laos, every morning at 6AM all of the monks line up in a long procession and take donations of food for their sole meal of the day. You can participate in this centuries-old tradition by buying fruits and rice to offer and get in line. It was quite a thing to witness, but there were so many people taking pictures, I felt it soured the whole experience. I decided to abstain from any photo taking, but I can still tell you about the experience here. Aren’t you lucky?

-Just for the record. I will keep my promise and return to Cambodia one day.

-On my way down through Laos, I also stopped in the town of Vang Vieng. This place has developed into a major destination on the Southeast Asian traveling circuit because you can spend a day tubing down the river stopping at the seven bars they have set up. Each bar has some type of rope swing or zip-line set up, which you can jump off and then continue on down the river to the next bar. To be honest, it’s a little dangerous, but ridiculously fun. At one bar, they have black magic markers where it’s become a tradition to write messages on each other. As usual on this trip, I met very few Americans here, but I saw one girl proudly displaying, “Jersey Girl” across her stomach. I couldn’t believe it. I went up to her and said, “You’re from Jersey?” She smiled and said, “Yes, you know it! Where you from?” I told her, “I’m from New York!” Sensing how excited I was, she then frowned and continued as I realized she had an accent, “Oh. I’m not from New Jersey. I’m from the real Jersey. Europe mate!”

---

---

---