tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24430561422646288222024-03-13T12:05:44.098+09:00somewhere elsei've been keeping a scrapbook for the last ten months of traveling. these are descriptions of random pages from that book. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-70200645421731400772013-03-08T21:10:00.004+09:002013-03-08T21:17:07.545+09:00Page 48: Pelni ships in Indonesia<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTxmp1eEbfAAUDS4vuxsSNfaNY_RNnnT_DejWDHmYZ4DdDEnVq95ieOofenWq1THSjgOL-huTqncScC9216PlJng-RDMvDd9E5ZkQjP-MTU6CH-0SjZYEaJ2C47oYuWwg8XDnh8XL7A/s1600/48.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTxmp1eEbfAAUDS4vuxsSNfaNY_RNnnT_DejWDHmYZ4DdDEnVq95ieOofenWq1THSjgOL-huTqncScC9216PlJng-RDMvDd9E5ZkQjP-MTU6CH-0SjZYEaJ2C47oYuWwg8XDnh8XL7A/s1600/48.JPG" height="287" width="400" /></a>On a normal voyage on a Pelni Ship, you could be going from
one to any other Indonesian island, on a giant ferry that takes at least some
hundreds of people. Each route is about
two weeks long, arriving surprisingly punctually at each port. </div>
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Sean and I took a ship from South Kalimantan (the south-most
bit of Borneo) to Java – a three day trip, which we thought was two days long
because, well, that’s what everyone told us.
Well, except for a guy sitting next to us who noticed that we were
baffled. When Sean and I were pretty
sure that we were meant to arrive in just a few hours, but couldn’t help but
notice that there was still thousands of kilometres to go, this guy next to us
leaned over and introduced himself.
Turns out he’s also going to Java, and it turns out that we still have
18 hours of sea-time left. </div>
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o.O <br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScM_FLXewXdvE15l1WY3UnrTs-n7HYWrlsZZFe3r-g7qM0B696ynBg_jMcjaCYaIw3yjXFEpnX2ZzEmUVf73yNlbr_E6BT-5PBdKj8StlIG9ralDUnIUXjtL-7pKmLMKgkCCy4RTTew/s1600/IMG_3258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScM_FLXewXdvE15l1WY3UnrTs-n7HYWrlsZZFe3r-g7qM0B696ynBg_jMcjaCYaIw3yjXFEpnX2ZzEmUVf73yNlbr_E6BT-5PBdKj8StlIG9ralDUnIUXjtL-7pKmLMKgkCCy4RTTew/s1600/IMG_3258.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Sunset on the ship</td></tr>
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srsly?!
Eighteen?! I mean, that’s a
pretty significant miscalculation that mister ticket-selling man made. And the guys at the port. And the others who we’d talked to. </div>
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Well, we couldn’t deny the logic that this guy possessed,
seeing as we had just left <st1:place w:st="on">Sulawesi</st1:place>, which was
nowhere near halfway between our departure and destination. Well, thanks helpful bad-news guy. Damn good he told us, cause otherwise we
would have been direly confused when our arrival time came and went and we
still happened to be, well, in the middle of the sea. And how super convenient that we had bags and
bags of food, so much that even with an extra 18 hours and four meals, we <i>still</i> somehow had food left. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-NAEyK3pVSRs-ofo5iKphTOAEKGFt4wk8DI1KHdkQuHtT6sgc-vzXPmyS1wpIeJHunNiV7REZa6dS43m4dj_JIlXHCTu45ng7SjQyA2rHlCXQatzaNuyodBpUHHhxwotxcquL-Vhdw/s1600/IMG_3174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-NAEyK3pVSRs-ofo5iKphTOAEKGFt4wk8DI1KHdkQuHtT6sgc-vzXPmyS1wpIeJHunNiV7REZa6dS43m4dj_JIlXHCTu45ng7SjQyA2rHlCXQatzaNuyodBpUHHhxwotxcquL-Vhdw/s1600/IMG_3174.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The famous Pelni ship</td></tr>
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I’ll backtrack a bit here.
Let me tell you a bit about these Pelni ships. Before we went to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Indonesia</st1:country-region>, we’d heard of such ships
as ply the vast waters between Indonesian islands. Byron had been in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Indonesia</st1:country-region>, and these ships were,
according to him, and I quote, “awesome.”
He had stories of meeting people, enjoying the free rice-and-fish
head-packed-in-Styrofoam meals, playing endless games of cards, and generally
being happy basking in an incredibly unique cultural experience. Byron was also, helpfully, honest about the
downsides of the ships: They’re hot, stinky, loud, sleepless, and everyone
smokes all the time. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0R9ZOeQ2RDVpdcTV7ptP6YwQEucYkxe1RAcC0IVh2piQDE4Jz2mIDaKOIkw0T8L74EwAAvyLi7OXAxbfSs2T36UVP9KyX99s1NpL3FC_m8NaSnYhCo7gK04nrNJGK4mBS9I5sxwu7Dg/s1600/IMG_3205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0R9ZOeQ2RDVpdcTV7ptP6YwQEucYkxe1RAcC0IVh2piQDE4Jz2mIDaKOIkw0T8L74EwAAvyLi7OXAxbfSs2T36UVP9KyX99s1NpL3FC_m8NaSnYhCo7gK04nrNJGK4mBS9I5sxwu7Dg/s1600/IMG_3205.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tugboat tugging us away from the port</td></tr>
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Sean thought to himself, “Well, I’d rather take an aeroplane
above all the hot stinky mess and arrive at my destination within hours of
comfort in the sky, instead of days of boat.” </div>
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And I thought to myself, “OMGzorz that sounds so cool we
have to do it!!!!” </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwBb5ieSHIcHDP6lZjM3V33yfgxprynlzv_fhZspCOlDTzzqRcNWnP4FWU5oEHEPpTT826qGpdyys-2M7SyzRW-TzgDA8jMiA02gyWhP42McF84JyD35FIFnyrUWNlllLV4ZyDd4LMtQ/s1600/IMG_3180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwBb5ieSHIcHDP6lZjM3V33yfgxprynlzv_fhZspCOlDTzzqRcNWnP4FWU5oEHEPpTT826qGpdyys-2M7SyzRW-TzgDA8jMiA02gyWhP42McF84JyD35FIFnyrUWNlllLV4ZyDd4LMtQ/s1600/IMG_3180.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chillin'</td></tr>
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Sean’s opinion did not change much as we travelled further
and met more and more people who had taken Pelni ships and had seriously not
had a good time at all. It seems that
most people have a love-hate relationship with these ships. Mostly hate, and a little bit of love. </div>
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Ultimately we ended up taking the ship because the three day
trip was only like $35 for a "nonseat" ticket, and because my desire to travel on a ship was
undeniable. </div>
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So lo and behold, we are boarding a Pelni ship with our
backpacks and our bags of food, and there are three decks that have some second
class rooms, a cafeteria, bathrooms, offices, and like 20 million people. Our departure port was not the starting point
for the ship, so there were people everywhere: in the staircases, outside, in
the hallways. Pretty much every surface
that could be slept on was being slept on.
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Did I mention that it’s Ramadan, and that every Indonesian
person uses this holiday as a perfectly legitimate reason to go visit their
family, who invariably lives ridiculously far from them? </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIr54_kd6tiiEtIcWx0FhpU7sOH0Ry-QtVH1mp1JIBqOjrRPMAacLfQDu-e5z5yPOemDi0u2BmoZ9_x6xc11gpCH-RgyVzkjY2mSluUYI1D0JeMvYcCrVwZdchMtxCWqkGGyLie_CbVQ/s1600/IMG_3246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIr54_kd6tiiEtIcWx0FhpU7sOH0Ry-QtVH1mp1JIBqOjrRPMAacLfQDu-e5z5yPOemDi0u2BmoZ9_x6xc11gpCH-RgyVzkjY2mSluUYI1D0JeMvYcCrVwZdchMtxCWqkGGyLie_CbVQ/s1600/IMG_3246.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Ramadan = Full ship</td></tr>
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Well, it’s Ramadan, and the ship is packed, but Sean and I luck
into a little spot outside on the deck.
Our logic is thus: it’s fucking hot inside the ship; all the good spots
are taken and guarded; the outdoors cool, sunny, and windy, and when everyone
out here smokes it’s not in a small confined area; and if it rains we’re
screwed. </div>
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Three yays, one nay: the outdoors wins. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVa6uJ80ByGX4Z0-ZQgkgiDtCbveBefDqV9HpRItQ5ezFkAbDUSoLKai9dStNfoEa5N40n3-NV19GHoqPzyuM5bEUBc2pmeh8IoFfIv0wXepD7el6r4LQI-_e-BdgPSmUwKk-JE0sZcg/s1600/IMG_3173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVa6uJ80ByGX4Z0-ZQgkgiDtCbveBefDqV9HpRItQ5ezFkAbDUSoLKai9dStNfoEa5N40n3-NV19GHoqPzyuM5bEUBc2pmeh8IoFfIv0wXepD7el6r4LQI-_e-BdgPSmUwKk-JE0sZcg/s1600/IMG_3173.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know why, but this upside down pictures of Sean waiting is here. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqgVTGSxxA4_ONryu_jO-hqa5jYCmPKFRv0WGsuBAbWa3uQslbt_YAx3ls8Vzf8n165YAconnKCrVY6Rhr3FnSU-skGw2vWjFIF9_QrbSVkWfxTCPF6a3tIgVebILecDLVi9wEhtX7Wg/s1600/IMG_3218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqgVTGSxxA4_ONryu_jO-hqa5jYCmPKFRv0WGsuBAbWa3uQslbt_YAx3ls8Vzf8n165YAconnKCrVY6Rhr3FnSU-skGw2vWjFIF9_QrbSVkWfxTCPF6a3tIgVebILecDLVi9wEhtX7Wg/s1600/IMG_3218.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to not let the wind drive our hair into our eyes, therefore driving us mad</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGo8v2aFMDBjg-N4hptZu00h1Jyu6WLhTZPbM8FctVg2S84cM9c7ODtP06qyL4nnNL5PLCc0eWzRDOFNoTDUg-O2TtJoxtKH-wzS60TLvT8DuWAENJa_duSuC49h-X8Kh5ucfhq8cuDg/s1600/IMG_3227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGo8v2aFMDBjg-N4hptZu00h1Jyu6WLhTZPbM8FctVg2S84cM9c7ODtP06qyL4nnNL5PLCc0eWzRDOFNoTDUg-O2TtJoxtKH-wzS60TLvT8DuWAENJa_duSuC49h-X8Kh5ucfhq8cuDg/s1600/IMG_3227.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What will they do next? </td></tr>
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So we found our little spot on the deck and lay down our
bags. Soon thereafter a man walked by
with pieces of paper like brown paper-bags that have white plastic on one side.
About one by one metres. I don’t know
what this is, or why I would want a huge piece of plastic-paper, but Sean has a
quick survey of our surroundings and decides that, since everyone else has one
of these under their bums, that this piece of paper is a thing on which to sit
and sleep. So Sean and I procure two of
these bum-papers and lay them down while the dozens of people around us nod
their approval and continue to stare to see what we’ll do next. </div>
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Well, what shall we do next?
We have (so we thought at the time) two days on this boat, and not much
to do but sit around. Well, so that’s
what we did. 24 hours went by
surprisingly quickly, doing nothing but sitting around, reading our books, not
playing cards because it’s way too windy to be possible, layering up to sleep,
using the bathrooms which are totally not gender separated (the ship was like 3
percent female, so the males helped themselves to our bathroom), and generally
watching people and being watched, preparing our food, and thrice daily going
to the cafeteria to get rice-and-fish head-Styrofoam. </div>
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The first 24 hours, and then the next. And then we have the conversation with helpful-guy who tells us that we're not arriving in three, but in 18 hours... and there you go. three days on a Pelni ship! </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-54649610005685376972013-03-08T20:30:00.000+09:002013-03-08T20:31:22.623+09:00From Chiang Mai with the Floods to Koh Chang with the Capsticks<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1td1c8dO-wSvAZQ8MmLyyar-rQEW77L6v30lPV3lKxyjau4hivJLRDa9GaS0DMdVqTDseDjnO1hG29wF8HH0CJ0Jf55_VcUBUoSSK1fAF8TE3Cqyd8H1EA31TOHLZOlmKNgXj907RQ/s1600/6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1td1c8dO-wSvAZQ8MmLyyar-rQEW77L6v30lPV3lKxyjau4hivJLRDa9GaS0DMdVqTDseDjnO1hG29wF8HH0CJ0Jf55_VcUBUoSSK1fAF8TE3Cqyd8H1EA31TOHLZOlmKNgXj907RQ/s1600/6.JPG" height="320" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Page Six, Not Four</td></tr>
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Donna’s coming to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region>! In <st1:country-region w:st="on">Korea</st1:country-region> it was great to hang out with her, watching her spice tolerance increase from avoid-all-red-foods to
eating-spicy-squid-soup-for-breakfast, her hilarious bungee jump with her
unforgettable “oooooooh-mygaaaaaaaaaaawd,” and her general awesomeness at being
in not-Canada. </div>
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This time her story is even better. Sean and I have a tendency to brag about how
bad-ass his mom is. “Yeah she got a
tattoo with us on Koh Chang.” </div>
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“She convinced us to go zip lining… I was about to chicken
out and she talked me into it.” </div>
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“She walked through the jungle to an ice-cold water-fall
swimming hole.” </div>
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I don’t think we convinced her to try the wonders of
flavoured tobacco from a hookah, though.
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Well, our time with Donna started in Chiang Mai, where we
had one afternoon-and-evening with her and my parents. We sat by the pool, went for a swim, walked
to mom’s fave restaurant across from the train station (the same fated train
station that we would soon become very, very familiar with), chilled at the
restaurant in our fancy pants hotel… before mom and dad had to go to bed to
wake up early for their flight back to Canada.
It was a nice, pleasant meeting of parental units, which is not
surprising at all, considering the fact that all three of them are infinitely
awesome. </div>
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I’ll talk about our epic zip-lining in the jungle experience
on another day; that is on page 4, not six.
This page is all about the trip from Chiang Mai to Koh Chang. </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5hQK_QLaK4JuprZN38nyu6MoyR7QeoZpRSD1MoORwMIzlsBJmH0j3CyzAVEOMj4k6dKUis9f7V0GWpGwjLYOx2bY5Ac-u3_kMzaLLvkPrjhnZK9ATM6_jhC56qJmlRkYGziMfqaIciA/s1600/IMG_1377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5hQK_QLaK4JuprZN38nyu6MoyR7QeoZpRSD1MoORwMIzlsBJmH0j3CyzAVEOMj4k6dKUis9f7V0GWpGwjLYOx2bY5Ac-u3_kMzaLLvkPrjhnZK9ATM6_jhC56qJmlRkYGziMfqaIciA/s1600/IMG_1377.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">matching backpacks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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First step of our journey is a train ride, for which Sean
and I cleverly bought the tickets ahead of time. Set departure time is 15:00. So, being the good punctual Canadians that we
are, we arrive half an hour early, each of us with our matching backpacks and
some foodstuffs for the ride. Three
o’clock comes and goes and there’s no sign of our train. We sit around and check multiple times that
the other trains that have come and gone are not ours, and make sure that we’re
waiting at the right tracks. Eventually
we decide to order a meal at the train station restaurant, with giant
smoothie-coffee things to keep us happy.
It must be around four thirty that our train finally shows up, purges
itself of amazing quantities of passengers, staff, and garbage. We don’t get a signal to embark, so we keep
sitting for another bit while the train sits there doing dick-all. After some time the train leaves, empty,
without us or the other dozens of to-be-passengers waiting around. A helpful guy working there let us know that
the train has left to re-fuel. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtE1jRvTvqNw7BlW4wS_Bso_c4HBK4ae_x6pPmsKfJDj2zWI9pegLZGbM1NLl-w5v2MCf_CddOZcbkoqPk8y6iiAoJyAhDOD3zTaaRUWnvbbSiZhU9H9rwtjK5OksMUVsY2df5bSJraQ/s1600/IMG_1388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtE1jRvTvqNw7BlW4wS_Bso_c4HBK4ae_x6pPmsKfJDj2zWI9pegLZGbM1NLl-w5v2MCf_CddOZcbkoqPk8y6iiAoJyAhDOD3zTaaRUWnvbbSiZhU9H9rwtjK5OksMUVsY2df5bSJraQ/s1600/IMG_1388.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, that’s cool.
Makes sense. I guess we won’t get
there if we don’t have fuel. I don’t
remember what time it is that the train came back for real, but I think it was
three hours late that we boarded and finally left Chiang Mai. Which I reckon isn’t so terrible, because it
was meant to arrive in <st1:city w:st="on">Bangkok</st1:city>
at like 5am, so at least now we would arrive there at a reasonable hour. So we thought we’d get there around 8am. You know, leaving three hours late, arriving
three hours late. </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cPMHOMiGCBE9X-ST73P3sBrg7EFKpMRiJGSzsU9HwMyZdsDfJMxFPKNgs6CvwvUEnRLFUqCnydkmkWcueDunzkGg9HlfqsML-dOH3EUH-2UEJ83xcewhN32zPFKs4lavoVWvag0cAQ/s1600/IMG_1408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cPMHOMiGCBE9X-ST73P3sBrg7EFKpMRiJGSzsU9HwMyZdsDfJMxFPKNgs6CvwvUEnRLFUqCnydkmkWcueDunzkGg9HlfqsML-dOH3EUH-2UEJ83xcewhN32zPFKs4lavoVWvag0cAQ/s1600/IMG_1408.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Convenient sunset to will away the time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But alas, just a couple of hours out of Chiang Mai the train
had technical difficulties and stopped for an amount of time that felt like
forever - conveniently at sunset, though, with our windows facing the view of
the sun setting peacefully over rice fields and hills and some forest. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trains, trains are awesome.
I love them. If I had to choose
between airplanes, trains, boats, songthaew, tuktuks, or any other kind of mode
of transportation available in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region>,
I’d choose trains. You get to choose
between the different classes, so in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region> we usually splash out and
go for the non-aircon sleeper berth.
Which, when you get into the train looks like normal sets of seats
facing each other. Donna gets into the train
with us and sits down at her bench with another traveler across from her. Sean and I, in another bout of cleverness,
didn’t tell her that the benches become beds.
So she’s mentally preparing herself for a night of sitting up face-to-face
with a stranger, with whom to share valuable foot space. We eat some snacks, take some pictures, hang
out, and a few hours later the bed-making man comes by. This guy is awesome. The first time we saw him, I thought of him
as the man that magically transforms the train into a heaven of sleeping
wonderfulness. </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAJedgoSH8ccQsvLvdC3X1JNlJhfacEjoxwLQXIF8ow1GUOdIKddnZgMGq7nAaFv7hXn0h-buIGP1TOBelWsBNQx9U8snvT6C1XN_9LPhN05sWwp2qSDwnIqV849IFXDhr6E7g_K-h-w/s1600/IMG_1452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAJedgoSH8ccQsvLvdC3X1JNlJhfacEjoxwLQXIF8ow1GUOdIKddnZgMGq7nAaFv7hXn0h-buIGP1TOBelWsBNQx9U8snvT6C1XN_9LPhN05sWwp2qSDwnIqV849IFXDhr6E7g_K-h-w/s1600/IMG_1452.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bed on a train?! YES!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid24Oa_v6NC9PEVCjit1_3FwBet4Am8qe7EEQ5GnvR1bj2Gx0bYNe0smW5DKuIl3jD1qEeH7CmBobgjS0429CMT35xrrmPiNXUI0LMXtXlF1t5pVAGEfUMJb0BDTUiwk5obyO6PnqyEw/s1600/IMG_1436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid24Oa_v6NC9PEVCjit1_3FwBet4Am8qe7EEQ5GnvR1bj2Gx0bYNe0smW5DKuIl3jD1qEeH7CmBobgjS0429CMT35xrrmPiNXUI0LMXtXlF1t5pVAGEfUMJb0BDTUiwk5obyO6PnqyEw/s1600/IMG_1436.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>This guy takes the two benches and pulls them toward each
other so that they become a bed at bench-level.
And then the thing that appears to be an innocent compartment above our
heads is unlatched, pulled down, and… is a bed!
A bed with mattress, pillow, blankets and all! I wish I had a pictures of Donna’s face when
she saw that transformation, it was pure relief, pure happy
wow-we-get-to-sleep-comfortably!? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A quick trip to the bathroom to brush teeth, change into
comfy sleeping clothes, and a last good-night, and we’re sleeping comfortably
to the regular jostling of a train and the soothing train sounds. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I set my alarm for 7:00, because I’m stupidly still assuming
that we’re gonna arrive at 8am. Silly
me, but ultimately conveniently done because we have time to clean up, eat a
bit of b-fast, and properly wake up the landscape outside. Rice paddies become little towns, and back to
rice paddies. We see all the morning
crowd doing their commute while waiting patiently at all the train
crossings. There are people on foot, on bicycles,
motorcycles, and a few cars going from home to work and being interrupted by a
train across their road. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then eventually Bangkok: at first we pass the outskirts,
tin-roof neighbourhoods with lanes and shops and little canals; then one- or
two-level concrete buildings of various colours with more and more people
walking, shopping, commuting, hanging out, eating their morning meal; and
suddenly wide streets and sky-scrapers and car-horns, all the smells and sounds
and sights of a big SE Asian city. <st1:city w:st="on">Bangkok</st1:city>, a modern city
with an unforgettable mix of shinny new buildings, narrow concrete apartments,
trees growing on everything, small tin-roof neighbourhoods interspersed with
giant shopping districts and areas of metropolitan glamour. It’s really a site to see. Donna was impressed. My favourite thing about travelling with
Donna is hearing the things she has to say about new places. <st1:city w:st="on">Bangkok</st1:city>
is a world-famous city, it’s in books, in movies, and most people have a
general idea of what it’s like. But most
of that international image is of the fancy shopping districts, the sky-rises,
the modern sparkling stuff of movies.
And of course the areas of pure culture, with markets and food and
temples and crowded streets where people do their day-to-day things. Donna’s first comment about Bangkok was about
its poverty, which is startlingly obvious coming from Chiang Mai, and
especially entering the city from the outskirts where streams are clogged with
trash and houses are smaller than your typical Canadian bedroom. Like other big cities in developing
countries, <st1:city w:st="on">Bangkok</st1:city>
is surrounded by a ring of low-income neighbourhoods that are perpetually being
displaced for one reason or another. It
was good to get Donna’s perspective on that; we talked for a while about her
first impressions of <st1:city w:st="on">Bangkok</st1:city>
and her thoughts about it. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrO7fAzrdTkY0bpT-NY8adf8XwudAx-Bg2mQacHnG4flX7rP2GwhocC78X3wFIl-l1qYpwokR3fnSfSx2b7t9N6GLBw1gSUO9XU0Xh2qe0JGc9YaZx1sGD9sbrRiRu0w054V7Zj6MEew/s1600/IMG_1469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrO7fAzrdTkY0bpT-NY8adf8XwudAx-Bg2mQacHnG4flX7rP2GwhocC78X3wFIl-l1qYpwokR3fnSfSx2b7t9N6GLBw1gSUO9XU0Xh2qe0JGc9YaZx1sGD9sbrRiRu0w054V7Zj6MEew/s1600/IMG_1469.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kicking up the dirt with a motorcycle between rice paddies and the train at 7am</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8BGfnKjMenVq_9lszwQBineD-Rf5aqxi6eeRkPjK-42aFEV-5SouJdSjLELSxRVq_8qaLVx23Qc8oX7nB5h4vKuTtpOAHyIodoGHdhgYFDFZOLfg8d_pX_mIkcsdFtui1ccrAS1gpQ/s1600/IMG_1482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8BGfnKjMenVq_9lszwQBineD-Rf5aqxi6eeRkPjK-42aFEV-5SouJdSjLELSxRVq_8qaLVx23Qc8oX7nB5h4vKuTtpOAHyIodoGHdhgYFDFZOLfg8d_pX_mIkcsdFtui1ccrAS1gpQ/s1600/IMG_1482.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really flattering picture of Donna eating a pink guava </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyways! Our train
arrives not at the planned 5:30am but at a comfortable 10:30. The plan was to take a taxi to a bus station
and find out of we’d missed the last bus to the island. After a taxi ride that meanders through town
in a way that makes anyone think that the driver is seriously messing with your
sense of direction, we arrive at the bus station. One of the ever-present helpful-guys working
there says hi and asks us where we’re going.
Trat’s our destination, the last stop before the ferry to the
island. So he shows us to the right
ticket booth, where we get a ticket for a bus that’s leaving in about half an
hour. Ha! What a joke!
This time we again think that it would leave on time, but somehow we had
just enough time to buy some hot-pink fruit of unknown name or flavour, and
some pineapple in case the pink one is gross, and some water, before our helpful-man
told us to hurry the fuck up because the bus is right there
can’t-you-see-it?! You have to get on
now it’s leaving! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Onto the bus, a classy comfy bus which shall be our home for
the next five or six hours. The ride out
is pretty nice and uneventful, a regular bus ride in a regular bus, with
regular meal/pee/smoke breaks, and a regular driver who is luckily not
insane. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve seriously written way too much about the train ride
already, so I’ll keep the next bit short.
We get off the bus at the ferry terminal… or did we have to take a
songthaew there? I forget. Either way, we get to the ferry, wait a bit,
get on, hang out for the hour trip to the island. It’s really pretty and the sun is still up
and life is good. Onto the island, and
there’s a bunch of songthaew waiting around to take all the passengers to their
respective accommodation. We get on one,
pay the fixed rate, and enjoy the hour up and down steep hills that take us
from the north tip of the island to three-quarters of the way down the west
side. The view most of the time is
jungly and roady and pretty regular, until you climb up a few hairpin bends and
get the rewarding view of the ocean with the sun hanging out near the
horizon. Awesome. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually we make it to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Lonely</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Beach</st1:placetype></st1:place>,
check into a guesthouse with bungalows that Sean found online. The place was nice, with trees everywhere,
very colourful, delicious food, hammocks… but an undeniable stank of mould in
the rooms and showers that kind of spurt and sputter out when they feel like
it, and generally not the standard of your average person who wants a decent
place to sleep in comfort. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhboSIECR3Ib4vEfs4JcraLAulQoklryUuDS5EKKpFNRf3JQQzOyqAcxITtaU1cbqQJJhYL8smgnTO7t-HX-rChkbPGRYdN4BQBzRSEd-UdE7hPZ9uN2FXl8iNDl0lpuKOEwPyHtaUb6w/s1600/IMG_1508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhboSIECR3Ib4vEfs4JcraLAulQoklryUuDS5EKKpFNRf3JQQzOyqAcxITtaU1cbqQJJhYL8smgnTO7t-HX-rChkbPGRYdN4BQBzRSEd-UdE7hPZ9uN2FXl8iNDl0lpuKOEwPyHtaUb6w/s1600/IMG_1508.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The walk to the beach from our bungalows </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We stay one night and then Annie and Danny find us a super
awesome affordable place on the beach with fancy bungalows with giant windows
and great sunset views and nice porches on which to hang out. Finally, we’re home and we can relax, take it
easy, check out the beach, enjoy island life, and get started with Danny and
our new tattoo plans. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-67456902725023085512013-01-01T02:15:00.002+09:002013-01-01T02:15:59.873+09:00Malaysia to Indonesia: July 21st <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBljzxvjJLCOaDzB3sQw9NZKhzeRlrPr1caTIACuhzeP76xm3jXCbRYbXCAJuEmxpaoF5nFlHFkMRo1goGmRqk9qQYPZl4RclfANpBzEEFGpcNIUCnzjVZv4h9j5d_oR0-ccFCPp_UTQ/s1600/IMG_6011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBljzxvjJLCOaDzB3sQw9NZKhzeRlrPr1caTIACuhzeP76xm3jXCbRYbXCAJuEmxpaoF5nFlHFkMRo1goGmRqk9qQYPZl4RclfANpBzEEFGpcNIUCnzjVZv4h9j5d_oR0-ccFCPp_UTQ/s1600/IMG_6011.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="text-align: center;">Our transition from </span><st1:country-region style="text-align: center;" w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:country-region><span style="text-align: center;">
to </span><st1:country-region style="text-align: center;" w:st="on">Indonesia</st1:country-region><span style="text-align: center;"> took place on
the east coast of </span><st1:place style="text-align: center;" w:st="on">Borneo</st1:place><span style="text-align: center;">. Borneo is a giant island that’s mostly
Kalimantan (a </span><st1:placetype style="text-align: center;" w:st="on">province</st1:placetype><span style="text-align: center;"> of </span><st1:placename style="text-align: center;" w:st="on">Indonesia</st1:placename><span style="text-align: center;">) with a strip across the north which is two
provinces of </span><st1:country-region style="text-align: center;" w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:country-region><span style="text-align: center;">. Going from one country to the other can be
done on either the east or west coasts, since the middle of the island is full
of jungle with few roads. On the west
side, you can take buses, and on the east there’s a boat. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVqa374knHy48weiYzRq_Dk5DkJHafE9W-ZFmTzAMf4uDdwcpj_jvkAjKx5Q-z6PI-KxLD0AZ0RykT2WlMxD742kSXRQQ_ERUGJlP_gmwv3pEqH0GJwJ1RXCTc0bB9fHdYJOgE__6rQ/s1600/IMG_2350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVqa374knHy48weiYzRq_Dk5DkJHafE9W-ZFmTzAMf4uDdwcpj_jvkAjKx5Q-z6PI-KxLD0AZ0RykT2WlMxD742kSXRQQ_ERUGJlP_gmwv3pEqH0GJwJ1RXCTc0bB9fHdYJOgE__6rQ/s1600/IMG_2350.JPG" height="400" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting on the boat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>This boat goes between a town called Tawau (<st1:country-region w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:country-region>) and an island called Tarakan (<st1:country-region w:st="on">Indonesia</st1:country-region>). It’s a pretty neat boat and boat ride. The boat looks exactly like an inter-city bus
inside, with two rows of two seats, which are in reality under water. There’s a little staircase up that goes to a
little covered place with a few seats, fresh air, and loads of boxes and
luggage. The boat had sporadic
difficulties, would stop and drift for a few minutes, and then start
again. Otherwise it was all great. Oh, except for the fact that Sean and I got
on the boat without going through immigration.
On the Malaysian side, we just rocked up to this building with a waiting
room, and asked someone where we should wait for the boat. This guy walked us through a door, down a
hallway, and right by a queue with a sign that said “immigration” and through
another gate to a room with chairs. We
asked him about going through immigration and he said, no it’s okay. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ummmm, I don’t think it’s okay. We bought some 5RM tickets which are I guess
the boat tax, from a guy at a counter, who I also asked about going through
immigration. He also said, don’t worry
it’s okay. Even after I insisted that I <b>really </b>think that it would be a great
idea for me to go through it, he insisted that, really, it’s not
necessary. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uh, yeah it is. But
when I grabbed my passport and headed there, he insisted that I don’t have to
go there. Well, I went and sat down and
chilled out. After all, what could
possibly go wrong? Well, eventually our
boat arrived, got loaded with unbelievable quantities of stuff, and then we got
on. Into the sea-bus to find that 90% of
the passengers are not only foreigners, but also specifically from <st1:place w:st="on">France</st1:place>. What are the chances? Apparently <st1:place w:st="on">East
Kalimantan</st1:place> is a really popular destination for the French folk. As we got talking with all these guys, we
discovered that it’s not only <st1:place w:st="on">East Kalimantan</st1:place>
that’s popular with the French, but more specifically an island called
Derawan. We’d never heard of this place,
but most of the people on our boat were going there. So we had an instant change of plan. After Tarakan, we’re going to Tanjung Selor,
and then to Derawan! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-xyCSOnVJ4pL12L-aOBfUiBH40Ip-xpVpfss5agUzfJVdfxDStX_q7X-d2UzVQPTf16DTburz4jUo_us2bbweAiAYXqoudzQogdbIcTASyWG7TmOa5tLLh0d7ELiWn9FYh7ibjkk5w/s1600/IMG_2357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-xyCSOnVJ4pL12L-aOBfUiBH40Ip-xpVpfss5agUzfJVdfxDStX_q7X-d2UzVQPTf16DTburz4jUo_us2bbweAiAYXqoudzQogdbIcTASyWG7TmOa5tLLh0d7ELiWn9FYh7ibjkk5w/s1600/IMG_2357.JPG" height="400" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fishing platforms, complete with little suspended house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This boat ride was something like three or four hours, I
forget, and we spent some time down below in the bus-like part and some time
upstairs to get fresh air. As we
approached <st1:country-region w:st="on">Indonesia</st1:country-region>,
we saw something that I’d never seen before.
From far away it looked like clusters of pillars coming out of the
sea. As we got closer, we could see that
each cluster of wooden 15m pillars had a house suspended about 5m above the
water. I thought, huh, maybe these are
fishing villages of sorts? Maybe people
live there for a little while, spend time fishing, and then sell it on land when
they’ve got enough? It’s really quite a
site, they’re all spread out for a while and then there are clusters of dozens
of them all together. They’ve got huge
nets underwater with huge numbers of fish in them, and when the fish are big
enough, they bring them up, put them on boats, take them to land, and sell
them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arriving in Tarakan</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When everyone got off the boat, we were at the end of a very
long wharf. So we walked towards land,
hoping that immigration would present itself.
Sean and I had plans with a Couch Surfing host, and were hoping that
he’d still be there even though our boat was two hours late. While we were walking along the wharf, Yosie
ran up to us and introduced himself. We
apologised profusely and thanked him for waiting, and he didn’t seem to mind
too much. After going through
immigration, who didn’t even notice that I’d not been stamped out of <st1:country-region w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:country-region>, we
met Yosie and his friend, jumped on scooters, said goodbye to our new friends,
and headed to our new home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Home in Tarakan was awkwardly not Yosie’s house, but his
friend’s house… his friend who didn’t speak English at all. Well after bathing (Indonesians insist that
everyone bathes at least fifty seven times every day) and unpacking a bit, we
sat around in his friend’s living room with his wife and kids. And we had our very first opportunity to see
if you really can speak Bahasa <st1:country-region w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:country-region>
in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Indonesia</st1:country-region>. Turns out that you can! It seems like the two languages are as
similar as Canadian and British English; in the same way that us Canadians find
it funny that British people call the bathroom the ‘loo’, Indonesians think
it’s funny that the Malaysian word for bathroom is ‘tandas’ instead of ‘WC’. So we can use Bahasa <st1:place w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:place>, but we just use funny
words for stuff. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So we spent some time with Yosie’s friend and our language
book, and learned how to ask the very most basic questions, and how to sign
some more abstract ones. Indonesian
people are really encouraging when it comes to learning Bahasa Indonesia. They laugh and smile and teach new words at
an alarming rate, and they’re really awesome when you remember some words and
use them later. And they have the
patience to sit there repeating a word until you get it right, so that you
don’t go trying to use it somewhere else sounding like you have apples in your
cheeks. So we learned to ask ‘where are
you from’ instead of how we were improperly asking ‘where did you come from
just now’, and learned that It’s difficult to ask, “Where did you and your wife
meet?” without looking like a pervert. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsI_CUG2Q89LR-rG9q9s_ArZoxS-80ZZUMp9hKjAS9cwoiX4aa8CtgeFDjf2_43JtfaXzISp2q6QYn65QfhoAXjneKyryD2Vh1cpX3E_8BSVE8QEHcFlxynyRmSrzcLIgXEHqzlHRGpw/s1600/IMG_2445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsI_CUG2Q89LR-rG9q9s_ArZoxS-80ZZUMp9hKjAS9cwoiX4aa8CtgeFDjf2_43JtfaXzISp2q6QYn65QfhoAXjneKyryD2Vh1cpX3E_8BSVE8QEHcFlxynyRmSrzcLIgXEHqzlHRGpw/s1600/IMG_2445.JPG" height="198" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't pass off a photo op in Indonesia! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>We spent a few days in Tarakan, mostly walking around and
familiarising ourselves with the slight differences between <st1:country-region w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:country-region> and <st1:country-region w:st="on">Indonesia</st1:country-region>. Some small things are done differently, and
many things look different. <st1:country-region w:st="on">Indonesia</st1:country-region> has much less money than <st1:country-region w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:country-region>; they
weren’t blessed with oil money. You can
tell right away that there’s less money kicking around, by looking at the state
of the roads and buildings, and the amount of trash around. And you can tell right away that you’re
closer to the equator, because as soon as you cross that border strangers are
saying hello, asking you questions, making friends right away. So as we walked around we were charmed by all
the, “Hello mister!” shouts and all the, “Di mana?” questions. Where are you going?! Just walking, just walking. The word in Bahasa for travelling is,
literally, “road road,” – jalan jalan. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWe-RVYAm85WYCQDdlV5ttn21csuusuq4WuuCTFyU9Fd0yvsbjt6qyvlfEhVUXGfwhV3AhjFAIrXAfaK0KWG9j9A5NlM3GKHvqcvl2fHnZs6TjN59r57-5c7DdP35cB9shn8uenwtZw/s1600/IMG_2393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWe-RVYAm85WYCQDdlV5ttn21csuusuq4WuuCTFyU9Fd0yvsbjt6qyvlfEhVUXGfwhV3AhjFAIrXAfaK0KWG9j9A5NlM3GKHvqcvl2fHnZs6TjN59r57-5c7DdP35cB9shn8uenwtZw/s1600/IMG_2393.JPG" height="400" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing the roots of the mangrove trees</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The yellow ticket in my book is from a Konservasi Mangrove
dan Bekantan. I don’t know what Bekantan
means, but you can guess the rest. Yosie
took us there and we walked around in the mangrove forest, which also happened
to contain proboscis monkeys. We broke
the rules and climbed the roots of the trees, enjoyed the insanely bright crabs
that crawl around in the mud, and laughed at some little creatures in the mud
that made squirting noises. Sean and
Yosie had all sorts of political conversations about this and that, and I stared
at the trees and took pictures of stuff.
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYnPs22VUkN0g5qE6pqTM5g3C_iKf2rserVIYshP0kdzaGKKZZmF7jCunwOnpcIrzno1E6q31135ZDjY7vuD9ieS6VmqDrCMdxHBZUWyPpFD69RCHkgZVslJExUFPePPx_C__hSzmKyQ/s1600/IMG_2386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYnPs22VUkN0g5qE6pqTM5g3C_iKf2rserVIYshP0kdzaGKKZZmF7jCunwOnpcIrzno1E6q31135ZDjY7vuD9ieS6VmqDrCMdxHBZUWyPpFD69RCHkgZVslJExUFPePPx_C__hSzmKyQ/s1600/IMG_2386.JPG" height="263" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Multi coloured crabs of Tarakan's mangrove forest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-87pzPjZhba_1ta9-BxTNXAwCc4GEbDrUxR0pyNMabrHq3EYrZfnEWF7I4kwLa5Np_eIyRdMRHDHaZOEv1Ryp1a0w7UCI3x9j7Zp1PthyqH5E0Xo4xyz36kj54gZA1CneYDFeXVJaw/s1600/IMG_2414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-87pzPjZhba_1ta9-BxTNXAwCc4GEbDrUxR0pyNMabrHq3EYrZfnEWF7I4kwLa5Np_eIyRdMRHDHaZOEv1Ryp1a0w7UCI3x9j7Zp1PthyqH5E0Xo4xyz36kj54gZA1CneYDFeXVJaw/s1600/IMG_2414.JPG" height="400" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proboscis monkey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The little white sticker on the bottom right is my
Indonesian phone number, and the orange SIM card at the top of the page is my
old Malaysian one. We get a new SIM card
in every country so that we can get in touch with hosts, call hotels head, and
keep in touch with the family. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Useful Info: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Indonesian visa</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Going into <st1:place w:st="on">Indonesia</st1:place>,
you need to have a visa ahead of time, and there’s all sorts of information
that all conflicts all over the internet.
Sean and I got ours in Kota Kinabalu, the capital of <st1:place w:st="on">Sabah</st1:place>. It was easy and quick. We arrived in the morning with our passports,
passport pictures, and printouts of our onward travel, money, and modest
clothes. They don’t let you in unless
your legs are quite covered and you have shoes on. So we bought a one-dollar pair of ugly-pants
for Sean, and I wrapped my sarong around my legs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We walked into the embassy and asked where we should go to
apply. The man working there, in fine
Indonesian fashion, escorted us to the very front of a line-up, where we got
papers to fill in and instructions to go to a bank to deposit the fee and get a
receipt. We handed over all our goods
and were told to come back that very afternoon to pick up our brand new
visas. Sixty dollars and a few hours
later, we had ourselves two two-month Indonesian visas. Feeling good.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can get a visa in Tawau too, we’ve heard, but it seems
to take longer and be more confusing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The boat</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finding the place to get tickets in Tawau is tricky. It’s hard to explain where it is, but I swear
there are places to get tickets, and the boat does exist, just walk around,
persevere, and get directions every five steps.
Otherwise you might end up in adjacent neighbourhoods that look pretty
unsafe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Money changing </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh you will feel instantly rich when you change your few
Ringgits into thousands of Indonesian Rupee.
Five hundred Ringgits becomes a million and a half Rupees. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-62248276880543553652012-12-31T04:38:00.000+09:002013-01-01T00:00:08.610+09:00Chiang Mai, Thailand: February and March<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBBUzFk6h-siuDDBo4dBnOaAZGQU9VUBe8O8iRkwnyR_dwSpqk2kXIwGoi3jimaFMkxxopaWORP3ep-QNitM6FQEOecfGwf_BR3N-aGkd7_0ZwMZWaXO1VJlvhEiwZ06lLJbpON04Ag/s1600/IMG_5902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBBUzFk6h-siuDDBo4dBnOaAZGQU9VUBe8O8iRkwnyR_dwSpqk2kXIwGoi3jimaFMkxxopaWORP3ep-QNitM6FQEOecfGwf_BR3N-aGkd7_0ZwMZWaXO1VJlvhEiwZ06lLJbpON04Ag/s1600/IMG_5902.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a>How we came to all be in Chiang Mai in February</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
These are the first few weeks of
our travel time, spent with the family.
The plan came about when Sean and I decided that we’d start our travels
in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region>
in February, and we realized that it will be the only time in 2012 that we’ll
have a set date and location. Little did
we know that as time goes on, we’ll end up with a series of flights and plans
to meet certain people in certain places at certain times through our
travels. Nevertheless, mom and dad got
flights to arrive in Chiang Mai the same day as Sean and I. Then Jamie and Kazusa booked themselves a
Japanese-length vacation to spend five days with us from Feb 26<sup>th</sup> to
March 2<sup>nd</sup>. And we arranged
for Donna to come so that she could finally meet mom and dad! By some sort of colossal date confusion, it
turned out that Donna arrived the evening before mom and dad left… but we had
some parental-vacation-overlap to hang out by the pool, go out for dinner, and
spend some time together before mom and dad flew out. Well, the whole family will ultimately have
more time together next June in <st1:place w:st="on">Canada</st1:place>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mom and Dad’s layover at <st1:placename w:st="on">Incheon</st1:placename>
<st1:placename w:st="on">International</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Airport</st1:placetype>,
near <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Seoul</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">South Korea</st1:country-region></st1:place></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Their
original flight only had a few hours layover in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Korea</st1:country-region>. Then as flights tend to do, this one shifted
and morphed and suddenly had a 12 hour layover with a free sleep at the airport
hotel on the 21<sup>st</sup>. Pool under
construction. But oh well, we’re going
to the tropics! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sean and I
had our flight from Incheon on the 22<sup>nd</sup>, at a sickeningly early hour
in the cold winter morning. So we
figured we’d go meet mom and dad when they touch down, escort them to their
fancy pancy hotel, and then sleep at the airport jimjilbang (Korean sauna). Dad, though, had other plans. Soon after our series of hugs, hellos, big
smiles, and mandatory questions about the flight (Are you tired? How was security? Good food in the air? Got all your baggage? God, your eyes are
red! How many hours? Twenty?! ) and the mandatory answers (Yes,
Okay, Yeah, Yop, Oh is it that bad? Twenty!), we got right to business. Take this magical flight ticket to the
specific counter at the other end of the building, and trade it for a shuttle
bus ticket and a sticker which grants you a room at the hotel. Sneaky dad somehow convinces the ticket and
sticker man that it is incumbent that he feels sympathy for the sad nature of
our familial dilemma, and he should allows Sean and I to have a hotel room near
our beloved parents. Even though he has
absolutely no reason to do this, he is swayed by the endless fountain of
eloquence that is Jim Flood, and we end up with twice as many stickers and
tickets as allowed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later in
the hotel room, we had a catastrophic cream mix-up which I will not speak of
here, but feel free to ask mom and dad about the incident with dad’s foot. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Did you
know that <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Incheon</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Airport</st1:placetype></st1:place> has a skating
rink in the winter? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that
it’s rated the best international airport in the world, three years running? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that
the restaurants inside have the same prices as normal restaurants outside? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that
the staff are all at least trilingual? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s enough about planning and getting to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region>. We had a few weeks there together, so I’ll
just write about the random things for which I have pieces of memories in my
scrap book. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Linda Guestho & Trekk</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a
period of time, mom and dad and Jamie and Kazusa afforded Sean and I a room at
the same hotel as them. They reasoned
that it would be insane for us to all come to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region> to spend time together, if
we were to end up sleeping in different hotels.
It was good that way, since we could all meet for breakfast at the hotel
restaurant to eat together and laze about for hours and hours until someone got
restless and decided to go somewhere. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After this
period of time, Sean and I booked ourselves into a guesthouse around the corner
that was of a standard more becoming of our unrefined palates. This guesthouse turned out to be owned and
run by a German lady, and frequented entirely by German people. Except for Sean
and I. While we were there, we met lots
of people in the common area, including a man who I think I’d heard other
travelers talking about. You don’t
forget stories like this. He’s a guy who
travels only by boat and train, and he’s been doing it for decades while
writing books and blogs about his stories.
These days, travel by boat is more difficult, but since he started so
long ago, he has connections with people all over the place. And like in most guesthouses, we met other
people with amazing stories, and other people who were a little strange. And we discovered that a room full of German
people will switch to English when two Canadians show up. That’s a neat thing that we haven’t seen
people from any other country do. We ate
a cheap breakfast here every morning and spent some time hanging out with our
new friends, and then wandered over to hang out with mom and dad at their
place. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKOtvyUJWBRAny7PY-CQ-dNTO8UBSZyPvqBzfuJhdpC1dJBNqok2DRdAYmoeluGa9VxEHvnEp6yYHm5CUJ66gjv3WZh2i1yA8seJMf8PGqiFKwkKuvz3lDDNR-vf540d5DKBF8xJDSA/s1600/IMG_0679.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKOtvyUJWBRAny7PY-CQ-dNTO8UBSZyPvqBzfuJhdpC1dJBNqok2DRdAYmoeluGa9VxEHvnEp6yYHm5CUJ66gjv3WZh2i1yA8seJMf8PGqiFKwkKuvz3lDDNR-vf540d5DKBF8xJDSA/s1600/IMG_0679.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tuk Tuks with an amazed Jamie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tiger and Wat Phrathat, Feb 27<sup>th</sup></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the
things Kazusa really wanted to do in <st1:place w:st="on">Thailand</st1:place> was see tigers. So she found a place where she could do
that. It was one part of a long daytrip
that involved being carsick most of the time, and amazed at everything else the
rest of the time. We started the day
with breakfast and then all jumped into our driver’s van for a day of driving
and looking at things. After a day of
deliberating over Sean’s and my restrictive budget and the level of generosity
of our family, we arrived to a conclusion about the day’s plan, which involved
a high level of cheapness on our part and a high level of sharing on their
part. In the van, we went <st1:state w:st="on">North West</st1:state>, uphill into
the mountains towards a hilltop temple called Wat Phrathat. We stopped halfway up the hill at a lookout
to admire the ability of fog and smoke to completely conceal the city below,
and try to battle the beginnings of carsickness. Then back in the van to the temple. Some of us took this strange contraption of a
diagonal elevator with a funny name that I was sure mom had made up, while a
few of us took the hundred-something stairs that had long decorative dragons as
handrails. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The temple
itself is really beautiful, with multiple paths through small temples,
beautiful gardens, and huge platforms with views that would be nice if it
weren’t for the inconsiderate fog.
There’s also an inner courtyard where people go to walk around clockwise
and say prayers while looking at a gazillions statues of who I assume to be
Buddha. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next stop:
tigers. Jamie, Kazusa, mom and Sean all
wanted to go touch some sedate tigers, so we drove our carsick asses to this
place where people can do exactly this thing.
Dad and I sat out, had some snacks, and watched people while they had
photo opportunities with tigers and their trainers. Kazusa had herself a cuddle session with a
tiger, Jamie spent time with it while avoiding all the sharpest bits. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ladyboy Cabaret, March 1<sup>st</sup></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Gk8yX2VT-skqJUtGceLSgagfLMc-Q9PxS53dwAJjYDmb7Q60rpByCI_-OOWtPg__wFk4cBpA1ySXly_wbWADDIIZQcdmKJHmPZYFxicgDSTFvzI14it8K1OLDWDT7bec1Y_hZEwzBQ/s1600/IMG_0713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Gk8yX2VT-skqJUtGceLSgagfLMc-Q9PxS53dwAJjYDmb7Q60rpByCI_-OOWtPg__wFk4cBpA1ySXly_wbWADDIIZQcdmKJHmPZYFxicgDSTFvzI14it8K1OLDWDT7bec1Y_hZEwzBQ/s1600/IMG_0713.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kazusa and the Ladies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kazusa is
the engine that drives motivation.
Everywhere she goes, she has a million ideas for all the things she wants
to do there. It’s like she has this
inventory of the zillions of things she wants to do around the world, and she’s
ready to whip out the list for any given country. When she goes to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Canada</st1:country-region>,
she wants to see polar bears, <st1:city w:st="on">Niagara
Falls</st1:city>, whales, and eat beaver tails. Sadly in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Canada</st1:country-region>, reality has to kick in when
the size of the country is taken into consideration and you realise you can
only do a couple of things on the dream list.
In <st1:country-region w:st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region>,
I think Kazusa got most of to-do list crossed off. With the tigers cuddled, the temples epic,
and the shopping successful, the only thing left was to see a ladyboy
show. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ladyboys
are an interesting part of Thai culture.
They are men (or should I say ladies?) who range anywhere from
transvestites to transsexuals. Ladyboys
in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region>
are, unlike in most other countries, socially accepted and generally understood
to be perfectly normal. We had a lot of
conversation with Thai people about how they feel about ladyboys, and how it is
that a mostly homophobic country has no negative feelings about ladyboys. To me it sounded like a double standard. But ladyboys are not seen as being gay,
somehow, they are just seen as people who live in a different way and are
really fun to party with. We also had
long confusing conversations about how exactly it is that ladyboys are neither
gay nor straight, but we came to no logical conclusions about how this is
possible. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Anyways, most cities have a
population of ladyboys, and in some cities they perform at clubs and bars. In Chiang Mai there is a nightly cabaret in
the night bazaar, a super touristy shopping district within the city
walls. I assume that this cabaret is a
toned down version of the more exclusive private ones, but it was still
seriously booby and leggy. Sean and I
went with Kazusa and dad while Jamie walked around the market with mom. I won’t go into detail here about the show,
but don’t you worry there were definitely cowboy hats, skilled dancers,
hilarious songs, customers on stage, and a great many ladyboys who’d you never
guess were at any point in their life male.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your smiles will tell you what makes you feel good</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not much of
a story with this little scrap of pink and purple paper, it’s just one of the
many different happy things that sugar packets tell you before you empty them
into your unsuspecting cup of coffee. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVaL7MNM1rfN2NU_rWiYvnsYzJQ14QOOl52SSa2Wq_a-9ba2pgUTm8yH92DorTHrKpaMiL2MC6eaPMHw0eVHhvQ61ij04V8oHzEHrebIeoVrBV-avXMVn_UNXNcPSYRU1l0DJJUYubQ/s1600/IMG_1338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVaL7MNM1rfN2NU_rWiYvnsYzJQ14QOOl52SSa2Wq_a-9ba2pgUTm8yH92DorTHrKpaMiL2MC6eaPMHw0eVHhvQ61ij04V8oHzEHrebIeoVrBV-avXMVn_UNXNcPSYRU1l0DJJUYubQ/s1600/IMG_1338.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unsuspecting cup of coffee</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Strawberries </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This
colourful background is something I took from one of the many tourist pamphlets
and brochures that anyone can get anywhere.
Hotels and tourist offices have dozens of them for anything that might
be of interest to people. From cooking
schools to farms, temple guides, maps, events schedules, hotels, boat rides,
shops and businesses, and other such things.
One day we went to the TAT office, the tourist admin of something or
other, which has walls lined with brochures in English, French, Chinese,
Korean, Thai, and other languages. I
love pamphlets. They are so awesome. Partially for the free maps, partially for
inspiration, and mostly for scrap booking.
I have no idea what this giant picture of strawberries was for, but I
took it because it was pretty. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wat Jet Yod and the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Chiang</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Mai</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">National</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place>,
February 24<sup>th</sup>. Jamie’s
birthday without Jamie</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not too far
north from the city walls there are a few things to see. After consulting a few brochures and mom’s <st1:country-region w:st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region> book,
which was half underlined and covered with stars and notes of all the things
she wanted to see, we made a day plan to see some tourist things. Wat Jet Yod is a really beautiful temple
complex with massive grounds, manicured gardens and grass, huge temples in
different states of repair, decay, or awesomeness. One of the things I like about the Thai
landscape is these giant old trees that have long colourful strips of fabric
wrapped around their trunks, and dozens of branches and poles leaning against
the trunk, looking like they’re somehow supporting the tree. Another thing is the variety of temples. Some are made of bricks, others white
plaster, many have ornamental golden roofs, and they’re all of different
sizes. Some are multi-storey buildings
that are the size of a city block, and others are tiny things tucked away
between buildings in the city. Somehow
I’ve lost all my pictures of this particular temple, which included a lovely
picture in which Sean and dad very passively ignored me while I put flowers
behind their ears and told them to look pretty.
Too bad. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9n8_ezxNuXAY7a8vj0h15unv1smgyJc3emBdSU1K4nbAQCQuRiPqd_j8TUGvxtoN8Vr8CyRM3os276SBrCkQQRf15UGiNXPgGINoQXWlZLITcKFstztHH6Ad8xJ3LwFZcThJkst8Vhw/s1600/IMG_1138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9n8_ezxNuXAY7a8vj0h15unv1smgyJc3emBdSU1K4nbAQCQuRiPqd_j8TUGvxtoN8Vr8CyRM3os276SBrCkQQRf15UGiNXPgGINoQXWlZLITcKFstztHH6Ad8xJ3LwFZcThJkst8Vhw/s1600/IMG_1138.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giant tree with 'supports'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think that’s all for page 2, each of my pieces of paper
have been accounted for now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now for the logistics</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t try to walk from the airport to town. It looks like it’s just a couple of
kilometres, which it is, but it’s a couple of long dusty kilometres along
highways with confusing and chaotic intersections and overpasses that never
come in handy. Unless you’re into long
dusty walks with nothing nice to look at, I recommend not doing this walk. Especially when you’ve just quit smoking that
very day, and you’re not used to walking with 10kg of stuff on your back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are some nice hotels a few kilometres outside of town,
like ours. And there are some equally
nice ones within the city walls that are about the same price. The problem is that the convenient ones don’t
have websites, and the inconvenient ones do.
So if you’re into booking ahead, you’ll probably end up staying far, and
having to pay 100 baht every time you want to get to town and then again to get
back home. If you’re not into booking
ahead, and you have the patience to shop around, you can find really beautiful
places for seriously good prices. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3WDJgGB9AxdfCAWm_IdCdG995lEICdIXMZAGzNf01oZyxpavD0U1Bg-O_VshkuNA_mXyl6ohBTFo-HvbFfUNNjuFAqUQxIrl20iulS8wUVfzoNFc3dhjWhI6ViFFcc7mb2z7McEX63A/s1600/IMG_0907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3WDJgGB9AxdfCAWm_IdCdG995lEICdIXMZAGzNf01oZyxpavD0U1Bg-O_VshkuNA_mXyl6ohBTFo-HvbFfUNNjuFAqUQxIrl20iulS8wUVfzoNFc3dhjWhI6ViFFcc7mb2z7McEX63A/s1600/IMG_0907.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This songthaew goes to Doi Pui and Pooping</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tuk tuks, songthaew, private hire, public buses. There are lots of different ways to get
around within and without town. Tuk tuks
are cheaper and go exactly where you want them to go. These are motorcycles with an attached
carriage-like thing. For about 50 baht,
they’ll take you a few kilometres.
Songthaew, pronounced song- tow (like the tow in tower, or the ow in
ka-pow!) kinda have set paths along major roads. You stand on the appropriate side of the
road, flag one down, discuss your price, and jump in if you agree to said
price. Sometimes they’ll just tell you
that they’re not going there; you have to take the blue one, not the white one,
something like that. The beauty of Thai
culture is that they won’t just leave you lost and stranded, they’ll point you
in the right direction until your lost-and-confused look fades away from you
face. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-53740523071506941922012-12-31T04:21:00.001+09:002012-12-31T23:00:48.329+09:00Volunteering in Bali, August 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDGSO-lP04S-NdvCFjWaNporZpw9HmmmNGq_qTwbPuFlQKB35va4OLKTwFI1o7lfn_tVkzVV28YZ1g7DkyCrCVLERu1b2AFwJCi6Nh9-2-nAds-8P4gxcmJnttStMLi-H3A6svRwQLCg/s1600/IMG_5897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDGSO-lP04S-NdvCFjWaNporZpw9HmmmNGq_qTwbPuFlQKB35va4OLKTwFI1o7lfn_tVkzVV28YZ1g7DkyCrCVLERu1b2AFwJCi6Nh9-2-nAds-8P4gxcmJnttStMLi-H3A6svRwQLCg/s1600/IMG_5897.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Mandol and Sambal and my foot. Food and my foot. These are the two most memorable things about
staying at the ‘farm’ in <st1:place w:st="on">Bali</st1:place>.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After chilling in our Terima Cost for a few weeks with Kim
and Dan and their entourage, we all jumped in a van with all of the surfboards
and other such accoutrements and went off to the East. Away from the beaches for Sean and I, back to
<st1:country-region w:st="on">Korea</st1:country-region>
and NZ for all the kiwis. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arriving at a volunteering situation is always a little
awkward, we’re never sure if this is going to be fun, or comfortable, or how
hard the work will be, or how rewarding.
Or what the company will be like, what kind of social setting there
is. There are so many things that could
make a volunteering period either awesome or just bad. This one was good and bad. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First impressions: we’re greeted by three dogs: one that
looks healthy and good; one with a gimp leg; and one with a nasty swollen
infection on her snout. Nasty-Face-McGee
is pretty sweet and has an inclination to licking knees. We knock on the gate and we can see a mud
pit on the left, a wood workshop on the right, and a long dirt path leading to
the back of the narrow, long property. The
path is lined with mud house after mud house, on both sides, right to the back
where there’s a kitchen and the house of the owner and a few skinny trees in
the back yard. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCuLoZiIqar4fQRBKjbn8WZLY3kUNt7URntxvyh1R4LDAMbKAt1UXSLsoKgvan5vnWNIDeInf6BH9YibAYeNYjZS4fsolTDmxXj4rM4VB9vzVZc6svbsXtMInBi2IkNR7x_WcG-ViZQ/s1600/IMG_3843.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCuLoZiIqar4fQRBKjbn8WZLY3kUNt7URntxvyh1R4LDAMbKAt1UXSLsoKgvan5vnWNIDeInf6BH9YibAYeNYjZS4fsolTDmxXj4rM4VB9vzVZc6svbsXtMInBi2IkNR7x_WcG-ViZQ/s1600/IMG_3843.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
The owner isn’t there,
and there are no other volunteers, but there are two Indonesian guys, both from
Java, who are our hosts and soon-to-be-friends, who greet us and show us
around. Arif’s domain is the wood
workshop (the guy with the 'economics' t-shirt in this picture). He lives above it, up a ladder
to a room on stilts, and spends most of his time there producing commissioned
work while a few cats stare at him and lounge around. Supri (the one pimpin with his arms around me and his friend) lives in an adjacent neighbourhood with
his wife and kids, but works in the adjacent property doing construction
there. And he’s in charge of pointing
Sean and I to the various stuff that has to be done on the property. Which is everything. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
property is covered and layered an accumulation of unfinished projects. Buildings that aren’t quite finished, walls
that are incomplete and don’t reach ceilings, rooms that have been left unused
and gather dirt, roofs that are falling apart.
Volunteers who’ve come and gone probably have built things but not
stayed long enough to finish projects, and not had attention to detail while
they were making things. Building with
cob can produce really beautiful and interesting buildings, but these look
thrown together in a sloppy kind of way and left that way. Supri and Arif have tons of stories of people
who’ve been there and how they party, go to the beach, have fun in the mud
pits. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisS8ILPVxw_Xis-mUmFY-v384U3VcTnU9B3T94zGYtjvgsPQPuFdxLOm1wNhXgPxJaaB3p3Cne7q2p3K6Lw2a0SSJu1EfQVIq9caS0m7iyL9kKEskadg-VXEBR19PT2C4r_d5W3vnnNA/s1600/IMG_3816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisS8ILPVxw_Xis-mUmFY-v384U3VcTnU9B3T94zGYtjvgsPQPuFdxLOm1wNhXgPxJaaB3p3Cne7q2p3K6Lw2a0SSJu1EfQVIq9caS0m7iyL9kKEskadg-VXEBR19PT2C4r_d5W3vnnNA/s1600/IMG_3816.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a> So that’s
what the place was like. Sean and I
spent our time there working a few hours a day, not having a real schedule, and
kind of doing what we think aught to be done.
From the owner’s order, Supri got Sean on a building project, so he made
mud and built a wall for a shower that was previously decaying and falling
apart. I suggested that I make the kitchen
look better (this is the kitchen, post-improvements). The walls there weren’t
finished, so every day there was a new layer of dust on the counters, tables
and floor. So I learned that mixing
school glue and water and painting the walls with that makes them sealed and
complete. There ware also huge sections
of the walls and benches that were ‘finished’ with colourful mosaics of broken
tile pieces. But they’d been left too
long, so most of the pieces were coated in mud and looked really terrible. So that was my project. By the time I was done, all those tiles were
clean, and the walls were painted with glue to keep them from falling
apart. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTFUbnZPQMHC8aitkxq4_PIwp6CiO4t-H6iaVXeD5B95-nkpZ3WANT-DU-dZoAm-oOZ9qyNc1UUXL4F_MDl0LdJ8LWLqOdEUElIOtIHmMQ32uPjVJEBeJpaq1SBCz0hMwuTtkn9ndCA/s1600/IMG_3824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTFUbnZPQMHC8aitkxq4_PIwp6CiO4t-H6iaVXeD5B95-nkpZ3WANT-DU-dZoAm-oOZ9qyNc1UUXL4F_MDl0LdJ8LWLqOdEUElIOtIHmMQ32uPjVJEBeJpaq1SBCz0hMwuTtkn9ndCA/s1600/IMG_3824.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
In our
spare time we did all kinds of stuff. We
had a motorcycle rented for the whole time there, so we drove around the rice
paddies, went to the beach which was just as un-swimmable as the ones near
Canggu, went to the market and bought stuff, and went on a couple of day trips
out. And cooking. Lots and lots of cooking. Supri and Arif and their friends showed us
how to make a few of the staples of Indonesian cuisine. Sambal is this spicy red condiment of sorts
that people put on <i>every</i> meal they
eat. Lol, they even put it on the
spaghetti that Sean cooked. The stuff is
ridiculously spicy and really delicious.
The way it’s made is by chopping all the ingredients (tomatoes, chilli
peppers, onion), frying them, blending all of it, and frying it again. Sounds simple because it is. Another thing Sean learned to cook was
mandol, or tempeh balls. It was really
funny learning this one because two of the ingredients were mystery ingredients
that weren’t in the dictionary. We
eventually figured it out by going to markets and asking other people. But at the time, we were cooking with garlic,
saffron, mystery balls called ketumbar, and <st1:place w:st="on">laos</st1:place>, and tempeh of course. Turns out that the mystery balls were
coriander, and <st1:place w:st="on">laos</st1:place>
is galingale. <br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ultimately,
of all the things we learned to cook, the only one we’ll be able to reproduce
is the spicy sauce. We learned that
making tempeh is a long arduous process that involves a specific yeast that we
can’t really buy anywhere. Perhaps we’ll
try to make it again in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Canada</st1:country-region>
with a bunch of different yeasts. A
science experiment of sorts, with different batches. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My
foot. Oh, my foot. It’s healed now with a lovely scar that loves
a good scratch. And now I have an
obsessive habit of keeping track of every nail that is used in
construction. Gathering them together
and making sure that none goes astray.
Because you never know when a nail will find its way into somebody. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Apparently
the mud pit at the ‘farm’ had in the past enveloped a stray nail. A long, long time ago. And this nail over time oxidised and because
half rust, half original nail. The mud
pit must have worked long and hard to produces this specimen, this nail which
was to find its way directly into my life through the sole of my foot. Stomping mud to break down the clay with
Supri and Sean was abruptly interrupted, from a fun laughing process it was
very quickly denigrated to a screaming, swearing, and painful situation… a
situation that was sharp and rusty and an inch into the bottom of my right
foot. Well, I tell you what, it’s the
most painful thing I’ve ever experienced, and I hope it stays that way. The first thing that crossed my mind, other
than GET THE MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF ME, was a sense of admiration for people
who’ve had encounters with bullets and other such penetrating objects. Well, I keeled over and stuck my foot in the
air and yelled and Sean and Supri to get the motherfucker out of me (it was not
time for subtleties or politeness), and Sean went straight to it. One strong yank at the thing got it a
centimetre out. Then Sean held the flesh
on my foot down so it didn’t rip while taking the nail out, while Supri gave it
the final and most satisfying yank. Satisfying
for him, but it certainly didn’t make the pain subside. Torn flesh is really a unique and unpleasant
thing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, as I
pondered tetanus and wondered what it even was and if I was indeed inoculated,
and I contemplated the Indonesian hospital system and how clean and reliable it
is or isn’t, Sean and Supri had a quick conversation about our plan of
action. The conclusion: get this Leah
onto a scooter, and to a clinic.
Independent doctors’ offices are cleaner and more efficient, it turns
out, but more expensive. Speed was on my
mind, so we chose that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll keep
the doctor bit short because I wasn’t looking.
Sean was looking, and I told him to keep his mouth shut about what the
doctor was doing, because otherwise I’d throw up. There was a tetanus shot, a local
anaesthetic, and various sharp tools for prodding, grabbing, tweezing, and
pinching. Half an hour later we were
$150 poorer, and 100% more confident in the prospects of our future, and there
was 100% less rusty nail bits in my body.
Armed with bandages and antibiotics, and advice to come back in a week
and to somehow shower without getting my foot wet, we got back on the scooter
and back home. This is when my task
shifted from building with mud to cleaning the kitchen. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Hmm, what
else can I say about our time at the farm?
We ate well, worked most days, had lots of scooter time and very little
walking time after the nail incident.
Our money-saving potential was utterly destroyed by that trip to the
doctor. Our happy belly potential was
undeniably increased when we discovered that our friends could teach us how to
cook. We had many long afternoons in the
kitchen with Arif and Supri and their friends, cooking and hanging out and
enjoying all the good stuff we made. We
learned that having a mud oven might not be a part of our plan for our house
anymore, since it requires preposterous amounts of wood to get it hot enough to
cook something. And we learned a lot
about how we want to run our homestead, or more so how to not run it. We gained a lot of respect for Anke and Aoi
and their work ethic, and their ability to complete projects beautifully while
all their volunteers have fun. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-22471156970172661602012-12-27T19:40:00.002+09:002012-12-31T22:13:12.155+09:00Georgetown on Pulau Penang, Peninsular Malaysia: April 19-24<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVX_LLsXKo05hweNYYTSZtauumgmWPPF7rcXUCcr_w9I1KHjryybiWsIHk5rNt-658kVUE-v4xetcKDmhPn9MFHRVA6hTj5W3RrkBfas-hKa0MgfHWOvJr5ZhHtl3my6uaG-_5ByO35w/s1600/george.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVX_LLsXKo05hweNYYTSZtauumgmWPPF7rcXUCcr_w9I1KHjryybiWsIHk5rNt-658kVUE-v4xetcKDmhPn9MFHRVA6hTj5W3RrkBfas-hKa0MgfHWOvJr5ZhHtl3my6uaG-_5ByO35w/s1600/george.png" height="320" width="232" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
April 19->24</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our first weeks in <st1:place w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:place>, we moved fast from place
to place, each one completely different.
Our path started in the NW, moved east to meet Byron on the <st1:placename w:st="on">Perhentian</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Islands</st1:placetype>,
then south again to <st1:city w:st="on">Kuala Lumpur</st1:city>. Before <st1:country-region w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:country-region>, each place was for weeks,
making ourselves comfortable and settling into routines. Here the routine was packing up, moving, new
places and new people all the time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a map of
the downtown bit of <st1:city w:st="on">Georgetown</st1:city>; <st1:city w:st="on">Georgetown</st1:city>
is a city on the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">island</st1:placetype>
of <st1:placename w:st="on">Penang</st1:placename></st1:place>. It feels like being transported into what I
imagine <st1:place w:st="on">Europe</st1:place> is like, but full of Malay,
Indian, and Chinese people. And Street
food, tucked away markets, huge temples in the suburbs, and beaches and jungle
nearby. This is when we were with Helga,
with our endless giggles and shenanigans while Sean sat by speechless. Can you believe it?! </div>
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We spent our first night in a shitty dark room with Helga
and her moody friend across the hall.
The next day we hunted for a better place. We ended up choosing one that Sean sold to us
by describing it as a creepy old-school orphanage. The ceilings were incredibly high, taller
than the room was wide, and the only furniture was metal-framed child-sized
beds and a wood desk that looked like the kind of thing you’d find in an old
Catholic school with mean nuns smacking your hands with rulers. </div>
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<st1:city w:st="on">Georgetown</st1:city>
itself is beautiful to look at, each neighbourhood pretty different from the
previous one. Little India with its
smells and colours and intricate temples covered with hundreds of gods;
Chinatown with its hardware stores, dollar stores, baked goods, alleyways and
oily street foods; the main hostel drag with its coffee shops, restaurants,
fruit smoothies, fast buses, crazy traffic, and dozen corner stores; and the
ocean front with fancy shops, garbage-coated rocky beaches, coffee and tea
stalls, and wandering people. And a
couple of markets here and there, with cheap fruits and veggies, stinky fish,
rats running around, and cages full of foul.
</div>
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<o:p>Main street at sunset. Cornerstores and bars and internet cafes. </o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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City buses are the way to go in <st1:city w:st="on">Georgetown</st1:city>, standing by the right road and
waiting. Just like home. After wandering
the city for a few days, we took an awesome day trip to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Penang</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">National Park</st1:placetype></st1:place>. A long bus ride to get there, gathering snacks
and paying for the entrance ticket, and we’re on our way into the jungle. A tiring hours-long hike in the jungle,
listening to birds, looking for monkeys, and staring at the floral eye candy. We could hear birds, but mostly couldn’t find
them. Until we got to the beach and I
went to pee on the other side of a sand dune… I looked up and saw that the
‘leaves’ of a tree were ten percent fluorescent green pigeons that matched the
sun-backed leaves perfectly. Man, you
could stare at the tree for a long time without even noticing. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinGSUUiuBWaIVj_VxbPlGxDw_Cwhxpp6usgmbdHkZyc8UbEAgE70oERnk4bx0HupE_td2BXjj5YQM6OfW9r60NFX-OEUNKoD3tatopfXarjYFtOTei3xlniElYdgrTMS-NYsJgzY6rQQ/s1600/IMG_2292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinGSUUiuBWaIVj_VxbPlGxDw_Cwhxpp6usgmbdHkZyc8UbEAgE70oERnk4bx0HupE_td2BXjj5YQM6OfW9r60NFX-OEUNKoD3tatopfXarjYFtOTei3xlniElYdgrTMS-NYsJgzY6rQQ/s1600/IMG_2292.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>The highlight of this trip is the inlet that sometimes mixes
with the ocean when a sand barrier is broken.
So the water is stratified: on top fresh warm water, and under cool
salty ocean water. You can see the
layers if you look closely, because where they meet, the difference in density
means that light reflects off the bottom layer, making a kind of shimmering
mirror in the water. And the
mudskippers, or <st1:place w:st="on">Darwin</st1:place>
fish, little fish that can breather air or water, and with their silly little
fins as feet, hang out right where the water meets the sand. </div>
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The beach at the ocean is ridiculously hot, with cedar trees
between the inlet and the sand. Hot sand
and murky water with giant waves, it was fun to swim, get a little sun-burn,
and go off climbing boulders on the other side of the inlet across the
bridge. </div>
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</div>
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Well it was some good beach time in the end, book-ended with
jungle walking and staring at the flora.
</div>
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Fancy Chinese building on a side road</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWKE7mSw7KKUMSFH8MwF6N973cNWZtiOysyGRdt-XZNtgFq54VrypF_z1tI7_isyE8vjoE8n2xqk3AJ1VlWDHqRk1uYID9VJJsUxYoSHbPb_5p9Wc_RdIy69OxUNhVBf5rIty-iSn2SQ/s1600/IMG_2129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWKE7mSw7KKUMSFH8MwF6N973cNWZtiOysyGRdt-XZNtgFq54VrypF_z1tI7_isyE8vjoE8n2xqk3AJ1VlWDHqRk1uYID9VJJsUxYoSHbPb_5p9Wc_RdIy69OxUNhVBf5rIty-iSn2SQ/s1600/IMG_2129.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Helga and Sean attempting to order a meal. I don't remember why they were so confused.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFi7cmIFBubnGBla6qAYD73W9FkNIS_rEwJsSyRqD_L_4EMQhLt-lSc2pSMyhj-GYa1A2NOfPF4wzLqjw96c9ekjvUW1r2_a-44sn2JmeU5xeMQmCNYbrW-REN4BXUqm5D8ncsHjHVig/s1600/IMG_2166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFi7cmIFBubnGBla6qAYD73W9FkNIS_rEwJsSyRqD_L_4EMQhLt-lSc2pSMyhj-GYa1A2NOfPF4wzLqjw96c9ekjvUW1r2_a-44sn2JmeU5xeMQmCNYbrW-REN4BXUqm5D8ncsHjHVig/s1600/IMG_2166.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Playing with garbage on the shore. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7m-Huch7N3bvhOthTOt4jP7NfLPb0Nxy4WXRApU8uFmn20WpcgYI1f2Xp1a82oqEXD-AKiGgN_vRIQYNDNe3y3FBNvV6syRPG9nJAzzMQHhpa-UcL-RPKpJtdEzpWs7Uqcl74sBsQQ/s1600/IMG_2235.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7m-Huch7N3bvhOthTOt4jP7NfLPb0Nxy4WXRApU8uFmn20WpcgYI1f2Xp1a82oqEXD-AKiGgN_vRIQYNDNe3y3FBNvV6syRPG9nJAzzMQHhpa-UcL-RPKpJtdEzpWs7Uqcl74sBsQQ/s1600/IMG_2235.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Art on the side of a building.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA0OesxBxYvWbizo3C_HpezEdYCutSn60g3zDSzheXU47AB1IveaxIAL0PjjO_-Uf4let-_x9Y32YUM2HwFUKBjJuYgRpFZ2hszTfo7FD_-ER1vZXDj2pzNbX9OwjOK4DKZleECO1qKw/s1600/IMG_2243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA0OesxBxYvWbizo3C_HpezEdYCutSn60g3zDSzheXU47AB1IveaxIAL0PjjO_-Uf4let-_x9Y32YUM2HwFUKBjJuYgRpFZ2hszTfo7FD_-ER1vZXDj2pzNbX9OwjOK4DKZleECO1qKw/s1600/IMG_2243.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Aesthetically pleasing levels of decay and order.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwaoBATJL_aXSmz_L6NP29yKDaOu7S9Pc4p0edxP7xZM8LVmWRfgiA0pkYHYSJmbd9aLuuf7_H_-mwZOs_QyYAYIPq3gu5_jSxv_lzBTpm5v2bJsMl4SnWlA5_VZF58jMCuLh725dnlQ/s1600/IMG_2270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwaoBATJL_aXSmz_L6NP29yKDaOu7S9Pc4p0edxP7xZM8LVmWRfgiA0pkYHYSJmbd9aLuuf7_H_-mwZOs_QyYAYIPq3gu5_jSxv_lzBTpm5v2bJsMl4SnWlA5_VZF58jMCuLh725dnlQ/s1600/IMG_2270.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Clever graffiti off the main road.<br />
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Logistics:<br />
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Coming and going: most tickets to <st1:city w:st="on">Georgetown</st1:city> from elsewhere are well priced and
take you right where you want to go.
Leaving, on the other hand, you can be clever about. The bus tickets they sell from town are twice
and sometimes thrice the price they aught to be. If you have time, you can take a 10cent walk-on
ferry across to Butterworth on the mainland, where the bus station is
conveniently right next to the ferry terminal.
From there, they sell bus tickets and normal prices. </div>
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Within the city, and without: city buses are cheap and
regular, even to places that are more than an hour away. A lot of the accommodation provides a little
piece of paper like the one in my scrap book, that have the bus numbers and
destinations. All you have to do is ask
someone where to catch your desired bus, and go there. With change.
When you’re on the bus, you tell the guy where you’re going, he tells
you the price and gives you a ticket.
Going to any of the major sites on the list, you will absolutely know
when you get there, since all the sites are well signed and pretty giant. </div>
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Those confusing Indian restaurants: If Penang is your first stop in <st1:place w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:place>,
as it was ours, and you have no idea how to do anything in the Indian
restaurants, this is for you. Don’t sit
down and wait for a menu. Well, you can,
but then you only get one dish. If you
waltz on straight up to the display case that looks like a buffet, go ahead and
help yourself. Grab a plate or ask for
rice, and dish out all the food you want.
They staff has a look at your selection, has a look at you, and chooses
your price. They’re pretty fair about
it, giving lower prices for smaller portions, cheaper dishes, and a smaller
number of dishes. </div>
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If you’re vegetarian:
Across <st1:country-region w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:country-region>
there are tons of vegan Chinese restaurants.
They almost never say so in English, so I recommend memorizing the
symbol for veganism. Ask someone Chinese to write it down for you, and you’ll
see how common these restaurants are… and how you’d never recognize them
without the symbol. I remember it as
being a capital E attached by the backbone to another backwards E, making a
tree with three horizontal branches. And
under that there is an explosion of short lines that kind of have a bottomless
tent involved. These
restaurants work the same way as the Indian ones: you can use a menu, or go all
out at the buffet. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Finding accommodation that’s nice and budget: Get off the main hostel
drag, and look along the street that’s parallel to it to the north. And persevere. This is one of those strange cities that have
a huge variety of accommodation quality in the same price range… and all kinds
of shitty places for all kinds of crazy prices.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-48626312730826223642012-12-27T19:03:00.001+09:002012-12-27T19:03:38.064+09:00Bako National Park in Malaysian Borneo. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-zeq-e-hx-s_qdo_7CdSK7ptFKDkzTtnV2EdAVQPlKbDUhP8pQ41PbJjJkty4bwAZ0LZQh1Ab70xNZFk5MQijKpQ2hdnNuaBi-xw-O9hOrbzNpKSgGtf5XhpM4TnAgSPVoPnt_W_hg/s1600/bako.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-zeq-e-hx-s_qdo_7CdSK7ptFKDkzTtnV2EdAVQPlKbDUhP8pQ41PbJjJkty4bwAZ0LZQh1Ab70xNZFk5MQijKpQ2hdnNuaBi-xw-O9hOrbzNpKSgGtf5XhpM4TnAgSPVoPnt_W_hg/s1600/bako.png" /></a></div>
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Proboscis Monkeys are in some ways like a clumsy fat guy, and in other ways like an acrobat. They, and their big stupid noses and beer bellies, jump from branch to branch way up high, yelling at each other and chasing each other around. You can hear them from far away because they break half of the branches they use, and even when they’re just chilling, they fidget and throw twigs and tree bits at the ground. Their nickname is Dutchmen in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Malaysia</st1:country-region>, probably after those who’d colonised the area in the past.</div>
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Our ride here was a pretty anti-climactic Canada Day. We ignored advice to leave Kuching early, and ended up regretting it, since we ended up waiting three hours for other people to share a boat with. These potentially extant other people never materialized, and we ended up going alone and paying for the whole trip between just the two of us. The guy driving the boat was pretty cool about it, chatted with us and made plans to pick us up, jumping off the boat up to his thighs on the beach to walk the boat in. He was probably 80 years old, and I’ll be lucky if I’m that handsome and speedy when I get that old. That yellow ticket is the one for the guy; I guess his name is Bujang. Or maybe that’s just the word for boat or something. </div>
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The pink and red ticket is the ~1 hour bus ticket to the boat. Getting that bus was funny in itself, because while we were waiting, people kept telling us we were waiting in the wrong place and sending us across the street and then back to where we’d already been waiting. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIuZetSiduk_GueRBbESe3aQM_nz0mzMyNjSvumsNb2nYxbm5GoM1w5lsIGBSmLxFZSiQLkFhEZPZNR1-lgmpT78MOKFHzVfY35ztPvr0_moLl0ApUgcTA7I6mAmzukl80U87bxo6wRQ/s1600/IMG_1470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIuZetSiduk_GueRBbESe3aQM_nz0mzMyNjSvumsNb2nYxbm5GoM1w5lsIGBSmLxFZSiQLkFhEZPZNR1-lgmpT78MOKFHzVfY35ztPvr0_moLl0ApUgcTA7I6mAmzukl80U87bxo6wRQ/s1600/IMG_1470.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Arriving</div>
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The boat goes along mangrove forests, skirting around the shallows and staying close to the ‘shore.’ The landscape goes from a narrow river surrounded by stilted village, to mangrove forests, to the sea, with islands on the North and cliffs on the South. Around a corner, and there’s a wide sandy beach book-ended with cliffs and backed by jungle and more mangroves: our destination. Our boat man dropped our grumpy asses off at the beach, and we walked to the main building to check in and get walked along boardwalks to all the chalets. Ours is a four-bed cottage, in a long dark-wood building with four rooms side by side, a huge balcony across the front, with a kitchen-minus-useful-appliances on the right. Did I mention the wild pigs? One of them had green paint on its back from a painting job, I guess. They just wander around the park grounds, hiding in the shade of the boardwalk, digging holes in the lawn, and generally being awesome. Until they feel that hanging laundry is aggressive behaviour and start charging at my ankles. Their noses are really squishy and wet, so you know. And they do, in real life, roll around in giant mud puddles. Stinky mud puddles. </div>
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And did I mention the monkeys? Not just the proboscis ones, but the macaques. Those little guys hang around the cottages, too, play games of Who’s Dominant with the staff, swing around the tree branches, and break into the rooms and kitchen to take all our food stuffs. The clever little fuckers know how to use doorknobs, how to open windows, and even the fridge. And they don’t mind playing chicken with anyone who’s eating on their porch. Neither do the pigs, though. Now there’s a clever part of adaptation… knowing that being adorable and having patience near humans usually means you’ll end up with some snacks. </div>
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Our days at Bako were spent hiking, becoming exhausted, and then chilling to recover from said exhaustion with our strange German roommates and another couple a few doors down. </div>
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Our first day, drawn in purple on my map, was a good taste of the eco-systems and animals to see in the park. Going counter-clockwise from the headquarters, you go straight into steep rocky jungle with long paths and staircases up and down and around giant boulders and thick jungle. This is the place where the big-nosed pot-bellied guys hang out… along with the giant trees, thick undergrowth, and gazillion different types of vines. The little cute ones that creep up trees and on rocks, and the thick-as-my-thigh ones that hang down from the canopy in giant curly-cues. Sean ogled at the ginger monkeys while I stared at all the variety of green things that grow big and small, all on top of each other in layers from the ground to the sky. </div>
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From the breath-taking (literally) rocky jungle part of the trail, you slowly climb higher and higher to a plateau of smaller trees, little birds, pitcher plants and white-as-clouds sand and mud. That part is long and gets a little boring and sunny, but it feels good to walk on flat land after the steep bits. Before going back downhill to the part HQ, we took the yellow path down to what we thought was a beach, but turned out to be a giant pock-marked flat rock at the top of a hundred-metre drop down to the beach. Looking down to the beach we decided that the view was great and that the walk down and back up didn’t look good to our tired legs. </div>
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The next day we went clockwise and decided to do the big loop. Not the biggest in the park, but the biggest that we could do in one day without camping out with our lack of equipment in the park. Good thing too since it rained every night while we were there. When we were a third of the way we were decidedly tired and half done our water, but we kept going. Through a few more eco systems, some thick jungles with hills, some long lowlands with thumb-thick roots making a messy knobbly carpet across the path, crossing a few streams with feathery trees hanging over the edges, up and down some steep rocky and muddy cliffs, and ultimately back to the proboscis monkey parts near the HQ. By the end we categorically were going to have a lazy day tomorrow, and went straight to shower, eat, chill out, and sleep. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIuZetSiduk_GueRBbESe3aQM_nz0mzMyNjSvumsNb2nYxbm5GoM1w5lsIGBSmLxFZSiQLkFhEZPZNR1-lgmpT78MOKFHzVfY35ztPvr0_moLl0ApUgcTA7I6mAmzukl80U87bxo6wRQ/s1600/IMG_1470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
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Day three was short and easy, clockwise through the jungle with a break to stare at the proboscis monkeys, across a short bit of flat boardwalks with white sand and short trees, up and down muddy paths to a beach. A lonely beach with Jurassic trees, tiny jellyfish, soft sand, and an epic view. We swam, lazed, gathered some cute shells and shit, stared at everything around us, and contemplated our luck. To be here on <st1:place w:st="on">Borneo</st1:place>, on a beach surrounded by thick beautiful jungle, hilarious monkeys, enjoying our rubber shoes, sore legs, and brand new set of memories. Feeling good. </div>
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Proboscis Monkey chilling out. </div>
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Boulders, staircases, roots and vines. And a little Sean over there. </div>
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The flat bits with white sand and shorter trees. </div>
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The edge of the beach at the HQ has these neat cliffs on one side, and mangrove forest on the other.</div>
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Beautiful river looks like something out of a fantasy movie. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-67886041846760271222012-02-24T11:46:00.003+09:002012-02-24T11:58:21.586+09:00So it begins<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBRujTx-dNkncuYYY6RBSxGZns_bugNxfv9J_JIsGIu0VKfiWv2sN8HMKxUxnqYWcWzHyL4VRMYRqdrJCUgTsIzuz3-JO9aQ23ALy70ooPiqEt9pb2bvVQ8RnNmUT7RgY5xBOvec7FQ/s1600/IMG_00000063.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFBRujTx-dNkncuYYY6RBSxGZns_bugNxfv9J_JIsGIu0VKfiWv2sN8HMKxUxnqYWcWzHyL4VRMYRqdrJCUgTsIzuz3-JO9aQ23ALy70ooPiqEt9pb2bvVQ8RnNmUT7RgY5xBOvec7FQ/s400/IMG_00000063.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712530896428516258" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-74610806350855911662010-07-01T15:35:00.003+09:002010-07-01T15:47:54.107+09:00Cambodia and Vietnam prep time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvjUBeKBcRuT7zHrVLuqJyi0-O1-uASUeZPz_YLyYi-SqQiboFC_dmGxR4a8uIo4SChFw3pMns7PpXMkDCpY8h_EV6N8y5i88bVA1HGhQaPYWxmFWyG358qb6z1rrnlJN0lo8L3HP5A/s1600/bookandbunny.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvjUBeKBcRuT7zHrVLuqJyi0-O1-uASUeZPz_YLyYi-SqQiboFC_dmGxR4a8uIo4SChFw3pMns7PpXMkDCpY8h_EV6N8y5i88bVA1HGhQaPYWxmFWyG358qb6z1rrnlJN0lo8L3HP5A/s320/bookandbunny.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488824934809173282" /></a><br />Usually our trips are relatively last-minute, where we buy out plane tickets a couple of weeks before we leave, and we start packing the night before we leave. <br />This time around it's different, and strange. And i can't decide whether it's good or bad. Well, there are definite perks: we have enough time to figure out our visas, and time to buy specific things (like mosquito nets). And we can browse our travel guide before, well, before the plane ride there. The biggest upside so far is that we were able to coordinate with Sean's best friend, so the three of us our going together :)<br /><br />But living through two months while having a potentially amazing trip in the near future... well it's just a really big tease. Most of my working day is spent daydreaming about what it might be like to be traveling right now. I'm not too keen on doing too much travel-guide reading, or too much thinking about the trip at all, because it's way too easy to ruining the whole thing with too-high expectations. <br /><br />Well, it'll be a few weeks before I can legitimately start looking forward to leaving. So until then, I'll daydream of the pictures I've seen, and hope with all my heart that it doesn't rain the whole time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-50003118527176119532010-01-20T14:42:00.000+09:002010-01-20T14:46:25.663+09:00how is it still the 19th?!?!<span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">thirty some hours later, and i'm still living in the 19th of january... </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">well, i made it to victoria safely. and i only have one, well two, things to say. first off: there are so many white people in this country. it's way more distracting than i ever thought it would be. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">AND really long flights eastbound across the date line SERIOUSLY SUCK. i don't even know what time my body thinks it is... all iknow is that it's tired, very very tired. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">i found out recently that my dad is taking the next few days off so we can hang out!!!!! :D</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-10748104823903339332010-01-19T10:02:00.001+09:002010-06-22T20:46:54.440+09:00to canada!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEsyDmkSF9dxJCs_6s9QHUl_qT7csnBlrkbF3XYCLWF2W0i2S18cyUlqXaYx7ZLeXNSx5sY-JXbcOV65tf6rwCCKBbhD-ZmiA57h-wsLSQu3Dv-XSRgRMl7MwqrJUkzboRQummnGHDcw/s1600/ottawa.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEsyDmkSF9dxJCs_6s9QHUl_qT7csnBlrkbF3XYCLWF2W0i2S18cyUlqXaYx7ZLeXNSx5sY-JXbcOV65tf6rwCCKBbhD-ZmiA57h-wsLSQu3Dv-XSRgRMl7MwqrJUkzboRQummnGHDcw/s320/ottawa.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485563013787297346" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">heh, i think it's funny that i can write a travel blog for a trip to canada... ha!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">well, in a couple of hours i'll be going to sean's school to pick him up along with my contract, and we'll head to the bus station. that's when we'll part ways, and say goodbye for a month or so. skype relationship times begin once again! </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">three hours later i arrive at the airport and kick around until my flight leaves at 6. and then 19 hours later i arrive in victoria at 1pm the same day - five hours earlier! i gain a day! which sounds all fine and dandy until i realize that i lose a day on the way home. poops. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">five days in victoria, and i get to ottawa and start the paperwork. i get in on sunday, and get the ball rolling the next day. i'm hoping to have my schedul filled with time with friends, and i'm hoping for beautiful weather.. everyone's going on about the unusually warm weather, maybe i'll last another month! uhhhh, it won't... </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">well, i'm gonna run around the house like a madman for a little while to make sure i'm not forgetting anything. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-17585441690248085362010-01-10T18:35:00.000+09:002010-01-10T18:45:03.865+09:00leaving thailand<span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">well, i've got to say that overall this has been a pretty damn awesome trip. my only complaint is that it's just too short. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">chiang mai is a great city, what with the moat and the city walls, the sheer number of temples kicking around hidden down short alleyways or open on main streets. and the alleyways, oh the alleyways. one of my top favourite things about travelling is finding networks of meandering and beautifully decrepid alleyways. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">and koh chang. i'm looking forward to returning to thailand just for the sake of seeing other islands, to see if they're all this amazing, or if perhaps sean and i hit jackpot. the luck we had getting there, and finding a guesthouse with a free room.. and an amazing guesthouse at that. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">see, on the island there's only one road that does the circumference, and the entire middle of the island is protected jungle. the island itself is longer than it is wide, the ferries bringing you to the far north. along the long west side is where everything is, and along the east there's pretty much nothing except some waterfalls and a mangrove forest at the very far south. the nice thing about our location was that it's at the far south of the west side - and there's this one stubborn man who owns a chunk of land at the south tip, and he absolutely refuses to have it developped. so, as is, the road around the island ends at either end of his land, and nothing, not even paths, connect the two ends of the road. so our location was relatively secluded - end of the road kind of deal. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">and of course there were the beaches, the cozy restaurants, the sandy tourist towns...</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">but one of the most stricking things about thailand is the way people embrace, and don't feel contempt for, the number of tourists who flow through the country. it's seems to be across the entire country, too, that once you've spoken a few sentences with anybody, they're you're friend and you can talk for hours. Annie, the wife of Danny who tattooed us, and their two young girls spent an entire afternoon with us just hanging out not doing much. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">i think that it's almost always the people who make trips so fantastic, and in this case it's phenomenally fantastic. the instant friend is something i truly enjoyed about travelling around in east and southern africa, and it was awesome to have the same welcome in thailand. well, not as energetic and spontaneous... people didn't rush to us while we got off buses, wanting to show us around and take care of us. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">anyways, i'm rambling yet again.. and i know how boring really long blogs are... </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">well, i think that's it for thailand, unless i think of something else to write...</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">oh yeah, we made it back to wonju safely. after a 6am wake up, and hour bus, six hours flying interrupted by a layover in hong kong, and another two hour bus... we're here! and today we reorganized to house in order to make room for all this stuff we got :) </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">miss all of you!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-14895503506035956122010-01-08T16:39:00.000+09:002010-01-08T16:57:58.930+09:00Bangkok, less briefly<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">alright! </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">it's mid afternoon now, the sun is shinning brightly through the leaves of the trees, and sean and i have decided to have a sit down before we head out to explore again. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">i mentioned before that this city isn't so bad after all... the more time i spend in it, the more i enjoy it. the winding and confusing sois (alleyways) are criss-crossed with tiny and huge canals; a massive meandering river cuts through the city, creating the only mode of transportation that doesn't involve traffic jam. large boats power up and down the river, picking people up at frequent wobbly and scary docks. a man on each boat courageously lunges off the boat at each stop to tie it down quickly while whistling orders to the driver. two short whistles - back up; funy whistle, pull in towards the dock; one quick whistle, okay let's go! </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">and once you're on the large boat packed with all sorts of people, the river that looked so chaotic from the shore suddenly opens up infront of you, much more expansive and open than it ever could appear from land. and there you have it, a cheap (13 baht; 40 cents to go anywhere) ride that locals and tourists alike use to get around. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">and then the fancy stuff. well, this is the kind of stuff that's easier to describe with pictures. we'll post those on face-crack when we get back into Wonju, but but simply the expansive temple grounds are a massive slap in the face with sparkling gold, turquoise and red, tall and fat buildings that all somehow seem very light, a good number of tourists but not chockingly so, and a very good number of people who work constantly to keep the place looking meticulously cultivated and clean enough to lick any surface safely. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">that's pretty much all we've done today so far. a relatively uninspiring trip to the grocery store is probably going to be sean's most memorable part of the day. we spent a while looking for all the right sauces and stuffs to be able to recreate thai food when we're back home. i was excited about the plum sauce, and sean went ape-shit for the sweet soy sauce, mushroom sauce, sweet chilli sauce, palm oil, tamirand juice... a box full of goopy delicious stuff, all for the price of 206baht - 8 bucks!! </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">oh, and yesterday we hit jackpot and found some sort of earring paradise. the prettiest jade, metal, sparkling.. tunnels and flares and plugs.. you name it they had it. i'm thinking of popping back in there today, for the sake of getting cheap earrings, especially considering the fact that a "discount" in canada means you'll pay 'only' 40 or 50 bucks for one single earring. bs. anyways, i'm getting ants in my pants and my belly is starting to grumble. time to see what other cool things we can NOT spend our money on in this city full of colourful and shinny things. we're gonna have to take pictures of all the cool things we've found here once our house is decorated with them. damn good thing we're moving into house bigger than a shoebox! </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">my love to all of you. hugs!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-12879915382709673562010-01-08T12:01:00.000+09:002010-01-08T12:08:39.085+09:00Back to Bangkok<span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">I'll keep this short because we're running out the door to check out the boat-taxi... </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">but just for a quick update, we left Koh Chang yesterday... feeling quite sad that our time on this beautiful island was soon to be behind us... and arrived in Bangkok in the late afternoon. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">after unloading our bags at a beautiful guesthouse that sean had booked for us a week ago (so glad he did!!) we spent the evening on the famous Khao San Road and found more neat things for us and the family. Donna, you're going to LOVE what we found for you!!! </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">next time i update, i'll tell you </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">all</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> about the sensory overload that is Khao San Road, from the multitudes of people to the colourful and noisy shops, from the delicious and cheap street-foods to the bright lights of dozens of tattoo shops on second storeys... a fantastically well designed tourist attraction and trap. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">well, sean is done studying the map and finding neat things for us to see today: boat taxi to the Imperial palace, a chinatown and a market where we hope to find spices to add to our collection. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">i hope everyone back home in canada and korea and uganda is doing well, i miss you all!! hugs and kisses :)</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-53537479303578044012010-01-03T20:56:00.000+09:002010-01-03T21:12:26.827+09:00still on the island<span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">nothing too epic has happened since the last time i've posted. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">we've made a habit of starting our day on a lazy beach. well, perhaps this beach itself is pretty epic - it's one of the rare places in this entire country that isn't covered, infested even, with tourists. every single hostel, guesthouse, treehouse, hotel, resort, and cottage on the island is fully booked, yet we managed to stumble upon this one deserted beach... </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">scooting around the island, i spotted a long winding staircase from the road which led to a nice looking beach... after sean pulled a u-turn we checked it out to find a misteriously empty, yet meticulously landscaped beach. surrounded by a 2-foot tall wall of stone and concrete, with bandas and an amazing deck with lounging chairs... the place looks like your standard picture from a spoilt-rich person's beach vacation. and is much more lonely than Lonely Beach just a few clicks north. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">after chilling (of burning, more like) at this deserted spot, we decided to checkout a waterfall - eight dollars admission, no fun - and it turned out to be worth every penny. not the waterfall itself, really, but the fact that every fun person on the island seemed to be congregated at this one point. and that there was a very deep, very cold, rocky basin at the foot of the falls, where everyone jumped in and swam around. and the fact that there was a 500m walk through the jungle to get htere. granted, it was a proper path that had been trampeled by many tourists, but it was still very much worth it, as there are few other places to trek through jungles. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">we also found an amazing restaurant, that is impossible to describe other than through pictures. oh, by the way, sean posted pictures of our trip so far (not this exact restaurant, though, we're working on that). </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">nadine and byron - and anyone else really- feel free to add sean (capstick) on facebook so that you can see the pictures :)... if you're not his 'friend' already, even though truly you are</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">we're running away to get some food in our bellies, </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">miss you all, </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">and thanks for the responses, it's great to hear from all of you! </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">i hope from the depths of my hearth that i get a chance to travel with all of you </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-5300104762031950092010-01-01T20:43:00.000+09:002010-01-01T20:57:43.187+09:00good news!<span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">looks like i haven't updated since before we went to the farm. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">well, the cooking classes were fantastic, fun, and absolutely scenic. they inspired sean and i to consider doing something similar in uganda. but, considering how bland the local foods are, we thought we could gather cooking knowledge from around the world, and do a sort of international cooking class. all veggies and herbs grown organic on the property. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">neat thing, these guys used tobacco plants as pesticide... dried the leaves, soaked them for an hour, and sprayed the water on all the plants. the bugs don't like the bitter taste, and they leave the stuff alone. cool, huhn? </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">anyways, we got back into town at around 4:30 and checked into our hotel - lucy had two other guests coming and taking the spare room. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">then: the night bazaar. we found shittons of ridiculously cool stuff. daytime markets and nighttime tourist market alike, this country has amazingly beautiful stuff kicking around. from furniture to spices, doodads to jewelery, stuffed animals to weapons... anything you could possibly need. so we found stuff to decorate our house with - really fucking neat stuff at that! and a few things for the fam. sean and i have been trying to find beads for aunti-jo for a LONG time, and didn't find anything interesting until now. and we didn't just find something, we found tons of beautiful beads. i know she's probably not reading this, but i'm really enjoying the keychain bead thing she gave me for christmas. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">okay, i'm rambling,,, </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">long story short, sean and i are now on Koh Chang, a sprawling island in the Gulf of Thailand, after having spent twenty hours in some form of transport - bus to another bus, then shared taxi, ferry, then another shared taxi, and then 15 minutes of walking. well, we're on the island now, we scored the last room in one of the few places around that aren't entirely booked - it's high HIGH tourist season right now, and the place is scenic beyond description. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">all i can say is wooden cottages and shared area, open to the sun and moon, on stilts on the shore. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">we just got back from checking out the market, and walked quickly to get back here for sunset. we caught it, just in the nik of time. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">and this is the time that sean chose, perfectly at that, to propose. </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">sweetheart that he is :) </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">there couldn't have been a more ideal time. and that makes me the happiest. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">january first, 2010, sean and i have simple stainless steel bands on our fingers, we've just watched the sun set over a beach, and we've got a few days of lounging around in this tropical paradise ahead of us. i don't think either of us could be happier </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-83447314106693641512009-12-29T19:51:00.000+09:002009-12-29T20:03:12.278+09:00favorite travelling thing:<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">wandering around aimlessly. by far, the best thing to do. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">except for a couple of other things. sean and i have something of a plan for the next few days: </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">tomorrow we're set up to be at an organic farm from 9am to 4pm, learning how to cook and taking a trip to the market. six meals in seven hours? we can deal with that! i think sean is the happiest person who's ever lived. he's been talking about these cooking classes in chiang mai for a while now. here's hoping it's as awesome as it sounds!! </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">when we get back into town, unless we're dead, we're gonna check out this place just west of the city walls (btw: chiang mai has a fucking moat. and city walls.) called the Night Bazaar. which i'm expecting to be absoulutely insane, considering how ridiculous the area was in the daytime today. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">the day after that is the 31st for which we have no plans yet, except jumping on a bus at 7pm and spending new years on the bus to some city on the way to Ko Chang. all other ways to get there are booked until jan4th, which is four days before we fly out of bangkok. so we figured, fuck that, i want to spend more than a couple of days on the island, so we sucked it up and decided to have a bussy new years, and maybe celebrate on solid ground on jan1st. ahhh, such is life :S </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">alright, we're off to find something to eat, and i'm gonna see if htere are couch surfers in... rayon! that's the city! right, the CS search. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">btw, our host in chiang mai is AWESOME.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-11047296702062221802009-12-28T20:38:00.000+09:002009-12-28T20:51:03.534+09:00Chiang Mai<span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">after having spent all of twelve hours in Bangkok (three of which actually sleeping - note to other travellers: it's probably a bad idea to stay at a hostel if it's on the floor directly above a bar that's open until 5am every night)... we decided to take a 12-hour overnight sleeper train north to Chiang Mai. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">City known for the culture, the one thing i noticed most was the sheer number of vegetarian restaurants. and temples. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">after a good 6 hours of walking around the city today, and seeing all sorts of great things - the people, the streets, the traffic on the streets (so many motorcycles!!!), the architecture... </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">it's pretty neat, this city entirely makes me think of south-east asia as the most amazing way in which asia and africa could have possibly been combined. everything is colourful, the people are beautiful, the street food is plentiful and smells fantastic, and everything seems to be running smoothly. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">this is truly the place to be overwhelmed with eye candy withing three minutes of stepping out the front door. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">heh, and sean and i have realized that, although we are almost always standing directly beside each other, we're always perceiving two entirely different places. he keeps pointing out everyone's tattoos, and random little bits of eyc candy all over the place, and i point out other things entirely... neither of us ever taking note of the same thing. i feel like sean's version of the world includes far more people than mine, and my version perhaps more neat trees and old buildings. yet somehow we agree on what places are the most picture-perfect. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">also, this place makes me think that i'd love to come here with either ainslie or nadine, there's a certain laid-back air to the streets. i also get the feeling that jjess would enjoy all the pretty colours and body-mods. :D</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">we're having tons of fun over here, but we miss everyone - and the bunnies </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">hope everyone is enjoying their winter breaks!!! unless you're in korea and working through it, in which case i hope your break in february is ridiculously amazing :)</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-65987513551322381512009-12-26T16:26:00.000+09:002009-12-26T16:29:09.695+09:00two weeks in Thailand<span style="color:#ff9900;">sitting int he airport... thinking of how fun this is going to be. </span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;">we haven't planned our trip too much, which i figure means that it's bound to end up being a hell of a good time :)</span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;">i'll try to keep this trip updated.. i'm pretty bad at these things, though</span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;">i wonder if we'll bump into any of the other gazillion wonju-ites who are in thailand at the exact same time as us. sounds like most of them are spending most of their time in the far south. who knows, though, erin+nick might find us! </span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;">signing off! </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-14727492682730781892009-07-10T20:09:00.000+09:002009-07-10T20:19:24.305+09:00tokyo? TOKYO!!!!!!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">our trip is nice and fresh, so i might actually blog regularly for a few days. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">our flight made it in, which is always a surprise to me. stupid airplanes. the trip was just as exhausting as i thought it would be, until we got into the subway system. the thing requires so damn much attention the first time around that you just kinda have to wake up. so four hours of bopping around looking lost in subway stations, and we somehow made it to rich+joan's place. four hours, btw, of having our first glance of japan. the trains we took happened to all be JR trains - all above ground. so i soaked in all the eye candy, from tokyo's far west to far east, past downtown, past all the solar panel-covered rooftops in the suburbs, intersperced with rice paddies and busy streets. past the jam-packed beast that is downtown tokyo, past the bright lights and all the things that draw everyone to big cities. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">anyways! it was love at first sight. i wanted to take billions of pictures, but decided instead to just stare (it wasn't really a decision; i couldn't take my eyes off the city, i didn't have a chance to take the camera out). </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">today was good times. we had six hours of walking around and checking out shinjuku and shibuyu. saw a shrine. neat stuff. i was too bright-eyed and star-struck to be able to come up with any sort of plan for the day, so i stared and was awed for six hours straight. beautiful! mum and are are slowly figuring out how to travel together, maybe by the time we part ways, we'll have it all under control. *fingers crossed* </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">oh! and our hosts are absolutely choice! beautiful, fantastic couple, i don't even know how to begin describing how thankful i am to have met such amazing people here. what are the chances!? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">it's only 8pm now, and i'm heading to bed - we're totally whiped. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC33;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">maybe you'll hear from me tomorrow!!</span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-16133566809522496142009-07-08T03:40:00.000+09:002009-07-08T03:54:12.254+09:00the day before<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">tomorrow, mum and i leave for japan. 730am wake-up to shove food in our faces and bust our asses to the ferry. our last few hours in canada are going to be a mad dash to the airport from the ferry terminal in vancouver, then the typical getting to the airport early enough to sit around and catch our breath. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">a twelve hour flight, then touchdown in Narita international airport, an hour east of Tokyo. if i'm expecting the dash to the airport in vancouver to be stressful, which i am, i'm thinking we have something entirely different in store for the train/subway ride to our couchsurfer's house. he's 45mins west of Tokyo. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">i'm expecting to get slapped in the face with the realization that <span style="font-size:130%;">HOLY SHIT WE'RE IN JAPAN</span>, and then another huge slap in the face while we try to figure out how on earth to get train tickets to get anywhere. everyone's been pshyching me up for the impossibility in finding someone who's willing to speak english, so we'll be on the search for a such person and any english signage to make our way to Ueno station - stop one along the way. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">the most exciting thing about day one in japan: we'll be riding the subway during rush hour, with suitcases. there was no chance of packing a light bag for me, since this is my big move to korea... so i've got all of my worldly possessions in a big fat suitcase. hot damn. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">and i'm sure everyone has seen those utube videos of those guys who work in the japanese subway... the guys whose job it is to shove hundreds of people onto the trains. i'm definitely expecting that!!! fuck yeah!!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">anyways, i'm finishing up my work with Louisa (last minute, as anticipated), spending my last day with dad isolated in my bedroom. as is life. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">i'll try to find the internet as often as possible to keep you and myself updated on what i'm up to during this trip, and trips to come. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">the plan so far is:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">touchdown in Japan on July9th. check that awfully gigantic city out before heading to shinosaka on the 12th to hang out with Jamie during the festival for the dead (the one where a gazillion lanterns are put into rivers, streams, and the ocean). then we've got a little while in Kyoto, which is the place i'm looking forward to the most, before i embark on the adventure to Fukuoka to catch my Beetle-ferry to Korea and be reunited at last with beautiful ssebs. FINALLY!!! sixteen days from now, we'll be together again, minus a day because we're crossing the date-line. awwwwwww yeahhhhhhhhh. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">EXCITED!!!!!!!! </span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">i'm gonna have to figure out how to put pictures on this blog. otherwise, facecrack will do the trick. i suppose that's it's only function: pictures.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-61009139232711219582009-01-04T21:40:00.000+09:002009-01-04T21:52:30.926+09:00ZIMBABWE :(<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);font-size:85%;" >hahaha, we found out that the BBC called it a "non country" while we were gone. <br />if you can imagine what it would be like to travel to a country that is in entire economic collapse, you probably don't need to read this. but it's really something. some travelers go to places like this for the thrill of it; we were there because we planned to go through it and Mozambique to get to Malawi. after a few days of learning through and through that we cannot afford to eat if a loaf of bread is $2 and a little bottle of water goes for about the same. and we'd probably end up stuck in each town for a few days before we acquire the social networks necessary to find out when the next bus comes to the next town. and that it's impossible to walk five minutes without being hassled to purchase anything for anything. and it's not just the difficulty of traveling that would have been a pain in the ass, but finding food and accommodation, and a proper bank. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">funny story</span><br />the actual exchange rate for the USD to the ZimDollar is about 1:100billion, and the rate increases exponencially. they dropped 14 zeroes before we got there, and 19 zeroes a few months before that. <br />the deal, though, is that all ATM's have a fixed rate of $Zim40,000 to the USD. <br />Our friend Mark used to run overland trucks from Nairobi to Capetown. standard trip, but back then they went through Zimbabwe - now they avoid it because it's too much of a hassle. <br />anyways, one of his buddies with the same job had a couple on one of his trips who wanted to check out zimbabwe. so the guy told them explicitly, "don't do anything while you're there. walk in, look around, and get out."<br />so these idiots go in, look around, and spot an ATM. now the max zim$ you can get out is 400,000. so they dropped USD1000 and got their pretty zim dollars. <br />and went to a restaurant. where they found out that their zim dollars weren't even worth one coca cola. <br />imagine how much their hearts sank. and there's nothing they could do about it. and there are tons of stories of idiot tourists who've done this. 1000pounds, couple hundred dollars. <br />if only someone would have told them that zimbabwe doesn't use zim dollars anymore --- they use USdollars. <br />idiots<br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-55422265419712542012009-01-02T17:50:00.000+09:002009-01-02T18:01:17.117+09:00ps<span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-size:85%;" >these posts are quite long, and i'm sure that by now nobody gives a shit, and gave up on consulting a map to figure out where the fuck tanginyika, mpulungu and ... where all these goddamn countries are. <br />but, i've got to keep my memories down. because they'll be gone soon enough. :S<br /><br />so before we move onto zimbabwe, i forgot about the whole reason we went to livingston. <span style="font-weight: bold;">victoria falls.</span> wikipedia it, it's -damn- cool. the zambezi is a hella long river that at victoria falls drops into a 120m deep meandering valley. we were there in the dry season, so the falls themselves were practically absent, but the crater was damn cool. on the zambian side there's a stretch of 1.7km where the river above stretches wide and drops into this monstrous hole in the world. along the top of the zambian side, there are few (if no) rules, and b,g,s+i all walked around up there, dangling our feet off the top of this 120m drop (this was before we did the bungee, btw, and probably why we were inspired to do it). the four of us wandered up there for hours, on this moon-like landscape of very eroded rocks and rivulets and ponds and puddles, testing our agility by jumping around at the edge of the crater. <br /><br />this was probably the highlight of our trip. even though the froot loop tea in nyakanazi was good, and the ferry was scenic, vic falls (even in the dry season) is absolutely breathtaking. and our free range up there is choice. capital. ;)<br /><br />but alas, it's the kind of thing that's difficult to put into words, so i'll assume that my brain can remember how cool it was up there. <br /><br />btw, we did vic falls in the morning, the bungee jump at 3pm ish, and went to the "boiling pot" in the late afternoon. little winding rivulets at the bottom of the crater where you can swim, and where the rafting co's start their trips. <br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-7832134257034167462008-12-31T18:03:00.001+09:002009-01-02T17:49:38.529+09:00ZAMBIA!!!<span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-size:85%;" >HOW COULD I HAVE FORGOTTEN!!!!<br />the craziest thing about that ferry:<br /><br />instead of docking at every stop (of which there were a few every day and night), the ferry just stopped about 1km away from shore, and about a dozen rickety little and slightly bigger boats rushed up to the side of the ferry. instant chaos. the people either paddling or driving the boats, and every ferry passenger who needs to get off at this stop, and everyone who needs to make a purchase to the boat, is yelling at the top of their lungs. i'm assuming they were yelling things like, "catch this rope!!!!" "take my baby!!!" "come on this boat!!!" "i need three dozen pineapples!!!"<br /><br />and suddenly there are people on the second deck holding the little boats to the ferry with ropes, people are scrambling out of the first-deck windows onto the boats, throwing their suitcases and bags, passing their babies to strangers, breastfeeding while clambering down.....<br />the funny thing is that it simply did not get old. a few times a day, and it was the highlight of every few hours. :D<br /><br />also, at one stop Gil decided to jump off the ferry. from the third deck, so a good three or four stories from water level. and he swam around for a bit before joining the boat-loading chaos. hahaha, one of the boatmen tried to make him pay for climbing onto his boat, so gil just looked at him like, "does it look like i have money on me?!" .... nope.<br />and two stops later sean decides to do the same. crazy folk. and the people on the boats seemed to be used to this kind of insane muzungu behavious... they must have seen it before, i guess. :D<br />they didn't even glance twice at sean when he was in the water, and when he got onto a boat, they were 100% business... handing him bags to pass to other boats...<br /><br />ok, now -actually- on to </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-size:85%;" >zambia</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-size:85%;" >:<br />after having travelled half of TZ's north-south distance on the ferry, we touched down at yet another dusty lake-side town called Mpulungu.<br /><br />OH YEAH!!!!<br />interjection! when we got onto the ferry, our plan was to get off the ferry at the last stop in TZ, and take buses from there to Malawi. the plans changed when Gil and Ben convinced us that we -had- to go to zambia because livingston was the shit and we -had- to go to zimbabwe to see the great zimbabwean ruins and and and and....<br />so we just kind of... stayed on the MV Liemba for another stop until we were in zambia.<br /><br />okay, so now in <span style="font-weight: bold;">mpulungu,</span> zambia. our plan is to take the next bus to Lusaka, if one exists, or take it in stages depending on how far a bus will take us, or take a bus to the train station and see what happens from there. so we check in to zambia (which involves an extensive search of our bags for drugs..) and leave the ferry terminal, and this guy walks up to us and asks us if we're going to Lusaka. HOW DID HE KNOW?!?! maybe everyone getting off that ferry is going straight there.... who knows. so he set us up with a conductor (buses have both a driver and conductor, who takes care of selling tickets and loading bags onto the bus and dealing with everyone's shyte). <br /><br />the bus doesn't leave for another nine hours, so we go on yet another epic search for a place that serves beans. two hours after walking down -every- street in the town, we find a little spot with picnic tables selling the best meal EVEr! chipsy maya. basically an omelet with fries in it (as if the fries are onions or tomatoes or something). <br /><br />by the way, i have a bum now. and hips. i'm proud of my africa-pounds, esp since they'll double as a winter jacket pretty soon.<br /><br />at a bar in mpulungu later, we end up playing cards to kill time, and get joined by six local folk, three of whom i'm fairly sure were.... ehum... ladies of the night. it was good times, because they taught us this absolutely ridiculous game that involves no strategy whatsoever, and as soon as anyone does anything, everyone yells "YOU ARE THE WINNER!!!!!" and everyone gets high-fives. it sort of became the joke of the trip with Ben and Gil and Sean and I. if any of us did something a little stupid, we'd yell "you are the winner" and have a round of high fives. :S<br /><br />i've got to say, zambia was probably the most hillarious place we went. the only downside to the country is that transportation is hella expensive. and it's a huge ass country. so from mpulungu we went to <span style="font-weight: bold;">lusaka, the capital</span>, and were horribly depressed at how western the city was, but took advantage of the movie theatre to watch the latest james bond movie... is it james bond? that guy who has gadgets and fucks every woman who has a role in the movie, except his boss? in this flick, though, he barely had any gadgets, to sean's utter dissapointment. but it was pretty chill nevertheless. in every country we sort of have an obligatory all-business day when we check out the internet, a bank, a forex, and stock up on food. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">the train<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span>after a few days in lusaka, we jumped onto a train to livingston, which was the ultimate destination of the trip. so within a week we made it from the far north of zambia to the far south. <br />the train was a... supposed to be twelve but turned into 16 hours... trip to remember. it had no classes - everyone just slept on benches, which were surprisingly comfortable. and i think we made the better choice by taking this train, even though the bus was only 6hrs. the bus is 30,000Zambian Kwatcha and the train is 12,000. so $30 vs $12.<br />and mum you'll hate to hear this, but we found a spot ont he train where we could smoke. as soon as we were on the train, the staff brought us back to the staff car ("the train is unsafe, people will steal while you sleep"), where people who didn't have tickets were stored until the next stop to be dealth with by the local authorities (probably put in jail for a bit, or bribe their way out). and the staff car just happened to be at the very back of the train, so we could sneak to a little back spot, open the doors, and smoke with our feet dangling over the tracks. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">livingston</span><br />in short, i think everyone should stay a jollyboys, beautiful lodge, awesome croud, fab. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">111m bungee, 120m crater above the zambezi</span><br />the bridge you jump from is in no-man's land between zambia and zimbabwe. luckily, you don't have to pay to get back into zambia, you just get a piece of paper and walk out. <br />it's hillarious, because they set it up so that there's absolutely no way that you can back out of the jump. because before you see the bridge, you go to this little covered desk where you pay and sign a paper that basically says, "this is non-refundable," and then go for the jump. so as we're paying, i'm realizing that... if i don't jump, i've wasted a good chunck of money. <br />hahahaha, so you get to the middle of the bridge, and by this point your heart is racing, you're freaking out, and the staff there is welcoming you, explaining that this is safe, there's a 100% success rate, and they start strapping you in. they look at the numbers on your wrist (the people at the desk weigh you and write it on you) and get the appropriate bungee cord. while they're putting your harnesses and ropes on, they're telling you that this one can hold 5tons, this one can hold 6. then they start strapping sean and i to each other (we decided to go in tandum). don't worry, you're attached at three points, the bungee cord ataches at your feet and if that breaks then it will swing you right side up and you'll be attached at the chest, and two to of you are attached to each other at five points. blah blah blah. and they sit you down and start getting your feet prepped. two folded towels wrapped around each ankle, and a thing that looks like a dog leash (this can hold 5tons) wrapped around your ankles, and this is what they atach the bungee cord to. <br /><br />the whole time sean and i are absolutely petrified. looking at the towels and the dog leash and the eetsy ropes, and the way the bungee cord is atached to the bridge by a little rope.... <br />they explain to you that they will be counting "FIVE FOUR THREE TWO ONE BUNGEEEEEE4"<br />and on one you bend your legs, and on bungee you jump. and suddenly we're at the edge, i'm freaking out, sean's looking pale, they're trying to make us hold on to each other, which we're glad to do do in this situation. every time one of us looks down they tell us to look to the horizon. and they're still explaining the ropes and you're safe and five tons this and six tons that and keep your arms out and FIVE FOUR THREE TWO ONE<br />and suddenly you realize that, shit they pushed us, and SHIT THE TREES ARE RUSHING BY AND WE HAVE 100M TO FALL AND<br />your mind goes blank. sean said later that the whole fall i was making a suppressed "nnnnnnngggggggggg" kind of sound. and we kept looking at each other like, "<span style="font-weight: bold;">what the hell are we doing, this is not the variety of thing that by brain is comfortable with</span>." and your brain really does fully shut off. it's like, "i don't know how to deal with this, so you're going to start thinking that these trees rushing by are quite pretty, and the water rushing towards your face is quite interesting, and this person next to you seems to be screaming.... and so are you" <br />and that moment you realize that you're screaming is the moment you begin to think that this is just fucking dandy, and you start to laugh your ass off. probably purely in hysterics. <br />and of course all of this happens within 10 seconds (9.8m/s/s???), and by the end of it you start to feel the rope tightenning on your ankles and you're fully upside down and your eyeballs kind of hurt. and once again sean and i look at each other and laugh like there's something seriously hillarious about this situation, being thrust off a bridge and then right back up at it and bouncing around upside down holding onto each other, feeling the rope tugging at your ankles and getting tighter and tighter, and our faces are turning bright red, tears being forced out of our eyes,<br /><br />if i had the choice, i would do it again. <br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2443056142264628822.post-40254857601828982372008-12-30T19:33:00.000+09:002008-12-30T19:44:57.951+09:00TZ<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">we moved on from there to </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Tanzania</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">. we basically went down the west of tanzania, half on shyte roads, and half on a ferry. Nyakanazi was a piece of shit town that surprisingly had great beans, tea that tasted JUST like froot loops, and really pleasant hotels (which tanzanians call "guestis"). this was my second ever basin wash, which is surprisingly not that difficult to get used to. Heh, the best thing about this town though is that it illustrated to me the extent to which everyone knows everything that's happening in the town. we told one person that we wished to travel on to kigoma the following day, and the next day when we came out of our guesti, the first person who saw us said, "you are travelling to kigoma, i will take you to the stage." (people call bus stops "stages") </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> On to Kigoma. a town on the shore of Lake Tangyinika, second largest lake in africa (after lake victoria). it's a long very thin lake that stretches north-south, bordering the DRC to the west, TZ to the east, and barely touches Burundi at the north and Zambia at the south. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> So we took advantage of the fact that we could get to zambia via the lake. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">but before i get to the ferry, i have two short notes about Kigoma. first off, it's a dusty, boring, yet pleasant town. sean and i were there for... i think four days. so it's the first place we lingered. and not because the place kicked ass, but because the ferry that usually runs on wednesdays now runs on saturdays, and every second week is taken by the UN to repatriate DRC refugees. so we wandered Kigoma until we found the one spot along the shore where we could swim. we had lots of fun at this place, because they served fanta (my fave) and coke (sean's), and it was almost always populated with a bunch of kids who wanted to have water-fights with us. sean and i figured out how he could swim under me and put me on his shoulders, and suddenly everyone around was attempting to jump UP onto each others' shounders.... unsuccessfully mostly. a blast. we had ourselves a good 45 minute walk in the POURING rain one day, and made absolute mzungu fools of ourselves, jumping in puddles and trying to make the best of the fact that we were indeed frickin freezing and both had to pee REAL bad. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">the ferry. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">that's a story in itself. we boarded on saturday after sunset, and arrived on monday morning. so two nights and only one full day on the ferry. there are a few very notable things that happened on our few days there. but the best things were meeting fellow travelers. first class (the only real option --- third class is the hull, crammed with hundreds of people with nowhere to lie down) is on the top level of the boat, and populated by both rich ass mzungus and rich ass locals. most people use the boat to bring pineapples and mekene (little eety beetsy fishes) to zambia and down the coast of TZ. so we met a few guys:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Carel: South African guy, real cool, well travelled, packed full to the brim with good stories. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Gil: Israeli, very cool aswell (who am i kidding, they were all incredibly cool), who'd been travelling the dark continent for six months at this point.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Ben: Australian guy, very layed back, who'd been in africa for four months, i think. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">both gil and ben joined is for a good chunck of time after the ferry, all the way to livingston for gil, and zimbabwe for ben. they were both reaching the end of their travels, which made their paces and sean+i's very compatible (we all wanted to see as much as possible in the shortes period of time possible). </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">so the bunch of us discovered this spot at the back of the ferry that wasn't fenced in, about three stories above water level (sorry mom, sometimes you have to put yourself in harm's way to avoid serious clausterphobia). so we sat there most of the days and enjoyed each others' company. <br /><br />overall, the experience in TZ was pretty damn good, but it was hella difficult to find places who served beans (the only local dish that vegans can eat). English is very common in most of the palces we went, but in western tanzania, it was difficult.... OHMANIIHAVETOIPEEEE......<br />BRB111111<br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02652289901665473776noreply@blogger.com0