Vagabond Shoes

Wishing for more from Vientiane, Laos, and adventure of crossing the border from Laos into Cambodia

Posted on October 5, 2010 by chiphopanonymous

Listening to Cold War Kids Hospital Beds

Vientiane was exceptionally uneventful. My bus was 140,000 Kip, and all I could think about on the eight hour journey was how low my money was getting and how crazier the women I was meeting were becoming. After the previous two stops, well, maybe five altogether, when I got into the busy capitol of Laos, I was tired, bored, and already ready to leave. There were cars and motorbikes and people asking you if you wanted smoke, and I was just ready to be away from the hustle and bustle. The bus dropped us off far enough away from the city center that a tuk tuk had to be taken to the backpacker district. I swear, this is their biggest way of making money, it ends up being 10,000 Kip a person, but obviously they can head all the way into town. You have no choice, you have to take a tuk tuk.

Anyway, I did my usual bit of finding out who had their Lonely Planet, a Spanish guy this time with two Kiwi girls, and followed them to the main backpacker district. There, we individually walked into guesthouses to check prices. This is always a super encouraging thing, or just a completely deflating thing. When you follow the guy with the LP that’s looking for a cheap place, and the place turns out to be $20 a room, you might want to make sure you have some anxiety pills on hand or there’s a bar across the street. I simply walked off. The guy had no idea what he was doing and I needed something much cheaper. It was getting dark and EVEN THOUGH prostitution and apparently sex before you are married is illegal in Laos, there are all these signs and stickers everywhere about not picking up prostitutes. Try being a very attractive white guy named Chip walking the streets of Vientiane in the dark and you’ll see why, the cat calls are intimidating as hell.

I finally settled on a fan room with a shared bathroom that was 60,000 kip at Mixay Guesthouse, almost $9 a night, and figured I’d stay for one night and take an over night bus all the way to Phnom Penh. My room had the feeling of a hospital room, the walls were a shade off and the lighting was eerie, when i would finally fall asleep i felt like i was sleeping in a hospital bed. They served free breakfast in the morning from 7 AM to 9 AM and also had free WIFI-but it was only from 11 AM to 9 PM…and I got in at 7 PM, so I did not have much time to check my beloved Facebook account. My room was next to the balcony, the only place in the hostel you could smoke, so when I finally when to sleep all night long people were coming out smoking while rain poured heavy in the streets. Part of me really wanted to see more of Laos, to see southern Laos, the Plain of Jars, 4,000 Islands, and maybe try a homestay, but it was becoming way too expensive and I needed to start working. I walked the streets that night, just barely missing the rain, looking for book exchange place (I found three that night and a fourth the next day, they were decent but none had any Leonard, Hunter Thompson, or Martin Booth books I was looking for) the cheapest I could find for an over night bus ride that went from Vientiane, to Paske, crossed the border, and then directly into Phnom Penh was 520,000 Kip…$65. The bus ride was approximated between 28 and 36 hours. Literally, that big of a discrepancy in time was given from every place I checked at. I checked at least ten places, thinking there had to be some confusion, that maybe it included the $30 visa fee at the border, the corrupt $2 fee of leaving Laos, but no, this was simply the bus. I had no choice, Laos was too expensive, flights weren’t any cheaper, and I needed to get out and get to Phnom Penh, so I booked my bus for 7 PM the following night, found a place that served Kebabs for dinner and had a Kebab for the first time in a really long time, and then crashed out for the evening to the sound of rain and the chatter of smokers.

I woke up in the morning determined to see as much of the city as possible, without spending money. I had already googled the basic things to see, there was Buddha Park, but that was a day trip you had to pay to get to and from what I understood, the relics were only sixty years old. So, I grabbed my hostel map and set out walking. From 8 in the morning, until 6 that evening, all I did was my Lewis and Clark version of mapping out the town of Vientiane. I saw their famous golden temple (outside there was a sign that said 5,000 Kip for locals, 10,000 kip for foreigner and in my crabby, exhausted, and feet worn state argued that I already had to pay $35 to come into the country, not to mention over $1,000 to get to Laos in general, why was I being asked to pay more, and simply took my pictures from the outside of the temple until I hopped the fence on the side, was quickly found out and in no uncertain terms and very angry Laos was asked to leave) it’s the main Wat of Laos and the name is escaping me now but it’s in every picture of Laos, their Arc de Triumph, and a whole lot of nice cars driving around. I walked and walked and walked, my shoes saw more of Laos than I think I did because I almost reached a zen part of exhaustion where I was just putting one foot in front of the other to see where I would end up. I walked past embassies and the market, and found Vientiane to remind me of an American suburb.

There were nice cars, street lights, cross walks, a limited number of motorbikes, and then I’d come to the Hamong market, and there were all these people without shoes selling sticky rice and bananas. It was a very strange and obvious level of haves and have nots. I found a Western Union and took out $60, to pay for my visa when I arrived in Cambodia, and also because apparently Cambodians accept US Dollars (this is true), while you cannot exchange Laos Kip anywhere once you leave. So, I had to plan my funds almost exactly. I was determined to unload two of my books for one, but I could find nothing. I would have to carry Stephen King’s Dark Tower Book 3 (and all the hours wasted on that book) all the way to Cambodia. I found a place near my hostel and basically settled in for the hour before my bus left for Cambodia. I ordered fried rice and a Jameson neat, and sat and waited for my tuk tuk to arrive.

Unfortunately, at this point in my trip I have definitely become “that person” hopping onto each tuk tuk and bus with a bag or two extra just full of God knows what I have…well, books. One bag is still nothing but books, no matter how many I continue to blow through. The tuk tuk took us to the bus station and the bus ride honestly became my favorite part of Vientiane. I don’t mean to make that sound as a negative towards Vientiane, although there definitely was not a lot to do there, but the bus was an actual sleeper bus. I had never seen one of these, where there were full on beds. Apparently, you are supposed to share a bed with someone, I mean, wow. There are two levels of rows of what could be called twin beds, that people lay in. Most of these people, mind you, are complete strangers.
BUT! Luck was on my side, I had the back bed of the bus. This generally sleeps a claustrophobic number of FIVE people, like sardines in a tin can, in the back of the bus. I couldn’t imagine. However, I had the whole, king sized bed to myself, and got to star fish out like a mother. Rather than going the taking sleeping pills route, my walking and a cheap fifth of Jameson would conk me right out. There was a very nice Kiwi couple that had a bed shared in front of me. They brought booze too, and for the first four hours we traded stories, booze, and dragon fruit quietly in the back of the bus, while I eventually asked them if they were going to have sex on the bus. They laughed and said they thought about it, but apparently because of the rain, half of their bed was soaking wet. We stopped halfway along the way, in the rain, for what was supposed to be thirty minutes. I ran to a corner food stand, ordered some hot soup since it was raining and cold on the bus, and my last Beer Laos. I warned the bus driver, and the owner of the establishment, to not let my bus leave without me. Of course, ten minutes later, without even a honking notice, I was chasing after my bus in the rain, banging on the side of the bus. Very reminiscent of the time when PPP came to visit in Vietnam. Apparently the Kiwis had even been trying to tell the driver, but the driver was done and on his way. Ten minutes later we stopped again and he filled up gas at the next place. Apparently, the first place was charging too much for gas.

When we finally got to the sleepy town of Pakse I was totally out and the sun was rising. I looked on the tourist chart to see what there was to do, and it was almost everything I had seen in Luang Prabang. I had no feelings of guilt, I had made the right choice. The Kiwis though were sticking around in Pakse for a couple more days, so we exchanged info and I had to wait for a connecting bus, which ended up being a mini bus, that took me to another bus, that then would take me to Phnom Penh. I know, this all sounds very boring, BECAUSE IT WAS very boring. At that point I had already been travelling for fifteen hours. I was exhausted. I had listened to every Sportscenter, Scott Van Pelt, and Colin Cowherd podcats (all talking about how Brett Favre had supposedly announced he was retiring) and I had read an entire Elmore Leonard book.

When we finally got to the border, only a couple hours from Pakse, we all had to disembark the bus, pay our exit fee (which, apparently is not required but more on that in a second) and then get our exit stamp on our passport. An older Dutch guy, think of Engywook from The Never Ending Story who watches Atreyu pass through the Sphinxes gaze and shouts out “he did it, he did it” and then zip lines down. This Dutch guy should have his own reality show, honestly. He went first in line, and was told $4 exit fee. He started literally screaming, slamming his fist on the counter, and shouting for the border police.

“Send over the border police. I will pay $1. $4 is too much for corruption. Send over the police. NOW!”

Imagine the thirty of us standing behind having no clue what was going on, being told by our bus driver it was $4, and simply wanting to get across the border, and this guy causing a fuss. Well, he paid a dollar, and got his stamp, and moved on his way. i watched him refuse the health check that cost $1 on the Cambodian side, fill out his papers, pay his $30, and go smoke a cigarette and drink an Angkor beer by the bus.

I have never seen exit processing and then entering processing so quick for thirty people in my life. Each person put $1 down, got a stamp, and walked under a simple raising gate to the Cambodian side. We all skipped the health check, except for one poor local who had the Sars mask. Of course, this guy ended up getting sat next to me. I moved to the front of the bus and once again offered my typical exchange of,

“Please stop laying your crappy karaoke music…I have real movies” and they put on the A-Team, the Hangover, and The Killing Fields while I slept the rest of the way.

Engywook had saved us all $3 each, about $90 total for the bus. I forgot to mention, on the other side I showed all of my e-visa credentials, my letter from both the University that offered to hire me and the Volunteer organization that I would work for, and offered the e-visa amount of money, but was only given a regular 30 day visa. I was pretty peeved. The rest of the bus ride to Phnom Penh was a blur of sleep and then hearing laughs at the movies I carried along, we stopped along the way and I had my first Angkor beer and some pistachios but that would literally be all I ate all day, we got in at about 11 PM, total travel time being only 28 hours, but it was raining and we were surrounded by the usual tuk tuk drivers and motorbikers. I took a tuk tuk for $1 to Home Guesthouse, and two of the craziest months of my life would begin the next day.

CHECK BACK FOR PHOTOS, I’LL FIGURE A WAY TO LOAD THEM SOON

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Getting more BANG for my buck tubing in the Vang Vieng, Laos

Posted on October 3, 2010 by chiphopanonymous

Listening to The Pixies “Here comes your man”

The cheapest I could find a bus ride form Luang Prbang to the river town of Vang Vieng was 120,000 Kip, roughly $15. It was a mini bus that rolled through the beautiful Laos countryside with blazing speed…until we reached a mud slide. The bus left at 10 AM and the driver said we would be there by 2 PM, “No problem.” Unfortunately, there was a mudslide that had apparently had the road literally closed for the last two days, so people heading down to Vang Vieng were sent back to Luang Prabang, because they could not get through. This meant that Rapunzel just missed the mud slide, and thankfully, they cleared it while we waited on the side of the road for two hours. I also would miss Rapunzel there, surprisingly enough, coming only three days behind her.

Tractors and back hoes came in, trying to clear mud out of the way, depositing dry sand in its place so that cars and buses could make their way through. This down time actually became a small blessing. I had spent most of the ride focused on the countryside and reading my book, but when we came to a stop, I finally talked to the rest of the people in the mini van of 8 people. I had assumed the seven others, all blond and speaking Dutch to one another, were all from the same family. It turned out that there was a Dutch family two parents who were fine with their son tubing and taking mushrooms when they went to Vang Vieng, their daughter and his boyfriend, and their son who I can only call Tootles based off of the original Peter Pan book…this kid was absolutely one of a kind. He was eighteen and already out to burn down the world. We hit it off immediately.

The one other traveler was a blonde Danish girl I will call Claire Danes, who had no idea that Beowulf was Danish (this blew my mind, I mean literally, for three days I would ask her if she was messing with me, that there had to be statues erected and whatnot in Beowulf’s honor but apparently not), who I had assumed was part of the family, but was quick to point out that she was not with them and was in dire need of both a friend and someone to split a room with. She was not shy about it at all, very straight forward, and seeing as how I too was trying to save money, she was beautiful with petite facial features like Claire Danes and hair as blonde as the sun, and so up front about it, I agreed that if we found a place to stay we’d split the cost.

We arrived in Vang Vieng and man, that girl was on a mission. She had her Lonely Planet (of course, what European doesn’t leave home without it) but she was convinced we could find somewhere cheaper than listed in the guide. I agreed and told her my usual count, five places, and then I’ll take the cheapest of the five if it’s in my budget. We walked around for about thirty minutes, did my count of five places and found a place on a side street for 30,000 Kip a night…to split. Less than $2 a person. I was ecstatic. Now, before I go on, I will admit that most of this story is LEMONS worthy, so, I will talk about Vang Vieng, but similarly with other women relations I have had on my travels, I will save the details for LEMONS.

I wanted to venture out and do my usual exploring, and assumed she’d be eager to have time alone, but she tagged right along. Vang Vieng is renown in SE Asia and Laos mainly for its tubing, it’s sort of the main attraction. The Vang Vieng river runs through town, and bars are built around the river. People slowly (unless it’s rain season, which it was) drift down the river and bar workers toss out life savers tied to ropes to pull you in. It’s an amazing concept. Over 100 families are involved in this process (it says so in the literature provided) to help maintain both the safety and the enjoyable experience of tubing. BUT, before commenting on the tubing experience, I want to explain how beautiful the town and Vang Vieng is simply in general.

The area honestly looks like Ha Long Bay, but on land. It’s mountainous and green, and the town is small enough that after walking four or five blocks, you’ve seen it all. There book exchange stores there are also absolutely terrible. Once again I was so happy that I made my purchases in Chiang Mai, but man, we’re talking they don’t even alphabetize the authors, and there’s nothing but crap tp choose from. However, there are cool caves and ponds within walking distance, that you can meander to over bamboo bridges and see these perfectly clear water natural pools. The stores sell all the required goods for tubing, sun screen, plastic protectors for your money or camera, swim trunks, and the infamous “IN THE TUBING VANG VIENG” shirts. Also, the bars are more like lounges, without actual chairs, you lean back on pillows and television screens show one of two things, either episodes of Friends or episodes of The Family Guy. Every single bar. It’s really, really bizarre, but cool to sit back, have a cheap cup of coffee or a coke and watch a whole season of Friends (I actually spent my last day watching all of season 9 of Friends…I know, pathetic). But, as a whole, we spent our time divided between the bars, watching friends and family guy, tubing, and nature. It was brilliant.

Okay, now that those details are out of the way, the tubing. The tubing is everything the hype you hear about. People talk about Full Moon Party being one of the best parties in the world, I don’t know about that. Full Moon has a full month of preparation, where as tubing in the Vang Vieng on Tuesday, was insane. Just going to the bars on a Wednesday was insane. Every bar was packed, each place gives you a string bracelet, they have slides and mud volleyball and giant ropes that you swing off of into the water, any way that you could think of somehow hurting yourself or partying on a river, they have thought of. There’s even a zip line. But, the coolest part is getting reeled in. the river was running very fast, and these workers hit you in perfect stride with a rope and pull you in. Offer you free shots and tell you to come to some other bar later in the evening.

You go to the central part of town, wait in line, and pay 115,000 Kip altogether to rent a tube, have a tuk tuk ride up to the top of the river, and then to be able to go on the river. You’re supposed to bring the tube back by 6 or they charge you a late fee off of your deposit for the tube. You’re given a tube and a number is written on your hand, but your tube will become someone else’s, and someone else’s tube will become yours, because they are simply tossed in a huge pile at each bar. PINK EYE IS HUGE IN VANG VIENG, and seeing how in my mind pink eye is up there STD’s, it’s about the grossest thing imaginable. There are all these guesses as to what it comes from, but, I brought antibiotic eye drops to take every morning and evening anyway. it’s kind of funny because you would see these unbelievably gorgeous women with calendar worthy bodies with huge red/pink eyes. I’d ask them why they didn’t get an eye patch, at least try to work it to your advantage, but I’m not going anywhere near some pink eye infected woman.

Anyway. EVERYONE stops at the first bar, and rightfully so. There is a giant rope swing that is a good thirty feet high that swings you straight out into the river. The workers hit you with a life saver and you’re back to your spot downing shots of honey bee liquor or some kind of lizard liquor. You see people with dozens of bracelets on their wrists and simply get involved, it becomes madness. Claire Danes and I had made some other random friends, and of course Tootles was doing everything he could to convince people to let him jump off of roofs, light things on fire, and so on. This kid took being crazy to a whole new level.

Claire Danes, Tootles, I and our new friends spent two whole days, from 11 am until when you turn in the tubes at 6, going from bar to bar, drinking free shots, jumping into the river, playing mud volleyball, and sliding off the slide. The slide bar was awesome because they had these brilliant little tiki huts that were perfectly romantic. It was a nice seclusion from a huge party scene that gave Claire Danes and I some time together. Then we went down the slide. (My tube actually wouldn’t go down the slide, it kind of stopped at the end. This kid that worked there tried pushing me along, and I was worried as hell he’d fall over the edge of this thirty foot slide, so then I simply jumped, with my tube, and unfortunately lost my infamous bandana from the girl in Chiang Mai. I was worried Asian women would start running out from the jungle to jump me. I unfortunately don’t really recall any of the names of the bars along the river, but, it’s worth doing the tubing once, and then simply walking down to the bars the next day, because you can simply swim across the river to the other bars, and it doesn’t cost anything. Claire Danes and I realized this after day one. I ended up staying for three nights in Vang Vieng, two days on the river and one watching Friends season 9 all day.

The bars offer free wristbands, spray paint you with all sorts of stuff, random girls have glow in the dark markers that write and draw all sorts of fun stuff all over you (for example I got a giant “MOM” in a heart tattoo painted on my back). But the most fun part is all the tubes linking up, you have these large groups of people rolling between mountains similar to the ones from the slow boat ride, and I couldn’t help but thinking “Holy shit. This is my life.” And thanking, out loud, all of the people that have led me to this point, linked with a beautiful Danish girl who wouldn’t stop smiling at me and about ten other tubes, making our way through the chocolate milk waterway. After the tubing everyone kind of slows down for a couple hours, sleeping and napping it up, or at least, that’s what you’re supposed to do. But not me, Claire Danes, and Tootles. We went directly to the Irish bar where I had made friends with Tootles’ parents the night before and the entire Aussie bar staff (Aussies at an Irish bar?) playing and winning at pool, and got a bunch of booze bought for us. The staff loved it because apparently they rarely lose, and no one could get me off the table. Once again, I made people buy beers for me, or Long Islands for Claire Danes for the table, and would continue to win. I don’t know where the hell I got so good at playing pool all of the sudden. Tootles’ parents were determined to keep us by his side, so they kept buying our drinks to keep him around as well. We’d continually decline, and then they’d show up with another round.
“I love playing with a winner. I would pay to play with you,” this old, smoke stained man said. “I also want you to watch over my son.”
-Watching over your son is like trying to disarm a bomb, I’m just waiting for something to go terribly wrong.
Tootles wandered off for literally five minutes and came back with a joint and a mushroom shake. I mean, this kid could conceivably be the Dutch reincarnation of Hunter Thompson. He was on a MISSION. We went to Q Bar to meet up with our Israeli friends from earlier in the day, but the scene kind of freaked us out, (it seemed more like a drug club than an actual club) so we went down to the riverfront to Bucket Bar.

Bucket Bar is great because they bring out the fire shows, everyone has glow paint written all over them, and you see all the same faces earlier in the day, only now that you’re drunk and sharing buckets, you’re all best friends. Claire Danes and I danced with our friends, constantly trying to keep an eye on Tootles,
“There goes Tootles limbo-ing on the fire stick.”
“Now he has lit himself on fire.”
“Now he’s stolen someone’s bucket.”
“Now someone is chasing him.”
“Now he’s trying to limbo at a lower level.”
“He’s on fire again.”
“Now he’s jumping in the river.”

I didn’t see Tootles again after that, literally. He jumped in the river to put the flames out, and disappeared down stream. Claire Danes and I found a nice spot to chill out, and sat with friends, staying away from political discussions and talking about where we had been, where we were going. She wanted me to go to Vientiane with her in two days, but I was convinced to leave a day before. Once again, I can’t explain it, but man, the commitment thing was becoming to heavy for me. Apparently while we were talking about all of this, in the middle of this outdoor bar similar to what my dad says looks like Sandbar in Scottsdale but is more like a dirty river version of Al’s in Rocky Point, I fell asleep. While she was talking to me. At the bar. Apparently Claire Danes went to grab another bucket for us when a girl I had met earlier in the day, one of the workers for the bars that handed out free shots and bracelets and tried to convince me to stay and work in Vang Vieng, saw me asleep and came over to gently wake me up. Even though my friends were still sitting around me. I obviously hadn’t even realized I nodded off, but it was three something in the morning, apparently I can’t hang like I used to. I didn’t see Claire Danes and the group said they didn’t know where she went, so, I assumed she went home. I offered to walk the other girl back, since it was late, and walked her to her place, and then of course by the time I got back to our room, Claire Danes was furious, thinking somehow in my drunken condition I had managed to take this girl home and in twenty minutes have sex with her, and then walk back to our room. It proved my instincts right. I took a shower and she apologized, but I woke up in the morning and booked my ticket to Vientiane.
-I’m sorry, I just think it’s best if I go, I need to get to Cambodia sooner rather than later and I don’t need anymore of this river shit.
“Okay, well, I will come to Vientiane tomorrow, so let me know where you are and I will stay with you.”
-Okay
“Don’t forget to pay for the room.”
-Yeah, I owe, what, 45,000 Kip, right?
“What?”
-Yeah, three nights, 90,000 divided by 2, is 45,000.
“You still want to split?”
-What do you mean?
“I mean after three days together you still want to split the room? You actually want five US Dollars from me?”
-I’m confused…that WAS our agreement, right? 50/50.
“But even after the last three days?
-I don’t understand what the last three days have to do with it?

I will leave the conversation there, because the rest is LEMONS worthy. Needless to say, I did simply pay the 90,000 Kip, it was still cheaper than I was paying anywhere else and was having a hard time arguing about something that made no sense to me, but I was blown away that she expected me to simply pay for her, especially after we had been trading buying drinks (when we had to).

I walked out to my bus, booked for 140,000, really confused, and left for Vientiane. Obviously I did not meet up with her again in Vientiane, but man, Claire Danes, you made Vang Vieng crazier than Tootles ever could have. Money was getting precariously low and I had a long way to go to get to Phnom Penh. But I would happily go back, and pay for the experience again.

CHECK BACK FOR PICTURES SOON

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Hearing guns go bang and making a name for myself in Luang Prabang, Laos

Posted on October 2, 2010 by chiphopanonymous

Listening to: The Clash “Should I Stay or Should I Go?”

When I arrived in Luang Prabang, I had planned on staying for three, maybe four days tops. I had heard about the simple places to venture off to; seeing the waterfalls, the cave, checking out the monks collecting their morning Alms, their world renown hamong night market, and just walking the streets and enjoying the 1800s style French architecture. Four days seemed like more than enough time to get all of this in. But the sleepy town and a Swedish girl, I will call Rapunzel, seduced me into eight.

I think the first thing I should note is that Laos is by far the most different country out of all the countries in SE Asia I had been to. It’s absolutely beautiful and has yet to really be overrun with tourism. There are more Wats then there were in Chiang Mai, and monks dressed in orange parade around the streets with their umbrellas all day long. People smile and are friendly, and other than the occasional tuk tuk driver trying to sell you a trip out to the waterfalls or weed, there is no major tourist push. In that regard, it was a lot like Chiang Mai, they simply let the tourists come in and find things to do. However, Laos is WAY more expensive than I anticipated. Because the infrastructure for tourism is relatively new, getting around is very expensive, meals and accommodation is expensive, doing tourist things is expensive, for some reason, their prices are about 25 % higher than the average of everywhere else I had stayed, at the very least.

I found a guesthouse a block away from the night market and talked them into letting me have a room for 50,000 kip, about $6 a night. Later I would meet friends who said they found some for 30,000, but trust, me, I walked and walked, and most places wanted $20 to $25 a night for accommodation, so I felt like I lucked out. They also had a kitchen. For the eight days I was in Luang Prabang I sort of set up a routine, after my first night there. My first night there was absolutely the most insane and the only major story from LP, but it is pretty foolish for me to get into.

First of all, I admitted that I tossed my guide book a long time ago. I had no problems in Indonesia, Vietnam, Thailand, and was not expecting any in Laos. What I didn’t realize in Laos was that there is a curfew, a “guys in the back of a pick-up truck carrying ak-47s” strictly enforced curfew. The town, literally at 11 PM every night, goes to sleep. There is one club that stays open until about 1230, but that is it.

My first night there I was mainly interested in meeting new people. I made friends with some unremarkable (I’m sorry, but it’s true) people that were kind enough to invite me along with them to dinner. We had a traditional barbecue, where hot coals are put in a pot in a hole in the middle of the table, and then the traditional metal juicer looking thing goes over the top. They bring out your various meats and vegetables, and laugh at Westerners trying to cook their expensive dinner on this awkward device. Laos food is amazing, anything in a clay pot I could order two of and be in heaven, but the barbecue was totally not worth it. I literally had to order more food after the main meal because there was so little food.

After dinner we made our way to the Laos Beer Garden. I will repeat this again later, but for some reason Asian servers always seem to really like me. They insisted on bringing me (there were six other people at the table, mind you) shots of their Laos whiskey. I would finish one and they would bring me another. I’d chase them with Beer Laos and joke along with the locals. When 1030 hit, you would have thought that there was a fire in the building. All of the servers came around frantically, trying to close tabs and pouring your drinks in to-go cups. We had to be out by 11. Like I said, I had no idea about any of this so I was really confused. The server was really cool with me and was like, don’t worry, I take you somewhere, we have fun. Obviously, part of this is confusing to me because I couldn’t tell at the time if the guy was being gay, or nice. I don’t have indirect gaydar. The guy simply turned out to be a sincerely nice guy and could probably read that I was ready to have some fun.

Gaydar got the seven of us into a tuk tuk and raced us over to the club, I saw a liquor store across the street and bought a bottle of vodka for the group because I knew drinks would be expensive inside. By the time we got there, Gaydar found his group of friends that were sitting with a bottle of tequila. I had the bottle of vodka and when a pretty girl with long blonde hair walked by, I asked her if she would like a drink.
“No thank you, I have one.”
-I know you have you one, but would you like two? (who the hell am I? I never say shit like that)
“Okay, I will take one from you.”
I poured her a tall glass of vodka with lemon juice (Sprite) and ice. We cheers’d one another, smiled, and then both drank our drinks with our eyes on each other the entire time. She finished her drink, thanked me, and I offered her another one.
“A man like you, I know I will see you again.”
I smiled and let Rapunzel walk away from me. “A man,” shit, I don’t know if a woman has ever called me a man before. The closest thing I remember is an ex-girlfriends friend complaining that my hair looked like a Mohawk, “He’s a thirty year old man…men don’t have Mohawks.” I felt good. Damn good.
I refocused my attention on Gaydar and his friends, them smiling at my obvious swerving. I shared my bottle of vodka, they shared their tequila, and they wanted the whole group of us to go out to their house in the mountains to go “bowling.” Bowling, French style, is basically bocce ball. I kick the shit out of bocce ball, and these Laos guys, over shots of tequila and vodka, were jokingly talking smack about how I wouldn’t go because I would be too afraid to lose. How my friends were “pussy” and would “not play to lose.” The Unremarkables were tired and wanted to go home, and had the insults the Laos guys had called out to me written all over their face. But this being my first real night out since meditation and seeing an opportunity to do something totally different, said,

“What the hell. But I want to see you finish that tequila first.”

This Laos guy, the size of the Iron Shiek with carmel colored skin, picks up the bottle of tequila, half full, and in three gulps, downs it. Slams the bottle down and smiles at me.

“Now you.” Pointing to my bottle of vodka.

-get me a Beer Laos too, let’s make this at least fair to you, in all actuality because I needed a damn chaser if I was going to down half a bottle of vodka. The Shiek got me a Beer Laos,

“You want ice?”

-No. Just the beer. Let me show you how it’s done. So, in typical grand idiotic fashion, I got on top of the table attracting the attention of everyone in the bar, and suffered my way through a half a bottle of the shittiest vodka you can imagine. Then downed an entire Beer Laos.
-Now are we going to go bowling or are you too “pussy?”

The Unremarkables obviously at this point were scared out of their wits, so they quickly said their goodbyes and took a tuk tuk home. Meanwhile me, Gaydar, the Shiek, and a couple of their friends, hopped on motorbikes and headed for the mountains of Luang Prabang.

“Party after,” Gaydar said.
-You said it.

They brought out more beers and liquor, lined up the bocce ball and we played until about four AM. I’m guessing roughly, because I know when I got back, and the time it took in between. But the party only ended because a pick-up truck full of guys with guns showed up, saying, what Gaydar would explain to me, that it was past curfew and time to go to bed. They popped off a couple shots from their guns to make their point. I have fired weapons before, and heard them, but there is nothing that will make you shit your pants faster than someone who doesn’t speak English firing an automatic weapon into the air. I could see The Shiek arguing, I imagined he was saying we were on private property or something to that effect, but at some point our small band of five or six people was suddenly a hopping thirty plus people. We were obviously loud and creating a disturbance. I didn’t know the name of my guesthouse, but I knew it was by the night market, so Gayrdar offered me a ride on the back of his motorbike. We got maybe three blocks when the truck passed in front of us, and he told me,

“I’m sorry, you need to go,” and dropped me off in the middle of nowhere while he disappeared into the night.

This was my first night in town, so my usual Lewis and Clark skills had not really mapped out most of the town yet, but I knew I was in the countryside and the direction I came from. Everything was hilly so it was hard to discern where the central part of town was, but I just started walking. After about twenty minutes, a kid on a motorbike came by and offered to give me a ride home, 40,000 Kip. I said, 20,000 and he said no and drove off. I continued walking, then he turned around and came back.

“Okay, but you pay now.”

-No, I pay you when you get me there. The other motorbike driver just left me here. I took out the money to show him I had enough to pay, and he agreed.

We made our way towards the night market and I didn’t recognize a thing, we were either going the wrong way or he was taking a different way. At one point he stopped and acted like his bike was malfunctioning,

“Oh, need money to fix.”

-Dude. Just drive me home. I’ll pay you when we get home.

While we’re having this argument the A-Team shows up again in their pick-up truck and Ak-47’s. This kid flipped out, suddenly his bike worked fine and he tore off, leaving me once again standing on the side of the road. The truck stopped in front of me, six guys in the bed with red berets and automatic weapons simply stared at me, then the truck stole after the motorbike.

I walked and walked, when the sun started coming up, I noticed the main mountain with the Wat on top (thankfully) and finally had my sense of direction. I had been walking the right way, I just had no clue. When I came down my street, the sun was already reaching into the sky, and monks were lining up to collect their morning alms. I walked down the street to my guesthouse, and it was locked up. I banged on the door, hoping someone would come unlock it, but no one did. There was a twelve foot high gate with about a three foot opening at the top in between the gate and the base of the guesthouse that I monkeyed my way over, and then walked up to my room to crash out. I looked in my wallet and somehow had managed to spend only $8 all evening. Incredible. I took a shower, got an earful for supposedly bring my shoes into my room instead of leaving them outside from the staff (while they didn’t realize I was even there all night) and crashed on my bed, ignoring the clatter of the roaches on the tile and the ants marching up the walls, and falling asleep to the chants and the drums of the monks making their way through the town.

After that I focused on making my days much simpler. The Unremarkables rightfully avoided me like I was a leper. They would exchange awkward hellos and updates on their daily plans, but it was pretty obvious we were cut from two completely different cloths. My guesthouse had a kitchen with clean, filtered hot water, and I would buy ramen noodle packets for 2,000 kip (about 25 cents) and eat about five of those a day. I would do my best to try and minimize my expenses, since everything else was so expensive. I drank bottled water and would spend my time in my room reading, or riding a bicycle around to the riverside, sitting by myself and watching the Mekong pass me by as I suffered through Stephen King’s Dark Tower Book 3.

My guesthouse didn’t provide internet, and the fan was marginal, at best, but with the window open and the daily rains, it would be cool enough for me to relax, read, and write at times. I would finish my ramen noodles, something you couldn’t pay me to eat in the States, and would then make my way over to Le’Estranger Café. It’s basically the biggest book store in town, that doubles as a café, with an upstairs that invites you to lazily lay around, read, and use their free WIFI.
The funny thing is, since LP and I believe Laos in general was colonized by the French, the influence is still there. They undercook their meat, just like the French, serve baggets on street corners, and name stores after French things, like Gerard De Pardue…of course, I’m joking about the French actor, but you get the point. There is still a heavy, heavy French influence. I ran into Rapunzel and her girl friend at Le’Estranger Café. She had witnessed my vodka table drinking and said,
“I knew you would not be hard to miss”
I smiled and asked if I could join them and we immediately hit it off. Her being from Sweden I talked about my love of The Cardigans, which she thought was hilarious, and we traded stories about places in each of our countries we wanted to see, while her trollish friend simply sat and watched us talk. We made plans to meet up for dinner at the Laos Beer Garden, and this sort of became a daily routine.
I would go sit t Le’Estranger or by the river, read my book upstairs and drink Laos coffee, occasionally treating myself to a French baggette made pizza, and then in the evenings they would show crappy movies I had never seen or heard of…like “My Sister’s Keeper?” I would stay just out of pure curiosity, but mainly because the internet access was free and I could connect with my family once again, and also Rapunzel liked sitting around the tables, smoking cigarettes, enjoying the quiet atmosphere and our future plans.

A couple days in I did my one day trip out to the waterfalls and the Buddha caves, 110,000 Kip was the cheapest I could get them down to, but I got to see both in one day, they picked me up at 8 in the morning, brought me back at one in the afternoon so I could make some ramen noodles, then took me out to the cave in the afternoon. The waterfalls are pretty much the most amazing waterfalls I have ever seen in my life, and were very well worth the trip. Rapunzel and the Troll came as well and I tried to convince her to take a picture with me in front of the waterfall so I could tell everyone back home that she was my girlfriend and we were madly in love, but she just laughed. She thought I was joking, which, I guess I was, but a picture with a pretty girl at a pretty waterfall would not be a bad thing to have. Three days holding hands, under tables and in the streets, with a woman on your travels is like a three month relationship back home, but I realized pretty quickly I’m becoming a horrible (or just now noticing that I’ve always been) conversationalist. We spent a lot of time just being silent, reading or sitting with each other around Wats or the river. So I ended up having lots of screen saver worthy pictures of waterfalls, and good pictures in my mind of smiling white teeth and long blonde hair. It was an excellent experience and the girls staying there a couple extra days also had me hooked into staying there. I would spend my days alone, riding a bicycle around town, up and down the long streets and along the river until the monks started their evening chanting. I spent one day walking up to the top of the main Wat, the one on the mountain that had saved me on my first night, saw where the Buddha supposedly had imprinted his foot at one point, took some pictures and paid the entrance fees. I forgot to mention that. For almost everything you do, there are random 20,000 or 40,000 Kip entrance fees, to Wats, to National Parks, and so on. Then I would walk the night market every evening, simply to interact with the locals and see the brilliant things that they worked so hard to make and sold so cheap. I really wished at that point I had bigger bags and more money, because they had some cool stuff, but, in the end, it’s just more stuff. But walking the market was fun, especially when it would rain. The rain would ping on the tarps and would sound just like popping bubble wrap. I’d walk, alone through these narrow aisle ways and think of my friends and family at home, things they would enjoy or could put up in their homes, and popping bubble wrap.

I would meet the girls at Le’ Estranger or the Laos Beer Garden each night for dinner, or for drinks. Gaydar was always there and always loved us and was very keen on bringing rounds and rounds of local Laos whiskey shots for free. I think he felt bad for leaving me on the side of the road, or maybe was impressed that I was still alive. We’d down one round, and he’d bring another. I, surprisingly enough, was not really into drinking since my meditation experience and the effects of the first night, and our nights would end relatively early. Such was the way of the quiet town of LP. My thoughts were more focused on trying to figure out what I was actually going TO DO. I think this might have played a part in why I had a hard time finding things to talk about. A place in northern Laos was offering free accommodation and $100 a month, plus a free visa extension, for construction work for two months that I seriously considered. I could work there and then teach in Phnom Penh by September, but, I can’t explain it, something was simply drawing me to Cambodia. I suddenly felt the weight of the cost of my trip starting to become very heavy on me, and realized I had to start making some money or make my life here. My mom had offered to helicopter me out of the jungles of South East Asia in late October to meet up with her in Ireland. The plan was, I would head to England for a week, meet her in Dublin before her birthday, and then spend the next six weeks travelling about the UK, and I had this on my mind the whole time. The Clash would constantly come into my mind, “Should I stay or should I go?”

Part of me felt that the whole reason I came to SE Asia was to teach, and while I would get more opportunities at that in the near future, I realized coming home also was partially giving up, taking the easy way out, so to speak. Talking to my mom, and her talking sense into me, is the sole reason I would eventually decide to come home “early.” If it wasn’t for her I would stubbornly stay here in SE Asia for years, trying to arrange holiday visits from family member and making it work here. I would discuss this with the girls every evening, asking for their opinion, and it was clear. The Troll was always most eager to speak up for the two of them. Getting the opportunity to not only go to England and Ireland and see friends I hadn’t seen in four years was excellent, but getting to travel with my mom for six weeks in two of my favorite countries of the world, showing her the secret spots I had come to love in the back of my mind, was literally a once in a lifetime opportunity. I am 32 years old, and my mother and I have never travelled together in such a capacity, to have the time and the freedom to do so, was too much of an opportunity to pass up, no matter how strong willed I was towards my goals of teaching internationally. I realized I could do that any time, for the rest of my life, but this opportunity was only here now. My mom, literally, would be the one to bring me home, and as defeating as that idea felt in the beginning, as much as I felt like I was giving up. the closer I get to flying to England, the more I relish the idea of hanging with her and seeing my family again. Rapunzel agreed.

After five days in LP she wanted me to head to Vang Vieng with her, asking “Let’s see how long we can stand each other?” But my mind simply wasn’t there. I wanted time alone, to reflect on Doi Suthep and pros and cons of me leaving SE Asia would be. Would it be worth the death of my dog? Would it be worth me selling most of my stuff? Would it be worth the things I missed out on; James’ wedding, meeting PPP’s boyfriend, the hot Arizona summer? These were questions I needed time alone for, and sadly, I had to tell Rapunzel goodbye. I had to get my head on straight for Vang Vieng, and heading there all “couply” didn’t seem like a good idea. So I spent three more days, thinking hard about a very difficult choice in my life, and wondering if Mick Jones from The Clash was in a similar situation, both in the duality of a possible relationship, and in choosing the next six months of your life.

CHECK BACK FOR PICTURES, SHOULD BE ABLE TO LOAD WITHIN THE NEXT WEEK, IM HOPING. THIS TOWN WAS BEAUTIFUL AND VERY PICTURESQUE

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Crossing into Laos and taking the magical slow boat ride down the Mekong River

Posted on by chiphopanonymous

Listening to Job 2 Do “Do Do Do”

My bus from Pai left for Laos at 8 PM in the evening, and once again just to remind everyone, yes you can get to Laos from Pai. There are only ATMS in Chiang Kong, and once you leave Chiang Kong, you will not see a place that has internet service or an ATM or any cash withdrawl place until you reach Luang Prabang. The bus sort of backtracks towards Chiang Mai for about an hour, but doesn’t make the full four/five hour journey back, then swings north up to Chiang Kong. The cheapest I could find my ticket to take me all the way to Luang Prabang was 1800 back, $30, which is the most I have paid for overland travel outside of Indonesia, but I had no choice. My visa was expiring and I was sort of anxious to see something different. There are two separate options for choosing your ride down the Mekong, the slow boat, or the speed boat. I had heard completely mixed reviews about the trip, and I can see why.

TAKE THE SLOW BOAT. Yes, it is slower, and I’ll get to the specifics shortly, but the speed boat is you and four people sitting in a supped up canoe with helmets on dodging rocks racing down the river. It looked like a terrible experience. People were afraid to wave as we passed them by for fear of falling out of the boat. I had heard that seats were difficult to find, uncomfortable, the trip was long, etc. Not true at all. My slow boat ride down the Mekong has to be one of the top ten, if not top five experiences in South East Asia, easily.

But, the trip. It began with a minibus that was completely packed. We were literally sitting on our luggage all the way up to Chiang Kong. It was horribly uncomfortable, and the whole point of the bus being at night was that you could catch some winks and then be prepared when you arrived at the overnight accommodation that was included. Well, we didn’t get to the hostel until three in the morning, and our bus to the border left at seven in the morning. SO, a nice four hours of sleep was included in our trip. Breakfast was included, which was the essential SE Asian breakfast of a fried egg and a Baggett. Like I mentioned in my previous entry, the Laos border only accepts US dollars for the Laos entry fee, which is $35. Of course, there was nowhere in Pai to exchange that much Thai Baht into US dollars, so, once again I had to go to the ATM and take out more money (another $5 fee from my bank) and was told that there would not be another ATM until Luang Prabang. They weren’t kidding. I am SO GLAD that I took out $80 at the time, because I literally would not have been able to pay for my nights accommodation or for food for two solid days.

The place we stayed at overnight was actually nice, although I had to share my room with a stubborn Italian, there were hot showers and the sound of the rain made it easy to fall asleep for those four short hours, and like I said, breakfast was included. I had one of the local guys take me to an ATM, and then of course our border crossing guide exchanged Baht into US dollars for us, 1200 baht for $35-so he made at least $5 off of each person. It’s kind of cool because you literally get on a long tail boat, zip across the Mekong and dock on the exact opposite of the river, and you’re in Laos. You pay the $35 for a 30 day visa, need two passport photos, they stamp your passport, and then of course have to exchange your Thai Baht into Laos Kip. And, they only do it there, unless you want to wait until Luang Prabang two days later. And instead of getting roughly 8,000 Kip to the US dollar, you get about 6,500. They rip you off on both sides of the river, but NO ONE buys or sells Laos Kip, so, it wouldn’t matter bringing it over anyway, because there is nowhere you could get it.

After we got our visa’s we went to another breakfast place and were told they didn’t sell any food, beer, water, or anything on the boat. Of course, this was a huge lie. We all loaded up on expensive bottles of water and beer, walked down to our slow boat and there was a lady grilling sandwiches in the back, serving beers and water for cheap. But, oh well, you live and you learn. From there, the 8-about 12 of us that had journeyed up from Pai, created a section in the back that was our for the next two days.

Explaining the trip down the Mekong is like trying to explain to someone who has never had a proper massage, it was simply relaxing. The boat chucked slowly along in chocolate brown water, maneuvering around rocks and making its way between the most majestic mountains. I would hang off the edge, letting my feet skim the water, and read some more Elmore Leonard. We’d sit in circles and play cards, anything from “asshole” to “shithead” to “kings.” Since the boat left at ten in the morning and we didn’t arrive in the small river jungle village of Pakbeng, we had eight hours to get to know each other in the group, love us or hate us. Our group was something out of a movie, and Italian, a German, and an Aussie were travelling together, they were on a constant mission to drink the boat out of beer. They succeeded. There were also three Indian girls who grew up in England and were easily the most posh sounding and acting girls I have ever met, two Irish girls who were all up for the challenge of out drinking the three guys, and then two Dutch guys, and me.

For eight hours we’d talk in a circle, share stories, play cards, drink Beer Laos, and enjoy the scenery. I noticed at this point I have really started to reach the point of getting tired of hearing about other people’s travels. I know, this sounds very selfish, I’m simply being honest. But after four months at this point, I simply did not care for surface conversation, I wanted to get to know people, not know where they had been and what they thought of it. so, I would join the conversations, then go and sit off the side of the boat and just take in the scenery.

When we finally arrived at Pakbeng, we were ushered along to the three guesthouse options we had, and I shared a room with an English kid. The town was exactly what you would expect, a quiet refilling point for boats heading up and down the Mekong. There were limited options for dinner, so it was no surprise when our group went out to eat, we ended up seeing the twenty or other so people that were on the boat at the same Indian restaurant. Naked kids stood in doorways of small huts, chickens pecked around in the grassy hills, and we walked up into the muddy mountains. There was nothing to see, and there was nothing to do, and, at 11, everything close. Of course, after only four hours of sleep the night before, we were all anxious to get to sleep and make our nine AM boat ride to Luang Prabang.

As a group of eight, we sat on the balcony of our guesthouse unfortunately talking politics. At this point in my travels I had finally reached my point of frustration of hearing about how the world’s problems were that of Americans, that we’re ignorant, cocky, and abusive with our power in the world. After listening for a good thirty minutes to a barrage of comments from seven different people demean my country, to this, I said,

“Listen to yourself. How can you say such things and not feel like you are exactly the same. You’re claiming to know Americans, yet none of you’ve ever been to the States, you say we’re cocky yet I’ve done nothing but sit here and listen to you discredit my nation and Nationality, while I say nothing negative about you, I don’t throw Hitler in your face or Mussolini in your face, or Colonialism in your face, and you say as an American we’re abusive with our power, yet you are using your position as not being an American to be abusive towards me. How do you not see your own contradicting nature? If not us, who do you want to be the world leader? I personally don’t care. It doesn’t add any cock to my walk, so to speak. I’m proud as hell to be American, and I do think our country is the greatest country in the world, but you know what I want, I want to live in a world where I can have kids and they won’t be judged by people like you, who say they are intelligent and open minded, but have no answers for the world’s problems. I want to live in a world where I can sit with seven people from seven different place who I think are friends and they won’t point fingers at me for being from someplace they aren’t.”

I have learned politics are impossible to discuss with anyone other than the Dutch, Irish, and Kiwi. I’m not ignorant enough to speak in absolutes, however I have never had an argument with them, disagreements, of course, but always in a mature and good natured way. I try to steer away from talking politics as much as possible, shit even in the States, but unfortunately as soon as people hear you’re American people want your opinion, and you’re ignorant if you don’t want to speak about it or ignorant when you do. I went to bed after that and obviously, this changed the dynamic of the next day of our boat trip.

We still played cards, sipped on Beer Laos, and enjoyed the sound of the motor slowly pushing us down the river, however there was obvious tension. We arrived in Luang Prabang much earlier than we anticipated, about 2 PM, and my oh my, what a sight that lovely town was. With a giant Wat rising high above the town on a mountain that was visible far down the river, you were surrounded by the old style French architecture and walking off the boat, making our way down the streets to find a hostel, you could tell we were somewhere special. I knew immediately I would love Luang Prabang. I just had to find and ATM and a way to separate myself from the haters and make new friends.

CHECK BACK FOR PHOTOS, I’M HOPING I’LL BE SOMEWHERE SOON ENOUGH THAT WILL LET ME LOAD UP PICTURES

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When the rain hits your eye while riding a motorbike…thats a Pai Thailand

Posted on September 30, 2010 by chiphopanonymous

Listening to Toad the Wet Sprocket “Good Intentions”

After a couple of days of putting my brain back together in Chiang Mai, I made the decision to start heading towards Laos. I was honestly sad to leave Chiang Mai behind, I had made such good friends and knew what to expect on a daily basis, but I was ready for something different, so I booked a bus ride to Pai for 200 baht, my local friend joking with me that I wouldn’t be able to wake up for the 8 am trip, so they grabbed me at 1030. It rained the whole way up to Pai, which certainly slowed our trek, but the views were stunning, rivaling views of Costa Rica and what I’d imagine high points in the Amazon must look like. We were dropped off on a street that looked like it might be a one horse town. As usual, I tailed some girls who had their Lonely Planet thumbed open, then when they picked their place, crossed a random bridge over a river and found a room for 100 baht a night. The place was amazing, it was essentially a mini terracotta village with a mountainous backdrop only accessible by a bamboo bridge. My room had a television and two beds, hangers made out of bamboo sticks, a huge mosquito net that was definitely warranted, and a connected private bathroom that didn’t have a roof. All I could think of was how much fun it would be to have my friends here with me. 100 baht for a giant room, and it was perfect to party in. But I would sit in the silence and wait for the rain to come, and then wait for it to stop, and head into town for trouble. Kids would play naked in the river and in the rain and each day you’d have to time your journey in and out of town based on when the rain might fall, because when it came, it came down hard.

Pai is probably a Thai version of Sedona. It’s hard to explain, and that’s probably not really correct either, but there is not a lot to do there, but there FEELS like there is something going on. Local villagers come down from the mountains and peddle their magical wares. They have shirts made, and you think “Really? For this small town?” People sit in cafes and people watch all day, or maybe they were just staring at me. Motorbikes are cheap to rent, as cheap as 80 baht a day, and you see kids in their ponchos slicking around in the rain, looking for something to do. The travel agencies offered tons of things that sounded really cool to do; fishing in a piranha farm, river rafting, trekking, hot springs, but to be honest the only thing I felt like doing was unwinding.

This was pretty easy because the day after I arrived in Pai it was Buddhist Day, this according to other people I was travelling with is when all the monks return to their original temples, and then everything closes. So, I showed up, and pretty much everything was closed. There are two book shops, one that is one of the best in Thailand. It’s two floors and the owner might groan about swapping since he has so many books already, but he did take some of my Elmore Leonard books in exchange.

I spent my time doing five things in Pai; reading and relaxing at Café D’tis, listening to the rain at my guesthouse and reflecting on my meditation experience, trying to collect $35 US dollars for the Laos visa at the border from the local banks (between 13 banks, they did not have $35 US dollars, make sure you exchange in Chiang Mai because once you get to Chiang Kong you will be savagely taken advantage of), drinking with my new Holland friend I’ll call BFDG, the Big Friendly Dutch Giant. He was over seven feet tall with bleach blonde and wind burned skin from riding a motorcycle up from Chiang Mai. It didn’t take my Mohawk or warming charisma for people to stare at us as we walked down the street and into bars, this guy was taller than most of THEIR BUILDINGS. The funny part, of course, was that I could out drink him. We sort of made a little contest out of it, and man oh man, a Dutch Andre the Giant stumbling down a dark quiet Thai street is not a pretty sight, but it definitely made me laugh. And lastly, I rented a 400 cc manual Honda motorcycle and went roaring off into the Mae Song Rim. BFDG wanted to roll together, taking the mountains on with two bikes, but I had never rode a motorcycle before, let alone a manual bike, so I figured I’d give it a shot on my own. I put on my Mohawk helmet and headed for the mountains. That experience, officially turned me into a motorcycle person. I never got it before, it always seemed so boring. You can’t talk, there’s no music, you have to be constantly paying attention, but that kind of becomes the fun of it. I’ve always similarly wondered about Lance Armstrong, I mean the guy rides a bike for a living, but does he listen to music? Does he have different mixes for different types of roads? Sooner or later, it’d have to get boring, right? Well, not on a motorcycle.

Luck was on my side that day because I rode all day, up into the mountains, to the hot springs, to their mini waterfalls, came back feeling like Easy Rider was written about my personal experience, and it didn’t rain all day. It didn’t rain until I checked my motorcycle back in. (Once again. I noted this in Thailand, take pictures of your bike ahead of time. With them there. Just in case. But my bike was a beaut and I got her roaring when I came back down from those mountain tops.)

The BFDG and I went out for one final early night of drinking and I had booked my ticket to Laos. It was 1800 baht to get to the border, take a slow boat down the Mekong, and arrive in Luang Prabang. It took three days and two nights, and the first night’s accommodation was included. But seeing as how my trip across the border and down the Mekong was a separate trip, I will save that journey for my next entry. All I can say is I don’t understand how people miss Pai. Part of me kind of likes the fact that people move straight on from Chiang Mai and skip this wanderlust town, but I do think it needs to be seen. I would have loved to have fished for piranhas, but that seems like something that should be done in the Amazon. Time and place people, time and place.

CHECK BACK FOR PICTURES WHEN IM IN A PLACE THAT HAS FAST ENOUGH INTERNET TO UPLOAD THEM

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My Seven Days of Silent Meditation at Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep, Chiang Mai Thailand.

Posted on September 29, 2010 by chiphopanonymous

Listening to The Decemberists “July! July!” And The Dixie Chicks “Cold Day in July”

SO, I know the first thing you’re saying to yourself is “What? Two songs? Since when do you listen to two songs?” Well, before I headed into Silent Meditation for seven days, all I did was take in as much music and booze as possible. Here is the gist of what Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep warned me about ahead of arriving, this is their official email:

Dear Chip Everett
Welcome to our center.
A room is reserved from July 16th to July 22nd for you.
Requirements: you need to bring these things….
– a copy of your passport on the information page
– 2 or 3 sets of white clothing [ shirts and trousers ]
– some toiletries [ soap, shampoo, towel, etc.]
– a count-down timer ( you could see the link following as the question No. 5)http://www.fivethousandyears.org/new/faq.html If you don’t have one you could not complete a round meditation.
– a white scarf or shawl, it is very cold in October until February.
– an unbrella, it rains a lot in June until Sepbember.

Appointmant :
– Please arrive at our office around 12.30 – 2.00 pm.
– We will give you the Demonstration at 3.00 pm.
– The opening ceremony is at 5.00 or 5.30 pm.
Best Wishes

Very friendly, somewhat informative, plenty of typos and seemingly has information erased, but whatever…I feel like I could leave you with the link

http://www.fivethousandyears.org/new/faq.html

…and your questions would be answered as to the process, how each day SHOULD GO. So, I am not so much going to delve into that, I’m going to more expand on how eating rice, twice a day, sleeping for six hours on a concrete slab, not talking, reading, or writing, and hearing the incessant chanting was for seven days.

First and foremost I should say that the experience was incredible. I was very fortunate that my local friend Crystal had a count down timer, because I honestly had no clue what one was nor where to find one, and she passed it on to me for free. So, thanks Crystal. Ironically she made it one day because she did not know that you could not smoke. I found two pairs of white shirts and white pants at the local night market, altogether I’d say I paid about $10 for two white outfits. I was told specifically not to bring my camera, my journal, books, anything like that when I talked to them on the phone, they said, “show up with the items listed,” so at noon on July 16 I paid an exorbitant amount for a taxi ride up the mountain, I showed up with a copy of my passport, two pairs of white clothes, and a small bag of toiletries and that was it. Yes, bring toilet paper.

My expectations were…unnerving. I don’t know if that is the word I want to use, but, well, I was both anxious to do it and nervous and scared and then bored with the whole idea, I was mainly doing it because it seemed like a great experience, could save me some loot, and of the four people who had tried it at my hostel (A Little Bird Gueshouse-BIG UPS!) the longest any of one of them had made it was two nights and three days. The over under at the hostel was three days, they didn’t think I’d make it past three nights. They complained that the beds were uncomfortable, concrete slabs that had mosquito nets over them (thankfully), that there weren’t fans and you could hear roaches and rats running around in the night…and they were right, but you could also hear the rain, and the jungle outside the open windows, and there was a certain level of quiet that is hard to find in the world that Doi Suthep evoked. But mainly, they said the hardest part was getting used to being so bored and having nothing to do. I took this as a challenge and feel like a stronger person for it. I’ll repeat this many times, but I can’t believe how motivated I felt when I came out of Doi Suthep. Granted, I felt cracked out of my mind, but I was extremely motivated. Anyway, the details.

The worst part was the beginning. I showed up at noon fresh out of my tuk tuk, hiked up the stairs instead of taking the tram in my all whites, raring to go, and the demonstration didn’t begin until 330. I was told to basically wait around. So, I essentially walked the grounds of Doi Suthep. It’s a beautiful wat/temple that rests atop a mountain overlooking Chiang Mai. The view in itself is worth the hike. Anyone visiting Chiang Mai should put it atop their list of things to see. But those first three hours were brutal, all I could think was, “How the hell am I going to do this for seven days? I’m already bored….”

Others had recommended a solid night’s sleep, easying off of booze and Western food, spending time alone and whatnot before going in, I kind of did the exact opposite, and I think it might be why I made it. I filled up on McDonalds, Jameson, and Chang Beers for three days before I got there. I pulled no punches on my liver or on rest, and was ready to nod off when the teacher showed up. Initially, there were four of us. Two older Dutch ladies and another American kid that reminded me a lot of Screech Powers. Screech was going for ten days, the ladies were doing three. The ladies left the next day. Screech left after three. Anyway, they laid down the ground rules. No talking, no writing, blah blah. If you have a direct question, you could only approach your meditation teacher and so on. Each morning would begin with a group chanting meditation of a hum we were taught in a huge hall until the sun rose, and then we would eat. The list says “Western food” but I suppose white rice does qualify as white rice. We were allowed a serving of white rice, essentially half a kids bowl of white rice, which was generally served around 530 am, to 6 am. I don’t know how I didn’t turn into Christian Bale from The Machinist. We’d have about an hour to eat, and “reflect” on our gift. Then we’d go from individual meditation, to group meditation for roughly the next six hours. This was the EASY PART. I’m terribly unflexible, but sitting Indian style/criss-crossed apple sauce, or crossed legged, whatever you want, originally is what I kind of focused on. I’d think about how many times I had sat like that in my life, who I had sat with like that, where I had sat, my mind would wander, and then bing, the timer would go off. A lot of this was very similar to how I taught when I was at ASU, put kids alone for an hour, only this was with a with a count down timer (I swear after seven days of hearing that damn alarm every hour on the hour for 18 hours a day…well, imagine Nickelback being the only song you hear anywhere…and that all anyone spoke was Nickelback lyrics…and you’d be close to my frustration), and then we’d get in our “western groups” and meditate until about noon.

At noon, we’d sit again and be served our last portion of food for the day. This was a larger portion of white rice, about 25% bigger than the breakfast serving. Water and tea were free, so the idea was that you could load up on them and be full, but, of course, then you’d have to break from meditating to go to the bathroom. It became a vicious cycle of timing when you’d fight off your hunger with tea and ensure you didn’t piss your white trousers while monks were chanting around you.

Similar to breakfast, we would reflect on our “gift” and then from one until about four pm we’d go back and forth from individual meditating to group meditating. The funny thing is, they tell you all of these things you aren’t supposed to think about, mainly vices, but to specify:
-Women/Sex
-Drinking/Discotech (seriously, dude said discotech)
-Gambling
-Lying

Lying is the one that ultimately stuck with me the most. I mean, of course, after someone tells you not to think of sex, the first thing you start thinking about is sex, and the pants I was wearing weren’t exactly…well, the material gave a little too easily, so, I think them wanting everyone not to think about sex was more so they didn’t see a bunch of monks walking around with hard ons than the actual belief. I apologize to be crass, but, honestly. It was not comfortable.
Anyway, at four, we would chant until the sun went down, and then similarly, go from an hour alone, to an hour to other Westerners. Of course after three days, the other Westerners were gone, so I would join random groups of other monks, but I wasn’t supposed to look at them or chant, just listen to them. It was really different from my previous experiences with Buddhism in Chicago when I took a Buddhism class and had to participate in meditating at Buddhist temples there. Of course, Buddhism class is where I met Buddha chick-so, for those of you who know me, I had a lot to think about.

This would go on until basically ten pm, then we’d go to sleep. 4 am, same shit again the next day, for seven days. In the beginning, obviously it was very hard. I felt very awkward, out of place, like a good looking kid at an ugly school. Not to mention, I still had my Mohawk going on, so, the monks made sure to check out my hair, but I was supposed to maintain “inner thought” and not be worried about my surroundings.

So, rather than continue lamenting on how bored I was, I’ll explain two things, my most difficult night, and what I got out of it.

My most difficult night was absolutely the third night. By then, my mind had wandered everywhere it possibly could, from past relationships, friendships, remembering odd jobs I had, words I wrote to ex-girlfriends, EVERYTHING. It is AMAZING how much your mind retains. And when you just sit there, without drugs or anything other than the clicking sound of a timer, you sort of become enchanted with your thoughts. The one thing my friends said going in was,

“If you get tired of it. If you do not enjoy it. Leave. There is not point in putting yourself through hell, just to say you did it.”

Night three, this sentiment was full on in me. I got tired of hearing every day about how the food I was eating was a gift that I should be grateful for, and that at the end of my time I would have to show my gratitude to the monks. (FYI, I don’t know when the right time to say this is, but, they said it was free. It wasn’t. Altogether, between taxis and my donations to DOi Suthep for seven days I paid $40. Yes, it was worth it, but this was not the arrangement. Read the website. Call them. Ask them. They’ll tell you this. Then when you’re leaving they’ll tell you it’s customary to pay 200 baht a night to stay there). So, by night three I felt like I was watching a horrible rerun, no, I was watching a Nickelback video, on repeat, 18 hours a day. I felt like the Portuguese did at one of their concerts, I wanted to throw rocks. I wanted out. I was bored. My mind was full. My stomach was empty. My back was killing me and my hips felt weird from all my crossed legged sitting. Night three. I lay there, looking out at the stars, hearing the buzz of insects mixing with the heavy thundering rain in the jungle just outside my open window, and I thought, shit, what is four more days, I’ve seen it. I’ve ridden the Matterhorn, skydived, ran with the bulls and so on, how many times do you need to do something to feel like you actually did it. Then I thought about sex. Of course, I couldn’t say this to my teacher, but it was my moment of clarity. Is having sex once in your life enough? That’s rhetorical.

What I realized, was I was “lying” to myself. Life is honest, whether you want it to be or not, it’s how you read it. Granted, there is always the half empty/half full glass of water perspective, but the truth is, it’s a glass of water, no matter what, life will tell you that. It’s up to you to decide how to honestly interpret it. I had set out for seven days. I had promised myself I would do seven days, and I was trying to convince myself it didn’t matter, but it did. It totally did. I told myself I would do seven days, and now I was what you might call justifying, but in actuality, I was lying to myself. Just because I was hungry. Just because I was so tired of the chanting. Just because the sleeping arrangements were horribly claustrophobic and uncomfortable (put a net over your face and lay on a table for six hours and you’ll get the idea). I didn’t sleep that night. The next three days, all I thought about, for 18 hours a day were the other silent lies/justifications I had made to myself in my life. How honest my life has been to me, the opportunities that have presented themselves to me and how I have taken advantage of them. All the things I want to do, that I keep waiting to do. I make excuses, for what? Of course, they are personal, but there are too many things I want to do in my life to continue copping out halfway. My life was being honest with me, and it said,

“Chip, stop being a bitch, you can’t get by on my good looks forever.” Doi Suthep is insanely touristy, they have an ATM there and everything. On day four, I walked out to the ATM, took out money and paid for the rest of my time there. I wanted to be fully committed.

Four days later my tuk tuk met me in the morning and I said my first words in seven days, “A Little Bird Guesthouse.” I didn’t even say anything to my teacher. He applauded my commitment and said to spread the word of enlightenment. He wanted me to share my experience, to hear what I got out of it, but that experience was for me, not for him, so I just nodded, smiled, and walked down the hundreds of steps to meet my tuk tuk. I felt accomplished.

I came back, quiet. I can’t explain it. My voice felt like a limb that had fallen asleep. I called my dad, and my mom, and PPP, and they all said I sounded very tired. I was. All I did was think for seven straight days. I had no energy, but I wanted to go out and conquer the world. I asked Mike to grab me a burger and fries from the nearby late night burger joint, and had the best burger, fries, and coca cola of my life.
Everyone tried to ask me to explain my experience, and all I could say was, “I’m still alive.” I was obviously tired. I then went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up with a plan. Not for the rest of my life, but for now. Things I can do in SE Asia, when I return, and so on. Obviously, my goal is to still see as much of the world as possible and share it as much as possible, but I also realized I really missed reading and writing. I went to Gecko Books, picked out 42 books (sorry dad, 47 wouldn’t fit in my bag) paid for my books and started reading. I want to be an author. I realize I have to read more and write more to do so. This is just the beginning, but the beginning is there. The outlines are in place. Doi Suthep may not have changed my life, it simply motivated my perspective. It showed me how honest my life has been with me, and how honest I need to be with myself. It made me want to be a better ME. And I will always be grateful for that enlightenment. As for the results, well, time will just have to tell. But thankfully I don’t have to wear dirty ass all white clothes or hear that damn counter anymore. My favorite comment one of my friends recently said to me, when I told her I did seven days of silent meditation, explaining the rules of not talking, reading, writing, etc.

She said, “If I could do that, then I know I could go through childbirth.”

I think that might be the most enlightening thing I’ve heard on my entire trip.

CHECK BACK, PICS WILL FOLLOW SOON, WHENEVER I AM AT A PLACE WHERE THE INTERNET IS FAST ENOUGH TO LOAD THEM.

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ELEPHANTS, TIGERS, AND OH MY BUDDHA…CHIANG MAI I WILL LOVE YOU LONG TIME (what I did with my time in chiang mai for three weeks)

Posted on by chiphopanonymous

Listening to Cat Empire Two Shoes
I can’t really explain how Chiang Mai happened. I had left Bangkok in a hurry, trying to leave as quickly as I could with nothing but a trail of dust showing I had even been there. Chiang Mai changed my thinking. I had booked an overnight bus ride that showed the movie Avatar. I sat near an Italian guy I will simply call Ferrari because, for all intents and purposes, this guy turned out to be the coolest Italian I have ever met, and definitely the coolest to be living in Chiang Mai. He was full blown Rastafarian, didn’t drink booze or eat meat was basically what I gathered from him, but, of course with my evil ways, his not drinking became more of a “well, I won’t drink tomorrow” kind of religion.

The overnight ride from Bangkok to Chiang Mai was certainly lengthy. We stopped at a gas station for food. The options were limited and I was starving. I also continued, and still continue, to lament not bringing a reading light. It’s killer. It’s so great that the buses turn out the lights in the beginning, but it’s amazing to think that in all of my travels in SE Asia, I only took one bus ride with the girls. That still blows my mind. Anyway. So, I watched Avatar and eventually fell asleep.

I woke up at 8 in the morning in the parking lot of a gas station, the “supposed” central station of Chiang Mai. This is the biggest bullshit of travelling in these countries, essentially the bus drivers drop you off wherever their Guesthouse friends are going to be. I was exhausted, and although Ferrari recommended I follow him, I teamed up with some Aussies and took a tuk tuk to the eastern part of town, basically a place that the driver had recommended would be cheap. I never fall for this stuff, but I was so tired I didn’t care. I’m not going to lie, the first two days, all I did was sleep, write in my general, and be bored. Just for the sake of being nice, the guesthouse I stayed at originally was god awful. The Plaza Inn. And, I had to barter my way down to 200 baht a night, almost $7 a night. I was bummed as hell. There were ants in my bed. When I say ants, I want you to think of colonization and grade school ant farms, they were everywhere. But I was too tired to care. I think I was also kind of having a heavy bout with PPP leaving and having been through the emotions of missing out on my grandfather’s existence, but, who knows, I really could’ve just been a lazy bitch. I spent one evening making my way to the famous Chiang Mai night market, saw a bunch of stuff I couldn’t afford to buy, carry, or possibly know what to do with (those pointy hats that are only in Thailand, clothes, and so on). But I was unimpressed. What I didn’t realize was that there are TWO markets in Chiang Mai, the famous night market, but then the even better weekend markets…oh man. More on those later.

By day three, I realized I had to figure out what I was going to do. I was spending too much on accommodation and was bored out of my mind. I had been asking around about doing meditation in silent temples, but no one knew what I was talking about. Imagine me walking into these wats/pagodas/temples, asking around about doing silent meditation and being greeted with blank stares. I got a map for the city and realized I was on the far east side of the city, I mean, in terms of Phoenix I was in Globe, in terms of LA I was in Burbank, in terms of Chicago, I was in Gary. Well, it wasn’t ghetto, I could just tell I was far from everything. So, I put on my checkered vans and walked out into the sun and set out to find some life.

This is my favorite part of travelling. People will say, “Oh, I love meeting new people.” I meet new people at home. I love the Lewis and Clark part of walking out on your own, taking four rights. Then going a street over and taking four lefts. There’s nothing like it. When I found my way to the main city center, the Citadel part of the city, I could finally see why Chiang Mai was receiving all the praise I had heard about. Similar to Hue in Vietnam, the inner part of Chiang Mai is surrounded by an 18 foot brick wall, and a moat. There are varying entrances, I want to say two to three at each directional wall. So, you have to cross a bridge, to get to the city center. Once you’re there, it’s a different world. Bustling markets, people saying hello, and people on motorcycles (not just motorbikes). Of course, there is a Starbucks and a McDonalds, but man, I felt so foolish for being away from where EVERYTHING was.

I hurried back to my guesthouse and remembered that one of my friends from Kho Pha Nagn, from the very beginning of my trip, I’ll call him Jameson since he was Irish as a leprechaun, had recommended a great place, and I just happened to write it down. I thumbed through my journal and bam, there literally page three in my travels
“A Little Bird Guesthouse”

Good God. Now, one of the things I am most hesitant to do when travelling is recommend things to people. If they ask, I’ll tell them, but rarely do I speak up and say “you have to do this, or you have to do that,” because like I said, I enjoy the Lewis and Clark experience of finding things on your own. However, I am so grateful to Jameson for this suggestion. A Little Bird is easily one of the best guesthouses I have ever stayed in. I found it on a map, checked out of my guesthouse immediately, and walked over to check in. The place houses 60 people and offers the perfect combination of serenity and party atmosphere. There are dorm rooms as small as 4 people, and as large as 10. I went for the in between and settled for a good old fashioned 6 person room, for 100 baht a night. Basically $3 a night. Half what I was paying before. For once, travelling solo, I was going to actually have a decent nights charge. I said I’d think about staying for a week, I ended up staying for three (but a week of that was at Doi Suthep, but that will be a separate blog).

A Little Bird is run by three people, Mike, Keng, and Kong. Two are Thai and one is Chinese. They are all under or just about thirty, and are cool as shit. The system is simple, it’s an honor system. There is a book for every room, say, my first room was 224, and there are refrigerators by each major hostel house. The fridges are stocked with beer, sodas, and water, and are all the same price as the 7-11. This is what I love about those kids, they’re not in it for a profit, they want people to have fun and hang around, and guess what, they do. You grab a beer and write it in the book. There are large sitting areas, I mean, huge wooden platforms with pillows and mats laid out so that people relax. You sit, drink a Chang beer, and stare at the mountains, and realize life could be much, much worse.

I’m not going to go day by day, because I stayed there for so damn long, this would take forever, however, I will point out my highlights. My first night at A Little Bird was probably my most memorable. Each of the bunk bed was empty except for two, mine and this random Italian dudes. I was on a top bunk and he was on a separate bottom bunk, when I simply woke up. I mentioned once before, the innate human sense of feeling someone around you (this happened when BK had gone to the beach and my Ipod got stolen, I could FEEL someone in our room), well I could FEEL someone staring at me. Imagine if Gary Busey and Steve Buscemi somehow molded into one crazy ass hair line receding Italian with a scar from his right eye down to his chin, and you’d have Fiat, the crappiest Italian around. This guy doesn’t have to dress up on Halloween, I promise you that. Well, I wake up, and this creep is staring at me. I haven’t sat up or anything, I’m laying on my side. And he is sitting up in his bed, staring at me. I give it a minute, thinking maybe he’s just sorting something in his mind, that he has to see me making eye contact, but he does nothing but give me the feeling that he’s wondering how my insides would taste, so I say,

“Hey man, what’s up?”

He doesn’t reply. He just stares.

“Are you all right dude?”

He continues to stare. Seconds feel like hours.

“Dude, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STARING AT?!”

Obviously, my name is Chip. People know I am a lover, not a fighter, but trust me, this guy gave me the sense of a life or death situation. At that, he laid back down, on his back, his eyes on the bunk above him. He was probably wondering what the person above him tasted like. I said, forget this. I am not going to have my intestines eaten by some crazy ass in the middle of the night. I get out of bed and head to reception, to see Mike.

“Mike?”
-Yeah
“Dude, what is up with the Italian guy in my room?”
-Oh…is he being strange to you too? He’s a strange guy.
“You mean other people have complained?”
-Everyone has complained. But we can’t kick him out.
“Well, can I switch rooms?”
-Of course.

So, in the middle of the night, I repack my bag and move to another room, a four person dorm, room 232. This would turn out to be a small blessing because I would meet three cool English guys I’d hang with for a bit. After settling into my room, I realize I had left my towel. I head back down to my old room to grab my towel, and this crazy ass has it wrapped up in his arms, like he’s Linus with his blanket or something. Obviously, I did not ask for it back.

My next two weeks were split up into two groups of people, the three British amigos I shared a room with were week one. I would randomly wander off to the movie theater to catch up on summer movies, spend my days staring at Wats and reading, or hole up in my room. At the theater I would stand for their King’s national anthem, suffer through forty minutes of commercials in Thai (literally, 40 minutes) and wait for the summer action to begin. I saw Predators on the Thursday it came out and then Inception on the Thursday it came out, 70 baht ($2) for a new movie, and after it ended I went back to the counter, bought another ticket, and I sat there and watched it again, trying to figure out how someone could come up with something so original, and see what I missed, or was over thinking about. Brilliant movie. I wanted to see something good and Salt wasn’t coming out until August and everything else was in Thai (I mean I even considered New Moon), so one day when I walked back I had to settle on Knight and Day. I can’t help but feel like I have made my life worst for watching that crap ass movie. My favorite movie moment, other than confusing the lady at the ticket counter when I decided to buy another ticket to see Inception again, was when I tried to order a Pepsi without ice.

“I can’t do” This large, pregnant Thai girl said behind the counter.
-You don’t know how to make a Pepsi…without ice?
“No can do. Only can have no ice.”

Jesus, I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get back to countries where they not only understand what you’re asking for, but you get things like free refills, or chips and salsa. I walked down to the 7-11 and bought my own Pepsi’s. Crazy pregnant lady.

Anyway, I full on digressed there. My two weeks were divided like this. Week one was with my three British friends, the British Amigos. Unfortunately, everyone that came into Chiang Mai was there for the trekking, and then would leave. So, I’d meet these amazing people, and they’d be gone the next day. I’d play pool all night at the Chiang Mai Saloon with the most beautiful girl I had seen in ages from Holland, and the next day she was on her way to Laos. I don’t know why, I was simply convinced to stay in Chiang Mai, and did so.

So week one with the British Amigos was spent doing what everyone in Chiang Mai does, we went to Tiger Kingdom, arranged a free tuk tuk ride because there were so many of us but had to pay the 740 baht to actually pet and take pictures with the tigers. You have options to choose from when it comes to playing with the tigers, there’s smallest, small, medium, big, and mother f’n huge. I went for the smallest and the biggest. 740 baht, quite an expense. But the group of us each got time with our own tigers, playing with the cubs, and resting on the giant ones. The owners swear that they’re not drugged, and there is a huge sign that explains that tigers are nocturnal, they sleep the rest of the day and have no interest in fighting, especially since they are so well trained. I think magician Roy Horn might have something to say about that, but, what the hell. The rest of the week was well spent. I made friends with locals pretty quickly, hearing my name “Mr Chip” called across from shops and bars as I would walk the streets. I had dinner one evening with a local family, the served a “barbecue” of chicken, beef, and seafood. The SE Asian barbecue is a hot pot with what looks like a huge metal juicer over it. But, the food, company, and experience was good and free, so I could not complain. My and the amigos would spend our evenings at Rasta Bar, the Saloon, and then end up at Spicy. It became a pretty regular thing for the next two weeks of my life. We would wait at A Little Bird for whatever randoms to gather, and then head out onto the town.

Especially since Saloon had a pool table, man, I would clear house on those kids, British rules and all. The Dutch would come in, the Italians, and the Aussie’s, I’d play by their rules but to win the table, they’d have to buy me a beer if I won. How I have never played this well before, is way beyond me, maybe it’s those damn English rules. I spent a lot of time there. On one of my first nights, I was at Rasta bar dancing on a table like an idiot with some English girls when a Thai girl came up to me. She point blank asked me,

“You want me?”
-No. I’m not interested in Thai girls.
“Why no?”
-Because I don’t know if Thai girl is Ladyboy.
“I no Ladyboy”
-I can tell that, obviously, with you. But even still. I’m not into Thai girls. I’m sorry.
“Well, I no want other girl to have you”
-That’s very flattering. But I don’t think you need to worry about any other Thai girls taking me.

She tied a black and red bandana around my back belt loop.

“Now, no other Thai girl will have you. It says you are with me, if you want.”
-Good to know.

I smiled, she smiled, and we danced on a table at Rasta Bar. It was fun. So much fun, every night. The people who I booked the Tiger Kingdom tour with, sadly, loved me. And I unfortunately took way too much advantage of this. I got tickets cheaper than they should have been. There were mornings where yes, I was supposed to go trekking and had booked the day before, to go by myself, but I could probably still blow a .16 on a breathalyzer, and they let me sleep it off.

“You go another day. No Problem. We like Mister Chip” They’d say to me, as I laid in my bunk bed.

I owe those nice people some major gratitude, and did my best to steer every tourist that came through, to them. I think maybe that’s where their love for me really came through. One night, they decided to take me to a Thai Boxing event for free. Usually 300 baht, $10,
“We can get you in, we say you local Thai”
So I went with two Thai people whose names I could never pronounce, but were the Thai equivalent of Mickey and Minnie Mouse, to watch Muay Thai Boxing, and the ultimate, a midget boxing a kid. The Thai midget won, of course. They said to me, “He always wins. It angers me.” I felt bad for the kid, either he was paid to take a dive, or he’d have to live with the fact that a midget Muay Thai’d the shit out of him for the rest of his life.
In between time with the Amigos and going out, I would hole up in the room for a bit or head to a Wat, reading and trying to catch up on episodes of Entourage and Justified, and Mike would come up and check on me.
“You still alive?” No one see you come home last night.
-That’s because I’m a ninja. Don’t make me prove it to you Mike, I’d say, smiling. God, I was so happy in that place.
I feel like no matter how hard to try and write about Chiang Mai, I will never be able to do it justice, but it is the one place I really wish my friends and family were there. I would go into one bar and see people I met the night before, they’d buy me a drink feeling like they owed me for me letting them play pool with me, I’d walk into another and the bartender would recognize me and buy me a shot, I’d step into another and the Tiger Kingdom booking people would be there, “Please join us.” I was very lucky, and very welcomed. I’d walk into another and Ferrari would be there putting his Rastafarian ways on hold for the evening, inviting me to a party in the hills,

“Only me…you…this shit rum…and bitches. That’s all. Oh, and maybe a pool, but I don’t know if it’s clean yet”

That kid was priceless.

But the highlight of week one was the World Cup Final, Holland versus Spain. Man, the Dutch travel, and they travel in numbers. The day of the game the town was nothing but orange shirts. People had Dutch flags. Clogs. Weed. You name it. Everyone was for Holland. Everyone, of course, but me. The one main party stretch of Chiang Mai, was crowded with people trying to see into the bars to watch the game. The game was awful. I mean, the Dutch were playing like the 1989 Pistons, trying to be bad boys and get away with penalties against a finesse team. When Spain won, the town was silent. Instead of tuk tuks and stores being raided, everyone went home. It was kind of depressing to witness. I wonder what everyone did with all that orange? Anyway, the British Amigos were making their way to Laos, and by this point I had actually found a place, Doi Suthep, that would let me do the silent meditation I had been longing for.

I forgot to mention this before, but when I first arrived at A Little Bird, I asked around and asked around, and finally got some information. Pieces here and there, until finally I got an email address. But, I will save the meditation part for the next update. The point is, I had a plan. I was spending my afternoons walking around Chiang Mai, I would go sit outside of a Wat and read. I have to be honest, for some reason, I rarely wrote in my journal while I was there. This is usually a good indicator of how much fun I have, but it wasn’t just that, I was simply unwinding. At that point I had been travelling for three months straight, I was on my own, and I would walk to these wats, see people burning photo copies of $100 bills in a sacrifice to Buddha (I think?) and just kind of took the city in. I was waiting around, but I didn’t really know what for. I made my reservation for silent meditation at Doi Suthep for July 16 to the 23. I had heard nothing but horror stories, kids who made it one night, who couldn’t hack it and so on, so I gave myself a week to chill out and think about what I was going to do. This, my friends, was the ultimate irony of how life works. Two days after the British Amigos left, a very good friend who I went to school with at the University of Sheffield, randomly happened to show up in Chiang Mai.

If this is not a sign of the convergence of both the brilliant randomness and design of life, well hell, I don’t know what is. I was thinking of Laos, of silent meditation, of maybe going to Burma, and here she shows up at my guesthouse. She has many nicknames, but, I will call her Bottoms. She was travelling with another beautiful English woman that will make some lucky man very happy one day, and two Americans. Needless to say, we were quite a crew. We booked our three day trek into the jungles of northern Thailand, for 850 baht. Trust me, you will not find a cheaper price than that. I had already paid the week before, missed my bus at least three times, and they still let me go. It started with a stop off at an orchid farm, and was one night in a village, another in a home stay, time with elephants, bamboo rafting, a natural waterfall, actual rapids rafting, and of course, trekking.

Trekking for me made me realize something important in my life. It started out great, walking through the rice fields and the various terraces, and then we entered the jungle. I have a certain threshold for certain things, and I can’t exactly find the words to express this correctly, but I have no interest in ever fucking trekking again. I know, for some people, they love it. They swear by it. “Oh the jungle…oh the bugs…of the spiders….of the nature,” guess what, forest trekking beats the hell out of jungle trekking nine times out of ten. I love walking through the Arizona mountains, the mountains of Colorado and California, but there is just something about a jungle that does not appeal to me at all. It’s hot as hell, there’s no breeze because the canopy blocks out the wind, however, the sun still somehow manages you to feel like you’re taking a stroll through a sauna, everything looks like a damn snake and there are serious beasts waiting for you to become their dinner. I’m glad I did it. It was worth it to ride the elephants, to feel the mighty shift in weight sitting on the back of its neck from foot to foot as it climbed up a mountain and then back down, it was worth it to meet our guide-Mr Happy, the craziest happiest guy that I could not escape after my trip with him. I would see him EVERYWHERE. Any bar, McDonalds, the theater, he’d be there.

Anyway. My advice on the trekking is to bring lots of water, wear loads, I mean loads of bug spray, and don’t wear checkered vans. Mr Happy did not mention that water would not be available for purchase until the END of the first day, so, obviously, our whole group, hung over as hell trekking through this jungle, sweating out or Mekong rum and Chang beers from Saloon, Rasta Bar, and Spicy from the night before, were simply dying to make it to the home stay. I literally cannot count how many times I stopped and told them,
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll find you. There’s one path. I don’t need to die like this. Hung over in a friggin’ Thai jungle.”
The coolest part was obviously the end. Towards the end we saw a local scientist who was checking mosquitoes for malaria. It was cool to watch him catch them with this weird little smoke trap and a wired bag. When we got to the home stay, there was supposed to be a “pool.” The pool reminded me a lot of the ponds that my dad created in our backyards when I was growing up. Needless to say, nobody changed into their skivvies and jumped in. Showering was nice and needed, then we rode the mighty elephants, and at 4pm our planned day was over.

We sat around a table, the five of us and about eight hours, one random member who was so excited to smoke opium and meet locals he yelled “Oh my Buddha” every ten minutes. He was just an excitable fellow, and of course, hung over I was hoping for a spear or some kind of sharp device that could silence him permanently but he actually turned out to be a cool guy to hang out with. The good old French Buddha. We played cards, tried to play never have I ever and made it two rounds, then told stories. It was a nice evening. Then we saw our sleeping quarters. It was essentially a giant bamboo balcony with individual mosquito nets. As I said before, there were at least thirteen of us. There were probably 8 mosquito nets. Being one of the last to come up, since I was hanging with the locals and sharing stories, I came up and most of the sleeping spots were taken. The French Buddha offered his spot, used a blanket, and slept on the floor. I will never forget that act of kindness. The thirteen of us, lined up like sardines in a tin can, sounded off the famous “Good night…” from The Beach. It was a memorable moment, and a great night.

The next morning the group was divided into two groups, the two dayers and the three dayers. I was a two dayer. I knew, very well from my trekking in Vietnam, three days of hiking in the jungle would not appeal to me, and I was correct to assume so. My friends split off, and I made new friends. More Dutch and some Spanish people, and we headed for the waterfall and the river. The waterfall was nice, it started to rain as we arrived, so we all happily soaked up the coolness the rain and waterfall offered, then we made our way to the rafting. Rafting was awesome. Because it had been raining all day, the rapids were very solid, and, of course since there were a good five groups, we sort of made our captain turn it into a fierce competition of splashing others and knocking them out of their boats. Yes, our raft was THOSE PEOPLE. Sad Dutch faces stared at us as we raced away down the river and they floated in deep water. By the time we got to the end, me and the Aussie friend I had made pretty much were manhandling the boat. We were knocking Mr Happy off his raft any chance we got, and raced through the rapids. At the end, we reached the bamboo rafts. Our guide said, “One moment.”

We untied our bamboo raft and the four of us, me, the Aussie, and these two poor unsuspecting British girls commandeered the bamboo raft. It’s exactly as it sounds, long sticks of bamboo that are strung together. I pushed us off, and away the four of us went, me leading with a long bamboo stick and having no clue what I was doing. Dodging rocks and racing through the rapids, it was great until my foot slipped between two of the bamboo sticks and I couldn’t get it out. We recklessly raced down the river, the girls screaming at rocks here and there, and my foot was perfectly wedged. I got them to calm down and yank my foot out. We reached the end point, where they sold beer and water, and enjoyed a nice break. After the rapids we went to the long neck hill tribe village. It was an extra 250 baht ($8?!) to see them. But, when our guide, Mr Happy, went up and there was no one at the counter, the Aussie and two Dutch made our way up just to see them. They were Laos looking people (apparently they’re actually from Burma) with huge gold chokers that stretched their necks out.

After the long neck hill tribe, which was basically just a village where they were selling stuff, we made our way back to town. The best part was it was a Sunday night, so the Sunday night market in Chiang Mai was full on. Man, that market is easily my favorite I’ve seen in all of SE Asia. The creativity that goes into making some of the cards, clothes, clocks, you name it, they have it. it’s inspiring. I could’ve bought something for every one of my friends, and saw something every one of my friends would have appreciated, but I would have had to have black marketed one of my kidneys to do so…and I might have to wait on that just in case I can’t make it to England.

After the Market we managed to meet up at Rasta bar and had one good, last night out. It was a great end to two weeks of partying with new and old friends. I had bought the necessary clothes for my time at Doi Suthep, two white shirts and two white pair of pants, a friend lent me her timer, and everything else would stay behind with my friends at A Little Bird. I said goodbye to my new friends and to Bottoms, went to bed sharing my room with a group of three random Taiwanese people who did not know each other, but stayed up talking to each other and drying their rain soaked socks with a blow dryer at four in the morning. Seriously, in the dark of early morning, this kid had a blow dryer plugged in next to my bed and was drying his socks. I cannot say enough about Chiang Mai, I loved it and it loved me, and honestly changed my life, realizing this that evening the next day would begin my seven days of silent meditation.

PS-Miss Poppins, you might be one of the greatest capers I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet, you unknowingly stole a heart I didn’t realize I still had, and I don’t think all the police officers in the world combined could get it back from you.

PICTURES WILL FOLLOW SOON, FOR SOME REASON THEY’RE NOT UPLOADING FAST ENOUGH ONTO PHOTOBUCKET BUT MAKE SURE YOU CHECK BACK, THERE ARE SOME DOOZIES!

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One Night in Bangkok…One More Time

Posted on September 19, 2010 by chiphopanonymous

Listening to Yolanda Be Cool “We No Speak Americano”

On my flight from Hanoi to Bangkok I met a chatty blonde British girl named Grace who was eager for a friend. She was the prim and proper type (no offence darling), I’ve started calling it. That is to say, she spoke with her hands. Constantly. Not all British do this, but it’s seemingly that the most posh sounding people do. Blonde hair and always smiling, her personality was all charm and I was kind of in the dull drums, so I think she was looking for a charity case or something. Not to mention she loved to talk about music and didn’t mind talking while I was reading. We took the bus into Kho San Road from the airport for 150 Baht each and then decided that neither of us were against sharing a room. I had planned on only spending a day or two in Bangkok, but Grace and I had a good level of chemistry, she didn’t mind that I’d spend my time going to a local coffee shop, reading Elmore Leonard books, watching episodes of justified, big bang theory and how I met your mother online, and then illegally downloading albums onto my laptop on the street of kho san road for 75 cents a pop, and seemed content busying herself until I came back to the room. Only on the last day did she insist that she sit with me, but that was because she was sad I was leaving. (DAMN YOU WOMEN, YOU HAVE MADE ME HEARTLESS!)

Grace and I ran into my friends Carlos and Caia from Kho Pha Nagn (the full moon party some three months prior) and the spent evenings together drinking Chang Beers and watching the world cup matches, Spain over Germany, Holland over Brazil, UNBELIEVABLE. I have never seen anything like it in my life, full grown Dutch men tipping over tuk tuks (with the drivers still in them!) and food stands, going absolutely mental because their team had won. Mike Myers had the Dutch all wrong in Goldmember, they’re crazy, but crazy about soccer, not disco and gold things. Those Dutch know how to party. The city was as close to a riot as I have ever really been in, anyone and everyone was being put on someone’s shoulders, once the games were over. When the armored brigade with smoke bombs came in at six in the morning, the streets seemed to clear out pretty quickly and we went to bed. Time in Bangkok went by really quickly. I didn’t take any pictures because I didn’t really do anything, not to mention I hate Kho San Road, it’s just a haven for thieves.

My most famous thought of Bangkok will forever be; “Kho San Road is a theme park souveiner shop for the South East Asian traveler.” ANYTHING and EVERYTHING from EVERYWHERE in South East Asia, is there. My favorite argument was over buying a shirt, I said to the man,
“They’re $2 in Vietnam, why $4 here?”
-Better quality. Made in Thailand. Not fall apart.
I showed him the tag, “Made in Vietnam”
The area is priceless but can be overwhelming. Anything and everything you can possibly want to obtain, a fake passport, fake graduate certificate, license, gun, prostitute, so on and so forth, is right there, stall by stall, on Kho San Road. But I was sick of the in your face aspects of SE Asia. I needed time away from all this shit.

On one night Grace and I tried to meet up with one of my old friends from Chicago who is teaching in Bangkok. I actually went to the same University as her and we were in the exchange program in England together as well, so I was very excited to see her. One thing that amazes me though, is how reliable people are on phones. I told her, simply, “I don’t have a phone. Email me directions, in Thai, I’ll print them and I’ll give him to the driver.” We made plans to meet at what turned out to be a very cool Jazz Club that she called in the directions, “The Roof Top Jazz Bar,” the only problem was, the place is actually called “The New Jazz Café.”
This seems like a minor miscommunication, but apparently in Thai, you would have thought the guy had been given directions to Egypt. He circled for an hour. He tried calling her phone. We stopped at a payphone and tried connecting. Nothing seemed to work, and of course, it was pouring rain. I couldn’t get a hold of her and nobody at any bar knew what I was talking about. You can imagine me, playing full on shirades; drawing a saxophone, a beer, Asians, and a roof top, only to be stared back at blankly. I felt terrible for Grace because she had gotten all dolled up to meet my friend and the rain was simply thrashing us. I finally convinced the driver to stop one more time, so I could try and get through, and called on a payphone that I swear to god has seen more use as a toilet than as a communication device. I got a hold of her, she had just left. We felt defeated, but said forget it, we wouldn’t let the evening kill our spirits and walked down the street, managing to walk into the coolest place I had been in Bangkok, “The New Jazz Café.” It overlooks the light train and downtown Bangkok, and is essentially out of a guy’s apartment. He has his television set up, a mini bar, and places to sit. We sat, covered from the rain, and stared at the lights, listening to Ella Fitzgerald and trying whatever new liquors the bartender had gotten in that day.

After that, like I said before, my days were literally spent going, to sit in a café, read, write, and eat a tuna casserole with an iced coffee almost every day. I gave up on meeting my friend and focused more on relaxing. I would walk the same side streets, every day, say hi to all the same vendors, the tuk tuk drivers, the suit salesmen, the ladies selling the frog sound souveneirs, the tattoo parlors, and the bead shops. The people knew my name, “Mr Chip,” and at the restaurant always brought me extra Tabasco, and pointed two fans in my direction just to be nice. I think I was just finally decompressing from Indonesia and Vietnam, and being alone for the next five months was really starting to sink in.

I tried having conversations with Grace but soon realized I am pretty terrible at small talk. I don’t know when this happened, or if there was ever a time I was good at it, but honestly, I think we ended up sticking it out because the room was cheap. What do you talk about in relationships? What do you talk about when you don’t care? It was a weird feeling. She didn’t have to seem to have a plan, simply waiting to see where I would go or what I would do next, and I was sort of eager to get out on my own. So instead each night we’d lay awake, taking two or three ten milligram pills of valium each night to try and fall asleep because in a room without a fan the heat was so unbearable, and the noise from the surrounding clubs sounded like plumbers installing pipeline in the walls in the middle of the night, and we would try and think of things to talk about. It’s really hard to THINK about something to talk about when you you’re actually thinking about talking about something. I had heard that there were silent temples in Chiang Mai, so I started making small plans towards making my way out of Bangkok. I wanted to move along and she was keen on coming along too. Initially, I was totally cool with it, until on the fourth night she couldn’t fall asleep so she went searching for a pharmacy for some more Valium at three in the morning and brought back some random drug dealer to our hostel, trying to bring him up to our room. You can picture me in my boyshort underwear explaining at 4 in the morning to the owner of the hostel how this may about the stupidest, most immature thing I had ever experienced and was getting tired of young twenty year old women putting my life at risk. The dude had to leave, and she could either get her own room or find a way to fall asleep. That was when she finally told me she was actually 18. That pretty much put me over the edge and I realized I needed to get the hell out of there. I bought a bus ticket to Chiang Mai for 350 baht the next morning, gave her a hug and wished her well, and waited at a bus stop at 630 for a bus that wouldn’t show up until 9 pm. I had spent the afternoon literally filling up on Starbucks and McDonalds all day long, having no clue the greatness of Chiang Mai that awaited me. I even snuck in a mid afternoon viewing of the Karate Kid at the megaplex downtown. I am SO EXCITED to get back there in a month. I hope they have some good movies playing. Honestly, I think aside from time with my family, drinking beers in front of televisions playing ESPN, and eating meat, movies are the things I miss the most. Seriously. I never realized how much I love going to see movies. Kind of like music, but, well they’re quick on the illegal download scene here so it’s not really the same.

I’ve forgotten to mention this before, but their popcorn choices are amazing. There are generally at least two, sometimes three. They essentially serve those round canned things of popcorns people give as Christmas presents because they HAVE to bring something to the Christmas party. Where do people even buy those things and more importantly, why do they buy them? Seriously,
“Here’s a can of popcorn just in case you’re too stupid or lazy to know how to work the microwave, or even worse, the stove top. Merry Christmas.”

But these popcorns, which is kind of pointless that they’re divided because they somehow become jumbled together anyway; salted, cheese, and caramel, ALSO come with a topping station. It’s the weirdest thing in the world to me. These are pretty common in the States now, however, to see them here, where I can’t get a napkin for my popcorn, only a tissue/Kleenex and have to ask for it, but then have an unlimited supply of toppings to choose from, well, hell, I think the Asians might have some of their priorities right. Especially if they really ARE using their hand to clean their ass after the toilet, they’ll get the full topping effect.

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The Allies take over Hanoi and Go Overboard in Ha Long Bay-on the back of a mountainous dragon

Posted on September 11, 2010 by chiphopanonymous

Listening to Amy Winehouse You Know I’m No Good

My bus got into Hanoi at 8 am, and thanks to finally following the SE Asian travelling advice of a beer and 10 mg of valium from two English girls, I was actually able to sleep for most of the overnight journey. When we got to Hanoi, we were dropped nowhere near the backpacker district. I have a very hard time understanding this, other than the bus drivers must get some sort of payback or something for dropping us well out of the way from where EVERYONE stays. I mean, we weren’t near a monument, a mall, a hotel, anything, we were simply on a side street that required a taxi to get to the backpacker area.

After three weeks the girls apparently had finally figured out how to access facebook and said they would be staying at Hanoi Backpackers, and said they would leave a note at the front desk to save me a room. I think if I had simply picked up a copy of Lonely Planet I would’ve been able to pick out where the girls would be at each stop, because of course, Hanoi Backpackers was the number one rated place. I shared a taxi with the two English girls to the backpacker district, and of course Hanoi Backpackers was booked. It was overrun with 18 year old Brits and Aussies literally smashing cans of beers against their heads, at 830 in the morning.

Of course, when I asked the front desk if my friends had made a reservation for me, they said no. I asked if I could leave a note, and the girl at reception said “you can try.” I wrote out a short note, in my best trying to minimize my frustrations and feeling of avoidance. It felt like my friends were going out of their way to not meet up with me. I walked down the street feeling frustrated and dejected, exhausted thinking “Shit-IT’S ONLY JUNE. I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE WITH THESE GIRLS FOR FOUR MONTHS. WE MADE IT NINE DAYS.” The English girls and some other friends I had met were waiting outside and lifted my spirits and we walked down the street to, “Youth Hostel of Hanoi.” It was a six person, a/c dorm room for $4.50 a night with our own private bathroom, lockers, the works.

They had free internet and I was online when this Israeli guy I had met on the bus ride from Hoi An to Hue, Danny, came by.
“Come have breakfast with me, man.”
It felt good to see a recognizable face. We went and sat down, and before I knew it I was reunited with Teenielove, 4names, their two English girlfriends, and then these boys they had met in Mui Nei, one of them was even a kid I had invited over for dinner when PPP was in town. Of Course, boys, I don’t know why it never occurred to me before. I thought it was weird on PPP’s last night in Vietnam that several of them went to listen to a kid play guitar in the other room rather than hang out with us, but that’s youth. The boy thing changed my entire perspective.

Before, I was bummed. There is no way to dismiss the fact that in nearly every way by each of them, I was ditched, ignored, and ultimately left standing by myself on a Malaysian train station stop in the middle of the night waiting for a friend who would never come…all because…I promised her parents I’d watch out for her? Because she was my friend? I also can’t forget that for five days I was left waiting by myself on an island we had all agreed to meet on, when clear plans had been made, tickets bought, expectations discussed. Why? I didn’t know. I still don’t. I reread my facebook posts. My emails. My every communicative effort. I steered from slander in my accounts hoping for some answer, while I was left by myself, without any shown concern. I did everything I could to keep my thoughts on this objective, but it all came to a head when I got to Hanoi. Things were different. Their priorities were boys, booze, and their two new friends, when four short months ago their parents and friends were asking me to watch out for their best interests, to keep a watchful eye. I tried, but Hanoi made me realize how unfair it was, and that they had NO IDEA. I seriously felt like they didn’t really care if I was there or not, and my attempts in Vietnam validate that. I tried to explain how sad I thought it was that we had few pictures together, at all. I guess it came down to two things, a lack of planning, and a difference in objectives. Maybe even a difference in age. Who knows. All I know is I was really happy to see the girls again in Hanoi, but it was crazy how much they had changed to me.

After a big group breakfast, their group wanted to hang around in their hostel room. I was antsy, so I ventured out onto the streets by myself. I walked by the Hanoi Monument Tower, the town lake, and ended up making my way all the way down to the movie theater complex to see Toy Story 3. I think I forgot to mention in one of my earlier blogs, that the day that PPP had left, and Saigon was drenched in rain, I spent the afternoon at the movie theater, seeing Shrek and the Prince of Persia. The movies are typically only a couple of dollars a piece so even for terrible movies, the experience can be worth it, but Toy Story 3 was in 3D and was well worth it. I loaded up on Westernization that day, watching a movie, eating KFC with some mashed potatoes with gravy, then walking back to the hostel to meet up with the girls.

When I came back about five hours later they were still hanging out in the hostel room, we went to the roof of the Hanoi Backpackers to grill some burgers and drink some beers and we made plans to book our get away to Ha Long Bay. The girls had found a travel place that was offering $32 for three days and two nights out in Ha Long Bay. Altogether, we had a huge group of 18 friends. Only 20 could fit on the boat, so, essentially we would have our own old fashioned Asian Naval Vessel to ourselves. Food and accommodation is included. You spend one night on the boat, one night on Cappa Island, and in between you get to see some natural caves, go kayaking in the bay, trek through the jungle for a good three hours, and stop for some swimming and jumping off of the boat.

Our group sort of broke into their varying “cliques,” if you would call them that. The four girls with each of their individual guys, the four other girls that were in my dorm room, and then I spent most of my time hanging with a French Canadian, an Irishman, and a German. We went out for dinner and drinks at a pizza place that served an unbelievable Mexican pizza and made plans to make it to the travel agency by 8 in the morning.

The next morning our mini bus was filled with twenty people, eighteen of them all friends. We played music, drank beers, stopping once for lunch and more beers, but then rocked our way all the way into Ha Long Bay. Ha Long Bay is magnificent. It’s so expansive, these huge scliffs out in the distance just poking out of the water, they seem never ending, and once we hopped on the boat and started making our way out into the bay, it seemed like it was absolutely normal and never ending, for these mini mountains to be EVERYWHERE. Like rock creatures coming up from the deep, they stifled the sound of crashing waves and boat engine motors and created an eerie, otherworldly silence.

The Vietnamese legend is that that sclifs are the remains of a dragon that fell into the bay millions of years ago. As my friend Marcus said,
“That doesn’t seem very plausible.”
Maybe. However, looking out at the sun setting and seeing the mountainous, spinal pattern gets the imagination kicking a little bit.

The next three days went very quickly. We stopped at a cave that had been discovered on an island as recently as five years ago, but was paved and was way too tourist setting. There was mood lighting, and speakers, it just seemed very unnecessarily unnatural. We then rode out into the middle of the bay, surrounded by these huge mountains that reached only imaginable depths, and swam. Jumping off of the boat and swimming to nearby islands has to be one of the top five highlights of my South East Asia trip. We were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nature that isn’t mirrored anywhere else in the world, swimming in it. It was amazing.

We spent the evening on the boat, eating a set meal of rice, calamari, chicken, and vegetables. We weren’t allowed to bring our own booze, but we managed to each sneak a bottle of vodka individually. Bottles of beer were two dollars a piece, where as a bottle of vodka is $4, so you have to understand the reasoning. The girls disappeared with their boys and we stayed up late, drinking on the roof deck and occasionally jumping off the two story boat back into the water, listening to music and trying to come up with drinking games.

The next morning we woke up and kayaked out into the bay for sunrise. Our boat then took us out to Cappa Island so that we could trek. The trekking essentially was our bus dropping us off in front of a national park and telling us we had two hours before the next bus came. We didn’t realize until we came back down from the top of the mountain, covered in mud and sweat and still riddled with fear from checking the views from the rusted tower at the top of the mountain, that our bus had literally left our bags on the side of the road. I hiked with what had apparently become my clique, The Allies, while the girls found a corner spot of the jungle to play guitar and smoke.

We waited by our bags, once again covered in mud and sweat, for about an hour before another bus came by and took us to the city centre. At that point, most of us were exhausted. The Allies and I found a room, each showered, and then passed out for about the next four hours. Our group plan was meet up for dinner and then maybe find wither a karaoke spot, or a spot to watch some of the world cup. Unfortunately, there was only one place showing the game, and the girls had no interest in going there, and all of the karaoke bars actually turned out to be brothels, they just had a sign that read “karaoke.” So, we sat on the steps of our hostel drinking for a bit. The girls crashed out with their boys pretty early, and me and the Allies wandered the streets, looking for trouble and making friends with a group of French ladies(the irony here, is French Canadians actually DON’T like the French, so much so, that they’ll pretend they don’t speak French. I didn’t know this, and when we met these beautiful French girls, I tried to get my French Canadian friend Francois to translate for me, BUT, little did I, he had pretended earlier in the day not to be French. So he felt like an ass, instead of getting some.) We ended up staying up talking to the French ladies until the sun came up, arguing over who would get which bed and who locked the key in the room. Thankfully, I was able to use my old credit card trick and we made our way in.

The next day was awful. It was spent literally going back all the way we came. Most of us had lost our pizzazz, were hung over and under slept, and by the time we got to Hanoi it was pouring rain and it was five in the evening. Mostly everyone wanted to take a shower and take a nap. The girls made plans with their boys and the Allies and I found a dorm room at the Youth Hostel of Hanoi. We all kind of made loose plans to try and meet on the street sometime during the evening. My flight for Bangkok left in the morning at 7 am, so I wasn’t planning on staying out too late, but we went back to the pizza place for Mexican pizza and 3,000 dong fresh beer. After dinner the girls wanted to smoke hookah, so they went across the street. Thankfully I was able to talk the owners into putting on the Uruguay korea game, and holy hell, what a game. Soccer, in my mind, is only interesting when it comes to break aways, penalty kicks, or the ending kick off of five kicks versus five kicks. There isn’t a lot like it in sport. I had planned on going to bed at 10, having been up since 6 in the morning from Ha Long Bay, and having to make a 7 am flight out in the morning, but I ended up staying with the girls and watching the whole game with them. Honestly, I think that was the first time we really all sat around each other and hung out since I was in Hanoi.

Teenielove asked me to stay out, but it was impossible. I was beat, and getting into Bangkok, by yourself, going through customs, then finding accommodation, well, it’s tough to do on five hours sleep, let alone drunken five hours. I had to say goodbye. So, I told Teenielove and 4names my final goodbyes, and told them that hopefully, someday, I’ll see them at their weddings.

The minibus to the airport is supposed to be an easy experience that is relatively cheap, however no one could tell me anything about it. Nothing online, none of the hostel operators, not even a Lonely Planet I borrowed from one of the girls. One of the girls in my dorm room (Samantha, thank you, you were a godsend) had an alarm and set it for me. I woke, showered, took my bag downstairs and of course all the hostel guy wanted to do was call me a taxi.
$20. That’s what he said. Fuck that. I walked the streets for about fifteen minutes, nervous I might miss my flight, then finally convinced some guy in a minibus to take me for $10. He told me,
“Everywhere, $20. Same Same.”
-Listen man, I only have $10. $10, and no problem.
“No Problem.”
So he took me. ON the way I could see why it was so expensive, it took me nearly an hour to get there. Then of course there was a departure tax, I love it, pay to get in, pay to get out. I sent out the last of my postcards, had a cup of coffee, and realized that sitting there, in Hanoi, it was over. The dream, the goal, the plan, the whole trip of me and the girls travelling together for four months was over. I drank my coffee, alone. I’ll get used to it.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY ~ CHIP

Posted on August 30, 2010 by admin

Everyone here at www.ThoseCheckeredVagabondShoes.com really would like to
take this opportunity to WISH you, CHIP, the HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY EVER!

Since you are in a foreign country, we thought you might enjoy a virtual cake.
The great thing about this cake is that you don’t have to worry about your calorie intake.
Enjoy your birthday cake and don’t forget to make a wish!

May all your most exciting dreams come true!

Warmest Regards,

“Those Checkered Vagabond Shoes TEAM”

PS. Anyone who would like to join us in sending CHIP a birthday wish, may do so by adding a comment.
We gladly welcome your participation and thank you again for being a loyal follower on Chip’s journey.

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Wishing for more from Vientiane, Laos, and adventure of crossing the border from Laos into Cambodia

Getting more BANG for my buck tubing in the Vang Vieng, Laos

Hearing guns go bang and making a name for myself in Luang Prabang, Laos

Crossing into Laos and taking the magical slow boat ride down the Mekong River

When the rain hits your eye while riding a motorbike…thats a Pai Thailand

My Seven Days of Silent Meditation at Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep, Chiang Mai Thailand.

ELEPHANTS, TIGERS, AND OH MY BUDDHA…CHIANG MAI I WILL LOVE YOU LONG TIME (what I did with my time in chiang mai for three weeks)

One Night in Bangkok…One More Time

The Allies take over Hanoi and Go Overboard in Ha Long Bay-on the back of a mountainous dragon

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ~ CHIP

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