Danny in Asia

The American dream is alive and thriving well…in America. We have successfully exported our hamburgers, blue jeans, and fizzy drinks around the globe, and now there appear to be very few Americans out and about enjoying all of the delicious, calorie-packed treats that were just too good not to share with the rest of the world. In my first week in Thailand, I met only one other American, a 59 year old woman who lives in India and is seeking zen enlightenment. She is the extreme example of the traveler who is searching for something entirely un-american, and giving her soul a cleansing that would make John Lennon proud in the process.But why less Americans in Thailand? The Europeans have come in droves, the Israelis by the planeload, with a sprinkling of Brits, Canadians, and Aussies thrown in for good measure. To be fair, I’ve met quite a few Americans in the past couple of days who were really cool, but I still can’t shake the question of why the differences in numbers are so drastically different. Is it that America is just so spectacular and wealthy that no one wants to leave? Anyone who has either been to Kansas or East St. Louis will know that the answer to this question is, no. Is it that Americans prefer a safer, cleaner packaged holiday confined to destinations like Waikiki, Cabo San Lucas, or Orlando? Perhaps. Or is this part of the larger trend I’ve been witnessing, and process by which the U.S. is becoming more insular, physically and mentally? It is this close-minded nature that has convinced us that two years of a foreign language is sufficient and “Bomb their ass and take the gas” is a perfectly acceptable statement to adorn the back of your Chevy pickup.

I, myself, am embarrassed by the recent actions of the U.S. and usually say I’m from Oregon, not America, and only when asked. I’m seeking to mend fences one person at a time with respect for other cultures, perhaps a few sentences of Thai, and a smile. On the plane to Phuket I explained to the man sitting next to me my plan for long term, prolonged travel through teaching and rafting, to which he replied “what are you running from?” I thought it was a silly question at first. The smart-ass type of thing you say to young idealistic types like me. And I gave the typical idealistic response that I’m not running from anything, I am running towards everything. But the question has stuck in my head and I’ve decided that I am running from my guilt. That irrational, unchangeable guilt from the actions of my country. So I am running in a circle, really; running from guilt and toward some ridiculous feeling of repentance that will afford me the best memories, experiences, and relationships of my life. All with a lighter heart.

This is my American dream.

I spent one night in Krabi awaiting my transit to Khao Sok National Park. I’m happy I did as it’s a nice little coastal town that is both comfortable for travelers and rich in Thai culture. I spent the night deciphering the thick French accent of Sebastian before getting politely shooed from the bar at 1am.

This morning I traveled to Khao Sok with the hope of finding a more mellow stop on what has turned out to be the seemingly inescapable tourist trail of Thailand. What better place to get lost than in the oldest Jungle of S.E. Asia?

Upon arrival, I quickly learned that this may actually be the oldest rain forest jungle in the world, no doubt a point of contention with central Africa and the Amazon region. Regardless, it is old and alive with beauty. Like much of the Andaman coast and the isthmus of Thailand, Khao Sok has steep limestone cliffs which appear to have exploded vertically out of the dense jungle below. This region is a geological marvel. The slow dance of coral, water, air and time have shaped this place into the tropical playground it is. Rising sea levels, ice ages, the uplift of continents, and the slow steady chemistry of rock have hollowed out intricate cave systems, some probably left undisturbed; lost among the trees. I am very happy here.

I have found three great travel companions for my time in Khao Sok. A British woman named Louise is an epidemiologist who has been working on AIDS/HIV research in Tanzania, and two Aussie boys from Sydney, both 26, have been wonderful additions to the scenery. We had a late night by jungle standards (10pm) playing cards, watching an impressive thunderstorm, and practicing counting in Thai. We agreed to meet this morning to explore the park.Due to the rainstorm last night, the leeches were out in force and we quickly realized that my river sandals were surprisingly effective at dissuading these blood-sucking parasites. Alex, the tall Aussie redhead ended the day with around seven bleeding wounds, no doubt a result of his low tops and short socks.

The initial disgust from the idea of having your blood sucked quickly changed to ambivalence. They’re there, they’re crafty survivors, and transmit no diseases; so why not let them have a drink? I’m quite fascinated with them really. Like cockroaches, they are one of evolution’s brightest achievers. They only need to feed every six months and can survive ages tucked under a leaf awaiting the rainy season where they thrive. The bites don’t even hurt! They are gracious enough to numb the area before digging in, the only problem being the anti-coagulant also injected to keep the blood flowing. After they’ve drunk their fill, the bleeding is a bit disconcerting but harmless if left clean and unscratched.

Leeches aside, the hike was amazing. The jungle is teeming with life and included several waterfalls along the way. The humidity was suffocating but made the meal and shower at the end of the day all the more rewarding.

We all decided to visit the oft spoke of lake, or rather Chieo Lan Reservoir, that the local guides compete to take the park visitors to. I mean they really talk up this lake. We decided to go with “the tiger man” because he calls himself Tiger Man. It’s hard to argue with that. On the drive to the lake I had an hour one on one with him and discovered he used to go on 7-10 day treks through the jungle looking for the rare beasts. He stopped because “Tiger Man has high blood pressure.” He figures there used to be 100 tigers in Khao Sok, down now to around 15 due to poaching. Long gone also are the Java and Sumatran Rhinos that I was surprised to learn had once wandered S.E. Asia.Tiger Man is full of boyish energy and has all the trademark one-liners of a seasoned guide. He became such a popular guide, according to him, that other “Tiger Men” started turning up to improve their business. Now he sports the tattoo “Tiger Man Love You” so that you never forget. He is the original.

The lake did turn out to be beautiful, with deep green waters the perfect swimming temperature lined with jutting limestone cliffs. Once a farming valley, the reservoir and dam now supply the south with electricity and water. These resources, together with the relocation money given to the old inhabitants of the lake by the Thai government might explain the wealthier veneer of these Thais. Nice homes, new trucks, and well-fed dogs are common sights, perhaps paid for from the flow of the dam, creating enough electricity to sell to Malaysia even.

We came to the end of our scenic long boat trip across the lake to find rows of huts floating on bamboo. After lunch and swimming, we took another short boat ride to begin our jungle trek to one of the many limestone caves in Khao Sok. The hike was cooler and remote than yesterday, crisscrossing through trees and stone monoliths of limestone and clay, occasionally the droning purr of the jungle pierced by the swooshing flight of a startled Great Horn bill. Amazing! And along the hike, our playful guides Tiger Man and Jahm were making leaf hats, bamboo flutes, and pointing out the utility and dangers of the jungle.

Then came the cave. The guides had spoken so emphatically about the lake, where I was amazed by the long winding cavern. I’ve been to caves where you go in, then come out. We went through this one, tromping through the underground creek past thousands of bats, hand-sized spindly spiders, crabs, and fish; finally ending neck deep in water at the exit.

It was another peaceful, tiring day in Khao Sok, with a bittersweet ending. The Aussie boys, Dave and Alex had to take off for Khao Lak to get scuba certified. Friends come and go where home’s on your back.

2/18-2/19

I looked at my schedule and realized I would be flying to China in a week. Time in S.E. Asia is running out. At breakfast I pretended to flip a coin, out of a desire for romanticism really, even though I knew I wanted to forgo my search for a remote Thai island and head overland to Siem Reap, Cambodia with Louise. The prospect of wandering through the temples of Angkor while continuing to hear about her travels in Africa, sold me. Angkor it was.

We spent the rest of the day on a bus from Khao Sok to Surat Thani, then a sleeper train that pulled into Bangkok just past 6AM. (2/19) Then it was the subway to the #3 bus, and onto another air con bus to the eastern border town of Aranya Prathet. We decided to stay the night in A.P. for many reasons. First of all, we had no idea what the border crossing would be like. Not wanting to go blindly into a very poor country, and having no dollars on hand, the primary (or most useful) currency in Cambodia, we got a couple of rooms. The decision paid off in spades. Not only did we get to change our baht to greenbacks the next morning, but we thoroughly enjoyed this sleepy border town, its lack of tourists, lack of English, and vibrant night festival.

The contrast crossing into Cambodia is sharp. As you’re changing sides of the road (left to right), you can’t help but notice a different level of poverty immediately. Trash litters the dusty streets of Poipet, long a jumping point for war refugees into Thailand, and now a seedy gambling town. We passed through quickly.The border cross went far more smoothly than expected. The transportation bureau of Cambodia has successfully cut out the scammers and pickpockets by shuttling entrants from visa application office, to stamp office, to bus station. We caught the bus and began our journey on a long, flat, bumpy road. It isn’t far from the border to Siem Reap, but the trip took 6 hours, crawling.

Part of the reason for the length and speed of the trip is that the guy on board turned out to own a guest house in Siem Reap. At our lunch stop he told us of the dangers of S.R. after sundown, and how nice his guest house was. A group of Czechs began to plot the mutiny. They were not going to play into his scam. The evolution of tourist bus psychology unfolded in the most surreal and comical way.

I became the liaison between the Japanese tourists. The Czechs wanted solidarity. We would not fold to this “criminal” who was about to hold us hostage in his guesthouse. If I sound melodramatic, it is because the events that followed still confound me several days after. When the bus finally meandered into Siem Reap, the Czechs were watching the Lonely Planet map intently. When the bus made a left turn away from central S.R., the dam broke. There was screaming, swearing, and hands beating the sides of the bus. “We’re being kidnapped! Call the Police! Stop the bus for the LOVE OF GOD!” I became silent and exchanged pensive looks with Louise. The Czechs didn’t want anyone to get off the bus. Solidarity. Louise and I knew full well that the bus had stopped, so we got off to a chorus of “don’t do it!” “If you give in to them you are stupid!” I had much different opinions. We left.

We got a Tuk-Tuk and found a guest house near the center of town and that was that. What a trip! In retrospect, I realize now that they were really scared. They thought their safety was in jeopardy. I was frightened by them more than the bus folks. My policy remains to never call for police in a country that has had death squads and torture chambers. Call me crazy.

2/21-23/06

I’m not sure where to start in explaining the experience of Angkor. This area was once the capital of one of the world’s most powerful kingdom, the Khmers. The Angkor region alone boasts 300 temples and historic sites. To see them all would take weeks and to appreciate them on anything other than a surface level would require several more years of poring over Buddhist, Hindu, and archaeological texts.

It’s comical that some claim that the French “discovered” Angkor in the 19th century. How could you lose a capital that once had a population of over a million people. Of course this ethnocentric western view implicitly shows how eastern sites should be “found” by the west to be understood at all. It’s ridiculous.

It’s hard to say what impacted me the most. At first I suppose it’s the intricacy of the grounds; from the carvings up to the actual building designs. I was constantly asking myself how such a grand undertaking could be completed within the time span they had, roughly 150 years. My logistics side kept asking how much labor was required, where was the quarry, and who was the financier? It truly rivals the pyramids in scope.

Louise and I were always remarking about the pleasing differences in the temples. I would arrive at another temple thinking, “Oh great, another old temple,” only to find myself swept up in the subtle uniqueness of the new surroundings. The overgrown trees of some temples, the circular motif where the square usually prevails, or temples that sought to meld Buddhism and Hinduism all gave a fresh spin on what could all begin to look the same if you got lazy.

The crown jewel of Angkor is without a doubt Angkor Wat. Its scale is astounding, and its massive size give the wanderer the ability to strike out on your own, to sidestep the crowds and tour groups in the galleries and terraces to find your quiet little corner of the past. You should really see this place twice. At sunset and sunrise. And make sure to eavesdrop on the tours being given that explain the beautifully restore reliefs that stretch around the building perimeter depicting mythic battles, the history of Khmer kings, heaven and hell, and the best: the churning of the sea of milk, where the universe is rotated around a holy mountain by the masses and gods pulling a giant 5-headed serpent. Incredible.

In terms of logistics, Angkor is easy but more expensive compared to Thailand. We hired Mr. Pisith, our kind, soft-spoken Tuk-Tuk driver. To really do Angkor justice you should buy the 3-day pass for $40 US and hire a tuk-tuk. Pisith charged $17.50 per person for all three days. We tipped him well. It’s a huge area, and biking it as many do would be really hot. Tuk-tuk was the way to go.

I flew back to Bangkok on the evening of the 23rd. Louise and I had to end our week-long travel streak as I ended my S.E. Asian travel (this round), and prepared to enter China.

I had to make the journey back into Bangkok for the night to stay once more at Suk 11, albeit a short visit. Of course the stay yielded another China contact, this time an Irishman named Mark who lives in Beijing.At the airport my flight was overbooked and I had to make a two-legged flight to Kunming via Chengdu. This made my day since they bumped me up to first class. I enjoyed a 3-course meal, 5 beers, and was called “sir” 22 times (I counted). Vain, I know.

I touched down in Kunming at 5:30. I was finally in China, this vast land of compounded expectations ready to be shattered and fulfilled. I have wanted to come on this personal discovery of China for some time now, especially as China seems to be rediscovering itself in a global context.

Kunming is modern and big. It has Japanese flair and building design, but on an American scale. The air is even clean, a point I was surprised to encounter given China’s reputation for pollution. I have settled in comfortably.

Kunming is a very walkable and bus friendly city, if you can crowd your way onto the bus. Somewhere in China’s brilliant 4,000 year old history, they forgot to invent the orderly line. Push or walk seems to be the mantra of the street.

At midday I was sitting in the city center plaza when an old Chinese codger introduced himself in decent English. He then proceeded with those infamous lines: “Back in 1944.” “Oh great,” I thought. My grandfather has somehow incarnated himself into this 78 year old Chinese man from around the globe. I listened patiently as he described the remarkable history of his city.

Kunming was never occupied by the Japanese. Yunnan was one of a handful of Chinese provinces to escape Japan’s imperial reach. It was, however, bombed heavily until the 23rd fighter group of the U.S. Flying Tigers 101st airborne were called away from the Burmese-Indian arena to aid the struggling Chinese. It was so interesting to listen to Jou’s stories about this region which is largely forgotten in the war history chronicles.

We soon took to the streets, slowly mind you, and Jou showed me all the historic buildings and markets around central Kunming. Everything is for sale in China. Birds of every variety, beetles on every corner (apparently they cure cancer when added to alcohol for a couple weeks), and dogs (some for pets, some not so lucky). All he asked for in return was some kind of foreign currency, he being a collector. Having just come from Cambodia, I still had 1,100 riel in my wallet which he was thrilled to liberate from me. What a great guy and interesting day. I had a personal tour of Kunming, and all for about 25.5 cents!

Next stop Lijiang to the north.

My bike was stolen once, but I got it back. I’ve forgotten expensive gadgets, backpacks, and wallets in random places to find them safely where I left them upon returning. And now, the streak continues. I’ve read the warning to watch your stuff carefully on sleepers in China, but I got a bit lazy. So I wasn’t a bit surprised to find my poorly attended satchel gone halfway through the night on my way to Lijiang. There was nothing important in it, just little things that would be a hassle to replace. I turned over and went back to sleep. Obviously the thief wasn’t interested in the bag’s contents either, because when I heard a rustling behind me 30 minutes later, I turned to find my bag sitting beside my bunk, all items present. I must have a big tank of good karma stashed somewhere.

We arrived in Lijiang at 6:00. The mountain scenery that surrounds this gateway to Tibet is fantastic. And when I arrived in Old Town Lijiang there was a fuzziness about this place, with its tiled rooftops and white stucco, for it appears to have stumbled out of some dream that China had of itself. A maze of cobbled streets weave themselves over goldfish filled streams and past shops selling high-end items that may or may not have anything to do with the culture of this region. If you want to buy it, then it’s definitely Naxi, the largest minority of this region.

Damaged badly 10 years ago in a major earthquake, Lijiang has been rebuilt with the tourist in mind. It is a huge draw for domestic tourists, the streets swarming in the pleasant afternoons with Chinese, camera in tow. And it has been found by the backpackers also, with the clock ticking down for the true foreign invasion to begin. Perhaps this will be in July. I keep forgetting that I’m traveling in the off-season.

Just north of Old Town is the photog heaven of Black Dragon Pool where painted pagodas, the clear pond, and elegant bridges are perfectly framed by the towering peaks of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain in the distance. If Lijiangs beauty is any precursor to what is in store tomorrow at Tiger Leaping Gorge, I shouldn’t leave disappointed.