Mark’s Vagabonding Blog

Well, the last time I wrote a somewhat disconcerting post, I followed it up with some pictures. My last post was, I’m sure, somewhat disconcerting to some people, so I will follow that up with some pictures as well. These pictures are not as good as some of the others I’ve posted, but some of them complement previous posts.

And yes, from my last post you may have gathered that I did have a pretty horrible last couple of weeks. Everything that could go wrong did. I spent a night in the hospital, among other things. And for the first time, I actually considered coming home. I have hit the midway point of this trip, and with it, I hit a wall as well. But I’m not going to let these setbacks beat me. I think I will stop worrying so much about money, and start staying at better (not bat shit infested) places, and eating better, and doing more to have fun, even if it cost some money.

So on with the pictures.

Click on the images to see them full size.

This is the room I puked in. I don’t think it had anything to do with the fact that the room had this bat in it. But check out all the shit that had accumulated on the bottom of the window. Some of it dropped down onto the floor. I didn’t notice it when I first arrived because the door to the bathroom was swung open, hiding the bat . . . and the shit.

Saw this scene on my bicycle ride depicted in this post

Sunflowers near the Mekong River in Vientiane, Laos

Have you ever seen one of these?

My hammock outside the bungalow from my famous squat toilet post

I got wasted on shrooms at this place. And listened to reggae music all night

Vang Vieng, Laos. I only rode on one of those tubes, down the river for about 2 hours.

Chiang Mai, Thailand

My bungalow from this post

On Don Khon, of the 4000 Islands, Laos

Shot from Don Khong, of the 4000 Islands

So cute I had to include him twice.

Sunset on Don Khon, 4000 Islands.

Found this guy in my room in Vang Vieng, Laos

The famous bungalow

Vang Vieng, Laos

From one of the 10 hour boat rides to the Thai border.

From the waterfall, at Don Khon

Okay, that’s all for today

I often find occasion to utter the sentence, “This was covered in a Seinfeld episode.” And I’m sure many other fans of the show have made similar statements. Well, the episode I have in mind today is the one where the gang was headed to a party. George and Kramer were in charge of picking up the wine, while Jerry and Elaine grabbed a cake (chocolate babka) to bring to the party. Of course, the seemingly easy tasks turned out to be miserable ordeals for all of them.

Do you remember this episode? I’m sure you’ve seen it a thousand times in syndication at 7:30pm on the WB. In the liquor store George’s grossly oversized Gor-Tex coat knocked over a display of bottles, and he ended up having to pay for it with the coat. Also, their car was blocked in by Saddam Hussein, but the owner of the liquor store wouldn’t let them wait in the store, so they were forced to freeze outside until Saddam came back to move the car.

Okay, now your brain is working like this:

Hmm, Mark’s in Southeast Asia where it’s hotter than a Vinnie’s Pizza oven, so there’s no reason for him to be wearing an oversized Gor-Tex coat. And (for those who know me) he doesn’t drink so he probably wouldn’t be in a liquor store, unless he was buying something to bring to a party, which is unlikely. And Saddam is on the witness stand at his trial in Iraq so he can’t be blocking in Mark’s car, which he probably doesn’t even have. So it’s gotta be something else within this episode that has happened to him. Hmm, what happened to the other two in that episode . . . let me think now . . . Oh, I don’t remember, c’mon Mark just tell me what happened! No wait wait wait, I think I remember. They were in the bakery, and Rachel and Pheobe were playing a joke on Chandler and . . . ooops wrong show. Oh Mark just tell me.

At the bakery, Jerry and Elaine had to wait forever to be served. Then the person before them got the last chocolate babka (That person was going to the same party), so they had to settle for an inferiorly flavored babka. When they got the babka, they found a hair in it.

Okay, there are probably bakeries over there, but are there babkas? I don’t even know what a babka is. And is there even chocolate in Southeast Asia? My God, there might not even be chocolate over there! How can he stay over there this long with no chocolate!? If there’s no chocolate over there I’m never going, not even for a week, or a day even . . . Hmm, do I have any of that Ben & Jerry’s left? No I think I finished it last night. I’ll read this later, I’m going to get some Chunky Monkey.

So then they had to wait even longer for the next babka, and when the lady finally gave it to them, she coughed all over it. Also, while sitting down waiting their turn, some guy came in with a cane and smashed it on Elaine’s foot, possibly breaking her toe.

Oh, I love Chunky Monkey. I’ll eat this and watch some TV, then go to bed. Oooo and I thnk this is American Idol night. Chunky Monkey and American Idol; it doesn’t get any better than this. What I wouldn’t do to be able to eat this Chunky Monkey off of that Simon’s hot body. Still fifteen minutes to go, let me see what’s on now. News, news, basketball, news, basketball, Entertainment Tonight. Oh, Entertainment Tonight, that reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where every time Kramer watched Entertainment Tonight he had a seiz . . . Seinfeld, wasn’t there something I was just reading . . . Oh yeah, Mark’s blog. I still have time before Simon comes on. Let’s see, where was I? Gor-Tex, Saddam Hussein, babka, oh here we are.

And Jerry decided to eat a black and white cookie while they waited. He also mentioned to Elaine that he was working on a 17 year streak of not vomiting. Or was it 14 years, I don’t rememeber? Anyway it was either 14 or 17 years.

I know what happened! Mark was in a store (it doesn’t have to be a liquor store) that had a display of bottles. He was wearing his backpacks (The Gor-Tex coat), and the backpacks knocked over the display of bottles. After that he was in a Taxi, stuck in Bangkok traffic casued by the demontrations against Thai Prime Minister Thaksin (scorned leader of a country), and the driver had the AC cranked up, freezing him. Then he and June went to the bakery to get a vanilla babka, and someone smashed June’s toe, and Mark threw up! Wow, that is amazingly similar, and it’s perfectly viable.

Well if you are thinking that all of the things in the episode happened you are crazy, that’s just too coincidental. But something from this episode did mirror my life. I’m sure you can probably guess what it is.

I too had been working on a very long non-vomiting streak. I’m not sure exactly how long because I can’t remember the last time I puked, but I know it was a very long time ago. I knew coming into this trip that my streak would be in jeopardy. And at 3:45am, Tuesday morning, March 14 (Thai time), in a bat shit infested Chiang Mai guesthouse room, my streak, Like Jerry’s, came to a hellish end.

When I first arrived in Chiang Mai I ate at the guesthouse restaurant across from mine (not the bat shit infested one), because my guesthouse had no restaurant. While there, someone named Mike hopped on a bicycle to go for a ride. The owner of the guesthouse said to him, “Mike, you’re feeling better?” Mike got sick, he thinks, from eating strawberries he got from one of the trekking tours.

“Everyone who comes to Chaing Mai gets sick,” the guesthouse owner said, with a curious hint of pride in her voice.

Having not thrown up for time immemorial, until I got to Chiang Mai, I have to believe that lady knows what she speaketh. Yes, I did get sick earlier in my trip, but that didn’t involve any spewing of noodles and vegetables from my mouth . . .

Ewww, I wish he knocked over a display of bottles or found a hair in his babka, or even had both toes smashed, because all this talk of spewing vegetables is gonna make me spew. Especially after eating that entire pint of Chunky Monkey. That’s it, I’m not reading any more, he makes me sick.

Two consecutive 10-hour slowboat rides in two days–without the aide of Dramamine–up the mighty Mekong River from Luang Prabang, Laos, to the Thai border, with nary a queaz, has all but confirmed the eradication of my embarrassing, lifelong affliction with motion sickness. The main indicator of this eradication, however, was not that I could handle the rides themselves, but that I was able to read (A complex, fascinating, and very funny book, written by Salman Rushdie, called Midnight’s Children), while the vessle continually rocked side to side as it bisected the legendary river. Previously, I would not have been able to read beyond, “It was a dark and stormy n . . . Uhhhg, gotta look up,” while riding in any vehicle (Unless I was the driver. Which is a strange phenomenon, like not being able to tickle yourself. I once read an entire Stephen King novel while driving from Montgomery, Alabama to Twin Falls, Idaho, and not once did I have to look up from nausea. Nor did I find the self-tickling very amusing.).

Following the initial near overdose, which was the Speedboat to Sihanoukville (aided by Dramamine), the healing elixir, I believe, came in smaller doses: a few short boat rides; numerous road trips over bumpy terrain and winding roads; a tube ride down the river in Vang Vieng, Laos. Either that or the wax in my ears has accumulated to a perfect balance, offsetting what triggers the nausea. (Doesn’t motion sickness have something to do with your ears?)

There is one challenge that I will have to face before the eradication can be deemed certifiably complete. And that is a protracted stay on a small boat in the middle of a raging ocean . . . or an elephant ride. I’m not kidding. When I was in Thailand last year, I took an elephant ride. You had a choice between a 10 minute ride or a half hour ride. If I’d have chosen the half hour ride, I would have puked 11 minutes into it.

But believing, now, that my affliction has been conquered, a whole new world has been opened up to me! A world I have avoided, like squat toilets, all of my life, but achingly craved to join. A world of boats, canoes, kayaks, inner tubes, roller coasters and other vomit inducing rides, snorkling (I got incredibly nauseous the only time I have ever snorkled), scuba diving, and archery. No more shall I decline offers of nautical adventure with the embarrassing reply, “No thanks, I can’t, I get seasick.”

I also believe the curse of seasickness has been the obstacle that has kept me from becoming a rich man. Here’s the logic: I’ve lived near the ocean all of my life (except for the 3 years I was away at college earning a BA in mathematics, which, ironically, hasn’t helped me to become rich either) and have always dreamed of owning a boat. I’ve never voiced this dream to anyone, but it’s always been there, like the dress I kept under my bed. While living in Sarasota, Florida, I frequently went to Bayfront Park, which is also the dock for the opulent boat owners of the city. I would jealously watch my wealthy neighbors as they prepared for a cruise, or I would just imagine that one of the most extravagant boats belonged to me. Before I left for my trip here, that boat I always admired most suddenly donned a for sale sign. It read “$850,000.”

My boat wouldn’t be a boat at all, but a yacht, with a full professional kitchen, 4 or 5 bedrooms, a living room, a den with a fireplace, a pool and jacuzzi, a tennis court (with a net to catch errant hits to protect the whales), and if there’s room, maybe even a foozball table. But what good is owning such a magnificent ship if I will never set sail? What’s the point of becoming rich if I will never buy a boat?

The disappearance of this hindrance, this seasickness, has suddenly thrust upon me the incentive I’ve been lacking all of my life! Incentive to live the dream! Incentive to become . . . a billionaire!

Donations greatly appreciated.

I have learned something that breaks my heart, and levels my soul. I’ve recently discovered that I am not a true vagabonder. I had my suspicions, but now it’s been confirmed.

As I mentioned in my last post, my next stop was the deep south of Laos, to a place called Si Phan Don. This translates to 4000 Islands. Although there may actually be 4000 islands in this region of the mighty Mekong River, only a few are inhabitable. Most of them are about as big as a circus elephant. But the inhabitable ones are quite large. The largest island, Don Khong, is about the size of a small Montana town.

After the 2 hour minibus ride from Pakse, followed by a 5 minute boat ride, I hauled my backpacks onto the island of Don Khong. On the short boat ride to the island you can sense the beauty as you pass the tiny green islands on the serene river. But the island itself doesn’t hold much beauty, the view of the river is what pays the bills. For such a large island there aren’t many guesthouses. There are only about 6 or 7 on about a 400 meter stretch of land on the southeastern side of the island. One of the guesthouse names I had written down was Pons, and that was the first one of them I saw, so I went there.

“AC or fan?” the guy (Pon?) at the desk asked.

“What are the prices?” I repied.

“Ten dollars for AC. Five dollars for fan.”

“Fan,” I said.

“In the back.”

So I went to the building in the back, which was actually a separate guesthouse called Souk Sabai. It was built in April of 2005, so it was quite clean. The sink still even had it’s stopper . . . attached to the chain! I love when the sink has a stopper. That means I can easily do my laundry. The bed was as hard as pavement, but that’s not always a bad thing. So I was happy with my $5/night room, except that it had no view of the river. But none of the guesthouses on this island were right on the river, however the restaurants were.

That first day I was exhausted from the sleepless, overnight bus ride with cuddle bunny, so I just relaxed a little, and then I took a short walking tour of the immediate area. There was nothing much to see, unless you had just been dropped off directly from Danbury, Connecticut. Then you would be frazzled by all the free roaming fowl, swine, and bovine, as well as the general way of life, and the seemingly poverish conditions. Having been here for 4 months, I would be frazzled if I didn’t see those things. There were a couple of large Buddhist temples close by as well.

The next day, I woke up with the roosters, had breakfast, then rented a bicycle for 10,000 kip. I put the cookies and vegetable crackers that I’d bought in Vientiane in my backpack, along with 2 bottles of water, sunscreen, insect repelent, my medicine bag, a shirt, and my New York Jets cap, and peddled away under the overcast sky.

The previous day had been filled with bright sunshine, so I was glad the sun was hiding today, because it made the temperature more bearable. Plus, I have an aversion to applying sunscreen to my body: it feels yicky, and it’s a pain in ass to get off, at least the cheap stuff I have. And besides, the sun was hidden today, and this boy, who had spent the last 5 years in sunny Florida, USA, knows that the sun can’t get you if it’s hidden behind the clouds. And who needs a map, it’s an island, how can you get lost on an island?

I stuck to the paved roads, and the ride was relatively scenic, especialy when the river was in view. There were also green mountains in the near distance to admire. I rode through several small villages to many cries of, “Sabaidi!” from children and adults alike. Sabaidi is the Lao word for hello. Incidentally, almost everyone who answers a phone in Southeast Asia–at least where I’ve been so far–answers it, “Hello?”

At one point in my exploration I came upon some very young children who said something to me that wasn’t sabaidi. Then they started chasing me, and holding out their hands while still shouting the words. I think they wanted money, or a Sammy Sosa rookie card. One girl briefly grabbed a hold of my pants pocket–the one with my camera in it. So I peddled as hard as could and started kicking at them, but I couldn’t shake them. They really like Sammy Sosa. Finally, my manly strength was too much for the little tykes, and I put some distance between us. I was free, but out of breath, so I peddled a little further to make sure I was far enough away from the little psychos, then took a break. Of course, I didn’t really kick at them, but I do think they wanted a Sammy Sosa rookie card. I took a couple of gulps of my now blood-warm water and continued riding, with a watchful eye out for young children wearing Chicago Cubs jerseys.

By now I’d been riding continually for about 3 hours, stopping occasionally to take a photo or admire a scene: a view of the river; the lush green rice fields; two pigs fucking. So it was time to snack on some cookies and crackers. In all the time I’d been riding, and with all the turns I’ve made, I was still sure I hadn’t seen the same thing twice. I was clueless as to where I was on the island. Also I had a sinking feeling that my decision not to apply sunscreen was going to send me back to the hospital.

As I continued to ride–a little more labored now–I saw another traveller riding what appeared to be his own bike coming toward me. My bicycle was a girly bike with a basket in front, and a bell that didn’t work. I would have loved to ride through the villages going, “Ring ring, ring ring.” But it rode rather smoothly. I stopped the guy to ask if he knew where we were in relation to the guesthouses. At first he seemed to know what he was talking about, but later I learned that he was as clueless as I was. But at least he knew that the guesthouses were on the southeast side of the island. That’s more than I knew. So I continued to ride in the same direction for about twenty munutes when I remembered that I had a compass! It was given to me by my good friend Alan as a gift for being in his wedding party, about 5 days before I left for my trip. I got it out of my backpack, along with the directions on how to use it, and tried to figure out where the hell I was. From what I could determine, southeast seemed to be that way, so that’s the way I went. Half an hour later I started to recognize things, I was home at last. Man, thanks.

The next two days I relaxed in the shade to protect my badly sun-burned skin.

The island I really wanted to visit was Don Khon. That one is supposed to be nicer, and I would have gone there sooner if it hadn’t been for the sunburn. The very scenic boat ride to Don Khon cost 30,000 kip and took 1 1/2 hours (I think the speedboat to Sihanoukville cured me of my motion sickness, because I’ve been on a few boats since then, and I haven’t felt the least bit woozy, and without the aid of Dramamine. Granted these boats have been on the calm river, but I’ve gotten nauseous laying on a raft in the pool). Actually they tricked us. They don’t take you to Don Khon, they take you to Don Dhet, which is right next to Don Khon. Some people do want to go to Don Dhet, so it’s no trick to them. But you have to walk the length of Don Dhet to get to the bridge that takes you to Don Khon, a 45 minute walk with heavy backpacks in the hot sun.  I suppose you could take a tuk tuk there, but I didn’t see any when I arrived, so I just walked.

There is a big difference between Don Khong and these two neighboring islands. Don Khong is more civilized. Accomodations are traditional guesthouses, with 24-hour electricity and western toilets. Don Khon and Don Dhet are more idyllic, but also more primitive. Accomodations are bungalows, and I believe electricity was just introduced to these islands this January (but don’t quote me on that), and it only works from 6:00pm until 10:00pm. And that means no AC, or even fans. And toilets are of the squat variety. There is at least one upscale accomodation on Don Khon which may have modern ammenities, but it is way out of my price range.

The first place I saw that was on my list was Mr. Boune’s. I didn’t have to approach him, because when you are walking with backpacks attached to your body, you are a walking neon sign that says, “You can have some of my money if you just ask.”

One advantage to these islands is that the bungalows are set right on the river, with hammocks on the porch, offering stunning views. But Mr. Boune first showed me a bungalow off the river, with the advantage being a private bathroom inside the bungalow, but still with a squat toilet. He said that this one was $4.00/night. Then he showed me one on the river. This one had shared bathrooms with squat toilets. And both rooms had mosquito nets over the beds. This one he said was also $4.00.

This is the kind of thing I’ve been looking foward to this entire trip: a peaceful (except for the roosters) place on the river with a gorgeous view, where I can relax in the shade on my hammock and read or write. So I chose the riverside bungalow with the shared bathroom, which would not exactly pass any hygiene inspections. Normally I always opt for the private bathroom whenever possible, but this view was too good to pass up.

The first thing I did was lay myself in the hammock, because I was wasted from the long walk in the hot sun, sandwiched by my backpacks. This is another reason I think I’ve been cured of motion sickness. Hammocks used to make me nauseous too, but I felt fine in this one.

Another reason to go to Don Khon is that there is a magnificent waterfall within walking distance. Upon rising from the hammock, I started walking in a random direction. I wasn’t going anywhere in particular, but I had the feeling I was headed toward the waterfall, so I asked someone if I was, and I was. The waterfall was wonderful. It wasn’t a big waterfall like the one in Ratanakiri, Cambodia, it was several smaller falls among beautiful rock formations, with a very large stream flowing through the middle. There was also a small beach at the end where you could swim, but I just dipped my feet in. It was incredibly hot, and the sky was cloudless. And guess what? I didn’t put any sunscreen on. I didn’t know I was going that far so I never put it on. But I was wearing my shirt that covers my arms, an even my hands, completely. And I also had on my Jets cap.

When I got back to my bungalow I was very hot, sweaty, and tired, I needed a shower badly. But these bungalows are so basic that they did not supply a towel, and I didn’t have one of my own. So I just took off my shirt and laid in the hammock. Not that you really need a towel here, because you could just naturally dry off in the sun. But how was I going to cover myself from the shower to the bungalow? Yes, I did start to realize that these questions were just excuses for me not to use that bathroom. Eventually, I went in as I was and just wet my hair to cool off. While I was in there the lights came on. It was 6:00pm.

I put on my long pants, socks and boots to protect my legs and feet from the potentially dangerous twilight and evening mosquitos, and applied the insect repelent to my arms, then I went to my bungalow’s restaurant to eat. In the restuarant I had a long conversation with with a nice kid from Sweden. In our conversation I’d mentioned that I’d never slept with a mosquito net before, and had never used a squat toilet, at least for pooping. He told me how to the use the mosquito net, which is actually quite simple as long as it’s already attached. Then he took me into the bathroom and demonstrated how to take a crap in the squat toilet. Man, he had the longest . . . poop I’d ever seen, and so . . . brown. Okay, I know you didn’t believe that. But he did say that he would rather use a squat toilet as opposed to a western toilet, especially a shared one, because it’s more sanitary: you don’t have to touch anything. Which is true I suppose, except for the water bucket that you have to pour into the toilet, and something to hold onto for support. but I’d never seen a sanitary looking public squat toilet during my entire trip, and this one was no exception. I’d used several to pee in, but not poop. I’ve been trying to avoid it this entire trip. But I didn’t have to go yet, so I’d have to wait until tomorrow morning for my moment of truth.

While in Sihanoukville, Cambodia, about 3 months ago, I bought a book: The Collector, by John Fowles. I also still had the Michael Critchon book I bought in Koh Samet, Thailand. So I’d been carrying these books around for quite a while now. While in Bangkok, I’d gone to the Khaosan Road area to try and trade them in at one of the many used book shops there. On my first attempt, I didn’t make a trade because they wouldn’t offer me enough for my books, and they also charge too much for theirs. But while I was in one of the shops, some kid was trying to sell his books to them. They would not give him a fair deal either so he got angry and said that he would rather give them away to someone than sell them to the shop. So he gave me one. It was The Loop, by Nicholas Evans.

So I read that book too, but now I had 3 books making my backpack a little heavier than it needed to be. Shortly after, June went to Lampang for a few days, so I stayed in the Khaosan area while she was gone. I tried again to get rid of my books. The first place I went to, the guy offered me 180 baht for the 3 books. I felt I could do better elsewhere, so I went to the other shops, but no one would match it. Some wouldn’t even take any of the books. I don’t think they realized the John Fowles book is not about collecting butterflies. It is called The Collector, and there is a picture of a butterfly on the cover, but it is not about collecting butterflies.

Anyway, I went back to the first guy to make the trade and get it over with. As I was there looking for another book to get–which I would still have to pay about 70 baht for, even though I was giving him 3 books–someone came in to sell his Lonely Planet: Laos Guidebook. Wow, that’s exactly what I need, I’m going to Laos in about 2 weeks! I should make the guy an offer. But I didn’t. The owner said he’d give him 150 baht for it (These types of books are very expensive here). The guy said, “C’mon, two-hundred, look at it, it’s practically brand new, I hardly used it.” “One-seventy,” the owner said. All this time, I’m telling myself, “Come on, offer him the two-hundred baht.” But I’m still a very tentative person, despite what I did at the Cambodian border, so I kept quiet. About a second after they struck a deal, I opened my mouth, “I’ll give you two-hundred baht for it.” But it was too late, the money changed hands. I noticed the owner gave him the money quickly when he saw that I looked interested and was about to say something. The customer said to me, “Ahh, man, if you were a little quicker I would have just given it to you.” Then he continued, “Well, now you know how much he paid for it, see if you can strike a deal with him.” I said, “He’s going to want seven-hundred baht for it.” So the guy left and I continued to look for a book. When I had chosen a book, and took it to the counter, the guy grabbed it out of my hand, and gave me my bag of books back and said, “I don’t need your books!” Whoa. Either I pissed him off because I tried to take some of his business by offering the guy the money for the Laos book, or because I said he’d charge 700 baht for it, which he would. Either way, I was still stuck with the 3 books, and I’d missed out on the free Laos book, all because I’m not aggressive. This is the kind of thing I hoped this trip would help me conquer. So I vowed never to deal with the book shop owners near Khaosan Road again.

Back at the bungalow on Don Khon, my new Swedish friend mentioned that he’d just finished the book he’d been reading.

“Oh,” I said, “What book?”

“Midnight’s Children, by Salman Rushdie.”

“Is it in English?” (I’d seen many Europeans reading books in their languages.)

“Yes.”

Awesome, this is a book I’d been considering reading. So I asked him if he wanted to trade. I knew the John Fowles book was the only one I had that was worthy of Rushdie, so I told him I had that one. He’d never heard of John Fowles, but agreed to the trade. He also added that his book was in very poor condition. I said I didn’t care, as long as it was all there and legible. The book is in pretty bad shape, most of the pages are falling out, but it is all there. I won’t be able to trade this one at all, unless I get lucky like he did. I don’t care though, at least I have something new to read.

When we left the restaurant, and I went back to my bungalow to get the book for him, I noticed that my light did not work (which is not necassarily a bad thing, since light attracts bugs). So I had to use my camera’s LCD screen for it’s light. I got my flashlight out of my backpack, and that didn’t work either. Damn! I think it was somehow knocked into the on position in the backpack and the batteries died. So now I had to use the camera’s light for the rest of the evening.

I was still feeling tired, hot, and headachy from the day I’d had, and I was not looking forward to lying on that uncomfortable bungalow bed (which had a huge stain on the sheet), under the mosquito net with no fan. So I laid in the hammock for a while, and considered staying there all night.

Eventually I did go into the bungalow. I put the mosquito net down over the bed, which I immediately noticed had a hole in it big enough for a frog to jump through. So if a mosquito wanted to give me malaria, that net would have welcomed him to my blood. What I don’t like about malaria is that the mosquitos probably have no idea they are killing people. I think I would feel better about it if they knew. Then it wouldn’t just be dumb luck. If he knew he had the power to kill people, you’d think he’d pick and choose, right? Even John Wayne Gacy chose who he wanted to kill. So I’d feel better about it if I knew I was chosen rather than being killed by some random bite from an insect that was hungry. So I laid down on the bed and hoped that tonight wasn’t the night the mosquitos chose to drink the blood of all white guys named Mark.

I shared this bungalow with a French couple. Our rooms were separated by whatever the bungalow was made from, which might as well have been toilet paper, because I could hear everything that went on in their room. Luckily, they didn’t do anything perverse or strange. They may have been discussing whether the guy could screw all the cows on the island in under an hour for all I know, because they spoke French. But it seemed like they were just a normal couple. But whatever separated us was so thin that I could hear the guy breathing. Not snoring, breathing! I was sure I was getting no sleep here, so I contemplated leaving the island the next morning, and going back to Pakse to explore the rest of the south a little sooner than I anticipated. But I decided to wait until morning, after my squat toilet experience to make the decision.

Miraculously, I slept! When I awoke in the morning I was stunned that I actually slept on that bed, in that room, in that heat, with no fan. I must have been pretty tired. I went into the bathroom to pee first, then I would think about whether I would poop in there or not. And I did have to go. When I went into the bathroom, I saw that the sink was filled with water, and about 3000 dead bugs were floating in and a around it. Bugs that were attracted to the light that shone from 6:00 to 10:00 last night. But clean bathroom or not, I still had to decide if I would use that squatter.

Like I said, I’ve avoided squat toilets this entire trip, and held it for what I know best, western, sit down, toilets. I’ve never even pooped in the woods. What scares me is that I’m afraid I won’t pull my pants down properly, or I won’t squat far enough, or something, and I’ll end up getting it all over my pants somehow. Plus it just seems weird to me. In fact, every single time I have ever pooped in my life, it’s been on a western, sit down toilet, except when I was a baby and I would poop in my pants. If you are into numbers, that would be roughly 14,000 consecutive, sit down and read a book, poops!

Ultimately, and shamefully, I decided that that was too big a number to mess with. And a person cannot refuse to poop for too long. So my decision was to pack my bags and leave this peaceful, idyllic island, and go back to the mainland to extend my shitting streak. This is why I say that I am not a true vagabonder. A true vagabonder adapts to the way of life of where he chooses to travel.

So I ordered my banana pancake from the bungalow restaurant and asked the lady how to get to Pakse. She told me she had a boat leaving at 9:00am for $2.00 that would take me to where I could get a minibus to Pakse. I agreed to that, and when I finished my pancake, I paid for everything: The meal from the previous night; the pancake; the boat ride; and the bungalow.

I watched her add up the bill on the calculator, and she only charged me $2.00 for the bungalow. That’s odd, Mr. Boune had said it was $4.00, but I didn’t say anything. She did it again and this time voiced the itemization, and it was the same, so I wasn’t seeing things. On the minibus back to Pakse, I talked to a guy who had been on Don Dhet for 5 weeks, and he told me the standard price for bungalows there is $2.00. Damn, if I’d have known it was only going to be $2.00 a night I would have shit in a God damned ashtray!

About a minute after the dubbed kung fu movie ended, the lights inside the overnight bus from Vientiane, Laos to Pakse, Laos went off, engulfing us in darkness. Thirty seconds later, her head found my shoulder. It had only rested there a minute before she realized it, and she straightened herself back into her seat. Twenty minutes later my shoulder became her pillow once again. This time it lasted for about an hour. And we still had about 7 hours to go.

Three or four days earlier, after spending the better part of a month with June in Bangkok–shooting and selecting pictures to show you guys (see my last 3 posts)–I’d said goodbye to June, and to Bangkok. I boarded the 8:45pm train to Nong Khai, Thailand, one of the 5 border towns from Thailand into Laos. The scheduled 12 hour trip took more like 14 hours, but I was in the sleeper car, which I was lucky to get. I procrastinated in purchasing the ticket, and when June first called they said the sleepers were all booked. But she called back after finding out that all the buses were booked too, and they said they had added more cars. So I went alone to Hua Lumphong station to buy the ticket, letting June sleep. I got a ticket on the preferable bottom berth for 658 baht (approx $16.50 US). Then I came back to June’s to spend our last few hours together.

The beds are actually quite comfortable, as long as you are under 5’8″ (I mean the beds on the train). But it is still very difficult for me to fall asleep on them. I was at the end of the car where the noise is the greatest, plus it can be a very jarring ride. And even if it was a smooth ride I would still have to contend with the snorers, who have obviously done this many times before.

So I arrived at Nong Khai at around 10:45am the following morning, on no sleep. A short 20 baht (50 cents) tuk tuk ride later, I was at the border. Those devout readers of my blog know that the last time I departed Thailand by land, I had quite a harrowing experience (If you missed it here’s part Part 1 and Part 2 of my crossing into Cambodia. Very good reads I’ve been told.). But the crossing here is a bridge called the Thai-Lao Friendship Bridge, so you wouldn’t expect any trouble here. And for the most part there wasn’t. I did get ripped off however, but not here.

I purchased my Lao visa in Bangkok. I think if you get your visa at the border it is only good for 15 days. If you get it ahead of time it’s good for 30 days, for the same price (but don’t quote me on that). So I went to the Lao Embassy in Bangkok, which is a short taxi ride from June’s apartment, to get the visa. The visa cost $35 US. There is an option to get it within an hour for an extra $5, or pick it up the next day for no extra charge. But they don’t really give you the option. It all happens so fast that you’ve paid the $5 and you wait an hour for the visa. And that’s fine because it saves you another trip, but since I was kind of close to the embassy, it would have been cheaper for me to come back the next day. But most tourists in Bangkok are not staying where I was so it would make sense for them to get it that day. But I accepted it, what the hell, I might as well get it over with now. But that’s not where I got ripped off.

When he told me the price he said, “1600 baht.” But I didn’t think I had that much baht on me so I asked if I could pay in US dollars. He said, “Forty-two dollars.” Again, it all happened so quickly I didn’t have time to calculate everything in my head, and I was thinking in terms of baht to dollars, not $35 + $5. I gave him a $50 bill, and he gave me 320 baht back (approx $8). Yes, that’s $42 dollars like he said, but that’s also $2 more than it should be: $35 + $5 = $40. This rip off was opposite from the Cambodia rip off. It cost more to pay in baht there.

But the actual crossing was a totally opposite experience from the Cambodian crossing. Having already secured my visa, I could go directly to the booth without applying for the visa on arrival, known in these parts as a VOA. When the officer stamped the entry visa on my passport, he only stamped it for 15 days. I said, “Isn’t it supposed to be thirty days?” He looked at it and said, “Oh, yeah,” and he changed it. Then in all sincerity, he said, “Sorry about that.” I said, “That’s Okay.” Then I kissed him. Okay I didn’t kiss him, but I wanted too. Those Cambodian guys can learn something from this guy. Well, it is called the Friendship Bridge after all.

Next, I needed to get to Vientiane, the capital of Laos. That’s where I would be staying for next 3 days. It’s about 23 km away from the border. On the grounds of the border station there is a company offering transpoartation to Vientiane, but I knew there was a cheaper way. I kept trying to get the girl to tell me where the cheaper rides were, but she kept pushing hard for me to use her service. Finally I walked away. There was a duty free shop across the street, so I headed there to get something to snack on (I didn’t have enough time to pick up anything in Bangkok before I left, so I hadn’t eaten anything in a while. June and I had to run through the train station in Bangkok to catch my train. It’s our standard practice). On my way to the shop I noticed a bunch of tuk tuks across the street from it. One of them was about to leave, and the driver waved to me. I decided to forgo food for another few minutes and take the ride, since this must be the cheaper transportation I was looking for. And I know they only leave once they’re full, and this one was full. I walked over to the tuk tuk and asked the driver how much. He said, “One dollar.” I repeated it and he nodded his head yes. That’s 5 times cheaper than the lady was asking.

When we arrived in Vientiane, I handed the guy a one dollar bill (They accept U.S. Dollars, Thai Baht, and Lao Kip here). He wouldn’t take the dollar, he wanted more. I reminded him that he said one dollar. He took out a Thai 20 baht bill and put it with the dollar, his way of telling me that’s how much he wanted now. After a little back and forth, I gave in and took out a 20 baht bill and gave him the one dollar and twenty baht ($1.50). I’ve been ripped off a lot on this trip. Fifty cents here, a dollar there, two dollars at the most, but it all adds up when you are trying to make a small amount of money last a year.

Anyway, I spent and uneventful 3 days in Vientiane, a nice little town. I did spend a little too much on accomodations though: $10 the first night, and $8 the next two. Well, I wouldn’t say it was totally uneventful. I did go to the ATM machines and withdrew 3,000,000 Kip. No, I didn’t type too many zeros. I’m a millionairre!

If you look at a map of Laos, you will see that Vientiane is in the middle of this long and narrow country. So I had a decision to make. How am I going to explore the country? Ultimately I decided to go to the extreme south first and work my way up to the mountainous north, where I’ll have a choice to either go to Vietnam, China, or back to Thailand (Which I really haven’t had a chance to explore yet, even though I’ve been there for 3 months on this trip) next. So I bought a bus ticket to the southern town of Pakse, a 10 hour overnight ride. This is where I should have come into Laos from Thailand in the first place. Saving me this trip. I belieive I got ripped off once again–this time by the lady at my guesthouse–on the price of this bus ticket. But it was my own stupid fault so I accept it as that. And this is where we entered this story.

My assigned seat was in the back of the gigantic, upscale, 32 seat, VIP bus. Curiously, the back seat patrons are not as highly valued as everyone else on the bus. The seats don’t recline as far as the others, and oddly, our blankets were inferior to every other seat’s blankets. I was one of the first people on the bus, so I was able to see and feel the other blankets. They were thicker and softer than ours, and their’s were all purple while ours were green. This further makes me think I was ripped off. The ticket cost me 190,000 kip (approx $19.00 US). You would think they’d charge less for the back seat, since they show the inferiority with the thin, coarse blankets. The lady knew I was getting the back seat (she told me), and I think she still charged me more than what a regular seat was worth. I’d seen signs at other places for less, but this is why it was my fault. For some reason I thought one of the signs I saw said 190,000 kip, but when I went back to look at it again after purchasing the ticket from my guesthouse, I saw that it said 170,000, not 190,000. I’m starting to get loopy.

In the other two back seats were 2 girls from Austrailia (The only other foreigners on the bus), and next to me was a middle-aged Lao woman.

I didn’t really mind that she was using my shoulder as a pillow, but this was going to be a long ride. Almost immediately after removing her head from my shoulder after having it there for an hour, she pressed her entire body against mine, and turned the other way, now pressing her ass against me, as if she wanted me to spoon her. Later she rested her foot on top of mine and brought her head back to me. A good portion of her body was clearly in my seat.

Now if this was a man, I would have felt very uncomfortable. I would never have let it get beyond the initial head on shoulder bit. But men are weird that way, as long as it’s a female it’s okay. But this lady was getting pretty carried away. Maybe if we’d had some kind of communication before hand, it wouldn’t have been so bad. At least I would have felt like I knew her a little. But we hadn’t even made eye-contact for God’s sake. I started to wonder if this was standard practice in Laos. I’d seen some other girls on the bus that I’d wished it was, but I also saw some that I was glad it was not.

Then she managed to move her leg so it was underneath my hand. Now my hand is resting on her leg, and her head is on my shoulder, more like my chest.

“All right lady, if you want to cuddle, c’mon, make the move, let’s cuddle!”

Of course I didn’t say that, but she wouldn’t have understood me anyhow. This was becoming a very surreal experience. Is this really happening?

So now I kept wondering what was going to happen when the bus stopped. Would there be any acknowledgement of what was going on? Is she some kind of nutcase who was going to complain that I was groping her? Finally I got my answer. Halfway through the trip we made a pit stop at another large bus station. She got off the bus with everyone else, but I remained on the bus. I used the buses toilet, and I had brought enough food with me, so I did not need to get off the bus. Plus I would have felt weird standing out there with her.

She came back on the bus with something she purchased from the stand, and put it in the compartment above us. Then she got back into her seat, got under her blanket, and adjusted the air device above. Then finally, she communicated with me. Without spoken language, she acknowledged that she had been using me as a bed and pillow, becasue it’s cold on the bus. Then she tried to speak something to me, but it was in Lao, and obviously I didn’t understand, and she did not understand English. When the bus continued into the night, and the lights went out, so did I continue to allow her my warmth.

Every once in a while she would make one of those, “I’m tired” sounds, which was kind of cute. But then she would also say things out of nowhere that I couldn’t understand, or at least they were monosyllabic sounds of some sort that she made in her sleep. Also the toilet was in the back of the bus, and once when someone made noise opening the door, she yelled at him, which was very creepy.

Suddenly, I started to feel very uncomfortable about the whole situation. Both because the weird sounds were freaking me out, and also the surrealness of it all was very weird. So now I tried to stay as far away as I could. But she continued to use my heat.

Finally, when we got near our destination, still in darkness, the interior bus lights came on in full force, and they put the loud Lao karaoke video on to wake us all up. I didn’t need any waking up since cuddle bunny wouldn’t let me sleep. Shortly after, she said something to the attendent. I think it was about her getting off the bus somewhere before the actual last stop. Then she grabbed her things and moved up to the front seat of the bus, which was vacated by someone who’d gotten off prior. When she left I don’t think she even gave me a smile or a nod or anything. But I can say that I think this was probably the weirdest experience I’ve had on this trip. So surreal.

When I got off the bus in Pakse, I shared a tuk tuk for 5000 kip with the Aussie girls from the other back seats of the bus. We went to where all the guesthouses were. Every guesthouse in Pakse, it seemed, was full. Then I found the girls sitting at an outdoor restaurant (They’re all outdoors in SEA) having breakfast. I asked them if they had any luck finding a place. They hadn’t either. After the first place they looked was full, they wasted no time and purchased a ticket to for a minibus to Si Phan Don (4000 Islands).

All the guesthouses and hotels in Pakse were full because of an event involving the temple there. The locals got all the rooms. So I went to get a ticket on the minibus to 4000 Islands as well, but the guy said the bus was full. Great! Now I’m stuck here with no place to stay. After sitting and wondering what I was going to do, the guy came to me and said that there was still a place on the minibus leaving at 8:30am afterall. So I took it. Si Phan Don is in the very deep south of Laos. If you look on the map I linked earlier in the post you will see it as Don Khong, Don Khon, and Don Dhet, 3 of the bigger islands. That’s where I was headed next anyway . . .

Not much interesting has been happening. I’ve been with June in Bangkok for almost a month now, so it’s kind of like I live here. Not really doing any vagabonding. So since there is nothing much to report, except that I will be going to Laos in about 3 days, here are some more pictures. Again with a concentration of street photography. I know these are not the kind of pictures everyone has been anticipating. You’ve probably thought they would be more like, “Here’s me at the zoo” “Here’s me at the waterfall.” “Here’s me scratching my butt.” “This a statue of King Rama the VIII,” etc. But I really like street photography, so that’s what I have.

The Smoking Monk

Okay I lied, “Here’s me at the waterfall!” Except I wasn’t standing in front of the waterfall at that moment. Ratankiri, Cambodia.

Yeah, you are seeing it right. Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

Bangkok, Thailand

Badmitton Lovers

A common sign in Bangkok guesthouses.

The seat behind the door on buses is reserved for monks, and he rides for free.

There are thousands of stray dogs in bangkok, but this may not be a stray dog. He’s too small, he would never last.

Another interesting face. Bangkok, Thailand.

Crater Lake in Ratanakiri, Cambodia. The locals jump in fully clothed. Eventually the guys will shed their shirts.

I took this one when I was here on Oct, 20 2004. I didn’t include it here for photography’s sake.

This is the same guy on the same corner selling the same shit. Photo taken, Jan, 28 2006

This guy is also in the photo from 2004, this one was taken on Jan 28, 2006.

Gotta love those Monks

Another from The Crater Lake

Waterfall in Ratanakiri. I mentioned this picture in my last post post. It came in 398th place out of 829 entries on DPChallenge.com

Withdrawal

I lamented in an earlier post that there were no squirrels in Thailand. Look what I found!!!!!

June and I really love this one. I hope you do too.

All done. June and I are about to go to see a jazz musician now.

I’m still doing a whole lot of nothing in Bangkok so here are some more pictures, with a concentration of street photography. And some experimental editing.

The same park on the same day as my masked musicians photo in the last post. In fact he was watching the dudes play at that moment. The Da Vinci Code is a very popular book.

“Now where are they hiding the Penthouse? Oh hello kitty.”

Bangkokian Graffiti artists and their supervisor.

I experimented with Duotones on this one. I saw that it didn’t come out very good, but I didn’t have time to fix it. I still like the picture though. Good slice of life, moment in time, street photography.

Pick up game of Takraw, a popular Asian game. Played where ever you can clear a space and put up a net. It’s a variation of volleyball. The ball is woven plastic or something, a little larger than a softball (you can see it just above the net and in front of the guy in the red shirt), and you can use all parts of your body to hit the ball over the net, except your hands, and I believe arms. Mostly they use their feet. When you see very good players playing this game it’s quite amazing. I saw some on TV during the Asian Games. I oversaturated the colors too much. I wanted to make them really stand out against the bland background, but went too far. Check out the red shirt hanging on the net post.

I had just gotten into Phnom Penh, Cambodia either this day or the day before, and had just obtained a copy of the Phnom Penh Visitor’s Guide. I was sitting on the bank of the Tonal Sap River reading it (I was kind of far from my guesthouse, and you don’t want to be caught reading the guide on the street, or you’ll be hounded by touts. So I figured I’d be safe here. Plus it was sort of nice there, for Phnom Penh), when I looked up and saw this person sitting on the bank right in front of me. But their head was down, and at the moment I didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. I just knew I had to take this picture. An instant before I pushed the shutter button, she looked at me.

I continued to read the guide, and a few minutes later a guy came up to me on a motorcycle, and started to talk to me. He asked the basic questions, “Where are you from?” “How long have you been here?” “Where else have you been?” Etc. He was a motorcycle taxi driver and he was hoping he could be my driver for the day and make some money. (There are about 50 motodups (motorcle taxis) in Phnom Penh for every one person who needs a ride, it seems) But then the girl from the picture, who had since walked away, came over. The guy told me that she came to Phnom Penh (the big city) from some rural place all by herself looking to get a job, or make money somehow. And that she was all alone here. Suddenly the girl asked me if I knew how to speak Thai (She’s Cambodian). I said I knew a little, “I know the numbers.” I said. So we recited Thai numbers together. Then I started getting worried that the guy was going to pimp her out to me. Thankfully he never did. He started giving me the story that he’s going to college, and needs money and that his family is poor, and he sends them money, yada yada. There was no place I wanted to go at the time, but I guess I felt sorry for the guy, so I looked in the guide book to see where I could go, and decided to let him take me to the Russian Market.

I meant to include this one in my last post, but forgot it. This is a Where’s Waldo. See if you can find my motorcycle taxi driver.

I shot this from a bus in Bangkok, Thailand.

June wanted me to crop this so it only shows the dog. But I like how it is a split image with the rail as a natural divider. Two completely different scenes in one shot.

Also shot from a bus. Chinatown in Bangkok.

2:00am Khaosan Road, Bangkok Thailand. Look closely. If you can’t see it the answer is hidden somewhere in this post. I have easter eggs, if you will, in this post and the last post. Every picture contains additional information. See if you can find it.

Well, I think I must have confused a lot of people with my last post. And I am a bit humbled too, because I thought it would be well received, especially from those who have been there.

Oh well, here are some not so good pictures:

Breakfast at a hotel near June’s apartment in Bangkok. I didn’t stay there, we just had breakfast there one day. I submitted this picture to DPCallenge in the Knife Fork Spoon challenge. It didn’t do very well, but someone made it their favorite.

Behind the Phumin Hotel of my Touts And Scams and Speedboat To Sihanoukville posts. And, no, that is not the speedboat I took.

It’s not all glory, the life of a vagabonder.

This is a spider. He’s large and scary.

My view at breakfast from Jep’s on my first morning on the island of Koh Samet, Thailand

I got the special discount at this hotel in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Her name was Liu. At least that’s what she told me.

King Rama the VIII bridge in Bangkok, Thailand at night.

Typical gas station in Cambodia. This one is at the rest stop on the road to Rattanakiri. You often see just one or two of these barrels on the side of the road in front of someone’s snack stand. In Phnom Penh, you’ll see just one barrel on the corner with a lady minding it. You’ll also see people selling motor oil on the side of the road. The oil is in Coke, Pepsi, or 7-Up bottles.

Brian, from California, USA (white T-Shirt, hand in pocket); Megan, from South Africa (directly in front of Brian with small bag in hand), and Rick, from England (red shirt, hand on hip). I met these guys in Kratie, Cambodia. We road to Rattanakiri together in a Toyoto, Camry taxi. They were really cool people. They all teach English in Japan. The day before we went on a boat on the Mekong River to see the Irrawaddy dolphins, then to dinner. They were much needed company for me. I hope their trekking in Rattanakiri went well.

The next picture shows what is in this building.

Can you see what’s in there?

Here’s a closer look. This is from the Killing Fields near Phnom Penh, Cambodia. These are the actual skulls of those murdered by Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge.

Found this guy at the Killing Fields.

Discovery Lodge in Bangkok, Thailand. This is where I was staying when I got sick and had to go to the hospital.

Robby Stienhardt and Kerry Livgren incognito at Santichaiprakarn Park in Bangkok, Thailand. (Only one person I know gets this, and you know who you are.)

When you get a warm shower over here, this is how it’s done. The water goes through this electronic heater on the wall. This is what’s in people’s homes too.

Bangkok, Thailand. I submitted this one to the Cheater Challenge on DPChallenge. I came in 46th out of 103 entries. I thought I’d do better, it was one of the very few actual pictures of someone cheating. I called it, One Way To Beat Traffic.

Prisoners being taken away in the Paddy Wagon? No, just another form of transportation in Bangkok, Thailand. Squeeze as many people you can into this bus. It only cost like 3 baht (6 or 7 US cents) for a ride.

Another picture from Koh Samet. Look how clear the water is.

Shot from the roof of the only mall I saw in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Can you see what’s going on in the picture? You can read the answer somewhere in this post.

You see signs like this often in Cambodia, telling people if they do bad they will get arrested. Some of them show hands handing over weapons, and stuff like that.

Number 6 is my favorite, what’s yours?

That’s the end of the pictures. I should have written more about my adventures in the remote areas of Cambodia, but I got lazy. Anyway, it was pretty cool, maybe I’ll write something about it later. Guess where I am now? I’m back in Bangkok, with June.

There is a very dangerous and potentially fatal disease currently afflicting the residents of Southeast Asia (SEA). A disease so devastating, when it strikes, it can kill an otherwise healthy adult in an instant. I’m not talking about bird flu. But it’s because of bird flu that health officials in SEA are so determined to keep this disease a secret. They do not want the world to know that they are the epicenter of, now, 2 major fatal epidemics. So you will not see a report on the evening news tonight, or read about it in the latest health journal.

I have yet to actually see anyone with this disease, but I suspect it exists. In fact, I know it exists. And you better pray it never migrates to your country. I don’t know it’s official name, so I have given it a name. I call it, DITMOTR, an acronym for Dartinthemiddleoftheroaditis.

Those afflicted with DITMOTR will inexplicably leap out into the middle of the road for no reason, regardless of traffic. I believe there is not yet a cure for this disease, but I think it can be contained. So far it seems the only people officials have trusted with the containment of DITMOTR are bus drivers (big buses and minibuses) and long-distance taxi drivers.

Apparently the sound of a loud honking horn curtails the symptoms of the disease. So all bus and long-distance taxi drivers must honk their horns several times, according to preliminary standards set by the SouthEast Asia Health Department (SEAHD), whenever a person is within 5 meters of the road. This could be two people standing on their property near the road, discussing the results of the previous days football (soccer) games, or someone riding their bicycle, or motorbike, or someone pulling a load of coconuts in a wagon, or someone simply walking down the street near the road. No one is immune. And, it appears, what officials feared most, has happened. The disease has jumped spieces.

As a result, all bus driving schools have implimented an intensive 4-week course on proper horn honking standards. For instance, they are taught if the person near the road is an adult male, who is simply walking, as soon as the driver sees him they are required to give him a dose of 3 rapid honks, followed by 2 honks of a longer duration. A teenaged girl on a bicycle requires 5 successive quick honks, then 3 long honks, followed by one more quick honk. Very young children sitting naked on the side of the road will get a dose of rapid fire honks until you are safely passed. A chicken in the middle of the road only gets 2 quick honks. But a person riding a bicycle with 15 or more live chickens hanging upside-down from the bike, gets 7 honks of varying length. Under 15 chickens, only 4 honks. While a large pig or a cow in the middle of the road gets continuous honks until they move. If the driver must stop, then he stops.

So on a 7-hour long journey you will see the driver potentially save thousands of lives–tens of thousands if you pass a couple of small town markets–with his expert horn honking abilities. Of course, as a passenger on these buses and long-distance taxis, you might start to go a little crazy from all the honking, especially if you are sitting near the front of the bus, those horns are loud (not to mention the karaoke music and dubbed action movies). But when you think of all the lives that are being saved, you just gotta smile and shake the driver’s hand as you exit the bus or taxi, and say, “Thank you driver for saving all those lives.”

Like I said, pray this devastating disease doesn’t reach your country. If it does, get in your car and call SEAHD at 012-555-9286 from your cell phone. And when they answer, honk your horn 3 times for 3 seconds each honk. And tell them Mark sent you.

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P.S. I wrote this post shortly after leaving Cambodia. Having traveled in other countries now, I realize that this rampant horn honking appears to be most prevalent in Cambodia, but from what I’ve read in other posts it may also occur in Vietnam, but I haven’t been there yet. It does occur elsewhere, but with only a fraction of the honking as in Cambodia. So if you’ve only been in, say, Thailand and/or Laos, this post may confuse you, but for those who have traveled in Cambodia, I’m sure you get it. At least I hope you get it. I’ve also edited it to make it somewhat PETA friendly.

The seemingly negative tone of my last few posts: the boat ride from hell; asshole, scamming touts; border nazis; and even the sadness of Pattaya, have prompted my sister to ask, “Are you having fun? Are you enjoying it?” The answer to that is a resounding YES.

I suppose if similar experiences happened to me in NJ or Florida (places I’ve lived), then they would be the bane of my soul, and I would hate life. But here it’s all a part of my world travelling adventure, and my growth. It’s odd, but if I were still in Florida and a friend said to me, “Hey Mark, we’re taking my boat out for a cruise into the Gulf of Mexico, do you want to come?” I’m pretty sure I would decline the invitation. “No thanks, I get seasick in the bathtub,” I would say. But here, sometimes, my inner critique is not able to escape and hold me back like it’s done numerous times in my life back home. And there was a bus going to Sihanoukville I could have taken, but I stepped outside of myself, and took the adventerous (for me) route instead.

That’s not to say I’m going wild here, because I’m not. There are still many fears I’ve yet to overcome, but I have broken through on some. And I am extremely glad I did this trip. Yes, I loathe touts (and I have to deal with them almost every day), and I have seen awful things (the rampant prostitution in Pattaya, the inescapable poverty, …etc), I’ve been subjected to scams, I might have been ripped off for $500, I’ve been sick and have gone to the hospital . . . but for the first time in my mostly mundane life, I feel ALIVE. And I’ll throw in what’s become my catch phrase, even though I haven’t used it in a while, At least I don’t have to go to work tomorrow.

However, I must say that the novelty of being here has worn off. If you’ve seen one market in SE Asia, you’ve seen them all. If you’ve seen one dilapidated wooden shack in the countryside, with naked children running around, you’ve seen them all. If you’ve seen one respectable looking gentleman pissing on the wall of a building in broad daylight in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, you’ve seen them all. There is so much going on here that you would never see in America, or any developed country. So many very intersting sights, smells, sounds, and tastes, that not 5 minutes goes by without witnessing something different. But I’ve reached a point where nothing surprizes or shocks me any more.

When I first saw a family of 4 (father, mother, toddler and infant) speeding around in traffic on one mortorcycle, and not one of them was wearing a helmet, I was blown away. How can this be? I thought. Don’t these people care about their children? But now I see it 100 times a day in Cambodia, and I’m not phased at all anymore. I even ride on the motorcycles (taxis) and never wear a helmet. At first, especially in Bangkok, it was quite harrowing, but now I don’t even think about it. I just think about what I’m going to do once I get to my destination, or whatever. Of course these people care about their children. Perhaps American’s are overly cautious, I don’t know. It’s just a different way of life. I see vans packed so tight with people they can’t squeeze one more skinny body inside, so they stick about 5-10 more people on top of the luggage that’s on the roof, while the van travels at 60 MPH on a bumpy dirt road. Are American’s too cautious? I see 11-12 year-old children driving mortorcycles in traffic, often with 2 passengers on the bike, and, of course, none of them are wearing helmets. Are American’s too cautious?

Are American’s overly cautious? Or does this guy not care about those kids’ safety? You make the call.

Imagine showing up in Cambodia after being in America all your life, and this is the first thing you see. Look closely.

I also see beautiful and wonderful things. The landscapes here are phenomenal: rolling hills; long green stretches of rice fields; majestic green mountains; the island beaches of Thailand. And the people who don’t exist to take your money are the nicest, most honest, friendly and happy people on earth. The young children of Cambodia are genuinely thrilled to see you. “Hello!” they yell with a wave and a big smile as they ride by on their ubiquitous bicycles.

It’s not all frightening and frustrating. Beautiful Khmer children pose for a picture on the road to Ratanakiri.

I’ve also been enjoying Cambodian (Khmer) food. It’s less spicy here than in Thailand. It’s a little more expensive in Cambodia, but they also give you more. So moneywise it may be the same. But I have only eaten the food in the guesthouses and restaurants that cater to foreigners in Cambodia. I haven’t eaten from the street venders or food stalls here yet. But I do mostly order the Asian food, so hopefully I’m getting some authentic Khmer cousine. I’ve eaten where the locals eat in Thailand with June.

Anyway, yes I am very glad I’m doing this, and I would recommend it to anyone. Quit your job and go! I do realize it will probably have to end, unless I can figure out a way to extend it indefinitely. I was hoping my stocks would help, but I think I made some bad decisions, they’re all heading south big time. But whatever happens, this is one regret I will never have, and I’ve had many. And because the novelty is waring off I will have to start doing some more different things, and exploring beyond the beaten path . . .