Mark’s Vagabonding Blog

. . . . I ended up staying at the Phumin Hotel that night. It looked nicer than Otto’s, and after what I had just been through, and what I knew was coming next, I needed nicer. Although the Phumin Hotel was a lot more expensive than Otto’s, it still had cold showers. For 500 baht I expected a warm shower.

I will never ever get used to these cold showers. And this is what they call the cold season here. Actually it’s a joke. Instead of 93 degrees F, it’s only 83 degrees F. They don’t know what cold is here. But the evenings are a bit cooler. And I’ve noticed that the showers seem colder too. Sometimes I can’t even complete my shower, it’s that bad. I’ll just wet my feet and ankles, and that’s as far as I can go. Who cares if I stink? But my feet are always fresh.

I still wasn’t done with Otto’s though. They say that is the best place to buy the boat ticket for some reason. So I woke up early (Oh, I did do something in Chanthaburi, Thailand. I bought a watch. It was crazy using my camera to check the time all the time. And occasionally I need to wake up early, so I needed an alarm as well. So I bought a cheap $9.00 watch.) the next morning and walked to Otto’s.

The boat leaves Koh Kong for Sihanoukville at 8:00am every morning. The ride takes 4 hours. This time I’m definitely taking my Dramamine, a full dose. But I wanted to take it an hour before departure, like the lable says. Everything was on schedule, it was around 7:00am and I was at Otto’s to buy my ticket. Then I would go back and take the Dramamine, and get something to eat. Then the girl at Otto’s offered me free coffee or tea (I suppose that’s why Otto’s is the best place to buy the ticket). Normally I don’t drink either, but for some reason I couldn’t refuse the offer. I felt like it would be disrespectful if I did. I chose the tea.

Yeeeeowwww, that’s hot!! That tea was hotter than fried lava. It took me over 20 minutes to drink the molten tea. Now I was late for my Dramamine, and I might not have time to get anything to eat. It never occured to me to eat at Otto’s while I was there. I went back to the hotel to take the Dramamine and check out. I didn’t have time for breakfast, so I just went to the boat dock. All I had was bottle of water. There was a lady selling various kinds of food (cooked and otherwise), and motion sickness drugs, but I didn’t trust her. I’d eat in Sihanoukville. There were also guys selling other kinds of drugs at the dock too, and I don’t mean Robitussin.

I don’t know much about boats, but they say this boat was only made for travel on rivers and lakes. We were about to head out into the open seas. The boat was very long and narrow. The inside looked like the interior of a plane. There were 3 seats on either side of the aisle, and about 30 rows. I took a window seat in the second row, on the right. Not that you can really see out of the window, it’s quite a bit higher than you as you sit. All you can see is the sky, unless you get up and look. You actually have a better view out the window opposite you, while seated. You also have the option of riding on the roof of the boat, if you want too. But the only thing keeping you there is a railing pole about 2 feet off the roof. So unless you are very fat, you can roll right underneath, or fly over it, if it starts to get rough. And if you travel up there you better be covered from head to toe, or you will get the meanest sunburn of your life.

As I sat in the boat waiting for it to depart, the Dramamine hadn’t kicked in yet. I felt a little queazy already from the slight rocking. A Cambodian gentleman took the aisle seat next me, leaving the seat between us empty. His briefcase went on the empty seat, and my backpack on top of his briefcase. Shortly after, the engines roared and we headed out into the Gulf Of Thailand.

The boat moving forward made me feel a little better. Then suddenly, a loud sound came from just above my head. I looked up. Oh shit, I’m sitting right underneath a speaker. Whenever you travel long distance in Southeast Asia, they love to play loud music through bad speakers. Or, if there is a TV on board, karaoke videos, or bad American movies dubbed in the language of the country you are in. And I mean bad movies. One movie I saw on the bus from Lampang to Bangkok was an action movie starring Mick Fleetwood, the psycho drummer for Fleetwood Mac. How’s that for bad? It’s usually some kind of action flick. Now I know why those movies get made, there’s an audience for them over here in large travelling vessles.

They started out this trip with karaoke videos. It’s not really music without vocals, with someone on the boat singing. They are pretty much cheezy, sappy, music videos with the lyrics scrolling on the bottom of the screen. I think I would rather see these Cambodians singing badly, at least it would be entertaing. The engines of the boat were deafening to begin with, so they had to crank the volume to hear the videos over the screaming engines. I seriously considered putting in my earplugs. But, again, I thought it might be disrespectful. Or more likely, I would look like an idiot with these big green things sticking out of my ears. So I endured the cacophony.

About 15-20 minutes after we embarked, I felt the Dramamine kick in. All the queazines was gone. This is going to be a good trip. I wish I could see more than the sky out the window.

When the karaoke video was mercifully over, it was time for Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker in Rush Hour 6. What’s also funny about these movies, is that they are dubbed in whatever language (It’s the same guy doing every voice), but they also, occasionally, have english subtitles. I mean occasionally within the movie, not that some have english subtitles and some don’t. So every once in a while on the bottom of the screen it will say something like, “I thought you were with him.” or “Get Sullivan on the phone and tell him I’m pissed!”

Another very funny thing involving American movies here, is that often guesthouses and hostels will have a common room with a TV and a good selection of movies on DVD or VCD (video CD, lower quality video on a CD instead of a DVD) for you to watch. They are usually good movies, but they are copies, and although they are in english, unlike the dubbed ones I mentioned previously, some genius decided that they needed english subtitles, that you cannot remove. And whoever is writing these subtitles does not understand english very well, and is just guessing what is being said. The results are often quite hilarious. Here are two examples from Etermal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind. There are much funnier ones than this, but I wanted to use real examples, and this is all I wrote down so far:

Real spoken line: “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
Subtitle: “I’m sorry I’m yelling you.”

Real spoken line: “It was nice meeting you, and all” (spoken fast)
Subtitle: “Just leave me alone.”

Sometimes the subtitler really has no idea what was said, and they’ll let a series of lines go by with no subtitles at all. But mostly they just make no sense at all. It makes for an interesting movie experience, but I don’t know why they even bother with the subtitles at all. Man this boat is moving fast.

About 2 hours into the trip, the sea started to get a little more rough. The boat rocked more than it did earlier, but I still felt fine. Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker saved the world again, so it was back to Cambodian karaoke. Suddenly the boat started to slow down considerably.

I stood up and looked out the window to see what was going on. Dozens of people were standing on the dock of a port, presumably waiting to board this boat. I was right. Only a handful of people got off the boat here, while the dozen’s took their place. Almost everyone was on board and the seat next to me was still empty. How great would that be if it remained that way?

Damn! The last guy to board took our empty seat. Now I had to ride the next 2 hours with my backpack on my lap. And this new guy didn’t look very good. He sat with his fingers pressing against his temples, and a towel around his mouth. Then he slumped forward with the towel still around his face. He was obviously sick. And he smelled like . . . like . . . old garlic.

So everyone was on board and we continued our journey. We made our way back to the middle of the ocean where the waves were getting rough again. The boat rocked side to side considerably. The Dramamine was being put to the test. I still felt okay, but we had about an hour and 45 minutes to go, and I had to pee very badly from the bottle of water I drank. The kid put a concert video in the machine.

Oh boy, we’re really rocking now, and I don’t mean the concert. The boat continued to move swiftly toward Sihanoukville, and the waves were now crashing on the windows. Some of the passengers got up to look out the windows. So did I. The wind must have been whipping, because the waves were menacing now. They were toying with this ship.

Holy shit! The boat was now jumping the waves. We must have turned in a different direction, or the wind must have shifted. This boat that was only meant for river and lake travel, was going airborn out on the open seas!

I started to get nervous. And the guy next to me was really starting to look bad. If he fucking pukes on me . . . Two-hundred people on this boat and he has to sit next to me.

The sea was relentlessly battering the boat now, and we were jumping waves at 100 MPH, maybe 150, I don’t know. But I do know if I didn’t take that Dramamine I would be spewing food I ate in 1989. And now the bright, late morning, sun was shining directly through the window and onto me. It was very hot, and very uncomfortable. The only way to escape it was to lean in toward sick guy. It was an impossible decision: Bake in the sweltering sun, or share a seat with old-garlic smelling sick guy? I couldn’t take it any longer, I leaned into sick guy.

The intensity of the waves grew even stronger, as if they were trying to teach this boat a lesson. “You shouldn’t be out here in the open waters you lake boat,” they were saying. The boat rocked so far I swore I could see fish underwater through the window opposite me.

Whoa!! Airborn!! We’re gonna die!!!!

The concert video started to get stuck, then skip continuously . . . get stuck, then skip continuously . . . get stuck then skip continuously . . . The passengers were getting edgy, some screaching and yelping with every jump. A girl in the seats opposite me leaned forward, very low, and vomited into a bag. Two minutes later she did it again. Man do I have to pee.

So far sick guy was hanging there. And miraculously, so was I. This Dramamine truly is a miracle drug, I thought . . . so far.

We continued jumping waves at great speeds, becoming airborn, while simultaneously rocking so far both ways I was certain we would capsize. This went on for the next 30 minutes. If I die does my insurance cover this? I think it does. I kept checking my new watch to see how much longer until I was on land, or to try and guess my precise time of death.

Suddenly the rocking subsided a bit, and we stopped jumping the waves. We must be getting close to port. I looked out the window and I saw industry. Land! The industrial port of Sihanoukville. The boat docked safely. I jumped over the seat in front of me got the hell out of that death trap. But I still had another obstacle to face.

There was a sea of touts waiting for me. Maybe if I ran through them yelling, “Toilet! Toilet! Toilet!” they would leave me alone. So I did it. But it didn’t work. One guy latched onto me and directed me toward the toilet in a restaurant. But these are not restaurants, the way you normally think of restaurants, so I quickly walked out. He pointed to another toilet. I didn’t even go near it. There was a passport checkpoint, so I got a little reprieve from my tout, but I still had to go back out and face him. And I was still holding a 4-hour pee.

I wasn’t sure of the fair price for a ride to town here. But now I know I paid him double the proper amount. But at least he took me to where I asked: MASH: Melting Pot. But the lady said they were full. I asked her if I could use their toilet (They are only restrooms in America, everywhere else they are toilets). Remember that scene in A League Of Their Own where Tom Hanks took that 5 minute pee? They weren’t exagerating.

We were on a small dirt road lined with guesthouses, so I figured I would just walk and easily find a place to stay. But my tout, as touts will do, would not leave me alone. He relentlessly pestered me to take me to “his friend’s” guesthouse, where of course he would get a commision for bringing me. I had to forcefully, as I’m now learning to be, tell him that we were through, and paid him and walked away.

I quickly found a place. The Green Gecko Guesthouse. $4.00/night. I would stay there for the next 5 days.

Everywhere you walk in Sihanoukville, especially if you are a foreigner, there is a motorcycle taxi driver, called motodups in Cambodia, asking you if you want a ride. When you say no, they ask if you want to smoke, and they don’t mean Bensen & Hedges. And when you say no to drugs, they’ll ask if you want a girl. Almost every single one of them does this. And there are hundreds of them, it’s quite annoying.

So I spent an uneventful 5 days in Sihanoukville, Cambodia. It’s a beach town. The beaches are nothing like the beaches in Thailand, or Sarasota, Florida. But there are nice rock formations on them, and islands in view, so it was different than Sarasota in that respect. And despite the annoying motodups, it is a cool place to chill for a while, and get used to being in a new country. I only saw one of the beaches, Victory Beach, the others may have been better.

After I tired of Sihanoukville, I bought a bus ticket to Phnom Penh, the Capital of Cambodia. That’s where I am now, using the internet at my guesthouse. I’ve been here for about 4 or 5 days now, the guesthouse, not the internet (although it does take me quite a long time to write these posts).

Phnom Penh is a pretty cool city. I thought it would be full of limbless, homeless people begging for money, but it’s not like that. There are a few, but it’s not as bad as Bangkok, in my opinion. They mostly hang around the tourist attractions.

I went to the Killing Fields yesterday, made famous by the movie of the same name. And famous by what happened there. It’s a short distance outside of Phnom Penh. That’s where Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge had thousands of Cambodians exucuted. There is also a museum in a different location, but still in Phnom Penh, that was once a high school, but was turned into a prison by Pol Pot, where they tortured the prisoners before they brought them to the Killing Fields. It’s quite unerving to be there.

Oh well, I know the ending to this post was kind of lame and anticlimactic, but I just wanted to get you up to date on where I actually was right now. My last few posts had been days and days behind of where I really was. Soon I will go to another Cambodian town, perhaps, Kratie or Siem Reap. But I really want to go to Ratanakiri.

Whoever invented Dramamine should have won the Nobel Prize for medicine.

Mark

***Before you read “A Border Crossing Adventure, Parts 1&2”, let me just say that it’s been a while since I’ve written them and I’ve since regretted some of the ways that I tried to save money on this trip. I now realize it was uncool, and I feel bad about it. But at the time I needed to make a limited amount last a year+ with absolutely no income, and that’s all I thought about. If I had it to do again, I would not have been as frugal (and probably would have enjoyed myself a little more too). But don’t let this stop you from reading them, it’s still a good read, Thank you, Mark***

. . . . Unless you’ve secured other transporation into town, you pretty much need these guys (touts, See part one). I knew from my research that the fair price for a ride into town was 50 baht (they accept Thai baht on the border towns of Cambodia).

So, finally, I spoke to my tout, who I took to be about 23 years old, “Alright, how much?”

“A hundred baht, ” he said. He spoke perfect english.

I said, “Fifty.”

He said something about petrol, and I stuck to 50 baht. After a little back and forth, he finally accepted the 50 baht price, and we climbed aboard his bike.

There’s one other immigration formality a short distance down the road. Three guys underneath a 3-sided wooded shack look at your passport. Apparently some number was missing on my visa, so we had to go back to the office. On the motorcycle, the driver rides with your backpack in front of him, between his legs. I’d read about this so I was okay with it. When we got back to the immigration office, he said that I could leave the backpack on his bike.

“No way,” I said, “the pack stays with me.”

So I took the pack with me, and we went to the station where they had taken my picture, and I handed the lady my passport. She wrote the number on my visa and we got back on the bike. On the way back we didn’t even have to stop at that checkpoint again, they just waved us through.

The ride into town takes about 5-10 minutes, and I was enjoying the scenery of mountains in the near distance. Then my tout broke the mood, and asked me if I smoke. I told him no. Then he said something about marijuana. I said I wasn’t interested. I would hear that question A LOT in the coming days.

Up ahead was a bridge, a toll bridge. Before we approached it, he said, “There’s a toll up ahead, you have to pay it,” as he pointed to the toll sign.

I told him that I was aware of the toll. I’d known about the toll bridge from my research. I also knew that technically, he was supposed to pay the fare, but this is one thing I would let him get away with. But he had something else up his sleeve.

He said, “Do you have any riel?” Riel is the currency of Cambodia. U.S. dollars and Thai baht are also readily accepted in Cambodia as well.

I didn’t have any, so I said, “No.”

He said, “Okay, I’ll pay the toll and you can pay me back later.”

I knew that the fare was 11 baht, but wasn’t sure about riel. However I was pretty sure you could pay the toll in baht, but I just said, “Okay. How much is it?”

He said, “One-thousand two-hundred riel.”

When we arrived at the toll booth, I saw the sign on the glass. It was writen in Khmer (the language of Cambodia), but I could see that the price was 1200 riel, or 11 baht. So I could have just paid the 11 baht myself, which alerted me that there will be a scam coming up involving riel.

After he paid the toll, I told him to take me to Otto’s Guesthouse please. I said it twice so I know he heard me, but he didn’t respond.

We finally came to a town. Shortly after, he stopped at a money changing booth, which is just a lady on the side of the dirt road, with different currencies in a glass case.

He said, “You have to change your money to riel so you can pay me back for the toll.”

I said, “No, I don’t have to. I’ll just pay you eleven baht when we get to Otto’s. I’ll give you sixty-one baht.”

“No, you have to change your money here,” he said.

I said, “No I don’t. And I know that you are supposed to pay the toll, but I agreed to pay anyhow.”

He insisted that I had to change my money to riel. So I said, “Okay, I’ll change eleven baht then.”

He said that I couldn’t, so I said that I’d change $1.00 U.S. He said that I couldn’t change that little amount of money.

I finally said, “Listen, I know I don’t have to change any money. It’s a scam. I’ll give you sixty-one baht when we get to Otto’s. It’s the same thing.”

We were both still sitting on his bike during this. So, frustrated, he cranked the throttle and we left the money changer without making an exchange. The scam is: That’s the first place to change money as you arrive in Cambodia from that crossing, so they make you think you have change your money right away. They give you a horrible exchange rate, and he gets a cut for bringing me there. That’s the seed he tried to plant at the toll booth.

Yeah, I was getting a little scared at this point. I was pissing this guy off from the start, and my life was literally in his back seat. I was in a foreign land, and knew nothing about that town, and I had no idea where Otto’s was. He could have taken me anywhere, and had his cronies beat the hell out me, and take everything I had. But I’d taken my stand against corruption this far, so I might as well go all the way.

As we got a little deeper into town I started looking for any sign of an Otto’s (I’d read about it on the internet). I didn’t see any, but soon enough, we had stopped again. We were at a place called, The River Guesthouse, and it looked like this was the end of our trip.

I said, “What’s this? This isn’t Otto’s.”

It sounded like he said, “This is my guesthouse. We stop here.”

“But I asked you to take me to Otto’s.”

He said, “This is a good guesthouse. Nice rooms. A lot of foreigners stay here.” He pointed at the tourists sitting at the tables.

It did look like an okay place, but that wasn’t the point. So I said, “Okay then take me to the Phumin Hotel (another place I read about on the internet).”

No response.

Then the owner, or whoever, came over and said, “This is a nice place, you’ll like it here. Come look at the rooms.”

“But I told him to take to Otto’s,” I said.

“Otto’s no good, small rooms, no AC. We have big rooms, and AC.”

I said, “That doesn’t matter. I told him to take me to Otto’s, so he should have taken me to Otto’s.” I really started to get frustrated now. “Okay, look,” I continued, “you can give him his commision for bringing me here, and then he can bring me to Otto’s. Or better yet, where’s Otto’s? I’ll walk there.”

No response. So I asked my tout, “Where’s Otto’s?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then where’s the Phumin hotel?”

“I don’t know.”

One of the employees pointed to a map on the wall. “There’s a map,” he said.

I looked at the map but it was no help. His point was that Koh Kong was a big place, and that Otto’s could be far away.

Then the employee said, “I think it’s on an island somewhere.”

I knew they were all fucking with me now, so I went to the tourists to see if any of them knew where Otto’s was. They honestly didn’t, but one girl had a guide book. We looked it up, and there it was. It said, “One welcomed addition to Koh Kong is Otto’s . . . it’s 50 meters from the port.” Now we’re getting somewhere.

Then the girl said, “I think that’s the port right over there,” and pointed right across the dirt road.

I stupidly asked my tout, “Is that the port?”

“I don’t know.”

Well, now I was armed with this new knowledge about Otto’s, so I didn’t need him any more. And it was obvious he wasn’t my friend any longer. So I gave him his 61 baht (good thing I had exact change), and took off on foot to find Otto’s. It was starting to get late too. Darkness was setting in. I better find Otto’s fast. The port had to be around here, why would the girl have thought that that was the port otherwise?

So I headed down the road in the direction we were going since I didn’t notice Otto’s on the way there. About 50 yards away on the other side of the road was a gas station. I went in to ask where Otto’s was, and the Phumin Hotel. The clerks there were all very nice and cheerful and happy. Now this is the Cambodia I’ve heard all about, and hoped to experience. They pointed down the road where I came from and said that it was just down the road a bit. They were glad to practice their english.

“Both places?” I said.

“Yes.”

With a big smile on my face, I said, “Thank you.”

As I started back down the road, relieved, I thought of how funny it was that Otto’s was probably right next d . . . . . “OH SHIT!!! My backpack!!”

I walked all the way to the gas station without my backpack on my back. Asside from the frustration with my tout, and that whole situation, I’m still not used to carrying a backpack. This is the first backpack I’ve ever owned in my life. I only carry it when I move from one place to another. When I’m situated in a hostel or guesthouse, my pack stays in the room, and I wander the streets without it. Plus, I’ve stayed with June so much, I’ve hardly had to carry it.

I ran down that dirt road in Koh Kong, Cambodia, as fast as this weary 40-year old body could run. Memories of my lost wallet flooded my brain. “Oh please, not again.” Then I remembered the tout road with it between his legs on the bike. It was probably still there when I walked away. I’d pissed him off badly, and I was sure he road off with it, laughing all the way home, to see what goodies he had won.

When I reached The River Guesthouse, panting, out of breath, there it was, on the ground. I grabbed it and opened it to see if everything was still in there. As I was looking, the owner of the guesthouse came over.

He said, “Your bag is safe here. We have good security here.”

I said, still panting, “It wasn’t you I was worried about.”

Everything appeared to be in the bag. Relieved, once again, I continued to walk down the road with my backpack on my back to look for Otto’s, a little bit humbled. About 30 yards down the road was a small sign that read, “Otto’s Guesthouse 50 meters,” with an arrow pointing down the side road. Another 30 yards down the main road was the Phumin hotel. I’d also seen the port where the boat leaves from. A boat that I will take to Sihanoukville, Cambodia tomorrow morning.

A boat ride that I will never forget . . . .

***Before you read “A Border Crossing Adventure, Parts 1&2”, let me just say that it’s been a while since I’ve written them and I’ve since regretted some of the ways that I tried to save money on this trip. I now realize it was uncool, and I feel bad about it. But at the time I needed to make a limited amount last a year+ with absolutely no income, and that’s all I thought about. If I had it to do again, I would not have been as frugal (and probably would have enjoyed myself a little more too). But don’t let this stop you from reading them, it’s still a good read, Thank you, Mark***

With only a couple more days left on my Thai visa, it was time to get out of here before they hunted me down and deported me. If you recall from my last post, I was currently in Chanthaburi, Thailand. A brief stop on my way to Cambodia.

On my way out of the River Guesthouse in Chanthaburi, I asked the desk clerk how much a motorcycle taxi to the bus station should cost. He said about 30 baht. So I went out to the motorcycle taxi drivers on the corner and told them I needed a ride to the bus station.

Then I said, “Saamsib baht?” (“thirty baht?”)

One of the drivers said, “Bus station? Twenty baht.” (“Bus station? Twenty baht” . . . oh wait, no translation needed, he said it in english.)

Now that’s what I like to see, an honest motorcycle taxi driver. The other driver there was the one who took me to the station. They take turns.

At the bus station, I boarded the 12:00 noon bus to Trat, or if you prefer, Trad, it doesn’t matter, it’s all phonetics. An hour later, in Trat, I had to find the minibus stand for a ride to Hat Lek, or if you prefer, Had Lek, the border town between Thailand and Cambodia. From my readings I thought it would be directly across the street, but it wasn’t. It was across the street, but about 100 yards to the right. It’s just a very small stand, 3 guys at a table, next to a very small market.

I knew ahead of time that that the price would be between 100-110 baht for the hour long ride. The sign at the stand said 110 baht. I told them I needed a ride to Hat Lek, and one of the guys said, “one hundred and twenty baht.” Oh no, not again, I thought (see previous post). So I pointed to the sign that said 110 baht. Everyone laughed. I paid 110 baht.

The minibus was almost full, which was good, because they don’t leave until it’s full. Two more seats needed to be filled, and within 5 minutes, they were filled. Off to Hat Lak we go. I was the only foreigner on the minibus.

About halfway there I started to get a little nervous. Not because I was the only foreigner on the bus, but because I was about to cross the border into Cambodia. I’d heard these land border crossings can be quite a harrowing experience if you let it. And I was about to let it. They say there are more scams there than at a 3-card monte convention. And I was prepared to take them on. Also, I planned on taking the 4-hour speedboat to Sihanoukville, they day after I crossed, which they also say could be harrowing. And I’m not good with boats. So I had a lot to be nervous about.

The minibus driver dropped off other passengers along the way, until I was the only one left on the bus. Then suddenly, this guy became Rusty Wallace. I guess the life of one white guy and himself isn’t worth cautious driving. But we made it to Hat Lek in one piece. And a nanosecond after I stepped off the bus, I encountered my first scammer. But his scams won’t come until later, he’s just a tout who acts like he’s my best friend, and will help me easily get my visa, and get across the border. But you do need them eventually, because they are your ride into the town of Koh Kong. But first it was time do deal with immagration.

On the Thai side of the border there is no problem at all, everything is straight forward. You go to the immigration booth, they stamp your passport and you’re on your way, with your tout, I mean your best friend, right beside you. You then walk a few yards to the Cambodian immigation station. They hand you the visa application, and you fill it out, all with the help of your new best friend.

“You write your name right there.”

“You mean where it says ‘name’?”

You hand in your completed application, and your passport, along with a passport photo, then the fun begins. It’s time to pay for the visa. A Cambodian visa costs $20 U.S., anytime, anyplace. At certain land border crossings, probably all, the immigration officers will charge you 1000 baht, which is about $25 U.S. That’s a $5 profit which goes directly into their pockets. Five dollars is a lot of money here. And according to Cambodian law, that’s illegal, as it should be. Most travellers either don’t realize this, or they just don’t want the hassle, and they pay the 1000 baht. But if you know me at all, then you know that I won’t stand for that shit. So I was ready to take on Khmer immigration.

I handed over my application, passport, and photo, and true to form, the officer said, “One-thousand baht.”

I took out a U.S $20 bill, and laid it on the table.

“One-thousand baht,” he repeated.

I calmly said, “The price for a Cambodian visa is twenty U.S. dollars.”

“We only take a thousand baht.”

I left my $20 bill on the table, but the wind was blowing other papers around, so he put it underneath my application. I said, “The price is twenty dollars.”

There were 3 guys behind the desk, all wearing white t-shirts. Sitting at a table to the left, and perpendicular, was a man dressed in full uniform. I took him to be the head officer.

Again, White T-shirt said, “One-thousand baht.” He said it kind of robotic like, as if that is the only thing he ever says.

The uniformed officer now had my passport, while White T-shirt and I continued our impasse. And don’t let my hard stance fool you, I was plenty nervous. I’m in freakin’ Cambodia fighting with the immigration officers! And hey, where’s my best friend when I need him? Funny he’s not helping me out here.

Finally White T-shirt handed my $20 bill back to me. Oh oh, I thought, They’re not going to let me in.

Then finally, Uniform spoke. He said sternly, “One-thousand baht.”

I only had one trick up my sleeve, other than holding my ground, or paying the 1000 baht. So I pulled it out.

“Okay, can I have a receipt then please?” I said.

Silence.

Then an Australian guy, not realizing what was going on, paid his 1000 baht to the White T-shirts. As he counted out his baht, he said, “How come you guys don’t accept U.S. dollars?” Of course, his query went unanswered.

The 3 T-Shirts continued their work logging in the applications of those who were issued visas, and now it was just me and Uniform. He glanced at my application.

“This is not complete,” he said. “There’s no address of where you stay in Cambodia.”

It was true, I’d left it blank. So I took the application back to the counter to include an address. Oh, and here’s my best friend, come to help me again. How nice of him. I filled in the spot with the name of one of the guesthouses I had written in my notepad. I think my friend could sense my nervousness now, and smelled blood.

I handed the application back to Uniform. I guess it was acceptable. He was now looking at my passport. He asked about the trip I took to Thailand last year.

He said, “You went to Thailand last year on October eighth, and left on October thirty-first. Then come back to Thailand this year on October eighteenth. Where you go in between, there’s no stamps?” At least that’s what I think he said.

I said, “I went back home, to America. They don’t need to stamp my passport for that.”

Then he looked at my Thai visa which is in my passport. I got it from the Thai consolate in New York before this trip. It has “New York” typed on the visa.

He said, “When you go to America you stay in New York”?

“That’s where I got the visa from,” I said. “The Thai embassy is in New York.” I wanted to add, “dumb ass” but I might not be sitting here right now if I did.

After staring at the visa, and the Thai entry and exit stamps for about 2 minutes, he finally extended his hand to receive the U.S. $20 bill. I gave it to him, he put it in the drawer, and he proceded to stick the Cambodian visa in my passport. Then he stamped the entry stamp on, and handed it back to me.

“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t say it sarcastically or anything, but I did say it like, “Thank you for ultimately doing the right thing.”

There was one more formality at another station, where they do something with your passport, and take your picture on a webcam (they did this on arrival in Thailand too), that went off without a hitch.

Wow, I’m one of the very few people ever to pay the real price, $20 U.S., at a land border crossing into Cambodia from Thailand. Now with my confidence level rising, it was time to deal with my tout . . . .

First, I’d like to thank everyone for reading my blog, and/or individual posts. And also thank you to those who have commented. I know I’ve hardly replied to any of them, but I do see them, and appreciate them.

Also, if you are a common reader of my blog, you may want to go back and re-read some of the posts, especially if you read them soon after they were posted. I often go back to the posts a couple of days after posting them, and look at them with fresh eyes. Often I will do some editing, and sometimes make significant revisions. This is the case with my last post, There’s Nothing Discreet About It . So if you read that one before the overhaul, you might want to go back and take a look. Okay, on with this post.

After nearly 2 months in Bangkok, and the sadness of Pattaya, I needed some serious R&R. What better place is there than a tropical island paradise? A popular island on the southeast coast of Thailand, is Koh Samet. There is no regular bus service from Pattaya to Koh Samet, so there are a number of travel agencies offering rides via minibus (really a van) and boat, to the island. The one next to my hotel advertised a ride to Ban Phe, the port where you catch the boat to Koh Samet, for 150 baht (approx $3.75 U.S). I’d read that it was better to get the boat pass at the dock, so I was only interested in the ride to the port. I saw nothing cheaper elsewhere so I went inside to book a ride.

I pointed to the sign advertising the trip and said, “I’d like to book a spot on the minibus to Ban Phe for tomorrow.”

The chubby male employee said, “Do you want to go at 7:30, 1:30, or 5:30?”

I said, “7:30.”

“Okay,” he said, “that will be 180 baht.”

I pointed to the sign again and said, “It says right here 150.”

“It’s 180 now.”

“But it says 150.”

“It’s been updated, it’s 180 now.” He pulled out a brochure that said it was 180 baht.

I said, “You have to change this sign then.”

“I tell everyone it’s 180.”

“But the sign still needs to say 180.”

“I tell everyone it’s 180.”

This company, Koh Chang Travel, has several locations around Pattaya, and all of the signs say the trip costs 150 baht. It’s much easier and cheaper to change these signs to 180, than it is to make all new brochures. So it seems obvious to me that they are purposely misleading the public, and luring us in with the low advertised price. Well, they got me, because I gave the guy my 180 baht. If you get the minibus and boat ticket it cost 250 baht.

So the van picked me up at my hotel, and a couple of hours later we were at the port of Ban Phe. The boat ticket cost me 50 baht, so the book was right, it is better to get the ticket at the dock. But then she asked me if I wanted a return ticket also. Another 50 baht. Hmm, I wonder if the ticket you buy from the agency in Pattaya includes a return ticket to the dock? I’ll probably never know.

So with ticket in hand I walked onto the dock. There were lots of boats and lots of people, so it was kind of chaotic. A guy saw me and asked to see my ticket. I showed it to him and he took it, then pointed to a boat for me to board.

No one else was on the boat, but there was a lot of cargo on it. Food products and large sacks of ice were strewn about. This boat looked like it might have seen some action in WWI . . . and lost. But I got on in spite of this. I sat there alone with the dry soup and ice for a while wondering if I’d made the right decision, then felt relieved when another traveller was directed to my boat. A European fellow, about my age. Then another bloke, a bit younger, boarded the boat. Then the captain and first mate came aboard. The first mate carried on a stereo receiver. As we set off I got a chance to see some of the other boats, and was suddenly quite pleased that I was on this dilapidated WWI boat, and not one of the others.

The island of Koh Samet is not very far from the port. You can clearly see it. But I took a Dramamine tablet just in case. I can get seasick in my friend’s pool. Despite the relative closeness of the island, it took us about 40 minutes to get there because the boat, perhaps becasue of it’s old age and weariness, or maybe due to the 14,000 pounds of ice on board, moved through the water as if it did not want to disturb the fish. So I’m glad I took the Dramamine, though I still might not have needed it.

A big sign welcomes you to Koh Samet. We landed at the dock and the 3 of us stepped off the boat. That first guy to get on the boat after me had already been on the island for a couple of days, so he walked on with me to give me a brief tour. The island is classified as a national park, so there is a 200 baht entry fee for foreigners.

There are 2 ways to get to the bungalow or bay of your choice: You can take a Sawngthaow (A pick-up truck with bench seats in the cab. I don’t know how to spell it either.); or you can walk. My new friend told me that if you walk in, you can walk by the booth where they collect the 200 baht fee, and they won’t even stop you. If you take the sawngthaow, it will stop there and you have to pay. I planned on walking anyway, so I did, and he was right. They didn’t even pay any attention to me. The booth is approximately a half a kilometer in, and you pass a bunch of shops, the only school on the island, and various side roads where the locals live. It’s not very pretty either. It’s very poverish.

They don’t pay attention to the foot traffic, because there are so many people who are already on the island, walking back and forth to go to the shops and stuff. I’m surprised they don’t put the collection booth right on the dock, and get everyone’s money as soon as they step off the boat. If they read this, then it may be incorporated soon.

My guide showed me the way to the bungalows, and beaches then went on his way. I hadn’t booked anything ahead of time, so I had to find a place to stay. As I walked by a place called Jep’s, a tall European fellow stopped me, and asked me if I spoke english.

I do speak english, so he continued, but he got very close to me, like Judge Reinhold’s character, “the close talker,” in that Seinfeld episode, and spoke very quietly like we were spies or something. “Are you looking for a place to stay?”

Tentatively, I replied, “Yes.”

He said, “We want to leave and we still have a night left in our bungalow. It’s all paid for. You can have it if you want.” There was a woman with him.

I just stood there and sized up the situation.

He continued, “They won’t give us our money back, and I would rather give it to someone else than just lose the money.”

I said, “How much does it cost?”

He said, “1200 baht.”

I quickly weighed my options. I was planning on staying here 4 days, and this was Thursday. I know they boost the rates on the weekends, unless you are already there. So if I took this place for the night, I still had to find something else for the weekend. Twelve hundred baht was too much to pay for Jep’s, plus I would feel funny about extending my time there since the bungalow wasn’t even mine. Another thing to consider was if this guy was straight up or not. I decided that he was straight up, and I took the keys. I’d worry about the other days later. I thought about giving him some money, but what if it was some kind of scam. So I just took the keys.

He said, “It’s room 42, right up there,” and pointed up the hill. Then they left.

Now I’m standing in front of this bungalow guest house with keys to a bungalow that is not even mine. And I was still a bit disoriented, because I had just landed on this unfamiliar island.

Suddenly, a women who works at Jep’s came up to me and said, “You looking for a room?”

“Um . . . . um.” I showed her the keys.

She pointed toward bungalow 42. Her look suggested she knew what was going on. I trekked up the hill to bungalow 42.

The key worked, I was in. The place wasn’t bad at all, but it was lived in.They had just taken showers, and their wet towels were strewn about the room. There was sand all over the bed, and a big wet stain in the upper right hand corner of the bed. But there was AC, a warm shower, and above all, it was free.

“Ahhhh!! What the hell is that?”

It was a large spider, crawling on the bed. I took one of their water bottles and crushed it. I got the dead spider, and the sand off the bed sheets, and headed off to look for a place to stay for the rest of the weekend.

The first few places I found were either full or too expensive. Finally, I found a place on a small bay that had an opening, but only for Friday. It cost 600 baht, had no AC, and toilet that didn’t flush. It wasn’t broken, it was equivalent to a squat toilet. So it was a toilet with no flushing mechanism. You have to ladle water from a bucket into the toilet to flush the waste down. But the place had a warm shower.

I didn’t commit to it because I still needed something for Saturday and Sunday. The resort next to it had an opening for the whole weekend, but it cost 1000 baht/night. She tried to get 1200 baht, claiming it was a public holiday, which it might have been, every weekend in Thailand is a public holiday, but there was no AC, and no flushable toilet. It was getting late, and I didn’t know how many places were left on this island, so I agreed to the 1000 baht for Saturday and Sunday. I went back to the other place and booked the 600 baht hut for Friday.

Okay, I had places to sleep for my whole stay, it was time to explore. There are two ways to get from bay to bay: By the dirt road used by motorcycles and cars; or the beaches and bays themselves. If you are on foot, the most scenic way is obviously the beaches and bays themselves. Separating each bay is either rocks, or a trail in the hilly woods. I chose this way.

The bays and beaches are quite lovely. The water is very clear, and the white sand is soft. Each bay has it’s own identity, and name. Some are small and quiet, and others are large and packed with sunbathers, huts and restaurants. I enjoyed trekking throught he hills and climbing over the rocks to reach the next beach. The views from up on the hills were fantastic. they weren’t very high, but high enough.

Me extending my arm. I also had no access to any good editing software, and this internet place made me use a very small file. So the quality is not as good as it should be. June gave me the haircut.

Another thing I was delighted to see as an American male, was a number of women sunbathing, or swimming, topless. Perhaps men from other countries are used to this, and it’s nothing for them. But it is illegal in America, so we never get to see this display of bare-chested women, without paying for it. I ran into a fellow american on the rocks, and he shared my delight of being amongst all these bare boobies. He brought it up, not me. I can’t say I enjoyed all the topless women, but most of them were a welcomed sight for this traveller.

That night I enjoyed a much needed good nights sleep in my free bungalow. the last good nights sleep I will have on the island.

Most of my time was spent exploring the different beaches, stopping at each to wade in the clear blue water. Also sampling the different restaurants on the island. All were actually pretty similar. They were okay.

I also finally bought a book. I’d been looking to buy a book since I landed in Southeast Asia. The books here are expensive relative to America, even the used books. I’d say used books are, pound for pound, the most expensive item here you can buy on the streets. But there was a place here having some kind of sale on used books, and I got a Michael Crichton book: Prey, for only 70 baht. On Khao San Road in bangkok they are about 200 baht. And it was in relatively good condition. So I was happy. Now I can trade it for other books.

My POV. (This is a very small file, so it is not very good quality)

My new hut was in a place called wonderland resorts. You can have a meal at their beachfront restaurant in the company of their resident pig, who might take a nap by your feet as you enjoy your pad thai.

The hut was a small room with a bed and a bathroom. In the bathroom was a non-flushiable toilet, and it was very small, perhaps made for Ooompa Loompa’s. But it did have a warm water shower, which was very surprising, and much appreciated. But the hut did have one thing I did not appreciate. Or should I say, many things I did not appreciate:

Bugs! And they were on my bed! There were ants, some kind of small flying, jumping mosquito type thing, small black beetles, and one big spider that I promply killed. It’s funny how easily we can kill bugs, but we have a problem killing small animal pests.

Every time I would wipe the bugs off of the bed, more would instantaneously appear. The ants were all over the room, especially in the bathroom, and there were hundreds of them. There was no way I was sleeping in that bed. there were two plastic chairs with filthy cushions in the room, so I set up the chairs to use as my bed. That beats sleeping with bugs.

I turned off the light, but I left the bathroom light on, to keep an eye out for any dangerous insects, arachnids, or swine. Then I noticed an odd thing. There were no more bugs on the bed. So I turned on the light again, and instantaneously, the bugs reappeared on the bed. I wiped the bugs off and turned the light off, and waited. No bugs. I turned the light on: bugs! Light off: No bugs; Light on: bugs; Light off: no bugs; Light on: bugs. I could still see the bed clearly with the light off, from the light coming from the bathroom. So it wasn’t that I just could not see the bugs when the light was off. The bathroom light wasn’t strong enough to attract the bugs to the bed. So I decided I would give the bed another chance. I was so tired I really didn’t care at this point. I put my long pants on, and tucked the bottoms into my socks. And I left the OFF (insect repelent) on my arms. I went to bed. I guess I actually slept okay.

My next two nights were spent at the 1000 baht/night place. Torn Tawan Resort, also known as Aocho Grand View Resorts. Of course the first thing I looked for was bugs. They wanted to charge 1200 baht/night, there better not be any bugs. I saw the requisite spider and promptly handled that. There were also 3 small ants, and a rather large mosquito, which left a stain of human blood on the curtain when I crushed it there. But I didn’t see any other bugs, besides a few random ants. There was a gecko in the room, but that was fine, geckos eat bugs.

The upscale bungalows at this resort went for 3500-4500 baht/night. More on weekends and holidays. I think mine was the only primative hut they currently had, but they were constructing more all around mine. I was sure I would be woken up early to the sound of pounding hammers and the sawing of wood.

My hut had no AC, but that was fine. And, again, there was no flushing mechanism on the toilet, but at least it was regular size, so I could deal with that too. After all the hiking and walking in the hot tropical sun, it was time for a nice warm shower. Hmmm, where’s the shower head in this place? You gotta be kidding me! There’s no shower in this hut! This 1000 baht hut, right next to the 600 baht one, that had a hot shower, has NO shower at all!! And she even tried to charge me 1200 baht!

My 1000 baht per night hut

There were pipes with spidgets that gushed water into two large buckets they supplied. That is your shower. You have to use the dog food bowls floating on top of the water in the buckets, to dump the water on yourself. These also have the duel purpose of flushing the toilet as well. And I needed both bowls to double fist it to get my waste to go down.

Then at around 10:30pm on the evening of my last night on the island, I noticed something on my left, inner thigh. It was a small reddish circle, about 2 centimeters in diameter, with a darker red pin prick spot, dead center of the circle. “This can’t be good,” I said to myself. I got kind of nervous about it so I took pictures of it, just in case something poisonous bit me. I won’t include the photos here. So far I feel no ill effects.

Monday morning came and it was time for me to leave the island and continue on my way to Cambodia. I got to the dock and handed the lady my return boat ticket to the mainland. The ticket was a little torn and ragged from being in my pouch with the keys I had to remove over and over again.

When the lady saw my ticket she laughed and said, “No, no, no , no.”

I said, “What? It’s a good ticket.”

“No, no, no, no,” she laughed again. The 2 guys sitting at the table with her agreed.

I said, sternly, but not out of control, “This is a good ticket, I paid money for it.”

Finally one of the guys handed me a new ticket, and I was able to board the boat. This boat was in much better shape than the boat that got me on the island. And it travelled faster too. I took the risk and did not take any Dramamine this time. I felt fine.

I planned on going to Koh Chang, another larger island, but I’d had enough sun and sand, and bugs for a while, so I changed my mind. I decided to head to Trat, the last stop before Cambodia. I took a sawngthaow to the Rayong bus station. There were no buses that went straight to Trat. You have to take a bus to Chanthaburi, then another one to Trat. When we arrived in Chanthaburi I decided to hang there for a while.

I spent an uneventful 2 days in Chanthaburi, the gem capital of Thailand. But gems had nothing to do with why I stopped there.

As for Koh Samet: If I was just on a week or two vacation, I might have sprung for better accomadations, and it would have been wonderful. So if you have the money to spend on the nicer bungalows, then this island would be a great place to spend a few days, if beaches are your thing. The beaches are great, the water is crystal clear, the weather was fantastic, and the views from the hills were spectacular. but there is some 3rd world poverty that cannot be avoided.

I’ve heard there are much better islands in Thailand, and that’s probably true, but if you spring for the better accomodations, Koh Samet would be somewhat of a paradise for some people.

Now, it’s time to cross the border . . .

Previously, I’d said that I was on my own again, and about to head south to the beautiful beaches of Thailand. Well, I was on my own for about 2 days, but June could still not let go, and I caved. It’s not that I don’t want to be with her, I wish she could travel with me in the other countries, then we’d both be in unfamiliar territory. But she can’t, and I needed to get out of Bangkok and start travelling. I’d been there so long, it felt like home. I was actually teaching June a thing or two about getting around Bangkok. So I was with her in Bangkok all that week. But I am alone again, and have been for close to two weeks now, and I think it will be for the long haul. June is back in her home town of Lampang, and I am no longer in Bangkok.

So where am I?

Well, my Thai visa expires soon, so I am slowly working my way to Cambodia. It was too late to go south, and still make it to Cambodia by land without a marathon bus ride, so I went east. My first stop was a beach resort called Pattaya.

While walking on Pattaya Beach Road, I overheard someone say, “If it wasn’t for Viagra, this place would be a ghost town.” And that pretty much sums up Pattaya. In fact, there are several drug stores and healthcare facilities with signs advertising Viagra and Cialis. And you don’t need a prescription to get it here either. I’ll have to keep that in mind for a couple of years down the road.

Walk down the mile, or so, long walkway between the beach and the road in Pattaya, any time day or night, and you will see the saddest sight you have ever seen, besides extreem poverty. The walkway, which would be kind of nice otherwise, is littered with hookers, young and old. There is a girl, or a group of girls about every 10 to 15 feet. And that doesn’t include the transvestite prostitutes, and the drug dealers.

They’re not the type of street hooker that has been sensationalized by Hollywood, or that you may have picked up on the streets in LA or Vegas. They dress normally, and seem normal in every way. Just some girls enjoying the beautiful beachfront with their friends. You wish that’s what they were doing, but you know that they are there to blow men for a meal.

Some will try to lure you in with a sweet “hello,” and others are more aggressive and might touch you, or grab your arm, while others will just stand, or sit there and wait for you to move in. And there are hundreds of them.

But that’s not all. In front of EVERY bar are about 6-12 more hookers. And there are hundreds of bars and strip clubs in Pattaya. At least I think they are hookers. Either that or they are just bait for the guys, to get them to spend their money at that bar. But I have a feeling they have a duel purpose. And for every girl/guy you see on the street, or at a bar, there’s probably one performing her service at that moment.

The other sad thing you will see on the walkway are the Johns. That’s where the Viagra comes in. They are mostly middle-aged or older white men who look like they could not get a woman the traditional way. At least not any more. These men also make up a very large percentage of the tourist population here.

And there is nothing discreet about the encounter. In America, say, a guy might pull up to a hooker in his car, and she’ll get in and he’ll drive off. All very quickly done. But here it all takes place on a stage, like a play at 46th and Braodway. The guy will pick the girl/guy of his choice, and sit and chat with her for a while before he takes her away. And everyone sees and knows what is going on. That’s the sad part, the guys really seem to think they are wooing the girls, and putting on a show for us to admire. “Look how smooth I am with the ladies.”

There is also a very high percentage of couples, consisting of western men and thai girls, in Pattaya. Some are of the hooker/john variety, but others are straight couples. Many of those are probably mail order, or these days, internet order relationships. Again, middle-aged or older white guys with young attractive thai girls. Also I think that some are expats who now live there who have taken a thai wife. And a small percentage are young white guys with young thai girls. I wonder how those relationships started? I see those as being the most legitimate for some reason.

It’s strange, but seeing all of those couples in one place made me feel uncomfortable. You see it occasionally in Bangkok, but not the numbers you see in Pattaya. And if you don’t know me, or if this is the first post of mine you are reading, then you are unaware that I too am having a relationship with a thai girl. That’s the girl I mentioned at the beginning of the post. In an odd way, even though our relationship is legitimate (It started in America, we both worked together when she was living there, and we began dating), seeing all this makes me feel like our relationship is somehow wrong. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like, I feel like I don’t want to be like all those other couples. It just seems like the girls are with them for reasons other than love. And the couples seem so opposite, other than their nationalities. All the couples hold hands, but the girls have a look that suggests they are just playing a role. But I could be wrong. However, I think I would feel awkward if I was there with June. Perhaps everyone would think about us the same way I’m thinking about them. Not that any relationship is illegitimate (except certain illegal ones), but I hope you understand what I mean.

There are some normal tourists/travellers scattered about in Pattaya too. Couples and families and singles, perhaps there for the beach, or the bars. But you have to get your microscope out to find them. And when you see them they do stand out. I almost wanted to scream at them, “What are you doing here, you don’t belong! Go to Phuket or Chiang Mai!”

And although I considered myself among the normal travellers (not there for the sex industry), I am middle-aged (40), I was alone, and I’m white. I fit right in with all the other losers. So I figured, what the hell, and I took a couple of hookers myself. I’m still not sure if Jasmine was a real girl though. Her hands were kind of large, but so gentle and smooth. Her voice was sort of deep, but in a sing-songy way. Her breasts were large and soft, but there was hair between them. And her penis, my god her penis!

The beach in Pattaya is very small. There is only about 10-15 yards of beach between the water and the walkway. And that was taken up by beach chairs you had to pay for. So you couldn’t even walk on the beach with your new thai girlfriend, or boyfriend.

The used books were cheaper than on Khao San Road in Bangkok, which is great. But there was enough mold on them to supply Thailand with Penicillin for the next 3 years.

I bought ear plugs earlier, and I had to use them for the first time at my hotel, Sawasdee Mansion. The noise in the bars on the street below never let up, and the walls were thin. Also, this was the first time I ever stayed in a hotel that supplied you with condoms in your room. A 3-pack for 65 baht, payable at check-out.

At around 1:00am there were very young children in the middle of “Walking Street” (That’s what it’s called, Walking Street. they close off the street to cars at night, and you walk on the street to the next bar, or strip club, or hooker), selling flowers or something. These kids were around 6 to 8 years old, and in the midsts of all this debauchery. Very sad.

So Pattaya is not a place for a young single guy to go to pick up a chick (not in the usual sense anyway). All the single girls are hookers, and they’re not single for long . . . but a couple of hours later, they’re single again. Not that I went to pick up chicks. It’s probably not a good idea to bring the kids either. And if you are not into drinking or contacting VD, pass it by and head to Koh Samed, or Koh Chang instead.

So why did I go? It’s a beach town on the way to Cambodia. I’d heard about the sex industry there, but for some reason I didn’t think it would be as prominent, or as sad, as it is. I thought I’d be able to take a walk on the beach, dip my feet in the gulf of Thailand, but it did not work out that way. If I was with some guy friends or something I probably would have went to strip club with them. But I wasn’t into going in by myself. And I’m not a drinker so the multitude of bars did nothing for me. I’m glad I saw it as far as travelling and experience goes, but it did make me sad, kind of like seeing a disturbing movie. Some of you know that I like disturbing movies, but not this one.

But if you go inland just a couple of blocks things are different. It’s just like any other town in Thailand, with a bustling street market, stores, banks, and a school. That Pattaya, I suppose, is not so bad. But for the most part, Buddha would not like what’s going on in Pattaya, Thailand.

Next stop:

Koh Samet: An island . . . . paradise?

One odd thing I’ve noticed about Thailand is:

There are no squirrels here.

At least I haven’t seen any. I’ve been in Bangkok most of the time, but, although this is a metropolis, there are parks and trees and other places loved by all the squirrels I’ve ever known. And I have also been to other parts of Thailand north and south, and do not recall seeing any.

The other day, while roaming in Santichaiprakarn Park, near the famed Khao San Road, searching for a sign of my bushy-tailed friends, darkness snuck in like a horny teenager through his girlfriend’s bedroom window. Penetrating the darkness on the other side of the park were spotlights, illuminating a gathered crowd. So I abandoned my squirrel hunt for the night and traversed the park toward the lights. When I reached the scene I saw a seated crowd, circled around two people. Natural steps acted as seats for the crowd, and I joined them.

One of the people on the stage was an attractive asian female in her mid to late 20’s. The other was a middle aged caucasian man. The two stood facing each other, about five feet apart. The girl stepped out of her sandles, and seconds later, the guy followed suit. They switched places and the girl stepped into his sandles and the man into hers. They waied (bowed) to each other and the man left the stage and joined the crowd. The girl slowly surveyed the audience, then took the hand of an asian girl, about the same age as she, and brought her to the middle of the stage. They stood silently facing each other, again about five feet apart.

Original Girl unbuttoned her pants and slowly removed them, revealing silky black underwear. Three seconds later, Audience Girl slid out of her black skirt. A furious deluge of flashbulbs lit the night as the two girls exchanged garments. Original Girl pulled on her newly aquired skirt, as Audience Girl stepped into her new Khaki pants. They waied, and Audience Girl went back to her spot in the crowd with her new pants.

The next participant in this ritual was a blonde white female, late 20’s/early 30’s. The crowd tensed in anticipation when Original Girl grabbed the bottom of her own shirt with both hands. She slowly lifted the shirt over her head, and off of her body. Her sleek, black bra was the only thing covering her finely toned torso. Audience Girl was not shy. She seductively unbuttoned her blouse.

They both stood silently staring into each others eyes in bold contrast. Original Girl in her black bra and matching jet-black hair, and Audience Girl with her blonde hair and white, lace bra. The crowd was now rasped in deep anticipation. Flashbulbs ready to explode in a cacophony of light.

With a simultaneous, subtle nod of their heads, together, they unhooked their bras. The crowd, released from their tension, cheered, as the cameras were filled with images of the two girls, from opposite ends of the world, standing topless and proud.

The two girls stepped toward each other, and handed their shirts and bras to one another. They put them on, then waied to each other, and the ritual continued. Next, shoes were exchanged again. Then Original Girl moved in my diection. Oh, oh. Am I ready to drop my pants in front of all these people? Even worse, I came into this in the middle, and I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on. I didn’t know if everyone was going to get their clothes back, and I did not want to lose my sandles. But I was sure I would do it if she chose me. Luckily, or maybe otherwise, she passed me by and chose an asian man sitting near me. To the delight of the crowd, this man had to don the lace bra, and blouse of the previous girl. The man returned, humbly, to his seat in his new outfit, trying to figure out how he will explain this to his children when he got home. Original Girl bowed to the appreciative crowd and the ritual was over.

What I had stumbled upon was the final act of the night, of a performance artist group called Asiatopia. “Original Girl” is from Singapore, and this was her performance: Exchanging clothes with various audience members. The final asian man was glad to get his clothes back. As were all the participating Audience People.

I wish I had noticed this earlier and seen the previous acts, but I’d say I arrived at just the right time.

As for the squirrels, I’ll keep my eye out for them. But it still remains to be seen whether they exist in Thailand or not.

Mark

This blog is called “Mark’s Vagabonding Blog” and, honestly, so far I feel I have not done much vagabonding or growing. Yes, for more than a month I have been a world removed from my home, but for the most part, I have been staying comfortably with June. Someone whom I have initially known from home, but who lives here in Thailand. I have stayed in a few hostels, and have been on my own a little, but I still haven’t met, or barely even spoken to, any other travelers. I also haven’t done much but go to malls and street markets, and I have been in Bangkok way too long. I’ve been in Bangkok so long, I even feel comfortable here on my own now. And since I’ve been out of the hospital, and June’s been back from Lampang, I’ve stayed with her every day. Partly because it was easy and comfortable, and we had fun, and partly because she wants to be with me all the time, and worries about me being on my own.

But the whole idea of this trip for me was to experience the vagabonding trail on my own, and grow from the experience. “Find myself” if you will. Well, today, for that, and other reasons, we decided it was time for me to get on my own again. So I am here at the internet cafe across the street from her apartment, about to venture on my own again. She is at her voice lesson.

I still haven’t looked for a hostel yet, and it is Saturday, a tough time to find a hostel with an openeing. So I will try to get out of here soon. In a couple of days I think I will head south to the beautiful beaches of Thailand. I only have about 2 1/2 more weeks left in Thailand before I have to move on to another country.

But first here are a couple of pictures:

June and I went to see a documentary called Innocence. Click on the link to see all about it. It was playing at the Lido Theater at Siam Square in Bangkok, and the filmmakers were on hand to lend support to the cause.

June with Nisa Kongsri, one of the film makers of the documentary Innocence. June is the one with the glasses.

June with Areeya Chumsai, one of the filmmakers of the documentary Innocence. Areeya was also Miss Thailand: 1994.

It is inspiring to me as a one time filmmaking hopeful that this movie was made. Areeya visited this school a few years ago, and knew immediately the story should be told through film. With no filmmaking background, she searched for someone to help her make the movie. She found Nisa and the two of them, basically alone, with a camera, made the film. I hope something inspires this much to get me out with my camera and produce a film of importance of my own.

Okay, hopefully the next post on Mark’s Vagabonding Blog will be about a vagabonding adventure somewhere on a beach in southern Thailand.

Mark

I have a feeling my last post was a little to difficult for some to take (Although I think it was some of my best writing) , so I will lighten it up here.

I lied earlier when I said I was only using my camera for the clock. I did take some pictures, but not many. Here are a few from when I was in Lampang, Thailand with June when I first arrived here. All are from the Hot Springs.

June boiling eggs at the Hot Springs near Lampang, Thailand. It took 17 minutes to boil the eggs. We ate them for breakfast the next day.

I miss those sunglasses.

Close up of June working on the eggs, she turned to look at the camera.

Me about to swing on a vine at the waterfall at the Hot Springs. I’m tugging on it to see if it’s strong enough to hold me.

Me Tarzan swing on vine. The picture looks fake, but it’s not. When I looked at it on June’s computer, it looked very dark. Or at least I looked very dark. So I did a quick edit and lightened myself up, which makes it look like I placed myself in the picture.

This is the first time I’ve tried to add pictures to my posts, so I hope I did it right. I just looked, success!

I’ll try to add more pictures in the future because I know that’s what everyone wants to see.

Mark

The American Breakfast at Bangkok General Hospital (BGH) consists of:

4 hot dogs (They call them sausages, Americans call them hot dogs)
3 of another type of sausage
4 slices of ham
A roll, bread and butter

And this is for someone with acute diarrhea.

But lunch and dinner were pretty good.

Before you continue, I will warn you that some of this may not be for the squeamish.

In my last post I mentioned that I started to get a fever accompanied by diarrhea. Well both symptems continued relentlessly for the next couple of days. So I decided it was time to go to the hospital, you know, with the bird flu going around and all. I think the people who run the hostel I was staying in, Discovery Lodge, were suspicious that I might be sick when I kept asking for more toilet paper. So I finally told them I needed to go to the hospital.

First I called my insurance company, World Nomads, and they recommended BGH. Next I had to get a taxi. Now those who have ever been in Bangkok would never ever voluntarily travel by car here if they had acute diarrhea, not even for a half a mile. But what choice did I have? The hospital was not on a train route, my case wasn’t severe enough for an ambulance, and my helicopter is still in New Jersey. Perhaps I could have taken a motorcycle taxi, and he could have weaved through traffic. But that would have been very expensive because it was so far away, and it was raining heavily.

So I just hopped in the taxi, clenched my cheeks tight, and hoped for the best. About an hour later I reached the hospital without any spillage. Actually it wasn’t so bad, I was in a slight respite from my gastrointestinal trauma, and I did not feel the urge. But the traffic was bad, so I was lucky. What should have been a 15 minute drive took about an hour.

The rep at my insurance company told me I would probably have to wait a long time in the emergency ward, but I guess she wasn’t aware of the international ward at BGH. At the international emergency ward I was greeted by a friendly nurse. I told her my problem then filled out a registration form. I now have a BGH card for a speedy registration for the next time I eat some tainted roast duck.

There was hardly anyone there so I was in the doctor’s office in about 20 minutes. After a quick dialog with the doctor, some palpation and listening to my stomach, a look down my throat with a flashlight, (this was an actual flashlight, like the kind you take down the cellar to look for the fuse box after a power outage, and hope there are no monsters or serial killers down there. That kind of flashlight.) a blood test, and a stool sample (More about the stool sample later), Diagnosis: “Acute Infective Diarrhea with fever and dehydration.”

Okay, it’s later, back to the stool sample. Immediately after my visit with doctor, but before the diagnosis, the nurse handed me a small plastic container. It was about the size of a film canister but not as wide.

Nurse: “For stool sample.”
Me: “How do I get it in there?”
Nurse: “Oh.” (She opened the top which had a tiny scooper thing attached to it, and she made a scooping motion with it.)
Me: “I scoop it out of the toilet?”
Nurse: “Yes, yes.”
Me: “Right out of the water?”
Nurse: “Yes, yes.”

Now why I didn’t ask for rubber gloves at this point, I don’t know. But what’s worse, is she never offered them. Let’s just say, she got the sample.

With the results of the blood and stool tests in, coupled with my pale, dehydrated and haggard appearance, the doctor said I needed to be admitted. There’s not much to being admitted to a hospital in Bangkok. Just show some insurance, a passport, and a credit card (which I just got back that day from being lost with my wallet) and off you go. There’s not much to sign, and no forms you need a magnifying glass and a lawyer to read.

I was on the 14th floor. Actually it was the 13th floor, but they are superstitious here too. It was a very large room with a gigantic window, and a spectacullar view of the city. I also had a TV, microwave, refridgerator, a safe, a couch for guests complete with pillow and blanket, a desk, a bathroom, and my very own bartender. And it was all mine. It was the best place I’ve stayed in since I’ve been in Bangkok.

They gave me a price list of rooms, and this was only the standard, single room. It cost 8625 baht a day, and that includes nurse service, hospital service and meal. There are also deluxe and superior VIP rooms for 12,825 and 14,825 baht/day, respectively. I tried to sneak into one of those to see the strippers, but they caught me. You know there are strippers in the VIP room. What more could they have than I did?

So my room was pretty nice, and the TV was cable, with HBO and Cinemax. But I didn’t really get to see any full movies. Why? Remember why I was there? Acute Infective diarrh……right. There was also always a nurse or a maid or someone coming in and interrupting.

I first arrived to my room about 7:00pm, and was prompltly served dinner. It was fish, which was quite tasty. But it was the first thing I’d eaten in a couple of days, and I was no where near cured, so I don’t have to tell you what happened 3 minutes later . . . . then again 5 minutes later.

Before I went to the hospital I was not sleeping well either, so I was looking forward to a good night’s slumber. And I got it! I slept well right through the night . . . only to be woken up at 5:30am for a check of my vitals! After they left I went to the door to put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob, but there was no sign. What kind of hotel is this? So I screamed down the hall, “You want my vitals?!? It’s VITAL for me to be sleeping!! That’s my vitals!! Okay, I didn’t do this, but it’s still true, sleep is vital for good health. So why do they wake you up before the roosters in every hospital in the world? It makes no sense.

That morning, never mind trying to watch a whole movie, I wouldn’t have even been able to watch a whole Pepto-Bismol commercial. From 6:00am till about noon, I had to rush to the bathroom about every 10 munutes. So mostly I just watched TV and shat, read the newspaper and shat, and did the puzzles in the newspaper and shat. So it’s a good thing I had no visitors, it would not have been very comfortable for them. Oh, I completed my first Sudoku puzzle ever. I messed up the first time, but recreated it in my notepad and completed it correctly. So now, I will look for a book of sudoko puzzles to keep me occupied during lulls on my journeys.

The nurses were all very nice. At times they were so nice it scared me. Like after one nurse had asked me how many times I had gone that morning, and I told her, she grabbed my hand for a few seconds to console me as if I’d just been told I only had 4 days to live.

The blanket they give you is just one huge towel. They also have an aromatherapy kit for you. I didn’t write down what it said on it, but it was something like, “With the complimentary from BGH.” It’s funny how many signs here in Thailand make no grammatical sense in English. But you still know what they mean. For instance, the sign on all of the escalators in the brand new, clean, high tech, high speed subway system says, “Not lean the edge of escalator.” You see it all the time in respectable places. I know it’s not their language, but you’d think they’d consult with someone and ask, “How would you say this correctly in English?” But they just guess. Either that or someone is messing with them.

On my first morning there, the nurse handed me a small plastic container and asked for a sample. This container was different from the one which they asked for the stool sample in the emergency room. It was a bit larger, more like one for urine, and it also had no scooper thing on the cap:

Me: “Urine?”
Nurse: “No, stool.”
Me: (Since this one was different), “How do I get it in there?”
Nurse: “Hold it under your buttocks when you go.”
Me: “Say what?”

Again, why I didn’t ask for rubber gloves, I don’t know. Why she never offered them is a crime. They got their sample.

The next morning, another nurse came in with a stool sample container like the first one, with the scooper on the cap. This time I was no fool:

Me: “Can I have rubber gloves for this?”
Nurse: Why Rubber gloves?”
Me: “How am I supposed to get it?”
Nurse: “Scoop it from your anus after you go.”
Me: “Say what?”

Now why didn’t the first nurse with the scooper thing tell me that? Or more likely, why didn’t I think of that? Because the nurse told me to take it out of the toilet, that’s why! I thought the toilet water would taint it too.

Pills pills pills. I think I can honestly say that I’d taken more pills in those three days than I’ve taken in my entire 40 year life, not including asperin or Tylenol. Pills before breakfast, pills after breakfast, before lunch, after lunch, and the same for dinner. I think the most they brought me was 6 pills to take all at once. Usually 2 to 5 at once. They even gave me pills to take home with me. I also had to take some powdery drink called Smecta after each meal. Plus all the IV drips.

One time I moved funny and it tugged at the IV in my arm. I saw blood start to go into the IV tube toward the bag. There was about a foot of the tube filled with my blood. I thought I was going to die! So I pushed on the nurse button and yelled, “Come quick I’m gonna die! There’s blood in my IV! THERE’S BLOOD IN MY IV!!” She came and just squeezed the blood back into me through the tube, chastized me, and told me to be more careful. Have you ever lost blood and had the same blood put back into you in the same place it came out? Probably not, my friend. Probably not.

I knew I was starting to get better when I could confidently fart, and know that it was just a fart. That’s how they judge your progress. So the doctor said that I could leave that night, or to be safe, the next day. Well, I still had diarrhea twice that morning so I didn’t want to chance another taxi ride in that traffic. So I stayed another night. Also I talked to June and she told me if I still had diarrhea that day, that I should stay.

On the weekends they have a small market dowstairs near the X-Ray wing. Some hospital rep took me down there. It’s really outside, but underneath the hospital, complete with stray dogs and everything. I was the only person walking around in my hospital garb. I didn’t buy anything, but on my way back to the room I noticed there was a small library of books on my floor, and internet access. No one ever told me about this! I could have read a book, or been downloading porn this whole time! But by now it was amost time for me to leave, so there was no time for a book. And the internet was kind of expensive anyway.

In the room there is a placcard with a price list for souveniers from the hospital to commemorate your illness or gunshot wound forever. Hospital towels, blankets, dishes, drapes, pants, shirt, pillow cases and more. It’s all about the money isn’t it?

Leaving the hospital was an odd experience too. Like being admitted, there’s not much to it. I could have went to the cashier to pay my for my phone usage, but for some reason I kept putting it off. Finally they came to me. I paid the phone bill and they gave me a receipt for that and for the entire hospital stay. The total bill was 52,273 baht (roughly $1274), not including phone. My insurance company should take care of it. But then that’s it, you just leave. Nothing else to sign, no one walks you out, no band playing. I just walked out of my room, went to the elevators, then out the door to a waiting taxi. It seems like there should have been more. A goodbye kiss from the nurses maybe?

So that’s where I’ve been the last few days. I feel much better now. Hopefully I’m now immune to whatever it was. So in less than a month of vagabonding I lost my sunglasses, lost my wallet with lots of money in it, lost my pen, and spent 3 days in a hospital for food poisoning, after already being sick for a couple of days before that. But I still don’t have to go to work tomorrow.

After I’m totally cured, I’m planning on heading south to the beautiful beaches of Thailand to get sun poisoning, then maybe back up north to the mountains for malaria. I really need to get out of Bangkok though. I still have a little less than a month left on my Thailand visa before I have to move on to another country.

Let’s see what the next 11 months has in store for me.

Mark

Bangkok, Thailand Nov 10, 2005, around noon.

In all the literature I’ve read on doing a vagabonding trip to Southeast Asia, one thing was Unanamous: You will get sick.

Yesterday I had diarrhea, my skin was tingly, and I felt very lethargic. The last time I felt like that, sans the diarrhea, was when I had mono a couple of years ago. So I knew it wasn’t good. When I got back to my hostel at around 6:00pm, I took my temperature. It was 99.2. Not bad, but still slight fever. I slept a little, and woke up around midnight and took my temp again: 101.2. A full-fledged fever.

When I woke up this morning at around 10:00am, more diarrhea, and a temp of 99.4. I don’t feel as lethargic, and my skin isn’t as tingly. So let’s hope that my immune system is working on the problem, and I’ll be better soon. And I’ll be immune to whatever it is. No point in trying to guess where it came from. Like there’s no point in trying to guess what happened to my wallet.

Probably a combination of stress, and bacteria in some food I ate or something. Hopefully this is the worst it ever gets. I should only be that lucky.

On the night of the day I lost my wallet, June and I were supposed to go to a talk by a famous Buddhist Monk, Ajahn Brahm, author of the book Opening The Door Of Your Heart. We still went. It was a good talk, given to a packed house of a few hundred people. It was in English too. But a little canned I thought. John Gray or Dr. Phil or any self-help guru could have given the same speech, but he had a Buddhist slant. And he sat cross-legged on a chair the whole time, and was soft spoken. Anyway, I’m not inclined to become a buddhist yet or anything, but I really think I would like to be able to meditate.

They gave out a couple of pamphlets on meditation before you went into the talk, and if it’s anything like he describes, that must be an awesome feeling. Last night when I woke up at midnight and took my temp of 101.2, I read the pamphlets on meditation. Even getting to step one would be cool. When I read step 4, I though that was it, it couldn’t get any better than that. But it went all the way to step 7 and beyond. It seems like a lot of work though. I doubt there are many people who have reached that level. Kind of like juggling 7 balls, not many people can do it.

So I will rest today, and hopefully I’ll be healthy again soon. I don’t have June to pamper me this time like she did when I had mono. She’s still in Lampang with her mother. That’s more important than pampering me. I don’t even think she knows I’m sick yet.

I better get back to my room, I may need to use the bathroom again soon.

Mark

P.S. For those wondering, I did get my replacement ATM card sent. So I’m back in business.