longwalktour's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member longwalktour on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/longwalktour en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sun, 05 Nov 2006 16:48:50 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com Conclusion — Denver, United States http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1165113900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1165113900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1165113900/tpod.html Sun, 05 Nov 2006 16:48:50 -0500 A dream that after four years has become real: The end of our twenties spent vagabonding, exploring the world, avoiding the rats. From Denver to Denver always heading East.
Denver, United States

I've always liked tall tales and good stories. Who doesn't like to be captured be the essence of imagination? I've spent years running through woods wrapped up in childhood imagination and make believe stories on adventure quests. An uncle used to tell stories of travel, sometimes uncomfortable and often reckless. My father talks about snorkeling in the South Pacific with barracuda. Foreign friends used to crash at our house for weeks at a time speaking with accents and talking about places that they had been. I used to draw maps of imaginary places for fun and I've always looked at the globe with fascination. By different circumstances but similar views, the same can be said for Erin. To us, taking a trip like this never seemed out of the question. How does that old song go? "I've got the whole world in my hands, the whole wide world..." It must have struck a chord.
We both had a desire to experience parts of the world that felt foreign as an opportunity to learn, explore, languish and digest. There was some anxious trepidation as we departed, but we did feel reasonable assured that we were leaving to do a worthwhile thing. With vital belongings (and a few extras) hanging from our backs we set out eastward bound. The only goal was to do it.
Now, by the time this is typed, we will be days away from our next flight which will drop us off in Los Angeles. At LAX we will say goodbye and head for our respective home states before meeting again later in Colorado. I can't imagine that a week in Austin with Floyd Pinkerton and Golinski won't be some sort of adventure. But, the exotic will have ended and in a short matter of time we'll be spending our days earning a buck instead of being awestruck. Soon enough, this year will become a fond memory which we will look back on and smile.
Each on these entries required a certain distance from the subject so that it was with perspective in which I wrote. Now, it feels that writing any conclusion will be somewhat incomplete. We've taken a long trip, but it has also been more than a year of living that has gone into it. Surely it has and will effect us through our lives, but from where I am now, I can't really say how. The meaning of the trip was Living. Experiencing. Expanding. I love what London wrote: "Man's chief purpose is to live, not to exist. I'd rather be ashes than dust."
Also great is what Heggstadt replied to a friend when asked what he would have done differently on his 5 year trip around the world: "I wish that I could have spent one more day everywhere that I was." We are now so far ahead of where we started that we are behind it, but we too would relish more days.
Some of the most meaningful memories we have to attribute to the people that we met and got to know on the way. Thank you all for enriching our lives. To name a few: Andreas. B.G. and Basin. Ward and Veronique. Golinski and the Golinskis. Ludomir, Dorota, Kaya and Figa. Marchen and his family. Adam the ranger. Josh, Paul and Annie. Tiago. Seydo, Senada and family. Senad. Megan. The Winklaffs. Jay and Reagan. Jordan Jackson. Shehe Guestie and Jambiani. Barry. Friends of Ipilimo. Fanuel and Mama Catherine. Friends of Mbalamazewa. Nilolo pigers. Mzee of Myeba Peak and the wonderful people of Tanzania. Aqua Andy and Dusty. Wild Tongue Backpackers, ZA. Gunner in Napier. Col. Sanjeev and family. Tapur Dey and family. Mock II in Sikkim. Bruno. Sonja and Stefan. Tee and Ian. Scott, Phuong, Duong, Terri and Richard. Simon Irish. Brian C. Joe B. Dan and Mike. B.G. once again. Fritz and Kate. Jim and Alice. Penne and Dario. Jon and Janice. Gram and Jani. And, anyone who has sent us an email. Of course, a huge thanks to our families for their support, especially our mothers with out whom, there wouldn't be nearly as many hits on this site.
OK, I almost have a thumb on it now. I think what I get from this exploration is that it makes me more aware that my reality is really just one of an infinite amount. At best, one out of 6.7 billion or so. Every head is a different world and for every action, there is a reaction. As you collide with all of these different worlds, you hone an intuition for what is real and what isn't. When I return to my world I have more of a grasp of reality and it effects the way that I move. I feel light, yet well grounded. Sometimes I feel as though I'm floating instead of walking.
I also love the feeling that what we did isn't as extraordinary as what we thought.. anymore. Before we began, it seemed like a huge task, almost implausible. When I'd hear of something like it I'd get glossy eyed and daydream about what it would be like. Now, when we talk to others who are doing similar treks, we see the actual roads and the crossings, the lengths and the rewards. And instead of thinking "that's too good to be true," we think "oh, that's a good route." The earth feels a little more casual to us now and humankind a little more understood.
With out becoming pedantic or didactic or over the top, I'll start to wrap this up. Uncle Frank once wrote in a Christmas card to me, "Have fun with Gravity up there in the mountains." And what better thing to do but strap a waxed board to your feet when standing at the top of a snow covered mountain? Glide down it like a bird. Enjoy that undeniable force. It is inescapable, but it isn't rigid. Ride it. Let me encourage that greeting to everyone, but let me expand it:
Have fun with Time and Space as well.

Thanks y'all. The End...
]]> New Zealand — New Zealand, New Zealand http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1161129420/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1161129420/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1161129420/tpod.html Fri, 20 Oct 2006 21:33:01 -0400 A dream that after four years has become real: The end of our twenties spent vagabonding, exploring the world, avoiding the rats. From Denver to Denver always heading East.
New Zealand, New Zealand

I start this entry, knowing that it is my last. After nearly 14 months, our next destination is home. This trip is coming to an end. Emotions between us are mixed. It will be great to return to our home. Friends are there. We both enjoy what we do. Family. Familiar faces and comfortable things. Ski season is about to start and fresh ideas are bouncing around in our heads. New adventures await. Yet, we both feel healthy and strong enough to continue and neither of us can really admit to feeling very homesick. Also, we still like each other enough to continue. But, now we have walked as far as our wallets will allow. After paying the deductible in Auckland, the signs were pretty clear that it was just about time to return.
At the wreck site, even though it was quitting time, the police officers were very nice and quite helpful. Three cars were involved. Nobody was hurt and everyone had insurance. After deploying the air bag, I rendered the car "undrivable". The driver's door couldn't open and the passenger's couldn't shut. The SUV was pretty banged up. One of its wheels stood at a 45 degree angle to the earth. The first car surprisingly had hardly any sign of damage.
"Ninety percent of the wrecks we see happen in just this way. I've seen 29 others today. School holidays have just begun. Tell me, how long to you plan to stay in New Zealand?" the officer said as he took down my driving credentials.
"Shit. I think that now we're headed home tomorrow to pay for all of this."
"Aw. Naw. Everything is insured. It shouldn't be too bad. You have to see our Kauri trees up North. Nothing like your Sycamores over there, but they are still pretty big. Any restrictions on this permit?" He asked looking at my Colorado license. "What's the weight limit on this?"
"Um, I not sure. Just a standard one."
"Whoa! You can drive up to 26,000lbs. You could drive a big rig with this over here. No restrictions for you. I'm sorry, but I do have to give you a ticket though... But listen, don't go home just yet."
He also called the car rental place for us on his cell phone to let them know what had happened, where to have the car towed, and to make sure that another one would be available for us to pick up shortly.
In the rental office, the manager reiterates to us for a third time, "that's right, it is a bad thing to say, but it's good that you hit another car because if you hadn't, the excess would be much greater."
From impact to departure, in our third rental wagon (white again) perhaps two hours had passed. Insurance did come through for us, at its premium price. My hand smarted a bit from the impact with the horn (after the wreck). Our nerves were on edge,and with knees just about knocking, we accelerated on the interstate at the very entrance ramp which led to our accident. It was looking like we would be able to stay for a while as long as we could get the car from place to place.
We drove to a small town about 70km north of Auckland and found a grocery store where we bought bread, salami, and a six pack of their cheapest beer. (That was the first 6 pack that we had bought since Luxor.) Sitting at a park by a river we made sandwiches for dinner and tried to settle our nerves while counting our blessings. At dusk, while blowing up our inflatable mattress, a green van pulled up. A smiling guy hopped out and took a look at the river. We began talking and after 15 minutes or so, he invited us to park on his property up the hill, instead of sleeping in the town's park. His name was Penne.
Alice and Jim were just taking off as Erin and I were patching a hole in the mattress in Penne's yard. The sky was clear and thousands of stars were out. The super glue and duct tape seemed to be working and we laid on a poncho gazing through the Milky Way.
The next morning we ate breakfast with Penne and his son Dario. Speaking to him about living in New Zealand, he said that he moved here twenty years ago from Germany for the lifestyle. "It is small, so you get to know it intimately. You don't make a lot of money here, but the life is spectacular." He was truly a friendly, energetic and engaging person. In the summer time he is a tour guide and over coffee he gave us notes all along our map with hints and advise.
The streets at the northern tip of the North Island are narrow and serpentine as they curl around the knobby bays. Following Penne's advice we stuck to the back roads along the shore for days. Idyllic bays set in between verdant cliffs. The water ranging in colors from baby blue to ancient jade was all clear and cold.
I have to condense some of the imagery because all through out these islands there are places that could be the garden of Eden or a paradise lost. There are so few people here, nature seems to have achieved a lovely balanced status. Every single day there are breath taking views, different from the day before. Then again, I have to take a step back and look at the time that we've spent in this past year. I could say almost the same for every couple of days for this entire time. Perhaps the nature wasn't as dashing but, so many other things in our sights have been just as remarkable: the holes at Sarajevo, the churches of Lalibela, the kids in Ipilimo, the Kingdom of Sikkim...
Surely, you all would get tired of me trying to grasp and contain with words the beauty that is around us here. The forests, alive with bird calls, feel magical. There are incredible layers of life spread throughout. From sandy beaches you can see the feet of 12,000 foot mountains topped with glaciers. A hundred feet off of the highway you can look down on trout lingering at the edge of a sky blue stream. Lakes, dug from monstrous movements of ice level off in hanging valleys, but plunge below sea level and their shores are covered in perfect skipping stones. To walk through it all and not feel awe seems impossible.
The convergence of cultures is interesting as well. There seem to be more indigenous Maori on the North Island, where many are blue collar types. I made quick friends with a few gregarious road workers and hung out in their RV park with them one evening. As we got a bit intoxicated I caught myself getting lost in the melody of their accented tones and their particular jargon. I always laughed last because it took a while for me to interpret what they had said. It felt like hanging out with a group of Pikies in the movie Snatch. But we swapped some stories, and a tall-telling fisherman gave me a big fillet (pronounced full-it) of snapper when I left. "You kun bie tis at da store fa 40 a kilo. I dropped da line once an 'e' drug me boat. I been eatin fish fur tree days G." That night we camped on an open lot above a wonderful bay eating one pot risotto mixed with mushrooms, kiwi, carrots, and large chunks of snapper. I love being on the road.
Of the four million people in NZ, one million live in Auckland and one million on the South Island. Though the scenery on the NOrth Idsland is beautiful, everyone that we met (mostly locals) told us that the South Island was really beautiful. "There's way less people there," was a very common remark. It is sort of a land of cowboys and gold rushes. Lush hilly pastures filled with puffy sheep are separated by perpendicular mountains. Sitting on the side of a road eating lunch one day a brawny looking guy with a thick beard, hairy arms, wool shirt, short shorts and work boots walked up to us and leaned on the car. "How's goin'? I'm Mike."
We stood around for nearly an hour talking, just shooting the breeze. He talked about fishing with three youngest, taking tramps (hikes) over mountains, clearing gorscht from his pastures and "throwin' lead" at wild goats. He was certainly more of a mountain man than most in Colorado. Then with an "alright better go," he walked back down the hill from which he came.
I still wonder what this trip was all about. What drove us to do it, what have we taken from it, what sort of meaning comes from it? Most of our time right now is spent between quiet walks, quiet evening, and the quiet sitting over pots. Last summer...no. The summer before we left I camped zero times. Erin camped once. Almost all of our spare recreational time was spent working, digging, nailing, sanding and painting. We've been camping now for one month in an astounding place. A double sized air mat fits snuggly into the back of the wagon. One NZ dollar gets us 10km. At second hand stores we bought a pot, thick plastic utensils, a hand carved wooden spork and a duvet. We cook pretty good one-pot meals that normally include pasta, oatmeal, cheese, kiwis and carrots. And we normally camp in spectacular places with nobody around. From today we have 20 days left. Maybe this won't be my last entry after all...
]]> Sydney — Sydney, Australia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1156911300/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1156911300/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1156911300/tpod.html Sat, 07 Oct 2006 23:19:06 -0400 A dream that after four years has become real: The end of our twenties spent vagabonding, exploring the world, avoiding the rats. From Denver to Denver always heading East.
Sydney, Australia

I always thought that I would visit Australia when I was older, at a time when I didn't have interest in a backpackers and with the money to avoid them. It sounded like a good place to go after retirement where I'd rent a RV and spend months on a long road trip. Even when planning this trip I thought that if we had both the time and money, we'd extend our stay into China from Vietnam rather than Australia. It was on a deck in Manali, looking in the distance at a waterfall that spilled off the Himalayas, where we first got the notion of coming here. Fritz and Kate were there, Erin's eccentric ex pat uncle and his Aussie daughter. New Zealand, an image of idyllic nature was close enough to include a stop over. It would make a good winding down/reentry point into western society. And furthermore, Erin's parents Alice and Jim would maybe have the chance to meet with us there. So, the plan was hatched 30 years premature and we boarded a lavish Air Emirates flight to Sydney.
Of course, extreme differences are noticed immediately. The lines at the customs are orderly and quiet. Street lanes are also orderly and quiet. Traffic laws are obeyed and horns are seldom used. People cross the street at intersections when a blinking sign informs them that it is their turn. Stores have one price that is non-negotiable. One mattress in a dorm room in a backpackers with eight others cost $22 and a plate of rice with stir fried vegetables costs $8 on special.
After ten months we had resurfaced in the Western world. The apparently frenzied pace of India and SE Asia subsided into 9-5 lives of business people in suits with peculiar accents. Somehow apprehension and adventure both felt more subdued. Also, we met with Fritz, Kate, Alice and Jim to embark on what would be the first family vacation that I have taken in about two decades.
We met in Sydney. Kate, Fritz, Erin and I spent two days together as we awaited Erin,s parents. Walks in the botanical gardens, through downtown and along the coast set the tone for what would follow in the next few weeks.
Now, four weeks after we landed, I am struggling to find an angle in which to write this entry. Exotic lands and cultures have disappeared and been replaced with different, yet familiar scenes. But no matter how I twist it, I can't squeeze an adventure out of a vacation. It was easy, relaxed and orderly; comfortable, clean and safe. It was great, but not exactly adventurous, so we'll see what that does for the length of this entry.
I'll have to spare you all the daily details of our road trip. The six of us piled into a rented mini van in Sydney and slowly made our way up the Eastern Coast of Australia. The shift from individual to group travel mentality was abrupt. Instead of two heads fending together as one, there were suddenly six, forming a rudimentary democratic coalition. Thankfully, all of our ideas of fun were similar, so it worked out well.
Jim and ALice are both down to earth folk with only good intentions. They have raised and maintained a healthy, loving family and both stay active in individual pursuits. At 5:30, Jim drinks whiskey on the rocks and Alice favors red wine. In spite of being northerners they are really friendly, inviting and happy people.
Kate has recently graduated from the "uni", "gosh....about two years ago now." She grew up in Perth between her mother and father. Her inquisitive nature, eagerness, bluntness and dislike of soap carried a youthful energy to it -- topped off with a true Aussie accent and doubly curled hair.
Now, Fritz, well if there was a place that adventure could be squeezed out of this story, it would surely begin with him. We all have stories. Everyone in this group had several handfuls of them, but some people, life is a story. Days can be chapters. Nowadays Fritz is retired from income earning work. He has sold off his business, reduced his belongings to what could fit into his 4 door Nissian sedan and taken off to the eastern side of the continent to meander its beaches and towns, "spruiking " a renegade Aussie flag. Politics boil in his brain and often begin to froth over. He is loud, opinionated and patriotic in a lot of ways. He is certainly not afraid of being who he is and to his good fortune he also happens to be a quite likeable person.
For the past twenty years Fritz has been working on and perfecting a design for an Australian flag that better represents the country. "It's like, grow up and move out of Mom's house," he said about the Union Jack on the current flag. Now one of his greatest passions is walking around carrying a large flag, talking to people about his notions, contacting local media centers, and selling both flags and stickers. He wants to effect the national image and truly believes it to be possible. Some 50,000 stickers have gone out to donating people, and after talking to him, you leave with the sense of quixotic hope, wanting for one person to topple a giant.
So here we are. Two vagabonds 11 months and counting, living out of a backpack and on the road tossed into a mini van with these characters driving northward up Australia's route 3. Intermittently we would stop for picnic lunches and quick walks through parks that we passed. We had three sets of binoculars between us and ne'er a bird was to be missed. From Manly point we saw Humpback whales waving their fins at the waters surface....
I just had to stop and delete a few paragraphs. After writing, I decided that I could spend pages writing about the things that we did and saw, only to end up boring you. A lot of the beautiful, funny, interesting, entertaining, relaxing, distressing and delicious things that we did were unique to us, but may not be so extraordinary. So, I'll just list a few of our good memories and if anyone is interested you can inquire at your leisure: Sydney Harbour Bridge, Botanic gardens and Sydeny Opera house. Soldier row of beers with beef pies and mash. Pick up soccer games and Yacht Clubs. Aussie rules football where nobody ever wins by one. Warm middies and chicken nachos. Terrific days in Ballina with cousin Jim's irie nights. Spectacular sunset at Byron Bay where a red full moon rose to a drum circle and wafts of patchouli and ganja. Spider attacks and counterattacks. Mangrove forests. Kangaroos. Free barbies with lamb chops and sausages. Burning logs. Bird watching. Heated pitch games, no vacancies, screeching lorikeets, 3000km, and successful spruiking.
We covered a lot and though it was all great it was at our final destination in Airly where we really lived it up. It was raining crocodile tears when we arrived, but soon after it let up and we stared from a balcony into a yacht filled bay. Jim and Alice found a two bedroom apartment with large living room and kitchen, and one of the best views in town. Erin and I passed ourselves off a live-in chefs for a couple of days while Fritz still preferred the car.
A bright Sunday morning we set sail on a 70ft lavender catamaran bound for the Whitsundays. After a few hours of sailing we dingied to a beach covered with white silicone sand. The water was shockingly aqua and the sand stretched on undisturbed for miles. At one end of the beach a group of people from our boat found a beached turtle and pushed him back into the sea.
Around midday, after a buffet "smorgasbord", we were briefed on our snorkel spot. Airly is called the doorway to the Great Barrier Reef because it sits 20km away from the Great Barrier's southern tip. There are 2900 types of coral reef, and over 7000 animal species that live there and make it visible from outer space. In the time that we snorkeled we saw a fraction of what lives there, yet its impressiveness left us discussing the colors and shapes for days.
At this point I'll have to stop with the tales and begin one more list of a few things that happened on the way out of Australia and for the six days with Jim and Alice in New Zealand as the vacation continued: A seaplane of the Whitsundays then snacks at a lagoon. Last to check-in, no matter how we tried. A flag pole snaps almost insighting an uprising, but is quenched by six warm beers. Don Quixote stands by his cause looking for Rocinante and our group drops to four. Station wagon shuffles over gorgeous hills and around tight turns. Venison and red wine. Self serve, en suite rooms and personal chef-driver tag alongs. Foul smells, bubbling mud pits, erupting geysers, boiling beaches, craters and hole in one island. Impulse golf. Steak with bourbon mustard gravy. Towering hedges along effervesant hills spotted with sheep and golden gorsht.
We drove back to the airport and dropped off Jim and Alice. Auckland can be a busy city. Our first rental car was having some strange hesitations around 50kph, so on the way out we swapped it for another. It is a station wagon that we convert into a tent and it cost 15NZD a day, so we declined the extra insurance that costs $6 more daily.
Alice and Jim are probably standing in line to go through the metal detector as Erin and I are cresting the hill on motorway 1. On the other side is a stand of brake lights and I stomp on mine fearing it is too late. Just before smashing into a rear end I swerve and narrowly miss it. Thump! No, I clipped it and that really shot me into the other lane. Wham! Right front fender just smacked a candy apple red SUV and sent it swerving right into the jersey wall. Crash! The SUV bounced off the wall and came back into my rear fender, sweeping the back of our car into the side of the one that I first nipped. Now we are squealing sideways down motorway 1. Jim and Alice are putting their shoes back on and forfeiting her hand cream.
We come to a halt and roll to the shoulder. I cuss loudly and punch the steering wheel. The airbag explodes and leaves us coughing, covered in white dust. Nobody is hurt. A quote from Fritz is replaying in my head: "An adventure is something that when it is happening, you don't want to be there, but afterwards it makes a good story." Jim and Alice are buying magazines because their plane is delayed. We are standing at the epicenter of a traffic jam cussing and coughing. The vacation is over.
]]> Wrap it up — Koh Tao, Thailand http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1156479240/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1156479240/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1156479240/tpod.html Thu, 31 Aug 2006 05:41:09 -0400 A dream that after four years has become real: The end of our twenties spent vagabonding, exploring the world, avoiding the rats. From Denver to Denver always heading East.
Koh Tao, Thailand

Today is the 28th of August. Last week in Siem reap, we decided to try to make it to a beach in Thailand to spend our last eight days in Southest Asia. It seemed like good thing to do. A ten hour drive let us off in Bangkok where we spent 26 hours. We stored half of our luggage in a hotel storage room and boarded an overnight bus to Koh Tao. (International standard on overnight bus rides demand a midnight snack stop. It happens about 40 minutes after the last passanger falls asleep. Bus stops, lights turn on. People grumble yet go to buy a bowl of noodles. I'm always the last one on the bus wondering why we're stopping). It dropped us at a ferry platform at 2:30 in the morning where we slept until 6am when the ferry shuttle started up.
By 10am we were docking and we had a good idea of how much diving was going to cost and who to go with. We spent two nights on the island's commercial side and took two morning dives. The water is warm and clear. We wore half suits, while others went in bikinis. Our first dive was on August 24, Erin's 30th birthday. We saw half a dozen 5-6 foot reef sharks. Even a minor nature lover would love diving. Anybody who has looked at a butterfly and thought "pretty,"; if you've seen a bug and thought "weird""; if you've ever looked at a puppy and thought "cute"" then you'd probably love diving. It feels like extraterrestrial exploration and it is a hoot.
From there we came here: Ao Luek. From our balcony we look down on a gorgeous bay. It is the ideal paradise beach that graces cubicles and day dreams across the world. The water looks like a thousand blues rubbing each other. The sand is white. We can see fish on the bottom, 40 feet beneath us. We have two rented sets of snorkel gear and we've been using them three to four times a day. The view from the balcony would make your jaw drop.
There are coral reefs lining the bay, habitat for all sorts of life. Yesterday we walked down from our bungalow and didn't stop until we were swimming. I saw one of the most incredible things of nature that I have ever seen. We had been treading water, playing around free diving and floating. Just as we started moving towards the beach, I looked down and saw a manta ray swimming by us. Erin had already taken off and I couldn't get her attention, so I turned and pursued the ray on my own.
In several hard strokes I was on its right rear flank. I could see the two mandible fins around/under its mouth. It was green with a light underside and a couple of smaller fish on its back span. From one wing to the other it was about six feet across. Just as I thought these things, it must have sensed me because it slowed down and started to slowly turn in my direction until we faced each other. I stopped right away and instantly remembered that I was a small fish in a big sea.
The manta ray turned away and continued on. I followed. After a short distance he slowed and turned again. This time he swam towards me. One part of me wanted to swim around and play with it. My decisive side, however, kept me frozen in a starter's block stance to attempt a feeble a get away.
Just then I glanced at a flash on the horizon and saw a barracuda shaking around just under the surface. They say that a barracuda won't attack something large, but they still have visible, sharp teeth and beady eyes that make me feel a little squirrelly. I looked back down and the manta was doing a circle around me. The barracuda swam off and the manta did a figure eight to sweep past me once again. He flapped his wings a few times and set back on his first course. I followed from above. After a short while he arched his wings and banked right down into a blue darkness. The manta ray qualifies as one of the coolest things that I've seen. It just happened by us one afternoon down in the water.
Time now is actually getting short for our trip. It looks like we have just another couple of months before we're back home taking on other challenges. On one hand I can count the time that we have remaining in Southeast Asia. Our plan thus far has been an utter success. For five days we listed away on a tropical bay that would make you salivate, as we talked about concluding our visit here. Our time in Asia has just about expired. Tomorrow we we'll take two more morning dives and then hop aboard the ferry/bus trip back. After three days in Bangkok we'll leave this part of the world and return to the southern hemisphere. The prospects of going home are sort of sad and sort of exciting. The reality of it hasn't quite sunk in. Sitting on a beach talking about her 30th bday Erin said "Everyday of this past year could have been a dream." It's always hard to wake from a good dream isn't it?
]]> Phnom Penh — Phnom Penh, Cambodia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1154600040/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1154600040/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1154600040/tpod.html Thu, 31 Aug 2006 05:13:30 -0400 A dream that after four years has become real: The end of our twenties spent vagabonding, exploring the world, avoiding the rats. From Denver to Denver always heading East.
Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Standing at the border crossing looking from where you've come and then to where you are going, there is a sharp distinction in the two places. The differences are abrubt. Towards one horizon there are shops and businesses. Towards the other, rice paddies and huts, frenzied movement on motos compared to slow plodding water buffaloes; narrow multi-storied concrete houses and business fronts compared to elevated double-roomed wooden houses and various huts. Where on one side there is a thriving population, on the other, there is a recovering one.
The differences in races are just as abrupt. In the Vietnamese face you often see slenderness, in the Khmer you see roundness. Instead of angles there are curves. The languages seem to follow the faces: pitched in Vietnam and waving in Cambodia.
Phnom Penh compared to Ho Cho Minh is almost like comparing the modern West to the Old West. Its not quite that severe, but it sort of conveys the feeling, especially considering that just within 10-15 years has the tourism industry sort of calmed the city. Walking along a street it is easy to turn from an asphalt road with plenty of traffic onto a dirt alley packed with a market. Remnants of late Victorian/French colonial buildings rise in the air with their elaborate columns, facades, overhangs, windows and balconies decorated yet still trying to assume importance.
From what they say, Phnom Penh holds all of the vices that normal and not so normal people may crave. We found a pretty benign one our first night there, lined up in a group of four on the river. Happy Herb Pizza, Purple Haze Pizza, Pink Elephant Pizza and Magic Pizza, all establishments where free of charge, oregano and basil in the tomato sauce can be replaced with ganja. Knowing that was as far as we'd go in the drugs, sex and guns liberties we ordered a large extra happy pizza. Afterwards we all decided it would be best to return to the hotel and wait out the effects of unhampered laughing and periods of fleeting yet paradigm-shattering concepts.
But, now is when I have to bring up the depths of sadness that this country has seen still so recently. The harshest differences beginning at the border are the maimed children begging on the ferry across the Mekong. The roads look rural because 30 years ago 25% of the population were killed in work camps, death camps, and re-education camps. Buildings are broken because of civil war. In Phnom Penh we visited an old high school, transformed to a prison and torture cell by Pol Pot.
The S-21 compound held thousands of people, all of whom were thoroughly documented, tortured and killed. Of the 17,000 recorded prisoners two were not killed. Galleries of the victims head shots fill the chambers on the compounds lower floors. The ages of the people in the photos looked to begin around 10-12 and up to mid-fifties or early sixties. Children were herded into re-education work camps. Older, literate, educated, professional, spiritual people influenced by anything other than planting rice were suspects in the eyes of the genocidal dictatorship wanting to change the thinking of the people.
S-21 is scary place to walk. Cells and barbed wire haven't moved. Echoing stairwells hold screams. Display glass cases are filled with cracked skulls and still bound humerous. Inside its walls there is the feeling of utter helplessness. Exit the compound walls and again you're confronted with the facts that this happened only thirty years ago and the country is still recovering. Things look shaken and hurt. Knowing that we would return to Phnom Penh before going further north towards Bangkok, we stayed just a couple of days.
]]> Siem Reap — Siem Reap, Cambodia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1155810000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1155810000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1155810000/tpod.html Wed, 30 Aug 2006 08:04:13 -0400 A dream that after four years has become real: The end of our twenties spent vagabonding, exploring the world, avoiding the rats. From Denver to Denver always heading East.
Siem Reap, Cambodia

I'm not going to write much about Siem Reap and the Angkor Wat ruins. It is an incredible array of sites scattered through the Cambodian jungle and home, 1000 years ago, to a sophisticated civilization. It deserves to be called a "wonder of the modern world." The perspective of symbolic design, the miles of detailed bas relief, the intricate carvings and adornments, and the sculpture of the God-King Jayavarman make it a treasure. Set among climbing cotton trees and flocks of parrots it is magical. Riding bicycles around the 26km loop between the main sites is a beautiful way to see it and it makes you really appreciate the rickshaw ride to the outer temples. Books on top of books have been written on it, so I'll gladly refrain from commenting in depth. But, I will say that it is great and as always, thanks for reading..
]]> Kampot Province — Kampot, Cambodia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1155205080/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1155205080/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1155205080/tpod.html Wed, 30 Aug 2006 08:02:24 -0400 A dream that after four years has become real: The end of our twenties spent vagabonding, exploring the world, avoiding the rats. From Denver to Denver always heading East.
Kampot, Cambodia

Erin and I caught a share taxi to Kampot, one of the French Colonial ports of Cambodia. To some, it is famous for producing some of the worlds finest black pepper. Its location at the base of the mountains, among a basin of rice paddies, straddling a large river is beautiful. We walked through and around the town admiring both the architecture and the ease of falling upon dirt trails. Lines of oxen pulled carts of hay down the main street. Large trees canopied a river walk. At dusk our first evening in town we met Terri and Richard, a friendly and fun couple from Britian who lived there. We spoke about expat. life and exchanges of culture and they told us about a few things to do around town. One thing that they did was convince us to go to Kep, a small town on the coast with many shells of colonial architecture and clusters of crab shacks along the shore.
The next day we waited out a heavy morning rain and then rented a motor bike to travel the 26km to Kep. At about 10km out of town it started pouring buckets of rain and gusting so strong that we rode tilting into it. My raincoat served best as a trap for the rain that was running into it through any weak zipper, seam or opening. By the time that we made it to Kep we felt like a pair of mud flaps on a rainy day.
There are more than a dozen covered, nailed together wooden platforms serving all types of seafood. After wringing out our clothes under a roof and ordering a platter of steamed crabs covered in a sweet pepper sauce, we warmed up with a cup of tea and started to dry out. Our blue-tipped, wrinkled fingers were covered in a peppery sweet brown sauce that made us lick them, and were happy to have weathered the storm to get there.
That evening as we ate dinner on the guest house deck we chatted with a couple of English people on vacation with their 9 and 11 year old boys. They were sitting alone drinking a couple of beers and keeping watch up to their second story room to see if "the boys" were sneaking out of the room. By the end of the conversation we could tell they they were a bit protective of their children. Also, they said that a visit up the mountain to Bokor was definitely worth doing.
We enjoyed the rest of the evening in a private corner of the deck painting and planing. The air was cool and heavy. The rain, though it had poured in the morning and showered throughout the day, had ceased and the river was a sheer reflective image of the green mountains being slowly enveloped by puckering clouds. We decided to stay an extra day to enjoy this quiet town and visit the ghost town of Bokor.
This, it turns out, would be one of those quirky moments in space-time when a particular course of action ignites into an adventure.
In 1920's Cambodia (Cambodge) Bokor Hill Station was an opulent refuge from the jungle and a showpiece of the French Colonials. There was a large stone church, school houses, a large hotel and restaurant, pepper plantation, gardens and views of the valley and the ocean. The crown jewels are a royal summer palace and a grand casino and hotel Now, it is an abandoned ghost town. It sits on a hill at the end of a fairly serious 4x4 trail 40km uphill form Kampot.
Our taxi was a reinforced Toyota Corolla. In the trunk we could see where extra steel bars had been welded to the frame. There appeared to be a 3/4-1 inch lift of the chassis to give it a higher clearance. The tires were a as slick as wax paper and it looked like they could all use 10psi more. On the flat, over and around huge potholes, the driver had a lead foot and an iron will. Had he been born in South Texas he would have been a bull rider. A shiny Toyota 4x4 came at us head on on the broken one lane asphalt. He (which was our driver's name) accelerated towards the truck and veered the car halfway off the road at a pretty steep angle. As the automobiles passed He laughed in a slightly triumphant and maybe maniacal tone.
On the incline, He was a climber. He seemed to have an uncanny awareness for the Corolla's clearance. He rode it like a bull rider gripping the steering wheel with one hand, bouncing and squeezing the pedals with his feet, and waving his other hand in the air. Fully concentrating on the trail ahead, with random self congratulating yeehaws accompanied by a hand slap on the dash board, we motored on.
It began raining. For the better part of the night it had stormed. That morning it was drizzling, but again about 10km up the hill it was a steady, heavy rain. He passed two 4x4 trucks with groups of tourist soaking wet in the bed. The side view mirrors had narrow gauge steel rods riveted across them for protection. We stopped after each particularly hard wallop, so that He could look under the car and make sure that oil wasn't spewing from it. Water was beginning to collect in the trail and run into streams and large puddles.
It took 2.5 hours to climb the 25km uphill, and by the time that we made it, we were in a deluge. We got into and out of the car wet. The church was shrouded in a cold, pelting rain cloud. The casino ceiling dripped water into a great puddle on the first floor. The tile on the floor was the only thing not pilfered here. Seeing the deco patterns and colors from the period covered in moss and submerged into a reflective pond was somewhat eerie. But the howling wind and strong rain is what chilled us.
Our interest in the city, and everyone's eagerness, waned as the weather insisted in inundating us. The road on the way down was much, much worse. He was not as macho now. Instead of slapping the dash board, he began to hold his free hand on his head. At many places we couldn't see the road, just a wide stream with rapids and pools. Sudden drop offs became more frequent, as did the oil pan checks.
After 3.5 hours of near rafting we made it to flatland. We suffered one ruptured tire, a melted belt, and several hard body checks. Crossing the bridge heading into town, we could see that the river was swollen. I asked He if he was going up tomorrow. He laughed like one laughs at a wise ass. "No tomorrow. No today. Dat Boko crazy river. Too bad". Then he laughed some more and left us at the guesthouse. We could see from the parking lot that the deck where we had met the nervously "helpful" Brits was under about 4 inches of water. Our room, to which to deck is attached was being spared by a slight grade away from the river.
Within 45 minutes of being back, the flood waters began knocking at our room. As I watched a gradually nearing water line, just inches from the door, the proprietor whistles at me and says; "No problem. In one hour, water down. Come." and she motioned for us to join her on the main building's second floor balcony.
Richard and Terri told us that it is against Khmer moral code to give bad news. False yet hopeful is better than sincere and bad. I think that when we were told that it wouldn't rain anymore on the day that we went to Kep was one of those moments. We thought that this may have been one of those moments as well, so we took the precaution to put our belongs on the beds. Forty minutes later the water level was still growing and our room was about 8 inches under water. We packed our bags and made to leave for another quest house. In the main building all of the second story rooms were full. The Brits were safe, and dry and beginning to fret about the "boys". The owners offered us a mat in the living room to sleep on for one dollar. It was raining again and it was dark, so we took them up on the offer.
A little later that evening I was invited by one of the employees to go see his families farm, where the water was up to thigh height. I got in my bathing suit and hoped on the back on his motor bike. Nine kilometers out of town, the flood had begun to move into peoples lives. Farmers were moving their livestock to high ground. All of the bridges that we crossed were full of water buffalos. He pointed his hand out towards a large lake saying, "This here,rice fields. Thousands of hectares under water." At his grandparents the water was up to our waist line. We waded to the stilt elevated house and made quick checks and conversation before wading to his parent's house.
We hurried to return to the hotel. Already the water had risen. At several low points the water crossed the road and completely submerged the moto's muffler. We ran out of gas, but found some quickly from a local vendor (the kind that buys a barrel of gasoline and sells it in two liter glass Coke bottles.) By the time that we returned to the hotel, the water had risen and was threatening to enter the main house. Our old room was at least 18 inches under water.
Relatively speaking, Erin and I had an easy night. The farmers were minding their live stock and worrying about where to find feed for them. People in the city kept a close eye on the approaching water level, and moved their belongings accordingly. The families on the river, moved for dry land. The house was kept alive that night with people shouting out directions of what to move and where. Little sleep was to be had. At 4am Erin got up to see where the water was. The British woman had been pacing all night, and after they had a brief chat, Erin returned to our mat with a surprised look. The water was nearly 4 feet high in the driveway and flowing through the city.
We got up and started accessing the situation around 5am. The city was built on a slight bank, so there was a chance for dry land and a hot shower, further inland. We had already paid for a bus ticket to Phnom Penh, which was supposed to leave that day. With luck, we could still catch it and make for the interior. We put on our clothes, still wet from the "unmissable" trip to Bokor, and waded through the house to the front door, heading to the bus station. The English family watched us go with slight panic. The youngest yelled out, "They're making a bid for freedom!" as we left. A wet dog stood on a tall overturned basket and barked at a pumpkin that floated by.
It gave people great pleasure to see us walking waist deep through the water. It at least gave people something to point, smile and laugh at. Everyone was in the same situation. Personal belongings were stored as high as possible and eyes were monitoring the water. Four kids floated by in a collection of big cooking pots. People canoed down the street. Others waded their bikes as work horses piled high and moved for dry land. It took 45 minutes to make it to a dry road to walk on.
At the bus station we were told that they would still be leaving for Phnom Penh. Our belongings were at the guesthouse and it was beginning to pour down again, but they said that they would wait for us before leaving. Halfway back we met with a couple of guys from the hotel in a small dingy. We got in and poled our way back to our bags and the Guesthouse Atlantis. Like a nervous puppy the British woman came up to Erin asking how it was out there and expressing her concern for the boys and the water. Their jaws dropped when I told them that they were stuck for a week. (I was just joking of course.)
To make the story short and leave some mystery to our trip, I'll just say that after another dash through the torrents and heavy rains with our bags, a five hour delay, a walking transfer across a muddy river bed, a 3 hour detour and a long walk through a Phnom Penh night we made it to a hotel with hot water and a dry room and bed. Our rain covers were slathered with mud and a good number of our belonging wet or damp. Two days later I noticed green mold growing on the bills in my wallet. It had been three days since our last proper cleansing and over a month without hot water, so we spent 10 dollars and enjoyed the luxury of a hot water heater and a pressurized water system.
Two days later after wandering around Phnom Penh we boarded a bus bound for Siem Reap and Angkor Wat.
]]> Sihanoukville — Sihanoukville, Cambodia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1155723360/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1155723360/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1155723360/tpod.html Tue, 29 Aug 2006 23:36:44 -0400 A dream that after four years has become real: The end of our twenties spent vagabonding, exploring the world, avoiding the rats. From Denver to Denver always heading East.
Sihanoukville, Cambodia

For the next seven days we stayed in Sihanoukville on the Cambodian coast. On arrival it was raining and for the following two days it was either raining or pouring. There were brief dry points at which time everybody would get out to take walks, visit with people and play on the beach. The waves were fairly tall for the bay and the locals talked about how exceptionally windy it was. Scott left on our third day there. He was bound for Siem Reap and due for a month in Scotland and Ireland. We waited another four nights to see if it was possible to take a boat out to what was supposed to be a pristine island. But, the winds were too rough, so we gladly stayed for a week of relaxing cool wet weather interspersed with mild days on the beach, and body surfing the four-foot sets. Being able to live on $5 a day diminishes that "time is money" concept.

I'm going to cut this short and save my breath for the next entry.
]]> Ho Chi Min City — Ho Chi Min City, Vietnam http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1154254980/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1154254980/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1154254980/tpod.html Tue, 22 Aug 2006 05:39:21 -0400 A dream that after four years has become real: The end of our twenties spent vagabonding, exploring the world, avoiding the rats. From Denver to Denver always heading East.
Ho Chi Min City, Vietnam

Rain was pouring down in sheets as we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City. The streets were flooded and as the bus passed through the deep puddles, water flowed freely into the cargo hold underneath. So, with bags soaked like Oreos in milk we caught a taxi and made our way to the Foriegn Affairs Guesthouse, a relatively ritzy compound where student groups normally stay. A good friend of mine led a group of UNC students here during a summer semester a year ago and had put me in contact with Phuong, her Vietnamese counterpart. The compound had class rooms, offices and sleeping rooms. It was several clicks away from the backpacker zone in what seemed like an upscale downtown area.
We spent that afternoon and evening walking around the city. In the center we found many large parks filled with tall trees, big flower gardens, modern sculpture; and when sunny, plenty of people strolling, flirting and playing badminton. That evening however, it continued to rain, so we decided to treat ourselves to a movie at the Diamond Plaza, a upscale Korean owned shopping mall caddy corner to our hotel.
At dinner we attempted to order Bun thit nuong, what would have been a delicious bowl of rice vermicelli topped with grilled pork, diced spring rolls, fresh sprouts and herbs tossed in a spicy, tangy fish sauce. But, as usual, our attempts to pronounce the Vietnamese language were met with equally confused and obtuse reactions, and we ended up pointing to the Bun dish speciality that was advertised in red paint on the wall. What came out was a surprising bowl of soft rice noodles suspended in a warm semi-liquid gelatin, topped with chunks of crab. The viscosity was uncanny. It stuck between chopsticks leaving long strands whipping in the air, or it would pool on a spoon and slide off like saline egg albumin. I was thinking that it tasted like fish mucous. After overcoming the similes that we gave it, it wasn't too bad.
Pirates of the Caribbean was the main feature at the Diamond Plaza. We topped off our dinner with popcorn and a soda and settled in to two hours of Hollywood entertainment. As with the four other theaters we've been to this year, the seats are preassigned and always just about sold out.
The next morning we went for a tour of the Reunification Palace, a building similar to the White House of the South. The upper floor housed the President and served as various settings to entertain dignitaries. In the basement, thick, metal-clad cement walls partitioned several small rooms into a wartime command bunker. There was also a wartime museum in the basement. Again, the American are referred to as imperialist invaders.
Still in search of Bun thit nuong, we found an upscale restaurant with entrees written both in Vietnamese and English. Sitting down to order we saw both what I was looking for and what we had eaten the night before. What I thought was fish mucous wasn't that far off at all. In fact, it was jellyfish soup topped with crab. We knew there was something fishy with that bowl of jelly and noodles. Yuk, yuk.
That evening we met with Phuong, my friend's counterpart, for dinner. He took us to a popular place where, sitting on long benches, we ate a family style meal. I asked Phuong the two most confusing questions that I had about Vietnam. The first was: How exactly is Vietnam a communist country? There are privately owned businesses (by Vietnamese and foreign investors). There is division of classes. Pringles and Mentos are sold throughout the country. Religion, entrepenurism, capitalism, free enterprise all appear to be large parts of society. So, how does the communist doctrine negotiate and compromise with that? The answer is still not very clear to me. There are communist propaganda posters posted everywhere throughout the country showing farmers, families, doctors and nuclear physicists joining together. At the same time, people buy, sell and service in terms of sheer profit (especially when it comes to westerners). What I gathered was vaguely contradictory and loosely contrived to this: Vietnam is officially communist, but it essentially functions more like a capitalist dictatorship (with economic liberalization, yet without political liberalization. They say as long as the dictator is good, it sounds like a good system. Things certainly happen a lot quicker in a dictatorship than a democracy.
The second question to me was more beguiling than the first. And, after visiting the war crimes museum in Ho Chi Minh, the answer is more incredible. How can the Vietnamese not hate America and Americans? Again, a tenth of the population was killed. People are still being murdered and mutilated by it. Walls at the museum are filled with horrific photos as evidence to the sheer brutality. THe chemical weapons used then by the US are the ones that Saddam Hussein is on trial for. Yet, when we reply to people in the streets, in the markets, and restaurants that we are from the US, there are only smiles in return. There is neither animosity nor hatred, even though without doubt everyone we spoke to was somehow effected by it. Phuong's simple answer was that the war was in the past. People don't dwell on it now.
So, how can I recount Vietnam? We've been here just shy of a month and we've only glanced along the tourist route. I wish that e had more time. One of the most interesting aspects of the country is that in the air there seems to linger a sense of self-sufficiency, which equals pride. Culturally, politically, and economically there is the feeling of solidarity. It is incredible. A foreigner is bound to be overcharged and led astray, but you can't take it personally. I think it is a reflection of that solidarity. In a way it is how the Vietnamese keep Vietnam. And, in a way you have to respect it. A friend of mine lived here for about two years. She taught English at a private school. She owned her own motorcycle, spoke Vietnamese, paid taxes, had local friends, lived in a local neighborhood and she frequented the same market. Yet, everyday, she had to bargain for the same things that she bought the days before. With a smile, the old fruit vendor quoted the price of an apple (as always) double, no matter what she bought it for yesterday. People who are not born there and live there are outsiders. They may like you, trust you, and respect you, but always as an outsider/visitor. When you consider the history of the country it is respectable. It can't infuriate you because you're from the outside. It is a mode of survival, which continues to work. The country is great and it is theirs.
]]> Chiang Mai — Chiang Mai, Thailand http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1149235860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1149235860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/longwalktour/eastward_bound/1149235860/tpod.html Wed, 16 Aug 2006 07:50:12 -0400 A dream that after four years has become real: The end of our twenties spent vagabonding, exploring the world, avoiding the rats. From Denver to Denver always heading East.
Chiang Mai, Thailand

Alright, it has been a while since the last entry, and I admit that I'm a little fatigued of writing... no actually, more fatigued of typing. Our time in Chiang Mai, I'm chalking up as a vacation from everything. Though I will include a short entry, it is more stream of conscious than literature. So, here it is. Thanks for keeping up with us though, we both appreciate it immensely.
Leave it as a vacation in Chiang Mai? One month in Thailand and all but one day of it in Chiang Mai. The quietness in the streets was nice. Horns didn't sounds throughout the day and night. Erin began her massage course. We met people and made friends. Sonja and Stefen the Swiss couple doing a loop through Asia. Very nice and our closest thing to friends in a while. Tee and Ian the folks at Ginny's place where we drank beers and watched the World Cup. Akiko, the Japanese woman that we charaded with. Sleeping in late after the 2am games. Nui at the computer center where I spent hours transferring MP3's. Mike's Hamburgers where the bacon cheeseburger for 95 baht revived me from imposed vegetarianism. Week one flew by. I bought an electric tea pot and went to the grocery store. Found the MP3 store and began filling up with music. Sunday market with streets full of goods and food: quail eggs, chicken balls, stuffed crab, grilled fish, blood soup, glass noodles, pad Thai, rose hip tea, passion fruit juice, mangoes and sticky rice. Half hour foot, head and neck massages for 60 baht. 40 bahts to the buck. Lamps of wood and handmade paper, paintings, farmer's pants, hemp clothes, textiles, lacquer ware, carved wooden things, photos and street performers. What a crowd and what a successful way to bring people out to make business. We explored some wats and went to a park. The first weekend passed quickly. World Cup begins and we find Ginny's place. Ian and Tee are nice people and friendly hosts. He's lived out the States for 14 years now. She is Thai with a big heart. Tall beers and 10 baht BBQ sticks. The US loses 2-0 against Czech Republic in the opener. They never get much better in the rest of the tourney.
Week two again flies by. I pick up some art supplies and sketch a few things. No, sketch one thing. Paint one thing. Take on more weight in the backpack. World cup is on late. The last game begins at 2am, so mornings are spent sleeping in, in our nice room. Three hundred and thirty baht gives us a clean room with fresh sheets and towels daily, TV with cable, AC, telephone, small balcony, desk and fridge. It's very nice to unpack for a little while. We bought some small speakers, so now we have a mini stereo. I take walks and try to keep up with some exercise- sit ups and push ups, forget the running. We watch the World Cup early games at Ian's with Stefen and Sonja. "The problem isn't that we do nothing. It is that you get home too early." Says Stefan to Sonja regarding what we do while she and Erin are in class.
Back in Chiang Mai. The second weekend we spend shopping on Saturday and riding scooters with Sonja and Stefen on Sunday. We ride up to Doi Suthep, a large wat above the city, and then make a quick stop at Tesco for chips, cereal and milk.
That Monday, the beginning of our third week, I ride the scooter around a long loop with Brian, the Coors rep. from Golden/Vail/Missouri who has been motor biking through Australia for the past year. Nice ride except that it is overcast and cold, and it rained in the morning. Halfway out coming around a sharp, steep turn, I lay the bike down and roll into a scraped up mess. Luckily for me it happened near a farm school and they directed us to the adjacent hospital. As I walk into the ER four nurses look me and start cleaning me up. Folded white paper hats cover their heads and paper masks over their faces. From glass vials they make a solution of saline and iodine to wash the wounds. Between the five of us there is enough communication to establish a history. "fall from motorbike. Yes, helmet. No extra pain. Not drinking. No head pain" Brian tells them that I fell from an elephant. They laugh at it the first four times, and then get over it. At the hospital pharmacy I pick up antibiotics, anti-inflammatory and painkillers. The entire bill is 150 baht including consult, cleaning, bandage and meds. Less than four dollars. Why, oh why is it so expensive in the States? The locals all stare at us. Farm people from the hills wearing traditional clothes. As we leave the hospital, the experienced biker tells me, "I know that this sounds completely wrong to do, but you hardly ever want to use your rear break. It locks up the tire and can make you lose control." Now I know.
The next day I visit Dr. Suthee the hand doctor for the second time since we've been in Chiang Mai. This time not in his office, but in his operating room at Chiang Mai Ram Hospital. Again four nurses attend to me. I change into a gown and lie on the table under lights. They drape me and wash my left hand and forearm. There is a peculiar lump at my left thumb joint that I was concerned with. They numb the area and he begins cutting, but not before I make sure the he wasn't up until 4 watching soccer. In Dr. Suthee's office there are photos of him kneeling in front of the King's mother holding and pointing to x-rays. I trust that he is a good doctor, though I'd still prefer not to be there. Forty-five minutes later there is a mass a little larger than a pencil eraser submersed in clear liquid in a plastic vial in front of me. The doctor said that it was pretty deep and that he expected the pathology report to come back as a type of benign tumor that can appear in soft tissue. Three quick stitches and I'm on my way out the OR doors. The orderlies do let me watch the monitor of some sort of colon surgery camera that is going on as I leave. Two hundred and ten dollars at the counter and I'm walking back to the hotel where Erin is resting after staying home from school with a fever.
The next day I'm at the dentist. Monday, ER. Tuesday, OR. Wednesday DDS. Seems that my tune ups arrive in three's. A check up shows that three small cavities need to be filled, so without Novocain the dentist drills away. It is quick and pretty painless. An hour and twenty-five dollars later I'm walking back home with cleaned and filled teeth. Bandages on my forearms, calf and thumb and a slight ache near my M2's. What a way to end our vacation in Chiang Mai with a quick tune-up. Why is it so expensive in the States? I can't walk by an ER without spending $150 or an OR with out spending 10-20% of several thousands. I can't get a cleaning for less than $50 on promotion. No offense to doctors or health care professionals but our system is bad. With insurance it is expensive enough. Live without it and you are playing roulette with bankruptcy which in our funny money system can ruin you for at least seven years. The worst of it is that the prices only rise. In 27 years, the end of my mortgage's life, I'll have a home that is paid for, but Ill still be paying the same monthly note, just for insurance. When do we get a break? I suppose that I could enlist for Four years and go fight in Iraq. Then I'd get VFW benefits at least. Isn't there anything else that I could do for my security in exchange for not fearing how I'll take care of myself in old age? Establish wealth, fight in a war or keep on working. Wait a minute, didn't Bush just cut that "life time benefits" clause from the military? Choose your fate.
Now I digress. Like I said, this entry was the "vacation" entry. Thailand is beautiful. The people, food and nature are all sublime, but my mind and fingers are tired. Thanks again for keeping up with us.
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