TravelStream™ news feed for member samwax on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/samwax en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Thu, 03 Apr 2008 19:58:19 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1163513880/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1163513880/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1163513880/tpod.html Thu, 03 Apr 2008 19:58:19 -0400 Culture Hopping: 7 Countries, 10 Weeks from the Gulf of Thailand to the Gulf of Mexico

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Sihanoukville, Cambodia

Ok the words you've all been waiting to hear... I've fallen in love
but fortunately not with a woman, it's with a place the peaceful seaside town of Sihanoukville, Cambodias biggest commercial port, resort beach and my first point of contact with this wonderful country.

Whoever called Thailand the land of smiles obviously never visited Cambodia (at least not in the last 10 years). Despite their dark past the people here are some of the friendliest I've ever encountered. On my first night in Sihanoukville my moto driver invited me out for drinks, alright here comes the scam I'll have to overpay for a ride to some expensive tourist drinking hole and end up dissatisified and poor... But amazingly he's genuine and I end up drinking cans of Angkor beer (which he refused to let me pay for!) on a raised wooden platform at the back of his friends house while his wife BBQ's fresh fish and we chow down on a massive meal of crab and spicy duck which despite the 50/50 bone to meat ratio is still the tastiest thing I've indulged on so far in my travels.

Sihanoukville is what I imagine the beaches of Phuket would have been like 30 or 40 years ago. It enjoyed a brief period of resortdom during the French colonial era but the relics from this time are now abandoned and a new tourist infrastructure is emerging. The beach is littered with restaurants and bars, the first ATM just got installed in town and you can find sunscreen at the local petrol station but the Neon Invasion hasn't yet conquered all. The restaurants are decorated with fairy lights and the people possess an innocence and friedliness I've failed to find on other beautiful south east asian beaches. There is no Holiday Inn or Club Med but my $5 room at the GST guesthouse with tv and private bathroom certainly does the trick.

I was in need of a quiet relax by the beach but the reason I ended up staying 5 days and eating up half my time in Cambodia was the people. My moto driver Hohn took me out with his mates almost every night and while respectfully putting up with hours of aural torment I still managed to enjoy myself partying at Angkor Tech where Khmers dressed well enough to get into Kink danced and sang local songs under flashing lights more in line with a primary school dance than a nightclub. I was the only farang and garnered a few looks at least some of which were from the large population of hot young Khmer girls. Hohns mate Keng was feeling a little frisky and so suggested we get some girls... "uh oh" don't like where this is going, but it's not what I think(sort of) all he wants to do is try and pick up but I soon discover that instead of the western norm where one might buy a drink for your shot to get in, here you just pick the girl you like and the waitress goes to fetch her. Standard fee is a buck for her to sit at your table and give you a chance to impress. Obviously they're allowed to refuse if your table looks THAT uninviting. So Hohn calls a couple of hotties over but unfortunately they don't speak any english and Keng hasn't got any game so they sit at our table chatting amongst themselves looking very disintereted, wasted 2 bucks fellas! The whole odd system has a certain practicality and directness to it something I've witnessed in many aspects of Cambodian culture. Although it would be wrong to discount poverty as a factor and I'm sure some of those girls would happily go further with more cash on the table.

As well as Hohn I almost made fast friends with Nary and Sovat aged 16 and 25 (although at first I was guessing 11 and 19) who more or less ran one of the beachside restaurants (their old mother stays out back and cooks). Despite their soggy noodles and amateurish cocktails I ended up eating and drinking there every day but sadly I was often the only one. 13 new beachside restaurants opened recently presumably when an investor decided to parcel off leases so competition is extremely fierce and there simply aren't enough tourists to support the amenities that have arisen to cater for them. This can make things tough but the people are sincere. One night when I'd inadvertantly run out of cash Nary even lent me $5 almost all of what she owned.

Unfortunately though not all the tourists are prepared take these people at face value. There were two sour incidents I witnessed which perhaps offer a chilling glimpse of what the Neon Invasion has in store. The first was an American who got into a massive argument over whether the moto he hired was supposed to have a full tank of gas(value maybe $2) after arguing his lungs out he then proceeded to fill up at the petrol station(fuel drum with hand pump) in front of the guest house and told the poor bewildered girl that the guest house would handle it. The argument ended with him yelling "THIEF!" "You're a fucking thief!" at the top of his voice and attempting to wheel the moto back to his room at the other end of the beach(200m?) because they wouldn't give him a free ride back while me and a few other aussies sat laughing in the hotel restaurant cracking Bush jokes.
The other incident involved an old drunk German fuckwit who refused to pay a girl for a massage and then got physically violent with her when she harrased him. This I think was mainly due to the effects of alcohol but was a truly disturbing thing to witness and amazingly instead of turning him away from the bar the propietors trusted his also ridculously drunk friends to keep him under control and simply kept plying him with more booze, worth the risk I guess...

I also managed to squeeze in a few day trips. One out to the islands was a must and that is where I really found the deserted beach paradise we so often fantasize about; not a soul in sight apart from the occasional fishing boat in the distance. Apparently they have some very basic infrastructure on one of the islands but most are deserted and with a boat, a tent and some basic supplies you could have a real Robinson Cruso adventure out there. I also took a trip to the local waterfalls which was full of locals. With the falls totally open to swim in and play it's a prized day trip for the kids of SIhanoukville but also a favoured destination for local farmers and their families on weekends. Finally I got to visit some other beaches in the area from the local farmers favourite where huts are built out over the sand loaded with hammocks and mats for playing cards to the government officials favourite by far the most beautiful beach in the area and the only one that is cordoned off to public as part of the 5 star Sokkha Beach Hotel complex...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1165878300/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1165878300/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1165878300/tpod.html Wed, 01 Aug 2007 05:49:51 -0400 Culture Hopping: 7 Countries, 10 Weeks from the Gulf of Thailand to the Gulf of Mexico

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Cartagena, Colombia

A leaden layer of humid haze hangs over Cartagena Des Indes, the air is thick with moisture and the pungent aromas of fried corn, salt and urine.
The locals here live their lives on the street, old men sit around wooden tables playing cards while kids chase stray dogs and black teenagers taken straight out of an american ghetto flick sit around drinking aguardiente and listening to reggaeton on shitty $10 boomboxes. The buildings are old and so is the community, apart from a few paltry modern innovations such as the plastic cup and printed t-shirt one gets the feeling that life here continues as it has for centuries. My dingy room with paint peeling of the walls and seatless toilet is a small price to pay($5?) for the beautiful spacious plaza on which the hotel is centered. Swinging in a hammock under the shade of palm trees listening to the steamy sounds of life outside I wonder what my room would have looked like last century. The grandiose architecture and heavy wooden door suggest this was a residence built for the rich but minus the fan and the plumbing would it have been any nicer? Certainly nicer than the gutter where orphans and drunkards alike lie sprawled and motionless like corpses using the meager cover of balconies to take shelter from the elements. Most of the time the sun beats down like an oppressive monarch but I also witness one of the Carribean´s famed tropical storms. The streets quickly flood as the drains clog with garbage and I literally have to wade back to the hostel where I lie in the darkness listening to hideous peals of thunder as the growing pool in the courtyard edges closer and closer to my door.

The first day I take a trip out to Boca Grande the new part of town where skyscraping condos crowd desperately around a long strip of dirty beach. The place reminds me a little of the gold coast only with less money and more hustlers. The beach is lined with plastic tents and lots of cleverly disguised fellows sporting reputable looking yellow t-shirts with ´Seguridad´ in bold lettering. Later back in town I make friends with Luis who owns one of the shirts, there is a $50 3 month course to get one but no rules or supervision once you do. In reality its just a way for the government to skim a little money from the hustlers; you´ll be paying a fine if you take tourist dollars and don´t own one. The moment I step out of the cab a yellow shirt attaches himself to me, this apparently is what they do. He brings me beer and food as I fend off crab vendors and masseuses reflecting on how two beaches at opposite ends of the world(Cartagena, Sihanoukville) manage to come up with an identical list of beachside services. When I finally get tired of watching the endless parade of well to do colombians strut their stuff along the filthy sand I leave and yellow shirt somehow cons me out of a ridiculous 50000 pesos for a few measly beers and a piece of cold steak, I´m pissed off but once again learn the lesson which I will soon forget again: ALWAYS ASK THE PRICE FIRST!

On my last day we take a trip out to a in the words of our host Felix (a Cartagena born New York percussionist) a "beautiful secluded beach". We look for a cheap cab and end up with a rusty relic with smoke pouring from the engine bay and squeaky doors which swing open if you dont hold on. Through some miracle of intimacy with his only source of income the driver somehow keeps her alive as we wind out through the dusty roads of the barrios and literally onto the beach. ´´La ultima´ says felix, we´re headed for the very last of the makeshift ´resorts´- driftwood and palm frond shelters underneath which the descendants of slaves sway lazily in hammocks drinking rum. The moment we hit the beach 2 young boys attach themselves to our vehicle literally riding on the boot of the cab- this I soon discover is the barrios version of a yellow shirt. Our destination is an actual house or more precisley; room built partly of brick but hastily completed with mismatched planks of salvaged wood and thatched with palm. Our host is an old black guy with yellow eyes and half his teeth missing, even Felix struggles to understand his intoxicated dialect. The beach actually is quite spectacular a large strip of (much cleaner) sand which is empty compared to Boca Grande. As well as the two boys on the back of the car another 2 or 3 locals join us and partake of our rum and cigarettes. Although I am not privy to the bargaining this time I know we leave the beach poor. Its impossible to get a taxi out here and so we are escorted through the barrios at nightfall by our hosts. It´s an other worldy site lit by dim fairy lights we wander through streets of dust and thatched huts alive with activity. Even felix is conspicous here, all the faces are black and the menacing stares of loitering youths assure me that this experience would not be possible without our watchful guardians from the hut.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/uk-ger07/1183982880/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/uk-ger07/1183982880/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/uk-ger07/1183982880/tpod.html Mon, 30 Jul 2007 13:06:14 -0400 EuroElectro:Loud fun in the european sun

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London, United Kingdom

With the European summer supposedly under way and the weather showing no evidence of it I decided to take advantage of the season in other ways. Namely pissing off to a bunch random European capitals to indulge in various displays of loud electronic music made possible by the extra sunlight and lack of snow. What better way to warm up than with legendary french robot duo Daft Punk who were set to appear alongside numerous others in the capital of the world(sort of).
So with backpack and laptop in hand I set off with a bunch of email printouts in search of summer fun. Arrival at dreary Stantsed to once again cop the pointed questions and suspicous eyes of British passport control. "Whats this??"(pointing at french work visa), "Why on earth would you want to work in France?", "What are you doing here?" "Who do your friends work for?" "How much money do you have?" aarrgh even the yanks aren't this rough I felt like pointing to the first page of my passport which ensures that "Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, requests all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer, an Australian Citizen, to pass freely without let or hindrance" meanwhile Russian mobsters and penniless Poles are strolling freely through the EU line next to me. Never mind I'm soon relaxing in the leafy confines of East Dulwich with my gracious hosts feasting on duck curry and chicken tika, products of the only English colony to provide Europes culinary blacksheep(perhaps ugly duckling is more fitting??) with a decent bite to eat.

Owing to the unfortunate exchange rate and spectacular home studio of my host I spend the next couple of days indoors aquainting myself with a beautiful hunk of analogue circuitry known as the Andromeda(a synthesizer). Despite barely leaving the house the weekend still manages to cost me more than the standard annual salary of a Cambodian fisherman... 4 pounds for a one way metro ticket?! and that doesn´t even get me halfway home I also have to pay the kind folk of South East Mainline Services who have a different set of maps, lines and prices to the stations owned by South West Medium Density Commuter Link or Upper North East Passenger Express Limited who (for a modest sum) will ferry me half way from the airport where I have to locate the hub of Inner Eastern Light Rail Co and purchase a new ticket.
Still the o2 Wireless festival is good and the permanent showerhead installed in Londons sky somehow manages to hold off for most of the day despite the ever present halo of dirty grey lurking ominously on the sidelines. The festival is pretty run of the mill as far as big city park style festivals go, a few different stages, overpriced drinks, theme park rides, portaloos, bikini clad girls and cape wearing crazies. One new addition is the ramping up of corporate sponsorship, for the first time in my experience VIP now includes anyone who happens to be a mobile customer of o2.
With the sun making a half decent attempt at piercing londons drab slate mantle we spend most of the day lounging about in the grass our ears privy to the musical mash created by the accidental collision of sound waves projected from distant arenas. Despite the strange arhythmic dissonance this causes it doesn´t really matter as closer inspection of various bands reveals nothing of significantly higher quality. Of course this changes when its time for the main act, once the French space invaders land in their illuminated pyramid and start assualting the crowd with various mindbending configurations of light and sound its 2 hours of aural ecstasy before paying the the equivalent of a months rent on a 3 bedroom flat in Bangalore to get the cab home...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1198947120/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1198947120/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1198947120/tpod.html Mon, 12 Feb 2007 20:27:27 -0500 Culture Hopping: 7 Countries, 10 Weeks from the Gulf of Thailand to the Gulf of Mexico

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Copan Ruinas, Honduras

Only 1 ATM in La Entrada and it doesnt take my card I´ve just wasted my last 20 on the hotel room and so Im taking a fair gamble when I hop on the chicken bus to Copan Ruinas with about 100 lempiras in my pocket. Im only taking the risk thanks to a bit of internet research which supposedly revealed a compatible ATM in the town. I arrive the ATM is there thank god. Connection Failure.... uh oh here we go again except this time I dont even have enough money to get out of the town. I stand in line at the bank and try other options but my credit card is long gone, im screwed. On the way out of the bank considering the best way to beg a few lemps from the wealthy americans that abound here I try the ATM one more time and almost break into tears of joy when I hear the machine start to count out a fat wad of Lempiras.
It turns out Ive made it to my second impromptu Central American festival and men in cowboy hats are setting up big speaker stacks and screens in the main square. I check out the ruins first and am impressed by the sheer size, there arent any spectaculr architectural feats but the size of the acoustically modeled main plaza drills in just how serious this civilization was. I get back to wander round the festival but compared to what Im used to it would be hard to call it a party, all the ingredients are there, beer stands in the square(warm) lots of street food(closes at 9) and a big dancefloor but the only people dancing are under the age of 12 and after a few aimless rounds of the square failing to encounter any interesting conversation or company I retire to my hotel room and get a good nights sleep before the shuttle to Antigua the next day.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167175680/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167175680/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167175680/tpod.html Mon, 12 Feb 2007 20:14:22 -0500 Culture Hopping: 7 Countries, 10 Weeks from the Gulf of Thailand to the Gulf of Mexico

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Ocotal, Nicaragua

I realize quickly that my week in the corns means sacrificing the Mexican NYE so I decide to make out for antigua instead where my good friend joules has just started spanish classes. With Tica bus still full I have to go the hard way chicken bussing and border hopping my way north. I arrive in Managua early in the morning and decide to make for a town close to the honduran border Ocotal. I get there with plenty of time to spare and spend an enjoyable evening in this picturesque mountain town where the locals wear cowboy hats and stare intently at me as I wander around the dusty streets. Not much more to say except the countryside during my journey was very picturesque all mountains and greenery which remind me more of Europe than the picture of Central American jungles that I had in my head.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167327420/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167327420/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167327420/tpod.html Mon, 12 Feb 2007 20:14:07 -0500 Culture Hopping: 7 Countries, 10 Weeks from the Gulf of Thailand to the Gulf of Mexico

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Corn Islands, Nicaragua

Once again I didnt really know what to expect from the Corn Islands except they were a pair of small Carribean islands which had more in common with Jamaica than mainland Nicaragua.
After my first night in town the thing that strikes me most is how undeveloped the place is. The town is a strip of bars and shops(shacks really) along the beach and a tiny port, I ask the cab driver to take me Casa Blanca and get dropped off on the beach; 'da green house ova yonda' he tells me and I score a nice little room with the sound of waves to lull me to sleep. After a little research I decide Lil Corn is the place to be and hop on a ferry the next day to the even more seriously undeveloped sister island where electricity, roads and shops are hard to find. I decide to make for Dereks Place and get pointed down a narrow dirt track leading into the jungle. I wander through abandoned beach and jungle for about an hour with my massive pack before I stumble upon an idyllic little encampment of driftwood bungalows set amongst the swaying palms. A tall blonde man with a plaited beard approaches me and Im soon negotiating with derek for a pleasant little shack with a sandy floor and candle light. The place is deserted at first but over the next few days Dereks fills up with my surrogate christmas family. Theres his outspoken catalunian wife, their 2 kids, a pair of civil servant backpacker girls from Brighton, a 30 yr old armenian american student from San Francisco who runs a painting business for well to do Fresnas currently in his 9th year of uni as well my favourite of the bunch a northern englishman married to a Boston lass who teaches pole dancing also living in San Fran. Then there is a the dark star group whose lack of english skills sets them apart but who I find company in for most of my stay consisting of a pair of italians from Milan whose shabby appearance and apparently alternative lifestyle doesnèt immediately make me think of Milan, a boastful 37yr old hotel worker from the isle of Menorca who finds a strange solidarity with our location (and plenty of opportunity for boasting and advice) thanks to being a fellow island dweller and finally a whinging Hungarian with death metal tats who is scared of everything and cant stop talking about the girlfriend he has left behind for 5 months. They make for an interesting group of people and I manage to while away a week reading, swimming snorkelling and drinking at the local bar/discoteque which in itself is a cultural experience. Inhabited exclusively by the entire youth population of the small island (20-30)boys in bandanas and basketball singlets stand around cheering and egging on the 2 or 3 women on the dancefloor who are movin their asses the way only africans can with a couple of lucky guys. Christmas passes by with a rare joint of BBQed meat obtained at pains by Dereks wife who had to arrive at the cow owners house at practically the same time the cow was killed in order not to be left with the offcuts(cashing in a cow being a fairly rare and much talked about activity amongst the locals). She regales us with horror stories of her sons ceasarian birth in the dangerously unequipped hospital in Bluefields and we enbjoy a night of drinking and dancing under the stars with only the crabs and the sound of wind and waves for company. It takes a bit of effort to draw myself away from this deserted island paradise but eventually I do my time running short in my bid to make it to Mexico for NYE...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1198886040/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1198886040/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1198886040/tpod.html Mon, 12 Feb 2007 20:13:19 -0500 Culture Hopping: 7 Countries, 10 Weeks from the Gulf of Thailand to the Gulf of Mexico

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La Entrada, Honduras

I rise early on the 27th and aim to make it to Copan Ruinas a colonial town set right next to a set of specatular Mayan ruins which more importantly are only 3kms from the Guatemalan border. Considering my modes of transport and lack of spanish skills I do pretty damn well. First is a bus to the border. I get the first one and upon disermbarking discover that the crazy lookin guy sittin next to me on the bus is actually the immigration officer, in other words perfect timing! I then tag along with a couple of Patois speakin Nicaraguans from Puerto Barrios and they help me bus hop 2 or 3 times to make it to Tegucigalpa the capital. It looks like most other Central American capitals Ive seen dusty, lots of shanties, chaotic traffic, fried chicken, still Ive heard Tegus is a dangerous place and prone to gang warfare so I head straight to the bus stop and amazingly manage to score a bus straight to Copan. 8 Hours on the bus via San Pedro and various other towns and then the guy is yelling for me to get off the bus. Funny this doesnt look like a quaint colonial town.. Im on a busy main road with lots of big buildings and electric lights? turns out this is actually La Entrada stil 60 clicks from Copan! Still Ive done well for a days travel, Im tired, its late so I fork out 20 bucks for a hotel (apparently there arent any cheapies here but who knows!) and then thank the gods for dropping me here as I enjoy the best meal Ive had yet in Central America. El Pollo Asado is an open air restaurant set on a hillside overlooking the town full of cowboy hat wearin, gun toting Hondurans who find me something of a novelty. The place is packed and for a reason. All I eat is a bit of grilled chicken along with all the local condiments (bean mash, fried banana, guacamole, salad etc) but its just so god damn tasty that I decide the 20 dollar hotel and 60 clicks from my goal are worth it. The ruins can wait til tommorow...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1198810380/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1198810380/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1198810380/tpod.html Sat, 13 Jan 2007 21:22:41 -0500 Culture Hopping: 7 Countries, 10 Weeks from the Gulf of Thailand to the Gulf of Mexico

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Tegucigalpa, Honduras

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]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167264720/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167264720/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167264720/tpod.html Fri, 05 Jan 2007 19:15:43 -0500 Culture Hopping: 7 Countries, 10 Weeks from the Gulf of Thailand to the Gulf of Mexico

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San Pedro Sula, Honduras

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]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167270600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167270600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/samwax/sea_-_ca_2006/1167270600/tpod.html Fri, 05 Jan 2007 18:52:49 -0500 Culture Hopping: 7 Countries, 10 Weeks from the Gulf of Thailand to the Gulf of Mexico

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Danli, Honduras

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