Siem Reap & Phnom Penh, Cambodia: New Dogs, Old Tricks

The bus rolls us to the Cambodian border around 7PM. From there I'm a little suspicious about how this whole "walking-across-the-border-getting-a-visa-and-eventually-transport-to-Siem-Reap" thing is going to work. But we are met immediately by a man who seems to work for, or with, or related in some capacity to the border patrol. He helps us acquire and fill out our Cambodian entry forms and then walks us through each step of the process- getting out of Thailand, getting the Cambodian visas, then entering Cambodia.

We, of course, know that there is going to be a rub. But that doesn't really matter much as we're trying to get through to the international passenger terminal on the other side of the border before it closes and the last bus leaves. Unfortunately we're too late by about 10 minutes. So our only option is to take a private car. It's Jon and I and a Japanese guy. The car seats 4 passengers. The Japanese guy has paid a bit extra for the front seat. Our "friend" tells us we could pay for 2 seats for something like $15 a piece or buy all three seats in the back for the $45 for the ride.

We think it's absurd to be shaken down for an empty seat so we keep saying we'll wait for someone else to show up. This flabbergasts our guide. Finally we negotiate to pay $40 which will include his "tip" for helping us out through the customs etc. By this point it's 8:45 and we're pretty exhausted and in no mood to continue negotiations, especially in light of the 2.5-3 hour drive we have to Siem Reap ahead of us.

The fee is paid and the car takes off into the night. It's dark, immeasurably dark. The roads have no lights and with the exception of the headlamps of passers-by there is nothing illuminating the landscape. It appears bleak- desolate blackness. Then, after a few dozen miles we start to notice something- fields of what appears to be fluorescent lights, casting an ominous glow on the barren fields. An alien encounter? Some sort of strange Cambodian raves? Hardly. It would turn out these lights are part of a local bug trap for crop pests. The bugs fly toward the light, hit a barrier and then fall into a pool of water where they drown. While a crafty solution for pests, these traps are also a huge breeding ground for mosquitoes.

The taxi tears on through the night, ducking and weaving around traffic like a prize fighter dodging jabs. A thunderstorm looms in the distance- lighting up the once impenetrably dark sky with terrific bolts. The car charges into the fray trading no speed for safety despite the downpour. After some time we emerge and close to Siem Reap. Just outside town we are transferred to a tuk tuk. Somewhere during this process my water purifying bottle and the "Where the fuck is Bratislava?" button on my pack are stolen. There are many thieves in Cambodia- a lesson I'd learn in a much harder way later on.

We finally arrive and check into the hostel. I refuse to give up our passports. No way Jose. The rooftop has a bar and the floor is covered in sand. Let's have some beers. I'm struck by the tastiness of the Cambodian Angkor beer on draught. Jon is still on antibiotics so he gets a pop. Time for sleep. Big day coming up- the long awaited trip to Angkor Wat.

I wanted to visit the Angkor Wat temple complex, built in the early 12th century, since I was a kid and saw it on a poster hanging in the school library. When I visited SE Asia many years before I was unable to make it Cambodia and will still kicking myself for it. It was high time to make good on those childhood dreams. 

We awake early and hire a tuk tuk driver for the day for $12, approximately the going rate. It's Jon, myself, and new friend Ania. First up: Angkor Wat itself. I'm filled with immense anticipation as we cross the bridge over the moat into the complex itself.

After walking through the first series of gates, my initial impression is of how huge the interior space is. I was expecting mostly temple and ruin but within the walls of Angkor Wat is an incredible amount of open area. It takes an eternity to make our way from the entrance to the main temple buildings.

I eventually to get close enough to snap a shot of the front entrance to the temple complex, however, because of the trees and preservation work on the front side, my best pictures of this phenomenal structure are from the rear.

We slowly circumnavigate the structure and Flange poses for what might arguably be the best shot I get of the old Wat from the back.

After wandering around the rear-gate, we penetrate the temple and make our way up the stairs. The inside area is remarkable and the stairs are treacherous. Jon is nervous about going up and outright hesitant about coming back down. Ania sits it out.

Inside are ancient Hindu images that have largely been altered or outright replaced into Buddhist ones. From the top of the main tower you can see out over the entire complex.

After soaking in the views, history, and artifacts we make our way gingerly down the stairs and out of the complex. Our next stop is Prasat Bayon of Angkor Thom, built in the late 12th century and home of the infamous giant stone faces. This temple isn't as grandiose as Angkor Wat but the attention to detail is incredible.

We all stop to have our photos taken.

Even Jon and Flange are excited.

Unfortunately our compatriot is a bit of a bummer. Fun enough to walk and talk with but when it comes to cultural appreciation she falls tragically short. Tthe most culturally relevant thing to erupt from her mouth during the entire day is "I don't like that statue, it's creepy." History, I suppose, isn't for everyone.

Next stop is Ta Keo at Angkor Thom, completed around 1000 AD. Preceeding Angkor Wat, this was intended to be the main capital of the Khmer civilization until there was a bad omen with one of the kings and construction was abandoned and eventually begun anew at Angkor Wat. That said, the temple structure itself is impressive, the most noticable feature of which being the incredibly steep and slippery stairs one must scale to catch a glimpse from the top.

At the top an attending monk tells Jon and I the story of the temple. He informs us the stairs were built steep so that it took the much shorter people of that era an incredibly long time to climb them. That, he said, made them appreciate the deities and the climb even more.

Before descending down the slightly less-treacherous south side, I snap a photo from the top looking down at the stairs. Maybe it's the angle, maybe it's the color of the stairs and the dirt, but I love the shot immediately. And here it is for you.

Our fourth stop of the day brings us to the "Tomb Raider Temple" otherwise known as Ta Prohm. It's known as the former because it was used in filming for the Tomb Raider movie starring Angelina Jolie, but is most famous for dramatic way in which the forest has seemed to reclaim, or at least attempt to reclaim, the temple itself.

The roots of these trees snake across the temple structures like ancient white anacondas, seemingly attempting to choke the life from the stones themselves.

Feeling the heat and the jungle, I transition my black scarf acquired in Malaysia into a headband of sorts. I start to feel like a young Snake Pliskin. Who is that clown behind me?

We weave our way around toward the back of the temple where a large portion of it lies in piles of rubble. There is a current project to rebuilt parts of it to make it more tourist friendly. Personally I like it tree-like and ruinous as it currently stands.

We emerge from the other side of the temple complex and our driver intercepts us and deposits us at the last of five temples on our itinerary, Banteay Kdei. This is the least impressive of the five. However, as we make our way to the entrance through the trees we are ambushed by a host of youths attempting to sell wares.

A young girl approaches me. "1 flute, 1 dollar," she says. "No, I don't need any flutes." "You can give them to your friends," she replies. "They don't know how to play the flute and neither do I," "Ok, 2 flutes for 1 dollar," she deftly responds. This exchange continues for the duration of our walk, probably 10 minutes or so, until finally we have arrived at the temple. She tugs on my arm. One final offer, "3 flues for 1 dollar," she boldly declares. It's an offer so good I nearly cave. But I hold my ground- there will be no flutes today.

The most impressive parts of this temple are the shrine/altar located in the direct center:

And the exit which, in an understated way, exudes a simple elegance most of the other temples lack.

That night the festivities continue at the infamous "pub street" in Siem Reap where all draught beers are 50 cents and hustlers and women of all description promise your wildest dreams. I'm approached by a taxi driver. He's hassling me for a ride somewhere. I tell him I won't take a ride with him but I'd gladly buy him a beer. We proceed to his favorite bar and I purchase several libations which we consume with considerable haste. He teaches me how to say "you are very beautiful, I love you" to a Cambodian girl. It's not as well received as I would have hoped but we laugh heartily in the wake of failure.

After a few beers he disappears, hopefully not to continue driving for the night but if I was a betting man I would say he was. The night roars forth. Considering seeing Angkor Wat and the surrounding temples was a bucket list item for me, I'm in fine spirits. And the spirits, we'll they're fine too. Imbibing and other absurdities continues into the wee hours. Finally it's time to make our way back.

Along the streets Jon and I are approached by two ladies of the evening, so to speak. Jon immediately runs away. Me, in my typical jovial I-will-mix-it-up-with-anyone sort of way, engage them in a ridiculous conversation spanning a few blocks. When we reach the corner where our hostel is located, I try to walk down the alley. One of them begins to grab me in a not-conventionally-appropriate manner. I try to rebuke her advances but she gets frantic and more aggressive.

I'm backpedaling yet trying to be as fun about it as I can. Eventually she backs off and like that she's disappeared. I turn around and make my way to the hostel a bit shaken. It's at this point I check my pockets. Son-of-a-bitch! My iphone, THE iphone, that survived 8 booze-addled months on the road in Europe, is gone. Swiped by a common Cambodian street hooker/thief. I turn and attempt to give chase but it's no use. I search around the streets and ask other prostitutes but to no avail. She has her prize for the night and I am the sucker.

It's a lesson hard learned but one probably overdue. As I tell Jon the next day, it is a lesson that sadly, I feel, makes me a worse person. It robs me of my straightforward innocence- that I'll always have my guard down and trust people. That I'm willing to give everyone a fair shake right from the jump. I never was much of a trusting person so it has taken me a long time to get to where I could mix it up with strangers like that and not suspect something from them.

And while this particular occasion was just extreme stupidity on my part, I know that for the rest of my time in Asia I'll regard every person who approaches me as a potential threat to some degree. I hate the thought of that being my first instinct when being approached- even if I'm suspecting the rub. I think my trusting nature is one of my most endearing personality traits. Jon claims it's one of my worst. I tell him he's an idiot. But I guess maybe in a way he's right.

It is the systematic death of our innocence that makes us doubt, and ultimately hate, the world. It's why we start seeing it for what it is and stop seeing it for what it could be. Most of us begin as optimists and are slowly beaten into realists or even pessimists. I started out the opposite and have been gradually working my way up to optimism. This incident, as minor as it may seem in the grand scheme of things, strips me of that base level of innocence, or naivete, or even gullibility if you like. But that's all it ever takes; one tiny incident and your whole world shifts on its axis. And as I awake the next morning I know it will be that way for me for the rest of Asia. It's easy to be hard, it's infinitely more difficult to be pliable.

The next morning comes on as anticipated. And per standard operating procedure the first thing on the agenda is to report the theft to the local tourist police who I know are going to be absolutely useless in finding this phone. It happens so often in Cambodia that the police don't like to acknowledge it as a real crime because they don't want their crime statistics against tourists going up. In our 6 bed dorm room we had 1 other guy get his phone stolen on the same night coming from the same place. That said, we ride up and attempt to fill out the paper work at the tourist police station. They tell me to return later in the day.

Our tuk tuk driver is a funny guy who is training to be a Cambodian body-builder. He takes us back to the hostel and promises to return for us in 2 hours when we have to go back to the station. He does and we do. Things go administratively. They don't seem to believe me and won't give me a copy of the "police report." This was a waste of time. Somehow sensing our mood, our tuk tuk driver suggests taking us to the Tonle Sap lake where they have the floating houses.

Originally we had wanted to take the river boat from Siem Reap down across Tonle Sap to Phnom Penh but because we are in Cambodia during the dry season the average depth on the lake is only a few meters so it's impossible to make the boat trip. We figure, fuck it. Nothing better to do. So he speeds us down to the "river bed" where there are dozens of boats barely afloat in the 2-3 foot deep water.

It takes us a long time to traverse the shallow waterways of the river inlet but once we are on the lake, the houses are incredible. Each house is docked to a piling made of sticks which anchors it against any significant currents. When the water levels rise, our children guides tell us, the houses move off the lake and anchor against the side of the river.

There is even a floating school and floating church. Something like 40,000 people live on the lake itself and several million live in cities around it. As we cruised around in our boat I couldn't help but think how much my Dad would love this program. He's always wanted to live AT the lake... here he could literally live ON it. And for pennies on the dollar. Phone and TV reception might be a problem though.

We return to the hostel from the lake and invite our tuk tuk driving friend inside for a few beers. We teach him to play beer pong and we're all having a jolly time. Only, after a few hours and rounds, he won't take the hint to leave. Ordinarily I wouldn't care except that he's pounding beers on our tab without a sole gesture to return the favor. Time to employ the old Irish-goodbye.

After ordering what will be the last round of beers, I close the tab and inform Jon of the plan. I hastily dispatch my beer and feigning a trip to the bathroom, depart. A few minutes later Jon follows suit. We meet on the landing and head out into the night to acquire food, worried that our driver may cruise ngrily past us at any moment. Instead we are lucky and enjoy a peaceful and delicious vegetarian dinner. I should note that for no real reason I declared myself a vegetarian for the seven days we were planning to spend in Cambodia. This being our third day, I was now three for three.

The next day, as the boat is unavailable, we strike out on an early bus to Phnom Penh. The landscape is at first bleak and arid- not at all what I was expecting.

This eventually gives way to settlements of houses raised on stilts to combat the inevitable flood waters of the rainy season. The roads are rough; we bounce along relentlessly. There is a wreck ahead- Jon claims he sees a dead man along the side of the road. Later we see a tour bus that looks strikingly like ours only flipped on its side. Tourism!

I'm thankful when the bus eventually pulls into the garage in Phnom Penh. We flag a tuk tuk and make our way to the hostel. As it's still relatively early there is enough daylight to sneak in the National Museum and possibly the Royal Palace.

Unfortunately they don't allow you to take photos inside the museum. Fortunately, they do allow you to take photos of the courtyard of the museum which, in my opinion, is the best part of the museum anyway.

After perusing hundreds of ancient Cambodian artifacts we stroll the few blocks down the street to the Royal Palace. It's a bit pricey but the main throne hall and grounds are very impressive.

Perhaps even more impressive, however, is that Jon and I are able to visit the entire palace grounds, film for the show, and still escape an impending and very threatening thunderstorm looming large in the immediate horizon. We make it out of the palace and into a tuk tuk literally seconds before the deluge.

The rain begins to fall. Then it begins to pour. The driver deftly unfurls some flaps that he zips together to form a protective shielding from the rain. Back at the hostel we take much needed showers and procure beers. We engage in another bet. I lose, again. It appears I'll now be required to have a mustache for the next two weeks. Awesome.

The following day is one for errands. Both of us have some places we need to go and we hit them as we slowly make our way on foot toward the river. We walk around the main drag trying to decide where to eat lunch. Eventually I spot a place boasting something I had heard tale of since our early nights out in Thailand: Cambodian "happy pizza." We scope out the menu- $3 for a small "happy pizza."

"That can't be accurate." I boldly declare. We decide to venture in and give it a try. I'm fully anticipating getting nothing other than ripped off for a bland tasting pizza but I figure for $3 it's worth a try, especially since it could be great fodder for the show. Since Jon is still on antibiotics and we want one of us to maintain a sense of normalcy should this pizza work as advertised, I graciously volunteer to eat it myself.

As soon as it comes out I can smell something is definitely "happy" about this pie and it wasn't the sauce, cheese, or crust. Underneath the cheese and intermingled with the sauce was a green mass that looked like an overdose of raw basil. It, obviously, was not. Even as I'm eating it I'm thinking that for $3 and given the limited amount of time this pie had cooked, there is no way it was going to make me as "happy" as what we had been told. I eat it, we pay, and we walk out to the river to film for a while. I feel perfectly normal.

After a few minutes the heat has us running for cover and we spot the Foreign Correspondents Club (FCC), the old bar/lounge once frequented by foreign journalists, dignitaries, and other people I imagine would rather spit on you than say hello. These days it's just a tourist bar/restaurant so we swing in for a beer. Our beers arrive and we look out over the terrace at the main drag of Phnom Penh, at the river, at the people passing by. It's very relaxing. The fans drone on overhead at a paced measure. Birds beat their dark wings over the river, traffic inches by at a crawl. Time seems to have stopped.

I look up at Jon, "how long have we been sitting here?" He replies, "about ten minutes..."

"My god," I say increasingly slowly, "it feels like we've been here at least an hour." It is at this exact moment I realize the "happy" pizza I thought I had been duped for... was indeed working as anticipated. More than anticipated. "Are you ok?" Jon asks. I look at him as if it's the first time I've seen him sitting there. "Yeah... I think that pizza is starting to hit me." I notice I have hardly touched my beer. "I don't think I can drink this," I say, and even as the words come out of my mouth I can't believe I'm the one saying them.

Then another more horrifying thought follows. "Dude..." I articulate as best I can, "what if that guy thought we were both eating the pizza and doubled up?" Jon looks at me and half-laughs. "Yeah, he could have," he replies. "We need to go... now." I say as I attempt to stand. Everything is moving in slow motion yet I can't keep pace. 'Where is Korean James Bond when you need him?' I think to myself. 'Surely he would have a solution to this!'

Jon looks at me. I look back. "What? Why are we still standing here? Can we leave now!?" I half-ask half-yell.  Jon looks at me as if he's just stood up- but I know better. We've been standing here for at least ten minutes... haven't we? I... wait. We take the stairs gingerly and Jon hails a tuk tuk. We give the driver the address and we're on our way.

"Jesus Christ! Slow this thing down, you'll kill us all!!" I scream as other tuk tuks go rocketing past at astronomical speeds. "Dude we're going, like, maybe eight miles an hour," Jon says to me. "Bullshit! This tuk tuk is careening out of control!! Dear god help us, we're going to die a fiery death!!" I scream.

Later, back at the hostel- after I've watched some Mad Men and had a long nap- Jon shows me the video footage of the tuk tuk ride. At some point I swear a dude walks past our tuk tuk as I'm screaming about our driver taking us to "ludicrous speed." Lesson: do NOT underestimate the "happy pizzas." And if you plan to give it a try, eat it within walking distance of your domicile. Having learned my lesson I decide to take it easy for the rest of the night.

The next day is a somber one. We sign on with the hostel for their tour of the killing fields and the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum where political prisoners were tortured before being sent to their deaths under the Khmer Rouge Regime. What was once the mass-graves of the Choeung Ek killing fields near Phnom Penh are now large pits in the ground- the burial place of thousands of innocent people.

But the most horrifying thing you will come across is the tree whereby soldiers would hold infants by the feet and smash their heads against the tree to kill them before tossing the bodies into a mass grave. Even more horrifying than the tree itself, however, is the depiction we would see later in the day but I'll spare you that.

Since I was in Bulgaria I've been wearing the martenitsa. As described in the Bulgaria post, according to custom one must wear the bracelet until they see a crane (animal not construction) and then they can remove the bracelet and tie it on a fruit tree. As there is a fruit tree in the killing fields and I had just recently seen a crane in Thailand, I figured it was as good of a place as any to tie it and make a wish for the future.

After walking the killing fields, you proceed to a monument where inside is housed the skulls and bones of many of the thousands of victims found at that site. It's a macabre and sobering display- one that reminds me of the Skull Tower in Nis and the assuary in Kutna Hora. I think I've seen enough stacks of human skulls for a lifetime.

Next we proceed to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum, the horrible and legendary former school-turned-torture prison. The exterior, apart from the barbed wire, looks relatively normal.

The interior, however, reveals the grim truth. Impossibly cramped cells and murals of the types of torture administered to the prisoners to force confessions brings the prison horrifically to life.

Needless to say, after viewing these items we proceed back to the hostel and I commence to hoist a few for the many many fallen during the Khmer Rouge. It's a terrible thing to have happened and a horrible thing to have born witness to even so many years later. But it's important to remember these atrocities, even if they are hard to stomach and incite many an alcoholic beverage to dull the all-too-sobering images.

After such a grim day, on the following morning it was time for a bit of fun. Specifically, it was time to collect on the only one bet I have won on the trip. Originally Jon was required to rent a motorcycle with a side car and drive me around to my heart's content for a day. However, after multiple attempts and three different countries we found it virtually impossible to make that happen- at least at a reasonable price. So, in lieu of that idea we compromise and hire a tuk-tuk driver to escort us around for an entire day.

What results is actually one of the most fun days we have had so far. He careens us about town in a perfectly reckless manner. I don't really know what else there is to see so I gesture wildly at sections of the map and he takes off in that direction. We pass by a temple high on a hill (turns out to Wat Phnom- the temple the city is named after) and stop in for a brief perusal.

And then we're off again. Each time we need a new beer we simply say, "beer mart!" and our gracious driver will pull the vehicle over at the closest establishment. After a few rounds we decide to buy a beer or two for our salty captain and he downs them with speed, ease, and grace.

Eventually we have him swing us by a German-style beer garden we spotted on our first day and wait for us while we pound a few delicious German beers. As dusk begins to settle, we rip back through the city with exceptional haste. We make a pit stop at the "Olympic Stadium" to see what all the fuss (or lack thereof) is about.

Soon it is dark- traffic suddenly jams the streets but it slows our intrepid (and now largely tipsy) commandant none. He hurtles us forward, weaving past cars and through pedestrians. If one were to ask us what we were hauling, I'm sure he would cheerfully reply that we were "hauling ass." It's a grand night and I feel capital. As he drops us off at the hostel after several hours of chauffeuring, drinking, and general tuk tuk hell-raising, we tip him kindly with an extra large beer.

It's been a phenomenal day and has brought about a great end to our Cambodian tour. The next day we will leave for Vietnam. Cambodia is a fascinating place. Clearly the most wild-west of the SE Asian countries so far, Cambodia offers what most of the tigers could only proffer years ago. Yet it also suffers from many of the drawbacks that plagued those lands for decades past. But even despite the tendency to smash and grab, I find the Cambodians a warm and cheerful people, an inviting folk in a land on the rise. Of the countries we've visited so far, I find myself looking forward to returning to Cambodia the most.

But for now, Vietnam calls. And for the amount I've paid to sort these visas, she has quite the hole to dig herself out of. Only time will tell if she's able.

Bangkok, Thailand II: The Lost Week

The night-train from Nong Khai back to Bangkok is really cold. The AC is on a level beyond full-blast. When we arrive in Bangkok we both feel sick. Like that feeling of an oncoming cold. Jon, in his weakened state from the food poisoning seems to be faring far worse than I. Once we reach the (exceptionally nice and clean, seriously no joke here) hotel on the outskirts of Bangkok we slump in bed, hoping a day of rest will recuperate us. But all I can think about is how much I'm already looking forward to leaving in a few days.

"Why are you back in Bangkok anyway??" you might be asking yourself. You're so smart. That's what I like most about you. We initially consider traversing the long course down the dragon's tail of Laos to the 1,000 islands... or is it 10,000 islands? Either way it's a lot of islands. The problem, as mentioned, is that our Vietnam visas are blown. But I'm able to conjure up a solution that will get us new visas issued through the end of April for what they initially say is a paltry $20 a head (the originals cost $100). All we have to do is pick them up at the Bangkok Vietnam Embassy.

But before I can even hope to sort that out we've got to crash out at our new lavish digs and crash out hard. Despite getting in at around 7:00am, we leave the hotel only once that first day- to acquire drinks (non-alcoholic), snacks, and instant ramen from the nearby 7-Eleven.

The next day we hire a taxi and make our way across the city and into the heart of Bangkok. We drop off our passports and processing documents at the Vietnam Embassy where we're informed that there will be an additional processing fee and that they only accept Thai baht. This last bit of information causes me severe distress as it runs contrary to the notice's specific instructions that the Embassy only accepts new US bills- something requiring trips to three bank windows and a mountain of paperwork to obtain. I'm beyond furious with the Vietnamese and we haven't even set foot on their soil.

We eventually relent on the currency when we are told we'll get a discount if we return the following day to retrieve the visas (despite that we had ordered them for same-day pickup). We eat at Pepper Lunch again and go see a movie. To cope with my rising anxiety of being in Bangkok I start drinking early and heavily. The beers follow me through the movie, to the streets, onto the skytrain, into the cab, and eventually back to the hotel where I'm greeted by my old friend gin & tonic.

The next morning I'm feeling rough from the booze but Jon looks and sounds truly terrible. It takes takes him only an hour or so to realize the cold has transformed into his kryptonite: bronchitis. This means a 10-day course of antibiotics and 2-3 days of immobility for him, at minimum.

Thankfully, Jon comes prepared for this exact situation and starts his course immediately. The bad news: we're stuck in Bangkok and I'm more or less on my own for a couple days. This has the potential to be extremely dangerous. I feel suddenly very uneasy. Acid begins to churn in my stomach. Did I mention this has the potential to be extremely dangerous?

But first I have the visas to deal with. I step into the mid-day Bangkok heat. The weather channel is telling me it's something around 104 degrees Fahrenheit and that with the humidity/heat index it feels like 115. The asphalt radiates heat like a cast iron skillet; my ankles are baking. Any fluids left in my body evaporate within seconds. I purchase an over-priced Gatorade and stagger up the dusty street imploring the Thai deities for a taxi, or tuk-tuk, or even a light breeze.

Finally after some time on the main street corner I'm able to hail a cab and we move at a crawl through the thick Bangkok traffic. It takes nearly two hours to traverse the five or so miles from our hotel to the Embassy. I arrive with 15 minutes to spare before closing- but only as a result ditching the cab and sprinting the last block and a half. I amble into the Visa-issuing room looking like I had emerged from a swamp. They eye me suspiciously. I'm exhausted but ready to rumble.

After waiting long enough to feel my beard growing, the woman "assisting me" at first feigns an inability to locate our passports. I am in no mood for shenanigans. Perhaps she can feel my bad vibrations. I growl and utter something indecipherable and continue to point threateningly at the visa receipt. After a few minutes of this standoff, she recedes into a large cabinet and the passports mysteriously appear with the Visas correctly issued. I triple check them for accuracy, slightly hoping for the opportunity to make a scene. They look good.

I leave and go to McDonald's, hoping something familiar will lift my spirits. It doesn't. I take the metro as far as I can in our direction. I hail a cab and he takes me the long way around to the hotel. The meter is running and running but I don't care; another wave of anxiety at being stuck in Bangkok has swept over me. We finally arrive. I rush into the hotel and, fumbling, I down some meds with a warm beer. I crawl into bed. Jon asks what is wrong. I have no response.

The next day is lost. Jon is immobile- still deathly sick from bronchitis. I'm alternating between catatonic and manic. I sit on the floor of the shower for an hour- water pouring down over my head and back trying to calm myself from the anxiety which is now developed into a full-scale panic attack. It is not something I am prone to, nor well versed with how to handle. 

I eventually emerge, take some more medicine, have a gin and tonic, and crawl back in bed. It's 5PM. Later I find myself storming around the streets near our hotel- neon signs flashing past me; I'm moving at incredible rate. For some reason I'm so angry, but angry about nothing. What is happening to me? I feel numb yet I'm experiencing sensory overload. My nerves are raw. I'm back in the room and I'm shaking. I go to back to bed. I watch some TV. I have another drink. Another. The night fades to blackness.

I awake on the fifth morning back in Bangkok and the horrible feelings of the prior day have begun to pass. I stand, shakily at first, but gradually I'm able to find my footing. I look in the mirror and the man gazing back looks terrible. But I notice a faint glimmer in one my eyes and the slightest curl of the lips into what could be mistaken for a smile. I ask Jon how he is feeling. The raspy shallow breath responses have been replaced by the solid tones of a human; the wheezing has subsided. We both feel lucidity returning to our minds and vitality to our bodies. I'll be damned if we're not feeling better.

We decide to clothe ourselves and make good on another bet that I've lost. We seek out the only theater near us playing a new Kamen Rider movie (Japanese thing kind of like Power Rangers). The bet was that the loser must go into the movie five beers deep. To make matters worse, we go to see it at 4PM and thereby struggle to find a place to sell us beers. Apparently there is a Thai law prohibiting the sale of beer from 2-5PM. Finally we track down a sushi joint that will sell us Sapporos but I have only 45 minutes until show-time. I'm crushing the beers at a tremendous pace. The waitresses stand in shock and awe- we mix it up scrappin and rappin like old times.

The next thing I know we're running through the mall to make the movie. There are no English subtitles. I have no idea what is happening except that people keep transforming into robots or aliens or alien robots. Everyone keeps fighting. Why is everyone so angry?!? I'm obliged to keep drinking. The movie makes less and less sense. Finally it ends. I have to pee. Blurriness ensues and I think we eat at a ramen place. Eventually we make it back to the hotel. I lament the terribleness of the day's decisions. I want to get out of Bangkok immediately. Eventually I agree to stay one more night to make sure Jon is 100% before heading to Cambodia where we know quality health care will be limited at best.

On our final day we sort out our travel plans to Cambodia and then head back to Sukhumvit to wander around the malls of destiny. It's a relaxed affair. Knowing we are leaving Bangkok in the morning for Cambodia seems to ease my soul. I am back to a peaceful state. I make a solemn promise to myself not to return to this city for a long long time. The city herself seems in better spirits and provides us with a lovely day. No relenting on the traffic, though.

The next morning, day 7 for those counting, we lug our packs through the suddenly-returned heat and humidity to the bus station and buy our tickets for the Cambodian border. A middle-aged French woman tags along. It feels surreal, even in the train station. I buy a chocolate milk and a water and notice I've sweated through two shirts. I change them, drink the drinks, and we get on the bus. It's hot and cramped, just like Bangkok. But at least it's putting her further and further in the distance. Before too much longer we'll be in Cambodia- and I couldn't be happier.

Bonus photo: at some point during this booze and anxiety filled 7 days holed up in Bangkok I decide to cut my own hair with cheap Malaysian clippers. Here is a picture of the results.

Vientiane & Luang Prabang, Laos: I Fought the Laos & the Laos Won

We leave from Chiang Rai early in the morning via bus and make our way to Chiang Khong, Thailand, a small town on the border of Laos. From here we cross the river and take a bus to Huay Xai where we locate the lovely folks who will be our guides for the next 2 days of trekking and zip-lining in the jungles of the Bokeo Nature Reserve known as the Gibbon Experience. We gleefully zip-line, hike, and observe all sorts of wildlife. On the last day we board a 2-day ferry up the Mekong river toward Luang Prabang, the old capital of Laos. The ride is cramped but we keep ourselves amused with card games and cheap Laos beer.

In Luang Prabang we visit the requisite temple and palace sites and relax by the Mekong river bed in our well-adorned traditional Laos guesthouse. Next we make our way down to Vang Vieng to experience the party-scene of a lifetime. It's called tubing and it's out of control. We get a tube and make our way to the river where there are over 100 bars. We float down the river, drinking beer, stopping at various bars to dance or ride a zip-line into the river. There are all kinds of exotic delectables- some clean, some filled substances ranging from curious to illicit.

After a few days on the rubber and in the sun we make our way to the capital, Vientiane, for a brief stop-over. We're on our way back to Bangkok before heading to Cambodia or we're making our way south to the 1000 islands and over-landing into Cambodia from there. It depends on our mood, days left on our visa, and how the money is holding up. But either way, Laos is an out-of-control adventure worthy of it's own novella, or at least a short story.

That is how I planned Laos. That was what I had hoped to be typing for this post. The real story, tragically, is much less interesting as nearly everything I had planned went belly-up before we even set foot in the country. It all started in Bangkok. Before the beast took over and led me into the depths of Bangkok's nocturnal goings-on, we spent a few hours researching Laos.

First, what we read (and heard from other travelers) about the boat to Luang Prabang was that it was exceptionally dirty, uncomfortable, and a literal pain in the ass as you're stuck on a hard wooden seat for days. That's not so bad but what really started to put a pin in that plan was stories of travelers who, on the overnight stop, were unable to get housing for the night or the housing they could find had gigantic rats or cockroaches infesting the rooms. Additionally, my co-host was still in his phase of great apprehension of being around mosquitoes so two days exposed on a river no doubt made him uncomfortable.

But we probably would have gone ahead with it save for one thing: I reached out to the Gibbon folks twice but never heard back from them. I took that to mean they were full or weren't running the tours at the time. (I later- too late- came to find out they are notorious about not getting back to people but you can just walk right up and they almost always find a place for you). So without the GE to do, we really weren't all that keen to take the boat considering it was going to take about 52 hours in total. Upon a little research we found that we could make it to Vientiane via train from Chiang Mai in about 36 hours.

The other portion of the plan self-destructed long before we even shipped off to Asia when the Laos government shut down Vang Vieng last fall. During the entirety of my Europe trip I met countless travelers who had been to Vang Vieng and to a man (or woman) they lauded the scene labeling it as the "must do" activity in Laos. To be honest, that was the main thing I was looking forward to in Laos. We ultimately came to hear that 3 of the nearly 100 bars are still open but for the most part Vang Vieng is a ghost town. Certainly the form in which it once existed is now deceased.

I apologize for the excess of background info but I think it bore some explanation of what could have been before I get to what actually was. So, without further ado, this actually happened:

"This is going to blow." I say to Jon as we board the first of two overnight trains that will ultimately lead us to the Laos border near the capital of Vientiane. Jon mutters something to the effect that at least the journey will be interesting for the show. But I know he's thinking the same thing I am. Nothing we can do now, tickets were purchased days ago and we're locked in. We find our seats and notice two young women seated across from us. We come to discover they're Swedish and are embarking on a similarly absurd train journey with a connection in Bangkok.

We knock down our pre-train beers and make our way to the bar car hoping for a reenactment of the "Bogie Gourmet." No such luck- this car is more or less a standard food cart. We none-the-less guzzle a few large Singhas and put back a plate of "American Style" fried rice. Our invitation to the Swedes to meet us for drinks goes unanswered. Either they are as broke as they let on or we're not nearly as debonaire as we think. Eventually we retire to our bunks and attempt to call it a night. I toss and turn- it's another long sleepless night.

We arrive in Bangkok in unison with the Sun (or with the Sun in tow). I'm already out of gas and we're a mere 14 hours in. We've got about 10 hours to kill in the Eastern city of sin before our night train to Nong Khai on the Thai border. First order of business- get rid of our huge backpacks. I employ my old stalwart trick of rocking up to a nice hotel (the Westin Sukumvit) and (while claiming to be a platinum member) requesting they store my bags as I'm merely in transit for the day. They gladly do so and we are on our way.

Second order of business- try to sort out the problem with our Vietnam visas. So here's the skinny. When I initially applied the application asked for a date range of approximate entry. The visa was a one month tourist visa so I assumed that we would have 1 month from the date we entered the country within that range. Turns out, our visas are processed for that specific time range. Given the time we expect to spend in Laos and Cambodia there is no way we can be out of Vietnam before they expire.

After much difficulty we locate the Vietnam Embassy where they inform me that normally they could amend our visas but because they were processed through the Embassy in America, there is nothing they can do except issue a new visa for $70+. Frustrated we storm back into the sweltering Bangkok heat. We've only been in the city about 2 hours and I'm already itching to leave. We make the requisite stop at Pepper Lunch and then decide to avoid imminent heat exhaustion by catching a flick. Since he saw it without me prior to leaving for Asia, Jon offers to pay for my ticket to see Django Unchained. This occupies the majority of the afternoon.

After the film we make our way back to the Westin, collect our bags, and head to the train station. We purchase some snacks at the nearby convenient store and, of course, two pre-train beers. It's been almost exactly a week since we made our escape from Bangkok via night train and now we stand in the exact same spot, drinking the exact same beers, and waiting for an overnight train leaving at nearly the exact same time. But the destination, dear reader, it is the destination that is different. Laos lurks like a not-so-shiny pot of gold at the end of this long monochrome rainbow we've been following since Chaing Rai. Jon sips his beer dubiously.

We board the train. It's somehow smaller and more cramped than the others. But the AC is working and the beers are working. Before the train pulls out of the station Jon notices a platform-based vendor hawking cold Singhas for less than we paid at the station store. I spring from the train and hastily procure four more before darting back aboard.

The train lurches forward, already ten to fifteen minutes behind schedule. We meet our bunk-mates, a German named Jasper and a Korean man who we come to call "Korean James Bond." Before we left Chiang Mai Jon and I purchased a small bottle of whiskey just in the event that we got tired of beers and wanted to increase the stakes. Well, folks, stakes is high. Out comes the whiskey. We move to the bar car to try and acquire a few cans of Coke and some glasses with ice but the food-car elitist-cunts simply won't sell them to us. Back in our car we get similar treatment from our local garcon. What gives?

Apparently if you don't buy food and alcohol from the train crew themselves they get quite testy (in light of the fact that they receive commission on each item sold). What are we to do with a mighty lust for whiskey and no vehicle in which to deliver it? Korean James Bond to the rescue. Using his pocket knife, he fashions some cups for us out of empty plastic bottles and from the depths of his bag he somehow produces a small sack of ice. Jasper is able to track down two cans of Coke and we, good sirs, are as they say in business... in business.

I opt for sans cup- drinking mine straight from the bottle as the gods intended. We kill the whiskey chatting about whatever four strangers discuss on a night train over cheap Thai whiskey and warmish Coke... movies, girls who have broken our hearts... the Matrix. Fine, not the Matrix. Clerks references aside, the discussions go quickly and it turns out KJB is quite the accomplished reader. We exchange info and literary suggestions. I know I'll never contact him or have time to read his suggestions. But I don't delete them. Eventually I retire to my nook and draw my curtain.

Akin to the day before, we hit Nong Khai with the Sun in tow. Getting into Laos itself is kind of a tricky proposition. There are a few options. From the Nong Khai train station you can take a tuk tuk or taxi to the border or, if you come in on certain overnight trains, they run a special train over the "Friendship Bridge" into Laos itself. We are lucky enough to qualify for this second option and in short order we are lumbering across the bridge into Laos. Flange takes the opportunity for a photo.

An interesting aside, because there is so little train traffic across the bridge they built the tracks down the middle of the bridge. Accordingly, when they do run the cross-border-train they must stop all automobile traffic on the bridge until the train is clear. I mutter to Jon that I've never seen anything like it. He ignores me. Just like that we're in Laos. I realize I need water and that I may have overdone it on the whiskey. Curse you KJB!

Once across we stop almost immediately at Thanaleng Station. It is here you can apply for your Laos visitor visa. As is typical in this part of the world, the visa office prefers you to pay in crisp new US dollars. It's actually significantly cheaper to get your visa in US dollars than in Thai Baht. Odd, right? After we get our visas we have no idea where to go next. Our old friend leads us to the parking lot full of vans and tuk-truks. Bless you KJB!

Laos, it seems, is tragically devoid of reasonable hostels. Or at least reasonable hostels that weren't booked up when I got around to planning. So we're holed up in some place called the Family Inn or some similarly innocuously named joint. The hotel looks fine but at this point we've slept maybe 5-6 hours a man in the past 60 something. Our 36 hour train ride complete, we drastically need a nap. The Family Inn had the saving grace to let us check in at this fresh morning hour. We crank up the AC and I drift into a deep day-sleep.

We wake up in time to take a stroll around town and get our bearings. Honestly there's not much to see in Vientiane. A typical street in the main part of town might strike you like this:

We've overslept the closing time of all the temples in the immediate vicinity but from peeks through the iron gates they don't seem overly impressive- especially after perusing the massive temple complexes of Thailand for the past weeks. We abandon this fruitless enterprise and eventually make our way riverside. From here there is a nice park boasting a statue of what I believe is the first non-monarchical ruler of Laos in the modern era. And speaking of the deposed monarchy, we locate the now-abandoned Royal Palace.

The sun begins to retire and we're unimpressed. I can already feel Jon emanating his this-is-a-waste-of-time-angst. Before we follow the golden orb's lead, we stop for dinner in the restaurant below the hotel where I introduce Jon to the first redeeming event of what I'm already beginning to feel will become known as the "Laos debacle." That "event," of course, is Beer Lao. Beer Lao comes in three flavors: light, dark, and gold. Just like Persians.

The light tastes like most Asian lagers, that is to say, not great. The gold is apparently the same as the light but it's filtered one more time so it has slightly less aftertaste. The dark, however, is where Laos strikes gold... errr... not like the gold beer but gold like the element. Meaning it tastes really good. You get it. Anyway, it's our first true SE Asian dark beer and it tastes tremendous. Especially in the wake of a delicious plate of Laos fried rice with fresh red chilies. The dark beer cools my throat as fast as the chilies set it ablaze. I acquire a few more for the room and we call it a night. I'm suddenly feeling moderately optimistic about Laos considering everything that hasn't gone our way.

The next day is St. Patrick's day. In Laos. What in the greater Eastern Hemisphere are we going to do in this near-dead city on such a great occasion?! Research is required. Jon locates two options: an Irish pub near the riverside park we visited the day before and a St. Pat's party being hosted by a local Laos pub on the other side of town. Since, coincidentally, the Formula 1 season is kicking off on this exact day, and Jon had never seen a race, AND the race was in Australia and thereby on SE Asia time, we decide to head to an Aussie pub nearby where the Irish pub is supposedly located to take in the race.

Before I continue with what I can recall of that day's events, I should note here that this was the day selected for me to wear the Thai boxing shorts from the bet I lost to Jon way back in Bangkok. In case you're wondering how my sexy pale legs look in Thai boxing shorts... BAM:

Now that I've scarred your retinas for life, let's continue. We arrive at the pub nearly an hour before the Grand Prix is set to start. Apparently even with the iphone world clock I've gotten the times screwed up. We place another series of bets and decide to ease into the day with a nice Magners Irish cider. It tastes odd- turns out it is 6 months expired. The race goes on, I win the bet, and we consume a fistful of beers along the way.

Next up, let's try and locate that pesky Irish pub. We stagger up and down the street in the searing heat. No luck. Finally, we walk into a guesthouse and ask the owner to point out the address. He directs us to a bar, but not the one we anticipated. This one, however, looks new. Too new. As in, brand new club new. We regretfully submit to the hand fate has dealt us- the Irish pub has closed and been replaced with this bar. And the worst part... the bar wasn't even open! A city without an Irish pub on St. Pats!?! What a travesty. A sham. A mockery. A traveshammockery. I'm crushed and expectedly very antsy. My grandfather would be furious with this turn of events.

OK, backup plan. We hire a tuk tuk and speed toward the other side of the city in hopes of locating the St. Pat's party allegedly being hosted in that vicinity. Again, we can't figure out the exact address. We are strolling down the street when I notice some sort of hoopla from a nearby edifice. Hoping it's our St. Pat's party I casually inquire "say, what's going on here fella?" The man at the gate eyes us wearily for a second or two and then replies cheerfully, "birthday party!" and without another word ushers both Jon and I inside the courtyard/garden insisting that we meet "the party."

We're passed around the table, shaking hands with a few folks and mostly just smiling embarrassingly at the rest. We're each handed a large Beer Lao and escorted over to make the acquaintance of the lucky chap turning another year older. We shake hands, say our congratulations, and then, as quickly as we were invited in (and all pleasantries aside), we are cast back onto the street. We stand, holding our free beers, flabbergasted at what has just transpired. Confused but grateful for our beers we amble forth, chopping through the searing heat and attempting to pound our large beers before they go from cold to boiling to gaseous.

Eventually we do locate the St. Pat's party where an Aussie band is playing (or attempting to play) a few Irish classics. We order beers and meet an Aussie, some Americans, and a host of girls of whom I can remember neither the names or nationalities. Darkness begins to settle and inexplicably we are all dancing jigs- or trying at least. A group dance ensues- chaos engulfing us all. After what seems like ages we excuse ourselves and stumble from the proceedings.

As with all heavy drinking green-outfit-based holidays, emotions are running high and Jon and I conjure up a row about some sort of totally inconsequential nonsense. I'm incensed, he's in a typical fury. We part ways. I end up at a filthy riverside bar that seems to attract almost as many vagrants as it does mosquitoes. I pour back a beer and another and another and then start to make my way back to the Aussie bar on the far end of the city. I have a feeling I might run into my co-host there- and I certainly don't want a repeat of Bangkok. By this point the anger is subsided and I'm just feeling tired.

As luck would have it I do eventually find him and we reconcile the petty difference. It seems in my absence he located a veritable hive of cheap whiskey and is in an even poorer (or greater, depending on your interpretation) state than when I left him. We proceed to the Aussie bar where I meet the Laotian (is that right?) man in charge of approving all government construction projects. He tells me that the Laos government is not happy with the Chinese demands of control on the new railroad they are building linking southern China with Luang Prabang and Vientiane. He tells me that if I can come up with a proposal and financing of $1.4 billion US, he'll award the deal to me and I'll control all of the future rail power in Laos.

The offer is tempting. I think through my connections back in NY, in high finance, in private equity, the few really wealthy chaps I know, and I think... there is no way in hell I can come up with $1.4 billion. But he presses on. He gives me a contact email address and his card. He offers to send me the Chinese propsal with all of the blueprints and supply charts. Normally my B.S. alarm would be going off in full alert but, oddly enough, this guy is legit and this offer is dead serious. Damn I wish I had $1.4 billion. I'd love to be THE railroad baron of Laos. That gig has Mike Steele written all over it. Alas, even a great man and even greater dreamer has to realize when something is beyond his grasp. I'm neither of the former, and this certainly is the latter.

After many many many hours of doing even the most staunch Irish drinker proud we finally call it a night. Here is the only picture I managed to take from that entire day/evening. I believe it is Jon and possibly two of the girls from the earlier shindig.

The next day is lost. We're in hangover recovery mode but, moreover, there's simply nothing to do in Vientiane. The following day we're scheduled on a day bus to Luang Prabang: the last vestiges of my once-so-carefully-thought-out plan. We do muster enough courage to check out a place that had stuck in our collective craw every since noticing it the google map of Vientiane: the Swedish Pizza & Baking House. It is not a misnomer. And despite what I assume will be a complete and utterly ineffective pie at the hands of a Swedish chef (but notably not THE Swedish Chef), the pizzas here are really tasty.

Early morning. The bus we've booked is supposed to include a ride to the station but when we get to the lobby there is no taxi awaiting us. The guys at the front desk have no idea what's going on. We find one eventually but it costs us about $10 to get to the station. Then, at the station, the people at the ticket booth at first refuse to acknowledge our ticket receipt and issue us actual tickets. It's far too early for this type of SE Asian nonsense. I see the red tape and I start to see red. I try one last window on the verge of going into berserk mode and to the luck of the ticket office people, this man decides to take our receipts, make a call, and sort us out. The alternative would have been a loud and likely grotesque scene as I rampaged throughout the station obscenities flying from my mouth- likely directed at the unsuspecting (and largely undeserving) Lao people as a whole.

Soon we've boarded the "King of Bus" and we're on our way. 10 hour daytime bus ride to Luang Prabang. It's a hell of a ride and the latter 2/3 of it is all along windy mountain paths. A woman boards about midway through the ride and for the 2+ hours she is on the bus she is vomiting constantly into the little pink trash bags they issue upon boarding. I hand her mine. We pit stop in a restaurant/hovel that has to have the most disgusting bathroom I've ever seen. I believe the water in this picture is equal parts kitchen runoff and sewage.

We eventually make Luang Prabang just as night falls. In typical SE Asian fashion the bus station is quite a ways outside of the town proper. One might wonder perplexedly why such a situation should exist. Is it just too much traffic to have the station in the middle of town? Is the real estate too valuable? Hardly. The simple reason is that by putting the stations outside the city center, local tuk tuk and taxi drivers can earn extra fares to transport you the short way into the city. In fact, in most SE Asian cities the bus stations were originally located in the center of town and were then moved to the outskirts just to create this additional cash flow. Smart, but a bit annoying. We pile in a group-tuk-truck and within 20 minutes we're at our guesthouse.

Despite the journey to get here, as we walk down the street of traditional guesthouses which form the backbone of accommodation in Luang Prabang I'm filled with whimsy. These dark-wooden structures with prominent porches, expansive courtyards and intricate carving work flash-transports me back to the height of Luang Prabang's colonial prowess. The buildings themselves are gorgeous. And despite the fact that I know we'll be seeing a number of beautiful temples, the old royal palace, an impressive hillside, and a number of other tremendous sights, I can't help but feeling like the very heart and soul of Luang Prabang lies in these old wooden guesthouses.

The days in Luang Prabang wash by quickly. We visit the Royal Temple, Wat Xieng Thong. The main structure is nice but perhaps my favorite part is the building that houses the five dragon headed chariot that carried the ashes of the last King of Laos during his funeral parade.

The city is beautiful but it's unbelievably hot and we're sweating balls. We cross a shaky bamboo bridge spanning the Nam Khan river. Each year after the rainy season the locals in Luang Prabang rebuild this bridge. Then, during the rainy season, the flooding river washes the bridge away. The triumphs and failures of each year expunged by the annual deluge and its impending surge. I wish there was a human equivalent. How wondrous to eviscerate the past and start every year fresh as a newborn.

Back along the main drag we locate the old palace and make our requisite visit. I personally like the temple inside the palace complex better than Wat Xieng Thong.

Next we proceed directly across the street and climb the 500+ stairs to the top of Mt. Phou Si. From here you get a bird's eye view (if, of course, the bird was perched exactly on this hill looking in the same direction as you) of Luang Prabang. Jon takes the opportunity to pose like a conquering hero.

That night we make our way to the most popular backpacker bar Utopia not because we particularly want to drink at this bar but because we are curious to uncover the custom which we heard occurs after the bar itself closes. In Laos, by edict, all bars much shut down at 11pm. Ridicubsurd. But, for some reason, bowling alleys were excluded and can remain open and, most importantly, selling beer until the wee hours of the night.

So as soon as Utopia closes, 50-60 of us pile in tuk-trucks and zip to the Luang Prabang lanes. We meet an interesting couple from the Netherlands with whom we mix it up. This is one of those points in the story where total mayhem takes over. Jon and I are practicing And-One bowling techniques, I'm directing beers out of the bar to various lanes, everyone seems to know my name. It's like Cheers but in a bowling alley with 150 drunk backpackers. At some point I'm outside the lanes where people are trying the tuk truck driver's most widely known fare. It's complete chaos- how did all this happen? And why did I take absolutely zero photos of it?!

The night wears on- I'm in a manic state. I'm in 1,000 places at once. It's like I'm trying to sleep. I dart around; I can't even keep track of myself. Finally the lanes start to close. We bolt for the door and grab whoever is closest to us. Who are the people in this tuk-truck? Who is this girl in my lap? How did all this happen at bowling? You will be asking yourself these questions. Eventually we make it back to the guesthouse and manage to get in without causing too much of a ruckus.

Somehow we are in Luang Prabang for 4 or 5 days. I have no idea where the time goes, but I'm loving the vibe. The streets are always whimsically beautiful and dusted in fading sunlight.

We eventually make it to the acclaimed Kuang Si waterfalls. The main falls themselves are impressive but the more scenic element are the series of smaller cascading falls creating what looks like a gently winding staircase of aquamarine.

Before we blow the joint we get into some of the local fare- obviously Beer Lao- but I'm also referring to the food. The most famous local dish is "laap" or "laak" as we see it sometimes. It's basically a warm to room temperature dish of minced chicken or pork and about 7-8 herbs, spices, and peppers. By itself it's not very hot but we foolishly learn that when you put laap on something served hot (such as a pizza) it amplifies the heat quotient by about twenty-fold. Despite the heat-sweats we gobble down that pizza, cooling our gullets as always with cold Beer Lao.

Somehow it's finally time to go. We've elected a night bus for the return to Vientiane. I've had fairly poor luck with night buses in the past so I am leery. "But," we say feigning confidence, "it will be good for the show." The bus pulls up and I'm immediately struck with how odd the configuration is. It's not like regular bus seats, but it's not like beds either. It's three rows of little reclined-seat compartments that I can best describe as fighter-jet cockpits. The seat reclines to about 20 degrees so you can't go fully flat. And the seat is about 2-4 inches less wide than my shoulders. Little head-room. This is going to be interesting.

I cram myself into my upper deck seat. I try as hard as I can but sleep simply won't come. The route is too winding and I'm on the side facing oncoming traffic. Every time I drift off I'm jarred awake by a blaring horn as our bus narrowly misses an oncoming car, or the feeling of slipping inertia as I peer down at cliffs of seemingly endless depth.

We arrive at 5am and have maybe 3 hours of sleep between the two of us. On top of this, the driver of our tuk-truck from the main bus station has no idea where our hotel is and, despite our protestations, lets us out at a spot that turns out to be about three miles from where we need to go. We end up walking the entire distance. As you can imagine, the return to Vientiane goes nearly identical to the initial arrival- find hotel, check into hotel, shower, take nap. The only difference in this case is that we actually have some things we want to see and do this hot hazy day in Vientiane.

So after a brief rest and shower, we're back at it. First stop, the Buddha park we've been hearing so much about. To get to it we have to: (1) get to the bus station; (2) take a bus to the border (???); and (3) find the mini-bus from there to the park. Much to my great surprise we sort through these mild challenges with poise and relative ease. Traversing the multiple forms of transport and the rough roads proves worth it, however, as we are rewarded with one of, if not the, greatest of the sights we witnessed in Laos. Even Flange gets involved.

The most striking element is a large globe-shaped structure with a gaping mouth which beckons us inside. Once in, we discover a maze of rooms stacked on top of each other, hidden within layers of the structure like the layers of an onion. These rooms are populated with dozens of Buddha statues in various forms and levels of completion/decay.

Outside, the park itself is chock-full of sculptures depicting Buddha and various tales from the Buddhist teachings. As we meander the nearly empty park, a man serenades us by fife from in a nearby tree. Yes, a flutist in a tree. We meander, taking time to inspect the many great statues and scenes.

Perhaps the conventional highlight of the park is the giant reclining Buddha. He looks so peaceful and happy, even I can't resist snagging a picture with the man.

The day is waning; dusk is coming. The bus leaves us at the station but we want squeeze in just a bit more walking. I've heard tale of an avenue in Vientiane that's supposed to resemble the Champs d'Elysses complete with an Arch at the far end. We locate the road in question. I can see the attempt but the resemblance is thin at best.

The arch itself looks more like Charminar in Hyderabad than the Arc d'Triomphe in Paris. Like Charminar it has four staircases and is a "must do" for foreigners to scale- especially at the paltry fee they are charging to do so.

We march up the steps. From the top you can see out over all of Vientiane. I think perhaps I will identify something, some grand spectacle, that we missed. Something hidden to the common tourist yet so tremendous as to warrant the amount time we spent in Vientiane. Perhaps just spying it from the Patuaxi Gate would help to compensate for all of the wondrous promise Laos held during those initial planning stages that simply turned to dust. But, alas, there is only this.

We awake early in the morning to make our way to a train for Bangkok the following day. We do so with moderate difficulty. Not difficulty in the transit per-se, but more in the circumstances. Somewhere between our last night in LP and our brief return day in Vientiane, Jon contracts a bout of food poisoning. Ordinarily not a huge deal, however, in this case we are taking a bus to the border rather than the "friendship train." As such, we must walk the mile or so from there to the train station. In the heat, no sleep, and dehydrated, this task gets the better of Jon, as it would any man. I drop him at a restaurant about halfway there where he can get some white rice and rest and I proceed to the train station on foot.

Yep, that's me in the picture. Thank you, I do look hot. The tickets purchased I return to Jon to kill the 2-3 hours until our train departs for Bangkok. Jon sleeps most of this time while I drink Singhas, read, and drift off into whatever nether-region my mind occupies when it stops thinking about the one in which my corporeal body exists.

I, bolstered by beers, and Jon, bolstered by rice and water, hail a tuk tuk to the station and board, to my unthinkable and unmistakable chagrin, ANOTHER train back to Bangkok. In the Laos interim I've worked out a cheaper solution to the Vietnam visa situation but it requires returning to Bangkok to collect the new visas. Yes, we're headed back to the belly of the beast. Back to Bangkok. Again.

This is getting real old real fast.

Allow me to reintroduce myself

It's been months since anything has appeared on this derelict blog. I figured those of you that followed it loyally over the past year and a half have probably long since written it off, and justifiably so. Yet when I returned home from Asia I was surprised by the number of people who expressed disappointment at my apparent abandonment of this writing endeavor. When I looked at the statistics this afternoon I was even more stunned to see 40+ people still visiting on a daily basis. I'm astonished. I'm flattered. You've put your time and effort in to read this when you could be reading, doing or watching countless other things. I've let you down. For that I am sorry.

To try and make amends, today marks the resumption of this long neglected project. Before I resume, however, I feel I owe an explanation for my extended absence. From nearly right out of the gates I was struggling to keep pace with this blog during Stint 3 for a number of reasons. One, Jon and I were filming a show which was to be our primary priority. The purpose of this show was to provide nearly identical information I covered in my European blog entries, namely exploring places, activities, people, sights, sounds, tastes, and everything that one would anticipate experiencing on a journey of this type. It was meant to be informative, humorous, and lighthearted.

Thus, in order for Wanderlust to proceed I needed to change my writing style, content, and perspective as to not duplicate efforts and results. No one would tune into the show if I gave away all the best bits in my blog. Jon and I both agreed to this and so I developed an alternative narrative style. Namely, my goal was to gear the Stint 3 version of Wanderlust toward a more circumstantial experience format. Meaning, I was attempting to present less of the WHAT was happening and more of HOW such things were happening and HOW they were impacting me. 

The problem with this approach was threefold: (1) thinking back to and describing certain situations and my reactions and feelings to them in present tense is significantly more time consuming than simply jotting down my experiences and slapping in a few nice photographs; (2) coming up with said photographs that wouldn't jeopardize the content of the show but would at the same time relate to what I was writing was exceptionally difficult- and I often had no idea that a given point in time would be significant and, ergo, I took no photos; and (3) the time commitments to planning, scripting, setting up, and filming for the show proved to be too much for me to be able to squeeze in the blog. The filming was so all-encompassing that much of the time both Jon and I felt more like we were at work than on a fun jaunt (that said, I certainly won't endeavor to complain about this variety of "work.")

So just from the perspective of the show, the blog was essentially unmanageable. On top of this I was doing virtually all of the planning and execution for the trip itself. Between managing the trip as well as co-contributing the brainstorming, planning, and execution of the show filming, it was nearly impossible to drum up time for Wanderlust. And just to make matters worse, for the nearly two months we were in China, I was blocked from using blogger. By the time I reached the sunny shores of Japan I had simply waived the white flag. I want you to understand that the decision to stop work on the blog was not one made lightly nor was it one I did not regret. 

It was always my intention to some day get caught up and fill out the remaining unwritten portion of the adventure. However, it just never seemed feasible in the immediate future- even when I returned. We had approximately 26 episodes of the show to cut and edit and I had numerous other projects that deserved attention. But after talking to a number of people I could see the demand to complete the blog was strong. Then, for many reasons I won't get into here, Destination Insanity was indefinitely shelved. With the time available and the demand there, I decided that finishing this project should be shifted to my number one priority. The question, then, becomes how do I approach the unfinished Stint 3?

I've given this question a considerable amount of thought over the past weeks. When I started this blog my objective was to give you the reader a vehicle for following me around on my travels, a seat on my shoulder if you will. I wanted to give you details about the places I went and why, the people I met, the things I did, the food I ate, the beer I drank, the places I stayed, and all other pertinent travel information one might expect to hear about when someone is recounting their adventures. I wanted it to be, in a word, topical.

I wanted to open up to you what I was doing with my days in this odd and tumultuous period in my life. It was never my intention, however, to open up myself in this forum. Reading back through Stints 1 and 2, I feel I did an adequate job conveying my travels. But what doesn't come through in any consistency are the actual feelings and thoughts I experienced as all of this was happening around me. That was all filtered out to keep it straightforward, streamlined (as much as I could ha), and with as little personal and emotional bias as I could muster. And while I consider the result informative and mildly entertaining (both up for debate), I think all will agree the experience I provided in my retelling of Europe was far from intimate.

Going forward I plan the rest of Stint 3 of Wanderlust to be personal- as much as the entries already written and well beyond. My hope is that you'll get to know me- my thoughts, my feelings, and my ups and downs over the nearly 7 months in Asia. I've told many people in passing, "an extended trip around the world isn't as easy as it sounds." Usually I just get laughed at. Maybe rightfully so, maybe not. But my hope is that by the end of this next series of entries you'll have a better understanding of what I went through- the physical, mental, and emotional toll it takes to try and do something of this magnitude. 

Before I ultimately threw in the towel, I wrote several additional blogs that I never published. I intend to revive them, edit them, and publish them more or less in their entirety. Since it has been so long since I've done any substantial work, however, I will not alter the time stamps. From this point on I will be publishing them as of their date of completion. 

Finally, to set the tone, the following is an excerpt from some notes I compiled during my travels in Asia. If I aim to be straightforward and honest with what transpired, I first owe you a starting point. This was how I was feeling before Stint 3 even began. This was my jumping off point. This was the man pulling the ripcord:

When the wheels of the plane touched down in Singapore I felt I had just barely collected my thoughts from the prior year's 8 months in Europe. It was like someone took my head and shook it so vigorously that every thought was mixed up, upside down, and backwards. I could hardly remember what had happened on a prior day- or even hours before a given moment. Yet random memories of the past 5-6 years would flash into my mind and just as suddenly be gone. I wasn't sleeping, I was hardly eating, and it was all I could do to retain sufficient mental fortification to embark on this endeavor- let alone spearhead it for both Jon and I. 

The past years in New York and everything that had transpired therein were weighing heavily on me when we landed in Asia. Still haunted by those ghosts, I hadn't even begun to process the complete mayhem that was the past year in Europe. Adding a perpetual feeling of impending doom, the second we hit the tarmac I felt a clock begin ticking down on my fledgling life of freedom. Questions like "what's next for you? when are you going back to work? what do you plan to do with your life? when are you going to settle down?" were already echoing in my ears. I was being devoured from both ends- the past and future simultaneously chomping down, squeezing me into an inescapable corner. 

This was my state of mind at the outset of Stint 3.

Destination Insanity Trailer Live!

My dear fan(s) and reader(s) of this blog. I know you must feel as though I'm a neglectful father- Wanderlust scorned in the wake of my commitment to Destination Insanity. But fear not, I'm working dilgently to bring Wanderlust back up to speed- and I will, repeat WILL, complete it for Stint 3.

But in the meantime it's just that DI is such a demanding child I haven't had nearly enough time to devote to Wanderlust. And that's no excuse, but that's just the way it is. That said, all my diversions are not in vain as we've completed the first teaser trailer for Season 1 of Destination Insanity! So, if you enjoy this blog (and I assume you at least tolerate it if you've had the courage to keep at it this long), I hope you'll enjoy this trailer as much if not even more than my rambling prose. 

Thanks again so much for supporting my insanity. You are awesome.