Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Chapter's end
The six-hour-long bus ride from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap was tough, but considering the US$6 per person ticket price, not unbearable.
We arrived at Siem Reap's bus station just past 4pm and were swarmed by overeager tuk-tuk drivers the instant the doors to our bus swung open. The claustrophobic mess of travellers, tuk-tuk drivers and random touts made it near impossible for us to collect our luggage from the bus, so we resigned ourselves eventually to waiting for the crowd to subside before picking our battered backpacks up and out from the dust.
Our 'bargain copy' of the Lonely Planet Cambodia (purchased on the streets of Bangkok) was less than helpful in navigating the city centre. Fortunately, the tourist mecca of Siem Reap is awash with English-language signage and once we located the vibrant Bar Street, finding accommodation was a breeze.
We chose to spend three nights at the very comfortable Molly Malone's, an Irish themed guesthouse-cum-bar where US$45 per night bought us an air-conditioned room with a hot-water shower, mini-bar, wi-fi access and a beautiful four-poster bed.
Even in the midst of first world comforts, however, Cambodian street food is still Cambodian street food. Jim's stomach was quick to take issue with his penchant for cold, milky fruitshakes, making its dissatisfaction known with a long, painful night in the bathroom.
Thankfully, the issue resolved itself after one day's rest and we were able to take off on a day-long tour of the famed Angkor ruins on our third day in Siem Reap.
A UNESCO Heritage site, Angkor once served as the capital of the ancient and powerful Khmer empire. The site comprises more than one thousand Buddhist and Hindu temples, including Angkor Wat which is widely considered Cambodia's greatest national treasure.
With the help of a nearby tour agency, we hired a tuk-tuk driver and English-speaking tour guide for a total of US$40 for the day. Our 26-year-old guide (whose name eludes me) very enthusiastically guided us from sight to sight and was so eager to share his impressive knowledge of Khmer history that we had to tell him to slow down after visiting our very first temple, Bayon, for fear of being 'templed out'.
We were feeling rather intimidated by the masses of pushy tourists at Angkor Thom and Bayon but things improved as the day progressed. Thanks to an unconventionally early lunch break, we were able to do most of our sightseeing while other tourists filed into the restaurants, so visiting Angkor Wat and the 'Tomb Raider temple', Ta Prohm, was very enjoyable indeed.
We left Siem Reap for Phnom Penh the next morning on yet another uncomfortable yet irresistibly cheap bus ride. Once in the modern-day Cambodian capital, we were reunited with Joel and Viren and spent the final night of our South East Asian trip at lakeside bars, preparing ourselves for the journey home and beyond.
We arrived at Siem Reap's bus station just past 4pm and were swarmed by overeager tuk-tuk drivers the instant the doors to our bus swung open. The claustrophobic mess of travellers, tuk-tuk drivers and random touts made it near impossible for us to collect our luggage from the bus, so we resigned ourselves eventually to waiting for the crowd to subside before picking our battered backpacks up and out from the dust.
Our 'bargain copy' of the Lonely Planet Cambodia (purchased on the streets of Bangkok) was less than helpful in navigating the city centre. Fortunately, the tourist mecca of Siem Reap is awash with English-language signage and once we located the vibrant Bar Street, finding accommodation was a breeze.
We chose to spend three nights at the very comfortable Molly Malone's, an Irish themed guesthouse-cum-bar where US$45 per night bought us an air-conditioned room with a hot-water shower, mini-bar, wi-fi access and a beautiful four-poster bed.
Even in the midst of first world comforts, however, Cambodian street food is still Cambodian street food. Jim's stomach was quick to take issue with his penchant for cold, milky fruitshakes, making its dissatisfaction known with a long, painful night in the bathroom.
Thankfully, the issue resolved itself after one day's rest and we were able to take off on a day-long tour of the famed Angkor ruins on our third day in Siem Reap.
A UNESCO Heritage site, Angkor once served as the capital of the ancient and powerful Khmer empire. The site comprises more than one thousand Buddhist and Hindu temples, including Angkor Wat which is widely considered Cambodia's greatest national treasure.
With the help of a nearby tour agency, we hired a tuk-tuk driver and English-speaking tour guide for a total of US$40 for the day. Our 26-year-old guide (whose name eludes me) very enthusiastically guided us from sight to sight and was so eager to share his impressive knowledge of Khmer history that we had to tell him to slow down after visiting our very first temple, Bayon, for fear of being 'templed out'.
We were feeling rather intimidated by the masses of pushy tourists at Angkor Thom and Bayon but things improved as the day progressed. Thanks to an unconventionally early lunch break, we were able to do most of our sightseeing while other tourists filed into the restaurants, so visiting Angkor Wat and the 'Tomb Raider temple', Ta Prohm, was very enjoyable indeed.
We left Siem Reap for Phnom Penh the next morning on yet another uncomfortable yet irresistibly cheap bus ride. Once in the modern-day Cambodian capital, we were reunited with Joel and Viren and spent the final night of our South East Asian trip at lakeside bars, preparing ourselves for the journey home and beyond.
Labels: Cambodia
Friday, January 9, 2009
And all our yesterdays pave the way
Each day I spend in Phnom Penh is another blow to what’s left of my soul. Ravaged by war, genocide, and more recently, an infestation of morally perverse sex and drug tourists, Cambodia’s capital city is a painful example of resilience during the darkest of days.
Max, Jim and I arrived in Phnom Penh on January 4, just three days before the Cambodian People’s Party (CPP) celebrated the 30th anniversary of the fall of Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge regime.
Although most, if not all, surviving Cambodians consider liberation from the regime a victory, the January 7 celebration currently is a source of much controversy. The current political power, CPP, seems to have hijacked the celebration to further its own agenda. Meanwhile, the opposing Funicipec and Sam Raimsy parties argue that true peace did not come to Cambodia until the signing of the Paris Peace Accords on October 23, 1979.
My own political ignorance aside, Cambodian politics seems to be a horrid tangle of corruption, defamation and greed. Corruption seems to pervade so deep into local law enforcement that theoretically illegal drugs including marijuana, cocaine, ecstasy, ketamine and opium are openly sold on the streets, and even in the form of ‘happy’ pizzas and shakes in backpacker-oriented restaurants that line the Boeng Kak lakeside.
I am normally a strong supporter of legalising and regulating sex and drug industries, as I believe that regulation ultimately is beneficial to public health and safety. Sadly, in Cambodia, these industries exist in a legal ‘grey area’ that provides all the cons and none of the pros of the throbbing, thriving night.
One night, a misunderstanding between a tuk-tuk driver and ourselves led us to a thinly veiled karaoke-brothel. As we made our hurried escape, we passed a papasan with his flock of scantily clad girls, many of whom looked barely -- if even -- in their teens.
Another evening, Max, Jim and I happened to be seated just a little too close to a working girl, her much older client, and her client’s twenty-something year-old male friend. I was horrified at the explicit, vulgar memoirs that she so generously (and loudly) shared with the group, and even more horrified by the fact that she’d brought her young daughter with her.
It pains me to overhear young male backpackers speaking with older sex workers about $2.50 sex with ‘very young’ girls. It worries me to see bright local boys no older than twelve hawking marijuana. And it fills me with an overwhelming rage when I read the ridiculous graffiti strewn up by selectively sighted backpackers on cafe walls; graffiti that denounces Western capitalist chains like 7-11 as destroyers of ‘exotic’ South East Asia, while saying nothing at all of the sex and drugs being bought and sold in those very cafes and on the streets.
We left Phnom Penh on January 8, with Max flying back to Australia via Kuala Lumpur, and Jim and I heading westwards, overland, to Siem Reap and the ancient ruins of Angkor. Here’s to the hope that the ancient temples revive in me some pride in mankind...
Max, Jim and I arrived in Phnom Penh on January 4, just three days before the Cambodian People’s Party (CPP) celebrated the 30th anniversary of the fall of Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge regime.
Although most, if not all, surviving Cambodians consider liberation from the regime a victory, the January 7 celebration currently is a source of much controversy. The current political power, CPP, seems to have hijacked the celebration to further its own agenda. Meanwhile, the opposing Funicipec and Sam Raimsy parties argue that true peace did not come to Cambodia until the signing of the Paris Peace Accords on October 23, 1979.
My own political ignorance aside, Cambodian politics seems to be a horrid tangle of corruption, defamation and greed. Corruption seems to pervade so deep into local law enforcement that theoretically illegal drugs including marijuana, cocaine, ecstasy, ketamine and opium are openly sold on the streets, and even in the form of ‘happy’ pizzas and shakes in backpacker-oriented restaurants that line the Boeng Kak lakeside.
I am normally a strong supporter of legalising and regulating sex and drug industries, as I believe that regulation ultimately is beneficial to public health and safety. Sadly, in Cambodia, these industries exist in a legal ‘grey area’ that provides all the cons and none of the pros of the throbbing, thriving night.
One night, a misunderstanding between a tuk-tuk driver and ourselves led us to a thinly veiled karaoke-brothel. As we made our hurried escape, we passed a papasan with his flock of scantily clad girls, many of whom looked barely -- if even -- in their teens.
Another evening, Max, Jim and I happened to be seated just a little too close to a working girl, her much older client, and her client’s twenty-something year-old male friend. I was horrified at the explicit, vulgar memoirs that she so generously (and loudly) shared with the group, and even more horrified by the fact that she’d brought her young daughter with her.
It pains me to overhear young male backpackers speaking with older sex workers about $2.50 sex with ‘very young’ girls. It worries me to see bright local boys no older than twelve hawking marijuana. And it fills me with an overwhelming rage when I read the ridiculous graffiti strewn up by selectively sighted backpackers on cafe walls; graffiti that denounces Western capitalist chains like 7-11 as destroyers of ‘exotic’ South East Asia, while saying nothing at all of the sex and drugs being bought and sold in those very cafes and on the streets.
We left Phnom Penh on January 8, with Max flying back to Australia via Kuala Lumpur, and Jim and I heading westwards, overland, to Siem Reap and the ancient ruins of Angkor. Here’s to the hope that the ancient temples revive in me some pride in mankind...
Labels: Cambodia
Friday, January 2, 2009
Mosquito bait
With only Jim and myself to work with, the 24-hour journey from Chiang Mai to Bangkok to Trat to Koh Chang was a breeze. I found our third-class, overnight train from Chiang Mai to Bangkok particularly impressive as the THB 611 (AUD$27) fare included dinner, breakfast, clean blankets, and relatively comfortable seats.
Reaching the city of Bangkok came as somewhat of a shock to me, and I struggled to reacquaint myself with the big city trappings of functional public transport, LED-advertising, and girls wearing short skirts for the sake of fashion, and fashion alone.
So rejuvenated was I by our fleeting glimpse of the first world that we decided to spend a couple of nights at the few upmarket resorts on Koh Chang’s Lonely Beach. We stayed first at the refreshing Siam Beach Resort, where THB 3600 (AUD$150) bought us a room with a balcony overlooking the resort’s swimming pool and the beach beyond. The resort was pleasant although renovations to our room seemed rather unfinished and staff was ill equipped to cope with the high volume of holidaymakers.
Siam Beach was fully booked on the night of the 29th, so Jim and I put on our packs and walked, barefoot along the beach, to the nearby Bhumiyama Resort and Spa. Although we couldn’t quite see the beach from our new balcony, the room was much better furnished. I derived much joy from having piped hot water to the shower and bath, instead of the usual flimsy, low-pressure electric water heaters that prevail at cheaper guesthouses and Siam Beach Resort.
Koh Chang is Thailand’s second-largest island and is located on the country’s East coast, about 300 kilometres from Bangkok. Although it is home to only 5,500 people, the island receives more than 650,000 visitors each year. An estimated two-thirds of visitors to Koh Chang are locals. Among foreigners, Koh Chang is seen as somewhat of an ‘alternative’ destination, as most tourists tend to prefer better known islands like Koh Samui and Phuket.
Lonely Beach, or Hat Tha Nam Beach, is the most backpacker-oriented of the four major beaches on Koh Chang’s West coast. Only four resorts, including Siam Beach, Nature Beach, Bhumiyana and Siam Huts, occupy beachfront premises, while numerous other guesthouses, restaurants and tattoo parlours are located on a leafy peninsula some 500 metres from the beach.
Like the mainland provincial capital, Trat, transport in Koh Chang is dominated by a tuk-tuk cartel that charges exorbitant ‘fixed’ prices for short journeys. It is far cheaper to rent jeeps, or scooters for THB 250 per day. However, as we were told by a Brisbane motorcross racer who had lived on the island for a year, the combination of difficult, hilly terrain and drunken, inexperienced motorists makes for the harrowing statistic of 48 accidents per day.
December 30 was the day we put our fancy pants away, moving to the backpacker-oriented Sunflower Huts to meet Joel, Mik, Viren and Malaysia-based Cheong for our long-anticipated New Years reunion. My next couple of days and nights were spent sunbathing in the mornings and afternoons, and drinking with sand between my toes at the lively Nature Beach Resort after sunset.
On December 31, 2008, we celebrated the end of a most excellent year. Aided by buckets of vodka and juice and a ridiculous egomaniacal drinking game that Jim started, we danced on the beach amid primally satisfying fire twirling displays, and shared a New Years kiss as fireworks signalled the beginning of 2009.
The next few days were largely uneventful; we ate, we slept, we drank on the beach, until January 2, when Joel and Viren left for Siem Reap in Cambodia and Mik, Cheong, Jim and I headed back west to Bangkok to meet Max and await our flight to Phnom Penh.
Reaching the city of Bangkok came as somewhat of a shock to me, and I struggled to reacquaint myself with the big city trappings of functional public transport, LED-advertising, and girls wearing short skirts for the sake of fashion, and fashion alone.
So rejuvenated was I by our fleeting glimpse of the first world that we decided to spend a couple of nights at the few upmarket resorts on Koh Chang’s Lonely Beach. We stayed first at the refreshing Siam Beach Resort, where THB 3600 (AUD$150) bought us a room with a balcony overlooking the resort’s swimming pool and the beach beyond. The resort was pleasant although renovations to our room seemed rather unfinished and staff was ill equipped to cope with the high volume of holidaymakers.
Siam Beach was fully booked on the night of the 29th, so Jim and I put on our packs and walked, barefoot along the beach, to the nearby Bhumiyama Resort and Spa. Although we couldn’t quite see the beach from our new balcony, the room was much better furnished. I derived much joy from having piped hot water to the shower and bath, instead of the usual flimsy, low-pressure electric water heaters that prevail at cheaper guesthouses and Siam Beach Resort.
Koh Chang is Thailand’s second-largest island and is located on the country’s East coast, about 300 kilometres from Bangkok. Although it is home to only 5,500 people, the island receives more than 650,000 visitors each year. An estimated two-thirds of visitors to Koh Chang are locals. Among foreigners, Koh Chang is seen as somewhat of an ‘alternative’ destination, as most tourists tend to prefer better known islands like Koh Samui and Phuket.
Lonely Beach, or Hat Tha Nam Beach, is the most backpacker-oriented of the four major beaches on Koh Chang’s West coast. Only four resorts, including Siam Beach, Nature Beach, Bhumiyana and Siam Huts, occupy beachfront premises, while numerous other guesthouses, restaurants and tattoo parlours are located on a leafy peninsula some 500 metres from the beach.
Like the mainland provincial capital, Trat, transport in Koh Chang is dominated by a tuk-tuk cartel that charges exorbitant ‘fixed’ prices for short journeys. It is far cheaper to rent jeeps, or scooters for THB 250 per day. However, as we were told by a Brisbane motorcross racer who had lived on the island for a year, the combination of difficult, hilly terrain and drunken, inexperienced motorists makes for the harrowing statistic of 48 accidents per day.
December 30 was the day we put our fancy pants away, moving to the backpacker-oriented Sunflower Huts to meet Joel, Mik, Viren and Malaysia-based Cheong for our long-anticipated New Years reunion. My next couple of days and nights were spent sunbathing in the mornings and afternoons, and drinking with sand between my toes at the lively Nature Beach Resort after sunset.
On December 31, 2008, we celebrated the end of a most excellent year. Aided by buckets of vodka and juice and a ridiculous egomaniacal drinking game that Jim started, we danced on the beach amid primally satisfying fire twirling displays, and shared a New Years kiss as fireworks signalled the beginning of 2009.
The next few days were largely uneventful; we ate, we slept, we drank on the beach, until January 2, when Joel and Viren left for Siem Reap in Cambodia and Mik, Cheong, Jim and I headed back west to Bangkok to meet Max and await our flight to Phnom Penh.
Labels: Thailand
Friday, December 26, 2008
The lost boys
We left Luang Prabang via slow boat to the Laos-Thailand border on December 19. Our journey along the Mekong River spanned two days, with an overnight stop at the tiny, generator-powered town of Pak Beng.
Arriving finally at the Lao border town of Huay Xai past sunset, we spent our last night in Laos at a very good, and surprisingly well-priced, restaurant -- after I’d had my requisite hot shower, of course.
Early the next morning, we were ferried across the Mekong River towards Chiang Khong in Thailand. As we approached the immigration post, Jim and I caught sight of two Argentinean girls, each struggling to drag a backpack, suitcase, and duffel bag up the muddy slope. I photographed the scene to document the classic example of over-packing, but soon paid my karmic dues as my camera went missing that very afternoon in Chiang Mai.
We reached Chiang Mai after a painful five hours on an overcrowded minibus, passing an incredible number of flags, images of the King, and other such patriotic displays along the way. Once in Chiang Mai, we farewelled British backpacker Nash, who we’d met on our first day on the boat and had become a reliable card-playing sixth throughout the journey.
Nestled in the mountains of Northern Thailand, the city of Chiang Mai is home to about 1 million people. Once the capital of the 13th century Lanna kingdom, modern Chiang Mai is built around a moat and defensive wall, within which are remnants of a dilapidated old city.
While it lacks the high-rise cityscape that characterises a metropolis, Chiang Mai is a decently sized, well-developed city, complete with operational traffic rules, international restaurants and franchises, and true high-speed Internet. With life in Chiang Mai costing a fraction of what it would in comparable Western cities, I could see how it had become a modern-day Isle of Circe in Mik’s and Eli’s Odysseys.
We saw Mik for the first time in several months by Chiang Mai’s busy Sunday Market. Arriving on his ‘baby’ scooter, he packed us onto a songthaew (a taxi of sorts) and checked Max, Jim and I into the very nice Baan Chinnakarn guesthouse.
THB 250 (AUD$11) per night bought us a large double room at the guesthouse that featured a hot shower, TV, bar fridge, fan, outdoor washing area, dressing table and wardrobe. An additional THB 50 would buy us wired Internet access; however Jim and I chose to dine at the neighbouring Mexican restaurant and access its wireless network from our room instead.
It is wintertime in Chiang Mai, but we wouldn’t have known it had we not seen Eli wearing a ski jacket and two pairs of trackpants to dinner on Sunday night. I, in a knee-length skirt and loose-fitting shirt, had barely thought to bring a jacket that night, and afternoons are so warm for Jim and I that we have often sought sanctuary in air-conditioned cafes.
During the lead up to Christmas, we spent our days ten-pin bowling, bar-hopping in the Old Market, playing pool and marvelling at the numerous bar girl-Farang (white-skinned foreigner) pairings at a bar called Number One, and getting our boogie on at Spicy’s, a dodgy nightclub said to be one of the few open past 2am.
On Christmas Eve, Mik, Eli, their group of young expatriate friends and Thai girlfriends introduced us to the wonders of Mookata. Held in a warehouse bustling with no less than 300 patrons, Mookata is an all-you-can-eat hot pot-cum-barbeque. Each group of two to four diners gather around a coal-heated, steel pot in and on which food is cooked, while meat, seafood, vegetables, noodles, sauces, pre-cooked entrees and desserts are displayed buffet-style on rows and rows of tables.
We met up with the same group of people for Christmas lunch, which was on a floating restaurant in the nearby national park. After lunch, Mik led Joel, Viren, Max, Jim, myself, and his girlfriend Zuki on a fireworks-shopping expedition and three-hour-long pyromania session by the Military Hotel to herald in Boxing Day.
Joel, Viren, Max, Jim and I were spending a lot of time together, and differences in personalities and lifestyles were putting a strain on the group dynamic. On Christmas night, after a particularly polarising evening and a little too much drunken ‘banter’ from the boys, I decided that I needed a little more time alone.
Meanwhile, in a hotel room not too far away, Max had made a similar decision. And so the group split into three the very next day, with Max heading to Koh Samui with two other Australian friends he had bumped into in Chiang Mai, Mik leading Joel and Viren southwards to Bangkok, and Jim and I heading straight to our New Years destination, Lonely Beach on Koh Chang.
Arriving finally at the Lao border town of Huay Xai past sunset, we spent our last night in Laos at a very good, and surprisingly well-priced, restaurant -- after I’d had my requisite hot shower, of course.
Early the next morning, we were ferried across the Mekong River towards Chiang Khong in Thailand. As we approached the immigration post, Jim and I caught sight of two Argentinean girls, each struggling to drag a backpack, suitcase, and duffel bag up the muddy slope. I photographed the scene to document the classic example of over-packing, but soon paid my karmic dues as my camera went missing that very afternoon in Chiang Mai.
We reached Chiang Mai after a painful five hours on an overcrowded minibus, passing an incredible number of flags, images of the King, and other such patriotic displays along the way. Once in Chiang Mai, we farewelled British backpacker Nash, who we’d met on our first day on the boat and had become a reliable card-playing sixth throughout the journey.
Nestled in the mountains of Northern Thailand, the city of Chiang Mai is home to about 1 million people. Once the capital of the 13th century Lanna kingdom, modern Chiang Mai is built around a moat and defensive wall, within which are remnants of a dilapidated old city.
While it lacks the high-rise cityscape that characterises a metropolis, Chiang Mai is a decently sized, well-developed city, complete with operational traffic rules, international restaurants and franchises, and true high-speed Internet. With life in Chiang Mai costing a fraction of what it would in comparable Western cities, I could see how it had become a modern-day Isle of Circe in Mik’s and Eli’s Odysseys.
We saw Mik for the first time in several months by Chiang Mai’s busy Sunday Market. Arriving on his ‘baby’ scooter, he packed us onto a songthaew (a taxi of sorts) and checked Max, Jim and I into the very nice Baan Chinnakarn guesthouse.
THB 250 (AUD$11) per night bought us a large double room at the guesthouse that featured a hot shower, TV, bar fridge, fan, outdoor washing area, dressing table and wardrobe. An additional THB 50 would buy us wired Internet access; however Jim and I chose to dine at the neighbouring Mexican restaurant and access its wireless network from our room instead.
It is wintertime in Chiang Mai, but we wouldn’t have known it had we not seen Eli wearing a ski jacket and two pairs of trackpants to dinner on Sunday night. I, in a knee-length skirt and loose-fitting shirt, had barely thought to bring a jacket that night, and afternoons are so warm for Jim and I that we have often sought sanctuary in air-conditioned cafes.
During the lead up to Christmas, we spent our days ten-pin bowling, bar-hopping in the Old Market, playing pool and marvelling at the numerous bar girl-Farang (white-skinned foreigner) pairings at a bar called Number One, and getting our boogie on at Spicy’s, a dodgy nightclub said to be one of the few open past 2am.
On Christmas Eve, Mik, Eli, their group of young expatriate friends and Thai girlfriends introduced us to the wonders of Mookata. Held in a warehouse bustling with no less than 300 patrons, Mookata is an all-you-can-eat hot pot-cum-barbeque. Each group of two to four diners gather around a coal-heated, steel pot in and on which food is cooked, while meat, seafood, vegetables, noodles, sauces, pre-cooked entrees and desserts are displayed buffet-style on rows and rows of tables.
We met up with the same group of people for Christmas lunch, which was on a floating restaurant in the nearby national park. After lunch, Mik led Joel, Viren, Max, Jim, myself, and his girlfriend Zuki on a fireworks-shopping expedition and three-hour-long pyromania session by the Military Hotel to herald in Boxing Day.
Joel, Viren, Max, Jim and I were spending a lot of time together, and differences in personalities and lifestyles were putting a strain on the group dynamic. On Christmas night, after a particularly polarising evening and a little too much drunken ‘banter’ from the boys, I decided that I needed a little more time alone.
Meanwhile, in a hotel room not too far away, Max had made a similar decision. And so the group split into three the very next day, with Max heading to Koh Samui with two other Australian friends he had bumped into in Chiang Mai, Mik leading Joel and Viren southwards to Bangkok, and Jim and I heading straight to our New Years destination, Lonely Beach on Koh Chang.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Finding Neverland
When we arrived in the tiny town centre of Vang Vieng, I was somewhat bewildered by the numerous, deserted restaurants and guesthouses that lined the streets. It seemed the town was all geared up for a party, but guests had yet to arrive.
It wasn’t until the next afternoon that we discovered where the hundreds of Vang Vieng backpackers spent their time: in ‘tubes’ on the Nam Song river.
Tubing is an activity unlike any other I have witnessed. Sunburned backpackers float slowly downriver atop rubber tyres that are about one metre in diameter, stopping at bustling riverside bars along the way. The otherwise serene river is a hub of dance music, flying foxes and gigantic waterslides, and packed full of pink-faced tweens who are drunk, or high, or tripping off life itself.
So impressed were Max, Jim and I by our first tubing experience that we embarked on the exact same journey the very next day with new Vang Vieng arrivals, Joel and Viren, in tow. The five of us began tubing at Vang Vieng’s Organic Farm before noon and, thanks to our numerous bar stops, barely made it four kilometres downriver to the tubing centre before it shut at 6pm.
As if a full day of revelry isn’t enough, Vang Vieng backpackers’ drunken antics spill into stilted riverside bars in the town’s old market by night. Fuelled by 10,000 kip (~AUD$2) buckets of whiskey and mixer, the party at the neighbouring Smile and Bucket Bars is driven full-force until the government-regulated midnight curfew.
The curfew proved beneficial to our early start on December 16, when we left on a 10am bus to Luang Prabang. Despite being only 250 kilometres away, Luang Prabang took a nauseating seven hours to reach, owing to the tortoise speed of the bus along the winding -- and, at times, unpaved -- road. While I slept most of the way, I am told the boys and others did not fare too well, with Max throwing up at our halfway pit stop.
We arrived in Luang Prabang as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind a surprisingly busy night market. Our outdated guidebook presented us with some initial difficulties in finding a hostel; however, we eventually checked into the comfortable, 40,000 kip per person Sokdee Guesthouse by the Mekong River.
Our next three days in Luang Prabang were spent sampling local food at the historic Villa Santhi, haggling with streetside vendors, marvelling at local line-dancing at the Muang Swa nightclub, and wandering among the city’s colonial buildings.
Formerly the capital of the Kingdom of Laos, Luang Prabang is nestled in the mountains of Northern Laos. The city was named a UNESCO Heritage site in 1995 and is famous for its Haw Kham Royal Palace Museum as well as the nearby Kuang Si waterfalls.
We visited the very pleasant Kuang Si waterfalls on December 18, hiring a tuk-tuk driver to take us to the site, 32 kilometres out of town. I very much enjoyed sitting in the sunshine by the largest of falls with droplets of mist lightly kissing my bare shoulders. Jim and I attempted a swim in the crystal-clear, turquoise waters of one of the designated ‘swimming areas’, but deemed the water too cold to be relaxing.
It wasn’t until the next afternoon that we discovered where the hundreds of Vang Vieng backpackers spent their time: in ‘tubes’ on the Nam Song river.
Tubing is an activity unlike any other I have witnessed. Sunburned backpackers float slowly downriver atop rubber tyres that are about one metre in diameter, stopping at bustling riverside bars along the way. The otherwise serene river is a hub of dance music, flying foxes and gigantic waterslides, and packed full of pink-faced tweens who are drunk, or high, or tripping off life itself.
So impressed were Max, Jim and I by our first tubing experience that we embarked on the exact same journey the very next day with new Vang Vieng arrivals, Joel and Viren, in tow. The five of us began tubing at Vang Vieng’s Organic Farm before noon and, thanks to our numerous bar stops, barely made it four kilometres downriver to the tubing centre before it shut at 6pm.
As if a full day of revelry isn’t enough, Vang Vieng backpackers’ drunken antics spill into stilted riverside bars in the town’s old market by night. Fuelled by 10,000 kip (~AUD$2) buckets of whiskey and mixer, the party at the neighbouring Smile and Bucket Bars is driven full-force until the government-regulated midnight curfew.
The curfew proved beneficial to our early start on December 16, when we left on a 10am bus to Luang Prabang. Despite being only 250 kilometres away, Luang Prabang took a nauseating seven hours to reach, owing to the tortoise speed of the bus along the winding -- and, at times, unpaved -- road. While I slept most of the way, I am told the boys and others did not fare too well, with Max throwing up at our halfway pit stop.
We arrived in Luang Prabang as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind a surprisingly busy night market. Our outdated guidebook presented us with some initial difficulties in finding a hostel; however, we eventually checked into the comfortable, 40,000 kip per person Sokdee Guesthouse by the Mekong River.
Our next three days in Luang Prabang were spent sampling local food at the historic Villa Santhi, haggling with streetside vendors, marvelling at local line-dancing at the Muang Swa nightclub, and wandering among the city’s colonial buildings.
Formerly the capital of the Kingdom of Laos, Luang Prabang is nestled in the mountains of Northern Laos. The city was named a UNESCO Heritage site in 1995 and is famous for its Haw Kham Royal Palace Museum as well as the nearby Kuang Si waterfalls.
We visited the very pleasant Kuang Si waterfalls on December 18, hiring a tuk-tuk driver to take us to the site, 32 kilometres out of town. I very much enjoyed sitting in the sunshine by the largest of falls with droplets of mist lightly kissing my bare shoulders. Jim and I attempted a swim in the crystal-clear, turquoise waters of one of the designated ‘swimming areas’, but deemed the water too cold to be relaxing.
Labels: Laos
Friday, December 12, 2008
To Vientiane and beyond
We left our very basic Daen Sawan guesthouse early on December 8 to catch the local bus to Savannakhet, only to learn that a 9am departure in Lao time translates to about 10am by anyone else’s clock.
Unfazed, we put the spare time to good use, purchasing two kilograms of sweet, juicy mandarins for the 250-kilometre bus ride ahead, and watching the bus driver play with his pet puppy over a leisurely 9.30am coffee.
I had dismal expectations of the bus ride, having read in a 2003 guidebook that much of the road from Daen Sawan to the larger port town of Savannakhet was unpaved. Thankfully, the highway seems to be much improved and the five-hour-long bus ride was surprisingly comfortable.
Savannakhet is a city in Southern Laos that serves as a transport hub between Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. Located by the Mekong River, Savannakhet is considered the country’s business capital and is home to some 120,000 people, making it the second largest city in Laos.
We spent one night at the Sayamunkun Guesthouse, where 60,000 kip (~AUD$12) bought us a triple room with the comforts of a hot shower and bed sheets. Although the town is pleasant enough, we were eager to reach Vientiane and caught the earliest local bus out of Savannakhet that we could manage.
The local bus from Savannakhet to Vientiane was even more comfortable than the one from Daen Sawan, making the nine-hour-long bus ride far more pleasant than I had expected. Another unexpected treat was a chance meeting with 28-year-old Lao teacher Eik, who had also briefly greeted us in Daen Sawan the day before.
Eik had graduated from university in Vientiane three years ago and was full of praise for the Lao government, which provides free primary and secondary school education as well as a free two years of university tuition to high achievers.
Likening the Lao form of communism to Australian democracy, Eik explained that although there exists only one political party in Laos, party members are elected from each region in a democratic fashion. He also had high hopes for women’s rights in the country, explaining how his mother’s job as the region’s elected women’s union leader was to assist women in divorcing abusive husbands.
We arrived in Vientiane near sunset and checked into the comfortable but relatively pricey Orchid Guesthouse, reasoning that we deserved the luxuries of air-conditioning, hot showers and cable TV after four long days of bus rides and dodgy accommodation. But it was not long before the monetary allure of budget accommodation caught up with us, and we moved to the US$15-per-night Samsenthai guesthouse the very next morning.
For a capital city, Vientiane is refreshingly small and laid back. A village-like atmosphere permeates even the city centre which, compared to the dense, busy cities of Vietnam, is a low-rise sprawl with relatively light traffic and wide sidewalks.
Our three nights in the city were spent dining at a very good Mekong riverfront restaurant, people-watching at dodgy nightclubs, and sipping ice-blended coffees in the sweltering heat of Lao afternoons.
Another Vientiane attraction of particular interest to me was Buddha Park, or Xiang Khouan in Lao. Constructed in 1958 by a Hindu-Buddhist priest named Bunleua Sulilat, the park houses a collection of some 200 cement statues of Buddha and various Hindu gods.
We visited the park in the late afternoon, wandering casually through the statues before venturing into what I found to be the park's most intriguing structure: a dark, three-storey dome depicting hell, earth and heaven. Reaching the dome’s roof near sunset, I battled my fear of heights for the most spectacular view of the Buddhas amid a dramatic yellow-green field.
We left Vientiane on the morning of December 12 for the backpacker haven of Vang Vieng, some 150 kilometres North of the capital and a leisurely six-hour bus ride away. I am getting rather too well acquainted with these long-distance bus rides. Surely we are spending too much time together!
Unfazed, we put the spare time to good use, purchasing two kilograms of sweet, juicy mandarins for the 250-kilometre bus ride ahead, and watching the bus driver play with his pet puppy over a leisurely 9.30am coffee.
I had dismal expectations of the bus ride, having read in a 2003 guidebook that much of the road from Daen Sawan to the larger port town of Savannakhet was unpaved. Thankfully, the highway seems to be much improved and the five-hour-long bus ride was surprisingly comfortable.
Savannakhet is a city in Southern Laos that serves as a transport hub between Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. Located by the Mekong River, Savannakhet is considered the country’s business capital and is home to some 120,000 people, making it the second largest city in Laos.
We spent one night at the Sayamunkun Guesthouse, where 60,000 kip (~AUD$12) bought us a triple room with the comforts of a hot shower and bed sheets. Although the town is pleasant enough, we were eager to reach Vientiane and caught the earliest local bus out of Savannakhet that we could manage.
The local bus from Savannakhet to Vientiane was even more comfortable than the one from Daen Sawan, making the nine-hour-long bus ride far more pleasant than I had expected. Another unexpected treat was a chance meeting with 28-year-old Lao teacher Eik, who had also briefly greeted us in Daen Sawan the day before.
Eik had graduated from university in Vientiane three years ago and was full of praise for the Lao government, which provides free primary and secondary school education as well as a free two years of university tuition to high achievers.
Likening the Lao form of communism to Australian democracy, Eik explained that although there exists only one political party in Laos, party members are elected from each region in a democratic fashion. He also had high hopes for women’s rights in the country, explaining how his mother’s job as the region’s elected women’s union leader was to assist women in divorcing abusive husbands.
We arrived in Vientiane near sunset and checked into the comfortable but relatively pricey Orchid Guesthouse, reasoning that we deserved the luxuries of air-conditioning, hot showers and cable TV after four long days of bus rides and dodgy accommodation. But it was not long before the monetary allure of budget accommodation caught up with us, and we moved to the US$15-per-night Samsenthai guesthouse the very next morning.
For a capital city, Vientiane is refreshingly small and laid back. A village-like atmosphere permeates even the city centre which, compared to the dense, busy cities of Vietnam, is a low-rise sprawl with relatively light traffic and wide sidewalks.
Our three nights in the city were spent dining at a very good Mekong riverfront restaurant, people-watching at dodgy nightclubs, and sipping ice-blended coffees in the sweltering heat of Lao afternoons.
Another Vientiane attraction of particular interest to me was Buddha Park, or Xiang Khouan in Lao. Constructed in 1958 by a Hindu-Buddhist priest named Bunleua Sulilat, the park houses a collection of some 200 cement statues of Buddha and various Hindu gods.
We visited the park in the late afternoon, wandering casually through the statues before venturing into what I found to be the park's most intriguing structure: a dark, three-storey dome depicting hell, earth and heaven. Reaching the dome’s roof near sunset, I battled my fear of heights for the most spectacular view of the Buddhas amid a dramatic yellow-green field.
We left Vientiane on the morning of December 12 for the backpacker haven of Vang Vieng, some 150 kilometres North of the capital and a leisurely six-hour bus ride away. I am getting rather too well acquainted with these long-distance bus rides. Surely we are spending too much time together!
Labels: Laos
Monday, December 8, 2008
Buy the ticket, take the ride
Some of my most memorable moments while on the road have been accidental. A week-long cargo boat ride from Brazil to Colombia because any other means of transport would have been too expensive. A frenzied exit from a near-rioting crowd at the Champs D'Elysses on New Years Eve. Driving through a pedestrian-only street market in the wee hours of the morning in La Paz, because the locals we were with didn’t know how else to get us back to our hotel.
These are moments when each decision goes beyond the everyday what to eat and where to drink, and each choice could either help or hinder the cause, with no in-betweens. Moments when senses feel just that little bit more attuned to risks, adventure and a bargain.
Crossing the Vietnam-Laos border was another one of those precious moments for me.
Max, Jim and I had decided to cross overland on a whim while in Hoi An, and had little planned besides our destination, Vientiane. Driven by a desire to leave the fast-paced, overly aggressive Vietnam as quickly as possible, we set our sights on the closest convenient border town, Lao Bao.
Said to be the most popular overland crossing between Vietnam and Laos, Lao Bao is located in Vietnam’s Quang Tri Province, some 150 kilometres North-West of Hue and 300 kilometres from Hoi An. Arriving at Lao Bao and crossing the border is achieved via Highway 9, which once served as a tributary of the historic Ho Chi Minh Trail.
Our adventure began in the early afternoon of December 6 with a bus ride to the Quang Tri provincial capital, Dong Ha. We had planned to spend one or two nights in Dong Ha, visiting the nearby DMZ before crossing the border to Laos. As soon as our bus set us down in the seedy-looking town that evening, however, I became anxious to leave.
Bypassing a very persistent and somewhat creepy tour agent, we found the Lonely Planet-recommended DMZ Cafe for advice on visiting the DMZ and crossing the border. DMZ Cafe's proprietor, Mr Tinh, is an elderly, personable, proficient English-speaking man who ably sold us a government-endorsed tour of the DMZ for the next morning.
As per Mr Tinh’s advice, we toured the DMZ and the Vinh Moc tunnels, where North Vietnamese troops and their families lived from 1966 to 1972. The tunnels housed 500 people during the six-year period, and include designated caverns for ‘family rooms’, a meeting room, a hospital, and a maternity ward where 17 babies were successfully birthed.
The tour then took us down the Ho Chi Minh trail to Khe Sanh (yes, we hummed the song, quietly), where we visited a museum filled with anti-American propaganda. We farewelled the tour group at the tiny town of Khe Sanh to catch a local minivan to the border -- a ride that was an experience in itself for the friendliness and quirkiness of the 17 locals who were crammed in with us in the 12-seater van.
We arrived at the Lao Bao bus station at 3.45pm, and walked to the border under an optimistic blanket of sunshine. Thanks to the relatively late hour of the day, the border crossing was entirely devoid of queues or crowds, and our visas were processed with great efficiency and lots of smiles.
The Vietnam-Laos cultural difference was apparent the instant we crossed over onto Laotian soil. We were approached by motorcycle taxi drivers as soon as we entered Laos and were surprised and somewhat humbled to find that they took our usual ‘no, thank you’ at face value. Our lesson came in the form of a two-kilometre-long hike to the Laotian border town of Daen Sawan.
And the walk was one to remember. We walked past leafy green valleys, witnessing village life as locals lit cooking fires for the evening. We walked past children who swarmed around us yelling the Laotian greeting, ‘Sabaidee’. We walked with no knowledge of our destination, into a warm, pink sunset.
These are moments when each decision goes beyond the everyday what to eat and where to drink, and each choice could either help or hinder the cause, with no in-betweens. Moments when senses feel just that little bit more attuned to risks, adventure and a bargain.
Crossing the Vietnam-Laos border was another one of those precious moments for me.
Max, Jim and I had decided to cross overland on a whim while in Hoi An, and had little planned besides our destination, Vientiane. Driven by a desire to leave the fast-paced, overly aggressive Vietnam as quickly as possible, we set our sights on the closest convenient border town, Lao Bao.
Said to be the most popular overland crossing between Vietnam and Laos, Lao Bao is located in Vietnam’s Quang Tri Province, some 150 kilometres North-West of Hue and 300 kilometres from Hoi An. Arriving at Lao Bao and crossing the border is achieved via Highway 9, which once served as a tributary of the historic Ho Chi Minh Trail.
Our adventure began in the early afternoon of December 6 with a bus ride to the Quang Tri provincial capital, Dong Ha. We had planned to spend one or two nights in Dong Ha, visiting the nearby DMZ before crossing the border to Laos. As soon as our bus set us down in the seedy-looking town that evening, however, I became anxious to leave.
Bypassing a very persistent and somewhat creepy tour agent, we found the Lonely Planet-recommended DMZ Cafe for advice on visiting the DMZ and crossing the border. DMZ Cafe's proprietor, Mr Tinh, is an elderly, personable, proficient English-speaking man who ably sold us a government-endorsed tour of the DMZ for the next morning.
As per Mr Tinh’s advice, we toured the DMZ and the Vinh Moc tunnels, where North Vietnamese troops and their families lived from 1966 to 1972. The tunnels housed 500 people during the six-year period, and include designated caverns for ‘family rooms’, a meeting room, a hospital, and a maternity ward where 17 babies were successfully birthed.
The tour then took us down the Ho Chi Minh trail to Khe Sanh (yes, we hummed the song, quietly), where we visited a museum filled with anti-American propaganda. We farewelled the tour group at the tiny town of Khe Sanh to catch a local minivan to the border -- a ride that was an experience in itself for the friendliness and quirkiness of the 17 locals who were crammed in with us in the 12-seater van.
We arrived at the Lao Bao bus station at 3.45pm, and walked to the border under an optimistic blanket of sunshine. Thanks to the relatively late hour of the day, the border crossing was entirely devoid of queues or crowds, and our visas were processed with great efficiency and lots of smiles.
The Vietnam-Laos cultural difference was apparent the instant we crossed over onto Laotian soil. We were approached by motorcycle taxi drivers as soon as we entered Laos and were surprised and somewhat humbled to find that they took our usual ‘no, thank you’ at face value. Our lesson came in the form of a two-kilometre-long hike to the Laotian border town of Daen Sawan.
And the walk was one to remember. We walked past leafy green valleys, witnessing village life as locals lit cooking fires for the evening. We walked past children who swarmed around us yelling the Laotian greeting, ‘Sabaidee’. We walked with no knowledge of our destination, into a warm, pink sunset.
