Honeymoon Paradise, Part 2

Days 75-83: Ko Chang and Ko Wai, Thailand

After weeks on the dusty backpacker road - early morning starts, bumpy taxi rides, thousands of temple stairs, long days on our feet (rough life, we know) - well, it was time for a bit of "aaaaahhhhhh." It was time for some beach paradise - Thailand style. Just a boat hop away, we happily entered a lazy land where the sky to ocean to beach makes that perfect, continuous transition from blue to turquoise to green to gold. Aaaahhhhhhh. Soon, the toughest part of the day became deciding what type of fruit I wanted my morning shake to consist of, or, in Al's case, whether to execute yet another handstand in the ocean. Seriously. I became further conviced that I married a fish, oh wait, I mean, a mermaid, honey.

Our first few days were on "Lonely Beach," Ko Chang, where we found just a bit of activity, centered around an ewok-like, wooden deck-structure hostel aptly named the "Treehouse." Tattoos, silk pillows, funky lamps, reggae, and best of all, the "Thai rasta-man,"
came at no extra charge. Plus the food was lovely - big red snapper and giant squid barbecued on the beach. Best of all, Al showed her prowess for lotteries. Our first night was party night at the Treehouse (we later learned that every night is party night.) But this night was particularly special in that they were giving out free loot, by drawing out of a hat. Al, god bless her, reached into the nappy rasta hat of prizes, and innocently pulled out the the grand prize: a romantic, candle light dinner for two! Plus, lo and behold, the next night was Thanksgiving! She won a free, and massive, Thanksgiving feast. . . . So after watching an amazing sunset while swimming in the crystal clear and incredibly warm waters off of Koh Chang, we feasted on strawberry daiqueries, steamed whole red snapper, calamari, indian curries, BBQ beef skewers, and a bucket (yes, a bucket) of L.I.T (always a nice night cap after a satisfying meal, yes?). Just like back home, the Thanksiving feast was finished with some very solid fire dancing on the beach a la circue du soleil, but, once again, Thai rasta style. It was a night fit for the pilgrims. Gobble, gobble.





We eventually got rastaed and fire-danced out, and wanted things to get even quieter. So, we left Koh Chang for a small island further out in the Gulf of Thailand. Koh Wai had only a few bungalows on it, no electricty and incredibly clear water perfect for handstands, or, in my case, floating on my back and patting my smoothie-filled belly. Beyond a short walk here, or a chess game there, plus a day of diving, we did absolutely noooothing.

Our little hut was set in the trees, with a a balcony that over looked the ocean. We spent the days lying on the beach, drinking mango shakes, and scrambling up the steep path to watch the sunsets from the rocky cliffs on the other side of the island. We went diving for a day and saw blue-spotted sting rays, moray eels, and enormous schools of fish that wrapped around us like bending, moving walls. Just awesome. At night, we held an international round table of sorts with our new friends Ole (Belgium), Willow (Canada), Joe (New Zealand), Jasna and Andraz (Slovenia), and Charlie(Canada) and Mona (Germany)-- marveling at Joe's funny Kiwi words, Ole's circus tricks, and Andraz' wonderful quality of laughing at all of my jokes. Now I must visit Slovenia.

The days melted away. Laziness became our profession. And our minds and bodies were settled deep into the sandy beach. We were relaxed and rejuvenated. And ready for Africa . . .

A Sticky Mix: Good, Evil, Friends and Temples

Days 68-74: Phnom Penh and Ankgor Wat, Cambodia

A bumpy, butt-numbing ride through steamy monsoon forests. A long, seemingly forgotten road to a few rotting shacks with a ragtag posse of armed, uniformed men who claimed to be border guard/immigration agents/con men. Do you see our obligatory border flag? That will cost a little bribe, amigo. A few dollars exchanged, another stamp in the passport and a "seamless" entrance into Cambodia, with Laos in the rearview. Humidity is free of charge.

But soon, as we entered the towns and cities, the history of the place became all too real. As with Myanmar, we sensed the echoes of tragedy. But the darkness and evil that occurred at the hands of the Khmer Rouge is unparalleled, and we shuddered at its remnants. Beggars left limbless by a landmine. Museums displaying Khmer Rouge torture chambers. Billboards with cartoon-like messages that encourage villagers to hand over their AK-47's. We were walking a tourist trail on the heels of death, famine and genocide. However, whereas Myanmar is in the throes of repression, much of which is hidden from the outside world (and from visitors like us), Cambodia is in the process of rebuilding and reconciliation, displaying its wounds to the world in hopes of speeding up the healing. A conversation with a cabbie summed it up: a big smile of teeth (and grime) related stories of suffering.

We began in Phnom Penh, the capital. At times, it felt like Paris a la sauna: baguette vendors, grand waterfront promenades, colonial buildings; plus extra sweat and spice . . . And all the people have such beautiful faces; a distinctively Cambodian beauty of round, kind eyes, soft skin, big smiles. Simply beautiful people. We strolled by cafes, museums, dining at non-profit restaurants dedicated to a cause, say, teaching street children how to succeed in the hospitality business (and avoid destitution, crime, drugs). Before the war, it must have been a remarkable place.

But our wanderings always came with a sobering dose of the history; evidence of the past genocide and war, still so recent, was overwhelming at times. Particualrly at S-21, a former high school turned torture headquarters by the Khmer Rouge. It is now a museum, filled with empty rooms - floors still stained with blood - and other rooms, filled with black-and-white photos of individuals "liquidated" by the Khmer. Shocking. Disturbing. So much killing, all for the sake of a few individuals' ideology. Not even over gold, oil or something tangible. We just couldn't understand it. Then, as we left the museum, standing outside we encountered a limbless, disfigured Cambodian man, begging, and we wondered - was he tortured like this as well? Nevertheless, he smiled on.

It was not all so intense. The Mekong glows at sunset; jacaranda trees embrace the street; nightlife pumps onto the promenades, sweaty and sticky in the night heat; children playing; Cambodian teenagers party away, with no memory of the war; old Western men clutch their young Cambodian escorts, laughing their guilt away (we gagged) . . . we took in cocktails from the elevated balcony of a romantic cafe, watching, oh yes, an elephant crossing a major highway, with his "driver." We roamed through lively markets with some very random food choices (hairy tarantuals, anyone?), took in the buddha carving workshops (the Khmer Rouge destroyed all Buddhist imagery, so now they are remaking them), yummy bubble iced teas over chess. Again, a magical city. Pumping out history: spicy, bloody, sticky. We loved Phnom Penh.

Next, off to the mighty temples of Ankgor. One of the seven wonders of the world, and - with the arrival of our beautiful friends Beau, Kitty and Jed - a welcome change of pace: our first visitors from home! At first, it was almost shocking to have them, across the table, in Cambodia of all places. Sort of a reality check on how small the world is, and also how far away from home we were. Yet, here they were, right in our world. Airplanes are so cool.

After a night of drinks and spicy food, Beau having pummeled through a few plates of spring rolls (man, that kid can eat), we were all up bright and early, zooming in tuk-tuks off to the Angkor kingdom's arhictectural and spiritual gift: hundreds of intricately carved temples spread throughout the Cambodian jungle. Just incredible. A maze of passageways, carved spires, friezes, collonades. Plus, with the exception of a few fully-restored temples, many of them are crumbling and/or overgrown with giant ficus trees and other crawlers. So, we had to step over and under debris, climb past massive, twisting roots, and reconstruct in our heads what the original may have looked like. It was a unique playground, fueling the imagination.


And of course, for those who know him, give Beau some temples in a foreign land, and he is back to his usual goofiness, with Kitty smiling the whole time. They are a precious combo. Kitty was so in-tuned with the kids; she does indeed have the biggest heart in the world, which was a good example after Al and I had become more than jaded by months of saying no to begging children. Beau was usually fondling some precious artefact, about to break a frieze or take out a monk with his large squash butt. And Jed, quite admirably, feigned sanity as he fought off some ridiculous jetlag. Beer certinaly aided him.

So we cruised the town of Siem Reap with a crew. Our time together was short, as plans to continue together in Vietnam could not materialize. But we had a beautiful few days together, taking in one of the most spectacular sites in Asia. As the photos show . . .

Eaaaazzy Rider

Days 62-67: Southern Laos

Vroom vroom folks. And welcome to the open country roads of southern Laos. Our "hog" was no Harley; in fact, it was a toy-like Chinese motor-scooter that maxed out at speeds of 80 km/hr (no worries, mom, we never went over 60 km/hr), and better yet, the faux leather seat had an embroidered Mickey Mouse face on it. It was the "Mickey Mouse model." Nevertheless, zooming through the sleepy rural coffee plantation roads of Laos, where an eventful day for the locals might be a dog-on-pig tustle, we were a head-turner indeed. Two white folks on a scooter? Big news around here. And so, for a few days, we tasted our own Motorcycle Diaries in one of the more remote and rural parts of an already remote and rural country: the Bolaven Plateau of southern Laos. It is an enchanting and quiet area, where the lowlands of the giant Mekong River valley rise up in a series of steps, creating perfectly cool conditions for growing what the snooty Parisians consider to be the world's best coffee (most of the coffee grown in this area winds up in the cafes of France). And yes, the coffee was scrumptuous. Particularly when enjoyed beside this area's other big feature: massive waterfalls!! (That's a 400-footer behind Al's mug.) And so, having filled up the Mickey at the local wooden shack, aka gas station (see below . . . uuhhh, where's the ATM?), we spent our days selecting a waterfall on the map and cruising along with goofy helmets (particularly Al's; hers looked like a Stormtrooper helmet . . . endearing but definitely not sexy). Best of all was when we rolled through the coffee plantation villages. Once the children saw our white skin, they typically gave chase, unprepared for the powerful growl of Mickey's afterburners.

We broke up the pavement with dips in lovely swimming holes, a rainforest hike, and, best of all, and quite obligatory in this part of the world: an elephant ride. Check out Al teetering on that lovely beast! Best of all was watching him eat. The trunk is a glorious appendage. I have serious trunk envy.

Another, more subtle, layer to our explorations of the area was a historical one. This is the land of the Ho Chi Minh trail, and the site of America's "secret war" during the Vietnam conflict, when plain-clothes CIA agents and Air Force pilots bombed this major supply pipeline of the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese armies. Compliments of Nixon and Kissinger, and unbeknownst to Congress and the rest of America, the U.S. dropped millions of tons of bombs on this part of Laos in an unsuccessful effort to shut down movement along this infamous jungle dirt road. Quite a shock, but we learnt that, on a per capita basis, Laos is the most heavily bombed country in history, and much of that bombing took place in the southern regions we were happily scooting through. Strangely, except for the occasional earth depression which we guessed as a bomb crater, we saw little visible evidence of this history. Nevertheless, we could not help but shudder at the thought of distant B-52 bombers dropping 250-lb bombs all across what we experienced as a sublime, rolling rural landscape of waterfalls and coffee beans. Quite surreal, especially when juxtaposed against the simple smiles and energetic waves of the villagers. They seemed unconcerned that just 25 years ago, our country's leaders decimated their entire way of life.

After cruising around on Mickey Mouse, we went down to the "4000 Islands," the very southern tip of Laos, just on the Cambodian border, where the Mekong fans out to create a web of small islands and water channels. We stayed on a small island called Don Det, where time all but stops. Laos in general is a very laidback place, but Don Det takes it to a whole new level. The island has nothing on it but a few backpacker bungalows (bungalow = hut with a mattress in it and a mosquito net, but for $1 each a night, you can't complain!) among the rice paddies and small farms, no electricity, a few paths for walking and biking (no cars) and a few small cafes (no more than huts overlooking the very slow moving Mekong waters). On our first morning we went out for a "quick" breakfast, which ended up taking about three hours! So, we soon learned to predict when we would be hungry, and to arrive at the restaurant at least 2 hours before. Sidenote: on the menu were "happy shakes," "happy pizzas", and even "happy garlic bread." Hmmmm. You could essentially order anything "happy," just be sure to let the cook know how "happy" you want to get . . . Later that day, Jacob, following some locals, jumped off a make-shift diving board (checkout the pic) into the Mekong. He was obviously too happy for his own good, having learned later that this section of the Mekong is the one place on Earth that you can contract RIVER FLUKES through your skin. Yummy. This was further confirmed when I later witnessed Mr. Water Buffalo dropping some serious poo in the same waters. . . but he seems to be doing ok. And he is still "happy."

But, when meals were not stretching into days, we did manage to get out of the hammock and onto a bicycle seat. In the colonial days of yore, the Frenchies managed to build some cool old bridges, allowing us to explore multiple islands, including some truly remarkable waterfalls, which were really more like a continous wall of cataracts descending down into the Cambodian stretch of the Mekong.

The laziness of Don Det was further punctuated by a riverside feast. One of the backpackers staying at our place arranged with the locals that ran our place to have a pig roast to celebrate his birthday. A bunch of us decided to pitch in for it, and were really excited about it. . .until we learned that the pig that was going to "get it" was the one we had just taken a bunch of pictures of because he was so cute . . . Although it definitely gave Jacob pause, he showed no hesitation in piling on a second helping of pig meat.

Laos came full circle for us. Fast and furious on Mickey to slow and slooooooow amongst thousands of islands. A healthy balance that prepared us for the intensity of visiting Cambodia . . .