The Grande Finale

Seven weeks has completely flown by. Six countries, seventeen cities, countless times packing and unpacking our bags, flopping our heads down on different pillows, learning "hello" and "thank you" in new languages, ordering a mysterious dish and praying it would be edible. What a wild ride.

Hong Kong was, in many ways, the perfect place to end our Reunion Tour. It is a bustling modern city, with pockets of old world charm. A fundamentally foreign place, with a thorough infiltration of the comforts of home. We woke up Sunday morning in the jungles of Thailand, and went to sleep Monday night in one of the largest commercial hubs and most densely populated cities in the world. If there is any contrast great enough to cement our experience that the world is vast, beautiful, diverse, and yet always strangely familiar, it is this one.

We had one big night out on the town in Hong Kong that I'm not sure either of us will thoroughly remember. We ascended Victoria Peak to see the incredible view of the Hong Kong Skyline at night. It is a glittering marvel. We took the opportunity to unveil our Reunion Tour merchandise line.

The "Sweet As..." thing is a New Zealand and Aussie import. For whatever reason, they don't finish their comparatives. Things are just "big as..." or "hot as..." or "nice as..." From a literary perspective, I appreciate the notion that what is unsaid is more powerful than what is said. From a conversational standpoint, it's hella confusing.

From Victoria Peak we headed out to Lon Kwai Fong, the infamous center of Hong Kong nightlife. From there it's really anyone's guess. If you think I'm omitting tales of our last dinner in Hong Kong, I am not. We too omitted our last dinner together. Which may explain the rest of the evening, which reportedly included a lot of beer, some shots, street vendor dumplings, and us promising a Saudi prince that we would fly with him to Macau. The last part I only know because he keeps calling me. Here's what I know happened (please note the costume changes, they are not a trick of the eye, we apparently changed clothes a few times):

Clare left the next morning to return to the U.S., with a massive hangover in tow. Full disclosure: we both cried. While I think we are both looking forward to our own beds, the voices of our friends and family, and some diversity of wardrobe, we are reticent to shed the cloak of the world traveler (malodorous as it may be at this stage). And we are both leaving this trip only wanting to see more of the world.

I have spent the past two days in Hong Kong relaxing and indulging in some modern comforts in preparation for my return to the thick of it in Cambodia. I took a fantastic yoga class on the 25th floor of a skyscraper overlooking Hong Kong's Time Square. I saw the new Harry Potter movie. I broke Clare and my vow to stay out of Starbucks and fell upon a soy latte with the sort of religious fervor you might expect in an alcoholic's first tumble from the wagon. I didn't even feel bad about it.

I've also done some venturing around the city-- its winding alley markets, its flashy top end retail, its endless network of glass walkways connecting the buildings high above street level. I took a junk boat tour of Victoria Harbor and watched the sun set as the skyscrapers slowly lit up the sky. It's really beautiful here.

But there's no settling in for the seasoned road warrior. I leave today for Bangkok where I pick up Mommy Dearest en route to Siem Reap, Cambodia. I have no idea what type of internet access I will find in the countries to come (Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam), but to the extent possible I will continue to post tales of my adventures through the end.

Clare, mi amor, I miss you. Start planning Reunion Tour II. I go wherever you go.

Karma is apparently reading this blog. The day after my glib "stay out of the tuk tuk" comment, Clare and I nearly died in a tuk tuk. We were headed to the Chiang Mai Night Bazaar, zipping down a side street in the back of the three-wheeled death traps they call transport in this country when a car pulled out of an alley at top speed headed straight for my side of the tuk tuk. Truth be told, I screamed. Though really it was just the noise that results from your entire body flexing in preparation for impact.

Needless to say we are fine. The tuk tuk swerved, the car braked, it was a fairly ordinary Thai intersection. But it was full five minutes of white knuckle gripping and fish out of water mouth flapping before we could speak. At which point Clare turned to me and said, "Your scream is surprisingly girly." Nice. At least now we have the answer to my father's eternal question of when I will start to behave like a lady: moments before my death.

When we got to the market, we frantically piled out of the tuk tuk and in to the nearest place serving alcohol. In Thailand that is everywhere. Emboldened by our brush with death, we ordered a completely inexplicable dish involving leaves, ginger, toasted coconut, and the tiniest little peppers I had ever seen. Granted size is not everything, but these things really seemed too small to do much harm. So I dared Clare to eat one. Hysterical. She chugged her wine, her water, my water, my beer, and then panted for a while muttering something that sounded like "pepper ... hot... shit ... hot." Fantastic show. I wish I had the after photo for this one.

Our second day in Chiang Mai we spent the morning at the beautiful mountaintop temple of Doi Suthep, built in the 14 th century and still in active use by Buddhist monks. We arrived just in time for the morning prayers, which involve a dozen orange robe-clad monks chanting unison. It's very meditative. Unless you have a short attention span and an overactive imagination. We didn't last long.

In the afternoon, we took a trip into the rainforest north of Chiang Mai to do a ziplining tour of a beautiful stretch of forest that was previously off limits to visitors because it was a protected habitat. The ziplines are apparently some kind of eco-friendly compromise to keep visitors off the forest floor. Or else they are an expensive tourist trap. Either way they are really fun and we spent the afternoon flying through the sky and repelling down 1500 year old trees in the lushest forest I have ever seen.

Day three is when the real adventure began-- the jungle trek! (Editorial note: Clare caught a little flu bug and left a day after me for the trek so we weren't together for this part but had some similar experiences. You will have to pump her for the gritty details of her trek).

A quick geography lesson to start: the Northern Provinces of Thailand are a mountainous and jungle-covered region that form the lower part of the Golden Triangle-- the intersection of Burma, Laos, and Thailand best known for its agricultural contributions to the drug trade and resulting violent turf wars. The Thai government has since intervened and persuaded at least some of the region's farmers to grow rice, corn, and pumpkins instead of opium. The jungle in these provinces is dense and there are few passable roads between villages. So if you want to see the Thai jungle, you have to do it on foot. So off I went (with a group, and a guide, I haven't lost my mind).

Part one was a concession to our inner tourists. We rode elephants. In a circle. But they are gorgeous and massive creatures with lovely, knowing eyes and an insatiable appetite for bananas. And you cannot leave Thailand without riding an elephant.

The actual trek started off as a 13 km hike up the side of a mountain. I like a good challenge, so game on. Then the monsoon started. I've never seen rain like this before. You couldn't see your own hand at arms length. In no time the narrow rocky path up the mountain had transformed into a waterfall down the mountain. But onward we went, sliding in the mud, grasping at tree trunks, and quickly realizing that rain coats are no match for rain that comes from every direction simultaneously.

The rain stopped after about an hour, just as we reached the top of the mountain. Within minutes, the jungle reanimated. The birds started screeching in the trees. Frogs hopped between soggy branches. Giant ant-like insects the size of hummingbirds, with black wings and beakish antennae, rose from the mud and took flight all around us. It was fantastically old testament.

The reward for our efforts was perfectly timed. As the sun came out, we reached a gorgeous waterfall at the foot of a rice field. After rinsing off under the falls we set up yet another mountainside to the village where we would spend the night. Our guide, who went by "Ka" though that was certainly not his name, explained that the hill tribes are made up of people who immigrated to Thailand from China, Laos, and Burma and set up insular communities in the Thai jungle. These communities have developed their own languages and customs. The first village we stayed in was people of Chinese descent who spoke a tribal language that even our Thai guides did not know beyond simple courtesies.

For anyone who doubts Clare's or my ability to rough it, these jungle accommodations were no joke. Squatting outhouses, bare wooden floors with mosquito nets, and spiders the size of your hand.

But it was a lot of fun. I spent the first evening sitting by a campfire with our guide and a few of the locals who brought a guitar, singing some American classics (Hotel California is a real favorite on this side of the world) and enjoying some Thai serenade. And to keep the mosquitoes away, I was forced to drink Thai rice whisky-- a bathtub brew that smells like moonshine and tastes like battery acid. I'm not sure that it keeps the bugs away, but sleep comes quickly, which is a blessing when the jungle sounds like it's three feet from your mosquito net and hungry.

The next day was the longest and most ill-advised of my life. For nearly seven hours we traipsed through the jungle, led by Ka who used a large stick to beat out a path where none had been before. As he explained to us a number of times when we were clearly lost, he liked to learn new ways through the jungle. Perfect, me too. Ka's brother joined our trek as well, but he didn't speak English so he mostly ran through the jungle waving a hatchet and laughing manically. True story. Both brothers took every available opportunity to pick up bugs, eat leaves and wild berries, and pretend something had attacked them. It was hardly a necessary addition to our adventure considering we were already slipping down muddy inclines, balancing on fallen logs over rushing ravines, and free climbing mountains miles from civilization. But who doesn't love a good snake attack joke, I always say.

For anyone who doubts the precise nature of this trek, the picture below is Ka, ahead of me, making a "path" in the jungle.

Threats to life and limb aside, the scenery was incredible along the way.

The second night we stayed beside the waterfall, in the thick of the jungle. Ka and his brother, along with some other people who mysteriously appeared in the night, set about killing everything they could find to barbecue over the campfire-- fish and frogs from the river as well as an impressively large snake. It's enough to make one a vegetarian. Dinner turned into revelry again as the rice whisky was passed around and we practiced a number of (likely obscene) phrases in Thai and the local tribal languages. In keeping with Buddhist practices, Ka would always pour out a small amount of whisky or set aside a bite of food as an offering for the spirits in the jungle. I made the mistake of trying to make a cultural analogy, and spent the next twenty minutes trying to explain what "pour one out for my homeys" meant. It's not Buddhism, that much is now clear.

Here's where I get serious for a second. Sitting around a campfire, next to the roar of the waterfall, under a blanket of stars, with these young Thai men who basically live in the jungle and forage for food, it seemed entirely possible that life does not have to be so complicated. Or maybe things just look simpler at the bottom of a bamboo cup of rice whisky.

The third day of the trek was more of the same: bugs, mud, and near-misses with falling to one's death. We came across one hill village near a river where a woman was sitting on her porch with a loom weaving silk into these beautiful scarves. She explained (via Ka) that it takes her three days to make each scarf. I asked her how much she sold them for, she said 120 baht (less than $4). I now have four of them. Expect gifts.

We are now back in Chiang Mai for the night, happy to have a hot shower, air conditioning, and a spider-free bathroom. We leave tomorrow for Hong Kong, for the very last days of our time together. Stay tuned for some woefully inadequate efforts to summarize the last two months of our lives.

We Didn't Start the Fire

Brace yourselves, it's kind of pretty here.

We arrived last Monday in Phuket, Thailand. We spent our first two nights at Patong beach-- a wild convergence of sun, sand, and sin. Our hotel was unspeakably beautiful, with a maze of swimming pools beneath a rain forest of greenery that showered flower petals on you while you swam. No joke.
Our first night in Thailand we began what would become a sordid love affair with Thai curries. Imagine, if you will, drinking lighter fluid and then setting fire to your tongue. That is the natural state of Thai curry. If you ask for "medium" you may survive, depending on how generous the locals are feeling. But the flavors are incredible: lemongrass, basil, red pepper, onions, all simmered in a mysterious blend of spices and poured over a giant bowl of fresh shrimp and served with rice steamed to sticky perfection. It's heaven... and it costs about $2.


It's a little awkward to gloat in the depreciation of another country's currency, but things are insanely cheap here. An incredible meal including beer is about $5, our beautiful hotel costs about $30 a night, an hour massage is $6, fresh mangos with sticky rice and coconut milk is 50 cents. I had three custom suits made (each with jacket, pants, and skirt) for less than the cost of a single suit in the United States. I waver between blissful appreciation and annoying lectures about the value of minimum wage and workers comp insurance. Clare has had quite enough of me.

But since the price is always right, it's pretty fun to shop in Thailand. In fact, it's nearly impossible not to. Even laying on the beach you will be constantly approached by people selling fresh fruit, handmade jewelry, or massages. The older Thai women are the best: they will come up and start rubbing your shoulders or your feet and dare you to stop them. One marketing genius came up to Clare and said "You need aloe massage, you look like barbeque lobster." Fair point. We call that an Irish tan.

Phuket, lovely as it was, turned out to be a little seedy for our tastes. It's so hard to find a bar without girls on poles that we actually stopped for one of the many promoters who promised "no hookers" in his bar. A tempting offer, but we decided it wasn't our scene. Fortunately, the Thai entrepreneurial spirit means there are no shortage of people who set up a table or a cooler on the beach and call it a bar. I spent the evening sipping Johnny Walker's a few feet from the waves with the sand between my toes. (For those of you who got taunting IMs that evening I apologize... sort of).

From Phuket we took a two hour boat ride to the enchanting Ko Phi Phi island, known for its pristine landscape and wild beach nightlife. This time, we turned out to be a little seedy for our tastes. Our first night in Ko Phi Phi went precisely as you might expect: a lovely dinner on the beach, a few drinks served in giant plastic buckets, some people dancing with fire, us dancing with fire, some body paint and dancing in the rain, the usual. I will let the pictures tell this story.
One story must be set apart. Around midnight the bay in Ko Phi Phi mysteriously recedes about 100 meters back and you can walk out into the bay on the ocean floor. The sand is rippled like waves and the boats in the bay sit on the newly expanded beach like forgotten toys. If you think that's cool when you're sober... well, you know where I'm going with this. The picture is not me passed out-- I'm making sand angels on the ocean floor. It only stays like that for about an hour, then the water chases you back to the party, which rages until morning.

Our tour of the islands around Ko Phi Phi was some of the most beautiful scenery we've experienced on this trip. Maya Bay, the famous site of the movie The Beach, was absolutely breathtaking. We kayaked into this secluded bay with limestone cliffs on all sides and we felt like the only people on the planet. Schools of tiny fish danced on the top of the turquoise water and birds and monkeys screeched from the trees. The pictures don't do justice.
Our days in Ko Phi Phi generally consisted of reading on the beach or by the pool and getting as many massages as possible. We got two in one day. Totally ridiculous. And Thai massages are no joke. These tiny women who look like they couldn't open a bottle on their own will politely bow to you before they set about tearing your limbs from the socket. And they aren't shy either. Clare and I sat up from adjoining massage mats after one particularly raucous session with disheveled hair and flushed faces and turned to each other, open mouthed:

Clare: I just got to second base
Me: I feel like I should give her my number
Clare: I think I need a cigarette

We left Ko Phi Phi on Saturday and flew to Bangkok-- the polar opposite of a sleepy beach town but charming in its own right. We are staying in Kao Sahn, the notoriously wild neighborhood of bars, restaurants, and endless street vendors. If you receive a gift from either us that smells like pad thai and vomit, it's probably from this neighborhood.

This morning we took a trip to a floating market outside Bangkok. In the wee hours of the morning, the locals paddle down this river to buy fresh fruits, vegetables and meats. Around 11 a.m., tourists descend on the place and everyone puts away the cabbage to make room for the "I heart Thailand" t-shirts, cheap Buddha statues, and omnipresent wooden phalluses. Clare and I bought cans of Singha passed from one boat to the next, so we figure that was pretty authentically Thai.

And then I was eaten by a python.

A final reflection on our travels in general in allegory form: On the boat today, an American girl behind us griped the entire time that our boat "sucked" and that we had been "gypped" because we got stuck in a boat jam (which Clare and I thought was hysterical... and then we bought a beer). Another Mediterranean family was pitching a fit as we pulled in because they had waited ten minutes for a boat. Then their 13 year old daughter got in the boat on a very crowded river where the boats regularly bounce off each other and put her hand over the side of the boat. Of course it got hit by another boat, and her father flew into a rage, demanding that someone call the police. The moral of these and other similar stories seems simple: you're in Thailand, the rules are not the same here. The cars don't have seatbelts or abide by any discernible division of lanes. You will find plastic in your street vendor pad thai. If you jump off a boat and you can't swim, you will drown. We are far too accustomed in our culture to being protected from our own stupidity, and blaming someone else when that protection fails. In Thailand, if you can't handle the sharp turns, you'd better stay out of the tuk-tuk.

Philosophizing concluded. Cheers from Thailand.

The Only Thing to Fear is Fear Itself ... and E. Coli

We've gotten a bunch of emails from friends and family who aren't sure where we are in relation to the tragic bombing of two American hotels in Jakarta this morning. We left Indonesia on Monday and are safely in Thailand, far from those unfortunate events, but certainly shaken by the tragedy. Our thoughts and prayers are with the families of those people injured or killed by today's events.

We leave tomorrow for Bangkok where we are hoping to find a fast enough internet connection to update you all on our wonderful time here in Thailand. In the meantime, thanks to everyone who sent kind wishes of safe travel. In truth, the greatest dangers we face are my insistence on eating food from shockingly unhygienic street vendors and Clare's apparent immunity to sunscreen. Please send Tums and SPF 475.

We love you crazy kids.

Pina Colada Culpa

Clare and I have spent a lot of time on this blog shamelessly rubbing our trip in the faces of those we love. There's a reason for this, and it's not just unadulterated spite. We miss you guys. I'm not going to pretend I would trade my studio apartment in Dupont for our current digs-- a room on the beach with a balcony overlooking the towering limestone cliffs and turquoise waves of the Andaman Sea. But I'd love a beer and a steak from the Bistro, a glass (or bottle) of wine at Veritas, a bike ride along the Potomac.

We know that we are missing things while we are over here-- birthdays, weddings, babies, wild nights on the town-- but we're thinking of you.... poolside... in paradise.

(Sorry)

Bali!

Nothing cures what ails you like a good dose of Bali.

Our experience in Bali has been a whirlwind of cultural activities, astounding natural beauty, and touristy lounging with fruity cocktails. I spent my first morning in Bali learning to surf on Kuta Beach-- mecca for surfers of all experience levels. Here's my initial assessment: surfing is hard. The whole "paddling" thing requires a surprising amount of arm strength, of which I have none. Then there's the whole "standing up" thing, which requires agility, balance, and concentration, of which I have none. And when (not if) you fall off the board there seem to be three available outcomes: you get dragged underwater by your surfboard, which does not suffer from the same lack of flotation you do; you get pummeled by the wave that was previously pushing you and the ocean acts like a violent netti pot, funneling salt water into every available orifice; or, if you have made it close to the shore, you hit hard sand and rocks with your bare flesh and then dive for cover because that surf board is coming to get you. Unfortunately tucking the board under your arms and prancing daintily to the shore only happens on Blue Crush.

Bruised and bloody, but I got up! Anyone with any actual surfing knowledge or ability is strictly forbidden from commenting on this photo.

After my victory over the waves, we headed out for a tour of a temple where monkeys roamed freely along the rocky cliffs. We were warned that the monkeys were naughty (one brochure said "brutal monkeys") and they lived up to expectations. While Clare was taking a picture of a monkey that had stolen someone's sunglasses, another monkey tried to steal Clare's camera case, and in the process he nearly pulled down her skirt. I slipped him a fiver and we decided to stay away from the monkeys after that.

As the sun set behind the temple, we watched the traditional Balinese fire dance, which involves a lot of chanting, some pantomine-style dance, and some people dressed like monkeys. We've noticed a somewhat loose translation of "dance" in this country-- most dance is really more like theatre, which generally involves dialogue in a language we don't understand. We were told the story was like Romeo and Juliet. I will have to take their word for that. But it was really lovely watching the sky as the sun burned off over the ocean behind the dancers.

After the show, we went down to Jimbaran beach on the southern peninsula of Bali for the seafood bbq. All along Jimbaran beach, restaurants set up tables right up to the waterfront. Before your meal you select your live entree from the tanks and they grill it up right there in front of you. Clare had a barramundi that really struggled for its continued existence and I had a rather placid lobster that went without a fight. While we ate, Balinese dancers performed on a nearby stage and musicians strolled from table to table playing (rather inexplicably) a number of country music classics. But not Cecilia. Alas.

Our second day in Bali was pure pampering. Facials and pedicures by the hotel pool, a swim when we got too warm, fresh mango as a snack.... and, of course, karaoke. This time it wasn't even our fault. Right down the street from our hotel is a bar called "Reunion Club Karaoke." We had no choice but to participate.

Yesterday was a bit more of a cultural adventure. We attended a Barong dance performance this morning-- again it was sort of a play-- which colorfully depicted the struggle between good and evil... and also possibly monkeys. I don't want to ruin it for anyone, but good wins. Then we watched some Balinese craftsmen making silver goods and paintings before making our way to lunch at a gorgeous spot overlooking an active volcano and volcanic lake. Not a bad view.

After lunch we went to a coffee plantation where they were roasting Balinese coffee. There we witnessed a time-honored tradition for true coffee connoisseurs. Poop coffee. Ok, technically it's called luwak coffee after the small possum-like animal that eats and then poops out the coffee beans before they are roasted into a local delicacy. Yes, that is a picture of luwak poop. I actually tried the luwak coffee in a sort of "when in Bali" moment-- it wasn't bad, though I wouldn't follow an animal around picking up excrement to drink it. Dunkin Donuts is still (marginally) more sanitary.

Poop aside, the plantation was really beautiful with lush green coffee and cocoa trees down the mountainside.

After the coffee plantation we strolled around the incredible rice fields and learned about the rice farming process. Nearly every home in the area around Ubud has its own rice farm and people use every inch of their land around their houses to grow as much rice as possible. The farming process is labor intensive and the work here is done by hand under a sweltering sun. But the Balinese people seem happy and they are unwaveringly kind and cheerful in their labors.

But even in paradise, there are harsh reminders of how complicated the world is. Our hotel turned out to be right around the corner from the site of the 2002 nightclub bombing that killed hundreds of people, including 7 Americans. There is a gorgeous memorial on the site, and people congregate around it, play music on its steps, and use it as a place for peace rallies.

Today was a bit more on the sun and fun side. We took a catamaran cruise out to an island off the coast of Bali where we spent the day kayaking, snorkeling and lounging on the beach. For lunch we had a seafood barbeque of giant prawns and fresh marlin. There were these two musicians on the boat who (this is becoming a theme) knew a shocking number of American country songs so there was some sing-along time as well.

I'm leaving things out, as well as a ton of pictures, because we're off to have our last meal in Bali and fish curry is the only thing I can think about right now. Tomorrow we leave for Phuket, Thailand. Expect more beaches, perfect sunsets, and good times.

Ta for now!