final overseas entry

Boy, was this a hard one to write! 

Why? This is, in effect, our final overseas entry.

The train from Jaipur in Rajasthan east to Allahabad in Uttar Pradesh left late at 1 pm. We were on our way to the Ardh Mela, cousin of the largest religious pilgrimage on earth, the Kumbh Mela. The Ardh Mela happens every six years, the Kumbh Mela, every 12 (next one is in 2013). It this event that prompted Mark Twain, who visited a Kuhmb Mela in the late 1800's, to write: "Whether it is done in love or it is done in fear...no matter. The act born of it is beyond imagination...marvelous to our kind of people, the cold whites."

This Ardh Mela was causing a backlog of trains as 150 million people were expected to be there, making Allahabad, according to the local newspaper, the largest city in the world for a day. To make matters worse (or better), the day we were arriving was deemed to be one of the most propitions, due to the absence of the moon. So, by about 11pm, the train would make unexpected stops and delays, making us about 6 hours late, finally arriving sleepless and disoriented 4:30am and didn't get settled into our hotel until 5, just in time to see people making their way to the river as we fell asleep. At Ardh Mela, Hindu pilgrims come to bathe in the holy Ganges river where it converges with the cleaner, deeper, holy river, Yamuna, in hopes that, upon death, they will be released from the endless cycle of birth and rebirth. At this moment, we just needed sleep.

We woke up in time to go down to Sagram, the most auspicious spot, and witness the spectacle. Enormous tent cities stretched for miles to house the pilgrims, and people stretched for miles as well out into the river. Some bathed on the banks, others took boats to the middle of the water where the two rivers met (off limits to foreigners). But Andy did join in on the holy bank and took a dip with throngs of Indians in the cold, filthy Ganges, hopefully making him at least clean on the inside. 

It was also here that we developed the '7-second rule.' It seems we tend to draw a crowd or at least curious looks and conversation wherever we go. And while we're firm believers in getting to know the locals in travel, sometimes it's a bit much. We timed it and figured we could stop for an average of 7 seconds before being surrounded and peppered with questions of where we were from and what our names were. The greatest part about it was that it was always an uncanny 7-second window! 

If we thought getting to Allahabad was tough, we had no idea how hard it would be to leave. That night after being told buses leave every hour for Varanasi, we arrived at the station amid chaos to find a very different story. After Andy asked about 12 different buses (forget about signs) if they were going to Varanasi, as well as a few people standing in line to a non-exsistent ticket-taker, he heard a rumor that a bus might leave in two hours. MAYBE. It was already 8pm and Sarah was still a bit under the weather, so we decided right then and there to hire a car and driver.

Good thing we did. As we drove the roughly 140km, 70kms of it were filled with abandoned or sitting trucks that couldn't get through because of the festival -- all just sitting in the middle of the road (both ways!), not even bothering to pull onto the shoulder. Because we were in a smaller car, our driver was able to slalom in and out of the trucks by traveling parts of the shoulder (on both sides!) that were navigable and around oncoming traffic. As we looked back, we gave sighs of relief as we could only imagine the mother of all heartache we avoided, had we tried to take the bus. All the train berths were full as well. It could have very easily have taken a week if at all.

As we relaxed in our Varanasi hotel, we fell asleep watching a documentary on The 20th Century, thankful for the bullet we dogded.

Varanasi is also a holy city on the Ganges river, but it is probably best known for its holy bathing sites and being the holiest place for Hindus to be cremated. More specifically, at the "Marnikarnika" Ghat (a ghat, being the place where concrete steps lead into the river). It is here that it is believed upon cremation, you will be released from the endless cycle of suffering of birth and rebirth and achieve "Moksha." And it is here that this most intimate of ritual is carried out before the public. When we were there, there were about 15 bodies were cremated during the course of the day. 

While we tried to wind down a little in Varanasi, Sarah gathered her strength, aided by the nice hotel room with luxuries that included lukewarm water and cable TV ('Inside the Actors' Studio with Ben Kingsley). Andy ran errands, got chai masala and brought back tomato soup from 'Burger King.' (don't ask)

After about 4 days, it was time to move on and board the 'local' train to Daltonganj in Jarkhand province, where reputed local guerrilla infighting prompted us to call and check on the current security situation beforehand. It seemed to be fine so we got the green light.

Why go to Jarkhand? We wanted to get off of the beaten track first of all. Second, there was a National Park there where you could supposedly see elephants and tigers. The 1pm train ride was uncomfortable at best. It was packed and for some reason, almost everyone in our cabin spent the first 4 hours just jockeying for seats. Some would sit in one seat for a while then switch with others. It didn't seem like anyone even relaxed, much less read! Our tickets weren't together, so we had to put our bags in a different spot which people kept asking us if we could move it and we'd have to explain that someone was sitting in our seat and that's why our bags were there and if they wanted to move those people, they were free to (they never bothered). Everyone finally settled down to sleep (11pm) when we arrive at our stop. A jeep from the hotel 25 km away had come to pick us up and away we went, whisked away into the night, saying a silent prayer that the hotel would have heat at night (it would not be answered).

When we arrived at Betla National Park, we were right about the off-the-beaten-track part. We were the only foreign toursits there and the place, Hotel Van Vihar, was more like a shantytown than a lodge. Delapidated walls, no heat, barely running water and hot water consisting of a bucket brought to your room. And to get food, well, let's just say you'd have to plan about 3 hours in advance. But the park itself was nice, unspoilt and just what we wanted. Most of the tourists were Indians from Kolkatta (Calcutta) in Bengal. And we were also lucky enough to meet a couple of journalists from Bombay who invited us to join them in their Jeep for the day and gave us fascinating glimpses into the area and into Indian life in general.

But the true highlight had to be on day 3 when we took a Jeep safari into the park. About an hour into the ride, sure enough, we heard enormous branches being snapped and our guide pointed off to the right. Elephants. Three adults and two babies eating in the thicket. We watch and wait for few minutes and then they up and cross the road right in front of us! The driver revs the engine (we think to protect us from a random charge -- we had heard that wild elephants are even more unpredictable than tigers) and they looked genuinely confused when they heard the engine and roared back with their big heads and trunks in the air, then, disappeared into the bushes on the other side and began eating again. We saw other stuff, like weird looking bison, monkeys, birds, feral cats and spotted deer, but nothing compared. Oh, no tigers either. Turns out the last one was spotted by a German guy in April, 2006. 

After a few days, we were on our way again. This time, we were both experiencing a weird dizziness in the middle of the day with Andy having unusual fatigue at night. Luckily after sweating it out for a few days, it went away, but it didn't help during the bus ride to Bodegaya. That day, we took a jeep to Daltonganj and from there wanted to catch one of the 'direct buses that leave every hour.' Yeah right. Why do we even get our hopes up? Turns out there were NO direct buses from D. and the CONNECTING bus to Gaya wasn't leaving for 3 hours. Finally, a guy offered that we could take the bus to Arangebad and transfer there for regular buses to Bodegaya. There's no way we could believe him for sure. But then again, there was no way we could believe ANYONE for sure. So, with no mention of the town in our book (or on our map), we boarded the hot, crowded bus and set off to loud Hindi music. Good thing we didn't have to go to the 'restroom' (for guys, read: anywhere outside) as the aisle was completely filled with people who weren't budging. Sarah saw one mother with an incessantly crying baby. The mother cajoled, scolded, and talked to her, but the baby kept cryging and crying. Finally, the mother slapped the 1 year old across the head hard. Sarah thought it would only make her cry more, but to her amazement, the baby stopped and was quiet the rest of the trip. The woman did talk to herself in hushed, angry tones the rest of the trip however.

It ended up we DID find Aregabad and that there was actually a Bodegaya bus waiting to leave right there! One thing that seemed to have worked out. Unfortunately, darkness descended as well (which we didn't plan on and we weren't too keen on being in the Bihar province in the dark). One thing that did make our hearts race was when we saw a traffic jam ahead and our bus slowed down to reveal a bunch of guys with sticks surrounding a stopped bus, yelling (We had heard sometimes these guerrilas stage mock accidents to slow vehicles down so they can rob them). No matter, to our driver's credit, he veered in and out of the traffic and kept cruising. Even three policemen jumped in it looked like to get away from the scene. True public servants.

By this time, we just wanted to get to Bodegaya. Then the bus stops to pick up two drunk guys and their friend. Nice. The freind was nice but the other two were annoying. It wasn't until after we exited, that Sarah told Andy that a couple of guys had tried to grab her as we got out. They were lucky she waited to tell him.

Which brings us to an interesting side note of traveling in India: the phenomenon of touching women inappropriately, or, as we more commonly refer to it in the west: 'Sexual Assault.' Luckily, Andy stayed close enough and gave enough dirty 'i'll-beat-the-shit-out-of-you-looks' to keep Sarah relatively safe from the phenomenon, but other travelers reported much worse. Including being touched, felt up, 'accidentally' bumped, etc. One woman we heard went to grab her bag from a top rack on the train and a couple of guys simply reached up and squeezed her breasts in front of everyone! And these are women wearing culturally-sensitive, head-to-toe clothing. And unfortunately it is this phenomenon to which no tourist is immune that forces us to not be able to recommend traveling in India (Especially for solo women). We beg to differ that it is just a cultural difference. It is not right in any culture (even the Indians feel ashamed about it when confronted) and there is little to no recourse from the police. Talking or gesturing is one thing, actually touching is another. So, until traveling women (especially women solo travelers) voluntarily agree to let men grab them after being asked in the street by mutual consent, we'd actually recommend against traveling here. If these attempts are still made with couples, imagine what single women travelers must go through!

Now, this was in Bodegaya, the place where Lord Buddah himself was enlightened 2600 years ago. One wonders what he might think about all the molesting next to his place of enlightenment. Something tells us that it was one of the things that propelled the reason to eliminate desire as necessary for enlightenment (as well as the desire to rob other Indians on nearby buses). Erstwhile, Bodegaya was a charming town of only 40,000 with tons of Buddhist pilgrims from all over the world, a nice place to spend the day and to get rid of any malaria-type-druggie sensations Sarah and Andy had been having.

One day later, we were up at 4:45am for the tuk tuk to the train station in Gaya for the long haul back west to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. So, we're standing on the platform and who do you think was standing there, but the 'nice' freind of the alleged 'molesters' on our bus two days before. It was no happy reunion. Andy pointedly asked him if he was one of the guys who tried to grab Sarah, threatening to hit him. He said he wasn't and Andy stared at him as he tried to stammer out apologies, but he just trailed off and slinked away, ashamed and scared out of his mind. On the bus before had said, let me know if there are any problems. Aww, how thoughtful he is as a concerned ambassador for his country. You mean like attempted molesting of someone's wife, those kinds of problems!?!...

It was a long, long day on the train (about 18 hours), but at least it was on time and at least we got there (with minimal seat obsession from our fellow passengers). We even found time to read (as in regular books)! 

Two days in Agra brought us the chill-inducing masterpiece of architecture: The Taj Mahal. In Mughal architecture (and many say in ANY architecture), it is unrivaled, standing head and shoulders above any contenders. Standing there mesmerized with jaws slightly dropped, we couldn't dispute it. It was without a doubt one of the most magnificent creations we had ever seen.

Later, we visited the Red Fort then came back to the Taj for sunset. The next day we toured a market and miraculously found a bus leaving for Dehli as soon as we got on it. It really resembled a school bus more than a inter-city bus, but the people were calm and the vinyl seats a blessing in disguise as they didn't trap any of the dust that most other buses have with their cloth seats. Oh, and it wasn't crowded either so no one was riding on the roof. It was actually quite pleasant and we thought about it being our last overland leg of our entire trip. (we were scheduled to fly out of dehli) It was actually a kind of sigh of relief feeling believe it or not.

Made our late-night entry into Dehli at about 11pm with the help of a nice local guy from Dehli who was a target shooting competitor who took pity on us and rode the bus all the way to where we got our autorickshaw. Never mind at this point we had already traveled around the world by ourselves -- he was going to help us. Arrived in the seedy neighborhood of Paharganj in Dehli and stayed for 4 days, shopping, sightseeing a couple of things, shopping, getting ready (mentally and physically) for our re-entry into the West - Canada. More shopping, and oh, lots of McDonald's. Though they don't sell beef, we still got our fix with fries and veggie/chicken burgers. 

Then, suddenly, it came. After almost a year of getting up every day looking forward to what lay outside the door, it came. Almost insultingly abruptly. Our last day.

On February 6, early in the morning, we boarded Cathay Pacific flight 838 at the Dehli airport bound for Hong Kong to change planes for the 11-hour journey across the Pacific to Vancouver. On the Dehli tarmac, we were eerily reminded of a similar feeling we had as we left New York City close to one year ago. Before we could get the courage to go, we had to take a deep breath, close our eyes, pause, and then step out the front door. And now, as we moved down the runway with the polluted Dehli landscape speeding by in the background, we took another deep breath, closed our eyes, paused, and in one unremarkable instant, we were airborne. Not really knowing what to think or do with ourselves, we watched Martin Scorsese's 'The Departed' over and over and over.


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Our next 'Overland' entry will be from the West, back on familiar turf since March, 2006. What has happened in the meantime has been indescribable, but we'll give it a shot in parting entries from Canada and when we return to New York City in March.

Thank You's: We don't know how to say it except to say it: Thank You to all family and friends who sent us well wishes, electronically or telepathically. We could not have done it without your messages or memory as we traveled along. It's safe to say we thought about you every day.....we had to.

40 cigarettes a day

Technically, it's 'Mumbai,' but so many people here and everywhere still say 'Bombay,' you really can't be faulted either way. It is a genuinely cosmopolitan city with vibrant energy, although pretty rough traffic and pollution at rush hour. Tanya's husband, Cash, even told us that just living in Mumbai is to partake in the equivalent of smoking 40 cigarettes a day. Nevertheless, we were kind of blown away by the stunning English architecture as background to palm trees and cricket matches near Churchgate Station at 'The Oval.' We were equally surprised by the number of people who wanted to talk/take pictures/just stand next to us/make conversation with the exotic white people when we got off on other streets off the beaten track.


On Jan. 5th, we were lucky to have bumped back into madeline and chandra to have dinner and said our goodbyes to the family. We took a morning flight to Bhavnagar in Gujarat provice. The only casualty being one of our black, insulated mugs we carried across two continents that Andy left in the cab. Good times. Good times.

As soon as we landed in the small town of Bhavnagar, we grabbed a tuk-tuk past giant, bizarre-looking bulls and oxen and as we pulled into the bus station, we discovered (after shouting our destination to nearby onlookers) our bus for Palitana was pulling out of the station! Two Hindu priests decked in neon face paint had told us that this was the bus and another small army of locals then helped yell at it/wave it down to stop and let us on. It did.



In a couple of hours, we were in Palitana, checked in to our 'hotel,' and ascending the holy, 3,000 plus steps to the top of the hill of 838 temples that Jains (people of the faith Jainism) have been making pilgrimages to for centuries. We heard even some walk up and down 7 times a day barefoot. So devout are Jains about their respect for all life, that many also wear surgical masks on their face to prevent the accidental death of insects, should they happen to be inhaled. Needless to say they're strict vegetarians and it seemed almost no restaurant in the entire province (Ghandi's home) served meat or alcohol. Oh yeah, we also felt like ascetics ourselves as no eating of ANYTHING is allowed on the climb. We didn't have even lunch before we started up. But much like the Halls Menthalyptus with Vapor Action we had a couple of months before, Sarah had managed to smuggle piece of sesame seed candy (one piece each) that gave us enough energy to keep our minds functioning on the climb. On top of that, there was no water -- we couldn't drink the Indian water yet (our stomachs not ready) and no one was selling bottled water, so we were also dehydrated! But wandering around the 838 temples at the top was as transcendental as it gets and not only were there no tourists, in most parts there was no one PERIOD. We saw a giant footprint of a buddah filled with thousands of freshly cut rose heads and a tree doused with electric-yellow powder where a Jain monk had reached enlightenment some centuries ago apparantly. By the time sunset came and we had made it down the 3000 holy steps on the mountain, with no food or water for the 7-hour climb, we too felt a bit like ascetic monks. You can bet we downed as much veg. curries as we could at the hotel that night (we didn't see a single 'restaurant' in the entire city of Palitana).

The next morning began our odyssey with Indian public transport and we weren't as lucky as the day before. The bus for Ahmedabad was supposed to leave at 9am. We got there and some said it was 9:30, others, 9:15. It was not until 11:00am that it finally came. No reason given except that it was 'late.' We were on it for about 30km upon reaching a small town in between when the gears went out and we had to abandon this bus (and our 'comfy' seats in the front, feet and packs resting on a giant tractor tire) and wait for another bus that came an hour and a half later. In the meantime, we were swarmed with Indians and kids wanting to talk or just stare for a while. There was no where to go. But we did meet some amazingly bright and well-spoken teens each going into very different and specific professions like "Tractor Mechanic," "Psychologist" and even one "Photographer."

In Ahmedabad, we had our first sublime encounter with the famous "Thali" vegetarian feast on a beautiful rooftop restaurant. The next day, we also had our first encounter with an unscrupulous tuk-tuk driver. After he had taken us to the wrong place (even though he assured us he knew where it was), we simply got out and walked away, trying to flag down legit drivers. Then he comes around the corner like a bad dream stalking us and telling other drivers not to take us. We had to cross the street a few times just to figure out how to get away from him and get a driver going in the direction we needed. We finally made it to the Calico Museum only to discover they only let in the first 20 people in line and no more -- never mentioned in our book. Holding back a loud, extended scream after going through so much grief to get there, we checked out a couple of baolis (ancient steps down to a water source to provide coolness and conversation) then went across town to see Ghandi's house, museum and where he began his long, foot-march for India's independence.

By the afternoon, we were off again, this time crossing into the more well-traveled and colorful province of the 'Land of the Kings,' Rajasthan. More specifically, the city Udaipur. On this portion, we were able to bypass the local bus shenanigans and take private buses, liberally-termed 'luxury.' Highlights of this beautiful city of Udaipur including a drink at sunset on the Sunset Cafe terrace overlooking the gorgeous "Lake Palace Hotel (location for 007 film 'Octopussy')." Also a highlight was our Indian moto-bike foray into the hills on the outskirts past beautiful sights past a beautiful mountain range and truly bizarre sights on the way back such as a giant, dead, bloated pig the size of small John Deere tractor with a dog trying to burrow and eat into something in its backside (it was hard to tell exactly and with the smell, you didn't want to exactly explore). Then there was the enormous cow, simply lying dead and unattended just off of a little side road. We returned the motor bike, grabbed our bags and auto-rickshawed to the bus station to catch the 12pm north to Jodhpur, the beautiful 'blue' city (the houses are whitewashed blue to counter the summer heat and the color is believed to ward off mosquitos) with 'quaint' mesmerizing fort, "Meherangarh." It was here that Andy left his sunglass case on the fort wall and came back only to discover that someone had found it and instead of leaving it or turning it in, simply threw it over the fort wall and down the mountain onto an inaccessible ledge.

After a couple of days in this Rajasthan highlight-city, we were off on the morning bus to the desert outpost, sandstone city of Jaislamer near the Pakistani border that was gorgeous lit up at night but also came with the side effect of what seemed like a thousand dogs for some reason barking incessantly through the night. We later found out this was not just a Jaslaimer thing. It seemed many cities in India had this phenomenon of not just 5 minutes of barking, but 30 minutes of barking broken only shortly for durations of 2-3 hours through the night. No wonder you see so many dogs completely sacked out during the day sleeping in the middle of the street. We would have preferred them to just bark during the day.

A day and a half later, we were off on our 6am bus northeast to Bikaner -- which felt like, at the time, the coldest bus ride on earth. This may have been the desert (we had the hot days and much-needed tubes of lip balm to prove it), but the nights and early mornings were bone-chilling. At this time, in this remote area, there was nowhere serving tea and we simply had to concentrate on not being cold for two hours. The attendant on the bus took pity on us after Andy asked if we might stop for tea and he gave us a blanket (we really hadn't prepared as properly for late night and early morning desert dress and Andy had sent back his sleeping bag with Anne and Steve back in Vietnam).

In Bikaner, we went on a little camel safari. Meaning, we each rode a camel with a guide, a cook and a driver for an entire day and camped out in the night. It was really nice and unusual (when we stopped for lunch, the cook milked the camel right then and there for our tea masala and it tasted very similar to cow's milk, only slightly gamey-er), but at night instead of living up to being romantic, the truth was we were eating bland, dry, aloo gobi with our hands in pitch darkeness while three generations of farmers came in to join us and the grandad kept staring uncomfortably at Sarah. We go back to our tent and when we shined our flashlight, could see the dust caking up inside like a sandstorm. We wondered if we should break out our own tent but were too tired. To be fair though, the stars on that moonless night in the sand dunes were breathtaking. 

The next day started out nice, leisurely, and thankfully warm as we took our time shopping for local fabrics, meeting the guide's friends, etc. And then we boarded the bus to Jaipur. Alternatively known to us as 'the bus from hell.' They first tried to shaft us on the tickets saying the only seats were the less comfortable sleepers for the 5-hour journey. We went back and forth between about 3 travel guys, one saying he did have a seat at the regular price, then he didn't, then he said we could sit next to the driver, then the driver said we couldn't, and that the guy shouldn't promise it. Then the original seat becomes available at the original price. We take it before they change their minds and Andy agrees to have his pack thrown into a questionable bin underneath, which later would turn out to grease up his entire pack, and by default his clothes, but that was only the beginning. It was a dust-ridden, rattletrap journey, with pretty much everyone staring at Sarah the entire way and trying to sit and talk next to her. The view was mildly interesting, but about halfway through was marred as we found out that there were now passengers riding on the roof -not bad in and of itself except that we learned of it by a stream of puke, that's right, vomit, that flowed, dried and caked on our window, obscurring the mediocre view in the worst way for the rest of the trip. And it turns out we didn't arrive in the expected 5 hours. It ended up being 8.

Not only that, we arrived late into Jaipur only to find out our hotel had given up our reservation to someone else and was completely full. Wow. We then managed to find another place, and feeling pretty brutalized and wanting something easy, straggled to a over-touristy restaurant, Niro's, with overpriced food, and a heartless, we'll even say soul-less, money-mongering staff. Ahh, the romance of travel, right? Jaipur didn't start off well, but it ended well. In fact, the best part about the city wasn't even in the city. It was just outside at the beautiful, raw and evocative Amber ('Amer') fort with spectacular views and the world's largest canon which supposedly only needed to be test-fired once (built centuries ago with purported range of 20 miles) as it served to deter attack indefinitely.

Our Rajasthan tour would be over in a couple of days as we entered the much more uncharted territory of Uttar Pradesh, or "UP" and then the poor and lawless provinces of Jarkhand and Bihar. It would also turn out that the Jaipur bus wouldn't be the only form of transport from hell. We still had our first train to take -- this time to a religious festival Ardh Mela (the 'half' Kumb Mela) consisting of no less than 150 million people (which sounds farfetched to impossible had we not been in a country of over 1 billion). Stay tuned.

zero-gravity-floating-in-space

It was a brief, but eye-opening, tour of a few islands in southern Thailand. Ko Phan Ngan was the site of the famed full moon party the night before where a couple of people apparently got a little too messed up and actually died, being swept out to sea. It was a beautiful island and beach, despite the high-impact tourist/party scene.

The next day, Ko Tao (Turtle Island) we also discovered to be beautiful, known more for its diving, which we tried for the first time in our lives. Diving was fantastic. Nothing feels more like going to another planet -- the crazy 'alien' creatures and plants as well as the 'feeling-of-zero-gravity-floating-in-space' part. Nothing is also more counter intuitive than taking your first breath underwater, but worth it. Sarah saw (and stayed away from) a trigger fish, and Andy saw his black blood (red is the first color in the spectrum to disappear at depth) after scraping his leg on some coral.

A few days later, we were back in seething Bangkok, wrapping up loose ends for our journey to the subcontinent and even saw thai boxing. We saw two real knockouts and what looked like 2 fake (thrown) ones to end the night. Took the canal boat back (the best way to travel here) and got ready for our flight to Lahore, Pakistan.

It was a fairly non-eventful flight, although we were having trouble figuring out what Sarah should wear -- a scarf around her head seemed to be ok as there were other women on the plane to the Islamic Republic wearing jeans and no head covering.

Arriving, we were suprised to be whisked in so easily and by the enormous amount of advertising/signs in English. Andy walked the streets to get some food/water the next morning and was mostly surprised at the non-response. It seemed most people went out of their way to avert a glance, not out of rudeness, but just because they had better things to do -- even though he clearly was the only white person for miles and miles. Although one person either said "Welcome to..." or "Get out of ... Pakistan." It was hard to tell. But the shopkeeper at the gas station (one of the only places to sell ready made food) was cordial, honest, and spoke English well. 

 

We visited the border closing ceremony with India. Full of passion, pomp, and posturing as soldiers from both sides try to outstrut, outstomp and intimidate each other at the formal closing of the gate each night. The Pakistani side had a much smaller crowd, but were deafening screaming "Pakistan, Zin-da-bad" (Long live Pakistan) as the older man (a 50 year vet), his son, and his grandson waved the flag. 

Perhaps most notable, however, was the swarm of people after the ceremony that wanted to take pictures with us, especially Sarah almost to the point of a mob. At a certain point, we just had to say enough, get in the car and get out of there. Sarah had always said the crowds seemed nice and well-intentioned, but at the same time something in the air, she suggested "could turn everything the other way." Like when the 'mini-mullah' tried to preach hate against us because of when visiting the mosque the next day. The crowd suddenly lost their smiles and became angry at us. It's frustrating that some people just don't know how to interpret holy scripture.

But Lahore was absolutely beautiful and raw as few tourists visit there. The next day, after a 9-hour delay, we were on our way to the commercial capital, Karachi, and for Nasha and Kunal's wedding festivities. Nasha and her father met us at the airport, our first friendly faces in months. The next week was spent celebrating, going to a host of functions hosted by Nasha's family and getting to know the Parsi community in Karachi. Nasha's mother had had prepared some amazing dishes as well and perhaps the best dal on the subcontinent.

A word of advice to extended travelers however: try to avoid attending a wedding with strongly different wardrobe requirements at the END of your year-long trip.

While we tried our best to shop in Bangkok, we don't think we exactly fit in. Luckily our hosts, Dinaz and Polad, lent Sarah a couple of saris and gave Andy a 'shalwar-kameeze' for one night, which people even generously said we looked like 'naturals' in. We also managed to get in some shopping in some fascinating parts of Karachi with the help of Vandana, Zahabia, and Omar. In between the camels, unusual-looking big goats with peaceful faces, and phalanx of armed-guards around every corner, Sarah got some beautiful fabrics and killer shoes. 

After a week of parties and (almost too) much celebration, it was time to leave Pakistan for the other part of the wedding festivities, this time across the border in India, where Kunal's family would take court. More specifically, Bombay (Mumbai). There was much celebration as well as a Parsi ceremony and a traditional Hindu ceremony, both fascinating highlights and poignant moments for Nasha and Kunal.


After a raucous New Year's eve dancing where we toasted (too) much we had to be thankful for with Nasha's sister Rashna and cousins, we started to plan the rest of our Indian trip. Since we're pretty much exhausted at this point, we even did it with trepidation! After a little bit of rest, we were back in the saddle with a rough outline of last leg of travel: what promises to be a monthlong-overland jaunt through the remote provinces of Guijart, not-so-remote Rajasthan, then the Ardh-Mela bathing expected to draw 150 million people (not a typo) to Allahabad in Uttar Pradesh, then the rarely visited province of Jharkand for tiger/elephanting before returning to/from Dehli.

It has been an improbable journey, but we might still have one more adventure left in us. Stay tuned.

Thank you: to Nasha and Kunal's families and Polad and Dinaz. They and everyone went way out of their way to make us feel welcome. We hope to someday come close to returning the hospitality.

Bangkok, Oriental City

Luang Prabang is a pleasant, low-key town, but it seemed like everything is pretty packaged, so we rested for a few days, decided this was a good time to say goodbye to wonderful, wonderful Laos, and took the boat up the Mekong to the Thai border. It was a pretty trip but what was most unique was the indomitable Mekong itself, surging with great force around giant rocks, forming giant whirlpools in the wake, We were on the slow boat, but they also had speed boats taking people up and down, all wearing helmets and careening through the water at ear-blasting levels. Call it 'Scenery Light,' maybe. We had planned to cross the border on the second day of the boat trip, but by the time we pulled in town, the little ferries AND the border had closed, so we looked for hotels with a nice couple we met on the boat from Paris, Paul and Claire. 

"Halls menthe-lyptus -- with vapor action"

We hardballed it and took the local bus from the Laos capital, Vientiane, to the legendary backpacker hangout, Vang Vieng about 200km to the north. The hand-crocheted window coverings were nice, as were the fans on the ceiling if they only worked. So, the bus' movement was our only moving breeze. Vang Vieng was a pleasant, beautiful place set against the limestone mountains, but it was also packed to the brim with the most Westerners we'd seen here. It also had all these creature comforts like looped episodes of "Friends" playing on restaurant/bar TV's, with 'comfort food' meaning your choice of either horrific Italian or nuclear-blasted burgers. We did the classic tubing on the Nam Song, where you float down the river in a tractor-tire innertube passing river-side bars, trance music, and zip lines catapulting you back into the water. We also visited a couple of caves. One where we followed a few others toward the back and onto a small precipice. But they started to walk away and for the life of us, we couldn't figure out how to get down. Realizing our flashlight was fading and the prospect of no others coming that day being very real, Andy shouted a few times, louder each time, to get a light -- and a couple of kind souls obliged. We followed them out in the otherwise pitch darkness. Our flashlight was almost dead.

The next day we began somewhat of another moto bike odyssey. The trip north on Rte. 13, then turning east onto Rte. 7 and then to Phonsavan (POHN-SA-VAH) and the infamous "Plain of Jars." The problem is that the routes go through a lot of mountainous terrain and have somewhat of a troubled history with Hmong Guerrilas, an insurgent group that launched rare and sporadic attacks on locals and tourists alike up until April 2006. All the advisories at the time we checked with before going, the State Department sites for the U.S. and Australia (including conversations with locals) all indicated that everything was ok, but we still wanted to check. We also wanted to drive ourselves because we had heard there were no moto rentals in Phonsavan, and we were tired of being shackled to the typical, well-trodden tourist buses and routes.

It wasn't a good omen, when 30km into the trip we started hearing small rattling/grinding noises from the engine when accelarating on turns but at the time chalked it up to previous bad spedometers, headlights and gas gauges we had gotten on other bikes. We were stopped at our first checkpoint on the way up the first mountain pass. The Lao police at first seemed genuinely confused by our presence at first, where we were going, coming from, how we got the moto bike, where's your international drivers' license etc. (which we had accidentally left in our packs at the guesthouse.) Luckily, they seemed satisfied with our rental card and Andy's NY State driving license and sent us through after asking when we'd be back. At this point we were in a hot zone, but still saw a few Western bikers going the opposite way. One couple was on a bicycle built for two.

Then came the 130+ km jaunt through mountainous Rte. 7 and the other trouble spot for the first 50km. Everything seemed to be going ok as we climbed higher and higher, then we pass through this village and see a truckload of armed men in camouflauge sitting on the road. We buzz quietly by, not attracting too much attention and that was it. We still couldn't figure out if they were the guerrillas, or from the Lao government, but we didn't care we just kept going. Our hearts sunk a little even more as a few miles more we saw two more lone patroling gunmen walking on the highway. An hour later though we crossed into the next province, Xieng Khuang and were relieved immensely as we knew this was safer territory. The only thing we had to battle now was the cold. We hadn't really eaten that much and were kind of going on adrenaline for a while, So Sarah pulls out two Halls 'menthalyptus' lozenges, and at that moment, the sugar and soothingness of the 'vapor action' did wonders to lift our spirits. We even started to head out of the mountains and into the plains now which the landscape which, we commented, bore an uncanny resemblence to both Calgary and Memphis. The dried, brown grass and bare trees over rolling plains looked exactly like Shelby Farms.

At 3:45pm, 7 hours after leaving, we arrived in Phonsavan, got a hotel and food, thankful to be there and excited about the next day. "The Plain of Jars" is a somewhat enigmatic site as no one knows for sure the purpose of them. Local legend has it that a king friendly to the people won a battle for them and had them made, cast in a kiln, to ferment rice wine in to celebrate his victory for them. The only problem is they are completely dug out of boulders, the largest weighing six tons, too heavy to take back and forth to a kiln. Much more likely is that they were dug out of existing boulders (other boulder field finds with half-made jars have borne this theory out) and that they were perhaps used more for funerary rites and storing of ashes, bones, etc. Either way it was quite surreal to wander through all three sites, each with about 100 jars, some broken, some on their side, and some still in tact with their giant accompanying stone lids.

The next morning didn't bode well for our return trip. Thick fog was all around and the bike wouldn't start. Only because genius Andy didn't try the choke. We decided to give the sun a shot to burn off the fog, but it seemed like as we were leaving, it was only getting worse. At the same time, there was a guy with a rifle (that didn't look like it was used to hunt animals) on his back in the beginning. And this was supposed to be the safe province! After a half hour or so, though, everything started to clear up and we even got blue sky. The weather even started to be beautiful and we were thinking about "the only thing to fear is fear itself" quote. That's when our chain slipped off (thus the noise in the engine growing worse). We put it back on and kept going, now through the hot zone, but the weather was so good we were really starting to enjoy it. Then, we turned the corner. TWO trucks of armed men blocking the road with a small space in the middle, looking at something on the side. We both said, "I don't know if it's government or not, just keep going." Without so much as a blink, Andy guns it right through the middle. Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah could just see muted to empty stares on their faces. Once, around the next corner, Andy buzzed it through village after village, trying to get to the junction town of Rte. 13, Muang Phu Khoun as quickly as possible, just to be on the safe side. Then the stupid chain goes out again! We stop, get off and start fixing it and hear a car coming around the corner literally twenty seconds later. Our hearts sank as it was none other than the armed guard truck rounding the bend. We hoped they wouldn't stop to 'help' us. But they actually just kept going and were actually kind of rowdy and good-natured, saying what Sarah thought was "Beer Lao" to us and laughing. Maybe they were just the government troops. But we didn't care to stick around. Just as we got the chain on, the SECOND armed guard truck comes behind us around the corner. The timing was especially eerie because at the speed we were going, they would have had to have immediately jumped into their trucks after seeing us and sped off. We decided to slow down at the next village and discreetly let them pass us, which they did. Then, giving them time to get ahead, we keep going slowly. Up the next hill, our chain goes out again. Okay, now we're starting to get mad! We fix it and the rest of the way, just nurse the gears and cruise through village after village and make it to the junction town, take a breath, have a couple of coffees and soup, and start up our last mountain pass heading south on Rte. 13. Just when we thought this portion would be as uneventful as it was coming the other way, we see a true guerrilla in camouflage with an AK-47 standing on the side of the road! We don't even look as we motor by him, but our hearts did skip a beat when, as we passed, he whistled two times to someone on the ridge. Andy pulled the clutch to avoid the chain problem and roared down the mountain, luckily a steep grade for the next 5 km. We made it to the bottom and out of the hot zone. The chain went out a couple of times more but it was okay. We almost made it to Kasi before our tire blew out (the result of a patch we had put on in Phonsavan when our tire blew there); luckily there was a repair place a couple of km away. Even more lucky that it wasn't a half hour earlier when we were on top of the mountain next to nothing!

Over the next 2 hours, though, we were rewarded with a perfect setting. Great weather, unrivaled scenery of tropical landscapes against limestone peaks and magnificent fading sunlight. Sure our chain went out again a couple of times, but we were home free. This time, we didn't even need a Halls.

The next week, we recouped in Luang Prabang, a lovely, but heavily touristed city 160km north of Vang Vieng, and are now making plans for entry into Thailand. Thanks to all who are reading, responding, or just plain enjoying. Stay tuned. Hope to add pictures soon.

"I no hassle you. I promise."

We took the "Mekong Express" bus to Phnom Penh then on to Siam Reap. It was an all-day affair but one made more comfortable in that this bus had air-con and a bathroom. We were told the touts at Siem Reap were laid back due to their more 'provincial upbringing.' Ha! As soon as we stopped, it was the closest thing to being a rock star without having a stalker and death threats. Well, a couple were like stalkers as they followed us almost the whole way to the hotel. We broke through the impenatrable wall of shouting and people holding signs reading, "I no hassle you. I promise" and walked towards our hotel.



Siem Reap is the main place people go to when they go to Cambodia as it's all about Angkor Wat and the ruins. Built in the 11-13th centuries, the ruins are less impressive for their age than they are for their craftsmanship and scale -- some believe Angkor Wat temple is the largest religious structure on earth and the rest of the colossal ruins stretch over a swath of land that covers nearly half the country. It would be an unfathomable achievement if it hadn't been done. And, at the time, it taxed the empire's finances and labor so greatly, it arguably contributed to its demise.

The first two days we visited most of the major sites by bicycle, and were pretty exhausted by even the end of the first day. The next day we wanted to tour some of the less visited sites and so took a magnificent little 'jaunt' through the dirt backroads to the Rolous Group of Temples and the Bakong. From there, it was an exhausting 16km ride on dirt roads through middle-of-the-day heat to Phnom Bok (PHNOM-BOW) which climbed (as did we) 200 meters high. At the top, the temple was complete with rusting artillery cannons left over from the Khmer Rouge sitting on the north and south corners. (The Khmers were also involved with the Bauphon, which had meticulously been taken apart by the French for restoration, but the plans were destroyed during the regime, leaving only a giant jigsaw puzzle of sandstone).
And we did the old standbys, Ta Prohm - the temple swallowed by the jungle and left 'in tact' with 100 year old trees still alive and well, having dislodged giant stones and now towering 100 feet above; The Bayon -- which in addition to boring reliefs of war and conquest, had amazing scenes offering glimpses into everyday life, including women picking lice from each others' hair and circuses, complete with tightrope walkers and a strong man lifting three dwarfs (or little people as they might have been called back then). And of course there was Angkor Wat, with its 'ungodly' size and epic bas reliefs of its own, including our favorite, "The Churning of the Ocean of Milk" -- which sounds disgusting but was really an important legend of good versus evil as demons battled in a tug of war, pulling a giant serpent back and forth inside the ocean in order to extract its elixir of immortality. The gods won because the demons couldn't resist the heavenly female nymphs floating above. Ahhhhh....


Ta Som, Preah Neak Pean, The Bakong, Banteay Samre are just a few of the others, which we think, in the end, totalled like 30 temples we were able to see in 3 days. Sounds boring right? To be honest, even we didn't know what to think after seeing everything (and we had still only scratched the surface). But we did know we left Siam Reap with feelings of deep respect and privilidge for something that was as close to greatness as it gets. 

We decided to not tour Eastern Cambodia and go straight to Laos -- which meant taking a flight (which doesn't count on our "Teak Fellowship" mile total). Sarah was getting sick and we'd also save three valuable days. Plus, we didn't exactly relish taking a tough overland route again, especially through Phnom Penh! So we landed in Pakse, in the southwest of Laos (pronounced in the singular 'LAO' we were told). While Sarah was getting over some crazy bronchial infection and taking anti-biotics we've have yet to use ever since we left 8 months ago, (CIPRO), we decided a perfect remedy would be a 4-day, dusty, backroad route through remote parts of south and eastern Laos via moto-bike! It wasn't all what you'd think. The first two days, we stayed in a bungalow overlooking (and overhearing!) a big, soothing waterfall right below us at Tad Lo. Sarah had the best sleep of her life.

The next day, we rode the 67 year-old female elephant, "Moon." (life span we were told was about 150 years for an Asian Elephant). Laos' original name was Lang Xang, Land of a "Million Elephants" which are these days down to a couple of thousand -- some working elephants still on the farms and some wild. Moon ate about 200 kilos of leaves a day and took a bath in the river. After this wonderful experience, Sarah was seriously considering giving up art and design to be an elephant trainer.

Then it was off to Sekong, where we tried to get gas from the station but the power was out in the whole city and the pumps wouldn't work, so we had to settle for roadside assistance -- Fanta or Mirinda bottles full of red liquid gasoline sitting on little shelves. Andy almost mistakenly bought one to drink!

Somehow we made the 32km detour on dirt road to see the angelic waterfall "Nam Toc Katamtoc" in the Bolaven Plateau, turned around, and screamed toward Attapeu, trying to make it before dark. There's not much to see in Attapeu, it's pretty desolate. As was Pa-am, save for a giant, aging Russian Surface-to-Air Missle sitting on the old Ho Chi Minh trail we had to wade across a river to see. And, plus, the people in the village really didn't really like us or want us there. No love. . . no love. Although two guys nearby sympathized with Sarah when she fell right through a bridge of poor construction and banged her knee and ripped the knee out of her one pair of jeans. They tried to help Andy help her up and talked and waved their arms as if to say, "Ah, this bridge... they can't ever make anything right," and started to readjust the planks of wood over the gaping holes.

At that point, we left screaming on a backtrack all the way north and west, this time to the coffee-growing town on top of the Bolaven Plateau (with drastically dropping temperatures to match) named Paksong, and the little waterfall town of Tad Fane, with a not-so-little waterfall. Again, we arrived just in time before dark. The waterfall was spectacular and much easier to get to than "Nam Toc Katamtoc," which we never would have found anyway were it not for a kind family in the hills.

The next day, after eating an entire Papaya that the girl cut up for us on the spot, we made it back to Pakse, and decided we'd come this far, why not just go ahead and go up to Vientiane tonight? There was an overnight bus, they call "VIP: The Big Bus" and it didn't disappoint. At 8:30 pm, an absolute monstrosity pulled around the corner straight out of "Tron." An entire double-decker warmly bathed in the soothing aura of neon and black-light --- even the engine was lit up when they opened the flap.

Luckily the Karaoke on the flat screens inside (and inside the driver's cabin) ended at a reasonable hour, but it was as cold as the dickens and the seat space was about 20 per cent vertical and 80 per cent horizontal. Just plain strange! We were on the lower level. You had to duck your head all the way to the restroom on board and there were about 30 people above us.

But we made it to Vientiane in a hurry at 6am, sunrise. After a couple of days of Sarah recovering as best she can (she may even be perfecting how to spit!), we plan to go up to Vang Vien, then Luang Prabang, and then across the Thai border. Should we go to the 'Plain of Jars?' Thanks for all the replies. It's good to hear from everyone in these strange, strange times of continual upheaval combined with exhilirating delight, which seem to be our only constants.

A letter from home

Our thoughts always go back to our trip to Vietnam. I tell people we could never have imagined how amazing the trip was to be. I still see your faces smiling at Hanoi airport. Who would have thought we would be reunited in such a distant place. One day soon I will write about our adventures. I feel privileged that we were able to experience the Vietnamese culture so closely. Andy's Vietnamese certainly helped us - who would have known green dragon fruit is the best. Remember the delicious grilled fish dishes - wrapped in leaves - cilantro - morning glory greens - those wonderful local dishes on the waterfront in Hoi An. People shouting "hello" as we cycled through the rice paddies. The silhouette of the children, fisherman walking along the dyke when we were on our tour of the floating city with the hills protruding like a landscape from another planet behind them. The old lady almost bowing gesturing to us to join her in the church, such a spiritual event.
Following Andy on bikes for the first time in over ten years as we cycled out of Ninh Binh into the countryside. Stopping for that oh so wonderful icecream or bottle of water. Feeling warm all the time. Being able to carry your possessions on your back. Riding the bus with the locals through little villages with the factories that will change their life forever looming up. The challenges of travelling when things do not quite go as you planned but it is fine because actually things work out better than you expected. Traveling by overnight bus and train comfortably - Dad has since said he has always wanted to go by overnight train although he thinks he prefers the bus because you see more of the countryside - if it is a comfortable bus that is. Travelling with our daughter and son-in-law - as family and best friends. Knowing that there are difficult times at times when we all have opinions but making that turn around to making things successful. Accepting that being bothered by touts is a game we must play - not a Western culture event but very much part of most of the rest of the world as you have discovered. Riding on the moto-bike not done since we were very young but still the same buzz as then - bodies tight, leaning in to the bend up hill and down. Getting soaking wet but feeling warm. Shopping in the market with you, buying lovely things while the boys hung out. Wishing Sophie were there but knowing she would understand our experiences because she had been to Asia. Such images....

For you two at times things must be tough. But your experience and knowledge of these different cultures will always be with you to look back on and say we did it! Thanks for everything you did for us in Vietnam, the planning, Andy always finding water for us, the relish with which you taste and experience the cuisine and bia hoi, Sarah the kind way you relate to the people, your walking tours and on and on...

And you guys have experienced so much, so many different cultures and countries, so many stories. Now yes you can feel time slipping by but remember you still have a third of this big trip to go. I want to hear all about Laos, Thailand, India, Pakistan. And I am sure you will have adventures here in Western Canada to look forward to.

Let me know if you need more malaria pills or anything else. Take care, we are just sipping a Vietnamese coffee - quite wonderful.

Love Mom

PS Did you get to ride elephants?!

decompress

We arrived in Sihanoukville at nightfall and took a few days to decompress. There are nice beaches but not as many as you'd think. We just spent the time swimming, reading and writing. The snorkeling is somewhat unspectacular as the area has been overfished by dynamite. But it is a beautiful setting with lovely, unusual sunsets.

We took a day out and decided to head east to Kampot and Kep, the old French Colonial Towns that there wasn't much left of anymore, but ride was pretty wonderful. With Andy driving and Sarah on back, we took off helmet-less (the Cambodian way) up Highway 4 turning East on Highway 3. In the distance we see the huge lurking figure of Bokor 'Hill,' an enormous plateau 1000+ meters high stretching miles and miles in every direction, consisting of a National Park and the French Ghost town at the Hill Station with shells of hotels and casinos and water towers still standing. We had heard you could get up there and thought it might be an interesting detour.


But first we had to get through the dust choking roads and unstable rocky layout to Kampot. After holding our breath and protecting our eyes as much as possible, we made the 3-hour trip without incident, and saw some amazing scenery along the way, with kids (and adults) greeting us with hearty "Hello(s)!" the entire way. This time we treated ourselves to hot water and air conditioning and did something a little different -- sat in our room and watched HBO, one cheesy movie after another and did absolutely nothing except eat grilled chicken and frog.

After checking out the surreal little seaside town of Kep the next day, we came back through Kampot and found the entrace to Bokor Hill. It was 12pm and we learned that it would take 3 hours to come up and 2 hours to come down and the sun set at 5:30pm. And the entire 30km road up was in disarray. 4x4's or mountain bikes are recommended, but moto-bikes have made the trip. Andy asked the woman taking the $5 for the 'privilige' of using the road if we could do it on our little moto-bike. She turns to some old man sleeping in a hammock in the other building. He says something back and she tells Andy, yeah you could do it. After much internal debate we decided to go for it and just stay up on the mountain for the night. The woman said there was a ranger station and that we could find good "Thai noodles" up there.

We knew the road was bad but didn't realize just how bad. It was pretty much intense concentration for not 3, but 4+ hours just keeping the bike from falling over through big stones, dirt gullies, little stones and the worst -- miles and miles of medium-sized stones stretching end to end that simply ate tires up and felt like a hand was reaching over and trying to pull the bike down. At 4:30 pm and pretty exhausted, we saw the glorious sight of hulking old buildings on the horizon -- Bokor Hill Station. Before we checked in, Andy noticed another problem, we had used so much gas struggling to the top, we only had a little over 1/4 of a tank of fuel left. Surely they would sell fuel there, right? Anywhere there's a way to make a dollar, they're there.

We checked in at the Ranger's, got supplies for an immediate picnic stat! (we hadn't had any food since 9am) and set out to watch the sunset from the shell of the old Palace Hotel -- a glorious structure built by the French in 1908, briefly used by the Khmer Rouge as a hideout, and now a ghost of its former self, covered with brightly-colored orange moss, with glass shards and original French tiles scattered about. On the middle terrace of the grand structure at the edge of the plateau, we watched an almost indescribable sunset over the horizon in the distance 1000+ meters below. Enormous grey clouds gently wafted right over our heads like an giant, abducting spaceship. You better believe that drive was worth it, but next time we might hop in the back of a truck!

When we got back to the Ranger station, we found out, amazingly, that they did NOT sell fuel. A couple of the Ranger guys looked at the gauge and said that we could still make it down as it takes much less fuel. We guessed we really didn't have a choice!


The next morning we ate the 'thai noodles' which were really just a dyhadrated cup of Nissin. We decided before we left to hike to the waterfall, which ended up being a disappointing trickle. We wondered how it could be the gusher all the books were talking about because we were already on top of the giant plateau. Where exactly was the river coming from? The main story though was Sarah who, wearing flip flops, somehow got stung by a giant black ant on her foot. It really smarted, and she was writhing in pain for a few minutes collapsed to the ground almost on the verge of tears. Andy thought if she passed out or something, he might have to carry her or run back the 6 miles to get help. Luckily, it retreated to simply a big red welt and she was able to hike on and not even notice it for the rest of the day, but it was a real scare for a few minutes. We hoped this wasn't a bad omen for the ride down!
Actually, the ride down turned out to be much easier (relatively speaking) than going up. It was the same road but it seemed as if the rocks were bouncing off a little more gently, the road falling a little more easily in our direction. That said, it was still a ride from hell that lasted well over 2 hours, took the life of a disfigured the right brake pedal, and after the pounding our bodies took the day before, just seemed like it would never end. At about 2pm, we emerged from the park, saw the same non-plussed lady from the day before and went on. We did manage to convince a couple of locals to try to bend back the brake pedal to its original position, but it was still pretty messed up. We got plenty of gas and made it back to Sihanoukville a day late, but in fine fashion, and well before sunset (You don't want to be on those roads at night). Luckily the renter never discovered the cosmetic damage to the brake and took the best $12 we ever spent for four days.



A couple of more days and then we're on to Angkor Wat, then either Northeastern Cambodia or directly to Laos. See? We don't have EVERYTHING planned out. Sometimes we even make it up as we go along!



Thanks: to everyone who is still following along and enjoying the details. And thanks to everyone who is replying to the blog. We really love hearing from you, as many times, the only other friends we find ourselves having is subtitled HBO! We miss you.

'on cue'

The bus of course took not 4, not 5, but 6 + hours. Two ferries and one nightfall later we were in the dumpy town of Chau Doc set to hightail it out by boat in the morning. We ended up taking a rickshaw to the docks where the guy with us from the hotel found a woman willing to row us by hand in her long boat. While boarding with our big packs on the unstable, narrow vessel, Sarah almost fell and we almost capsized, right there in the dock. A few moments later, we were off. The woman was rowing hard for a long way and we were passing right through the middle of a fascinating floating village complete with blaring TV's and children waving to us (almost 'on cue') then met up with our real boat, which only had about 10 others in it as we chugged up the mighty Mekong River and stopped at the border. As promised, formalities on the Vietnam side were not a problem. We had lunch, then got on another boat. A boy was pleading with Sarah to give him her pen. She gave it to him thinking, "Poor thing,he has nothing to write with. How will he ever learn, get ahead or have a descent chance at life without a measly pen?" She then looked on the other side of the boat and there appeared the same boy with the pen asking another guy filling out a customs form if he wanted to buy it!

The boat left and crossed the border into Cambodia. We then disembarked for formalities there, which was also painless. 

A couple of hours later, the cattle along the river changed from being velvet-y brown to white. They also seemed to grow in size and a few were even being bathed in the river by their meticulous Cambodian owners. Almost every group of children that saw us let out ecstatic screams of "Hello! Hello! Hello! Goodbye!"

We boarded a bus at our stop and were soon on our way to Phnom Penh, the capital, when we noticed another change. Now there were huge groups of people riding on the TOP of buses and minibuses. And we were iffy about our luggage being up there.

We arrived in Phom Penh and had a little trouble finding some place to stay as it seemed like everything was really booked. Once we did, we stayed there for a few days visiting the Palace, Silver Pagoda, S. 21, and the Killing Fields, witnessing firsthand the horrors of the Khmer Rouge regime, and how they orchestrated the most bizarre, closed-off government and social experiment in recent memory. Supposedly, from 1975-78, they abolished the calendar and made everything start at year 0, sealed all borders and canceled all flights except one night flight to Beijing, suspended the entire postal service, and required every citizen, including all women, children, elderly and infirm, EVERYONE to go out into the fields to work every day in backbreaking conditions, abolished schools and were suspicious of anyone intellectual -- to the point of executing an estimated 2 million people. Apparently no one in the world had enough political currency at the time to intervene except the Vietnamese, whose border was being crossed and attacked by the Khmer -- a decision they perhaps regretted as the Vietnamese invaded the entire country and kicked the Khmer back into the hills. Andy spoke with a few people who said the Khmer were still around 'in the hundreds,' mostly in the mountains, but that most people, in their words, "No like."


We also went to the only hill in town and saw monkeys -- TONS of monkeys playing around the temple -- so many it was almost a little gross. Andy also tried a few of the popular local delicacies including spider, which the leg tasted like crispy pork skin, cricket or grashopper (not sure which one), which tasted the same, and silk worm, which was the toughest psychologically to get past just because of the squishy texture, but in the end, it actually tasted like a creamy brazil nut. All were fine, it was just getting past a huge mental roadblock.

Our next stop was to go south to the coast and Sihanoukville, the beachside 'resort' that was a favorite of the old King Sihanouk. There we'd rest up, catch up and maybe have a little side adventure. At 1pm, we were on the promised four hour bus ride. This time, the times turned out to be accurate!