Top 10 random travel tips for SE Asia

1 DO talk to the locals. Not just to the people who look like you. Get out of your comfort zone. It's the best way to get to know the culture you have likely gone halfway across the world to visit. Don't limit yourself to the waiter or the hotel receptionist, but chat up the tuk tuk drivers, homeless kids and hookers too. You'll learn so much more.

2 DO try the street food. You probably won't get diarrhea and some of the most delicious and inexpensive food is found on the street. Of course you don’t want to spend the majority of your vacation on the toilet, but you have to be a little adventurous. Of course, in some places, you might want to be a bit more selective about what goes into your mouth. Just make sure you have some anti-diarrhea medicine on hand to fight unwelcome anal discharge.

3 DON’T wear the local t-shirt. At least not until you get back to your own country or a neighboring country. Wearing a Tiger beer shirt in Vietnam, a Same Same But Different shirt in Thailand, I  ♥ Cambodia in Cambodia or a Bintang shirt in Bali is akin to saying I didn't do my laundry or I think I'm cool because my shirt is unique, but it's really not because everyone else has one too.

4 DO carry some dental floss in your day bag. You’ll thank me for this tip later. In SE Asia, you are bound to eat some mango or grilled corn or sticky rice that will find its way into the upper reaches of your teeth and won’t be reachable even with the long fingernail that’s usually reserved for picking your nose. Rather than let it irritate you or potentially turn away that hot local girl you meet in the supermarket, buy some floss and put it in your bag. It will come in handy.

5 DO buy a local sim card. This of course assumes you are carrying a mobile phone with an interchangeable sim. The cards are cheap and usually quite easy to obtain, the cost per call or text is also relatively cheap and you never know when you need to make a local call to book a hotel or contact the girl you met in the club the night before.

6 DON’T wear a money belt or any other variation. First, it’s obvious that you are wearing one and second, it gets annoying rubbing against your abdomen or hanging from your neck. And it’s not that easy making a transaction on the street or in the market. Just wear shorts with deep pockets and pay attention. You blend in better with the local populace and you feel more comfortable. But of course, if you don’t feel comfortable looking normal, by all means wear the money belt and look like that guy.

7 DO try and learn the local language. I’m not saying take lessons before your departure, but once in a new country it goes a long way to try and learn a few simple words or phrases. For example hello, thank you, how much and more if you intend to stay a long time. I’m not saying reading an entire sentence directly out of your phrasebook to the waiter who probably speaks English anyway. That is annoying. Only do that if you’re drunk or trying to embarrass your children.

8 DON’T over-bargain. You don’t always need to pay the local price. I often like to find out the real price, but once I get it or think I get it, I often walk away feeling like a dick. The 25 cents you save probably goes a lot farther to the seller than to the buyer, in this case, you. So, go as low as you can, as that is the nature of bargaining, but play nice. It’s always a nicer experience when both parties go away with smiles on their faces.

9 DO carry a small towel in your back pocket. This is SE Asia and you will sweat and feel uncomfortable if you spend any time outside. A towel doesn't leave residue on your face like a napkin. A small towel or handkerchief will save you from looking stupid and keep you looking relatively clean even when you’re not. It also comes in handy after washing your hands in public restrooms. They usually do not have paper towels, hand dryers or towels and the towel will save you from drying your hands in your hair or on your shorts.

10 DO carry some hand sanitizer or wet-wipes in your day bag. You will get your hands and your face dirty. You never know when you’ll sit down for a meal after using a public restroom that didn't have soap or when you wish you could wash your sticky hands after a bagful of mango. Easy solution. Whip out the sanitizer or the wipes and you’ll look like the seasoned traveler you aren't.

* Most of the images found in this post were stolen from the Internet. Thank you Google.

What is American food?

People have asked me or it has come up in conversation while traveling or living abroad, what defines American food. And I thought about it and all I could say was hamburgers & french fries, hot dogs, spaghetti & meatballs and steak & potatoes. I didn’t really know because I don’t really eat food typically thought to have originated from America. My taste buds prefer a more international mix of flavors. I guess now, in retrospect, I could have also said fried chicken & coleslaw, potato salad, Coca-Cola, Dairy Queen, KFC, McDonalds, Burger King, waxy Red Delicious apples & super glossy Florida oranges.

Black bean burger. Don't be jealous!

American food to me is just an amalgamation of food from across the globe. It is food from Germany, Mexico, Spain, France, Japan, Vietnam, Thailand, Indonesia, China, India, Italy and to a much lesser degree food from Africa and Central & South America, but all Americanized to fit American tastes, which tend to be sweeter, saltier, more peanut buttery, more coconutty and fattier than the original.

Sweet potato fries...sooo good!

Having been back in the states now for just more than a week, I have a new definition for American food after being reacquainted with the food I used to eat. Food not easily found in Asia and probably not easily found outside of the West Coast. I don’t know what people in the red states eat other than meat. So, I have recently compiled a mental list of foods that I only associate with being from America even if that is not the case because of my ignorance of being American and assuming other countries don’t eat or have the food I will soon mention.

French toast topped with strawberries & walnuts and vegetarian sausage.

The next time somebody asks me about American food, I will say apricots, Fuji apples, dried cranberries, black-bean burgers & sweet potato fries, oatmeal & brown sugar, baked tofu, thick crust pizza, burritos, brownies, cupcakes, walnuts, almonds & pecans, pancakes, French toast, donuts, baby carrots, celery & peanut butter, peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, sunflower seed butter & peach preserve sandwiches, tortillas & cheese and chocolate chip cookies. Not that anyone will understand, but that’s what I’ll say. Well, that’s what I think I’ll say. In reality, because of the difficulty in translation, I’ll probably just say hamburgers, hot dogs and Coke. Yep, that’s what we all eat. Really big portions, three times a day.

Best clubs in Asia

Cue the music. Hit Play. Turn up the volume. Turn down the lights. Turn on the strobe light. Turn on the fog machine. Does anyone do that anymore? And dance! 

First, let me say that the title of this post is a bit of a misnomer. I haven't been to clubs all over Asia and I'm not really a huge clubber. I'm down to 80 kilos so one can hardly call me huge. Tall is a better choice of words. Anyway, the title should be The best clubs I visited over the past six months, but I didn't think that would draw you in. I want hits, baby!

The first club that stands out in my mind is Sky Garden in Bali. I just viewed the link, clicked on the video and unconsciously started shaking - my version of dancing - and drooling. Why was I drooling? I was having flashbacks to the various pole and bar dancers (red shorts, second from the right) that could be seen throughout the various floors of that club. They were hot, the drinks were reasonable and people were drunk. And the girls were hot. Oh wait, I said that already.

I won't say much other than the place was usually packed and the drink specials were pretty outrageous. Free flow on the fourth floor after 10pm - they weren't amazing, but they were free and they did the trick. There was also a club within the club on the first or second floor that had insane drink specials that changed every 15 minutes or so. A beer, in a club, for the same price as the convenience store, with good music and girls pole dancing in the corner? Difficult choice.

There were other clubs in Bali, particularly on Legian Street in Kuta, but I don't remember any of them. There was one that looked like a big ship and was full of bare-chested Australian dudes. Naaaah!

I didn't go to any other clubs in Indonesia nor did I go to any in Malaysia. Seeing as how drinks were about US$5 for a beer in a regular bar in Kuala Lumpur, I decided to take a break from the booze. In Thailand, there were plenty of places to indulge in a watery refreshment - from your local 7/11 to a beach bar to a lady bar to a club. It was hard not to drink. I can only remember Insomnia from Bangkok, which I would recommend, but not the club I am going to mention here.

Instead, I'm going to talk about the Emergency Bar, which is pictured below. Who doesn't wanted to be served by a nurse in case the alcohol has any adverse effects? It is located near Lamai Beach on Koh Samui on a strip full of bars. There motto was You must drink for survive, which is funny for its thrashing of the English language, but also true because we can only live for approximately 8-14 days without drinking water. So having said that, drink up! And hope for the best that one of those nurses has to give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

One more thing about the Emergency Bar. I can't vouch for it really. In any way, shape or form. I just like the name. And there happened to be a very attractive nurse who caught my eye when I was walking by. The beer was cold, reasonably priced and I got some attention for a minute. Isn't that all we need? She was taken unfortunately, by an expat who ran the bar, and as you might imagine, I didn't stay too long.

I could talk about the clubs in Vietnam, of which I am really only familiar with some of those in Saigon, included but not limited to Lush, Apocalypse Now or Go2, but I don't want to. They're all alright and worth a look if happen to be there. Ask around when you get there. As for Cambodia, I won't mention any other clubs other than Heart of Darkness and Pontoon, conveniently located near Riverside area in Phnom Penh. Both decent clubs and good for boosting your ego because most, but not all, of the women are prostitutes and are therefore interested in you. Yes, you! I can't help but think of the word poon tang when I hear that people are going to Pontoon. I won't tell you what it means, but you can always check Urban Dictionary. Perhaps it's somewhat appropriate.

In Phnom Penh, my favorite bar is pictured below. Actually, I've never been there. I don't lie much so you can take my word. Naming your bar 69 is just a little too obvious for me. I prefer something a little more discreet. But nonetheless, I couldn't resist taking a picture. I'm sure it had cold drinks and relatively attractive bar girls. Other bar names in the area were perhaps equally overt, with such names as The Candy Bar, Pussy Cat Bar, Horny Bar, Dream Bar, Oasis, et al. I might have gone into one of those, I just can't remember! 

The last club I am going to mention - because I want to wrap this up - is in Nepal. I honestly cannot vouch for it because I only saw the sign in passing on my first night whoring the streets in Kathmandu. I took a breather from the club scene when I was in Nepal and India, but naturally, I still made inquiries about the Teen Age Club with Shower. What!? That's what I said. Apparently the shower was in bygone days. I was in bed by 10pm on most nights so unfortunately, I can't give you the lowdown. Use your imagination. That's all I have to say. What now, I ask you, are your favorite clubs?

Last day in India - "Ready to go home"

Cleaning up my desktop - found this unpublished masterpiece and thought I'd share cause, you know, I'm such a considerate motherfucker. 

Ready to go home

The time has come. I’m just waiting now and killing time. Two more hours til my deluxe bus departs for Delhi. Two more long hours. 3:30pm is the time of departure and I’m looking forward to it. Something to do, somewhere to put my bags, someone to potentially talk with to kill some time on the road. This morning, I rose relatively early and tried to meditate, half-packed my bags and then walked into town down past the temple, past the cows & yaks and down the hill to the English Bakery. I resisted the freshly baked goods – very unusual for me – and sat down to a large bowl of porridge topped with fresh papaya and washed down with some masala tea.

I tried to take it slow because unfortunately, after I finished, I had nothing else to do.  I tried to review some of the teachings from my Buddhism course and to study some Khmer, but it’s just plain hard when you’re not in a position to put it into practice. I need to hear the words not read them. My thoughts and eyes wandered and wondered what to do next. I went to the internet cafe and spent an hour scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed for lack of anything better to do. Not this again. After an hour, it was fortunately time to check out of my guesthouse.

I walked back up the hill, past the guys selling cherries, past the cows & yaks and past the temple – happy this was the last time I was to go in this direction. I quickly finished packing, paid my bill and it was still shy of 12 o’clock. Now where to go? I went back to the English Bakery. Got a cinnamon roll, some mint tea and a chocolate ball. I could have eaten more as my sweet tooth rarely gets tired, but I thought it’d be best to mix it up and kill time elsewhere. I went a few doors down to The Bee’s Knees and ordered some more food. I’m not hungry!

I should have, at some point in my life, entered an eating contest. I can put it down. That, however, is not a challenge. I ended up ordering a mango shake and a garlic cheese omelet. I don’t know how it is possible to make a shake that is not cold. It was significantly thick and looked delicious, but it was room temperature. How is that possible? Some ice blended with warm mango? A shake has got to cold in my opinion or it’s not a shake even if it resembles one. Finishing that in a minute, I awaited the omelet. I hoped they knew I was in no hurry.

And here I am with a full belly, waiting out the last 30 minutes before I take my final walk through Old Manali and hail a rickshaw to take me to the bus stand in New Manali. I am ready. I am ready to pass out on the bus and wake up in Bangkok – that would be ideal. Seeing as that isn’t going to happen, I have to take it slow. First, get me to the bus stand. Hopefully the bus truly is deluxe. I don’t have high expectations. Hopefully I have sufficient leg room. Hopefully the bus doesn’t crash and we arrive in Delhi in one piece. Then take the metro to the airport and hope that Air India, whose pilots have been striking for the past few weeks, is indeed flying its international routes. Pleeeeeeeeease.

Because I’m tired and I want to go home. Thailand is close enough to home for the time being. Comfortable surroundings, great food, pretty women, fresh fruit and one step closer to the end. A few days of seeing old and new places, meeting old and hopefully new friends and it will be time to get on another plane. Just five more days. This time it will be to America, the place formerly known as home. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the family and I’m overdue for a visit, but who wants to visit during the winter? That is precisely why I waited til now.

I have to be honest with myself, I’m tired of traveling. Tired of otherwise doing nothing. In retrospect of recent adventures, trekking in Nepal and the introduction to Buddhism course were perfect. I was doing something. I was active and or learning something. Sleeping, eating, interneting...this is not what I want to be doing, but this is mostly what I have been doing. I did have the ability to close out this adventure by trekking some more in the Indian Himalayas or rafting down the Ganges, but I was just too lazy to pull it off. Instead, I came to a beautiful place and let my antisocial ways get the best of me. I feel like I took a vow of noble silence I’ve been talking so little.

And instead of truly enjoying this place – the snow-capped mountains in the distance, the fresh mountain air, the cool evening breeze – and living every moment how it ought to be lived, I have had my head focused on future affairs and have therefore found difficulty in fully appreciating the beauty that is right in front of my nose. I mean, I know it’s beautiful, I’m not blind, but my appreciation for it wore off way too prematurely. At least now, I can reflect, a little, on what I should have embraced more, but didn’t. And as the time approaches to depart, I have been noticing more, the smell of flowers and the sound of birds chirping nearby. I’m still ready to go though.

………………update from the Delhi airport………………………

I made it to the Delhi airport. After some confusion in New Manali as to what bus I was to take to Delhi – the fool wrote down the wrong bus number on my ticket – I boarded the deluxe bus, breathed a deep sigh of relief and tried to settle in for the long journey ahead. The bus was not new as described, but this was no surprise. It was probably older than me, but still perhaps new by Indian standards. They’re all liars. The windows rattled from 3:30pm, the time of departure, until 6:00am, when we arrived in Delhi. I listened to my music a lot, adjusted my sitting position what seemed like every few minutes and slept very little.

Upon arrival in Delhi, I managed to fend off the various rickshaw drivers looking for a quick buck and walked to the nearest metro station. In less than thirty minutes, I found myself at the airport and it was just after 7 in the morning. Only seven hours til my flight. I found a restroom, changed my clothes and freshened up, and headed to the nearest coffee shop. I hadn’t eaten since 3pm the previous day after overstuffing my face for lack of anything else to do. I indulged in a chocolate muffin and a medium Americano, which I might say was the perfect combination. Of course, the airport’s free wifi was not actually free – nothing ever is – and I would have to find an alternative way to kill the ensuing hours I had hoped would have been spent surfing the net.

I chatted with a Canadian girl for a while, I wandered the departure terminal and eventually checked in five hours early before my flight – at least the bulk of my baggage was not in my hands anymore. 

Then I went through immigration – waited behind the yellow line, handed over my passport and smiled, waited some more, finally got my exit stamp and proceeded to the security check. After an overly thorough check of my person and personal belongings, I was through to the departure area. What to do now? I won’t go into detail for your sake. At present, I am only one hour away from boarding – thank Christ, Buddha and Allah – wiling away the time at The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. I feel sick, my body’s insides have been bathing in way too much sugar lately.

A plate of Thai fried rice is in my very immediate future. Bangkok, I will see you soon!

Life is good from this internet cafe

Chilling in a Bangkok cafe. I don't want to go anywhere. Life is good in an overstuffed reclining chair staring at an enormous flat screen with a super speedy internet connection. And it's only 10 baht (USD$0.33) an hour. Your pictures on Facebook look amazing. On my little netbook, everything looks like shit. I'm upgrading to a Macbook soon, but first I have to find the money. Can I come to your house and put my hands down the back of your sofa? I don't mind the hair, fluff and dust under my fingernails as long as I find a quarter. My iced coffee is gone, the fruit guy wasn't on the corner this morning and I have to check out of my hotel soon, but I can't complain.

Six months on the road and I am done. Like a cheap piece of Wonder Bread in a toaster set on high. Soon to burn to a crisp under the overwhelming heat. Like a kid who has finished his homework and now he can finally watch the tv. Weird analogy, comparing traveling to homework, but sometimes it is hard. Suffice it to say that I don't like traveling as much as you might think. Or maybe you figured that out from reading my blog. I like it and I don't, depends on the day. Depends on the country. I seem to have had an allergic reaction to India and the rash seemed to lessen in severity with each meter rise in elevation. And now that I'm back in Thailand, it has all but disappeared.

I hardly have to think anymore. I'm still an antisocial bastard, but at least I'm surrounded by people who are a little more prone to smiling. That makes me smile more. And the noise levels have been significantly reduced. My ears are ever so appreciative. And I'm surrounded by food that isn't likely to give me diarrhea. That's always nice. My intestines are overjoyed. And I see a lot of women that have the same effect as coffee - they wake me up. Not everyone, I'm not a simple man, I don't just rise and fall when any old woman walks by. At least now, I feel alive again. My batteries seem to have been recharged.

I have two more days in Bangkok. To rejuvenate. To do absolutely nothing. To work on my abs and my biceps. They haven't seen much attention lately. To do my laundry. I think nearly everything in my bag is dirty. Except for one more pair of underwear, a pair of slacks and a dress shirt. Why have I carried those with me all this time? Over the noise in this internet cafe, I can hear 'If you're going to San Francisco....be sure to wear some flowers in your hair'...set to a techno beat, which is fucking weird cause I am going to San Francisco in two days and because I was planning to wear some flowers in my hair. This coffee is fucking with my mind.

So, I will enjoy these last couple days taking in the Southeast Asian heat. I missed you. Taking in all the sense pleasures I appreciate more after a couple of months on the lam. The sights, sounds, smells, tastes and if I'm lucky, the feelings. The hum of the big city, the smell of the food, pretty flowers, pretty girls, fresh fruit! Ok, I'll stop with this nonsense. All I'm saying is that it feels good to be back. You got that. I must say I'm looking forward to going back to the states as well. Feel like Eddie Murphy over here, only I'm not that rich or that funny. To my friends and family over there, see you soon. And to my friends over here, hope to see you some time soon as well. Until then...

Old story: We could have gone any number of ways

Another unfinished story from last summer's trip to Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. This story is about the journey from Vietnam into Laos. Again, I lost the motivation to wrap it up.

We could have gone any number of ways. Well, actually we had just two choices. One was a 24 hour sleeper bus taken south from Hanoi, down the same route we had just come up. And then we’d cut over and up into Laos. $40 for the entire trip, accommodation included. Or was it 29 hours? It varied depending on the travel agent you asked, as did the price, which was expected. The problem with this choice is that we would be traversing over ground that had already been traversed and I hated doing that. And once in Laos, we’d be going to the north first and then heading south, once again we’d be stepping on ground that had already been stepped on. But it was an easy option. Buy a ticket in the guest house, wait for the bus and follow the sheep in front of you…

The other option was to take the road less traveled and go west. Go west young man! Head in a general westward direction towards Dien Bien Phu and cross into northern Laos and then down to Luang Prabang. The travel agents we asked said it was impossible and that we had to go south first and then cut over. It was the one and only option. I don’t actually remember them saying it was impossible, but it was implied as such and they clearly wanted us to buy a ticket from them.  Of course.

The four of us decided on the second option. It was more adventurous to figure it out on our own and more intriguing to be able to see a part of Laos that we wouldn’t otherwise see. We headed out from the hotel at about 11:30am and took a taxi to the local bus station. The driver was perhaps the most annoying Vietnamese person I’ve ever met. He spoke at a volume suitable for elderly folks lacking hearing aids and he spoke excessively. He also couldn’t drive and wasn’t good at keeping his eyes on the road – nearly veering into the center divider on more than one occasion. But we wouldn't have been harmed at such a ridiculously slow rate of speed. He didn’t seem comfortable above 25 kph. In any case, he did get us to the bus station and fortunately for us, it was departing sooner rather than later.

There was only one bus, a sleeper to the town of Son La and we knew we’d have to bed down there since we’d gotten a relatively late start. And the bus, despite being the most comfortable and cleanest sleeper I’d ever seen, was not the best mode of transportation for an afternoon journey. So painful for me to see such sights from a reclined position and viewed through tinted windows. And no wind in my face and ability to stop anywhere along the way to absorb what I wanted to take in. It was clear quickly that a motorbike journey was the only way to really see these parts. Next time I swore.

My heart raced as we swept through the countryside and the limestone karsts climbing high around the bright green rice fields. I feel it up here, higher in the mountains and around a different, more interesting kind of people. Bright orange corn, in addition to rice, appeared to be cultivated nearly everywhere. And they were in the midst of processing it as well, right on the side of the road. Massive piles of the orange stuff laid next to massive piles of unkernaled cobs.

Corn, as seen from the bus.

I lied in the back of the bus on the upper bunk, five beds lying side by side. It was just me on the far right and a H’mong lady wearing her traditional dress on the far left. Love the traditional dress. Love it. She was coughing up something nasty so it was probably best she was over there. A young kid eventually joined us in the middle and then a short inconsiderate middle-aged man squeezed in who thought we all might like to listen to his music. Eventually I fell asleep, for some reason I always sleep better on the move than in the comfort of my own bed.

We stopped once for meal and bathroom break. We were the only foreigners and the food was actually good and not overpriced. I like being on the road less traveled! The bathrooms, on the other hand, were still filthy and nothing special, but as expected. Sugarcane juice accompanied by a silver platter of steamed rice, mustard greens and some fried eggs. I love rice! I hadn’t eaten that variety of greens in a long time and despite being slightly bitter, they were a refreshing change from the norm.

After arriving in Son La, near the center, we took a taxi down the road to the Trade Union Hotel and somehow managed to negotiate the room price from 500 to 250 thousand, but no free breakfast. 

Considering I don’t usually eat breakfast and that it was only 30,000 to purchase separately, it seemed pretty good to me. We checked in and then wandered down the road to fill our bellies and see what was going on. Not much as expected. Back near the hotel we sat down with some locals and the cute girl from our hotel’s reception to partake in some banana rice wine. It seems to me, that rice wine in general, is never very good despite the various ways of producing it and making it sound more appealing.

Once it was determined the one girl amongst the table of approximately ten guys was married, there was no longer any incentive to stay out any longer. We headed back up the narrow road to the hotel and visited the intriguing massage place that seemed to be hidden behind the hotel. There was an older woman and two unattractive girls poorly informed in the art of seduction, but interesting nonetheless to take in that moment and see some older gentlemen appear in time with other relatively unattractive girls who had just finished the massage and whatever else was negotiated. We then went to bed. True story.

Our bus to Dien Bien Phu the following morning arrived at 8:30am. It was perfect, actually on time if not a couple minutes early, and picked us up from the hotel. We boarded the small minibus and had upright window seats, which were as perfect for enjoying the scenery as could be from such a mode of transportation. Maybe this is where we saw all the corn, I can’t remember. The driver was skilled at getting us there as quickly as possible without being overly aggressive and having us fear for our lives as so many bus drivers in Vietnam are so capable of doing.

I love this scene, working in the rice fields.

We arrived in pretty decent time, right at noon, perfect for a quick lunch before we continued on the next leg of the journey – to the border. Again, sugarcane juice was the beverage of choice washing down a mountain of steamed rice and lightly fried tofu and fresh tomato sauce. Our only option was to take a taxi to the border as we had already missed the one morning bus that made that trip. And they wouldn’t negotiate. It was 500 thousand dong or approximately $25. For four people, it wasn’t bad, but we still knew it was overpriced. Not wanting to stay the night and wait for the cheaper bus, we went ahead and endured the driver shaking his head and smacking his tongue in dismay every time the car bottomed out in a pothole or splashed dirty water onto the windshield. So heavy! he cried. I’ll have to get a carwash, he moaned. So annoying.

Eventually we got there. The meter read 384 thousand dong and one of the guys said ok, 400 thousand is all he’s getting and the other guys sort of agreed without agreeing. 100 each. I hate this sort of situation. We should have paid him 500 even if he didn’t deserve it because there was some sort of verbal agreement in place. He wouldn’t have gone for 500 and we would have had to wait til the morning for probably near the same price. However, I wasn’t going to get stuck paying 200 out of sympathy for the guy. The driver chest bumped me out of anger and frustration when he realized he wasn't getting what he wanted and I was his last hope to recoup the negotiated fare. I felt a little shame, but it dissipated when the border guards laughed at him and did nothing as if to say C’mon man, you got enough.

Exiting Vietnam was relatively easy as we were the only ones and didn’t have to wait, however the guards still managed to over-inspect our passports and seemingly tried to give grief where no grief needed to be given. Just stamp the fucking thing. I could feel the tension rising as the one English speaking guard explained how the Lao border checkpoint was 7 kilometers away and we could hire a car if we wanted and he could arrange that. Yes, of course he could. Dick. He reeked of corruption.

We had no other choice as my friends were loaded down with luggage. Perhaps three bags each. I had my rolly bag and a light backpack and would have just thought of it as exercise, but I accepted fate that day. We got to the border faster and didn’t break a sweat and were only out another $5 each. The joke was definitely on us. And it was only 6 kilometers, but not enough to make a difference.

The visa to Lao for a United States citizen was $35. The overtime processing fee was $1, the sticker fee was $1 and there was other service fee for $1. The last fee couldn’t be explained and all of them were typical, especially of your off-the-beaten-track border crossing. Just another way to finagle a few extra bucks from every relatively rich backpacker with no other option than to do what? Refuse to pay and get denied entry all for a buck? I know I know, it’s not the dollar, it’s a matter of principle.

There was no accommodation at the checkpoint as we were told so we had to make a decision. We decided to have a beer. It was 10,000 kip after being told they were 7,000 kip. Again, of course. And then we decided to walk 3 kilometers down the mountain to the next village where we hoped we could then hitch a ride to the some other village and get a proper place to sleep as opposed to sleeping on the floor of the restaurant at the checkpoint shivering and lathered in mosquito repellent, but at least knowing a bus would be there in the morning to take us down the mountain and further into Laos.

Luck was on our side. First of all, the 3 kilometer trek was all downhill and the surrounding jungle was beautiful. And upon arrival, we met two Vietnamese mechanics, one of whom spoke English and agreed to take us to the town of [i can't remember] for a price, of course, after he finished repairing the Komatsu he was working on. $20 for 30 kilometers on windy, bumpy wet roads in the dark seemed reasonable after paying the same for 6 kilometers of relatively smooth gravel road in no man’s land.

Waiting for the mechanic to finish repairs.

Eventually we found a guest house...

Old story: bowling in Laos

I wrote this story about ten months ago, but failed to finish it. Didn't seem worthy of my time at the time. As I'm feeling relatively uninspired at the moment and looking for something to do, I thought I'd post it, unfinished. Enjoy...

It all began with a casual nod of acknowledgment from across the bowling alley. It was approximately 3am and the crowd of mostly young white backpackers had begun to slowly disperse. We were in Laos, specifically in Luang Prabang. One of the guys raised a glass to which I shrugged and raised an empty. Seeing that, he waved me over. I accepted although I was happily lubricated and needed no additional fuel to keep the fire burning. My group had scattered anyway and I was practically twiddling my thumbs or would have been had I not been consuming cheap, mind-numbing Lao whiskey.

The bearded friend now appeared to be getting intimate with the girl we had previously determined to be rather repulsive. The dreaded friend was off gallivanting with the gal he had been banging a month before in Cambodia as they had just reunited only hours before after nearly a month hiatus. The other curly, long-haired fellow was off chatting with somebody, making new friends as he so often did. And I had unknowingly been left alone as the alcohol began to settle and I failed to perceive the emptying chairs around me. I’m that interesting.

It turns out the table of Lao dudes I was now getting acquainted with had no desire for female companionship. That explained why they were so friendly. At least they weren't backpackers. I’d had enough of those conversations for the evening. Where are you from? How long are you traveling for? Where are you going next? Dude, we’re in Laos!! So, conversing with someone of a different culture and sexual identity was a refreshing change. No testosterone being thrown around and no one-upping the next guy with a superior traveling tale. Not that I remember any of the conversation. Actually I only recollect throwing back a couple glasses of Beerlao.

In any case, it got late and people were leaving. Put, this fit Lao dude with a slightly acne-riddled face offered to drive me home. Oh, no thanks, I replied. I’ll just get a tuk-tuk with my friends. I glanced around to see only the bearded one who was still intently conversing with the one with whom he’d end up watching the sunrise. So I changed my mind and agreed to the ride in part to save the fifty cents and in part because I figured I could take him in the event he tried to sodomize me without my consent.

We ended up driving down what seemed to be every street in the neighborhood of my guesthouse, but we couldn’t find it. We had just arrived that evening in the dark, checked-in hastily and quickly departed to enjoy the few hours that remained to help forget the long, leg-cramping bus rides we had endured since earlier that morning and to celebrate the bearded one’s birthday.  It also didn’t help that I had relinquished the business card to a friend who needed the name of the GH earlier in the evening. I knew it began with an S, but they all seemed to and none of them looked the same. I knew it was in there somewhere, south of the temple on the hill and near the Pousi Hotel, but it wasn’t.

Put was patient yet persistent in inviting me to come with him and have another drink. I repeatedly declined. There was no incentive. I need to have some kind of motivation to drink when I’m tired and a guy with a rectum sweating at the thought of intercourse didn’t do it for me. I would have been quite fine just getting out and wandering around til I found the place, but he wouldn’t have that. Instead, he offered a place to sleep at his bar, not his bed fortunately, and that sounded ok to me. Ok.

It was a little weird, but considering the circumstances, acceptable. So I accepted the offer after clarifying my own sexuality and otherwise saying that I wasn’t looking for an anal massage that evening. He did persist as any guy does after a woman says no. With one hand on the steering wheel and one on my thigh he drove to his place. I didn’t immediately push off his hand to allow him some time to grieve about this missed opportunity. That is, until his hand started to creep under my shorts and further down my thigh. Then with no further hesitation, I clamped down and removed his hand from the premises. I had to remind him again of my sexual preference, as if he had forgotten and ask questions about Lao girls, about which I really wasn’t wondering. Good for him for trying, he’s a man, that’s what we all do well – gay or straight. Sometime that persistence will pay off, but not tonight.

I didn't really see where this story was headed so I lost interest in wrapping it up. Suffice it to say, I woke up, rectum intact, and decided to get home as quickly as possible. In order to do that, I had to find my new friend. I went upstairs, knocked on his door and an older, overweight white dude opened the door. Umm, good morning. Turns out it was his ex-boyfriend and partner in the bar business. Ok, I'm ready to go home now!