In a couple of days we will be in Nepal, eating yak steaks while climbing Mt. Everest with Yetis. Or Sherpas? I always get them mixed up. Interesting side note: while reading up on Nepal, I found out that yaks are notoriously aggressive and unpredictable, so always position yourself on the upper slope of the mountain when letting a yak pass, or it might push you off the edge. Apparently this is a common enough occurrence that it needed mentioning on wikitravel. Fucking yaks. If you can't trust a yak, then who can you trust, really?
So now that we're leaving Southeast Asia soon, it's time for another cultural comparison post! Huzzah!
Things Southeast Asia Has That I Wish North America Had
1. Noodle soup. Because holy fucking hell, Asians have perfected the noodle soup. Gloriously spiced and exquisitely umami (did I really just write that?), it is the ultimate food. I've become completely obsessed -- dependent, even -- and now we're leaving, and I just don't think yak soup will be the same.
2. Food stalls. In SE Asia, when given the choice, you should always go for the dingy alleyway stall surrounded by plastic chairs over a restaurant with walls. Why bother with things like waiters and silverware when a little Thai grandma can cook you a way better meal in 2 minutes right on the street for $1? And, to think, in Vancouver we're only allowed to have hot dog stalls and no other food stalls?! What about all the grandmas whose only wish is to feed everyone really delicious food? Think of how much better Vancouver would be, in pretty much every way, if we let them. That's my dream.
3. Traffic. The North American in me used to scream "That's awfully dangerous!" every time a pickup truck squeezed full of 30 people would dart into oncoming traffic to pass a scooter holding a family of five. Now the only thing that still bothers me is when we see a 10-year-old girl driving her little 5-year-old sister on a motorbike. Holy shit, there's nothing scarier than seeing that. As for everything else -- and I never thought I would hear myself say this -- I think I'm actually going to miss it a little. Especially...
4. Scooters. Renting a scooter for $4 and bazzing around the Indonesian countryside was one of my favorite experiences this year, even if we did fall off once. A++, would fall again!
5. Practical mindset. I really love the Asian mindset of "If it makes sense, I'm going to do it, even if it looks silly." For example, why don't more people wear face masks when they're sick to help stop the spread of germs? Are we really so self-centered that we'd rather get other people sick than to look a bit stupid for a few days? (Answer: yes.) Or, another example: we saw groups of grown men doing extreeeeeme hackey sack in the park in Bangkok. They're probably like, "Goddamnit, we're going to hackey sack like no one ever hackey sacked before!! YEEEEAAH!" And then they DO. But in North America, we're far too self-conscious to consider doing something like that, and as a result it has never entered my mind to go to the park and repeatedly kick a hackey sack 40 feet into the air for several hours. Not even once! Is that really any way to live?
6. Offerings and incense. This one is mostly for Bali. As a non-religious person, I didn't really see the point at the time, but I have to admit that smelling flowers and incense every day while we walked down the street was like a party in my nose. I've never smelled a nicer island. Religion 1, Marina 0.
7. Really, really ridiculously friendly people. Fuckin' over-achievers, making the rest of us look bad.
Things North America Has That I Wish Southeast Asia Had
1. Dairy products. Dairy isn't featured much in Asian cuisine. I miss the days when Ross and I would go to SaveOn Foods, buy 3 different kinds of cheeses, and have a magnificent feast consisting of cheese, crackers, and apple slices. That's probably why we've both lost weight since coming here.
2. Looser standards of dress. Asians dress quite modestly, and I've been trying to respect that by covering up the ol' extremities while we've been here. This hasn't been a huge deal since I don't dress very revealingly anyway (tutoring teenage boys for a living has thoroughly rid me of that notion), but it would've been nice to be able to wear shorts and a tank top when trying to sight-see in 96 degree heat without offending everyone and/or shocking them with my hilariously white legs.
3. Fast internet. I think we can all agree that having to wait an entire hour for How I Met Your Mother to finish downloading is hellish. How will I ever find out how he met their mother in these conditions?!
4. No hawkers. Today, just in the time it took me to cross the street, I had four people ask if I wanted a tuk-tuk ride. In Thailand, it would've been 4 people asking "You want massage?" In Indonesia, "You buy sarong?" I feel that I would've saved years of my life by just printing a shirt that says, "NO, I don't want sunglasses, fruit, socks, a sarong, a massage, a tuk-tuk ride, a manicure, or 10 bracelets for 1 dollar." (And for Ross, please add "or marijuana, or coke, or bitches." How come no one offers me coke or bitches?)
5. A relatively corruption-free political system. Corruption seems to be the norm pretty much everywhere (except NZ, because they're too boring for that sort of thing there). I feel grateful that no matter how corrupt we think our politicians are, we've actually got it pretty good. (Vice presidents who once shot a 76-year-old man in the face obviously excluded.)
6. Western toilets. I really don't understand the preference for squat toilets. Perhaps it's just the fact that I don't possess the leg muscles necessary to use them correctly, but I invariably end up getting pee all over my feet, and judging by the amount of urine all over the floor, so does everyone else. Bet you didn't think you'd be reading about me peeing on myself today.
7. 24 hour convenience stores. Because, as a North American, I demand convenience 24 hours a day, goddamnit.
I'm going to really miss this crazy place, but I'm also excited to be moving on to somewhere where I might possibly go a day or two without being embarrassed over how much sweat is pouring down my face. Soon: Kathmandu!
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Angkor Watever
We just arrived in Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia and our last stop in Southeast Asia. Since Thailand, we have spent one week in Laos -- pronounced to rhyme with "how," not "house" -- and one week in Siem Reap, Cambodia.
Some kids playing with their water buffalo in Nong Khiaw, a rural village in Laos:
Still, it was somewhat interesting. And some of the other temples were quite pretty.
(Notice the muzzle flash on my gun!!)
After we were done, they gave us the target, and we were both somewhat shocked to discover that the dude in the target looks exactly like my dad wearing a fez! AHHHH So disturbing! Which one's my dad and which one's the target? No one will ever know.
Later, to round out our extremely weapon-centric day, we visited a landmine museum, run by a former Khmer Rouge member - one of the guys who was kidnapped as a child and forced to kill people and plant thousands of landmines for the party. When he grew up and realized what a horrible thing he'd done, he committed his life to finding and disarming landmines around the country. The money from the museum is used to provide education and support for landmine-affected kids who were rescued by the organization. It was incredibly moving.
I don't want to go into great detail about Laos because, although it was pretty, we found it a bit boring. It was like a much poorer, less insane version of Thailand, and given that we've spent the last 4 months in this region, we found it a bit "same same," as the locals would put it. Perhaps the most interesting part of visiting Laos was finding out about its history. It turns out that Laos was bombed to hell by the U.S. during the Vietnam War -- wait, the U.S., bombing the shit out of a country full of poor brown people? Who would've thought?
For those as ignorant of history as I was before I came here, what happened was this: the Laos people (being the dirty commies that they are) had been allowing North Vietnam to transport supplies to South Vietnam through Laos along what became known as the Ho Chi Minh Trail. So the U.S. was like, "AWWW HELL NAW!" and bombed Laos to smithereens in order to help fight the Vietnamese. And then the Laos were like, "I CAN HAZ NORMAL LIFE PLZ??" and the U.S. was like, "NO. NOT YOURS."
Damn, they should probably get me to write history textbooks or something.
To get back to the story, it turns out Laos is the most heavily bombed country in the world per capita. The equivalent of one planeload of bombs was dropped every 8 minutes, 24 hours a day, for nine years. During this time, the Laos people survived by hiding in caves throughout the country, establishing entire secret cities inside these caves - schools, markets, theaters, etc. Not only that, but many of the bombs failed to detonate, leaving vast quantities of unexploded ordnance hidden throughout the country. 34,000 people have been killed by those since the war ended. So... that was kind of interesting to find out about, in a "makes me hate the U.S. even more" sort of way.
Some kids playing with their water buffalo in Nong Khiaw, a rural village in Laos:
But then we got to Cambodia, where the history is even crazier. For my fellow history-challenged friends: A communist party called the Khmer Rouge came to power in the 70s. Led by Pol Pot, the aim was to create an agrarian communist paradise. Somewhere along the line, "agrarian paradise" morphed into "deadliest genocide in history." Roughly a quarter of Cambodians were killed during this time, either through starvation and lack of healthcare, or from being tortured and murdered by the Khmer Rouge directly.
More fun facts: The Khmer Rouge particularly targeted intellectual and educated people. People would be killed merely for wearing glasses or for speaking a second language. (Hey, I do both of those! Not cool!) They also considered children to be a great way to help their cause - they would take children from their parents, and train them to torture using animals for practice. Lovely. They would often kill people with a single blow to the back of the head in order to save bullets. Or they'd sometimes kill babies by smashing them against trees. Aaaand now I'm depressing myself, so I'm going to stop there.
As you might expect, Cambodia is still recovering. I think it's probably pretty difficult to try to rebuild society when all the people who had an education -- doctors, engineers -- were killed. It's definitely the poorest country we've visited on this trip - the majority of people live in shoddily built shacks with no doors, and make maybe $1 per day. Like in Laos, unexploded ordnance is still a huge problem here. And yet despite these horrific experiences, or perhaps because of them, Cambodians have been some of the most sweet-natured people we've met. It's a pretty fucking extraordinary place.
But I'll stop depressing everyone now. More jokes, less death! That's what I always say. So this last week we've been exploring Siem Reap, home to Angkor Archeological Park, the largest religious complex in the world. We hired a tuk-tuk driver to take us around all the temples for 3 days. His name was Mr. Lucky, which was cute at first, until he somehow managed to get a flat tire AND a fine during our 3 days together.
Three days seemed like quite a long time to ride around looking at ancient Buddhist and Hindu temples, but everyone reassured us that we wouldn't get templed out. They lied. By the third day, I never wanted to see another temple again, which is a shame because the third day was when we were going to visit the most impressive temples. But I can only look at so many Buddhist and Hindu carvings before my mind just shuts off. Even the abundance of carvings featuring boobs didn't help much.
See? This should help, BUT IT DIDN'T.
See? This should help, BUT IT DIDN'T.
The biggest temple of all, Angkor Wat, was particularly disappointing. In my opinion, Machu Picchu was much more fun to explore and much prettier. We felt a teeny bit ripped off, because the canonical photo of Angkor Wat looks like this:
But I'm not entirely sure how anyone could've taken that photo, because what we saw looked more like this. WTF?
Still, it was somewhat interesting. And some of the other temples were quite pretty.
As part of our tour, we had Mr. Lucky drive us to a shooting range where you can shoot automatic guns, throw grenades, or even shoot a rocket launcher (provided you have $400 sitting around that you want to spend on firing a rocket launcher one time). I'm not entirely sure if this place is even legal, but they didn't seem too fazed to let a couple of giggling gringos in to use their guns. I was extremely uncomfortable from the very start. When we walked in, we were immediately surrounded by Cambodian dudes dressed in camo, smoking, and asking which gun we wanted to shoot. (Me: "Uh... I don't know... the big one?") This made me realize that if there's one place I don't belong, it's a Cambodian shooting range. I was raised in a suburb in California. I don't do guns, man.
But Ross was pretty excited to shoot an automatic gun, and convinced me to try it too. (Automatic guns are illegal in North America, even in shooting ranges.) Look! Here's us, shooting an M16! We're hardcore now, guys!
(Notice the muzzle flash on my gun!!)
After we were done, they gave us the target, and we were both somewhat shocked to discover that the dude in the target looks exactly like my dad wearing a fez! AHHHH So disturbing! Which one's my dad and which one's the target? No one will ever know.
Ross then threw a grenade, which was even more terrifying for me. I kept imagining him fumbling, dropping it, and killing us all. But this did not happen, because fortunately Ross is not me. I refused to throw it, because I'm pretty clumsy and that would be a really sad way to die. Even though the grenade was plastic and only had about a 4-foot range, I would be the one person to somehow fall, get my feet all tangled cartoon-style, and not be able to run 4-feet away in time. No thank you.
Later, to round out our extremely weapon-centric day, we visited a landmine museum, run by a former Khmer Rouge member - one of the guys who was kidnapped as a child and forced to kill people and plant thousands of landmines for the party. When he grew up and realized what a horrible thing he'd done, he committed his life to finding and disarming landmines around the country. The money from the museum is used to provide education and support for landmine-affected kids who were rescued by the organization. It was incredibly moving.
As you can probably tell, Cambodia has been fascinating and pretty emotional. Tomorrow we will be visiting the killing fields and Tuol Sleng, the prison where 14,000 people were killed and tortured. Should be a hoot.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Thailand
Yesterday was our last day in Thailand after one month. I've been trying to figure out how I feel about Thailand before writing about it, but as of today we're in Laos and I still haven't really decided, so... crap. I guess I should just write something mildly coherent and call it a day.
I hated Thailand the first week. We started in the south, which is where all the world-class beaches and scuba-diving opportunities are. This would've been the perfect place to start if we liked beaches, or if we had lied about Ross's childhood asthma on the medical forms and had actually been allowed to scuba. Or if the entire region hadn't started flooding. Or if it hadn't been saturated with Pajama People, as we've started to call the Hammer-pants-wearing, dreadlocked, guitar-playing hippies that seem to infest every corner of the south that the cockroaches and bedbugs haven't already called home. Wow, I didn't expect so much bitterness to come pouring out in this post, did you?
As we got to Bangkok, our motivation plummeted. I think traveling for 7 months (plus the sheer exhaustion of being so irritated for a week) finally caught up with us. When we found a comfortable hotel room, we hid there like hermits for 2 weeks. We did some serious sleeping, interspersed with brief periods of visiting temples and hanging out with Ross's brother. (And, more regrettably, checking out the infamous "go-go bars." Ew.) Perhaps what brought us out of our comfort-induced stupor was when Ross was taken into custody by police one night after coming out of a pub. They picked him out for a random search, found a packet of Valium in his bag, and detained him. (This was ridiculous because, for one thing, Valium is literally sold from street stalls in Bangkok, but more importantly, we have a prescription for it. We use it sometimes to help us sleep on long bus rides. This was apparently an irrelevent detail.) After 4 hours, one (clean) urine test, and many threats of being put in jail forever and ever, he was allowed to go. Nothing like the prospect of spending the next decade in a Thai prison to get the ol' blood flowing again, so that's when we decided it was time to get the fuck out of Bangkok.
Then came Thai New Year, a very strange time when everyone suddenly decides that having a manic, 3-day-long water-fight is a great idea. We tried to hide inside the first day, but this did not work because we still had to go outside to eat. Stupid hunger. By the third day, we had just accepted the fact that dryness would not be a part of our lives during this time, and this helped us to get over our grumpiness. We even ventured outside to do a bit of sight-seeing in Sukhothai, a city with ancient Buddhist temples. On our way back to our hostel, as we rode through the center of the town in an open-sided bus, we were caught in the middle of the insanity with no escape. We got absolutely drenched, but we also managed to get some of the most fantastic pictures of this whole trip. Thank god for waterproof cameras. And for really playful Thais. Check out this album, it's my absolute favorite of this year. (Click on the picture to get to the album.)
But in the last 5 days, I enjoyed Thailand more than in the rest of the month put together. 5 days ago we arrived in Chiang Rai, the northernmost part of the country. When we stepped off the bus, we were standing around looking very perplexed because there were no tuk-tuks or taxis anywhere. A Thai girl approached us and explained that, due to Thai New Year, the police had shut down all the transportation from this bus station except buses. She showed us which bus we should take to get us to the town center, then drew us a map so we could walk from there to our hostel. Then she spoke with her mom and grandma in Thai for a few minutes, and they decided to offer us a ride to our hostel in their car! After a brief debate about whether or not this was a wise situation to get into, we agreed. (Ross: "I could probably take the grandma, if it comes down to it.") It turned out to be a wonderful ride. We learned a lot about her and her family, and my faith in humanity was not just restored, but flying pretty high for a few hours there. (And thanks to facebook, now she can read this story too. Hi, Eve!)
This struck me as just unbelievably nice. I can't imagine a family in North America doing something like that so freely. But this turned out to be only the first instance of how unabashedly and spontaneously friendly the northern Thais are. More examples:
1. We happened to go for dinner in a restaurant where all the signs were in Thai, none of the staff spoke any English or acknowledged us in any way, and people seemed to be ordering food using a combination of voodoo and interpretive dance. Seeing our utter confusion, 3 different people helped us order and get settled. One explained the process, a second helped us translate our orders, and a third gave us spoons when we couldn't find any on our table. Yes, we require the help of 3 people to eat in Thailand. Don't judge.
2. One night it was raining really hard, so we ordered pizza to our hostel for dinner. The owners of our hostel got a call from the pizza guy, who had gone to the wrong hostel. Without a second thought, the owner jumped on his motorbike to go meet the pizza guy at the other hostel to bring the pizza back for us. I was just about to be really embarrassed to have caused such a kerfuffle, but fortunately the pizza guy found our hostel just then. I was blown away by the owner's response.
3. We went to swim in a waterfall pool where lots of Thais were swimming too. Thai women are pretty modest, so they swim entirely clothed, leaving me as the least dressed (and WHITEST!) person in the entire forest. Hello, self-consciousness. But as we were getting into the water, they started splashing us, which lead to us splashing them, which resulted in a rambunctious water fight. (Thais evidently love their water fights.) One guy kept sneaking up on Ross and poking him. Ha! When we got out of the water, the pokey guy gave us some whiskey, and another dude offered to roll us a cigarette! (We declined.) We felt immediately accepted and befriended and I never wanted to leave. Compare this with when we went to swim in a different area, where there were only white people swimming. We ended up having the typical, "Where are you from? How long are you traveling?" conversation, and that was it. Fun was nowhere to be had.
I could go on and on. The northern Thais have absolutely astonished me. They are, without a doubt, the friendliest people we've met anywhere in the world. In fact, I'm having a hard time coming up with adjectives that are powerful enough to describe how friendly they are. Extraordinarily friendly? Outrageously friendly? Let's just say, they've made me feel ashamed by how unfriendly, unsocial, and generally aloof I can be, and I'm going to try to be more like them in the future. Eek, now I'm getting all cheesy on you. Sorry. Let's move on before it gets too real up in here.
This area also tops the charts in terms of culture and art. We visited one inexplicable place called The Black House, the home of an artist who has been building it for over 30 years. Each "room" (actually separate buildings) was filled to the brim with, shall we say, 'eccentric' items: chairs made of antlers, a ceiling fan made of tusks, giant Buddha statues, animal skins and bones... I think pictures do a better job of conveying this deranged place than words.
And this guy LIVES here. Make of that what you will.
As a complement to The Black House, we also visited The White Temple, a Buddhist temple built in 1997 by a different (but equally insane) artist. I think this may be one of the most beautiful buildings I've ever seen. It had bits of mirrors all over it, so that it sparkled in the sunlight. It looked like something out of a fairy tale.
As you get closer, suddenly it starts to get a bit creepy. To enter the temple, you walk past hundreds of hands desperately reaching out from hell. (The Temple is meant to be a representation of heaven on earth.)
And then you get inside and you notice the walls, which were painted with the artist's own interpretation of heaven and hell. I think his vision of hell wasn't too far off - it included Keanu Reeves, George Bush, Spiderman, and Osama Bin Laden. I think it was probably the first and last time I will have visited a Buddhist temple featuring Keanu Reeves. It was at once bizarre, creepy, and beautiful... it was perfect.
And on top of ALL OF THAT, I haven't even mentioned the elephants in Chiang Rai. There are elephants. And they are cute and wonderful and the one we rode was called Mr. Diamond and I want one.
So, that has been Thailand. Beautiful, frustrating, intense, eye-opening, annoying, and somewhat indescribable. I'm mostly relieved that we've left, but I'm also a bit sad. I'd like to come back someday to explore the north a bit more. But for now... Laos!
I hated Thailand the first week. We started in the south, which is where all the world-class beaches and scuba-diving opportunities are. This would've been the perfect place to start if we liked beaches, or if we had lied about Ross's childhood asthma on the medical forms and had actually been allowed to scuba. Or if the entire region hadn't started flooding. Or if it hadn't been saturated with Pajama People, as we've started to call the Hammer-pants-wearing, dreadlocked, guitar-playing hippies that seem to infest every corner of the south that the cockroaches and bedbugs haven't already called home. Wow, I didn't expect so much bitterness to come pouring out in this post, did you?
As we got to Bangkok, our motivation plummeted. I think traveling for 7 months (plus the sheer exhaustion of being so irritated for a week) finally caught up with us. When we found a comfortable hotel room, we hid there like hermits for 2 weeks. We did some serious sleeping, interspersed with brief periods of visiting temples and hanging out with Ross's brother. (And, more regrettably, checking out the infamous "go-go bars." Ew.) Perhaps what brought us out of our comfort-induced stupor was when Ross was taken into custody by police one night after coming out of a pub. They picked him out for a random search, found a packet of Valium in his bag, and detained him. (This was ridiculous because, for one thing, Valium is literally sold from street stalls in Bangkok, but more importantly, we have a prescription for it. We use it sometimes to help us sleep on long bus rides. This was apparently an irrelevent detail.) After 4 hours, one (clean) urine test, and many threats of being put in jail forever and ever, he was allowed to go. Nothing like the prospect of spending the next decade in a Thai prison to get the ol' blood flowing again, so that's when we decided it was time to get the fuck out of Bangkok.
Then came Thai New Year, a very strange time when everyone suddenly decides that having a manic, 3-day-long water-fight is a great idea. We tried to hide inside the first day, but this did not work because we still had to go outside to eat. Stupid hunger. By the third day, we had just accepted the fact that dryness would not be a part of our lives during this time, and this helped us to get over our grumpiness. We even ventured outside to do a bit of sight-seeing in Sukhothai, a city with ancient Buddhist temples. On our way back to our hostel, as we rode through the center of the town in an open-sided bus, we were caught in the middle of the insanity with no escape. We got absolutely drenched, but we also managed to get some of the most fantastic pictures of this whole trip. Thank god for waterproof cameras. And for really playful Thais. Check out this album, it's my absolute favorite of this year. (Click on the picture to get to the album.)
But in the last 5 days, I enjoyed Thailand more than in the rest of the month put together. 5 days ago we arrived in Chiang Rai, the northernmost part of the country. When we stepped off the bus, we were standing around looking very perplexed because there were no tuk-tuks or taxis anywhere. A Thai girl approached us and explained that, due to Thai New Year, the police had shut down all the transportation from this bus station except buses. She showed us which bus we should take to get us to the town center, then drew us a map so we could walk from there to our hostel. Then she spoke with her mom and grandma in Thai for a few minutes, and they decided to offer us a ride to our hostel in their car! After a brief debate about whether or not this was a wise situation to get into, we agreed. (Ross: "I could probably take the grandma, if it comes down to it.") It turned out to be a wonderful ride. We learned a lot about her and her family, and my faith in humanity was not just restored, but flying pretty high for a few hours there. (And thanks to facebook, now she can read this story too. Hi, Eve!)
This struck me as just unbelievably nice. I can't imagine a family in North America doing something like that so freely. But this turned out to be only the first instance of how unabashedly and spontaneously friendly the northern Thais are. More examples:
1. We happened to go for dinner in a restaurant where all the signs were in Thai, none of the staff spoke any English or acknowledged us in any way, and people seemed to be ordering food using a combination of voodoo and interpretive dance. Seeing our utter confusion, 3 different people helped us order and get settled. One explained the process, a second helped us translate our orders, and a third gave us spoons when we couldn't find any on our table. Yes, we require the help of 3 people to eat in Thailand. Don't judge.
2. One night it was raining really hard, so we ordered pizza to our hostel for dinner. The owners of our hostel got a call from the pizza guy, who had gone to the wrong hostel. Without a second thought, the owner jumped on his motorbike to go meet the pizza guy at the other hostel to bring the pizza back for us. I was just about to be really embarrassed to have caused such a kerfuffle, but fortunately the pizza guy found our hostel just then. I was blown away by the owner's response.
3. We went to swim in a waterfall pool where lots of Thais were swimming too. Thai women are pretty modest, so they swim entirely clothed, leaving me as the least dressed (and WHITEST!) person in the entire forest. Hello, self-consciousness. But as we were getting into the water, they started splashing us, which lead to us splashing them, which resulted in a rambunctious water fight. (Thais evidently love their water fights.) One guy kept sneaking up on Ross and poking him. Ha! When we got out of the water, the pokey guy gave us some whiskey, and another dude offered to roll us a cigarette! (We declined.) We felt immediately accepted and befriended and I never wanted to leave. Compare this with when we went to swim in a different area, where there were only white people swimming. We ended up having the typical, "Where are you from? How long are you traveling?" conversation, and that was it. Fun was nowhere to be had.
I could go on and on. The northern Thais have absolutely astonished me. They are, without a doubt, the friendliest people we've met anywhere in the world. In fact, I'm having a hard time coming up with adjectives that are powerful enough to describe how friendly they are. Extraordinarily friendly? Outrageously friendly? Let's just say, they've made me feel ashamed by how unfriendly, unsocial, and generally aloof I can be, and I'm going to try to be more like them in the future. Eek, now I'm getting all cheesy on you. Sorry. Let's move on before it gets too real up in here.
This area also tops the charts in terms of culture and art. We visited one inexplicable place called The Black House, the home of an artist who has been building it for over 30 years. Each "room" (actually separate buildings) was filled to the brim with, shall we say, 'eccentric' items: chairs made of antlers, a ceiling fan made of tusks, giant Buddha statues, animal skins and bones... I think pictures do a better job of conveying this deranged place than words.
And this guy LIVES here. Make of that what you will.
As a complement to The Black House, we also visited The White Temple, a Buddhist temple built in 1997 by a different (but equally insane) artist. I think this may be one of the most beautiful buildings I've ever seen. It had bits of mirrors all over it, so that it sparkled in the sunlight. It looked like something out of a fairy tale.
As you get closer, suddenly it starts to get a bit creepy. To enter the temple, you walk past hundreds of hands desperately reaching out from hell. (The Temple is meant to be a representation of heaven on earth.)
And then you get inside and you notice the walls, which were painted with the artist's own interpretation of heaven and hell. I think his vision of hell wasn't too far off - it included Keanu Reeves, George Bush, Spiderman, and Osama Bin Laden. I think it was probably the first and last time I will have visited a Buddhist temple featuring Keanu Reeves. It was at once bizarre, creepy, and beautiful... it was perfect.
And on top of ALL OF THAT, I haven't even mentioned the elephants in Chiang Rai. There are elephants. And they are cute and wonderful and the one we rode was called Mr. Diamond and I want one.
So, that has been Thailand. Beautiful, frustrating, intense, eye-opening, annoying, and somewhat indescribable. I'm mostly relieved that we've left, but I'm also a bit sad. I'd like to come back someday to explore the north a bit more. But for now... Laos!
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Fooood
Malaysia has been wonderful. And it's not because of the cities, which are nice, but nothing to write home about; nor is it because of the scenery, although it is pretty. It's because of the food. Malaysia is extremely multi-cultural, with Chinese, Indian, Thai, and Indonesian immigrants all calling it home. This has resulted in some of the best food we've had this entire trip, if not EVER! What?! No, it's true!
It has been one exquisite meal after another. In Melaka, we had mouth-watering Malaysian laksa soup that just blew us away. Then Penang brought us beautiful, complex Indian curries and the absolute best chicken biryani of our lives. Who knew that chicken is best with mint and yogurt? THE FUCKING INDIANS, that's who. It's like the Indians have decided, "You know what? We're just going to take everything delicious, and cook that. And we're going to NOT cook anything that's NOT delicious. Fuck yeah, this is going to be awesome." And they were right, it IS awesome! I have so much respect for Indian food.
This is the Indian restaurant that BLEW OUR MINDS:
I love the culture surrounding the food even more than I love the food. (The word 'food' is starting to look a bit funny. Foood.) In one restaurant you will commonly see Indians eating with their hands, Chinese people with chopsticks, Thais using a fork and a spoon (using the fork to nudge the food onto the spoon, which then goes in your mouth), and the lowly tourists eating with their forks. And because everyone eats in their own way, the atmosphere is very laid back and entirely unpretentious. No one cares if your face or hands get dirty; no one cares which utensil you use. Just eat however you're comfortable eating, no self-consciousness necessary.
I have found this incredibly liberating. Normally, trying new foods while traveling is fun, but a bit nerve-wracking. You're never quite sure what to do. "Am I supposed to be using my fork or my hands?" or "Is that a soup or a finger bowl?" Add to that my seemingly unstoppable ability to spill food all over myself at nearly every meal, and eating inevitably becomes a bit embarrassing. But here, it's all good. Just enjoy the delicious food, that's the important part.
One night in Kuala Lumpur we decided to go to a "steak stall," a tiny little hawker stall rumored to have amazing steak. We found it under a highway, in the middle of a parking lot, surrounded by plastic tables and chairs. I was dubious at first - how can anyone make good steak in a STEAK STALL? But then it turned out to be the best steak since Argentina, and I realized you don't need to have a fancy restaurant to have good steak. I love this lack of pretense - I'd much rather sit at a plastic table than have some stuffy waiter draping a napkin over my lap.
Steak stall:
Yes, we take pictures of our food. What of it?
Over time, we've gotten better and better at picking restaurants here. The secret is to go to the small, dingy hole-in-the-wall places that are teeming with locals. If the kitchen is just a counter in the middle of the restaurant with a little old lady furiously flinging food around, you've hit the jackpot! At first we were intimidated, because these kinds of places normally don't have menus, and often the protocol is unclear. But we got braver as we went along, and now we realize that the rule of thumb is, the less you can figure out what's going on, the more delicious (and cheap) the food will be.
Little old lady furiously flinging food:
In this vein, yesterday we walked into a restaurant and ordered their one dish, "lorbak," not really knowing what it was. They brought us a plate of various meats with chili sauce. We recognized pork and calamari, but the rest were a mystery. As we chowed down, half of me was thinking, "I hope we're not eating pig brains right now!" but the other half was screaming "WHO CARES? It's delicious!" And that, I think, it the essence of eating in Malaysia.
And tomorrow we'll be in Thailand! Yay!
Here are some more photos of Melaka, Kuala Lumpur, and Penang.
It has been one exquisite meal after another. In Melaka, we had mouth-watering Malaysian laksa soup that just blew us away. Then Penang brought us beautiful, complex Indian curries and the absolute best chicken biryani of our lives. Who knew that chicken is best with mint and yogurt? THE FUCKING INDIANS, that's who. It's like the Indians have decided, "You know what? We're just going to take everything delicious, and cook that. And we're going to NOT cook anything that's NOT delicious. Fuck yeah, this is going to be awesome." And they were right, it IS awesome! I have so much respect for Indian food.
This is the Indian restaurant that BLEW OUR MINDS:
I love the culture surrounding the food even more than I love the food. (The word 'food' is starting to look a bit funny. Foood.) In one restaurant you will commonly see Indians eating with their hands, Chinese people with chopsticks, Thais using a fork and a spoon (using the fork to nudge the food onto the spoon, which then goes in your mouth), and the lowly tourists eating with their forks. And because everyone eats in their own way, the atmosphere is very laid back and entirely unpretentious. No one cares if your face or hands get dirty; no one cares which utensil you use. Just eat however you're comfortable eating, no self-consciousness necessary.
I have found this incredibly liberating. Normally, trying new foods while traveling is fun, but a bit nerve-wracking. You're never quite sure what to do. "Am I supposed to be using my fork or my hands?" or "Is that a soup or a finger bowl?" Add to that my seemingly unstoppable ability to spill food all over myself at nearly every meal, and eating inevitably becomes a bit embarrassing. But here, it's all good. Just enjoy the delicious food, that's the important part.
One night in Kuala Lumpur we decided to go to a "steak stall," a tiny little hawker stall rumored to have amazing steak. We found it under a highway, in the middle of a parking lot, surrounded by plastic tables and chairs. I was dubious at first - how can anyone make good steak in a STEAK STALL? But then it turned out to be the best steak since Argentina, and I realized you don't need to have a fancy restaurant to have good steak. I love this lack of pretense - I'd much rather sit at a plastic table than have some stuffy waiter draping a napkin over my lap.
Steak stall:
Yes, we take pictures of our food. What of it?
Over time, we've gotten better and better at picking restaurants here. The secret is to go to the small, dingy hole-in-the-wall places that are teeming with locals. If the kitchen is just a counter in the middle of the restaurant with a little old lady furiously flinging food around, you've hit the jackpot! At first we were intimidated, because these kinds of places normally don't have menus, and often the protocol is unclear. But we got braver as we went along, and now we realize that the rule of thumb is, the less you can figure out what's going on, the more delicious (and cheap) the food will be.
Little old lady furiously flinging food:
In this vein, yesterday we walked into a restaurant and ordered their one dish, "lorbak," not really knowing what it was. They brought us a plate of various meats with chili sauce. We recognized pork and calamari, but the rest were a mystery. As we chowed down, half of me was thinking, "I hope we're not eating pig brains right now!" but the other half was screaming "WHO CARES? It's delicious!" And that, I think, it the essence of eating in Malaysia.
And tomorrow we'll be in Thailand! Yay!
Here are some more photos of Melaka, Kuala Lumpur, and Penang.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
A Treatise on Durian
Hello from Malaysia!
It's nice to be on our way again after being in Singapore for over a week. Singapore was a really cool city, but it felt a bit like a vacation from our vacation. We spent most of the time eating, shopping, riding the skytrain, and hanging out on the internet in our air-conditioned hotel room. It almost felt like we were back in Vancouver. Except for all the Asian people.. wait, no, that was also exactly like Vancouver.
Here is a fucking SHIP on top of 3 skyscrapers. It doesn't get any cooler than that.
I think the thing I will remember the most about Singapore is, unfortunately, the durian. For those who haven't heard of durian before, it's a very popular southeast Asian fruit. Wikipedia describes it best:
I think what Wikipedia is trying to say is that durian smells like something you should never, ever eat. It smells like it has spent thousands of years evolving in such a way as to tell everyone in the vicinity, "BACK THE FUCK OFF ME, BITCH, OR I'LL CUT YOU."
And yet people do eat it, constantly. There are stalls selling durian everywhere. We were extremely suspicious of them until we read this account from Alfred Russel Wallace:
Sounds amazing, right? We figured that if we could get past the horrible, horrible smell, that maybe it would actually taste great. So we decided to try it.
Big mistake.
Getting close enough to the durian stall to buy some was a hurdle in itself. It smelled like we were trying to buy fruit out of a dumpster. I don't know if you've ever done that (and I kinda hope you haven't), but it's very off-putting. It makes you feel like perhaps you should re-evaluate your life choices.
And then we saw the price tag. $15?! What the hell is going on here??
(Un)fortunately, the guy gave it to us for $10, but that is still really expensive for a piece of fruit that smells like what I would imagine it would smell like if a toilet could fart. We took it back to our hotel room, which, looking back, was our second big mistake, because if I had still been in the presence of the guy who sold it to us, I'm pretty sure I would've cussed him out and trashed his stinky-ass fruit stand. I feel like that would've been the only right thing to do. A part of me still wants to go back there and do it right now. What kind of person makes a career out of selling durian to people? Think of the children.
So I guess it goes without saying that durian is, without a doubt, the most revolting thing I've ever tasted. If I were trapped on an island and the only food was somehow durian, I would starve to death before eating it again. We each managed to take one bite before spitting it out, washing our hands several times, and vigorously brushing our teeth while shouting, "Why, God, WHYYYY?". Not only is the smell so much worse when it's up close, but the texture is horrifically, nauseatingly creamy. As my friend Frances put it, "The only thing worse than rotting trash is creamed rotting trash." It clings to the mouth, lingers on the breath, and assaults the soul. It is absolutely vile. Little known fact: it is Satan's preferred fruit.
This is the face of durian:
Our misery was prolonged for several hours because we couldn't get the smell out of the hotel room. And even after cleaning every nook and cranny of our teeth, the smell would punch you in the face again every time you burped. It's the fruit that keeps on giving. And by giving, I mean nauseating. I feel a bit sick just writing about it and I'm going to go brush my teeth again.
I'm not sure what the point of that rant was. I think what I'm trying to say is, don't ever eat durian. It's just not worth it. It will haunt you.
Other than that, Singapore was great.
It's nice to be on our way again after being in Singapore for over a week. Singapore was a really cool city, but it felt a bit like a vacation from our vacation. We spent most of the time eating, shopping, riding the skytrain, and hanging out on the internet in our air-conditioned hotel room. It almost felt like we were back in Vancouver. Except for all the Asian people.. wait, no, that was also exactly like Vancouver.
Here is a fucking SHIP on top of 3 skyscrapers. It doesn't get any cooler than that.
I think the thing I will remember the most about Singapore is, unfortunately, the durian. For those who haven't heard of durian before, it's a very popular southeast Asian fruit. Wikipedia describes it best:
The edible flesh emits a distinctive odour, strong and penetrating even when the husk is intact. Some people regard the durian as fragrant; others find the aroma overpowering and offensive. The smell evokes reactions from deep appreciation to intense disgust, and has been described variously as almonds, rotten onions, turpentine and gym socks. The odour has led to the fruit's banishment from certain hotels and public transportation in southeast Asia.
I think what Wikipedia is trying to say is that durian smells like something you should never, ever eat. It smells like it has spent thousands of years evolving in such a way as to tell everyone in the vicinity, "BACK THE FUCK OFF ME, BITCH, OR I'LL CUT YOU."
And yet people do eat it, constantly. There are stalls selling durian everywhere. We were extremely suspicious of them until we read this account from Alfred Russel Wallace:
This pulp is the edible part, and its consistence and flavour are indescribable. A rich custard highly flavoured with almonds gives the best general idea of it, but there are occasional wafts of flavour that call to mind cream-cheese, onion-sauce, sherry-wine, and other incongruous dishes. Then there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp which nothing else possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid nor sweet nor juicy; yet it wants neither of these qualities, for it is in itself perfect. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact, to eat Durians is a new sensation worth a voyage to the East to experience. ... as producing a food of the most exquisite flavour it is unsurpassed.
Sounds amazing, right? We figured that if we could get past the horrible, horrible smell, that maybe it would actually taste great. So we decided to try it.
Big mistake.
Getting close enough to the durian stall to buy some was a hurdle in itself. It smelled like we were trying to buy fruit out of a dumpster. I don't know if you've ever done that (and I kinda hope you haven't), but it's very off-putting. It makes you feel like perhaps you should re-evaluate your life choices.
And then we saw the price tag. $15?! What the hell is going on here??
(Un)fortunately, the guy gave it to us for $10, but that is still really expensive for a piece of fruit that smells like what I would imagine it would smell like if a toilet could fart. We took it back to our hotel room, which, looking back, was our second big mistake, because if I had still been in the presence of the guy who sold it to us, I'm pretty sure I would've cussed him out and trashed his stinky-ass fruit stand. I feel like that would've been the only right thing to do. A part of me still wants to go back there and do it right now. What kind of person makes a career out of selling durian to people? Think of the children.
So I guess it goes without saying that durian is, without a doubt, the most revolting thing I've ever tasted. If I were trapped on an island and the only food was somehow durian, I would starve to death before eating it again. We each managed to take one bite before spitting it out, washing our hands several times, and vigorously brushing our teeth while shouting, "Why, God, WHYYYY?". Not only is the smell so much worse when it's up close, but the texture is horrifically, nauseatingly creamy. As my friend Frances put it, "The only thing worse than rotting trash is creamed rotting trash." It clings to the mouth, lingers on the breath, and assaults the soul. It is absolutely vile. Little known fact: it is Satan's preferred fruit.
This is the face of durian:
Our misery was prolonged for several hours because we couldn't get the smell out of the hotel room. And even after cleaning every nook and cranny of our teeth, the smell would punch you in the face again every time you burped. It's the fruit that keeps on giving. And by giving, I mean nauseating. I feel a bit sick just writing about it and I'm going to go brush my teeth again.
I'm not sure what the point of that rant was. I think what I'm trying to say is, don't ever eat durian. It's just not worth it. It will haunt you.
Other than that, Singapore was great.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Moni Moni Moni
After our Komodo tour, we rode for 15 hours in a spectacularly uncomfortable bus to go see 3 multi-colored lakes high up in the mountains. After much grumbling about how these stupid lakes better be worth it, we finally got to Moni. It turned out to be my favorite place in Indonesia (and also led to us singing "Money, money, money! Must be funny! In a rich man's world!" during most of our time here.)
Moni is a tiny village of 500 people. It's so rural, that they actually have a village chief! It is probably one of the poorest places we've seen on this trip, but undoubtedly also the friendliest. Every time we walked down the street (just one street), children and adults shouted greetings to us and waved. And whoever taught them these greetings must've been very polite - the most common phrase we heard was "Hello mister! Hello miss!" and it wasn't even followed by "You buy sarong?" which was amazing.
Moni was also one of the prettiest places I've ever seen. The village was nestled between beautiful, tree-covered mountains and rice paddies. Couldn't decide which direction to look first because everywhere you looked was just stunning.
Our first night, we were walking around town trying to find a place to eat, and we were approached by a man who wanted to talk to us. Because this is a place that hasn't figured out the concept of hawkers yet, we weren't immediately suspicious like we usually are, and we went over to talk to him. He invited us to his new restaurant which he just finished building himself, and the menu that he described to us sounded so amazing, we were instantly hooked. And even when he asked for advance payment of $5 to confirm that we would be there, and we knew we were probably going to get scammed, we still took the chance and agreed to meet him back there at 7pm. Scammers, take note: all you have to do is mention spices, coconut sauce, and curry, and we are so giving you money.
Amazingly, it was not a scam! His restaurant was very simple - just 2 tables in a tiny little shack - but we liked it. It was just us and one other couple. The food was really delicious, and Evan, the man who approached us, sat with us during the whole meal chain-smoking and telling us about Moni. Two of his kids were the waiters and the rest of his family was cooking for us in the kitchen.
Suddenly, in the middle of our conversation, the woman from the other couple fell to the floor in her chair. It was a very slow-motion topple to the ground that had us all quite confused and trying not to giggle. I'm still not entirely sure what happened there. Shortly thereafter, the other couple left, and we were left alone with Evan. We told him that we were going to get up at sunrise to go check out the lakes the next morning, so he asked if we had a few extra minutes, and offered to draw us a map of the area. Since we were planning on getting a ride up to the lakes and then hike on our way back down, we appreciated that gesture.
Evan started concentrating very intently on drawing our map. He drew and drew and drew. Ross and I waited and waited. 10 minutes had passed and he was still very focused, adding more and more details to this map. After a while it started getting a bit funny. It was just so cute, how hard he was trying. Ross and I kept glancing at each other trying to hold back laughter. Finally, I just completely lost it, and burst out in uncontrollable laughter. It was so embarrassing, but I couldn't stop. He handled it well. He just smiled and gave me a look that was like, "Yeah, I know, I'm a nerd."
But when I saw the map, I had to admit that it was truly a piece of art. He'd labelled everything and given the approximate distances of all the landmarks. It even had a legend! Of course, the entire thing was practically illegible because he'd had to draw it on Ross's tiny little notepad, but still, what a thing to behold.
In the end I was really glad that we took the chance on this guy. That dinner was infinitely more interesting than going to another random restaurant for another forgettable meal.
The next day, we woke up before dawn and were driven up a mountain on scooters in the dark. The man from the other couple at the restaurant also showed up, but the woman wasn't there. That was probably for the best - wouldn't have wanted her to inexplicably topple off of the mountain somehow. A few hawkers arrived, selling tea and pot noodles, so of course we bought both. Finally, a hawker who actually understands what we want. Well done, sir.
The lakes were okay - they allegedly turn red and yellow sometimes, but when we were there, they just looked lake-y.
After sunrise we walked back down the mountain to Moni, passing through several farms and even poorer villages on our way. Again we were astounded by the views, so we decided to rent a scooter and go ride around the mountains for the day. And again, we were shocked by everyone's friendliness. Even as we buzzed by people on our scooter, they shouted greetings to us. I felt like a celebrity. I wish the whole world was like this. Ahh, Moni. <3
After sunrise we walked back down the mountain to Moni, passing through several farms and even poorer villages on our way. Again we were astounded by the views, so we decided to rent a scooter and go ride around the mountains for the day. And again, we were shocked by everyone's friendliness. Even as we buzzed by people on our scooter, they shouted greetings to us. I felt like a celebrity. I wish the whole world was like this. Ahh, Moni. <3
After Moni it was time to get a ride to Maumere, from which we were flying out to Singapore. The car we ended up chartering was driven by a teenager, with 2 other guys in the car. Very soon, it became obvious that this guy was literally the worst driver I've ever been in a car with. Just as an example of one of the myriad things he was doing wrong: he would signal every time he turned the wheel left or right. Not when he was turning left or right, just when the road wound to the left or right and he had to turn the wheel to follow the direction of the road. I'm pretty sure there's no one in the world who would've taught him to do that, leading me to believe that he'd just taught himself how to drive a few days ago from watching a cartoon or something.
He was also driving faster than any sane person should drive on a dark, windy mountain road where everyone has the tendency to drive on the opposite side of the road just for kicks. Every single time he sped around a corner, I kept picturing a giant truck coming towards us and him being unable to stop in time. I was convinced that we weren't going to make it to Maumere alive.
Just then, he turned into a tiny alley and stopped in front of a house. It was almost completely dark. Suddenly, there were 10 guys surrounding the car and talking. This is it, I thought. This is the part where they rob us and kill us. Ross got out his pocket knife and I just sat there mumbling about how we were going to die.
But we didn't die. (Yay!) They just dropped off one of the guys, chatted for way too long, and then we were back on the road, continuing to speed around blind turns and nearly colliding with everything in the road. After what seemed like several years, we finally arrived in Maumere. I got out of the car and just burst out in tears.
That drive taught us several good lessons, the most important one being: if you are in a situation that makes you feel uncomfortable, GET THE FUCK OUT, no matter how much money you lose. We should've gotten out of the car the moment it became clear what a horrendous driver he was. We would've lost 13 dollars, but we would've also arrived without having taken years off of our lives.
Now we're in Singapore, and it's lovely. Everyone speaks in a posh English accent, the food is really delicious, and the city is very well-designed. It's not terribly exciting, but we're enjoying hanging out here until our new Kindle arrives. I'm so happy for the new Kindle. Book exchanges are not very useful when usually there are only like 4 books on the shelf that are in English.
One more happy memory of Moni:
One more happy memory of Moni:
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Komodo
Our last week in Indonesia was spent on the island of Flores, an outrageously beautiful island that turned out to be my favorite one of all the ones we saw. We flew into Labuanbajo, a tiny town where we organized a 2-day tour to Komodo and Rinca islands. These islands are home to Komodo dragons, the biggest lizard in the world - they can get up to 3 meters in length! Their saliva contains many strains of poisonous bacteria which ensure that if their bite doesn't kill you, a bacterial infection will do the job in a couple of days. Komodos are perfectly content to wait it out. They are patient like that.
We sailed with our really friendly captain, Mat, (and his first mate) for several hours among a string of pretty little islands before making our first stop on Rinca island. This is Captain Mat:
A guide took us on a 2-hour hike across Rinca island to try to spot Komodos and water buffaloes. We saw Komodos almost instantly, huddled around the cafeteria, attracted to the smell of the food. It turns out that Komodos like Indonesian food too. (Surprisingly, we also saw lots of monkeys hanging about. No one ever mentioned there would be monkeys here!)
A guide took us on a 2-hour hike across Rinca island to try to spot Komodos and water buffaloes. We saw Komodos almost instantly, huddled around the cafeteria, attracted to the smell of the food. It turns out that Komodos like Indonesian food too. (Surprisingly, we also saw lots of monkeys hanging about. No one ever mentioned there would be monkeys here!)
Our guide explained that Komodos are deceptively slow and clumsy-looking, when in reality they can run at 10 km/hour when they want to. They can hunt any animal on the island, including the poor water buffaloes, whom I felt most sorry for, for some reason. Although they don't tend to attack humans very often, recently a few victims have included several farmers and children from the villages on the island, so he carried a big forked stick just in case. (Although after hearing all of that, I can't say I was very reassured by a 'stick.') Then he told us that an anti-bacterial medicine might save your life if you did get bit by a Komodo, but they don't keep any on the island. Oh.
So, when they say "guide," what they really mean is "man who will take a sick pleasure in scaring the shit out of you."
Soon it became clear that the situation wasn't quite as dangerous as he made it out to be. Halfway through the tour, he got a sneaky little smile on his face as he asked us if we wanted to touch a Komodo.
"For 100,000 rupiah. Special deal for you. You no tell."
At first we agreed -- $10 to touch a Komodo, who could turn that down? -- but then we decided that the Komodo probably wouldn't want strangers touching it, and we didn't want to encourage this practice, and we politely told him so. Oblivious to our good example, when we later came upon a sleeping dragon, he lifted up its tail and stroked it affectionately. But then, strangely, at the end of the hike, he apologized for making us this offer and tried to say that he was "just joking." Perhaps we managed to do a good deed after all?
Our Rinca guide, contemplating a sleeping Komodo:
Our Rinca guide, contemplating a sleeping Komodo:
As for the water buffaloes: they were surprisingly cute, for an animal that spends all its time lounging around covered in mud and flies. (Just imagine it wiggling its big pink ears around.)
We sailed along for several more hours, and Captain Mat came out every once in a while to give us platefuls of fruit. Since then we have frequently wished that we could hire Captain Mat to accompany us around the world. His only job would be to bring us fruit every few hours. It would be great.
We snorkeled twice that day. I haven't snorkeled since I was little, and I forgot how incredible it is. I particularly enjoyed staying perfectly still for a few minutes, so that eventually I would be surrounded by hundreds of fish, just swimming along, doing their fishy business.
The next day we set off for Komodo island to see more Komodos. I thought this would be the better of the two islands, being the one that the dragons are named after and all, but actually it turned out to be pretty dull. In our 2-hour hike, we only saw a few Komodos, and no other animals at all. In fact, the most interesting part was our guide, "Jack," a 23-year-old guy born in the farming village on Komodo island.
This is Jack (on the left):
This is Jack (on the left):
At first we found Jack a bit irritating because his English was almost completely incomprehensible. Not a good quality for a guide. But then he started asking us about our lives in that overly personal way that Indonesians often do ("How old are you? How long you together? You married? You love?") and this led to quite a surreal conversation.
When he found out that we were from America and England, he started talking excitedly about Titanic. "Like Jack and Rose!" he exclaimed. I was amazed that even someone born on Komodo island had seen Titanic. Is there anyone in the world who hasn't seen this movie? He asked us lots of questions about the actual Titanic voyage. He seemed to have no idea what an iceberg was despite seeing the movie. He also expressed astonishment that a ship could hold 1,500 people, the entire contents of his village. As we walked, he kept repeating the name "Jack" to himself quietly. We later realized that that's probably where he came up with his English name. So cute.
He then started asking us about the size of our countries - "Which one bigger, America or England? England or Canada? Canada or America?" He also asked to try on my glasses and was disappointed when they made the world blurry for him.
In short, he was exactly what you would expect someone born on Komodo island to be like. It was my first time meeting someone with so little knowledge of the outside world. I loved it.
Jack's little brother really wanted to take a picture with me:
The end of the tour took a sad turn when Jack asked us if we had any malaria medicine. Thinking that he was just trying to make sure we were protected, we said yes, but then instantly regretted it when he continued, "I malaria. You give me medicine? I malaria. Please." He mimed the intense shivering that you get during a malarial episode. He said that he went to a doctor in Bali who gave him medicine, but the medicine was no good. I wondered why any doctor would claim that medicine would be good for malaria, when in fact there is no cure. Once you get it, you have it for life, with recurring episodes every few years. I made a mental note never to go to a doctor in Bali.
We tried to explain that our medicine is only preventative, and that it doesn't do anything if you already have malaria, so it wouldn't help him. But he didn't understand and he just asked us again. (YOU try explaining the word "preventative" to someone who doesn't speak much English.) We didn't want to just say "no" and have him think that we were heartless bastards, so we asked him to come with us back to the boat so that we could have Captain Mat, whose English was pretty good, translate it to him. This turned out to be an even worse idea, since he followed us to the boat thinking we were taking him there to get him the medicine. He kept thanking us on the way there. Ack.
When we relayed our message to Captain Mat and asked him to translate, he spoke to Jack in Bahasa Indonesian for a little while, and then turned to us and said, "I told him that he needs to go to Bali and have the malaria diagnosed by a doctor and get medicine from the doctor." That wasn't what we'd asked him to translate, and in fact it was quite a bit more harsh than what we wanted to say. Frustrated, we asked him again to translate our exact words, and he spoke to Jack again. He claimed to relay our message this time, but I'm not sure he did. Jack seemed very embarrassed and quickly left after that. So now I guess he thinks we're heartless bastards after all.
It seems really fucked up that people should be born on an island with tons of malarial mosquitoes, with no bug repellent or preventative medicine (not to mention deadly Komodos that eat village children). After this whole episode, I felt really quiet and melancholy for a few hours. And after that we started taking the issue of mosquitoes quite a bit more seriously. Funny how having someone beg you for malaria medicine will do that.
Our last stop was snorkeling to look for manta rays. This was quite different from the snorkeling we did before, which was next to the shore of an island. This time, Captain Mat had stopped the boat in the middle of the ocean, with no islands around. We had sailed through rough seas to get here, and the waves were pretty big in the spot where we stopped. The ocean floor was about 10 meters below us. Scary shit.
As we swam behind Captain Mat to find some mantas, I was feeling a bit apprehensive about the whole situation. He was swimming quickly through the waves to look for them, and as I struggled to keep up with him, I started to lose confidence in my ability to stay afloat, even with fins. I was also worried about water getting into the breathing tube, with such high waves. It turns out that I am a huge wimp when it comes to being in the middle of the ocean.
Just then, Ross pointed down at the ocean floor, and I was shocked to see a shark. A fucking shark!! We were both so busy freaking out and going "HOLY SHIT IT'S A FUCKING SHARK" that we totally forgot to take a picture. While this experience was really cool, it didn't do anything to calm me down.
After a few more minutes of intense swimming, we finally saw a manta ray on the ocean floor. It was much bigger than I expected, and looked like it was having a much easier time in the water than I was. At that point I decided, fuck it, I've seen my manta, I'm done with this craziness. I swam back to the boat and was seriously relieved to be out of the water. Ross stayed out with Captain Mat another few minutes.
When they came back in, Ross showed me his arm - he had been stung by a jellyfish! In the last 2 hours, we had hiked with Komodo dragons, been begged for malaria medicine by a person born on Komodo island, snorkeled with a shark and a manta, and been stung by jellyfish. What the fuck.
After that we were exhausted, and when we started back towards Labuanbajo, I was okay with the tour being over. It's funny how tiring it is to spend 2 days having someone parade you around exotic islands.
And that is the story of our trip to Komodo and Rinca Islands. Hopefully I will have written Part 2 about our time in Flores by tomorrow. What a truly insane part of the world.
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