Death and Life in Southeast Asia

I'm sitting in the airport in Bangkok waiting out my final hours in Asia. It's been four months since I arrived here, it feels like eons ago. Africa feels like a previous life and my life prior to leaving feels like a dream my mother had before I was ever conceived.

As I've traveled, airports have become almost sacrosanct to me, places for soul transition. They're like a changing room for your spirit. I walked into the Johannesburg airport and started reflecting upon what I had seen and done and who I had become over the past months. And on the plane to India I began to dream about and prepare for what was to come. It was as if I shed the old tattered rich tapestry of clothing I wove for myself through Africa, and spent the next hours naked with myself and truth. And when the plane landed, I was in a new strange place, a clean slate, alone again. It's like a rebirth. It will be a few hours until I am reborn again in Australia.

The Bangkok airport is serving it's duty to me today as I reflect upon Asia and dream about Australia. However, 3 weeks ago this place was the source of aggravation and a major shaping force of the design of my Thailand experience. It was 3 weeks ago that thousands of protesters stormed the airport, shutting it down until the government in power was dissolved. I was in Chiang Mai when I heard the news. "This isn't good, Rae is due in two days from now, I don't think she'll be able to make it."

I decided to head for Bangkok anyway in hopes that the protest ended in time. Halfway through the 12-hour overnight bus trip, my cellphone rang. It was Rae and she told me she had been re-routed to Phuket. The bus rolled into Bangkok at 6:00 am and I immediately ran to the first travel agency to purchase the next ticket to Phuket. Unlucky for me, the route takes 16 hours and runs overnight too.

At 1:00 PM the following day I arrived in Phuket having slept 4 of the past 48 hours. The bus dropped me off in the middle of nowhere along the highway. So I hitched a ride on the back of some old Thai guy's motorcycle and arrived at the airport a few minutes later. Rae landed at 3:00 and we took a taxi to the first arbitrary beach town we could find.

I'd love to give you a vivid account of what happened next, but you'd probably be more entertained reading your shampoo bottle. Basically we sat in an ugly, concrete, spartan guest house room for 3 days and talked and caught up. Oh, and I slept. We only ventured out to eat, but that was OK, I didn't really care for Phuket. In my view, the place is a soulless carnival of philistines that makes spring break in Daytona Beach look like Kennebunkport. It was decided that we should not waste any more of Rae's precious limited time sitting in what we affectionately named "The Post Soviet era Eastern-bloc hotel room for sleeping in". We headed for the islands of Koh Penang and Koh Samui where we met up with her cousin Travis and his wife Kelly. During this time, I popped back into vacation mode following my friends along on their trip. We did the typical "Hey I'm on a tropical island" crap. See the pictures?

Oohhhhh

Aahhhhh

Oooooooo

And after 2 weeks, my Thai visa had expired and Rae, Travis and Kelly had to return to Minnesota. They took one plane and I took another, to Cambodia.

It was a short flight to the capital city of Phnom Penh. The view from the taxi portrayed a bustling 3rd world city with a positive spirit. It was a Sunday afternoon and the miles of parks that flanked the main road were full of families picnicking and playing badminton (I thought it was oddly amusing, hundreds of people playing badminton? Those wacky Cambodians!).

I walked into a guest house that evening and as I checked in I met my new travel companions, Dave and Saskia, yet another Irish couple. The next morning we met up with their friends and headed out to see Phnom Penh.

It has been 30 years since the fall of Pol Pot's cruel and barbarous Khmer Rouge regime, a totalitarian communist revolution that practically destroyed and murdered the city and the entire country of Cambodia. Just a few months before I was born the Khmer Rouge sacked and evacuated Phnom Pehn sending many to their deaths.

Pol Pot was a sociopath who had a total disregard for human life and a merciless malevolence. His goal was to turn Cambodia into an isolated totalitarian state and he utilized the coldest and most vicious tactics to achieve his ends. The Khmer Rouge committed a genocide that took 1.3 million of their own people's lives in just 3 years.

We rented a tuk-tuk, or motorized rickshaw for the day. Our first stop was Choeung Ek, aka The Killing Fields. The place was beautiful, desolate and quiet. A green pasture spotted with grand trees. And the day was equally gorgeous; 80 degrees, a slight breeze and the sky above was a brilliant blue with fluffy white clouds. The only sounds heard were those of a bird's chirping and the drolling of a bulldozer somewhere off in the distance. At the entrance to Choeung Ek stood a beautiful ornate Buddhist stupa 60 feet tall.

As I walked up the steps I removed my hat as the sign requested and as I looked ahead I felt as if I got hit by a truck. Everything turned sour that moment as I stared forward at a 5-story high glass tower filled with the thousands of skulls of the innocent men, women and children that the Khmer Rouge sent to their deaths.

Upon re-examining the bucolic setting, I realized that the symmetrical rows of large divots that resembled a big grassy ice cube tray were in fact the remnants of exhumed mass graves.

This place was a processing plant where Pol Pot's regime disposed of anyone who posed a threat to his vision; doctors, monks, educated people, those who asked questions.

As we made our way through the Killing Fields it got more somber, more chilling. I snapped a picture of this sign.

Suddenly overwhelming feelings of sadness, anger, shock and rage started welling up inside of me. Luckily I was wearing my sunglasses. As the grandchild of Holocaust survivors, I have met many older people who lived through a similar hell during the Nazi regime in Europe. They have numbers tattooed on their forearms, they tell stories that they can only get half way through until they start sobbing uncontrollably. But it wasn't until now, that I had this sort of a visceral gut reaction or this level of understanding of what genocide meant. I can think of no greater evil. After an hour of walking quietly through the memorial, we got back in the tuk tuk and barely a word was spoken.

Next stop S-21, Pol Pot's top level security prison. This converted high school was used as a torture chamber to beat and force confessions out of the enemies of the Khmer Rouge before they were sent to the Killing Fields for extermination.

I can't believe that this happened and so few people know about it, myself included. In my view this is not some abstract piece of history, it happened while I was here. I remember what I was doing while this was happening. I was learning how to tie my shoelaces and voting for Jimmy Carter in the Kindergarten class election while my Cambodian counterparts were being forcefully removed from their families and tied to trees and beaten to death. And for what?

For the rest of my time in Cambodia I couldn't look at anyone over 30 with out feeling sorrow and empathy. When I looked at the young I felt hopeful and wished that the resilience that had brought their society from near extermination to playing badminton in the park would carry forward as they continue to build a happier and more prosperous future for themselves.

A few days later the Irish and I headed up to Siem Reap, home of the Angkor Wat temple complex. This place was truly amazing. Built in the 12th century, this city of ornately carved sandstone structures stretches 30 square kilometers and represents an amazing feat of engineering.

Even if the ancients who built it had access to modern technology the place would still floor you upon seeing it.

We spent the day exploring Angkor Wat and the next day exploring Siem Reap. We sampled the national beer and browsed the local market, which looked like the set of the TV show fear factor complete with a bowl of fried tarantulas

and fried grasshoppers

We met some locals and I even got myself a Cambodian girl friend. Her name is Kimberly and she is 14 years old. After telling me how handsome I was and learning that I was single, she asked if I'd be her boyfriend. Oh what a magical moment. "Yes! Yes!" I exclaimed as dreams of our future together filled my imagination. Then she asked me that damn question I never want to hear again.
"You want to buy some pineapple?"
"No", I said.
And then she dumped me. For43 seconds I was in a blissful relationship with my underage Cambodian girlfriend. But it turns out she was only a pineapple prostitute offering her love, devotion and fruit to the highest bidder. Oh well easy come easy go. Oh yeah, I can only imagine that it won't be pineapple she'll be trying to sell to men in 5 years from now. Sad but true.

After a week in Cambodia I ventured back to Thailand and caught a boat to the island of Koh Chang to visit Jay. Remember Jay, the British guy who lived in New Jersey that I drank beer with for a week on the banks of the Mekong? In Laos? (See post Goin' with the flow). Well back in Laos he invited me to spend Christmas with him, so I figured I'd take him up on the offer.

I spent the week living the life of an ex-pat, rather than that of the transient I had been living. I stayed with Jay, hung out with his friends and finally got some scuba diving in. While it couldn't compare with the reefs off Sipidan in Borneo, the views above the water were spectacular.

Hey, it beats sitting behind a desk and staring into a monitor any day, which will be coming soon.

I spent 6 weeks in Thailand and Cambodia and a total of 2 months in Southeast Asia. I've had some amazing experiences like tubing in Laos, meeting HER, making and reaquainting with friends from all over the world, seeing the breath taking beauty of nature and singing a duet with a guitar playing transvestite clown with dreadlocks in the middle of the busiest street in Bangkok.


My mother asked me how drunk I was when I did this.
My reply, "30 minutes before my first beer." Yup, that's me.
Oh and thanks to Rae for the excellent videography and editing.

I've also had some crummy experiences like being ripped off and swindled by corrupt border guards. And I've met some of the shadiest people on the planet like Sex-pats, or nasty old guys walking the street with a teenage Thai prostitute on their arm. I've met people who should be in jail and would be if they ever returned home; Drug king-pins, mercenaries, hit-men, thieves, pimps, all sorts of crooks.

As I leave Asia I continue to process all that I have experienced, As I sit here finishing this entry, here in the airport, I am starting to prepare myself for my Australian rebirth.

Her

It was early evening and Trevor boarded a bus to Bangkok. As the bus rode off he made the transition from travel friend to facebook friend and for the first time since I left Kuala Lumpur I was alone with myself. Feeling a bit lonely and bored I thought, "Hmm...What does the universe have in store for me next?"

The small but developed city of Chiang Rai was awakening from a mid-afternoon nap. Vendors were setting up their stalls in the night market and as the sun faded away strings of festive lights snapped on, one at a time. The streets slowly filled with people and the aroma of Thai street cooking wafted through the air as the first of the local performers took the stage at the center of the market. First the slow rhythmic tapping of a traditional drum, then the whining of a familiar sounding oriental stringed instrument, and lastly a high-pitched tonal voice sang the setting of a festive night market into wholeness.

I browsed the stalls aimlessly breathing it all in. Perhaps I'd replace that ratty red Ohm T-shirt I picked up in Jaipur or find a new pair of matching earrings. After an hour of strolling the market my stomach started growling so I headed to the food stalls for a cheap and authentic meal. The scene reminded me of a flea market, a vast sea of plastic tables and chairs flanked on two sides by food stalls and the stage on another. I walked the perimeter examining the food in an attempt to identify what they were cooking up. All signage was in Thai.

"Pad Thai Chicken", I said to the woman behind the counter. I turned to my right and caught my first glimpse of HER in the distance. Six feet tall, slender and wearing a bright red shirt she commanded my attention from afar. A few seconds later I realized that my glimpse had turned into a full-on stare. She was really pretty, and she was heading my way. In a few seconds she was in front of me, surrounded by what must have been some sort of force field because as she approached time distorted, seconds lasted hours. Our eyes met as we passed and I felt a surge blast through my chest. I fought with all I had not to break my gaze and look away, digging deep I pulled out a smile. And as the plane of my shoulder broke that of her's, she smiled back. Warm electricity coursed through my veins as time resumed its normal flow. I was on a high, smitten. She took a seat at an empty table to enjoy her dinner. I had to go talk to her.

My fellow guy travelers will testify that anytime you meet a solo female traveler, within seconds you meet her boyfriend. A rule of thumb seems to dictate that the hotter she is, the bigger the douche bag her boyfriend is, making it that much harder to take.

"Oh come on! You've got to be kidding me! Seriously, you're with Dreadlocked White Guy??? Honey, what are you doing? Don't you know that white guys with dreadlocks occupy the highest rung on the douche bag ladder? A solid 3 spots above guy who wears blue tooth ear piece 24-7."

I know what you're thinking, Fox, you are "33 year old guy with ears pierced". Maybe so, but that doesn't begin to approach the level of douche baggery of having dreadlocks.

So I scanned the crowd for DB-BF candidates. We're all clear, she is alone. So with Pad Thai Chicken in hand I headed in her direction to take a seat at an adjacent table. As I got close her force field took it's hold on me again, my nerves started in, butterflies in my stomach, my internal commentator started speaking to me; "Think of something witty to say. How do you know if she speaks English? Don't be stupid. Bring your A-game!"

"SHUT UP!!!!!"

I sat down beside her and conversation unfolded with ease. We talked for hours over dinner, then over coffee, and more as we strolled the night market. And there it was. The command of my wit, the unabashed confidence, the silver tongue...the A-game. The dialogue couldn't have been written better. As we spoke, she looked deep into my eyes and smiled and laughed. It was more than apparent that she liked me too. Now, usually this is where the logical mind breaks down and that object of Bhutanese adoration takes over and starts calling the shots, typically leading to disastrous results. (Don't get it? Reference post:Res-Erection Part 1) But I kept cool knowing damn well where this was heading.

"Let's go for cocktails!", she said in her Dutch accent.

I gave no argument as we headed to a sidewalk cafe for a carafe of white wine. She told me that she really wanted to go on a 2-day trek into the local hill tribe villages, but the guides wouldn't go unless one more person signed up.

Now folks, I've done the jungle trekking thing and I am over it. But, here is where that object of Bhutanese adoration made the call. "I'd love to go trekking", I replied.

(Good job, you made a great decision this time!..but there is no way you are picking our next dentist, I'll let Mouth make that call.)

We planned to head out the next morning and then ordered another carafe of wine, then another until the evening transitioned into tomorrow.

Now I was raised by a good mother who instilled a good sense of chivalry in me. What gentleman would let a lady walk for 10 minutes to her guest house alone? At 1:00 in the morning? In the dark?

Her: "I'm going to get a taxi back."
Me: "You won't find one at this hour. I'd be happy to walk you back."
Her: "OK" with a smile

My Internal Dialogue: "WOO-HOO!!!!"

Her guest house was just outside of the city on the river banks. As the road transitioned from sealed pavement to dirt, the street lights faded into the distance. I stopped to look up. The view was magnificent, every star in existence was out on this clear moonless night. On the horizon I saw the bright red glow of a traditional Thai paper balloon lantern hanging in the distant sky. I pointed up at it and she stepped to my side to follow my finger in hopes to see it too. That was the last thing I would see as what entered my field of vision next was the complete blackness of the inside of my eye lids. Next, I felt the warm electric current enter my body through my lips and emanate through every fiber of my body as we stood on the bank of the river under the stars.

Yada yada yada...The next day we headed out for the hill tribes. A short boat ride up the river delivered us to an Akha village where we would start our 2-day walk through the unbridled pristine hills of Northern Thailand.

After a 45-minute elephant ride we hopped off and thanked our pachyderm friend with treats of bananas and sugar cane, then headed off to play ping-pong with the Akha children. Following a traditional lunch we set off through the dense jungles, pastoral rice paddies,

and secluded babbling water falls.

As the sun retreated over the horizon we came to the Lahow village we would sleep at that evening.

The Lahow live like there ancestors have for eons. With exception of solar panels to light the bulb in each hut and motorbikes to bring the rice harvest up the mountain side, I could have easily confused it for 1808.

Our house for the night was a hut like those pictured above. As our guide went to work on dinner we walked through the village greeting the people and their animals (I now have a blind hatred for roosters... crack of dawn my ass!!! These things never stop!).

After dinner I slipped off for a moment and returned with a bottle of white wine I bought when she wasn't looking (Damn I'm smooth!). We shared the wine and conversation under the great expanse of the gorgeous night sky, looking over the distant lights of Chiang Rai in the valleys below.

Yada yada yada... The following day we headed deeper into the hills, stopping at another Akha village for lunch before heading through the tea plantations of an ethnic Chinese village.

By 4:00 we reached our final stop, the natural hot springs. And after an hour long soak we met a truck and caught a ride back to Chiang Rai.

We spent one more evening together before I said goodbye to her. I had to catch a bus to the laid-back, hippie art community of Pai on the Burmese border, and she had to catch that proverbial bus to oblivion. As quickly as it started, it was over.

I spent the next 4 days in the sleepy town of Pai (hmm...Pai......) replaying moments in my mind and missing her. Then I headed to Chiang Mai; to meet up with some friends I made in Laos and Africa, and to bide my time for a week before Rae, Travis and Kelly arrived.

When I got to Chiang Mai I learned that there was civil unrest in Thailand and it looked like a military coup was imminent. As the news showed images of thousands of protesters shutting down the airport in Bangkok, I questioned whether my friends would be able to get in. I exhaled and took another sip of my coffee, then looked to the street dog beside me and said to her,"Hmm...What does the universe have in store for me next?"

Goin' with the flow

I woke up with the glare of fluorescent lights beaming in my face and to the sound of garish conversation in an unintelligible language. My legs were nowhere to be felt and my neck ached, the stack of books made for a terribly uncomfortable pillow. I opened my eyes it was 4:30am and an hour had passed since I surrendered to the "comfort" of the bench. the International Departures counter was still closed, and the weary bodies of my fellow travelers were strewn about the terminal like rag dolls on the floor of a child's playroom. I had 30 more minutes to get to check-in for my flight from Kuala Lumpur to Laos.

At 10:30 my taxi pulled up to an arbitrary guest house somewhere in Vientiane, I walked up in a daze, the one hour of bench sleep is all I had had in the past day. As I headed for the reception desk I could care less about the price or condition of the accommodations, I needed one thing, a bed. Eight dollars and 4 flights of stairs later I arrived at room 406. I through my backpack to the floor, unlaced my boots and climbed into bed.

Six hours later I awoke feeling refreshed, so I decided to explore the capital city. Vientiane is somewhat developed yet quiet and desolate with few people roaming the streets. There is little French influence left, the architecture is rather simple and functional with the exception of the clusters of Buddhist temples that dot the landscape.

There is an all-encompassing feeling of calmness as the city moves to virtually no pace all. Just some people going somewhere with the occasional Buddhist monk passing by.

I made my way to the Mekong River and stopped at one of the many simple bamboo deck bars for my first Beer Lao (the national beer of Laos). I sat and watched the brown muddy waters flow by at the same pace of the city and after a few hours I returned to room 406 for the night.

The following morning I set out to find a restaurant with an English menu for a decent Western breakfast. I happened upon a place where a guy wearing a Yankees hat was enjoying some eggs and bacon.

"Hey is this place any good?", I asked.
"Yeah mate, it's not too bad. Are you American?"
"Yup, Are you British?"
"Originally from Liverpool, but I've been living in Thailand for the last 6 months. Before that I lived in New Jersey for 12 years"

Jay, was a musician/house painter who had lived in Belmar NJ with his then wife. Turns out the Yankees hat wasn't just a fashion statement, he was a fan. We sat and conversed over breakfast.

"Is it too early for a drink?" (it was now 11am)
"Nah, it's 5 o'clock somewhere in the world. Besides, I don't even know what day of the week it is. Let's go!"

Two hours and 4 Beer Lao's later, we were still bullshitting on the banks of the Mekong...
A day later and several Beer Lao's later, we were still bullshitting on the banks of the Mekong...
A week later and God knows how many Beer Lao's later, we were still bullshitting on the banks of the Mekong.

What had occurred in me, for the first time I can remember was calm complacency. For my entire life, I've always been relentlessly driven by what feels like a inner engine, of which I have no control over. From the moment I wake to the moment I think myself to sleep, it never quits, never. I have always strived to shut it down to quiet that inner voice that repeats, "I want, I want, I want". That's the rub however, you can't strive for calmness, the more you strive the less relaxed you are. But here in Laos, it just happened.

I was now living second to second completely satiated and in want of nothing, just being, no longer in a constant evolving state of becoming. I felt like I could have easily been in downtown Mogadishu and felt the same. I caught glimpse of a calendar and realized "Whoa, I've been here 7 days, better get moving, there's more things to see and do."

My trip was no longer about where to go or what to see or do, it was now just about doing. The places had become irrelevant. So I headed back to the internet cafe where I had posted my last blog update just the day before and I gave you the reader the ultimate decision on how my life would unfold. With a contribution of 38.5% you voted that I should head north into Laos and cross into Thailand. So I headed back to room 406 and packed my belongings, I would leave the very next morning.

That evening I met Jay for a last Beer Lao on the Mekong. En route, I stopped at a store for a snack where I met this tall hot blond Canadian girl. And damn I was smooth, but not smooth enough. I walked out and headed left, she headed right. For just once in my life I'd love to have the right words on the tip of my tongue at the right time like Tom Cruise in Top Gun. But instead I headed off to drink beer with Jay.

The next morning I went for breakfast. As I walked down the street I heard an Irish brogue yell out "Chris, Hey Chris mate!"
"Holy Shit! Trevor!"

Queue the wavy visuals, it's time for a flash back

On September 15th I walked out of "a little internet cafe/convenience store/barber shop" in Pushkar, India having just posted the entry "Welcome to India Hooooo-Leeeeee-COW!" and headed to the train station in Ajmer to catch the 3:00 to Jodhpur. A tall white guy walked by and I assumed he was in similar shoes so I struck up a conversation. His name was Trevor and he was from Ireland. We wound up staying at the same guest house and spent the next days kicking around Jodhpur. I left Trevor and cast him off back out into the universe from which he came prior to our paths crossing on that train platform in Ajmer. For reference, it was just hours before my encounter with Sham (as told in my post: High from Nepal).

FAST FORWARD
"Oh my God! How in the Hell? This is crazy", I said. We had breakfast and caught up on our individual happenings from the past 2 months:

ME: "...Yeah, they actually lopped the goat's head off right in front of me!"
TREVOR: "Where are you going next?"
ME:"I put a survey up on my blog and let the readers vote, they are sending me north to cross into Thailand."
TREVOR:"Cool, I'm heading in the same direction, wanna join me?"

So Trevor and I spent one more day in Vientiane and the following morning we caught the bus to Vang Vieng. After 4 hours of traversing the lush green valleys of central Laos, we pulled into the lazy village on the Nam Sung River.

"HEY CHRIS, WHAT IS THERE TO DO IN VANG VIENG?"

Glad you asked. The primary attraction in Vang Vieng is tubing. The Lao have made an art out of sitting your fat ass in an inner tube and floating effortlessly down a lazy stream. You pick up your tube in town then get dropped off a few miles upstream where you "drop in".

Every couple of thousand feet there is a bar, each with zip-lines, rope swings even giant slides. They have mud volley ball... basically tubing Vang Vieng is a hedonistic ritual that closely resembles spring break in Cancun.


At the end of the day you exit the river, if you are still conscious (Some Swedes woke up 2 hours down stream, in their tubes and had to take a taxi back) eat dinner then head to the Bucket Bar (named for the buckets of mixed drinks they serve) to share your battle scars and war stories from the days events. (That picture of me on the zip-line ended with a belly-flop from 15 feet up. I thought I collapsed a lung!)

Trevor and I found a good spot at the Bucket Bar and as the tinny sounding techno blasted through inadequately small speakers I scanned the crowd. Wait a second, there in the corner, NO WAY!!!! "Holy Shit! Dan!"

Forget the wavy visuals and flash backs. Dan is this kid from Manchester who stayed in the room next to me when I arrived in Kathmandu back in September. I don't know what kinds of games the universe was playing with me, but this was getting weird. I felt as if Laos was some cosmic vortex that linked the universe. The following morning as I walked out of my guest house, a couple I stayed in Chitwan National Park with (see post: High from Nepal) was checking in! What the hell is going on I thought, is this fate, kismet, God. And if so why does it keep bringing me dudes? "Hey God/kismet/universe how about that hot Canadian chick from the store in Vientiane? Do ya think you can send her back my way?"

After spending a few days in the vortex of the universe Trevor and I headed north to Luang Prabang a beautiful little city and world heritage site on the Mekong River. The first guest house we stopped at had a good room for cheap so we took it. As we checked in wouldn't you know, the hot Canadian chick from the store in Vientiane walked passed, she (Joanne) was staying at the same place! This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S! Oh, I know what you are going ask....no comment.

Trevor and I woke up early the next morning to watch the procession of the monks.

The townspeople line the streets and give the monks alms to feed them for the day. Every morning a procession of saffron clad monks makes their way on this 1KM long walk for their food. It kinda looked like trick-or-treating. People wearing orange costumes, carrying a bag and other people dropping treats into them.

From there we hiked some local waterfalls

and did some kayaking before we headed north to the Thai border.

The trip to the border took us 2 days on a slow boat traveling up the Mekong River from Luang Prabang to Huay Xai, stopping for one night in Pekbang. As we made our way upstream on the Mekong, once again images from the movie Apocalypse Now formed in my mind. I heard Ride of the Valkyries by Wagner playing in my head as I imagined Martin Sheen motoring past on a boat. While I didn't see Martin Sheen, I did catch some amazing views as we passed through gorgous green valleys and passed remote hill tribe villages.

We finally made it to the border and in the morning we crossed into Thailand at Chiang Khong. Trevor and I stopped for a nice Western breakfast before boarding a bus to Chiang Rai where we parted ways, after 2 weeks of traveling together. He headed out on a 36-hour bus ride down to Kuala Lumpur and I was alone once again left by myself to follow the flow of the universe. But I wouldn't be alone for long...


NOW AS PROMISED Q&A!
You asked them so I'll answer them:

Q: How do you keep your underwear clean? Do you keep it clean?
A: Laundry services are readily available almost everywhere I've been, and for cheap. Some times it entails a washing machine, other times I think they slap my clothes against rocks in the river. In extreme cases I carry camping detergent. Add a cut-in-half racquet ball and you've got a universal drain stopper.

Q: Can you always find bottled water?
A: Yes, for the most part. In cases where I can't I have a hand pumping water purifier and water treatment drops. I needed the pump so infrequently, I sent it home with Andrea to lighten my load.

Q: Have any of the foods made you throw up just by the thought of what you are eating?
A: No, I have a no dodgy food policy. When in doubt I've lived for days on bananas and boiled water (tea)

Q: I don't suppose you were able to vote by absentee ballot in the Presidential election here? Are they talking about it?
A: Sadly, while I did request an absentee ballot, I didn't realize that moving home prior to doing so would kick off a mountain of red-tape and paperwork that would make it impossible for the County Clerk to process and issue my ballot in time. As for world opinion, everyone is talking about it, from the moment I arrived in South Africa until this moment as I type this sentence. When I identify myself as American, typically the first topic is Barack Obama or George W Bush. Once in a while the first question asked is to confirm whether the claims rap stars make in their lyrics are true (i.e. "Does 50 Cent really go laughing all the way to the bank?" To which I reply, "Yes, yes he does. And if you are lucky, every once in a while on a Wednesday afternoon around 1-1:30, you can go to THE bank, in New York and see him get out of his limo laughing, carrying bags of cash with dollar signs on them.)

Q:Have you met any nice girls? You know the kind your mother would approve of?
A: While I am not familiar with my mother's taste in women, I have met many nice girls. I meet many like-minded women I would easily date, if we lived in the same place. However, the road lifestyle is more of the 2 ships passing in the night type so you never really get the chance to date. Don't try reading between lines here, "that" isn't what I am insinuating (get your mind out of the gutter!) Sometimes it's just a really good 3 hour conversation while visiting a museum before you have to catch a train to the next city and she has to catch the bus to oblivion.

Q: Are you getting laid?
A: No, not at the current moment. I lack the flexibility to do so while I type.

Q: I love the blog, how long does it take to write an entry?
A: While I collect ideas, notes and photos almost constantly, it can take quite a while when I actually sit down to write. It takes most of the day, sometimes 2 sittings across multiple days.

Choose my next adventure

OK, while I've been busting my ass making it through the world on my own, you've been sitting on yours following along vicariously reading this blog. Let's mix things up, I'm tired and indecisive and I bet you'd love a chance to get more interactive. So let's get interactive, no more living vicariously through me as a passive bystander. I'm handing YOU the remote control to my life and letting YOU decide the outcome of my trip from here. I have to be in Bangkok, Thailand on November 28th to receive my friend Rae, but I have no plan on what to do until then. In the spirit of the upcoming election, I'll hold it up to a vote. Polls close on November 4 at midnight EST.
Click Here to vote
Here are the options:

1) I can stay in Laos until the end of November and just go where ever I wind up on a whim like that feather in Forest Gump

2) I can go to Southern Laos to the 4,000 Islands area on the Mekong River then cross in to Cambodia where I'll visit the amazing Ankor Wat temple ruins of the Khmer dynasty and see the genocide museum commemorating Pol-Pot

3) I can go to Northern Laos to visit the hill people and see some waterfalls and hangout with crunchy pot smoking Israeli hippies then cross into Northern Thailand and make my way to Bangkok

4) I can cross into Northern Thailand and make my way across to the border of Burma (Myanmar) and try to get a entry visa. I have no idea what's doing in Burma other than that British backpackers tell me it's amazing. There's no guarantee they'll let me in though.

5) I can go to Vietnam and kick around there too.

Click Here to vote
In addition, I'm giving you a forum for Q&A with this survey. Ask away and I'll post the Q&A on my next entry.

Borneo: Land of monkeys and scuba junkies

I looked out the window as the plane made its final decent into Kuala Lumpur. On the horizon stood a modern metropolis surrounded by hills in the distance and a well planned out suburb in the foreground. As the ground grew closer and closer I could make out the contemporary model cars traveling in a steady and orderly stream on the arteries that comprised a network of multi-laned highways. The recognizable brands of hotels and traffic lights completed the picture of a bustling modern first-world city. I breathed a sigh of relief eager for a reprieve from the third-world conditions I'd been living in since August. Kuala Lumpur delivered.

I grabbed my dusty beaten backpack from the baggage carousel, breezed through immigration and after an hour-long bus ride I followed the other Westerners to a hotel in Chinatown. My head touched the pillow and I was out, gone in a 10-hour coma, the kind of sleep that only comes about from complete and total exhaustion.

I arose the next morning, washed up and walked out the front door into the busy streets of KL to explore my new urban surroundings. As the blocks of the city passed me by I found a subway station and decided to press on. 1.40 Malaysian Ringetts and 20 minutes later I arrived at the Surya Mall in the basement of the famed Petronas Twin-Towers. The feeling was overwhelming, I almost cried upon seeing a Banana Republic, Starbucks, Chili's and the kinds of upscale boutiques you would only find at the finest shopping malls in America (Cartier, Versace...)

I was taken back by the emotional response I had, simply from the reintroduction of the simple things I had always taken for granted. It felt like I was freed from a twenty-year prison sentence. Noticing the permanent dirt on my pants and feeling the incessant itch on my cheeks as the only indication informing me that I had a full beard, I watched well-groomed trendy people pass by. I thought to myself,"I must look like a hobo, and I probably smell like one too."

I headed straight for Starbucks and ordered a tall soy latte then I took a seat and just sat there for an hour, breathing. I spent the entire day in elation floating on air through this four story marble and glass cathedral. It was the most beautiful temple I'd visited in months, a temple devoted to commerce and Western ideals, it was the closest taste to home I've had.

I went to Chili's for lunch and gorged myself on fajitas and a Budweiser long-neck. Six months ago it was shit beer, but after eating rice and curry and dead goat and drinking bottled water, it was nothing short of ambrosia. To be honest, I would have paid $100 for that little taste of home.

Next I headed to the cinema to see Max Payne, a crappy Marky Mark Wahlberg flick. And while the film did suck, I was eternally grateful to be able to experience watching it. Over the next 6 hours I visited the national aquarium (in the mall) and ventured up to the observation deck of the Petronas Twin-Towers

After 9 hours of feasting on pedestrian Western familiarity I exhaled and headed back down to the subway station to return to Chinatown for some KFC and some HBO before resting for the night.

Over the following two days I explored KL, taking in the sites, meeting the locals and learning the basics of Malaysian culture, history and language. I had just over 48 hours to kill before heading to Kota Kinabalu, Borneo to meet Andrea, my first visitor from the States.

I touched down in KK and met Andrea an hour later at International Arrivals. We took a taxi to our hotel, dropped our bags and grabbed a late evening beer at the bar next door.

"Wow! you've lost a lot of weight.", she commented as I poured two glasses of Indonesian beer, "You're shoulders have disappeared!" I hadn't noticed (according to the carnival scale at the video arcade a few days later, I am down ~18 lbs from when I left...Oh and as a Cancer, I will find love with an Aquarius this month) We spent the next hour or so catching up and planning the following days of our trip.

We spent 2 days in KK then hopped a bus through endless palm oil plantations to Sipilok, to visit the Orang-utan (I know, I thought it was Orangutang too!) rehabilitation center. And while I was slightly tired of seeing rainforests and jungles and wildlife I thoroughly enjoyed my stay with these silly orange furry little people.

They almost remind me of the Muppets the way they perform to the delight of their onlooking human cousins. Actually, they reminded me of Ryan, my 18 month old nephew.

From Sipilok, Andrea and I headed for a 2-day jungle river safari. It was kinda like the Jungle Cruise ride a Disney World except without the wise ass pimply-faced "guide" pretending to shoot animatronic hippos in the water with his cap gun. We spent hours watching brilliantly colored birds and Macaque and Proboscis Monkeys, the one's with the funny big noses.

Only the males have large noses, it's a sign of sexual maturity and attracts females for mating. The Proboscis male with the largest nose in the group will mate with up to 25 female. I get the short end of the stick again, In the human world, my large nose communicates that I probably celebrate Hannukah and have a nagging mother that peppers her whiny Brooklyn accented English with tid-bits of Yiddish. Oye gevalt!

With our visit to the jungle complete Andrea and I headed to Sipadan, a tiny island off the coast, to dive one of the world's top 5 dive sites.

Now every junkie remembers the unattainable high of their first fix. Mine was in 1992, Cozumel, Mexico. While my friends were enjoying our Junior year homecoming, an event that generated stories still reminisced upon at Fourth of July parties to this day, I was slipping into the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean enjoying what I have since described at the best 45 minutes I've ever spent on Earth. In the 17 years since I've been chasing that dragon. And while I've thoroughly enjoyed the sport of scuba diving, I've never been able to replicate that feeling I experienced in the waters off of the Yucatan Peninsula. That is not until the moment I rolled backward off the side of the boat into the warm azure water off of Sipidan Island, Borneo. In a moment that feeling of, "I never want to return to the surface" I felt all those years ago came rushing back. We hovered over a vibrant city of vivid corals, teeming with the most exotic fish as we hung in mid flight over a wall which dropped into the bottomless cobalt blue abyss.
(Oh yeah, everyone feel free to thank the good people at Olympus for making a wonderful "shock proof/water proof" camera. If their products lived up to their claims, I'd have pictures to show you. Lucky for me the thing was under warranty and they fixed it for free. Now if the terms only included time travel so I could have had the damn thing when I needed it. Son of a bitch!!... Hey at least I'm not bitter)

As we floated along with the warm tropical current through the crystal clear water we were greeted by graceful green turtles, flying effortlessly around us and regal white-tip reef sharks. Five minutes into the dive I looked down at my watch to see that in reality, 45 minutes had passed. I'd lost myself in paradise. Over 4 days I made 13 dives only coming up to eat and sleep.

Alas our time in Sipadan had come to an end and we hopped a short flight back to Kota Kinabalu. We spent our final 2 days wandering around the city, mostly at the Centre Point Mall where we took in some movies, sampled local street food and did some shopping and people watching.

On our final day I realized, "I have no idea where I am going next." So after some thoughtful deliberation, research and a coin flip I decided to go to Laos. I purchased a cheapo ticket on-line, spent a horrible night sleeping in the airport and a day later I landed in Vientiane, Laos where I sit now writing this blog entry.

Last week my friend Rae decided to come out into the world to meet up with me too. She'll be coming to Bangkok for the first 2 weeks of December with Travis and Kelly, two of my acquaintances. Now I just have to find my way to Bangkok by November 29th and decide what to do between now and then. I'm just as curious as you are to see how November unfolds for me.

Lastly to everyone in the US, on behalf of the citizens of the rest of the world who I've spoken to along my travels, go vote!

Res-Erection Part 2

I returned to Kathmandu feeling revived and with a recharged wanderlust. As the taxi drove me through the crowded, noisy polluted streets I realized that I do much better in calm quite and serene places like the beaches of Mozambique and Bhutan . So I decided not to hang around Kathmandu for too long and headed for Pokhara. Pokhara is a small town nestled in a valley on the shores of a mountain lake at the footsteps of the Annapurna range of the Himalaya.

As I climbed down from the bus I was greeted by a mob of touts who are paid by guesthouses to bring tourists from the bus park. I having arranged my accommodations prior to my arrival was looking for someone from the Shanti Guesthouse. As I looked around I was getting hassled on every side, touts were telling me Shanti was booked or the driver won't be coming, anything to lure me into their car to collect the commission on my head. Through the crowd I saw a Nepali shaking his head and looking at me with an expression that communicated, "I'm sorry for the behavior of my countrymen. These guys are clowns"

I glanced back shrugging my shoulders with an expression that communicated,"What can ya do?"

He walked over and introduced himself, "I'm Deep"
"Is that short for Deepak Chopra"
He laughed, "No, Deependra"
"Hey Deep, I'm Chris"

I sat at a table drinking a coke and shooting the shit with Deep as I waited for someone from Shanti Guesthouse. The tout before was right, nobody was coming to get me. I knew Deep was touting for someone and I asked about his guesthouse. From what he explained it was worth checking out so I hopped on the back of his motorbike and we headed for Pushpa Guesthouse.

Interested in continuing our conversation, I invited Deep for a beer on the lake. He accepted and we spent the next hour talking. I asked him questions about his culture and lifestyle. Deep explained that an Australian benefactor he met as a child sent him to school for 8 years where he learned English. But the guy died before Deep could finish his final 4 years. Now at 28 years old, he has a wife, Agina (rhymes with you know what. The smile on my face during our introduction was not due to my pleasure for meeting her) a 6-year old boy, Ashish and a 9-year old daughter, Anu. They are subsistence farmers who grow almost all of their meals. Deep works for Pushpa touting potential guests for about 50 US Dollars a month, his family lives paycheck to paycheck and is unable to save money. He also told me that he is a year and a half behind in tuition payments for his kids' school.

To me his situation sounds dire, I don't know how I would be able to cope. But to Deep it's life and he takes it in stride, with patience and grace and he remains honest. I admire him for it.

That evening we wound up going for dinner and then to his friends' club and continued our discussions. I asked, "So the Desain festival ends on Thursday right? Isn't that the big day, everything in Nepal will be closed?"

Deep went on to explain that Desain is the most important festival of the year where they celebrate the goddess Durga's triumph over evil. On the last day families get together and start the day with a goat sacrifice to Durga, then they prepare the meat for a feast. The whole family comes together and can feed from the goat for 4-5 days. Desain is like Christmas, Thanksgiving and the Super Bowl all in one. I asked how he and his family would be celebrating and he told me that they wouldn't be, they couldn't afford a goat. I felt such sympathy for the guy, I considered buying him a goat. But I decided not to intervene.

Deep offered to show me around town the next day so I took him up on his offer. At 8 o'clock the following morning I hopped on the back of the motorcycle to cruise the streets of Pokhara. We stopped in the center of town where hundreds of locals were congregated, shopping for the festival. In a sectioned off area there were pens of goats where people were negotiating with herders over price. Looking over at Deep I could see the sadness in his face.

"How much is a goat?", I asked.
Deep asked a herder, it was 8,000 rupees.
(My internal dialogue) "8,000 rupees! Back in the day the big shield in The Legend of Zelda only cost 90 rupees, inflation is a bitch." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyrule

Then thoughts started percolating:

• OK, it's like $100, I can afford it.
• Deep is a victim of circumstance. If he lived where I live and had my fortune he wouldn't be in this situation. It's not fair.
  
• It must be terrible to have to tell your children, "Sorry kids, maybe next year."
• What will I really be buying for my $100? What kind of experience will follow?
• Screw it, let's find out.

"Hey Deep!" I said, "Let's buy a goat!"

I can't describe the look on the guy's face, it reminded me of how lottery winners look upon being delivered the news. Deep grabbed me and started hugging me as he went off on nonsequiturs trying to express his happiness, gratitude, relief and disbelief all at the same time. He called his father, yelling in Nepalese into his cellphone.

"My dad is coming, he is so happy, thank you, thank you so much from my heart. You don't understand, thank you."

Five minutes later I met his father, Babaram. The man was weeping as he greeted me. He grabbed my hands and put them together between his then he bowed touching his forehead to my hands. I returned the gesture with a man-hug and the man nearly squeezed the life out of me.

Deep and I sent Babaram to negotiate the purchase of a good goat. Sold! for 7,500 rupees. As I lead my newest acquisition down the street by the horns I thought, "How are we going to get him home?"

Ten minutes later I was riding on the back of Deep's motorcycle with goat ass in my left hand, goat horns in my right and goat torso in my lap.

As we buzzed through the streets all of the locals were looking at me smiling and waving or giving a thumbs up. I arrived at Deep's 10 minutes later with a sore right forearm and a goat piss covered left leg. As we made our way to the front door I asked Deep if the family was aware of our purchase. He said they had no idea we had a goat. So... I decided to get Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes on their ass, toting a goat rather than a giant check. I whipped out my camera and shot this video.


The whole family showed up. Deep's mother, father, son, daughter, his sisters their husbands and their kids. We tied up the goat and as the children teased it I enjoyed a cup of tea with the family. I was invited back for a traditional dinner of dhal bhat (rice and lentils, the stuff is awesome) that night, and to celebrate the last day of Desain with the family the following day.

Deep picked me up at 6 o'clock the following morning and we showed up at Babaram's home in the near by village where I met Deep's grandmothers and some of the local village people (no need for obvious joke here). His sisters made tea and we sat on the clay floor outside sipping it as Baburam brought out the goat.

Fifteen minutes later a man walked up carrying a large curved blade. I knew right away who he was and what he was there to do. I looked over and watched the goat chewing on grass knowing what was about to happen. I felt nervous, nauseous and a bit guilty. But then I thought, "I eat meat, this is where my food comes from." I almost felt as if it were imperative for me to witness the slaughter as a means to teach me a healthy respect for my food, and not to take it for granted. Secondly, this is a centuries old Nepali tradition, isn't experiencing something like this one of the reasons I came in the first place?

They lead the goat to the center of the yard, Deep held the rope connected to the horns and Baburam held the back legs. Knifeman said a prayer and showered the goat with rice and spices and then took his stance on the goat's side. He sized up the neck a few times and then with two hands on the handle he hoisted the blade high over his head and with one swift downward motion, the deed was done.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING VIDEO IS REALLY GRAPHIC SHOWING THE BEHEADING OF THE GOAT. I DID NOT POST IT FOR SHOCK VALUE OR AS A GROSS OUT. I AM POSTING IT TO ENABLE YOU THE VIEWER TO SEE THE EVENT THROUGH MY EYES. PLEASE PROCEED AT YOUR OWN CAUTION. IF YOU PUKE ON YOUR KEYBOARD I TAKE NO RESPONSIBILITY AND I AM NOT PAYING FOR THERAPY IF YOU ARE HAUNTED BY NIGHTMARES.

Yeah...imagine seeing this live and from 5 feet away.

"HOLY SHIT! I screamed in my head, then they started collecting the goat's blood in a shiney metal bowl.

WARNING THIS VIDEO IS PRETTY GRAPHIC TOO, LOOKS LIKE A SNUFF FILM

It took me all of my restraint to keep my composure and to hold down the rising chunks. The kids on the other hand were laughing and enjoying. Did you notice that at the end of the video you see 6-year old Ashish playing with the severed goat's head? What the F? Any kid I know would be crying in hysterics right now. It goes to show how our upbringing shapes our social mores.

Over the next 2 hours I helped to skin and prepare the goat. Afterward the men butchered it (I've got tons of nasty photos I can show you later) while the women cooked it. That afternoon, we sat on the ground and ate goat the traditional Nepalese way, with our hands. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I wanted to experience Dasain as a participant rather than as an observer.

That night I returned to Deep's home for dhal bhat and more goat. And in the morning I came back to join the extended family to give and receive tika.

Now, I'm sitting writing this draft at a cafe in Kathmandu, biding my time until tomorrow when I'll head to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia for a few days before meeting up with my friend Andrea for a few weeks in Borneo.

As my time on the subcontinent comes to a close I'm reflecting on my experiences. It was a challenge at times but I got so much from it, I'm going to miss the places, I've grown comfortable here. I'm sure it will take me years to fully digest what I've experienced in India, Nepal and Bhutan. Well onward ho! To Southeast Asia, get me to the beach!

It may be a few weeks before you hear from me again. If you think backpacking around the world by yourself is a vacation, you are dead wrong, it is hard work. So, as odd as this may sound to you, I am taking a vacation for the next 2 weeks in Borneo and I won't be working on the blog. See you on the other side of Borneo, wherever it is I wind up next.

Res-Erection Part 1

Today is one of the holiest day's of the year. While it is Yom Kippur, I am referring to the last day Dasain a 15 day Nepali festival which celebrates the victory of the goddess Durga over the forces of evil. While the entire nation of Nepal shuts down, its citizenry are a bound. The streets of Pokhara are well trodden by Nepalese families, they are off to visit friends and extended family to "give tika" a blessing, for the upcoming year. The tika is the red mark you often see on the foreheads of Hindu's, who compose the majority of Nepal's population.

Earlier this morning I arrived at the home of Deep (short for Deependra) Pahari and his extended family, to give and receive tika. The Pahari's are my newly adopted Nepali family. The story starts a week and a half ago...

Asia had gotten to me and my enthusiasm for adventure was slowly replaced with misery. Between the challenges of India and the relentless commotion of Kathmandu, I was frazzled, road weary and in a serious need of a mental health break. The universe answered my calling in the form of a week in Bhutan.


Freed from the constant challenges of navigating the cities of sub-continental Asia and free from gravity, I again sailed through the air. As we flew past Mount Everest I thought, "Hey, it does look like the Paramount logo." I imagined stars flying in from the bottom left to form a semi-circle over the mountain. Then I took time to reflect and examine the cause of my misery. Blogosphere, I have to be honest, after 3 months of traveling the world, the romance and excitement subside and what you are left with is life. And life has not been easy as of late.

I sat at 35,000 feet contemplating, "I don't know if I can do this anymore. I think it may be time to leave and head for Thailand. What was it about Mozambique that made it so enjoyable? I want to go home, just for a day or two. I'd kill for a TGI Friday's Pecan Crusted Chicken Salad right now. I just want 40 minutes in MY car driving down the Garden State Parkway on the right side of the road and on the left side of the car. I am tired of everything."

The plane landed 30 minutes later and as I stepped out I immediately noticed, Bhutan was different. The airport was beautiful, the buildings shared a common architecture and were adorned with beautiful, intricate filigree.

I wish my house was half as nice as the bathroom at customs. I walked through the door where I was greeted by Kinley and Dshering my guide and my driver and we headed from the airport in Paro to Thimphu.

Bhutan is the last of the Himalayan Buddhist Kingdoms. Surviving over the past several hundred years in self imposed isolation, the culture remains intact and largely unchanged. It remains unspoiled and clean and emanates a primordial purity that you can feel, the experience is spiritual.

The citizens wear traditional tunics called Koe, and live by the same codes their ancestors have adhered to for centuries. The government is a monarchy which was recently augmented to include a democratically elected legislative branch and a third branch composed of the nations chief Buddhist monks. And, the king measures the success of Bhutan not by gross national product (GNP) but by gross national happiness (GNH) which is built on four pillars:

1) The promotion of equitable and sustainable socio-economic development
2) Preservation and promotion of Bhutan's cultural values
3) Conservation of the natural environment
4) Establishment of good governance

All of Bhutan's policies and laws are based on these precepts which results in interesting laws. For instance, the sale of tobacco is illegal in Bhutan. And in the Phobjika valley, winter home for the endangered Black Neck Crane, there is no electric wiring as it poses a hazard to the birds. Rather than stringing wire though the habitat, the King elected to provide the residents of Phobjika with solar panels. All of Bhutan's people, including Kinley and Dshering are calm and demure. They are happy, saintly with endless patience. I wouldn't think of upsetting them (if I could) or even uttering a dirty word in their presence.

As we drove on toward Thimphu we passed through the quiet desolation of the Himalayan foothills. We traversed bucolic green canyons, along side pristine crystal streams and under deep blue skies. The color blue you can only see at the highest of altitudes. Along our way we rode in silence as we crossed rivers and mountain passes where Buddhist prayer flags flapped in the wind and prayer wheels marked our way. You know like from the Golden Child when Eddie Murphy does the whole I-I-I-a-I-I-I-I want the knife...Pleeeeeeease thing.

Kinley explained that these are of Mahayana Buddhist liturgy and they function to wash away the sins and protect from evil those who pass their influence. This is why they are hung near rivers and mountains.

As the first day came to a close I was at peace, I had found Shangri-la. The next morning we drove on. A few hours into our silent voyage (I was stuck to the window like a Garfield doll watching the mountains go by) Kinley asked, "Can we put on radio?" I was in my new found calm and curious to hear Bhutanese music so I answered with an emphatic, "Yes! Please do!" As the radio squelched on, the tune became clear.

"Un-ch Un-un-ch Un-un-un-un-ch... Whatcha gonna do wit all dat junk, all dat junk inside yo trunk?
"I'm ah git git git git you drunk git you love drunk off my humps..."

Hold up! The Black Eyed Peas?!?! My jaw was on the floor . The following tracks included 50 Cent, The Pussycat Dolls and P. Diddy. I wondered did these guys, these saints, understood the lyrics they were singing (or trying to) "You can find me at the club bottle full of bub, look mommy I got the X if you into takin drugs, I'm into havin sex I ain't into making love..." Buddha is rolling in his Nirvana! It's crazy to see what parts of American culture get woven into that of Bhutan. I laughed out loud, what a curious juxtaposition.

Folks the laughs didn't stop here. As we pulled up to our first stop of the day, a traditional Bhutanese home, Kinley pointed up at the door frame. "Penis" he said. Sure enough there was a 2-foot carved wooden schlong hanging above the door.

Without skipping a beat I said, "Yeah, but why is it so small?"

Kinley looked at me, confused with his head cocked to the side, the way your dog looks at you while he ponders the secrets of the universe. And then the light bulb went on over his head and he laughed.
He then said, "Penis keep away evil spirits."
To which I replied, "Maybe in Bhutan, in my experience I've noticed the polar opposite." Kinley resumed his cocked head confused expression.

Over the next 3 days we drove along roads connecting temples, monasteries and dzongs and we passed countless homes each adorned with big paintings of penises.

I was giggling like Bevis the whole way.

At the end of my week in Bhutan, I returned to Kathmandu feeling refreshed with a renewed enthusiasm. Along with my travels, the reading of Gandhi and Ayn Rand opened my eyes to the fact that India and Nepal operate in their own reality, not mine. My misery was a product of me not accepting this and trying to mold their realities into my constructs (whoa pretty deep) I decided to surrender, to stop fighting Nepal and let it happen. I've been elated since.

"Hey! What the hell man? What about your adopted Nepali family?"


To be continued...

High from Nepal

First an administrative note: If you would like to be added to the email distribution list that informs when I've posted a new entry, please send me a comment saying so with your email address. I will delete the comment so the world doesn't see your email address. Now back to our previously scheduled program...

When we last left off I was sitting in a little internet cafe/convenience store / barber shop in India waiting out my last days. Having seen all I care to see in Pushkar I decided to hop a train to Jodpur. I figured what's one more city, one more fort and one more "the most extravagant maharajah's palace in all of India". And what's more hassle from rip-off artists, more having Indians shoving their kids in front of me to take pictures, signing more autographs (can you imagine going home and bragging to your friends that you actually met a white guy? Like on TV and in the movies?)

I had my own paparazzi in India. My excursion to Jodpur played out as expected. I saw the fort and the palace and they were beautiful. I signed some autographs and decided to have some fun with the locals. Now when they asked, "Are you a WWE wrestler?' I would do my best (or worst) Hulk Hogan. "Yeah Brother! (Flex the double biceps pose) Whatcha gonna do when the 24" pythons get a hold of you! (Now kiss each biceps and flex again)" The Indians loved this.

It was my last day and I was alone with time to kill before my 7:00 evening train to Delhi. So I decided to find a decent restaurant, ordered some korma and biryani and sat reading Gandhi's autobiography. Good stuff. As the waiter served my food a man approached me, he introduced himself as Sham (rhymes with palm not ham...stay tuned) Sham invited me to join he and his wife Bindu for lunch as she enjoyed speaking with tourists and it was their 2nd wedding anniversary. What the hell I've got 4 hours to kill.

So after 30 minutes of excruciating small talk mediated by Sham (I guess culturally his wife was not supposed to talk directly to another man, plus her English was about as good as my driver Raj's) He invited me to their family home to celebrate their anniversary with the whole family.

SHAM: "Please, I'd like to invite you to our home for a traditional Rajasthani dinner. Please come meet my family. Talk with my uncle."

ME: "OK" ( I was a bit hesitant but then again I've spit giraffe shit, had my ear pierced by some rastas in a jungle and survived a terrorist plot. What the hell?) "But, I have to catch the 7:00 train back to Delhi, my hotel is directly across the street from the station"

SHAM: "No problem, I take you to my home, you eat, then I take you to your hotel so you can pick up your bags. I'll have you to the station at 6:30'

ME: "Sounds cool to me"

I figured I'd take a rickshaw but Sham insisted on driving me. I thought how kind, the only reason I accepted his offer was because I assumed he drove a car. Ten minutes later I was whizzing through the mayhem that is Indian city traffic (see my previous post) on a motorcycle wedged between Sham and Bindu. We arrived at the family's home where I was greeted by Sham's uncle, aunt, nieces, nephews and daughter.

Feeling empty handed I asked if I could bring some dessert, so Sham took me for a ride to grab some Indian treats. But, not before hitting the liquor store. "Don't tell Uncle I drink beer", said Sham as we shared our first 8% alcohol 650ml beer (in separate cups of course). Soon after he said, "I want you to give uncle 1000 rupees (~$23) as a gift and I'll give you 1000 rupees later.

Ah-cha! Ah-cha! the other foot had fallen. And I'm thinking "Seriously, do I have 'Asshole' written across my forehead in Hindi?" Then I realized that my bag with all of my stuff are at his house and I don't know where I am. Then Sham started getting a little belligerent and I came to the realization ,"Oh shit! this guy is drunk! What do I do?" I explained that I don't have 1000 rupees and that my ATM card was in my luggage back at the hotel (BS it was in my money belt hidden under my pants). Sham was now visibly pissed. However, being twice his size and starting to get steamed at his gumption and the situation at large, I stepped up to him. With his face starring me in the chest I looked down into his eyes while exhaling through my nostrils into his face. I grabbed him by the shoulders, giving them a "friendly massage" (I bet I broke every blood vessel in his trapezius muscles) I explained "My good friend, let's go back home. Uncle is expecting us." Then I smiled as I starred into his soul. At this point I believe Sham realized that he pissed off Hulk Hogan and the 24" pythons were about to unleash the fury on him.

So we hopped back on the bike and headed home. En route we hit a cow.

"Holy shit Sham! you hit the holy cow! Your going to hell man!", I exclaimed. Good thing we weren't going to fast, it was more of a love tap. I laughed to myself imagining he was thinking, "I've just slapped the gods in the face." while I was thinking, "Hmm, T-bone". I don't know what it is about my journey and my encounters with large mammals. First the charging elephant, than hitting the whale with the boat and now this.

We made it back to the house where the women had prepared a lovely dinner, they even packed me a doggy bag. Now considered a friend they asked to exchange addresses. So I jotted down and gave them Sapienza's address and hugged everyone good-bye. Sham took me to my hotel and I gave him 200 rupees, enough to cover the beer and food, then ran to catch my train.

That was it! India had taken all I could give. After a day in Delhi, I caught a cab to the airport. When I arrived at Indira Gandhi Airport I walked through the front door backward. Facing outward with both hands raised in the air I saluted the best way a boy from Jersey knows how.

A few hours later as I sailed through the clouds I reflected on my short time spent on the sub-continent. I was spent, I wanted to go home, to a clean home with no cows in the street or people dropping a deuce on the side of the road. Then I looked out the window to see the peaks of the Himalaya poking thousands of feet through the clouds. Instantly all the soul sludge evaporated and was replaced the same sense of awe I experienced upon seeing the cliffs meeting the blue ocean in Cape Town.

We landed in Kathmandu and I found exactly what I was looking for. The people were warm and friendly. And while the shop keepers still hounded me, they accepted "no thank you" as an answer. Nobody stares at me in wonderment nor takes my picture. The streets are clean as are the guest houses and all of the shitting occurs in toilets, where it belongs. I think I have found Nirvana.

I've been staying in the Thamel section of Kathmandu, a vibrant bizarre, a jumble of tourists and locals dotted with centuries old temples and pagodas. The streets buzz with vivid colors, a cacophony of sounds and the rich aromas of spice and incense. And while I enlikened occasional smells of India to the porta-potty in the parking lot of a Giant Stadium tailgate, Kathmandu smells more like the inside of Giant Stadium during a Phish concert. It smells like weed here, often. While the valley sits at 4,500 feet. I get the impression that the elevation isn't the only thing that qualifies this city as high. I also get the impression that my name translated in Nepalese is "Hash" because as I walk the streets, everyone walks by me, looks at me as says "Hash? Hash?"

Following a few days of kicking around Kathmandu I decided to head south to the low-lying jungles of Chitwan National Park. It's been months since I left Africa and I was in the mood for a wildlife expedition.

The bus left Kathmandu at 7am and for the following 7 hours we rode along steep cliffs over looking the Karayuni River. The view was magnificent and sometimes terrifying as vehicles routinely overtook one another around blind turns. The sky was clear and blue and the walls of the river valley were almost iridescent green, this is the end of monsoon season. A few hours into the journeyI looked out the window as we were stopped in traffic. It was here that I came to the stunning realization, "Oh my God, this entire valley is covered in marijuana plants" (Hey B-head, I think I found your Shangri-la) Epiphany! Now I understand the Kathmandu tourist culture, this put my earlier observations into perspective.

We pulled into Savrahar, a village of the indigenous Tharu people where I stayed in a local guest house they made of mud. The following morning I headed out into the jungle with my guides Shiva and Ram, and Mae another traveler from China. Unlike Africa where I spent my time on a truck driving through manicured roads with certified guides who carried CB radios and rifles. We hiked through virgin tropical jungle in 90 degree heat through 25 foot tall grass.

Ram and Shiva walked the whole thing in flip flops armed only with bamboo sticks they fashioned into walking sticks to fend off Bengal Tigers, Sloth Bears and Rhinos (I figured, hey they grew up here, they know what they're doing). As we walked throughout the day we stopped periodically to take a drink of water, admire the incredible views of the Himalaya rising 7000 meters in the distance

and to pull leaches off of our bodies. We stopped for lunch after 5 hours, then pressed on into sunset. That evening we spent the night in another Tharu village. After covering 18Km, sleep came with no problem.

The following morning we hiked on through the village and caught a bus. The four of us climbed onto the roof to enjoy the view. Over the next 40 minutes we rode through villages and talked. I was heading back to Savrahar for an afternoon elephant-back safari, but I learned that there would be a transit strike the next day so I had to catch the next bus to Kathmandu or risk getting stuck in the jungle.

While I could've easily spent the next week chilling with Ram, Shiva and their family, I needed to get back. See I was lucky enough to be granted a visa to visit Bhutan, the last of the untouched Himalayan Buddhist Kingdoms. According to the books, only around five thousand tourists a year are allowed in. I applied when I landed in Nepal and I was chosen. I'll be taking a five-day excursion to Bhutan tomorrow afterward I'll return to Nepal to visit Mt. Everest and trek through the Himalaya so stay tuned.