The road home is paved with goodish intensions.

The last gasps of Mr. T

2009-10-04T19:46:00.002+03:00

Back to square one

2009-06-01T13:51:00.004+03:00

Still think trees are cool?

Get some face-time with the gods

Angkor What?

On the tuk-tuk ride from Siem Riep to Angkor, we couldn’t help but wonder: “Why are we doing this?” After all, I’ve long since conceded that I’m sick and tired of temples, wats, stupas, pagodas and the like, and it turned out this feeling was shared whole-heartedly by my travel-bud. So why spend an entire day amid yet more temples? Discussing the matter, we both agreed that apparently Angor Wat is a “must-see”-sight, although we could not define exactly what that term entails. Would some travel-deity be angered if we failed to see it while in Cambodia? Would the backpacker-community at large ostracize us if they found out we had skipped it? Whatever the hell “must-see” means, we are obviously slaves to it, and as the driver pulled up to the first temple, we set off in a rather submissive mood, wanting to get it over with. Nevertheless, as always when expectations are sufficiently lowered, we were pleasantly surprised by what was in store!

The Angkor-area has more than one thousand temples of varying condition scattered around it, and while some of them have been restored to near pristine condition, others look positively ancient, with their walls crumbling and trees pushing through their moss-covered stones. It was these decrepit ones that I found most interesting, and not just because they look like the set of an Indiana Jones-movie (one of the good ones, not the latest crap-tastic piece of junk). It was somehow humbling to see how the mere passage of time was gnawing at all the man-made structures, inevitably obliterating everything in the end and leaving only jungle. It almost felt like one of those sci-fi movies where humanity has vanished and survivors walk empty city streets lined with derelict buildings. Eerie. Of course, I did tentatively try pushing a few eyes of statues just in case there was a secret passage somewhere leading to treasure. No such luck.

Hustle in Hong Kong

Our last days in Bangkok were spent whining to anyone who would listen how much it sucks to be going home. As I headed to the airport, I couldn’t help but wonder sullenly when the next chance for another backpacking-trip would come. The fact that it would take me a whopping twenty-eight hours to get home via Hong Kong and Amsterdam didn’t make leaving any more appealing either, so I was truly morose as I boarded my first flight. Luckily, the otherwise dull trip was livened up by an unexpected dose of excitement at Hong Kong airport:

With a few hours to kill I was happily using the free WiFi in the departure lounge while keeping a watchful eye on the time. About an hour before my flight, I slowly gathered up my things and started to mosey on down to the departure gate at the other end of the building. Somewhere in the distance, an airport official hollered around for someone late for their flight to Rome, and I chuckled to myself: “Silly bastard is late”. After all, I had more than enough time on my hands, since I knew the last call for my flight wouldn’t be till 23:55, and it was only 23:00. I was in no particular hurry, so I welcomed the opportunity to just wander slowly through the various restaurants and shops on my way to the gate. I was absent-mindedly perusing through some magazines, when a digital time display somewhere in the distance caught my eye. “That can’t be right”, I thought and looked at it again harder. As my mind struggled to comprehend the figures on the screen, my heart did something like a triple somersault into my throat. The time was 00:04. When the realization hit me like a brick in the face, I couldn’t help but actually speak the words out loud: “The motherfucking time-difference!!!” I had neglected to set my watch to Hong Kong time, and had missed my last call by nine minutes, with the plane due off the ground in another eleven. At this point I was at gate 78. My flight left from gate 3. They had probably paged me, but I mean, who the hell listens to those announcements? On the verge of utter despair, I wondered for about five seconds whether it would even be worth to try and make it, since they had probably already shut the gate. In the end I sighed, took off my flip-flops and began a bare-foot sprint worthy of classic Olympian acclaim, albeit swearing with every step.

People stared in open-mouthed awe as I zig-zagged through a crowded cafeteria to get to the moving walkways. With the zeal of someone with nothing to lose, I plowed through groups of tourists unlucky enough to get in my way, and resisting the urge to scream “OUT OF MY WAY, SPACE-WASTERS!!” instead merely kept muttering things like “Sorry”, “Excuse me” and “I’m sure that will come right off in the wash”. With gates whizzing by and sweat pouring down my face, I couldn’t help but think back at how I had to make a similar sprint a year ago in Brussels, and the year before that in Liverpool, and the year before that in Beijing train station. In a fleeting moment of lucidity amid desperation, I wondered whether this was indicative of too lax an attitude on my part when it comes to adhering to strict timetables. I made a mental note to be more careful in the future, as especially with airplanes, the “Oh, I’ll just grab the next one”-attitude really doesn’t work.

After what seemed like a mile or so, I rounded the second-to-last corner and found a small Asian woman clad in red looking around rather frantically. “Amsterdam?” she asked me, and as I nodded, she shot me a look like I had just microwaved her cat or something. She was positively seething with fury when she said: “They are already offloading your bags, RUN!” With my last determined dash I finally arrived at the number three gate, my heart stopping tentatively for about two seconds till I realized it was still open. Preparing to be scolded, I was surprised to find the people at the gate were all smiles, jokingly asking whether I had been shopping or what. They were so relaxed about the whole affair, it almost seemed like it hadn’t even been close at all. Of course, this was probably because they didn’t really give a damn whether I made it or not, and would’ve closed the gate at a predetermined time in any case regardless of where I was. Their breeziness was not transferred to me however, as I was utterly and positively ecstatic!! Boadring the plane I felt like grabbing the four air-hostesses greeting me into a big group hug, but thought better of it, and settled for just high-fiving everyone in my row. Sweat and tears of joy blurred my vision, but I believe the clock read something like 00:13. Two minutes to spare.

Enter boredom

So, I now find myself back home, wondering what the hell happened to the three months I had. Everything seems very quiet and sedate here, with all the hustle and bustle of Asia left behind. I guess one could say that it’s nice and peaceful, but at the moment it merely feels intolerably boring and nearly sterile. People don’t smile or greet each other on the street, and most wear expressions as if they have a crowbar stuck up their arse every morning. Still, being able to drink tap-water is pretty awesome, I guess, and at least it’s the best time of year to be here. Also, Mr. T’s eulogy video will be posted post-haste, so that’s something to look forward to.

P. S. I wonder if you can get black-listed or something for consistently being nearly-late from flights?

P. P. S. On occasion I have been known to describe this song as “The best song in the world”.

Cake – Never there

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nbzt1HnVzIQ

Phenomenal Phnom Penh

2009-05-19T17:44:00.009+03:00

Vietnamese text message game on TV. Is it my imagination, or is the pace slightly more hectic than at home?

And the prize for “Ben’s favorite Southeast Asian capital” goes to… drumroll please… Phnom Penh! The city is vibrant, modern, intriguing, and is guaranteed to keep your head spinning from dusk till dawn! The Khmer people are tremendously friendly, and once again you can’t help but reciprocate the hearty smiles you encounter. In fact, it seems no matter what you’re after, you can be sure a big smile will always get you better service and a cheaper price. It’s almost like a secret code or something: “Oh, you’re one of the happy people! Well in that case, let me get you the pizza that didn’t fall on the floor!” It’s truly amazing, and makes me wish this felicitous Illuminati worked everywhere!

Because everyone is so cheery, you’d never guess the country was effectively eviscerated just thirty years ago by the Khmer Rouge. Their disastrous “Year Zero”-project saw city-dwellers forcibly moved to the country-side to work on farms, regardless of whether they were qualified or not. Roughly two million people either starved to death thanks to the ludicrously inefficient farming that resulted, or were killed by the regime with a myriad of seemingly arbitrary excuses. The Khmer Rouge considered intellectuals their main enemy, meaning that for such trivial reasons like being able to read or just wearing glasses, you could get tortured and summarily executed. Even if we disregard for a second the utter ignorance and unfairness of such a policy, the fact that Pol Pot himself was university-educated has to be the pinnacle of human hypocrisy. Why, I’m getting angry just writing about it!

Whenever we arrive in a new city, we usually like to dedicate one or two days to see the so-called must-see sights around town. In Phnom Penh, this makes for a pretty grim excursion, with most of the “attractions” revolving around past terror and death. The most famous of these are of course the notorious Killing Fields, a testament to what happens when homicidal ignorance is left unchecked. The Fields were formerly an orchard, and lush green trees are still scattered around, swaying gently in the breeze. When bathed in sunlight and accompanied by the sounds of children playing in a school-yard nearby, the place isn’t nearly as gloomy as one might expect. You could even say it’s pleasant. On closer inspection, however, you find some pretty grim reminders of the place’s history, the most thought-provoking of which must be the Buddhist Stupa towering in the center of the Fields. It is filled with roughly nine thousand cracked human skulls, all that remains of the people bludgeoned to death in order to save precious bullets. Dozens of unearthed mass graves dot the landscape and a quick walk around reveals clothing and shoes still sticking out from the soil. So much for the pleasant and sunny ambiance…

If I felt the Killing Fields were at first less dreary than what I expected, then the Toul Sleng museum certainly more than compensated for them. This former high school was converted into “Security Prison 21”, where people were tortured before being shipped to the Killing Fields for execution. I don’t believe in Karma, but it really seemed like the rooms there radiated some kind of terror and despair as soon as you stepped into them. After a mere minute or so I actually felt physically ill just standing in one. The fact that it used to be a school somehow made it all the worse, because the cells were still clearly identifiable as classrooms, but with leg shackles and blood-splatter casting a sinister aura over them, obviously out of place in a place of learning.

Silent screams

Moving on to executions that make more sense, it must be noted that of course Phnom Penh was also an important stop for my trusty companion Mr. T. as it was where his cathartic bibliocide was to take place. To facilitate this, we took a tuk-tuk (no pun intended) early one morning to a shooting range on the outskirts of town, where we were promptly given a rather peculiar menu to browse through. I can’t remember every weapon available there, nor did I know what most of them were exactly, but the list comprised of at least an AK-47, an M-60, an M-16, an MP-5, an M1 Garand Carbine and a Tommy Gun. Also, live chickens could be purchased as targets, and I have been led to believe cows and the like can also be negotiated for. Seeing as how I had nothing against any animals, I decided to skip the chickens and cows, but did opt for the classic AK-47 as I figured it had the least chance of misfiring in my face. After exchanging a few “Are you sure we should be giving this guy a gun?”-looks, the attendants agreed to let me use Mr. T. as a target. Within minutes I was lining up my sights and wondering whether I should’ve blindfolded the poor book or at least offered a cigarette or something.

The first shot ripped through the binding, tearing a quarter of my Literature Review into confetti. Not exactly sure what to do next, I aimed for a “Lethal weapon” smiley face, which turned out to result in most of the bullets missing the target. By this stage the attendants had got the gist of what I was trying to do, and enthusiastically offered a shotgun to finish the job with. Let me tell you, I have never seen a Master’s thesis fly like that :) I will post a video of the actual execution as soon as I get to a computer where editing footage doesn’t take weeks. Trust me, it is worth the wait ;)

My quest completed, I finally felt like I was at peace with the motherfucking time-vampire that was Mr. T. In order to celebrate this, we headed for a rather literal pub-crawl in the midst of Phnom Penh nightlife. By the time we finally hit upon a disco called “The Heart of Darkness”, we had been reduced to a drunken stupor by four consecutive happy hours in as many bars. Apparently the place has earned a bit of notoriety because the young Khmer elite frequent it and are quick to get their bodyguards to beat the shit out of you for any perceived slight. Once again, all we found was one hell of a party! As we wandered back to our hotel at dawn, we agreed that Phnom Penh rocks and that we should both definitely buy houses there as soon as possible. Although the latter part seems less like a great idea now, the former is all the more true! The upshot of this great first impression of Cambodia is that we decided to change our plans a little. Instead of heading straight to Siem Reap and onward to Thailand, we will enjoy a few quality days on the beach in Sihanoukville, known colloquially as Snookyville. It is supposedly the premier beach-resort of Cambodia, so it should serve as a nice decompression chamber before returning home to the drudgery of another two months of holidays. Peace out, y’all!

P. S. You succeed at last! (Ignore the video)

Jimmy Cliff – You can get if you really want

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hldr4oD-tKI&feature=related

W. H. Auden: Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Saigon Shakes!

2009-05-13T21:27:00.005+03:00

On your bike!

Single room in the Hanoi Hilton

Whoa, has it really been a week since my last post?! Time has passed in such a blur of beach chairs and cheap beer that it’s been kind of hard to muster up the resolve to open up the good old laptop. On that note, if you’ve ever thought of getting freelance work so that you can “lay on the beach, sip a Mojito and work at the same time”, then keep dreaming. It is simply not feasible to do anything productive outside when the weather’s perfect, and let’s face it, why would you even want to be outside if it’s not? Anyway, the upshot is that I now already find myself in Saigon with but one measly post from Vietnam. Shame on me.

Admittedly we have been rather picky about which places we visit on this trip, but still two clear favorites have emerged: Hoi An and Nha Trang. Both are situated on the beach, and have relatively little to offer in the “must-see”-category, but all the more stuff to both see and do if you’re wandering around in a more aimless fashion. The first of the two, Hoi An, is a charming little seaside town sitting quaintly on a riverbank, dotted with crumbling colonial buildings and winding little alleyways that just beg to get lost in. If you’ve ever had an image in your head about what Colonial Indo-China looks like, this may well be very close to it. Lounging around by the pool pretty much filled our days without much effort, and come night-time the town also provided a pumping little backpacker bar called King Kong which turned out to be exactly what we were looking for: cramped, cheap and slightly seedy. By some accounts, the bar was run by the local mob and we even heard rumors of the staff using the pool-cues to persuade unwilling customers to part with their money every now and then, but we certainly saw nothing of the sort. Then again, we were more than willing to part with our money.

Nha Trang on the other hand is your typical, run-of-the-mill Southeast Asian beach-resort, with all the pros and cons that come with said status. Tourists very nearly outnumber locals, and touts hound you relentlessly with what has to be the crappiest sales-pitch I’ve ever heard: “Hey you! Buy something!” If you decline, they simply move further up the menu of human desires with a hearty: “You want bum-bum?” Despite these nasty side effects of a booming tourist-industry, Nha Trang does also have excellent diving opportunities, a great range of restaurants for anyone who’s sick of noodles and an outrageously fun bar-scene! We ended up spending a week there and could’ve easily doubled that without getting bored.

Now, sitting in a guesthouse in Saigon, I can’t help but wonder where all the time went. I came to Vietnam not expecting to love it, but it has definitely grown on me. The food is terrific, the coffee good enough to kill for (seriously, don’t EVER get between me and my java) and in many ways, I find myself liking the Vietnamese even more than the Thais. And yes, I know what you are thinking, but stereotypes are a real timesaver ;)

By the way, I think I finally found a mode of transportation even less comfortable than Burmese buses. Take my advice: if ever in Vietnam you see pictures of a night bus with rather cozy looking beds and soft mattresses, don’t be fooled. We took one of these medieval torture devices from Ninh Bin to Hue, and regretted it almost as soon as we had settled in. In principle having a surface to lie on that’s *almost* level and *almost* long enough for you is better than sitting, but in practice it is far, far worse. You end up shuffling through various postures throughout the night, never quite finding one that’s comfortable enough to sleep in. At least on a normal sit-down night-bus you kind of pass out at some stage and get a small modicum of sleep, but these iron-maidens-on-wheels just keep you in utter agony until the very last minute. Anyway, the upshot was that our day of sight-seeing in Hue was slightly marred by the fact that after a sleepless-night, both of us were functioning at about a tenth of the speed of the world around us. I personally remember staring at a puddle on the street for several minutes in utter awe of its beauty. Having learned our lesson, the next time we opted for the night train from Nha Trang to Saigon, and slept like babies in impeccably comfortable sleeper-carriages for mere dollars more. Take note: night-buses are a definite no-no.

So what next? Well, after a quick tour of the infamous Vietcong tunnels near Saigon tomorrow, we will be heading to Cambodia, possibly via the Mekong Delta. Of course, one of the defining moments of my entire (and let’s be honest, rather modest) academic career will take place in Phnom Penh, where I believe a certain Master’s thesis has a date with destiny :)

P. S. Totally underrated song from Spiderman 2, probably one of my all-time favorites.

Dashboard Confessional - Vindicated

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yf5qrVdD9E0

Viet-fucking-nam!

2009-05-06T22:09:00.002+03:00

After returning from Burma, it was time for me to meet up with a mate in Bangkok and head off for the last leg of the trip, namely the bit through Vietnam and Cambodia. To be honest, I had no idea what to expect from this last month, partly because I knew the change from solo-travelling was going to be tough, but also because other travelers had given Vietnam such mixed reviews. Had we not gotten our visas beforehand, we very likely would have gone to Laos instead, but in retrospect, I’m glad we didn’t. At least for me, Vietnam has held such an allure for so long that it was high-time I check it out for myself. Part of the attraction is a certain historical fascination with the Vietnam War, but also the times preceding it. After all, Vietnam is certainly the true heart of colonial Indo-China, and has seen bitter conflict with several oppressors over the past 2000 years.

Our first impression of the country seemed to confirm some of the more disheartening stories we had heard, for as soon as we stepped off the bus in Hanoi, a horde of touts attacked us with a zeal I hadn’t experienced since India. I know it’s not worth losing your temper with them, but after saying “No thanks” to the same guy for the one-hundredth time, you can’t help but wish you knew Vietnamese for “Do you have a fucking hearing-problem?” After repeatedly removing the touts clinging on to our clothing with tooth and nail, we eventually found a rather nice guesthouse and I was immediately reminded of why so many people prefer to travel in pairs: With two people sharing the cost, you’re simply able to afford far better accommodation. Gone are the days of tattered plastic carpets covering foot-wide holes in the floor and rats scurrying around somewhere in the roof-boards above the bed. Now we usually get a pool, breakfast, A/C, WiFi, TV and a fridge for even less than what I had to pay on my own! If this no longer sounds like backpacking, that’s because it isn’t, but who cares? I’ve wandered through the desert of austerity and have come to an oasis of quasi-luxury, so I may as well drink to my heart’s content!

This is not to say that it hasn’t been a hard transition for me going from solo to (dynamic) duo. Just as I feared, it is far more seldom that we hang out with other travelers than when I was alone, and even worse, the level of our own conversations has rapidly degenerated to that of drunken four-year-olds. (I’ve never actually heard drunken four-year-olds discussing anything, so I’m taking an imaginative leap here.) On the other hand, travelling like this is insanely easy, heaps of fun and infinitely less stressful when things go wrong. Each way has its pros and cons. To sum things up, here’s one of those long overdue platitudes I promised early on: Like everything in life, travelling solo vs. duo vs. group (-o) is a dilemma of trade-offs, and as human nature would have it, you often find yourself longing for the greener grass you just can’t reach. In my experience, it’s usually best to just make the most of whatever the current situation is. It will change soon enough anyway.

Anyway, back to Vietnam: The French may have had their asses thoroughly kicked about and out of the country in 1954, but their influence still remains strong in many ways. For example, fresh, crispy baguettes are sold side-by-side with steaming bowls of noodle-soup in street stalls, and narrowly built, pastel-colored buildings tightly the streets like a giant layer-cake tipped on its side. In some places the street-side cafés even remind you of Paris, with chairs spilling out onto the sidewalk and people either engaged in lively chatter or staring vacantly into their cups. Speaking of coffee, Vietnam must be like Mecca for anyone who worships that black nectar of life before ten AM. It is like rich, delicious sludge that’s so thick you basically need both hands just to stir it. They serve it just the way I like it too: strong enough to stop your heart and sweet enough to leave you buzzing and hyperactive for hours. Seriously, if I don’t come back from here with a deeply-entrenched caffeine-addiction, it’ll be a bloody miracle.

Well, anyways, technically it’s still my birthday so I’d better cut this short and head out to sample the local beers, which, by the way, are ridiculously cheap: Just seventeen Euro cents buys you a glass of decent brew, best enjoyed squatting on tiny plastic chairs by the side of the road in a big group of sullen, red-faced local drinkers. If ever it was economically feasible to become a full-blown alcoholic, it must be now. Bottoms up!

P. S. Great band from Brissie.

Powderfinger – These Days

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJ1-bZBlnzM

Burmese Days Part Three: The Government

2009-04-29T18:27:00.005+03:00

He's not going anywhere

Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon

For most Westerners, the regime in Burma conjures up images of sinister government troops patrolling the streets and shadowy agents of the SLORC (drumroll please…State Law and Order Restoration Council) tapping phones and recruiting informers like the good old STASI. Some travelers even told me that if I keep bumping into the same people all around the country, they are very likely SLORC-operatives keeping an eye on me. Upon arriving, however, I found that people seemed to be living very normal lives just like anywhere else, with little government presence felt at all. Now, I know what you are thinking: “Oh sure, Ben is only saying that because he’s in a basement somewhere in Yangon and has had car batteries wired to his testicles for so long he’s ready to denounce gravity”, but honestly, except for soldiers with machine guns stopping buses and inspecting passports every now and then, the government seemed no more oppressive than say, in neighboring Thailand.

That said, upon arriving I was immediately told that talking about politics in public is a very bad idea not only for you, but also for the people you talk to. Also, I suppose tourists are really only being shown the good parts, with much of the poorer country off-limits. I met a guy who had been doing volunteer work along the Thai-Burmese border, and according to him there are methamphetamine factories there with absolutely revolting working-conditions. Workers are forcibly addicted to heroin to keep them under control, and are given methamphetamine to allow them to work twenty-plus hours a days. Once they drop dead, new people are simply brought in like meat for a grinder.

All in all, I suppose the main effect of an utterly uncaring and incompetent government is insidious and seen most profoundly in the fact that although Myanmar is endowed with many natural resources, the standard of living remains dismal. One can only imagine how different things could be if Aung San Suu Kyi and the NLD had been making the decisions for the past twenty years.

On the more comical side of the tyranny is the government’s official newspaper “The New Light of Myanmar”, which is dead funny: full of propaganda and that rich, over-the-top descriptive English that Asians seem so fond of. Based on the articles, it would seem every single village in Burma is on the cusp of becoming a thriving metropolis of science, culture and industry thanks to fatherly government oversight. Also, on the very first page of every issue, a large box indicates “The People’s Desire” in four very 1984-esque directives:

· Oppose those relying on external elements, acting as stooges, holding negative views

· Oppose those trying to jeopardize stability of the state and progress of the nation

· Oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of the state

· Crush all internal and external destructive elements as the common enemy

Real subtle.

Epilogue

If you’re planning a visit to Burma, all I can say is: great choice! Your experiences there will very likely span the entire spectrum of human emotion from utter despair to pure ecstasy, but I promise it will never ever be boring. I would offer a few simple pieces of advice, however:

· Apply for a visa in GOOD TIME, i.e. at least two weeks before going.

· If you’re travelling alone, try to get together with other backpackers for the longer bus-trips, as they can really bring you to your knees if you have no-one to laugh about them with.

· Don’t plan on travelling around anywhere during Thingyan.

· Keep your plans liquid, as unexpected shit will come up.

Otherwise, enjoy the hospitality and take it easy!

P. S. Some ska songs just immediately make you want to party. This chief among them.

Mighty Mighty Bosstones: The Impression That I Get

http://new.music.yahoo.com/videos/The+Mighty+Mighty+Bosstones/The+Impression+That+I+Get--2144849

Burmese Days Part Two: The People

2009-04-28T13:09:00.007+03:00

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

For me, the people in Burma are definitely the number one reason to visit. I mean, Thailand is known as “The Land of Smiles”, but by comparison to the Burmese, Thais seem downright depressed. Wherever you go in Burma, people flash the biggest, goofiest grins imaginable at you, and within minutes you find yourself responding in kind and loving it. Even the most stony-faced traveler has to melt at the sight of a big fat smile and an enthusiastic “Hello!” from these guys! It’s a virtuous circle and would be fantastic to see elsewhere too! Unfortunately, if back home you greet someone you don’t know and, God forbid, smile at them, you are quite simply labelled as:

a) …drunk/high
b) …crazy
c) …a foreigner

as no other explanations are even remotely plausible. But I digress.

In addition to being seemingly happy all the time, the Burmese have great sense of humor too. I quickly found out that in Burmese the word “Finland” sounds a lot like the word meaning “to show your ass”. Obviously, this was ripe for comedy, so whenever I was asked where I came from, I would answer “Finland” and simultaneously gesture as if to pull my pants down. This seemed to be pretty much the funniest thing anyone had ever heard, and was met with roars of laughter every single time! Usually friends, family-members and just about anyone passing by would also be waved over for an encore performance. It was a great icebreaker to be sure.

In the context of Southeast Asia, I would say Burma is as close to unspoilt territory as you can get: There are no Seven Elevens or WiFi spots in sight and an air-con bus means some of the windows are missing. You can travel for days on end without meeting any other Westerners, and wherever you go the locals greet you like you’re a rock-star who just cured cancer or something. You can’t fake enthusiasm like that! The result is a rather intoxicating and sometimes overwhelming amount of attention, and I must admit, I did get a bit addicted to it. For example, at the Thingyan festival everyone wants to shake your hand and wish you a happy New Year. Entire pick-up truckfuls of people scream at the sight of you and go absolutely berserk if you graciously spray them with a little water from the stage. Seeing this after knocking back a few club whiskeys, it’s pretty easy to develop delusions of grandeur :)

After Yangon, I headed north to Lake Inle, which is a huge nature reserve in Shan state roughly 400 kilometers away. The trip there was thoroughly harrowing, as it lasted twenty-six-hours and involved a bus, a minivan and a motorbike, of which the bus broke down thrice and the minivan twice. With no other English-speakers on board I had pretty much no idea what was going on, except that the driver kept going to the back of the bus with bigger and bigger sledge-hammers. The locals seemed to understand that a fatalistic shrug is the only reasonable way to mentally deal with bullshit like that. Inle Lake, however, was pretty sublime and tranquil. Set in the hills of Shan state, rice-paddies surround it, and pagodas dot the hillside. No wonder travelers often end up spending more time there than they originally planned, as did I.

On a boat trip around the lake we saw a few things of interest, among the most thought-provoking the long-necked women of the Kayan-people, whom I remembered vaguely from the cover of an old National Geographic-magazine back home. From a very young age, the women wear metal rings around their necks, which gradually push down the shoulders and thus artificially elongate their necks. We were told this was originally done for two main reasons: to protect them from tiger bites (I know, it makes no sense) and to make them more attractive. I suppose now it is simply a matter of upholding the tradition and entertaining tourists. Unfortunately, over time the muscles in their necks weaken so drastically that were the rings ever removed, the women could only let their heads hang loosely; doomed to a life of staring at linoleum-tiling. Gravity be a harsh mistress.

Potty humor

When travelling in Asia, your stomach can easily become a bit punch-drunk from the constantly shifting diet, and hence bowel movements very quickly rise in the list of topics most often discussed with other people. It is not even uncommon to see couples exchanging quick notes over breakfast regarding the consistency and make-up of their stool (seriously, I have seen it). Also, toilet-related survival stories circulate and are often recited to unfazed audiences at breakfast tables. I have heard a bunch of good ones over the course of my travels, but I think I finally heard the best (i. e. the most disgusting) one ever in Burma: Apparently, a young British lad had been on the top floor of a double-decker bus when he had a sudden onset of extremely violent diarrhea. With mere moments to act and not knowing what else to do, he had stuck his arse out of the window and quite literally let fly. Unfortunately, directly below him had sat an unsuspecting Swede with his window open. In what must have seemed just incredibly unfair, the Swede got peppered by some stray shrapnel from above. The Brit had been far too embarrassed to go down and say anything, so his friend had to go and apologize, and apparently, the Swede had “taken it well”. To his credit I have to say that he must have been a better man than I, because honestly, I can’t understand how anyone can take something like that “well”.

P. S. Funniest thing I have seen in ages, guaranteed to brighten your day.

http://www.theonion.com/content/video/study_children_exposed_to

At Lake Inle, the boatmen have a very distinctive way of rowing with their feet

Wind-chimes and spires

Burmese Days Part One: The Festival

2009-04-26T12:10:00.007+03:00

Mr. T seeking enlightenment

The high point of my entire trip to Burma definitely came the very first day of my stay, and even though I wouldn’t say it was all downhill from there, it definitely didn’t get any better either. It all started when this smoking hot Burmese girl sat next to me in the plane, and I ended up spending the New Year’s water festival with her and her siblings. It was really terrific, as alone I would’ve had no idea where to go! First off, we grabbed a bite to eat at a local eatery way in the outskirts of town. The feast consisted of a variety of dishes, all esthetically about as pleasing as gristle, but all the more interesting otherwise: fish-heads, lambs-brains and the like. Afterward, it was time to join Thingyan, the water-festival, which turned out to be around a hundred times more intense than the Thai Songkran. Within the first few minutes of stepping out of the car, my passport, money and plane-tickets were absolutely soaked despite my so-called water-proof money-belt. Rather than freak out, however, I decided to deal with the problem once I got back to the hotel. That was a good call, since what followed was one hell of a party.

The heart of the festival was basically a street absolutely jam-packed with people and pick-up trucks. Now, when I say “jam-packed”, I mean each pick-up had about thirty people riding in it, with even the roof, bumpers and bonnet occupied, and the people between the pick-ups were squished so tight they could hardly move. This undulating mass of people and cars continued for roughly two kilometers in both directions up the street, so there must’ve been tens of thousands of people there. The street itself was lined with so-called VIP stages, about fifty of them, which were basically huge wooden dance floors with showerheads fitted throughout the roof to keep dancers soaked. The fronts of the stages had hundreds of water hoses installed so that passing pedestrians and pick-up truck occupants could be sprayed with water as they struggled to get by. This may sound malicious and prone to fist-fights breaking out, but was actually very light-hearted and good-natured. As if the normal garden-hoses weren’t enough, some stages actually had real fire-hoses as additional artillery, and while we were walking around somebody even managed to knock my sunglasses off with one. Unfortunately, they were never to be seen again as they sank into the knee-deep muddy water on street we were wading through. Sadly, there would’ve been absolutely no way to keep my camera dry or safe there, so I left it home and consequently have no pictures of the party :( I did, however, get some off the internet, which probably convey the atmosphere better than any desription I could give.

Electro-music was blaring from each stage, and entry apparently cost around 45 dollars apiece. Luckily it turned out we had some connections to one of the VIP stages, so we got in scott free! I am told our stage was run by the “Don King” of Myanmar boxing, which apparently is similar to Thai boxing, expect that head-butting is also allowed. Good old-fashioned wholesome family-entertainment in other words, comparable to a Disney film. Anyway, we whiled away the day on stage drinking, dancing and spraying passers-by with as much water as possible. It was weird and wonderful, and I was sad to see the water eventually run out and the streets begin to clear. Till next year though!

P. S. My favourite Radiohead song by far:

Radiohead - High and Dry

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7qFfFVSerQo

Burmese Days - Prologue

2009-04-24T15:43:00.004+03:00

“This is Burma. It is quite unlike any place you know of.”
-Rudyard Kipling

Burma is a country full of contradictions: Half the time you will embrace it with all your heart, while the other half you will be wondering what the hell you’re doing there. It will make you want to tear the eyeballs out of your skull, but at the same time restore your faith in the inherent goodness of mankind. Stepping off the plane in Yangon is like stepping into a time-warp, and travelling around is like it was in Southeast Asia decades ago, with the tradeoff between comfort and adventure being heavily tipped toward the latter. Kipling seems to have known what he was talking about.

In chronicling the Burmese excursion, perhaps I should start at the very beginning, as even getting a visa there was a hell of an ordeal.

Four simple rules for dealing with Asian bureaucrats

Want to get a visa for Myanmar? Might I suggest that instead, you find a sharp object and stab yourself in the groin repeatedly? It will be faster and almost certainly less painful. Of the above-mentioned options, I foolishly set out to accomplish the former, although plenty of sharp objects would have been available to me. The resulting escapade really showed me the meaning of an “emotional roller-coaster” and I believe the only fair way to chronicle it is as a timeline.

April 9th, 2009

7.30 –Wake up early to be at the embassy as soon as it opens.

8:50 – Brave death by darting in and out of highway traffic to get to the embassy.

9:00 – Arrive at the embassy reeling from the near-death experience, and find it is not open although it should be.

9:30 – Embassy actually opens.

9:32 – Find that the box labelled “Tourist visa applications” is empty.

9:33 - Enter queue to tourist visa counter.

9:50 – Get to the counter and tell the man behind it, let’s call him Gaylord, that the visa forms have run out. He apologizes and hands me one, but makes no effort to replenish the box, thus forcing everyone else to queue up for one as well.

10:00 – Re-enter queue with the form, having checked the box: “I will not interfere with the internal affairs of the Union of Myanmar.”

10:15 – Reach counter once more. Gaylord informs me that the embassy will effectively be closed for nearly two weeks starting Saturday. I know this already, so I calmly ask for an express visa. Gaylord says he will need to see my flight itinerary to prove I really need one. Of course I haven’t got it printed out, so now I have to find someplace with a printer and be back at the embassy before it closes for lunch at eleven.

10:22 - Dash out the door and start asking random people where I can go online. Finally, by simultaneously accosting an older woman who speaks English and a young girl who looks like she actually uses the internet, I get directed to a net-cafe.

10:28 – Brave death once again at the highway traffic junction.

10.40 – Find an internet cafe

10:41 - Realize that there are no available computers at the cafe, because school kids are playing World of Warcraft on all of them.

10:45 – Lessons must be starting or something, because dozens of kids leave at once. I print my itinerary off, thank the owner profusely and run back to the embassy in one of the most impressive flip-flop sprints ever seen.

10:57 – Arrive at embassy drenched in sweat, documents in hand.

10:58 - Find that embassy is actually open till twelve.

11:00 – Get in queue behind an annoying Brit and an even more annoying Canadian. They talk loudly and rudely about the admittedly slow employees at the embassy. I can tell Gaylord doesn’t like it, and I’m a little worried this might affect everyone’s chances at a visa.

Rule #1 for dealing with Asian bureaucrats: They all consider themselves masters of their own little domain, no matter how insignificant it might be! Show some respect or prepare to be frustrated!

11:10 – Canadian gets turned down for an express visa, and is informed that the first possible day he can get one is in two weeks. His flight is in two days. The asshole refuses to believe it, and keeps nagging at Gaylord, who gets more and more annoyed. Finally, after whining for about ten minutes, he walks off sulking.

11: 20 – The Brit is also turned down, and he just goes ballistic, screaming at Gaylord. In the end, he walks off to join the Canadian in the corner of the room. At this stage, I am very, very worried.

Rule #2 for dealing with Asian bureaucrats: Never ever lose your temper. If you lose face or cause them to lose face, any hope of finding a reasonable solution to the problem can be abandoned.

11:30 – I approach the counter and ask politely for an express visa, but unfortunately already know the answer: “No, no, express visa, you can get visa first in two weeks!” My flight is in less than a week, so I’m devastated. I’ve been really looking forward to this trip, and can’t even get a refund on my airfare. Fuck fuck fuck.

11:32 – Decide death is too good for Brit and Canadian. Will send hitmen after their families.

11:35 – Brit speculates that they refused our visas because of the New Year’s celebrations, which are sure to incite protests, which in turn they don’t want Westerners to see. My opinion is that these two idiots were being disrespectful, and effectively fucked over everybody else in the queue, who are now also being turned down uniformly as a frustrated Japanese man tells us.

11:40 – Hoping against hope, I queue up again. The jerkwads stay in the corner of the room.

Rule # 3 for dealing with Asian bureaucrats: Be persistent. Make it less trouble for them to do what you want than to keep refusing you.

11:50 – Reach the counter and enquire carefully what the problem is. Gaylord says that some “officer” needs to be there to sign express visas, but he will be away for two weeks. I ask discreetly whether the issue could be circumvented somehow, whereby Gaylord gestures at the assholes in the corner and whispers: “Come back at 1:30, don’t tell them.”

11:55 – As I am walking off, the retards ask me if anything has changed. Without a second’s hesitation, I say: “Nope, though I might try again in the afternoon.” A half-truth, I suppose, but I feel a little guilty. Just a few hours on Myanmar soil and I am already selling out my fellow Westerners. What will I be doing after two weeks, torturing dissidents?

12:40 and 13:20 – Two more near-death experiences in the midst of midday traffic at the junction of doom, but I no longer get the same kind of rush from it as previously. I mean, the cars are hardly even trying to run me over.

13:30 – Back at the embassy. No jerks in sight, and Gaylord instructs me to sit and wait.

13:50 – Embassy is nearly empty, and I have seen half a dozen well-behaving Westerners get turned down for a express visas already under the same pretence of an absent “officer”. Something weird is going on, and things are not looking too good when Gaylord gestures me to the counter.

Now we get to the final rule of dealing with Asian bureaucrats: MONEY TALKS!

13:51 – Give Gaylord my application documents, with one “additional document” enclosed between my passport: a 500 Baht (~ten Euro) bill. He smiles and says “It is all clear, Sir.”

14:00 - Walk out of the embassy with a receipt to pick up my passport the next day with a visa attached. Feeling pretty friggin’ smooth, if I don’t say so myself :)

Next day - Wake up to find that the prime minister of Thailand has declared it an extra public holiday because of the protests, so I am scared shitless that the embassy will be closed after all. No need to worry though, good old Gaylord had it covered and by late afternoon, although emotionally utterly punch-drunk, I had a visa in hand

After this, there was also the rigamarole of getting money into the country. Burma has no ATMs, nor any accepted credit cards, so you basically have to bring with you all the money you plan to use. The only accepted currency is the US dollar, and the going black-market rate for exchanging them into kyat, the local currency, is around one thousand kyat to every dollar. The Burmese government, however, refuses to acknowledge that their currency could possibly be so worthless, and so the official rate you get at banks is a ludicrous six (yes, SIX) kyat to the dollar. If this rate is to be believed, Burma is surely the most expensive country in the world, with bottle of water and a simple noodle costing around 50 dollars and 200 dollars respectively. Some added challenges include that only pristine dollar-bills are accepted, with crumpled-up ones being practically useless. Also, certain serial numbers are widely-rumoured to be counterfeit, and hence are not accepted by anyone. The end result is that you carry your dollars around with the utmost care, and obviously change your money at the black-market, which is also a bit of a hassle because they try to screw you over at every turn. After changing money you find yourself carrying these absolutely massive wads of Kyat around, feeling a bit like a drug dealer or professional gambler or something.

But is it ethically acceptable to go? After all, does visiting the country somehow condone the government, which lost by a landslide in the democratic elections of 1989 to the National League for Democracy (NLD), only to void the results and arrest most of the NLD leaders? The reason many people are concerned about this is that in 1996 the military regime launched a “Visit Myanmar”-campaign to promote tourism, and Aung San Suu Kyi , the charismatic leader of the NLD, pleaded for people to “Visit Myanmar later”, as she feared a visit could be seen to legitimize the government. Since then, however, several high ranking NLD members have begun to advocate tourism as well, and the “Visit Myanmar”-campaign has of course long since ended. Unfortunately, Burma’s main sources of income are heroin, timber and minerals, and most of the proceeds from these go straight the pockets of the greedy generals. Tourism, however, is a great way of getting money directly to the people, as you can easily boycott government-owned operations and only use private, family-run enterprises. By the way, it’s funny how in Myanmar even hippies agree that private enterprises are somehow good and pure, whereas publicly owned ones are evil and greedy. A refreshing change from home ;)

P. S. If there’s a song on the planet that spells C-H-I-L-L, it’s this one.
Sneaker Pimps – Six Underground

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rrvk1bmTayg

Good night, sleep tight, the bedbugs will bite.

2009-04-14T17:09:00.006+03:00

First-person shooter simulation of me water-fighting in Songkran.

Once again, I find myself in a sweaty little guest house room in the back-alleys of Khao San Road in Bangkok. I was getting a bit anxious about the increasingly ominous stand-off between the red-shirts and the government, but thank goodness things seem to have settled down for now. Outside, the Songkran madness is still going full blast, and it is turning into one hell of a party! Back home, there are simply not enough water-fights available for adults to partake in, much less massive parties with water-fighting as the concept! Event-organizers take note.

I’ve pretty much gotten used to the cockroaches and rats here, but I have to say I had a pretty nasty experience in the guesthouse I was staying for the past few nights. In the mornings, I kept finding these bites all over my body, and they were often in neat, straight lines, which can usually only mean one thing: bedbugs. The ferocious little bloodsuckers live in the furniture and the mattress, and only come out to feed when you are asleep. The guesthouse was, however, by far the nicest (and most expensive) where I had stayed, so when I couldn’t find the actual culprits, I assumed it was just esthetically minded mosquitoes or something. Imagine my shock when last night I woke up to find big bedbugs scurrying all over the pillow! What followed was the famous “ten-minute check-out”, where you pack your bags as quickly as possible in the middle of the night and just get the fuck out of there. I sprayed enough insecticide in my backpack to turn it into an entomological Auschwitz, but I’m still worried I’m carrying the vermin and their eggs around with me now. If I find any, I guess I will go to the nearest 7-11 and ask them to put my bag in the freezer for a day or two. The bites on the other hand have swollen up into enormous welts, and itch like crazy! It’s taking all my self-restraint not to scratch them with those rusty nails protruding from the wall. Fuck.

So, tomorrow morning I am heading to Myanmar/Burma, where they are just starting to celebrate their New Year. In a surprising turn of events, this also takes the form of a gigantic water-fight! I have no idea what the internet connections are like there, but apparently there are only a few places you can even get online. Also, I’ve heard the local government takes a screenshot of computers in internet-cafes every five minutes, so I might just stay pretty much incommunicado rather than let them get all Orwellian on my ass. Will definitely post about it after I get back though! Laters!

High as a kite and soaked to the bone

2009-04-12T16:02:00.005+03:00

Check out the fireshow this nine-year-old kid puts on.

Hua Hin is a smallish beach town renowned because the king himself resides here. As a matter of fact I even caught a glimpse of the monarch’s beige Rolls Royce today, but as far as I could tell through the darkened windows, my wave was not returned. Although the city has a nice beach, I wouldn’t really recommend this place to anyone unless you want to kite-board. The prices for everything are high due to the proximity to Bangkok, and the city has the worst Scandinavian infestation I’ve seen yet, with some tailors even advertising in Finnish! Is that supposed to lull me into some sense of security regarding their tailoring skills or what?

The kite-boarding itself was surprisingly easy to get a hang of and I’m really looking forward to the last day of the course tomorrow. I always thought you would only have limited control over the kite, but actually with just a few hours practise you become near- surgically precise with it. For the course, I was paired up with a bloke from Azerbaijan, whom I disliked immediately. Within five minutes of introducing himself, he was wondering out loud where he could find the best prostitutes in town. Now, I’m actually not very athletic by nature, so whenever I learn a new sport, I have to work pretty hard at it. But honestly, compared to this guy, I was like the love-child of Carl Lewis and Michael Jordan. The sleaze-ball had the concentration of a drunken four-year old, the athleticism of a tub of lard and the sense of balance of a one-legged possum. I swear sometimes his ineptitude even contradicted the laws of physics, and even though the wind was pushing the kite up, he managed to bring it crashing down. Still, seeing him get smacked face-first into wet sand by his out-of-control kite was pretty amusing, so it wasn’t like he was a complete waste of space. Also, to be honest he wasn’t getting all that much support from our teacher, an ice-cold Israeli guy whose teaching method was pretty much: “Grab on to this, I’ll be back in an hour”. I would’ve been angry about this, but in my case it worked like a charm, so kudos to him! I guess sometimes too much hand-holding just makes things seem harder than they are.

The festivities for Songkran, i.e. Thai New Year are picking up here, meaning that it is absolutely impossible to venture anywhere outside without being soaked to the bone. Kids and adults alike use hoses, buckets and water pistols to drench everyone walking by, and foreigners are of course especially attractive targets. It’s a real warzone out there, and on the way back from the beach I was ambushed several times by what seemed like pretty sophisticatedly planned attacks! Some people even load up water tanks on their pick-up trucks and get the whole family on board to man the guns, turning the vehicle into an effective drive-by-soaking-mobile! If this sounds like fun, that’s because it is, and the showers are a welcome relief from the stifling heat. Nevertheless, at the risk of sounding like a grumpy old man, the whole being soaked thing does get... well... a little old. In my case, it’s just the clothes getting wet, but I’ve also heard of heaps of people losing their cameras and mobile phones because of overzealous water dumping. My advice would be to keep everything in plastic bags and wear clothes that can be smeared in the white powder that often accompanies the soakings.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to buy a Super Soaker from the 7-11 and get some ice cold payback for earlier! Death before dishonour :)

P. S. Hadn’t heard this in ages till a little old lady played it in her CD shack in Bangkok. Great, great song.

Radiohead – Fake Plastic Trees

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TBRdet5Ehyo

Driving in Thailand - Not for the weak of heart

2009-04-10T08:46:00.007+03:00

Blue steel

First things first: the night dive was absolutely superb! I didn’t get bitten or stung by anything, and being immersed in pitch black water was actually pretty relaxing, not gloomy like one might imagine. I’m now back in Bangkok sorting out my visa-stuff for Myanmar, and I’m ashamed to say that on arrival I headed straight to Burger King :) Then to MacDonald’s. Then back to Burger King :D The reason for this junk food binge is that I’ve reached a saturation point in Thai cuisine. The past six weeks, I have basically lived only on noodle and rice dishes with very few exceptions, and although they are tasty, they're coming out of my ears. Now, I’m taking full advantage of the fast-food selection here and am totally pigging out! Maybe on this diet I can eventually stop using a safety pin to hold up my shorts too! Speaking of clothing, like an idiot, I went out today in a red t-shirt and was wondering why some of the Thais were looking at me kind of funny. When I got back to the guesthouse, the Japanese owner (who looks a hell of a lot like Mr. Myagi btw) asked me if I had been at the Democracy Monument demonstrating with the other redshirts for the reinstatement of the ex-prime minister Thaksin. Duh.

One thing I neglected to mention earlier is that I had my first experiences driving in Thailand a few days ago on Koh Phangan, when I rented a moped with a friend. The blue Honda we got was a truly amazing machine, going from zero to eighty in something like two minutes and coming to a halt again in almost the same time if the breaks were squeezed like our lives depended on them (which they did). I had never driven one before, but luckily both the controls and the local traffic rules are pretty intuitive. In fact, the main rule seems to be “If it’s bigger than you, it has right of way”, and honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever sworn as much while driving as here. There’s just something about seeing an SUV occupying three-quarters of your lane and hurtling toward you at a hundred kilometres an hour that forces profanities out of your mouth. Also, the hills around Hat Rin on Koh Phangan are just mental, as they wind up like corkscrews at angles that slowed our moped to a crawl. The real fun bit, of course, was not going up, but coming down. In fact the first time we came down one particularly nasty hill known locally as “The Hill of Tears”, it honestly felt like coming down a steep bit on a roller coaster, with both of us open-mouthed in a silent scream. Still, as a whole, the mopeds are an insanely easy way to get around, and if you stay sharp and drive safe, I can definitely recommend them as a mode of transport. Also, they are a hell of a lot of fun.

Next, I’m heading a few hundred kilometres south to a beach town called Hua Hin. I will spend the Thai New Year there and do a kite-surfing course at the same time. To be honest, I don’t really know what to expect from the course, but I keep imagining a US Marine Corps style sergeant screaming at me at the top of his lungs: “THAT IS THE WORST GODDAMN KITE-FLYING I HAVE EVER SEEN SON!!!” We will see.

Mr. T had his own bike of course

P. S. Thai reggae. I hadn’t heard of it earlier either, but it is just impossible to go anywhere here without hearing this catchy tune. Seriously, it is EVERYWHERE.

Job2do – Doo doo doo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WAdZzr0ysxg

Taxonomy of tossers

2009-04-07T11:28:00.005+03:00

Why so glum, chum?

I realized today that in my previous post I may have created unrealistically positive expectations of travellers here. Let me say for the record that there are tons of unsavoury characters around too, and although stereotyping is simplifying, some main types have already emerged. Here are some of the most common ones encountered.

Chavs: Tend to move around in big drunken groups and are usually twenty-somethings on their first trip ever. Obnoxious and arrogant wankers, they treat locals with a mixture of disdain and distrust, and expect all the comforts of home at a tenth of the price. They are annoying as fuck and have the worse manners you can imagine. Certain nationalities are more prevalent than others in this group, but it would seem every country has at least some kind of representation.

Goddamn hippies: Some are smart and friendly, others pretentious, holier-than-thou douche-bags. Usually they look vaguely like Jesus and are dressed in a shawl or a sarong. They might speak a few words of the local language and think they’re Gods because of it. Thanks to copious amounts of ganja, most are total space-cadets, and can hardly put two sentences together without pausing to stare off at the distance. I swear to Christ, if I have to listen to any more herbal tea-soaked diatribes about “the corporate machine maaaan”, I am going to lose it.

Dial-tones: These are the people whose idea of taking a risk is peeing in the shower, and whose only major motive to travel is to build up a collection of Hard Rock Café t-shirts. Not really annoying unless you get stuck talking to them with all escape routes blocked, which actually happened to me on the boat to Phi Phi. Honestly speaking though, these guys are pretty harmless, and their only sin is that they’re boring as fuck, but insist on droning on about their lives in excruciating detail. I mean come on, that’s what blogs are for, right?

These are just off the top of my head, I'm sure I'll think of some more later on. Anyway, on to cheerier topics. As speculated, the diving has indeed improved my impression of Koh Tao. The trip today was cheap, easy to organize and we got to see heaps of stuff too. Also, my dive buddy had an underwater camera with him, so I can even post some pics, thanks Marco! On a more concerning note, the entire spectrum of marine life in Thailand seems united in their stand for me to stay out of the water. The aggression has escalated, as sea urchins and small fish have given way to bigger creatures. Today, a trigger fish about the size of an old school laptop was biting my flippers, and likewise harassing everyone in the group. Seriously, this was a big fish, and could easily bite off a toe or finger if it felt like it! I had heard somewhere you could scare them off by spraying them with air, so the entire encounter I was clutching my spare regulator like a can of Mace at the ready. The ever expanding size of my attackers bodes ill for my night dive tonight, but I’m still pretty stoked about it, as it’s my first ever! Fingers crossed. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go and try to find a Koh Tao Planet Hollywood t-shirt.

Friendly marine life

P. S. There were those who said one man could not successfully play a star ship captain AND record a great spoken word version of “Common people” by Pulp. Obviously, they had never heard the name “Shatner”.

William Shatner – Common People

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRPa0GhxGUs&feature=related

O sole mio

2009-04-05T17:46:00.005+03:00

Helsinki, like any city of even moderate proportions, is filled with people who don’t need any more friends. The lack of influx of new people into your life kind of twists you into thinking that you canonly become truly good friends with a very specific niche group. On the road, however, you come face to face with people from all walks of life, and realize that actually there is a wealth of fascinating friends out there if you just take ten minutes to get to know them. Still, a lot of people used to taking trips in groups or pairs seem to abhor the idea of solo-travelling. Even though most of the time they acknowledge the fact that “it’s so easy to meet people here”, they seem to picture solo-trips pretty much as months spent in complete solitude. The truth is, if anything, you end up spending so much time with other people that you find yourself longing for a few moments of quality ”me”- time. Seriously, if you want to be lonely here, it takes a lot of effort!

Travelling alone does take a bit of getting used to though, and the first week or so becomes a sort of weird transitional phase. You slowly distance yourself from the feeling of constantly being in a hurry somewhere, and one by one begin to drop your defences against casual conversation. Before you know it, something clicks and you feel right at home in the ever shifting social environment that comes from being constantly on the move. Mark my words: once that happens, to travel alone will become at least an intermittent desire for the rest of your life.

Why am I bringing this up? Well, after spending almost a week on Koh Phangan, I finally made the move to Koh Tao today. This puts me back in solo-travelling mode, as the British lads I was hanging around with stayed behind for the full-moon fest. At first glance, Koh Tao seems pretty shitty: prices are high, touts hassle you to no end and there are Westerners (especiallyFinns) everywhere. It’s as bad as Phi Phi, but without the redeeming qualities of sublime beauty or a good St. Patrick’s Day party. Also, maybe swaying my opinion slightly is the fact that the resort I’m staying at is a complete shithole, with all the charm of the Bates motel and the decor of a concentration camp gas-chamber. Seriously, I have been to some rat and cockroach infested sties before, but this takes the cake. I mean, look at the picture I took of the bathroom! If it weren’t so cheap, I would be out in a second. Also, the electricity on the island has been on and off all day thanks to some recent storms, so at the moment it’s pitch black here and absolutely mind-bogglingly hot because the fans don’t work.

Oh well, they say Koh Tao is all about the diving, so maybe my views will change after I get a few fun-dives in tomorrow.

The floor is just diarrhoea-coloured, not actually covered in diarrhoea

P. S. This song rocks, although domestic violence as a lyrical theme could be seen as a bit iffy by some.

Florence and the Machine – Kiss with a fist

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpsDegqioVA

Over the moon

2009-04-03T17:46:00.008+03:00

It's good to be king

Koh Phangan has become an inextricable part of backpacking folklore thanks to the massive full moon parties thrown here. They are so popular in fact that half-moon and new moon parties are now also organized, meaning that some kind of big fest is on every week and lesser ones every day. This is probably the reason why so many travellers here seem to be really into recreational drug-use, and at the parties you’ll find most people pilled out of their minds. If you ask them what they’re on, they usually rattle off a list of drugs most of which you’ve never even heard of.

Speaking of drugs, I gained some more insight into the wonderful world of weed in California from a bloke who had studied there earlier and was really into it. Apparently there’s a thriving subculture there that breeds different strains of marijuana, each with its own qualities. The best strains compete in something called “The Cannabis Cup” and because the plants are so easy to clone, the winners spread rapidly throughout the States. The strains all have distinctive names like “Super Silver Haze”, “Northern Lights” and “Alaskan Thunderfuck”, and the guy I was talking to really liked one called “Purple Irkle”. He was truly worried that it might die out because it was so hard to grow, and hence he was constantly on the look-out for a Purple Irkle plant so that he could keep the breed alive. Also, I thought it was pretty funny when he described evenings similar to wine-tastings, where him and his friends would smoke dozens of different strains and try to identify them. Like a wine, they would then rate the weed on several dimensions, and apparently Purple Irkle has “great flavour and a really nice high too.” Despite his mild obsession with the herb, this guy was sharp as a tack, not like most of the puffy-eyed space-cadets you see around here.

Going back to parties, I was at the half-moon rave last night and fell victim to the insidious buckets again. Needless to say I won’t be curing cancer or learning Mandarin Chinese today, as nursing this hangover is enough to keep me occupied. The party itself was terrific though! While the full moon raves are held at the beach, the half-moon ones take place in the middle of the jungle, where they have built a massive round arena complete with a tripping light show and heaps of bars. You can see pictures of it here: http://halfmoonfestival.com/photo.htm
Thousands of people turned up, and the atmosphere was a combination of Apocalypse Now and the cave-rave scene in Matrix Revolutions. At some point rain started pouring down, but since everyone was wearing beach clothes already, it didn’t matter and the party went on till dawn! I really wish I could be here for the full-moon one as well, but I have to get to Bangkok to drop off a visa application for Myanmar. Also, I’ve already heard about five people saying they’ve gotten pick-pocketed at the full moon party, so maybe it’s for the best.

Thais don't fuck about when they come with brand slogans, for example this energy drink promises a lot

P. S. Definitely my favourite Sufjan Stevens song, and I like the ambiance in the video as well.

Sufjan Stevens – For the widows in Paradise, for the fatherless in Ypsilante.

Fading lights and revelations

2009-03-31T19:46:00.007+03:00

Mr. T poolside

Have I raved enough about how absolutely fucking spectacular this island is? Yes? Good. Then let me just quickly plug the bungalows I’m staying at as well. The Sawasdee Resort is absolutely fantastic. The couple who run it, Fon and Nui, are just the sweetest people you can imagine, and Nui is a goddamn culinary genius to boot. I am systematically going through the entire menu here just because everything is so tasty. And this is not just the munchies talking either ;) The couple had a bit of shitty start for the business, as it had only been open for two weeks when the tsunami hit in 2004, but they seem to have recovered, and now the resort is definitely the nicest on the island. That’s why it really pains me to leave this place, but I’m determined to see the Gulf of Siam islands as well, and I want to do some diving on Koh Tao. Heavy weighs the heart of a traveller, as for every joyful “sawasdee”, a sombre goodbye he must endure.

I had a bit of a jungle-adventure a few nights ago when I was heading back home from the other side of the island. It was a dark, moonless night and the tide had come in thus cutting off my usual route home via the beach. This meant I had to go through the jungle, which, I have come to find, is always a shitty option. The real challenge came when I found that the batteries in my flashlight were as good as dead, and what had previously been a blinding shaft of light was now more like a feeble glow. It was absolutely pitch black and the so-called jungle “path” was basically just regular jungle with about 5% less stuff growing on it, and as such difficult to follow even in daylight. After about ten minutes I was already hopelessly lost and disoriented, with no idea if I was on the pathetic excuse for a path anymore or not. That’s real-life path dependency for you. So there I was, alone, bumbling around in the bloody jungle, not being able to see more than two feet ahead of me and surrounded by all kinds of weird noises (the kind that sound like they will eat you). I have to say, it was pretty surreal for a country-boy far away from home. What really made me jump was when I pointed the pathetic beam of light at a nearby bush and saw... a pair of eyes glowing in the dark! I shit you not. It occurred to me that I was either a teen separated from the pack in a B-rated horror film or a wildebeest on the Discovery Channel, but either way, things weren’t looking too good.. My time had not yet come, however, and after a few tense seconds I heard a reassuring “Miau” from the darkness :) In the end, through trial and error I did find the right way, and after having a stiff drink back at the resort I swore I would not make the same mistake of trying to navigate the jungle in the dark again. Of course I did the very following night with equally disastrous results but anyway, I bet there’s a lesson in there somewhere. Actually the whole escapade reminded me little bit of Monkey Island 2, where you’re lost in the jungle and seemingly every path just takes you back to where you’ve already been. Anybody get that reference?

Ko Chang - Picture perfect

P. S. This is one of the most powerful mood-altering songs known to man. Effects are intensified ten-fold if the sun is shining outside and it’s spring-time.

The Eels – Fresh Feeling

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjVpkEGAgiw

My little slice of paradise (hey that rhymes)

2009-03-26T14:33:00.005+02:00

Longtail boat in the sunset

Friends, I’ve found what I’ve been looking for :) Ko Chang has got to be the chillest place I have ever been, and I’d like to think I’ve been to a few already during the course of my travels. The island sits in the Andaman Sea wedged between Thailand and Myanmar, and is not to be confused with the Ko Chang on the on the other side of Thailand, which, nice though it may be, is targeted by just about every tourist in the hemisphere. The couple of bungalows that can be found here are mostly empty, and if you so wished, you could probably spend the whole day at the beach without bumping into a single soul. The few people you do meet invariably tell the same story: “Came here once ten years ago and have been coming back every year since then.” It's not hard to see why. I actually met a travel agent who has been coming here for seventeen years, but strictly refuses to send any of his customers over for fear of crowding up the place. Good man. Electricity is only available for a few hours at night, and many of the long running visitors pray the island never gets constant power, as this would be the beginning of the end here. Once twenty-four hour electricity is available, swankier bungalows are built, after which come swarms of European holidaymakers and the serene island Shangri-La is ruined forever.

I don’ know why, but this place gives me an unusual feeling of inner peace. For once, I’m perfectly content just laying in a hammock all day navel-gazing, listening to the waves lap and the wind-chimes jingle. No goals, no stress, no schedules, no sense of time passing. Surrounded and consumed by this tranquillity, I realize I bear almost no ill will toward Mr. T anymore. I’m just happy to be here. This makes the whole vendetta seem a bit pointless now, but nevertheless, a promise is a promise, and even crazy plans need to be followed through, right?

Oh, by the way, I made a slight change to my travel plans and will be heading to Myanmar in a few weeks to get a bit more adventurous on the trip. I’m guessing that after Thailand, travelling there going to be a bit more frustrating, but I just cannot believe it can possibly be any worse than India or Nepal. No way.

P. S. This song and video somehow capture a bit of the beachy ambiance here.

Joe Purdy – Wash away

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cq4Dsv7EdyQ

P. P. S. I hope the link opens, cause for some reason all video sharing sites are down here. Maybe to stop people uploading video of the protests in the capital? Oh wait, I'm not in Myanmar yet.

Island hopping

2009-03-22T14:04:00.007+02:00

Fishing village near Phang-Nga

“Jackpot!” was the only word I mouthed when my ride arrived at the Emerald Resort on Koh Lanta a few days back. I’d been approached by a tout on the ferry over, and although usually I tell these people to sod off (based on the logic that only the shittier places need to employ touts), this time the brochure and price seemed brilliant, so I went for it. Kudos to me, since this place kicks ass! The resort sits right on the beach, has a brand new swimming pool and a pretty decent restaurant/bar too. And what about the lodging? Through the course of my travels, I’ve stayed in some bungalows that are good, some that are crap, and some that I can’t even call crap because that would be an insult to crap everywhere. They’re more like what would come if crap could eat, then crap, i.e. crap’s crap. The bungalows here, however, are top notch: clean with twenty-four hour electricity and a cozy veranda to hang out on. Despite being made from bamboo, they seem to keep most of the mosquitoes out too. Speaking of which, here’s a travel tip free of charge: when it comes to bungalows, try to avoid the quaint, romantic rattan huts that look like the first house from the three little pigs. If at all possible, spring for the ugly, Soviet-style ones made out of concrete and tarmac. Reason: I’ve yet to find a mosquito that can penetrate cement, where as bamboo practically teems with the vicious bloodsuckers.

Anyway, the place is really nice and laid back, since low season is just beginning. That said, I am getting kind of fed up with the staff. Remember when at first I was surprised that people were smoking weed at the climbing beach Ton Sai? Well, I may have jumped the gun slightly on that astonishment, as on the islands, everyone smokes pot everywhere, all the time. At our resort I was initially amused by the fact that the staff is constantly high as a kite, and even their stoned antics, like coming back three times to make sure you wanted sugar in your coffee only to eventually bring you a Fanta, were pretty funny. Now, they’re just starting to piss me off. It’s pretty frustrating to get anything done when every single question or request is met with a vacant, puffy-eyed stare. I’m not saying they need to stop smoking, but maybe just while they’re working or operating heavy machinery?

Speaking of weed, a few nights ago I ended up talking to guy from California, also called Ben, who had a pretty interesting background career-wise. It turns out the other Ben had worked for several years as a manager at a company called Comfort and Caregiving Inc (or something), which had been in the business of procuring, distributing and selling cannabis for medicinal purposes. Apparently, in California it’s relatively easy to get a doctor to diagnose you with some condition that allows the use of medical marijuana, so this company arose as one of the first to provide thousands of sick and not-so-sick people with legal ganja to numb the pain of leukemia/arthritis/Mondays. Eventually the federal government stepped in and shut the entire operation down, but till then, Comfort and Caregiving Inc. was making a roaring trade as explained with great enthusiasm by Ben: ”We had seven retail outlets across the state of California with the largest ones taking in close to 300 000 dollars per week.” He definitely knew his weed too, and explained in great detail the ins and outs of cannabis cultivation and distribution, all the while taking hits off a bong, of course. Apparently one of the biggest perks the trade was that he he had been able to try some of the best weed from all over the world in order to ensure his customers got the best available. I jokingly asked him how he formulated that entry on his resume, and he said it was simply something like “Manager in a healthcare company which has helped thousands of people lead better lives.” I don't think my three-month stint at a telecoms incumbent sounds nearly as good, and it certainly makes for less interesting conversation.

P. S. Weird song, but I love it! Bring on the ukulele!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12PQYX1r7Bc

Mr. T at the beach from The Beach

Traces of blood in my alcohol stream

2009-03-18T15:59:00.007+02:00

It's all about commitment

I awoke today to an absolutely shattering headache and upon pressing my watch to my eyeball was surprised to find it was well past noon. Based on my hazy memories, the pictures in my camera and the stuff people had written in Mr. T, St. Patrick’s Day was a blast!! Great people, great music, great atmosphere and great drinks! They sell something called “buckets” over here, which have to be one of the most fiendish inventions I’ve ever encountered. They basically consist of a little plastic bucket filled with ice, about 3 decilitres of whiskey/vodka/rum/gin, a can of Coke and a splash of Red Bull. You knock back just one of them and you’re already pretty hammered, and two or more will get you absolutely retarded, which seemed to be the case with most people last night. I’m now finding that nursing a hangover in sweltering forty degree heat is excruciatingly painful, although a swim in the Andaman Sea is a pretty good, albeit temporary, cure.

I realized again last night that my memory is just incredibly shit. Not to mention my memory. It’s just shit. Strictly speaking, it’s only bad when it comes to remembering important stuff like peoples’ names or what topics have already been covered in conversation. On the other hand, when it comes to useless trivia like Seinfeld or South Park quotes, it’s fucking encyclopaedic. Last night I had a conversation that went something like this:

Ben: “So, what are you studying at Uni?”

Girl: “Teaching, I’m going to be an elementary school teacher.”

Ben: “Oh that’s interesting, my dad is in teacher education, and...”

This was followed by a long and elaborate discussion about the role that teachers play in society, the challenges of the job, her motivations for studying etc. Then after about thirty seconds:

Ben: “So, what are you studying at Uni?”

Lucky she thought I was joking.

Anyways, the few days before St. Paddy’s I stayed at a tiny, yet picturesque beach called Ao Toh Ko on the Eastern side of Koh Phi Phi. The little hotel plus restaurant plus dingy reggae bar form a resort that’s the only establishment around, and can just about handle twelve guests at a time, so it’s really laid back. Also, the place is practically isolated come high tide or darkness, since the only paths back to the city leave from neighbouring beaches and getting to them is a pretty sketchy enterprise even in daytime. I would definitely recommend it to anyone seeking a respite from the hassle of Ton Sai. The snorkelling there is just phenomenal too, and I continued my interactions with the life aquatic here, when I accidentally stepped on a sea urchin. As a souvenir it kindly deposited about a dozen or so spines in my foot, which kind of blows. I’m soaking them in lemon though, and apparently they should dissolve in a few days time.

I will probably try to get to Koh Lanta tomorrow, but today my only plan is to see if I can climb into that esky full of ice.

Exhibit A: The infamous bucket on the right

Mr. T gets tattooed

P. S. I have a vague recollection that this song was played at some stage last night.

Paolo Nutini – Last request

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZpDn4N_bik

Top o' the mornin' to ya lad!!

2009-03-17T05:59:00.002+02:00

I’ve never really understood or bothered to learn about the history behind St. Patrick’s Day, nor do I have any cultural connection to Ireland (except for the Celtic thing of course). Nevertheless, I am a big fan of excuses to drink copious amounts of a certain amber beverage, known around the world as “it seemed like a good idea at the time”-juice! Also, I haven’t been out properly in ages, the grade (5) from Mr. T remains as yet totally uncelebrated and it just so happens I’m wearing a green T-shirt, so the only logical course of action is to hit the island’s only Irish pub and get plastered.

Happy St. Paddy’s Day!

Flogging Molly – Drunken Lullabies
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rcEEAjGtAkY

On beauty and fish

2009-03-14T17:21:00.006+02:00

After hearing it both praised and scorned, I finally arrived on Phi Phi island yesterday. My verdict: it’s even touristier than Phuket. It’s all whites and no locals. It’s touts everywhere and flyers being thrust into your hands by the dozens. It’s partytown for two-week visitors and a whorehouse for older expats. It’s Disneyland. It’s Costa del Sol. It’s Surfers Paradise. In many ways, it’s precisely what I didn’t come here for.

Nevertheless, it is also mind-bogglingly, jaw-droppingly, knock-the-shit-right-out-of-your-arse beautiful. I mean truly stunning. The sand on the beaches is as fine as powdered sugar and the Andaman Sea sways gently in some colour between azure and sapphire you never even knew existed. The crescent shaped bays are lined with rainforest and limestone cliffs, and huge boulder-like islands rise out of the sea in the horizon. Without a doubt, this is one of the prettiest places I have ever been, and I would be willing to put up with any number of other foreigners just to be here right now. A lot of travellers in Thailand get something called “beach burnout”, where you’ve seen so many heavenly beaches that they all start to look the same, and are passed without so much as a shrug. Koh Phi Phi may bring your beach burnout to a new level altogether, but it will never ever look plain. This is as good as it gets.

Today, I went snorkelling and was again shocked by what the world looks like underwater. I’m guessing everyone enjoys different things about diving and snorkelling, but for me it’s always been the sheer scope of colours that you see. Every time I stick my head underwater, the first thought in my head is: “That’s been PhotoShopped!” The colours are so insanely in-your-face bright that they really do look more like special effects than anything natural. My favourite creature is by far the giant clam, which can be spotted easily because it looks like a pair of jagged lips on the seafloor sporting the most incredible glowing indigo you have ever seen. I could stare at that colour for hours on end, it’s so captivating.

Interestingly, I also got bitten by several fish today. There was a school of blue and yellow ones about the size of a credit cards swimming around me, and all of a sudden they started nipping at me en masse! They probably had a cunning plan to act all innocent until they had me surrounded and then attack. The bites didn’t hurt, but did leave a tiny mark. Later I found out the same thing happened to an English bloke on the same boat, and we surmised that they must have been the kind of fish that clean bigger fish by eating parasites off them. The silly bastards probably just thought I was a whale that needed a cleaning. Doesn’t exactly say much for my level of personal hygiene now does it?

I am moving to a more deserted part of the island tomorrow, so hopefully that will shake at least some of the worst fanny-pack tourists from my heels. By the way, I do realize that I’m a tourist too and I’m pretty sure that despite my feelings of superior entitlement I really don’t have any redeeming quality over everyone else who comes here. Still, sometimes a bit of solitude is nice and the feeling of being at least a little off the beaten track does add a sense of adventure.

Mr. T rockin' it to Thai Elton John

P. S. Thai food is so healthy (or just poor in calories) that despite eating five times a day I’ve lost tons of weight since I got here. In fact, the board shorts I got in Bangkok (Bring-a-bong^TM) hardly stay on anymore, so whenever I wear them, I really “crack people up”, if you get my drift. Should probably get my hands on some of this crack spackle.

The Beach

2009-03-12T15:02:00.007+02:00

“Goddamn hippies” –Eric Cartman

“Deep water soloing: Gathering potential energy incrementally until you have enough to make it hurt like a motherfucker when you fall and hit the water” - Bencyclopedia

Put the lime in the coconut

The past few days I've spent in Hat Ton Sai, a little town which straddles both the beach and the jungle, and is known as something of a hippie hideaway. This hearsay is quickly substantiated for travellers when they step off the boat and walk ten feet in any direction, as the sickly-sweet smell of quality home-grown is bound to drift up from somewhere. And here I was thinking that travellers in Thailand would be pretty careful when it comes to drugs, as everyone knows that the prison sentences are insanely long and the conditions appaling. Then again, maybe it’s just me who's too obsessed with these risk/reward calculations. There are also heaps of rock-climbers here, since apparently the limestone cliffs that surround the beach make this one of the top climbing destinations in the world. I have to admit, it is pretty spectacular with stalagatites melting off the face of the cliff so that it looks more like a creepy Gaudi-building than anything natural.

I hadn’t climbed for about eight years, but decided to try my hand at something called deep water soloing anyway. This is basically climbing without ropes, but on cliffs hanging over deep water so that the falls don’t hurt (as much). It’s great fun, and the lack of a harness really does give an extra throb of adrenaline. One little slip can send you plummeting, and hitting the water in a weird position even from under ten meters can feel like a spade to the gut. Mind you, one of the French guys in the group jumped from close to 25 meters and later remarked that he effectively got an undesired enema when he hit the water, so I guess things could always be worse. Actually now that I think about it, I don’t know if an enema can ever be anything else than undesired. Probably not.

P. S. I don’t know what it is about The Killers, but often the weirder a song sounds at first, the more I like it after a few listens. This is probably my fave off the whole album.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LP4Xu6a1F90&feature=related

Death of a travelling thesis-person problem.

2009-03-09T14:39:00.021+02:00

“There is never enough time to do all the nothing you want” – Bill Watterson

"Except right now" -Ben

Fuck Phuket

Besides crowded beaches and a pumping night scene, there really is not too much to see in Phuket. It’s a bit hotter than your average European beach resort, but otherwise identical to any place you would find on the Canary Islands or in the Mediterranean: Rows upon rows of beach chairs, promenades with non-descript restaurants and sunburnt tourists wandering around with flabby beerguts hanging over their fanny packs. I suppose this kind of environment is fine for a certain type of holiday, just not the one I’m looking for. When middle-aged Finnish tourists start to turn up in droves, it’s time for me to vacate.

I’m actually thinking I might postpone the month or so I have reserved for beachbumming till a bit later. I have heard a few tales about a little slice of paradise further up north, where you can have an entire island practically to yourself. On first thought at least, this sounds far more like my scene than the tourist-infested hives off the Eastern coast. This has nothing to do with The Beach either, although by some bizarre coincidence, in Phuket I did find myself staying in the same hotel and the same room that DaffyD, one of my all time favourite literary characters, stayed in the movie. Freaky.

Looking for that caramel coating

I realise now that the leap south has put me in the heart of sun-worshipping country, where beach-goers seek the transient glory of a solar bronzing. I too do love the beach, but unfortunately my skin and the sun have always been on rather awkward terms. I suppose it’s my partly Celtic heritage which causes me to burn to a crisp even when standing under a moderately bright LCD-screen. Although I do pick up a bit of colour eventually, the first time in the sun is always a bit traumatic. If you think you know what I mean, you don’t. The natural tone of my skin is pretty much the shade of an albino Klu Klux Clan member in a snow storm. When I take off my shirt on a beach, children scream and run to their mothers. Adults shield their eyes and look for a mushroom cloud. Birds fly into windows, cows won’t milk, and all photographs taken within a two mile radius are overexposed. I think once I heard someone exclaim: “My God, it’s full of stars!”

It’s bad, and the only thing keeping melanoma at bay is military-grade sunscreen; I bet you didn’t even know they had SPF lotions of strengths in the format “ten to the power of x”. Under these circumstances successfully negotiating the tightrope of not getting skin cancer and developing anything even remotely resembling a tan is going to be challenging.

Mr. T does SE Asia

It just occurred to me that despite the lengthy prose already adorning this page, I have alas not yet given any specifics as to the content to come. Let’s rectify that state of affairs post-haste ;)

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is best described as something of a mixture between the plot of Amelié and the scene from Office Space, where give their annoying office-printer a beatdown. Let me explain: My thesis has been the bane of my fucking existence for the past seven months. Writing it was without a doubt one of the most frustrating tasks I’ve ever undertaken, not least because of the ludicrously vague topic and my own never-wavering self-criticism bordering on self-loathing. I can hardly even remember what life was like before I started working on it. Must’ve been great.

Anyway, after so much time spent fretting over pointless research and so many wasted nights shouting at MS Word, I need to do something cleansing, something truly cathartic to get it out of my system. Therefore naturally I am taking my thesis, whom I have named Mr. T. on a tour with me through Southeast Asia. I will take photos of him in various places, have fellow travellers write in him, and really show him around, to make sure he has a good, fulfilling life. Then, when we get to Cambodia, I will take advantage of the large surplus of arms left after the Khmer Rouge regime, and shoot Mr. T with an AK-47. Or a bazooka, I haven’t decided yet. If anything is left of him, I will keep the remains as a souvenir.

Now, I realize going to all this trouble to shoot an inanimate object clearly puts me in the “completely-bat-shit-Tom-Cruise-crazy”-zone. Be that as it may, if you knew how much mental anguish I’ve had to endure thanks to old Mr. T. here, you would understand my desire for retribution, be it rational or not. I’m not sure how I could possibly begin to convey the suffering to you properly, but if you would like to simulate the experience, I’m pretty sure that jamming a Q-tip up your urethra might give you some idea. Then twist it around. For seven months.

Without further ado, here are the first photos of Mr. T living the good life in Thailand. Just like me seven months ago, the poor S.O.B. has no idea what horrors await.

You never realize how much stuff you have until it's time to move

Didn't feel too bad about leaving this place in the pitch-black morning

Mr. T is always the life of the party

Mr. Scaramanga ain't got shit on Mr. T

That should start the ball rolling. For me, the next few days will most likely be spent rock-climbing around Krabi, hence I will be incommunicado.

P. S. Quoting Natalie Portman: “Listen to this, it will change your life.”

The Shins – New Slang

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q322n-f3FlU&feature=related

The vagabond has landed.

2009-03-04T17:31:00.008+02:00

To paraphrase Alex Garland, Bangkok is like a massive decompression chamber for backpackers arriving or departing Thailand, retaining enough of both the East and the West to allow for a gentle acclimatisation either way. Familiar brands (they even have Tim Tams here, Aussies rejoice!) and a certain degree of comfort keep home-sickness at bay, while some slight nuances like the sweltering heat or the poodle-sized cockroach scurrying across the floor of the café right now remind you that, just like Dorothy, you are definitely not in Kansas anymore. Christ, look at the size of that thing! What the hell does it feed on, kittens?

The myriad of flights I took to reach Bangkok were a thoroughly frazzling ordeal. Although it was a conscious choice to take the long route and save a bit of money, I don’t think I was quite prepared for the effect of not sleeping for 48 hours (Murphy & Nolte, 1982). Wandering aimlessly around town looking like a zombie on downers wasn’t exactly the ideal start for the trip either, but was unfortunately necessary while I waited for my room to become available. Still, a modest 15 hour nap put my punch-drunk internal clock back on track.

Like any major Asian city, the pulse and pace of life here are just invigorating, exhilarating and, at the end of the day, quite exhausting. Every night, the main backpacker street of Khao San Road becomes a circus of flashing nights and blaring techno music, where thousands of what seem like mostly drunken gap-year Brits congregate to live it up. Amidst them the ladyboys, tailors, goods peddlers, con men, tattoo artists and ping pong show touts form an undulating mass vying for your attention. It’s like Blade Runner on steroids. Once you venture outside Khao San Rd, you find the entire city to be scattered with the most incredibly ornate temples and Buddha statues of varying sizes. While these are quite stunning, I must say I have always felt that once you have seen one temple, you pretty much have seen them all, and quite frankly I had my share in Nepal already.

Also, like any Asian city, you have to see the traffic here to believe it. I know the road accident statistics for Bangkok are gruesome, but according to common sense they should be much worse still. I mean looking at the chaos, it seems miraculous that anyone at all makes it to work in the morning without being run over twice. In contrast to this, the river boats and the sky train are relative sanctuaries from the vicious traffic machine and also a great way to move around town.

Tomorrow, I will be flying south to the infamous hellhole of sunburnt tourists known as Phuket. Among recently arriving backpackers, the pronunciation of the name often takes on the rather colloquial form of “fuck it”. This results in some mildly amusing exchanges among backpackers, usually running along the lines of:

-So, where are you heading next, Cambodia?
-Nah, Phuket.
-Why? What’s wrong with Cambodia?
-No, I mean I’m going to Phuket.
-Fuck what?

And so on till hilarity ensues.

Thus for me, this short glimpse into Bangkok will have to suffice for now, although I do plan to return when a mate of mine arrives in about seven weeks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, that charming young lady over there with the unusually large hands and very pronounced Adam’s apple seems to have taken a liking to me. She probably wants one of my Tim Tams.

LIST OF REFERENCES

Murphy, Eddie and Nolte, Nick. 1982. 48 Hours. Paramount Pictures: Hollywood, USA.

P. S. Some people have asked me how psyched I am about this trip. If you listen to the energy level in this song, you might get some idea!!

Mumm-Ra: Out of the Question (song starts around 0:20)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bT-gZ49VDlc

First words

2009-02-26T20:49:00.002+02:00

Welcome, dear reader, to a digital journal of backpacking fables, off-topic diatribes and platitudes bad enough to make the soul retch. This bud of a first post will hopefully blossom into a blog chronicling the exploits of an over-educated, under-skilled, generation Y layabout on a ludicrous escape from a cold hard reality requiring actual work for economic survival. After all, when facing adversity, surely (yes, I’m calling you Shirley) the best thing to do is to pack your shit together and fly somewhere +25 centigrade is considered “brisk” and a Mai Tai costs less than what you would bother to pick up off the subway floor at home. Now who says escapology died with Houdini?

First off, I have a confession to make: My writing history so far proves me to be something of an unreliable sack of shit when it comes to blogging. Sadly, I must admit that I have previously started as many as three such endeavours in my life, none of which have made it past the first week.

The first was a group effort with three friends, each of whom proved just as dismal at consistent writing as I did. Despite the intriguing topic of backpacking across China, I think everyone managed just one goddamn post from home. After this the actual trip started, and our MTV-conditioned attention-spans jumped onward to colourful lights and loud noises or whatever the hell it was that distracted us so effectively for the entire time.

The second attempt was a personal project to keep friends up-to-date on my exchange semester in Australia. So far, this was the worst blogging disaster I have ever been associated with. Seriously, it was a bloodbath. I think I got as far as the title of the first post before losing interest. A few weeks before returning home, I remembered the project again, but by then the whole idea seemed pretty pointless. This experience, however, taught me a valuable lesson: Never tell anyone about a blog until you actually get some substance on it. Way less embarrassing when you can’t be arsed to write anything.

The third blog actually had the most legitimate raison d’être of all three, for it was supposed to act as a research diary for my master’s thesis. My goal was to post a little something every day, so that later on I could reassess the choices I had made, and maybe spin a yarn about them for the Discussion-section. I think I wrote two posts in all. In retrospect, this project might have actually turned into a valuable tool for the years of psychiatric debriefing I’m going to need after that train-wreck of a thesis. When I now read the optimistic drivel from the first post, I can’t help but feel sorry for the guy living those carefree times. Poor bastard has no idea what he’s in for.

Well, I think that was an adequate confessional of my digital sins to begin this heap of literary garbage with. Now, with my head held low, I head forth to new disappointments. Look for a new post here within a few days, and assume the worst should it fail to materialize.

P. S. Listen to this, it is guaranteed to put you in a great mood!

DISCLAIMER: If you are already cheery, this tune might put you in the “annoyingly chipper”-zone, making friends and co-workers want to kick your teeth in.

Yael Naim: New Soul

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgEfYGzojcA