The last gasps of Mr. T

Back to square one

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

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!

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!

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