Friday, February 23, 2007

How Ya Like Me Lao?

This morning we happily put the city of Bangkok behind us, setting off for Luang Prabang, Laos. After a bumpy 90-minute ride on a prop plane, we gingerly touched down in the jewel of the Mekong. The harrowing flight did leave its' impression, however, nothing frays the nerves like turbulence in a cloud bank on a small, propeller airplane on a low-cost carrier from a foreign country. Give me Aeroflot any day.

Laos itself is gorgeous. Picture the opening sequence of the MASH television show (okay, that was supposed to be Korea, but you get the drift), with a snaking river winding through a thick jungle. Palm trees and banana leaf interposed with thatch roof huts. I had a bit of trouble unwriting the years of adolescent exposure to Vietnam war movies as we were making our descent, hearing echoes of heavy machine guns suppressing communists coming from an imaginary Huey.

The city of Luang Prabang (300,000) is a UNESCO world heritage site, the first for an entire town. It is home to many monasteries and is quite common to have monks walking to and fro in their bright orange robes. Makes for great photos, it feels a bit like celebrities being spotted around the Sundance film festival in Park City. The farmers in the surrounding countryside are burning off their rice patties in these months before the wet season, giving the air a smokey haze and causing tiny embers to fall from the sky. Snowing burnt rice patties. When the sun sets and the breeze dies down, wisps of smoke form intricate swirls in the still dusk air above the Mekong.

Tonight we went to dinner at the fanciest place in town, L'Elephant, which is french for 'the elephant'. Peggy had the five course set menu, which did not include any elephant. I went with the vegetarin fire. All were excellent and the total bill was, including drinks, only $30. C'est magnifique!

Unfortunately, the tourists like ourselves have really strangled this tiny town. The three flights a week from Bangkok, with even more from Vietenne and Hanoi are delivering the tourists in droves. We drew an analogy to Carmel or Santa Fe in the level of local versus foriegn. The town area really isn't that big, 3 blocks by ten blocks on a peninsula, but the juxtapositioning of toursit and local is really obvious. Every other house that isn't a monestary is a guest house or internet cafe. When we flew in, only white faces were on the plane, it didn't appear that any Lao were commuting from Bangkok or returning from holiday. Coming in the off-season might have been a better fit.

Continuing our trend of market tourism, we visited the night market this evening. So far in this trip, we've done floating markets, antique markets, flower markets, fruit markets and now the official night market. Actually, the quality of peddled handicrafts is much more tasteful here than in Thailand. You also don't get the aggressiveness in the hard sale and the haggling. Prices are gently discussed and there is not the twinge of a scam in every exchange. I'm still a bit bitter about the exploitive nature which we saw and experienced in Thailand. Much calmer here, not everyone is out to make a buck. Perhaps it is the communist or Buddhist influence that teaches constraint.

posted by ncawthon at 4:43 PM

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Super Pussy's

We're on our way back from the floating markets southwest of Bangkok. The markets were on a series of canals, where old women in straw hats come every morning to trade fruit on their boats. Unfortunatly, the affair has morphed into another exploitive tourist trap, complete with the dreaded mega coach buses. We had planned to take the public, air-conditioned bus for the 150 kilometers to town, getting up at 6:30am to get over to the bus station early. Mistake number one: asking the concierge where the bust station was. Her english not so good and was quickly ursurped by the cagier doorman standing over her shoulder who said he would get us a cab. Mistake number two: allowing the doorman to arrange a taxi for us. The cab driver whom he pointed out suggested that because the buses stopped so much, we'd be better off riding with him to town and back. After haggling for a price, we grudgingly agreed to give it a go. Mistake number three: having the cab driver as a tour guide. The cabbie dutifully drove us out of town, happily chatting the entire way. We didn't realize it at the time, but our cab driver in Italy was the same way right before charging us an obscene 40 euro for a 7 kilometer ride. Mistake number four: trusting the overly friendly cab driver. On the outskirts of town, our cabbie pulled into a parking lot where we were to hire a river boat to putt us around the market. Mistake number five: to allow said cabbie to choose the boat operator. Another session of haggling commenced, leavings us feeling really used and sour. Let's follow the trickle down effect of our tourist dollars: the doorman gets a kickback from the cab driver, the cab driver gets a kickback from the boat tour, the boat tour gets a kickback from the market vendors whom the boat driver decides to pause and let them tout their wares. Ultimately, we're doing all the kicking here. In addition, the little old ladies in the straw hats who established the market in the first place are now locked out of the equation, being pushed out by generic curio vendors whom we've seen a billion times before.

Speaking of kicking, last night I went to a Muy Thai kickboxing match. There too, it seemed to be an exploit the farang (foriegner) affair. There were, officially, tickets for Thai people and then the tickets for the other saps like me. Guess which one was five times more expensive than the other? Same seats, different prices. A friend from the dive boat accompanied me into the 3rd class seating area, which actually was a pretty good view of the action. The kickboxing wasn't really that interesting, what provided the most amusement was the chaotic gambling that went on in the stands. Thai men, all seemingly middle aged and partially toothed were acting like they were on the floor of the NYSE. Everything was a series of hand signs made with vigorous gesticulation to another similarly empassioned man the next section over. The betting was all done on verbal and visual agreement, nothing was written down and there was no sports betting on the premisis. Our presence there earned us a few projectiles and a tap on the shoulder telling us that we should move seats because it was a Thai betting area only. We stayed put.

The matches were between kids, essentially. The quality was also somewhat mediocre, with a only a few combatants matching the intensity of our friends in the third-class seats. There is a four piece band that accompanies every fight, playing a driving drum rhythym that quickens in pace for the later rounds. It didn't seem to matter what was happening in the center of the ring, the audience was content with waving bills and fingers at one another. Each match was five rounds and everyone acted completely disinterested until the fourth round, only then picking their guy and starting to cheer.

In a few fights, kickboxers would have this large, overbearing man in his corner, who would empithatically stomp over and through the use of two or three fingers, tell the fighter how much he had riding on him winning the match. This 'Don Keung' type of guy would then spiral back towards the audience and determinedly throw the same number of fingers to someone a few rows behind us. At the time, he seemed to act like he was very much in the know, but his guys kept losing. I guess the guilt trip didn't work very well.

We then picked up Peggy who was relaxing back at the hotel for a nightcap in the red light district. She mistakenly (or perhaps not so mistakenly) led us down the gay alleyway (another dead end) which was oblivious to my friend an I until we pivoted to retreat. At that point, I thought I could feel my butt cheeks getting warmer. The more mainstream alleyway was marked with a Super Pussy's neon sign. Every five paces, you would essentially be presented a menu of different vagina-based sex acts. Options like Pussy Slices Banana, Pussy Ping Pong, Pussy Magnetize, Pussy Use Chopstick and Pussy Fried Rice were some of my favorites. OK, I made that last one up, but really got a kick of asking the touts if it was available for order. Sadly, we declined all of the menu options and stuck with the sidewalk gawking.

posted by ncawthon at 7:17 PM

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Hello from the exhaust pipe of a city that they call Bangkok, which really takes some getting used to. The heat, stench, congestion and disorientation has been a bit tough to stomach both literally and figuratively. As the case with Phuket, the layout of this city is completely non-sensible. They are both cities built wtih eternal dead-end alleyways. One would think that such a large city built around a river would have at least two blocks that are conjoined along the water. I mean, the river walk concept worked for Oklahoma City, why couldn't it work for Bangkok?

In an earlier posting, I talked about the Thai devotion to Buddha. There is also another deity amongst the Thai people that ranks right up there as well. The king, a slightly Mr. Rodgers but browner looking fellow, is absolutely everywhere. He's celebrated 60 years at the top as of a few months ago. Billboards, shrines, music videos, statues, stickers, posters just everywhere. You cannot adjust your gaze without running across another homage. The blue, red and white Thai flag is always complimented with a yellow flag with the king's seal on it. The man has his own rubber bracelet, in the style of the Lance Armstrong foundation. The devotion to royalty makes the Brits look absolutely passive. This king has even inspired the counter fitters to commission his own line of clothing, the yellow polo shirt w/ official emblem - to be worn on the day of his birth, Monday. This is what George Bush's wet dream must look like, with such blind fanatical devotion. Maybe NASCAR attire is Bush's official apparel. Apparently, the king remains a fairly neutral cat, having shrugged off a recent political coup by the military, another thing for Bush to be envious of - a police state. If the king ever got worked up about something, watch out. There's the force of an entire nation behind him. And yes, I could be killed for writing this blog.

Thais, the tuk tuk drivers specifically, seem to be fairly open about public nose picking. I've seen a fair number of two-knuckler gold digging in our short time here. They seem to be using nose picking as a grammatical pause, perhaps to punctuate their sentences. I can't watch long enough to see what results in said exploratory activity, but steer clear of any tuk tuk offered escargot.

Yesterday, we did our first tour of a Wat, or temple. The one that we stumbled upon was a bit odd in that there were the assorted prayer houses, but for the most part, it was cars parked next to one another. I didn't know that monks drove Toyota pickups. Must have been a parking Wat. Today we're charging the Wats like a Buddhist outta hell, knocking off wat seems to be dozens of these holy shrines.

Also, can we discuss the squat toilet concept? What is the real advantage here? It takes twice as much co-ordination and doubles the chances of changing the color of one's shoes and socks. I am glad that I did not grow up as a teenager in Bangkok or my social life would have been shattered on likely many occasions due to clumsiness in these delicate situations. There is already a porcelain fixture being used in these squatoons, why only put them a few inches off the ground? The economical use of a spray hose instead of that oh so soft Charmin toilet paper, I can appreciate, even covet somewhat, but who doesn't like to (pardon the pun) take the load off now and then? Getting off my feet for a few minutes of functional solitude is the highlight of my days, why replace it with an awkward carpet bombing exercise? I'm just trying to remember the good times...

Bangkok is a city of merchants. Every block is lined with people selling their wares, coupled with people to sell food to the people selling wares. Every sidewalk is covered with blankets and cardboard boxes to prop up various knick knack. Storefronts have a sidewalk display of let's say, bootleg DVDs and the store itself is a suit tailor, with a cybercafe in the back. The family and their dog live upstairs or on the floor. It is as if 6 million people got together and decided to hold a flea market every day of the year. Sadly, it doesn't look like many of these people are selling anything. Hard to imagine scraping together a living with just a blanket and some two dollar t-shirts that are the same as the vendor selling them six feet in either direction. Still, the number of homeless begging idly has been very few, everybody's doing or selling something...

Lastly, the dogs in this country seem to have all been sedated. The corners are dotted with at least two dogs lumbering directly in the pat of foot traffic. Maybe their legs and eyelids have been incapacitated due to the heavy pollution. Maybe their the reason that I cannot find a trash can to save the life of me. We've been told that packs of wild dogs are a problem in the more rural areas, hard to see that happening here, I guess only if you're carrying a pillow which they might want. Mostly mutts, but some look as if there is some selective breeding involved. The good folks at Westminster dog show should come here on an outreach mission, hoping to teach these sad, but content, canines some marketable skills.

posted by ncawthon at 6:49 PM

Monday, February 19, 2007

Feeding the Belly of Mr. Big


Tomorrow is our last day diving with only four out of the fourteen descents left. We have had the most incredible dive today, encountering a school (pack? den? gang? flock? murder?) of manta rays. The biggest was the 12-footer we had seen a few days prior, whom Peggy subsequently named Manuel. There were up to six different rays, with a few juveniles amongst the group. The entire 30-minutes was spent gaping in awe after them. One would do a majestic fly-by after the other, while I'd be trying to match the undulation of their wings as a non-sensible means of communication. We were within arm's distance on several occasions. Amazing creatures, so graceful and big. As all of the divers came back up to the boat, the group was just buzzing with excitement.

One of the rituals here amongst the crew is the daily sacrifice to Buddha. The cook prepares a little meal for Buddha and they place the offering at a makeshift shrine creating at the bow. Last night, we saw Mr. Buddha receive a meal of a whole chicken and some bananas. Good to see that Buddha is keeping low on the carbohydrates with an ample supply of potassium. Puttin the 'diet' back in deity. Something must be amiss, however, because the size of his belly is very prosperous. I wonder what the sacrifice needs to be for a whale shark encounter?

After we get back tomorrow, we'll spend the night decompressing in Phuket and then fly up to Bangkok that afternoon. Three days there will involve a sightseeing tour of the city, perhaps a meditation and cooking class thrown in for good measure.

posted by ncawthon at 12:09 PM

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Kung Hay Fat Choy

We're halfway through our dive trip, having done eight of the fourteen dives. I've done a liveaboard before, and described it to a fellow Californian here on the boat as 'if recreational diving is like jogging; then liveaboards are like a combine'. A very intense experience. Meaning, all we do is eat, sleep and dive. Really, if we're not doing one, we're preparing for teh other. On deck, we're either huddled around the table for our next meal, dozing on the sun deck or reading a book lazily. All of the activities start to blend together. You're underwater at 50 or 60 feet before realizing... 'wait a second, I'm underwater again...' The routine sets in and your brain goes on autopilot from all of the nitrogen floating around up there.

There are twelve customers on the boat; three Brits, three Swedes, two Frogs, one Norweigan and three Californians, ourselves included. We're about the average age for the group and surprisingly, the only married couple. Our dive master is Han, from South Korea, who is an absolute zen master. He hardly moves, both on the boat and in the water. We've been lucky that the other couple that was assigned to Han have not been feeling well, thus not diving much at all. This gives Peggy and I full access to Han all by ourselves.

The diving itself has been fantastic. Water temperatue has been a bath-water 85 degrees. Wetsuits optional. We have seen quite the variety of fish, the highlights being a huge manta ray with a 12-foot wingspan, and a giant octopus. Oh, and a jellyfish the size of a basketball almost landed on my head until Peggy motioned for me to get out of the way. No whale sharks as we had hoped, but there are still more dives to do.

The food has been good as well. We've been having a mix of western and Thai food every meal. Always some good fried vittles mixed in with every spread to munch on. The crew is usually sight unseen, but work very hard. They're always at the ready with helping us with our gear, having the meals prepared and moving the boat to and fro to pick up surfaced divers. Today is Chinese New Years, not sure if there will be celebrations of any sort. There are a half-dozen different dive boats just like ours surrounding us at each location, each with crews of their own. Maybe there will be some sort of get-together amongst them.

At night the horizon is aglow with the dozens and dozens of squid boats on the water. They use their floodlights to mimic the moon, tricking the squids in coming to the surface. From a distance, it looks like a minature city in the middle of the sea. Other than the fisherman boats and a scattered few diving charters, there's not too many people out here in the middle of the Andaman Sea. Quite the distinctive experience.

posted by ncawthon at 11:54 AM