Loco

My poor mother took my last post pretty well: “very entertaining dear, but please come back in one piece”. A muted response that should be applauded I think, since I’ve probably caused no end of sleepless nights in my two years on the road. What with sailing teeny tiny boats across huge oceans, riding dodgy motorbikes, and eating strange insects, I’m sure I’m responsible for more than a few grey hairs.

So this month I made the decision to focus on the good things in life, you know, the heart-warming stuff. And so it was with that in mind that I entered Vietnam, absolutely determined to find lots of nice things to talk about. And then I witnessed the murder of a small frog.

Vietnam is, perhaps unsurprisingly, a country of contrasts. And in retrospect I’m at a loss to sum up my thoughts on this beautiful, yet infuriating country. I was ripped off, lied to, misinformed, misled and woken up by blaring music at 5am. I was so irritated on some occasions that I entertained fantasies of buying a taser to inflict my own form of aversion therapy. But on the other hand I was delighted, entertained, and amazed by the kindness of strangers. I shared jokes with street vendors, sat up late into the night at pavement bars, and left the country in fits of giggles and with a huge grin on my face.  So maybe this is one you’ll have to see for yourself.

We entered in the South from Cambodia, finding ourselves quickly in the heart of Ho Chi Minh City (formally Saigon), where we were immediately given a taste of Vietnamese life and thrust back into hustle and bustle of an Asian city. Cyclos pedalled by ageing men threaten to knock you down as you cross the street, a million vehicles speed around roundabouts in seeming chaos, and people carry every conceivable thing on their motorbikes. It seems too good to be true but I actually witnessed one man carrying a kitchen sink. This is the stuff dreams are made of.

When not fighting for my life amid the traffic I continued my culinary adventures. I ate clams, snails, and waterlilly seeds. I discovered my new favourite fruit, the almighty mangosteen, and sampled the surprisingly delicious weasel poo coffee, brewed to be eye-poppingly strong and served with condensed milk. The only thing I took off my menu was that poor frog. Seeing it’s murder with a mallet was just too much for me. It croaked.

It’s not all frogs, snails and puppy dog’s tails though. Vietnam actually had some of the best food I’d tasted during my months in South East Asia and I was like a child in a sweet shop, munching away on whatever came my way. However, in a cruel twist of fate, I was brought crashing down. Not by a weird and wonderful meal, an actual blackbird pie for instance, or a hot dog. Oh no, I was brought to my knees by our good old friend tap water, and within days I was transformed from happy-go-lucky hippy, backpacker type, to a grumpy, vomiting moan machine. I told you I’d focus on the good things…

Photos courtesy of Kate and Gonzo Carles

Cambodia is a country less fortunate than its neighbours in Asia (not that they’ve had it easy). Though often visited by tourists, specifically those making their way to the infamous Ankor Wat (of Tomb Raider fame), the money from these tourists is yet to trickle down to the poorest people. It is a country with a horrifying history, growing unemployment, and visible poverty. Yet it’s people are among the nicest I have ever had the pleasure to meet on my many months on the road. So I thought it was time to give a little back.

I have been here a fortnight, and although I briefly unleashed my inner Lara Croft in the form of 5am sunrise army rolls in a ruined temple, played a little Jenga, and indulged in a dance off with a group of middle aged shirtless revelers, I have mostly been volunteering at an orphanage in Phnom Penh.

One day became two, then three, and before you know it you’re an English teacher and you are simultaneously in love with 40 small children and will give up all your plans in order to be there as beautiful orphaned 6 year old reads The Little Mermaid. I am so moved I could cry. Maybe this is my calling. I am officially hooked. Take a look at see where I’ve been working: www.savechildreninasia.org, give money, send books, help! Plans to venture south have been abandoned and I will be going again tomorrow, and possibly even the next day, aaaaahhh!! Lucky we have a Russian visa with a fixed date or I may have been in danger of staying indefinitely.

The Cambodian people are amazing, I cannot emphasize how much I am enjoying myself, I’ve even donated blood at the children’s hospital, now that’s love, I hate needles. This may actually be my favourite place I’ve ever been, although Nicaragua and Guatemala are still putting up a good fight. Laos proved to be a place full of hazards but Cambodia has affected me in a much more emotional way.

I was in tears as we waved goodbye to the kids. And not only that, as we left Camdodia we were also saying goodbye to the Mekong River, that had been our guide for over a month. After hearing the stories of friend we met along the way through Thailand, Laos and Cambodia, it seems that we’ve been left off pretty likely by this backpacker trail. A little miscommunication and injury is all.

The tubing scars are fading, eating crickets wasn’t really that bad (although they were a little leggy), and I’m getting quite adept at hanging on to the back of a motorcycle taxi as it speeds through traffic, and red lights without helmets or mirrors. I am almost totally unharmed, although I’ve got some way to go before I’m in the clear. And in fact as I write this there is storm of biblical proportions going on outside, and quite a lot of it is dripping through the ceiling onto the monitor. Granted it’s atmospheric but the sofa cushion which a kindly member of staff has draped over the computer’s vital organs doesn’t fill me with confidence. So before I recieve a nasty electric shock I will love you and leave you.

Images courtesy of Kate

It was 10 am and I’d just had an egg sandwich. Someone passed me a bottle of Beer Laos. I manhandled my backpack onto my shoulders, took a few short steps to the waters edge where the slow boat was waiting, and promptly fell over into the filthy mud, beer in hand. So began my love affair with the mighty Mekong River.

Running for almost five thousand kilometers I’ve seen that River almost everyday since, and I’ve probably swallowed a few litres of the filth too. Our two-day boat ride took us to Luang Probang where we got involved with some serious waterfall jumping, and watched monks in safron robes collecting alms in exchange for blessings at 5am. Very cultural me thinks.

After all that Lonely Planet stuff we thought we’d try something no-one else has ever heard of. We went tubing. Only joking, this may be the single most talked about activity on the entire SE Asia backpacker trail. But like the Full Moon Party you can’t knock it til you’ve tried it. So we donned our compulsory ‘Beer Laos’ T-shirts and headed to the Mekong where we swung from rope swings, zipped down zip lines, and slid down slides. As you do. Didn’t actually fancy paying for an inner tube so stuck with good old fashioned swimming to get me between bars but had a blast anyway. Although I will take this opportunity to point that no matter how much whisky you’ve drunk it is NEVER a good idea to attempt a mid-air “Brucey” from a 20 foot swing.

For those of you not familair with the Brucey here’s an activity for you. Try it your self. Stand up, put your left arm forward and place your clenched fist to your forehead, a la ‘The Thinker’. Now take you right hand and place it on your back in a ‘I’m a little tea pot’ manner. And there you have it, the Brucey. Do not attempt while falling from a great height. I honest to God almost put my arm out of its socket. You have a lot to answer for Mr Forsythe. But plenty of fun, and if I’m honest I’d do it again.

After a day of recovery we braved a ‘VIP’ bus to Vientiane. In this instance VIP does not stand for very important person but very inconvenient position, as seats are designed for midgets and air conditioning comes in the form of hastily opened windows that allow a slight draft. Sweaty much? But it got us to the capital. Although Vientiane doesn’t hold much appeal with a small gang of mates and some rented motorbikes you can have at least one day of fun. Herbal Sauna…get in! One hour massage for a dollar, yes please; big park full of Budhas and Co. why the hell not? And all while wondering whether I could crush my friend with my thighs as I sit on the back of the bike. Seriously I reckon I could break a rib given half a chance. All kinds of fun I tell thee.

So that was Laos in a nutshell. But there was also some low rider style cycling to Khmer era ruins in Champasak, a night bus with beds designed for teeny tiny people, a seemingly drunk tuk tuk driver who honestly almost fell asleep at the wheel and had to be screamed at (don’t know how we survived that one). Four Thousand Islands in the South (not to be confused with the salad dressing) offered hammocks and happy shakes (a very bad idea; laughed until I cried then lost the ability to form sentances, freaked out and had to go to sleep, never again). And so to Cambodia.

Images courtesy of Kate

We left our day-glo bracelets buried in the sand and departed Koh Phangang in search of far-flung corners. Sadly, since since the influx of tourists (mainly English school-leavers, save me!) and the release of the movie The Beach there are very few ‘corners’ left in Thailand. It seems that everyone who’s not quite brave enough to really lose themselves in the big scary world come here, watch Friends by day and get drunk by night. We had a bash at finding some unknown ground…and failed. Do not come here if you’re hardcore. There is a plague of Brits.

The next few weeks was an adventure in alternative modes of transport (I really am an advert for my own values aren’t I?) There have been buses, and boats and trains, and bicycles, and night buses, and night trains, and mopeds and motorcycles, a slow boat, a long boat and an elephant. I love it! I’ll show you airline companies, I can go wherever I want and I don’t need you, in your face! My first moped experience was a scream. Literally. And involved rather a lot of dodgy swerving and erratic acceleration. The teeny tiny Thai lady who rented me the bike didn’t seem remotely concerned that I had no experience what so ever, nor did she have any helmets.

But it’s ok, I substituted conventional safety gear with a bikini and a flip flops so it was totally safe Mum; knee pads, helmets…pah!. And I had aviators, so I was pretty much the coolest person who ever lived, maybe. You should have seen us, we surely were the pace setters of the whole island, not even remotely wobbly. At one point I went so fast that I was able to overtake a small child on a bicycle and, wait for it…a parked car!

Just for the record the moped is now my vehicle of choice, although it seems I am not alone. The very funny people at  Stuff White People Like point out that “as it stands, every single white person on earth either owns, has owned, or is dreaming about owning a Vespa Scooter…They are Italian, feature vintage design, low emissions, make the rider look more sophisticated, and they carry a little bit of risk. In fact, were it to have a liberal arts degree and a steady income,  a Vespa scooter would possesses every important quality that a white person looks for in a spouse”. So it’s decided, when I move home I am going to marry a Vespa. Lovely. But I digress.

The month of June involved lots of very interesting (even if i do say so myself) and funny (of course) stories. But as I’m often chastised for writing insanely long posts so I won’t bore you with the all details. Don’t get too excited though as I rarely do as I’m told. In fact perhaps you’d like to go and have a tea break now, and maybe a small nap, tuk tuk??! Just checking.

But just so you know what you’re missing out on there was an incident with an elephant slapping my friend in the face with its trunk, deep fried crickets, long next tribes, and a few ill advised three on a motorbike taxi rides. If you want to hear more about these stories please send a stamped addressed envelope to Kate Andrews, Room 19, A dodgy guesthouse in Asia. It’s the one with lots of motorbikes parked outside, you can’t miss it.

In conclusion Thailand was not really mine or Vicki’s cup of tea, we’re less organised tour, more see what happens sort of girls so we weren’t too fussed about waving goodbye to the beaches and getting ourselves into Laos on a very slow boat.

Images courtesy of Kate

Can I interest you in some sheese, shoup, or perhaps some ships? In fact, perhaps you like the fried chicken lag and scrambled bread, with a side of meat mould or maybe the anger stew? That’s right folks, we’re in Asia where menus have evolved to a higher level.

Street kids climb you as if you were a tree, your anti-malaria tablets will give you dreams worthy of an acid trip (Lego man hands anyone?) and you will constantly be accosted to buy a book, a bracelet, a ride in a tuk tuk, some drugs; maybe you’d like a prostitute, or to see a shocking sex show…no? really, are you sure? Perhaps I should ask you an additional twenty times just in case you change your mind.

But these things are mere trifles in comparison to the many varied opportunities for serious injury that come your way. Crossing the road is a logistical nightmare, involving rather a lot of running, jumping and praying for your life. You are actively encouraged to get drunk and fling yourself from 20 foot rope swings into a raging river whilst an eight year old lifegaurd watches over you.

And what with spider bites, drunken taxi drivers, blood banks, allergic reactions, near dislocated shoulders and ill advised Tomb Raider army rolls inside crumbling temples I’m lucky to still be standing. Breathe parental structure, I’m ok…just, and frankly I brought most of it on myself. But before I go on, are you quite sure you wouldn’t like a ride in this tuk tuk?

When I left you I was bound for Thailand’s infamous Koh Phangang in search of my soul amid a mass of vodka saturated, glow in the dark backpackers. And guess what?! I actually found myself, who needs culture, it turns out that all I really needed was a plastic bucket full of whiskey, dirty dirty house music and a flaming skipping rope. I’m found.

To think I wasted all this time getting cultural and trying to get off the beaten track, I’ve wasted my life. Jokes aside, there was plenty of banter, I mean who can really complain about a four thousand strong rave on a tropical beach, but I must admit that I after watching the sun come up through bleary eyes I was happy to get myself off to more far flung corners.

Photos courtesy of Dominique Claessens and Kate