After making it across the border from Siem Reap to Bangkok without a hitch, I was back with the McLatchers again for a few nights before I took the overnight bus down to Koh Phangan, one of the islands in the Gulf of Thailand. Leaving Bangkok at eight o'clock in the evening, I spent eighteen hours in transit before arriving at my beach house. The first leg of the trip was by bus, which was more suited to Thai-sized people, and while I searched for a way to get comfortable, I never found one that let me get any sleep for more than ten minutes. At three in morning I realized that the aisle might be the most comfortable option and stretched myself out between the seats. This was quite successful, and aside from getting kicked in the head once, it let me get a little bit of shut-eye. The transfer from the bus to the ferry went smoothly, and then island taxi ride (a ride in the back of a pick-up truck) ended my time in transit. A friend I had made in Siem Reap, a Brit named Alex, had an extra bed in his beach bungalow, so I didn't have to spend any time looking for accommodations. This was a good thing for me, because the island becomes flooded with backpackers every time the full moon approaches, and I saw many people wandering along the beaches, backpacks on and looking forlorn.
The reason that the full moon is such a draw is because of the Full Moon Party, a beach party that attracts between ten and fifteen thousand people to Sunrise Beach every month. The majority of revelers last long enough to watch the sunrise, and the party usually ends sometime around noon the next day. The Full Moon Party is by far not the only thing to do here though, and on my first full day here I went on a snorkeling trip with Alex and Mara, a Dutch girl who is also traveling solo. The boat brought us all the way around the island, making stops for lunch as well as swimming and snorkeling along the way. I was amazed at how good the snorkeling was, as the coral was in pristine condition and there were dozens of different types of fish swimming about as well.
The night before last the three of us went to watch Muay Thai, a style of Indochinese kickboxing and it was something to see. The arena probably held fifteen hundred seats, these being plastic lawn chairs sitting on dirt, and every single one was filled. There were no walls, but the sheet-metal roof did a surprisingly good job of keeping in the thick clouds of cigarette smoke. There were seven matches, and the first one was an exhibition fight between two eleven-year-olds. I didn't really enjoy that fight, but it wasn't as if they were two rank amatuers. Muay Thai fighters start training at the age of six, and the two boys already had about a dozen fights apiece and definitely knew what they were doing. The second fight was a female fight which I also didn't enjoy, and it seemed the crowd didn't really either. The adult men's fights began in the third fight, and the announcer, an old London ex-pat, started to really get into it, promising that now we were really going to see some guys kick the hell out of each other - and that there would be blood.
We had bought the cheapest tickets, which meant that we should have sat furthest from the ring, but as all of these seats had filled by the time we arrived. A new row was made right behind the ring-side announcers table, so we ended up sitting only about six feet from the ring. It was a great view, and the smell of cigarettes was at times overpowered by the smell of the liniment that the trainers rubbed onto the fighters at the end of each round. Still, the closeness of our seats started to worry me when the announcer began raving that blood was going ruin the clothes of any people sitting near the ring. Blood was only drawn in one fight after a series of elbows opened up two cuts on one of the fighters' faces, but thankfully there were no showers of blood splattering us spectators. The last fight of the night was a farang (foreigner) fight between a Swiss and a Latvian, and it was a fun way to end the evening. Neither of them had even close to same level of technique as the previous fighters, and while Muay Thai fighters prefer to kick, as this is the most damaging and far-reaching strike, the Europeans almost solely preferred roundhouse punches. It was basically a backyard boxing fight with a half-a-dozen kicks sprinkled throughout, with the Latvian finally connecting with a punch to the side of the Swiss's head that had the referee stop the fight. Fights usually go for five two minute rounds, with women going for four rounds, and five of the fights went the full distance, which meant that it was well after midnight by the time we left.
Last night was the infamous Full Moon Party, and Alex had a well-thought out plan: He was going to have a nap in the afternoon, a late supper, and then establish a meeting point where all us who had met one another in the last few days on the island would meet if separated every odd-hour until the sunrise. I thought that seeing the sunrise would be a pretty cool experience, but I need my sleep, and didn't make any promises. I ended up going to bed around three in the morning, as did Alex, despite his plan to see the sunrise. When I woke up around twelve today, there were still people dancing on the beach. Red bull does that to you I guess. The beach was wild, as you can imagine, with body paint, glow sticks and fluorescent colours being the primary fashion choices of the partyers. There were also many people dancing with fire pois - flaming kerosene orbs on the ends of rope - as well as a gigantic flaming skipping rope. Each end of the thirty-foot rope was held by a guy on raised platforms, and those brave enough would time their run and then see how long they would last before being tripped. The guys holding the rope were intent on having as many people trip as possible, and I only saw two people safely exit as every other skipper tripped and, writhing on the sand, tried to extricate themselves as quickly as possible from the flaming rope. One guy I talked to was sure that the guys with the rope were in cahoots with the medical centres, as he had been treated for burns he suffered a week ago and had been surprised at how expensive it had been. I wasn't convinced myself. I think there are enough drunks around getting hurt in stupid ways that the medical centres don't need more business.
Tomorrow I leave for the west coast, and hopefully do some diving at Koh Phi Phi before I make my way into the mountains of northern Thailand. Today was the 101st day of my trip, and I can't believe how quickly the time has gone. My trip is about halfway done, and it feels like I have been only gone for a month. While I will be back by the end of July at the latest, I can see how time can just get away from you as you travel. I met a Dutch guy about a week ago who had left Holland planning on being gone for three to four months. It was his thirteenth month on the road.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Phnom Penh to Siem Reap
Sobering. That is the one word that describes well one of my days in Phnom Penh. In a full day of incredibly somber sightseeing, I toured The Killing Fields of Choeung Ek and then the Tuol Sleng Prison. Thousands were killed at Choeung Ek in the most brutal manner, and while many of the eighty-some mass graves have been exhumed, there are still numerous graves that have been left. A graphic reminder of the lives lost under Pol Pot during the Khmer Rouge regime is a seventeen-level stupa; a large square tower, that contains approximately five thousand skulls of those murdered. After standing quietly alongside other tourists in the museum at Choeung Ek and taking in a short documentary that detailed how even children were executed by the Khmer Rouge, my next stop was Tuol Sleng Prison. This prison was the main holding-area for dissidents, members of the middle-class and anyone who ran afoul of Pol Pot during his time in power in the 70s. The cells have been left exactly as they were when the prison was shut down, and pictures on the walls of the room show how bodies were found chained and rotting to steel bed frames when the Khmer Rouge was overthrown. If prisoners were not killed during months of torture in Tuol Sleng, they were sent to Choeung Ek just a few kilometers away to be executed.
After that full day, my hostel showed "The Killing Fields," a 1984 British drama that details well what the Cambodian people went through during the rule of Democratic Kampuchea and the role the American military played in exacerbating the situation. While the day was educational and informative, it wasn't an experience that was easily digested, and my reaction was mirrored by most of my fellow travelers quietly taking in the same history.
Siem Reap, where I am now, is west of Phnom Penh, and its main function is as a gateway to the ruins of Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat, brought to the attention of the west by a French explorer in the mid 1800s, is a vast city of temples, all of them in various states of disrepair, with some more decrepit than others. Angkor Wat, which in english means City Temple, is the largest of the temples and the one that is best preserved, though the Angkor Wat Archaeological Reserve includes over a thousand other temples. I spent a day climbing over and through walls and scultures of various temples, marveling at the effort it would have taken to construct the buildings with nothing but man-power. While Angkor Wat is the biggest of all the temples, I enjoyed exploring the other lesser-known sites more; climbing hundreds of feet up a ziggurat or picking my way through the ruins of enormous walls with buddha after buddha looking out through the root systems of trees hundreds of years old. It was a warm day, near forty degrees, and by the end of it Alex, Otwin and I, guys who I met in my hostel and went to Angkor with, were soaked in sweat but unanimous in the opinion that it was well worth it.
Tomorrow I spend the day relaxing here in Siem Reap and then catch a bus the next morning for the long eight-and-a-half bus ride across the Cambodia-Thai border back to Bangkok. Right now I am trying to decide between either heading south to the Gulf of Thailand to spend some time diving and to take in the Full Moon Celebration, or heading north to Chiang Mai. Life is full of such tough decisions.
After that full day, my hostel showed "The Killing Fields," a 1984 British drama that details well what the Cambodian people went through during the rule of Democratic Kampuchea and the role the American military played in exacerbating the situation. While the day was educational and informative, it wasn't an experience that was easily digested, and my reaction was mirrored by most of my fellow travelers quietly taking in the same history.
Siem Reap, where I am now, is west of Phnom Penh, and its main function is as a gateway to the ruins of Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat, brought to the attention of the west by a French explorer in the mid 1800s, is a vast city of temples, all of them in various states of disrepair, with some more decrepit than others. Angkor Wat, which in english means City Temple, is the largest of the temples and the one that is best preserved, though the Angkor Wat Archaeological Reserve includes over a thousand other temples. I spent a day climbing over and through walls and scultures of various temples, marveling at the effort it would have taken to construct the buildings with nothing but man-power. While Angkor Wat is the biggest of all the temples, I enjoyed exploring the other lesser-known sites more; climbing hundreds of feet up a ziggurat or picking my way through the ruins of enormous walls with buddha after buddha looking out through the root systems of trees hundreds of years old. It was a warm day, near forty degrees, and by the end of it Alex, Otwin and I, guys who I met in my hostel and went to Angkor with, were soaked in sweat but unanimous in the opinion that it was well worth it.
Tomorrow I spend the day relaxing here in Siem Reap and then catch a bus the next morning for the long eight-and-a-half bus ride across the Cambodia-Thai border back to Bangkok. Right now I am trying to decide between either heading south to the Gulf of Thailand to spend some time diving and to take in the Full Moon Celebration, or heading north to Chiang Mai. Life is full of such tough decisions.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Careful in Cambodia
Though first holding on for dear life, by the time I and the scooter driver reached the Cu Chi tunnels, I was getting used to passing and being passed with consistently less than a hands-breadth to spare. The drive from Ho Chi Minh City out to Cu Chi took about an hour and a half, though it is likely we would have made better time if the driver hadn't stopped six times to ask for directions. After the second time he asked directions, he turned back to me and said it had been a couple of months since he had been out this way. I was not impressed.
The Cu Chi tunnels, used during the Vietnam War, allowed six Vietnamese villages to live completely underground as the American military razed the forest with B-52s and numerous troop incursions. At one time there were as many as 16,000 Vietnamese living in the 250 kilometers of tunnels, directly beneath the feet of the American soldiers who for the longest time had no idea how the Vietcong were able to disappear so quickly into the jungle. The network of tunnels housed infirmaries, armament centres and dining halls in three levels' worth of tunnels. The first level, approximately 3 meters below the surface, could be penetrated by the bombs dropped from the air, though the second and third levels could only be breached by men brave enough to climb down into the pitch-black darkness to fight the Vietcong hand-to-hand.
My tour guide showed me around what has now become a well-known tourist attraction, pointing out the various traps the Vietcong had devised for American soldiers. These traps were designed to maim rather than to kill, slowing down a full unit as they would have to attend to the injured soldier. There were numerous points, camouflaged in termite mounds and slight rises in the earth, that allowed the Vietcong to pop out of the ground like gophers to shoot and then retreat. There were some surprises built into the tour, the best one being a land mine that went off only a few steps away from a group of tourists. I don't think it was a coincidence that the group was American. It was a dummy mine of course, though the noise alone was enough to get some of the group clutching their chests. I was much further away from the explosion, but even at a distance of thirty feet it gave me quite a start.
The highlight at the end of the tour was being allowed to go below ground, and I followed my guide down into one of the tunnels and hunkered along for what he said was forty meters. I had my doubts about that, because it felt more like a hundred to me. My guide was about 5'5'' and he didn't have any trouble at all, bending at the waist and walking along with his back parallel to the ceiling of the tunnel. Being a foot taller meant that my legs couldn't straighten, and I improvised a sort of hopping-shuffle as best I could. With my thighs burning and dripping sweat by the time we reached daylight, I couldn't imagine living like that for months on end. And that was before my guide told me they had enlarged that section of the tunnel-works for gangly tourists like myself.
I traveled out to the Mekong Delta the next day, which didn't turn out to be as much of an experience as all the alluring advertising made it seem to be, and today I crossed the border into Cambodia. One of Cambodia's distinctions is being the most heavily-mined country in the world, so I plan to stay on well-beaten paths when I venture out to Angkor Wat.
The Cu Chi tunnels, used during the Vietnam War, allowed six Vietnamese villages to live completely underground as the American military razed the forest with B-52s and numerous troop incursions. At one time there were as many as 16,000 Vietnamese living in the 250 kilometers of tunnels, directly beneath the feet of the American soldiers who for the longest time had no idea how the Vietcong were able to disappear so quickly into the jungle. The network of tunnels housed infirmaries, armament centres and dining halls in three levels' worth of tunnels. The first level, approximately 3 meters below the surface, could be penetrated by the bombs dropped from the air, though the second and third levels could only be breached by men brave enough to climb down into the pitch-black darkness to fight the Vietcong hand-to-hand.
My tour guide showed me around what has now become a well-known tourist attraction, pointing out the various traps the Vietcong had devised for American soldiers. These traps were designed to maim rather than to kill, slowing down a full unit as they would have to attend to the injured soldier. There were numerous points, camouflaged in termite mounds and slight rises in the earth, that allowed the Vietcong to pop out of the ground like gophers to shoot and then retreat. There were some surprises built into the tour, the best one being a land mine that went off only a few steps away from a group of tourists. I don't think it was a coincidence that the group was American. It was a dummy mine of course, though the noise alone was enough to get some of the group clutching their chests. I was much further away from the explosion, but even at a distance of thirty feet it gave me quite a start.
The highlight at the end of the tour was being allowed to go below ground, and I followed my guide down into one of the tunnels and hunkered along for what he said was forty meters. I had my doubts about that, because it felt more like a hundred to me. My guide was about 5'5'' and he didn't have any trouble at all, bending at the waist and walking along with his back parallel to the ceiling of the tunnel. Being a foot taller meant that my legs couldn't straighten, and I improvised a sort of hopping-shuffle as best I could. With my thighs burning and dripping sweat by the time we reached daylight, I couldn't imagine living like that for months on end. And that was before my guide told me they had enlarged that section of the tunnel-works for gangly tourists like myself.
I traveled out to the Mekong Delta the next day, which didn't turn out to be as much of an experience as all the alluring advertising made it seem to be, and today I crossed the border into Cambodia. One of Cambodia's distinctions is being the most heavily-mined country in the world, so I plan to stay on well-beaten paths when I venture out to Angkor Wat.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Good Morning Vietnam!
Up at 5 AM, I slipped quietly out of Ro and Chris' house, hopped the locked gate and caught a cab out to the airport for my early-morning flight. After a hiccup in the visa process that was quickly taken care of, I boarded the plane out of Bangkok, touching down in Ho Chi Minh City just after nine o'clock. The weather is no less sweltering here, but I made the most of my day, first dodging the grossly inflated fare of the airport taxi service and catching a bus into the city. When the man at the taxi stand inside the airport asked me "You want get you taxi?" I told him no thanks, that I would be catching a taxi outside. "It's a better deal out there right?" I said. He looked a trifle abashed. "Yeah, it cheaper." It turned out the taxis outside were nine American dollars less compared to the twenty he was charging inside. And that was still highway robbery compared to the fifty cents for the bus, which I decided was my best option. After getting into the city centre, I got a scooter taxi the rest of the way to my hotel, and the only reason I wasn't positive I was going to die was because the driver's own life was at stake too. The roads here are much more congested than in Bangkok and the scooters are all over the road; dipping and weaving through traffic; up on the sidewalks; on the opposite side of the road against traffic - basically aiming for wherever they can see a hole or believe one will appear before they get there.
I got a bike-powered rickshaw to take me around to the sites of the city, though that is a little misleading: I finally succumbed to the countless offers to take me wherever I wanted to go by every second person who saw a white guy on the sidewalk. Sung, the driver, sat on the bicycle seat behind me, alternately puffing fiercely at his cigarette and then tapping me on the shoulder to direct my attention to the various landmarks that we passed. I didn't pick up much, as his commentary was largely unintelligible, though I caught the gist of it usually. I think. Sung was picking his way through a traffic jam of taxis while saying something about his vehicle being so much better than a car when a scooter, with two business men on it, zipped around one of the taxis. The scooter was driving perpendicular to the curb against traffic on a crosswalk, which I assume gave Sung the right-of-way. Sung ploughed into them, coming to a dead stop. The front of his rickshaw was reinforced for just such eventualities, which I was grateful for as I was perched on the front. The scooter driver caught most of the impact on his leg and was examining his torn pants and bloody leg as Sung leaned his weight into the pedals to get us up to speed again, yelling abuse over his shoulder through his cigarette.
Sung and I stopped at a variety of tourist highlights, though the one I found the most gripping was the Vietnam War Museum, previously know as the American War Atrocities Museum before Vietnam-American relations became more amicable. There were numerous pieced of weaponry, including tanks and aircraft, all of which had been seized by the Vietcong during the Vietnam War. The exhibit that really made the museum unique, and that I found disturbing, was the one focusing on documented cases of American human-rights abuses during the war. These deeply graphic pictures left nothing to the imagination and made me very glad to be a Canadian.
Tomorrow I will get another taste of recent history as I head out to the Cu Chi tunnels. It was this extensive network of tunnels that gave the Americans so much trouble in engaging the Vietcong during the Vietnam War. I'm don't know if there is the opportunity to go down into the tunnels, but if there is, hopefully I will be able to squeeze myself in.
I got a bike-powered rickshaw to take me around to the sites of the city, though that is a little misleading: I finally succumbed to the countless offers to take me wherever I wanted to go by every second person who saw a white guy on the sidewalk. Sung, the driver, sat on the bicycle seat behind me, alternately puffing fiercely at his cigarette and then tapping me on the shoulder to direct my attention to the various landmarks that we passed. I didn't pick up much, as his commentary was largely unintelligible, though I caught the gist of it usually. I think. Sung was picking his way through a traffic jam of taxis while saying something about his vehicle being so much better than a car when a scooter, with two business men on it, zipped around one of the taxis. The scooter was driving perpendicular to the curb against traffic on a crosswalk, which I assume gave Sung the right-of-way. Sung ploughed into them, coming to a dead stop. The front of his rickshaw was reinforced for just such eventualities, which I was grateful for as I was perched on the front. The scooter driver caught most of the impact on his leg and was examining his torn pants and bloody leg as Sung leaned his weight into the pedals to get us up to speed again, yelling abuse over his shoulder through his cigarette.
Sung and I stopped at a variety of tourist highlights, though the one I found the most gripping was the Vietnam War Museum, previously know as the American War Atrocities Museum before Vietnam-American relations became more amicable. There were numerous pieced of weaponry, including tanks and aircraft, all of which had been seized by the Vietcong during the Vietnam War. The exhibit that really made the museum unique, and that I found disturbing, was the one focusing on documented cases of American human-rights abuses during the war. These deeply graphic pictures left nothing to the imagination and made me very glad to be a Canadian.
Tomorrow I will get another taste of recent history as I head out to the Cu Chi tunnels. It was this extensive network of tunnels that gave the Americans so much trouble in engaging the Vietcong during the Vietnam War. I'm don't know if there is the opportunity to go down into the tunnels, but if there is, hopefully I will be able to squeeze myself in.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
First Impressions
While soldiers and red shirt protesters regularly clash in the streets, I haven't actually experienced any of the chaos personally. I had foolishly thought that I could go to some of the demonstrations and get some pictures, but with people dying - including a journalist in the last bout of fighting, I've decided that it would probably be wiser to just keep inside the gated compound of the school where I am staying, leaving the heroics to people who are getting paid for them. As long as I am aware of which parts of the city are safe and give minimal attention to my wardrobe (no red shirts), I feel that there is little danger here in Bangkok. The protesters are upset with the current government, so farang (foreigners) are not targets.
I haven't done much sightseeing yet, and probably will leave touring Bangkok until the end of my time in Southeast Asia, but it is exactly what I expected. Busy streets, with lines more of a suggestion of where vehicles would drive in a perfect world; families riding on one scooter dipping in and out of traffic, and a potpourri of smells created by the myriad street vendors, mangy stray dogs and garbage. I am looking forward to getting into the country and seeing the rural side of Thailand as well, but I don't mind the busy city streets either, though the 100% humidity and near-forty degree heat do take a toll on me.
Last night, I went out with Ro and Chris to a nearby shopping centre to see a movie, but when we got there a little before nine in the evening, it seemed there were people coming out but no one going in. We asked one of the doormen what was happening, but we weren't able to communicate with him - he simply smiled and nodded at all of our queries - until a passerby acted as an interpreter. The red shirt threat had apparently caused the shopping centre to shorten their hours, so we came home, feeling a bit annoyed at the inconvenience. In the morning, after hearing about the more than fifty deaths and nearly one thousand injured (and I hear that these numbers are usually gross underestimates, and that the rule of thumb is to double the official numbers) I felt a bit guilty for being even slightly bothered the night before. Hopefully missing a movie is the worst thing I will suffer because of the rioting in the streets here in Bangkok.
I haven't done much sightseeing yet, and probably will leave touring Bangkok until the end of my time in Southeast Asia, but it is exactly what I expected. Busy streets, with lines more of a suggestion of where vehicles would drive in a perfect world; families riding on one scooter dipping in and out of traffic, and a potpourri of smells created by the myriad street vendors, mangy stray dogs and garbage. I am looking forward to getting into the country and seeing the rural side of Thailand as well, but I don't mind the busy city streets either, though the 100% humidity and near-forty degree heat do take a toll on me.
Last night, I went out with Ro and Chris to a nearby shopping centre to see a movie, but when we got there a little before nine in the evening, it seemed there were people coming out but no one going in. We asked one of the doormen what was happening, but we weren't able to communicate with him - he simply smiled and nodded at all of our queries - until a passerby acted as an interpreter. The red shirt threat had apparently caused the shopping centre to shorten their hours, so we came home, feeling a bit annoyed at the inconvenience. In the morning, after hearing about the more than fifty deaths and nearly one thousand injured (and I hear that these numbers are usually gross underestimates, and that the rule of thumb is to double the official numbers) I felt a bit guilty for being even slightly bothered the night before. Hopefully missing a movie is the worst thing I will suffer because of the rioting in the streets here in Bangkok.
Christchurch to Bangkok
Just to forewarn readers - this post ended up being a fairly dry itinerary recitation. Read the most recent post if you want to get a feel for the mayhem and death in the streets. Not a first-hand experience, but there is mayhem and death. Mom, I'm being safe.
Waking up in Christchurch just after five in the morning, I was greeted by something I hadn't seen in all of my traveling so far - frost! Since our van has trouble starting most mornings, I was a little bit anxious that I wouldn't be able to get to the airport in time. We had parked just down the road from the terminal though, and I pulled up to the drop-off point with plenty of time to spare. Jordache stayed huddled in his sleeping bag in the back of the van until we pulled up to the airport and then pulled himself out, gave me a hug, and announced his plan to drive back to last night's parking spot and get some more sleep.
I flew into Wellington, getting in just before eight, grabbed the shuttle into the city and then found my way by foot to the Chinese Embassy. I had phoned twice to confirm that my passport had arrived from the Russian Embassy where I had arranged to have it sent to the Chinese Embassy, yet when the receptionist couldn't find it after searching for a while I was starting to get nervous. It was there though, and I feel a lot more comfortable having it in my possession - it is really the only thing that I have that I can't afford to lose.
My flight left the next morning, but as I had to check in at four in the morning, I didn't see the point in getting a hostel so I headed back out to the airport in the afternoon. I was excited to find that the airport had showers in the bathroom, so I cleaned myself up and then scouted the airport for a good place to roll out my sleeping bag later in the evening. I found a cushioned bench opposite the airport bar that I claimed, and then I settled in to watch the bar television. As the staff where cleaning up and preparing to leave, one of them noticed that I was still there, obviously with no intentions of leaving. He kindly gave me the television's remote control and told me to shut it off whenever I went to bed.
After finally turning in after enjoying my fill of "Criminal Minds" and the NZ news, I enjoyed some sleep before getting up in time to check in two hours before my flight. There had been a delay however, but they more than made it up to me by providing me with a fifteen dollar breakfast voucher. Since my lay-over in Sydney was an all-day affair, I wasn't in a hurry and enjoyed my free breakfast and then the complimentary breakfast on the flight to Sydney. I hung out all day in the Sydney airport, getting on the plane after four and then flying just under ten hours to arrive in Bangkok at 11:00 PM local time. After catching a taxi, I got into Nonthaburi, a city just outside of Bangkok. Given that it is inside the limits of Greater Bangkok, it is functionally a suburb of Bangkok. Feeling rather jet-lagged given that I had been up for over twenty-four hours, I clumsily dialed Roshali and Chris' number and Ro and her mom, along with one-month old Cadence came to pick me up.
I know Ro and Chris from my time at King's when we were students, and they have been living here in Thailand and teaching English since 2006. The Mclatcher family is growing in number, as Jaya, their oldest daughter, is now a very busy 1 1/2 years old, and their newest addition, Cady, is just four weeks old. As you can guess, a busy household! They have graciously invited me to stay here for as long as I want, and their home will likely be my home base for trips through the rest of Southeast Asia.
Waking up in Christchurch just after five in the morning, I was greeted by something I hadn't seen in all of my traveling so far - frost! Since our van has trouble starting most mornings, I was a little bit anxious that I wouldn't be able to get to the airport in time. We had parked just down the road from the terminal though, and I pulled up to the drop-off point with plenty of time to spare. Jordache stayed huddled in his sleeping bag in the back of the van until we pulled up to the airport and then pulled himself out, gave me a hug, and announced his plan to drive back to last night's parking spot and get some more sleep.
I flew into Wellington, getting in just before eight, grabbed the shuttle into the city and then found my way by foot to the Chinese Embassy. I had phoned twice to confirm that my passport had arrived from the Russian Embassy where I had arranged to have it sent to the Chinese Embassy, yet when the receptionist couldn't find it after searching for a while I was starting to get nervous. It was there though, and I feel a lot more comfortable having it in my possession - it is really the only thing that I have that I can't afford to lose.
My flight left the next morning, but as I had to check in at four in the morning, I didn't see the point in getting a hostel so I headed back out to the airport in the afternoon. I was excited to find that the airport had showers in the bathroom, so I cleaned myself up and then scouted the airport for a good place to roll out my sleeping bag later in the evening. I found a cushioned bench opposite the airport bar that I claimed, and then I settled in to watch the bar television. As the staff where cleaning up and preparing to leave, one of them noticed that I was still there, obviously with no intentions of leaving. He kindly gave me the television's remote control and told me to shut it off whenever I went to bed.
After finally turning in after enjoying my fill of "Criminal Minds" and the NZ news, I enjoyed some sleep before getting up in time to check in two hours before my flight. There had been a delay however, but they more than made it up to me by providing me with a fifteen dollar breakfast voucher. Since my lay-over in Sydney was an all-day affair, I wasn't in a hurry and enjoyed my free breakfast and then the complimentary breakfast on the flight to Sydney. I hung out all day in the Sydney airport, getting on the plane after four and then flying just under ten hours to arrive in Bangkok at 11:00 PM local time. After catching a taxi, I got into Nonthaburi, a city just outside of Bangkok. Given that it is inside the limits of Greater Bangkok, it is functionally a suburb of Bangkok. Feeling rather jet-lagged given that I had been up for over twenty-four hours, I clumsily dialed Roshali and Chris' number and Ro and her mom, along with one-month old Cadence came to pick me up.
I know Ro and Chris from my time at King's when we were students, and they have been living here in Thailand and teaching English since 2006. The Mclatcher family is growing in number, as Jaya, their oldest daughter, is now a very busy 1 1/2 years old, and their newest addition, Cady, is just four weeks old. As you can guess, a busy household! They have graciously invited me to stay here for as long as I want, and their home will likely be my home base for trips through the rest of Southeast Asia.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Last Stop: Christchurch
After living on the beach for three nights in Dunedin, we got our van into the shop as the muffler had pretty much disintegrated. The weld that was holding it together broke on the rough gravel roads between Bluff and Dunedin, and we learned after the diagnosis that all of the heavy driving had apparently broken the second stage as well. So, a $500 fix, and with our house on the hydraulic lift six feet off the ground we didn't have a place to sleep that night as the mechanics weren't too keen for us to use it as a tree-house. Thankfully, the O'Flynns, a family that had lived next door to us growing up in Fort McMurray and now in Dunedin, offered us a place to stay as long as we needed. It was great to have a warm, dry place to sleep and warm showers every day, but what was even better was to catch up with the O'Flynns who we hadn't seen in over ten years. We spent most nights talking until late at night/early in the morning, trading stories and reminiscing about Fort McMurray. It was amazing how quickly we were brought up to speed on what they have been doing over the last decade and when we finally left after four nights with them it was as if it had less than a year since they had moved to NZ, not over ten times that long. Except for the fact that the youngest ones had grown up to have their own unmistakable personalities since we had last seen them as toddlers!
Driving northward, our van was purring as we made our way to Mount Cook. The exhaust system had obviously had some cracks in it when we had gotten it welded the first time, and it was a great feeling to be in a quiet cab for once. As we drove out to Mt. Cook we were wondering if we would even be able to sight the peak, as I had heard stories about people making as many as three trips out to see it and having cloud cover obscure Mt. Cook every time. We had clear skies and a great view, and we camped that night just off the road. Nursing the last bit of gas in the tank, we rolled into Lake Taupo in the morning and got into Christchurch later that day. We had time to hit the surf, and I can now safe with no fear of embarrassment that I can actually surf. Consistently standing on each decent wave, the only thing left to get a hang of is reading the ocean, as the current carried us a far way down the beach necessitating a long walk back to the van. Still, shredding or green facing - surfing parallel with the wave as it breaks - has yet to happen, and I may just have to save working on that until Tofino.
Jordache and I took in a Easter Sunday service today, but by the time the new pastor was dedicated and congratulations given to the outgoing pastor, they decided that time had run out for a sermon. An interesting church, but the potluck lunch was good nonetheless. The outgoing pastor shook my hand as I stood beside him picking up some finger sandwiches and said "Good to see you again!" He apparently mistook me for someone else, or it's his go-to line. I must not have looked like someone who lived in their van though, so that's good.
This is my last stop in NZ as on the 8th I fly into Wellington to pick up my passport and from there I start my journey through Asia, flying into Bangkok on the 9th. There has been little culture shock so far what with traveling in English-speaking countries, so I may be in some senses easing into the whole traveling thing. I'm sure Thailand will be quite a different experience from NZ an Australia though, especially since I will begin the solo portion of my trip. Jordache is staying in NZ for a few more days after I leave, basically just waiting on selling our van before he either heads home to Canada or takes a bit of a detour through Fiji and/or the Cook Islands.
Alright, I will probably be putting up my next post from Thailand - until then, enjoy spring in Canada - or the weather in whatever part of the world you find yourself in.
Driving northward, our van was purring as we made our way to Mount Cook. The exhaust system had obviously had some cracks in it when we had gotten it welded the first time, and it was a great feeling to be in a quiet cab for once. As we drove out to Mt. Cook we were wondering if we would even be able to sight the peak, as I had heard stories about people making as many as three trips out to see it and having cloud cover obscure Mt. Cook every time. We had clear skies and a great view, and we camped that night just off the road. Nursing the last bit of gas in the tank, we rolled into Lake Taupo in the morning and got into Christchurch later that day. We had time to hit the surf, and I can now safe with no fear of embarrassment that I can actually surf. Consistently standing on each decent wave, the only thing left to get a hang of is reading the ocean, as the current carried us a far way down the beach necessitating a long walk back to the van. Still, shredding or green facing - surfing parallel with the wave as it breaks - has yet to happen, and I may just have to save working on that until Tofino.
Jordache and I took in a Easter Sunday service today, but by the time the new pastor was dedicated and congratulations given to the outgoing pastor, they decided that time had run out for a sermon. An interesting church, but the potluck lunch was good nonetheless. The outgoing pastor shook my hand as I stood beside him picking up some finger sandwiches and said "Good to see you again!" He apparently mistook me for someone else, or it's his go-to line. I must not have looked like someone who lived in their van though, so that's good.
This is my last stop in NZ as on the 8th I fly into Wellington to pick up my passport and from there I start my journey through Asia, flying into Bangkok on the 9th. There has been little culture shock so far what with traveling in English-speaking countries, so I may be in some senses easing into the whole traveling thing. I'm sure Thailand will be quite a different experience from NZ an Australia though, especially since I will begin the solo portion of my trip. Jordache is staying in NZ for a few more days after I leave, basically just waiting on selling our van before he either heads home to Canada or takes a bit of a detour through Fiji and/or the Cook Islands.
Alright, I will probably be putting up my next post from Thailand - until then, enjoy spring in Canada - or the weather in whatever part of the world you find yourself in.
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