A haphazard chronicle of my inevitable misadventures during a year in Vietnam and points east.

p.s. I'll be pitifully grateful if you send me email during my exile: TravelerKaty@hotmail.com

October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 February 2006 March 2006 May 2006

 
Nope, I'm not actually writing anything of substance today, even though it's been a few days. Amanda and Geoff have arrived, bringing with them loads of glorious reading material. Consequently, what time I haven't spent touristing around with them has been spent reading back issues of such intellectual periodicals as Movieline and Vanity Fair.

But I swear I'll write something today, and maybe post tomorrow about Thai Boxing (ouch) or The Cheesiest Day Tour I've Ever Taken.


posted by Katy at 8:34 PM

 
Luang Nam Tha, Laos, to Chang Mai, Thailand

It's not like I've accomplished a whole lot in the last few days, but it's been nice nonetheless. After determining that I could not catch a boat to the Thai border(way too expensive as we had to charter one -- no regular service) we managed to spend about 10 hours just sitting arund the bungalow-like restaurant at our guesthouse chatting with travelers from all over (Germany, USA, Britain, Australia and Israel). This is the joy of Laos. It's not exceptionally exciting, and I've seen more impressive scenery, but the whole atmosphere is so friendly and relaxed that it's easy to meet people and spend days on end doing virtually nothing. The Laos themselves are not exactly hard workers either, for the most part. According to the Lonely Planet, the French had a saying when they controlled Indochina: "The Vietnamese plant the rice, the Cambodians watch it grow, and the Laos listen to it grow. It was a bit obnoxious of them to say it, given that the French were busy extracting natural resources while keeping the locals in desperate poverty, but it pretty much sums up the speed and attitude of Laos. They are laid back to the point of coma.

I was able to rouse myself in time to catch a "bus" (actually covered pickup) out the next morning. As it is Laos, thevehicle left an hour and 15 minutes late, so I had plenty of time to dawdle. The road to Huay Xai on the Thai border, which as mentioned before was of the bone-crunching unpaved variety, ran through the Nam Tha NBCA (like a national park) and featured the loveliest scenery I've seen in Laos. It was like wandering through the primeval forest, only loud, fast, incredibly dusty and painfully bumpy. I'm stil not quite sure I got the thick coating of dust and clay off my body, and I suspect it may never come out of my clothes.

After so many bumpy pickups as transport, I wimped out and opted for the deluxe method of getting to Chang Mai from the border -- air-conditioned minivan. So decadent! So comfortable! Now that I'm here I've pretty much spent all my time looking at guesthouses and eating, so I won't have much to report about Thailand until after my sister and brother-in-law arrive. Yay, family actually coming to visit!

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 7:21 PM

 
Hey, the New York Times wrote an article about spitting in China too! They must be reading my blog.

In other news, I've made it to Chang Mai, Thailand, and I finally wrote that bit about my trek in way northern Laos. Just scroll down to the May 25 entry if you're interested.



posted by Katy at 4:13 AM

 
This is where I will be describing my trip from Luang Nam Tha to the Thai border and perhaps beyond. I've written it, but it's STILL too expensive to spend more than ten minutes here. Patience is a virtue, as my mom used to say.

posted by Katy at 6:00 AM

 
Muang Sing, Laos

Conversation between me and a Japanese tourist in my guesthouse in Muang Sing:

Me: So, you're from Japan?

Japanese Tourist: Yes.

Me: Where are you from in Japan?

JT: Ah . . . . Luang Prabang.

Me: Hmm. So what city in Japan do you live in?

JT: Three months.

All I can say is that he must have an excellent Japanese/Lao phrasebok, because he sure isn't getting by on English, sign language and "thank you" in Lao like most foreign travelers.


posted by Katy at 5:58 AM

 
Muang Sing, Laos

Trekking!!

Pretty much the only thing to do around Muang Sing is "hill tribe trekking". The town is very small, features about four restaurants, three of which appear to be owned by the same family, seven guesthouses and a small market. Oh, and Akha women selling bracelets, can't forget those. They are absolutely inescapable, magically appearing at your side within moments of your leaving the room or table. And while I am not opposed to bracelet vending in general, these women were an incredible pawing nuisance, and their bracelets were uniformly hideous. Naturally I bought one, in the vain hope that seeing it on my wrist would inspire the tiny predatory old women to find fresh meat. In fact, I think it may have had the opposite effect -- it marked me as a weak-minded buyer of crap who might be worn down again with sufficient harassment. Anyway, as a result of the extreme lack of activities outside of fleeing old tribeswomen, my travelling companions and I immediately signed up for a two day trek. Unfortunately for my peace of mind, the main feature was to be these selfsame Akhas.

Trekking in Laos and Northern Thailand is a curious affair. Unlike most other countries, where the focus of the trek is clearly on the scenery, here the focus is on the people you meet, minority tribes resident in the mountains stretching from Myanmar to Vietnam. It's not that the scenery is bad -- it's quite nice, really, with jungle and mountains and villages and fields -- but it is secondary to the experience of viewing the tribal people in their natural habitat. I now have somewhat mixed feelings about this whole concept, but I'm getting ahead of myself. First, we did the trek.

It was just four of us, as there aren't too many tourists clamoring for treks in these days of post-SARS Southeast Asia: Doug, 26 year old Californian who has recently completed 4 years of teaching in Japan; Danny, 19 year old overachiever and backpacking addict who is beginning his senior year of college and has spent every summer since age 15 bon solo backpacking tours; Ket Keo, or KitKat as we called him, our 25 year old Lao guide; and myself, the oldest and slowest. I didn't feel bad about holding anyone up, however, since they wouldn't have reached the minimum tour size without me.

We selected our guide on the basis of the air of professionalism and responsibility of the company. The idea of wandering into the hills to view people like animals is strange enough -- we wanted to make sure that nobody was being taken advantage of. It was also certainly in our own interest to have a guide who spoke English, Lao and a bit of the language of the tribes to be visited, since we were sure to have plenty of questions and otherwise we'd all just be staring uncomfortably at eachother.

The trek itself was relatively benign. The first part was flat, through sugarcane and corn fields and fallow rice paddies, waiting for the monsoon. We stopped in two Hmong villages, and watched them weaving and milling rice flour. Another hour walking and we were in our first Akha village, which really gave no sign of the Akha weirdness to come. Here we got more of a sense of the general oddness of cultural trekking, as we stopped at the Chief's house for some tea and chat.

It's strange enough just waling through villages and saying hello to everyone. It's even stranger to sit on the floor of the chief's balcony while women (coldly) and children (curiously) stared. The chief was wearing soccer shorts only, his wife was wearing a sarong skirt and traditional Akha headdress of dark cloth decorated with foreign coins and other silver objects, and was periodically nursing a massive baby. I did not mention a shirt on Mrs. Chief, as she was not wearing one -- the Akha are a clothing-optional tribe. Babies wear nothing, toddlers wear either nothing or shirts only, and women wear skirts and sometimes a shirt or something that looks like a big cummerbund. It's like one of those National Geographic pictorials, except you never get a sense from those photos of how dirty everyone really is, how ragged their clothing, and how desperately poor they look. The chief and his wife, for example, who looked fairly well fed and who could be expected to be a bit better off than most, had seen four of their ten children die in infancy.

After loitering the requisite fifteen minutes (the Akhas believe it is bad luck if someone walks through the village without stopping) we headed up the hill and into the jungle, our destination an Akha village atop a mountain about three hours away.

At first, upon entering the village of Pawaikao, things seemed pretty normal. Kids said hello, dogs barked, adults stared, and the chickents and pigs ignored us. The chief's house had a separate room suitable for segregating the foreigners from the family. Like all Akha houses, it was on stilts, made of wood with walls of wood, bamboo or jungle leaves. The roof was corrgated metal, a symbol of wealth in the village, and the floor was made of thin strips of bamboo stretched across wooden slats in the nature of a mattress on a bed. Though I have heard that bamboo is extremely strong, walking across this floor did not inspire confidence -- it bent with every step, giving the sense that you might fall through the floor and flatten the chickens below at any moment.

The houses was basically one big room plus the tourist addition and a covered deck. On one end of hte main room they built a hearth of about five inches of dirt, upon wihc a wood fire cooks meals and boils water from the well ten minutes away. Underneath the house, pigs and chickens roam at will, occasionally venturing up the stairs (chickens only) to be summarily shooed off. Dogs, which hated me, also ran around with abandon when they weren't circling and baring their teeth at me, unaware that they would soon be Chinese food.

We were lulled into complacency during our first hour, as we sat in our room chatting with a few young Aka men. That is, if you can call a combination of mime, rope tricks, juggling and drawing "chatting". Things began to go wrong when one of the Akha men drew a car in his notebook, then by a series of gestures and method acting, clearly suggested that we would be the car, while the Akha would be shooting at us with their highly accurate home-made rifles. This was the first sign that all was not peace and tranquility in our little village.

After we left the protective confines of the chief's house (who, by the way, was wearing soccer shorts) in order to go exploring, things got considerably weirder. Doug went off with the young men to inspect their gun. When he refulsed to pay them to shoot it (it was a very dangerous and haphazard-looking home-made muzzle-loader) the 15 young men and boys circling him joked that they would beat him up if he didn't cough up, then indicated that better yet, when we were all leaving the following morning they would shoot us from a distance.

I, meanwhile, wandered uphill, where children were absent-mindedly manhandling a yelping puppy and semi-clothed Akha women stared malevolently while making their teeth, gums and lips permanently blacker by chewing betelnut leaves. All three of us had similar experience during our wanderings -- men and children "joking" about violence inflicted upon us, many disturbing throat-slitting gestures, and even a four year old naked boy got in to the action by lunging toward us with the chicken claw tied on a string around his neck.

As for the adults, when they weren't creeping us out they were asking or demanding money or other items. Though we did not distribute any money or gifts, as we were specifically instructed to avoid the creation of a begging-dependent society in these villages, I did end up handing over my few remaining Advil to a guy with a toothache, and shortly before our departure from the Village of the Damned I could be seen doling out dollops of sunscreen to maybe 20 residents, men, women and children alike. All seemed fascinated by the way they could rub it into their skin and smell it on eachother. At SPF 45, they're all quite safe from sunburn for a few hours at least, and since they never wash, it could last days.

I did gain some valuable insight into my own capabilities during our stay. The toilet facilities, such as they were, basically consisted of a greenery-free section of a hillside facing the village. In view of the village, in point of fact, which doesn't afford a whole lot of privacy. The three of us dubbed it The Sandbox. Using the sandbox wasn't so bad, if you were able to find a spot concealed from the majority of the houses. However, after we determined that the Akha were scary and possibly insane in some cases, it meant first that we never again split up, and second that there was no way we were going out there in the dark. Just before dark we took a communal trip out there, but that night was when I acquired this valuable information -- in a situation in which you are stuck in a remote village with "joking" gun and machete-wielding villagers, it is possible to "hold it" for an exceptionally long time. This newfound ability on my part proved highly useful during my marathon tailbone-unfriendly ride on a dirt road to the Thai border in the back of a modified Toyota pick-up two days later.

The visit wasn't all weird and creepy, of course. Dough and I were both a big hit with the kids, with Doug being generally a clown and giving the boys rides on a deerskin, and me playing monkey-see-monkey-do with the girls. I also managed to utterly scandalize some open-mouthed women by involving about 30 kids in a sophisticated game involving me making monster noises and chasing them around. Akha women do not play with the children. In fact, I saw very little affection displayed between anyone of any age at Pawaikao.

We watched as children with a metal pick dug into the ground to catch termites (did you know they have wings? Yikes) that were subsequently attached to wooden snares and used to capture birds for food. We also saw what appeared to be the Akha version of a bachelor auction. A young man wearing a red baseball hat with fake flowers sticking straight up out of the brim (the lonely bachelor, according to KitKat) sat on a porch with the Woman in Charge, while young women stood around, questions were asked, and items exchanged. I can't really be more specific, as I was summarily shooed away by the Woman In Charge when I got within 50 fee of the event.

After dinner at the chief's house (not with the Chief -- the family ate separately) we were treated to an Akha massage, a technique which involved an inordinate amount of, shall we say delicately, posterior palpitation. Once this odd massage started I was happy for two reasons -- first, that I was fuly clothed. Given the flexible attitude toward clothing among the Akha, this was hardly a given. Second, that it was young women giving us the treatment. One of the original creepy young men we talked with in the chief's house had been quite fascinated by me, feeling my leg and suggesting in pantomime that I'd be much cooler if I removed my blouse. During my wander through the village, he had cornered me and indicate that he would be performing the massage, a possibility that would have resulted in strenuous objections on my part. At any rate, the ladies were the masseuses, and my hind end was seemingly the topic of much discussion and comparison among them, with all three of them copping a feel. I'm not certain if it was the shape and perhaps over-padded nature of it that had them so intrigued, or the possibility of cash being located in the back pockets. They pretty much patted us all all down like cops looking for weapons, then held out their hands simultaneously in a request for money. KitKat took care of that, fortunately, so we didn't have to place a dollar value on the weirdest massage of our collective experience.

The next morning we made it out alive, though not before watching a woman practically break her child's arm for misbehaving (he wanted to go to the fields with her). Although we developed a new policy -- No Akha -- we were unable to implement it immediately because we had two more Akha villages to visit on the trek. Fortunately these were decidedly more tame. At the first one, the chief (who was wearing soccer shorts) was friendly, played with his children, and his wife was laughing and friendly too. A smiling female Akha -- who'd have thought it existed? At the second village, the chief (in soccer shorts, naturally. I began to envision the ceremonial Donning of the Soccer Shorts as the chief is named) told us all about hte wedding preparations underway in the village that day. However, despite these more positive encounters, I plan to hold firm to my No Akha rule henceforth. At least as soon as I can get rid of those bracelet ladies.

The whole idea of hill-tribe trekking is strange, and it's very difficult to judge whether the benefit from or are harmed by the periodic presence of foreign gawkers. On one hand, some are desperately, desperately poor and can use the additional money for education or medicine, particularly now that the Lao government has cracked down on opium production. At the same time, the presence of foreigners surely disrupts their traditoinal way of life and encourages them to beg for money and gifts rather than doing hard traditional work in the fields. The Akha are perhaps particularly unsuited to this kind of outside interference, as they certainly seemed to us to be hostile to outsiders, unlike my experiences wandering through villages in northern Vietnam.

All in all, the experience was less fun than it was bizarre, creepy and thought-provoking. I guess I'l see what trekking is like in Thailand where it's practically a major industry in the north, but my expectations aren't too high. I think I may stick to scenery-oriented trekking in the future.

Remember, NO AKHA!



Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 12:01 AM

 
Luang Prabang to Oudomxai to Luang Nam Tha, Laos

You can forget any negative comments I ever made about Lao buses -- I retract them all. Having to sit on the little stool in the middle of the aisle? Forgiven. Asian technopop videos playing at tinnitus-inducing volume for eight straight hours? Forgotten. Stopping for every chicken-toting person on the roadside regardless of how full the bus is? Solid business practice. Never, but never leaving less than a half hour late? A mere bagatelle. I'm ready to testify -- public buses are the Rolls Royces of the Lao transportation system.

Why this change of heart, you might well ask. After all, I incessantly bitch and moan about bus rides -- what could possibly have occurred to upend my universe in such a way?

This picture (aaurgh, can't find a link and this internet place is charging me a fortune. will insert later) should help explain the situation. That little contraption is called a sawngthaew (no, I have no idea how to pronounce it), and it was the surprise waiting for me at the bus station when I went to catch my "bus" to Oudomxai. I've ridden in these before, but I knew immediately that this was going to be a whole different kettle of fish sauce. In the past I've used sawngthaews in one of two ways -- for very short distances, as between a bus station and a guesthouse, or basically privately chartered for the exclusive use of me and whoever I happen to be travelling with for the day. I've seen these public, long distance versions before, and they are grim looking affairs.

In the back of that pickup (from which it is very difficult to see the view, making it even more annoying) an unlucky thirteen of us wedged ourselves in -- five on each of the benches along either side, and three sitting on several 50-kilo bags of rice down the middle. A motorbike was tied to the back on the small platform normally used to aid in boarding and deboarding, and several baskets of chickents were lashed to the side panels of the metal roof. Two other foreigners were on the trip with me, a couple from Bordeaux, and they ended up sitting on the motorbike, holding on for dear life as we screeched down the twisty mountain road.

We only made one stop, to add water to the radiator, but it was just as well. The presence of the motorbike made it quite difficult to get in and out. By the time we arrived in Oudomxai I feaqred my knee was permanently locked in a very painful position.

I had fully intended to break up my journey by staying in Oudomxai overnight. But in exploring my transportation options for the continuation to Luang Nam Tha, I discovered that not only bwas a connecting vehicle scheduled to leave in an hour (meaning two hours), but it was, in fact., a BUS. A lovely, ancient, cargo-filled, chicken infested public bus. Naturally, I couldn't pass it up -- lord only knew what they would foist upon me if I waited until the following day. So here I am in Luang Nam Tha, relacxing after my gorgeous bus ride made in luxuriant comfort. Seats with backs! Windows that open and close! Travelling in SE Asia really makes you appreciate the little things in life.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren





posted by Katy at 8:10 PM

 
Luang Prabang, Laos

Luang Prabang is a fabulous place, an amazing combination of culture, scenery and traveler amenities (by which I mean food and shopping). It's a small town, less than 20,000 residents, situated in the mountainous confluence of the Nam Khan and Mekong Rivers. Despite its small size, it features an amazing number of temples -- though centuries of war have ravaged the temples and Buddhist art and architecture throughout Laos, 32 pre-French temples remain intact in Luang Prabang, including some examples more than 500 years old.

These featues led UNESCO to declare the city a "World Heritage" site, calling it "the best preserved city in Southeast Asia." It's a delightful place to just wander around, and it's impossible to stick to a schedule as there are distractions around every corner. The main shopping and tourist areas are full of ornate textiles, handmade paper and lamps, and carved wooden items, along with innumerable restaurants where you can sit at a sidewalk table sipping a mango smoothie and watching the tourists and locals go by. The buildings are mostly in French colonial style, but once off the main thoroughfares Lao styles filter in, with clapboard, stucco and woven mat houses alongside brightly gilded temples with intricately carved doors and walls.

The temples, or "wats", are in a variety of styles, reflecting the shifts in ruling influence over the centuries. The Luang Prabang Style, similar to Northern Siamese, is the most beautiful in my opinion. The roofs are designed with many curving overlapping layers, sloping almost to the ground. Doors are carved, gilded reliefs, and sometimes the exterior walls are covered with glittering mosaic scenes. The whole thing is rather overwhelming, as each individual element is beautiful in its own right.

With all this beauty and variety around, you'd think I would have spent loads of time touring wats, but in fact I keep getting distracted. My first day here I ended up visiting paradise -- the Khuong Si Falls, about 25 km down a dirt road from Luang Prabang. My companion Nomi, a 30 year old fabric designer from New York City, and I had heard through the traveler grapevine of a hidden pool with a rope swing that you could climb to. In fact, I had run into Stee the night before (English guy I traveled with in southern Laos) and he refused to tell me how to get there. The jerk told me that part of the fun is trying to find it. Curse him.

So Nomi and I set off up the hill, having absolutely no idea where we were going. Even from the bottom the falls were stunning, spilling down off the rocks from all different angles and flowing into pools of a surreal shade of pale green-blue. No time to enjoy at that moment, however -- we were on a mission.

Naturally, as I was involved and my instincts cannot be trusted, we took the longest route possible. And this place was not easy to find. We hiked all the way to the top, waded across the river, and peering over, could see the pool -- clearly we had walked up the wrong side of the falls. The question was, how the hell could we get to it? We began hiking down the other side, but there didn't seem to be any side trails that might lead to the pool or even to the edge of the falls. After we felt we'd gone too far, we turned around and headed back up, determined to examine every trailside plant for signs of recent human passage. In the end, a more hardy explorer found it for us, and a good thing too. Turns out the "trail" to the pool was up a gradual rocky waterfall, or very steep stream, however you wish to look at it. No wonder we didn't spot it. We scrambled through the rushing water, up the rocks, and under fallen trees until we reached paradise -- two staggered pools with water raining down all around. At the lip of the lower pool you could dangle your legs over the sheer falls and look out on the tropical valley. We swam, talked to other adventurous souls who had successfully located the promised land, and played on the rope swing all afternoon.

On my second day in Luang Prabang, I discovered my new favorite way to travel -- motorbike. Nomi, also a motorbike neophyte, and I decided we really ought to learn to ride one while in Asia, so we wandered down the main street, handed over $7 apiece and were given the keys to two 110 horsepower mopeds.

We had, of course, hoped to get some useful instruction on how to operate the vehicle. We were quite up front about never having done it before. The motorbike owner used his 25 words of English to show us how to find the gas tank, how to switch gears, and how to start the damn thing (harder than you think). As Nomi was unable to do the kick start, I was assigned the older, more decrepit bike -- no speedometer, broken fuel gauge, odometer permanently set on 71,361.9. After watching Nomi do a short test drive down the man street, the owner turned to me and said "very slow, OK?" So the two of us set off, lurching down the stret in the manner of nursing home residents taking their walkers out for a run down the hallway.

I must admit things didn't begin auspiciously. When we reached the end of the street we stopped to discuss our progress and exchange tips (my progress would have been better had I mastered the "stop" -- I tended to try the Fred Flintstone method before I found the proper pedal). Roadwork was in progress near where we were loitering, and a large truck began to back up toward us, accompanied by a number of workers yelling at us to move out of the way. I had already decided that I wasn't competent enough to do anything speedy with witnesses involved, so would coast the motorbike out of the way. Nomi accidently started hers in gear, revved the engine and went screaming toward the back of the truck, fortunately tipping over onto the gravel before she slammed into the back. All was well, however, as several laughing Laos pulled her and the bike from under the truck. After that little learning experience, we were on our way. Slowly.

It's really not that difficult, driving a motorbike. In fact, you have nothing whatsoever to do with your left hand, which explains why so many Lao girls use that hand to carry their parasol while driving. The best part, though, was that we could go and stop wherever we wanted. We got delightfully lost on our way to Pak Ou, a cave full of Buddha statues, but eventually meandered down a long dirt road with lovely views of the Mekong and found the "ferry," otherwise known as a guy with a rickety boat. The cave was OK -- not damp and it did indeed boast thousands of Buddhas, many of them sadly headless. Post-cave we luxuriated at a thatch-roofed restaurant with a view of the Mekong, eating fried fish and sticky rice and sipping pineapple juice. This is the life, I tell you.

Today, Day 3, I actually have visited some wats, though my schedule was shot to hell when I ended up chatting with a monk for an hour and a half at my first stop. Those monks really like to chat. I also got sidetracked by some shopping -- I really can't be expected to resist the call of the tourist goods forever. Anyway, my visit to Luang Prabang has pretty much come to a close, and tomorrow morning I head north on my way to the Golden Triangle. Yet another local bus -- sigh.


Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 6:25 AM

 
I am aware that this blog is usually All About Me, but today I would like to congratulate my sister on her graduation from law school. Congratulations, Amanda! By the way, I think I need some free legal advice . . .
posted by Katy at 6:15 AM

 
Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang, Laos

My mother has pretty much the same haircut she had in her very cute 1960 high school graduation photo. She's never changed it to any noticeable degree in the interim -- once you've figured out what looks good and feels right, there's no real point to experimenting, I guess. Her hair is fairly short, dark brown and curly all over, and every few months she gets a perm to rejuvenate things. Often the perm is too dramatic, however, and Mom sets to work with the blow dryer and curling iron to tame it back into respectability.

It was those first few days of Mom's new perm that I was reminded of during the lovely drive from Vang Vieng to Luang Prabang. The mountains are gorgeous, with sheer rock faces surrounded by lush vegetation. The rounded tops of the thousands of leafy tropical trees is what made me think of curls -- countless overdramatic perm curls up and down endless mountains in the distance. I'm pretty sure my mother is now thinking of ways to slowly torture me for this comparison, of course. You have very nice hair, Mom, and the Laotian countryside is equally beautiful.

The tropical mountains, which also actually reminded me of spears of broccoli in varying colors (and I do not want to suggest that Mom's hair looks like, or ever has looked like, broccoli) got slightly less rocky as the drive progressed, and patches of hillside were logged, slashed and burned for a few years of crops, like reddish-brown scabs on the green landscape. Along the way are tiny mountain villages, perched upon ridge or clutching the steep hillside. Houses on stilts, with woven walls and thatched roofs either wedge themselves onto the little flat land available not consumed by the road, or hover half on land and half reaching over the abyss, long legs stretching for the distant ground.

It was actually fortunate that there was so much to enjoy along the way, as the trip was a bit terrifying, for two reasons. First, our minivan driver approached the twisty mountain road like a rally driver determined to vanquish the competition, which in this case was trundling public buses and logging trucks carrying trees so old and huge that each vehicle could only carry two or three at a time. The handle above my window was recently replaced and rebolted and I could see why. It was one of those trips in which you periodically examine the structure of the minivan and assess your chances of survival in a roll-over accident.

The second reason the trip was sort of scary was the whole guerilla issue, which I perhaps did not mention before I left Vientiane in the interest of saving my family some potential worry. In February, anti-government guerillas ambushed a public bus on the road to Vang Vieng and shot and killed all its passengers, including two European cyclists. Last month it happened again, with 20 killed including two Australians. The charred, bullet-ridden carcasses of the buses in question are still lying on the side of the Highway 13, one on its side and the other pushed partway into the jungle. It is for this reason, in addition to the added comfort offered, that I have been taking nice little minibuses this week, since they are unlikely targets for the rebels. It wasn't that I was on the edge of my seat the whole time (lord knows I couldn't have sustained such a position what with all the careening) but it was always in the back of my mind, however impossible it seemed on a lovely sunny day on a perfectly normal looking road.

At any rate, I have arrived in Luang Prabang safely, where I will satiate myself with Buddhist temples over the next few days.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 3:35 AM

 
Vang Vieng, Laos

I am sunburned, scraped my legs up on the river bottom, stubbed my toe, have blisters on my hands, may have reinjured my ankle, and it would be a miracle if I escaped hosting some intestinal parasite. In my case, this all translates into a delightful day kayaking down the Nam Song River in Vang Vieng.

Vang Vieng is a weird little town. It's not so much a Lao village as an oasis for dropouts and professional budget travelers, a place where Lao businesspeople serve grubby westerners pizza, fruit shakes and all the pot you can smoke. It's located along a winding tropical river in a lovely mountainous area with lots of outdoorsy activities nearby, and though the setting is Lao, the town is pure backpacker. All cafes (and there are many) serve both western and Asian food, and most show movies (knockoff dvd's) as well. Many cafes and guesthouses organize trekking, kayaking or rock climbing as a sideline, and some will, for a price, upgrade your meal with ingredients such as magic mushrooms or hashish, or will at least clue you in on where you can smoke opium. As I am older and squarer than most backpackers, I stuck with the movies, the kayaking, and the menu's non-happy food options.

I haven't yet mentioned it but this kayaking trip advertised another main feature -- caving. There are loads of caves around Vang Vieng of all shapes and sizes -- a major tourist attraction in the area. You may recall that I hate caves, but since they're such a big deal around here I decided to give it another shot. Perhaps I would learn to love caves as I have learned to love sweetened condensed milk in my coffee.

We took off paddling around 10 a.m. As there were three of us tourists (all women, one English and one Korean) and two guides, two of us were sharing two-man kayaks with a guide, which was actually really fabulous. The river was low and pretty slow, so for the most part it was more like sea kayaking than river kayaking. My experiences with sea kayaking have taught me that it is exhausting work requiring far more arm conditioning than I have had at the peak of my physical fitness level. Of course, my peak lifetime fitness level is only slightly above "three-toed sloth," so don't let me deter anyone from a very lovely and rewarding sport.

In this case, as I was in the front of the boat with the guide in back, I was able to kayak in the very best possible way for a lazy out-of-shape non-athlete. I would paddle for a little while, then sit there with my paddle on my lap communing with nature. Sometimes I would lean all the way back and look at the clouds. Then I would paddle a little more, maybe splash the people in the other boats, and take another break. Not that the guide was knocking himself out while I lounged like Cleopatra -- we were all taking a decidedly leisurely approach to the day, and half the time we were all just letting the river push us along.

So during the morning, the birds were singing, the scenery was incredible, I was relaxed to the point of coma, and all was right with my world. Then we stopped at the first cave.

You might think that after my first experience of hiking in substandard footwear I would have learned my lesson and would be fully prepared for all eventualities. If that is the case, you grossly overestimated my ability to learn from mistakes. Not that I didn't at least make an effort -- when I paid for the trip, I did actually ask the guy at the cafe what sort of shoes I should wear. "Sandals OK," he said. Is there a long walk, I asked. Are my flip-flops ok? "Sure, yeah, OK," he replied, clearly uninterested.

As we got out of the boats at the cave site, the guide, whose English could generously be described as "limited", looked at me, pointed at the mountains, and said "50 meters, you OK?" I looked at him blankly. Of course I could walk 50 meters. What did he take me for? Half hour later we were still hacking through waist-high viney underbrush and had yet to start uphill to the cave entrance. My flip-flops were still working OK. Annoying, but fine really. Even the uphill to the cave wasn't so bad, though it did require a fair amount of concentration to keep from twisting an ankle or sliding off a rock. I was, in fact, feeling quite satisfied with myself. That's when I spotted the cave entrance.

I have always pictured caves as a big half-round hole in a mountain through which you can walk upright until such time as the openings get too small and you (meaning "I") turn back. Like on Gilligan's Island, for example. Intellectually I know that not all caves are like this, but since I avoid them in general, I've never actually entered one that I couldn't just saunter into. In this cave, there was a pile of dangerous rocks being dripped upon by something up above. To enter we were to climb down these rocks with the assistance of aged ladders, sadly missing rungs in strategic places. I took one look and refused to go any farther. While I had survived the hike thus far, the last bit wasn't any fun, and the cave looked grim and dangerous from my point of view.

After five minutes of discussion, I was reluctantly convinced that: A. the cave was really easy and safe after this first dodgy bit, and B. we didn't have to come back up the same way. Of course, a more forward-thinking person would have asked herself, indeed what is the exit like on the other side, and how will we get back to the boats from there? Evidently I am not a forward-thinking person, as I was just relieved I wouldn't have to do that wet rock thing twice.

So we headed down, and I reached the bottom with much moaning and one near miss, but no serious incident. A few steps later I was reminded that I hate caves. The unfortunate thing about them is that by definition they are very dark. In addition, they are usually cold, wet, have uneven floors with unexpectedly deep puddles, and many have bats. This cave had all the traditional cave features except the bats, and had the added benefit of looming rocks and constant dripping from the ceiling.

Even though the cave floor wasn't terrible treacherous, I discovered, at this point, a very irritating aspect of trekking in flip-flops -- when they get muddy, there is no more traction between foot and shoe. The resultis that your feet are continually sliding slimily to the side whenever the ground isn't perfectly level. And we had one additional challenge. I had foolishly assumed that since this tour included caves, the tour company would provide flashlights of some sort. In actual fact, they provide each of us a little candle. Can I just say that candles are wholly inadequate for lighting a cave? Unless I held the thing at my knees, there was no question of actually illuminating the floor for safer walking. Plus, the Korean woman and I were both seemingly incapable of keeping our candles lit -- her because she was near the front and the wind got it, me on account of all the flailing.

We eventually emerged (after climing up a wet rock/rickety ladder combo virtually identical to the entrance) adn as we walked slowly away the light dawned -- in order to get back to the boats, we were hiking up and over the mountain we had just gone through. And it was muddy. Do you recall my issues with muddy flip-flops? Well, when you're going up or down a mountain, they are much worse. I have developed an even greater respect for all those natives who hike in shower shoes. At last, however, we made it back to the boats, where the tourists went swimming while the guides barbecued lunch. As we sat on the bank eating, we watched a Lao fisherman pull a four foot snake out of the river and smash his head with a rock. Yeek. No more swimming.

To begin the afternoon I managed to flip out of the kayak at the beginning of the only really respectable set of rapids on the entire trip. I would have been fine if the guides hadn't insisted on grabbing me and giving me absolutely unintelligible instructions. They were having a grand time -- I was yelling at them to let go, dammit. Only a few scrapes, though. No harm done. No snakes spotted either.

After that excitement we just had a long leisurely paddle downstream, past signs for caves that we happily did not enter and Beerlao huts set up in the middle of the river to tempt innertubers. Periodically the silence would be punctuated by a rocket. Yes, a rocket -- we were lucky enough to be in town for the annual rocket festival, in which townspeople set off homemade rockets in an effort to encourage the gods to send rain.

The rocket festival is really a huge party, with very weak Buddhist overtones. In the morning we watched families and friends carrying brightly colored and streamered wooden contraptions with big fake rockets attached, all heading to a ceremony at the local temple. At the launch site, on a big sandy spot on the riverside, a few bald, orange-clad monks were in attendance, but it was clear that this was more of a cultural than a religious festival, complete with rides for kids, lots of Beerlao and, inexplicably, men in drag. Hundreds of kids and adults sat wallowing in the river like buffalo, getting a break from the heat while watching each set of rockets installed on the wooden launch pad. A successful launch was met with cheers and mutual congratulations as the rocket's manufacturers swaggered back to the judges table. An unsuccessful launch was met by running, ducknig, submersion, and laughing as the smoke cleared. It would be impossible to stage such an event in North America or Europe -- it really seemed like a miracle that nobody's limbs got blown off as teenagers scrambled up the launch pad to correct problems with burning fuses seconds before firing.

After the rocket festival, we headed to Cave #2, which could not have been a bigger contrast to our first cave. It was enormous (housed hundreds during the war) with electric lights, a paved walkway, and railings, just like Mother Nature intended. It was dry and full of stalactites and stalagmites, and though it was certainly a bit Disneyfied, for a cave-hater it was first-rate. Oh, except I did stub my toe on an unexpected and poorly lit step -- maybe a few more lights would be in order. We wouldn't want the cave to be dark, after all.

Whew, that was the end of my day, and I'm exhausted from writing about it! Next stop: Luang Prabang.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 6:17 AM

 
As I mentioned earlier today, I was heading to the US Embassy in Vientiane this afternoon to get more passport pages. I did not have high hopes for this little venture, due to my previous experience with our illustrious foreign service.

When I had to replace a stolen passport in La Paz, Bolivia, the yahoos at the embassy attempted to maximize my frustration level. I would go through security, wait in line, then the dimwit behind the bulletproof glass would tell me something critical that I needed to get (different sized photo, drivers' license, $64 US dollars in exact change, etc). So I would leave the embassy, walk down or up the hill to get it (La Paz is all hill, and I was recovering from a 6 day flu during which I had eaten approximately 3 times), then return with the requested item, go through security, wait in line, and then be told by the troll behind the window that there was another critical item I needed. After three of these trips, he informed me that all was in order and I would get my passport in two to three weeks. Two to three weeks!! I had gotten a passport in one day when I was living in DC, and I knew they sent a diplomatic pouch up north every day. Since I was in a decidedly poor frame of mind at that point, I proceeded to raise hell, speak to the Counsel, and get an agreement to get me my passport in one week. The point here is that they go out of their way to be difficult at embassies. And I guess the other point would be not to piss me off.

In Ho Chi Minh City I didn't have any problems quite that annoying, but that may have been because they were never open. When I arrived in Saigon the citizen assistance section was open Monday through Friday, 8-11 and 1-4 or something like that. Within a couple of months they must have realized that they were being WAY too available to the citizenry, and cut back their hours. Now the HCMC Consulate is open Monday through Thursday, 8:30am to 11:30am. Yes, our public servants are available to us a whopping twelve hours a week. Hope those guys aren't working too hard.

So those of you who have not had the misfortune of dealing with US Embassies overseas will not understand the overwhelming wonderment I felt during my visit to the Vientiane US Embassy. The amazing thing about my visit was that they were so helpful! And friendly, too! I don't know whether it's because this is such a tiny backwater country or what, but these folks were like a whole different species than the embassy people I've previously encountered. I showed up at 4:30pm (the Burmese weren't the speediest in handing over my passport), which is actually closing time in the Consular section. So when I showed up at the window after going through security, I was essentially about 10 minutes late. But here's the amazing thing -- the girl working the counter said she'd talk to her boss and see if they could help me, and then they actually did! I now am the proud owner of 22 additional blank pages in my passport, ready for action.

So I the day has finally come when I cannot complain about the staff at a US Embassy. Oh wait, I did spend the first two paragraphs doing that very thing. I guess there's never really a day that I can't complain about something.


Copyright 2003 Katy Warren



posted by Katy at 3:23 AM

 
Vientiane, Laos

You're probably wondering why I haven't posted anything in several days. Well, it's because I'm bored, bored, bored, sitting in Vientiane waiting for my Myanmar visa. And although after the first night things got much better at the hotel, trying to think up ways to kill sixteen waking hours a day has been a decided challenge for me over the last week.

It's not that Vientiane is a bad place. In fact, it's a nice little city with lots of decent restaurants, which you certainly can't say about many places I've visited. The Lao people are wonderful and friendly and God knows it's a relaxing country, but the city just isn't a place where a tourist would spend five days. In other words, there's not much to do here.

I have attempted to stretch out the available sights in the area so I have at least one cultural thing to do each day. So on the first day I visited a very old Buddhist temple and chatted with a young orange-robed monk for a couple hours. The second day I did the "architectural walking tour" described in my guidebook and visited the Lao National History Museum (typically loaded with captions that include the phrase "American puppets"). On Day 3 I walked out to the 1960's era concrete Lao-style Arc de Triomphe (built from concrete intended by the U.S. to expand the airport) and wandered around the Pha That Luong, an important national/religious monument that looks like a brightly gilded missile cluster. On my fourth day I went ot Haw Pha Kaew, a former temple from which those nasty imperialist Thais swiped the Emerald Buddha in 1779 (it's still in Bangkok, and the Thais don't seem sorry at all).

So now it's Day 5 and what am I to do? I've exhaused all the guidebook stuff I want to see, since I don't want to get too burned out on temples before I get to Luang Prabang. I've finished three books during my stay here, and I've already spent an hour on the internet this morning. Plus, it's only 2:00 pm as I write this and I've already eaten breakfast, lunch, one fruit smoothie and a piece of chocolate pie. I'm going to gain five pounds in Vientiane just from sheer lack of anything better to do.

Fortunately for my sanity, my weight, and my book supply, the end is in sight. At 4:00pm today I pick up my passport and visa, after which I will visit the U.S. Embassy because my passport is OUT OF PAGES! Can you believe that? I never thought that could be possible until I saw how enthusastically Asian countries appropriate whole pages for their tourist visas.

Tomorrow I head north on a special tourist minibus to Vang Vieng for which I paid TEN TIMES the cost of a regular public bus to the same destination, though mine does include air conditioning, some interesting touristy stops along the way and presumably does not allow livestock as passengers. Seven dollars I paid for this luxury. Now that I've spent such a mint on the tourist bus, maybe you all won't think I'm so cheap for staying in that $1.50/night guesthouse for five days.

Well, enough rambling. Hopefully next time I'll have a bit more of substance to relate.


Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 1:02 AM

 
Many thanks to Steve from Singapore, who gave me the links to add the comment feature and sitemeter, since I am a complete idiot when it comes to figuring out these technical internet things, no matter how easy. Now I just have to figure out how to get that "comments" thing indented -- it really offends my sense of balance and graphic design to have it over there to the left like that.
posted by Katy at 1:00 AM

 
Vientiane, Laos

Upon arrival in Vientiane, the capital city of Laos, I had dinner with Stee, did some internet (including adding a sitemeter and comments feature -- so cool!). That was the good part of the evening. The trouble started when I went to bed.

If you can beleive it, I decided to save serious money on my lodging here in Vientiane and stay in a dormitory-style hotel. This not generally my preference, as you can imagine, but guesthouses are surprisingly expensive here. Mind you, by "expensive" I mean $7-10 for a single room. With the amount of time I am travelling I could never sustain that level of daily expense, and I'm going to be in Vientiane for at least 5 days waiting for my Burmese visa.

So, the dormitory-style hotel was chosen. I've stayed in dorms before, in China where I had similar economic choices. Some are great -- clean, three or four beds to a room, sometimes not full, attached bath. Some, unfortunately, are not so good, the Sabaidy Guesthouse falling within the latter category. My room has eighteen beds. Yes, you read me correctly, eighteen. There's no air conditioning, of course, but in each curtain-separated section of the long room there are two oscillating fans, one on a cabinet to blow on the three people in the lower bunks, and one wall-mounted to blow on the three in the upper.

I was situated in what I would consider the absolute worst bed in the entire hotel, Bed #1, next to the constantly-opening door, upper level, the furthest possible location from the windows. Naturally, the wall-mounted fan was broken.

I knew I was in big trouble from the get-go. Despite being fairly acclimatized to Asian heat and humidity, I'm just not a hot weather kind of gal in general. And I'm totally not one of those people who grouse abuot how artificial and unpleasant air-conditioning is -- I consider it one of humankind's greatest inventions, along with the Swiss Army Knife, Cookie Dough ice cream, and the Mercedes SL-Class convertible. Because here's the thing -- I don't like to sweat at night. I mean, I really don't like it, adn find it nearly impossible to sleep if I'm too hot. Even in the winter I sleep with the window cracked open, and in Saigon I must go through three quarters of my landlord's electricity budget with the arctic setting I've got that thing on.

Last night, in my airless upper bunk in the Lao hot season, I didn't just politely glisten. Sweat dripped off my body, soaking my t-shire and requiring me to climb down off the decidedly shaky metal bunkbed twice in two hours to rehydrate. At 1:30 I took my pillow down to the lobby to see if there were any couches near a fan. The hotel guys, also sleeping in the lobby, thought I was insane, and there really wasn't a cool spot there either, but I eventually managed to doze off for an hour before some partying late-returners began to pound on the glass doors six feet from my head Clearly they hadn't read the notice that the doors lock at micnight and violators will have to sleep outside or pay a $10 penalty. When the passive (hotel guys) aggressive (drunks) battle appeared to have no end in sight, I got up, made apologetic shrugging motions to the drunks through the glass and took my pillow back upstairs.

By this time it was 3:30 am, and I was so exhausted and miserable that I managed to drop off for a couple of hours before the roommates taking early buses started using the door at six a.m.

All night long I was devising my plan for the next morning: 1. Shower. Maybe twice. 2. Breakfast. 3. Find Myanmar (Burma) Embassy and apply for visa. 4. Check out. 5. Find new hotel, no matter what the cost. Evidently, however, a night without sleep damaged my planning abilities, which I realized upon my return from the Embassy. I had just handed over my passport. The very passport that I would need to move into a new hotel, as socialist dictatorships are quite strict about keeping an eye on foreigners' every move. And although I have copies of the info and photo page, I had not yet made a photocopy of the Lao visa. I guess I'll learn to love the Sabaidy Guest House over the next five days.

I have improved my situation, however. Instead of Bed #1, I am now in Bed #18, lower level, closest to the window (it's fairly cool outside at night), with two operational fans. We'll see how it goes. If I can't sleep tonight, you may see a news story about a desperate American woman breaking into the Burmese Embassy.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 5:23 AM

 
Bus from Savannakhet to Vientiane, Laos

The first hour of my 9 hour busride today was fabulously entertaining. Several guys from the Lao Ministry of Information boarded the bus in matching t-shirts and jeans to kick off a new program -- AIDS awareness on the move. Today was the first day of it, according to another M of I guy I talked to, and they were clearly very excited about the idea. The two guys doing the presentation approached it like game show hosts, getting the whole bus laughing and involved and handing out condoms to those who answered their quiz questions correctly. I am now the proud owner of a free sample packet of "Number One" brand condoms. Deluxe! Top Quality!

Things got even better when they whipped a dildo out of their bag of tricks and proceeded to give us all a demonstration on the proper methods of opening the packet, removing the condom, and putting it in its proper place. You just haven't lived until you've watched two giggling Laos give a bus full of men (plus me) a condom use tutorial. As their big finale, they pulled out an enormous porn-style dildo and, judging from the fact that the were laughing and pointing at Stee, my tall British travelling companion, they may have been making some rather personal speculations about his physical attributes.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren

posted by Katy at 7:33 AM

 
Actual conversation between me and a Lao guy at my guesthouse in Savannakhet:

Guesthouse guy: You are on holiday?

Me: Well, you could say that. A very, very long one, though.

Guesthouse guy: So you work for the government, then?


Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 7:05 AM

 
Savannakhet, Laos

From the perspective of three days, I can reliably inform you that Laos is basically a jungle. My first day here, we snaked through some lush green viney mountains, but as we headed south the terrain flattened out and it looks like one big forest.

The whole country is just incredibly peaceful and laid back, particularly in contrast to the frenetic noise and commerce of Vietnam. There are few vehicles, towns are small, villages are tiny and on stilts, and they seem to have far more pigs, goats and chickens than human inhabitants. The Laos don't use the horn except on blind corners. And as you walk down the street, people smile and say "sabaadi", Lao for hello -- nobody pesters you to buy anything, come to their restaurant or take a ride on their tuk-tuk.

So being in Laos is like settling in for a long winter's nap. That is, provided your naps are habitually taken four inches from the roaring fire -- the heat is so intense it's like walking through a kiln.

My original plan was to spend a week in southern Laos, then two weeks in northern Laos. However, since the travel agent in Hanoi jacked me around and I lost three days, things were starting to get very rushed, and I hate being rushed. That, plus the 157 degree heat convinced me that the north was the place to be, and so I did the very weird travel maneuver of taking a bus six hours to the south, spending one night in Savannakhet (delightful dusty tropical frontier town), then taking a bus 9 hours in the other direction. It really goes against my grain to do this kind of backtracking, but the heat really was intolerable. Actually, the clincher was that I looked at my schedule and determined that I wouldn't be in a position to do laundry for at least three more days. After taking a big whiff of my remaining wearable clothing, I decided I would do Laos a favor and slow down a bit.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 7:02 AM

 
I'm heading to Laos on a night bus today. I have this suspicion, given that some of the places I'll be visiting only have electricity for a few hours a day, that internet access may be a bit more problematic than it has been in Vietnam, Cambodia or China. So if you don't hear from me for days, you'll know why -- I'm roasting to death in some Laotian backwater.
posted by Katy at 10:19 PM

 
Hanoi, Vietnam

One thing that's evident about Hanoi the second time around, post-SARS, is that the street vendors are noticeably more aggressive and some are openly mean and nasty when you don't buy anything. Spending any time in the old quarter or around the lake gets very wearing -- the vendors are relentless, desperate, and will harrass you until you give in. A fellow traveler reported that while sitting on a park bench, he was joined by a vendor who gave a sob story, cried, nearly passed out, and refused to leave his side until something was purchased.

I'd like to feel sorry for these people, I really would. They're obviously not doing well economically with the dearth of tourists in Hanoi, but they're so damned obnoxious and mean that it's difficult to summon up a great deal of sympathy. Hearing "fuck you" after you tell someone you don't want any postcards does not tend to warm ones heart toward vendors as a whole. Their methods have definitely backfired with me -- I'll be damned if I'll buy anything now.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 10:13 PM

 
Friendship Pass to Hanoi, Vietnam

Although I had congratulated myself earlier in the day for having spotted the nefarious intentions of the "She/He is a crook" brigade, you're just never savvy enough to completely avoid getting taken for a ride.

After successfully negotiating both the Chinese and Vietnamese border formalities (more challenging than it sounds, as there are no signs, forms are not just sitting out but must be specifically requested, and none of the offices in the building are in the order that they wish you to complete things in), I bargained for a good price on a ride to the nearest town on behalf of myself and a recently-met English guy. I asked to go to the bus station -- our driver interpreted this request very loosely, and took us to a parking lot in which a friend of his was waiting to arrange a ride for us to Hanoi.

Since the guy wanted Chinese money only, I left it to my travelling companion to handle the negotiations for this leg. We agreed on a price, waited for the packed minivan to show up, and (this is where our critical error was made) handed over our agreed upon fare.

It wasn't until half way through the trip that we realized we'd been swindled. The bus assistant began collecting fares from all the passengers. It soon became evident that our fare negotiator had not passed on any of our money to the bus driver or his assistant. We subsequently engaged in a 20 mile argument involving several people on the bus and a discussion of a police visit. This was brought to a screeching halt when the driver stopped the bus in the middle of nowhere and gave us an ultimatum. Naturally, we paid.

It really wasn't that much money. We'd paid about $5 each to the reprobate who pocketed our cash, then an additional $3 each to the bus guy for the actual trip. But it's the principle of the thing, of couse.How could we have been so gullible? I'm usually so careful about things like that, watching to make sure that the money changes hands correctly. It's a classic scam, too -- a real rookie error on our parts. Oh, well, live and learn. I hear the Laotians, by contrast with the Vietnamese, are a kind, honest, peaceful people who treat you fairly and leave you alone. Maybe I can relax my guard for a few weeks.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren

posted by Katy at 9:56 PM

 
Road from Pinxiang, China to Friendship Pass border station

The 20 km trip from Pinxiang, the Chinese border town, to the actual border checkpoint at the ironically named "Friendship Pass" (Vietnam and China tend to dislike eachother to the point of border skirmishes), was quite entertaining.

Our bus (or my bus -- by that time I was the only one on it, possibly because Vietnam has closed the border to the Chinese) was met by a couple of tuk-tuk-style conveyances offerring to take me to the border. I opted to go with the woman, figuring that philosophically I should support a woman-owned business in such a country, no matter how small.

Shortly after we set off, a young Chinese man leaped into the back with me, grinning and showing me a laminated piece of paper with the following message: "HE/SHE IS A CROOK. DO NOT CHANGE MONEY WITH HIM/HER. HIS/HER MONEY IS FAKE." After making sure I understood, he leaped off. Good samaritan? I'd have liked to think so, but after six and a half months in Asia I tend to look for the angle.

A couple miles down the road another smiley Chinese man (or maybe the same one) made a valiant attempt to leap into the vehicle, but was twarted by the sudden accelleration of my driver. He, however, as the driver of another tuk-tuk, was not to be so easily shaken off. What ensued could generously be described as a medium-speed chase. At least as great a speed as one can reacy in a couple of motorbike-powered covered wagons. Both drivers were having a grand old time, and after mine's attempt at subterfuge failed (pulling off onto a side road after a curve in the hopes that our pursuer would sail on by) she finally gave in and stopped.

The other driver's angle then became clear -- he didn't want me to change money with her because he wanted me to change money with him. I suspect every tuk-tuk driver has a major sideline in black market moneychanging, and this whole rigamarole with the "He/she is a crook" cards is part of their elaborate and much-enjoyed competitive game.

At any rate, I disappointed them all -- I still had plenty of Vietnamese currency left over, and had spent the last of my Chinese Yuan on rolls of film in town. Better luck next time.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren



posted by Katy at 7:37 AM

 
Road from Guilin to Pingxiang, China, border with Vietnam

Well, I'm back in Hanoi after a typically awful bus ride from Guilin. And it always makes me feel better to complain about these things, so here goes!

At first it seemed promising. Iwas on one of China's "sleeper buses", and actually one of the better ones as I later learned, in which I got my own minimally cushioned bunk upon which to lie prone during the seven hour trip. There was no sheet, but there was at least a blanket and it was certainly more comfortable than sitting upright all night. Unfortunately, this bus lacked a certain amount of, shall we say, efficiency.

I arrived at the bus at 6:30 pm for its planned departure time at 7:00 pm. We eventually left our parking place in Guilin at 8:30, but proceeded to drive around the city for an hour picking up things in various places -- obviously this bus carried cargo as well as passengers. So we eventually left Guilin city limits around 10pm and managed to stretch the 4 1/2 hour journey into six, arriving in Nanning, the halfway point, at the lovely and inviting hour of 4:00 am. That was the good part of the trip.

At this point things seriously degenerated. I had been told that we would arrive in Nanning, stay for an hour while most people got off the bus, then continue to the border town of Pingxiang, arriving around 8:00 am. Perfect! Right when the border stations opens!

As you might expect, the reality proved far removed from that glorious proposed schedule. At Nanning, I was told to get on another bus. Also a sleeper bus, but considerably down-scale -- they managed to fit another six berths in by making each one just recline significantly rather than provide completely flat bunks. Also, dirty vinyl, no blanket, and the bus was utterly filthy and smelled funny.

Many, many, many hours later, when we finally finished our leisurely tour of the city and got underway, the reason for this became clear -- it was essentially a local bus. We stopped for everyone and their chickens, and rumbled along at about 30 miles and hour the whole way.

It was basically a frustrating and detious six hours, with the exception of two elements -- the excitement of escaped chickens being chased around the bus, and the frequent medical roadblocks.

The chicken chase doesn't really require further explanation, but perhaps the roadblocks do. As you have probably read in the news, after two months of stonewalling the WHO and downplaying the SARS situation in China, the government was suddenly forced to admit it had been covering up SARS cases and had basically lost control in Beijing. As I mentioned in an earlier post, their initial moves after this revelation were to tell everyone not to travel (after which announcement millions of Chinese fled the cities to their provincial home towns), closed the schools, and cut short the week-long May Day holidya. They also created several layers of new bureaucracy and encouraged everyone to wear masks in public places.

During the first week after this I didn't notice a whole lot of activity on the ground. Our bus was stopped in Chongqing, but the monitor didn't do anything, and in the provinces where I was travelling very few people were wearing masks. By the end of my stay in China, however, it was clear that the government had gotten into gear with a vengeance. Every little town had an official labcoated person sitting at a table under a big umbrella answering SARS questions, all employees at bus and train stations were wearing masks along with most of the passengers, and along major highways (and possibly minor ones) SARS roadblocks were set up with big blue tents and swarms of labcoated, bemasked purported medical technicians scurrying about.

Which brings me back to my original point -- my bus ride to the border. Every few hours the bus would be stopped at one of these checkpoints, and either the Chinese masked medical police wouldd pile on, or we would all have to get off. The purpose of this exercise was to take our temperature and hand out literature. Now, even if you know you're not sick, this is a very nervewracking experience. The raised temperature that is a symptom of SARS is not so very high -- only 100.4, a temperature that could exist for any number of non-SARS-related reasons. And the problem is, you don't only worry about your own temperature passing the test -- you worry even more about all the other passengers. Because if someone comes up with a temperature in that bus, I'm pretty sure the medical police wouldn't just let the rest of us go on our merry way. We might all be quarantined, and I'm damned sure Vietnam wouldn't let me re-enter under that cloud, given that they've closed the border to Chinese nationals already. So we all sweated it out during each of the checkpoints, all attempting to look alert and avoid coughing.

All's well that ends well, though, and I've made it out of China SARS-free and ready to head to Laos tomorrow.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 7:08 AM

 
Finally, to cap off my month-long trip to China, lets talk about Disgusting Personal Habits, shall we?

I had sincerely thought that Vietnamese men had the World's Most Disgusting Personal Habit (DPH, for short) title sewn up with their propensity to urinate on any and all walls or corners at all hours of the day or night. I mean, that is disgusting, don't you think? It's dirty, it smells awful if you have a long dry spell, and frankly I just don't need to see that much of the average Vietnamese man.

The Chinese, however, are not a culture willing to stand still while another country takes home the big prize. China's entry in the DPH stakes is spitting. Now, just saying the word "spitting" doesn't adequately convey the nature of this DPH, because as in all major projects, the Chinese have taken this one to unimaginable extremes. The practice is common in both men and women, and generally is preceeded by a loud glottal "KHWOOAAHHH" sound at which point a loogie the size of Lake Erie is hocked in any convenient direction. In their defense, most do attempt to aim out a window or at least away from the nearest human, but sometimes this proves impossible. Like on the train or a crowded bus, for example. As you can imagine, you don't take your shoes off on the bus or train, and I even feel a bit squicky about putting my bag down there. It's no wonder SARS got such a foothold in China considering all the phlegmy liquid being expelled everywhere.

I, meanwhile, have been forced to put a temporary moratorium on all my own DPH's. I'll let you all speculate about what those might be, or those who know me personally can share with the group. The problem I have is that I'm being watched every second -- there is rarely a moment in public in which I am not being stared at by at least one person, and usually a crowd. Which could be described as a Disconcerting Cultural Habit -- not disgusting at all, and it creates a major disincentive for the object of this intense interest to perform any DPH's herself. Since I've just arrived in Vietnam, I should soon be able to be as disgusting as my heart desires. Those Vietnamese men could use the competition.

Copyright 2003 Katy Warren
posted by Katy at 4:48 AM