Passport Stamper: 61 Countries Stamped!

Munich, Germany

2011-10-01T20:11:00.005-10:00

The king of Oktoberfest. This giant from Westchester, NY stood up and chugged 7 mugs of beer over the course of a few hours in the Hofbrauhaus tent. That's 19.6 12oz. beers in American measuring. Unreal. (See the video at the bottom of the post)
The security at Oktoberfest was pretty tight. I saw no fights. No one wanted to mess with this dude. The security guys were pretty calm though; they threw out "The King" after he chugged his seventh liter, but they guided him gently toward the door, and allowed him to stop for applause, autographs and pictures on the way out.
That's AM on the watch. First beer of the day, 9:43am. The tent was full by 9:25am and they closed the doors. Go early, or go home.
The Hofbrauhaus tent holds up to 6,896 drunk people at any given moment.
Aaron's friends Dave, Rob, and Jake have unusual travel habits. The actually took a taxi from Prague to meet us in Munich. The fare was only $500. This caused them to miss day 1. This picture is from Day 2. They showed up late, after door-closing time on the morning of day 3, so they missed that day too. Rob snuck in somehow, despite being abandoned at an ATM, and left penniless by Dave and Jake.
Hofbrau is the "foreigners tent" It's also the rowdiest tent, and the tent where English is the common language.
Dirndls and lederhosen
For day 2, Aaron and I bought these traditional Bavarian checkered shirts. A majority of people at Oktoberfest wear lederhosen and dirndls, and we felt a bit left out, so for 20 euro we at least had the right shirts.
Our hotel was very close by the Weisn, only a fifteen minute walk away. It was located in a predominantly Muslim neighborhood. So every night we saw the strange mixture of hundreds of hammered people walking down our street past hundreds of disapproving Muslim men. Great place to get a kabob at midnight. The guy on the left did NOT want to be in our picture, but he couldn't back away quick enough.

This is the king, standing up on a table to chug his 4th and 5th liters of beer of the day.

Auschwitz, Poland

2011-09-28T16:29:00.003-10:00

ARBEIT MACHT FREI "Work sets you free" is the sign you cross under when you enter Auschwitz death camp. It was a cruel joke by the Nazis as no one went free from here.
The original electric fence surrounding the camp.

I did a day tour from Krakow to Auschwitz and nearby Birkenau, the largest concentration camp ever created. 1.1 Million people, mostly Jews, were murdered here between 1942 and 1945. I was told that this tour was a "must see" when visiting Krakow. I had visited the killing fields of Cambodia before, so I was hesitant to go. I wish I hadn't gone, and this will be my last visit to such a place. I stopped taking pictures in the first 5 minutes. Auschwitz is such a horrifying place, that I was physically drained and ill afterwards. I went back to my hostel and slept 12 hours. I agree that it is crucially important that people remember what happened here, in order to make sure it doesn't happen again. (Though it has; in Cambodia in 1975, in Bosnia in 1995, in Rwanda in 1994, in Darfur in 2003.) But I know history very well, and I don't wish to visit these places anymore.

Krakow, Poland

2011-09-27T20:10:00.006-10:00

Some fitting grafitti on a cool wall mural in Kazmierz, Krakow
This is the square in the former Jewish Ghetto of Krakow where the Nazis lined up the last remaining Jews and murdered them all in 1944 before their retreat. After killing them and removing the bodies, they searched all their houses and threw all the chairs out the windows into the square. The Jews were known to hide money and jewels inside furniture, so the Nazis smashed all the chairs into the square to see what they could find.
I did two fantastic walking tours with http://freewalkingtour.com/ I strongly recommend doing their tours. You just enjoy and then tip as you see fit at the end. Great tour guides. I did both the Kazmierz tour and the Old Town Krakow tour.
A look down to the Rynek Glowny
They do have some funny cars in Eastern Europe.
The bridge of love. You carve your loves name on the lock and lock it to the bridge.
A guy dressed as a beer with a sign that reads "Free Beer!" I think I like this town.
St. Mary's church in the Rynek Glowny.

A view of the central square, the largest in Europe.

Krakow is one of my very favorite cities in the world thus far. Beautiful 17th century architecture, clean, parks to run in, cheap, and great bars.
I had a great time staying at Greg and Tom's Junior Hostel. A bed was about $18, and with it came FREE DINNER every night. Amazing. Not only that, but in conjunction with Krakow City Tours, they had a nightly pub crawl, which for a grand total of $9 (30 zloty), you were led to a pub and served 4 or 5 shots of different Polish vodkas, then walked to a bar where you got pretty much all the beer you could drink, then staggered over to a club where your entry was paid. I went three different nights. Krakow provides more fun per dollar than any city in Europe Ive visited.

Warsaw, Poland

2011-09-23T20:11:00.003-10:00

Warsaw is a modern, attractive city of 1.7 million. It has a very pleasant, and not obviously fake old town. You see, Warsaw was completely obliterated by the Nazis in 1944 after the Warsaw uprising. Hardly a single building was left standing. It was the most destroyed city in all of Europe. So in the 1950's the Poles decided to rebuild the old town center exactly as it had looked pre-WWII. They did a wonderful job, and it looks great.
Market Square
The Barbican
cobblestone back streets
leaving from the trainstation with the Palace of Science and Culture visible in the distance.
Market Square

I only had a day and a half in Warsaw. I enjoyed the old town, and staying at OkiDoki Hostel, which was a fantastic hostel with a bar serving one dollar beers onsite! Met some guys from Canada, and had a blast wandering around Warsaw.

Vatican City

2011-04-29T15:23:00.007-10:00

Vatican City is the smallest sovereign nation in the world with a population of 829. It's also certainly the richest nation per capita, but the Vatican does not release it financial information, so no one knows for sure. What is sure is that the Catholic Church has amassed an obscene amount of priceless works of art, likely the most valuable art collection on Earth. For a fee they'll let you look at it. We spent a couple hours touring the Vatican Museums, which include the Sistine Chapel. There are entirely too many people in all the tourist spots of Italy, and the Sistine Chapel is no exception. We stood on the edge of the chapel while uniformed guards continually shouted at people to be quiet. The din of conversation echoed off the five hundred year old frescoes. Every inch of floor space was occupied by chattering tourists. We didn't stay long. We passed through the endless galleries with our audio guides pressed to our ears. We gained an appreciation for Raphael and Botticelli. I liked Caravaggio. I hope when I'm old I gain an appreciation for the great works of art, but for now as I trudge through art museums I feel like I'm on a mandatory class trip with a quiz at the end.

St Peters Basilica St Peter's square (which is actually round).Inside St. Peters. One big church. You don't really need to see any other churches after you've seen this one. St. Peter's Basilica has the largest interior of any Christian church in the world. The inside of the dome is 136 feet high.

St Peter's looking up.

Swiss guard. Recruits to the guards must be Catholic, single males with Swiss citizenship who have completed basic training with the Swiss military and can obtain certificates of good conduct. Recruits must have a professional degree or high school diploma and must be between 19 and 30 years of age and at least 174 cm (5 ft 9 in) tall. Must also be willing to wear a silly outfit for hours at a time.

Rome, Italy

2011-04-28T15:31:00.009-10:00

Rome, the Eternal City. A pretty amazing place if you ask me. Too many people here, just like in Florence. But so many sights.

Our hotel was just down the street from the Forum and Colosseum. Each night when we walked back we could just sit next to the forum and look at the 2000 year old columns.

Trevi Fountain

The Pantheon is my new favorite building ever. This was built in 126 AD and is in near perfect condition. Standing inside, it seems inconceivable that the dome was constructed 1900 years ago and is still intact. It wasn't until 1300+ years later with the completion of Brunelleschi's Duomo in Florence that man was able to match the architectural skill of the ancient Romans. Amazing.

The Spanish Steps are one big old staircase. Nice place to sit and people watch. The most interesting thing we saw here was the Carabinieri's attempts to catch this Roma (gypsy) flower seller who had apparently stolen something. He jogged around the Steps for several minutes with increasing anxiety trying to outmaneuver the blue uniformed Carabinieri who were patiently walking (not running) after him. The whole crowd on the steps watched this slow motion drama unfold and some (including us) pointed out his whereabouts to the police as he kept ducking behind objects and people. They never did catch him.
The interesting thing about travelling is the things you don't expect to find. Everyone knows that Italy has the Colosseum and the Leaning Tower, but unless you've been there you wouldn't know that every single Piazza in Italy has Roma men selling flowers, and Senegalese immigrants selling knockoff Louis Vuitton purses and fake Rolex watches.

San Marino

2011-04-26T15:29:00.005-10:00

The Most Serene Republic of San Marino is a tiny, landlocked nation within the confines of Italy near the Adriatic sea. With only 31,000 people, and just 24 square miles of land, it is a strange anomaly of history. Italy used to be many small principalities, kingdoms, and states, but by 1871 these had all been absorbed into the Republic of Italy. All except San Marino. They have been independent since the fall of the Roman Empire. They stayed neutral in both World Wars. They even convinced Napoleon NOT to invade them.

I could not pass up the chance to get another country, so we rented a car from Hertz and hit the road. My Ford Ka sported a massive 1.2 liter engine that spit out a whopping 68 horsepower. It goes 0 to 60 in just under 10 minutes. Perfect for parking, not so perfect for merging in thick highway traffic. It should be noted that Italians drive 80mph at all times. And gas costs $7.90 a gallon. And there are toll booths every ten miles. Thankfully we had our new trusty Garmin GPS. This thing rocks. I can't imagine driving in Italy without it.

I worried that San Marino would suck, and Lindso would be saying "We drove 4 hours to see this dump?", but we were not disappointed. The main town of San Marino (also called San Marino) featured a walled town with three medieval towers capping the top of the highest mountain in the country. Another fairytale town like Siena. The best part was that with few hotels, nearly everyone clears out with the last tour bus. We had the town completely to ourselves that evening.

Florence, Italy

2011-04-24T15:31:00.003-10:00

Florence is a wonderful maze of art, architecture, and history.

A copy of David sits outside the Palazzo Vecchio. We stood in line to see the real one at the Accademia Gallery.
Nightfall with the Ponte Vecchio in the background
The Palazzo Vecchio and La Loggia was our regular evening spot to sit and eat gelato and gaze at 500 year old sculptures.
I had to put aside my preference for beer and become a wine drinker on this trip. The house wine is usually pretty cheap, sometimes as little as $7 for 750ml bottle. It's decent stuff too. Italian beer is pretty awful.

Pisa, Italy

2011-04-22T15:33:00.002-10:00

People go to Pisa for one reason only....to get a picture of themselves pretending to hold up the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I'll not claim to be any different.

The Leaning Tower was more interesting than I expected. It is a beautiful structure, and would be worth seeing even if it was upright. The whole "Field of Miracles" is a wonderful place to lay on the grass and look at some amazing marble buildings. Other than that though, Pisa has little to set it apart from any other Italian town. We spent one night here, and that was just the right amount of time.

Siena, Italy

2011-04-21T15:32:00.004-10:00

Siena is a wonderful, romantic, fairytale castle town. Cobblestone streets, brick buildings surrrounded by city walls, a perfect central Piazza, this is the reason people come to Italy. Sadly we had only one night here, and were wiped out with jetlag.Due to a camera problem (see Florence) this is one of the only surviving photos of lovely Siena.

Phillipsburg, St. Maarten, Netherlands

2010-11-06T14:28:00.008-10:00

OK, so St Maarten isn't actually it's own country, but rather split evenly between the Netherlands and France. In fact it is the smallest island in the world that is owned by more than one country.

We arrived at the port on the Dutch side, and immediately caught a taxi to one of the most famous small airports in the world.

Airport beach or Maho beach. A small but nice beach if you don't mind the jumbo jets over your head.

If you put up a sign like this, you know its going to draw a crowd.

The Sunset Bar at Airport beach claims that topless women drink for free. Karine called them on it.

Frigate Bay, St. Kitts and Nevis

2010-11-05T14:27:00.010-10:00

St. Kitts and Nevis is the smallest, least populated sovereign nation in the Western Hemisphere. It's sort of the Liechtenstein of the Americas. And much like Liechtenstein, it attracts many foreigners with tax bills to avoid, or a sudden need for a passport other than their home countries. If you can afford to invest in $350,000 worth of real estate, and pay a nominal $35,000 processing fee, you can have Kittitian citizenship within six months.

Karine, Lindso and Emilie
We had signed up for our only Carnival-run shore excursion of the trip, an overpriced $60 tour of the island. The first stop was a boring tourist trap called the Romney House.
The second stop on our tour was the awesome Brimstone Hill fortress. Finished in the 1790's, the Brits protected the island from pirates and the French with it. It is a World Heritage site today, and only interesting architectural site we saw on the cruise.The island of St Eustatius off in the distance.

near Frigate Bay
Of course the afternoon began (and ended) with a Carib.

Crane Beach, Barbados

2010-11-03T14:26:00.008-10:00

Barbados did not work out the way we expected. Lindso and I planned to catch a cab to the capitol city of Bridgetown, rent a car, and spend the day driving a lap around the island. We got into a van full of cruise passengers heading towards Bridgetown, and were informed that Prime Minister David Thompson had died of cancer the previous week, that today was his funeral, and that the entire country was closed for business to attend. No rental cars available.

Some guys in the back of the van had a plan to go to some swanky resort with a beach. Since that was where the van was headed, and we were already in the van, that's where we were headed. After an hour ride, "The Crane" resort told our van to get lost. Chaos ensues.

Our driver mentions his birthday is Monday. My birthday is Monday. The cabbie is exactly twenty years older than me to the day. Strange.

Finally, with our newfound friends Arie and Karine we got a ride "Cutters" restaurant. Arie immediately orders a round of rum shots to celebrate finding any business open on Barbados.

And then another round. And then Banks beers. And then rum punch. Did I mention it's only 10am? We finished lunch, purchased every cold Banks beer the owner had, borrowed his cooler, and then he even drove us to the beach!

http://www.cutters.bb/Friends.html

Crane Beach was indeed fantastic.

And a cooler full of Banks and rum punch didn't hurt. The rest of our van companions were please to have beer delivered.Soon it seemed like a good idea to climb a tree.

It was like living a Corona commercial. Except with Banks.

Roseau, Dominica

2010-11-02T14:25:00.009-10:00

We docked in the musty tumbledown capital of Roseau, Dominica. Dominica is the poorest Caribbean island save for Haiti. There is a visible lack of development compared to the other islands we would see. In Roseau not much has changed in the last thirty or forty years. It has a crumbling charm, but I wouldn't want to be out here after sunset.

We were immediately met by Nahjie, our guide from Extreme Dominica. I had pre-booked us an all day hike, 12 miles up and down mountains into the interior of the island, to a boiling lake. We drove for nearly an hour into the World Heritage Site of Morne Trois Piton National Park. Beautiful vistas of forest and jungle surrounded us. From there we hiked up and down up and down for 2 hours to reach Boiling Lake

The volcanic mud supposedly has great exfoliating qualities for the skin. I felt like Nahjie was having a laugh at us.

The hike was very tough. I was a bit out of shape, and I fell behind a couple times. I'd compare it to climbing an easy 14er in Colorado. Nahjie had no problems.

On the way back we climbed down into a hot spring waterfall fed pool.

At the end we drank a couple Kabuli beers and swam into a cold crystal-clear freshwater stream that ran through a 20 foot high smooth rock wall canyon to a waterfall. Amazing!

We were very happy with the service provided by Extreme Dominica. It wasn't cheap at $80 per person, but we really enjoyed our day. Give em a try. http://www.extremedominica.com/

Finally dropped off in Roseau we were immediately cornered by a hulking Rasta man offering us weed. Thankfully, he did take no for an answer, and we crossed the street to some bar that had been built out of cast-off plywood and corrugated sheet metal. The service was slow, the beer was cold, and our time was short. Back to the ship we ran.

St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands, USA

2010-11-01T14:28:00.003-10:00

On arrival in Charlotte Amalie, we walked a loooong hot mile from the port to the center of town, then wandered aimlessly until we found our way to "Blackbeard's Castle". An obvious tourist trap, we allowed ourselves to be suckered in at $12 each. It turned out OK, they had a pool, and a bar, and those two things fix almost any situation.

Label states: "confusion and plotting developed if Blackbeard's men were sober, but all was calm when they had enough ale" Well said.

If someone is going to go to the trouble to erect a cheezy photo-op billboard, then it's the least I can do to oblige.
Lindso decided she likes St Thomas and declared victory over the island

Cotopaxi Volcano, Ecuador

2010-05-30T11:34:00.005-10:00

I signed up for a daylong tour with Gulliver travel company to hike up to the glacier line of Cotopaxi Volcano. Cotopaxi is an active volcano, the second highest in Ecuador, standing at 19,347ft. An eruption from Cotopaxi killed over 1,000 people in 1887. It is due for another eruption, and now over a million people live in nearby Quito. When it happens, it will be horrific.
Hopefully today would not be that day. We rode a bus for several sleepy hours and then started our hike at about 14,700ft, which was already the highest elevation I'd ever achieved. My $2 hat from Otavalo came in handy.

Our first look at the glacier.

At 15, 700ft. we took a break in this refuge. Soon it began to hail and snow.

Finally we reached the highest point we could hike to; 16,400ft! To go further on the glacier would require ice climbing equipment, and also a day of acclimatization to be able to handle 19,000ft. I'd like to have done that, but, so little time.

We descended back to the refuge, where a fantastic spread of food awaited a dozen hungry hikers.
After hiking the rest of the way down to the parking lot, we jumped on mountain bikes and barrelled down the dirt road out of the park.
I recommend Gulliver Travel for this tour. At $35 I thought it was a good value, they provided a good English speaking guide, good food, no problems. The easiest way to book a tour is just to turn up at their office in La Mariscal, see what they have available and sign on.

The vegetation at 12,000ft looked remarkable similar to what you'd see in Colorado at a similar elevation.

Otavalo, Ecuador

2010-05-29T11:35:00.005-10:00

Today I did a day tour to the market towns of Otavalo and Cuicocha. Along the way we crossed the Equator, and stopped to snap some pics. There is a much larger and more famous Equator monument called Mital del Mundo, but it turns out that it's not actually on the equator. They missed it by 200 meters. So this one's good enough for me.
I was so busy haggling and buying stuff in Otavalo, I hardly took any pictures. But here is an example of a colorful Otavalo market stall. We had 90 minutes in Otavalo, and I could have used 3 hours at least. This is the place to come to outfit your whole family for winter weather. Many beautiful sweaters, scarves, hats, mittens, jackets.

Next we stopped at the nice Peguche waterfall. Ecuador is really a beautiful country. In just a couple hours of driving, we passed giant snowcapped mountains, and deep, sharply dropping valleys. We saw farmers working the land all the way up to 14,000ft. Rivers rushing through the valley floors. Indigenous ladies in traditional dress carrying babies in a sling.

Her shirt says, "I am a beauuuuuuuuuuutiful child"
This plant produces a drug known as Scopolamine. Scopolamine is a dangerous drug that turns humans into near zombies. Criminals blow the powder form of the drub into peoples faces and then can easily convince the person to give them their ATM pin, their car keys, or their apartment keys. According to Wikipedia, "In recent years the criminal use of scopolamine has become epidemic in Colombia. Approximately one in five emergency room admissions for poisoning in Bogota have been attributed to scopolamine." If you want to be terrified before your next visit to Colombia, click on the link.

Quito, Ecuador

2010-05-27T11:33:00.008-10:00

Ecuador is Country number 55. I was happy to arrive here, as it was sunny and warm. Quito is the second highest national capital in the world at 9,350 ft elevation. Before my trip I worried that the elevation might affect me, but I felt nothing at all in the cities.

Unlike Bogota, Quito has a well maintained and extensive old town. I walked for hours through it.

Quito also has a strong tourism infrastructure. I was able to book a day tour to Otavalo and a day tour to hike up part of Cotopaxi volcano for $35 each.

Quito has a great central location for tourists, La Mariscal, aka "Gringolandia". There you will find the tour agencies, hotels and hostels for any budget, and great restaurants and bars.

These two guys tried to pickpocket me right outside my hotel in mid afternoon. The shorter one then called "Senor! Senor!" and pointed to something on my back with an outstretched hand offering a napkin. I was about to stop and investigate this yellow crap on my back, when I saw someone else moving towards me from the other direction, and I remembered hearing about this particular scam where someone squirts something on you and gets your attention by cleaning it off, while a third party picks your pocket or steals your bag. Instead I changed directions and just walked away from both of them. Once in my hotel I discovered it was mustard covering my jacket, backpack, and jeans. After cleaning everything and changing clothes, I left the hotel to find the bastards still loitering nearby.

Quito has a visible minority of indigenous people who wear traditional dress which includes a bowler hat for women. Sadly, the main occupation for these folks seems to be selling lottery tickets, gum, and cigarettes.

I had a footwear disaster in Quito. My biker boots have been wearing down over the years, and on this day the heel of one tore right off, leaving me with bare wood on slippery cobblestones. I limped past a few shoe stores and was directed to this fellow's shop. He replaced the rubber heels on both boots while I waited for just $5. His wife even sewed a rip in my sweater for a buck.
The motorcyclist on the ground just got run down by the white truck right in front of me. A crowd gathered to pass judgement on the incident. The verdict seemed to be in favor of the biker, and the truck driver was made to pull off to the side to wait for the cops.

A beautiful blue sky above my hotel. Such a relief to see the sun after 5 rainy days in Bogota.

Bogota, Colombia

2010-05-22T11:33:00.017-10:00

Colombia is country number 54.

When I tell people I'm going to Colombia; I can see the look on their face. They are thinking of kidnapping, guerrillas, cocaine, and Pablo Escobar.

Kidnapping: This is just not happening anymore in any of Colombia's major cities. The murder rate in Bogota matches that of Pittsburgh, PA. Crime is no worse than any other city of eight million with a huge discrepancy between rich and poor.

Guerrillas: The jungles and the forest to the south and east of the country are still occupied by the FARC and ELN respectively, and if you wander off there, you may be captured and held for ransom or killed. The guerrillas have been greatly marginalized by the Uribe government, though not without horrific human rights violations. Many Colombians are outraged at the loss of innocent life caused by the heavy handed police state actions of Uribes war on the guerrillas. But, as evidenced by the majority support for Santos, Uribe's heir apperant, the majority of Colombians are happy to see an end to the kidnappings, the carjackings, the bombings and the terror, at whatever the collateral human cost.

Cocaine: Despite the billions of dollars wasted on the US's "War on Drugs"; Colombia continues to process and export 90% of the worlds cocaine. The vast majority of it is processed in jungle labs owned by the FARC or ELN. It is then shipped up either the Caribbean or Pacific coast of Central America via submarine or hidden in fishing boats, then overland through Mexico and into the US. Some of it gets shipped to West Africa into Senegal and Nigeria and then into Europe.

No one offered me any cocaine in Bogota. I didn't see any on the street. I thought nothing of it in fact, until about my third day in town. I met lots of travelers where I was staying, Hostal Sue. It was the usual group of early twenty-somethings from England, Australia, Ireland, and continental Europe who were taking a year or so to backpack around the world on a shoestring budget. I drank beers with these guys, had good conversation, and we'd make plans to go see the Salt Cathedral, or go to a soccer game the next day. But when the next day came, there'd be no sign of them. I wouldn't see them until the evening, when they'd tell me "Oh we were out till 8am, and I was wrecked, so I couldn't make it." And I'd think "8am?! You sat around at the tiny, boring hostel bar drinking till 8am? Why?" Around the third day I noticed the bloodshot eyes, the shaky hands, and it hit me. When a group of three Aussie guys all got up together to disappear into their room, a leaned over and asked one of the guy's Colombian girlfriend,

"Where are they going?"

"To their room."

"To do coke, right?"

"Yes."

"So they didn't invite you?"

"I'm from Cali. I've done enough coke to last a lifetime."

Later I asked a particularly amped Aussie guy about it, and he told me that he can get a gram of pure cocaine for $5 in Bogota. In Los Angeles, he'd have to pay $75 for a gram of weak stuff cut with god knows what. So I learned that even when it comes to drug purchases, the real backpackers always know where to find the best deal.

Pablo Escobar: Still dead. I never saw anything about the legendary drug kingpin in Bogota. He was from Medellin, so maybe there is a big Escobarland Disney-like memorial there.

Bogota has some fantastic grafitti. Someone has edited this to show the police as the constructors of violence.

A cobblestone street in the small historical area of La Candelaria. This is where I stayed.

"I'd rather vote for these madmen." The Presidential election was only a few days away when I arrived.

Some drunk Bogatenos I bumped into on the street.

"Yankees, get out of Colombia and the World."

Bogota is a very modern city, but I did see this guy leading his horse down the main street to pick up trash.

Bogota has very little tourist infrastructure. Though La Candelaria has several quality hostels, no one has opened a tour company there. There are many great day trips from Bogota that could be made, such as Zipaquira Salt Cathedral, Guatavita lake, but no one is offering services to reach them. There is only one good day tour to be found, and it is a must do; Bogota Bike Tours. I was the only person that signed up for the daily 10:30am tour on this particular day, and rain was threatening. Any other tour company would certainly have cancelled on me. Not Mike. I got a personal one-on-one tour of the city for 6 hours! Mike showed me parts of the city I never would have seen on my own. I especially enjoyed riding through the National University and viewing the revolutionary grafitti there, tasting exotic Colombian fruits in the market, seeing the cemetery, entering the bullfighting ring, the emerald marketplace. Throughout the tour Mike told me stories about each area, and gave me a deeper understanding of the reasons and motivations behind the many facets of Colombian society, including the guerrillas, the paramilitaries, the student groups, the poor, the rich, the federal government. All this for $12??!! This is a must-do tour when in Bogota.
Mike started off our tour in the Plaza Bolivar.

We spent some time at the National University. This place is so left wing it makes Berkeleylook fascist. The Bogota police are banned from even entering the school grounds. I think it's encouraging that a right wing government allows a state-funded university to be covered in anti-government marxist grafitti.

An apartment building that was blown up by the FARC.

I ate a lot of empanadas in Bogota. They are 50 cents each, and sold everywhere.

The Plaza de Toros. A classy stadium for a despicable sport.

Mike bought me some different fruits found only in Colombia. Good stuff.

We even investigated the Emerald Market, which consists of a bunch of guys standing around a major intersection with little folded pieces of paper holding what may or may not be emeralds. Colombia is the number one exporter of Emeralds.

I spent a morning at the Museo de Oro, or Gold Museum. Nice stuff.

View from the top of the Teleferico at 10,300ft.

My first day in Bogota was sensory overload. I live on a small, sparsely populated island, with no weather to speak of. Every day is quiet, warm, and sunny. On this Sunday morning in Bogota, buckets of rain splashed down on its eight million residents as crackling peals of thunder exploded, seemingly directly overhead. Cascades of water ran off every roof, and rolled in waves down the streets. The thunder was terrifying. It felt like a building would be vaporized at any moment. Every doorway was crowded with pedestrians hiding from the deluge. But on the particular Sunday, not everyone was dry. Thousands of green t-shirt clad citizens were joyously marching down the Carrera Septima in support of Presidential candidate Antanas Mockus. Chanting slogans, beating drums, and tooting horns, the largely student led group formed a mile long green snake ending in the spacious Plaza de Bolivar, the heart of Bogota. The supporters were dripping wet, yet obviously excited and motivated by the potential for their man in the next weekends election. (Mockus finished a distant second with 21% of the vote, necessitating a runoff election against the 46% of center-right candidate Santos three weeks later)

After watching from a dry empanda stand for a long while, the rain eased, and I followed the long green line down to the Plaza de Bolivar. Inside the Plaza, a stage was set up, bands were playing, fireworks being shot off, and motivational speakers were getting the crowd energized. I chose to pass through the massive police cordon of security and join them. I bought a green t-shirt. Bogota has a very white almost Anglo-looking population, so if I didn't open my mouth, I could almost fit in as a real Bogateno.

My second day I ran up into the unpopulated mountains on the edge of town up to about 10,000ft. I saw cows, burros, sheep, herding dogs, two farmers, and twelve heavily armed soldiers. Colombia has a massive police and military presence. By far the largest I've ever seen in any country. On this small road leading into the Andes, these soldiers were stopping and searching every single vehicle driving into Bogota. When a nation is torn apart by civil war and guerrilla terrorism, this is what it takes to retain control.

Qingdao, China

2009-08-29T10:57:00.012-10:00

After a great four days in Beijing, we took a short flight to the seaside city of Qingdao. Most Americans will have never heard of Qingdao, but might recognize another spelling/pronunciation of Tsingtao. Qingdao was controlled by Germany for several years prior to WWI, and they brought beer to China, which is now exported all over the world as Tsingtao beer.

And beer is of course the reason we came to Qingdao. I also thought it would be cool to see a "beach town" in China. Well, the beach was rocky, the water full of seaweed, not exactly Maui.
And Qingdao is yet another massive city of three million, without much for a tourist to see. But it does have The International Beer Festival, an annual bash described as Chinese Oktoberfest. We had to see that.
The International Beer City consists of lots of neon lights (as does everything in China), and some big tents like you might see in Germany, and they do indeed serve real German imported beer.It wasn't cheap either. These mugs were $7 a piece. The huge Hofbrauhaus size liter mugs were a stunning $14 each!

There is also some interesting food choices at the IBF. Women walk through the tents with platters of fried bugs, assorted meats, and other unidentifiable objects. We chose Mongolian beef, cooked up by real Mongolians in traditional costume rocking out to Chinese pop. These guys were awesome, the highlight of the IBF. I ate here both nights. I felt slightly ill for the following week, but I hate to blame it on them.

I figured the "International" Beer Festival would attract tourist from all over the world. Nope. It was 99% Chinese. No worries though, after a few pints of Paulaner dark, we made friends. We could not communicate with these guys at all. But we spoke the international language of drinking beer while standing on tables and singing.

Whoever created the technology to allow a video camera to fit in a pocket size digital camera deserves a medal. Josh actually cut his hand quite badly on this fall. The floor is covered in broken glass, and he came up with a hand and arm covered in blood. (Note my unrestrained schadenfreude at his fall)

Karaoke is everywhere here, and the IBF was no exception. Every tent had pop singers singing songs everyone knew and sang along to.

This particular guy was a big draw. Crowd went nuts for him. Apparently the best way to show your appreciation is to run up on stage and offer the singer a beer, which he/she will then chug .
Josh and I were the only non-Chinese standing on the tables and rockin out with this guy, and right after he finished this song, the singer handed me a beer and challenged me to a chug-off. He won.

Time after time we heard the chant of EE AH SO SA! Finally we asked a bilingual guy what that meant. It meant One-Two-Three-Four!

We had a blast at the IBF. One night we met up with a group of ex-pats living in Hong Kong. They were American, Brits, and Aussies. Between us we had about eight guys in the group and need to get transport back into town from the IBF. Taxis were scarce. Finally one guy hailed a Chinese family of four in a minivan. We offered them about $20 to drive us into town, and after warily looking us over, they took a chance and let eight large inebriated foreigners in their van. Best ride ever. Beer cans flying everywhere, and cursing like only an Aussie can curse. We had to scream get them to pull over at one point so the Brit could puke. Their ten year old kids thought we were aliens. We tipped them and they must have been thrilled both for the money and to get us out of their van.

Great Wall Jinshanling to Simitai, China

2009-08-27T09:30:00.006-10:00

Gotta love when they write your destination in English on the side of the bus. Just starting the hike. Seven miles, and none of it was flat! We went from Jinshanling to Simitai.

The Great Wall does not disappoint. I had a conception that the Chinese had renovated a few key pieces of the Wall, and that the rest was crumbling pile of rocks. Not so, even the unrenovated sections, last touched in the 1600's are in solid condition. The wall just goes on and on, far past where the horizon is lost in smog. Just a one mile section is an amazing feat of construction, and yet it goes on for nearly 3000 miles!

At every couple of towers we stopped and took in the view. Ladies from Inner Mongolia laden down with water, beer, postcards, and t-shirts shadowed us for the first three miles. We all bought from them. A dollar for an ice-cold water is a heckuva deal when you are three miles away from civilization on the Great Wall. These ladies hike all day for the 70 cent profit margin.

One pointed out that the wall was built to keep her (Inner Mongolians) out of Han China. And now they are making a living on the wall. Progress.

Only two miles to go.

At the end of the hike we had the option for $7 to take a zip-line across a lake, then ride a boat to our end point. A couple Tsingtaos gave me the courage to Zip Line for the first time. It actually wasn't scary at all.

A fall would have been quite fatal though.

Our bus ride back to Beijing was lengthened due to this poor guy. The water tank is wedged tight. The driver in the striped shirt is making a really embarrassing cell phone call for help.

Beijing, China

2009-08-26T10:56:00.017-10:00

The Meridian Gate to the Forbidden City facing Tienanmen Square

Mao Zedong

Coming out of the subway, walking up the steps, emerging into bright daylight, and first seeing the iconic portrait of Mao hanging on the Gate to the Forbidden City is a thrill. You've seen it on TV a hundred times, and finally here you are. The center of the Chinese cosmos. Where emperors ruled for five hundred years, and where the People's Republic of China was born nearly sixty years ago.

Throngs of Chinese and a sprinkling of foreigners surround the gates taking photos of each other. Directly behind lies Tienanmen Square, the largest, and most infamous, public square in the world. I walked along the concrete blocks and thought about the thousand or so student protesters who were murdered by indiscriminate machine gunfire and squashed by tanks here twenty years ago. I thought of "Tank Man". The Chinese had to bus in troops from the outer provinces because local Beijing soldiers would not open fire on their friends and relatives.

June 5, 1989 "Tank Man" stops a line of tanks for several minutes before being arrested (and presumably executed)

I was a junior in high school when the incident occurred. At that time I knew all about war and murder and death, but I was shocked that a world power like China would kill its own citizens in full view of the global media. China still has thousands of public protests today, most about government corruption or environmental degradation. However, they will not tolerate any protests in Tienanmen Square ever again.

I have no allusions about China being a benign sleeping giant who just wants to make the cheap plastic crap that lines our shelves at Walmart. This is a country that fully expects to be THE world superpower. And why wouldn't they? China WAS the world's superpower in the 15th and 16th centuries. They had the largest naval fleet in history and a standing army of one million soldiers. Lucky for the rest of the world, it was an inward-focused China. A wall-building China. Had China sent its massive navy across the globe like the Spanish and Portuguese and British, our world would look very different today. 21st century China will not make the same mistake twice. This China is doing everything right. Lending money to the consumption oriented West so they can use it to buy Chinese products. Saving up the largest sovereign wealth fund in history. Locking in oil, and natural gas, and farm produce deals with third world countries. Stealing intellectual property and military technology rather than buying it. If you read the statistics of how fast China's economy is growing it is just staggering. With a workforce of 1.3 billion people, who actually WORK, it is only a matter of time before China surpasses America's economic might. Our best hope is to inundate them with McDonald's and PlayStation and Budweiser and NASCAR; and maybe they'll be overcome by obesity, ignorance, and apathy, before they crush the lazy westerners.

If you can't beat 'em join 'em. I bought a tiny Chinese flag for one yuan (14 cents) and asked people to take pictures of me in front of Mao's Mausoleum. The line was too long for me, I felt weird about waiting a couple hours to see a dead evil dictator. Seems both morbid and groupie-ish.
I do love good socialist-realist sculpture. Really. I think these "power to the common man" statues are awesome. They are getting harder and harder to find. Eastern Europe, China, Russia, I bet they have some great ones in North Korea. It makes me want to pick up a farm implement and follow along. I'm sure they are going somewhere cool, and the soldier in the lead clearly knows the way.
It started raining after I took this photo, and I rushed to the closest umbrella salesman along with about a hundred soggy Chinese. I thought "Oh boy am I going to get gouged, buying an umbrella, in the pouring rain, in the high rent district of Beijing." Nope. $2.20 got me a sweet red umbrella. China is really pretty cheap most of the time. Later in the day, I bought two pairs of prescription eyeglasses for $43 a piece. They would have cost $300 back home. An optometrist gave me an eye exam on the spot, and I picked up the finished glasses the next day. The younger brother of the optometrist was the only English speaker, so he acted as translator as I haggled the price, then I bought us beers while I waited for my eye exam. He said most Americans are rich and stupid and just pay the price listed on the frames. His brother was surprised I was bold enough to haggle 50% off the price. My glasses came out perfect, the best purchase of any of my trips.

Beijing has a massive presence of real live soldiers. I saw them marching all over near Tienanmen Square. Lots of police too. Most are real skinny young men. They try to look real intimidating, but they weren't armed and most had about a size 28 waist.

I took the subway over to the Temple of Heaven. It sits in a huge green park. Of all the horror stories I'd read about Beijing, none mentioned all the nice parks it has. This girl asked to take a picture with me. Foreigners are still an oddity in Beijing.

A fine example of a beautiful little greenbelt area running near the Forbidden City. Maybe all of these spots were built recently for the Olympics. Beijing's pollution is infamous. I've read it described as "apocalyptic". Indeed, on the day I arrived the pollution was so thick, visibility was limited to about two city blocks. It seemed like a fog, but it was all pollution. But even on this day I didn't smell it or feel it in my lungs or eyes. And then it got better and better. By the last day in Beijing it was clear blue sky. I guess it's the luck of the weather, but I found Beijing to be a very livable city.

Beijing has ample, clean, star-rated public toilets, a rarity in Asia. I once had the thrill of using a four star toilet. Never saw a five star. Maybe they are all in the Party offices.

Beijing is a great place to shop for knock-offs and fakes. I spent a couple hours at the Yashou Market near the Sanlitun area. It's a four story shopping mall filled with fake name brand goods. You better have a good idea of what things actually sell for before you go in, and be ready to bargain hard. For example, I bought a sweet knock off North Face shirt. It's all microfiber, with a collar and pockets, an indestructible travel shirt. In the USA, a real one would go for $60. So a fake in china, I figure $10 should be my goal. Her opening offer was 480 Yuan, or $70! I laughed and started to walk off. "Wait Wait! Her next offer was 360 Yuan, or $52. I keep walking. "Wait, Sir, special price for you. " She types 240 into her calculator. $35. I shake my head and type in 80. She types 200. I type 85. She describes the fine qualities of the material. I type 90. She types 180. I type 100. We tells me more about how incredible the shirt is and how much it would cost in the USA. I type 110. She types 160. I type 120, and announce that is my final offer. I start to walk away. She shouts 150. I keep walking, she grabs my arm and begs me to buy it for 140. I tell her I can keep looking, maybe I'll be back. She says 130. I start to turn the corner. She shouts "OK 120". I buy it. I was psyched to get the shirt, and I felt like I held my ground well, but in the end I paid about $17 for it and I know I could have got it for $12. One can only hope to get a "good price for foreigner". I'll never get the "Chinese price". Not even if I get a PhD in Mandarin.

After buying the shirt I found some sweet fake Salvatore Ferragamo shoes. Before we even got to the haggling stage, I wanted to see if they fit. I asked her for a size 42. She brings me a 41 and of course they are too small. I ask again for a 42. She brings me a 43. They're too big. I tell her I MUST have a 42, or I'm not buying. She goes off again to look and comes back with shoes. She tries to put them on my feet herself. I stop her so I can check the bottom and see if they are actually a 42. I turn them over and find a round gold sticker that reads 42. I think "No, she didn't just do what I think she did." I peel back the sticker, and sure enough, it's the same pair of 43's!!! I look at her with my mouth agape, and she just smiles and throws up her hands like "You got me."

I needed a rest after the high pressure haggle-shopping. I found a bar called VEIN that had Tsingtao in a bottle for 10 Yuan ($1.40) which is about as cheap as it gets here. They place looked brand new and was nice but completely empty. The twenty-something Chinese owner was playing Dixie Chicks and James Taylor on the sound system and singing along, while surfing pictures of vintage Ford Mustangs on his laptop. I stayed a while.

I think the above sign is Mandarin for "Alley of revolting cuisine on a stick"

The bugs on the far right were still wriggling. Blechhh.

Gruel! Its not just for orphans anymore!

The Forbidden City is massive. It would take several days to visit every room within its walls. Legend says there are 9,999 of them. I spent three hours there and still only hit half of the major buildings on the audio tour. I enjoyed it, but there are too many people inside. About 10,000 too many. I the central temples, you can't move and you have Chinese tour group guides shouting in your ear with their battery powered megaphones.

Blue sky breaking through in Beijing!

Okay, so once you get out of the North Gate of the Forbidden City, which is where most people exit, there is a huge man-made hill in a nice park. I hiked to the top for an excellent view of pancake-flat Beijing. They had a "Get your photo taken dressed up like an Emperor" booth going, and at 25 Yuan, I couldn't resist.

But as soon as I sat down my Empress plopped down next to me. I had to pay her 10 Yuan too.

You'd think a person whose only job is to sit and smile for the camera could smile. But no, I get the Dour Empress Sour Puss.

Me in front of my palace. Geez what was I thinking?

I finished my time in Beijing at the fantastic Houhai Lake. I walked here for a couple hours, grabbed a Frappucino and watched kids in pedal-boats and ducks on lily pads. Actual live wild animals in Beijing! They have security guards here at night, otherwise they'd surely be caught and eaten. This area has art shops, restaurants, lots of benches to sit on, pedi-cabs, and no car horns. I was impressed by Beijing, but after seeing this place, I would actually consider Beijing a livable city.

Shanghai, China

2009-08-22T14:09:00.016-10:00

Shanghai is a massive city. I can only compare it to New York in terms of the forest of towering high-rises that make up the city's skyline. Officially it holds 15.8 million people, but since the Chinese have restrictions on relocation, a few million migrant workers are illegal aliens in their own country, and are not counted in the census. Estimates put the actual population at between 18 and 20 million. It is the largest city, in the most populous country on Earth.

From the new Pudong International Airport, I reached the city center via super-high-speed Maglev (magnetic levitation) train. For a $7 ticket it covers the 19 mile journey in just 8 minutes, reaching a top speed of 266MPH!

I met up with Josh at the futuristic JW Marriot hotel housed in the 934ft tall Tomorrow Square building. I've never stayed at a hotel so tall and unmistakable. I could pick it out from nearly anywhere in the city. Many thanks to Josh's company for (unknowingly) letting me crash at the JW for a week. First impression from my 44th floor room is that smog envelops the city, and one cannot even see all the skyscrapers. Yet, Shanghai is considered to have the cleanest air of any Chinese city. On the ground the air seems quite breathable. Click the following link for some recent news on Chinese air pollution: http://www.theonion.com/content/video/china_celebrates_its_status_as?utm_source=videoembed
View from our 44th floor room

Tomorrow Square building from the People's Park

Josh and I went for a run through the People's Park, and a couple of Chinese students yelled "Go America!". I didn't know we were so obviously American. We saw old folks doing Tai-Chi beneath the shade of thick trees.

There is a lot of money flowing through Shanghai. The Pudong side of the river is one giant construction zone. 80 story buildings stand next to empty pits soon to sprout 90 story buildings.

Bamboo scaffolding fronts a 30 story building

At night we walked the length of Nanjing Road, the shopping center of all China. The neon almost rivals Times Square. We were repeatedly approached by young men whispering "Hello watches? Rolex? DVD? Good price for you." "Bu yao." ( I don't want any) became my most useful of my three Chinese phrases. "Nihao" and "Shie Shie" (Hello and Thank you) being the other two.

One cannot communicate with the average Chinese on the street whatsoever, though the employees of any store or hotel that deals with foreigners will speak some basic English. You have zero chance of explaining to a taxi driver where you want to go, so it is critical to have all destinations written out in Chinese beforehand. Even then you might not get there as many of the taxi drivers are as new in town as you are! If you can get them to understand and find your destination, the ride is cheap; I got all over town for $3.

The next morning I walked Nanjing road again all the way to the Bund, which unfortunately has construction along the riverfront so the river is not visible at all. Still the view of the Pudong side skyline is impressive from here. The iconic Oriental Pearl Tower, the Jin Mao Tower, and the Shanghai World Financial Center stand out among the rest. I took the ridiculously hokey tourist tram tunnel under the river to Pudong and hiked over to the Jin Mao Tower. For $10 I caught the elevator to the 88th floor of this 1,380ft tower. It gave a great view of the city, and an especially close view of the Shanghai World Financial Center, which at 1,614ft is the second tallest building in the world, behind Taipei 101. They call it "the bottle opener" because of the rectangular gap in the top few floors. The Bund

Jin Mao Tower and Shanghai World Financial Center (angle makes JM appear taller)

Frightening 1300foot drop INSIDE the Jin Mao Tower; Plexiglas separated me from the abyss.

View looking West from the top of the Jin Mao Tower. Note the Oriental Pearl Tower

After my tour of Pudong, I hopped in a taxi, gave the driver my "get out of jail free card" listing the JW's address in Mandarin, and $3 and twenty minutes later I was back at the hotel, packed and off to Pudong Intl airport for a China Air flight to Beijing.

San Salvador, El Salvador

2009-05-24T16:40:00.013-10:00

El Salvador is country #52. Our TICABUS rolled into the dark eastern suburbs of San Salvador at 10pm. For mid-evening on a Saturday night, the streets were completely empty. In a city of 1.8 million, that can't be a good sign. San Salvador is ranked among the most dangerous cities in the world with a murder rate of 9 people per day.

However, most of those deaths are gang on gang violence. Lonely Planet assures me that the area around my hotel "The Boulevard of the Heroes" is safe to walk around even at night. I shared a cab with my new Israeli travel mates Tal and Gadi to Hotel Tazumal, and on checking in found that they are as frugal travellers as I, as they offered to split a big three bed room with me to save money. We enjoyed the A/C and Wedding Crashers on cable TV. I had hoped to hit some of the bars, but we all agreed it was out of the question by the looks of this moribund city.

In the morning I went for a slightly nervous walking tour of the city. Every house and business has thick metal gates and razor wire. Nearly every business has a private security guard with a shotgun near the entrance. I've never seen anything like this before, even mom and pop convenience stores have an old man with a pistol sitting out front. At this point I pull out my cash and divide it up into different pockets, and tuck a $20 into my underwear. I try to look like I know where I'm going and have nothing worth stealing. There is a lot of graffiti, and I'm starting to sweat in the morning sun. After a week in placid Nicaragua, I'd lost all my fear of Central America, but now I'm feeling like San Sal is a whole new ballgame.

Just then I turn a corner and stretching out ahead of me is strip-mall America. Huge signs for Burger King, Wendy's and Subway are lining the street. To my left is a shiny shopping mall, MetroCentro, the largest in Central America. I step into a coffee shop, nod to the ever-present armed guard, and order something resembling a frappucino. The currency in El Salvador is the US Dollar, and the prices in these American chains are about what you'd expect to pay in the USA. I don't know how the Salvadorans get by here.

I continued on through Parque Cuzcatlan, where kids are playing soccer and couples are relaxing on benches in the shade. On the edge of the park is the Monument to Memory and Truth. Patterned after the Vietnam War Memorial in DC, it lists the names of the thousands of people who were murdered in the civil war of the 1980's.

After visiting the mall and the park, I could see that San Salvador has some bright spots, and people are living comfortable lives here. I wouldn't have minded having more time to explore, but I had to head off to the airport and back to the US.

Honduras

2009-05-23T16:39:00.012-10:00

Honduras is country #51. Today was a marathon bus ride though northern Nicaragua, the Pacific coast region of Honduras and western El Salvador. Unlike a real marathon, the worst part of the journey was the beginning. I waited two hours in the scorching heat next to the exhaust, air brakes, and horn blasts of a highway. I was joined by Gadi and Tal from Israel and Nin and Rich from England. Together we sweated under the ever-decreasing shade of a concrete overhang. Our ride, the TICABUS, had left San Jose, Costa Rica early that morning, and there was no telling how far off schedule it might be by the time it reached Leon. After seeing a dozen chicken buses come and go, finally, our salvation arrived.
TICABUS provides uncommon luxury after a week of perspiring through Nicaragua. Plush seats, movies, two meals, a toilet, help through passport control, and most importantly frigid AC was just what the doctor ordered. We watched "The Godfather" through Nicaragua, "Man on Fire" through Honduras, and "Taken" in El Salvador. Hey, nothing like two movies about being kidnapped, and one on organized crime violence to get you fired up for San Salvador!

Upon entering Honduras, a doctor came out to the bus and looked us all over for potential Swine Flu victims. We all passed.

The southern part of Honduras is dry, with sparse trees, and small villages. We rolled through one sizeable town, Choluteca. I see lots of cowboy hats here, but not too many cows.

Los Penitas and Cerro Negro, Nicaragua

2009-05-21T12:07:00.014-10:00

With my new Norwegian friend Arnfinn, I trekked a scorching half mile to catch a bus the the Pacific beach town Los Penitas. It's only twelve miles from Leon, yet the bus (50 cents) took a sweaty hour to reach it.

Our arrival made it all worthwhile though, as smooth black sand beach gave way to surfable waves. I rented a shortboard ($5) and caught a couple. We had lunch with Luc, Irene, and Carla from Holland at Hostelito Oasis. Oasis has a great elevated thatched roof hut, several hammocks, cold beer, and non-existent service.

Some kids tried to sell us shell necklaces to no avail, and when that didn't work they dragged out a horse on a tether. I'd never ridden a horse, so I gave the kids a dollar and rode the skinny nag up and down the beach. It wouldn't respond to any of my commands (it probably doesn't speak English).

The Dutch folks were staying the night, but Arnfinn and I were taking the last bus back to Leon, so we bid them adieu and walked to the bus stop. We waited. Alone. In the dark. The bus never came. Dejected, we walked back to the Oasis, to find the Dutch playing cards, listening to an MP3-phone on speakerphone mode, thoroughly sloshed on happy hour rum n coke's, and thrilled to see us still in town. They tried to convince us to stay the night in sleepy Los Penitas, but we opted to shell out the big bucks for a $15 taxi ride back to Leon. I had an appointment at 9am for Volcano Surfing I couldn't miss. Always an adventure in Nicaragua.

Today I paid $30 to go volcano surfing with Bigfoot Hostel. What is volcano surfing? It consists of carrying a wooden board covered in metal sheeting up a1000ft high active volcano, putting on a bright orange denim jumpsuit and goggles, and sliding down on crushed rock at 25mph holding on for dear life.

A wild horse delayed our arrival at Cerro Negro. It was galloping in the middle of the road, and when we tried to pass it, it would sprint to hold us off. Awesome.

We donned our prison jumpsuits. Right before sliding down the rocky 41 degree slope of an active volcano, a member of group realized none of us even signed a waiver. Our guides response; "T. I. N. This is Nicaragua."

It was a good excursion, maybe not $30 good, but worth a try once. They had a guy with a radar gun at the bottom. I clocked in at 39kph, and smoked the guy I was racing against. The fastest guy in the group hit 56kph. If I had been up against him, I think I would have taken more risk and could have gone faster. There's something about getting smacked in the face by rocks at high speeds and knowing the nearest decent hospital is about 1000 miles away in Texas that slows a man down.

We finished off the day with a great night out. By day three in Leon, I had like a dozen new friends and we got a United Nations pub crawl going. Leon is a really fun town, and I was sad to leave the next day. Such is the traveller's dilemma; just as you settle into a comfortable groove in a nice place, it's time to move on...

Leon, Nicaragua

2009-05-20T16:38:00.024-10:00

Today I caught a bus to Managua, transited at the UCA station, and got on an A/C minivan to Leon. Using public transport in Nicaragua is really easy. As soon as you walk into the bus station carrying a backpack, men run over to you to direct you to the right bus and collect their 10cent finders fee. In Granada, I was hustled onto a hot bus by a man yelling "Managua, Managua, Managua, UCA, Managua, Masaya, Managua!" Bus cost $1 Check the video.

When we got to Mangaua UCA, he took me directly to my van for Leon ($2) , and when I got to Leon, I was directly placed into a cab ($1.50). It's like having transportation babysitters.

Leon is HOT, HOT, HOT! Damn, I thought Granada was hot, but Leon is even hotter. This may be the hottest place I've ever been. It's 97 degrees and 94% humidity and no breeze. Seriously, I looked it up. I've lived through 113 in Tucson, but I swear this is worse. I sweat even in the shade. I just can't take it at times, it's a debilitating heat.

"Let's go for more victories!" is a common Daniel Ortega slogan.

This mural commemorates the massacre of protesting locals by Somoza led government troops in 1979.

Sandino, the namesake of the Sandinistas was a Nicaraguan patriot who led an uprising against U.S. Marines occupying Nicaragua in the 1930's. He is often portrayed in the above silhouette.

Leon is the heart of the leftist FSLN Sandinista party. It has lots of artistic murals commemorating the revolution, and also denouncing the USA. I especially like the juxtaposition of Sandino standing on the head of capitalist Uncle Sam with a Mercedes parked in front. The "Bush Genocide, The Enemy of Humanity" graffiti is painted on the front of the municipal building, so obviously the local government is in agreement and allows it to stay there.

It is also a university city, so there is a youthful vibe that was absent in staid old conservative Granada. On the flip side, Leon is not a pretty as Granada, not as tourist friendly, and it's busier, louder, and hotter. If you only had a few days in Nicaragua, I'd recommend Granada, but for a more in-depth dive into the culture of Nicaragua, Leon is the place to be.

Nicaraguans are not the most motivated people I have met. I seldom see anyone particularly eager to make a sale. Nicas do a lot of sitting, and walking very slowly. Despite quickly growing numbers of western tourists, with pockets full of cash to spend here, few Nicas have made any attempt to capitalize on this. They seem to regard tourists as a strange curiosity rather than a source of income.

Nicaragua produces a fantastically smooth rum called Flor de Cana. You can get a whole 750ml bottle along with a bucket of ice and a couple Coke's for just $12 in most bars. Crazy.

I'm travelling alone on this trip, but many backpackers travel alone, and it's not hard to meet people and find people to hang out with on the road. In Leon, the Via Via and Bigfoot hostels are directly across from each other on the same street. This is the center of the backpacking universe for Nicaragua. Around happy hour you can find every gringo face in town in one of these places. As such, I grabbed a stool at the bar at Bigfoot, and within minutes I had joined a posse of travelers bar-hopping. I went to see a German movie with Spanish subtitles at the French Cultural Center in Nicaragua along with a Brit, a Belgian, and an Aussie. Later we added a Norwegian, a Canadian, some Dutch, and hit the town.

I stayed in a really nice bed and breakfast in Granada, but I decided to slum it in Leon. After escaping from a too-loud hostel the first night, I found Casa Ivana. I got my own room with two single beds, a bathroom with shower, sink and toilet, a strong fan for just $7. Was it nice? Not especially. But it was mosquito free, quiet, clean, and if you lay directly under the fan and didn't move a muscle, it was cool enough to sleep. I bragged about my find to my friends staying at the trendy Via Via and paying an exorbitant $13 a night, but I was outdone by my friend Arnfinn who found some family who rented him a room for $3 a night. $7 a night is an all-time cheap room record for me. Arnfinn met a couple who claimed to have rented a cottage on the coast of India for 70 cents a night. No matter how adventurous and thrifty you think your backpacking travels are, you are guaranteed to be outdone by someone else on the road. If I were to brag about going to 50 countries, there's sure to be someone at the table who has been to 80. If I have climbed a 14,000ft mountain, someone has climbed Kilimanjaro at 19,000. And I always get weird looks when I'm asked how long I'm traveling. Only an American would come all the way to Nicaragua for just one week. Most people I met were travelling for at least three months, and many for a year. It's good motivation to hear what other people are accomplishing.

Laguna de Apoyo, Masaya, Nicaragua

2009-05-19T10:53:00.006-10:00

While in Granada I signed up for a couple of tours. For $11 I went on a day trip to Laguna de Apoyo, a volcanic crater lake a half hour out of town. One can go with either Oasis hostel or Bearded Monkey. I went with Oasis to their "Crater's Edge" hostel. For $11 you get round trip mini-van transport, and use of the hostels facilities for the day. The hostel has a plethora of comfy hammocks in the shade, a float one can sunbathe on and dive off, several inner tubes for the same purpose, kayaks, and a bar with some snacks. If you go, go on a full stomach, their $8 lunch is awful and overpriced.

Laguna Apoyo is a serene, beautiful, warm lake. I floated in an inner tube for hours getting an excellent sunburn. It was especially fun watching the British guys in our group trying to swim to the float while holding a six pack of beer, a can of Pringles, and a pack of cigarettes above their heads.

The next day I did a tour with Tierra Tours to Masaya Volcano, Masaya town market, and the "white villages". Cost $25 for the six hour guided tour. Our guide David was excellent, very knowledgeable, funny, and an excellent command of English. David was eager to learn the definition and correct pronunciation of every English word we used that was new to him. When we laughed at his pronunciation of the the word "cheated" (which he pronounced "shitted"), he asked us to repeat the correct pronunciation, and then he kept repeating it randomly throughout the day.

First we saw the active Masaya Volcano. Steam poured from the crater as David told us how the dictator Somoza once dropped political enemies from a helicopter into the crater in the 70's when it had molten lava. Nice. It's a cool volcano if you have never seen one, but for a guy from Hawaii, eh, not so much.

Next we went to the artisans market in Masaya. This is a great market, lots of nice stuff at cheap, cheap prices. Strangely Granada does not have any kind of market for tourists even though it is the most touristed city in Nicaragua. You have to drive to Masaya. I got a hammock chair for $10 which I managed to leave sitting on a hotel lobby floor in Dallas later in the week. I eyed some beautiful handmade leather boots for $60, but they didn't have a size 10.5, my gringo feet are just too big.

Last stop, the Pueblos Blancos. Here we saw some cute little white washed artsy towns, and visited a pottery factory. Actually factory is a misnomer, it was one families house, and we got to see every step of the pottery making process, which was cooler than you'd think. After seeing all the work and time involved in making pottery, I was able to buy a pretty piece for just $5.

Granada, Nicaragua

2009-05-17T16:37:00.022-10:00

The big 5-0!!! I've hit country number fifty. Only about 153 more to go now. I landed in Managua airport in the evening. After successfully passing the Swine Flu infrared body temperature scanner, I grabbed my bag and headed outside to meet my shuttle to Granada. Well, the shuttle never showed, so I had to swallow my thriftiness and bust out $40 for a cab ride to Granada. The cabbie couldn't find my guesthouse, even though I had a map and was giving what I thought were clear directions in my best Spanglish. "Derecho! Izquierda! Derecha! Es a blanco y azul casa. Casa Silas. Calle de Concepcion. " Arrgh. We finally found it by pure luck.

Granada is a surprisingly sedate, picturesque town in an otherwise poor country. Nicaragua has a per capita GNI of $980 per year, the lowest in all of the Western Hemisphere, except Haiti. As such, I had low expectations. But I found that just as in Laos and Cambodia, poverty need not equate to misery. Granada has a dilapidated elegance. It is lined with colorfully painted Spanish colonial apartments. Schoolchildren in pressed blue and white uniforms run through the streets. Horses adorned with ribbons pull carriages. Granadinos sit in ornately carved wooden rocking chairs in the over sized doorways of their homes watching the world go by. It seems like a placid life. As I walked I passed family after family, two generations of adults rocking back and forth, eyes on the passers-by and ears tuned to the telenovela on TV. Children race about as they calmly rock in front of a fan, as the blazing Nicaraguan sun casts ever-longer shadows down their pastel alleyways.

People move slowly here. One must to survive the boiling heat. The Spanish wisely built their cities with narrow streets and multi-level apartments to allow some shade at all hours. Finding shade is a critical task in Granada.

Granada has some of the most interesting history of any city in the Americas. It is the oldest city in Central America, founded by Spanish conquistadors in 1524. In 1666 it was spectacularly captured by pirates in one of the most daring attacks in history. Henry Morgan paddled up the San Juan River by night with his crew in small dugouts. They then sailed across huge Lake Nicaragua, and caught the city's defenders by surprise. It may be the only case in history of pirates attacking a city 200 miles from the ocean. In 1856 Granada was occupied by American mercenary William Walker. When his plan to conquer all of Central America brought the wrath of Costa Rica and Honduras, he burned Granada to the ground on his retreat. Scorch marks can still be seen on one church that survived. The city was shelled and bombed again during the Sandinista revolution in 1979.

Granada has a lot of bicycles. A romantic evening out seems to begin with the man pedaling his mountain bike with his date sitting side-saddle on the crossbar. You see many couples, young and old, travelling like this. There are a few beggars here, sadly, many are kids hooked on glue. There aren't so many as to be frightening, but it's best to have some small change on you, or be ready to give a firm "no". There are many kids that prowl La Calzada for money. Some small children sell packs of cashews for 50 cents. I made friends with one kid who would hang out at my table and pretend to read Lonely Planet. The man next to me gave the rest of his dinner to a man missing a leg. Some other kids breakdance for change. A couple of them are really good. A big group of kids wear giant costumes and play drums and spin around. I have no idea what the cultural significance is of a giant woman in colonial dress spinning around is, but there are at least two competing groups with the costume.
Granada is a very safe city. I had no problems or felt in danger walking around at night. There is little police presence. Locals tell me that Nicaragua is very safe all over, except parts of Managua, and parts of the Caribbean coast due to drug trafficking. Oh boy is it cheap here too. A taxi across town is 50 cents, a beer in a nice restaurant is $1,A good meal $3-4, a t-shirt $4, An hour of internet $1, a bottle of fantastic Flor de Cana rum $7, a hand made hammock $11.

Taipei, Taiwan

2009-04-12T12:04:00.005-10:00

Country #49! While Taiwan is not a member of the UN, and is not recognized by most nations (including the USA), it is undebateably a sovereign nation. It resides in the long shadow cast by China, who claims it as a "renegade province" of mainland China. Taiwan has been governing itself since 1949.

My travels to Asia this time around were on China Air, so it was easy to get a free stopover in Taipei. Taipei is another huge city of 2.6 million. It's airport is a long way from the city, so Aaron and I got a scenic bus ride through the suburbs to get to our hotel. We then added a fruitless march carrying our bags through the city to where I thought our hotel was. People are really nice in Taipei. Just open your map up and look confused and someone will step up and help you find your destination. We showed up at the wrong hotel, and after jovially trying to convince us to just stay at their hotel, they wrote directions to our actual hotel in Chinese, hailed a cab for us, and told the cabbie where to take us. Thanks Neil and Chantelle!
Yes, the hotel clerks were named Neil and Chantelle. Apparently when you are of Chinese descent and you get a job in the hotel industry, you have to pick a westernized name. I didn't have the heart to tell Chantelle, that she is almost certainly the first Chinese named Chantelle ever.

So what is there to do and see in Taipei? Not much. We walked through Snake Alley, a "tourist market" where they sell the same cheap crap that they sell in every night market in Asia, with the addition of snakes. Big snakes. Aaron saw a 10foot python. I moved on. You can drink snake blood here, as seen on the cable travel/drinking show "Three Sheets". We did not partake. That's all we could find to do in Taipei. No bar scene. Just a big city focused on business. Oh, and the world's tallest building.

Taipei 101 is currently, officially, the World's Tallest Building. I think his is really awesome. I like to check off Really Big Things on my list during my travels. And this the THE BIGGEST OF THEM ALL. Sort of. It's actually much smaller than the Burj Dubai, a massive tower in the United Arab Emirates. However, the Burj is not open for business yet, so according to the people who decide these things Taipei 101 is still #1.
This picture does not even begin to illustrate how big this building is. It isn't just taller than the other high-rises in Taipei, it's like three time higher than the next tallest building. It sticks out like a bizarre aberration of architecture. Taipei 101 is 1,670 feet, and has been the tallest in the world since 2004.

Taipei 101 also has the World's Fastest Elevator. It hits a top speed of 37.7MPH on the way up. My ears popped twice during the ride, but I had no sensation of speed.

The view was OK. It's smoggy in Taipei, like everywhere else in Asia, so the visibility was less than ideal.

This trip up Taipei 101 is the crowning jewel of my visits to Really Big Things. I've also been to the Petronas Towers (tallest in the world from 1998-2004), the Eiffel Tower (tallest structure in the world from 1889-1930), Washington Monument (tallest structure from 1884-1889), Cologne Cathedral (tallest from 1880-1884), and St Olaf's church in Estonia (world's tallest structure from 1549-1625).

Our mission in Taipei complete, we headed back to the airport.

Phnom Penh, Cambodia

2009-04-11T16:11:00.007-10:00

Streets of Phnom Penh. Craziest traffic Ive ever seen.

From Siem Reap, Aaron, Pat and I took a bus to the capitol Phnom Penh. The bus was comfortable, had A/C, and played videos of Cambodian standup comedy. We had a close call with a cow that wandered into the road. The 6 hour ride dragged on, until finally we made it to the bus station.
Phnom Penh is much cleaner and more orderly than I would have predicted. It has some nice parks. It's very modern, and the streets are in pretty good shape. The traffic is unreal though. There appear to be no road rules. Mopeds come from every direction, with no stoplights or even stop signs. Every intersection is a four way merge with horns blaring.

The view from Wat Phnom

The Silver Pagoda houses a solid gold Buddha. The entire Royal Palace area is just beautiful, really a smaller version of the Royal Palace area of Bangkok, which it was modeled after.

Now for the harsh reality of Cambodian history. This country went through living hell from April 1975 to January 1979. The Khmer Rouge killed approximately 1.5 Million people. That amounts to one out of every seven Cambodians alive in 1975. No one should come to Cambodia without first watching the movie "The Killing Fields", and reading at least one book about the genocide. I recommend "First They Killed My Father". It seems inconceivable that such a thing could have happened here. Cambodians are so friendly and funny. But it did happen, just 30 years ago. Anyone over the age of thirty you meet would have some terrifying stories to tell. Sadly, after a few days in Cambodia you realize that there just aren't that many people over thirty walking around. It is a youthful country, and for all the wrong reasons.
During that late 70's Phnom Penh was a ghost town. On April 17, 1975, the Khmer Rouge forced the entire population to flee to the countryside with only what they could carry. Imagine the population of Boston being sent into the woods of Massachusetts and New Hampshire with nothing but a bag of potatoes, having to fend for themselves for food and water. How long would those people last? Not very long.

Faces of the inmates from Tuol Sleng Prison. 17,000 people were incarcerated and tortured here. All but 7 ended up dying in the prison or being murdered at the nearby killing fields.

We visited Tuol Sleng Prison, also known as S-21. The Khmer Rouge took this school and made it into a torture death camp. They imprisoned anyone who was educated, worked for the previous government, anyone that could possibly be considered a threat to their bizarre reorganization of society. They kept records of every inmate. The photos of the inmates are displayed throughout the building. It's quite moving to look at row upon row of pictures of people that you know were tortured and killed.

One of the beds on which people were tortured. The metal box is an ammo canister that served as their toilet.

Next we drove to the killing fields on the outskirts of Phnom Penh. 20,000 people were murdered here by the Khmer Rouge between 1976-79.

One of many mass graves.

The stupa of skulls. Layer upon layer of unidentified skulls found in the killing fields.

Even seeing all the skulls, I couldn't wrap my mind around the magnitude of murder and inhumanity that existed here.

I wasn't sad to leave Phnom Penh at the end of our visit to Cambodia. The city 's traffic, smog and frightening history wore me down. I will miss Cambodia though, and will certainly return to Siem Reap.

Siem Reap, Cambodia

2009-04-08T12:02:00.012-10:00

Cambodia is country #48. I'm always a little nervous at border crossings. Siem Reap has a beautiful new airport that belied the country's poverty. I had an encounter with the least friendly passport control officer I've met. I didn't have the right arrrival card so he just waved me away. I asked where to get the right card. He waved me away. I finally found the right card and made it through another window.

My trusty tuk-tuk driver Mao met me at the airport. When Aaron and Pat failed to show up on their flight, Mao wanted to wait to see if they'd come on the next flight. 3 hours later! I was melting in the 90 degree sun of the airport parking lot. Mao ended up driving us all over for three days.

Aaron and I at Angkor Wat. Gowanus Dredgers! The temples of Angkor are spread out over several miles. The place used to be a city of one million around 1200 AD, at a time when the population of London was 50,000! As such, you need some sort of transportation to get to all the temples. Bicycles might be fun in December, but in the 90+ degree heat of April, we chose the tuk-tuk. For $12 we had a driver and tour guide all in one from sunrise to sunset. All we had to do was hop in and hop out. And sweat a lot.

Angor Wat is huuuuuge. Hard to believe this thing was built by 1150, and it's still in pretty good shape. I think I need to build my next house out of stone. And with a moat.

Apsara reliefs cover the walls of Angkor Wat

Endless passageways of the temple

Cambodia is so awesomely cheap it is unbelievable. Here is a list of things I got in Siem Reap for one dollar: An Angkor Wat t-shirt, 80 minutes of Internet, two cold Angkor drafts in a nice restaurant, a hand carved wooden flute, a wooden jaw harp, a 20 minute tuk tuk ride, two litres of cold bottled water, entry to the Land Mine museum. The US Dollar is the de facto currency. You pay in US Dollars, and small change is given back in Cambodian Riel.

At the Bayon temple you have the option to take a short elephant ride around the perimeter of the temple for $15. Riding an elephant is on my life list, so I had to do it. It wasn't actually all that exciting, kind of a weird undulating ride as the elephants shoulder blades roll underneath you. I hope these elephants are well cared for, but I fear they may not be.

Aaron and I on an elephant.

The wonderfully serene Bayon temple was built around 1200. I could spend a day here just looking at all the faces. There are 216 of them in total.

The sleepy faces are watching you from every angle.

A smiling face of Bayon. Bayon is my favorite temple of any I've ever seen so far.

Ta Proehm, as seen in Tomb Raider.

Siem Reap is perfectly set up for backpackers. If there is anything that a traveller needs, someone in Siem Reap has opened a store selling it. I found a bookstore with pirated copies of every Lonely Planet guide for $5 each. Another store will load ripped songs to your Ipod for just 20cents each. Hostels, laundry, massage, travel agents specializing in bus tickets to Vietnam Laos and Thailand, bars, restaurants, all of this in one block. You can live like a king here on $20 a day.

Water Buffalo get in free at the temples of Angkor.

Pre Rup, built in 962, is a great quiet place to wander around.

Banteay Srei was built wayyyy back in 967. It is known for having the most intricate carvings of any temple in Angkor.

"Sah! Cold drink for you? Sah! You buy cold drink from me? Beer? Water? Coke? Maybe after tempah, you can buy from me? You remembah me, OK? I remembah you. You can buy from me."

Any visitor to Angkor will remember these entreaties long after they have forgotten the names of the temples they saw. You may thing you've gotten the tough sales pitch in other developing countries, but no one can outsell the ladies of Angkor. Before your tuk-tuk even rolls to a halt, you will be surrounded by four or five women and girls with armloads of t-shirts, sarongs, flutes, books, and hats.

"Sah! You need t-shirt? You need book on Angkor? Sah! Come to my shop, it right here!"

These are not the roadside sales girls of Indonesia or Laos with maybe five English phrases memorized, these girls, some only ten years old, have learned fluent English solely by haggling with tourists at Angkor. They have a sharp sense of humor too. Whatever reason you give them as to why you cannot buy yet another Angkor Wat t-shirt for two dollars, they have a better reason why you should buy it. Here is one exchange I had:

"Sah! You buy bracelet for your wife?"

"I don't have a wife."

"Sah! Maybe for you Mum?"

"I don't have a mom."

"But Sah, maybe you buy one for you sistah?"

"I don't have a sister"

"Sah, maybe you buy one for you girlfriend."

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"But Sah, do you know why you no have girlfriend?"

"No, why?"

"Because...YOU NO HAVE BRACELET!" (giggles from all her sales cohorts)

These girls are completely charming and harmless and their imaginative sales pitch did not annoy me, it just made me wish I could give em all a hundred bucks so they could go to school instead of selling cold drinks for a daily profit of two dollars.

The Angkor temples are astounding, but really the interaction with these kids was almost as fun as seeing the temples. At one stop the "cold drink" calls were coming in loud from fifty yards away, and I desperately needed one.

"Sah! Cold drink? Watah?"

Just to be a wise ass, I raised my hands in the air and shouted "I need a water! Where do I go?"

The place erupted. "Sah! Sah! Here! Right here!" Three kids sprinted to their mom's cooler, grabbed a water and raced each other laughing and shoving to get to me first. I guess playtime and work melt together into one when your a working kid in Cambodia.

The hot, flat Cambodian countryside, full of rice fields, lies between each temple. Water buffaloes and skinny cows abound. Also monkeys, chickens, and mangy dogs. All of the animals like to step into the road right in front of your vehicle.

What I love about travelling in Asia is that it is always an unexpected and unique adventure. Strange things happen here, things that just wouldn't happen anywhere else. An example; we hired out driver to take us out to all the best bars in town. At first he just kept taking us to one decibel blasting disco after another. We stepped into the first place, and it was pitch black. Not dark mind you, but black, almost no lights at all! If we got separated I'd never find Aaron and Pat. A sappy Thai pop ballad was playing. The dance floor was full of Cambodian kids slow dancing, junior high school dance style. In the dark. Aaron came back laughing from the men's room. I had to go too, and luckily he had briefed me for what was about to happen. I stepped in to see several young men in the club's uniform polo shirts standing at the back of the room. I hesitantly stepped to the urinal. As I'm going, one of the men steps up behind me, says "Good evening sir." and begins to give me a shoulder massage. WHILE I'M PEEING. Odd things happen in Asia. I started laughing uncontrollably, struggled to finish my business, tipped him a dollar for the most awkward massage ever, and got the hell out of there.

At the next club a sign was posted on the door stating in pictorial form; No knives, No guns, and No grenades. No grenades??? Is that enough of a problem that it has to be posted??? I checked with Aaron to make sure he left his grenades back at the hotel. Once we got inside there were lights at least, but the bass was Earth shaking. The bass was so powerful that as I looked across the club, each thump caused my vision to blur momentarily. There was yet another strange lavatorial experience in this place. While I was in the men's room, three young Cambodian kids came in laughing and stumbling, and all went into the same extra-roomy handicapped stall. They were closely followed by two massive goons dressed in black. Their private security force searched the men's room, stared me down as I was the only other occupant, then locked the entry door and stood guard on either side of it. While their young employer presumably sniffed coke in the stall, I quickly washed my hands and wondered if I'd be allowed to leave. I was.

Pat, Aaron and I offering to take out tuk-tuk drivers for a ride instead. Savoen and Mao are sitting in the shade for once.

Luang Prabang, Laos

2009-04-04T12:01:00.011-10:00

Country #47, Laos!
Some fun facts about Laos; It is the most heavily bombed country (per capita) in the history of the world. Laos was bombed non-stop by the USA from 1964 to 1973 at a cost of nearly seven billion dollars. Over two million tons of high explosive rained down from bomber raids launched on average once every eight minutes. The tonnage exceeds all the raids launched by every side in Europe during the whole of World War II. The lethal barrage, which peaked in 1969, included an estimated 250 million submunitions, notably infamous anti-personnel "bombies". Slightly smaller than tennis balls, and sometimes painted bright yellow, bombies can attract curious children and may be mistaken for fruit. 30% of these landed intact, and children die every week from them some 36 years leater.
Bearing all this in mind, it would be understandable to receive some anti-American sentiment. When the French or Dutch complain about American foreign policy I resist the temptation to ask them if their grandpa ran or bicycled away when the SS rolled into his town. But to people from countries like Laos, Cambodia, I can't defend my countries actions.

The Nam Khan river

Lao people are reserved, laid-back, calm, polite, patient, graceful. They seem surprised that so many Westerners want to visit their country.

On a Friday night, you'll see Lao teenage boys on their mopeds, with their girlfriends on the back, sitting sidesaddle, texting away on their cell phones. Mopeds outnumber cars 10-1, and bicycles outnumber mopeds. The total volume of motorized traffic is minimal.

Laos is wonderfully cheap. I had fantastic Indian food at Nazim's each night for $4. A big beer Lao is only $1.50 An hour massage $6. A full day's tour $11.

Laos is one of the few remaining "Communist" countries. It's not really Communist, in that it has free trade and capitalism just like any other country, but it is still ruled by the same Lao People's Democratic Party" that has ruled it since the Vietnam war. There are no free elections, and no free press.

I exchanged dollars at the Lao Peoples Bank. Basically the equivalent of exchanging money directly with the government. In Myanmar the government offers an absurd exchange rate of 6 kyat to the dollar, less than 1% of the real exchange rate. What was the exchange rate offered by the Lao government? Exactly the daily rate published on the world currency exchange; 8,538 Kip for one dollar. I guess Laos wants dollars.

The first thing that greeted me upon checking into my room was a laminated copy of the Lao People's Democratic Republic Accommodation Regulations. Twelve rules were listed, and I'll share the most interesting/hilarious rules verbatim:

#1 Tourists have to your own accommodation at 2400 hrs (mid night)

#5 Do not any drugs, crambling, or bring both women and men which is not your own husband of wife into the room for making love.

#6 Do not allow domestic and international tourist bring prostitute and others into your accommodation to make sex movies in our room, it is restriction.

#11 If you do not follow this accommodation regulation, you will be fight based on Lao PDR law.

So, for those of you hoping to start up the Lao porn industry, or thinking of doing any "crambling", you best think again or you will be fight. (Fined?)

That Pathum

Wat Xieng Thong

Monks whitewashing the stairway up Phou Si

Laos makes everyone sleepy. The power was out to the whole town on Saturday from early in the morning till 3pm. Nothing to do but walk around town, have a Beer Lao, get a massage, and take a catnap.

Main street. No cars, few people. Sleepy Laos.

People really do wear these hats here.

In Laos I stopped haggling at the markets. In Thailand they quote you a price that is 50-100% higher than what they will accept and it's expected you will attempt to haggle it down. On a $10-$20 item, it's certainly worth the time to haggle, pretend to walk away, the whole bit. In Laos they quote you a price that is a hopeful 25%-50% above what they will accept. This opening price will likely be less than the price you'd negotiate after five minutes of haggling in Thailand. Things are so, so cheap here. Can you talk a Lao merchant down from $3.50 to $2.75 for the Beer Lao t-shirt you've been eyeing? Probably. Will you feel that same sense of victory by keeping an extra 75 cents out of the hands of a woman who makes three dollars a day? Probably not.

I bought a beautiful handmade lantern from this lady. I took some time in deciding which one I wanted, and she interpreted my hesitancy to lack of interest and dropped the price from $8 to $6 without a word from me. If I'd had more room in my backpack, I'd have bought ten of them.

The huge night market in Luang Prabang

Quiet back streets of lovely Luang Prabang

Like many places in Buddhist Asia, the monks walk the streets at dawn to collect alms from the laypeople. This tradition dates back a thousand years. There are so many monks in Luang Prabang, and the town is so picturesque, that this simple ceremony draws out every tourist in town. Some give alms like the locals. Most just snap pictures. Unfortunately, a few morons insist in getting right up in the monks faces for that perfect shot. There are signs around town asking for people to show some restraint and not interfere with this vital ritual. I took this shot from across the street. I witnessed a tour bus of Japanese with bright flash photography just a few feet from some monks. I was disgusted by the whole scene. Rich tourists with $800 cameras frantically snapping photos of penniless monks patiently receiving the only food they would get for the day is just wrong. I saw one sign on a shop window that put it best; "They are monks not monkeys. Do not treat them as if they are in a zoo. Please respect Lao traditions."

In the morning I went on a cool riverboat trip up the Mekong. For just $10 I got to ride in a thin long riverboat about 15 miles up the river to the Pak Ou caves, where a multitude of Buddha statues have been gathered for a long time. (One tour guide claims they are 4000 years old, which is a little bit off since Buddha was born only 2500 years ago.) At these caves were the usual vendors selling cold drinks and books. I'm passing by these kids selling bracelets, when suddenly I realize one of them has a giant rat on a string! I jumped back as the thing lunged toward me. The kids are trying to get me to do something with this ratlike creature, and I'm just trying to get away. I figured out that it was a mole, a big mole, and they wanted me to pay to set it free, just like with the sparrows in Chiang Mai. Note to Lao entrepreneurs; sparrows are cute, and Westerners want to free birds. Rodents are nasty, and we generally try to kill them.

It's hard to see it, but in the left side of this picture is a "working elephant" This elephant was on a tether and was moving logs for a man next to it. This is the first time I've ever seen an elephant not in a zoo. Laos has a few wild elephants, but they are dwindling fast and need better protection.

In the afternoon I took a trip south to the Kuang Si waterfall. For $4 I got a ride in a tuk-tuk 20 miles out of town and entry to a beautiful forest reserve with a waterfall and several swimming holes.

Little did we know it, but the Tuk-Tuk ride there would be the most exciting part of the trip.

The Lao New Year was just a few days away. New Year comes at the hottest part of the dry season, and it is customary for kids to throw water on anyone they can during the three day festival. Well, on the road to Kuang Si, the kids started early.

Someone must have told them, "Look kids, there's going to be loads of foreigners in open tuk-tuks coming this way from Luang Prabang. They are on their way to the waterfall, so they are already dressed in swimming attire. It's open season."

We never expected the first salvo. Five kids with buckets of water waiting behind a slow curve drenched the back part of the Tuk Tuk. Our truck was full with four Brits, two Swiss, and me.

The Swiss took the brunt of this one. We were shocked, and laughing. The next group of kids we were ready for. Everyone dove to the floor and avoided most of the deluge. The third group was the piece de resistance. These kids had a half dozen threatening with buckets on the left side of the road. We all dove to the right side of the tuk-tuk and faced away. Big mistake. Hiding behind a berm on the right side of the road were another half dozen kids with buckets.

I was blasted in the face by a couple gallons of water. Everyone was soaked. They got us, and they got us good.

This guy, Saeng, was on assignment to the waterfall to practice his English with any English speaking foreigner that would take the time to talk to him. His English needs a lot of work, but he told me that the next time I come to Luang Prabang he'll have opened a new restaurant.

The blurry figure in the center is me, a split second after letting go of the rope swing.

I hadn't jumped off a good rope swing in 15 years. I probably shouldn't have pumped 10 times though, cause my arms were pretty sore the next day.

On the way back from the waterfalls we stopped at a small Hmong village. This was certainly the poorest village I have ever seen. Handmade wooden huts, no electricity, no running water, sickly looking children. The sales pitch from the kids selling stuff had a bit of desperation here. Each girl was singing the same song, while displaying her hands toward the merchandise like some Laotian macarena. As you walked away from her table, the pitch and speed of the song would intensify. Finally I understood that the song they were all singing was in English and the only line was "You can buy some thing from me." I wanted to get out of this place cause these kids were breaking my heart. I bought ten bracelets from this girl, total cost $2. Her mom was pleased, but she doesn't look too happy.

Laos really does have a midnight curfew. Not that there's anything much to do after midnight anyway. Luang Prabang has only two real bars; Hive and Lao Lao Garden. I spent a couple nights hanging at Lao Lao Garden and got to know the owner, a young Lao enterpreneur named Sompon. He manages the business and has a German investor, they split the profits 50-50. Lao Lao Garden has to close at 11:30 so that everyone has time to get home before the curfew.

Sompon tells me that no one actually gets arrested for being out past curfew, least of all a foreigner. He also says there are two businesses that the government allows to stay open late, the Dao Fah disco and the bowling alley. He offered to take me to both. After closing down the Garden we rounded up a couple tuk-tuks and got every foreigner who wanted to keep partying to climb in. One Aussie guy wanted to haggle the tuk-tuk price with the driver, while I tried to explain to him that the cost of the trip amounted to 50 cents per passenger, so what the hell was he arguing about? We all rode whooping and yelling to Dao Fah, and then listened to a mix of crappy Thai pop music and Akon. You have one drink choice at Dao Fah; large bottles of Beer Lao. You stand in one line to pay, get a ticket, then stand in another line to turn your ticket in for your beer. After damaging our eardrums for a bit, the crew piled back in the tuk-tuks for the bowling alley. Bowling? In Laos? at 1am? Sure, why not. I bowled atrociously, perhaps worse than Barack Obama. At some point I got back in the tuk-tuk for the final ride of the evening and was safely deposited at the door of my guesthouse. A day in Luang Prabang reminds me of a day at summer camp. You see all the same people everywhere, and you all move from activity to activity at roughly the same time. I love it.

Chiang Mai, Thailand

2009-04-02T16:24:00.008-10:00

I spent only a bit more than 24 hours in Chiang Mai. The first day we arrived via night train from Bangkok. Lindso and Adrianne shared a sleeper car, and I split one with a taciturn Thai man. We got some pretty good sleep to the clackety clack of the train, and arrived at 9am.
After checking into our hotel, I took Lindso and Adrianne on a forced march to see the best wats in a city of a hundred wats. Ok, so it was 92 degrees, with high humidity, and the traffic was thick with fumes. Soon I had a mutiny on my hands.

Songthaew ride down from Wat Phra That Doi Suthep. This wat is on top of a 3000ft hill a few miles outside town. The twisty switchback ride up got Lindso carsick. She just barely held on till we stopped at the top and then hurled out the back of the truck.

Lindso at the bottom of the 300 steps.

Inside the Wat. Lindso still recovering outside.

Girls in traditional garb dancing to music

Ubiquitous picture of King and Queen Bhumibol

Wat Chedi Luang was built in 1441. This wat has bells all around the exterior; for a small donation you can ring each of them for good luck.

Novice monks resting

The lone surviving elephant on Chedi Luang

A split second after I released two tiny sparrows from their wicker prison.

All over Asia you see people offering the chance to set free birds they have captured for a dollar or two. I'm sure these birds are either very easy to catch, or are trained to come back to their owners. Still, it's a cool feeling to set free birds that are clearly very eager to escape their little cage.
Wat Phra Singh was built in 1385. We really enjoyed this wat. It has a peaceful shaded garden behind the old Wat with benches and tables where one can sit and reflect upon the Buddhist quotes that are posted on the trees. We walked among the trees and read the quotes while monks came and went from their nearby monastery. It was a great refuge from the hot sun.

A concept that must be believed for any serious distance runner.

Words to live by.

It's all mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.

A great sign for a poor but dignified country. Can someone post this one on Wall Street?

Wat Chiang Man is the oldest wat in Chiang Mai, allegedly built in 1296.

I enjoyed my short time in Chiang Mai, and would have liked to see more of it. It is a big city, lots of traffic and noise, much bigger than I expected. Starbucks was right next to our hotel. The night market was excellent. Lots of bargains, good food, and good music.

In the afternoon I jumped in a red songthaew and headed for the airport and on to Laos.

Rangoon, Burma

2009-03-31T09:42:00.011-10:00

Burma is a country of amazing absurdity, vast corruption, and shocking cruelty.
After the 1988 uprising and the resulting international condemnation due to gunning down thousands of unarmed protesters, Burma's new dictator changed the name of the country to Myanmar. Ostensibly, his reasons were that "Burma" is a colonial name, and not representative of the populous of the country. More likely is that he hoped the fresh new name of Myanmar would not be easily associated with repression and death. Most citizens still refer to their country as Burma, as do many international organizations and nations.
Absurdity: Burma's government has an unfortunate habit of declaring it's own banknotes to be worthless: In 1985, the 20, 50 and 100 kyat notes were demonetized and replaced with new kyat notes in the bizarre denominations of 25, 35 and 75, chosen because of dictator Ne Win's fondness for numerology; the 75-kyat note was introduced on his 75th birthday.
Only two years later, the government once again demonetized the 25, 35 and 75 kyat notes with no prior warning, rendering some 75% of the country's currency worthless. This time 15, 45 and 90-kyat notes was issued, incorporating Ne Win's favorite number 9. The resulting erasure of people's life savings led to serious riots and eventually the 1989 coup by yet another repressive general. Today the Burmese government sets an arbitrary and ridiculous exchange rate of 6 kyats to the dollar. If you exchange dollars at any bank, that is the rate you'll get. However, on the street, the exchange rate hovers around 1000 to the dollar, a mere 20,000% difference! Not surprisingly, the government owned airlines, trains, and hotels don't accept their own worthless kyat, only US dollars!
Burma's time zone is set not one hour behind it's neighbor Thailand, but a half-hour. Burma sees fit to break with the mold of time zone changes in one hour increments. Burma is one of only two nations that does not use the metric system. I won't mention the other one.
In 2005 the reclusive and paranoid military junta moved Burma's capital from Rangoon, a city of 6 million, and the hub of all economic activity, to tiny Naypyidaw, a remote mountainous region in the center of the country. The new capital is built like a fortress, and foreigners can only enter with pre-approval. No foreign embassies have been allowed to make the move. It is theorized that the government moved here to have a better chance to survive an American invasion by land, or a revolt by it's neglected population.
Burma is ranked #178 on the Transparency International Corruption Perceptions Index. That means it is more corrupt than any nation in the world other than Somalia (which isn't really a a nation, but an anarchic Mad-Max like desert)
Burma is ranked fifth from last on personal freedoms by Freedom House. It squeaked by such vacation hot spots as Somalia, North Korea, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan.
Burma is ranked last in Asia for per capita income by the World Bank, with an estimated annual income of $233 per person. That's about 12 cents an hour for you forty-hour-a-week cubicle dwellers.

Foreign Policy magazine ranks Burma in a three way tie with Sudan and Somalia for worst Human Rights violator in the world. I guess the junta needs to create a Burmese pirate navy to claim first outright.
Pure evil: In 2008 the junta denied international aid to cyclone Nargis victims, adding thousands to a death toll of over 140,000. Government troop shot of over 3,000 protesters in 1988, many of them unarmed monks and students. Slave labor camps are believed to exist in the north, no access is allowed to any outsiders to confirm. Burma is #2 in Opium growing only to lovely Afghanistan. Burma is the only country who has jailed a Nobel Peace Prize winner, Aung San Suu Kyi.

Knowing all this, I looked into the global opinions on the morality of visiting Burma. Many organizations promote a boycott of all tourism to Burma. Their argument is strong and compelling. I was fully aware that the government owned all domestic airlines, the trains, the ferries, and the top-end hotels. I did not know that thousands of Burmese have been forcibly relocated and/or enslaved in forced labor camps in order to upgrade popular tourist areas. There is absolutely no denying that by visiting Burma, you are directly putting money into the hands of the junta. I'd be paying $20 for a tourist visa, $10 in departure tax, and $5 to visit the famed Shwedagon Stupa. To put it very clearly, that is at least $35 that I'll be handing to a group of murderers and rapists. There is no getting around it. How do I justify that? I'm not sure I have the correct answer. I would be staying at a small privately-owned guesthouse. I'll eat at only small street vendors. I'll hire trishaw and taxi drivers. I'll put dollars in the hands of regular folks. I'll make sure my contribution to the government is limited to getting in and out of the country. Is that enough? What else can I do?

Yangon is a sad, neglected, isolated city. Crumbling British colonial architecture abounds. The best buildings have been appropriated as government offices and freshly painted. The rest are disintegrating in place, untouched since the military dictatorship took over in the 60's. It is the only city I've ever seen that has no evidence of American consumer products. There is no McDonalds, no KFC, not even Coca-Cola. For that matter there are no ATM's, no tourist infrastructure, and no tourists.

I arrive as sparkling new Yangon International Airport and was quickly waved through immigration and customs. First impression is that the Burmese are really skinny. .I was met at the exit by an Indian man bearing a placard with my name on it. It really is such a wonderful thing to see someone holding up your name when you arrive bewildered in a strange land. It was even worth the $4 I know I overpaid in pre-arranging a taxi. Aru welcomed me to Burma with bloodshot eyes and red stained teeth. Chewing betel nut is popular here. He led me to his battered 1980 Nissan with tires so smooth and treadless, they may have been the original set. Though this was the most dilapidated taxi I had ever ridden in, it would prove to be the best I would see in Burma.

Just five minutes into the ride Aru turned to me and said "Do you know we have a lady under house arrest here?" Not shy to tell me about Aung San Suu Kyi, he pointed out the street on which she is imprisoned. "Can we drive by?" I asked. ""No way, blocked off." Instead I checked into my air-con, ensuite bathroom, single room at the MayShan Guesthouse for the princely sum of $15, then set out to walk the city. view of Sule Pagoda from the MayShan rooftop

I struggled through the shattered sidewalks among throngs of Burmese, feeling extremely self-conscious. I received stares from nearly everyone I passed. Mine was the only white face in the street. Children pointed and hid behind their mothers. When I travel to Asia, I feel like I'm getting an insight into the life of an NBA player. I'm only 6'1", but in Asia that makes me a freakish giant. No one wants to stand out as an obvious tourist, but it is unavoidable in Burma.

Yangon is fascinating to walk through. It is the most unusual city. The streets are packed with people selling everything imaginable. Yangon has no department stores, or hardware stores, or clothing stores. It has only tiny individually owned shops. There is one street selling screwdrivers. One big building is full of people working on 1950's era sewing machines. Another street is all underwear sales. It's all very interesting, but if you tire and want to sit in a shaded cafe, sip a cappuccino, and watch the world go by, forget it. Yangon's commerce caters to subsistence living. A hot meal from a street vendor is only 20 cents, but you'll have to sit on a child size plastic chair to eat it, just inches away from bus exhaust on one side, and an open sewer on the other. These are not the quaint, delicious hawker food courts of Malaysia and Singapore. I couldn't bring myself to risk the unrecognizable street food, so I walked and walked in hopes of finding and actual restaurant. Meanwhile, the mercury rose to 97.

I felt heat stroke was near, and sat on a kindergarten chair and drank an "Orange Crusher" soda. I passed orange robed monks, pink robed nuns, a few abaya clad women, and thousands of Longyi garbed, staring Burmese. Despite the poverty of Yangon, I saw no beggars, only nuns asking for alms.

novice nuns

Finally I reached the New Delhi restaurant. I was invited to pick any table by one of my six personal waiters. I was the New Delhi's only customer. My curry was decent, and I was brought generous helpings of extra rice. Midway through the meal the power went out to the city.

my Shwedagon tour guide

One item of pure beauty in Yangon is the world renowned Schwedagon Pagoda. Anyone who has travelled extensively in South-East Asia will eventually suffer from wat weariness/pagoda paralysis/Buddha boredom. Buddhists build a lot of temples. They are everywhere, and Lonely Planet will convince you that unless you see at least 37 of them in each city, you are missing a cultural experience. Well, I can say that if you only ever see one Buddhist temple, make it Shwedagon. It's the biggest, at 321 feet tall. It has 5,448 diamonds and 2,347 rubies, including a 76 carat diamond on top. Best of all, it is actually covered in gold! Several million dollars worth of gold plates cover the rounded part of the spire. I spent a couple hours walking around it (clockwise of course) at sunset. My tour guide was enthusiastic and knowledgeable, though not so fluent in English. I had to ask him if he felt it was normal to have a hundred million dollars worth of gold and diamonds sitting here, while people are starving and homeless due to cyclone Nargis? He replied, "Yes, because the Shwedagon Paya will always be here for every generation, and one man's life is short and temporary."

Sunset brought a shocking blackness to Yangon. No streetlights, almost no lit businesses, no bars or restaurants, just darkness. The upheaved sidewalks, the crush of people, and the smell of fried crickets no longer seemed exotic, just frightening. I group of urchins approached me begging for money. A boy of six or so displayed his bleeding head wound for extra credit.

I retreated to the one tourist quality restaurant I had seen, the only building with lights for several blocks. I prefer to "eat where the locals eat" when I travel, but this would take courage and much sleuthing in Yangon. Here I felt like a visitor from the future. With resignation, I gave in and stopped trying to bridge the gap.

Upon leaving the next morning I noticed how empty the airport is. For a city of six million, mine was the only international flight leaving all morning. Yangon truly exists outside the world economy. A pariah, propped up only by China, India, Singapore, and Malaysia; no one comes here. Burma is on the outside looking in.

Bangkok, Thailand

2009-03-30T12:03:00.008-10:00

Bangkok, Thailand is a massive city of 8 million. What can I say about it that hasn't already been said? It's got insane traffic, it takes twice as long as you'd think to get anywhere. It's loud. It's got some pollution issues.

It also has a staggeringly beautiful Grand Palace. It has infamous nightlife. It's also has probably the best backpacker setup of any city on earth. I spent only a day and a half here, so I'm in no position to judge it. It's an overwhelming city at first, and you'd need to spend a week here to see everything.

Khao San Road is the ultimate backpacker ghetto. Spend a day on this street and you can get anything a backpacker could possibly want for next to nothing. T-Shirts, toe rings, tattoos, beer, drugs, a hostel bed, a bus ticket to Cambodia, a massage, a flight to Nepal, a tourist VISA for China, a fake press pass stating that you work for a Swiss financial newspaper, a cell phone SIM card, a memory stick for your camera, a fake international student ID, fake watches, fake sunglasses, fake dreadlocks...I love it.

Monks on a lunch break. How do they got their robes so bright? Must be colorsafe Tide.

This Reclining Buddha is very large. How large? I forget, but let's just say it's the largest Buddha I've ever seen, and I've seen more than a few.

Spires in the Grand Palace grounds.

The Grand Palace

Lindso imitating the goddess of something or other.

Sam imitates the monkey god Hanuman

The gold stupa inside the Grand Palace.

I'd like to come back to Bangkok someday, there's lots more to see. I also only had time to buy half of the cheap fake crap that I really wanted. There were several Japanese t-shirts with hilarious nonsensical English phrases that really should be in my collection. The best among them: a picture of a Star Wars stormtrooper in a Michael Jackson crotch holding stance, with "Smooth trooper loves yo momma's flapjacks" written on it.

Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic

2008-11-11T12:35:00.018-10:00

The Dominican is poor by American standards. Median income is $3,550, less than a tenth of US income. However in the rankings of world's happiest countries, the DR is always near the top. People are well dressed and entrepreneurial. As in many poor countries, they see white tourists as a walking ATM. On our first day my parents agreed to a $28 taxi ride that should have cost $4, and my mom accepted the services of an "official tour guide" who then showed her all the places she could buy Dominican jewelry for five times the normal cost.
Our first stop was at the Faro a Colon, a massive monument built in celebration of the 500th anniversary of Christopher Columbus voyage to the DR. This place is the size of an Egyptian pyramid. It is built in the shape of a cross, and has a powerful searchlight that supposedly can be seen from space. The light is seldom turned on though, as it causes blackouts in the surrounding neighborhoods.

Me, Mom and Dad in front of Columbus' tomb. This is a site of controversy. Columbus remains were first buried in Valladolid, Spain upon his death in 1506, and then moved to a monastery in Seville. In 1542, his remains were transferred to Santo Domingo. In 1795, the French took over Hispaniola, and his remains were moved to Havana, Cuba. After Cuba became independent in 1898, his remains were moved back to the Cathedral of Seville in Spain. However, a lead box bearing an inscription identifying "Don Christopher Columbus" and containing fragments of bone and a bullet was discovered at Santo Domingo in 1877.

To prove that Spain has the real Columbus, DNA samples were taken in June 2003, but the results are not conclusive. Only a few limited fragments of mitochondrial DNA could be isolated, but these do appear that the body may be that of Columbus. The authorities in Santo Domingo have not allowed the remains there to be exhumed, so it is unknown if any of those remains could be from Columbus's body. So, is this really Columbus' grave or not? I really don't care, because I've been to the Cathedral in Seville as well, so I'm pretty sure I've got him one way or the other!

Later, while sitting on a park bench in Park Colon writing, I was approached by all manner of hustlers and con men. Apparently sitting down and reading Lonely Planet is a flashing red light that says "I'm a lost tourist, come try to rip me off!" The same tour guide sat down and told me all the great deals he could get my "Mama". Later an attractive couple sat by me, the woman a little to close for comfort. The man struck up a conversation with me about growing up in Queens, cheering for the Yankees, and liking Ronald Reagan. Oh and by the way, his "cousin" really liked American guys if I was interested. Umm. No thanks. Next a homeless man asked me if I was actor, and then told me that I looked just like Clint Eastwood. Is that a compliment? I mean, Clint Eastwood is like 78 years old. He then announced that he had AIDS, and could he have some money for his meds? Others would wander by trying to sell me coffee from a jug, Meringue CD's, rosary beads, newspapers in Spanish. Although, at no time did I feel unsafe in Santo Domingo, even while walking some very dark streets. SD has a serious electricity problem. There is not enough juice to support the whole grid of two million people. Rolling blackouts are the norm. The main tourist center would go completely dark every evening for a few hours. The major hotels, restaurants, and stores all have private generators in the basements. The streetlights go out, but life goes on.

Our hotel, the Conde de Penalba, is a gracefully aged building with al fresco dining overlooking the Plaza Colon in SD's colonial district. We enjoyed several Presidente beers on our private second-floor balcony watching ebullient Dominicans and reserved tourists amble by. In the mornings I ran along the Malecon, the long waterfront avenue that hosts the city's high rise hotels and nightlife. I had hoped for a beautiful run along the azure Caribbean Sea, but it was not to be. Unlike the well cared for Zona Colonial, I found the Malecon littered with mountains of garbage. Homeless sleep on concrete benches surrounded by a blanket of trash. The rocky shore is occasionally interrupted by a small beach with every inch of sand covered in plastic. A ring of waste encircles the coastline. Any fresh breeze of Caribbean air is drowned by exhaust fumes of passing motorbikes. The sound of the surf breaking on the rocks is overpowered by the blasts of truck horns. At this moment I have much appreciation for the spotless beaches of Maui and the relative calm of South Kihei Road. In the DR's defense, the following day, I found the majority of the trash picked up, apparently Monday morning is the low point for the Malecon. However, it would take an army of trash pickers to clear the whole coastline.

Returning to the Park Colon, I find Cristobal Colon (Christopher Columbus in English) omnipresent in Santo Domingo. The Great Admiral's brother Bartholomew founded the city in 1498, making it the oldest European city in the New World. Across from our hotel is the oldest church in continuous use in the Western Hemisphere, built in 1521.
Columbus landed on the north shore of the island of Hispaniola on December 5th 1492, on his first voyage to the New World. Eighteen days later he ran the Santa Maria aground, and was forced to abandon it, tearing it apart to build a fort called "La Navidad" for 39 men he left behind. At this time Hispaniola was inhabited by approximately 400,000 Taino indians. At first the Spanish had peaceful relations with the Taino, but soon took to raping and murdering them. This may have been a bad decision, being outnumbered 10,000 to 1. Columbus returned to La Navidad on November 27, 1493 to discover eleven Spanish corpses lining the beach and that the Taino had killed all 39 Spanish settlers. Columbus sailed 70 miles further east and founded another settlement called "La Isabella". I would think it must have been hard to get volunteers to stay behind this time around. However, this settlement survived, and in 1496 Bart Columbus packed everyone up and sailed to the south side of the island to relocate to what is today the east side of Santo Domingo. The city was completely wiped out by a hurricane in 1502, and they chose to rebuild on the west side of the Ozama river.
Things did not turn out so well for the Taino indians. The Spanish killed thousands through warfare, disease, and slavery. By the mid 1600's the Tainos had been practically wiped out and the Spanish began importing African slaves to work their plantations. The last Taino native was seen in 1864. Dominicans today are a mixture of Spanish and African blood, almost zero native Taino blood remains.

In the evening we caught a cab to Estadio Quisqueya for a beisbol game between the Escogido Leones and Estrellas. Our friendly cabbie played "Name that Tune" with me as he blasted Celine Dion and Whitney Houston while swerving wildly through the blacked-out back streets of SD. We arrived at the sparkling clean stadium, and got 15th row seats behind first base for just 275 pesos ($8), about one fiftieth of what similar seats would cost at Fenway. Dominicans are the best baseball players in the world, far better than Americans on a per-capita measurement of major leaguers. Unfortunately we had picked a game between the two worst teams in the Dominican Winter League, and the crowd numbered less than a thousand. But as the game got underway, it was a loud and enthusiastic thousand. We rooted for the home team Escogido, and they capitalized on some Estrellas errors to win easily 8-3. Several current and former MLB players were in the game including Reggie Willits and Tony Batista. The Dominican game is more of an entertainment production than in America. The had a man on eight foot stilts walking through the stands. A lion mascot taunted the opposing players throughout the game. Perhaps best of all, the seventh inning stretch consisted of a half dozen cheerleaders dressed in hot pants, half shirts and baseball caps doing ridiculous booty shaking dances on the dugout roof, and using the Lion mascot as a stripper pole. It was absolutely outrageous, and I tried to picture curmudgeon sportswriter Dan Shaugnessy of the Boston Globe watching this from a Fenway box seat. We had a blast at Quisqueya stadium, beautiful ballpark, cheap seats, cold beer, and quality play.

The next day Mom and I took on the challenge of navigating the DR's public transport system to go to a nearby beach town. After a longer then expected uphill walk under a hot sun, we were finally directed to a bus labelled "Boca Chica". This private transport was thankfully chilled inside, with plush leather seats. As in most poorer countries, the bus didn't leave until every seat was full; but we didn't have to wait long, and for just 60 pesos ($1.70) we got a 20 mile ride.
Strangely I was the only male passenger on the bus. Maybe Dominican men don't like the beach? The bus driver blaster meringue the whole way, and the lady seated behind us quietly sang along with a sweet voice. We passed tall palm trees and low limestone cliffs along the Caribbean coast. On arrival in Boca Chica, we were almost immediately chased under cover by rain sprinkles. Within a few minutes a virtual wall of water hit us. With about ten seconds of warning, people ran for cover before the deluge. It rained briefly every afternoon during our stay, a pleasant break from the hot sun and high humidity.
Boca Chica has a wide, white powder sand beach. The majority of which is covered by chairs and umbrellas from the Bachata cranking bars and restaurants that line it. And as in SD, as you walk the beach you are approached by people selling CD's, sunglasses, towels, inflatable rafts, marijuana, massage, manicures, sex, boat rides, mariachi-style meringue serenades, and chiclet gum. If you are looking for a quiet, isolated place to read a book, Boca Chica is not the place for you. If you are looking for a Spanish-speaking Spring Break, you've come to the right place.

Dominicans are some of the most expressive people I've met. Always talking, shouting, whistling, singing, beeping car horns. It is not a quiet country. Dominicans are an attractive, well dressed lot. Men in suit pants, Italian leather loafers, and Cuban styled collared dress shirts unashamedly ogle high-heeled women in skin tight jeans as they pass by. It is a society where machismo and femininity have not yet been replaced by workplace harassment sensitivity training.

For the first time ever in my peripatetic travels, I deliberately passed up a chance to add another country to my list. While in Santo Domingo, I was only a three-hour bus ride from the Haitian border. It pained me to not make a day trip over to get country #45. Unfortunately, Haiti is currently the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere. AIDS and starvation are ever-present. Stories have circulated in the western media about people eating mud cookies. Crime and murder rates are high, and Haiti just replaced Columbia as the country that kidnapped the most Americans in 2007. So, for once I used my better judgement and stayed in the DR.

Singapore

2008-08-30T17:49:00.007-10:00

At 9pm we entered KL Sentral train station and boarded the night train for Singapore. For just $74 we had our own compartment with bunk beds, TV, and an attached bathroom with a shower. As it turned out, the shower didn't work, and the TV only showed a rerun of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. It was more difficult to sleep on a train then I had remembered, and we arrived in Singapore pretty beat. Our first introduction to Singapore was their overzealous immigration checkpoint. The entire trains passengers were required to get off, with all of their luggage, and go through airport-style customs and immigration. This took well over an hour. I've crossed a half-dozen borders by train before and this is the first time I've ever seen anything like this. Normally, the customs officers just hop on the train somewhere near the border, and while it is in motion, they go cabin to cabin, checking and stamping passports. Singapore brought out the drug sniffing dogs, and went through every compartment. After the tired disheveled mass of passengers were allowed back on our train, we had only a few more minutes to the Singapore station. We alighted, caught a cab to our hotel, and got our first glimpse of the city. Skyscrapers lined the river, the highways are perfect, and no graffiti in sight.

"Disneyland with the death penalty." "The only shopping mall with a seat at the U.N." A country where importing chewing gum is illegal. After two days here, I would describe Singapore like this: Think of the most massive, cavernous, shopping mall you have ever been in. It is gleamingly clean and white, it's air-conditioning a little too cold. Every big name store on Earth is present, Armani, Dolce Gabbana, Rolex. Now picture that instead of this mall being populated by a few hundred portly American families chewing on their Orange Julius, it is instead filled with several thousand Chinese, all chattering in Mandarin you can make no sense of. They press in on you from all sides, sometimes trapping you in cramped passageways for a few claustrophobic seconds. Now imagine that the spaces between each big box store in this mall are separated by 100 meters of outdoor sidewalk sun-baked to 90 degrees with 80% humidity. After one minute of walking you are soaked in sweat. Your only refuge from the sweltering heat is to re-enter yet another frigid, packed, shopping mall. This goes on for several miles. There is no escape. Welcome to Singapore.
Apparently Malaysians like to stand on sit-down toilets.
Best to leave the smokes, burgers, durians, and gas cans at home.

This tunnel could be your most expensive bike ride ever.

They shoot jaywalkers on sight don't they?

Durians smell really bad.
Our visit to Singapore started out well enough. Our taxi ride into the city was quick and reasonably priced, maybe $6. Our digs, the Southeast Asia Hotel, were run down but adequate. On early Saturday morning we walked the empty streets to the Riverwalk area and admired the city skyline. There is no question Singapore is an attractive city. It's clean, has green parks, great museums, water everywhere, and excellent public transport. It's well ordered, as it's reputed, the cars actually stop for pedestrians, and no one jaywalks. We passed all the above signs threatening fines for varying minor offences, yet we did not see a single policeman. Are the Singaporeans so cowed that enforcement is no longer necessary?We passed by the Merlion statue, the Esplenade theatres, and visited the fascinating Southeast Asian Civilizations Museum. We went for a quality run in Fort Canning Park, probably the best run in two weeks. We walked to all the major sights of the city, but it was strangely empty, like everyone had cleared out for the weekend. Our first night we made the obligatory trip to Raffles Hotel Long Bar for an original Singapore Sling. Actually Lindso got the Sling, and I opted for a pint of Tiger beer. My beer cost 21.06SGD ($14.75 US), so I had the thrill of setting a new personal best for most expensive beer. Below is my reaction to seeing the bar bill. I expected tourist trap Raffles to gouge, but I was shocked to find beer all over town costing 10, 12, 14 Singapore Dollars. For a city of four million, on a Saturday night, there was almost zero going on. Weird.

Flower sales outside our hotel

By the second night we had it figured out. We rode the MRT to Orchard Road and entered hopping mall hell. I've concluded the national sport of Singapore is shopping. We saw thousands of Chinese ladies frantically digging through the sales racks in mall after mall. I've also discovered that the "cafe culture" of Europe that we love so much is completely absent in Singapore. Nowhere can you find a place to sit and have a coffee or a beer and watch the world go by, except at a chain like Starbucks, or at some extortionate tourist trap. Singapore ranks very low on my list of destinations. We couldn't wait to leave.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

2008-08-29T17:49:00.002-10:00

We left Jogja in the afternoon for a 2.5 hour flight back to Malaysia, though this time to peninsular Malaysia to the capitol, Kuala Lumpur. We flew Air Asia for the third time this trip. What a great airline! Cheap fares; this one was only $58, cheap, delicious meals offered onboard, hot female flight attendants, (editor's note: this was pointed out by Lindso, I wasn't going to say a word), and they fly all over southeast Asia. We arrived at night in KL's low cost commuter terminal (KLIA LCCT), and searched for transport to the city center, over 30 miles away. A cab service wanted 92 ringgit ($28) but next door a bus service asked only 15 ringgit ($4.50) for door to door service. We rode the bus for the hour-long journey. This drive was some culture shock for us. After spending eight days in down trodden Indonesia, we found KL to be a sparkling, modern, clean, first world city. The skyline was lit with skyscrapers, including the iconic Petronas Towers. We spied them and the KL Tower from miles outside the city. The Petronas Towers, completed in 1998, stand at 1,482 feet, and were the tallest buildings in the world until 2004, when they were surpassed by Taipei 101. We were awed by them as our bus drove right by. We were dropped off at our hotel, the Pacific Regency, right by the KL Tower. Our room on the 25th floor had a sweeping view of the city skyline and the Petronas Towers. We had travelled light years from the dusty streets of Jogja in just a few hours. We changed into our finest non-backpacker grunge attire, and rode the lift up to the top of the Pacific Regency, the 33rd floor holding the trendy Luna Bar. The Luna had a DJ, an open rooftop setting with a pool, and unblocked side views of the Petronas. At $9 per drink, we only stayed for one, but we got some good photos.

We barhopped till late, amazed at the thriving nightlife of Kuala Lumpur, nightlife that had been completely absent so far on our trip. We particularly enjoyed drinks at Sangria's and phenomenal late-night Indian food at Estana's Curry House. Estana's might be the best food I've ever had in my life. Really. I might be willing to move to KL just to eat here every night.

The next morning we headed first to the hotel fitness center, where Lindsey wanted to run on the treadmill. I stared out the gym window at a direct view of the next door KL Tower (1,381 feet). Suddenly I saw motion from the observatory of the tower. Someone had just jumped off it! I instantly thought it must be a bungee jumper. But there was no cord. Just as my brain began to formulate the thought "Am I witnessing a suicide?" the jumper threw his little parachute. BASE jumper. Phew. As I went for my run around the Tower I would see several more jumpers. Looks like fun, maybe a new hobby for me if I ever move here for the curry.
Later we caught a cab to the Petronas where we met up with a friend of a friend, Yong Koon, who works in the Towers. Yong Koon treated us to an excellent meal of traditional Penang style dishes. It was fun to meet her and get an inside perspective of life in KL.

KL is the best place I've ever been for people watching. In just 10 minutes sitting on a bench in the Petronas shopping mall you'll see women in headscarves, women in the full black abaya, goth teenagers, skater kids, men in tailored suits staring at their blackberrys, Saudi sheiks in flowing white robes, yuppies in Armani, tall dark men in African green and tan dashikis. The world is coming together in KL.
We walked throughout the city and found lots of interesting neighborhoods and markets. Lindso and I found some super-cheap clothes on Petaling Street.
KL has a pretty colonial area, though the city is very young, having been nothing more than a swamp before 1850. We were here just two days before Merdeka, or Malaysian Independence day. As such, there were flags everywhere. Every parking garage, office building, storefront, hotel, all were flying the Malaysian flag. Below is a picture of the largest we saw, covering a 20 story hotel. We really liked KL. It is a great mix of old and new, with so many different cultures intersecting. It has great shopping and nightlife. Prices are reasonable, especially for food which is fantastic. We hope to come back again sometime on our way to another trip.

Prambanan, Java, Indonesia

2008-08-26T16:10:00.005-10:00

After a much needed nap, we departed on our second tour of the day. We mini-bused to the Hindu monument of Prambanan. Prambanan is one of the largest Hindu temples in Southeast Asia, and was built in 850AD.
We lucked out for once and got a knowledgeable guide, with mostly understandable English. Prambanan is massive and interesting. I'd recommend viewing it before Borobudur though, as it pales by comparison. It was less crowded than Borobudur, and we could walk unbothered around the main temples through grassy fields.

Even a UNESCO World Heritage Site has to share its grounds with the local farmers. Click PLAY below to see a lamb try to escape its herder.

After Prambanan we rode the tour bus up hill to Boku Kraton; which is billed in Lonely Planet as "a stunning view of the Prambanan plain, best seen during the magnificent sunset." What we found were unrecognizable ruins of a 9th century castle on a hill with a view limited to just a couple miles visibility due to the choking smog that blankets most of Java. The sun disappeared into this band of smog long before it set. After a sub par "dinner included in the tour" (read: rice and tea), it was back down to Prambanan for the marquee cultural performance in all of Java, the Ramayana Ballet at Prambanan.

Two hours of over two hundred performers in costume and gamelan music, with the softly lit Prambana temples setting a timeless backdrop. It was a great show, with a portion of the stage actually burned down during the climax of the story. Half of the audience were the afore mentioned schoolchildren from Borobudur, the boys seated separately from the girls.

A word on Indonesian religion: While Bali is a Hindu island, the rest of Indonesia, including Java, is 95% Muslim. While I have only travelled to five Muslim countries, I can see that there are many different interpretations of the religion between countries, or even within a country. In Malaysia and Indonesia we've seen a lot of women in headscarves, and equal number without, and even one women in the full black chador, covered head to toe with only the eyes showing. Sitting motionless in a dark shop, we could have easily mistaken her for furniture.

Borobudur, Java, Indonesia

2008-08-26T06:35:00.006-10:00

After our second consecutive too-short night of sleep, we awoke at 4:30 am for a sunrise tour of Borobudur. This tour was our central reason for visiting Java. Wikipedia: "Borobudur was built in the ninth-century and is the largest Buddhist monument in the world. It comprises six square platforms topped by three circular platforms, and is decorated with 2,672 relief panels and 504 Buddha statues. The main dome, located at the center of the top platform, is surrounded by 72 Buddha statues seated inside perforated stupa.

Borobudur is both a shrine to the Lord Buddha and a place for Buddhist pilgrimage. The journey for pilgrims begins at the base of the monument and follows a path circumambulating the monument while ascending to the top through the three levels of Buddhist cosmology, namely Kamadhatu (the world of desire), Rupadhatu (the world of forms) and Arupadhatu (the world of formlessness). During the journey the monument guides the pilgrims through a system of stairways and corridors with 1,460 narrative relief panels on the wall and the balustrades.
Evidence suggests Borobudur was abandoned following the fourteenth century decline of Buddhist and Hindu kingdoms in Java, and the Javanese conversion to Islam. Worldwide knowledge of its existence was sparked in 1814 by Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles, the then British ruler of Java, who was advised of its location by native Indonesians. Borobudur is Indonesia's single most visited tourist attraction."

I had taken Religion 101 in college and on one of the days I actually went to class our prof gave a fantastic presentation on Borobudur, and I was awed by it. His pictures of this massive ancient monument rising out of the jungle awed me, and I swore I'd see it someday.

At it's six AM opening it was surprisingly quiet. We were the first few in the gate, and could walk its cool pathways in silence, while marveling at the carved reliefs along the walls. The morning sun struggled to cut through the smog and left little shadow from the Buddhas. The only sound at the peak was of camera clicks, as one woman sat in the lotus position, meditating while facing the rising sun. But of course, this is Java, the worlds' most populous island with 120 million people, and silence never lasts long.

By seven o'clock Borobudur was overrun by hordes of giggling, running, junior high schoolchildren, all in matching school uniforms, the girls in matching headscarves. These kids had an agenda, and it had nothing to do with admiring the historic wealth of Java. They had been issued tape recorders in groups of three, with an assignment to stop every white person in sight, and ask if they could record their conversation while they practiced their English with set questions. I was in no mood for this sans caffeine and halfway up Borobudur, but Lindso patiently answered every question from every group. I sat in on on of her interrogations and it was a really cute cultural exchange.
"Where are you from?"
"Hawaii, in America"
(oohhs and ahhhs and wide eyes.)
"Do you like Indonesia?"
"Yes it is very beautiful, and the people are very nice."
(smiles all around)
"Is this your...umm....?"
"Husband? Yes."
(many nervous giggles)
Lindso asked the 11 year old girl manning the tape recorder if she wanted to visit Hawaii, and her answer in perfect English was, "Well yes, of course, but first I must do well in school, so that I can earn a very good salary, and then I will go." I bet she will too. Indonesia is a poor country, but everyone is very industrious, entrepreneurial, and hardworking. I would expect rapid improvements in income for Indonesians with the opportunities of globalization.

Later I discovered a photo shoot atop Borobudur. A couple of local models were being propped among the stupa, and I helped myself to a few shots.

Borobudur is truly an amazing sight. Generally ranked among the top twenty sights in the world, I'd put it in my top three so far, along with the Acropolis and the Alhambra.

Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia

2008-08-25T17:48:00.003-10:00

After an early departure from Ubud with Congtit at the wheel, we departed lovely Bali for Java on Mandala Airlines. Our one hour flight crossed the small ocean gap between Bali and Java and passed smoldering volcanoes and controlled burn forest fires. We flew close to Gunung Merapi (above) the smoking volcano that killed 42 people in an eruption in 1994. We landed at Yogyakarta (pronounced Jog-ja-kar-ta or Jog-ja), a city of a half-million. As our taxi exited the airport we could see that Jogja is a lot different than Ubud. Multiply Ubud's busy traffic by ten and add a thick layer of smog, remove all the natural beauty, and ornate Hindu statues, flags, and offerings, and you get Jogja. "Tell me again, why are we here?" asked Lindso. It is not a city that makes a great first impression. But we were here because Jogja is known as the "Historic heart of Java" and because it is within driving distance of two of the world's great monuments, Borobudur and Prambanan.
Our hotel, the Duta Garden, located in the Prawirotaman district, was an oasis of calm from the choking pollution and noise of Jogja. With a pool and a man-made waterfall running into a koi pond, it was pretty and comfortable.
We decided to attempt a run on the streets of Jogja. Wow. I thought the traffic of Bali was crazy, but Java is unreal. Did I mention that Java is the most populous island on Earth? 120 Million people live on an island the size of the state of Mississippi. Imagine 40% of the US population squeezed into Mississippi. Now imagine they all drive mopeds. And they all want to be in your lane. Some we passed laughed and pointed, but we also got smiles, thumbs up , and even one high-five. The other vehicles even made an effort to avoid killing us. It's probably a long day at court if you run over a tourist. We struggled through several short runs during our four days in Jogja, and we never did come across a park or open area. We survived, but it will have to go down as the worst place I've ever run, and that's saying something.

After running we went for a stroll about town. The Kraton (Sultan's castle) was about a mile or two from our hotel, easily walkable, or so we thought. By midday the temperature was up to 94 degrees and 88% humidity. Ten minutes of walking had us melting. We are cheap, and we never take cabs if we can avoid it. But, as we dodged traffic on the sidewalkless, shadeless streets, we realized we could not go on like this. Enter the Becak.

The becak is a curious human-powered contraption, native to Java. It's back half is a bicycle. It's front half is a canvas roofed cart with two sturdy wheels, and seating for two (Indonesian-sized) people. During our short walk we were hailed every fifty feet by cries of "Becak?" "Becak?" from the multitudes of Becak drivers. There are twenty becak drivers lounging in their parked becaks for every one on the move with a paying customer. Finally we agreed to haggle with one smiling old man for a ride. We told him where we wanted to go, and his opening bid was 15,000 rupiah ($1.65). $1.65 to be pedaled all the way across town. We didn't haggle, we just hopped in.

One might think it romantic to squeeze in a becak with your better half and be pedaled around an exotic Asian city. Perhaps like a gondola in Venice, or a rickshaw in colonial Bombay. I can now attest that a becak ride in Yogyakarta is not the least bit romantic. First off, your driver is not a colorfully dressed Venetian gondolier. He is an older well-weathered man, possibly in his sixties. He is shabbily dressed, dirty, and within minutes sweating profusely while trying to haul your over-fed American ass all over town. This man is no Lance Armstrong either. Your becak will be moving at approximately seven miles per hour, just a little faster than your walking pace. Meanwhile, buses will blast by you, horns ablazing, at 35mph. Scooters will brush your shoulder as they fly by on both sides. Each of the hundreds of vehicles that pass you will spurt unmufflered exhaust directly into your face. After a half hour in the becak you will have a slight headache, feel a bit sick to your stomach, and have stinging in your eyes. Your skin and clothes will reek of gasoline, and the parts of you that don't fit under the little canvas roof will be soaked in sweat from the unyielding Java sun. Despite all this, it still beats walking, and you will ride the becak everywhere you go.

Becak driving is not a profitable occupation, judging by the number of idle becaks, it would not be unusual for a driver to go an entire day without a fare. For this reason, when you agree to a becak ride the driver will press you to let him drive you around all day. As an American with the "time is money" ethic, you will be suspicious of a man willing to wait around for you for two hours while you go to a shopping mall or restaurant. But you are likely his only fare for the day, and you are paying an inflated tourist price, so he will wait as long as it takes. Once you accept this shocking economic situation at face value, that a sixty year old man is willing to pedal you around all day, in ninety degree heat, for four dollars; you can just avail yourself of his services, give him a good tip, and everybody's happy.

For a real view of a becak ride, click play below.

We rode the becak to the Kraton, the Water Castle, the bird market, and Malioboro street, which is the main shopping area of Jogja. We got an amusing tour of the Kraton from a seventy-six year old woman, who spoke decent English, but with a difficult accent. This adorable little lady had lived next door to the Sultan's palace all her life, and had met the current, and two previous, Sultans. She made jokes with us throughout the tour about such things as how much of a dowry I would have had to pay to Lindso's dad if she were Indonesian, how I could pick up another wife or two while I was in Jogja, and how it is tradition for the bride to be carried by the groom to the altar, but that one of the Sultan's daughters was so fat, she just walked up. The Kraton itself was nothing special to look at. The Sultan of Yogyakarta still lives there though, and is one of the front runners for the presidency of Indonesia in the 2009 election.

We also toured the water castle, where we had a useless "English speaking" guide who would point to a half-empty algae filled pool and say "Sultan's pool". Then on to an empty concrete room; "Sultan's bedroom." Next a tower where the top level is covered by graffiti, "Erma loves Moti" and "Steve from Brisbane 2003". Insightful guide explains, "Sultan's tower." Save yourself the eighty cent entry and skip the water castle.
Next we went on by becak to the bird market, where for a few rupiah you can buy a pair of frightened and sad looking owls in a tiny cage, or a dozen beautiful songbirds desperately trying to flap their way to daylight. Or, if you already have your own birds, you can buy a basket of wriggling maggots and ants for bird feed. Lovely place. We didn't linger.
As we continued on our becak tour Jogja did start to redeem itself to us. We passed through quiet back streets, where children ran by us smiling, some shouting "Hello, How are you? Good day!" and giggling. Like Bali, Jogja seems to be full of smiles. No one here was anything other than friendly and helpful to us. We also discovered that Jogja is even a little bit cheaper than rock-bottom Bali. Some prices of items we purchased here; t-shirt for $1.37, Bintang beer for 87 cents, an entree of delicious chicken satay with peanut sauce $2.32, bottle of water 22 cents, haircut $2.75, hour of Javanese massage $8.

After our tour of Jogja we retreated to the small tourist area of Prawirotaman around our hotel. We discovered several decent restaurants with happy hours, cheap Bintang, and surprisingly good food. We tried them all! Jogja was growing on us.

Bali road trip, Indonesia

2008-08-23T21:39:00.004-10:00

Today we hired Congtit to chauffeur us around Bali for the day. For $55 we got a nine hour guided tour of central and eastern Bali. I had originally planned a drive through famous Kuta beach, but Congtit convinced us that we would not enjoy the choking traffic of that area. Instead he showed us some stunning scenery of upcountry Bali. We drove uphill past terraced rice paddies, and through countless villages, each specializing in one particular artwork. On village wood carved the Garuda, the national symbol of Indonesia which is Vishnu riding an eagle. Another village did stone tile work. Another did nothing but roofs for temples. Congtit is a stone and woodcarver himself, having learned it from his father and grandfather.

Soon we reached Gunung Kawi, a Hindu temple built in the 11th century consisting of temples carved into a high rock wall. We had to wear sarongs to enter the temple, so we "rented" them for 30 cents each. The entrance fee was eighty cents. It was quiet and peaceful.

Next we came to the water temple Tirta Empul. Built around a sacred spring, an inscription dates the spring all the way back to 926AD; and there are fine carvings and Garudas on the courtyard buildings. The temple and its two bathing spots have been used by the Balinese for over a thousand years for good health and prosperity. Regular purification ceremonies also take place here. Congtit said that it cleared your mind of bad thoughts. I splashed some on my face, and cleaned out all my bad thoughts, at least for a few minutes. Lots of kids and adults splashed about in the water.

We stopped in at a coffee plantation. You may have heard a rumor of a rare coffee that was collected from the droppings of a wild animal. It exists, and it is sold here as Kopi Luwak Coffee. A small jar of ground beans sells for $30! So what exactly is it? The Indonesian word “kopi” translates directly to coffee. The word Luwak refers to a small wild animal native to Indonesia and Vietnam that is actually a cousin of the mongoose.
The luwak or civet is particularly fond of perfectly ripe coffee cherries. Thanks to coffee farmers, the luwak has no troubles finding plenty of coffee.
Once eaten, the coffee cherries take the normal route through the animal’s digestive path. The amazing thing is while the fruit of the coffee is being digested, the bean is left largely unchanged, eventually passing in the animals droppings.
The droppings and their caffeine-laden content are collected by farmers. The coffee is then cleaned and the green, un-roasted bean shipped to roasters.
Seen below, your coffee is scraped off the bottom of this guy's cage. We bought some regular old Bali Coffee, but not Civet coffee or Kopi Luwak.

Next it was up, up, up to a great view of Ganung Batur while we had lunch in the town of Kintamani. Then back down through more beautiful villages till we reached the "Mother Temple of Bali". Over a thousand years old, Besakih Temple is perched on the slopes of Mount Agung, at a lofty 3,000 feet. Besakih is the biggest and holiest of all the Balinese temples. It is also a horrendous scam and a blight on the beauty of Bali. Really. We had a most unfortunate experience here. Despite paying the official entry fee of $1.37, at the foot of the temple road we were stopped by a semi-official looking mob of boys who told us we had to pay for $11 EACH for a personal guide or we could not go in the temple.

A word now on prices in Indonesia. It is incredibly cheap. An excellent dinner for two in a western style restaurant can be had for under $10. An hour-long massage by a trained therapist costs $6. A ticket for a 90 minute, professional Balinese dance performance is $8. A 24 oz bottle of Bintang is $2. So while $11 may seem like an insignificant amount, in Bali to demand this for a 20 minute tour by a boy who speaks broken English is completely outrageous. As such I declined, and continued walking up the hill to the temple. While people in Bali will try to sell you stuff everywhere you go, if you just smile and say "No thank you", they will leave you alone. This was not the case at the "Mother Temple". These hoodlums followed us via moped and tried to stop us again at each successive gate leading up to the main temple. They would not take no for an answer and were becoming intimidating about it. They would stand in front of us and tell us we could not go any further, despite the fact that we had tickets. I finally lost my cool, and had a verbal confrontation with the most sour faced punk in their little mafia. Of course, this is simply not done in Asia. One does not show anger or speak confrontationally. But I had boiled over. I had dealt just fine with having to pay 50 cents for parking, 20 cents to use a public bathroom, 30 cents to borrow a sarong required to enter a temple, these little fees you are made to pay purely because you are a foreigner and the people see you as a walking ATM. I don't mind paying for the necessary services I receive as a guest in another culture. But I cannot stand being lied to and extorted, even for eleven bucks. The glowering boy followed us every step towards the temple. We met another couple staying at Saren Indah who were also confused as to why they had to pay these kids. Finally we had enough. Before we even got to the temple, we turned back to the car. The normal happiness and tranquility of Bali had been ruined by this greedy little mob. We could not extract any joy from the Mother Temple. We took no pictures. Hopefully the Indonesian government will break up this scam someday soon. Until then, DO NOT GO TO BESAKIH TEMPLE. Tony Wheeler, please update Lonely Planet with this message. Your current edition mentions "aggressive touts", but it's a lot worse than that.

Congtit (above) felt bad about our bad experience, and wanted to end our trip on a good note. He drove us downhill to the beach, where I was able to jump in and swim in the Indian Ocean!

I hadn't even realized that Bali's southern coast was on the Indian Ocean until I checked the map right before we got to the beach. I would have really kicked myself if I had missed out on my first chance to swim in a new ocean.
Just on of many overloaded mopeds.
The family piggy.
The water temple back in Ubud.

Ubud, Bali, Indonesia

2008-08-21T17:47:00.007-10:00

If you have dreamt of a magical, fairy-tale Asia, where people still wear colorful sarongs, where the sweet smell of incense wafts by on every corner, where intricate carvings of stone adorn every house, where the sounds of traditional gamelan music echo from every temple, you must come to Ubud, Bali.
We arrived at Ngurh Rai Denpasar Airport late in the evening. Customs was remarkably quick. We checked inside our bags before customs, so as not to befall the fate of Australian "Ganja Queen" Schappele Corby. At this airport five years ago, young miss Corby was caught with nine pounds of weed in her boogie board bag. She claims it was a set-up, but the Indonesian jury felt otherwise, and she will continue to sit in Denpasar prison, right down the road, for another fourteen years.
Outside, our driver from the Saren Indah hotel was waiting. It's always so nice to see a smiling face with your name printed on a sign, waiting for you in a foreign airport. I might start paying people to show up and meet me with a sign at every airport.
Congtit drove us past weaving motorbikes through the blackness of the unlit roads to Ubud. We arrived at the Saren Indah hotel to find an oasis of tranquility. Our smiling hostess greeted us with a cold fruity drink as we sat on ornate mahogany chairs by the lighted pool. Our spotlessly clean room was surrounded by rice paddies populated by an orchestra of croaking frogs by night, and a gaggle of honking ducks by day. No noise from the road or town could be heard except the distant clanging of gamelan at a dance performance.

We woke early to the ducks, and went for a run through Ubud. The Saren Indah borders the Sacred Monkey Forest on one side, and a calm road heading south with tall bamboo flags arching over, and the smoke of incense offerings filling the air. We said hello to a couple of monkeys before setting off on our run.

We were simultaneously awed by the numerous beautiful stone carvings, temples, incense offerings, and colorfully saronged Balinese; and dismayed by the hundreds of mopeds weaving between diesel-belching trucks on narrow winding roads with no shoulders and few sidewalks. We did not see another runner during our time in Ubud, and judging by the reactions we got, the Balinese don't see runners often either. Occasionally we were lucky enough to stumble upon a quiet road through a small village. There the many undernourished street dogs would bark at us threateningly, though never charging at us. Children would either stare, or practice their English shouting "Hello! Hello! Hello! Good Day!". Chickens ran out from under our feet, as we passed old farmers carrying a scythe in one hand and a bundle of rice in the other. Moped after moped whizzed by. Some carried entire families of four; Dad driving with junior at his feet, Mom riding side saddle on the backseat, holding the baby. Other carried goods to market, huge racks of live chickens, bundles of clothes, long shafts of bamboo. Mopeds outnumber cars twenty to one. The method of driving here is to overtake at any time you can reasonably expect not to be killed by oncoming traffic. It is perfectly acceptable for your car to straddle the centerline, forcing the oncoming moped to squeeze into a three-foot wide gap between your vehicle and a stone wall while traveling at 30mph. Miraculously we saw no accidents.

Our driver Congtit hand carved the below statue. It is a gift from him to his village, and sits in front of a huge banyan tree facing the village's main temple.

We had great, cheap meals every night in Ubud. We had much sushi and Bintang at this Japanese restaurant for less than twenty bucksWe purchased tickets to a Barong dance performance from these kids. It was a fabulous performance for only $8. The sound of the Gamelan combined with the dancers eerie hand and eye movements is hypnotic. We got front row seats. Unfortunately for the performers, a show that brought in 200 before the Bali Bombings, now brings in 25.

They even let tourists on stage for pictures after the show. This performance is by an all-female cast (most performances are by men), and is at the temple the abuts the soccer field in the center of Ubud. During our time in Indonesia we saw the Kecak-Fire Dance and the Ramayana Ballet at Prambanan, but this show was our favorite by far.

Several troops of kids parade through Ubud in costume playing drums and cymbals with a Barong monster. They ask for tips. Thirty cents is considered a good tip.

I videotaped this monkey trying to smash open a coconut. I had specifically avoided feeding the monkeys because they can indeed bite, and they can carry rabies. I wanted to watch them, but not touch them. If you click play on this video, you'll see that sometimes the monkeys are going to have their way with you, whether you have food or not.

The people of Ubud really do seem to be happy all day.

Bandar Seri Bagawan, Brunei

2008-08-19T17:46:00.006-10:00

We left KK for Brunei at dusk. We were extremely disappointed to find the KKIA terminal undergoing a remodeling that had closed ALL the shops. Once past security, there was no food, water, or anything to be purchased. We had counted on getting dinner at the airport, and on buying a bottle of wine to bring into Brunei, which is a dry country. Right from the start I realized that Brunei Darusalam is a bit different from any other country I've ever been to. We flew Royal Brunei Air which was staffed by an elegantly head scarfed flight attendant. Before taking off the video screens played an Imam melodically intoning a blessing from the Quran for a safe trip. This was followed by an informational video on Brunei which stated a penalty of DEATH for drug traffickers. As alcohol sales are illegal in Brunei, none were offered on board.
The short flight passed over oil rigs and oil tankers plying the South China Sea. We swooped low over a massive golden mosque just before landing. Customs were a snap, and I was pleased to find the Avis rental agent waiting for me right outside. I was about to operate a right hand side steering wheel/left side drive vehicle for the first time. I had managed to avoid driving in Australia and in numerous previous trips to the UK. It turned out to be pretty easy after the first backwards clockwise roundabouts. I find that if you swerve all over the road, people tend to get out of your way. You just have to make it clear to anyone following you that you have no idea what you are doing, and they'll usually give you a wide berth.

I had a surprise for Lindso next. For once I had not booked the cheapest room in town. I had found a good deal on a room at the Empire Hotel, Brunei's purported "seven-star" resort. The hotel has been built at a cost of over one billion dollars by the Sultan of Brunei's brother. After a few wrong turns we found it, and it did not disappoint. The lobby featured a 100 foot high ceiling. In our room, even the toilet paper holder was gold plated. By far the nicest place we've ever stayed, and for only $138.We awoke to pouring rain. After it abated we ran along the golf course down to the beach, where I jumped in the South China Sea. As some thunder rolled in, we got away from the water and back to our palatial room to watch the downpour. If we were going to be trapped in a hotel room, this was the place to be!
As the sun broke through the clouds, we drove off to see Bandar Seri Bagawan, the capitol city of Brunei. Our Nissan Sunny hummed along the smooth highway past manicured trees and crisply painted new houses. We could tell that Brunei is doing quite well with it's oil wealth.
Brunei has been controlled by the same family for over 700 years. For much of the last three centuries it was a British protectorate, but the Sultan never relinquished power. Brunei almost joined with the Malay states when Malaysia was first created, but the sultan changed his mind at the eleventh hour and decided to go it alone with his oil riches. He made the right choice. As recently as 1997 he was the richest man in the world, with 55 billion dollars. The Daily Mirror (UK) reported on October 26, 2007 that the Sultan owned 531 Mercedes-Benzes, 367 Ferraris, 362 Bentleys, 185 BMWs, 177 Jaguars, 160 Porsches, 130 Rolls-Royces, and 20 Lamborghinis. His official residence is the Istana Nurul Iman, with 1,788 rooms, 257 bathrooms, and a floor area of 2,152,782 square feet, indisputably the world's largest palace. He has complete control over all government decisions. His picture is on every denomination of currency, and his portrait hangs in every shop and restaurant. This was our first trip to a country listed as "Not Free" by Freedom House, the acknowledged authority on political rights and civil liberties worldwide.
The Sultan does seem to have done well by his countrymen. Bruneians pay no income tax, have free health care and education. The Sultan even offers subsidized housing and cars. Beyond that, the country is just beautiful. It's rain forests are intact. Roads are smooth. The capitol is lined with flowers and banners. Buildings are freshly painted, and gleaming mosques abound. Smiling, friendly locals are driving new cars. Manual labor is completed by Bangladeshi guest workers

After exploring the small city on foot, with the requisite breaks inside air conditioned shopping malls to recover from the heat, we opted for a water taxi tour of the Kampung Ayer water village. We were barely within sight of the waterfront when our boatman spotted us and hailed us for a ride. For twenty Brunei Dollars ($14 USD) we got an hour tour in a long, narrow, outboard, wooden skiff. We chugged beneath a dense mangrove jungle, and zoomed under bridges connecting the stilt houses where 40,000 of BSB's population lives.

Brunei is not on any one's tourism radar. Perhaps it is the total lack of political freedom that scares people. We heard the current #1 hit song "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry with the word "Girl" blanked out, leaving the listener wonder what exactly she did kiss? Maybe it's the fact that you cannot get a beer anywhere in the country. Possibly people have it confused with Bahrain, and expect desert and camels. Regardless, Brunei is a must see for anyone passing though the island of Borneo. It has natural beauty, history (Magellan's fleet landed here in 1521), great architecture, luxury resorts, great food, and friendly people. Now if they'd just reconsider a local microbrewery...