Head east (not so) young man...head east.

The trip seemed to truly begin after the layover in Toronto, a familiar airport Pearson International. What wasn’t so familiar though was the direction the plane was heading shortly after our take off. We were heading east. Not the usual westward direction that I have gone so many times before.  Yes, I have in the past headed east out of Toronto but not for quite a few years and never to today’s destination:

Saint Johns Newfoundland.

The expectations are about to meet the experiences.

A quick glance at my watch told me that we would soon be arriving at the St. Johns’ Airport.  A glance out of my window told me no such thing. For the most part there was nothing to be seen outside other than the reflection of the plane’s navigational lights on the engine nacelle and the wing’s trailing edge. A heavy darkness was everywhere else.  Then I began to see the small clusters of lights on the ground. A few gathered over here, a few more over there. It was late, eleven pm local time and most of the lights below were streetlights and a few vehicles.  There were so few lights that I thought we must be some distance from the city and the airport. Yet as soon as that thought left my brain I felt the plane bank and begin to lose altitude. We were descending and to confirm my suspicions the Captain came on line and gave the obligatory “trays in the closed position and the seat backs upright” spiel.  Another look out the window and now I could see the airport below. Still no bright city lights though to indicate the whereabouts of a city. Having landed in many back waters over the years I don’t need bright city lights to make me feel comfortable but this was St. Johns, the capital of the province of Newfoundland and Labrador. 

Expectations zero. Experiences one. 

With itinerary in hand and backpack over my shoulder I headed out of the terminal to find; a cab, my lodgings, a beer and some food. Yes preferably in that order.

There outside amongst the smokers and the neon lights I inhaled my first breath of the salty Newfoundland air, very cool and none to warm.  As I hauled myself towards the curb and the waiting cabs one of the cabbies comes over and helps me with the bag. . A bit rusty and rubby would be a good way to describe them, cab and cabbie both. The cabbie, an older fellow who could have used a good shave and a new tooth or two was quick to start up the conversation as he placed my bag into the boot of his cab by asking me “where ya going to by’?”

I read to him the name and the address of the place I was to stay that night from my itinerary as I sat down next to him in his cab. Then as we drove away from the airport I heard those words from cabbies that make me shake my head; “Hmmm can’t say I know where that is…you know how to get there?”

A glance at my itinerary and another shake of my head got the cabbie to call into dispatch to ask for directions. Now the directions came right quickly but the dispatcher’s salutation left me with that sinking feeling once again. After all the lefts and rights the dispatcher’s final words were, “well at least that’s the way I think…good luck with that by’ ”

Expectations zero. Experiences two.

Then we did the customary cabbie/client questions.

Where ya from?   Vancouver.

First time here?   Yes.

Business or pleasure?   A bit of both I hope.

Looking for anything in particular?

Now when I answered this I said “Hell ya. I wish to get rid of my bag, wash my face, and then find a pub with a cold beer and some hot food.”

“No problem there by’ Hell I’ll give ya the tour…don’t ka worry aboot da meter, that doesn’t mean much to me.” And he was sincere about it not meaning too much to him as he charged only approximately half of what the meter read at the end of our time together.

Turns out stop lights and stop signs didn’t mean too much to him either. At least that’s what he told me after I mentioned to him that he had just completely ignored the second of the last two stop signs.

“Cops”, he says, “don’t much care about shit like that at this time of night…nor do I”

“Yes. But I kinda do…”

“Yep Cops got stabbins to worry ‘bout. Town’s not like it used to be. Still no one’s stealing things and that’s a good thing. People don’t steal here in Newfoundland and that’s a good thing because it lets the cops worry ‘bout the stabbins. Them stabbins aren’t a good thing. Better than those guns and shooting though…not many guns here…not many blacks or them others what with those rags on their heads…we have a few but not many…yep not too many guns here or shootings…yep a good thing.”

Wow awkward silence time. My head nodding just enough to acknowledge that I had heard him but not enough of a nod (I sincerely hope) to be mistaken for an affirmation of his ramblings. Yep here I was driving through St Johns looking like a mute Bobble head. 

Expectations zero. Experiences three.

Then thankfully we were downtown, on the waterfront. Before us stood the tallest building in St. Johns at least so said my host, “Ten full stories tall!” A more welcome distraction I have never seen. A few more colourful commentaries on the waterfront area and off to my lodgings we were bound.

After a short drive we began looking for the address on the itinerary and then there it was, a most beautiful and large Victorian styled home.  A mansion that one could imagine the town’s doctor or lawyer lived in.

Now neither I nor the driver knew if this was the right place as there was no signage other than the four numbers of the address attached to one of the large Grecian-like columns that made up the grandiose front entrance. Stepping out of the cab and walking up the front steps I notice an envelope taped to the majestic stained glass door. On the envelope was my name and inside it an electronic room key with  instructions on how to get inside and find my room.

So with the instructions, the key, my backpack and the cabbie I entered this beautiful house. The cabbie came along because as he himself said, “I just wanna come in a have a look around such a fine a place as this.”

And fine it was, a real gem hidden just outside of St Johns’ downtown area, the very downtown that held the remainder of my evening’s quest.  

A quick splash of water on my face and I was once again back in the cab headed downtown.

After the short drive I found myself standing outside, in the brisk mid-summers night air, between the Yellowbelly Pub and that rusty cab with my most interesting host. Now here I took a moment to breathe deeply, to look around. There I found myself feeling most grateful for all that this day had brought me thus far.

I bent down and stuck my head back into the cab to pay, thank the cabbie and ask one last thing. I asked for a receipt. Business and all you know.

This is how he gruffly replied, “I don’t do that!” and that’s when I see in his outstretched hand and the two blank taxi receipts. I thank him and take the receipts as he mutters to himself “If you want it you fill it out.”

Expectations zero. Experiences...the only way to go.

Ms Fern

The first time I met Ms Fern I fell in love. It was the day before my trip down the Mekong river. Ms Fern was to become my ticket agent and guide across the river into Lao.
The first thing Ms Fern did was ask me for my passport, declaration cards and money. It was that simple. This encounter took place on the front counter of my hotel lobby.  As Ms Fern filled out the immigration and declaration cards in a penmanship that was impeccable I might add, I watched the desk clerk. He was tall for a Thai and large across the shoulders. That combined the deep voice and the Adams Apple left one with no doubt, that underneath that dress was a willy, wanker, rod or Johnston. Call it what you will it was there. Lady-boys an interesting part of this culture.
Once all the paperwork was completed Ms Fern gave me my passport, updated declaration cards and tickets for tomorrow's slow boat down the river.
She kept the money.
As she stood, Ms Fern turned, looked me straight in the eye and said, "eight thirty be here for tuk tuk ride to immigration". Turning once more Ms Fern spun around and walked out of the hotel lobby.
Such presence, such grace.
I was left with nothing to do for the rest of the day and night.
After much consideration I decided on locating some food and drink. In hindsight this was a good decision.
Walking around that night I was struck with a rather nostalgic feeling. That; Hey I'm in a small town, feeling. I guess it's the same the world over. Dusty streets. Cats and dogs everywhere. Uneven sidewalks were there are sidewalks. Stores with for lease signs on the front door. All business is shut down now that the sun has set. Only the small "convenience" stores are still open. Really these stores are nothing more than a room at the front of someone's home. A room that is open to the street and which is usually filled floor to ceiling with all sorts of wares. Most of what is sold is various smokes, beers, whiskys, cough medicines and instant noodles.
An old woman sitting on a small stool watching a small TV is there to take your money. If you want something in the store you simply reach in and grab what you want, show it to the lady and she will then grab an oversized calculator punch some numbers into it. She will then look at the numbers nod her head and  then show it to you. That is the price. 
The price for me was 90 baht. Not bad, a little less than 3 dollars for 3 cans of beer and some gum. I now had my supplies for tomorrow's adventure perhaps this would be a good time to call it a night.

from the roof of my hotel 

That's Lao over there.

Viva la difference

It is 7am in Chiangkhong. Chiangkhong is a small sleepy farming town with one small coffee shop. 

The shop is located only about 150m from my hotel but on this day a heavy fog makes the walk seem so much longer. As  I walked pass the closed and shuttered shops I felt a sense of mystery envelope me.  This day was the beginning of something new, something big.  Something was waiting for me outside of that fog and I didn't know what.

I needed to clear the fog inside my head and to do that I needed coffee.

Stepping into the lovely coffee shop I was greeted with the customary Sa wat dee ka by the shop’s owner.  I in turn replied with Sa wat  dee krap.  The pleasantries over I ordered my coffee and I did so using my limited Thai. Coffee Americano lon mai sai nom mai sai lam tan krap.  Coffee hot no milk no sugar.  As is usually the case my words were greeted with a  wonderful smile and some helpful hints on pronunciation. 

With coffee in hand I head outside to sit in a very comfortable looking swinging bamboo chair. As I sipped my coffee the fog began to slowly dissipate, both inside my head and the world around me.  With nothing better to do I decided on another coffee and was enjoying the morning quiet when a group of four women came towards the shop for their morning coffee. With smiles all around and a slight nod of our heads  the women passed me and entered the shop.

I turned to watch the beautiful backsides of these women as they entered the shop and I continued to watch them as they spoke amongst themselves trying to decide what to order.

The first to order stood up to the counter and completely ignored the customary Sa wat dee ka and immediately began to babble.

With her head tilted up to look at the menu board she said “Ya Ya I want a coffee. Perked not instant I don’t like that instant coffee. I also want some milk with my coffee not coffee mate cause that stuff is bad for you. Real milk, skim if you have it but 2% will do if that is all you’ve got. Oh and I want some sort of bun not a donut but something more like a croissant. What have you got like that? You got anything like that?”

The more the woman spoke the less I heard. The less she interested me. My gaze shifted to the shop owner and as I looked into her eyes I could, for a brief moment, see what she was thinking and I completely agreed with her.

Her eyes said, “Lady what in the world are you talking about? Why in the world would you think I speak English? You do realize that we are in rural northern Thailand don’t you? Oh you poor foolish lady.”

Our eyes then met and they spoke to each other.

She said, “Did catch all that?”.
“Yes, sorry I don’t know what to say.” And I shrugged my shoulders.

To which she replied, “Ah mai bhen rai no worries” and smiled that lovely smile.

We said more without speaking than the woman, who had now finished ordering, had.

As I turned my chair to once again face outside. I noticed now that in front of me the fog had lifted and then behind me I heard the Thai woman say.

“Americano lon?”

I smiled.
Perhaps the fog inside was lifting also.

Angkor Thom

Now this post will be about the photos. I have to choose which ones will get to grace these electronic pages. I hope you enjoy my selections.

first sight

Upon entering the walls of Angkor Thom it was still a few more minutes  in the tuk-tuk. Driving through what is now forest but originally would have most likely been houses for the people, I began to see the temple.

 Only gods, kings and monks lived in stone for the rest it was wooden houses. Houses that have many years ago disappeared back into the earth.

The first thing I saw, of the temple, was  the spires then it was the blue tarps and the site office for some reclamation effort. At first slight disappointment overcame me. But Som our tuk-tuk driver continued on for a few more before pulling over and explaining where I  should go and where he would be. Turns out that sleeping in the shade of large tree is a big part of Som's day.

Som

After parting ways with Som I walked into the temple and any disappointment was quickly removed or perhaps crushed by the shear mass of the awe which struck me with full force and immediate presence.

A god-king?

Room upon room. Hallways that lead to more hallways. Carvings on every surface. It never ceased. This is not a temple of answers. This a temple of questions. This is a temple of beauty.

I was told that the central spire measures in at 43m tall. I believe it as it was immense.

It would take a month of Sundays to fully explore the whole of the Angkor Park. If you ever find yourself here give yourself plenty of time to enjoy this amazing place.

Angkor Wat

Angkor Wat is the one that everybody talks about but Angkor Thom is the one that most impressed me.

Angkor, I've been told, simply means city and these two places were certainly that. Cities and large cities at that. Now I'm not about to tell you what others have studied and written volumes about. I suggest you Google the topic and get acquainted with the history before you look at the photos. Or not it's up to you.

The first day was to be spent in and around Angkor Thom. Leaving Angkor Wat for sunrise the next day. Now to get into the national park I first had get an entry ticket. I chose the three day ticket. Easier said than done. Cost for a three day pass $40. Well worth it.
















To get to Angkor Thom you to have to drive past Angkor Wat

ha

the moat of Angkor Wat

and in truth it felt a little strange to drive past the 8th wonder of the world to see a "lesser temple". Driving past Angkor Wat gave me an impression of it's vast size.
And started me wondering about Angkor Thom.






Angkor Thom is bigger.

.

Angkor Wat

Much bigger


As we approached the portal that would allow us to pass through the ancient wall of Angkor Thom it struck me for the first time.  The tuk-tuk that I was riding in was traveling over a road that was first used over a thousand years before.  This immense gate before me is the same gate that elephants and their handlers  have use over and over throughout the ages. I was now about to enter their world.

our entrance way into Angkor Thom

This huge city is also surrounded by a moat and a bridge over the moat gave us access to the gate.

 

railing on either side of  the bridge

It was here, on the bridge, that the first indication of the attention to detail was seen. The railings alongside the bridge are intricately carved and huge. The carvings are of a mythical seven headed snake and a number of men holding it's tail. Once past these men I was now at the gate. The portal. There was no turning back.

Zombie's are self created

In the town of Pai one of the things that caught my eye was the number of falang sporting freshly bound wounds. Medical gauze must be one of the most purchased items in that sleepy little town. Hand, feet, elbow, knees you name it I saw it wrapped up in gauze.

in a few hours there will be hundreds of scooter and cars on these roads

The best place to witness this was at the Aya Van Stop and Motorcycle Rental Shop. Yes I bet you are starting to figure this out. Those damn little scooters mixed with idealistic utopian minded young adults who have never ridden a motorbike before, and who would never consider it in their own country, suddenly feel that now is the place to begin. In the chaotic traffic of Pai and on roads that are less than ideal is definitely not, in my opinion, the best place to learn BUT...

Whether it is the positive atmosphere of Pai or just blissful ignorance it doesn't really matter to this short post, or to me. Nope what matters is the fact that as an experienced motorcycle rider I took a great perverse pleasure in sitting and watching as scores of scooters left the rental shop piloted by young smiling faces.  All oblivious to the zombies who sat, stumbled and hobbled around the shop. Zombie eyed people sporting yards upon yards of fresh gauze. Yes all those fresh smiling faces completely  ignorant to these faces that no longer radiated confidence. Ignorant to the now sober, somber, painful faces of those more learned. And especially ignorant to the lone falang who quietly sat in his chair and smiled a most Machiavellian smile. Who was all the while thinking yep Thailand is not the place to learn how to ride a motorcycle unless your a Thai.

3.14 it is not.

Pai

I was told the song-tow that would be picking me up would most likely arrive late.   This was OK with me because on this day I wasn’t feeling at all well. As I laid on the bench outside my guesthouse, my head pounding and my belly in knots, I silently prayed the song-tow would not show up at all. 

Yes I was out the night before but not overly late nor did I overly indulge.  So I knew this feeling of ill was something more than a hangover and that I probably should not be traveling today. But how does that old saying go; don’t let fear or common sense get in your way. 

Now you know what it is like when you are down and hurting. I so wanted all the song-tows to be broken down that day. No taxis. No tuk-tuks. No song-tows. All I wanted to do was to continue lying on that bench while I slowly perished. But wouldn’t you know it, not only was the song-tow not broken it was on time this day and so began my trip to Pai, promptly at two and feeling like hell.

So long beloved guesthouse. So long amazing Chiang Mai. Hello journey.

Now if you haven’t seen or heard of a song-tow before let me give you a quick lesson. They are small pickup trucks with an enclosure over the box and bench seating for the passengers. People use song-tows much like one uses a public bus. Today was a bit different. This song-tow was hired to pick up passengers at certain guesthouses and bring them to a meeting place a short distance away.

a song-tow

With my backpack in one hand and a bottle of water in the other I haul my sorry butt up into the back of the song-tow and happily say “Good day” to the three passengers already seated inside. I quickly found out that two of the passengers were a couple from Belgium and the third was an arrogant older Frenchman.

Yes I know that to use arrogant and Frenchman in the same sentence may seem redundant to some but this is my blog and I will be wordy if I want.

I say he was arrogant because upon hearing my “Good day” he quickly spoke up and said “Oh an Australian” 

“No” I replied “Canadian”

“Uh... you’re English. You are all the same. English have it easy. Everybody speaks English.”

Luck was with this fellow this day because with my head pounding, a belly full of Pad Thai and Pepto-Bismol, I could do nothing more than take my seat and lower my head into my hands. All the while wishing this fellow would have a brain aneurism and roll out of the back of my song-tow.

As the song-tow and my belly lurked along the backstreets of Chiang Mai we stopped and picked up more and more passengers. Soon all conversation around me ceased as the number of passengers began to grow uncomfortable. Now a song-tow can hold six to eight people comfortably.  When we finished trying to pick people up we had eleven people and their backpacks all stuffed into the little red song-tow. 

People backpacks are for traveling lightly! Mine weighs in at 10kgs for my entire trip. This includes two cameras, a laptop, a first aid kit, all my clothes and some stuff I really don’t need. I see couples with a pack each; weight 20 kilos a piece on top of this they have a small pack across their front. Idiots I say. Sorry I digress back to the journey.

Yes the journey. We arrive at the spot where a van is to pick us up for the remainder of our trip. An air conditioned VIP van just for us. So as I stand on the sidewalk waiting for the VIP van I smile. I smile in spite of my health or lack of it. I smile in spite of the diesel fumes I am inhaling from the never ending stream of transport trucks passing by.  In spite of the fish sauce and the Chile peppers searing in the wok beside me that threaten to choke the very breath out of my lungs. I smile because soon I will be in an air con VIP van. Comfortable and content while cruising through the Thai country side on my way to the heaven called Pai.

I smiled like a fool for that is what I was, a fool working on his ever increasing mistakes tally and doing a good job at it.