Luang Prabang

Sa bai dee everyone. When I thought of Laos, I thought of CIA black ops crossing the border during the war. I was hoping that was all water under the bridge as I crossed the mighty Mekong into the quiet country. $20s of an unacceptable crispness for my tourist visa ("These are from an Uncle Sam ATM, beyotch! Sorry I can't stave humidity off them." Thought, not said.) and a night bus to be dealt with in a later post signaled an ominous beginning. But from there, Laos was truly amazing.

I chose to stay in one place and solely see Luang Prabang, a real charmer of a city situated at the confluence of the Mekong and Mae Kok rivers. The French colonial influence is still apparent in the hybrid architecture and delectable bread and pastries. Trade-off being, more French tourists.

My bus arrived early enough for me to see the procession of the monks for alms on the way to my hotel. This is a wondrous sight, but is mentioned so prevalently in tour books, that the older, fanny pack laden crowd with their oblivious-to-good-form camera flashes, kind of sullies it. My pre-dawn arrival also led me through the true market. Piles of frogs and fish still gasping for air at my feet are what I remember from a multitude of questionable offerings.

I finally found my hotel. Had a nice, single room but the place was overly quiet, with no fun fellow travelers. Signed up for a combination tour to the Buddhist caves and elephant camp. Awkwardly, I was the only one signed up for that particular combo (dozens to choose from). More awkwardly, it came with my own guide, a 15 year old boy named Than.

So we headed in a slow boat up the Mekong. The Mekong makes me think of 'Nam and/or where Denzel got his heroin in American Gangster. It was somewhat strange to be on it. But the ride was as nice as a 2 hour boat trip on a rickety wooden stool can be. Half way to the caves, we stopped at a local village specializing in rice whiskey production. First two samples were sweet like cough syrup, third was face-scrunching, none were Jameson. The village also had lovely textiles. Definitely got my barter on for some souvenirs for you dales.

The caves were cool. Thousands of Buddha statues had been placed there over the years. I made a donation and picked my fortune. Than remarked how great a future it foretold. Being in all Thai, I prodded Than to admit he says those sunny predictions to everyone. He said no, there are some truly ominous fortunes among the 24 possible choices. Here's hoping mine comes to fruition.

My immediate future foretold a long-awaited elephant ride. Again, alone it was a bit awkward. My nonchalant "mahout" (elephant handler) and I rode through the quiet forest. Midway, he jumped off and I scooched up to the neck and rode alone as he took a hundred pictures (including no less than 4 unrequested elephant schlong shots). The ride was borderline intimidating. Bansou was by far the largest male and they hinted he had a bit of an attitude. 13 other, safer options idled back at their base, possibly by design. And yet here I sat, at least 10 feet up in the middle of the jungle, repeatedly shouting "BAE BAE!" at a beast who could effortlessly rip and strip huge branches off trees at his leisure, mid trek. Experience I won't forget.

That night I went to bed hoping I'd awake to palatable news. Had CNN in my room and unfortunately took a morning full of Wolf and John King and their damn boards before the result was confirmed. The pseudo-break from the whole campaign had been so refreshing. I had an entire post typed up about what it was like to travel and constantly be asked about Romney vs Obama but it inevitably strayed into rants and raves on the entire system. You've all been spared! But it was quite fascinating to experience such a monumental election from a world away.

The next day, sitting at Joma, a coffee shop which served as my second home, and in walked Breanna and Lauren from Chiang Mai. Yes! Fun people to offset my boring place's crowd. The next couple days we would stroll the night market, have meals, and visit beautiful waterfalls together. Sitting around and playing cards one night with their fun hostel mates, we all somewhat reluctantly admitted how nice it can be to chill with other Americans once in a while (and a hilarious token Canadian). In my travels, Americans have been rare.

The most rewarding activity we shared however was sitting in on an English class for monks and other Lao youth. My guide Than's eyes lit up when I said I was American. Before I knew what happened, I was on his cell phone accepting an invite from his teacher/mentor Michael (another American) to join his class. I extended the invite to the girls and join we did.

The students were talented and enthusiastic. My interactions with them trended towards surreal. In a "describe each other" exercise I was complimented on the bridge of my nose (lacking in Asian cultures?). In a "why are jobs/money important?" exercise, awkward for monks to participate in, I found myself siding with gold-robed clad Nutt's views. And in the simple introduction to each other exercise, a kid asked me why it never snows in Laos and why when things fall off trees they don't go into space, with equally hilarious follow-up questions. Before I knew it, my soft sciences ass was trying to explain gravitational pulls, terminal velocity, and the orbit of the planets to Laos children. Worst/best of all, a few of them have my email and plan on seeking elaboration on my part, haha. It was the type of experience I had truly hoped to fall into on this trip!

I'm so glad I got a full five days in Luang Prabang. It had good food, stunning scenery, the best market I've encountered, and the friendliest people. I've never felt eyeballed here as a potential mark, unlike, I'm sorry to say, parts of Central America and even Cambodia as we speak. Combine the locals with the Colorado girls and it made for some terrific company. Get to Laos soon, before it's fully "discovered"!

Chiang Mai

Chiang Mai stands among my favorite cities on this journey. There's a chance it owes its lofty status to directly following the chaos of Bangkok, but it definitely had charm on it's own.

Spent the first day seeing just about every temple in the city. This was mainly so I only grudgingly had to wear pants this one day. As an aside, at orientation to the theoretical afterlife, first question I'm going to ask God/Allah/Buddha: "Pants vs shorts? You don't give a shit, do ya? I tried to tell them." And it's the hottest countries: Thailand, Panama, Middle East, that prefer the slacks. Anyway....

Pretty sure Atreu rode that guy.

Having walked and sweat sooo much, subsisting on all Thai food/portions, often off street carts, I was beginning to feel a little gaunt. Time to hit up The Duke's. I was hoping for John Wayne nostalgia on the walls, but at least the food delivered. I filled my entire table with my order: shrimp kabobs which came w/ a salad, delicious bread, chicken fried chicken with its accompanying salad, steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes, and 5 lemonades (once I shockingly was offered free refills for the first time abroad). At $16, the meal cost more than my 3 nights accommodation. What a country!

And my accommodation was dope! Thailandwow, run by the delightful brother/sister combo of Kai and Noyna, was strange but amazing. Kai was always quick to greet with a "HALL-ohhh" and Gollum-y smile. He slept curled on the floor in the hallway. Hard to describe, but he's a legend of Hostelworld reviews. Mainly though, the place was great  because of a lucky stream of fun people passing through at the time.

I talked two of them, Vicki and Justine, into meeting me one night for some Muay Thai boxing. I had dinner at the Chiang Mai Saloon, feigning interest in the Man U./Chelsea match, then wandered down the ultra-seedy lane of bars towards the ring. I sat at one for a beer as I waited for my new friends. A child with a Connect Four board appeared out of nowhere and quickly smoked me, disappearing just as fast. It was then I thought, maybe they're at the other boxing pavilion, a few blocks away. Sure enough I found the girls there. A bit disappointed since this venue was 400% less shady, we stayed anyway and enjoyed a royal rumble and then a disputed title bout (my guy got robbed!). Ton of fun and definitely something new!

Yes, those are chicken tenders Nick. Sue me.

Something else new? Climbing in a cage with a freaking tiger! Took a share truck with hostel people and went out to Tiger Kingdom. After soliciting some clutch advice from the Marchelyas (thanks again!), I settled on choosing the "smallest/biggest" tiger package. Stop one was with the 3-month-olds! Sleepy at first, one little guy eventually made a bee-line straight for me. My lap looked comfortable! We then got in with the big dudes. Tiger Kingdom claims not to drug them. Jury's still out on the truth of that. They are born there, around people, and naturally sleepy, being cats and all. Very cool either way, once you put the qualms about their exploitation out of your mind.

The truck then took a few of us to two more temples before depositing us back home. That night Tom, Brea, Lauren, Vicki, Justine, and the crazy Spanish guy whose name I forget all strolled the night market and then had a nice dinner to celebrate our last night in Chiang Mai. Three peas in a pod, the Canadians and I stayed out for a bit longer.

The next morning a silver van picked me up for the journey to the Laos border. I awoke to find us stopped at the White Temple. "I'll check it out, one more temple. Okay, I don't think that demon is part of the Buddhist canon. Could be wrong. Heads in trees, hmmm. Okay." Then we stepped in the temple and viewed the wall mural. "Alllllright that's Neo. That'd be Mount Doom exploding near a Mayan temple. There's Michael Jackson, Jabba the Hutt, Jigsaw from Saw." I left about the time I saw Cthulu near the burning twin towers. Tragic that no photography was allowed inside.

Still never learned the story of that place, and I prefer to keep it that way. Served as a perfect end to my time in magical Thailand (though I'm returning to the beaches next week!).

Saw them setting up for this concert. By the time I circled back that night, heard a familiar tune being sung in Thai. Gospel tune.  Strange after visiting a dozen Buddhist temples that day.

One Night in Bangkok

Transitioning from Alice Springs, Australia to Bangkok, Thailand is like going from Seneca, KS to New York City...if it was on Mars. Nine million people live in Bangkok and it often feels like all of them are on the same street as you. And in all my previous travels, either English was widely known (though the French pretend otherwise) or I knew enough Spanish to get by. Here, not so much. Needless to say, my one day in Bangkok would be interesting.

Regardless, I kept to my general, first day in a city m.o. of wandering around, largely plan-less, getting the lay of the land. Easier said than done in Bangkok. Crazy hard to orient yourself, street signs in Thai, and it seemed as if, much like Baltimore, the young hoppers be changing them around to confuse the police (or me). The map makers seem to have Attention (to detail) Deficit Disorder as well. Five minutes out the door, I had to check my map again, signaling myself even louder as a tourist mope. Seemingly friendly tuk-tuk guys offered help and a ride, if I stopped at all their friends' gem and tailor stores, presumably for me to partner up and sell stuff back in the states. AKA, the gem scam! Oh boy, I just read about this! And they tried to get me five minutes out the door! Classic.

Politely brushed them off and maintained my goal of finding the main temple zone. If I was lost, I'd just walk myself out of it, dangit. But even crossing a street is like so much Frogger here. I tend to find an upstream pedestrian blocker and go, knowing their hip meeting a bumper would slow my potential annihilator.

Finally I found the canal and hopped in a local boat. Chicago River has nothing on this, falling in would equal instant mutation into the Swamp Thing. Dropped close enough, I walked to the stunning Royal Palace complex. Gold and jewels adorned temples and statues everywhere. It was the first of many, but an impressive temple to start on.

From there I would head to the train station. As I wandered, I wondered if enough people existed on Earth to even buy all the plastic trinkets, clothes, stereo parts, and every other item you can imagine being peddled as far as the eye could see. And the cornucopia of smells mingling from food stalls, motobike exhausts, and Old Spice-less armpits got to the point where my nostrils raised the white flag, simply overwhelmed.

As the sun set, I discovered the train station. Sadly, all trains to Chiang Mai the next day were booked. As I walked toward "Information", singing came over the loud speaker and everyone stopped. It was my first, awkward taste of the King's anthem. As it ended, the green light to move again was confirmed and I was directed to local bus 29 to drop me back at my hostel. It quickly filled to the brim, to the point I couldn't see out the window to locate my stop. Shit. Turns out though, "Info" failed their one job. I saw skyscrapers to my distant right I recognized from my neighborhood. We turned left. Sigh. Got off at the Skytrain and finally found my way back, too sweaty and exhausted to even go out. Lame, I know. Should be titled one day in Bangkok, but that's not a song now is it? I shall return and if stories require it, will update this post!

After a solid 10 minutes staring dumbfoundedly at the gibberish signs at the bus station, I finally found the recommended VIP bus stall, and bought a ticket for the night one to Chiang Mai.

Beat To Their Own Drum All-Stars, Volume 2

Sandra

Sandra dates back to Scotland. Opposite way hikers insisted I stopped when I got to "this hippy little campground cafe place". I walked up the muddy path and met Sandra, who sat me down amongst chickens and plywood under a sheet metal roof.

Apparently, after spending their money on the land, Sandra and her partner had none left to fight the government from constructing the trail through their property (unfamiliar with ins and outs of Scottish law, but that's what she said). So when life gives you lemons....well they've been providing soup and coffee and a pleasant break to hikers ever since.

Sandra and I discussed my trip and she gave me advice on New Zealand. "Ooh I'm green with envy for ya I am," said in her Scottish Mrs. Doubtfire voice. She took my picture for her new Facebook page and hilariously described her struggles with what to her was novel technology. As I left, she requested I call her if I see her "wee little escaped pigs."

Sandra radiated warmth and compassion. Her ridiculously amazing coffee and genuinely pleasant conversation literally (ok, figuratively) pushed me those extra tough last ten miles of The Great Glen Way. I'm forever in her debt.






Paul

I met Paul on the Gold Coast of Australia as he and his better half secured the winning bid on a 7-figure house auction and then sat on their boat as he sailed us down the bay. But make no mistake, this native Kiwi is truly an every man.

- Our first true interaction was him stopping me from unknowingly ordering a "nancy" beer.

- Paul knows his music and rocked Johnny Cash and the Black Keys early in the night. He tried to pass most bands off as "from New Zealand" as I repeatedly called bullshit. He then put on the Beatles, but simply previewed it as "Let's try this European band."

- Paul knows celebrities. He went to college with Peter Jackson (described him as a dweeb always reading books) and, I forget the exact circumstances, but used to party with "Johnny" Denver.

- He's a man of the environment. As a younger lad, he sailed with GreenPeace far out to remote South Pacific atolls to obstruct and protest French nuclear testing.

- He knows people, as evidenced by his working the crowd at what he called the "grand toilet opening", or a celebration of local yacht club renovations.

- Paul has a friend named Nigel.

- And Paul parties. Long after I had crashed on the air mattress on his living room floor, he stayed up giving drunken life advice to Kat until 2 or 3am. Three hours later he was golfing with Nigel. He would later admit to losing 16 balls in 4 holes!!!!

- My favorite story he shared involved them getting asked to leave a bar. As described earlier, Australian bar/serving rules are incredibly strict. So Paul and his crew were asked to leave and never come back. To paraphrase the conversation, "You're out and can't come back." "No you don't tell me I can't come back, I say I'm never coming back. "That's right you can't come back." "No I said I'm never coming back!" Wish I could do that recollection justice.

Anyway, he was a ton of fun and seemed like a great guy. Invited me back to Australia. Hope to one day take him up on it.



Jin Wook, aka "Josh"

"Men of the Rock Tour" calendar coming soon. Jean-Pierre dominates. He tucked in his shirt like that when I asked him to be in the picture.

Josh was quite simply MVP of our memorable Uluru tour group. The true embodiment of "beat to your own drum", Josh seemed to exist in two realms simultaneously. He delved into ours to bring people joy, but spent much of his time as master of his own domain one universe over.

Josh was a bit of a fashion icon. He rocked a fisherman hat,  sometimes with royal blue mosquito netting flowing under it. He had epic aviator sunglasses and a billowy white shirt, which he often dried in the wind like a bad Enrique Iglesias video. And his tye-dye purple shorts were transcendent.

On hikes, Josh would linger behind stalking a lizard and then seemingly warp to the head of the pack, where he could be seen running up a canyon wall like Bo Jackson. He'd stop to take pictures, his hands often in camera view, presumably taking novelty shots holding up monoliths, etc. He chugged a carton of orange juice on one hike, produced from seemingly nowhere. And on another, he turned to me and softly said, "Mike, I can pull mountain." Bewildered, Saskia and I tried to figure out what he meant. "You feel drawn to the mountain?" "No, I can pull mountain." I believe him.

Josh was a hard worker. He manned the top of the trailer hauling up fire wood. "Too many trees!", he bellowed when we'd gathered enough.

Josh could sing. Our guide Myles clichely ribbed him about "Gagnam Style" since Josh was Korean. Josh's response? Fuck it. He sang the song better than Psy himself. We'd later learn Josh is a wedding singer as a side job, perhaps the least surprising information ever.

We had to drop Josh off early from the tour for his flight. The last few hours after that, our group seemed to be missing something. I'll remember Josh for his easy going demeanor and the expressions of unbridled wonder and awe as we hiked the gorgeous Outback. One of a kind guy. Glad to have met him.