The Great Culmination - Part I

Chance became the dictum of the day. Who would ride the bus? We had hours of territory to cover, and precious little space to attempt any sort of segregated existence. Those curious and adventurous enough to venture north into the relative unknown might seem like intriguing characters. But, assurances simply don't exist in Southeast Asia. Relentless monotony could easily became a temporary neighbor, knawing at your patience until a once passive demeanor became a Thai legend of desperate, violent revenge.

The sun once again graced the earth, and our band of three boarded the waiting vehicle. We were the last to enter the constrictive metal box, thereby splitting the group across three different rows, and severly weakening our collective superpowers. I sat next to two girls. They smiled and offered bright, hospitable salutations. This seemed encouraging, until secondary thought provided an alternative. The possibility of bright facades, hiding recently escaped demons from the inner depths of hell. It's conceivable. Just last month, a newspaper in Indonesia reported an incident involving three demons on a bus from Jakarta to Marek. Nobody was harmed, but the passengers sitting near the demons reported benign, pointless conversation, and a strong, repugnant sulphur smell. So, the situation could only reveal itself though patience. Further evidence must be collected. I sat, and waited.

Like a truck emerging from a worm hole and colliding with my soft, pulpy body, the conversation commenced. It had continual momentum, and only ceased with pauses on rare occations. The discussion flowed like water over a conduit of smooth rocks. The fear that rested in my stomach began to dissipate. These two friendly sprites hailed from Canada, Toronto, from what I recall. They became the first in the group to transition into the slipstream of relative comfort. Four additional characters remained, hidden deep in the far reaches of the bus, beyond standard methods of communication.

The driver, simultaneously steering the vehicle and reviewing text messages on his phone, wielded the small bus through the stunning landscape of northern Thailand. After five relatively comfortable hours, we arrived in Chiang Kong, one of Thailand's northern border crossings into Laos. Here, during the walk through the small town, the hidden members of the group, previously unknown based upon a short lived bus segregation program, became assimulated into the group. This acquisition of new participants into the collective was not a simple matter though. Fierce and highly competative conversation, rigorous oral exams, and a life or death joust indicate only a handfull of tests that must be overcome to travel with such beacons of exploratory grace. Many have struggled to join forces with such powerful, pre-historical figures. In the secluded studios of some of the most prominent artists in the world, massive sculptures of Aimie, Keith, and myself have already started to take form. Incredibly enough, all those engaged in the notorious Chiang Kong trials passed with mostly sufficiant scores. Elliot, a husband and straggler from the rear of the bus, or the forbidden zone, as it's known to the locals, had some difficultly with certain portions of the joust, but prevailed after killing ten people and a centaur.

The group then expanded by six.

In the next installment, the newly formed Justice League travels into Laos, and we find out why Laos, Laos, the drink magically created from rice, is consumed in moderation.

The Sleeper Train to Chiang Mai

And so it began with a train - a sleeper train. A narrow metal tube housing tired and curious travelers, utilized during the night to couple both travel and lodging. This, in practical theory, potentially provides a more efficient usage of the most valuable resource for the traveler - time.

So, we sat in large, marginally comfortable seats, consumed overpriced, overcooked meals, played a stirring game of rummy that, if properly investigated at a later time, would certainly find some type of nefarious handiwork in favor of Aimie, and watched the dark, misaligned tracks move rapidly by through the well used toilet hole in the cramped bathroom.

Our sleeper car supposedly provided an artificially cooled environment. This was requested and thoroughly paid for during the arrangement period with the travel agency. But, theory often remains an abstract proposition in Thailand, leaving reality as a mysterious point of discovery.

The waking moments before and after sleep seemed tolerable. In fact, beyond acute consideration, the contained biosphere felt mildly refrigerated. I certainly wasn't a chilled cucumber - more like a partially spoiling block of cheese. But, I was at least good for another couple of days. Things flowed smoothly until we were ordered to sleep. Like rejected transformers, the lower seats were converted into beds, the upper beds were swung into position, and everybody was forced into varying states of slumber. We temporarily disobeyed, re-engaging in the rigged game of rummy. Aimie, quite predictably, procurred a solid victory, and we retired to our minuscule quarters.

This is when the air conditioning system seemed to have fallen into the surrounding jungle, and left the eager recipients to baste in a chili flavored sweat excreted profusely throughout the day. Once I closed the curtain, and segregated myself from the friendly train folk, the real roasting began. I laid my semi-chilled head on the pillow and by the combined powers of Jesus, Buddha, and Mohammed, passed quickly into a shallow, transparent sleep. But, this facade of slumber wouldn't last. My eyes flashed open as beads of scolding sweat rolled desperately down my face. What happened to the temperate climate we experienced earlier, I thought. My body felt like it was cooking inside, preparing some kind of organ stew. Maybe the temperature fluctuation was isolated, and they intended on serving my hair laden body as a delicacy for the next meal - slow roasted neandrathal with chili's and basil.

I was waiting for hidden doors in the side panel to open up and release spires of rolling flames. I shifted my position, turning from one side to the other, only to find that as my pulsating cranium touched the waiting pillow, the supportive cushion felt less like fabric and more like a wet sponge. This dire form of discreet torture faded in and out as I drifted through a very superficial sleep.

Finally morning arrived, too late for the pain incurred, and too early for the tiredness expected. We awoke to the chirping of an incessant, yet hospitable female conductor, ate a mediocre breakfast, and found ourselves in Northern Thailand.

Chiang Mai treated us well with temples, elephants, a cooking class, and a Thai massage. As four days quickly passed, we turned our attention to Laos, where a recommended boat trip would lead us to a wondrous city, and a memorable venture into the mountains.

Reversing Time

Since my last meaningful post, we've traveled through Loas and Vietnam, and returned to Thailand for a journey into the southern regions. But, before I distill our most recent ventures, I must once again use my profound and inexplicable understanding of quantum mechanics, and return to Bangkok, where our exploits once again found furtile ground for additional growth.

The book indicated the ploy as an introduction to the potential hazards of Bangkok. Be forwarned, the book reads, con-artists, disguised as friendly, welcoming locals, will use polite conversation, mixed with discreet, stategically placed lies and mis-information, to convince the naive, trusting traveler into an alternative destination. This new ride would include a taxi or tuk-tuk driver transporting us not to the wonderous temples and monuments of Bangkok, but to silk shops, travel agencies, and smaller, much more insignificant sites. The kind of sites a Morlock from Time Machine, or an orc from Lord of the Rings would visit if they had an opportunity to spend any time in Thailand.

He was sharp and inquisitive. He began with simple, benign questions, and quickly transitioned into brief lessons in negotiation when confronted with taxi and tuk-tuk drivers. He pointed out how to differentiate between private and government regulated vehicles based on license plate colors. He demonstrated his skills by nodding to a tuk-tuk driver across the street, pointing out the color of the license plate to verify his claim, and with great flair and dramatic display, negotiated what seemed like an exceptionally reasonable price for a ride into the unknown. Their must have been a parasite in my brain limiting intellectual thought, because I was lulled into acquiesence like an alcoholic confronted with a sea full of beer.

So we boarded the devilish carriage, with the young Thai driver, and became statistics for next years round of travel guides. The tuk-tuk (which is Thai for unsafe, three wheeled vehicle that spews noxious fumes diesel fumes) raced through the streets of Bangkok, jolting us to a temple with a massive standing Buddha. It appeared impressive at the time, but in retrospect, after seeing the Grand Palace and the Great Reclining Buddha, this temple, comparitively speaking, seemed more like mold, or dried up sea cucumbers decomposing on the beach. Nonetheless, wondered and inspected, marveling at the detail and color. We each found monuments of our animals from the Chinese zodiac. We thenceforth became a traveling band of ferocious and despised animals - the tiger (Keith), the snake (myself), and the rat (Aimie). Their must be some kind of raft across the river type of riddle for our crew, but I have yet to think of it.


After suitable observing the entire complex, we boarded the tri-wheeled transportation vehicle, and were quickly informed that we needed to visit the travel agency immediately. At this point, we all realized the extent of our gullibility, and vehemently refused the demanding offer. It's necessary to point out that Keith suspected the ruse from the beginning, but apparently didn't have a problem engaging in the devious affair. In response to the suggestion of a pleasant trip to the travel agency, we countered with a request for the Grand Palace, our original destination. He compromised with the Black Buddha. The Black Buddha I wondered, that sounds intriguing. A greater man would have demanded either the Grand Palace or our original location, and if refused, would have argueed vigorously and indignantly until satisfaction finally rose from the depths. But, that's with someone like Spartacus, Ben Hur, or Jesus. Unfortunately, this travel log only chronicles the travels of a gullible and trusting explorer, who hap-hazardly wonders into ridiculous situations, notible only for their mindboggling absurdity. Anyway, we arrive at the Black Buddha temple or "wat", as they're referred to as in the Thai language. As anyone might have expected, other than me or course, the temple was closed due to meditating monks. Fair enough. Monks, according to lore, engage in a significant quantity of meditation, so why not now, the only opportunity in my life when I'll be able to gaze upon the marvels of the Black Buddha. After some brief deliberation, we decided to wait for the monks to complete their daily ritual. While waiting, a conversation was initiated by a man who informed us that the monks were involved in some special ceremony, and that instead of standing around, we should visit a tailor, who happened to be having a one-day, half-price sale on all silk clothing and suits. Well, how coincidental. I just happened to require a hot linen suit for the rest of my travels in Southeast Asia. I was really beginning to lose my temper at this point, and for anyone who knows me well, this essentially means nothing. The strategically placed Thai linen shop instructed the tuk-tuk driver to take us to the clothing store. We once again requested, quite poignantly, the Grand Palace. He refused, insisting that we stop by the clothing store so he could pick up a "coupon", which would benefit him with some type of lackee compensation. Fine, we said, knowing that any further debate would probably leave us stranded somewhere on the streets of Bangkok, where we would become crime fighting vigilantees, living on trash, and saving unsuspecting travelers from pleasant speaking con-artists.

So, we end up at the tailor, where apparently everything is fifty percent off all the time. We look around, I decide to buy a silk scarf for what turns out to be a highly inflated price, and the tuk-tuk driver finally decides to take us back to the location where we began. From here we worked our way into the Grand Palace. The temples and stupas here stand with unbelievable detail and extravagance. The tight density of the structures successfully increases the magnificance. It makes the wondering observer seem small and insignificant. The exterior is matched well by the primary atraction at the Grand Palace - the Emerald Buddha. The little green God sits high above the ground in the main temple, looking down over dozens of other Buddha statues, ornate decorations, and a host of kneeling observers.

We spent a few more days in Bangkok, visiting other attractions, and then made our way up to Chiang Mai via the sleeper train.

Chiang Mai and the notorious time in Luang Prabang will follow shortly.

Overwhelming Momentum

I apologize for not updating my travel log in the past week and a half. Time has been sparce. We've moved from Bangkok into Chiang Mai in Northern Thailand. After elephants, temples, and a much anticipated Thai massage, we traveled up to the Northern border of Thailand, and crossed the Mekong river into Laos. After a two day boat trip along the river, we arrived in Luang Prabang, where time seemed to slow temporarily, and allowed for a wonderous, and quite memorable five days.

We now find ourselves in Halong Bay, Vietnam, where we've traveled through ocean littered with limestone islands reaching to the sky like fingers grasping for the heavens.

Vietnam, like China, apparently censures internet content, so I can't view my blog, or respond to any of the comments. But, worry not. Once we arrive back in Thailand I'll elaborate and embellish on all of the locales mentioned above, and tell of a new phrase coined in my honor during our visit to Laos.

Thanks for your patience.

Bangkok

Big. Loud. Obnoxious. Saturated with tourists. Hot. Exceptionally humid.

Welcome to Bangkok.

We arrived in Bangkok, and all of the fluids that had accumulated on the flight over immediately drained through our pours and evaporated into the environment. We caught a bus to Koh Shan road, an area so inundated with foreign travelers, that it was difficult to find a Thai person. It reminded me of Las Vegas, at a fraction of the cost.

I ate a grasshopper. I wanted to try a scorpion, or maybe a maggot, but the food vendor offering such dilectable assundries moved elsewhere before our return. Dammit. A man only has so many opportunities to consume fried insects, and I can't imagine finding the same offerings at the local supermarket back in the states.

The food challenges my stomach at every turn. I love it, but I have a tendancy to add too much chili powder to each meal. My forehead turns into a waterfall, and the rest of my body follows. I feel like I'm deflating with so much water rapidly exiting my gelatinous form. With so much delicious food products to consume, such as spring rolls, phad thai, grasshoppers, scorpions, maggots, worms, red curry chicken, green curry chicken, swordfish, fruit shakes, banana pancakes, banana waffles, pineapple, mango, some type of jerky type beef that was so good we had to have two, spicy papaya salad, noodles with chicken, noodles with duck, cashew chicken, chicken with garlic and peppers, and countless others, that I think I'm beginning to look a little like the Buddha sculpture I bought in Tibet - fat and happy.

After picking up Aimie, Keith's good friend, we slept peacefully, in pool's of sweat, and the next morning worked our way to the Grand Palace. The previous post contains pictures of the incredibly intricate structures. They exist as wonderous monuments to the Buddhist religion, and integrate so much detail and artistic beauty, that they almost seem surreal. We arrived at the profound compound later in the day, as our trip had yet again fallen prey to the mechanics of a well conceived and perfectly executed ploy to divert our attention elsewhere.

Stay tuned for part two of our Bangkok exploits, and the trip to Chaing Mai, where I'm stretched like a used piece of rubber by a Thai woman half my size.

A Partial Glimpse of Bangkok

This blog shall not extend beyond the barriers of insantity.

A special and specific thanks goes out to Brandon Fibbs, who thus far, has responded with comments to almost every blog. Thanks Brandon.

I'd post pictures of the Grand Palace in Bangkok, but I've consumed far too much Thai beer. So, I've decided to sleep instead.

Oh, what the hell. Here's one to keep the saliva pouring. Or maybe two . . . or three. Enjoy!

Tibet to Bangkok

This post picks up where the previous Tibet blog left off. I suggest reading books about the chaos theory and quantum mechantics to thoroughly understand the principles surrounding the structure and methodology of my posts. Think of various streams of thought all happening simultaneously, and you might have some glimpse of the bizarre workings of my obviously disfunctional and highly unpredictable cranial functionality.

Tibet and Potala Palace - Part 2

So, we wanted tickets. I offered my soul and five dollars, but neither seemed to hold any weight. I suggested telling people we had SARS, and then running frantically into the complex, but Keith intonnated that we would probably just be shot. I knew Keith was around for some reason, because it certainly wasn't for sponge baths or picking up loose foreign women. After some deliberation and multiple conversations with various bystanders, we decided to return the following day to aquire tickets. A risky, but logical decision.

Finding ourselves once again in the Tibetan quarter, lost and hungry, we walked in circles searching for yet another palace. Actually, our objective involved finding a nunery just outside the Muslim quarter. While conversing and debating as to where this residence of celebate woman might be, two young Tibetan students interjected quite abruptly after over-hearing our dilemma. "You look for nunery?" the youngest of the two inquired. "Yea," we responded with some curiosity and hesitation. As we had been conned and coerced innumerable times during our travels up to that point, nearly everybody, including Buddha, Jesus, and McGruff the Crime Dog, was held at point with an aire of suspicion. "We can show you," the little navigator insisted. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and allowed the two local inhabitants to lead us into the unknown. I wondered what kind of unexpected tom-foolery we were in for this time. Maybe some kind of high pressure bake sale. "You buy muffins now!" "No, dammit, I don't want your crappy muffins." You can be assured they would be crappy, as bread and pastries in Tibet left much to be desired. "You have no choice. I stalk you for entire trip until buy muffins!" This prospect seemed terrifying, but I was tired and therefore complacent. So, we followed. As we walked, by some heavenly, miracle-type occurance, it slowly became unbundantly, and thankfully clear that these two students melded with our existance for only one reason. Like every Frenchman, they wanted to learn English. Well, actually they already spoke English quite well, unlike the French, and they wanted to practice. Having discovered this, and verifying their good intentions with a visit to the nunery, which we didn't go into because it was three dollars instead of ten cents, we allowed the minature tour guides to lead us on a facinating tour of Lhasa. We were given explanations, histories, directions, advice, and great information on a number of temples in the area and on Tibetan culture. Following the expansive walk through town, we accepted an invitation to one of the student's home. The smallest of the two, Peter, lead us to his humble abode, where after meeting part of his family, we consumed yak butter tea and Tsamba, a doughy substance that went quite well with the fatty drink. We drank, ate, and talked, exchanged email addresses, and left with a sense that we experienced some genuine hospitality.

Potala and the Sneak Attack

While touring one of the temples with Peter and Dawa (the other student), I ran into an Italian, who sounded like a German, who informed me that he snuck into Potala Palace with a tour group earlier in the day. This sounded very intriguing. We knew at this point that any legitimate method for entering the palace would be either too expensive or nearly impossible. So, we agreed to use stealth and cunning to acquire access. Finding the tour group entrance, we waited around for a mass of eager lemmings to filter into the complex. This occured quite rapidly, and attaching ourselves to the tail end of the group, we tried to enter. We were optimistic for a moment, thinking our keen and praticed abilities to act and blend in rendered us indistinguishable from the others. But this proved ineffectual. We were cut from the group, like small growths of fungus from a block of cheese, and told that we were far to handsome to enter the great Buddhist temple. Gathering quickly from such a sudden blow, we pointed to the group, gestured, spoke in quasi-English, and motioned that I was Buddha's second cousin Ronald, and Keith knew the Dalai Lama through friends on his mothers side. They wouldn't have it. Our plans were foiled. We meandered around like bobble-heads, wondering what to do next. Suddenly, the woman at the table caught our attention with some indecipherable comment, and motioned us into the compound. Without any hesitation, we moved quickly inside, in complete disbelief.

The palace was incredible. Giant tombs of the previous Dalai Lama's sit in narrow rooms with tall, ominious ceilings. Precious jewels cover the gold boxes that house the remains, along with exceptionally ornate decoration. Thousands of Buddha statues sit housed in glass cabinets. They once were scattered throughout the palace, but have since been gathered and imprisoned after the Chinese occupation. Thrones, shrines, beautifully detailed models of other temples and palaces, and countless other rooms make the Potala Palace a wonder to behold. As with Jokhang Palace, pictures were not permitted in the interior. Sorry.

From Tibet we flew back into China, and the next day, into Thailand. A Thai post will hopefully follow sometime in the near future. Only time will tell.

China Insert

Welcome to the world of non-linear blogging. I apologize for not posting using some sort of chronological methodology, but my brain works in ways that common physiological science could never hope to understand.

I've decided to post some pictures of the Forbidden City in Beijing, the Great Wall of China, and the Panda Research and Breeding Facility outside of Chengdu in Sichuan Province. These particular events occured in order as they've been listed, but I can't guarantee any continuity beyond this intial indication.

The Forbidden City. What can be said? Quite a bit actually, but I've grown tired of writing about the Great Wall in the section below. Remember - Non-Linear!

Everybody's favorite under-appreciated tyrant.


We were told that the common tourist areas of the Great Wall had been rennovated, so we decided to take a tour that would send us to a portion that was far less visited. We sat in a small van for two hours, eating dumplings out of a plastic bag, and wondering if anyone in China ever saw the sun. Pollution turned to clouds, and clouds to mist and fog. I assumed at this point that China now owned the little bright ball in the sky, and that like dissent and revolt, the Chinese government just didn't want the Chinese to experience the bright and colorful rays of the sun. The gray of the clouds matches all of the sterile buildings in China anyway. We arrived, engaged in a great hike in the misty mountains, didn't see any Hobbits, observed an untouched portion of the wall, and returned to the city below to eat a great meal prepared by some the friendly locals.

From the huge capital of China to the huge city of Chengdu, we moved like fat Buddha's in the wind. Here we find more friendly Chinese people, the hottest food known to mankind, pandas, and an old Buddhist temple where the weary traveler can sit in a picturesque courtyard and drink green tea until the next Chinese tyrant in appointed and tea becomes illegal.

Images from Lhasa

I don't have much time to write anything additional, so here are some pictures from Tibet.