Home Sweet Home

One last trip post... coming from the homestead. We wanted to share a shot of Ko Phangan (first shot) as it looked there our last two days and a shot of our lovely friend, Uli.

As you can see, our last days of the trip involved some shenanigans.

We treated ourselves to a boutique hotel in Bangkok, The Dream, where we powerwashed three months of sweat from our grimy bodies, watched countless (terrible) horror films, and slept in 1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.

Home never looked, smelled, or felt so good as it did when we crossed the threshold yesterday morning. Erica took incredible care of our house and beloved Pig. We spent a jet-lagged day of delirium dealing with little chores and reminding ourselves of the myriad things there are to be grateful for as an American and a Seattle-ite.

As our parting words Francis would say... "The best thing about Thailand is the people. The worst thing about Thailand is the people." The paradox is difficult to translate into words, but this seems to sum it up. I would say that I did not find my zen. No matter how much peace and beauty I am surrounded by - it will never be quite enough to quell my inner bitch. And I'm okay with that.

A vacation from the vacation

We're bracing ourselves for yet another countdown. In one sense it seems not that long ago that we were counting months, weeks, and days before this trip. Now we have but 10 mere days left to enjoy this trip. We've spent most of our time of late remembering the adventures, the friends who have come into our lives for a day or two, late nights waxing philosophical, the victories and defeats of our culinary quests.

We tried and failed to embrace the bohemian lifestyle in the south of Thailand. Our stormy outlook on the scene may have served to pave the way for the real storm that was to come. Our last three days in Ko Phangan were lit up with lightning, thunder, and a deluge of rain. The rain left the streets passable only if you were willing to wade through the eight inches of murky water. We snickered a bit to think how the rain must be spoiling things for the loud and lewd Israeli kids who filled the island. Perhaps such judgments were too rash as I think most of them were enjoying some brief reprieve before or after their compulsory military service.

The best part of Ko Phangan was Uli, the lovely Thai woman we met who offered us nothing short of kindness and generosity. We felt that it was the first time in all of our travels that we had a genuine encounter with a Thai person. She showed the patience of a saint in teaching me to count to 100 in Thai and learning a few other helpful phrases. When we parted she gave me a book to help me study my Thai.

One minivan ride, one ferry ride, one all night bus ride, and one short plane ride delivered us back to Chiang Mai in the north of Thailand. This is the place we love best. It's familiar sights, sounds, smells, and plethora of vegetarian restaurants have given us a vacation from the vacation. Here we met another Thai and had another wonderful encounter - a man named Ed who runs a divine little pizzeria. Turns out Ed is a University of Washington alum (Go Huskies!) and we had a nice evening talking over pizza, local politics and places.

This may be the last post from abroad. Our days are spent sleeping and eating and walking and talking. Nothing really remarkable or photo worthy for the folks at home. We land back in beloved Sea-Town early the morning of November 6th. We are eager to sleep in our tempurpedic bed and nuzzle our little orange Piggy cat

Photos - Last installment for now...

More scenes of George Town, Panang. We already miss the great Indian and Chinese veg food. We do not miss the $5 beer.

And here we have Mr. Morgan tucked safely into his mosquito net for his sleepless night in the jungle.

We are now cozy in our sea-side 4-plex - a place we can both be happy. I have aircon, and Francis is away from the crystal healings and the chi-work. And since we've relocated the the less popular Sunrise Beach we're not exposed to the boom boom thud of the dance music. Yep, it was much too loud. I guess we're officially old.

Georgetown, Malaysia

From KL we sojourned north to the island of Panang. Here we settled for a few days in the colonial town of George Town. First photo on the left is an abandoned colonial building. It was the first 4-storey house on the island. Over the years it housed a school and a hotel. Now the roof is caved in and the jungle is beginning to take it back. UNESCO better got to work!

Of course no pictorial representation of SE Asia is complete without a shot of a squat. That hose - yeah, that would be a bidet.

When we travel we have a penchant for going to certain type of establishment we NEVER visit at home - the shopping mall. Here I am next to a most curious display.

The remaining two shots are scenes of George Town, Panang. Hands down - this is the friendliest place we traveled. Everyone on the street said hello as they passed. Not because they wanted to sell us anything - they just wanted to say hello. So sweet! We also watched the launch of the first Malaysian astronaut. We thought it was quite a big deal, but Soma said it was really just a waste of tax dollars. The "astronaut" was nothing more than a state-sponsored space-tourist.

PHOTOS... Religion In Vietnam & Malaysia

To the left is a likeness of Confucius himself.

Next up - the Charity box at he Hanoi airport. How could I not give a few dong to the cause of "Especially Difficult Children?" After all - that has been my professional specialty.

Now we must give some semblance of equal airtime to the world's major religions. We've covered Buddhism & Confucianism. So it was necessary to visit the Museum of Islamic Arts in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. We were truly blown away by one of the most impressive permanent collections in any museum we've ever visited. It's the only one of its kind in the world and includes Qua ran from 9-10th Century North Africa, pottery from 12-18th Century China, textiles from 18th-20th Century Malaysia and Indonesia, and war regalia from 16th-19th Century Iran. My favorite collection included the stunningly hand-calligraphic Qua ran.

There I am in front of the National Mosque. You're very aware that you're not in Kansas (or Seattle for that matter) any more when every hotel room ceiling has an arrow pointing to Mecca.

And last but never least we spied a few Hindu temples. Our hotel in KL was across the street from the oldest Hindu temple in the city. A few nights ago we met a wonderful and brilliant man named Soma who was able to explain the rationale behind the constant cracking of coconuts outside the temple. The coconut is a symbol of (wo)man. The outer shell - our physical selves and the inner milky goodness - our souls. The coconuts are cracked at this particular temple as an offering to a deity (whose name eludes me after a night of much wine at the Sanctuary) before embarking on an important task - (opening a business, traveling, marriage, etc.).

PHOTOS!!! Vietnam Part 1

To the left we have the Catholic Cathedral in Hanoi, Vietnam. No, we did not go to mass.


Next up - Francis with a US Navy plane downed in Vietnam in 1972.

The carnage includes various downed aircraft at the Vietnamese Military Museum. Planes and helicopters represent the Vietnamese struggle against the French, British, and US forces over the last 50 years.

Here we have ancient sculpture at the Temple of Literature in Hanoi.

Migrant Monkeys go Bohemian

Empty promises abut the photos, folks. There appears to be some breakdown in my technological skills. I'll keep trying, though... I am nothing if I am not persistent.

This latest installment finds us in Ko Phangan, a little island off the east coast of Southern
Thailand. We slowly worked our way up from Malaysia, through a handful of po-dunk towns where nothing remarkable occurred.

Yesterday we took a bus and a ferry to the island with the intention of spending a week or two at a secluded beach resort called the Sanctuary. We had to take a long tail boat from Hat Rin (the infamous full moon party beach) to Hat Tien. There are no roads into Hat Tien. You either hike 8 kilometers through the jungle or pay $3.50 per person to cruise the sea in a long tail. When we arrived at The Sanctuary we were dismayed to learn that the bungalows were booked up. A few houses were available. Rather than schlep back to Hat Rin we splurged on a $45 jungle house.

Our accommodation was nestled at the top of a windy path, built right into the rocks. We had a kitchen, with a gas cook top, some Nescafe packs and tea bags - but no implements for boiling water. We also had a hammock and a pampason chair that a family of spiders decided to nest in. The house did not have walls but looked right out into the jungle. Fortunately the Sanctuary did provide a mosquito net. (This area is not malarial but dengue fever is a risk.)

At least one migrant monkey could not handle going bohemian and did not dig on sharing space with critters. Various exotic bugs strolled our floor, we had to watch out for scorpions and centipedes (they bite), and the mosquitoes loved the bathroom facilities (complete with squat toilet). Guess which migrant monkey didn't get a wink of sleep for fretting about the critters? You may be surprised... (He would claim it was just a general insomnia.)

The other monkey was kept awake well into the night from the boom boom thud of the dance party on the beach. The music filled the valley and was swept up into our jungle paradise. Silly us to assume the jungle would provide a quiet respite. I took solace in an 11 AM check out time and planned on sleeping in. However, I learned that it's impossible to sleep in when you're in the jungle and the sun streams into your hut through the non-wall at 6 AM.

I tried to warn Francis that the Sanctuary was a little granola - a skosh hippie-dippy. I'm not sure what he envisioned from my cautions, but he was not prepared to stay in a place that offers classes on crystal healings. (The yoga and meditation courses were a stretch.) "What sort of wounds are these freaks nursing that they need so much healing?" We're back in Had Rin, scurrying about to find a quiet resting place as our hard-partying days have been over for at least a decade now. I suppose the lesson we have learned is that we like the beach life in theory. In reality the sun and sand and boom boom thud is not quite our thing. We're going to give it a go and see if Phangan has anything to offer a couple of 30-somethings who hail from the land of coffee and rain.

Migrant Monkeys in Malaysia

I see that we've spoiled you all terribly with our (my) frequent posts and beautiful photos. Sorry no photos in this posting. As soon as I'm able - I'll do an all photos posting with annotations. In the interim (as I hunt out an internet cafe that will read my camera card) I wanted to let everyone know that we're fine. Alive. And well-fed.

As I am terrifically fond of counting things (it brings order to an otherwise chaotic existence)- here are my latest calculations. We've slept in 23 beds and eaten in 100 restaurants. We've read 24 books. We've handled five different currencies and stumbled through six languages. We've ridden on 2 dozen buses, three trains, and two airplanes.

Our final days in Hanoi were spent wrapping up the museum circuit. A visit to the Vietnamese Military Museum left us feeling a sort of admiration for the Vietnamese who fought against one oppressor or another for seven plus decades. Their independence was secured only after the entire nation stood together - old and young, wealthy and poor, men and women - to defeat a great giant. And victory came only after Uncle Ho passed away in 1969. It was humbling.

Last stop in Hanoi was the Temple of Literature - a Confucian University with buildings dating from the 11th century. (Await the photos with bated breath.)

Our flight to Kuala Lumpur (KL), Malaysia was less momentous for us than it was for our fellow passengers. 95% of those on board were Vietnamese laborers being sent to KL for work. It was quickly apparent that most of them had never before been on an airplane. They were clearly inexperienced in fastening seatbelts or remaining seated during take off and landing.

KL was refreshingly clean, generally free of honking horns, with passable sidewalks, and enforced traffic laws. And I've found the Malays to be some of the sweetest and kindest people we've encountered in SE Asia. Rather than scowling at me and barking orders - the immigration officer actually smiled and wished me a pleasant stay in the country. When we've been clueless on buses or on the streets - inevitably some lovely Malay comes forward to help us out.

We've been thrilled with the cuisine options. Our hotel in KL was tucked in between China Town and Little India. Chance and good fortune led us straight to the doors of an all veg Indian restaurant. The staff were exceedingly patient and helpful. We ordered blindly - unfamiliar with everything on the menu. Our super-friendly server walked us through the proper procedures. Food arrived on a tin plate with a banana leaf and 10 tin cups of various delectable items (none of which I could describe to you now). After eating up the flat bread, our banana leaf was piled high with steamed rice and dal. Traditionally this meal is eaten with the fingers. You use your fingers to scoop out the food, put it on the leaf, mix it up with the rice, and pop it in your mouth (right hand only - left hand is for unclean things). However, as the only foreigners there- we got a wink and a spoon. Francis described the meal as like Ethiopian food - only good. We were good-naturedly teased throughout the meal and sent off with a head waggle - an Indian gesture I once spent time perfecting with an old office mate (shout out to Sher-Bair).

Cleanliness and order do not come without a price, and we've over-extended our budget a bit in Malaysia. This predominately Muslim nation is no place for sinners - cigarettes and beer are enough to break the bank. Beer in (unbelievably - gasp) twice what it costs us at home, and white wine is nowhere to be found. So, with our love of sin and limited funds - I expect we'll be on our way back to Thailand shortly - blowing through here like the rains that have been following our SE Asian tour for the last two weeks.

The Mean Streets of Hanoi

Hanoi has been a shock to the system after Laos. The entire population of Laos is only half the population of this city.

Thank goddess we're of the Atari-generation. Our Frogger skills have come in handy for crossing the streets. Below is a typical street scene. I've had to adopt the mindset of stepping off the curb blindly and trusting the cycles not to run me over.

And sidewalks are not just for hoofing it. They serve many purposes - vending cigarettes, beetles, fruit, handicrafts, parking motorbikes, and urinating. All of this renders walking on the sidewalks impossible. And it doesn't stop the cars and motorcycles for laying on the horns when everyone is walking in the street.

Day four has led us to our first proper veg meal. Someone needs to write a restaurant guide just for vegetarian tourists. The Rough Guide has let us down time and again. They only list one veg place, and it was a bit of a let-down. It's challenging to find a place even when you have the address. The streets change names every couple of blocks and buildings are stacked on and tucked behind each other.

We did happen upon a great little bar - the Half Man, Half Noodle. We were drawn in by the sounds of our hometown boy, Kurt Cobain. Oh Nirvana! Music to our ears after countless evenings of being subjected to The Eagles, Clapton, and Nora Jones. Francis was also a fan of the bar's art (see top right photo), and I was bemused by the menu (black puppy for only 70,000 dong or roughly $5) .

We attempted to pay homage to Ho Chi Minh today. I even roused myself at 6:30 AM and donned my Sunday best. Unfortunately, the lines were far too long - wrapping around several city blocks. Today was the last day to see Uncle Ho before he's shipped off to Russia for his annual maintenance. I was unable to bear the heat (a balmy 97 degrees) and wait in line, so we settled for a quick visit to Lenin's statue.

We're finding Hanoi to be very different from the other places we've haunted in SE Asia. They're a cuddly lot - lots of groping and necking in the park along the lake - sights you'd NEVER see in Thailand, Laos, or Cambodia. We've encountered more Americans here than any other SE Asian nation. You can spot them a mile away. We've only seen 3 Buddhist monks, no spirit houses, and no wats (Buddhist temples). The people in Hanoi are also a loud lot. Maybe you get used to shouting to be heard over the sounds of the car and motorcycle horns and dance clubs. And apparently the Vietnamese don't sweat or shave. Francis and I have scoured the city looking for those necessary health and beauty aids. If we're unsuccessful within the next 2 days, Francis will be wearing my deodorant, and I will be using his shaving cream. Dogs do not roam the streets here. Perhaps that's because they're farmed for food and not seen so much as pets...

Here in Hanoi

So, the plane was bigger than I thought. Still a propeller but a 50-seater. Faultless take off and landing. We arrived in the evening, and the taxi driver accidentally/on purpose took us to the wrong hotel. He then of course refused to take us to the correct hotel. With the help of a Rough Guide map we found The Hotel Ritz. Along the way, schlepping our packs and fearing that the hotel may be all booked up - we inquired about rooms at some snazzy looking hotels. "No vacancy." Translation - no room at the inn for back packers. The packs work both for and against us.

The Ritz is a brand new hotel in the Old Quarter owned by a delightful couple named River and Spring. Obviously their parents must've been hippies. However, River explained that's simply how their names translate into English. (He didn't get the joke at all.) We're directly across the street (and through a winding alley) from the lake (Hoan Kiem) - the soul of Hanoi.

We have the penthouse room - a climb of six narrow flights of windy marble stairs. This completely eliminates the need for a work-out on the thigh-master. We also have a "view of the lake." If you peek our window over the tin roof of the dance club in front of us, through the heavily leaved trees, you can spy a bit of water. And aren't the faux poppies lovely?

I wish I could put sound recordings on the blog. You could share in the tsk tsk boom of the dance club (bumping right now at noon on a Friday) and the incessant beep beep beep of the car and motorcycle horns. This city is never silent.


Yesterday we toured the Museum of Vietnamese Women. It offers an interesting perspective on the war with America and communism. Say what you will about the VC and Uncle Ho and communism in general - the system is far more feminist and equal than what we know and have known in the States.

We're hunkering for some veg Vietnamese food but have yet to find any. The only veg fare we've been able to hunt down (and it requires a fair amount of hunting) is Western food with a Vietnamese twist. Last night we ate at a little place called Pinky Moon. Francis had the aglio olio, in a similar fashion to what he'd make it home. I bravely ordered gnocchi with gorgonzola. My meal translated into balls of instant mashed potatoes slathered in mozzarella. No complaints. It was in fact similar in fashion to something I'd cook for myself at home. As a special treat I've attached a photo of one of the pages of the menu. Considering the Pinky Moon serves up dog breast cooked in cognac, we were lucky with our meals.

As per the request of a certain TF I will try to include more photos of Frantastic, Frantastic and I together, and a better explanation of the photos.

Farewell to Laos

So, we decided that we really ought to engage ourselves in some of the tourist attractions around about Luang Prabang before heading out of Laos. We booked a half day tour to the waterfall. What a strange adventure in turned out to be! We decided to hike to the top of the falls. Bless my Chaco sandals and the hiking training afforded to us in the Pacific Northwest. It was slippery, a skosh treacherous, and super-duper wet. It was impossible to take photos during the hike as the rain and spray from the falls lapped at us. But here we are after making it safe and sound back to the bottom. I'm glad we opted out of the swimming portion of the day as the river was full of leeches.

Apparently our half-day waterfall adventure also included a "tour of a local village." Said tour involved pulling over at the side of the road and stopping in front of 15 little girls all lined up and selling bracelets while calling "Buy! Buy! Buy! 5,000 buy!" As the girls chirped their "Buy! Buy!" song (sums up their view of Westerners) the boys went ahead and staged a cock-fighting show for us. Can you think of anything a social worker and 2 vegetarians care to see less?

The remaining shots in this post include (completely out of order as I still can't properly format this blog):

1) a street view of a restored French colonial mansion in Luang Prabang, Laos.

2) Francis' garnish from dinner at the Blue Moon cafe (where I was convinced it was my stunning beauty making the servers nervous. Their hands shook with each thing they laid in front of us. Eventually I realized the nerves had nothing to with me or my stunning good looks. The restaurant had just re-opened after a month off, and the Swiss owner was supervising their every move.)

3) View from the top of Phou Si, most sacred hill in Luang Prabang - a good climb at 300-plus stairs.

4) Francis and I (separately) descending from Phou Si. That pensive look on my face is masking a grimace of heat and fatigue. Even my sweat was sweaty.

Next stop for the Migrant Monkeys is Vietnam. We land in Hanoi early this evening. Flight 313. Laos Airlines. (Best not make the news.) I'm not nervous about flying in a 12-seater prop plane or anything...

We brake for kitties and Buddha

This migrant monkey is finding the climate in Luang Prabang much more suitable. Mornings are "relatively" cool and overcast until about 10:00 AM. The sun begins its descent around 16:30. Of course the town shuts down by 22:00 - which is fine because I need to get my sleep on before the bandsaws return to work in the morning.

We're mostly walking around the city. Francis is armed with the camera, and I'm armed with my brelly - a true life saver for this delicate little flower.

Francis would tell you (if he was participating in this blog...) he preferred the food in Vientiane. However, we've discovered a lovely little restaurant just around the corner from our hotel called the Morning Glory. She's a divine cook and serves fresh pesto and delicious fresh Laos coffee and fruit shakes all day long. The main food issue appears to be the Laotian fondness for onions. We all know how Francis feels about onions, and they're in everything everywhere- including the scrambled eggs.

We've done the museum circuit in town - "sorry, no photos, please" - ending the day with the former Royal Palace. How interesting to see the gifts given to the King by the various nations. USA contributed a piece of the moon. Australia contributed a boomerang. The most impressive gifts appear to have come from Thailand, India, and China.

The children seem to either fear or love me. I must appear such an odd creature with my platinum hair and tattoos. At least one child has attempted to rub off my tattoos - insisting that it must be pen.

Expect more kittens and Buddhas in your next installment. And trust that we are well (and in spite of some of my previous postings) truly having a fabulous time!

Yin and Yang in Luang Prabang

Francis and I appear to be alternating sick days. He's laid up today with the stomach bug that seems to plague Westerners in SE Asia. So, it was my turn to troll the streets with the camera. I'm adjusting to the heat - with the aid of my brelly and an ice coffee from time to time. I also found my first aircon internet cafe, so I expect to be parked here for a bit.

Today I strolled along the Mekong. Too shy to take any photos of the curiosities - several games of boccie ball, vegetable vendors dressed in traditional garb, and children playing games with tin cans and old shoes. It seems to be rude to take photos of the locals. However, Francis and I have found ourselves to be the subjects of many a photo op for the locals. (They try to be sneaky, but there's no question about what they're doing with their camera phones pointed directly at us and the giggling) The Thai tourists seem especially fond of having their picture taken with pasty Westerners. They always ask first. However, we've decided to start charging 10,000 kip per shot (about a dollar). Hey, it's what the lady-boys do in Thailand. I learned that the hard way.

It's so different here and yet so much the same. The Laos love TV, and it's incessantly on in every restaurant and hotel lobby. Their favorite shows appear to be Thai soap operas or morality plays based on traditional tales. The morality plays are my favorite. The actors are dressed in 15th Century garb, but you can always see their jeans and faux rolex watches peeking out from under their costumes.

Luang Prabang is an early to be early to rise town, so we've had to roll with that. The bandsaws kick in about 8 am with a lunch break around noon, so we're learning to plan sleep times around the construction schedules. Although we've bee told repeatedly that the Laos find it foolish to work too hard, those construction guys sure put in a good long day.

The kids continue to come out at night - all with the same tchotchkes and the same lines. "Madame, you are so beautiful. I love your hair." After about the third rejection they'll lean in and whisper "Coca cola." My response is that it is far too late at night for that much sugar and caffeine. However, I'd be happy to buy them a container of milk. For some reason they never want it. I am hoping to run into a little lad named "I" again. He had the best game. Fake tears and all. He'll certainly break me down before the week is out.