Pedalled Pennings

A Gobi Interlude

2010-09-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

As the sun dips towards the bleak Gobi horizon we witness the miraculous transformation. As each desiccated blade of grass catches the fading rays, the monochrome brown around us slowly ripens into a soft mellow gold. We quietly sip our tea by our tent lost in thoughts brought by the changing light on the steppe. After a hard day of cycling this was the time to reflect and relax.

We had come a long way, cranking our pedals from Thailand to reach the arid scrublands of the Mongolian Gobi. This is dirt track terrain where tar remains a myth for those who have never left. We rattle along a rather squiggly route following tracks that will lead us to Ulaanbaatar, the capital city. Crossing people is rare in the desert and our evenings often end with tent visits from curious nomads.

This time a young man rides in. “Sain ba nuu”, we greet him, inviting him for some tea. “Sain ta sain ba nuu”, he replies, eyes roving around our little camp and the two bicycles parked beside. Hitching up his scuffed leather boots, he squats beside us while his horse, happy for the break, munches on the dry bits of grass. I had unnecessarily prepared myself with our phrasebook. The man did a fine job of sign language banter.

Fingers play quite a role in Mongolia. The pinky is for bad, the thumb the global sign for good while the forefinger shoved into the mouth is for cigarettes. He studies our maps to figure where we came from. Raised eyebrows and a thumb for ‘Great!’. He then shows us where he’s come from with his herd. We’re surprised as he points to the opposite aimag (province) at least 300 km away. A long detour from the circuit nomads usually cover on their annual migration. A pinky goes up as he points to the grass and back to his home on the map. Another pinky for failed rain. A thumb appears as he points to the land around and to his horse happily munching and snorting its approval. I exchange looks with my partner. We’re amazed to think that the bland ubiquitous brown around us could be considered good grazing grounds.

Our man then returns to the map and places his finger on Thailand. He lifts a questioning thumb to ask if the grass was good there. We grin, ready to share a laugh but catch the solemn look in his eyes. Instead, we nod. Without having to elaborate he shrugs and signs ‘it’s a little far’.

By now the sun has disappeared leaving a washed out red autumn sky in its wake. As we face the lingering light I can’t help but sigh. After a few minutes of silence our man points again to the map, taps his finger on Mongolia and lifts his little finger with a sad smile. We shake hands before he straddles his horse and gallops back the way he came.

(post script: a combination of summer’s drought and a severe winter that followed killed over 8.4 million animals in Mongolia this year stripping the livelihood thousands of families across the country)

And, I also miss long inane keyboard posts

2010-09-14T22:55:00.000-07:00

                                              A thoroughly misleading photo made to make you read on but it's cold alright

As I leaned over the radiators that have been cold iron for 4 months now to peer out of the window (funny drunks again?), I was in for a shock. It (radiator) nearly burnt me again after 4 short months of metal cold. Outside at 7 in the morning it was 4°C and a windchill of bout 14 km/ hr straight from Siberia. The cold set in quick. I'd forgotten cold in all the +32 summer days we've been having. It's been 11 months since we first pulled into Ulaabaatar, me a mere 54 kilos that time, 60 now and Ced double digits heavier. We've stayed a long time and done what?? A bit of work here there, Ced a Volunteer consultant for a World Bank livelihood project, me a stringer, drifter, freelancer, teacher picking up little assignments here and there. I doubt it's been all good but guess the only other thing I'd trade time we've spent here would be to be in a sunny Caribbean Island where's there's music all day. I miss the sea. I miss oysters. I miss Kerela style banana leaf unlimited meals. I miss tall 7000m+ mountain peaks. I miss masala chai. I miss coconut trees. I miss everything that we can't seem to find in this land locked nook. But I don't miss jostling with 13 million people in a sweltry Indian city. No not that. And I also miss long inane keyboard posts. The toughest thing about living in Ulaanbaatar is knowing you're stuck in a concrete hole when wild swathes of green and blue beckon all around.

As a reader might know most of the dairies are here, where I shifted after not being savy enough to figure out the proxy code to access prohibited sites that encouraged freedom of speech in China. Funny thing is it's in the Chinese sites you'll meet the one raging against the machine hardest. But now growing fat and dissolute in this free wide land, I might as well make the best of bandwidth space.

So, today I went to check the guys from the Peking - Paris Vintage Car Rally. The first race was run in 1907 and this is the 4th time folks have tried to recreate it, driving only vintage cars.

                                                a very same model of the italian car that won the 1907 race

As remote and tucked away Mongolia might be, it does seem to be the playground of a mighty lot of adventure seeking, money hauling folks. But I liked the cars, and I liked the excited locals milling about. What I didn't like was the wistful feeling that settled down seeing them leave knowing that I could be off across the wide steppe, crossing borders, lands, people, mountains, rivers, lake. I feel grounded and my bicycle chain's rusty. But some pics here. I like it that traffic is a bigger foe to the motored than to the bicycle bound.

                                                                             All are equal in the rush hour rule
                                                            yea! Chinggis looks on the mighty playground he make                                                                                               I also like spokes

Wisps of Age

2010-05-25T07:13:00.001-07:00

Have not much to say. But hoping the tide loosens soon.

Post Script: A tough goodbye to a dear friend

2009-11-16T02:54:00.000-08:00

I may have unwittingly made a few grave errors in recounting what may have happened to Arun in terms of the route he may have taken and also that in implying it may have been a mistake that cost him his life. I would like to redress some things after a mail I recieved from a close mutual friend who had also trekked the mountain. Some excepts

"He seemed intent on hiking the southern ridge to the top, beginning from the Highland inn.
I remember commenting that I didn't know anything about that route, or whether one even existed, and that I (and I believe Pearly as well) had hiked the northern ridge instead, which was conveniently trisectedfirst by a tourist path, and higher up by an access road."

And the last paragraph

"Throughout this situation I've often found myself recalling an episode from my first time climbing the same mountain. In a foolish attempt to avoid what I thought, incorrectly, to be a checkpoint (wanted to avoid paying that measly 30 kuai) I wandered off the beaten path and began climbing an increasingly treacherous and confusing bit of the mountainside. I was sitting in the middle of a thick reed forest (at an altitude very close to that of Arun's accident), on a steep mossy mountainside with no visibility of what lay around me and aware that I could easily wander onto a brittle overhang without warning. While cursing my newfound stubbornness (thank's a lot Pearly) who should call but Arun. After patiently fielding a few questions about laptops and viruses and how to install this and that, I gently explained that given my current situation, this probably wasn't the wisest use of what little credit remained on my phone. We both had a good laugh at this, he wished me the best of luck, and I went on my uncertain way.
That day I could have met a similar fate. I wasn't being any smarter, or any more cautious. I was lucky, Arun was unlucky, and I don't think there's anything more to be said about it."

At this point I can only paste what I replied to the friend and I feel compelled, more by strong emotion than lucid reasoning, that I have to add a few things with regard to my own experience on the Changshan mountain...

"I don't really know what to say....but I feel you must be carrying the burden of grief a lot heavier than us. The distance from Dali helps dilute some of the shock and though I often pause and sigh, it's been going a little better for me; as hopefully it will eventually for all of us. I can share that I was a little bitter and was firmly convinced that rescue work was not carried out properly. I'm afraid there is still a faint tinge of resentment especially since you've thrown some light on the people involved in the rescue work, especially that of the proprietors of Highland Inn. But it will not help to carry this taste in my mouth.

As for your slight reference to my stubbornness which I might have forced on you on more than one occasion, I have to admit to it. I have been incredibly lucky in many situations I'm deliberately put myself in. My run with luck has often made me reckless and confidant in my recklessness. During my run in with the mountain, you might recall I called you twice to confirm my route and to be honest, to calm my near point of panic at a point when the fog moved in thick and the top seemed so close but I couldn't see a peek of it. Again luckily for me, the mist lifted abit and I once again gave in to my often cocky self and set out to reach the top. My heart was thumping during the descent as I struggled to hurry and reach before nightfall. I entered the town's gate after 9 pm, closer to 10 pm. I seem to have forgotten much of the dicey moments I faced with the rush of adrenaline and cocky pride that comes from knowing you met a challenge and came back safe.

I need to thank you for your mail for it has refreshed my memory and I have to take back my thoughts that Arun may have made a mistake. It could have been me as well. I think I didn't share any of the doubt and fear I faced in the mountain for it was the exhilaration and blissful tiredness I chose to remember the most. I even ignored to talk of the sweet relief once I was safe in bed. I was even too tired to stop long enough to pick brochets, the only late night food available at the road side stalls and relied on instant noodles.

As for your latter note, there are no apologies of any sort required. From the consortium of friends Arun had in Dali and Kunming and everywhere else, you were probably one among the few who I could sense was, if I may, a better friend and one I was genuinely happy to meet and get to know somewhat.

Hope you don't mind me sharing this mail with everyone else but there are some things I have to redress and would like to share as well."

A tough Goodbye to a Dear Friend

2009-11-12T07:37:00.001-08:00

These pages have been empty for awhile and might be again. I'm deeply grieved to hear news that one of my dearest friends died in Dali, China while on a solo trek to the summit of the Changshan mountains that fringe the west of Dali Old Town.

Arun Veembur was a dear friend. He was my senior from Christ College and has always been a bit of a lovable eccentric. We'd often meet and talk of travel, mountains and aspirations we had to get out of the city we were bound to and travel to remote corners of India and the Himalayan mountains. He was particularly interested in the North East of India and we had many talks about it, me being from there as was another close friend of his from Assam. Arun was the one who eventually introduced me to Robin (from Assam) and other friends of his who are now my firm friends for life.

It was his intrepid curiosity and fascination for the mountains that led him to sign up for a course at the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute which he later relayed to me and I eventually joined the course as well. After the course he travelled to Robin's place and there came across the Stillwell road, an old 2nd World War road that had been built by the Americans to transport supplies to China during the war against the Japanese. The road from Ledo in Assam, through Burma and upto Kunming in China's Yunnan province. Arun became obsessed with the road.

He spoke about it incessantly and set out to write a book about it. It took him 2 years to get required funds. Once in Kunming, he fell in love with it. He learnt the language and we friends heard less from him except for updates on his latest projects and ploys he had to remain on in China. We knew he was obsessed to a point that saying he loved the corner of China he adopted lightly. We'd often joke that he was hatching a devious plot to sell India over to the Chinese.

I had my own plans to travel to China and beyond, to Mongolia. I shared much of it with him and he was really encouraging. It took me two years and a few twists of fate to finally start my trip, a slow journey by bicycle. Arun was excited to hear that a friend from home would be visiting him in China. He was enthusiastic and kept in touch with us all through our trip doing what he could when we had minor setbacks like being denied entry to China at the Laos border and when my bicycle and belongings got stolen in Gejiu. More than anything it was his succinct wit and gleeful humour that helped me get over alot of these hitches.

When we finally arrived in Kunming, me bikeless and bagless with only the clothes I was wearing, he was there; waiting for us at the date point with his exaggerated Buster Keaton impersonating routine. Arun threw himself into all his passions with a dedicated obsession that was a part of his total eccentric lovable oddball self. He pursued the Stllwell road with as much intensity as he did Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton routines. Often it wasn't really well done and friends of his from Kunming would remember his often painful comic routines that he would stage at the Hump Bar. But it was part of the Arun we all knew so well. Closer friends will also remember the times he'd force us to sit through endless Buster Keaton movies, often pausing and rewinding parts he loved the most just in case we missed the finer nuances of the man's genious. In the end he had us all converted and loving Keaton.

Arun took care of me in Kunming like the friend and brother he was. He made sure I didn't brood on my loss and reminded me I was only missing material things. He introduced me around proudly as I was the first of his friends to have visited him from India. Not once did he underplay the excitement and happiness that he felt that with my visit.

I have to admit we had a few arguments as well. He had a way of trying to convince people about what he felt and also a knack for sustaining long arguments till you back of or admit to his view. He tried his best to get me to stay and agree with his view that travelling was pointless without stopping and learning the language and absorbing the culture of the place. He had developed a disdain for 'backpackers' and the lonely planet style of travelling by the book and tried to get me to admit what I was doing, though by bicycle, was almost the same as the rest of the pack. I ahve to admit it was also his way of getting me to consider staying. After one particularly heated discussion we had to both admit to mutual friends that we were a little sore with each other. But that didn't last, you can never be sore at Arun too long. As Arun told another friend of ours, he liked to get me worked up sometimes just because I fell for it each time. He added to the same friend it was abit like a sibling taunting game between us.

I decided to move to Dali while waitng for Ced, who'd gone back to France for awhile on business, as the mountains beckoned. I needed a different view from Kunming's highrises and Arun was just getting involved with a project in Dali at that point. Part of The Hump group for whom he worked. I loved the Dali life especially for the mountains and I spent a lot of time walking and exploring little paths on it which I would relate to Arun. It was me and Nick who found a path that led to the summit of Zhong He peak, at 4200m, a tiring but exhilarating 4-5 hour hike along one of the many ridges of the mountain chain. Nick and I both climbed to the top separately and encouraged Arun to do the same.

The Changshan mountains loom 2000 odd m above Dali. It has incredibly steep slopes and many gorges and deep furrows along it's slopes. The path we found sticks to the ridge of the section of the mountain just behind the huge temple complex south of the Three Pagodas. While steep and tricky in sections it is very manageable for those accustomed to mountain walking. When I had gone I took utmost care to make sure I had time to come back down. I had noticed several paths that seemed to lead down but decided to stick to the one I had come by. The climb and height gain had also left me feeling a little giddy and though it was getting late, I made sure I didn't deliberately hurry. Things didn't seem to have worked out for Arun.

While exact details to the turn of events are not clear, Arun presumably tried a new route after successfully reaching the summit and slipped while trying to navigate a cliff face down a dry waterfall. Gravely injured he called for help around 6 pm. He might have been unconcious for awhile. He also called his parents to let them know he was hurt but comforted them with a small lie, saying he was on his way to the hospital. A search team went out looking for him all night but couldn't locate him. Confused and weak from the fall Arun wasn't able to guide them properly either. It also turned out he had crawled under a ledge to keep away from the wind. When they finally found him, it was too late....

It is painful to share details of these last precious moments and I feel a need to talk about it to avoid the same happening to someone else. I can't help but feel there are many things that could have been avoided. No one was prepared for it and rescue efforts, if I may, perhaps a little disorganized. His friends who set out to locate him loved Arun as much as I and I may cause further pain to his friends and family in speaking out my mind but I feel we have to face the facts.

It is essential to find out where things went wrong, the awry communication, the fact that not all his friends who could have known of his whereabouts were contacted and that people were hopelessly unprepared. I may be wrong to presume as I was far away but I need to speak out.
Dali has a mountaineering club, it has mountains that people frequently hike in, there are local villagers that go frequently to gather stuff from the mountains and there doesn't seem to me much of a rescue team in place. I could be wrong and what happened, happened. We don't really require a crack elite team (it would be good if there are resources) but we definitely need a group of committed individuals who study the mountain and are in touch with villagers who know the mountain. Cordoning off the mountains and sealing it off from hikers will not be the solution. What Dali needs to do now is make sure the possibilities of avoiding accidents and the means to tackle them if they do happen are put in place. People need to talk about this and communicate. We owe it to Arun to see to it that someone else doesn't go through this pain.

And as for readers of this post and all my dear friends, I have to share that I believe spending time in Nature and with nature is healing and crucial to better understand our relationship with the earth and our purpose for living. I am happy Arun decided to finally go to the mountain. He had been going through a rather tough time with his job and related lifestyle and had decided to get back on track and get healthy and fit again. In our last mails and bits of communication he told me he was healthier and intent on maintaining an active healthy lifestyle and to focus on the book he had ignored for awhile. I think going to the mountain was part of his plan to refocus and prioritize what was important to him. But he may have made a few mistakes that anyone of us are capable of. I will not elaborate until I get the full details but if ever you happen to go alone on a hike or trek alone please keep a few pointers in mind.

1. 80% or more (figure may be inaccurate) of mountaineering related deaths happen during the descent. Often it is due to tiredness, time contstraints and the consequent likelihood of making mistakes or bad decisions. Always make sure you have optimal time to descend and if not abandon plans. Remind yourself continously to be careful.
2. Always stick to the same route you came up on. Do not try a new path if you haven't tried it before and are unfamiliar with the landscape. Especially when the area is steep and tricky.
3. Always carry emergency rations, a torchlight, a whistle, warm jacket and first aid no matter how easy or short the trek may seem or how warm the daytime air may be. If anything goes amiss a torchlight or whistle can help guide rescuers.
4. Inform, inform, inform....friends, guesthouses or family where you are going, the route you plan to take and what time you expect to be back. It may be sometimes difficult to stick to the time frame and delays may happen in coming back but keep a margin and ask more than one friend to check up on you. And make sure you contact them too when you get back. Worrying people is better than bad news being handed to them.

There may be many more things to add to the list but according to me these are the most important. As for Arun we will miss you. For a long long time.

And once again my intention is not to blame or hurt. I am fully aware that the rescue team tried their best and the events will continue to haunt them more than me. Especially as some of Arun's dearest friedns from China were on that team. But this has been written in the hope that the same doesn't befall someone else. One of Arun's last mail to me was about the recent cirsis The Hump faced after two core members walked out of an ongoing project after a disagreement. He wrote, in chinese, the word 'crisis' combines the characters for 'danger' and 'opportunity'. here i sense - i hope (touch wood) - the opportunity is the greater by far."

That was Arun.

CCTV Watching You!!

2009-10-09T22:56:00.000-07:00

Prayers no longer spin for the camera shy. An obscure monastery in the mountain wilds of Western Sichuan. For those who must, it's a rugged 50 km climb from the town of Maerkham. They wouldn't let us free, tailing our every move. I pointed out their camera could do all the work. And wondered what guile could a prayer spinning Buddhist possess. A monk smiled quietly as if reading my thoughts.

It's great to be breathing free albeit frigid air again. Mongolia's winter is feels warmer than blogger blocking sooty Chinese air. An exaggeration I'm afraid for I sometimes miss it much.

Narrations continue here but blogger is resuscitated once more.

Censored!

2009-05-31T00:58:00.000-07:00

I've been censored by the beauracracy of the PRC. Which means I've can no longer access this blog-this message is being posted by a friend in New Zealand. The PRC's 60th anniversary is coming by soon and all possible touchy subjects are being avoided. A tragedy as I had much praise for the incredible luck and help I've received from the Chinese police in recovering my bicycle, the details of which I was all ready to wax eloquent on my blogger pages.

But now...

I've moved here to the Travel Blog. Continue reading there. The link, if you need it, is http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/PedalledPennings/

Reasons for long silence....

2009-04-29T03:36:00.000-07:00

A Study in Contrasts

2009-03-15T03:25:00.000-07:00

Apart from inflated food prices I have no complaints about Laos. I thank the country for making a cyclist out of eager me. On these roads it's just a matter of perseverance. So I cycled more than 1200 kms in Thailand but was still broken by Pai and here I'm over a thousand as well and eager to see how the roads in Vietnam are. Maybe the pictures have a clue on how and why I've toughened up. Plus when you cook yourself over slow smokey camp fires, your tummy's fed enough to start enjoying the wild beauty of the country.

Here's an example of what the Thais call rural road, often a road that doesn't pass through any important economic hub but one that's been built with blessings from the benevolent king and just serves to link small rural hamlets to bigger wider truck pliable roads. This is a road that leads down to Bok Krai waterfalls not far from the Isthmus of Kra. Please note the paint has worn off on most other rural roads so don't expect the same bright lines.

While South Laos certainly boasts better roads and we have travelled along roads with stretches of uninterrupted tar this is an extreme example of what is called a highway here. This is an important link road for traffic plying between the northern provincial town of Phongsali to Oudomxi, an important economic hub of Northern Laos. I must clarify this stretch lasts for only 109 kms starting at Ban Yo till Pak Nam Noi where you will suddenly see the tar from a distance shimmering like a mirage in a desert. From Phongsali to Ban Yo it's a good sealed road and remains so as the road contiues on 20 km to the Chinese border town of Pak Ha (still closed to travellers). But a 90 degree turn southwards to remain in Laos and here's a good ride awaiting. Took us two days and one small fall (me), dust clogged lungs, muck choked chains and rattled bones to finally kiss tar at Pak Nam Noi.

Laos; I meet Muddy Ruts and more

2009-03-14T07:06:00.000-07:00

I meet Muddy Ruts

My FabIndia kurta and vegetable dyed cotton pants have become my pedaling uniform and as I type I have 2597.3 kms in my legs. I almost guessed I could now call myself a cyclist though a little embarrassed about my candid confession on my last post but a little prick to my salvaged confidence came from the last mail I got from my Mom, "Okay, darling, take care. I'm too sleepy to write a proper mail. Only - when you write 'Peddle' you mean 'Pedal', don't you?". I have a condition which I can best describe as a speeching defect and this sometimes adversely affects my penning abilities and causes me to often misplace my homonyms. So faithful followers, if any, might note necessary edits to my blog header.

In other news Laos has been a wild adventure right from the start. I wish I could share every day but brevity's been calling for me to exercise it so I'll share some bits as best as I can. But to let you guys know this post was meant to have been keyboarded in China but thanks to a rather unfortunate turn of events with Chinese immigration officials at the Boten-Mohan Laos-China border. We are now back in Luang Prabhang giving the town a second chance of redeeming itself from the initial rather acerbic impression we had of it when we first arrived from the wild western roads of the country only to jostle our way through the tourist multitude (that invades Luang Prabang each season) while trying our best to hang on to our purse strings that everybody seemed out to leach into. But I'll save the narrative for the next post and focus on the roads that intoduced us to Laos and wiped the Pai sniffles out (wrt previous post).

Pulling out of Huay XAi was easy till the tar road ended abruptly less than 2 km from the main town centre. A long dusty strtch awaited us with the only remnants of tar popping up for a couple of 100 m stretches each time the road led through a village. I guess it was blessing for the villages with the amount of dust kicked up each time a vehicle passed which was quite often. The Mekong seemed to taunt us as it placidly flowed beside the pebble and dust road. People in these parts have relied on boats for centuries and there's a reason why. Anyway we stuck to the course counting our blessings in that we were really in touch with the land and meeting the real locals. The road to Pakbeng is quite an ellusive on even on the map and the next few days saw us chasing little faint squiggles on the map with often none too reliable inputs from locals who'd point out small tracks after initial attempts of dissuading us with terse comments of "no road" staring at our bicycles with disbelief. They weren't wrong. There wasn't a real road and we had to connect dots taking boats when a road ended for sure and pushing our bikes through little paths no bigger than a reindeer trail. (Reindeer?) Ok mouse deer trail. Some pictures to illustrate the road.

There was semblance of a proper road for the first 75 km or so until it dissapeared somewhere along a village (who's name we never really got) 5-7km form Hatsa where we had initially planned to cross the Mekong by boat to catch up with a track on our map. The electric poles had dissapeared a long while back and here on there was no electricity to be had till we reached Pak Beng. Being rather late and convinced by villages we might as well take a boat from there we camped in the school grounds of the village. We had a problem with food as there wasn't even a single noodle shop in the whole village but luckily they cooked up 4 packets of Mama (similar to Wai-wai instant noodles) at a local store. We also got a small introduction to what would become norm each time we passed a village; a reception of curious gawkers too shy to initiate conversation with but entranced enough by our bicycles and presence to stare unflinchingly at every move we made. We woke up the next morning to a foggy dawn and a growing mass of school kids around our tent.

The Mekong lay swathed in thick mist and though our boatman ridicolously overcharged us 50000 kip for the short 10 minute ride across the river to the village of Pakso it was the most beautiful boat ride as we cut straight into the enveloping early morning river mist, silent except for the drone of the boat's motor. I could have paid him more to row us across just to preserve the magical stillness around.

Pakso to Pakhop was less than a 10 km stretch but finding the road involved a proper recci and put our communication skills to the test. We pushed our bikes through corn fields, crossed streams, followed cattle tracks, pedaled over bumpy rubber tree roots crossing plantations, waded through knee high wild grass and fell into mesmerised dream state broken only by occasional jolts when our wheels went over hidden ruts.

A road runs through it...or is it a river run through it?

O Laos, Where Art Thou?

Once in Pakhop we spent quite awhile in vain looking for the said to exist trail on the map to Pakpet Neua but after repeated dead ends and unconviced locals we finaly resorted to taking another boat though we were smarter this time about negotiating the price. We paid 60,000 kip for the half hour boat ride. There is a proper jeep road from Pakpet Nuea that connects to the biggest town around these parts, Xiang Hon though it took awhile to figure this out as our map again erroneously listed the town as Xang. Our Rough Guide map won the IMTA prize for best map in 2006 but almost consistantly got the names of towns and villages wrong. It has been the best map around so far for small roads and land relief so you can imagine the state of other maps. Cartography as a career option is being keenly considered. We could at least offer our services to do ground work for cartographers. (Interested folks please read this as a job application)

We had roughly cycled 15 kilometere when we passed through a small Khamu village where when of the villagers who we'd met earlier passing us on his moped, stopped us to tell us not to continue as it was a long climb ahead and no villages for a good while. It was already late evening and so after some hesitation and his insistance for our safety, we decided to accept his offer to spend the night in the village. We didn't quite manage to convey we had a tent and could camp so we gratefully accepted the offer to sleep for the night in the spare room of one of the villagers. I am consistantly overwhealmed with the generosity and kindness of village folk. It hasn't been the first time I have experienced the benevolence of people who have so little themselves but take it on themselves to help as best as they can. I remember the time I was literally rescued and hosted by villagers in a remote corner of Bhutan after getting my purse robbed.

We spent the night in a lovely bamboo hut, bare except for a few pots and bedding for the family and the traditional tiny round stool that serves as dining table. Dinner was a simple affair with boiled mustard leaves, chilli and Khao Niao (sticky rice). Cycling really whets the appetiate and I couldn't help but continue to stuff my mouth long after our hosts were done. Being rather tiny people they seem to eat a lot less. Thankfully they seemed happy to see us throughly enjoying the food and egged us on with encouragements of "Kin Khao! Kin Khao!". (Eat rice!, which we conviniently quickly understood as eat more! eat more!) Here's a picture of Ced stuffing his face the next morning with our indulgant hostess looking on. Breakfast was a repeat of the previous evening's menu and I'm guessing an everyday affair. We were happy to eat all they served as the road ahead was to be a proper test of endurance and especially for me, of my handlebar maneuverability and balance. Our hosts had waved us off with wishes of "Shukdee!" (Good Luck!) and seemed a little perplexed when we shoved an envolope with a few notes into their hands. They clearly weren't excepting anything in return for the hospitality they had offered us.

After the first hours climb we were quicly descending towards Xiang Hon, a dusty town spread across a huge valley. We had a huge lunch here and soon were digesting it clambering up roads and curves of the like I'd never seen let alone cycle on before. Tarred flat roads became a distant memory as I painfully struggled up steep inclines littered with loose rocks and slippery dust only to steel my nerves for painfully bumpy descents with my spirit sinking at the view of the next climb ahead. This went on for three consecutive climbs and descents and with the sun beating down on us through the 40 deg C heat around, it clearly wasn't for the faint hearted. Here's when the cycling taught a thing or two about zen to me. I took my time, refused to be ackowledge the pain building in my muscles and ignored my discomfort except to stop often to sip water and wipe the salt that strayed into my eyes. I marvelled at the scenery around we and reminded myself how fortunate I was to be doing what I was doing. It took a lot of mental persuasion but not once did the sneaky longing to be on fueled machine cross my mind. But after 3 grueling climbs I was more than happy to break for the night by a stream just before the last real climb towards the highway that connect to Pakbeng. By this time we also realised we need to start cooking ourselves as there were no noodle shops or fresh food of any kind to be bought along the villages we passed. We somehow survived dinner and breakfast with cold canned sardines and hard dry khao niao a villager had kindly sold to us from his own dinner leftovers.

Next morning was another tough climb that took us through more villages that never seemed to have seen foreigners ((though the bicycles do magnify their curiosity) and we were soon passing through more densly populated villages before suddenly ahead we saw what was clearly meant to be the highway 2W as marked on our map. It was a bigger wider version of the road we'd been on except the pebbles and dust was replaced by loose grey gravel delibrately laid by machines. Huge machine lay in strategic corners and trucks passed by the score. It was even more tricky pedaling on the loose gravel and with the machines lumbering past and the hills around being pillaged of their trees and earth with not a scrap of shade around, it felt quite close to passing through some Tolkien-esque wasteland.

Hellish highway

The road mercifully wasn't uphill all the way and it soon became a matter of trying not to skid on the loose gravel and stoically pedaling knowing we'd be back to the Mekong for some soul and body cleansing. The road intrestingly was being built by Thais and with the rate of progress should be completely tarred and ready in a matter on months. I had contracted some sort of a urinary infection beacause of the combination of dust, sweat and dehydration by then and nearly wept with relief when the planned highway suddenly ended right at the river. The debris had obscured the view of the river and I had been prepared for a much longer ride. Again there was a problem with the map as Pakbeng was supposed to be right across but turns out the new road and proposed future bridge lies 10-15km before the small town. Unable to consider cycling another km even we spent a good while negotiating with boatmen until one finally agreed to take us for 50,000 kip. Pak Beng exists solely because it's used as a stop over for tourists travelling from Huay Xai to Luang Prabhang. 10 years ago there was virtually nothing in the small village it was but now every second house is a guest house and fairy light decked restaurants and their garish glow light up the street at night while huge speakers blare music in the bid to attract their customers for the night. In the background the town's three generators thud and sputter all night providing power in the absence of electric lines till the last customer leaves to wake up for the early morning's scuttle back to the boats to catch the best seats for the next days cruise to Luang Prabhang.

We caught the boat as well and got to be tourists for the day. It was definitely less dynamic than pedalling and I was happy to cruise down the Mekong in the shade but I couldn't help but be almost bored after the first 5 hours. No wonder the rather constipated looks on the faces of several passengers around. Along the way we saw a rather grisly sight as we pulled up to villagers trying to sell their wildlife catch to the boats that ply this route. Laos supposedly has the best forest cover and wildlife around this part of SE Asia but this is being continously threatened by illegal logging, deforestation and to a lesser but still significant degree by hunting. And Laotians seem efficient hunters by the goods on offer. There was a young girl clutching what looked like a cuddly teddy but turned out to be but a clearly dead pygmy slow loris frozen in rigor mortis. A still bleeding mouse deer hung from another's hands while the slighly less lucky one included a squealing pangolin strung by the tail, squirrels, civets, a few sqawking barbets and mercifully dead kingfishers hung by their claws. I don't like to justify one meat over the other especially when you're travelling through a protein deprived poor nation but the sight was enough to churn my tummy and emotions. Later on I'd try to reason with my prejudices again while travelling through areas brisk with dog meat trade.

Grisly teddy; cuddly till dead

We pulled into Luang Prabhang, got throughly dismayed with the tourist mass that had taken over the town, disgusted with monk hunting camera weilding fellow tourists (when not on our bikes, we scarifice our role of travellers), bitched about unbelievably high prices and stayed comatose in our rooms stupefied by the heat for almost 5 days. It was hard to move and our bodies seemed to protest each time to planned to leave. We finally made the effort to visit some wats and tried our best to try and enjoy the UNESCO Heritage tag bestowed on the city. But when tourists outnumber locals there's clearly something amiss. But move we did and male it we did to the Chinese border taking a long route round via Phongsali but details I think I'll spare till we do enter China. I'm paranoid to the point of being almost superstitious that we'll be denied entry again if I share our story too soon. So till the next post and some pictures beside, to let you all know we'll be pedaling through Vietnam, crossing the famous Tram Ton Pass and hopefully entering China via the Heko border in Lao Cai. And yes Luang Prabhang on second visit with half the tourist population has been good enough for us to joke about coming back during monsoon to really start loving it.

Wlecom to China: A picture taken too soon.

Broken by Pai...almost

2009-02-22T01:03:00.000-08:00

Kitty saying bye in Chiang Mai

The lethargy's been seeping in with heat. Leaving Chiang Mai wasn't easy as we arrived on the weekend and so there was no way to go about getting official work for Chinese visas done. The two day's break from everyday cycling was enough to make moving even to get basics like laundry done a tough mission. To top it's getting hotter everyday. So we finally applied for our visas only the next Wednesday spending the days in between for some indulgence in food and sloth which has lately been all that we look forward to on entering a tourist cove. The town was a nice enough place but thick on the tourist trail with garish tourist pandering tacks almost everywhere. As our visas were to get ready only the Tuesday ahead we decided to head North to the hills to chase some breeze and escape the crowds.

The map showed an interesting loop west of the town towards Sa Moeng which curved along after the town further west before turning North on rough rural road till a place called Wat Chan from where it joins main route no. 1265 which links with the the highway to Pai (another tourist destination that a friend we met later described as a Khao San street in a lovely valley). We hoped to be able to complete the loop in about four days and maybe hitch hike back if need be. So off we went eager to be back on our cycles.

Cycling can be profoundly humbling experience. I need to confess I had quite a romantic idea of traveling by bicycle. Each quiet time I spent deciding whether to commit to a cycle was usually languid daydreams of coasting down gently sloping valleys in the red gold glow of a setting sun. No wonder I easily convinced myself to take the step. About an hour of steady peddling brought us to our first slope. We took a small detour that promised a cave at the end and were soon huffing up a small path along Mango plantations. The climb grew steadily steeper but I was still in good spirits. We passed our first real rural Hmong village along the way. It was a typical rustic scene as I had seen in Mizoram before. Bamboo houses on slits with pigs noisily snuffling around in their wood pens while hens clucked with their brood pecking the dusty road. A few villagers squatted along the road which also served as their front yard cooing over a small baby that exchanged hands quicker than it could nestle into the next lap that held it. I was still in a good mood. An all too short descent later we were puffing up the next steep slope which led back to the main road just as I was ready to start protesting at the effort we spent without proper breakfasts in our bellies. The road was the pass that led down to Sa Moeng. I gritted my teeth and set about peddling again but it wasn't before long a combination of tiredness hunger and irritation at the building heat got to me and I could just about do what I could to try and focus on getting to the top.

Cycling or any activity that requires the ability to withstand pain for hours is as dependent on the mind as it is on physical endurance. I fully subscribe to that in theory but have yet to really exercise it fully. The climb to the pass was my chance but halfway up the 5 km slope I really began to break. The worst is when the mind caves in before the body. I began to question all my reasons to try and cycle to China. I cringed at the confidence I must have exuded while sharing my plans with friends and family. I was under no false impression that it would be an easy ride but to suffer as much continuously for days seemed an inane act of utter stupidity with the physical ability I possessed. I reached a point where I could just gag "I can't" while trying to push my bike the next 5 metres. It wasn't before long I was cursing myself for all the hours of idle daydreaming while reading accounts of cyclists who'd travelled the world while thinking I'd love to do the same. Maybe I was better off living tgis adventure vicariously. It was an intensely humbling moment that I couldn't fight this feeling of defeat but sank into a morass of self pity. By the time the pass came in view, I had to do all I could to stop the tears from breaking out. I reached the top of the pass, looked at Ced reclining of a patch of grass below the road sign welcoming us to Samoeng, tried to speak but alarmed him by broking out into a loud gagging sob instead. I bawled my eyes out feeling utterly foolish but unable to control the sobs as they poured out unabated for a couple of minutes. I cried for all the pain it took for me to reach the hill, all the defeat I felt in me, the realization of the rough work that lay ahead if we were to continue and the naiveness with which I had excitedly decided the road to China must be peddled. I cried till the tears ran dry after which Ced forced me to take a nap though I didn't have to try hard and slept for half an hour. From here it was downhill to Sa Moeng.

Exhausted by my drama and the 1000 odd m we'd climbed during the day we stopped at a lovely guest house we found along the rustic north end of the town. Jame guesthouse was built near the strawberry field that dot this area and it was the most restful place we'd payed to stay in so far. Chomping strawberries and watching the night creep in around the fields around us I soon forgot my day's break down and soon became optimistic about the next couple of days ahead of us along the little used road that would connect us with Route 1265.

If the previous day had gone better we could have cycled another 15km to camp at Khunkhan National Park and Hot Springs. Thailand is dotted with lovely wildlife parks, though the wildlife may to restricted only to a few little mammals like porcupines and civets, and each one offers camping facilities with toilets and showers. As each one is not marked on the map it pays to do some research ahead to find a lovely campground. But we didn't regret the 500thb bill we ran up at the homestay for two delicious meals and a beautiful night's rest on stiff clean white sheets.

By this time I was resigned to the inevitable climbs we'd have as by mid day we were above 1000m and it didn't took like the hills were going to suddenly fade away in flat plains. I marveled as we rode through thick pine forests and realized we were about 1500m above sea level and at a much higher altitude from my childhood pine fringed hometown of Shillong and I could never before consider cycling to Shillong or even around the hilly town. We slept that night on the school grounds of another Hmong village called Maetala. The kids in town though excited to see cyclists weren't at all intrusive and after realizing we were looking for a place to pitch camp and have access to toilets they showed us to the school grounds and left us to unpack in peace.

Pitching camp at the Hmong village of Maetala School grounds

From here it was an almost endless rutty dirt track that took us along through dusty valleys and lovely hills and the villages that lay along them. We met or rather inhaled the dust from a few adventurers bikers as they whooshed past up on big 600cc dirt bikes. This road seemed to be popular with bikers and off road adventure jeeps taking an alternative route to Pai. Apart from that it was smiley villagers on their mopeds that made up the little traffic that plies on these demanding roads. It was with relief we finally reached Wat Chan where out of almost nowhere a beautiful tarred road greeted us. The night was spent at Wat Chan hospital grounds after locals tipped us off on the camping and lodging facilities offered by the hospital on the pine crested hill behind the main building. Next day it was back to tackling 35 km of unforgiving steep climbs and equally unnerving steep descents before we decided to hitch the rest of the way back if we wanted to be back in Chiang Mai in time to collect our visas early next morning and leave at once towards the Laos border.

A kinder winding slope...one of the few along route 1265

Thais are mostly helpful hospitable generous and kind. I remember a rather nasty fall I had along the way as my back tire punctured during a particularly potholed descent. It was then that two big dirt bikes rattled by without the riders even bothering to look not that I was badly hurt but every local on their lowly moped that passed after offered us their help. It was the same as we tried to hitch back to Chiang Mai at a junction 10 km from Pai. Many huge tourist hired and charthered almost empty SUVs passed us by without a glance till a young Thai couple who'd passed us earlier seemed to have changed their minds and they painfully backed their pick up back to where we were waiting with our dusty selves and dustier cycles. Bless them for if no one had agreed to give us a lift it would have been at least another 3 days to tackle the steep winding hills of the area. I got a little car sick on the way down my body a little unfamiliar with the motion after all the cycling we'd done.

Harnessing momentum for the climb ahead

Curious toddler in a hilltop village between Phrao and Fang

Our visas in hand and a little wiser from the knackering climb we'd gone through we estimated 7 days to reach Chiang Khong from Chiang Mai if we were to take it easy. But the first day's ride to Phrao was mercifully flat with just a few short ascents and followed beautiful valleys. The road out of Phrao was even lovelier as we passed farms along valleys and pockets of lovely wild land with a slight backwind carrying the lovely almost citrusy scent of wild flowering peas. We had two slightly demanding climbs but after the lesson from Pai it was done more or less easily. We surprised ourselves by cycling almost 109km that day and going way beyond our initial plan of stopping in Fang and managing to go upto Thathon instead. Travelling without a guide book and having only the map meant we were quite surprised to see another tourist joint in Thathon as rafting trips down to Chiang Rai are quite popular from here. Another odd 100kms and more beautiful Thai countryside as we crossed isolated pockets of villages and we got our first sight of the Mekong river and the Laos border across as we pulled into Chiang Saen after dark.

We got our first clue of the economic disparity between the two countries separated by a 10 mins boat ride while looking on at dusty truck and steam shovels hauling sand off the Laos banks while the Thai riverbank was an almost continuous line of bustling businesses offering food, massages and other epicurian distractions. It was only late in the evening that folks on the Laos shore seemd to dress down for the evening as strains of badly accompanied Karoake music wafted across the Mekong. Even then we could still se the lights of trucks moving along the sand bank hauling their sandy load as if to catch up on some long procratinated work.

across the Mekong...massage with a view of Laos sandheist

We stuck to the road parallel to the Mekong to complete the remaining 70 odd kms to pull into Chiang Kong a little after 3. It had taken us 4 days to get here instead of our estimated 7. Lessons from Pai still resounding in our head we refused to rejoice too much knowing the hills of Laos were waiting. The Laos shore beckoned us to cross over the same day and by evening we were tucking in pork laap (a lao meat salad) and Khao Soy (Noodle soup with slight traces of fermented soya bean and curried meat) in Haouy Xai. 30 days visa on arrival is available for all nationalities though the cost for Indians, Pakistanis, Afghanis and other nationalities around the Indian Peninsular have to pay 40$, 10$ more than most Europeans. The crossing was an almost banal affair of boarding a boat for a 10 minute ride across the river. Looking back at the retreating Thai shore I couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of nostalgia for the good roads, beautiful food and great people we were leaving behind but I hoped in Laos I wouldn't have the hassle of being asked if I'm Thai by almost every local I met. The only damages suffered so far was 3 punctures, a rather embaressing break down and an even more embarressing fall I had when I forgot I had fastened my toe clip only to find my feet stuck to my pedal when I braked to get off my bike. I swayed for a few micro seconds, my face freezing in horror as I realized I was falling but too panic stuck to do anothing about it before I hit dirt sideways, feet still locked on to my pedals. It took Ced awhile to shake off the laughter before coming to aid my poor moaning self as I caught the bar of my cycle square between the legs during the fall.

Puncture repairing break with mangoes waiting to ripen behind the bamboo hedge

We were back in the thick of the tourist trail as the 2 day boat ride from Haouy Xai to Luang Prabhang as thanks to Lonely Planet and assorted guide books is a must do on almost every tourist's itinerary. We spent two days in Haouy Xai watching the multitude of tourists assembling just below our guest house every morning to ensure themselves seats on the boats to Luang Prabhang from the pier below the guest house. I was glad we had the option of peddling the rutty roads that Laos is notorious for instead of being squeezed in with the the hordes on what seemed over crowded boats. We would meet some of them in a couple of days if they stayed long enough in Luang Prabhang. For now we had to gear ourselves for the roads that may or may not lead us where we want to go. Laos is one of the poorest countries of the area and has very little in terms of public infrastructure except for what the colonists left in bits of the southern regions and what the Chinese with their vested interests are supplying further north and the Thais are beginning to take over in areas close to the Western border.

This is Zen

2009-02-03T04:21:00.000-08:00

When cat's nap with angel cat guardians looking on; all's feng shui with the world.
(Chiang Mai '09. Pic courtesy Ced)

A few weird things

2009-02-03T03:55:00.000-08:00

I never met a man before who made a chore of shampooing his cock. Every weekend he steals his wife's bottled hair shiner to pour on the bright plumes of his feathered biped. For his cock is a prize fighter and one that brings him some coins and maybe more; respite from the boredom of a quiet rural life. So till the day the beak dips in the agony of defeat and pain, an hour from bubbling in a pot...the plumes will stay bright and dandruff free, shampooed clean.

I loathe lizards, I mean I used to loathe lizards till they stopped unexpectedly popping up in places I didn't want them to be after living in a gecko free house. But there was a time my brother would taunt me with songs of fried lizard meat. I thought that was only a thought that could spring in a fiendish sibling mind. Until now. I forgive you bro! And pity the poor things. (Mae Phrik market).

Ahoy! Chiang Mai!

2009-02-02T23:38:00.001-08:00

"Disco kung! Disco kung! Very aroi! Very aroi! Eat! Eat! "...Inspector Doy of A. Sam Ngao area was quite a persuasive man. He had roared past us in his Isuzu pickup, pulled into the dusty unfenced yard of a house along the road all the while yelling "me hom, me hom, come! come!". It was so far the strangest invitation we'd had and one hard to ignore. A rather conspicuous motor with a propeller strapped to the back of his pick up rather intrigued Ced, who recognized it as a rather old fashioned paragliding motor. Our curiosity piqued along with the heat of the afternoon sun beating down on us we decided to accept the invitation. It clearly wasn't a bad idea as he had just returned with two friends from what seemed to have been an excellent shrimping (fishing...shrimping?) session. But by the stale beer they reeked of it and the slightly suspect all too jolly mood they seemed to be in I wasn't too sure how long we could stay. But for the moment we couldn't refuse the cold ice and water they served us and the plate of rice that was plonked down in front of us. I suspected something amiss when one of the guys shoved some live still twitching shrimps into his mouth and invited us to do the same with encouragements of aroi! aroi! (Thai for delicious...also mostly pronounced aloi as thais don't seem to produce the rrr sound too well). I had so far evaded trying fried insects but there was no escaping this. I watched on slightly horrified as one of the guys proceeded to dress some the the very alive shrimp with chilli powder, fresh coriander, onions, salt and fresh lemon juice. I'm sure it would have smarted the shrimp like mad as it intensified their squirming while some even managed to jump out the bowl only to be picked and dumped back right in. I have to confess my mouth watered abit as I love anything dressed in lemon juice and chilli powder. I also love shrimp but I prefer them asphyxiated and clearly dead. I was served my portion in a bowl and I ate them as quick as I could hoping to shorten their suffering. At least that was what played on my mind. A couple escaped my bowl and that's when the man who introduced himself as Inspector Doy made his disco kung joke. (Kung being prawn/ shrimp in Thai) It was hard to laugh with my mouth full of squirming shrimps. The last time I'd eaten anything still alive was the quivering oysters in France. Somehow back then served with the typical French gastronomique finesse I didn't ponder the plight of the oysters too much while I squeezed my citron into their gelatinous mass. I guess the champagne had help steel some nerves and numb sympathy.

Inspector Doy as it turned out was a policeman on holiday which was why he was a little drunk, as he explained and also a paragliding instructor; which explained the motor in his pick up. Being an amateur paraglider himself, Ced soon had the willing inspector pull out the sail to check out it's span. So there we were on the 3rd day of cycling towards Chiang Mai after our little train ride to Naknon Sawon; trying to catch the wind with a rather unsteady inspector on holiday. "When drink, I no fly. No good", he conscientiously declared before wrapping up the sail and returning to his drink and disco shrimp salad. The shrimps had mercifully succumbed to air and citrus by then and lay quietly in the bowls.

We goofed up on the train to Nakhon Pathom by getting up on the wrong train. We knew there was a problem when we boarded after first loading our bicycles in the luggage van. We could find neither coach nor seats. Somehow coach no.5 had mysteriously disappeared and after no. 4 we were in no.6 which packed with young army recruits strewn all over in all possible shapes and gaps. They were on the seats, over the seats, under the seat, out in the aisles and even strung from hammocks tied to the luggage racks. Most were passed out from what seemed to have been a rather rough training camp. Luckily for us, the ones awake were extremely courteous and polite and they soon realised we had boarded the wrong train as trains had been delayed and the one we were on was the one that was supposed to have arrived at Chumphon 2 hours earlier while the train we had tickets for was delayed as well. No wonder we were surprised when we saw the train pull in exactly at the time printed on our tickets. The luggage van staff had assumed we knew what we were doing so they didn't bother to check our tickets either. So it was a rough night spent by the loo which mercifully unlike Indian train loos do not stink. We strung our hammocks and made the best of the long night.

Next day early morning we arrived in Nakhon Pathom only to find out the train we wanted to catch to Nakhon Sawan was available only from Bangkok. The next train to Bangkok was the one we had missed the previous night, Train No. 172. It was hard to not miss the irony as we waited for the train to ferry us to Bangkok. The unwelcome diversion to Bangkok wasn't so bad as we managed to catch up for a quick drink with friends who had just landed in town and we also met some dutch cyclists; a couple well into their 70's who were cycling around in their almost vintage dutch bicycles. They took their time to get around but had covered some pretty impressive distances. It was quite inspiring to meet and swap stories. We finally boarded our train at 2pm, the correct one this time and slept almost throughout the 6 hour ride to Nakhon Sawan. Ced had only a week left on his visa and we hoped to save time by skipping the busy suburban towns near Bangkok.

Nakon Sawan on the eve of the Chinese New year was rather quiet for a Chinese dominated town. Apart from the bright coca-cola sponsored red banners lining the roads there didn't seem to be much in terms of celebration. We saw a couple of lantern kites from our hotel room but I guess we were too tired to notice much else. Another unavoidable late start thanks to the sleepless night before and we were more than eager to cover as much ground as possible. We started at 11.30 am and cycled almost wordlessly with few breaks to the next town Kamphaeng Phet. We stuck to the highway almost throughout the day intent on covering the 130 odd kms that led to the town. Though unseen from the road, the highway runs parallel to the Ping river which later meets the Nan river to form Thailand's major river system, the Chao Praya at Nakhon Sawan. I made up for the lack of scenery by focusing on my Cateye bike meter and trying to maintain our average speed of 22.8km/hr. After nearly a 100 km on the main way we finally decided to take a break and follow a dirt road next to the river. The few seconds of quiet and greenery was therapeutic for our tired limbs and eyes. It was also a reminder again of how stressful traveling on a major road can be even though the highway traffic here wasn't the worst we'd seen. But the dirt road didn't run long. There were several large factories built along the river and the way was soon blocked by huge cement walls. It was infuriating. We headed back to the highway and crossed the river at the next bridge. It was a bit of a detour but the road on the opposite bank led though lovely residential areas and was mercifully free of highway traffic. By the time we reached Khampaeng Phet and pulled into a roadside restaurant to eat we were at 140.7 kms and drained of energy. Maybe it was the tiredness but both of us were rather grumpy and it resulted in another small session of snapping at each other and bickering about the menu. Luckily we still laugh and check ourselves in time before things get unnecessarily heated. I guess it's going to take a lot more time for the cyclist's zen to build.

The next day was a long round about detour along rd no. 1109 to avoid the highway on our way to Tak. The rural road we took was the least inhabited we crossed so far and led through large patches of dry scrub forest. For a change the few houses we crossed seemed poorer than in the South and land less fertile. We saw less of people lounging around their varendas and munching food, which seems to be a national pastime. The temperature was 33c in the hot midday sun and the going was tough with the heat. By this time I had shed my shorts for my long cotton FabIndia pants which shielded my legs (burnt almost black) better from the hot burning sun. The scenery soon took a turn for the better as we got nearer to Tak. Tak turned out to be a really pleasant town built along the river with almost every kind of shop including a Trek bicycle outlet and a huge book store where we bought a pretty good road atlas. It also had an excellent night market by the riverside where we stuffed ourselves stall-hopping.

Next day's ride was the most pleasant so far as we stuck close to the river following the secondary road marked on our new atlas. Escaping the highway was a simple matter of crossing a bridge and following the western bank northwards. A short while after the bridge we came across a welding factory with a huge bicycle adorning the entrance. I'm sure many cyclists would have posed next to it and we couldn't help but stop for our first team picture.

cycle, cycle, big cycle

It was a scenic ride through paddy fields, banana and mango plantations, pepper farms and other farm lands till we reached Sam Ngao a little after which we had our encounter with Inspector Doy and disco kung. The road after A. Sam Ngao takes a beautiful inviting winding diversion westwards to the Bhumibhol Dam but we had to decline and continue North. We stopped for the night at Mae Phrik village were locals dissuaded us from trying to explore a road marked on our larger map but leading to a conspicuous dead end on the Atlas we had bought. The road reappears again at Ko waterfalls. It seemed the road led through a jungle and there was no way to cross by bicycle. It led to a small argument as Ced was even excited with this bit of news while till our little compromise, I was keen to taking the shortest route to Chiang Mai to save time as his visa was running short again. We finally decided to further extend the visa if need be but take time to explore all we could while we had the chance.

At first light we were off towards the dead end road. It led along a valley where a dam is being built. There were quite a few locals using the roads so we were confident it wouldn't be a dead end. The road did stop right at a village but there was an alternative small road that continued. The locals here knew of the road to Ko waterfalls and pointed us in the right direction. As it turned out the road passed through a small protected forest area and was not much more than a rough dirt track. We stopped to ask the ranger if it was possible to cross forest to join the road that connects Ko waterfalls with Pha Phueng village from where road continues. He was quite delighted to see cyclist and waved us on merrily assuring us it was possible and to just stick to the right at each fork. The road was a proper mountain biker's dream for downhill descents but more than a painful sore with our road bikes uphill. I mostly pushed, pulled and dragged my bike while riding in the few places the road permitted. But thanks to the novelty of the situation and the fact that we were in a forest completely alone, I barely noticed we were slowly ascending. After a couple of hours and more than a few wrongs turns, tosses and tumbles with a few bruises we finally did reach the end of the forest and the road. The rangers on the opposite side of what serves as the entrance of Mae Ping National Park seemed quite surprised to see us. At least we didn't have to pay an entrance fee this time using the gate only to exit.

It was during our blissful freewheeling downhill coast that I realised we had made at least a 600 m ascent through the forest. After a small break at Pha Pheung we continued on the road that seemed to continue to slope downhill through the beautiful valley of Mae Kong Wa.

Coasting through Mae Kong Wa Valley (picture doesn't do justice)

To our delight we found a merry market carrying on in full swing next a football field. Turns out it was an inter-school football event between villages and so another reason for the inhabitants around to party. We stuffed ourselves with different sausages, meatballs and different barbecue grills that seem to be an ubiquitous part of Thai street cuisine before continuing through the valley to break for the night at a bamboo shelter built by a chorten near a small stream.

Morning after night spent near Mae Kong Wa village

The night was chilly enough to wake us up several times and decide we'll have to look for a tent in Chiang Mai. At least we were off to an early start and before long we found ourselves back on an unavoidable highway with Chiang Mai less that 80 kms away. We decided to take it easy and stop early to break at Chom Thong town to complete the remaining 70 odd kms to Chiang Mai the next day. From Chom Thong we had several options that stuck us to country lanes till we pulled into the suburban residential layouts around Chiang Mai where we saw our first firangs after a week on a their rented shiny black Honda Phantom cruiser looking rather lost and ridiculous with helmets too big and gothic for their white shorts and matching sleeveless netted T-shirts. We had arrived. 1007 km on the odometer.

Because I love the King

2009-02-01T06:05:00.000-08:00

Step off the boat at the Tha Thien pier along the mighty Chao Praya River that flows through the mightier Bangkok city scape and you'll find him. Scraping rusty notes from what sounds before you bother to throw a glance, like an all too battered violin bereft of antiquity. Look twice and you'll see the notes are not borrowed of wood but a broken oil can. Redeemed of it's toxicity it's contents long chugged to aid an engine sputter, it's now bound by strings, coaxed by a salvaged battery and loving worn hands; to spill out notes high and low but never shrill. We stop to wonder and without invitation are told why he stands where he is. "Because I love the king", he declares with flourish. "And because you also love the world", we reply filled with adoration for the little man fashioning music from broken oil cans. "Yes! I love the world and I love my king...", he replied "and here's a song to save the world..." as he spun another mournful piece from the yellow plastic can.

Across the Isthmus: The Andaman Sea to the Gulf of Siam

2009-02-01T03:35:00.000-08:00

Paknam Laung Suan Beach Road

Struggling to control my breathing as in came out in ragged gasps while straining every muscle in my leg working the pedals I tried to focus my mind on the descent that lay after the climb. It didn't work. I'm not sure which caved in first my mind, my lumber region or my thighs. Mentally screaming at myself for being so weak I nearly sobbed leaning on my handle bar. Several trucks lumbered past on low gear honking their encouragement. I could only smile faintly and wave weakly back. One truck even stopped by my bicycle and made signs to me to hang on for a free lift to the top but I didn't fancy the thought of breathing in all the fumes that trailed behind. Thankfully I felt better as my breathing stabilized and I reminded myself once again this was good training for the high mountain passes I might one day take. I started peddling again but with the wind blowing straight at me, I was nearly knocked off my cycle while shifting one gear lower. I had to stop again. It was my 3rd pass as I didn't seem to be getting any stronger. Watching Cedric bob away around another curve at apparent ease didn't help. I knew he'd be waiting again at the top of the pass for a good while. Maybe it was the stress of the moment but just the though of it irritated me. I have to confess I had been snapping at him quite a bit lately. We hadn't agreed entirely on the Ranong crossing idea but I finally conceded and even got excited by the time we started towards the town. But the general sordidness of the pier on both shores along with the disappointing let down of not being even able to ride our bicycles around Ranong got to me and I hadn't been in the most agreeable mood for a while. It is something I have to watch out for. With the long road ahead tempers flaring unnecessarily is something to be avoided. For now it was peddle a 100 meters, stop to reason with self and peddle again. By the time the pass came in view I wasn't even nodding my acknowledgment to the thumbs up and honks from passing cars.

This part of Southern Thailand maybe the narrowest stretch of the peninsula but it's far from flat. Low lying undulating hills mark the area between the two seas and we seemed to be the highest road of the region - the highway connecting Ranong with the eastern town of Luang Suan where we were headed. Luckily for me there was only one pass but once crossed the road refused to run flat. All too short descents gave just about enough momentum to climb halfway up the next ascent after which it was grit teeth and peddle painfully till tipping over the next slope. At least I had a view of the lay of the land from the vehicles that zoomed past to disappear down one slope only to reappear again in the distant horizon. This went on for hours. By the time we finally reached flat land that promised no further surprises we had clocked 98 kms. We decided to skip the main town and instead head to the Paknam Lang Suan Beach town that lay another 14 km away. It turned out to be a good decision as we were welcomed by a lovely relaxed town with a really pretty sea face. To top it the place was throughly devoid of "firangs" and the locals seemed quite happy to welcome us. We stopped by a store cum stop-for-a-drink place by the beach to celebrate my first 112.8km run across the Istmus from the Andaman Sea to The gulf of Siam with a beer. Thais love being outside and almost every home and shop has a sit out with benches and tables outside where you'll normally find the entire family and/or customers chilling out with drinks and food. The store owner also rented out the showers for beach visitors to use and thought it was a lovely idea to string up our hammocks and camp by the beach for the night. After a quick dip in the shallow blue sea (which had a rather muddy floor thanks to run off from the estuary nearby but lovely none the less) and a shower after we headed off to find food and settle for the night.

After a lovely night's rest and a beautiful morning view of the sea from our hammocks we started the trip back towards Chumphon though this time by the narrow local coast roads.

Shrimpfisher struck by dawn

As we didn't have a detailed map for this region we just stuck as close as we could to the sea. We made several dead end turns and took some false roads but it was worth the beautiful coconut plantations and coastal farms and villages they led through. At one point after reaching another dead end that led to a fishing port by the bay we decided to take a short cut through the lovely Royal Prince of Chumphon College of Fishery campus only to find the gate on the opposite end locked. Not wanting to waste time we simply unloaded our bags and hoisted bags and cycles over the ten foot high gates while campus staff waved and looked on lazily from a distance. I'm constantly amazed at how genial thais can be. I guess they didn't have the keys either or else they would have sure come with it.

Sawi Estuary

Ban Bo Kha Village

The ride took us along the Ao Sawi Bay (Ao being bau in Thai) and along the estuary that meets the Sawi river. Another missed turn took us down to yet another picturesque fishing village, Ban Bo Kha before we settled on the country road that led all the way to Chumphon. 23 kms out of Chumphon we rejoined the highway only to scoot off after two minutes of blearing truck engines and assorted highway traffic zooming past us.The highway route may be the shortest but definitely the most painful.

Beware of crossing cows

We hit a dirt track parallel to the single track railroad that led through more winding country roads and friendly smiles from locals before finally pulling in Chumphon tired but happy after our 98.43 km ride that took us through some of the lesser visited parts of South Thailand. From Chumphon we clambered onto a North Bound Train that will lead us to Nakon Pathom near Bangkok from where we'll take the roads that lead to Chiang Mai. Further North and Further East!

The Road to Ranong and Dead End Return

2009-01-22T04:42:00.000-08:00

A pound of cancer anyone? Tobacco never looked so pretty. Nong Ya Plong market.

Sunday morning the 18th and we're in Chumphon, a little town 8 hours from Bangkok by train. Having arrived rather late the night before, an early morning start was rather improbable but we didn't expect to start the day so late. It was past 9 by the time we could finally summon the energy to saddle up the bikes. The internet place downstairs informed us we couldn't use the printer after we'd selected the route we wanted to take towards Ranong so we had to look around for another internet palour with a printer that worked so that further stalled us. A rather prolonged breakfast followed with a small chat session with another pair of cyclists that just rode into town. By the time we finally started peddling it was 12 noon. We had spent more than 10 days in Bangkok looking for the perfect bicycles. The search took us through the sprawling flea markets of China town, all the up market bicycle showrooms in town and almost all the travel companies offering bicycle tours. We hoped to get second hand bike but it was soon apparant it wasn't going to be easy to find a good second hand. The few we saw were rather archaic heavy models. Probike, the best known bicycle shop in town had some pretty Trek models but all above our budget. The staff also seemed rather busy to handle our queries and didn't have too many inputs for us. Finally on some obscure lead we made our way back to the Worachak area aound China town where we came across the Merida showroom. The owner was a rather shy nervous man but he did have sound technical knowledge about bicycles and was intrested enough to offer the best of his inputs. Merida is still a fairly new brand and while it has fairly descent reviews, we were a little unsure. But with some research and added suspension forks and other minor modifications we had two rather impressive looking touring bike ready for a slightly expanded budget. The look was good but we wouldn't be completely satisfied till we baptised them through some dusty roads.

The decision to travel as much as possible by bicycle had been a long contemplated one but I was always apprehensive about my fitness to do it. One week in Bangkok and as plans were hatched to continue travelling towards China and deciding on our mode of transport I finally dared to suggest cycling as far as I could and god willing we'd make it to China. Cedric had already made many road trips by bicycle but it would be a first for me, the max being around 80 kms I had done with Dundee from Bangalore to Fireflies on Kanakpura Road and back. So we decided to test out my stamina and ability by renting bikes and cycling to Kaeng Krachan National Park. We printed out maps from Google and made the trip by small off roads for almost all the way clocking around 150 kms till the National Park entrance where we spent three beautiful days exploring the bit we could of Thailand's biggest national park. On the way we passd and slept in lovely villages and were overwhelmed by Thai hospitality. Most memorable was pitching camp in the weekly market area of a village called Nong Ya Plong thinking the market would be a weekend one only to be awakened and invited home by people living next door as the market was to start the next morning at 5am. We visited the market the next morning and were plied with freebies at almost each stall we visited. It was the random acts of kindness and encouragement from people along the way that made me decide cycling was the way to go though I did suffer in the one major uphill we crossed along the way. Hopefully peddling along daily would build my stamina along the way. And that's how we left Chumphon for Ranong where we had to go to renew Cedric's visa and also to try our luck to see if we could cross over to Myanmar to see what the whether we could travel beyond the border town of Kawthaung. The route was open for a few travellers in 2005 where they could travel by boat towards Yangon.

The road out of Chuphon led along the main highway for the first 7 kilometres after which we crossed into a smaller arterial road that ran almost parallel to the highway but with enough distance in between to hide all signs of the busy highway. Thailand has amazing roads. There are roads almost everywhere and it's only rare rural patches that still remain untarred though work is being done on them as well. The main roadways are always endless stretches of beautiful tarmac. For now we were happy with the rough off road with was a good chance for us to test our bikes and also gave us a sense of really being on a seldom travelled road.

The country lanes led us through alternating palm and rubber plantations with a few scattered houses with people cheerfully calling out helloes from the shady comfort of the wide varendas that every thai home seems to have. The road was far from being a flat stretch and was a good warm up for both bike and rider. Soon it was a proper work out and just as I felt I'd expended enough enery on uphills for a day we were back on the highway. It was a good 30 km stretch covered on the dirt track and I was more than ready to brave some fumes than another killing rough slope. Luckily for us the traffic on this stretch isn't too heavy and we were gliding along on beautiful roads for the rest of the day's ride.

Along the way we crossed the Isthmus of Kra, the narrowest part of the Malayan Peninsula that forms a 53 km bottleneck between the Andaman Sea and the Gulf of Siam. We stopped at a viewpoint that allowed good glimple of the Mayanmar shore just across the Kra Buri river before it melts into the Andaman Sea. We made our stop at the village of Kra Buri where we stayed at a cosy roadside guesthouse called Pannika Resort. We had covered 70 kms by then.

A long night's struggle with mosquitoes after we foolishly slept with the door ajar for fresh air ensured we were off to another late start. After we finally started peddling and barely made it 2 km out of town we saw an inviting diversion from the highway in the form of a board that promised a waterfall 10 kms away. Deciding the road was more important than arriving on time we pushed off towards it. I was happy for the choice we made as we passed through lovely undulating countryside that remined me a lot of parts of Assam and the road to Shillong. That we passed a lot of betel nut palms with the nuts drying on the roadside made me a little nostalgic for the North East of India. But this was beautiful recompense. And the alternating ascents and free wheeling descents made it the best ride so far. We didn't dare spend much time at the Bok Krai waterfall which was actually within the Thungraya Nasak Wildlife Sanctuary. The entrace was 100thb with camping for the night but as we just wanted to visit and head back towards Ranong the lady gaurd finally let us in for 100thb for both of us. Our little diversion and plus the fact we again took a diversion from the highway to take a longer arterial road to Ranong made us break for te night along the way. But I tackled my first pass along the way. A stretch of tedious uphill that rand for around 2 kms. I did make several stops but cycled it up trying to think of cyclist who'd taken the Karakoram Highway. Around 25km from Ranong we decided to stop at the nearby Hat Yai Hot Springs and camp for the night. After a lovely bath at the hot springs frequented by locals we were invited by the range to sleep in the quarters instead stringing up our hammocks, an offer we couldn't decline. It was quite amusing to locals arriving on mopeds with only their towels on for their evening bath. We spent a lovely evening with some beers while trying to communicate in scraps of random English and Thai words.

The next morning was another blearly start. This was becoming an irritating habit. But we did reach Ranong finally and made it down to Sapanpla Pier a futher 7 kms from town. A slight problem with my visa status and having to get a re-entry permit tokk all afternoon and we finally had to postpone crossing to Myanmar for another day.

The Myanmar crossing didn't work. I had a sinking feeling it wouldn't but really didn't expect Kawthaung to be so closeted. We had early on decided if it didn't work we'd spend some days in the town and visit nearby places for a few days before heading back to Thailand. Turns out our visas had to be transferred to Yangon first so the only option we had was to fly, a decision we had pre-decided not to take. The immigration and tourism officers were quite courteous however and unnecessarily apologized for the inconvenience. It was possible to travel by boat before but new military rulings completely forbade it now. We also weren't allowed to roam outside the town limits and being rather worried that we might wander too far out with our cycles, we were asked to leave them at the office. Kawthaung is quite a dead end town with peksy touts in the visa re-issueing business which is the only reason foreigners come here. As we had to hire a guide even to visit the beach we decided to admit defeat and head back. The town is a little bit like a non-descript dirty mid-way Indian town and I was in no mood to be reminded of that. But we did have an excellent dal roti sabji meal at a local tea house run by a man of some strange Bangladeshi-Burmese descent. In fact half the locals here seemed and looked quite mixed up between east coat Indians, Bangladeshis and Burmese. Or maybe that's why they were by the pier in the first place. We also met an interesting local officer cum school teacher cum journalist appointed by state who seemed really eager to talk about India's economic state and we couldn't help but exchange email addresses in case of a later visit. So it was back to Ranong and end of trip report first half. Unsuccessful except that we're happy with our bike after 206.5 kms of the primary test and we have the required visas to plan next step. Tomorrow we plot the best route back North and towards Laos. We're still hopelessly amateur at this right now but I can feel some character building.

Quick Takes #3

2009-01-17T08:04:00.000-08:00

Never fool with your camera ISO setting when in a National Park. Experimenting or rather fiddling around with the camera's ISO meter one night pretending to film nightlife, we forgot to set it back. Guess what happened to the next day's wildlife sighting perks. All shot in morning light with 800 ISO before realising the idiocy of it. Double damn but a lesson learnt. But you can still spot a. dusky langurs
b. some kind of civet
c. some kind of gibbon
d. and with certainty a red bearded bee eater.

Condensed Fortnightly

2009-01-17T07:34:00.000-08:00

It's a tough job to try and condense the weeks that passed. I hoped to be able to chronicle all that was wonderful these last few days. But perhaps it was the ill-planned days or maybe we'll blame it on sudden delays of appointments made or even
the unexpected call from a new found friend.
But it's been hard to put in words all I'd love to share with you...

So in a few odd words and ill rhymed lines
I'll speak in brief of sore butts that heckled
worse than the burning sun
when we cycled down to Kaeng Krachan

We spotted lots of gibbons
And porcupines none too rare
A hornbill there and a civet there
Smelt an elephant too as he whooshed by the hammocks
That held us and all we carried
From Bangkok to Kaeng Krachan

Yes! we slept in hammocks
Too ill-equipped even for a measly tent
And peddled dusty roads
and meddled with maps

Lost our way we did
More than thrice the fingers I can hold
While rattling down a rutty road

But we did find and oh in plenty
Kind people and gifts that come rare
Pineapple from a sweet faced lady here
A bed there and a blanket too
Not to forget the smiles on the way

And best of all

The knowledge that the world's often a better place
When travelling the roads where rare people dwell.

P.S: Forgive me mamma for killing good verse
But it's often better than droning out prose.

Quick Takes #2

2009-01-17T05:57:00.001-08:00

It pays to have local friends to get the best bites in town. After business hours dishing in Sukiyaki communal style.

N.B: Be it friend or foe you dine with, dare ye not ask for the serving spoon.

Quick Takes #1

2009-01-17T05:42:00.000-08:00

When in Bangkok and confused for food just look for these to pick and choose...

The Arriving and Settling In

2009-01-17T03:39:00.000-08:00

The king and co.

You don't mess with monarchy or religion here.

We descended into a Bangkok twilight an hour before sunrise and the dawning after Christmas. The gaudy tinsel decorations in the airport were already beginning to droop as if aware of the fate awaiting them next; a big yellow garbage truck. For now they had reason to linger on till the dawning of the New Year…

Reporting at immigrations I got my first taste of the homecoming that awaited me in Thailand. The officer snorted in surprise when I handed in my blue Indian passport and took a second good look at my face. “You look like Thai”, he finally exclaimed while stamping me in. This was to become routine everywhere I went. After spending years in the south end of my home country explaining “I am an Indian from the North Eastern parts and yes that’s why I don’t look like you”, it was a fair change to explain “yes I look like you but I’m an Indian from the North Eastern parts and so I don’t look Indian”.

As we left the airport in a comfortable a/c airport shuttle bus I couldn’t help but notice how everything around seemed to be a cleaner better version of how any major Indian city can be. For one the ground crew were prettier and seemed to fit into their smart short skirted suits better than their Chennai airport counterparts and there weren’t any touts heckling passengers. But I did spot an extremely agitated Indian gentleman rushing around frantically looking for the fastest means of transport to Pataya. As I was to find out later, Pattaya is the closest place to Bangkok for all the illicit carnal pleasures that have indelibly marked the country since American GI’s made Thailand their favourite R&R playground during the Vietnam War. Something made me guess our gentleman was in a big hurry to make best use of the weekend ahead.

We got down near the landmark Democracy Monument in Banglamphu, an area popular with travellers for the cluster of cheap lodging around. Bangkok’s equivalent to the main street of Anjuna Beach lies here. Khao San Road is unavoidable at times for the conveniently located ATM’s, FE’s and department stores but that’s if you can stomach the garish tourist black hole it’s become. Rows of street stalls selling clothes, quick bites, fake IDs, CD’s, tattoos, hair braids and dread locks fight for space with bars that spill into the street each blaring out bass thumping crappy electronica or the heard one too many reggae or rock numbers and not to forget the hoards of tourists that seem to continually march up and down this seedy stretch. But that said Khao San is inescapable on the tourist’s itinerary for the sheer incongruousness of this least Thai part of town.

The Democracy Monument looms large on the huge Ratchadamneon Khlang (Road) that holds it. It was built to commemorate the transition from absolute monarchy to a constitutional one in 1932. While the size is imposing I kind of expected something more elaborate from the Italian designer behind it. But the four prongs of this structure remains a favourite ground for political rallies demonstrations, the most infamous one being the one that left more than 50 people

dead in 1992; the most recent being the PAD (yellow shirts) anti-Thaksin protests that held Suvarnabhumi airport hostage for two days before making way for the new PM, the rather handsome Abhijit Vejjajiva who in yesterday’s paper was accused by opposition of being too western and far removed from the rural majority after publicly sharing his appreciation for the new Guns and Roses and Oasis albums. The same article also listed Arctic Monkeys and the Killers as being some of his favourite current bands.

Bangkok was for business and shopping was business. After a couple of hours sleep I was introduced to a fraction of all the excesses that this city seemed to offer. First was the food. There was food everywhere. Countless little roadside restaurants with plastic chairs and restaurants and street corner trolleys with everything from sausages to frappe, fresh fruit, sushi and smoked dried squid seemed to line every street. Then there are the shopping zones. Apart from the upmarket mall infested areas around Pratinum and Siam Square there are flea markets galore. Morning markets give way to all day long street markets after which with dusk the night flea markets slowly colonize pavements around the city.

When people talk of Bangkok as shopping paradise believe it. The Pratinum Siam Square area is famous for the behemoth shopping malls that it houses. Thais love fashion and there is a huge industry to cater to every whim and fancy of changing trends. Mini-shorts were the latest thing in for the moment and it seemed that every self respecting Thai girl withany clue of fashion had to have a pair. There was no dearth of legs on view. Work meant spending many days walking the vast expanses of these colossal glitzy buildings till we finally hit nausea point. I’ll not elaborate on the days spend on selecting, designing and refitting garments for this years collection nor on Bangkok’s dizzying consumerist coddling side but to give a petite picture, they actually have skywalks interconnecting different shopping malls so shoppers can mall hop without stepping into the humid Bangkok air.

Apart from the hedonistic and materialistic side of Bangkok, a majority of its residents are extremely devout. The roofs of numerous wats and phrangs are very much part of the Bangkok skyline as are skyscrapers that flaunt the economic flatulence (may I use this word?) the city seems to enjoy.

So this is a bit about the Bangkok that overwhelmed me during the first week of my stay without getting into the bits about the proliferation of prostitutes and lady boys that have always been a rather incomprehensible part of Thai culture. While a little unsettling I have to add that I have yet to see anyone being rude or vulgar with a street walker. There’s one whose turf is the street outside our hotel and I’m happy to say receive the same courteous treatment as she does while drinking coffee at the café down the road.