Krakatoa (Indonesia)

“Many a trip continues long after movement in time and space have ceased” - John Steinbeck

I carried further south into Indonesia. I should have reversed directions if it weren't for the momentum pressing me in that way - south of the equator and into a new hemisphere and a new country - but as it was, I followed the natural progression of any traveler with his nose pinned to a certain degree of the compass. I entered Jakarta to the realization that it was no place to linger for long, and readily made my way to Sumatra, and the small shore town of Kalianda. All the while I was traveling; whether it be by bus, or ferry, or taxi, or by foot, I was alone in my foreign skin with my foreign affairs and my foreign gait. Surely South Sumatra is off any tourist route, and I found it out by the countenance of surprise on every local as I passed them by en route to no where in particular. Now, Indonesia is a Muslim country and as it happened to be the month of Ramadan and all the locals were traveling back to their villages and towns to be with family, it also happened that I was tramping through it all as passively as if I was traveling through a super market. To suggest the locals were confused by my attendance on their holiest of weeks would be correct but in need of an upgrade. Perhaps flabbergasted. I don't suppose I pass as a Muslim on any day of the calender year. As I strolled meaningless down the streets in search of necessities like food and water, parents would alert their children of the stranger behind them with a tap on the shoulder and a point in his direction, and the children would be struck possessed judging by their long and deep gazes. And as for the older children, why, I have never known a simple “Hello” to bring a group of respectable looking adolescents into spontaneous smiling and euphoric laughter. But this was the way of the town, and I grew quite comfortable with my instant celebrity, even sometimes thinking I deserved it. Once they were over their shock, and I got to communicating, I understood them to be very happy and hospitable people, always willing to point a wandering jackass in the right direction, and most times with a smile to go with it. Yes, it was good enough town, I think.

Now, to the matter of why I was in Kalianda to begin with: Krakatoa Volcano. It has international fame as one of the most powerful, and one of the most deadly eruptions in recorded human history. It also has international fame as being one of the most seismically active and dangerous volcanoes today. When it last erupted in 1883, it killed multitudes of Javanese and Sumatrans who were unfortunate enough to be caught in its demon path of fire, mud, hurling projectile boulders, and steaming, boiling ash. The scene would have been taken from the hallways of Hell. The scores of villages and communities obliterated from existence not even being the whole story. See, the volcano was so powerful that it blew itself off the map; this is to be taken literally if this is to be taken accurately. Once all the ash settled over thousands of new graves, the location where Krakatoa once stood in the Straights of Sumatra was entirely ocean. Indeed, it erupted so violently as to remove itself from the geographic space which we call the surface of the earth. By and by, in 1927, Krakatoa's offspring appeared in the form of Anak Krakatoa; several lava flows creating a new island volcano where its father once ruled. I would visit this ill-tempered child of the sea, as I wished to witness its volatility on a personal level close up and first hand. Volatility is best taken this way. Perhaps I would even tell it some jokes to ease the tension, but not before I saw its thermal features, the jokes perhaps rendering it dormant.

Very well, as comedy would have it, I entered into a double outrigger canoe with bamboo trunks for floatation, a weed whacker motor for propellant, a cracked slab of wood for rudder, a paint job for laughter, and a crew for the same. I was assured the thing was sea worthy by the man who was capitalizing from the day; the man who profited either in the success or failure of the voyage; him being paid up front, and insisting on it from the beginning of negotiations. He would be on land counting the money I had given him while I would be out on the sea battling the high swells of the straights with his three crew members who could not speak English. One of these smoked the whole while, another bailed out water which continued coming into the hull, and the third - our captain, our leader, our navigator, the man in charge of our lives, well, he was busy in and out of sleep at the helm. Presumably, he had perfected this strategy of piloting over the years to enhance his alertness in case of trouble. See, he would be well rested and ready to tackle any emergency that arose. Why, the only emergency was that he was steering the damned thing! Anyway, this motley crew of rubes did their job, which apparently was to keep me alive, so I suppose all that was not lost was gained; except the 95 dollars.

The island of Anak Krakatoa smolders with sulfurous steam winding up through its various vents. As the wind shifts direction, one gets the full wall of odor at once, and then is relieved by another shift in wind direction. During these intervals of fresh breathable air, I hiked up the flank of the volcano over basalt so sharp that it cut through my boots with little effort. As I approached the last safe outlook before the cone became too dangerous to go further, I rested and took in the whole thing. Indeed, the volcano is alive with activity and seems almost to have a personality, and not a particularly nice one. In fact, I think if it could say anything, it has already said it in 1883, and will invariably say it again for all those within earshot, though it shall certainly be a short lesson! Very well, I had my time enjoying the Jurassic feel of the landscape with all its eccentricities and peculiarities and, by and by, I left the island and its blackness behind in favor of the white sand beaches of the mainland, where I laid content the rest of the day, thus ending this chapter of Krakatoa.  

Here and There (Malaysia)

“Now that we are poor, we are free” - Sitting Bull

Traveling on a budget is a bothersome thing. And, I suppose even in Southeast Asia a man should come to terms with the generality that spending money means he does not have that money any more. It is not green and it does not have a US president on it, so therefore it can be spent and spent with not a care or worry. In fact, some of the money is plastic and could readily pass for fake money, or money used in a child's game.  Certainly, at times, treating it as valueless has been great fun, but it does indeed have value, and value enough to plant me in Peninsular Malaysia for two weeks trying to recover my budgets dignity because of

errant spending in weeks previous. Well then, first I battened down the hatches in Kuala Lumpur and then decided the big city was no place to properly relax while budget recovering, so I journeyed back to the east coast destined for the small shore town of Cherating. As is requisite of any big city, I shall describe Kuala Lumpur as much as it needs describing and then leave it alone to go about its big city business. It is special for its relative diversity of Indian, Chinese, and Malays. Of course, among them are a large group of foreigners, as tends to be true of any large and cumbersome metropolis where financial matters are the main concern. I had the pleasure of staying in Chinatown with all the other irresponsible travelers. Very well, I explored the city as much as a curious wanderer with no funding cares to explore a city. I saw the Petronas Towers, some mosques of varying significance, some Hindu temples of varying irregularity, some restaurants worthy of revisit, some standard Asian shopping malls with unnecessary size and more floors than reason would suggest, and a cast of malevolent street characters – none of whom brought me any joy, but they brought me no usefulness. When a big city's quality of individualism wears off, one merely walks about tall buildings and filthy back streets with little purpose and no objective; similar to the stray cat and dog, and like the stray cat and dog, he fills only his basis needs. This was me on my last day in Kuala Lumpur so I immediately booked a bus ticket to the beach!

Cherating was my beach of choice. It is pushed up against the east coast of Peninsular Malaysia like the jelly fish that are pushed up against its shores. The beach itself is one long tidal flat where the water retreats two hundred yards daily according to the moons influence. It is famous for two things, and two things only: sea turtles and surfing. As the season only suggested investing in the former, it is where I put my money. See, the waves are quite pathetic during our summer months.

They meekly lapse over themselves, groveling as they make their way to your feet, and once they get to your feet, they are so exhausted that they lay there with no energy to speak of; it is a shameful spectacle. If only they would embarrass themselves at another beach, perhaps one without such a high reputation! At least the flats make for good lounging about, and the rather sedate tides make for a good bathing temperature, surely. It was the most objective-less week of my life thus far. Seemingly, life consisted of sleep walking to the beach 100 ft. from my door, falling onto the sand and then falling into sleep again. I should only compare it to college, I think, where the classroom was the beach.

By and by, I found myself releasing sea turtles into the ocean. It is at night when the enormous 200 lbs. mother turtle comes ashore to lay her eggs and then retreat back into the warm ocean. My task was to watch her struggle digging a hole, then to watch her struggle crawling back to the water, and then to watch her struggle swimming against the current; I did a wonderful job. Afterward, my job was to set down a previously born sea turtle and let it struggle its own way into the ocean. It was a magnificent feeling to participate in such a rare and beautiful thing. We released 100 baby turtles in all. As they swam away under our dim headlamps, I couldn't help but to think how graceful they were once in the water, and how precious an event it was, and how meaningful my participation was, and how amazing nature can be, and how quiet the night, and how magical. Also, I couldn't help but to think that statistically, every single one of those baby sea turtles

would be devoured by malicious and starving fish not five minutes after we let them go. See, they cannot dive at such a young age, and as they float about, dumb and blind on the surface, they become easy prey for nearly every hungry thing in the ocean. If our headlamps were a bit more powerful, why, we could have seen it as it happened! The fish were fed, I suppose that is also magical.

Now, there happens to be some minor glitches in the whole thing: corruption and tourists. Of course, the witless tourist is led to believe he is helping conserve the species, and preserve their existence for all the future generations of this peaceful planet, but, indeed, he is a fool as his title suggests. While he is bathing in his humbleness and his good will toward Mother Earth, he is flashing the mother turtle like paparazzi at the red carpet, despite numerous warnings that it may just well blind its delicate eyes. He touches the shell and fins while she is on her quiet way back into the ocean, again, despite numerous warnings it could have negative impacts on the natural birthing processes of the mother. But, alas, he gets his picture and his story, so all is forgiven. And, the fee he pays goes in large part to the conservation of the species! In fact, more than half of what he pays goes directly into the sea turtle preservation project. What a hero he is! Why, if I believe that, I believe dogs and cats are old friends! If my fee goes in any part toward the honest preservation of sea turtles in Malaysia then Jupiter is a moon of Saturn, and the tuk-tuk ride is not a belligerent scam. God bless their souls, the people in charge of logistics. They are local volunteers who dedicate themselves to a cause that seems failing, and see no money for it. Every night they are out attempting to protect the sea turtles from the marauding villager who comes to steal the eggs and sell them, and the savage tourist who comes to steal common sense and never use it. May they be rewarded one day.

PS: all pictures taken here were done so WITHOUT flash.

Lolling About The Tropics

“I am happiest when I am idle. I could live for months without performing any kind of labor, and at the expiration of that time I should feel fresh and vigorous enough to go right on in the same way for numerous more months” - Artemus Ward

Planes, trains, and automobiles connect China to the South of Thailand. Exercising laziness is the only practical way to experience beaches at this latitude, and the only practical way to experience that laziness in its completeness and give it the attention that it merits is to do it with a towel, some beer, and a snorkel and mask. This combination of things is perfect. I tested these materials in the laboratories of Koh Tao Island, Thailand, and Tioman Island, Malaysia, with fantastic results! The moment I felt too active, I stopped, managed myself, and drank a beer. When I was back in suitable comfort and ease, I rolled into the crystal waters like a fat seal, snorkeled some, then emerged and fell onto a towel. Most of my days on the islands rolled around in this cycle much like clothes in a washing machine. Of course at night, by manner of nature, I had to think up some other activity to occupy my time, so I did my thinking in open air bars on the coral shores under the dim light of candle and torch. I suppose I thought on it all night, every night, mainly, as I

don't recall leaving the bar for anything other than walking on the beach and drinking more beer while doing that. I was always too drunk to think of a better place to drink. By and by, I found enough on the island of Koh Tao to keep me happy and relaxed both day and night, and that is always the goal of the worn and tired traveler, I think. In fact, on Koh Tao, my only true exertion was to calculate and follow marine life with my eyes during the long days. It was a difficult task at first, but I mastered it in time. It was an especially difficult task when I rode on a party boat around the island, stopping five times to snorkel; the first stop: Shark Bay. Now, it was

here my eyes had the hardest time. They had the challenge of determining reality against fantasy. The Black Tip Shark they saw meandering through the shallow coral was, then, fantasy - according to my brain - but my eyes insisted it was a reality. Some gentle back and forth followed; then some aggressive discussion; my eyes had to challenge my brain, and that is never an easy thing for my eyes to do; my brain being a stubborn thing; but, alas they persuaded it to agree, and then all of me accepted it as a Black Tip Shark 10 yards to my bow. Its sudden existence a encroaching situation, but one that was greeted with calm, mostly. Rather than to

have a jerk and spin reaction, I remained quite prone, and quite relaxed. The Black Tip Shark has a way of undulation that can seduce any onlooker including one so tested as myself. It moves almost as seductively as the snake. I watched it move in this way for as long as I could keep up with its swiftness, and was then alone again with the Clown Fish.

On and on, so I went, down to Malaysia. Due to some trouble and lack of sympathy, I shall mention some names. Lumprayah Ferry Company, which services Koh Tao Island from and to Chumphon, has not much sense for a large and presumably experienced company. Not much sense for timing, not much sense for reality, and not much sense for justice - or a less severe form of fairness, perhaps. Details are always lost and mistaken for other things when trying to remember exactly the particulars of an incident, so I will leave them out and just state the fact that they left my bag on the island and didn't mention anything until I was rested and ready to travel again on the mainland. Very well, I spent the night in Chumphon waiting for the first ferry of the next day which came with my bag, which now was traveling alone and scared; poor thing! My attempt to get Lumprayah Ferry Company to reimburse me the fee I was charged for changing my departure train ticket was considered amusing, and laughed at behind closed doors, I think. I am now among the unsatisfied, and shall remain that way until a check comes in the mail! Either this or a substantially large Banana Split; the choice is yours. Only send the check by mail.

Moving on, I took a peaceful overnight train to Penang, Malaysia, where the food and culture is a soup of different ethnicity and flavor influenced by ethnic Malays, Chinese immigrants, Indian settlers, and British Colonists. Here food is an art, and a source of pride I've been told. I sampled some of its beginner level dishes myself and will recommend them if I have to. On again from Penang, another night train brought me to Kuala Lumpur where I had just enough time to board a bus to Johor Bahru, and then not enough time to

board another bus from Johor Bahru to Mersing. In Mersing I missed the last ferry to the Island of Tioman due to the ocean tides disagreeing with me, of course. The next morning, inconvenienced by two whole days of masterful nonsense and crafty idiocy, I was at the destination I preferred. Why, the island is breathtaking in the sunlight. Disembarking from the pier, I passed over aqua-green water with visibility enough to see the hermit crabs fussing about ten meters deep. They were unusually large hermit crabs. I saw sorts of fish I had only seen on television, and I saw species of coral I had never seen anywhere. I saw birds flying overhead that belonged on the cover of cereal boxes. I saw trees in the jungle that were florescent green, and vines on them so big they looked like trees themselves. All this and I had not placed a foot on the island. When I finally did place a foot on the island, the scene was much the same. And then I saw my accommodations. It could be classified as a bungalow dorm, I suppose. It was the worst bungalow dorm I have ever seen! It is the first bungalow dorm I have ever seen, but surely if I saw a thousand more bungalow dorms it should still be the worst bungalow dorm even then! Perhaps I will never try another bungalow dorm because of it. The window was dirty, the bathroom was dirty, the ceiling was dirty, the pillow was dirty, the mattress was dirty, the dirt was dirty. The door was broken, the locker was broken, the sink was broken, the window was broken, the porch was broken. The floor was missing planks so that if one should misplace his step he would fall right through to the jungle floor! All this, but there were no bugs, most likely they sought higher premium rooms. I would spend most of my time on the beach, then.

Five days I wandered around: walking, snorkeling, sun bathing, swimming, hiking, gazing, reading, writing, napping, snoozing, sleeping, thinking, pondering, wondering, eating, snacking, and drinking beer. I hired a boat to take me to Coral Island; six Spanish girls and myself actually, as a matter of accuracy. To suggest I

was lucky would also be a matter of accuracy. We snorkeled around some rock outcrops to begin the day, and witnessed the usual bounty of sea life. We prayed for some sea turtles but must not have done it right. We drank a little, talked a little – in both their excellent English and my struggling Spanish – and had some good laughs too. Perhaps my favorite stop of the day was on Coral Islands southern beach. It is a beach so white, with water so clear, that in the intense sun it is impossible to tell where the beach ends and the ocean begins. I believe I have never been to another beach like it. Perhaps there isn't another beach like it. We also made stops to Salang

Bay for lunch, and Monkey Bay for dessert. I spent most of the day in the water and felt like a salty mess when finally it ended.

The morning I was to leave, I was awoken by a particularly loud and playful troop of 60 or more monkeys. They jumped all over the bungalow dorm. They jumped on the roof, swung from the porch, peered through the windows, and chatted from beneath the floor. I took a shower that morning with three monkeys staring at me as if I was the one meant for the zoo! When I went outside they scattered, just out of reach, and laughed at me. I

swear one of them tried cursing me with a gesture. If I could have only grabbed one of them I would have made a certain example of him to the rest. I left for the ferry. Presumably, my bungalow dorm was invaded and settled by the gang of heathens. I take comfort in knowing that at any moment the thing should collapse and send them all straight to where they belong. Back to Kuala Lumpur.  

Beijing and Shanghai

“ In matters of style, swim with the current; in matters of principle, stand like a rock ” - Thomas Jefferson

Perhaps I should get the negatives started and let the positives follow as they may; it is appropriate in this way; it is the way of my experience in Beijing:

Beijing, China

I fear it is a hopeless search to find a city more polluted than Beijing. Every waking moment one lives under an eternally gray sky of smog and debris, and litter, and a general nastiness of that sort. Getting fresh air is a task that has never been known here! And, throwing garbage in a garbage can is a completely useless endeavor as most litter is just as easily thrown on the ground as if the city itself were the receptacle, and a receptacle which has been overflowing for years without the attention of local residents, or local waste collectors. I missed a garbage can once with a poorly aimed toss in a back street of a suburb of Beijing and had the audacity to pick it up and place it inside its rightful home; the expressions I received could have been painted on canvas and sold as artwork in the Louvre! What an insane foreigner; picking UP garbage! Why doesn't he just leave it there to be blown around the streets for decades? I never got used to this carelessness while in Beijing, and found it a practice offensive to my values and dreadful to my senses. So be it, it is to be expected here and there in a world of 7 billion people and in a country of 1.5 billion people – to be taken by it, or surprised by it, one would have to be naïve, and narrow.

I also fear for the survival of manners if it is to follow the example of Beijing. Getting onto a public bus is an exercise in impatience, pushing, shoving, rudeness, panic, selfishness, yelling, cursing, pinching, bumping, elbowing, and other traits emulating the fundamental animal instinct of persistence. If you are looking for a basic rule of thumb for boarding a Beijing street bus, you should look in the obituaries. And, if somehow you get on the bus, make sure to stay close to the door, as getting off can be like wildebeest crossing the Nile; I would have paid gold to have been the one eaten by the crocodile and spared the sequence. So you see, mayhem flows through the streets here like blood through a mental patient, so stay clear minded and have your wits about you, and your elbows ready to shove back, when appropriate.

It is backwards, then, that I so kindly enjoyed it. It is so backwards, indeed, that it may have gone so far backwards as to find forwards. But, I believe I know the reason for the anomaly. China, Beijing in particular, is a place bathed in an extraordinary amount of history and culture. Recently, my own country turned 237 years old – Happy Birthday America! - and it would be a 16^th generation Chinese state! To think about all the history and long lines of familiar past, and outstanding traditions, and language, and art, and music is

enough to bring a historian to his knees, and an anthropologist to the hospital. I first came to the realization when visiting the Forbidden City. It is the home to many Emperors of China's long past, and it is massive, of course, being Chinese. Everything is bigger in Texas; Everything is biggest in China. The complex has nearly 1,000 buildings and is 8,000,000 square feet, at which point it is not necessary to still count using feet, I think. The common areas inside the wall are blind-siding; how many soldiers must have been before the Emperor's field of view! The Emperor's must have all been substantially and wonderfully arrogant judging by how much they needed: 1,000 wives, a city for a home, a closet the size of the Lincoln Memorial, thousands of genital-less male servants, and as many dragon stoned decorations as could be seen from space. There have been a great many inconsiderate and spoiled rulers in the history of the planet, claiming to be given power through divinity, but none who have been divine enough to see how foolish they were. But, gradually they have all built outstanding tourist attractions!

Now then, the Great Wall of China is a masterpiece of human history, and another important reason why China is ultimately fascinating. It was built for centuries, and re-built for centuries more to act as a divide between the historical factions of Chinese power and others, like the Mongols, who might just try and challenge that power. As far as being one of the wonders of the world; I would say it qualifies well enough. Thus, tourists congregate to the thing like Notre Dame Cathedral out of their own wonder and curiosity. If curiosity can kill a cat, whom will kill the mice? It is a problem usually, but to my delight the wall was rather tame with human infestation. In fact, only four Chinese people had their pictures taken with me! Only four! What a shame it is. Perhaps I should be thankful for those four; presumably, they didn't realize they were taking a picture with someone of no fame, no riches, no power, and no significant consequence. Their loss, I am not interested in celebrating false achievements, but I am no stranger to being buttered up by false celebrity. I accept it with honor and a smile.

A finale worthy of a thousand endings; the Beijing Duck. Its appearance is not stunning, and in fact it is quite regular, but the taste and texture of this delicacy could write symphonies together! My Holy Grace! Succulent could describe it, I suppose, perhaps delectable would be better fit to its size, or blessed if the occasion and the company wouldn't be offended by the adjective. I don't remember a time when I almost fell to my knees from taste alone; this was a first, I think. Let us begin with the skin; it is like eating a swollen potato chip filled with juice and cooked to a crispiness that has never been known to a mouth that hasn't tried it. In regards to those who would suggest it is too oily, I say this: Nonsense! It could not be more perfect if it was a right angle! And to wrap it in a Chinese tortilla with basil leaves, cucumber, duck sauce, and white stalks is to add to its perfection. I dreamed of the thing for two days before eating it and for two weeks after eating it. How was this bred and mastered in the same country as the Cow Penis and the Stinky Tofu?

Shanghai, China

Back south to Shanghai. Perhaps the only city I have visited with more neon lights and indigo signs has been Las Vegas. However, Las Vegas quivers in the shadow of enormous Shanghai. It is not a shy city. It will come at you, and come at you boldly. The sky-scrapers here are in constant competition to see who can reach space first. If Chinese astronauts fail in getting to the moon, perhaps one of Shanghai's sky-scrapers will touch down for the nation. I have never seen so many half built complexes and buildings under construction. Mark Twain said of New England weather: “If you don't like the weather in New England, wait a minute, it will change”, well, if you don't like the highest building in Shanghai, wait a month and it will change.

When one is deeply aware of his shortcomings in the practice of singing, and his inability to perform on such a level, it is necessary for him to find motivation, and courage, and will, and a general bravery bordering on suicidal to participate in an event with it as the main attraction. If he can't find any of these things, or he has misplaced some or all of them as his name is called for karaoke, it is best that he finds whiskey instead; it is a worthy substitute, and it clears the throat, what is more. And, if enough of the solution is drank, he can find himself on stage besides Billy Joel, Paul McCartney, Elton John, or Bruce Springsteen. I cannot be the only one that this has worked for. See now, in Shanghai, karaoke is considered a social event, where friends meet to sing, talk, eat, drink, play games, and other general things of that nature. I am willing to do whatever it takes to experience a culture, even if it means belching out inconsistencies at all sorts of inappropriate volumes and incorrect notes; therefore, it is what I did in the name of good travel. I was as horrid as should be expected, having a voice that barely has the energy to speak properly, but it was damn fun all the while. The three hours passed as if they were three minutes! I owe thanks to the following, as without them, none of it could have been possible: the company I shared, because holding back their laughter couldn't have been an easy thing to do considering what comedy was performing in front of them; to myself for going through with the thing, and even completing more than one song; and a special thanks to the whiskey.

My thoughts and opinions of Shanghai are not categorically different from Beijing; both are mega-cities and both are host to more people than most states. Both serve terrific food, and horrible food. Both are polluted; Beijing with smog, and Shanghai with dead pigs floating down the river. The people of Shanghai are slightly more polite and cordial than the people of Beijing, and they have heard of holding a door for someone before, though they practice it rarely. Shanghai is more state of the art, and Beijing is more historically relevant and interesting. My time spent in both cities was enhanced greatly by the company I shared; hospitable and welcoming. The whole time I was in the country, I was treated to the best of what China had to offer, with presumably the best people it had to offer. That I felt at home in a country so extremely foreign to my own is a testament to the kindness of those who were by my side.

Red Giant (China)

“ Action is Character ” - F. Scott Fitzgerald

Loathsome as I felt traveling all day from Bangkok to Hong Kong, and Hong Kong to Shanghai, I was in a surprising state of energy when arriving passed midnight at Pu dong International Airport. Again, I met with a companion, and again we began traveling together on a Grand tour of China; at least as much as should be affectionately seen in two weeks time. I suppose I should label my arrival and departure to Shanghai as brief - I would see her again in two handfuls of days. Very well, on to the water-town of Xi Tang, outside of Shanghai but a short 45 minute bus trip. Xi Tang is a quaint and cozy town; it is a slightly crowded sanctuary of lights and canals, and bridge stairways, and red Chinese lamps, and curious people and peaceful air. The streets are abutted by the water-ways and overhanging lounges of restaurants, shops, food stands, and jewelry stores. Paddle boats lazy down the canals trying their damndest to pose as those in Venice. Presumably, it is a tourist location, but for nationals of China only, as I was isolated on my own island of Western appearance, and wading in waters of mainland culture mostly. Readily enough, I adapted to the looks received from Chinese vacationers. Upon seeing me for the first time, more than one but less than two dozen stood a stance of jolting surprise when registering my massive dimensions. Perhaps I have never seen such a look before. Eyes wide open and mouth the same. Why, I think should there have been any bugs, they could have skipped dinner! Dinner; speaking of the meal brings up a particularly troubling one of my own. It involved a dish called “Stinky Tofu”. Now, many prepared tastes show no respect for their prepared smells; in fact, they taste quite the opposite of what they smell like; but “Stinky Tofu” does not follow this

observation. Rather, the taste of the dish and the smell of the dish are harmonious in their journey through the steamy streets and alleyways of China. They are mutual and forever linked. They are wrapped tight in the same bundle. Cow shit snuck it's way into that bundle somehow, too; I do not understand how, but it did. I have never attempted to eat cow shit, at least not in a sober state, but “Stinky Tofu” is as close to it as I should ever come. Repulsive, truly repulsive, honestly and deeply repulsive. I will nominate it as the worst morsel of food that my stomach has graciously accepted. Indeed, it must have been prepared with cow shit. The cow shit was so distinct that I could taste it and decipher it from the likes of goat shit, or horse shit, or dog shit, or pig shit. Although, perhaps they added a touch of pig shit in the dish for after effect, I do not

know for sure, anyhow. I wish for a concussion if only I could forget the taste! The manner in which the Chinese eat should also be noted for the unaware. See, Chinese culture dictates long hours at the table; talking, reminiscing, laughing, and generally being in good company with one another – it is wonderful really. Should all nationalities follow its course, perhaps all nationalities would be as close as the Chinese. However, my theory of how it got to be this way has little to do with their intentions of closeness, or their focus on proximity. Rather, it is the relentlessly delicate and formidably small food that is the reason, I think. Indeed, when a dish comes to the table it looks quite intimidating, but it is a facade, and a lie; it is a bluff charge, and it is a cruel one. The amount of shells one needs to peel, and the amount of left over skeletal support that he needs to stack up next to his original plate is enough to build another tower of empty hopes. In fact, the remainder is larger than the initial because of negative space! How is it possible? So many crustaceans! I feel I have done no labor at all, and my stomach is not sure whether it is full because of the large number of swallows, or empty because of the long time for digestion. This brings me back to the point of my rambling, which is that the Chinese are supremely sociable at meals not because of their intentions of closeness, or their focus on proximity, but because of the challenging mechanics of their food. But damn those little things are tasty! By and by, we proceeded to Jia Xing, whereupon we met some more Chinese companions. And, of course, our first order of business was to eat. So, without delay, we began ordering a heavy quantity of food; seemingly everything on the menu was pointed at for our order. Unfortunately, that included cow penis. It sits alone at the pit of my “unusual eats” list. Let us view the list now:

Unusual Eats - Asia

• Pigeon
• Eel Soup
• Street Fried Crickets
• Duck Intestine
• Stinky Tofu
• Grilled Scorpion
• Fish Eyeball
• Cow Penis

I will forget most of the details of how the thing tasted, due to my concern in swallowing it as fast as possible, but I do recall that it was plain, and mild, and had the most wretched texture of anything I have ever eaten in my whole entire adult life. My only order of business was to appear calm and orderly in front of my Chinese companions in an impossible effort to respect their culture. I gagged twice, and nearly released once, but was able to act as if those were coughing motions. I am content now that it is over. May I never meet that meal again!

The City of Jia Xing is not huge in comparison with other Chinese cities; actually, it is considered a “small” city. Why, I have never known a “small” city to host a population of over 1 million people! I suppose that is small in comparison with Beijing's 23 million, or Shanghai's 25 million, but it is a substantial metropolis for a humble traveler who was raised in a town of less than 15,000. China's enormity is hard to fathom for a man like that. It is hard to imagine even when it is right in front of him and in no need of imagining. I digress. It was in Jia Xing that we had the time to enjoy some nightlife. Whether it was playing liar's dice, or walking along the river, or trying street food, or watching the waves of people interact with each other; we found entertainment anyway we could, and we found alcohol anyway we could, what is more. Surely it was a fine night. I noticed a lot that I hadn't noticed consciously about Chinese culture until then; like their smoking habits. The Chinese smoke four times more cigarettes than the rest of the world combined – I have not checked this stat or verified it in anyway, but it must be true, and perhaps even an underestimate. By the time one cigarette is finished, another is promptly offered, and it is never rejected. To run out of cigarettes in China would be a disaster on par with an earthquake or a volcanic eruption, or being hit by an asteroid. Staying the night in a Chinese apartment is like taking a bath in Mercury. It is like being in a West Virginian bowling alley! Xi Tang was lovely.  Jia Xing was superb.  China is magnificent.

The LONG And BUMPY Road

“A mule will labor ten years willingly and patiently for you, for the privilege of kicking you once ” - William Faulkner

I should mention, again, for the good of repetition and reiteration, how difficult it is to travel by bus in Laos, for all who may find themselves in that questionable state of mind, questioning whether they should fly or go by land elsewhere - Fly! Perhaps the money is an issue? It's not. The issue is the Laotian roads. Once more, I forgot to remember good sense and took a bus out of Laos. I was punished accordingly. I do not wish to write of buses so much, as doing so steals the supremacy and robs the notability from the landscape and the culture of where I am traveling; but the damned buses! This nightmare ride was supposed to take 18 hours; it did

not. Instead, the thing took 27; 6 of which were passed sleeping on the road because of a weak axle giving into it's weakness halfway up the side of an unstable mountain. Very well, the road was a surprise; we slept on it and it was a bed of comfort and space and cool temperature that the bus surely could not provide. I will not call the sequence a “blessing in disguise”, but it was something in disguise, I think. We waited all night and into the morning for a spare bus, and then we rode the rusty spare cylinder with no windows and a grand civilization of mosquitoes living in it's light sockets all the way to Chiang Mai. Certainly I was too tired to be upset, so I saved the feeling for another time when I should be better rested. In Chiang Mai, I discovered that I had missed the Water Festival and therefore missed the excitement of the city all together. Most of the time was used in tramping along the old city perimeter and on to Chiang Mai University. Of particular interest was the Sukontha Buffet. Interesting for numerous reasons, mainly because I was the only Western face amongst a sea of Asian ones, and because I fumbled around with types of food which, perhaps, were not types of food at all. I don't wish to imagine what they were in reality. But, by and by, I found suitable edibles such as beef and pork, and some skinny greens too. I grilled some pineapple, and it was delicious, such is the nature of pineapple, it was created so that all other food should have a role model.

And, on the road once more, I got about to Bangkok once more, in a cautious mood once more. It is a hub city, so I do not feel remorse in visiting again. Here, I passed my days in the precious hot pursuit of the fugitive Chinese visa. Capable of blowing the highest mind, this visa's requirements could stand with the best of unnecessary things.

Chinese Visa Requirements

• Passport
• Passport Photo
• Application
• Smaller Application
• Flight Booking Information
• Hotel Reservations for time allotted
• Bank Statement
• Date of Entry
• Date of Departure
• Time of Entry
• Time of Departure
• Color of socks you will be wearing on each day in China (please be specific)
• Number of meals you will have each day, and number of snacks each evening
• Expected number of hours in REM sleep during visit
• How many times you will cough four days prior to arrival
• How many times you will blink four days prior to departure

*NOTE: Americans will need to pay three times more than all other nationalities, and fill out twice the forms. Also, if Americans could wait in line twice as long as everyone else, that would be greatly appreciated.

Thank You – Chinese Embassy

Complying to their demands and obeying their structure is the only way into the Giant Red Squall, so that is exactly what I did. But, let it be known that I was mildly frustrated and occasionally stressed by the process! Furthermore, in the future, I shall most certainly complain about it to someone who has no authority to change it. My desire to turn China's question mark into a period was enough for me to withstand the endeavor. So be it!

Presently, I took a pilgrimage to low cost consumer holy land: the Chatuchak Weekend Market – the largest in South East Asia, and perhaps all of Asia, and perhaps all the world. By no measure and by no means am I a man of gigantic proportions; I rise to a height of 6'2” and the quantity of my matter contained by my bodies relative mass is 205lbs, but everyone around me, seemingly, was miniature. I suppose that in Asia I am gargantuan, but the feeling was one of awkwardness, surely. At times I wished to rest my bag on the shelf of scalps all around me, but feared the market-goers might find the gesture offensive. Very well, they do not

understand the perils of Western size in a continent made for the micro. I forgive them, and hope one day they find a continent of pygmies and know my hardships then. By and by, I met a friendly girl who began to guide me around the market. She had no trouble locating my American sized body at all. She took me to some shops off the beaten trail, and showed me some great deals. She talked about the market and it's place in the history of Bangkok. She talked of culture, she talked of food, she talked of style, she talked of the weather. We got to eating at a lunch stand and talking more about more things. It is during this exchange of things that she told me she was actually a he; a “ladyboy”. OK I thought. OK. Ok. ok... wait. What? She repeated it for my soft ears and I finally understood. I quickly thought about it and decided that each person should choose what is right for them and what makes them happy... so I chose the right thing for me was to exit her presence as soon as possible, and that what made me happy was to say goodbye to him! I wish her the best, and hope he finds what she is looking for! Next stop – China!

Take a Load Off Scotty (Laos)

“We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid” - Benjamin Franklin

The roads in Laos are troublesome; trouble because of their insistence on existing in a constant state of twists and turns, and some because there are so few. In fact, on the 28 hour bus ride from Hanoi to Luang Prabang, Laos, I only ever saw the one. And, the road made me look for the others, what's more. It wouldn't dream of letting me dream myself or get any sort of meaningful rest without jostling me from my reclined bed, abruptly, to the ceiling of the bus in jerking fashion every three minutes. A kangaroo would've had enough with all the hopping. A toad would've cursed the ride. Perhaps the long road to Hell is on a bus like this one. Perhaps Hell is just one long road on a bus like this one - utter agony, supreme misery, eternal anguish! Very well, the episode came to an end, and elation soon followed.

My first few days in Luang Prabang were spent recovering from some form of ailment. Exactly what I don't know. The long list of possibilities in this part of the world could compete in marathon with Rip Van Winkle's beard, or Rapunzel's hair. Recovery allowed me the time to think of all the important things there are to think about in life. Like why do they use so many zeros in the currencies of Southeast Asian countries? 21,000 Vietnam Dong, 7,000 Laos Kip, and 4,000 Cambodia Riel all equal one U.S Dollar. Who is purchasing something for a Dong, or 10 Dong, or even 100 Dong? Can one actually purchase anything with these denominations? I'm not sure it can be done. The lowest note I saw was 1,000 Dong. Why, the zeros on the thing are useless! They are purposeless, and a nuisance. When one takes out a note to pay for a bill, he has to stare at the thing as if he is undressing it with his eyes, or trying to hypnotize it, and then carefully count the zeros to make sure he is paying 10,000 Dong and not 100,000 Dong. And, if the mistake is made and the 100,000 note is given, he can be sure the mistake will not be amended by the individual receiving the money. Such a thing would be too much to hope for – not in this realm of Asia; not where forgiveness for follies is forgotten fully. No, instead he takes his time and counts delicately, and then recounts. If drinking is involved, he miscounts, or can't see the zeros at all, or doesn't have the patience to care about them anyways. it can be estimated that 100 percent of tourists have left a Southeast Asian country overpaying at least once. Damn! We are cattle, and have a fascinating way of being roped. Every time I feel I have managed to safely navigate the choppy waters of negotiation, I realize I could have sailed easier through another channel, and got the thing for a lesser price. No matter, all the currency mistakes and poorly bargained deals are negligible to the Western wallet, though not insignificant to Western pride, it must be known.

Luang Prabang is the most peaceful place within hundreds of miles in any direction, this is a fact of the world. It is a shepherd to the ever-traveling Mekong River. Mostly, it guides the river down to the south, but sometimes it sends a fisherman, or canoe, or slowboat out into the current to intervene in some way for itself; to gather resources like fish for food, tourists for money, or gentle paddling for tranquility. Every town or city must be a little selfish, you see. Without this drive, everyone would be living in the hills, and what then for the hills? Let us leave the hills for the meek and humble. Without them, we would have no where to go for those duty free resources. Anyway, I tried not to move much while visiting the town. Any type of work would have put my leisure in jeopardy, and I would not have that. To have that would be to have no sense. Rather, I took only short trips walking along the Mekong River or going on rides to the Kuang Si Waterfalls. These are majestic, but the name flawed. If I had been there when they were naming them, I would have surely interrupted before the decision was reached. Cascades is the more accurate term for them; I would have let them keep the “Kuang Si” part, I think; it suits them just fine. Very well, they are still superb with the name they have, I suppose. They are still bright blue with a tint of cloudy green. They still roll slowly over white limestone, and are juxtaposed by lush green jungle canopy. They are still the perfect temperature to swim in, and the perfect depth to bath in. They are still beaten by the sun all day, and by the moon all night, and they still contain all the little minnows that so eagerly pick the dead skin cells off of the human foot. In essence, they are still the same, but with a foolish name. 

Good Night Vietnam

“I mused for a few moments on the question of which was worse, to lead a life so boring that you are easily enchanted, or a life so full of stimulus that you are easily bored” - Bill Bryson

It may be said that traveling alone is the best way to discover a place, or it may be said that traveling alone is the best way to discover oneself. It may be said that traveling alone is dangerous, or foolhardy, or difficult, or all of these things. I think there is truth in most everything, and I think there is truth in this. I should also think there is truth in one finding adventure and liberation, and a good sense of fun, too. But, I have traveled alone for a long time and am no closer to finding the real truth than when I began. Now, I travel with another; a Chinese girl as it happens. We traveled together to Da Lat; a city high up in the mountains of South Vietnam. It rests at 4,500 feet – or so I was told by a man who could pronounce my name, so he was to be trusted. It is a city that offers relief from the choking humidity and rising heat of the lowlands and the jungles. Three days were passed there, and nothing much was accomplished that could be mistaken as productive, or worthwhile. I had some pretty good coffee on day two – that was something. A piece of food from some uncooked pork freed itself from my incisor on the same morning – I suppose that was something too. But, all and all, it was a good city to rest in while we prepared for the coastal city of Nha Trang, where we would stay another three days.

To snorkel in Nha Trang is to be content for a day. It is a wonderful way to see that unfamiliar, alien world below that thin mirror of ocean film so common to any surface dweller. I fear the locals take for granted the visibility and room temperature water of their marine environment. Do they know this water is sought by nearly everyone above the latitude of 30 deg N.? I think not. I think they are spoiled in regard to it. No matter, their ignorance and overindulgence can be forgiven as long as they remain dedicated to the practice of tourism, for the water, and the marine life benefit greatly. I have no issue with tourism by this result. The coral off the coast of Nha Trang borrows its color from an Afremov painting, and borrows its fish from an aquarium. The angel fish were my favorite, mostly because when they school together it looks as if the ocean is a Zebra patterned canvas. I enjoyed swimming through the schools, and watching as the fish made room for my awkward and unbalanced body. That I didn't have an underwater camera was a travesty; one that I did not forgive myself for until many days later. We went on to Hoi An in the meantime and participated in some more lounging about near the ocean. This time, however, we were unable to walk to the beach so we rented a scooter. The roads in Hoi An are open and easily navigated, like riding along on the shores of Cape Cod, so we had no trouble in staying out of trouble. Moreover, riding through the rice fields to our destination was perhaps the most relaxing part of our stay in Hoi An. Wide and stretching marsh with thigh high grass and Water Buffalo were being maintained by Vietnamese rice farmers the size of children, and they all wore the cone hat so commonly associated with the enterprise, and the country.

“Do you serve Duck Fetus here?” was the first question I asked in Hanoi - a question rarely asked within the average lifespan of most human beings I should imagine. But, I am amongst those whom can proudly say they have uttered the words. The reply was “no”, and I can thank the man at the restaurant for his immediate response. Any length of time between the asking and the answering would have cost me dearly. On one hand I was sad that we could not try the local delicacy, but on the other hand, and on both feet, I was relieved. Settling for Eel soup and roasted pigeon would have to do. A Vietnamese menu is a wonder of the modern world; comparable in awesomeness to Angkor Wat, or the Taj Mahal, or the city of Petra, or the Great Wall of China, or even the Roman Colosseum. It is enormous in size, perhaps close to that of an advanced physics textbook a student will be asked to study for a semester - for most, I imagine the menu is as elusive to comprehend, too. There is no reason why the breakfast section should be in the middle, and the drinks at the beginning, and the lunch at the end, and dinner scattered proportionately throughout. Why can I order a beer and a frog on the same page? What amazes me the most, though, is the ability to produce any one of the uncountable number of dishes offered, all within a reasonable amount of time, keeping in mind the closet size kitchen they are made in. Where do the ingredients come from? How is it that you can prepare for me a hamburger, a pizza, a bowl of pork fried rice, won ton soup, bacon, eggs, pancakes, sweet and sour chicken, tacos, quesadillas, fish, noodles, lobster, crab, shrimp, fruit, vegetables, potatoes, and still not expand your operation? Should I understand that you are capable of such things without the materials? - Voodoo maybe? Buddha maybe? Just like the driving in Southeast Asia, it is best not to wonder how it works, and just know that it does, somehow, like landing on the moon, or women. The less questions you ask in Asia, the more pleasant things will seem; this, I have come to know as a rule.

A more beautiful place than Halong Bay would be quite hard to find, I think. Maybe if one looked hard enough, and long enough, and wide enough, and high enough, and thorough enough, and had some insider information from some seasoned traveler, or some wise local, or some brilliant academic, or some leprechaun, or fairy, or genie. Maybe. Nearly two thousand limestone karst formations have formed at seemingly random intervals in aqua green water as smooth as a sea turtle shell to create the landscape. We boarded a houseboat to explore it more intimately. Our first day, we did some cave touring up the side of one of the islands. Surprise Cave it was called, apparently because it was secretive enough to avoid Western detection for so many years. We should get some better detectors, I think. It is comparable in size and grandeur to some other cave systems I have seen, primarily Carlsbad Cavern in New Mexico. Surprise Cave, I believe is the most amazing one I have seen, though I do not wish to be a prisoner of any moment, past or present, so I can not write this in stone. Hereafter, we explored the caves from sea level in kayaks; paddling into inlets and bays, looking for any nook or cranny that could pass for exotic under the right conditions. Certainly, we found them.

By and by, we reached the evening, and then the night, and then the early morning, and then the morning. We ate an ocean influenced breakfast and sailed on back to port. On the way, I looked out over the slowly passing islands and noticed the gray color of the limestone, and the lime green of the trees. I noticed the way they complemented the water. For the hundredth time, I noticed the hundreds of fish interacting with each other and swimming with no worries. I noticed I had no worries. I have a habit of noticing when I have achieved something I will never forget.

Phnom Penh to Saigon

“It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.” - Frederick Douglass

Phnom Penh is the capital of Cambodia, located on the Mekong River, and where the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge took place in the mid 1970's. Visiting the killing fields and the S-21 prison camp outside of town is a heart breaking and soul crushing experience, but one that is important to see. However, I don't recommend loitering, as it is a painful thing to endure for long. I visited for a day and was done with it, and relied on the good nature of the modern people to shock me back into readiness; their synchronized exercising in particular. In fact, seeing Asian synchronized exercising is the only cure for it, I think. Perhaps there are others, but this was the remedy for my case. The spectacle is beyond any humor I know. It is usually summoned in public parks and common areas, but this one set itself up on the boardwalk next to the Mekong. Now, I did not stop and gaze for long, as doing such a thing as this should be considered disrespectful in most cultures; presumably this one, but long enough to nearly spit my Sumatra iced coffee all over the sidewalk. It is the outfit - yes, it is the headband - yes, it is the music - yes, it is the facial expression – yes, but it is the motion that loosens my screws, mostly: slow, coordinated, swaying reaches to the sky followed by counterclockwise rotation and a repeat cycle, of course. If one is lucky, he may hear some grunts in Khmer (Cambodian) too. If it were only one or two people performing, or even a handful, it would not stimulate the laughter as effectively, but it is the large gathering of people that completes the circus.

On to Vietnam, and Saigon; only a six hour, relatively and surprisingly painless trip; especially considering it was a border crossing into a socialist country for an American. So goes it. Now, Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) is a place of high importance to the recent history of the world, and certainly has a past worth a long read, but not here. The city today is the Asian city one thinks about when he thinks about that sort of thing. It is crowded with more motorbikes than should ever be counted, and the buildings are full of neon lights and strange characters which may never be understood by a westerner. Crossing the street here is taming all your natural senses telling you not to, and throwing yourself into oncoming traffic, hoping the mass of small vehicles avoids you. It does work; it is beyond me how, but it does work. I would liken it to a school of mackerel in the ocean avoiding an oncoming swordfish – every pulse of movement is felt by the group as a whole, and they dodge the trouble well enough. The analogy is not a great one, as in this case the swordfish is the one scared shit-less; but it will give an accurate scene of what goes on here. Very well, I spent three days soaking up both history and humidity. There are so many places to see and things to do, that it can be overwhelming if you don't take a minute to breathe once in a while.

By and by, I found myself outside the city about 30 miles at the famous Cu Chi tunnels which were heavily bombed during the Vietnam War. I explored the areas massive bomb craters and intricate tunnel systems, even some of the booby traps designed to trap or kill American soldiers. Everything was fascinating; from the will and determination of the Vietnamese soldiers who lived in tunnels for 18 months with barely enough room to turn around, or swat a fly; to the elaborate, and somewhat prehistoric weapons they used in fighting a much more advanced enemy. Our guide was good, perhaps a tad over anxious about referring to Americans as Godless Devils, but he was thorough enough and his English was acceptable. Certainly I learned things I never knew, like the damage Agent Orange had on crops for years after their use, and how temporary weapons shelters were set up in the middle of jungles to facilitate faster arms output. No doubt, I enjoyed firing the AK-47 at the shooting range, too. I had but one bullet, and I tried to make it count, so I took my time in missing the target. 

I am finding it increasingly hard to shop in Vietnam, and Southeast Asia in general. Let us start with the milk situation; in short, there is none. The only time I have found it has been in convenient stores where they sell it in containers not much bigger than a juice box. To ask for a gallon of milk in Southeast Asia would be to ask for a gallon of soy sauce in the States, indeed, you would get the same look, and no result. And, in the market, shopping for clothes is like entering the Colosseum. One must be prepared or never come back out. As a general rule, do not make eye contact with a marketer, for if you do, you will surely be hassled. I'm not so sure they realize they are all selling the same exact products right next to each other, and even if I did buy a thing from one stand, I would not walk three paces and buy the thing again at another. If they had it their way, I would enter the market with no “Authentic Vietnam Lighter” and exit with twenty-five. And only about 12 of them would work. No matter, it is all part of it, I suppose.