New Years in Bangkok

I arrived back at BKK around 11:30am, a half-hour late. Cousin Norm met me up at airport, as he had just gotten his international driver's licence, and was now learning to negotiate a car around Bangkok. We are back to driving on the left, and the conversion is once again 1=35 baht instead of 1=4000 riel. Back to "sawasdee Khrap", yellow shirts, and the ever-present posters of the king. It was almost a shock to see people commuting by car again. How long had it been? Oh, six days.

Spent the day hanging out at the house, and prepared to spend New Year's Eve with Norm and Karen, and their friends Cath, Miss Wendy, Miss Leslie, and Michael. At around 6:30 in the evening, plans changed abruptly when we received word that bombs had gone off in Bangkok. Karen suddenly had to go to work, being in the biz of broadcasting such events.

There was a nervous vibe in the house. Folk were bummed that Karen had to work at the outside of a great night, but that was obviously not the only thing. Was anyone hurt? Would there be more bombs? At or near midnight? Who was behind it? With a military government in power, what would happen next? All public festivities are cancelled, leaving our group a little worried and restless.

We felt bad that Karen was working, so 11:30 had us wandering over to the bureau to pop some bubbly and do countdown. I brought the horn along to play some Auld Ang Syne (sic?) Standing on the balcony a few minutes prior to midnight, we heard an explosion, which we nervously attibuted to fireworks and paranoia.

Did the countdown, played the horn really loud from a high building into the night. Omigod its 2007. Hoped the coming year would be better.

The lines lit up about 12:10, saying that a bomb had gone off at Central Sq Plaza (the public event we had originally been planning to attend - subsequently cancelled), which was just down the road from Karen's office. Guess that wasn't fireworks.

The group splintered shortly after, as Karen had just received more work to do. I ended up hitting a bar with Michael that had a funk band. I had the horn, not to mention a few drinks in me, so I talked my way onstage for a couple of tunes (I Will Survive). Details begin to get sketchy from this point forward, but we travelled to a place down the street, where I met Eileen from Kuala Lumpur. She was travelling alone for the first time and loving it! Then Michael bought a tray of bobbing dogs, and all broke loose.

The next day I was in rough shape. Contacted my mother to let her know I was alive. Ate at a nice french restaurant, and later had drinks at Banyam Tree, a bar and resto on the 59th floor of a hotel(?) which offered great views of the city. Early the next morning, Cath left for home, and Wendy and Lesley began their Cambodian adventure. I didn't hear them go. Woke up with the house empty. No time to be wistful though, I had to get in the shower and get my butt to Hanoi.

Pix are N+K et al., ferris wheel at Suan Lum Night Bazaar as seen from Banyam Tree, and the flag of Viet Nam.

Killing Fields.

While in Phnom Penh, I wanted to check out the Tuol Seung Museum (bottom pix) and the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek (top), two grim monuments to Cambodia's recent past.

I'd been reading about the rise of the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot, a piece of history that I'd had only a fleeting knowledge of prior to my arrival in Cambodia, and difficult to avoid once I was here. Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge seized power in 1975, and for the next four years performed a radical attempt to erase the past and start a new society. Dissenters, which included a great deal of the country's educated population, were imprisoned, interrogated and executed, as were children and infants. Though Khmer Rouge were overthrown by the Vietnamese in 1979, these events are still reverberating today.
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Once I got the hang of the bike, not to mention Cambodian traffic, I headed out of town down a dusty dirt road, rife with ruts, potholes, and the lounging crews sent to fix them. After about 15 km, I reached the entrance to Choeung Ek, and went to park the moto. I still hadn't got the hang of pulling the bike backwards onto the double kickstand, so I luckily had a crowd of cheering locals when I lost the bike and dropped it on its side.

Choeung Ek served as an death camp during the Pol Pot regime, and from 1975 to 1978 it is estimated that 17000 people died here and were dumped in mass graves. Just past the gate, the monument containing skulls, organised by age and sex, some containing obvious traces of the trauma which landed them within the exhibit. Surrounding the monument are the grounds of the orchard which dug up in favour of human disposal. A network of footpaths wind among grassy pits in the ground, the remnants of mass graves unearthed in 1980. A few trees and several open areas signify where an estimated 8000 bodies still remain buried, serving as another aspect of this memorial. While exploring the site, trying to imagine the merciless acts that took place in this peaceful environment, the visitor encounters a tree where a PA speaker was hung to play music and drown out moans and screams. While the visitor gets accustomed to seeing tattered clothing lying caked in the dirt, when it is accompanied by a human femur poking out of the ground, one can't escape the chill.

A little more sombre, somewhat spaced actually (though well in control of my bike again), I made my way back into Phnom Penh, and next saw the Tuol Seung Museum, also known as Security Prison 21 or S21. From the outside, it looked like an innocuous highschool, which is the function the building served prior to Pol Pot. While he was in power, the building served as an interrogation and torture centre. Prisoners were bolted to bedframes, from which point on they were subject to a variety of sadistic butcharies. The bedframes remain, accompanied by a photo of the prisoner found bound there when the Vietnamese Army liberated Phnom Penh. The site is also famous for having room after room of headshots of former inmates. While looking through, it struck me that the subjects were being pretty cooperative to sit still for a pic while awaiting a nasty fate. A larger picture later on explained it to me. Apparently, a metal device was invented to bind the arms tightly behind the back, force the head up, and get that wiggly prisoner to sit still. Necessity breeds invention, I suppose.

Phnom Penh (Dec 29-31am)

The road south from Siem Reap was bordered with little shacks and acres of field and wet rice paddy, punctuated by the occasional lone palm tree. The bus stopped twice for refreshments and washroom breaks, each time at a little roadside market with dusty stalls selling fruit and drinks. On one such occasion, the fare was a little different - fried tarantula. I had to try. It was coated with a sauce not unlike blackened chicken, and tasted quite good when not distracted by the revulsion of what it was you were eating. The locals were buying bagfuls, and I watched to see how they nibbled. It was like the precise methodology of an Oreo cookie or chocolate Easter Bunny. Pick the legs off first, then pop the fat abdomen into your mouth and give it a hardy crunch.

I arrived in Phnom Penh to find that my previous hotel had arranged to have me met at the bus stop, as there was a cyclo driver waiting to drive me and another to their sister location. We took the cyclo just to get ourselves into the thick of accomodations. It turned out that the place was a bit of a dive, so my companion headed off to look elsewhere in the area by the river, while I did the same, leaving both the cyclo driver and hotel manager sputtering and yelling out renewed sales pitches.

Walking north through run-down, tightly packed chaos of curbside transactions, I checked out a few places that were unfortunately booked, and arriving at Last Guest House. The landlady was Cambodian, but spoke better French than English, so I finally got an opportunity to practice speaking another language. My French isn't great, but it is a heck of a lot better than my Khmer.

After a much needed shower, I sat down to figure out my plan of attack. The way my timing had worked out, I had late afternoon of this day and all of the next to explore Phnom Penh, far too little time to absorb more than the superficial layers of this city. Still, I wanted to work efficiently with the time I had, and charted out a rough schedule while I dined on a "happy" pizza from Happy Herb's pizza. Felt kinda funny. Decided it would be fun to play some music, and so I went to a venue and spoke to the musicians playing that night. Soon, it was back to the guest house to retrieve my horn.

As I was leaving, I happened to ask the landlady how I late I could get back in. She said, "Oh, late, 11pm." Eleven? I explained that I (now) had a show to play, and that 11 was waaay too early. She said, "OK, 12." Twelve? After some deft bartering with times, reminding me of my pleas to stay a bit longer at the high school dance, I ended up giving her an out-and-out bribe, something which didn't seem to work as a teen. Talk about pay-to-play. I vowed that closing time would be one of the first things I would investigate when sizing up future accomodations. I arrived back at the Memphis Pub, and played three songs of the band's second set. Not my best work, but the gap in playing I'd had taken Thailand was catching up with me.

The next morning, I started at a respectable time, and began to work through the city as per my strategy. First, I hired a motorbike, and entered the stream of motos coursing along Sisowath Quay. I cruised along Tonle Sap, the river which connected the complexes of Angkor to Phnom Penh to the ocean. While there wasn't a lot of concern for lane markers, or even which side of the road to drive on, for that matter, the traffic was fairly simple to negotiate, as everyone kept at a speed of 50 km/h. I checked out my primary destinations, which were further afield, then headed back into the central area to fill my remaining time with the ranked items on my list.

First, I hit Psar Tuoi Tom Phong, also known as the Russian Market. My hunger for knick-knacks and souveniers had apparently been sated by my shopping frenzy in Siem Reap, so I moved on to the National Museum. The museum is home to many of the treasures recovered from Angkor. After about an hour of wandering through the displays of fine jewelry and statues, I decided I'd digested enough Buddhas, nagas (multi-headed snakes), garudas (half-man, half-bird creature ridden by Vishnu) and apsaras (elegant traditional dancers) to hold me for a while in that department as well.

I wound the rest of the day eating and drinking in the restos along the Tonle Sap strip, touristy places which offered local and Western dishes at fairly cheap prices. By Canadian standards, anyway. A shame to not stray beyond the tourist ghetto, but it had been a full day, and I did pretty good with the time allowed.

Up at a more sensible time for Angkor, Day 2…. this would have been December 28th. En route to get some breakfast, I saw a place renting electric bikes, and thought that might be a fun way to get around for the day. I hired one, and was soon getting the feel of it as I zoomed silently around Siem Reap. It felt like riding a Big Wheel, as I was somewhat reclined, and the length of the pedals was quite short, yet I was cruising at about 35 km/h. It felt great to be whizzing past other tourists as they plodded along on their mere single speed pushbikes. The only hitch was that I had to keep an eye on the battery level, and replace with a fresh battery at various stations throughout the Angkor site. My first charge got me the 6km from Siem Reap to Angkor Wat, where I changed the battery to one which had only slightly more charge than what I had when I started, foreshadowing things to come.

The first stop was Prasat Kravan, built in 921 for Hindu worship. It was essentially 5 little towers in a courtyard, one of which contained some well preserved carvings of Vishnu.

Next, it was on to Ta Prohm, the site I most wanted to see that day (1st pic). Built at the end of the 12th century, it originally served as a Buddhist temple. However, today it is famous because it served as a set for “Tomb Raider”, starring Angelina Jolie. Ta Prohm has been left relatively unrestored, appearing as it did when the Europeans first discovered the temple complexes, although the jungle is pruned back somewhat. It is a maze of crumbling towers and hallways, and large trees grow out of the ruins, their white roots slowly strangling and shaping the stone over centuries. It is quite crowded, so any people-free pix of this place have been taken at the exact time after the fat German guy leaves the frame, and the before the Italian couple walk into it. Local children can be found throughout the site, telling you that you are going the “wrong” way, and for a couple of bucks, they’ll correct you. I just wanted to wander, which I think caused them a bit of confusion. Inspite of the distractions, and with a bit of effort, one can lose oneself in the peaceful "claimed by the jungle" ambience. The electric bike station located here had no batteries.

It was then on to Ta Keo, another “temple-mountain” built in the 10th century, but apparently never completed (3rd pic). It offered a healthy climb and good views out over the jungle. Unfortunately, its bike station had no batteries had no batteries either.

I reached Preah Khan after backtracking west and north through Angkor Thom. An interesting complex, it had mazes of corridors, and an intact 2-storey pillared structure (I think this is where the 2nd pic came from.) It is thought to have been a temporary palace while Angkor Thom was being constructed. While wandering through here, the serenity of the place was repeatedly disturbed by this American guy loudly telling his Cambodian guide about life back in Michigan. Upon leaving the temple, I noticed its bike station had some batteries, but I was now pressed for time, and figured I had enough charge to last me the rest of the day.

My second last stop of the day was Preah Neak Pean, essentially a circular pool which was used for purification rites, and graced with a weird carving of a horse atop a mass of human legs. After taking some token pix, it was now a race against time to get to my last destination – Angkor Wat at sunset.

I rode about 4 km back to Angkor Thom, upon which I headed south through the former city with about 3 km to go. My charge needle finally sank below the redline, and pedalling began to get more and more difficult. By the time I reached Angkor Wat, the bike was no longer assisting me at all. I locked up the bike, re-entered the complex, walked across the field of a courtyard, and took up a lawn chair with the rest of the throng, waiting to get my picture of the temple reflected in the pond.

Slowly the sun sank, turning everything red, and I took way too many pictures. With all the people around, it was hard to be moved by this experience, so I got up to go, and realized that my legs were killing me from the last 3 km of cycling a deadweight bike. As I ambled painfully back toward the gate, I heard a familiar sound grating upon my ears, and turned to see the American guy continuing to yammer on with his guide. Perhaps I should say “at his guide”, as the conversation was quite uni-directional. The last pic I took after leaving the gate and crossing back over the moat.

A quick check around the parking lot of Angkor Wat revealed that the bike station which was normally located here was now not, meaning I had a 6km trek back to Siem Reap in the dark with a dead electric bike, not unlike pedaling a motorcycle. As I rode along, wincing with every slight incline and increasingly frazzled by the stop-and-go traffic (I was all about momentum by this point), I was being passed by vehicles of all sorts, including those pathetic single speed rental bikes I’d scoffed at in the morning.

I finally made it home, dropped off the bike, and exhausted, went with legs like potato sacks to look for a place to eat. I found what I thought to be a nice spot, sat down and ordered a beer. It was then I heard a grating voice going on about Christmas in America. I looked to my left, and my worst fears were confirmed – the loud American was one table over from me, and his guide continued to bear the brunt of his conversation. When I ordered my food, he overheard me and bellowed, "I know that accent, where in the States are ya from?'
- I'm not from the States.
"Oh, Canadian. Where are you from?"
- Toron.....
"Oh, Toronto, we're neighbors! I'm from South Michigan."
- Oh.
"Now, where's that in relation to Sault Ste Marie? I know Sault Ste Marie."
- Great.
"Yah, I do some hunting up there."
- Oh.
"You don't vote, do you?"
- Actually I do.

He didn't seem to notice or care that my monotone answers reflected one who doesn't wish to engage in conversation, so he continued to tell me about how he and his gang of pent-up WASP buddies head up to Sault Ste Marie and hunt bear, and that Canadians had the nerve to give them a hassle and tax them at the border. I don't like hunting, I really didn't like this guy, and obviously a simple cold shoulder was not going to get rid of him, so I told him I thought we had enough weapons in the country as it was, that I opposed his walking into my country and blowing away my wildlife, and that they should double the taxes. He went on and on about how Sault Ste Marie depended on Americans fishing and hunting for its economy (maybe so, I don't know) and that it was good for the environment, but by now, I was hating everything that came out of his mouth.

- I didn't know that.
"That's why I'm here - to educate you."

To educate me.

"Anyway, you're an American."
- No.
"Yes, what continent are you from?"
- North America (I couldn't believe where this was going.)
"Well, you're an American."
- Man, that logic doesn't fly beyond grade school. Look, I'd like to eat my dinner now."
"Aw, I didn't mean to ruffle your feathers. But I tell you, any time you are feeling down, just kill something. It will make you feel a whole lot better."

Couldn't believe it.

Just then, two girls sat down at the table between us, and it turned out they were Canadian. ("Sudbury? Is that near Sault Ste Marie?") They distracted the Loud American, and I was able to eat some food. My interaction with this guy actually worked in my favour, since it united the other patrons in the restaurant with me against him. I first chatted with Gabel (AUS) and Max (SAfr) both English teachers on vacation. I also ended up chatting with Faye and Meagan, the Canadian girls, who were also English teachers on Christmas Break. Both conversations made teaching English overseas out to be a positive experience, and it seemed to attract a interesting group of people. Later, Faye, Meagan, and I hired a moto driver down the street to a Khmer disco. Nothing too late though, as the girls were attempting to hit the park for sunrise, and I had an early bus to Phnom Penh.

NOTE: I've had to "googlize" this blog. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause......

The next thing I knew, my alarm was ringing. It was dark in a country where the sun gets up early, and I was stumbling around looking for my keys. I managed to make it to the front stoop, and in a few minutes, Dara was by to pick me up. The differences between Thailand were starting to sink in. For the first time in months, I was driving on the right hand side of the road (save for the brief mission into Myanmar, but I was cycled about on the side streets there); "Sawasdee khrap" was now "Sua s'dei", and the 35:1 of baht to Canuck dollars was now 4000:1 US. The people here look quite different, more of an Indian influence than Chinese. And there were less stray dogs.

We pulled up to Angkor Wat at the break of dawn...I remember saying to myself "Hey, that's the break of dawn"...., and Dara pulled over. It turns out he wasn't coming in, so I had not so much a guide but taxi driver, shame (see the bad man busting some style in pic). Angkor Wat was originally constructed in the early 12th century as a temple in honour of the god Vishnu ("wat" means temple). It is a supposed model of the universe, centered around the towers representing the fabled Mt. Meru, the grounds representing the continents, and surrounded by a moat representing the oceans. I crossed the moat, kind of rushing to see what the big deal was about. I entered through a gate in the wall into a huge court yard, a field, really. I saw a crowd of people cluster along the edge of a pond to my right, and figured they must know something I don't. (The buildings do make a nice reflection on the pond.) It was still waaay to early to deal with a crowd of tourists. So I ventured straight into the ruins.

After a bit of wandering, I found myself alone on the steps of a tall temple, staring down on a series of concentric walls which ringed the structure, and out across the jungle, just as the sun began to rise (see top pic). The limestone around me glowed red through the light jungle mist, and effect that was augmented by the droning chants of monks which actively practice at some of the local temples. I couldn't see or hear anyone else, either. Everyone else was still outfront taking millions of digital pictures of Angkor Wat warmed by the sun, (though it meant taking a picture INTO the sun, a tough one to pull off). I had the place to myself, and is one of the first things that come to mind when asked "So...what were the highlights?"

Over the next few hours, I was ferried about from complex to complex. The area is quite large, and distances can be two or three kilometers from one site to the next. North of Angkor Wat lies the walled city of Angkor Thom, which in the 13th century was the hub of activity for a population of 1 million people, the height of Khmer civilization. Inside, some highlights were the Bayon, with 216 faces of Avalokiteshvara (?) leering at you from all directions (said to keep watch on the far-reaching points of the kingdom; see pic) and the Royal Enclosure of Phimeanakas, the Celestial Palace. The Enclosure contained two interesting features: the intricate detail of the Elephant Terrace, the site where Khmer kings would mount their elephants (good name), and the Terrace of the Leper King, where an ancient renovation covered up a pre-existing wall with ornate carvings that are now accessible by tourists, untouched by time and the elements. It's amazing how this place inspires everyone to take up creative photography....to the point where walking through the complexes without spoiling the shots of others is a bob-and-weave exercise akin to evading laser security. There was also plenty of opportunity to hone the art of waiting for the moment when no one is in the frame.

Touring the temples means a lot of climbing steps...bring good shoes. Many of the temples are built to represent mountains, which in turn represent heavenly spots. The steps are steep, requiring that the climber bend a bit forward and use his hands, enforcing that those who wanted to enter bow before those to whom the temples were built. Bottom is a pic of Pre Rup, a temple-mountain, bottom.

I told Dara about a temple I wanted to see a little further out called Bantay Samre, and after protesting that it wasn't part of the "official tour", he came around when I told him he'd be getting off early that day. He claimed that I'd be missing some temples. I replied that in the last 10 I'd seen temples in Sukhothai, Lopburi, and Ayuthaya. The odd one was going to squeak by me. Besides, I was planning on coming back again the next day, by bicycle, and picking up on this, Dara pressed and guilted me about another day of work. I think that he gets one chance a week to pick up a ride from the airport, then milk them for tours. I still declined, thinking I could pretty much do what this guy did, and simply tired of the constant upsell. I was back at my guesthouse soon enough, where I fended off a last attempt to get hired ("Aw, now I have nothing to do tomorrow...."), shook his hand, and headed upstairs.

I headed back out shortly after to take a look at the market, which turned out to be a bit of a spree. Sigh. I quickly had to figure out how to get all these trinkets packed in my bag. The Cambodians are persistent sales people, especially the little kids. Before I had my "cute kid" guard up, I bought some postcards from a little girl. Seeing this, another younger girl came running over to sell me HER postcards. By now, I had 10 more postcards than I knew what to do with, and wasn't planning on buying anymore. She followed me around, wailing "why you no buy from ME?", accompanied by incessant fake crying, and mirroring my every move. My strategies for ditching her were forced to become more elaborate, as nothing seemed to work. No matter where I went, she always ended up in eyeshot, whining away. I think I finally button-hooked around a security guard.

Another interaction went down as follows:

"Wanna buy a bracelet?"

- No.

"You buy bracelet?"

- No.

"It look good, buy bracelet for you?"

- No.

"You have girlfren?"

- No.

"You know why you no have girlfren'?"

- No.

"Because you no buy my bracelet."


And she runs off, leaving me to contemplate the reasons for my singledom. I headed home for a nap, after which I planned to get some food and check out the town's nightlife. I awoke to my chagrin at 12:45 am - the night gone, no central food places open, and not tired at all. After a bit of looking, I was at least able remedy one situation by locating a series of fried rice shacks... a hearty helping of which remedied the sleep problem as well.

Siem Reap

It was a short flight from Bangkok to Siem Reap, Cambodia. I hired a moto driver to take me from the airport to the "downtown" core of Siem Reap, a trip which cost me 4000 riel, or $1 US. Along the way, I learned my driver's name was Dara, and that he could take me to the guest house of his friend. I had a couple of guest houses in mind, so I said I would check out the place, and would then be taking leave of him and checking out other places on foot. After a few minutes, we arrived at The New King Guest House. I checked it out, and then wriggled out of there despite crestfallen pleas and persistent attempts to get me to stay. However, the town was busy, as many other tourists were here to check out the main attraction over Christmas Break - the Temples of Angkor. After scouting around, I decided that Dara and company were correct after all, the town was teeming, and I had better book a place before there were none left.

Dara also mentioned that he did day tours and trips to the temples, which lay about 7 km north of where I was staying. I thought about it, and decided that one day wouldn't hurt, and it would only cost me 10 bucks to have my own driver/guide for the day. Two more dollars, and I had a driver that was picking me up at 5:45 the next morning so I could watch the sun rise over Angkor Wat.

Now that lodging and temple mission were organised, I went out to explore the town. My first impressions were the ever-present roar of motorcycles (more chaotically driven than what I'd experienced in Thailand) and the dust.... on the roads, on my shoes, and in the air, creating a cloudy dreamlike atmosphere when combined with the setting sun.

Siem Reap is actually pretty small. A triangular area of a few blocks containing a market, restaurants, and a strip of bars located on the convienently-named Bar Street. A strip of posher hotels lining the route out of town to Angkor. Small town dwellings. Oh, and dust.

Yesterday I wrote the wrong ending for this day, already my memories begin to fade.... Now that I've took a looks at the journal, I realized that I watched a traditional apsara dance show at Temple Bar, and jamming with some guy named Tiger at In Touch. Cool...

Thai Boxing match, and Angkor Wat.

Well, it is now a chilly evening in Toronto, the 4th of February. I've been back from my travels for 10 days, and my body is still feeling the effects of the time adjustment, not to mention sudden decrease in sunlight.

I madly tried to catch up on events while in Bangkok for Christmas, following which I flew to Hanoi, Vietnam. As it turned out, the Internet in Vietnam was victim to disruptions caused by an earthquake in the South Pacific. I attempted to maintain this blog, but find the time spent in dingy Net cafes wasn't worth it. It would take ages just to access simple mail, by which point I'd racked up a lot of dong on the meter. Forget about uploading a picture. Besides, I had an adventure to attend to. So the blog was abandoned..........

Now that I'm home, adjusting, and resigning myself to 9to5 in order to pay for what I have just experienced, I decided to prolong the feeling just a bit longer and finish this little project. To get my money's worth, you understand. It feels too awkward to leave this thing dangling, anyway.

So if you've hung around this long and still checking out this site, I'm going to summarize of the rest of the trip over the next couple of weeks. Think of it as a "Get Out of Slideshow Credit". So without more preamble, the rest of my trip:

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On the 24th of December, I returned to Bangkok by bus. Upon arrival, I hired a moto driver to take bags and all, from the bus station to Chatachak Market for some last minute Christmas stuff. I hiked around the narrow aisles with my big knapsack, often getting caught in eddies amongst the flow of people. You thought your Christmas eve shopping was brutal.

After spending 15minutes longer than I could take in that environment, I hopped on yet another moto (really IS the best way to deal with the traffic in this city!) The destination now was Khao San Rd to make some travel arrangements for Vietnam. (Things are in place, though I've decided to forego southern Thailand completely, opting instead for more time in Vietnam. Besides, Ko Tao had the diving. but Mui Ne has windsurfing!)

Spent a great Christmas with Cousin Norm and Karen, friends Cath and Michael. After a lazy day of tearing open presents and hanging out in pajamas, we ate some amazing bird. Cath and Michael had duelling desserts, so more of a score for me.

Had a very traditional Christmas Night. The lot of us headed out on the town, wearing a fine set of paper crowns hashioned by Cath. We first took in a drag show which featured a wicked Whitney Houston lyp-sync. Had a bit of a problem getting in at first (due to flip-flops), and after negotiations failed, situation was resolved with neon orange Crocs.

Next off to do Karaoke, although venue turns out to be a brothel. Girls wearing Santa suits line up for every new customer, while we wail away at "My Heart Will Go On" (Celine Dion) in the background. Hopefully the customers took their business offsite, for their sake. Yet another club, with what turns out to be more lip-syncing.....

On Boxing Day, I dragged myself out of bed. Surreal.... Norm, Cath and Michael getting ready for a beach mission south of Bangkok, I'm packed and off to Cambodia. It felt like I'd just arrived.

The day after Lopburi, I hopped on a bus down to Ayuthaya. A little harder than the rest of my Thai trip thus far, as neither their English and my Thai were that strong, but I eventually found the bus station. I ended up taking a school bus, which was packed with people, requiring that carry my big bag on my lap. I spent the next couple of hours staring out the window through the shoulder straps of my bag.

Arriving in "New" Ayuthaya, it seemed like a thriving place, heck it even had a McDonalds (Yes, I broke down and had some. As we drove in, I could see old brick ruins strewn in around more modern neighborhoods. Arrive at a strip of guesthouses - "Tourist Alley", and check into Tony's Place (I think he's charging more now that he reviewed so well in Lonely Planet". Ah well, spend $12 a night and treat myself to a nice room.

Ayuthaya was the Siamese royal capital from 1350 to 1767, when it was sacked by the Burmese. I rented a bicycle, and toured the ruins with my waining curiosity. Among other things, I checked out Wat Phra Si Saphet, which has three chedi containing the remains of old kings, as well as Wat Phra Matathat, containing the ruins of an old royal hall, and the Buddha head encased in tree roots, which is sure to make it into the photo album of every tourist who visits here. A Buddha head is a rare find here, as the Burmese destroyed all these icons on their rampage.

I ended up hanging out with Linda (Ned) first night. She was lots of laughs as we roved around trying to find any nightlife whatsoever. She was off to Sukhothai the next day, so I was soon back by myself. I'd seen a lot of ruins in the last week, and felt I needed to take a couple days off old buildings, lest I spoil my upcoming Cambodia trip. Instead, I had a quiet day (it was the 23rd of December), some prepping for Christmas, reading, walking around in the heat, and eating at McDonalds. As I sat with my book on my balcony each morning, all I could hear was "Sawasdee Khrap! Sawasdee-wasdee Khrap!" Turns out I was listening to the Luh Von Ton (sic?), which is the Thai word for this mid-sized black bird that can mimic speech. Weird, what would that be, a mynah?

I decided to take the train to Lopburi, a five-hour ride south from Phitsanilok. I found it much more relaxing than the bus, as you get up, walk around, or sit between the cars watching the country-side go by.

The city of Lopburi has been inhabited since the 6th century, and by the 10th century, was the center of a local empire. The Khmers (from present day Cambodia) invaded towards the end of the 10th century, and used Lopburi as the headquarters in this region. In the 13th century, Lopburi was taken over again, this time by forces of the city-state to the north, Sukhothai.

The draw of Lopburi to me was another set of ruins to wander through, as well as superfluous reports of monkeys taking over the town. Upon arrival I found a spot at the Asia Hotel, reminiscent of an old hospital or psych ward, dimly lit with polished tile that sent your footsteps ricocheting down the hall.

After exploring the town, I discovered that the monkeys were actually contained within the area of one ruin, Prang Sam Yot, not falling from the trees as I'd hoped. (Probably a wise thing, since some of them are vicious little bastards, and not intimidated easily .) Furthermore, they had to cross a busy roundabout to get to the temple at which they are fed a few regular times a day.

Once the monkeys were done, there wasn't really that much to do in Lopburi, at least in the evenings. Essentially just a scattering of resto-bars, and the strip of foods stalls by the train station. As I later found out (though didn't partake), there is actually lots to do around here, as a number of trekking companies operate tours of the surrounding moutains, rivers, and sunflower fields (though now is not the season, apparently). This kind of stuff is purposely left out of the Lonely Planet (according to those that run the tours) in order to prevent hordes of tourists, and preserve the quieter "off-the-beaten-track" vibe.

The next day, we got up, and took on the Death Highway once again. For some reason, our legs and butts were feeling a little bruised and achy, but we couldn't figure out why, since we are both such healthy specimens. What does one do when feeling as such, without the stamina to make it all the way to Phitsanilok (where Norm wanted to catch a sleeper train that evening)?

The answer is simple, of course. Lunch in Myanmar.

A few baht later, we were across the border, and already noticing how Myanmar made Thailand look like Manhatten. We crossed the border at Mae Sot into the Myanmarese (?, Burmese?, Myanmese?) town of Myawadi. Although Myanmar is fairly off limits without a lot of bureaucratic hoops, the town of Myawadi is easy to access, as they want the cash to leak in from the Thai side. On the other side of Myawadi is where the army gets a little less hospitable.

We immediate were targetted by a little skeeter who kept following and talking to us until given a little cash to go away (another possible career I'm considering). We basically found a meal, I drank a Myanmar-brand beer, we took the slowest rickshaw driver ever (he insisted on taking us the long way, uphill - at points I was tempted to jump out to give the guy a break....but, uh, I didn't. As I mentioned, I was kinda sore. Besides, we gave him 20 baht, that counts, right?) We checked out an old temple, then it was back across the Friendship Bridge to Mae Sot, back to the Honda (which wasn't on speaking terms with us anymore) and headed into Phitsanilok.

Not much else to speak of at this point. Once in Phitsanilok, we hit a night market, I bought my first GnR disc ever, and almost missed Norm catching his train, as I got lost, then the whole "broken english/loud english/pantomime" thing didn't work on the two kids who picked me up on their motorbike, and proceeded to drive me all over town looking for my hotel. They earned their 20 baht as well. In the end, I met up with Norm, saw him off, and all was well.

As we pulled away from Umpium Mai, the sheer size of the refugee camp came into view. I've never been confronted with conditions like these before, and the barbed wire fence surrounding the camp really brought the message home. The occupants of the camp are not allowed to leave, only return to Myanmar once the political issues there are resolved. This is a process which has been going on for over 20 years, and I had a bit of trouble fathoming (with my nice Southern Ontario sensibilities) that some have spent their entire adult life, if not simply their lives, in this little place.

Norm and I spent the rest of the drive to Um Phang digesting the opportunity which had freakishly fallen into our lap, as well as the impact that it had had on us. Upon reaching Um Phang, we discovered from a fairly unconvincing katoey (really, she wasn't fooling anyone) that the intended next leg of our trip, a road from Um Phang to Kampheng Phet, didn't exist. Should you ever be in this area, ignore what the map says...yes, even the Lonely Planet maps, which I am learning to take with a grain of salt. As it turns out, this road was never completed, as it was to run through the middle of a nature reserve, and was discontinued to discourage poaching. While this was great for the wildlife, it was lousy news for us, as it meant having to back track along the Death Highway. I could hear an audible groan from the Honda.

That night, at a little bar called Dot Com, we ran into a woman named Petra who was one of the organisers of the day's game. She works for an NGO called Right to Play, which organises sports events in communities such as Umpium Mai. The benefits of such things are team building, physical exercise, and developing community leaders by training coaches. I'd learned about a few other NGO opportunities over the course of the day, something I'd checked into for employment (as a lark, Don) while in Canada, but been intimidated by the prereqs. Still, in a lot of these places, one can live as a volunteer for relatively cheap.

I would definitely say that this whole experience has left a lasting impression on me. Seeing people in these dire situations with enormous smiles on their faces makes me want to re-assess what puts a frown on mine. Furthermore, it wouldn't take a lot of effort on my part to make a difference in situations such as these. Hey, even my terrible footballing got the crowd roaring with laughter and cheers. As I write this, six days later, I can already put this into the 'Top 5' of the last few months, something I'll be mulling over for a long time to come. Merry Christmas.

After a couple of hours, our lives still intact, we reached the camp. Named Umpium Mai, it is home to about 20 thousand refugees. A soldier at the gate let us through after a quick conference with Chris, who works for some sort of Thai border authority. We drove up a rutted dirt road, putting Norm's rented Honda to the test. It was still groaning from the trek, not to mention being driven like a rally car.

A short walk up a steep path found us looking at a dusty plateau, the remnants of what could have been a quarry at one point, as it was gouged out of the side of the mountain. There was a sizeable crowd lined around the edge of the makeshift field. The reason for the game was that it was part of a week-long celebration of the Karen New Year. Apparently the previous evening had been quite the event as well, involving traditional song and dance, descending into groggified mayhem. As for this day, the crowd was quite spirited, eager to see their camp leaders beat the team of farang, made up of doctors, teachers, NGO employees, and the randoms including myself and Norm.

We donned our blue uniforms, and stepped onto the rockhard field, which was obscured by sheets of dust everytime the wind picked up. The whistle blew and the game was on, accompanied by lively play-by-play in Karen over the loudspeaker. Although there were a few bright lights on our team, the majority of us were running around in hiking boots, making stopping and abrupt turns quite difficult on the hardpack, to the delight of those in attendance. As for me, I took my lousy soccer skills to the international level, eventually causing a penalty kick for swatting the ball out of the air with my hand. They scored, meaning I have to disguise myself should I ever want to go to France or Germany.

After two 30-minutes halves, the farang eventually prevailed, 5-3, and we got one last look around the camp before continuing down the Death Highway to Um Phang.

Chris was looking for players to fill out a team of farong, which were to play the "village" leaders of a Karen refugee camp. The Karen are a Burmese minority group, some of which now live as hilltribes in Thailand. Many, however, live in refugee camps in the mountains near Myanmar. Tourists aren't normally allowed just to walk into these places, so our itinerary quickly changed to incorporate this game.

The next day, we were off, madly trying to keep up with Chris as he barrelled down the "Death Highway" which stretches from Mae Sot through the mountains south to Um Phang. The camp lay roughly half-way between the two. The route got its nickname because it was a stronghold of Thai Communist guerrillas as recently as the 1980s, a group not keen on having their hideout accessible to lots of traffic. As we wound around crazy turns and traversed the mountain-scape, it was easy to see why the guerrillas chose this place as their final hideout. The hills were steep and thickly forested, and closer inspection often revealed caves. The drive also revealed the other cause for the name "Death Highway", as a loss of brakes or alertness would be fatal. Factor in the Thai fondness for driving at breakneck speed on the wrong side of the road, and it is a small wonder we didn't see this stretch of road strewn with wrecks. I did notice, however, that there were many little spirit houses to be found at the side of the highway as we went along.

To leave Pai, I took the Mini-Van of Death back through the mountains to Chiang Mai, at which point I boarded a bus for Phitsanilok, close to Sukhothai. At first, I thought the bus company people kept saying "Pizza/Noodle", to which I would answer "Pizza". Only later, when the food did not get served, did I realize that they were saying the name of my destination. To add insult to injury, the bus stopped at a roadside food stand long enough to for the driver to get some food, but alas, none for Conrad. About an hour outside of Phitsanilok, I realized that the bus had in fact come the opposite direction than I had expected, and was now travelling through Sukhothai. After a moments hesitation, I decided to save myself a needless back track, and hopped out.

Next, I jumped into a saamlaw, basically like the tuk-tuk, except that the passengers sit in the front. I quick jaunt found me at my guest house, the Garden House. After checking in, I had quick wander Sukhothai, and realized that there wasn't much of interest to tourists aside from the ruins outside of town. A dirty canal, the ever-present market, and lots of stray dogs.

The next day, while waiting for Norm, I had a chat with Wanchai, a Thai pharmacist who hung out at the guest house to practice his English with the tourists. Norm showed up with a rental car, which had apparently been a bit of an ordeal to rent. We were to see the ruins the following day, so I showed him the immediate sights to kill some time. During this little hike, we had the fortune to meet a dog with its scrotum torn open, and seeming not to mind at all. Perhaps its a cultural thing. We kept running into this thing everytime we walked around town, somehow ending up walking behind it and not knowing where to look.

On December 18th, we struck out for Sukhothai Historical Park, where we rented bikes and had a look around. Sukhothai was Thailand's first capital, having its heyday around the 13th and 14th century. The site is centred around a walled city, and various ruins spread out from there about 5 km in each direction, hence the need for the bicycles. We toured around the central bit, then left the central city to view ruins in the outskirts. While en route, I startled a stray dog sleeping at the side of the road. In its confusion, it leapt out of my way, straight into the path of a careening dump truck. After hearing the sickening thud and crunch of the dog richocheting between pavement and chassis, I watched in horror as the truck sped off, and the dog continued sliding along the road. It yelped and thrashed around for a bit, then ran off into the forest. This would explain the tattered appearance and limps of the Thai dog population.

Though we were awed at first, as the hot day wore on it became and a little harder to sustain interest in ruin after ruin. I think Norm cracked first, but should be commended for hanging in as long as he did. Having had our fill of grassy brick for a while, we got back in the car, and in two hours were in the town of Mae Sot, near the border with Myanmar. We checked into a hotel, then headed to "Jumpin'" (A cheesy Thai fast food joint - attempts at prefab spaghetti, pizza, and fried chicken) for some food. As we were beginning the slow and difficult process of digesting our meal, and deciding what to do next, we were approached by an Aussie guy named Chris, who asked us what we were up to the next day....

More signs that made me laugh. Restaurant in Sukhothai, exotic entertainment near Sukhothai Historical Park, and not quite so exotic fare in Ayuthaya.