Dream with Expiry Date

Kho Lanta, Thailand

I've finally had to buy my ticket home. Not really because I really want to but my bank card is about to expire leaving me without means to book online. My feelings about this are mixed: On one side it'll be good to go home; you can't stay on the road forever, never having a place where you belong, always living out of your backpack. On the other hand I don't want this to end. That's why I put it off for so long, risking even rising ticket prices. Buying the ticket gives my holiday an end date; I've set the date that I will have to wake up from my dream and go back to the real world, where I will have to deal with real problems like work and life instead of what boat trip I'll do tomorrow or which beach I will lie on next. On the 8th of November this dream will come to an end. I will fly out of Singapore Changi Airport at 23:05 straight to Frankfurt in cold Germany arriving at 5:15 local time (anyone willing to greet me at the airport is welcome - I'll need some cheering up, I think). That's my expiry date, the time for my wake-up call.
So, better dream as best I can until then!

Shouting Match

Krabi, Thailand

A number of things have gone wrong today. I still can't get used to the fact that people here try to squeeze as much money out of tourists as possible. The "foreigner pricing" is only one aspect. Another thing that happens here is for mini-buses to drop off tourists somewhere in the middle of nowhere or somewhere inconvenient and then adding an additional fee to where you want to go. For example, you may get dropped off at a travel agency near your destination to choose a hotel but the rest of the transfer is not included. On my way to Railay Beach I witnessed some German tourists argue with the staff about this. In Krabi while going to Kho Lanta it was my turn to see Thai people, who are usually known to be polite, from a very uncharacteristic side. I don't deny that my own attitude was to blame, too.
At the hotel at Railay I thought I had paid for a transfer all the way from Railay Beach to the hotel I had had arranged on Kho Lanta. When the boat set us ashore at Krabi a woman at the travel agency there politely asked me to pay for the rest of my trip. I was surprised, told her about my arrangement but she denied. I had only paid a trip to Saladan, the island's major town. To be taken any further would cost more. I refused. I insisted that my arrangement should have included that, too. She also persisted.
Then things got heated. I don't know what got into me. I felt that after the incident with the other German tourists days back the same thing was happening again - to me. I felt cheated and was furious about it. So I shouted at her. That this was unacceptable. That I had paid for the whole trip and demanded to be taken all the way. She was shocked but still refused. After a short, noisy exchange a man came in. It was probably her husband. She said something to him. He asked me what was going on. I repeated my demands. It doesn't happen often that I blow my top, so I was on an adrenaline high. I don't actually remember much of the exchange until he tore up the payment receipt I had brought, came forward quite menacingly and told me I was not in my own country here. "Shut your fucking mouth", he snarled. At this point I realised that if I didn't back down it would probably come to blows. Was I up to that?
Fortunately, then a new load of young tourists filled the empty office and the confrontation was over. Not another word was said. When the minibus to the island pulled up outside the driver waved me over, too. I got in the back with the other travellers but I was not in a mood to talk. When we got to Saladan the driver stopped but made me understand in a conciliatory tone he would take me further, I just had to pay for it. Even some of the others asked me if I was sure. But my pride was hurt, so I got off and started walking.
Eventually I did let a tuk-tuk driver persuade me to take his ride. It wasn't far and I paid almost as much to him as I would have had to pay to the original driver. But when the sun is down and you don't know the place you haven't got much of a bargaining position. Some great start for this island. Maybe I should just have stayed at Railay.

Long Live the King!

Bangkok, Thailand

It's interesting to spend some time in a real working monarchy. I've been holding off this entry because I wanted to observe this phenomenon in places in Thailand other than the capital.
Having lived in UK for a long time I'm used to the British Royal Family being loved and laughed at at the same time. People will gather in the thousands when the Queen makes an appearance in London but the Royals also often find themselves at the butt end of public scrutiny, criticism, humour even and never being taken entirely seriously.
In Thailand, as I had already heard from the news, this is an entirely different story. Portraits of the King or other royals as well as depictions of the royal crest (see above) are omnipresent, from large banners in the streets to small, framed photos in people's shops and homes. The punishments for offending the King are harsh, e.g. prison sentence for what we may consider a small transgression, like painting a mustache on a portrait of the monarch.
But in a nutshell, people here love the King. And this is not imposed from above. Especially on Mondays (His Majesty was born on a Monday), many people wear yellow shirts to show their loyalty and respect. Many places also have little, for lack of a better word, shrines to the King where people burn incense to show their devotion or at least wai the shrine when they walk past it. It feels almost like a faith in its own right. To the point of being worrying sometimes. In conversations some people will reverently refer to him as "my king". I was told that the government may say what they want, for many Thai people what the King says is what counts. Many people will rather follow his wishes than the government even though the King effectively has little power. People also worry what will happen when he dies one day (he's not the youngest anymore, after all). The crown prince is not too popular, I heard, and people would rather see the second son succeed his father. The seeds for further turmoil in the Land of Smiles have already been sown.

Pussy Acrobatics

Bangkok, Thailand

It's a horrible stereotype. How did I slip into it? Well, I guess it's almost unavoidable. Similar to Amsterdam Bangkok has a reputation for sex shows. I'm even having my nose rubbed in it (figuratively speaking). The home of my friend here is practically next to one of the famous red light districts - if you can call it that. Walk home on the wrong side of the street and dodgy guys will sidle up and offer you porn DVDs, special massages or "ping pong shows". Now, my friend being a local had already explained to me that a ping pong show had nothing to do with table tennis. Rather it was a demonstration of an unusual way for a girl to shoot a ping pong ball from an unusual place. I'll leave the rest to be filled in by imagination.
I bravely resisted temptation and curiosity for days before I gave in.
The place was a bit dodgy, as expected, and had the expected dodgy, foreign patrons. Now I was one, too. The moment you sit down the working girls decend on you for tips. You're a walking wallet in there. Had I forgotten Amsterdam?
There's a difference, though. While sex shows in the Dutch capital are probably best described as "porky on stage" this was more like "pussy acrobatics". It was very creative in a way. The girls could blow out candles, shoot ping pong balls and even darts across the room. Acurately, too. They could hit and pop a balloon several meters away. And they could paint. Guess which part of the female body the above portrait of me was done with. Go ahead. Make a guess.
So I spent the evening having a few (over-priced) drinks and handing out tips. You end up having your arm always curled around one of the almost naked girls and generally feel like a pimp. They even tried to drag me off to the even shadier backrooms for some private time and were surprised to find that I resisted. The old matron at the backdoor gave me a look that suggested she doubted my sanity - or sexual orientation. Doesn't seem to happen often.
Eventually, it grew late, I had spent an embarrassing amount of money and the place closed. Another stage of my journey I can tick off.

• Watch Ping Pong Show in Bangkok: ☑

Sex, Drugs and Hip Hop

Phnom Phen, Cambodia

It could have been anywhere. The fact that I'm writing this in Phnom Phen in Cambodia is just a matter of where I found a convenient computer. I wish this was about the good old days of rock 'n' roll. It's not.
This is about reputation, about misconception and eventually about prejudice. This is about how people here, Asians from China, Laos, Cambodia, etc. seem to see us Westerners. It seems to break down into three categories:

Foreigners are either Americans or at least like American music when they party. Most of the time this is American hip hop. Any place catering for foreigners in Dali seemed to blast it into the street. Sometimes it really got too much. It's nice to hear some tunes from home, I'm sure, but why travel half-way around the world just find again what you have at home? I don't get it. I may not always enjoy local music but that's part of the experience.

Foreigners like to drink. A lot. Well, agreed that's often not prejudice but fact. Whether it's China, Laos, Cambodia or which ever country. Where foreigners concentrate you'll have bars, clubs all serving Western beer(read: Budweiser or Heineken), whiskey, vodka and whatever you'll expect in your favourite pub back home. You can get it cheaply, in buckets, what you need to get pissed. You go into a restaurant and before you've even made it through the door the first thing they offer you is beer. Signs outside will advertise it, people will shout it after you. When I ate at restaurants in China and ordered tea or water/fruit juice I often got surprised looks. Sometimes kind people in Laos invited me to drink (beer or the local laolao). After joining a local piss-up once I always declined - much to the surprise of the locals. He's a Westerner - why isn't he drinking alcohol? The Lonely Planet features a "Drinking" section for every destination. For countries it'll list the average price for beer to help travelers budget their trip.
Then there are, of course, the real controlled substances. Backpacker havens regularly have them. Whether it's Dali in China or the 4000 Islands in Laos. "You want to smoke?" is a common question. People will discretely wave around little bags of cannabis. I've had innocent little Chinese aunties offer me drugs! And travelers I've been with seemed delighted. With prices for beer and pot that low we'd be mad not to get completely stoned, right? Right?

Now, the last point doesn't get mentioned in guide books but judging from my experience is very much a reality. Foreign men like the little Asian girls. So, when they go on holiday they don't want to miss that "experience" either. Of course, that experience comes at a price. Again, where ever I went I was offered sex. That's the thing that happens to a single white male traveler. In China girls would wave me over to their massage parlours. Come evening in central Shanghai I could hardly walk a few paces without various girls trying to chat me up: "Hello, where are you from?" (And one guy I knew was proud that so many girls in Shanghai wanted to talk to him - poor fool!) In Laos, a kid from the travel office i rented a bike from invited me over to chat, then casually mentioned that, when i had finished eating, he knew where to get it if i wanted to "make". In Kratie, Cambodia I was innocently buying food at the night market when I noticed a girl next to me. I smiled, she smiled back and I returned my attention to buying food. The next thing I knew was a guy nudging me, pointing at her and me making indicative gestures. Did I want? I laughed at him. "Does she know what you're offering?" But again the offer was clear. He's a foreigner, surely he wants to try the girls here. And again, I've seen the truth in that assumption. Only once I went to a foreigner bar in Vientiane, Laos. I would swear that the customers were all but one or two white males and Asian prostitutes. I was grateful to have gone there with a female friend (not Asian and really just friend) I had met at the hotel, so they left me alone. Still, I believe there was a lot of business that night. A number of men seemed to succumb when I left the place.

So, why is this about misconception and prejudice. It is because not all foreigners are like that. I sincerely hope. I'm not like that. It's about prejudice and preconception because this seems to be how locals now see foreigners, particularly Westerners. It's quite sad. Tourists don't seem to realise or care that they're not at home but abroad. What do locals think of us behaving like that? I, for once, am not happy to be guilty by association. I surely haven't seen the end of it yet. I wonder what Thailand will be like. I've heard stories...

Update: I've actually collected some evidence here in Angkor Wat near Siem Reap. I spotted a group of Western men that supported every point I've made above. They came to a spot near the famous temple to watch the sunset bringing cigarettes, beer and girls (the kind that charges by the hour). They (the guys) were the clichee of the Western sex tourists - ugly, loud and vulgar. It was such a perfect scene to support this article that I just had to take a photo of them. Enjoy! By the way, to remove any national prejudice where most sex tourists may or may not come from: I found out that they were from Estonia (a big relief for my own national pride).

Checkpoint Nowhere

Cambodia

This has got to be the most deserted, God-forsaken border check point on this trip. A truck took me and a bunch of people from Ban Nakasang near the 4000 Islands to the border. I had booked a trip all the way through to Kratie in Cambodia.
"Book all the way", the ticket seller at the travel shop/book shop/internet cafe on Don Det had said. "At the border it will be very difficult to find a car."
I had thought it was a sales trick. Even on the Laos side of the Chinese border checkpoint there had been a number of tuktuks waiting. Only the general consensus of several travellers made me agree to buy the ticket.
Turns out it hadn't been a trick. The place where the truck dropped us off at around mid-day was in the middle of the jungle or some kind of plantation. There was the road, a house and a booth on the Laos side, a house and a desk on the Cambodian side and a barrier across the road. That was the whole setup. There were no other vehicles - no bus, no tuktuk, not even a bicycle. After unloading our backpacks the Laos truck also took off. For some absurd reason I had assumed we'd go on in that truck. Now that he was gone it was beginning to sink in that there was only one way to go now, so this prior arrangement had better work.
The checkpoint officer greeted us and made us fill in the usual paperwork. Please hand in your filled-in forms and one US dollar. Of course, we all knew where that was going. It was a common story among backpackers. Still, I couldn't help myself.
What was the dollar for, I asked him. He even had small change.
"Office fee", came the smooth reply. You had to hand it to him, he was prepared. You don't pay, you don't get the stamp, so you can't leave the country. Besides, it's not something you want to argue about in the middle of nowhere like here.
Smiling Laos border guards bade us farewell.
The procedure on the Cambodian side was similar. Here, the "office fee" had just been factored into the exchange rate. The visa fee is 30 US dollars. Could we pay in Kip and use up our remaining change? Sure, but at the border the rate is not 8000-something to the dollar but a round 10,000. Sigh. We had no more use for the wad of notes anyway. In Cambodia it'll be easier to calculate again, numbers are not so huge.
Eventually, even the little minivan arrived roughly as arranged (just the promised air-con meant opening the windows). And after waiting a long time for a local guy who appeared from the bushes, dropped some exceedingly heavy sacks (sand?) in the back and sat on the roof for most of the trip we were on our way.

Ants!

Pakse, Laos

Today I'm upset. Really upset. Even though it's probably my own fault. My own stupidity. I've just arrived here. Got myself a hotel room and went out to have a look around, eat something, get myself some wheels.
Now I've just come back from my great ride. I can't even remember what I wanted to get from my small backpack. I just noticed it looked like its surface was moving. It was ants. All over my backpack. There must have been thousands! They had formed a regular road to a tiny hole somewhere in the wall. Even the floor all around my bag was crawling with them. Then I remembered I had left half a pomelo in the bag. They had smelt it and were swarming in to get some. I checked inside and rummaged. And was promptly bitten. Painfully so! They had got inside, too! The first thing on top was the necklace that Iris had bought for me at the Dai Minority Park the first time we went out together. The plastic bag I had put it in was covered in ants, too. I ran downstairs and got one of the staff to come up with some insect killer. Fortunately, they had a can left. He sprayed everything that moved for a long time. It seemed like he was almost emptying the can. I watched them die. "Don't leave fruit around", he advised helpfully. Thanks but I was not in the mood for advice. I was in the mood to complain about them having an insect problem in their damn hotel.
I started cleaning my backpack - one item at a time - cursing all the while. How could I have been so stupid? And still I kept getting bitten by more ants. They were far from dead. The worst thing was still come: They had not only eaten holes into the pomelo, they had found a way into the plastic bag and had chewed on Iris's gift. It was made of nuts but I had thought they were empty shells. Obviously they weren't. I took it out of its bag and it fell apart in my hands. The ants had eaten into the nuts and chewed through the string, as well. My only physical memory of Iris was ruined. I remembered the day she gave it to me. It said 西双版纳 on one of the shells. I could have cried. I couldn't even find all of the little plastic beads that were space holders between the nuts.
I went on brushing off every item that had been in my bag. I would still find more and more ants that had survived the poison. So, I killed them myself. In the end, when I had taken everything out, I rinsed the bag in the shower - only to find out that the damn little bastards could swim. I could see them paddle around on the floor of the shower! At least, I managed to flush all of them out of my bag this way. Then, when most ants had either died of the poison, me squashing them or had gone away I started putting together the pieces of Iris's souvenir. I'm still so upset. In the end, I managed to clean it, too, of ants. They kept coming crawling out of the nuts and disappearing into them again. The only way will be to keep it and take it home. Since I still have the beads and the nut shells are mostly intact I should be able to thread them on a new string. I hope it works. At least there's that hope to comfort me. I'll take a photo to document what it looks like.
When I finished cleaning and hung up my bag to dry (at least that shouldn't take long as hot as it is here) I realised I had spent almost three hours with this. It was dark outside. So, it's time for dinner. At least, that should lift my spirits a bit.